Math 235.
After high school Clara swore she'd never take another math class again. Now here she was. This time she actually snuck in to this class. In! The ideals she was now compromising now needed to be counted on more than one hand.
Clara picked Math 235 because it was Dustin's last class for the day and if she was able to make contact with him she could work something out with him over the course of several hours. Of course she could have just planned on the ten minute break between economics and Math 235. Getting a scandalous polaroid with him at that time would have been public, difficult and stressful, but at least it would be over with. Now, with all the time on her hands she's guaranteed a few hours of excruciation.
She shouldn't have picked Math 235.
The class contained 15 people and she was the only girl. Surely in the 21st century girls were learning math by now? Apparently not. College math classes must be like our present-day Elk's Club. She didn't think it would be an issue in these enlightened times, but she wasn't being very low-key. Perhaps glasses would help. At least nobody minded she was there (or all the math skills in the world can't help anyone kick someone out of a math class).
She spotted him shortly before class started. That left 50 minutes of looking down into a math book while the professor supposedly spoke about what lies therein. The only thing left to do would be to wait until he walked out and make a very distinct observation as to whether he wandered out to the right or to the left.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
father's day
I never knew my dad and it's not even sad.
Growing up, people thought it was sad, but they didn't really put themselves in my position. How could I miss something I never had in the first place? Having a father wasn't normal for me. For the first 20 years or so, my father was nothing.
Like the protection grid from Ghost Busters failing, Darth Vader and Hamlet's dad (hey, I'm totally Danish -- plus I have this incredibly Hamlet-like ability for inaction); eventually the ghost of my father became more powerful. Somehow, I don't know how -- maybe there's something weird happening from the grave -- but the influence of my dad is more a part of me now than when I was a kid. Maybe living a longer life gives me more of a chance to evaluate how much I've either disappointed or impressed the guy.
Today, out of nowhere, I get an email from my mom (which was actually dated a few days ago, but I hadn't checked my email in a few days) telling me how much I'm like my dad in my compassion, intelligence and sense of humor -- three things I would expect are more learned traits than hereditary. So much of me is programmed by genetics. Half of me I never knew and the other half I don't relate to very well.
I wonder if I could ever be as personally compassionate as Dad apparently was. I remember reading in two separate issues of Rolling Stone about the personal lives of Bob Marley and John Lennon. Apparently, while the two men were outwardly and publicly huge and obvious advocates of peace and love, the family members close to them found them surprisingly surly and unaffectionate. I'm usually that way. Broad ideals that I'm annoyed at others for not following, but have difficulty living them myself.
I make no secret that I spend my days watching Netflix streaming and DVDs while checking my Twitter feed. Today, on Twitter, I found a surprisingly touching comical video on CollegeHumor.com that's about how we view our fathers as we get older. Right after that I resumed my Netflix Family Ties watching and it was the episode where they stay at Steven's mom's house and Steven suffers guilt memories for not getting along with his dad when he was a kid. After that I resumed my Babylon 5 DVD watching where the station doctor tries to patch things up with his military father who was the black guy who got the ear worms in Star Trek II.
It's like Strange Brew. My dad is like Pam's dad in that movie (which is also a remake of Hamlet if you think about it). He's a ghost who controls the technology in her life (probably because he was electrocuted (but it's probably not best to overthink Strange Brew)).
I guess you're still there somewhere, Dad. For most of the past 30 years -- I'm sorry. But thank you. I don't know the specifics or the science, but what you've given me is invaluable.
Growing up, people thought it was sad, but they didn't really put themselves in my position. How could I miss something I never had in the first place? Having a father wasn't normal for me. For the first 20 years or so, my father was nothing.
Like the protection grid from Ghost Busters failing, Darth Vader and Hamlet's dad (hey, I'm totally Danish -- plus I have this incredibly Hamlet-like ability for inaction); eventually the ghost of my father became more powerful. Somehow, I don't know how -- maybe there's something weird happening from the grave -- but the influence of my dad is more a part of me now than when I was a kid. Maybe living a longer life gives me more of a chance to evaluate how much I've either disappointed or impressed the guy.
