Thursday, 27 January 2005 | Continuing Ed

My professor mumbles, and he writes as illegibly as he speaks. He throws around the names of obscure films, the names of cinematographers, and the model numbers of fancy camera equipment, even though most of the people in the classroom have admitted to having very limited filmmaking experience (minus the girl who "spent LOTS of time in FRONT of the camera," because she's "you know, a fashion model and a commercial actress," and, she added, because her parents are good friends with Ted Turner).

My professor doesn't know the answers to many of the questions we ask, and he often stops mid-sentence and scratches his head. "Uh, what was I saying?" he asks us. We stare at him wide-eyed. The model, outed as an overachiever during our introductions, scans her notes and reminds the professor of his original point.

Introducing ourselves to the class feels like playing a game in which the sole object is to judge the other students, based on their appearance and the fifteen words they speak. Everyone silently keeps score of his or her conclusions, while having no idea how they themselves fared.

My professor mentions equipment we might need to buy and shrugs as he tells us how many hundreds of dollars we can expect to pay for it, as if we didn't already take out a loan for a large amount of money to pay for the class itself, an amount that was capable of making us feel kind of nauseated.

Another girl speaks up, asking about our final project, the film we're supposed to have made by the end of the semester. "Are there any restrictions as to what we can do? I'm also taking a documentary class, and in that, the professor said that we couldn't go over five minutes."

"Uh, I don't know. No rape scenes? No puking in the toilet?" He continues, but it seems he's no longer speaking for the benefit of the class, and is merely adding something for himself. "If you don't tell people not to film someone puking in a toilet, they all do it." He looks down at the floor and smiles.

Even if he can't relay his knowledge with ease, it's clear to me that he knows something about film and video. It's there, and wants to escape, but it comes out misshapen (not unlike me and Bryan trying to talk politics with Pennsylvania swing voters). He appears uncomfortable and unhappy, as if teaching were a gig he accidentally got stuck with.

Both Richard and Todd started taking continuing education courses this week, too, and I'm told that their respective classes are fantastic, and that their professors are inspiring. (I might be off, but I'm picturing Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society, or at least Gabe Kotter.)

Talking to them about their classes feels a little like it's Christmas morning, and I'm on the phone with my friends, finding out what Santa brought them. They tell me about their iPods and digital SLR cameras, and I tell them about how I got a hideous sweater that has hearts and eagles cross-stitched on it.

Maybe it'll get better.