Meet Mr. Philosophy!

As I may or may not have mentioned, I enrolled in a class in idéa history this semester, just for the hell of it (which, after three years of studying for a degree in science, is kinda like visiting the Twilight Zone).

Our professor this semester, is a philosopher and a bit of an oddball. A very clever oddball, but an oddball nevertheless. He's... *insert drumroll here*... Mr. Philosophy.

Mr. Philosophy has managed the feat that it undoubtedly is to combine the look of a somewhat posh, upper westside (why are the fancy places always up and westwards?) professor with that of an old, english sheepdog. His head and shoulders always enter the room before the rest of him does, because he bends forwards a bit when he walks, as if he's contemplating charging through a wall like a mad rhino, or something. At least that's what he'd look like if he didn't always have the smily-little-boy-on-christmas-eve-expression in his face.

When he's made his way into an auditorium, however, the posture changes. Now, the pelvis is tilted forwards, while the torso sort of slumps backwards. The smily-christmas-face is constant, though, and, as he gets excited about what he's lecturing, his arms start to move around in circles, and he begins to jump in place, as if he had little springs in his knees. Then he actually looks a bit like a skiing-instructor I saw on TV once upon a time.

And that pretty much sums up what I got out of my class today.