In this context, better than Double D’s…

It was “Backwards Semester”. For the past few semesters, I’ve been taking two classes each time: one philosophy class and one to fulfill my general education requirements. Usually what happens is I tolerate the GenEd class and look forward to the Philosophy class… not this time.

Perhaps it was because my Kinesiology course fit so well to where I am in my life. After all, after quitting smoking I was getting more active, cycling, taking slightly better care of myself. What better time to take a course to help solidify my attitude towards living a healthy lifestyle? And it did. It got me thinking more positively about lifting weights, watching what I eat, maintaining a positive attitude, the whole shmeer!

Actually, it wasn’t quite that. When Sharri walked into her course on 19th century philosophy, she said, “If you’re used to getting A’s, you’ll get a B. If you’re used to getting B’s, you’ll get a C. If you’re used to getting C’s, you do not belong in this class.” I thought she meant we had a lot of material to cover and a lot of material to ingest. I wasn’t entirely right. She also meant that she reserved the right to quiz us on stuff we didn’t study and to expect answers to questions she didn’t ask – and to be able to ask questions on her tests that weren’t even a part of the class!! Every test became an exercise in “What could she possible ask us about?”, the world’s toughest trivial pursuit game.

I got a B in both classes. Double B’s. And I’m happy I got them. Granted, as Sharri explained, I was used to getting A’s in philosophy classes. As for my Kinesiology class, well, I’m a little disappointed in myself – not much but a little. It was a great class. The instructor, Tom, was thoroughly engaging; he made it fun. But with all the crap going on – and having to study for a philosophy class that was about as predictable as the instructor – I guess a B ain’t too bad.

I’ll take it.

Now, back to writing. At least, until fall… I hope…

Writing and Studying and Neither…

So, here I am. Another sleepless night. Suki was scratching, which is her way of saying, “Dude! My eyes are turning yellow!” Vicky didn’t really want me to get up because I think she knew that once up I’d stay up but up I went and out we walked and after Suki peed and we came back… I was up. Again.

But that’s okay. I’ve got a lot to do.

Finals are coming up. Per usual, my philosophy instructor has sprung a surprise on us and I have no idea what she wants in this final. So, my strategy is to just hit as much as I can and hope for the best. So, I’m reviewing all things Nietzsche and trying to drill them into my head, if only for the few hours I’m writing my final exam.

At least, that’s what I should be doing. Because even as I study, something else is going on. I suppose I should have seen it coming and I should be grateful it waited. But the writer inside is waking up again. Like some leviathan, it rises from the depths of my subconscious and won’t be ignored until I write something and maybe even something else. Placated, then, maybe it’ll return to the recesses… and shut the hell up…

Right now, it’s feeding me all kinds of lines for a couple of plays I want to write. I try to be philosophic about it. Although I’ve met little success of late, you never know what’ll happen next or even if a joke might make Vicky laugh, which is worthwhile in itself. Now, I should probably return to a couple of books I’ve been picking at but, honestly, Vicky hasn’t proofed Daughter of a One-Armed Man, yet. I wrote that a couple of years ago and can give her another book when she’s through, so it’s not as though I’m in need for any new material there. (Once she finishes Daughter, I’ll be ready to work on selling that – but it’s the next one, Last Ditch, that’s the real killer. I can’t wait for her to read that!) The bottom line, really, is that no matter what I should do, the writer inside of me wants to write these plays.

I already mentioned one, Sometimes We Find Our Way. I’m intrigued with this character of Jimmie Fatovich. Fatovich just sounds funny to me; I don’t know why. But I have this scene stuck in my head – these things just pop in on their own – where the woman he picks up at a bar tries to analyze him: “And Jimmie – you’re a grown man and you still call yourself Jimmie! You’ve been so dominated by your parents that you can’t escape this childish name, this schoolyard name, this boy’s name. Jimmie!” When, of course, he just likes the name. I’m beginning to see the play as a series of miscommunications, of people not really understanding what the other person is saying, which is something of a metaphor for our relationships. I mean, how do we know we understand another person? We just have to assume it and hope for the best.