Today, out of nowhere, I get an email from my mom (which was actually dated a few days ago, but I hadn't checked my email in a few days) telling me how much I'm like my dad in my compassion, intelligence and sense of humor -- three things I would expect are more learned traits than hereditary. So much of me is programmed by genetics. Half of me I never knew and the other half I don't relate to very well.
I wonder if I could ever be as personally compassionate as Dad apparently was. I remember reading in two separate issues of Rolling Stone about the personal lives of Bob Marley and John Lennon. Apparently, while the two men were outwardly and publicly huge and obvious advocates of peace and love, the family members close to them found them surprisingly surly and unaffectionate. I'm usually that way. Broad ideals that I'm annoyed at others for not following, but have difficulty living them myself.
I make no secret that I spend my days watching Netflix streaming and DVDs while checking my Twitter feed. Today, on Twitter, I found a surprisingly touching comical video on CollegeHumor.com that's about how we view our fathers as we get older. Right after that I resumed my Netflix Family Ties watching and it was the episode where they stay at Steven's mom's house and Steven suffers guilt memories for not getting along with his dad when he was a kid. After that I resumed my Babylon 5 DVD watching where the station doctor tries to patch things up with his military father who was the black guy who got the ear worms in Star Trek II.
It's like Strange Brew. My dad is like Pam's dad in that movie (which is also a remake of Hamlet if you think about it). He's a ghost who controls the technology in her life (probably because he was electrocuted (but it's probably not best to overthink Strange Brew)).
I guess you're still there somewhere, Dad. For most of the past 30 years -- I'm sorry. But thank you. I don't know the specifics or the science, but what you've given me is invaluable.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
crimes and misdemeanors
The thought occurs to me that there are really three types of people you can relate to in Crimes and Misdemeanors.
First, there's the one I relate to -- the Woody Allen character. He's filled with weaknesses, but basically good. He has a hope that if he holds onto his ideals (no matter how worthless they actually are) the universe will reward him. The universe actually rewards him just a little.
Second, there's the Alan Alda character. He's the one who is a realist, so he has no qualms about taking advantage of life whenever possible. You only go around once, so you should do whatever it takes to be successful in others' eyes so you can achieve greatness in the world and in wealth. The universe rewards him tremendously.
I am not including Martin Landau's character as one of the relatable ones. Hopefully we don't relate to him (but the whole movie tragically illustrates that we very easily can).
The final character in this comparison is Sam Waterston's character. He is perfectly moral. he knows there is a moral code in the universe, and beyond that, he knows his happiness is directly related to how well he lives by this code. The universe punishes him horribly.
I definitely relate to the Woody Allen character. I don't work for my success like the Alan Alda character, yet I feel I deserve more than I have. I don't suffer the misfortune of the Sam Waterston character. I don't deserve to have the honor of suffering for what I believe in.
First, there's the one I relate to -- the Woody Allen character. He's filled with weaknesses, but basically good. He has a hope that if he holds onto his ideals (no matter how worthless they actually are) the universe will reward him. The universe actually rewards him just a little.
Second, there's the Alan Alda character. He's the one who is a realist, so he has no qualms about taking advantage of life whenever possible. You only go around once, so you should do whatever it takes to be successful in others' eyes so you can achieve greatness in the world and in wealth. The universe rewards him tremendously.
I am not including Martin Landau's character as one of the relatable ones. Hopefully we don't relate to him (but the whole movie tragically illustrates that we very easily can).
The final character in this comparison is Sam Waterston's character. He is perfectly moral. he knows there is a moral code in the universe, and beyond that, he knows his happiness is directly related to how well he lives by this code. The universe punishes him horribly.
I definitely relate to the Woody Allen character. I don't work for my success like the Alan Alda character, yet I feel I deserve more than I have. I don't suffer the misfortune of the Sam Waterston character. I don't deserve to have the honor of suffering for what I believe in.
