The Squirrels

During the summer, campus is nearly deserted. Shortly after 7:00 in the morning, it is so deserted that one could virtually go streaking across campus (if they were so inclined) without getting caught. It was because of this desertedness that I was startled on Thursday morning by a noise near the construction dumpster as I was on my way to class for a final round of studying before my first test.

I had just exited the parking structure and crossed the street to cut through a small parking lot near my building. A nearby building is being worked on and the construction dumpster takes up a portion of the parking lot. The street was deserted, and I had seen not a soul anywhere. As I was passing by the dumpster, I heard a noise that seemed awfully loud in the still morning. I took a few more steps toward the end of the dumpster and caught sight of an empty plastic peanut butter jar bouncing its way to the curb.

I looked up and there, peering mournfully over the edge of the dumpster, was a squirrel. He had lost his peanut butter jar. I stood there watching him to see what he would do. His alternating glances between the peanut butter jar and me kept him frozen in place as if he dared not move. Since there wasn’t any action going on, I moved on to class, a bit charmed by the squirrel with the peanut butter jar.

After I had taken my test, I retraced my steps to my car. As I approached the dumpster, I was amused to find that the squirrel had descended from the dumpster and was nibbling on the jar. He had literally eaten a hole in the bottom of the jar. As I stood there watching, he made an attempt or two at sticking his head in the jar, but the opening was just a bit snug, which had led to his determined nibbling on the bottom part of the jar.

I stood there for several minutes watching him. During that time, I watched a buddy come and try to share the jar, which was totally unacceptable to the owner of the jar. He made a buzzing growl of sorts, and his buddy backed off. Several more attempts were unsuccessful, so his buddy went in search of other things. I glanced to my right and saw another squirrel walking away with a peanut butter cracker in its mouth. A glance to my left revealed a sight that I’d never seen before coming to Western—a white squirrel.

I think the squirrels add such a charm to the place. Someday I’d like to get a picture of one of the white ones.

Appreciating Art. Or Not.

The thing about art is that anyone can do anything and call it art. Take, for instance, Fountain by Marcel Duchamp. I’m sorry, but I just have a hard time appreciating that as art. I can really appreciate it when it’s used as it’s intended to be used, but art?? Nah.

My teacher said something on Monday about some people being able to look at a piece of art and get a certain meaning out of it. Other people look at it and get nothing out of it. He asked a question about a work having that actual meaning or is it a case of “the emperor has no clothes?” I, being a non-artistic person, think that there’s a lot of time, energy, and money spent on a lot of emperors running around in their underwear.

I’ve had three days of class and already have a test scheduled for tomorrow. Seems kinda harsh, but there’s no help for it. Here’s how my three-week course should shake out: one holiday, four exam days, ten and a half lecture days (two and a half hour classes with none lasting that long so far) with a possibility of one of those days being spent drawing on the sidewalk with chalk. Incredibly expensive for what I’m getting out of it, but considering I really don’t want much out of it (I really don’t like the humanities category of general education) that’s not too bad, huh?