About Savage Minds
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Thursday, May 20, 2010
Mersault
Lately as my studies have progressed I've been able to formalise some of the anthropological ideas that have been swirling around in my head for the last 24 years.
One that I'm batting around is an outsider concept that I think is ripe for thesis material. It has to do with the idea that being aware of cultural systems and processes means that a person is precluded from ever really participating in them.
This essentially (and obviously) is informed by personal experience, but the more I delve into it, and talk to people the more I'm convinced that there is a body of people that genuinely live outside most cultural norms - because they have no option. Its not like the normal concept of 'outsiders' where people are misfits and rebel in socially unacceptable ways. This is more about the people that are a lot more quiet and are intensely interested in people but can't ever really 'be' one of the people they are so interested in.
Hells yeah I'm gonna be a doctor ;)
One that I'm batting around is an outsider concept that I think is ripe for thesis material. It has to do with the idea that being aware of cultural systems and processes means that a person is precluded from ever really participating in them.
This essentially (and obviously) is informed by personal experience, but the more I delve into it, and talk to people the more I'm convinced that there is a body of people that genuinely live outside most cultural norms - because they have no option. Its not like the normal concept of 'outsiders' where people are misfits and rebel in socially unacceptable ways. This is more about the people that are a lot more quiet and are intensely interested in people but can't ever really 'be' one of the people they are so interested in.
Hells yeah I'm gonna be a doctor ;)
A Kind of Truth
I would love for this blog to become a monumental piece of ego projection (I mean more than the majority of blogs).
So this is a disclaimer for past and future posts:
1) Not everything is true.
2) Not everything is false.
3) Facts and opinions will change.
4) I don't necessarily mean everything I say.
So this is a disclaimer for past and future posts:
1) Not everything is true.
2) Not everything is false.
3) Facts and opinions will change.
4) I don't necessarily mean everything I say.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Monkey me monkey you
I love this excerpt from Baraka. I stumbled across this during research.
Ahhhhh being an anthropologist is fun.
Ahhhhh being an anthropologist is fun.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
A Broad
For awhile now I've been interested in studying on an international exchange. My uni is very enthusiastic about kids doing this. I think its so that we're out of their hair and in return they get studious, quiet, conforming, commercially lucrative exchange students from overseas. There is no downside for them.
So I went into the international office and stood dumbly staring at a poster next to the receptionist's desk that said "You are in the wrong place. You must make an appointment." I thought for a moment and decided it was worth the risk and asked the receptionist for information. She smiled at my apology for disturbing her.
"The sign isn't applicable today."
I shrugged and apologised again for disturbing her (which I fumbled on and came out sounding like 'disrobing', which is rather forward of me). She called the lady I needed to speak to and asked me to wait for a bit. I sat and played with an app involving aliens being shot. Then the lady in charge (Paula, daughter of Valhalla and all its surverys) came storming out of the back room and demanded to know what I wanted. I explained that I had submitted an application and just wanted to finalise it etc. Paula, realising who I was, for some reason became sweetness itself and offered me a seat.
"So, you were thinking of going to Bristol? Or Cornell?"
"Well yes. UCL would be better but evidently I'm not studying the right thing."
"No. No you're not. I have to tell you something though."
"Mm." I said tentatively and naturally fearing the worst (ie you're a bad knowitall sonofabitch and we wouldn't let you achieve your goals whatever the cost!)
"Some of our Asian friends have seen your application and they're... very excited." I looked at her and waited for her to continue.
"You see, with your grades and area of study, combining geography and anthropology in the way you have... well they want you."
"What Asians?" I said trying to work out what the hell she meant. She explained that there was a Thai, Malaysian, and Korean university all prepared to give me scholarships to go there. On top of that my own uni would give me a few grand guilt-free for being such a stand-up sort of gent.
At this point I paused and without realising, posed myself a hypothetical question.
If I was going to go to one of these universities, which would have the prettiest girls?
Funny how these questions pop up before you've even had a chance to decide whether you should have asked them. I decided they (the girls) were all pretty even, though devoutly Muslim Malaysia may prove to be something of an issue (sorry Malaysia!).