Monday, August 29, 2011
fake college romance story pt. 4
Clara wanted to enjoy this and not feel too cheap.
She wasn't about to give him a sultry "come hither" face -- not without cracking up anyway. That's right out. If anything, having fun with this would be a "meet cute" as she heard they sometimes say during movie production executive meetings. Audiences liked seeing couples meet in an unusual way that leads to their getting together. Clara always wanted a meet cute of her own, even if it was the most insincere thing she's ever done.
She snickered almost sadly to herself when she realized she ought to be calling it her "meat cute." So far her only plan was objectifying herself.
Well, if she was going to meet him, she'd better find him.
First, the internet stalking. According to his student account, his connected website appeared as his blog. http://dustinwhittacre.blogspot.com/. Ha. She didn't even need student access to get that prime stalking nugget. Of course this isn't some Al Qaida spy. He's just some nerd with internet access. May as well make it as obvious as possible.
Clara typed in the URL. Bingo. A list of his class schedule. This guy actually posts his class schedule on his blog. Clara surmised he must be a screaming wallflower.
Good. Now this debacle could be solved in the less-shame-filled sunlight. Easy. She just had to meet the guy and then get his or her clothes off.
Her mind sighed. Why was she doing this again?
She wasn't about to give him a sultry "come hither" face -- not without cracking up anyway. That's right out. If anything, having fun with this would be a "meet cute" as she heard they sometimes say during movie production executive meetings. Audiences liked seeing couples meet in an unusual way that leads to their getting together. Clara always wanted a meet cute of her own, even if it was the most insincere thing she's ever done.
She snickered almost sadly to herself when she realized she ought to be calling it her "meat cute." So far her only plan was objectifying herself.
Well, if she was going to meet him, she'd better find him.
First, the internet stalking. According to his student account, his connected website appeared as his blog. http://dustinwhittacre.blogspot.com/. Ha. She didn't even need student access to get that prime stalking nugget. Of course this isn't some Al Qaida spy. He's just some nerd with internet access. May as well make it as obvious as possible.
Clara typed in the URL. Bingo. A list of his class schedule. This guy actually posts his class schedule on his blog. Clara surmised he must be a screaming wallflower.
Good. Now this debacle could be solved in the less-shame-filled sunlight. Easy. She just had to meet the guy and then get his or her clothes off.
Her mind sighed. Why was she doing this again?
Sunday, August 28, 2011
The Internet is acting real screwy.
Sigh. I suppose I'll us that as an excuse to save my anger for the moment. Things are usually angry or sideways and often both at once, but let's just say there's none of that and nothing to say.
I'm still upholding so many days in a row of writing in this. Yay me.
Sigh. I suppose I'll us that as an excuse to save my anger for the moment. Things are usually angry or sideways and often both at once, but let's just say there's none of that and nothing to say.
I'm still upholding so many days in a row of writing in this. Yay me.
fake college romance story pt. 3
Actually, never mind. Her mother wouldn't be happy. Clara was going to seduce Dustin Whittacre -- or rather just prove she did.
It wasn't about him though. She just couldn't walk away and give the sorority queens a safe assumption that she just didn't have what it takes. The rules certainly weren't fair. This whole production was base and demeaning. If she didn't participate, that was certainly the reason and Clara knew it; but Sabrina, Sandra and Lisa didn't. If, during the next four years Clara ever passed one of them on campus, their eyes would meet and Clara would see the slight smirk on the other girl's face that would vividly say "you were defeated."
Now, Clara was going to win. None of them would be able to smirk at her. Dustin would be in the way, but Clara knew that when this was over, he certainly wouldn't mind getting caught in the middle. She was going to show him good, show up these bitches and then... become best friends forever with them. Girling doesn't always make sense.
Dustin. The guy looked like he subscribed to Asthma Quarterly. Under normal circumstances, an ounce of attention from her would make Dustin's year. These circumstances were abnormal. Even though the guy's a pariah, he'd be getting lots of attempted play whether he wanted to or not.
