Conundrum

Things went well today. Swine flu has hit and terrified every living being in school. A global plague is upon us, gloom and doom, etc. Whatever. Class was cancelled today because the Professor had flu like symptoms and stayed home. That is nice, but given that it is just the flu and the majority of people are virile young adults, shouldn't we all just get it, build our immunities, and carry on?

I just got over a head cold, so I am a little bitter. It is the middle of mid term examinations, and I am not totally prepared for them. I inherited a pair of sweatpants that give me the most severe mangina I have ever witnessed. Surprisingly, it's pretty comfortable.

The wife leaves for Denver tomorrow until Friday night. I have a midterm Friday afternoon and I think sometime between the end of the midterm and picking her up at the airport, I might be able to squeeze in a viewing of Zombieland. One can hope for the little decadences, right?

My family is coming up for a quick visit in two weeks, and I have to say that I am little homesick. Going back to whence I came from is now a pickle though, seeing as how most of the family has either moved, or is in the process of moving, to Alabama. I daydream of going home for Christmas, then remember that no family will be there. It makes me sad.

What a downer am I. A bright spark to my week is a Woody Harrelson vehicle. If I was doing lines of coke off a stripper's backside, I'd have the depression trifecta.

It could be worse though. It's cold outside, but the heat in the apartment is free. The wife has put up with me for the last six weeks like a real trooper. I am almost starting to understand the law. Then again, minimum wage factory work looks more and more appealing every day.

Godlike Powers

Last night, the wife and I had our date night. It began with her pulling me out of the leather recliner with the voracity and sound effects of a mother pulling the day old bandaid off of a child's skinned knee. We then went and saw a movie, did some shopping at the Target (because we will never, ever bow down to those cotton pickin' so's and so's at the Wally World), then home for me to retire to the basement with all of her laundry and her to make the bed and watch numb3rs.

We went and saw the movie 9. It was visually stunning. For ninety minutes. If I had just smoked a big fattie behind the theater with my addiction counseling wife before seeing it, it would have been better than even fucking Highlander. unfortunately, I do not smoke fatties and enjoy movies with a plot that can go from asinine to compelling but not the other way around.

Jesus, what kind of balls do you have to have to make a picture more action packed than a Steven Seagal movie but with a less legible plot and dialog?

Apparently, regular balls. But seven more than usual.

So, in a fit of benevolence, I have decided to save all the competents and gentle readers of this blog $8.00. See this movie at your own risk. The only redeeming qualities are the visuals and the creepy post-apocalyptic backdrop. If you find the urge to waste money and 90 minutes of your life, I have a live action substitute that you can probably get through netflix and thus avoid any human contact at all...

Synchronicity

Between classes this afternoon, I was reading a friend's blog about how nothing has really changed in the past few weeks. Great, nothing happening is better than than dam breaking and the village meeting its great reward under a billion gallons of water. I went to class with a little brighter demeanour, but that was all.

Class was, as usual, informative and wholly overwhelming. So it goes with new material. Stay positive. I am going to school to gain the tools and knowledge to actually make a difference in this world. I know, the world needs ditch diggers too, and without them we would be waist deep in our own shit, but no one remembers Diamitus Shitterius, the first guy to start digging the Cloaca Maxima. People think of the Romans and it gives them a warm fuzzy to think about all the neat inventions they made that allow us our modern basic conveniences of toilets, fresh water, and hedonism.

I got on the bus for the ride home with several points of contract law going through my head and colliding with each other in a scene reminiscent of Scanners. I instinctively said "Good Afternoon" to the shuttle driver, and plopped down in the back of the bus. The seat was warmer than my posterior. I had sat directly in a seat occupied by someone not a minute before me.

I immediately inhaled deeply through my nose. For some reason, I relate the heat of a freshly vacated seat to the ghosts of farts past being released upon disturbance. If there is such a haunting, it usually stinks and I get blamed, or at least judged. Why I inhale in expectation of the event, I can only think that maybe if I filter the air around me via my nose and lungs, the fallout from a previous occupants transgressions will be lessened. It's purely a selfish way to preserve my dignity.

But I digress.

The point is, barring a fart from the past, that I am taking the heat from some stranger for no other reason than I randomly chose to sit there. It's a feeling that is creepy in one respect, but mildly reassuring in another. By existing and sitting, someone before me helped me keep warm by transplanting their heat to a seat that I quickly occupied. Even passively, people help other people out. I find that comforting.

Terms of Art

The top (and only) three Google searches that will lead you here:

Facebook Goddess

Wookie bush

Children sad brush

Guess which one was a search from Germany?

Things are heating up for me. The initial shock has passed and reduced itself to major panic in the classroom. Lethargy holds sway when I come home, bordered by sudden fits of productivity about every hour or so. Only 93 more weeks of actual classroom time. That's less than two years....

Vivid Dreams of Protean Venues

So, the wife made a red curry dish last night that, while delicious at the time, has left my cinnamon ring a vermilion shade of burning. Maybe that was the cause of such vivid dreams last night. What do I remember?

