What is the basis of this country? After giving this any thought at all, many of you were likely confronted with certain buzzwords associated with the United States, at least by those who were raised here: Equality. Liberty. Freedom.
I’m sure that many of you have logged into campus computers since arriving back on campus, only to have a moment of panic when you couldn’t locate the GoPrint button to print that reading or paper. While I don’t know if many of you actually mourned the loss of GoPrint, what I do know is that we now have its successor, PaperCut, on all ITS-managed computers.
On some level, as much as we complain about the endless papers, the all-nighters, the last minute rewrites, the collapse in a heap by the end of 11th week praying to God that we never have to go through that again, we love it. The one thing that Carleton has taught us is that what really matters is the energy, excitement, and exuberance we bring to the tasks we do.
At the very end of the year – or, for that matter, six months from now – I am most likely not going to remember where deadweight loss can be found on a graph, what exactly is included in the theory of multiple intelligences, or how to calculate a test statistic. Introductory classes, I am convinced, are not for gleaning information. They are for learning and evaluating paradigms of thinking.
Games are naturally interdisciplinary. Understandings of literature, math, history, science, and human behavior are all important, respected ways of engaging with games. A game designer must be competent in a field that is available at Carleton, but they must use their understanding of the field to both engage students about games and use games to engage students within their field.
Recently, Thomas Friedman of the New York Times published an article entitled “Come the Revolution,” which detailed the benefits of a new approach to education – online teaching. Friedman has a lot of good to say about Coursera, a new website that allows anyone to sign up for classes taught at elite colleges.
This is the reflective essay from my writing portfolio. I wrote a paper for Thabiti Willis’s Medieval West Africa course that was a fabricated folktale from eleventh-century Mali. It was an absolutely ridiculous assignment that I more or less boiled down to “try to be Chinua Achebe” and worked outwards from there.
When I decided to major in CAMS, a big selling point was that it was “versatile.” To be clear, I love screenwriting, cinematography, directing and film history, but when you get down to zero reality, I’m as worried about employment as anyone on this campus and I wanted a major that would get me up to date in a lot of different areas — computers, cameras, visual communication, and all the other skills that you put on your resumé to let people know that you’re playing ball.
There’s a lot of us on this DC Seminar that think we have law school somewhere in our future, and as you might expect, we like to debate policy. In other words, we argue endlessly. Sometimes we have productive discussions, but all too often we fall back on our tried and true political positions without really considering all the facts.
The story ends rather anti-climactically. I have an extremely—borderline problematically—low blood pressure, but no heart problems; the primary cause of my blood pressure, dizziness and near-blackouts was a major sodium deficiency. That’s right; not enough salt in my diet. Pretty much everyone in the world has the reverse problem.
At a school as small as Carleton, the impersonality of the language that the administration uses—and, by extension, the impersonal way it treats the student body—aren’t so much the result of necessity or malice as the result of a very flimsy institutional convention, a lowest common denominator of communication that only exists because of a general atmosphere of apathy.
A goal of mine is to orchestrate positive change. This is vague, but it’s what I want to do. I feel as though too many people get caught up in their own lives to bother with doing anything meaningful in a worldly sense, and I don’t want that happening to me. So, my question is this: is writing enough of a catalyst for the social, political, environmental, and technological revolutions that are required?