"But the Korean university is very interested."
"I hear you, but I don't really want to go to Korea. What I mean is - I really was set on the East Coast of the US (at this point images of smiling Cape Cod Julias with long brown hair chatting to knowledgable NYU humanities Chloes in Washington Square Park flitted across my vision).
"But you see, the Korean uni really wants you." She actually emphasised the 'you'. Was she coming on to me? Jesus!
"I get that, but I don't want them..."
"Okay, but you see, the Korean university really wants you and will pay for your accommodation and airfares, and will organise an english tutoring job for around $30 per hour. On top of that there is our generous scholarship. Potentially you could come back with more than you left with. On top of that, I'll make sure that when you come back, you can go right back on another exchange to a place that would've been your first choice."
"... ... whats the catch?"
"... ... Its South Korea."
"Oh..."
So I guess I'm going to Korea!
So I went into the international office and stood dumbly staring at a poster next to the receptionist's desk that said "You are in the wrong place. You must make an appointment." I thought for a moment and decided it was worth the risk and asked the receptionist for information. She smiled at my apology for disturbing her.
"The sign isn't applicable today."
I shrugged and apologised again for disturbing her (which I fumbled on and came out sounding like 'disrobing', which is rather forward of me). She called the lady I needed to speak to and asked me to wait for a bit. I sat and played with an app involving aliens being shot. Then the lady in charge (Paula, daughter of Valhalla and all its surverys) came storming out of the back room and demanded to know what I wanted. I explained that I had submitted an application and just wanted to finalise it etc. Paula, realising who I was, for some reason became sweetness itself and offered me a seat.
"So, you were thinking of going to Bristol? Or Cornell?"
"Well yes. UCL would be better but evidently I'm not studying the right thing."
"No. No you're not. I have to tell you something though."
"Mm." I said tentatively and naturally fearing the worst (ie you're a bad knowitall sonofabitch and we wouldn't let you achieve your goals whatever the cost!)
"Some of our Asian friends have seen your application and they're... very excited." I looked at her and waited for her to continue.
"You see, with your grades and area of study, combining geography and anthropology in the way you have... well they want you."
"What Asians?" I said trying to work out what the hell she meant. She explained that there was a Thai, Malaysian, and Korean university all prepared to give me scholarships to go there. On top of that my own uni would give me a few grand guilt-free for being such a stand-up sort of gent.
At this point I paused and without realising, posed myself a hypothetical question.
If I was going to go to one of these universities, which would have the prettiest girls?
Funny how these questions pop up before you've even had a chance to decide whether you should have asked them. I decided they (the girls) were all pretty even, though devoutly Muslim Malaysia may prove to be something of an issue (sorry Malaysia!).
"But the Korean university is very interested."
"I hear you, but I don't really want to go to Korea. What I mean is - I really was set on the East Coast of the US (at this point images of smiling Cape Cod Julias with long brown hair chatting to knowledgable NYU humanities Chloes in Washington Square Park flitted across my vision).
"But you see, the Korean uni really wants you." She actually emphasised the 'you'. Was she coming on to me? Jesus!
"I get that, but I don't want them..."
"Okay, but you see, the Korean university really wants you and will pay for your accommodation and airfares, and will organise an english tutoring job for around $30 per hour. On top of that there is our generous scholarship. Potentially you could come back with more than you left with. On top of that, I'll make sure that when you come back, you can go right back on another exchange to a place that would've been your first choice."
"... ... whats the catch?"
"... ... Its South Korea."
"Oh..."
So I guess I'm going to Korea!
Schleeep
I'm going to the UK again in a month or so. I'm looking forward to it a lot, though I'm not sure why. Funny that I even had to ask myself the question.
Earlier this year I was in London and New York. It was cold and snowy and marvellous. I hadn't really seen falling snow until that point so it was amazing. I have a very clear memory (it was only February afterall) of being in New York and watching snow fall outside my apartment's window. It was amazing in such a busy and vast city that there could be something so calm and soft happening. Cities are so much about our attempts to control and mould the world, and yet the snow simply falls irrespective of that.
