Cleaned the dorm today. There’s something empowering about a fresh dormhouse. I’ll post some less-blurry pictures tomorrow. I’m off to a midnight show of “Prom Night” in the province.
Cleaned the dorm today. There’s something empowering about a fresh dormhouse. I’ll post some less-blurry pictures tomorrow. I’m off to a midnight show of “Prom Night” in the province.
When I was 11 years old, I lived in Wichita, Kansas.
In Wichita, time was slow.
And plodding.
And tedious.
The older I get, the trickier this time character becomes – I look at my computer clock and another hour has passed.
It’s already next week.
It’s already next month, I’m already graduating college…what the hey?
I think the real cause of the time warp is that an 11-year-old in Wichita has considerably less to do than a 21-year-old college senior in Miami. Understatement of the year? Is there an award for that?
I’m not going to slip into a whole time management tangent, but, given the new pace of things, organization is the business. In fact. Indeed.
One major difference between freshman and senior year is that I don’t do gray-time anymore. An example of gray-time is those crap hours in the library spent not doing work (be it facebook, chatting with a “study buddy”, etc.)
Niet.
Nein.
No.
Bad.
Say no to crap time.
This is why, actually, why I’m at the beach more than ever – I have the time now.
Paradoxically, I am also at library more than ever.
I am simply spending more time working. I am more motivated and productive because I see the progress of the library hours now. How much stuff went unread in the past three years? How much stuff was bootleg and last minute? Hm. Sorry Prof.
This semester, long after the transcripts have been shipped out to the law schools, I’m more productive and on-top-of-things than ever.
How perfectly annoying.
Why did this take me four years to learn?
The theme of the class is: Counter Cultures of the 20th and 21st centuries.
On the Second day of class, my German professor was mortified when she found out we had no “causes worth dying for” or “burning issues” deserving of protest.
I have had several professors who are convinced that students should spend the majority of their undergraduate years protesting. These professors want us to be incensed at the injustices of the word.
They want us to be idealistic.
They want us to start a revolution.
…and they probably want us to smoke pot too.
I don’t know who started the rumor that I had food, but yesterday I was surrounded by a flock of pigeons and seagulls at the beach.
They got a little too close. One time I looked up from my book and a seagull was a little more than a foot away from my face.
After my last test Friday, I quickly went to work, then loaded the car and skipped to the beach. I was there for a solid hour before a storm came.
I went back to the car and found a “where the fuck are you?” voicemail on my cell. Oops. Turns out I was on borrowed time. While ill advised, it was a nice preview of a spring break (which turned out to be spent mostly on campus.)
South Beach is a violent enterprise. Last week (two Saturdays ago), Robin, Nisha, and I took on Twist in South Beach. On the way to the clubhouse we saw a dead homeless man.
Two men prodded and shook the wino. Clubbers watched and whispered.
The two men eventually prompted the wino up against the wall. In that position, he appeared to have fallen asleep begging.
At the clubhouse we ran into Pusilla. Pusilla is one of the club flagship drag queens. She had a blown horn.
Robin and Nisha also found a sponsor — an overly friendly UM-dropout who bought them drinks.
After 3 the clubhouse became unbearably crowded. So we went home and avoided the bands of thugs who can’t really get into clubs so they sit along Washington and shout vulgar things at girls.
I warned Robin and Nisha that I see a nasty car wreck every time I come back from the Beach on a weekend. To illustrate my point, we saw two (probably fatal) car accidents on the way home.
I took stock today and reminded myself of all things good.
“Any artist must expect to work amid the total, rational indifference of everybody else to their work, for years, perhaps for life: but no artist can work well against daily, personal, vengeful resistance.”
– Ursula K. Le Guin
Even the meanest coach sprinkles a little praise in. It prevents revolt.
The gist was, “You’re an interesting candidate. We have waived our application fee and our February 1st deadline. Apply.”
And so I applied.
I have not paid my deposit at UMN because I am still figuring out how to afford it.
This is Titan. He lives in the abandoned building on campus.
Today? I’m thoroughly annoyed that I have to leave campus to get coffee. Subway is closed. Starbucks is closed. The world is closed.
Well, actually, the libraries are open. I’m in the (law) library right now. But the point is the coffee-places are closed.
I’m going to skip outside to keep working.
But, it’s 65 and I need warm beverage. So this is going to involve a mandatory car ride, plus a trip to the gas station because I’m on low on the black potion…
Today was marked by a exhaustion.
I took a trip to Doral-land to watch 10,000 BC.
