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I fucking can't sleep. There's something about college that keeps me from sleeping. I think it's having to wake up in the morning. When I have to wake up early, I can't sleep the night before. I get anxious just thinking about waking up. I ate a bowl of oatmeal and drank a glass of warm milk. Nothing. I can yawn, my eyelids are heavy, I have the urge to sleep. Nothing.
Dr. Steven Warner: Professor of Math 12
He seems like a nice guy and he's quite handsome. He started off the first class by teaching us how to count and read numbers. I'm sure the whole class was in awe of how patronizing this was, but the girl next to me took extensive notes on how to write the number 142. She's a fox, she is. It got harder, bases 2 through 12, binary shit and whatnot. I'm fucking retarded with numbers, but I was able to understand. It doesn't seem like I'll have trouble with this math class, my adviser said it was the easiest one to take. But she also told me I could take Spanish 1. More on that later.
Dr. Keun Lee: Professor of Marketing 101
I thought he would be one of those Chinese professors that doesn't speak english. That was a prejudice I had against Chinese professors, like Chigon Kim of freshman year at Geneseo (who ironically taught Race and Ethnicity, a class aimed to neutralize prejudice). But it turns out this Chink could jive with the rest of them. He cracked a few jokes and basically told us that the class would be easy as shit, in so many words. So that's pretty cool.
I was first enrolled in Spanish 1 with Professor Cao. This guy was a fucking hoot. He was so dramatic and flamboyant, a real Romantic, it was hilarious. He was in on the joke, but I could tell that after a while it would be annoying. The Spaniard told me to take a proficiency exam. I told him his fly was open and he ridiculed me for staring at his crotch. I did him a favor, everyone was snickering at him. And who doesn't like looking at a crotch now and then? So I sat through his class and re-learned the Spanish alphabet and thanked my lucky stars that I was in such an elementary Spanish class. Then I followed his orders and took the proficiency exam, of which I guessed more than half of the answers. Toward the end of the test, I was filling in the scantron without even reading the questions. Somehow I scored well enough to get placed in Spanish 3. Fucking Spanish 3! That's two levels higher than I had anticipated. Que lastima!
So I then enrolled in Spanish 3, which meets at 6:20, five hours after my Marketing class, which going to be hard as shit, which is taught by:
Prof. Gabriel Pastora, Professor of Spanish 3
This guy seems alright too, much more subdued than Mr. Don Quixote over there. He started pummeling us with Spanish right away. I was bludgeoned with words I don't even know the English definitions of. That's an exaggeration, but seriously, most of the kids in this class haven't taken Spanish since high school. So I'm in the same boat with people just as retarded as I.
But the most shocking part of this class, the fucking surprise of the century, the glitch in the time space continuum: fucking Booger is in my class. Chris Smith, the compulsive liar, the man who think he's best at everything, who's immersed in a dream world of a perfect SAT score, the cure for AIDS, owning the world's most expensive sunglasses, of eating three whole pies of pizza, being God's gift to man. He's funny, in that the joke's on him and he's too daft to realize it. He's got one friend, Kenny Acker, the only schmuck gullible enough to buy into Booger's lies. Everything he says that is meant to be funny is embarrassing. But the blank stares or uncomfortable giggles don't phase him. He'll be Booger for life.
So I got class tomorrow, but I gotta get there early and buy some textbooks for my ass, so I can learn good what I need to learn good. I would have done it tomorrow, but I fucked up. Besides, it rained like the dickens.
I was tempted to let my hair grow out. And like most things I made a public declaration that I would do so. But as usually I've decided to go back on my word. Which should be no surprise to anyone. I'm contemplating cutting my hair right now, at 4:37 in the morning. That's one of the oddest things I can do at this hour, cut my hair. To be standing naked in the bathroom taking a buzzer to my head. If I could sleep, I wouldn't be in this mess. I'd be having dreams involving girls laughing at my penis size or riding a roller coaster into rehab with my mother. Dreaming about my inadequacies, shortcomings, imperfections.
I'm better off awake at all times. More productive. The hallucinations and hot flashes are minor setback considering the amount of work I can accomplish while deprived of sleep. Sleep is my close friend and even closer enemy. So is food. And beer. And most things that make me feel good.
Every now and again I think of summer music festivals. Berkfest is a definite, but I'm not sure about t'other. Maybe some festival out west. But that's a while from now.
