The Beastly Reality of the Core

I hate pretentious douche bags that like to talk about how “exciting” the Core is. You’ve probably been subjected to the sight or sound of these repulsive elitists. You’ve probably heard them say something like, “I really want to expand my horizons. Why would I only want to take classes in one concentration? I’m not just into biology—I’m so much more than that. Why would I want my classes to be limited when my self isn’t?”

Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you are going to college to get a degree in something. Maybe because you are paying tuition for an education, not an escapade into fanciful self-discovery. Maybe because sheer douchebaggery is already limiting, so that last question isn’t really relevant in your case.

And they don’t just spout this when you ask about their feelings; they also think it’s acceptable to hate on your life choices, even though you’ve never made a single comment about their membership in both Quiz Bowl and the Geological Society. For example, when I announce that I will be taking Science of the Physical Universe 134: “From Dinosaurs to Dining Out: A Pseudo-Scientific Survey Of Our Pretty Planet With No Science But Lots Of Physical Universe,” they give me this response:

“But why? You’re being presented with a real academic opportunity here. Myself? I’m taking three departmental classes for my Core requirements. That way I’ll learn the most.”

I smile and say, “That’s great. Have fun doing homework Friday through Sunday while barely pulling a B; I’m sure I’ll see you when we both go to Tommy’s at 2 a.m., but you’ll be the one sober enough to remember it.” But in my head I think just one thing: the Core is not an academic opportunity. You know why? Opportunities aren’t mandatory.

Gulags are.

That’s right—the Core is a gulag, operating under the cover of pretty Georgian architecture and exclusive admissions. You are being forced to take these classes, in areas not of your choosing. And you may not be well-equipped for the labor, but they put you to work at it anyway. Why do your very best and learn your very most? That’s not academic rigor. That’s Stockholm syndrome. It doesn’t take any great amount of cleverness to take a super-hard class that won’t do you any good in your real life. Three quarters of the freshman class do that every fall in Life Sci 1a.

You know what does take cleverness? You know what’s actually a stimulating intellectual enterprise? Finding an easy (yet interesting) Core class. I have never been more challenged in my life. You have to hunt through that course catalogue—which, by the way, is thicker and more difficult to interpret than your precious copy of “The Brothers Karamazov.” You close read it, looking for something with key words like “overview” and “introduction,” and avoid any with words like “three-hour lab” or “departmental seminar.” After that very first lecture, you have to analyze the data on class composition by comparing ratios of jocks to chemistry concentrators, of students taking it for “elective” to those taking it for “Core.” You need to maximize the utility derived from your classmates: how can I assemble a study group that will help me with my work, but not upset the curve by doing too much better than myself? You have to use original historical source documents from the Cue Guides of yore and apply them to today’s questions—i.e., which class should I take? You must master comparative literature, contrasting the length and complexity of the available Sparknotes with the size of the novel itself to figure out just how difficult this Anna Karenina chick is gonna be.

In short, this is the most interdisciplinary activity out there. It involves every skill set from every concentration, and if you screw it up, it’ll definitely show on your transcript. So thanks, General Education. I guess you’ve achieved your goal after all.