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Alison Davis-Blake isn’t one for convention. Her quiet demeanor, questioning mind, and drive to excel have always set her apart.
Signs mark the entrance: Production Area, Authorized Personnel Only. Inside, observers stand behind a line of caution tape, taking notes intently. In front of them a rumbling machine shuffles orange, green, and yellow balls along conveyor belts, through tubes, and down ramps.
Underneath glittering stage lights the bass player and keyboardist pound out a melody. The lead singer sidles up to the microphone and belts out “American Idiot” with enough angst to fool anyone into believing he’s a member of a teenage garage band.
This class doesn’t have a textbook. In fact, some of the required reading comes from Wikipedia, a taboo for just about any other class on campus. But the syllabus states it bluntly: “Text: none; it would be outdated anyway.”