As I prepare to teach at GMU’s School of Management this fall, I wonder how my students will view me.
You’ll know it’s him when you walk into class and say “Good morning, Professor Richmond,” and he shoots back, “Call me Larry.” When discussing pop culture he begins every sentence with “If Hendrix were alive,” and he swears he won’t state his political opinions, but he will say that he was disappointed when you merely voted for Barack Obama and didn’t set your parents’ house on fire as a tribute. He pronounces “Darfur” with an “African” accent and is repulsed by the current lack of student activism. You’re repulsed by the fact that he is bald on top, but still insists on harnessing his last few strands of hair into a ponytail. As far as he is concerned, there is no such thing as an arrow or a gun or a cylinder, they are all penises, and the Grand Canyon is just a massive vagina. Whether or not this symbolism was the author’s original intent is irrelevent; Larry won’t let the opressive views of “fact” take his class captive. If Hendrix were alive, he probably wouldn’t like Larry.