Bellatrix Lestrange

In my infinite wisdom while selecting classes for my last semester of my undergraduate career, I decided to take a class that was fun, relevant, and beneficial to my professional development. The decision was a good one, the execution was not. Several months later, I am stuck in CAMS3242W - Greek and Roman Drama - a writing course with Maria Noussia. My reasoning for taking the class was that I needed another writing course on my transcript to graduate, and I enjoy Roman history. In hindsight, that was some shit logic. Roman history is NOT Greek and Roman Drama.

Let me break down the class for you. The class contains about 15 students, only about 8 of which show up to class on any regular basis. About 10 of those students are actually Classics major. In other words, this class is their bread and butter. As a 3000 level course, it's sort of assumed that you have the background knowledge necessary to intelligently contribute in this class. The 10 classics majors clearly have that background, and I clearly do not. I have become THAT kid that always says the most obvious things that no one mentioned before me because they thought it wasn't even worth mentioning. We're expected to relate the metaphors in the reading to other myths and aspects of Athenian culture and lifestyle. The only thing I remember about Greek history is from freshman year of high school in my world civilization class. Needless to say, I feel like that fork that just got sucked into the garbage disposal--Even if I eventually find my way out, I'm just going to end up in the trash anyway--.

Also, No useless writing course would be complete without a Jesus lookalike. I wish I had a picture, but when you think Jesus, you think this kid. He has a righteous beard that he has clearly been growing since birth, and even talks in a soothing voice that makes me want to go to church for the first time in 8 years. He can't buy the books from the bookstore like the rest of us either, he comes in with all these ancient looking manuscripts that he probably got from the Library of Alexandria during his travels doing missionary work.

One other interesting feature of the class is this kid, Arthur. I don't think I can name anyone named Arthur that can be considered 'Normal', and this kid is no exception. I'll just start off with an example for this one. A couple weeks ago, we started a new play in class (Euripides' Medea). Since I've been using a 'pay as I go' methodology for book buying, I didn't have it yet. I excused myself to the "bathroom" and ran to the co-op and dropped a solid $12.87 on the book. When I got back to class around 12:58 (class starts at 12:30), there's Arthur, just standing there reading in the hallway. "Uhhhh... Hey Arthur, what are you doing?" and I wish textual representation could do this kids voice justice, but it just can't. He talks in this really soft, VERY slow drawl that barely qualifies as human speech. "Welllllll, I'mmm justt waiiittinggg for classss to start." Apparently the stupified look on my face didn't trigger anything in his brain, so I just responded with a curt,

"What?!"

No response to that either. So I continued, "Class started a half hour ago. Let's go." I strutted back into the classroom with Arthur in tow. I got that look like, "Where the hell have you been?" so I responded before anyone asked, "Don't worry, I found Arthur, he was just holding down the fort in the hallway."

To summarize, I am an absolute misfit in a class that is way over my head in terms of literature and necessary prerequisites. OH YEA! AND MY PROFESSOR IS BELLATRIX LESTRANGE.



BOOM! You don't even need to use your imagination.

Karma

I've always enjoyed the idea of 'karma'. The idea that doing something good will yield dividends is a comforting one. Well yesterday it paid off.

I made a trip to CVS yesterday just to pick up the essentials : Febreeze and Pepsi Max. I picked out all the stuff I needed and got in line. There was only one old man in front of man and I figured it would go quick. Things took a turn when the old man in front of me decided to pay with a check. I didn't even know they still made paper checks, let alone that it was still a legally accepted form of currency. I did my best 'I'm not annoyed in the least' face and continued waiting. Another employee came over and asked for the next person in line. That was obviously me, but a stroke of benevolence came over me and let the woman behind me go first. I immediately wanted to punch myself in the head for being nice, but I continued to wait.

