Best E-mail Ever

One of my philosophy professors sent this out at 2 am this morning:

Fellow hunters and gatherers of knowledge:

I plan to hold class as usual tomorrow morning (or rather, later this morning). But I just might not. I’ll let you know in another nine hours or so. This is a preemptive email, asking you to check your email again tomorrow morning before going to class.

Why might class be cancelled? I’m sick. Ill. Malfunctioning. Whatever. I’ve got a cold and a middle ear infection that’s reminded me just how hurtful pain can be. (Sorry, fans of “Road House,” but this was a rare instance in which Patrick Swayze was just wrong. The verdict is in: pain really does hurt.)

They asked me at DUH, or YHS, or whatever it’s called now, to rate my pain on a scale of 1 to 10. Well, what is 10 supposed to be? And what is, say, a 3? Is the scale logarithmic? Won’t my answer say more about how I think about pain rankings than about what kind of state I’m in?

I was in no mood to pursue these questions. I answered in my own way. “Remember the scene in Kill Bill 2, where Uma Thurmon’s character plucks out the left eye of Daryl Hannah’s character, squishes it against the floor with her bare feet and leaves Daryl Hannah’s character to flail about trailer bloody and blind -- her right eye having already been lost in similar fashion to Pai Mei -- screeching obscenities and mashing mirrors and various other fragile things? Well, let’s call that a ten. I’m at about a 9.5.”

Needless to say, the good people who manage the health of Yale employees were up to the task of improving my mood. They did a great job prescribing things for me. A wonderful, wonderful, wonderful job.

The problem is that I’m not sure I can do such a wonderful job myself in my present state. I’m not even sure I can accurately evaluate my own abilities in my present state. And, thanks to the infection, which has perforated my ear drum, I can’t hear much of my external environment. My inner workings are another matter. I hear them all too clearly. Brushing my teeth sounds like construction work and my own voice is unbearable. So lecturing will not be easy, nor will listening…

Lord knows, I want to talk about this Stich piece. And I fully intend to do so. But check your email before heading to class. Just in case.

Hope your Thanksgiving was happier than mine… and that you are presently not quite so happy as I am.

Best,
[name withheld]


p.s. Yes, I did have pneumonia last year, and no, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I guess I’m living up to the “sickly academic” stereotype. And no, I'm not a fan of Tarantino.