Rainy, dreary, beautiful day

    It rained all day. It's still raining now and probably will most of the of the night, on and off. This was the most beautiful rain I could ever ask for. There's a certain quality about the weather that heightened every possible sense. The soft drab gray sky and mist only accentuated the green trees and red bricks. Dead leaves and worms also start to release their odors on these sorts of days; all smells seem to mix in with the water and spread everywhere. Sounds become more vivid too; the clouds form an acoustic ceiling reflecting and concentrating the sounds of traffic, airplanes, and of course thunder. Last, but far from least, the feeling of raindrops, today only tiny beads of mist, tickle and chill my skin. This sort of day is the peak of prolonged physical pleasure. I'm not exactly poetic about it, but this was really the most beautiful day I've seen since I've moved here. There's nothing else I have to say for today. Just that it was beautiful.

First day of work

    For the one or two of you following this to check up on my studies, I did go to class and it was still a bit of a waste of time. After a certain number of weeks race discussion kind of boils down to the same four or five arguments sequentially invalidating each other, like rock-paper-scissors. In turn I basically have nothing original to do and certainly no hope for infallibility. By the end of the semester at least I might come up with something brilliant and original, but for my first paper (due on Thursday) I'm just writing off of the suggested topics list.
    After class I was just sitting outside of Simons waiting until I could begin work, and Robert came and offered to buy me lunch so I wouldn't be working empty. I really hate being broke right now. I really appreciate the favors but I feel so in debt. At least we're all friends and there's nothing formal and nobody keeping score. I really appreciated him doing that much, I felt really good having some meat in my system for the day.
    Well, I got to work exactly on time, and got on board immediately cleaning the shop. For those who didn't know (I can't imagine who since everyone who reads this is friends with me on Facebook), I work for the Theater department in the scene shop. It's a really nice workshop with lots of nice saws. I feel really comfortable there; there's not always enough work for me to perfectly squeeze in, but everyone's pretty relaxed and when there is work it's fun stuff that involves power tools in some capacity. My first job after helping clean up a bit was to cut out a set decoration with a jigsaw. I've never used a jigsaw before, and my cut wasn't perfect, but it was really fun and felt good to use.
    After that, I slept, and when I woke up, tried to help Robert put up his wall again. turns out that he didn't bring the staple gun because of something I said. Confusion sucks. We tried tape, it failed, we gave up.

Today was too long

    Social events, I have decided, are not my thing.
    I skipped my 5'o'clock class to go to an Anthropology department potluck. I hadn't skipped that class so far and I was hungry for something that wasn't variations on rice. Unfortunately for me, rice is the staple grain of billions of people in hundreds of cultures, so a proportionate amount of the food served was variations on rice, even if much better than what I can make. One of them even had cinnamon and was sweet, and another was almost a stew with spinach. I scarfed the whole buffet indiscriminately. It all tasted good.
    After that I went to see Toy Story 3 with Alex and Mary. Alex didn't know Mary and I were coming, but he gladly wedged himself between us in the seats. I doubt there was any though into it, and I don't care who sits next to whom since I was going to just watch the show, but I was really offended that he went ahead an butted in like that. Not that he butted into our group, no, we went to him, but when we went to sit down he directly separated me from my original company.
    Back at home, more writing, more slacking, a few conversations.