Theres your loving spoonful of profundity for the day ;)
Earlier this year I was in London and New York. It was cold and snowy and marvellous. I hadn't really seen falling snow until that point so it was amazing. I have a very clear memory (it was only February afterall) of being in New York and watching snow fall outside my apartment's window. It was amazing in such a busy and vast city that there could be something so calm and soft happening. Cities are so much about our attempts to control and mould the world, and yet the snow simply falls irrespective of that.
Theres your loving spoonful of profundity for the day ;)
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Friday the 14th - The Gathering/The Nes-Quikening
I saw Robin Hood last night.
I liked it. It was fun, and historically compatible. It was heavy on the plot (sometimes confusingly so) and the very good actors they had in it were some times not allowed to do much more than run around and look willowy (billowy?) and oppressed. I'm thinking of Ms Blanchet. She did well with what she had, and there was some pretty interesting close up shots showing her as ruddy cheeked and suffering for everyone.
I went with friends who thought it was fine to talk and make noise all the way through it. Murderous rage nearly covers how I felt towards my friends afterwards. I was angry. More angry than I should have been. Who knows why really? Missed opportunities has a lot to do with it. I enjoyed it until I didn't and I attribute that solely to them.
So fuck you friends. I'm never doing that again.
I had brunch at the Central Market with a friend. We sat and talked about little things. Important things, but little in the context of the relationship. Some times when you're talking to someone you know well, its almost like you have your bread and butter conversations, and then there is everything else. With this particular person, talking about anything other than people is almost always going to be a complete shortfall. Its not that its impossible, but it just doesn't flow or have any real meaning. It becomes an exercise in altered breathing patterns when I talk that way. Nothing is accomplished, nothing is gained or lost. So inevitably we turn to talk of people we know. There is something entirely satisfying and entirely boring about this. Its fine if I'm able to extrapolate some larger truth about people or things, but this doesn't always happen and then it becomes meaningless. My father, in his limited wisdom, once told me that small minds talks about people, big minds talk about ideas.
Well thats some fucking bullshit if ever I heard it. Its almost a perfect paradox. To say that and believe it you would have to have a small and pretty limited mind. Hence my father's involvement. People are ideas. End of story.
We sat on the grass in Victoria Square after eating. I have to admit I never do this. Sitting on grass is kind of strange. It smells grassy. You get an imprint on your hands. I'm always distracted by it and can never devote all my energy to the idea or thoughts at hand because I'm equally aware of the fact that I'm sitting on the grass.
Woke up, fell out of bed
Dragged a comb across my head
Found my downstairs and drank a cup
And looking up I noticed I was late
I'd love to turn you on.
I liked it. It was fun, and historically compatible. It was heavy on the plot (sometimes confusingly so) and the very good actors they had in it were some times not allowed to do much more than run around and look willowy (billowy?) and oppressed. I'm thinking of Ms Blanchet. She did well with what she had, and there was some pretty interesting close up shots showing her as ruddy cheeked and suffering for everyone.
I went with friends who thought it was fine to talk and make noise all the way through it. Murderous rage nearly covers how I felt towards my friends afterwards. I was angry. More angry than I should have been. Who knows why really? Missed opportunities has a lot to do with it. I enjoyed it until I didn't and I attribute that solely to them.
So fuck you friends. I'm never doing that again.
I had brunch at the Central Market with a friend. We sat and talked about little things. Important things, but little in the context of the relationship. Some times when you're talking to someone you know well, its almost like you have your bread and butter conversations, and then there is everything else. With this particular person, talking about anything other than people is almost always going to be a complete shortfall. Its not that its impossible, but it just doesn't flow or have any real meaning. It becomes an exercise in altered breathing patterns when I talk that way. Nothing is accomplished, nothing is gained or lost. So inevitably we turn to talk of people we know. There is something entirely satisfying and entirely boring about this. Its fine if I'm able to extrapolate some larger truth about people or things, but this doesn't always happen and then it becomes meaningless. My father, in his limited wisdom, once told me that small minds talks about people, big minds talk about ideas.
