September 11, 2000 — Stop me before I say too much (Part two)

My first day of university did little to impress me.

With my first class being the 1500-student biology class, I was struck mostly by how stupid the students sitting around me were. Typical excerpt: "You guys wanna smoke a big spliff after the lecture?"

The professor seemed smart enough though, and a good speaker as well. So that's alright with me. It was just an orientation class, so there wasn't actually any learning to be done. And then it was off to chemistry, after a one-hour break.

Chemistry was pretty brutal. First day of class and I'm already falling asleep. The professors aren't all that engaging. To say the least.

Another one-hour break later, it was off to popular culture studies. This class is definitely going to be amazing, and I'm hoping to write my big essay on body modification. One other girl in the class has a septum piercing, and if she even considers doing her essay on piercings, it'll be fight time. Well, probably not. But I'll be sure to whine about it in my journal if she takes the topic before I get the chance, and that'll show her.

I ate dinner at Ned's Cafe, the only vegetarian alternative on our food plan (actually, the only alternative to the hellish Burwash Dining Hall; that it's vegetarian is simply a pleasant coincidence). It wasn't all that filling (a cheese sandwhich and salad), but it was a lot less icky than pasta with tofu chunks and mystery sauce.

I then fell asleep on the balcony for awhile. When I returned inside, the girl who I'd emailed last night for no acceptable reason had messaged me on ICQ. I won't pretend that this wasn't the highlight of my day. I'm not used to this business of talking to people I haven't met in real life on ICQ and having them ask for pictures, so that didn't go so well. She seemed rather annoyed with my being apologetic for wasting her time, too, despite the fact that I'm convinced that that's what I was doing. But other than that it was fun. I hadn't expected to hear anything back at all, so it was nice to even talk to her once. I need to pierce myself five more times to catch up with her, though. As soon as I can get my competitive spirit worked up, I'll run to the closest piercing place to move towards a tie. Or not.

Not long after this, Kim from the first floor visited with theatre binculars for us to use in our voyeurism project. (If you recall, there is an apartment complex visible from the balcony.) She, Johnston, and I hung out on the balcony doing that for awhile, and hucking berries from the vines on our wall at people below us. We ended up looking at some old St. Mark yearbooks and she was very political in saying, "I like your hair better now," instead of, "Man, you looked horrible," which is the only thing anyone could possibly think seeing old-school pictures of me.

Not much else happened. While I was writing this journal, a girl came up to my room and asked me to go help her with her computer. She was installing a program and it said the directory it was being installed to didn't exist. I got to her room, said this was okay, clicked the "Next" button, and returned to journal writing on the third floor. Hardly worth the trip. I dislike being known as someone with computer knowledge. I think I'll break the next computer I'm asked to fix to ensure no one ever asks again. In the eternal words of Calvin (of Calvin and Hobbes, of course), "If you don't want to be asked to do a job again, do it very badly." Or something along those lines.

Only two hours of class tomorrow.