Things I Love

Sufjan Stevens
being silly with my siblings
turkey tetrazzini
this blue Bic pencil with a twist-up eraser
shimmery lavender nail polish
Brandi Carlile
pumpkin chocolate chip cookies
hugs and cuddles
Wassily mothafuckin' Kandinsky
lunch dates with Emily
John, Paul, George, and Ringo
Target
cultural references that I understand
Chicago
New York City
Diet Coke
the new 80GB iPod
Dad's headphones
puppy kisses
Orbit sweet mint gum
tiny paintbrushes
my roommates
soft things like blankets and pillows
string quartets
long car trips
Bill Bryson
bright colours
the Internet
God and the rest of the Trinity
inappropriate things that shouldn't be funny but are
J.S. Bach
beads
smiles
Christmas
my teddy bear
you, probably

Pleased to Meat You

Thanksgiving break is nice. It is just enough time to see people, hang out with the family, get things like shopping accomplished...but not long enough to go crazy. I like this!

Last night was a blast and a half. A bunch of us went to Steak 'n' Shake, of course, then Britt and Nayt and I hung out at Meijer for a couple hours and made fun of things. I must have laughed for 2 hours straight. I'm not going to take back the things I wrote about Brittany, exactly, but right now it seems like she wants to be my friend and I'm going to accept that wholeheartedly. And Nayt is just awesome.

I went shopping with Mom and Amy today. It was great fun, particularly because Mom bought me things. Woo! I also helped her pick out Christmas gifts for Julie and Amy, which was enjoyable.

Tonight's my last night here, though...so I'm going to make more pumpkin cookies (the epitome of delicious), hang out with family-types, blah blah blah. Life is good! This is fun! Yaaayyy! (Don Hertzfeldt. Rejected. Great cartoon.)

Au revoir.

Picking up marbles with chopsticks

So I'm back in Greenwood for Thanksgiving break. I'm actually kind of excited. This is the first time I've really been excited about a break. Good sign? I think so. Kate drove me home, then once she left I spent the rest of the night talking with various family members. Dad got a new iPod--the one I want, actually. It is fantastic. Actually, the most fantastic part is the headphones he got. He got $100 Bose headphones that are THE BEST THINGS I'VE EVER LISTENED TO. I only listened to one song on his iPod ("And Your Bird Can Sing") and let me tell you, George and John's guitars have never before sounded so fucking amazing. Oh man. I'm still in awe.

Brittany called me today...imagine that. She was at the airport and bored. Oh well, at least I got to talk to her for a little while. And I might get to see her (and other friends, of course) this week. That would be exciting. Mostly, though, I'm looking forward to family time.

I've been in a pretty good mood the past couple days. I had a talk with Kate the other night that was kind of the verbal equivalent of a smack in the face. One of those "GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER" sort of smacks. So I'm trying to get my shit together. Most of it is just about being myself all the time. I have this tendency to act different around different people. I don't know why I do it, but I'm trying to stop. And you know what? It's crazy fun.

Anyway, that's about it. Thumbs up for life!

Determination with a zesty manifesto sauce

Starting now:

I'm not going to worry about Brittany. I miss her in more ways than one. I miss hanging out with her, but I also miss being able to consider her a close friend. But the fact is, I don't get to see her all that much anymore, so we don't hang out often. And there isn't much that shows me she cares about our friendship anymore, so I can't trust her as much as I thought I could. Fine. I need to learn to deal with that.

There are places I'll remember
All my life
Though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone
And some remain

Thank you, John Lennon. Whether or not Brittany and I actually had a genuinely close friendship in the past, I don't think we have it anymore. We have a fun friendship. A fun and occasional friendship. And I'm going to value that for what it is.

As for Asperger's Syndrome? I need to learn to love it. I say that it's embarrassing and frustrating, but why? It's only embarrassing and frustrating because I have social problems, problems fitting in. It's inconvenient to be out with friends and freak out because a noise is too loud. But wait. Who gives a shit? The people who really care about me don't mind that I have Asperger's. The people who are inconvenienced by it are people who shouldn't matter too much to me anyway.