More of a continuation than a standalone entry

    So I slept in most of the weekend. I wrote and played games too (especially Syberia and Psychonauts), but mostly slept. Must have been exhausted. Anyway, since this is more about my life experiences and thoughts than videogame criticisms, I'll spare you my self-indulgence and spread a little of something I know you'll all love: Hate for anime nerds.
    First, to clarify, I don't hate anime nerds. Anime is actually pretty great, and if you care, a few of my favorites are Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann, The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, Metropolis, and almost everything by Studio Ghibli and Studio 4°C. TV shows aren't generally my thing, so if I do watch a show it's usually just a one or two season thing, like FLCL or Death Note. And nerds are really excellent too. Even the most obnoxious guy with a Eureka 7 shirt I've met has been completely friendly, if a bit loud. No, the disdain is for one very specific subgroup of anime nerds: Women.
    Again, this is just a generalization that honestly only pertains to the vocal minority, but loud they are indeed. Somewhere on the intersection of feminine insecurity and social rejection rests this seemingly benign group of long-haired, bespectacled women with plain faces and a slight hunch who are absolutely revolted by any deviation from their ideal conditions. Naturally the world is by design less than ideal, so these ladies are always wearing some sort of sneer, but when something specifically irks them, however benign, they explode like someone just tried to eat their children.
    I'm no regular member, but every so often I like to show up for the anime club here at the College. Every Friday at 7 in Stern 206 we gather and watch whatever show the club officers think would be fun at the time. Although the purists insist on watching with Japanese audio and subtitles, it's still a really relaxed event, and it's fun because instead of getting really engrossed in the shows, we all make fun of how incredibly stupid the stories and characters are. It's a perfect immediate and involved experience; everyone can join and shout out, and you'll always get laughs if you do.
    But back to those women I mentioned before, they're always lurking in the front rows (because they're too hunched and short to see over people), waiting to scream at the audience if they get a little too loud for their liking, grumbling and groaning through every witty quip and comeback. This Friday in particular, before the meeting started everyone was playing around with Nerf guns, shooting windows and quoting movies while aiming at each other. Nobody shot each other, even with the foam bullets, but it was still fun. Until someone decided to aim his Nerf revolver at one of the club officers, who went into conniptions and threatened to throw him out of the club if he dared shoot anywhere near her and put the entire left side of the room in a bit of a nervous mood.
    The attitude extends outside of club hours. In fact, some of the well-behaved ladies in the club transform into irritable bitches the other six days of the week. My first encounter with this personality at this school was a while before the club even started meeting. This particular character seemed nice at first; a little self-deprecating and awkward, but me and my friends started encountering a nasty pattern. She was a complainer, which wasn't a problem in itself, but oh, whenever anyone offered help, or advice, she got furious. She was grown up, she would shout, and she doesn't need anybody patronizing her or acting like they're better at anything. Her insecurity was astounding.
    Now, aside from encountering this at the anime club, there isn't any immediate reason for me to specifically associate this attitude with anime nerds. It seems like anybody with mommy issues and a social stigma could be an überbitch. True, but there's two specific reasons I do. First, again because I've experienced this almost exclusively with anime nerds, and second, because anime seems to glorify this behavior. If you've watch FLCL, Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, or the show we watched this Friday, Toradora, you've seen what I'm talking about. Absolutely maniacally ungrateful and angry women with distorted perceptions of reality, and most of all no social tact. In the shows it's funny: Tiny, nearly insignificant little girls manage to coerce a small army under their whimsical command. In real life, it's disgusting. Unattractive girls lash out at innocent fun and well-intentioned help.
    Anyway, even with some enormous bitches venting hot air into the room, the anime club is still a lot of fun, and I recommend coming. If you show up a little early, a lot of the members get together to play Uno or Magic: The Gathering, and most of them are just fun to talk to anyway. The most you have to lose is a half-hour before you can decide definitively if it's fun for you or leave. Fridays at 7 in Stern 206. Be there.

Some people wash the dishes to put off the laundry

    I came to a revelation about myself today. Class got out early, so I was just sitting around waiting for my next class to start, and I started doodling. I like to draw, but I never do, because lately it's been hyped up as a big responsibility. I need to draw everyday so I can refine my skill so I can illustrate. It's very very important. I have to illustrate. I must, and it's urgent, because I like to. Feeling duty-bound to enjoy myself really takes the fun out of it, so I don't. But now, I was sitting around, goofing off, thinking about all the important papers I need to be writing, so I decided it'd be more fun to draw people instead. I've concluded by now that, left to my own devices, I'm not exactly professional artist material (maybe with formal training I could be), but for my own purposes I sure ain't bad at it. Anyway, the big revelation was this: I'm lazy. And not even in terms of work ethic, no, this is a personality trait. Working's no fun; I won't do anything except for pleasure. So getting this idea worked up in my head that I have a duty to myself to draw or write regularly is doing nothing for me. Everything worthwhile I do is to avoid something that isn't fun. I remember in high school, I thought my biology class was so boring, so I ignored the class and read ahead in the book. I may have failed the class, but I learned a lot about how immensely cool fungus is, and I still got accepted into every college I applied to, so clearly I gained more than I lost.
    A lot of what I'm saying people already know. They use it on children as a super-effective reverse psychology. But I still need a little reminder every once in a while, to chill out and enjoy my fun, and most of all slack off. That said, I'm getting tired of writing this. I'm going to go write my paper on the crusades instead.

