The Pig

On the desk. Eating a bit of apple.

The guinea pig is no longer named "Pip". He has officially been re-named "Leo" *cough* after Leonidas *uncough*. What? Plus, he looks more like a Leo.

"My, what a good day for a... walk outside"

The one good thing about Ithaca (actually, there are many a good thing) is that the weather kicks so much ass... except between mid-October and April. But outside of that hell hole that is winter, it's really nice here. And there are plants and trees and minimal amounts of concrete, and as much as I love cities, I like the un-cities one hundred times better.

Today I found two cicadas mating on the sidewalk. My roomate is taking an entomology course and has to collect a bunch of insects before the end of the semester (there are dead bugs all over our room; is very exciting) so I thought I'd help her out. So after awkwardly prodding at the lovers with a stick, attempting to get them through the one inch hole of my water bottle, I realized how much I suck at collecting bugs. Anna (roomate) brings home wasps and bees and giant icky stinging bugs and I can't catch a damn locust. And then they flew away. I have to admit, I felt a little guilty for breaking up their love fest.

And then I thought about Mickey Mouse, and how much he resembles Minnie Mouse. And then I thought, "What if Minnie Mouse is just the cross-dressing alter-ego of Mickey Mouse?" And then I completely re-evaluated my childhood.

Oh, Leonidas...

... please let me have your babies.

Please?

Life consumption begins.. wait for it... now!

This is what I'll be doing for the rest of the year. I probably won't post very often... or leave the library... or sleep, but is okay.

Social Science Perspectives on Food and Nutrition - One delicious sociology course disguised as science.

Human Development - The study of BABIES!!!!

Physics 101 - This is an auto-tutorial class which is sort of awesome and sort of scary. The awesome part is that you get to pace yourself and do everything on your own time. The scary comes from the fact that there are lots and lots and lots of rules and nit-picky details and if you fail at any of them they eat your grade. Literally, they just peel it off the page and shove it in their mouth... plus, they curve-down the class to that good ol' Cornell B- average. :-(

Organic Chemistry for Life Sciences - After the severe beat-down that I received in my chemistry class last year (not to mention the numerous mental break-downs), I feel optimistic that I can do well in this class. Good study habits were probably the only thing I learned in chemistry last year. However, because it is "for Life Sciences" there are bookoos of pre-med's in there. BOOKOOS! I say. And as if pre-med people weren't annoying enough, this is the "weeder class" for med school. Which means their panties will be in an even tighter wad than last year. Delicioso.

Continuing Spanish - Yes, it is sad that I've taken Spanish classes for 8 years now and still can't speak it. Yes, it is even sadder than after those 8 years, I took a placement test and scored just barely... barely high enough to be placed in the second easiest Spanish class Cornell offers. But all is well, because my teacher is this bumbling old Bolivian man who smells like soap. And I love him. And I will love him even more at 8 in the morning, 4 days a week, when I am hyped out of my mind on caffiene.

BOOKOOS!

Back at Schoo'

Oh dear Jesus. The past 3 days have been the most tiring days in... ever. And despite the poor construction and thought behind the last sentence, I feel like it accurately captures the hell that was my move-in.

After twelve hours of driving, battling hoards of terrible Canadian drivers, we arrived on Monday evening. Some friends helped me unpack and I shoved everything in a corner and piddled the night away.

Yesterday was unpacking day. You never realize how much crap you have, until you have to pack up everything you have, fit it in a car, transport it hundreds of miles, and then unpack it all again. I felt even worse about being a materialistic whore after I got to my room and found that my roommate had... pretty much nothing. Granted she got a few days to put it all away before I arrived, but still, there was a good 24 hour period when I had the majority of the square-floorage covered with crap. It was glorious.

I'm living in the Ecology House this year, a hotel that was converted into "an environmentally aware" dorm. It's a huge jump from the monster dorm I was living in last year. It feels more... home-like. People actually come out of their rooms and mingle. There's a decent piano (thank god!). And there are critters in most of the rooms... Okay, maybe not most... perhaps 25%, but still... there's a giant water bug living across the hall from me. That's exciting.

And then I bought a guinea pig. He is delicious and soft and smells faintly of animal and woodchips. And he doesn't have a name. On the paperwork for the dorm, his name is "Mr. Squiggle Butt," but it just doesn't feel like the right name now that I actually have the guinea pig. I can't decide between an actual human name (Herman?) or an noun name (Killer?). So the guinea pig is nameless. Pictures will come soon.

And now I'm off to buy books... as soon as I can convince myself to get out of my robe and put on some clothes (always the hardest part of the day). *sigh*

Thoughts and Theories and Myspace

Occasionally I enjoy perusing through the "browse" feature on Myspace, looking for people that I went to school with. And more than occasionally I will stumble upon the profile of someone that I vaguely knew from somewhere. They'll usually be engaged or married or pregnant or a mommy/daddy and I'll think to myself "But they're so young! How could they do that to themselves with so much left to experience before they settle down?"

But secretly, deep down in the deepest parts of my... self, I want what they have. A reliable job and somewhere to live with someone I love and the babychilds. As much as I was to go out and live for 10 more years and explore and not be chained down with too much responsibility, I really just want babies and marriage and safe happiness.

I have this theory (which is why I'm writing this here; to perhaps get some outside verification) that all women (and most men) secretly just want safe, boring, predictable lives.

Eh?

"Food beyond compare, food beyond belief. Mix it in a mincer and pretend it's beef..."

Damn you, catchy show tunes!