And the gay thing. Lesbian. Whatever. So I'm a lesbian. What does that mean? Well, it means I (want to) date women. It means I'm attracted to women. It doesn't mean a fucking thing beyond that. I'm not into the "gay lifestyle." I'd rather watch America's Next Top Model than The L Word. I hate drag shows. I don't like most gay movies. I may never march in a parade. I'm a girl...woman...whatever...who likes pretty jewelry and getting dressed up (sometimes) and chick flicks and rock music and art and whatever. Boys flirt with me because they haven't the faintest clue that I'm a lesbian (and apparently because I'm hot, but that's still up for debate). Girls don't flirt with me because they haven't the faintest clue that I'm a lesbian (so frustrating). Yeah, I like women. I might marry one someday. But that doesn't change a fucking thing about who I am.

I want to move to New York after college. New York or Chicago.

Drove to Chicago
All things go, all things go

And I'm a Christian. Yeah. I'll admit it. People can assume whatever the fuck they want to about that statement. Most people will assume I'm a closed-minded bigot because that's the popular image of Christianity these days. Screw them. I'm overwhelmingly glad to be a Christian. There's nothing bad about it in my mind. It's the foundation for my life and there's nothing I'd rather choose.

I don't like [most] popular music and that's okay. That doesn't make me wrong or even weird. So what if I'd rather listen to Bach suites than Top 40 radio? So what if my favourite band broke up almost 40 years ago? So what if the music that makes me happy is calm and introspective? So what if the music that makes most people my age happy is the music that makes me agitated and enraged? It doesn't make me a bad person! It doesn't make me a snob or even too picky. It's not something I'm about to apologise for.

So what if my life is a Neutral Milk Hotel album? My best friends are pop-country and Top 40 kinds of people, and I'm a classic-rock, indie-folk, bizarre-ass-music kind of person. We're like two apples and a kumquat, but I'm going to have to be okay with that.

I like to tell people that if you've listened to Neutral Milk Hotel's album "In The Aeroplane Over The Sea," then congratulations, you know me.

I have a sick and twisted sense of humour. I am going to start showing it more. No more censoring myself so people like me better.

Holy fucksticks, I'm tired. I feel like there's more to write but my eyes just will not stay open. More to follow, perhaps. I should compose some kind of manifesto.

"Manifesto" sounds like some kind of pasta.

My keyboard is pretty and all but I do not want it imprinted on my face when I wake up (plus, I drool when I sleep and something tells me the keyboard wouldn't react well to that) so I'm going to go the hell to bed and continue pontificating later.

One of these days I'll stop doing this

This is gonna be a little depressing, and not profound-depressing, I mean more along the lines of childish-whining-depressing. I'm not in a good mood today, and I don't really want to go into why, but I'll blame it on my period. I used to get really emotional in the few days before my period, but now it happens during my period. Why the hell am I talking about my period? Moving on.

I was thinking today about something that happened a long, long time ago. Sixth grade. I was thinking about how I learned the word "lesbian." I'd heard the word before, and though I didn't really know what it meant, I could figure out that it was something bad that you weren't supposed to mention in public. Anyway, I was playing on the playground one day at recess--by myself, of course--when a kid told me to come look at something. I couldn't figure out what it was at first, although I got the basic idea that it was letters painted on the playground equipment in green nail polish. I don't remember now exactly what it said, but it was something about me being a lesbian. Once it was pointed out, a group of kids gathered around it and started laughing and asking me if I really was. I had no fucking clue. I ran away and sat with the teachers for the rest of recess.

You know you're at the bottom of the social totem pole when the one bit of playground graffiti that shows up all year is designed to ridicule you, specifically.