I stopped outside a church house,
Where the citizens like to sit,
They say they want the Kingdom,
But they don't want God in it.
Dr. Steven Warner: Professor of Math 12
He seems like a nice guy and he's quite handsome. He started off the first class by teaching us how to count and read numbers. I'm sure the whole class was in awe of how patronizing this was, but the girl next to me took extensive notes on how to write the number 142. She's a fox, she is. It got harder, bases 2 through 12, binary shit and whatnot. I'm fucking retarded with numbers, but I was able to understand. It doesn't seem like I'll have trouble with this math class, my adviser said it was the easiest one to take. But she also told me I could take Spanish 1. More on that later.
Dr. Keun Lee: Professor of Marketing 101
I thought he would be one of those Chinese professors that doesn't speak english. That was a prejudice I had against Chinese professors, like Chigon Kim of freshman year at Geneseo (who ironically taught Race and Ethnicity, a class aimed to neutralize prejudice). But it turns out this Chink could jive with the rest of them. He cracked a few jokes and basically told us that the class would be easy as shit, in so many words. So that's pretty cool.
I was first enrolled in Spanish 1 with Professor Cao. This guy was a fucking hoot. He was so dramatic and flamboyant, a real Romantic, it was hilarious. He was in on the joke, but I could tell that after a while it would be annoying. The Spaniard told me to take a proficiency exam. I told him his fly was open and he ridiculed me for staring at his crotch. I did him a favor, everyone was snickering at him. And who doesn't like looking at a crotch now and then? So I sat through his class and re-learned the Spanish alphabet and thanked my lucky stars that I was in such an elementary Spanish class. Then I followed his orders and took the proficiency exam, of which I guessed more than half of the answers. Toward the end of the test, I was filling in the scantron without even reading the questions. Somehow I scored well enough to get placed in Spanish 3. Fucking Spanish 3! That's two levels higher than I had anticipated. Que lastima!
So I then enrolled in Spanish 3, which meets at 6:20, five hours after my Marketing class, which going to be hard as shit, which is taught by:
Prof. Gabriel Pastora, Professor of Spanish 3
This guy seems alright too, much more subdued than Mr. Don Quixote over there. He started pummeling us with Spanish right away. I was bludgeoned with words I don't even know the English definitions of. That's an exaggeration, but seriously, most of the kids in this class haven't taken Spanish since high school. So I'm in the same boat with people just as retarded as I.
But the most shocking part of this class, the fucking surprise of the century, the glitch in the time space continuum: fucking Booger is in my class. Chris Smith, the compulsive liar, the man who think he's best at everything, who's immersed in a dream world of a perfect SAT score, the cure for AIDS, owning the world's most expensive sunglasses, of eating three whole pies of pizza, being God's gift to man. He's funny, in that the joke's on him and he's too daft to realize it. He's got one friend, Kenny Acker, the only schmuck gullible enough to buy into Booger's lies. Everything he says that is meant to be funny is embarrassing. But the blank stares or uncomfortable giggles don't phase him. He'll be Booger for life.
So I got class tomorrow, but I gotta get there early and buy some textbooks for my ass, so I can learn good what I need to learn good. I would have done it tomorrow, but I fucked up. Besides, it rained like the dickens.
I was tempted to let my hair grow out. And like most things I made a public declaration that I would do so. But as usually I've decided to go back on my word. Which should be no surprise to anyone. I'm contemplating cutting my hair right now, at 4:37 in the morning. That's one of the oddest things I can do at this hour, cut my hair. To be standing naked in the bathroom taking a buzzer to my head. If I could sleep, I wouldn't be in this mess. I'd be having dreams involving girls laughing at my penis size or riding a roller coaster into rehab with my mother. Dreaming about my inadequacies, shortcomings, imperfections.
I'm better off awake at all times. More productive. The hallucinations and hot flashes are minor setback considering the amount of work I can accomplish while deprived of sleep. Sleep is my close friend and even closer enemy. So is food. And beer. And most things that make me feel good.
Every now and again I think of summer music festivals. Berkfest is a definite, but I'm not sure about t'other. Maybe some festival out west. But that's a while from now.
I stopped outside a church house,
Where the citizens like to sit,
They say they want the Kingdom,
But they don't want God in it.
