You're not officially a Cornerstone student until you've developed an irrational excessive admiration for one of your professors. For some, it's B-Shak. For others, it's VanDyke. Personally, I think Stevens is the man. Here's why:
A. Stevens is a genius.
One characteristic I value is the ability to think abstractly. Stevens invented that, I'm pretty sure. In one of his classes, you're sure to learn and develop insanely if you choose to be attentive. The way he draws connections, the way he conveys ideas--it speaks of his intelligence. I took Writing in Culture with him, and I learned very little about writing, but I learned soooo much just hearing him rant and rave, stuck on another rabbit trail.
B. Stevens is crazy.
Certifiable. It's fantastic. Sit through one of his rants or watch him throw a chair. Or a bible. Or a marker. He'll throw pretty much anything. You can see in his eyes that he could snap at any moment. In a good way, of course.
C. Smoking cat.
D. Stevens is passionate.
When the guy feels strongly about something, you know it. He's filled with pathos. Whether he's for or against something, his opinion is clear (although he never forces his views on you as if you must agree). The Red Light District sex trade is crap. Technology often enslaves us. Michael W. Smith really doesn't sound all that great. His arguments are compelling, and you're left sitting in your chair, wanting to agree with him.
E. Stevens is a huge part of why I'm me.
Something about Stevens--something about that class--changed a lot about the way I think, the way I view things. I think for myself, even more than I did before that class. I can appreciate that profanity can be used to communicate with precision. I am wary of what technology does to us (as I write on my blog at 1:44am). I don't know--I just figure he'll be one of those people that I will think of as formative in my life.
Helter-skelter. Uneven. No flow. That's what this entry was. But hey--it's the Stevens way, right?
F. Stevens reminds me of Mel Gibson.
You forgot to mention the sound effects and the way he still broods over his rejection by Vicki Whipple 35 years later. How he illustrates all his points (and his non-points) with crazy stories from his childhood years in a trailer park. There's also the theory (unproven as of yet) that he never sleeps, and he bleeds pure coffee. But those aren't serious things. I think this is a fitting tribute. This man is the reason I'm a humanities major, and therefore the reason I get to spend the day on the beach reading E.E. Cummings and calling it research.
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