Rollin' with his homies

*photo unceremoniously stolen from  Facebook

This is the man who taught me about Modernity. His name is Jonathan Rollins, but the kids call him J-Roll. He teaches literature at Ryerson University in Toronto, and I was lucky enough to take his class,  Cultures of the Modern, on Modern and Post Modern writing. 

Dr. Rollins showed us picture-slides of architecture and art, told us about stories of expatriates in Paris, and explained how Dada means nothing (and that's its point). He read out loud from Hemingway, Don Delillo, and Fitzgerald as we hung onto every.single.word. With J-Roll as our guide, we leafed through Orlando and announced we were no longer afraid of Virginia Woolf. When we met up after class we made pomo jokes and talked about his exquisite young professor-ly style (the  tweed, we swooned).

My last encounter with J-Roll was during the final exam. Scribbling into a small stack of exam notebooks, a noise distracted me. The tip-tapping of shoes on the wooden gym floor grew louder as it approached. I was sitting in the back corner of the oversized examination room, and Dr. Rollins was walking towards me. My hand wasn't up. There were no hands up in front of me. What did he want, I wondered. I pretended to continue scribbling, the tip-tapping growing louder.

Finally, he approached my desk and leaned against it. He raised his eyebrows, tilted his head, smiled, and said, "That's a really nice sweater-vest." 

It was argyle: brown, white, and tan. Not unlike something he might wear. 

I smiled, my cheeks red. I thanked him, and told him the exam was going well. He nodded, smiled again, and tip-tapped away. When I finished he shook my hand as I tried to spit out something intelligible. I thought about telling him how great of a professor he was, requesting summer reading recommendations, or asking him to read my short fiction. But I just shook back and walked off campus. 

Fortunately, I'm not the only one who holds J-Roll in such high regard. This morning news arrived in my e-mail inbox that Ryerson is awarding Dr. Rollins with a 2009 Faculty Teaching Award. To celebrate, I hunted through Rate My Professors, Google, and Facebook for the best mentions of J-Roll the internet has to offer. 

I didn't have to look to far to find admiration, hilarity, and some serious stalker-potential. 

Enjoy.

The singular comment on his U of T RateMyProfs page isn't quite complimentary, but Rollins has since moved to Ryerson where he makes the student body's heart beat  faster, faster

Looks aren't all that make a prof, but his haven't hurt

Rollins inspires the will to live

The longing for a mid-lecture hug was not uncommon

Students dreamed of a pomo-marriage to Dr. Rollins

It's hard not to feel the love

Even the male students admit, Dr. Rollins is easy on the eyes

Don't worry Paul, the only thing you lost is your heterosexuality

Rollins is frequently spotted with a halo on his head, a pomo metaphor come to life

When on sabbatical, Rollins is a secret ninja, kicking ass with... sweetness

J Roll spreads knowledge, much like Wikipedia, where you can find out about  Simulacrum

Dear Dr. Rollins: it's probably time for an off-campus gym membership

Unfortunately, J-Roll did not teach Agata spelling

Don't worry Carly, I'm sure he picked up on it. Hey, simulacrum!

Famed for a wonderful wardrobe, a change to less formal attire is enough to spark student sadness

Both?! Overhaul

A handshake from J Roll is like sex with the Pope

Oh, one last thing: Abe Anjakdar and Trevor Boyd started the J-Roll mayhem. 

So, ahem... appreciate.