The other play is this monumental reach into absurdity I can’t even begin to explain. It’s one of those “You have to see it” things. But it begins with a husband and wife:

Wife: Did you eat all the ice cream?
Husband: Yeah, I needed to check my tooth.
Wife: With the ice cream?
Husband: I think I have a cavity.
Wife: And you did that with –
Husband: My tooth’s been very sensitive so I had some ice cream to test it.
Wife: So, you ate the whole –
Husband: I wanted to be sure!

Mind you, those are probably not final lines. They’re just the ones revolving in my head. The play includes murder, zombies, and the devil… Like I said…

And, in there, I need to study for my final exams. One exam, in my Kinesiology course, is a take-home. LOVE THAT! But I can’t escape Nietzsche… try as I might…

Well, I guess I should head upstairs and try to sleep some more. We’ll see…

Despite my recent lack of entries...

Can you believe I got a C on a test?

Can you believe I got a C on a test for not writing enough?

Can you believe I got a C on a test for not writing enough in a philosophy course?

Sum'bitch....

School Days. School Days. Dear old holy shit...

Seven books.

Seven books for two classes.

Seven books for two classes smack in the middle of my week.

Seven books for two classes smack in the middle of my week with the job I got.

This semester is going to be a bitch.

I'll be finishing up my general education requirements with a Kinesiology class: Physical Activity & Well Being. I saw this and thought, "Ah, an easy class!" I had images of having to swim laps and shit, you know?

... No. The course description reads "An integration of physiological, psychological and sociological understandings of the human being in relationship to physical activity as a lifelong pursuit. Topics include physical fitness, nutrition, stress reduction, socialization, and individual differences in human behavior." There's a book. There's gonna be lectures. Tests. Oh god...

Because it just gets worse. My philosophy course this semester is Kant & The 19th Century. This course requires SIX books: One on Hegel, Two on Nietzsche, Two on Kant, and another one I have no clue about!! After last semester, I was really hoping for some time off, you know? Something easy, maybe? I forget exactly what that is - something easy - but it would be nice to run into it again, even by accident!

... maybe summer... maybe fall...

Ugh!

School's out for... winter?...

Well, it is! And I'm a happy man!

My prediction: one A and one B.

My film history class was a lot of fun. Even when it grew tiresome and old, I got to see so many great movies and even crappy movies I really liked. Standouts included: The Bicycle Thiefs (rocked my world), Bliss (wish it was on DVD!!), and Run Lola Run (stupid flick, great soundtrack!). Out instructor was so intense and obsessive, but it was because he was so passionate about film. You could see that and that made it more interesting, for me. I hit solid B's on each test and on the paper, and I think I got a B on the final, which is why I figure I pulled a B out of that class.

Philosophy: Rationalism & Empiricism... wow. Let me tell you about how Spinoza and Hume shook my universe. Oh wait! I can't! It would take too long. But this I can tell you: the more I study, the more I get the sense of philosophy as being this great machine and every class, every new philosopher, every new system, is a piece. Mind you, it's not a perfect machine but it is awe inspiring and I'm beginning to see how the pieces fit. More importantly, I'm finding where I can make repairs to make the machine work. Will I? Of this, I grow less certain every day. Hell, I could write a hundred books like Climbing Maya but they're nothing if nobody reads them. But that's okay, too. I can be a good man without being a great man... with a little work... I pulled A's on both papers and on our mid-term and, after last night's final, I'm sure I got an A in the class.

What's next?

I've got a month with nothing to do!... I wish! No, I've got plenty to do - plenty!

1) Rewrites on one book.
2) Work on another
3) Starting a new, short play about sex and other fuck-ups
4) A children's book.

... whaaaa?

Finals Finally Finalizing...

Finals.

Hate 'em.

Just saying.