I went home that night and asked my mom what the word "lesbian" meant and how to spell it. Spelling words is very important to me, plus I wanted to know if whoever wrote it on the playground had gotten the spelling right. Mom wondered why on earth I wanted to know that. I don't remember if I told her about the graffiti. I was probably too embarrassed, but then again I probably needed a valid reason for wanting to know what the word meant. So who knows.

It was another year, at least, before I started realising that I actually was a lesbian, and two and a half more years after that before I dared to tell anyone about it. And still, I can't shake that first impression of the word.

So, there's that. Also, it's been four and a half months since Brittany has answered one of my phone calls. She calls me occasionally--maybe once a month or so--and we talk, but it's always on her time, when she feels like it. It's not like I haven't thought about it before. I've been thinking about it constantly for over a year. I have no clue why it's on my mind so much today. Actually, no. That's not quite true. I went to Blockbuster today with Farz and Tim. I was already in a bad mood for things I'm not going to talk about now, so I was kind of wandering around by myself, looking at movie titles. I came across "Under the Tuscan Sun." I've seen...most of that movie. Brittany and I watched it together. At her house, after a sleepover party. I felt so special because she wanted me to stay late in the morning to watch a movie with her. We didn't finish the whole movie because my mom came to pick me up, and I wasn't paying much attention to the parts we did watch. Brittany and I always said that one of these days we'd finish the movie. She's seen the entire thing by now, and I never went back to it.

So once my memory sprang into action upon seeing that movie title, it just kept going and going and going. All these stupid little memories of things she did that hurt me, things she did that delighted me, things I overlooked or things I read too much into. Then for the first time I calculated just how long it'd been since she'd answered a single fucking one of my phone calls. 4 1/2 months. I call her, I leave voicemail messages, she calls me back in a few weeks when she feels like it. She says she's "busy." Not ten spare minutes to call someone you apparently consider a friend?

I am not at ease with the thought of her not being a part of my life. It hurts and it's fucking weird. What am I supposed to do with all the things I see and think and hear and feel every day that remind me of her? What am I supposed to do with our inside jokes that I still find hilarious? What am I supposed to do with the music that she and I both love? What am I supposed to do about the fact that my mother loves having her around? What am I supposed to do about the fact that I love having her around? On one hand I feel like I should just forget about her, come to terms with the fact that she probably doesn't give a damn about me, and move on with my life without her. On the other hand, she's tied to every single tiny facet of my life and I can't just forget about it all.

Yeah, sure, I was in love with her, if you can call it that. I felt like I was in love, anyway, even if I always knew it was pointless. But I don't think I'm even talking about that right now. I think all these feelings and all this confusion is because I'm losing a friend and it sucks. I trusted her. Before I knew what that really meant, I trusted her with everything. And she didn't give a shit. Still doesn't. She has always presented herself as a genuinely good person, friendly, warm, caring, Christian (and in a palatable way, too!)...and I just cannot make myself believe that that's all fake. Maybe I'm still holding onto the hope that there's some explanation for everything that I just haven't figured out yet. I'm still holding onto the hope that she really is a good person and I wasn't wrong to trust her.

Oh man. What a night.

I just got back from a late-night walk in the Freezing!Ass!Cold!...I had intended to stay out for awhile but obviously I wasn't thinking too clearly. I've had a cold lately, there are a lot of creepy drunk people out, I'm extremely upset, and it was 2 in the fucking morning. All very good reasons to not be a dumbass, and thank you Kate for pointing those out to me. Still, nothing quite like visiting my favourite willow tree when I need to calm the fuck down. When I was a kid, Grandma and I used to make wreaths from willow branches when Grandpa was trimming the trees. I'd run out to collect all the fallen branches, and then Grandma and I would sit at the picnic table and strip the leaves and weave the branches into circles. Sometimes she'd get out ribbons and stuff for decorations. My wreaths were pathetic little fuckers, but hers were majestic.

That was, of course, before I knew what the word "lesbian" meant. It was also before I developed my "social self." Until I was about 12, my world was mine and mine only. I mean, there were people in my life, but nobody ever knew what I thought about. Life was a lot more manageable then. I didn't have to worry about giving people my trust only to find them chucking it in the dumpster.