Well thats some fucking bullshit if ever I heard it. Its almost a perfect paradox. To say that and believe it you would have to have a small and pretty limited mind. Hence my father's involvement. People are ideas. End of story.
We sat on the grass in Victoria Square after eating. I have to admit I never do this. Sitting on grass is kind of strange. It smells grassy. You get an imprint on your hands. I'm always distracted by it and can never devote all my energy to the idea or thoughts at hand because I'm equally aware of the fact that I'm sitting on the grass.
Woke up, fell out of bed
Dragged a comb across my head
Found my downstairs and drank a cup
And looking up I noticed I was late
I'd love to turn you on.
Menage et blah
So.
So, so, so.
I was nervous and excitable. I had run from the police and purchased a lambs wool jumper. I had drunk coffee and been sarcastic. I had admired pretty Prada girls and vaguely tip-toed around the idea of asking the Girl from Mars to have a drink with me.
It was time to talk. It was go time.
I ran into everyone in the hall and somewhat forced my way into the existing conversation (I'm brilliant, they should be honored). This is a tactic I have, and I always use it. Mingle with the audience before the lights go down and the show begins. I find that it allows you to ingratiate yourself somewhat (make some funny jokes, get in their face) and lets me relax. Its interesting that the process of speaking in front of people doesn't make me nervous, but rather the idea that people think I'm nervous will mess me up - so I front up before the show and show that my name is Chet and I'm an Ivy League jock from the 60s and I don't care what anyone thinks because I've got other big stuff going on. This is hyperbole, I'm not obnoxious but I find myself giving little editorials and telling stories as a kind of warm up.
Never has a truer statement been made than 'I despair in being misunderstood'.
Whilst talking to my colleagues, one of them moved out of the way and I was suddenly and unexpectedly *gasp* standing right in front of my favourite Martian. We looked at eachother but my recollection is that we were in a dark bit of the hallway and so it was hard to see her. The funny thing is, there are no dark bits in those fluorescence drenched hallways. So I don't really know what thats about. Funny how memory is like that sometimes (all the time).
... and then there I was with everyone infront of me.
I started talking, and as is the way with these things, it flowed like rivers of warm milk and honey. I knew what I was talking about, and I knew that as long as I mentioned the correct names and dates I could make whatever outlandish claim I like and this particular tutor would be fine. So thats what I did. I linked things previously unknown to eachother, attributed whole theories the gentleman that couldn't have thought these things independently, and in the end proved conclusively that European Enlightenment could not have happened without China and Confucianism.
Boom.
Afterwards I sat and snuck tiny glances at Bryn. Not obsessively mind you. Not like a maniac or anything, just furtive looks that would clarify what I thought about her and how I might eventually ask her out.
Then she got up and did a presentation about Hare Krishnas. It was a good presentation and as a bonus I was able to stare at her legitimately for about 15 minutes. Oh joyous joyous day.
Jesus I think theres something wrong with me.
I think I actually like this alien.
So, so, so.
I was nervous and excitable. I had run from the police and purchased a lambs wool jumper. I had drunk coffee and been sarcastic. I had admired pretty Prada girls and vaguely tip-toed around the idea of asking the Girl from Mars to have a drink with me.
It was time to talk. It was go time.
I ran into everyone in the hall and somewhat forced my way into the existing conversation (I'm brilliant, they should be honored). This is a tactic I have, and I always use it. Mingle with the audience before the lights go down and the show begins. I find that it allows you to ingratiate yourself somewhat (make some funny jokes, get in their face) and lets me relax. Its interesting that the process of speaking in front of people doesn't make me nervous, but rather the idea that people think I'm nervous will mess me up - so I front up before the show and show that my name is Chet and I'm an Ivy League jock from the 60s and I don't care what anyone thinks because I've got other big stuff going on. This is hyperbole, I'm not obnoxious but I find myself giving little editorials and telling stories as a kind of warm up.
Never has a truer statement been made than 'I despair in being misunderstood'.
Whilst talking to my colleagues, one of them moved out of the way and I was suddenly and unexpectedly *gasp* standing right in front of my favourite Martian. We looked at eachother but my recollection is that we were in a dark bit of the hallway and so it was hard to see her. The funny thing is, there are no dark bits in those fluorescence drenched hallways. So I don't really know what thats about. Funny how memory is like that sometimes (all the time).