And I always reach this point just before finals, which commence in two days by the way, where I mentally throw up my hands and shout "If it be your will, oh Lord, take this cup away from my lips!"... mentally...

Because you just get sick of studying. There's no way all of this knowledge will fit. It's exhausting and there's WoW to be played... I mean...

After this semester, I'll have seven courses remaining. Lucky seven.

If I take two courses each semester, I'll still have four semesters to go... two years...

Fuck.

It's obviously clear that I don't get it...

I've been wondering lately. Whatever happened to me?

No... I'm not referring to the play (though I appreciate you catching that), I'm just wondering...

I mean, somewhere along the line, things got fucked up.

Right now, I'm working on my paper for philosophy class. I'm writing out a working theory for free will based on Newtonian physics. Impressive, don'tcha think? Yeah, well, I tell people and their response falls somewhere between "Oh, okay. You have fun with that." and "Do I know you?" Free will! Newtonian physics! Hello?! I mean, it's still not entirely proven that free will exists and I'm going to prove it using 400 year old science!!!! That's like flying to the moon with a running jump!

... but nobody really cares.

It brings to mind Climbing Maya, my book on success. First person to define success - that's me. Not that anyone bought the book, mind you.

This is how my life is going and it has me a bit depressed.

Did you see the recent episode of South Park, where the guys finally catch on to the whole High School Musical phenomena just as it dies. I'm feeling a great deal of empathy, believe me.

Seven miles... no waiting... and all you can eat...

Sunday turned out to be an interesting day for me.

I shouldn't let Saturday go without passing. Saturday was my World Cinema mid-term and, as I got out of my car to head to class, I realized almost too late the I'd pack a USED scan-tron for the test! The scan-tron from my last test, by the way. So, while that looked up at me with a score of 89 - look at how well you did! - I was faced with the horror of having no scan-tron for the test! So, I ran across campus, which is all kinds of ankle-icious fun in my Chacos, and got to the store with four minutes to spare. The scan-tron was a quarter, which was a quarter more than I had - seriously one of those days - so I frantically looked for something I could buy to make it enough to put on my debit card. (There's a limit.) But the girl behind the register - I don't know who she is but I feel eternally indebted to her, like I should send her flowers or a pint of blood or something - said, "I've got a quarter. Don't worry about it."

So, I ran to class and got in just as the instructor was finishing handing out the test. I sat down, sweating (cause I'm a fat fuck) and trying to collect myself, when I looked down at the test... and, wow, it was a really easy test! I will be surprised if I don't get an A, which is good because I'll be surprised if I do better than a C in my philosophy mid-term. (Here's an update: I got an A on my philosophy mid-term!)

Anyway... Saturday... mid-terms are over. Whew!

Sunday morning, I woke up - and woke up - and woke up - and finally Vicky was all, "Are you going for a ride today or what?"

"Fine! Fine, woman! Let me lift my distended gut from the bed and pack it in some obscenely tight clothing!"

I got on the bike and began to head up the trail. I started the morning with the same headache I had for a few days, so I wasn't expecting to break any records... or anything, for that matter. Then, as I pass Imperial Highway, I saw a big CLOSED sign on the trail. It seems someone is doing more work on it - you'd think they'd work on the San Gabriel River Trail... that needs it! Badly! Oh well, So, I turned around and decided to proceed up Imperial Highway into Anaheim Hills - and I mean UP! But I need to do some hill work. It's good exercise. And I'm a sick fuck.

I pull out onto the street, lean my foot down into the pedal - and slam my foot down as the chain pops off the gears!

... ouch. Nearly lost my balls.

I came so close to crashing - or looked like such a lame-ass - that a guy on a recumbent bike actually stopped back at the trail to see if I was okay. He wouldn't have been able to hear me through the distance and traffic so I just upended my bike and fixed the chain, just like when I was a kid. Then, I turned the bike over again and waved at the guy. He waved and me - and I kept going.