I remember it being a get together with my two best friends. We were going out for drinks and then to a French movie that we had all seen before. Something totally frilly and un-macho, but really, really good. Probably the French version of Say Anything or somesuch. Regardless, we started the evening at the first incarnation of a bar that we used to frequent.

When you dream of familiar places and spaces, do these turn into a whole new landscape while still retaining their familiarity? They do with me. The weird thing is is that they are always consistent. I have a warped mirror world in my dreams, at once familiar, but so totally alien as to make me wonder about past lives and my subconscious affinity for hair metal.

Anyhow, the bar was uneventful. It was the beginning of a going away party for me (ah subconscious, are you finally accepting the move?), but I had to pay for everyone. I went across the street to an ATM to pay the bar tab, and was assaulted by an old woman on a pub crawl. She kept berating me with questions about where to go next. I finally sent her to a martini bar. I knew I was running late, so I skipped out on paying the tab and went to the theater.

My friends were already inside, so I got a ticket, was assaulted by a trio straight from the J Crew catalog with their asshole knobs turned all the way to eleven. After spending forty dollars on Milk Duds, I found my seat, meeting vague people from my past as I walked down the aisles of the theater.

Suddenly, a Springer worthy fight broke out during the trailer for a Stomp the Yard esque movie. A man no taller than my knee slowly walked up to me as the theater erupted into a full scale riot all around me. He was slow, deliberate, and looked exactly like R.L. Burnside in miniature. I threw up my hands in defeat as he slowly pulled a butterfly knife the size of his leg out of his jacket pocket. My fight or flight instinct kicked into fight and I pulled a chair off the floor and beat him relentlessly. Then the movie came on.

The riot ended instantly, Burnside disappeared and I sat in the dark, bored and wondering if I should buy more Milk Dudes. I woke soon after.

Weird, huh? Well, enough time wasted. I have to read another 100 pages before Monday. Best get started.

Procrastination

So, I was checking my old email accounts to put off studying for a few minutes and I found out that one person stills reads this damn thing, or at least checks in every few months. Hey lady, nice seeing you again.

What has changed since my last post? What hasn't? I got into a law school, quit my job, moved north, and got a facebook account that has let me reconnect to a million people I forgot existed. The new town is temperate and filled with people who are genuinely nice to each other. I am suffering from severe PTSD from the experience.

Example: A few days ago, I went to the DMV to get a new driver's license. The lady at the front desk greeted me with a smile and a courteous 'Good Morning and welcome to our facility, how may I help you?" I stood there shocked for a moment, recounting all my previous experiences at the DMV in my home state. Visions of grease stained signs reading 'Line Forms Here' vacant expressions from staff, and a belligerent 'You're in the wrong line for that!' to answer any of my questions flooded my vision. My wife, noticing my quick glances around the room looking for a solid item to curl up in a foetal position under, took the reigns.

"We need new driver's licenses." she said.

The lady behind the information desk actually lit up, maybe from the beginnings of my hyperventilation, and said, "Well then, welcome to the state of _____. Do you have proper identification?" Then she rattled off a few official documents. I reached into my pocket and produced a passport (the day before, I scoured the internets for any scrap of information that would make the DMV experience as painless as possible). She looked at the blue book in my hand and said, "well, I will stop right there. Here are some materials to study. You will have to take a knowledge exam first thing. Don't worry, just read over the book and you'll do fine." She leaned a bit over the desk, "between you and me,"she looked left and right over her shoulder, "pay attention to the school bus section." And then she leaned back in her chair and gave the wife and I a wink. An honest to God, in the know, wink.

She told us a few quiet spots in the building where we could study. We picked one and spent about half an hour reading the pamphlet. After that, we went back to the woman, who gave us a number and told us to wait behind her. I had sat down for maybe two minutes when my number was called. Another woman took all of my documents and pointed me to a testing booth. I missed four questions (look out bicyclists) but the test shut itself down when I got the requisite thirty questions of forty right. I stood up from the testing booth and a gentleman behind the counter pointed at me and told me to come over. He returned my documents, asked me if I wanted to register to vote, and said my new license would be in the mail in about two weeks.

Total DMV time, including studying: Less than an hour.

With that out of the way, and school starting next week, things are lazy right now. Our total move time, from signing the lease to unloading the last box from the moving truck: Two and half hours. With a break for lunch. Everything is going so smoothly. Everyone here is so nice. Now, I am just wondering when the proverbial shit is going to hit the fan.

Update`

I know I have neglected this place again, but I have an update. I was reading over this lovely dissertation in deprivation today and noticed a post from the past. It has repeated itself where I work. Now, a different lady I work with has been confined to the streamlined low techery of the scooter. I shit you not.

All I can do is shrug my shoulders and wait for another weekend full of studying. I'm stuck in some sort of loop of time where I age but the same things go on over and over, with just a little twist. I swear, if Keanu Reeves comes into my office and starts using his 'I'm a serious actor and not Ted from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, dude' voice, I will go completely insane and take both of you, gentle readers, with me.