The Pancake Arch
The Pancake arch, under construction Architectural History II was not the most fun class of the semester. The professor was 78 years old, taught like the cliche monotone professors of 1980’s teen dramas and dressed in tweed like it was London in 1955. He often acted like a cult leader and his students were the underlings; ignoring us most of the time, yet randomly vicious is his pointed critique of our essays, clothing styles or posture. The class was at 8am in a large, slightly too warm and stuffy lecture hall that was built to cure insomnia. The textbooks were approximately the size of wrecking balls and weighed about the same. I have always been fascinated with history, but listening to an ancient man mumble about Palladio or Renzo Piano at around dawn was not exactly enlightening to me. As with any college class, there was an inevitable group project, combining three random young adults into a triad of missed deadlines, poor communication and desperate all-nighters just before