I try not to worry about that so much anymore, but once it's happened, it's kind of intuitive to be guarded. There are people I trust now, not all on the same level, but it's there.

I'm just confused as hell as to whether I should trust Brittany at all, even a tiny bit. I want it to be easy: I want to sit down with her and tell her everything I'm feeling about her and see how she reacts. I want her to tell me either "Oh my gosh, no, I'm so sorry!" or "You're right, I don't care." I don't want her standard answer. Her standard answer is "You're being paranoid again; stop blowing things out of proportion." Like it's my fault I feel like this.

One of these days I'm going to write something that isn't depressing, angsty, or pathetic.

Here's something: I went to a real college party tonight and actually had fun. I had fun in my own way, of course--not by dancing or drinking or screaming over the crowds--but I sat back and watched. I watched people interact. I watched what people do in that setting. How they move, what they wear, how they talk. It probably isn't your idea of fun. To me, it's fascinating.

And shut the fuck up if you want to tell me that's depressing. It's not depressing, it's me. I'm introverted and awkward and analytical and I'm okay with that. Don't fucking tell me that the things I love are depressing because they're low-key. Don't fucking tell me that the music I love is depressing because it's intricate and soothing and evocative. Don't fucking tell me that my idea of fun is depressing because it's calm.

That was my angry moment. The people at whom that was directed probably don't read my blog. I just needed to get that out there, somewhere.

I should probably sleep. I can't believe it's almost 3:30am already. I can't believe I used to stay up until 7am on a regular basis. That was a strange way to live. It made me feel like a more interesting person.

Enough already.

The colours bleed together and fade

Well, holy shit. Two posts within the same week. How often does that happen? Not very. But it should. Happen often, that is. I'm trying, I promise.

I saw "Rent" at the auditorium on Tuesday. It was...how shall I say...fucking amazing. The music was great, of course. The acting was awesome. For the first time, I genuinely appreciated the "Over The Moon" scene. I mooed with Maureen. Not much can beat that experience.

Oh, right, unless you're Kate and just happen to talk to the girlfriend of an actor who just happens to need to get rid of her front-row ticket and...yeah. That girl has the best luck sometimes. And you know, I'm not even any kind of jealous, and I'll tell you why. First of all, as much as front-row tickets to "Rent" would be a thousand kinds of fabulous, I don't think my senses could handle it. Honestly. Even sitting in the balcony, I left the theatre with a bit of a headache. Second of all, I certainly appreciate "Rent." A lot. I knew it was going to be fucking amazing. After seeing it from the front row, Kate loved it--and this is the girl who laughs at me when I cry during the movie version. I was absolutely thrilled that she liked the play so much.

Anyway, I'm still listening to Brandi Carlile, and I expect to for quite some time. Makes me happy.

I've had a cold for a couple days. I saw it coming. As soon as I felt the tiniest bit of a sore throat, I was like "Well shit, there goes the rest of this week." Fortunately, it was nowhere near as bad as the last cold I had. That last one thoroughly kicked my ass. This one...eh. Kind of a wuss.

Riding the 6 bus home today was an interesting experience. The driver was kind of batshit crazy. I'm pretty sure he was driving well over the speed limit, and he took curves dangerously sharply. It was like being in one of those race-car video games where you don't really have to follow the road perfectly, as long as you sort of stay on track. Also, the driver ran over a few things that could have either been random debris, woodland creatures, or small children. Every time he ran over something, he'd yell "wahoooo!" It was a little disconcerting. I felt like I was on the Super Mario Death Bus, which would actually make an interesting video game. Take note, Nintendo.

Katie and I watched "Bambi" tonight. It was the first time I'd seen it, even though I knew very well what happened to his mom. And yeah, it made me cry. Just a little. Very little. Because I was busy critiquing the freakishly trippy animation. The owl has bear legs. I swear it. Bear legs and eyes like psychedelic suns. I guess nobody knew how to draw owls in the '40s. Or maybe they figured kids wouldn't give a shit. Well, I do.

