cortney just told me that olaf prufer died on july twenty-eighth, which is your loss, not his. he doesn't give a damn, as he's dead, & he wouldn't truck with any hanky wringing or platitudes about the underworld. i've got a bunch of stories i repeat about olaf prufer-- i took all the classes he offered during my long repose at kent state, so i gathered a few in my time. a world war two veteran, except he fought for the other side. married his first wife, a sikh, during pakistan's secession from india. him getting potty trained by his father the world war one hero in a palace in brazil. how the hopi indians hate him (& his cat fucknuggles) & the navajo love him. stuff like that. mostly interjected with invective & vinegar-- olaf prufer knew how to swear properly. i remember-- he decided to befriend me when i stated that my criteria for "civilization" was indoor plumbing. & i totally navigated the seas of his vitrol more than once. for a lot of his upper division classes, olaf prufer would just assign research projects. one per student. then make the students present them. & then, for icing, while they students were giving their presentations, he'd say "well, actually. funny thing about pitcairn island. i lived there for a year &..." & then proceed to shred your paper. me? i would just figure out before hand what the score was. like-- prufer loves wolfe's peasant wars of the twentieth century? awesome, primary source it. so i steered those choppy waters. while olaf prufer was the great giant amidst them, a grand elder god titanic in rage & venom. good for him. he was a genius & a fierce maniac. teeth bared!
