When I’m curious about the temperature outside, I don’t go outside. I don’t check a thermometer. I don’t ask anyone, because usually no one else has been outside or they give me some bunk answer like it’s raining wet naps or something. Nay, none of these actions take I, for I look online. The alienation starts here.
Hmm. According to this website the weather is not optimized for my lifestyle. Well shucks then, what is?
The bulk of Jazz Tour happened today with shows at Hermantown, Esko and Central. Exhaustion and missed classes notwithstanding, it was a fun time. Unfortunately my manner of dress was a bit casual compared to the other band members… short sleeved polyester and Converse All-Stars versus dress shirts and dress shoes. Apparently my manners themselves were also too casual, as Ryan Frane half-jokingly said that I almost got booted from the band for some of my actions. My “boxers vs. briefs” answer, for example. A girl has asked why the alto saxophonists kept their instruments between their legs rather than on their right side, as she was used to seeing.
“What was wrong with that?” I asked. “It was clearly a comfort thing.” To which Ryan said it was only one of many examples. Perhaps he was upset by urban spelunking at Subway, or our desire to play on the tire swings in Hermantown, or playing hacky-sack with some high school kids at Central, or heckling the kid that had many bleached, two foot spikes for hair. All I did was compliment him, but I think I ruined his life in the process.
“Dammit, people aren’t supposed to think my hair is cool. They’re supposed to hate it and get angry and scared, and then I can start yelling about how I’m my own person and screw what they think and fuck the man who keeps me down and you’re just a tool with a tool haircut for your tool job and Mom can I borrow the car.”
He’s gonna go right home and chisel that hair off. The band Rancid will never sound the same to him again.
I’m registering for classes, and all the ones I need to take fall between 11:00 and 1:00 with great amounts of overlapping. If I had clones I could easily shove 20 credits worth of class into two hours’ time and graduate. But all my clones ended up super intelligent and built a hyperspace craft to go conquer distant galaxies, swoon their women and watch their cartoons. So I’m stuck here, trying to lay out a piecemeal schedule that will not guarantee my timely graduation in five years. I don’t understand. Why are all upper-division philosophy classes offered at the exact same time? All composition classes? The journalism department seems to be the only one that has figured out a schedule-friendly juggling system, and they have classes spread from here to next Tuesday over in Andromeda. But even they are a bit extreme, for I have an 8:00 Journalism, no class until the 11:00 mess, and a journalistic sore thumb sticking out at 3:00. There will be very little snuggling going on next spring, it appears. Maybe it won’t be as bad as I think.
Our garbage is overflowing, but we don’t have any extra garbage bags so no one has taken it out yet. It smells pretty bad, as the spoils of our Sunday grilling are still buried somewhere in the depths. I threw in some overripe bananas to try and freshen things up.