Still, it was a very good movie.

I am currently reading Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore. It's great. Funny as hell and kind of makes you think about stuff. Once I'm done with that I'll move on to a couple Celia Rivenbark books, which I've heard are hilarious as well. I just finished Bill Bryson's latest book, The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid. I love Bryson's books. With a fiery, all-consuming passion. This one was no exception. I'm so glad I've started reading again. For the past couple years I haven't done much reading for pleasure other than all the shit I read on the Internet, so I figured it was time to rebuild my literacy.

There are few sounds I like better than the combination of cello and acoustic guitar (or piano). Really, anything with a cello. That's what I should've played in high school, I know it. I mean, the violin's great, and I guess I was more of a violin-person in high school, but now I feel like I should be a cellist. In the orchestra, the cello isn't exactly the background instrument--well, okay, sometimes--it's more a complement to the melody. First violins generally get the melody, and second violins provide their harmony. Cellos generally get the secondary melodic part, and violas provide their harmony. Basses are the backbone of the orchestra, ideally holding everyone together (I say "ideally" because the bassists in my orchestra rarely did). I was always a second-violinist, and I always aspired to be a Violin I. I didn't like existing just to back someone up, but then again I've never been one to crave the spotlight. It would suit me more to play the part that isn't immediately noticeable but beautiful when you do notice it. That's what I like to think of myself, anyway.

So, anyway, I should probably sleep. I'm not tired yet, but a bit of NyQuil should take care of that.

It's kind of like a window.

I don't have an official diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome. I have a diagnosis of "Asperger's traits," which I guess is like Asperger's Lite. This diagnosis was made by a psychiatrist who knew me for about an hour on a good day when I was extremely guarded. So I take it with a grain/handful of salt. I tell people I have Asperger's because it's easy, unless the person happens to be one of the 95% of people who apparently don't know what the hell it is. So I guess I tell people I have Asperger's because it's nice to have a name for Why I'm So Fucking Weird.

The reason I'm writing about it now is that it seems to be whacking me in the face with a big ol' Autism Stick, and I feel like I'm trying to push it away but I'm blindfolded and it keeps smacking me. Like a reverse pinata. In Soviet Russia, pinata whacks you!

Sounds have been particularly intense today. During my gender studies lecture people kept leaving (because the class sort of sucks) and the damn door to the damn classroom was SQUEAKY. Not like itty-bitty "eeeeee!" squeaks. Every single time someone opened the door it was like "eeeeEEEEEEEEFUCKYOUEEEEEEEEEEE!!" Even blocking my ears didn't really help much. But I got through it, and I was damn glad to get out. Then tonight I was sitting in the living room with Farz and Andre. Katie was making smoothies in the kitchen, which reminds me, blenders are LOUD. I don't think it could have been louder if she was making a smoothie of bricks and human bones. Anyway, I was trying to listen to a story Andre was telling. The guy tells great stories. I don't even remember what the hell he was talking about, because Farz was on the phone with Cynthia, talking about chem homework and I don't know if she was screaming into the phone or if I was just hypersensitive (both?) because all I could hear was stuff about numbers and moles. Then I would hear a snippet of Andre's voice, then something about an equation. I tried to look at Andre's mouth because I hear better when I can see the person's mouth moving, but I found it even more distracting and overwhelming to look at his face. So I focused on his shoulder, which as it turns out is kind of a common thing for me to do. Shoulders are close enough to the face so it almost counts as eye/face contact, but they don't have nearly as much visual information.

Anyway, once Andre was done talking to me, he and Kate started talking about something, and Farz kept talking, and I got so damn confused. It got to be way too much, so I sort of automatically got up and ran to my room, where I sat in the dark for awhile, holding my ears shut so I couldn't hear anything at all (good, because I imagine all three of them were making fun of me or wondering what the hell that was about). Meh. However, once everyone started talking calmly and one person at a time, I calmed down and was back to normal. Me-normal, that is. So "relatively normal" might be a better term.