... and then there I was with everyone infront of me.
I started talking, and as is the way with these things, it flowed like rivers of warm milk and honey. I knew what I was talking about, and I knew that as long as I mentioned the correct names and dates I could make whatever outlandish claim I like and this particular tutor would be fine. So thats what I did. I linked things previously unknown to eachother, attributed whole theories the gentleman that couldn't have thought these things independently, and in the end proved conclusively that European Enlightenment could not have happened without China and Confucianism.
Boom.
Afterwards I sat and snuck tiny glances at Bryn. Not obsessively mind you. Not like a maniac or anything, just furtive looks that would clarify what I thought about her and how I might eventually ask her out.
Then she got up and did a presentation about Hare Krishnas. It was a good presentation and as a bonus I was able to stare at her legitimately for about 15 minutes. Oh joyous joyous day.
Jesus I think theres something wrong with me.
I think I actually like this alien.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Part Deux
I get bothered when I see police. I don't really like police. Its not that I'm ungrateful for protection and when I need the police I would like to think they would be there trying to do what they can for me.
But I don't like the way they talk to me. I have a strange sort of indignation at being spoken to like I'm a criminal - because I'm not. I don't look like a criminal (whatever that may be - shifty I guess) and I sure as hell don't look like I'm doing wrong. But whenever the police pull up, I stiffen and feel like I'm going to be accused of something. Without sounding like the classic Camus character, I think it comes down to always feeling like a non-participant, an objective observer who sees the network for what it is. Its nothing to do with the Matrix or adolescent angst. It just being on the outside and staring in and it will always be that way. Being a part of something, but something separate. Its not bad, but thats all I'm going to say about that.
Thusly, when I see the Po Po I automatically feel like a gypsy and its Germany in 1942. I'm in for a world of hurt and there is no way I can explain how I'm not responsible for whatever I'm being accused of.
The car pulls up. I lower my coffee. The window rolls down. The policeman looks at me and says "Where the fuck have you been?". Simultaneously another officer gets out of the car and rushes around the back.
This is it.
I'm done for.
Some how I thought it would be ASIO, or SWAT or at a stretch (but in some ways more likely) FSB working with MI6. Infact, lets not conceal the ego: I thought it would be fucking NATO.
Instead, its two working stiffs from SAPOL. Oh well, they appear to want me bad for whatever I did so its going to happen and I need to take action. Unlike my Martian encounters, there is no lag in my brain. I grab my notebook, press play on my iPod (Darwin Deez "Radar Detector" and ofcourse it was already playing) and literally jump the coffee sponsor traffic barrier (Lavazza you are no match for me).
What should I have done? The guy was running at me and the other guy was saying swears to me. At the very least if I'm going down, I'm not going down after being tackled by a kind of fat cop. I'll be like that guy in The Name of the Father and walk out the front door.
So I got the hell out of there. I was halfway across the road when I looked back... and saw them restraining some guy with a pony tail. Stupid pony tail sitting right behind me in the cop's line of view... Stealing my thunder. I walked back and jeered in my head that it was his turn and I 'got lucky this time'. Again, I stress, I have done nothing wrong and probably hold the least interest to the police.
But alas, this is the head I live in.
But I don't like the way they talk to me. I have a strange sort of indignation at being spoken to like I'm a criminal - because I'm not. I don't look like a criminal (whatever that may be - shifty I guess) and I sure as hell don't look like I'm doing wrong. But whenever the police pull up, I stiffen and feel like I'm going to be accused of something. Without sounding like the classic Camus character, I think it comes down to always feeling like a non-participant, an objective observer who sees the network for what it is. Its nothing to do with the Matrix or adolescent angst. It just being on the outside and staring in and it will always be that way. Being a part of something, but something separate. Its not bad, but thats all I'm going to say about that.
Thusly, when I see the Po Po I automatically feel like a gypsy and its Germany in 1942. I'm in for a world of hurt and there is no way I can explain how I'm not responsible for whatever I'm being accused of.