Clara has never considered herself vain. Her appearance, while appealing, has never been a major priority in her day to day life. She hated doing it now, but Clara actually went superficial for a few minutes and actually took stock in her appearance. Guilty endorphins went through her system as she looked in the mirror. Not bad. The freshman fifteen hadn't begun to hit yet and the summer before college started was filled with activity. Clara actually giggled and posed seductively before composing herself back into her normal self. She'd be mortified if someone walked in on her acting like that -- and not just because she was in her underwear at the time. Sheesh. If she walked in on herself in that state she'd probably punch herself in the face. On the bright side though, Dustin would be helpless.
It wasn't about him though. She just couldn't walk away and give the sorority queens a safe assumption that she just didn't have what it takes. The rules certainly weren't fair. This whole production was base and demeaning. If she didn't participate, that was certainly the reason and Clara knew it; but Sabrina, Sandra and Lisa didn't. If, during the next four years Clara ever passed one of them on campus, their eyes would meet and Clara would see the slight smirk on the other girl's face that would vividly say "you were defeated."
Now, Clara was going to win. None of them would be able to smirk at her. Dustin would be in the way, but Clara knew that when this was over, he certainly wouldn't mind getting caught in the middle. She was going to show him good, show up these bitches and then... become best friends forever with them. Girling doesn't always make sense.
Dustin. The guy looked like he subscribed to Asthma Quarterly. Under normal circumstances, an ounce of attention from her would make Dustin's year. These circumstances were abnormal. Even though the guy's a pariah, he'd be getting lots of attempted play whether he wanted to or not.
Clara has never considered herself vain. Her appearance, while appealing, has never been a major priority in her day to day life. She hated doing it now, but Clara actually went superficial for a few minutes and actually took stock in her appearance. Guilty endorphins went through her system as she looked in the mirror. Not bad. The freshman fifteen hadn't begun to hit yet and the summer before college started was filled with activity. Clara actually giggled and posed seductively before composing herself back into her normal self. She'd be mortified if someone walked in on her acting like that -- and not just because she was in her underwear at the time. Sheesh. If she walked in on herself in that state she'd probably punch herself in the face. On the bright side though, Dustin would be helpless.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
traxspotting relapse
I just finished eating a meal at Carl's Jr. again.
I don't feel well.
Last time I mentioned eating there, I neglected to say something on my mind. I have recently been told by two very separate beautiful women that our bodies actually tell us what we want. Every once in a while, our bodies crave a burger or something because that's exactly what's needed at the time. It makes sense of course, but they've never told me the difference between our bodies telling us the difference between want and need.
Sometimes we need a burger. Sometimes we need a candy bar. I think our bodies tell us that in the same way it says it needs alcohol or heroin. Ladies please, tell me how you know the difference.
As usual, let's take this further. What's the difference between a human relationship you need and a human relationship you want? What's the difference in feeling? Just like eating at Carl's Jr., mistakes can be made.
I don't know if it's the body or soul that decides. I'd love to hack that code. I should be your mistake.
***
Part 3 of the fake college romance is on its way.
I don't feel well.
Last time I mentioned eating there, I neglected to say something on my mind. I have recently been told by two very separate beautiful women that our bodies actually tell us what we want. Every once in a while, our bodies crave a burger or something because that's exactly what's needed at the time. It makes sense of course, but they've never told me the difference between our bodies telling us the difference between want and need.
Sometimes we need a burger. Sometimes we need a candy bar. I think our bodies tell us that in the same way it says it needs alcohol or heroin. Ladies please, tell me how you know the difference.
As usual, let's take this further. What's the difference between a human relationship you need and a human relationship you want? What's the difference in feeling? Just like eating at Carl's Jr., mistakes can be made.
I don't know if it's the body or soul that decides. I'd love to hack that code. I should be your mistake.
***
Part 3 of the fake college romance is on its way.
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