However, this sound-sensitivity has its good points too. Lately I've been listening to Brandi Carlile's album "The Story." Let me just state that I am a SUCKER for good vocal harmonies. Let me state also that Brandi Carlile is the MASTER of the delicious vocal harmony. She is the master of a lot of other things too, like the vocal acrobatics and the gorgeous melodies and...okay, you get it. So I've spent quite awhile tonight listening to Brandi Carlile with headphones on and the volume way up (and my sense of hearing way up), just letting the music totally consume me. It's like an auditory orgasm. And then visual stuff comes in too, because when I close my eyes I see the colours of the music. I'm lucky that my synesthesia isn't too intense, because I think I would go insane, but I do like being able to sort of hear and feel colours.

Anyway, I was listening to the song "Again Today," rocking back and forth manically because that's just sort of what I do...and I'm rocking so hard (haha) that my headphones pop out of the jack. Brandi Carlile is screaming into the air and I'm in the middle of some kind of musical orgasm. I turned the music off and started freaking the hell out.

And then I wondered why I was freaking out.

And then I answered my question.

Those headphone-moments are...almost private. When I hear music through headphones, it's my own experience and I sort of fall into my own private world of me + music. But then to be yanked, quite literally, out of that world and into a world where everyone can hear my emotions--because music is a reflection of my emotions--is awfully jarring. I wasn't prepared for that. Even though I'm pretty sure it was only Kate who heard the two seconds of music before I turned it off. I wouldn't mind letting her into that private world of me + music, if she wanted to, but I need to be prepared for it!

Oh man. It's been...a day. A good day, actually, as these things go. Classes were boring as fuck but generally tolerable. Between classes I spent a lot of time at the Monroe County Public Library, and I ended up checking out 5 books, all of which should be hilarious. I like reading things that make me look like a crazy person because I'm laughing so much.

This is mostly because of my gender studies class from hell, but I am sick to death of film. Cinema. Movies. What-the-fuck-ever. My gender studies professor, who I'm sure is otherwise a very nice person, decided that it would be a good idea to morph a gender studies class into a film studies class simply because she felt like it. The class is "Gender, Sexuality, and Pop Culture." I didn't really care much during the first few weeks, other than the fact that all the reading was based on Freud's bullshit theories of psychoanalysis (Oedipus complex, castration anxiety...you know, the things that ABSOLUTELY NO ONE experiences). After a couple weeks of studying feminist film theory, I was sick of it and ready to move on to other facets of pop culture. Things like, oh I don't know, books? Music? Television? Advertising? Oh, wait. No. We diverted our attention to girlie-mags for about a week and then resumed studying film. Fucking hell. On Wednesday, I was so frustrated with the class that I actually cried about it that night. I feel like I'm missing the class that could have been. "Gender, Sexuality, and Pop Culture" sounds really cool and interesting. I figured we'd be analysing music lyrics, celebrities, literature, advertising and products, blah blah blah. Current stuff. You know, "pop" culture.

If I had wanted to take a fucking film studies course, I would have done just that. I didn't. I don't even really like movies. I don't want to fucking study them from a perspective that is bullshit in the first place.

And don't get me started on gender studies in general. There's a separate field of study called "women's studies." That's where blind feminism belongs, if anywhere. Gender studies should be more objective. I know the field was born out of the sexual revolution, blah blah blah, but we don't have to stay in the '70s, for fuck's sake. It's okay to move on to fairer, more enlightened points of view. Like...oh I don't know...gender equality. Not one sex over the other. Patriarchy is about male power and feminism is about female power. I propose a healthy medium.

Also, I propose that I stop ranting about that because who gives a shit? Not academia.

My favourite shirt felt itchy today, but only when I heard loud noises. That was disappointing and enlightening at the same time.

