Cheer up, Charlie...

Currently escuchando to Shakira, Si te vas.

Yeah, so remember when I said that most posts would be not so reflective (i.e. take simple event and expand it so that the entire world understands, and can then solve world hunger and animal-prints)? Don't think that's gonna happen...

It's just not an interesting enough day to day existence, mine. Nothing really gripping or breathtaking or even fart-inducing happens to me regularly. If I spent all my time talking about music school, pushing my glasses farther up my nose and going on about why Strauss is so not the new Mozart, you'd send me anthrax in the mail or something. So humor me. Please. Or he'll hit me again.

Oh wait EVENT! Or rather, cause to detest an Associate Instructor of mine. First, open your minds and imaginations while I describe her. Have a vomit bowl ready.

Picture, if you will, the nerdiest girl at your high school. The one who didn't have much to say, but at the same time it was obvious she would never a) kill people, or b) have a secret two-in-the-pink-one-in-the-stink sex life that wouldve schocked Sue Johansen. Your basic Magic the Gathering, Babysitter's Club kinda girl. My AI is this girl, only she is the president of the IU Tae Kwon Do club. So she kicks high school girl's ass. That's her basic personality... I shall expand.

All you really need to know is that she ends her emails with quotations from people like Blaise Pascal and Ronald Reagan. So in my case, an email which ends with "Sorry, but you'll have to take a zero on that assignment" is quickly followed by:

I decline utterly to be impartial as between the fire brigade and the fire. -Winston Churchill

Dry your eyes, Carl. Winny's comforting words will always be there for you.

Ok, appearance. She has a body worthy of Roald Dahl. This Oompa-Loompa-looking puta isn't too far off in terms of skin color or dress, either. She's not orange, but has jaundice that makes her look like a botulistic banana. Or a newborn. A really ugly newborn. The color of newborn poo. Her jeans routinely refuse to reach her ankles (but I have to give them credit, the jeans. They do their best to make it around her pubic mound. There's simply not enough material to make it to the floor.) She doesn't volunteer at a hospital, but damned if her shirts don't have little ducks on them as though she's a pediatrician's assistant. If Willy Wonka was her father, than surely a Kentucky Derby mare was mommy. When she smiles, I always get the image of an expansive red sea (her gums) out of which jut 36 or so disproportionately long piers (her teeth). Ooh, and the food that's constantly in her teeth can be the fishermen. Cute! Like a diorama! As a pretty Christmas bow to wrap it all up, she sports a Prince Rupert 'do in dire need of some shampoo and a comb. The only woman on campus with frizzy hair in the winter.

The picture of beauty.

I know what you're thinking. "Carl, why so acerbic?! I've rarely (if ever) seen you this cruel. I'm somewhat offended by such a hateful display." And for that I apologize. I must, however, have a way to immaturely displace my anger. I'd smear the good name of Queer if I didn't express my upset self in a shallow and completely unrelated way. Long story short, I made a mistake in signing up for a required one-on-one exam. When I realized my error, I immediately contacted her, apologized, and made myself readily available for a make-up opportunity. Normally, so as not to give the naughty children an easy way out, these one-on-one exams are not made-up (unless your AI happens to have a beating heart, and can recognize an honest mistake). She denied me, citing "an administrative bind," but then went on to say that "it [was] difficult to do, seeing as though I'm so responsible." It's the beginning of the semester. I'll make up for the zero-grade somehow.

I shake my fist at ye, o black- and stony-hearted one!



But bearing what we cannot change and going on with what God has given us, confident there is a destiny, somehow seems to bring a reward we wouldn't exchange for any other. It takes a lot of fire and heat to make a piece of steel. -Ronald Reagan







Current music: Elton John--This Train Don't Stop There Anymore. Elt, we knew you were gay and a druggie before. We still loved you.