The car pulls up. I lower my coffee. The window rolls down. The policeman looks at me and says "Where the fuck have you been?". Simultaneously another officer gets out of the car and rushes around the back.
This is it.
I'm done for.
Some how I thought it would be ASIO, or SWAT or at a stretch (but in some ways more likely) FSB working with MI6. Infact, lets not conceal the ego: I thought it would be fucking NATO.
Instead, its two working stiffs from SAPOL. Oh well, they appear to want me bad for whatever I did so its going to happen and I need to take action. Unlike my Martian encounters, there is no lag in my brain. I grab my notebook, press play on my iPod (Darwin Deez "Radar Detector" and ofcourse it was already playing) and literally jump the coffee sponsor traffic barrier (Lavazza you are no match for me).
What should I have done? The guy was running at me and the other guy was saying swears to me. At the very least if I'm going down, I'm not going down after being tackled by a kind of fat cop. I'll be like that guy in The Name of the Father and walk out the front door.
So I got the hell out of there. I was halfway across the road when I looked back... and saw them restraining some guy with a pony tail. Stupid pony tail sitting right behind me in the cop's line of view... Stealing my thunder. I walked back and jeered in my head that it was his turn and I 'got lucky this time'. Again, I stress, I have done nothing wrong and probably hold the least interest to the police.
But alas, this is the head I live in.
Achtung Baby
I had a presentation at 1pm. I had 3 hours to kill.
My feeling about the presentation was fairly negative. It was for an Asian studies class that has very poor structure and is taught by a tutor that really had no idea what shes doing. Its one of the few courses that I've encounted that feels like teaching by numbers and some times I feel like just getting up and doing it myself.
"Look. Shut up. Just shutup. You don't really care about this. You have no interest in this and thats very obvious. You inject not a hint of passion or expressiveness and nobody enjoys it. Shut the fuck up. Sit down. Really."
However, I need the marks. These first years dictate scholarships and the showers (downpours) of praise and recognition I need as an unqualified genius. The first years dictate all the free shit that will be poured upon me in the form of further education, study tours, and eventually research grants. Then there is the respect. Oh jesus I get respect now but I hunger for it in ever increasing, vast, applauding, king-of-everything quantities. What can I say? I'm a respect-whore. Should I pretend not to be? That leads to copious bags of weed and screaming at people I don't know "You don't know me!"
That said, none of that compares to Bryn. The Girl from Mars that sits across from me during this class. She sits, like a goddamn statue, with eyes that seem to look through people and sometimes, just sometimes, she looks at me and I look at her and we look at eachother. It feels like it lasts forever but... it doesn't. Its just a glance from her (and thats all it is) and she smiles and her alien face is then looking at me and smiling. I stare some more at her smile and then my brain kicks in and says 'Do something'. Its calm at first, like "Hey you better smile back or shes going to think you're an unfriendly dude". My features are sluggish and my brain lifts the volume. "FUCKING. SMILE. NOW." Eventually, in what seems like a massive brain-lag my smile emerges and by this point shes already gone back to listening to the class and I'm sitting there grinning like a moron at her. I sort of don't care though, because each of those smiles is something very special. They're like tiny pictures of things that have been put inside pieces of glass. They're kind of piling up, like treasure I guess. I have maybe 4 or 5 and each time I'm ridiculous and in the hyper reality that I'm obviously inhabiting I respond with a "For me? Why thank you."
I make it sound silly but she is an alien and has special alien powers that I don't understand.
So I have hours until this damn presentation is due and I haven't really prepared for it; its worth 20% of my course mark; and the Girl from Mars will be there being beautiful and interesting.
So... I went shopping. In my mind this was good because I would
a) Have a new jumper and maybe a scarf (2 as it turns out).
b) Promote my uber-attractive Man from Mars qualities that the Martian Girl would obviously find alluring.
c) Kill time.
I found myself all of 25 minutes later, with 2 hours and 35 minutes to go and nothing else to do. I sat and sipped coffee on North Tce. I pretended to write something on a writing pad in order to appear like I was doing something. Inevitably this ends up being stuff that I find funny like inverting cliches and whatnot: You cannot lose, if you do not play; If you never try, you can never fail. That kind of shite.
