Shop ’til You Drop

DISCOVERING THE INTANGIBLES



Shopping period is one of Harvard’s most appealing attractions, although students rarely take full advantage of it. Most of us only shop about five or six classes after deciding on a concentration—this is a grave error. This semester, I’m shopping 16.

Shopping period is like academic speed-dating: all of the perks without any of the commitment. The opportunity to shop, instead of pre-registering, grants students useful information about courses—the stuff that the CUE Guide cannot provide. Shopping “Introduction to Linguistics,” for example, provided me with all sorts of firsthand knowledge about how hot the professor is (good morning, Professor Nevins).

Shopping classes also allows a student to get a feel for the various concentrations that our fine institution has to offer. Studying WGS is not a good choice for those pursuing MRS degrees. The psychology department has no windows in half of its classrooms. Human evolutionary biology, on the fifth floor of the Peabody Museum, has too many stairs to climb, and the elevator is really scary.

These are all very important criteria that should factor into every Harvard student’s decision.

—Sarah C. McKetta ’09, a Crimson editorial editor, is an anthropology concentrator in Winthrop House.



THE QUEST FOR INSPIRATION



Classes which overflow during shopping week, the ones where 300 students show up to the first lecture, are generally the ones for which the professors received the highest CUE ratings the previous year. Literature and Arts A-53, “Athens to Jerusalem,” is a prime example. The course in its previous offering was attended by only 10 students, but very high ratings for Professors Simon and Machinist caused this number to explode with hundreds attending the first lecture.

The context, of course, is students’ longing for teachers who can teach and inspire. There seems to be a dearth of this type of educator at Harvard, and so at the slightest glimmer of hope, students flock to take advantage of a real educational opportunity.

To solve this problem, Harvard must focus on hiring teachers for the sole purpose of teaching. Research and publication are noble goals which bring Harvard prestige and resources, but frankly, we are wealthy enough to be able to afford both kinds of affiliates. We cannot and should not rely on the few professors who are equally passionate and proficient in both research and teaching; there simply aren’t enough.

—Shai D. Bronshtein ’09, a Crimson editorial editor, is a social studies concentrator in Lowell House.



THE WOES OF LATE SYLLABI



“Click on the pencil in the upper right hand corner to get started.”

They, of course, are the words that greet you when you click on an interesting course hoping to peruse its syllabus in advance of shopping—only to find nothing.

There is no reason for a student to see those words a week before shopping period. A professor should have at least a preliminary syllabus uploaded by the Friday before shopping period at the latest.

The inconvenience to the professor, a few minutes of uploading and maybe typing out some citations a few days earlier, is far outweighed by the benefit it provides to students who want to size up courses of interest before they shop. This is particularly true for freshmen and students trying to get into a course with limited enrollment; a student often has to declare their interest for such a course before trying it.

There is a simple solution to this: The College should mandate that professors have something on the web site by a certain date. Until the administration introduces a penalty, lazy professors will continue to plague shopping period.

—Adam M. Guren ’08, a Crimson associate editorial chair, is an economics concentrator in Eliot House.



PLEASE, KEEP IT SIMPLE



Why do some professors insist upon teaching in the first week? Shopping period is like wine-tasting. One is meant to be introduced to the wine and not possessed by it, though this too sometimes happens.

Professors, who, knowing we are probably shopping multiple classes per slot, should limit themselves to presenting the overarching academic themes, as well as bureaucratic details of the course. But nothing else: The first lecture should not cover any essential material. If professors don’t do this, students are effectively being penalized for shopping many classes and discouraged from taking full advantage of one of Harvard’s unique features.

Some will say that students will hardly get a “real taste” of the class. But let’s examine the status quo. As it is, professors change their colors after the first week. Before that, they tend to be funnier, nicer, and more nervous about their topics in an effort to keep their auditoriums full.

Let us keep the first date courteous for the sake of shopping period itself. Only introductions allowed; no going all the way.

—Peirpaolo Barbieri ’09, a Crimson editorial editor, is a history concentrator in Eliot House.