the punk and the godfather
02.16.04 @ 4:41 p.m.
I have to admit that my ardor has cooled since I got home this afternoon. I wish I still were in a state of high giddiness instead of intermittant flashes of glee. But there you have it.
Why? Why, I'm sure you're all desperately asking yourselves, tearing at your hair, etc. I am, after all, the highlight or your day, right? (Jesus, where is this cockiness coming from?)
I'll get to the point. I swear. In a state of nerves, I dragged myself over to the ugliest building on campus and incidentally, the biggest. PLC, Prince Lucien Campbell hall. Who the hell Prince Lucien Campbell is, I have no idea. It's all rather like one of Michael Jackson's sons' names to me. The elevators in that building (and it's the only one with enough levels to require an elevator to anyone with a fully functioning pair of legs) rattle and clang alarmingly, and it doesn't help that sometime in the not too distant past I remember some girls talking about rumors that the elevators there were prone to failing and just dropping straight to the basement. Now is the time to dust off the tried and true Mike Nesmith quote, "With my paranoia, I need this abuse." But I shed stupid nerves in favor of annoyance that Mr. Advisor (excuse me, Dr. Advisor) had a line outside his door. So I had to wait and listen to his spiel twice, which was semi-fortunate because I told him as much and he didn't bother going over it again. It turns out I've already got all my lower division requirements (except the three intro to the major courses) nailed. I've also got a start on my upper division credits.
Random but sorta cool: The guy waiting in line ahead of me had a Bantha Tracks badge on his backpack. Hello, fellow Star Wars geek, you are braver than me. I have that same patch AND logo patches for each of the original trilogy films, but they aren't attached to anything. I might put Bantha Tracks on an inconspicuous part of my new bag when I get it. I'm going to put my Who patch over the middle of the paratrooper logo so that it has wings.
Anyway, after all that I got to go back down five flights to the English office to get an advisor. The woman there is like a whirlwind. She asked me who I knew in the department, meaning who had I taken classes from, and I listed off three. The first two, well, one doesn't advise and the other no longer teaches at the University. The third is Professor Awesome.
Secretary: Ah, Saunders. Here are his office hours, are there conflicts?
Me: No...
Secretary: Great, he's your advisor. [scribble scribble scribble, thrust papers back at me] His hours are drop in and by appointment.
Me [a bit astonished]: Uh, okay.
This is both cool and slightly weird because of my idolatry. He's so fucking cool, so cool that I hesitate to approach him a second time. So I'm happy, but I'm a bit confused as to what to say or do. I am atwitter with non-crushy admiration.
Now I gotta squeeze in a little more Kesey before class. I'm as far this week as I was supposed to be last week. Great. 250 pages into a 630 page book. Fuck. Gotta read more, write and goof around on the computer less.
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