The legend of the Cel-Ray

    I had a hankering for a milkshake. I don't know what came over me. Probably some sort of misinterpreted malnutrition combined with nostalgia for readily-available junk food that came with living in college. Whatever it was, an uncontrollable desire for milkshake took hold of me, so I collected what little cash I had and headed out.
    Suddenly, as I walked out the door and the warm air hit me, the milkshake that had been haunting my appetite transformed into a hot dog. Every other day I walk by the hot dog stand on the way to class, and each time I hold my wallet close and walk on, knowing that the two dollars cash I have to serve a higher purpose and if I saved it I wouldn't be sorry. My foresight finally payed off, it seemed, until I approached the hot dog stand's regular territory on Glebe St. Empty. It hadn't occurred to me, but apparently the stand isn't on campus on Thursdays, least not as far as I found.
    My stomach panicked. As far as it was concerned, there was only one thing left on earth that could satiate me was a hot dog from that stand. I'm completely sure there's lot of hot dog places around town, but in my mind there was only one place that would do. I started to wander around, barefoot in the heat (because I always take off my shoes when my plans are foiled), wondering what to do.
    Then, while I was walking east down Wentworth, I slowly recalled the original purpose of my quest. A milkshake! But this provided an even worse problem than I had thought about when I stepped out the door: Not only do I have no idea where one can buy a milkshake in Charleston, let alone where for under two dollars. Some dazed mental detective work told me, however, that the last time my family visited, we passed some fast food joints on Meeting. Maybe, just maybe, if I head far enough north I'll find something.
    Walking the length of the peninsula isn't exactly an odyssey, but it's still a good long stroll, especially when you don't know how far you're going and your body is whining for sweets. Somewhere past Mary there was a pulverized dead animal on the side of the road, and I remember thinking it smelled really good. I also noticed I was talking to myself in the weirdest accent. Obviously I was going crazy so I started walking a little faster to get wherever the food was sooner.
    This may come across as a bit racialist but something became immediately apparent when I finally did find the restaurants I remembered. The moment I saw Church's Chicken across the road from KFC, I realized that everyone around me was black. As far as I'm concerned, race is an artificial distinction, but clearly my ideals don't pertain to Charleston. This was seriously the black neighborhood. But anyway, looking into the horizon, there was nothing else in sight, so I knew I wouldn't be getting my milkshake today.
    Walking back was a bit facepalm "duh" moment for me. When I got to Spring, I noticed I was next to a nice big Piggly Wiggly. I live a bit off Morris and all this time I've been shopping at Harris Teeter because I thought it was the closest grocery store. Well whatever. I'm big on the pig so I decided to at least go in and get myself one of those cards they give out to customers. The Pig Card, it's called in their case. Well, once I was in there it seemed like a good idea to at least look for some ice cream, which is pretty close to milkshakes, but nothing was particularly cheap so I was about to go until something amazing caught my eye. Hidden in an odd shelf between beer, salmon fillets, and Swiss cheese, sat a nice little display of Dr. Brown's sodas, and at the very bottom was a brilliant product I had never heard of before: Dr. Brown's Cel-Ray celery soda. Even as my body still longed for either a hot dog or a milkshake, my pride couldn't let me leave the store without purchasing this odd new find. No flavor, no matter how vegetable, can challenge my adventurous sense of culinary courage, so I forfeited my two dollars and bought a can of Cel-Ray and some cream soda I love.
    If you want to try it, it's not bad. It's weird, kind of like a sugar-coated salad, but it is a soda and it's not like there's any textural issue. It's just celery flavored water except really sweet. There's probably some sort of cultural aspect about it that I don't get, but to me it's just another too-sugary drink. On the other hand, it has opened me up to the possibilities of celery seed flavor. If I ever work up the income to cook regularly I'll have to try it.

