My semester starts this morning, and I’m reminded of a begging pleading feeling. It’s dark and ominous, and I fear it will become unbearable once I step inside the classroom.
Please, won’t you help me save kittens from Edward Tufte?
If there’s a professor in your life, approach him or her gently today – perhaps a soft touch on the shoulder – ask them to step away from their screen for a moment, get down on your knees, and begin pleading that they reconsider the laser transitions, the flash in appearances, the gaudy color schemes. Appeal to their humanity to stop using PowerPoint.
There’s little I can do this semester to avoid the immense blocks of text, the promises of “You don’t need to copy this down; I’ll email it to you after class” (as though that somehow improves my quality of life). No, no it does not. All the emailing means is the bloated files of dubious origin will sit and fester in my inbox or dropbox on the marginal chance I might need to download them again to refer to a point that will no doubt be repeated in a future PowerPoint.
It is too late for me, dear readers. But, perhaps, if you approach an academic with a calm voice and kind eyes, you might save a kitten from Edward Tufte’s vengeful wrath.