By Tom Pellegrino

I begin with a disclaimer that this is meant in jest. Unless you think I’ve hit upon something profound (hopefully) and factually accurate (questionable), in which case, I claim full rights to this.

I am going to talk about temporal anomalies. Please note that science is not my strong suit. Candidly, I look to Star Trek for all my scientific information (shouldn’t everyone?). Whether Captain Kirk knew anything about black holes is unclear. He seemed more consumed with pressuring Scotty for “more power” or engaging some intergalactic runway model at every turn. But Kirk did know a thing or two about anomalies and that’s why I like Star Trek. To my mind, some of its best episodes (pick your series; they all did this) confronted some sort of anomaly in space, whether temporal, material, or otherwise.

Let us start (and finish) with the educational piece: A black hole is a celestial entity whose gravitational pull is so intense that nothing can escape it, even light. That is why is appears, at least in theory, as black.

I witnessed a black hole – an anomaly – right here on campus. It’s called the Reading day.

Reading days. These strange, surreal occurrences where the gravitational pull of classrooms, the campus center, the library (and in many instances, the bursar’s office for debts heretofore unpaid) becomes so intense that students are sucked in for the first and for many, only time. They come to the center of campus to engage in the bi-annual rite known as final exams. The light is also sucked in, at least from their weary eyes.

The black hole of reading day has its fair share of anomalous characteristics. For one thing, one does not always see a lot of actual “reading” on reading day. Or at least I don’t. But admittedly, my view may be jaded. Reading - studying - is not what I remember it to be. Books have been replaced with laptops, of course. But also, individual cramming sessions in darkened corners of remote rooms appear to have been replaced with the phenomena known as the “group project.” The genesis of this latter anomaly speaks to our Starbucks mentality. You can see a group project forming anywhere where there are big comfy chairs and access to caffeine. Students congregate to these comfortable chairs in small groups, situate themselves in a circle, and pull out their respective icy or brewed caffeine concoctions from Jazzmans. And then everyone looks at each other, attempting to identify the “prepared one” in the group - the one who will get the presentation started (and, I am told finished in many instances). And again, here I may be jealous. I like coffee and comfy seats and wish I could have done more group presentations for my finals. I would not have been the prepared one.

Speaking of anomalies, whatever happened to blue books? Does anyone give blue book exams anymore? You all remember these don’t you – the little square shaped, stapled note books that brought anonymity and carpal tunnel syndrome to millions of weary liberal arts majors? Where has it gone, this act of physically presenting oneself to the confines of a classroom on exam day, sitting down to a small desk with nothing more than a pen in hand (no one owns pencils anymore, by the way, they stopped making them) and filling out one, two or twenty-five blue books? Where did those days go? Every one seems to do things at home and turn things in. Blue books were all about physical pain. There’s learning to be had in pain. Where’s the pain in take-home exams?

Maybe the move away from blue books is a good thing. Now that I think about it, I recall a lot of fiction and stream of conscience (sort of like this blog) being expelled on the pages. Cerebral detritus, sucked into a black, or better yet, blue hole. The blue hole of the infamous blue book.

And then there is the anomalous thing called the “beach senior,” the one who wanders into the venue of the campus center often wide-eyed and mystified. The expression on the face reads, “where am I?” (the fourth query of the Ignatian Residential College’s pedagogical examen, by the way).

Recently, one senior came up to me and asked where the Oak Room was. The name rang a bell - sort of. But he had not been in the campus center since sophomore year, so I had to refresh his recollection.

“Third floor, big room with all the oak paneling.” I paused, “directly below the dining hall.”

“The dining hall?” He looked puzzled.

“Never mind, I’ll walk you up there.”

“Thanks, dude” he said.

“No problem, dude” I dutifully responded.

Reading days are anomalies to be sure. And I know how difficult they are for students. But I have to selfishly admit how much I look forward to them. I like them because for those few days known as reading days, the campus really, really looks like a college. Whether you are in the library, the classroom, the RecPlex or quad, you see all our students, all four years, mulling about, exhausted but engaged, anxious but optimistic, exuding that amazing energy that can only be harnessed and expended by a college student.

I make a point to chat with students during reading day, to see how they are doing. I don’t stay too long. I know they have more work to do on this day than I do. I am reminded of how much enjoyment I derive from the simple act of being in the presence of our students, and indeed, how they will be missed when these days are over, even though it will mean less stress for many of us.

Anomalies abound.

TCP