2. Even though class starts at 11, I try to get there by 10 so I can lay in wait for some departing student and steal my parking place from the desperate clutches of other frantic parkers. Every day is a new attempt, every time I pull in it's a new victory, wrenched from the grip of other drivers. My strategy is complete though - I give rides to parking spaces, and steal them before anyone knows the student's gone. Evil? Not really. Calculating? Definitely.
3. There's nothing introspective about Japanese. It's not critical, it's repetition. And practice. But I oh-so-politely asked the girls who chatter through the professor's grammar explanations to try to whisper. Their conversations are not quite mumbled, mostly spoken, although occasinally they dip into that kind of under the breath vocalization that grates on me like nails on a chalkboard. I will try to sit further away from them tomorrow. They gave me the confused stare of "huh?" when I voiced my request. I didn't wait for a reply.
4. Ren fair! They have Ren Fairs in Texas, and there's one going on right now ... somewhere ... about 2 hours from here. Neil keeps telling me not to expect the same things as our Ren Fairs, but I think they're pretty much all the same. Maybe this one will have pony rides or something, though. We're going to try to find out where it is, and maybe go next weekend.
5. We laughed a lot in Suicide in Japanese Lit today. Not nervous laughter, but the kind of thing where someone actually says something downright funny. Oh, and Kalinda actually told the boy who sat next to me to move over, because he was sitting in her seat. Possessive? Perhaps. Did I find it adorable? Yes.
6. I want to say profound and interesting things in the History of French Film. It's the kind of class that demands it right? Quasi-pretentious, light on the theory, but heavy on the superiority of the French Cinema, taught by a woman who says "we" about the French and "you" about the Americans. She's delightful, and utterly unapproachable. I love it.
7. An hour an a half for Pepe le Moko. A movie about French gangster caught in Algiers, in the Casbah. What's not to love?
8. My hands cramp in the Western Art History class. I can't help it. It's three hours. I despise history, and I'm not a huge fan of American art, especially American/European art that's ostensibly "defining" the West. But it's leaking in and perverting my brain anyhow. Notice that I capped the West? Yeah. There's not a ton of analysis there, just history, history and this weird nebulous enjoyment on the part of the professor about the beginnings of the American Dream. Like anyone can realize the american dream anyway.
9. The miles and miles and miles (or 20 minutes) it takes to get to my car are hot and humid, like the night picked me up in it's arms and wants me to float directly on the air. Instead I have to chug my way down steps and back up other steps, moving to the beat of the shuffle I caved and bought myself because I developed technology envy when Neil got his ipod for his birthday. It's probably the best invention I've ever bought - I might actually like music this way. So I end up walking, huffing and puffing my little chunky way across the campus in the dark, when it's deserted and left to those who decide they can't stand the air conditioned dorms, but basically quiet and empty compared to the landscape of day. The present I give myself is the car ride home, when I put the shuffle down and turn the radio up, and leave the windows open and try to make all the lights on the drive back.
10. Now I sit in front of the computer, burned and a bit breathless, after making my way through 100 or so posts (damn you LJ people post a lot!) and realize I've got more homework due for tomorrow that I don't want to touch. It's coming up on midnight here. Time for a smoke. Time for a break. Then ... the deluge.