Killer Ostriches and Mammoths that build pyramids… who knew? I didn’t expect it to be “historically accurate” but wow.
I got rained out at the beach today, but not before having a great time.
Worked the rest of the evening – bulletin board, graphic design gig, desk shift, duty…
I’m reading, then swatting a mosquito.
I’m reading, then staring at the rain.
I’m reading, then thinking about coffee.
I’m staring at the page, but not reading.
I’m reading, then I have to pee (probably because of that damn coffee).
I’m reading, and then swat at another mosquito…
I sometimes wonder if I have ADHD, but I think it has more to do with complete (and thorough) disinterest in what I’m reading
An argument against the whole ADHD theory is my recent library sprees for the English class.
Other notes:
– The loud, hyper grad student in class is very efficiently freaking me out
– Weekly tasks: keep dorm cleaner, wash laundry more often, and cut back on Starbucks.
A quiet brooding productivity, like the hum of the air conditioner (minus the inevitable drip.)
Not so for others apparently: There’s an exchange of glances in class during a bad presentation. The teacher might not detect the smell of manure but we do.
Flies should be all over it.
Getting to the 43rd and Collins parking lot was a lot harder than usual because I accidentally took 195 instead of 395.
The eastern part of South Beach was completely gridlocked. There was a serious car wreck on 195 by Star Island, which shut down the entire east-bound side of the highway.
The tow truck with one of the wrecked cars drove behind me. The entire front of the car was caved in, windows broken, side doors crumpled, and the front of the car was filled with the car’s bumpers that the cops probably shoved in.
The driver was either at the hospital or morgue.
The traffic was at a standstill all the way back to South Beach, up Alton, and Down 5th.
So, even though I was going towards the beach, not away from it, I still had to sit in line among those who were avoiding the 195 drama by going North.
Eventually made it to 43rd and the beach. Greeted some homeless, avoided some junkies, and almost tripped over a seagull.
Read an interesting entry in one of my creative writing books by CJ Box. It follows:
Open Season, then titled Joe Pickett after my game warden protagonist, was completed in manuscript form four years before it was acquired by Putnam. In the four years between completion and sale, an agent was supposedly showing it around, but I never really confirmed that. For an entire year I heard nothing, and for good reason: he had died. No one told me.
My editor overheard a (living) agent talking about Open Season in a bar during a writer’s conference. She asked the agent for a look at the manuscript. Before leaving the publishing industry for good to seek honest employment, the agent passed along the inquiry to me.
Of course, previous to this, I had written three full unpublished novels and an unfilmed screenplay. My children did not know I wrote because I didn’t want them to think of their dad as a failed novelist. They didn’t know I wrote fiction until I had a book contract.
Just your typical 20-year overnight success story.
CJ Box is at http://www.cjbox.net/.
This lizard jumped on my shoulder, sprung to the neighboring chair, and gave me a look like “and what?”
Miami Weekend: studying outside during the day, arthouse/international movies, people watching on South Beach.
“There cannot be a crisis next week. My schedule is full.”
Henry Kissinger
Outline of current events:
– Mind on Minnesota – decisions are great.
– Experiencing “Senior Mode” instead of “Senioritus”, meaning, the irrelevant things get axed..(I’m unapologetically focused on priorities and efficient like the CEO’s secretary. )
– Desperately trying to adhere to a (probably) unrealistic schedule of ass-early mornings.
– Work, library, the other work, library, work…
Next week I’m bulldozing.
Folding clothes, cleanly shaven, to the backdrop of pop-punk. Dave needs to stop keeping the Jager in the freezer because it has a tendency to fly out and spill in the most spectacular fashion.
Funny story about Jager actually. Carlos and I were at a country club in the province when this 300-pound cowboy insisted that we try Jager bombs. Neither of us wanted one. We didn’t know what it was, didn’t care, and were perfectly content with our lone Budweisers. It was a Tuesday, what was he thinking?
Well, cowboy orders the bombs for us and we felt obliged. Turns out that a Jager bomb is a variation on my “shut your mouth potion” – which is spiked Guarana Antarctica, but the catch is that you’re supposed to chug a Jager bomb, whereas you don’t chug the potion.
Now, the cowboy told us we needed to do one every 15-minutes, which was crazy, because after three minutes both Carlos and I got the dizzy and had to flee to Denny’s to get some food in our systems. Slept well that night.
Carlos & I skipped to the Province and found that the show had been canceled. Had a fun time at Alibi though – why is the awesomeness on Weekdays? (Wednesday consequently was rough).
Later, JHR, Ale, & I took on South Beach. Ale should learn to moderate