I was hopping. Aside from the caffeine hitting my system, the thought of the unprepared-for presentation and the Martian hotty were really amping me up. There isn't much left in life (because of the times, not my advancing years) that is as visceral as waiting for something to happen. Anticipation is still a bitch. We never really fear for our safety or worry about God (at least if you've got any measure of intellect), or really get too cut up because of what people think. Barrows of money and a consumer society have really addressed those pretty well. But waiting for something... really waiting for something that you can't stop thinking about is bullshit. Especially for someone like me who had very little mental discipline. I was like a small child one sugar.
Then I saw the police.
My feeling about the presentation was fairly negative. It was for an Asian studies class that has very poor structure and is taught by a tutor that really had no idea what shes doing. Its one of the few courses that I've encounted that feels like teaching by numbers and some times I feel like just getting up and doing it myself.
"Look. Shut up. Just shutup. You don't really care about this. You have no interest in this and thats very obvious. You inject not a hint of passion or expressiveness and nobody enjoys it. Shut the fuck up. Sit down. Really."
However, I need the marks. These first years dictate scholarships and the showers (downpours) of praise and recognition I need as an unqualified genius. The first years dictate all the free shit that will be poured upon me in the form of further education, study tours, and eventually research grants. Then there is the respect. Oh jesus I get respect now but I hunger for it in ever increasing, vast, applauding, king-of-everything quantities. What can I say? I'm a respect-whore. Should I pretend not to be? That leads to copious bags of weed and screaming at people I don't know "You don't know me!"
That said, none of that compares to Bryn. The Girl from Mars that sits across from me during this class. She sits, like a goddamn statue, with eyes that seem to look through people and sometimes, just sometimes, she looks at me and I look at her and we look at eachother. It feels like it lasts forever but... it doesn't. Its just a glance from her (and thats all it is) and she smiles and her alien face is then looking at me and smiling. I stare some more at her smile and then my brain kicks in and says 'Do something'. Its calm at first, like "Hey you better smile back or shes going to think you're an unfriendly dude". My features are sluggish and my brain lifts the volume. "FUCKING. SMILE. NOW." Eventually, in what seems like a massive brain-lag my smile emerges and by this point shes already gone back to listening to the class and I'm sitting there grinning like a moron at her. I sort of don't care though, because each of those smiles is something very special. They're like tiny pictures of things that have been put inside pieces of glass. They're kind of piling up, like treasure I guess. I have maybe 4 or 5 and each time I'm ridiculous and in the hyper reality that I'm obviously inhabiting I respond with a "For me? Why thank you."
I make it sound silly but she is an alien and has special alien powers that I don't understand.
So I have hours until this damn presentation is due and I haven't really prepared for it; its worth 20% of my course mark; and the Girl from Mars will be there being beautiful and interesting.
So... I went shopping. In my mind this was good because I would
a) Have a new jumper and maybe a scarf (2 as it turns out).
b) Promote my uber-attractive Man from Mars qualities that the Martian Girl would obviously find alluring.
c) Kill time.
I found myself all of 25 minutes later, with 2 hours and 35 minutes to go and nothing else to do. I sat and sipped coffee on North Tce. I pretended to write something on a writing pad in order to appear like I was doing something. Inevitably this ends up being stuff that I find funny like inverting cliches and whatnot: You cannot lose, if you do not play; If you never try, you can never fail. That kind of shite.
I was hopping. Aside from the caffeine hitting my system, the thought of the unprepared-for presentation and the Martian hotty were really amping me up. There isn't much left in life (because of the times, not my advancing years) that is as visceral as waiting for something to happen. Anticipation is still a bitch. We never really fear for our safety or worry about God (at least if you've got any measure of intellect), or really get too cut up because of what people think. Barrows of money and a consumer society have really addressed those pretty well. But waiting for something... really waiting for something that you can't stop thinking about is bullshit. Especially for someone like me who had very little mental discipline. I was like a small child one sugar.
Then I saw the police.
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