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Monday, September 15, 2003

A number of people have said that I should write more here about what type of thing I do during the day, and despite the fact that I think my life is very, very boring, I have decided to do it anyway since I have a lot of time to kill. Maybe this will convince those of you who doubt me.

I don't know what exactly happened to me today, but somehow I woke up not really giving a fuck. It's the feeling I normally get after a number of drinks, but (as hard as this may be to believe) I didn't have any alcohol whatsoever prior to leaving for class at 9:15 AM.

My day starts of with Constitutional history, a class with a professor who doesn't seem to like to admit students know anything, ever. For example, when he was explaining the divide between Hamilton and Jefferson regarding the establishment of a permanent national debt, I made a derisive comment about Jefferson having no moral ground to stand on because he pushed the country deeper in to debt with the Louisiana purchase, the professor said I was completely wrong becuase, "after Jefferson's term the debt was lower than when he came in to office." Another time, he asked why certain states issued proclaimations that they wouldn't follow the Sedition and Alien acts as opposed to just appealing the cases to the supreme court. My answer was that judicial review wouldn't be "invented" for another seven years, and the court wasn't technically thought to have that power. His answer was that the court was appointed by the people passing the acts. I like my answer more.

Anyway, during this class I traditionally leave my sunglasses on to hide the fact that my eyes are incredibly bloodshot. I told him it's because I am sensitive to sunlight and will get migraines if I am not allowed to wear them. In actuality, it allows me to sleep or read or check out the girl who sits next to me without anyone being the wiser. So today, I was sitting and staring out the window while he went on trying to answer some girl's question about why Hamilton was never president (The answer, of course, being that he was dead. Dead people can only be vice president.) and running the ABBA song "Take a Chance on me" through my head. This, because I had accidentally left winamp on repeat the night before, with only that song on my playlist, leading to my subliminal torture as I slumbered.

It was about the time the second chorus hit that I realized nobody was talking. This was disturbing, as the professor's voice was acting as a suitable metronome to those sassy Swedish voices, but also because it meant that something had happened which I should probably be aware of. It's like when you're in the savannah, and all the birds stop chirping, so you turn to your guide and punch him in the face because you saw the jaguar first, and it's you or him, goddamnit, no matter what those bastard Kenyan courts say. I realize then what's wrong - I'd been humming. Loudly. The professor looks to me and asks if I have anything I would like to add to the conversation. The only thing I can think of is to say is, "A refrain." He didn't like this reply.

I spent the hour I have between classes trying very, very hard to finish A Prayer for Owen Meany. I am on the last twenty pages, but for whatever reason can't get to the end. Today would prove not to be an exception in this regard. I got a pack of Reeses pieces and a Dr. Pepper for lunch, and sat on the mall with my book. It took all of half a page for someone from my logical theory class to come up to me and ask me what I was reading. Without really looking up, I tilted the book back so he could see the cover. He then sat down next to me. I really hate when people do this - they try to forge an artificial friendship because they don't have anyone who will go within a ten foot radius of them willingly. He keeps talking and then asks whether or not I thought the paper was hard. "...paper?" my sun-addled brain considers to itself. I relay this consideration to the guy, who we'll call "Peter," who informs me we had a short paper due that day. I, having skipped class since the first day, am rudely awakened to my newfound need to get to work. I promptly tell him so, get up, and go to Chik-fil-A. Hey, I needed to work, it doesn't mean immediately.

After my chickeny snack, I made my way to geometry. This is a class I already can't stand. There are people in this class who exemplify why I hate math majors with a passion. They make really, really bad jokes ("using a reasonable metric... or an UNreasonable metric! Ha ha ha! I've never gotten laid except by a hyena!") which make me feel a need to slam my head in to things. But it's interesting enough subject material, and I'm one of the girl's 'philosophy tutor', so I go, and today, learn something very important.

The thing I learned is this: there's a good reason people in California get more sex than most people on the east coast. It's no intrinsic difference between the localities, or that women are really turned on by someone who is encrusted with whale feces and the decaying carcasses of fish, it's that they have a lot of natural disasters. I was talking to the girl I tutor, who we'll call 'Tessa', and we were talking about some movie she wants to see at the Indy theaters which comes out this weekend or next weekend (I just pretended I knew what she was referring to - in truth, I was just taking cues) and she point-blank told me that she didn't know anyone else who was willing to see that sort of movie (meaning either she has no friends, her friends are complete tools and don't see movies, or she's just lying to get me to go) and wanted to know if I'd go to see it with her. Now, don't get me wrong, I am a big fan of the indy theaters - I spent a resonable amount of time at the Mayan in Denver with my friends - but the movie she was referring to (called "Summer Elastic" or "Autumn Spring" or something like that) sounded just painfully boring. So I said what I believe to be the most brilliant thing I have ever said: "I'd love to, but I'm pretty sure that, even if the hurricane doesn't kill us, it will have levelled DC by then. Maybe we could just go out to lunch wednesday after class?" She agreed with this plan. This, of course, makes me happy since it means, first, that I have a legitimate excuse to skip logical theory for the billionth time, but second, that I don't have to see the movie, and I got out of it without her getting mad. This tact thing could work.

Anyway, after that I came home and that's where you find me - sitting around listening to ABBA Teens and writing this stupid innumerability paper. ("The metaphysical implications of an infinite universe" - complete bullshit) Hooray.

cranked out at 2:59 PM | |

 
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