You Wordy Old Turdy Old Scum, You Griping Old Piping Old Bum.

Rite-Aid has this "The Game of Life" sweepstakes going on where you get little "LIFE" pieces with your purchases, and you stick them onto a game board, and if you get a certain arrangement of them you can win cash prizes. My Game of Life has become an epidemic of sorts; most of the girls on our floor are in on it. We are ON THE BRINK of winning... there are at most two pieces we need to win any sort of prize. But no matter how many game pieces people bring me, they're never the right ones. The contest ends this month, so we're trying to make as many Rite-Aid purchases as possible. Alas, we've fallen victim to the promotional aspect of the sweepstakes. But so what! There's a corvette on the line here!

The new semester started last Thursday. It's been going well so far; my classes are all interesting. Well... Spanish isn't really 'interesting' per se, but a class where I just talk about myself (in any language) the whole time is fine by me. I love being hedonistic. Speaking Spanish only justifies it.

I had an insanely awkward moment today... I was talking to my favorite professor after class, who is dry/funny/intelligent/intimidating. I was telling her how my aunt was taught by one of the philosophers we studied last semester, and she thought that was cool. Then suddenly, she held her hand out, palm up. I looked at it, confused. I got to wondering, "............Does she want a high 5?" This struck me as sort of odd because our conversation really wasn't the sort of thing you would 'high-5' over, nor does she seem the high-5y type. After an instance of suspended indecision, I went for it. I went in for the high-5.

She did not want a high-5. My high-5 was left unreciprocated, resulting in my hand awkwardly resting on top of hers like a debutante being escorted to the ball. I wasn't sure what to do. Do I pull my hand away? Do I leave it there with conviction? Do I hold her hand? As she nonchalantly took her hand out from under mine, I realized she had been gesturing to a student. With the same degree of poise and grace as I had just demonstrated, I smiled, hiccup-laughed and walked away.


You look like you could use an Awkward-five.

Yesterday was my first day of Intro. to 2-D Art. I. Hate. Charcoal. It's messy and I can never get the precision I want. I don't want to completely write it off yet, but... well... yeah... I am. The hardest part of art? Standing in front of an easel for two hours. That's a long time to be standing! Why don't artists use chairs? I'm surprised artistry isn't the leading cause of lower back injuries. Equally and simultaneously as painful is holding your arm up that long. My arm got so tired I started drawing with my right hand, and you KNOW anything I draw with my right hand ain't art.

We were also drawing pictures of things I found boring, which didn't help. Vases. A television. A shoe. We need some creativity up in this biznatch! I know as the semester progresses I'll have more artistic liberties, but my first art class was, surprisingly, not very enjoyable. I've promised myself to go in headfirst on Monday; get into the spirit of artistry and all that. I don't know how a drawing class could be miserable, so I'm actually looking forward to the progression of the course.

In other life events relating to academia (I really just wanted to use the word 'academia'), I'm reading Lucky Jim by Kingsley Amis for my Contemporary British Literature class. It's really clever, and the diction is hilarious. Satirical British writers are so analytical and nit-picky, I love it... that pedantic but self-deprecating narration that you can only imagine being said in a British accent. It's kind of how I type, come to think of it.

Anyway, this is the first book in... well, since Catch-22 that I have actually looked forward to reading. It's great. It's a good feeling.