A few seconds later, another guy came up to the counter and grabs the cashier's attention. This guy asks, "Hi, Did I leave my CVS card up here?" The cashier looks around for it and eventually says that she can't find it. This guy goes over to a nearby shelf and starting looking through his pocket, his wallet, and then eventually his bags before eventually finding it. After about 6 minutes of waiting in what should have been 30-second wait, I finally check out. I check out in about 25 seconds and then begin walking out of the store. On my way out of the store something caught my eye, the guy that lost his CVS card had left his wallet on the shelf. Without hesitating, I grabbed it and went up to the cashier that he had talked to not 3 minutes before. I told the cashier, "The guy that just came up here asking about his CVS card left his wallet here, so when he comes back for it, here it is." She thanked me and I walked out of the store.

I finally get into the parking lot and I see the guy about to get into his car. I grab his attention and tell him that his wallet is inside. He thanks me and goes back inside to get it. I finally get in my car and I'm about to leave, when that guy comes sprinting out of the store and up to my car. I roll down my window and he goes, "Here, take this." And shoves 20 bucks in my hand! I repeatedly tried to give back the money, but he insisted that I take it. I reluctantly agreed, and thanked him.

I felt like a G after that episode. Being a good guy, AND getting rewarded for it!

On a side note, when someone tries to be generous and offer you something like a reward, or to pay for a meal, sometimes you should LET THEM. There have been times where I'm trying to be nice and do something for someone but they keep refusing and saying that I don't need to. Well that's fucking annoying, just let me be nice. It may cost be time and/or money, but it's something I want to do and something that will make both of us feel good about ourselves. I get to feel good because I did something nice, and you get to feel good because someone cares enough about you to give you something out of kindness.

Maturity Issues

I consider myself to be a pretty mature. In the vast majority of situations I can stay cool, composed, and respectful. However, I've noticed that there are still several areas of life where I just cannot help it. Those areas are other peoples flatulence in public areas, and random sexual innuendos that get said in the course of normal conversation. The former is pretty self-explanatory and does not have any specific story that I can tell tied to it, but the latter just happened in the middle of my cost accounting class.

A few minutes ago, my relatively old cost accounting professor, Cliff Nelson, decided to open an excel spreadsheet. Cliff is clearly someone who learned to use excel through years of experience rather than intuitive learning. He has his methods and he sticks to them. When something goes wrong, he usually isn't sure what to do if it hasn't happened to him before. Regardless, he opened this excel spreadsheet and the file, for whatever reason, was zoomed into 150%. You could only see half the problem, so he says "Hang on a sec..." He goes down to the zoom bar in the bottom right and begins to slide it to the left so you could see the entire problem. Then he says,

"Alright, let's see if I can fit it all in there."

Game over, T.O. An instant smile came to my face as I resisted, to the best of my ability, to stifle my laughter. It was clear that no one else shared my moment of uncontrollable laughter. I pulled the old "I'm just coughing really awkwardly" trick to a limited degree of success. I eventually brought myself under control and was quite pleased with myself.

Thanks to my self-rationalization, I wrote this event down as a positive. I'm just going to tell myself that I'm someone that doesn't have to take everything seriously. Sometimes a little immaturity goes a long way in brightening your mood or turning around your day.

Ultraviolet

I have recently come across a new love in my diet soda addiction : Diet Mountain Dew Ultraviolet. In 1964, Pepsi Co. introduced Mountain Dew cola into the market. Shortly thereafter, Martin Luther King was assassinated, and America lost tens of thousands of young men in the Vietnam War. In 1984, Pepsi Co. followed up on its assault on the mind and bodies of American consumers with Diet Mountain Dew. After that, America almost got dragged into nuclear war with Russia, and stagflation sent the American stock market into a tailspin.