Hello! Happy Friday! No, it doesn't really feel like Friday, because most of us are either sitting at home, bored out of out minds 7 days a week, or working our asses off 7 days a week to the point where all the days are starting to feel the same. There is no happy medium.

Today I cleaned the house... or about 46% of the house. I got distracted by "Mythbusters." That Adam is such a stitch, but I'm still trying to figure out what crawled up Jamie's butt and died. Or maybe he's just the strong, silent, maniacal genius type. Or maybe they just needed someone to balance out the bubbly that is Adam... but I digress. I like to role-play while I clean. While I was cleaning bathrooms, I was a talented young Cuban girl who had the voice of an angel and the determination of a small, adorable creature towing a large parcel of food back to its burrow. I was cleaning the homes of rich people in order to buy a bus ticket to Hollywood and escape the clutches of my abusive, alcoholic father. Whilst vacuuming, I was a disgruntled housewife who took her frustrations out on the newest family pet... who would inevitably die a few weeks after it was welcomed to its new home...

Cleaning can get really really boring...

Imagine how I must be in the bedroom... ehh... *wink wink*... *nudge*.

And then my dad decided that we needed to go out to dinner. To a casino. A casino that was 40 minutes away.

For those of you that have never been to casinos, they are icky places. "Icky" is a simple word that is often looked down upon due its status as a favorite adjective of small children, but I can not stress how appropriate it was in describing this place. Venture with me to a moment. A moment about 5 hours ago...

The highway there is really only a country road. A country road that is 4 lanes wide. And you think to yourself, "Why does this have 4 lanes? There's nothing but farm houses and fields of corn on either side." But when you get to the casino, you see why. Two giant plastic eagles claw at a sign that reads "Soaring Eagle Casino" and marks the entrance to a parking lot that could put even the most super of the Super Wal-Marts to shame. You park in section C4 and begin the trek towards the colossal, boring, warehouse-looking building in the distance. On your way there, you see a sign. It reads: "Please do not leave children unattended in car. We have child care facilities." And then you think "Who the hell would be dumb enough to leave their kid alone in this huge parking lot?" And then it scares you a little as you think "Enough people that they feel it's necessary to put a sign up."

So you go into the casino and it smells like a giant bowling alley. The front door is 20 feet away from the nearest slot machine which is only one of a thousand others (literally, a thousand) that extend out into an area almost the size of a football field. There are tables and roulette wheels and craps, but mostly there are slot machines. And the noises they make all kind of melt together and make this flurry magical dings and whistles. Every once in a while, a light will flash and you'll see a number: $1, 021.48! $784,332.12! And you'll dream about what you could buy with that kind of money, and think to yourself "What if..." The noise and lights give the feeling that there is winning going on on that floor. Like everyone is living the dream with their daiquiri in one hand, and a cup of coins in the other. But when you look at their faces, they all have that blank stare of boredom. Even more blank than that zombie-look kids who watch TV too much get.

Everything (besides the copious amounts of pasty Caucasions) gives off strong Native American vibes. The chandeliers have feather detailing, all the restaurants have unpronounceable Indian names, and there's a totem pole around every corner. There are even display cases on the walls every few feet or so showing Native American peoples. Real ones! With their tribal headdresses and such. And it's all kind of sad and dreamy and pathetic all at once. You can say nice words like "educational displays" and "respect for those noble people" or you can say mean words like "ignorant capitalists" and "white privilege", but either way, it's not going to make a difference. They're still going to get the money and the land and the power. And they're still going to be dead, or damn close to it anyway. And you're going to be typitty-typing all of this into your blog with a romantic tear in your eye knowing, deep down, that you couldn't have stopped it even if you had been there. Knowing, even deeper down, that you wouldn't have stopped it had you been given the choice.

*Queue touching music*

"I'm just an ass in the crack of humanity."

Hello, world! And or the five people that read this blog. I love you like a muffin loves being filled with delicious fruits of various shapes and sizes. You wouldn't think muffins would really care one way or another... but they do! It's a crucial part of their muffin-hood.

As I was walking someone else's dog today (yes, I fill the void in my dog-less childhood by walking other people's dogs) I was thinking to myself how nice a day it was. And how nice the breeze and the sun were. And then I thought about how none of these things would seem nice to me if I were... oh... I don't know... an earthworm... or an octopus... or a tetanus bacteria. And then I thought about how the things we enjoy aren't really enjoyable themselves, but are enjoyed by us. And so I really should have been thinking how nice it was that I happened to be standing in a sunny, breezy place and happened to have evolved (over millions of years) to the point where I could appreciate the position that I happened to find myself in at that very moment. So instead of thanking Jesus for the sun and the stars and all the beautiful things that I perceive as beautiful, I should be thankful that Jesus built the universe up to that very moment when my brain was able to perceive the sun and the breeze and that are both pleasing and delightful and conclude that my life was in a good place and it was "a nice day."

... Jesus gets too much credit for things. Shouldn't we be giving God a little more credit?

Blasphemy? You be the judge.

Texas is a spectacular place. Filled with spectacular people of all shapes and sizes. That's really the only reason I come down. To become more "in-tune" with "my people". Translation: I am sick of white people and their white ways. Which is bad, because Michigan has approximately 1.2 "minorities" per square mile. Sometimes I'll try to count the minorities in public places... just for fun. The most I've ever gotten is around 2. You don't notice these things until you start counting.

Plus, it's nice to have conversations with people who have something interesting to add to the world.

I loves you all! Damn, I'm going to miss you guys... *gets all verklempt*