But something was wrong with the chain. I could feel it; it wasn't coasting right. It was pulling. It felt wrong. But I kept going. Up, up, up, I rode into the hills. I went less than half a mile when I reached Nohl Ranch Road. I won't kid you. I had to stop and pant and wheeze for several minutes. I felt like, if I didn't, I was going to throw up. Now, Nohl Ranch turns into Lincoln, heading back towards my neighborhood; I knew I could just take that back. And the way the chain was pulling, I figured that might be best. So, I started pedaling again, building up speed, ready to take the first hill, when... the gear shifted by itself - very disconcerting - and then the chain popped off, all in about five seconds or so.

And, there I was, in the cool morning air... I could keep trying to ride the dead horse, or... I pulled out my phone and called Vicky. I'd always warned her it might come to this. She was okay with it. She told me she'd be there soon... and so... I waited...

And the cool morning air began to grow pretty dang warm. This is Southern California, after all. I stripped off my cold gear and backpack and began to wait.

An asian couple walked by, the gentleman saying, "You taking break now?!" Scratch that - a couple of stereotypes walked by...

On Saturday, I'd seen some people protesting in favor of Proposition 8 with signs that read, "Prop 8 = Free Speech" and "Prop 8 = Parent's Rights". Funny. I thought Proposition 8 restricts human rights. How little I know. Well, as I stood there, waiting, I saw an SUV with a huge placard drive by that read, "Prop 8 = Religious Freedom". You bet. Freedom to be just as hateful and intolerant as you wanna be!

I was surprised, though - pleasantly so - by a jogger who came by. This guy jogged right up to me and asked, as he approached, "You okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine," I said. "Bike problems?" "Yeah, it died. I'm waiting for a ride." "You sure everything's okay?" he asked. "Yeah, but thanks."

I guess the world is filled with intolerant assholes but there are also plenty of nice people ready to help you out.

Vicky did come by and we packed the bike into her car - Vicky moaning painfully the entire time - she hates when we put the bike in her car. Later, I brought it to the bike shop and they fixed it, no charge. Zak, one of the guys at Orange Cycle - the official bike shop of One Path - thanked me for having a sense of humor about it. These guys are always so appreciative I wondered, not for the first time, what kind of assholes they get in there. Seriously, how can you blame something like that on someone. I just figured it was part of the "break-in" period... I just didn't think something would actually break!

Well, I ended up with more free time than I expected, so I offered to cook dinner. I shredded some leftover chicken and chopped up some andouille sausage. Then, Vicky and I hit the store for some bell pepper, onion, and rice. Coming back home, I bitched and moaned about the kitchen being a mess - but cleaned it anyway. Then, I browned the pepper and onion with some celery, let it caramelize, and tossed in the sausage and chicken. That all cooked for a couple of hours, all told. Then, I dropped in more than three cups of rice, WAY too much rice! I mean WAAAAY too much! But... oh well. I covered that all up with six or so cups of water and let it boil, boil, boil. Oh, and I hit it with a shitload of spice. These things you don't need to measure after you've done it a few times but I keep my recipe out just to remind myself. I found out I was out of bay leaves, so the recipe suffered a little but, all in all, it was good and hot and spicy and hot... okay, I put in a little too much chili peppers...

We'll have leftovers for several days now. Yikes!

With grades like this, Vicky’s going to expect me to keep going…

Optimally, I would like to not have to go to school, not have to go to work, and only be expected to sit around, play video games, and eat junk food.

… but life is cruel.

Not only did I get a new job but also my Spring 2008 grades have been made official. I didn’t mention my grade (singular – one class) for last semester because, well, it could have been a fluke. (Still could be, in fact.) But then, I received my most recent results and here’s how they add up:

Fall 2007: A
Spring 2008: A, B

Am I proud of myself? Sure… I guess… But at this rate, I’ll be going to decades to come. I’m a Junior now… Senior year seems so far away! … oh well.

The toughest part is that now I have to call my dad and ask if he’ll give me $10 for every A…