Got my mojo workin' but it just don't work on you
It's March, the week after break, and lately spring has been playing a coquettish game of slap and tickle: one day all is bright and beautiful, the next day cold rains smack us back into reality.
Well I'm up there in front of the classroom dancing my little pedagogical posterior off, and with some darned good stuff, too. A lot of it is my A material.
In the junior-level core seminar I'm tearing Thomas Friedman's "World is Flat" thesis asunder with charts and graphs. Charts and graphs, man, and the occasional derisive sneer. In Introduction to Humanities I am exploring the increased tensions inherent in the emergent religious pluralism of 17th century Western European society. Scientific Revolution, baby! Bacon, Newton, Harvey!
And in the Honors Seminar we're applying developmental psychological models to both Victor Frankenstein and his creature. My mojo is more than working. Frankly, the stuff I'm doing in class is downright interesting. But if I'm honest, it doesn't appear to interest my students all that much.
Some of this is due to spring and the fact that the mental shadow line that separates the beginning of a term from a semester's fated end has silently passed. This old semester is what it is and all thoughts now bend toward the end. On a five-hundred mile trip, the hardest driving is the last 20 miles.
But it's also not working because students are just wired differently than I am. They don't geek on applying Bacon's Idols of the Mind to contemporary beliefs or letting the air out of gasbags like Tom Friedman. In the end, their blues ain't like my blues.
But that's okay. Some of the numbers I play in class aren't meant to be crowd pleasers. Some are just about the music and one or two are just for me.