America survived the introduction of two Dew's and I thought that the worst was over. That was until just last week. I walked into the local CVS, only to be greeted by a stack of strange bright neon purple boxes. Curiosity caught the best of me and my mind began to wander, thinking of possibilites of what it could be. Anti-freeze? Recycle battery acid? Worse. It was Diet Mountain Dew: Ultraviolet. Temptation quickly overwhelmed reason and I bought a 12-pack. I raced back to the dorm and brought it upstairs. I grabbed a warm can from the box, and began to drink. My insides cringed and everything began to burn. I've since been sucking them down at a clip of 7 a day. Incredible.

Since then, the temperature has dropped 20 degrees, and it has begun to rain. The sun has not been seen since. In addition to that, a car alarm started to go off in the parking lot last night. Shortly there after the car lit on fire, and almost burned to the ground. It was towed away, and has likely been destroyed.

What's next? All I know is that if I don't get more ultraviolet, shit will get ULTRAVIOLENT real quick.

Well... Now what?

A few hours ago, my roommates and I finished up a session of Jaghtzee. Jaghtzee is our drinking game twist on Yahtzee. It's not much of a variation, the only difference is that after every yahtzee that's rolled, everyone has to take a shot of Jager. Sounds like a good idea in theory. It is not. When we finally finished up after only 2 games, I was feeling pretty tired. But since we also prefaced Jaghtzee night with 5-hour energy (which has become a staple of our weekend festivites), I was also quite awake.

I messed around on the computer for awhile and then decided to just go to bed. It was only 11 o'clock, but everyone else went to the bar and since I'm not 21, I didn't have anything else better to do. I thought I'd fall asleep, just that it would take a few minutes longer. 90 minutes later, I'm still lying in my bed tired, yet wide awake. I tried listening to music, going back on the computer, and looking out the window. All were remarkably ineffective. The problem is that lately whenever I go to bed, my brain decides to think about everything that is going on in my life and brainstorm how events are going to play out. My mind tries to micromanage things that will likely never ever happen, and I just want to tell my brain to shut up. But that hasn't worked yet... So when 1:30 rolled around, I hopped up outta bed, and turned my swag on. I figure if I wasn't going to bed I mind as well have it activated. Since nothing had changed in the two and a half hours from when I first got into my bed, I still had nothing to do.

That's when I decided to swallow my pride and grab my Cost Accounting book. I went into the other room and just banged out an assignment I had to do for monday. At least my mild insomnia resulted in some progress. Yet here I am, coming to the end of this blog post and once again my brain is saying, "Well... Now what?"

Power Song Syndrome

Last night I had the one of the most bizarre runs in my short running career. I started running at 10:30PM, and as soon as I got outside I thought that the run was going to be a struggle. My legs felt heavy from the previous few days, and it was a lot warmer than it had been. Sure enough, by the time I finished the first mile I sweating like a wildebeest being chased by a lion in the sarengetti, and my legs felt worse and I hadn't even gone up a hill yet.

A few minutes later, I was going up the hill towards the hilltop dorms and apartment when "T.I. - Bring 'Em Out" came up on shuffle. This song is a blast to run to. It's loud, it's upbeat, and it has a catchy beat. I was beginning to get a little energy back in my run. Then it started to rain. I love running in the rain, because it always pumps me up and I feel like I'm in a fight with Mother Nature, and that bitch is about to get tooled on. Unfortunately, this created a little phenomenon I like to call "Power Song Syndrome."

We had actually talked about it before I left for my run. PSS is when a pump-up song comes on and you start to run faster and faster, feeling like you have unlimited energy. Then the song finishes and you're left panting for breath wondering how your body could be so cruel. I've learned to control myself when one of those songs comes on, but this time the combination of circumstances was just too much. Bring 'Em Out came on and the rain started to come down, suddely I felt invisible. My body was telling me, "Hey, I was just tired running at a 9:00 minute mile pace, but now this song is on, let's run 7 minute miles!!!!" Normally my brain enters back in with the voice of reason and puts my body back in line. This night it just shouted back, "Let's do 6 minute miles instead!" I felt like I was about to start flying when I started going down a hill.