    Not much else happened today. I studied and worked on my papers, and attended a presentation on Jews in the Roman empire for extra credit. I noticed that they had open bottles of wine for you to serve yourself, and after the fact I was kind of ashamed of myself for not taking some. Yuki also attended the presentation and we agreed that the entire presentation was kind of silly and didn't really express its point very well, even if it was well supported.

    Finally, while I was at the presentation, Robert made a video. It's so brilliant I'm actually going to share it here.

Little to-do about little to do about

    I've been having vivid dreams lately. Last night I had two in particular that stand out in my memory. In the first one, I was in a raft with two young women, floating in a calm lake. One of them wanted to play, and asked me to spin her by her ankles and fling her in the water. Although we were just on a raft, it wasn't hard to stand up and run about the boat without throwing it off balance, so I grabbed her and started to spin. But then, as I was gaining speed and she started shouting with glee, the water began to fill with fish and the water became rough and we started to get tossed around. The water began to boil red and swarms of fish started to swirl around the raft. She asked me to let go and throw her into the water, but I instead dropped her into the raft and tried to protect them.
    The next dream I had I was in a house alone with another woman, a strange but familiar amalgamation of several different girls I knew through high school. The house was falling apart, and water was pouring in everywhere; there was an inch of chilly water covering the floor and pouring down the staircase. Outside we could hear tanks and artillery fire, destroying the house with us inside. But she wasn't afraid, and we took each others hands and. . . Played mancala. And I don't mean that as an obscure sexual innuendo. We played mancala. I don't even know how to play.
    I didn't actually tell you my dreams to make some sort of symbolic point. I wish they had an obvious symbolic point; as far as I could tell they were just totally arbitrary subconscious nonsense. I just thought it would be fun to tell you so you could throw out your interpretations and tell me what's going on in my life.
    Anyway.
    Once again my school day was regrettably incomplete, thanks to my rice cooker which inexplicably failed to turn on when I went in the other room for 20 minutes. Without my lunch, I'm useless, so I ended up opting out of my first afternoon class again. I feel really bad for it, but at least I had lunch.
    On the other hand, if you consider what I actually had for lunch, you might think I would have been better off skipping. I'm not sure if I can entirely disagree with that sentiment. I made a pot of rice, with just enough soy sauce added to keep from boiling over, then melted in a slice of Swiss cheese, and mixed the concoction with marinara sauce. The end product was not unlike lasagna, and even if it won't win any culinary prizes, I still give myself kudos for inventing yet another alternative college meal. This morning was similarly inventive; I had cream cheese on my toaster waffles with lemongrass green tea. My diet has become paradoxically diverse and imbalanced at the same time. So far all the normal side-effects of a new diet haven't struck, which is slightly worrisome for what it implies about my normal diet.
    In my World History class today, we almost managed to get to the ancient Greeks again. We briefly covered the collapse of the Minoan civilization, and discussed the Mycenaeans and their collapse. One young woman in our class argued that because of the nature of the Minoans, with condensed cities and constant trade with other nations, they likely succumbed to disease, and showed how a particular Minoan fresco could symbolize this. While we all generally agreed that was a fair possibility, although there isn't specifically evidence supporting it, Dr. Piccione explained that her interpretation of the fresco was invalid in light of other information, specifically that the fresco that she was showing was only an incomplete portion of a wall-sized painting, and that it was painted several centuries before the Minoans disappeared. Unfortunately, there's a lot of antagonism against this particular student in the class, and she got very upset and ranted for the validity of her points.
    Although she is very stubborn and insecure about being wrong, I love to hear her arguments. She's the only person who really argues with the class material at all, and really does bring up legitimate issues that wouldn't otherwise be covered by the course. Unfortunately, most of the other students can't see past the bitterness, and everyone laughs behind her back like she's the biggest jackass on campus. She's wrong, a lot, I agree. She weighs too much importance on realistically trivial factors and puts far too much stock in the validity of her speculation. But dammit she still asks in the first place. The best anyone else does is know the material ahead of time, which is intellectually meaningless. Well, to give myself credit, I like to argue with the professor's more presumptuous statements in my head, but I just don't bring them up in class because we're still about two and a half millennia separated from the crusades and we only have four classes left. I'd like it to be as speedy as possible.