I'm experiencing a lot of intense emotions. There's a lot to be happy about and there are some things that I'm unhappy about. My mind is in about twelve trillion different places. All that emotion is confusing as hell. I never know what I'm feeling or even what I'm thinking about. All I know is that I'm feeling something, and it's intense. I'm not sure if I can handle it. "It's all too much," as George Harrison wrote.

I wish people would stop asking me to label my emotions. Happy. Upset. Angry. Who knows? Lately I've just been saying "frustrated" because I'm frustrated about not being able to answer the question "How are you feeling?" If I'm feeling good emotions, then I'll usually be able to say "I'm doing well" or "I'm excited" or whatever. "Excited" is kind of a standard response, whether or not I'm actually jumping for joy. Hell, sometimes I'm just excited to finally be in a good mood. Other times I'm excited because HOLY FUCK I GET TO SEE RENT TOMORROW! I keep forgetting that. It's true. I get to see Rent at the IU auditorium tomorrow night--tonight, technically--at 8pm. Oh, how...exciting!

So I'll end on that uplifting note. Wooooo Rent! Man, I'm tired. All this thinking and analyzing has really worn me out...or maybe I'm just getting a cold. Whichever. Goodnight.


P.S. Go listen to Brandi Carlile.

Otaku Jesus? Run for your fucking life.

Today I bought $5 worth of cheap Halloween candy at 75% off, which turned out to be enough candy to fill my standard trick-or-treat bag. So much less effort, technically cheaper ($5 is a lot less than what I would have paid for a Halloween costume), and this way I get to choose my candy. Also, I don't have to worry about feeling like an extortionist, because after all, that's what trick-or-treating is. One day of the year, children are allowed to run from house to house, demanding that their neighbours give them candy OR ELSE.

So, everybody wins.

I finally registered for Spring 2008 classes. It was a painful process. Tears were shed. You think I'm kidding. Eventually I settled on the following:

L490: Linguistic Structures
H212: some honors literature course
Z111: Music Theory
S312: Education and Society
Q299: some career planning course
X001: Orchestra for people who don't feel like auditioning for anything

It's all over the place, and I'm still not happy about it. I'm happy about music theory and sort of happy about Linguistic Structures (although the topic of the class is Japanese...can I just stress right now how much I HATE Japanese? All the irritating otaku kids at my high school ruined the entire Japanese culture for me).

I know that bit in parentheses sounded really awful, but I'm pissed, okay? Since when is it okay for a culture to be trendy? And why is it that all those Japanophile kids suddenly decided that just because they could trace manga, they were "artists"? Sure, Japanese-style animation is a valid art form and all, but if everything you draw looks like it came from a book of manga...that irritates me. Great, you're good at manga. Now let's see you draw something ELSE.

All manga/anime looks alike to me. And it all activates the "punch people in the genitals" part of my brain. Ugh. Can't stand it.

Soooo anyway. Things in general are okay. I'm still treading water, shall we say.

Last week, a man with a sign sat outside Woodburn Hall. His sign said something to the effect of "You're all going to hell," which naturally incited anger from students passing by. I mean, it's a little disconcerting to be happily on your way to class and then suddenly be told, out of the blue, that you are sure to burn in hell for eternity.

Anyway, I listened to the guy ramble on and on about sin and damnation. At one point, a kid asked him what he thought he was accomplishing by sitting out there making everyone mad. Evangelist Man replied, "Well, Jesus made people mad all the time."

Uh huh. But there's a crucial difference. Jesus preached about things like love and kindness. Jesus never yelled at a bunch of college kids that they were sure to burn in hell.

Seriously, dude, think about it. Assuming you actually have good intentions, you're hoping to show people the light, right? You aren't going to do it by yelling about hellfire and damnation. You'll only either piss people off or scare them. I guess maybe he was thinking he'd scare people into believing. That doesn't count. At all.

I've officially lost track of what I was saying or thinking. So...I'm going to go listen to The Smiths some more. That's what my life has come to.