When I'm in this "zone" I feel like I'm busting off a 85-yard touchdown run in the superbowl, and the only thing between me and 6 points is 10 yards of open field. The only logical situation in both situations is to throw your hands to the side and start high-stepping. If I was ever videotaped running, you probably wouldn't see me bust out into a full high step, but you would certainly be able to see a few instances where my stride looks a little off, almost like I'm skipping. That's probably the reason why I run at night when no one is around...

Sure enough, after I played the songs 3 times in a row, I was exhausted. But the nights events were not over. When I was coming back past the North Bus Stop (meaning 1 mile left to go), some guy pops out from the little bus station hut, puts out his hands and yells, "WAIT!!!!!" Normally, I would just run past, but he seemed like he had something really important to say. I slowed down and he continued, "How would YOU like...... a free donut!" His friend pops out of nowhere with a full box of Dunkin' Donuts. The Donut holder looked at his friends as if looking for instructions, his friend gives him the head nod and he opens the box like it was a briefcase filled with $100 dollar bills. "Take one, anyone one." Just what I wanted near the end of a 7 mile run, some vile, greasy donut. It would probably sit like lead in my stomach.

Naturally, I selected a chocolate glazed, vanilla frosted, maple syrup donut with sprinkles. I thanked them and bid them farewell. So here I am, running in the now pouring rain, my Zune in my right hand and this donut in my left. I'm panting for breath while at the same time shoving a heart attack into my mouth. Of course it sat like lead, but the sheer lunacy of the situation allowed me to finish my run.

Then when I got back to my dorm, the bus pulls up and the kids that had just given me the donut hop off. "THERE HE IS!!! YEAAAA!!!" We shared a good laugh, and thus ended one of the weirdest runs ever.

Uncooperative

"Blogger" who hosts this blog, has been being a whiny bitch lately. If you take a look at the post below, it has no title. For whatever reason, Blogger decided that it was too cool to let me post that entry. Eventually, I used some third-party program to get it on here, but I couldn't add a title using the software that I did. When I went to just go add a title on here, it wouldn't let me do that either. Therefore, Blogger is currently on my shitlist trying to dig its way out. I even tried to switch to another blogging site, "WordPress", but it turns out that WordPress is a whiny bitch too. I was able to import all my entires over there, but the result was the same. I tried to add a title to that post/repost it entirely, and no dice yet again. That tells me that blogging sites don't like winter either. Who would of thought?

Anyway, there are things in this world more exciting to talk about than my posting misadventures. Last year at this time I was writing blog entries about how much our 6th roommate sucked the big one. If you don't remember, last year's roommate sucked the big one. So when I found out we got another person randomed in to be that sixth man, I was a little wary. Facebook stalking him didn't really do anything to ease my fears. His number one interest on facebook was "Hanging Out", and his favorite books were listed out by genre. He was certainly going to be different than Mike, but I didn't know if it would be any better.

I spent the entire summer thinking how we were going to send him a message in the beginning of the year to let him know that we aren't here to fuck around with this bad roommate shit. Some of the ideas that were broached included putting all of our beds except his in the other room. This would clear out one of the rooms, and create "SO MUCH ROOM FOR ACTIVITIES!"(Stepbrothers reference). We also considered putting his desk in the closet or taking apart his entire bed frame and putting his matress on the floor. Painting satanic symbols on the wall in red paint wasn't ruled out either... just sayin'.

Turns out though, that our new roommate, Tim, is not a douchebag. I had no idea what to do with myself when on Day 1 of him being here, he made intelligent conversation that wasn't overbearing. His thoughts were clear, concise, and didn't make me want to stick two pencils up my nose and bash them against the table. I thought surely that he would eventually go turn on the TV to volume level 97 of 100 and watch through all hours of the morning. Surprise again, he doesn't even really watch TV. It's been about a month and things have not gotten worse. He is almost never around, and when he is around, his presence is not unwelcome. I might light his bed on fire just to see if I get any type of reaction out of him though.