My Capstone, So You Know

Why I Write Fiction

Over the last five years, I have attended three different schools and gone through seven different majors.  I often ask myself whether I just can’t make up my mind because I’m indifferent and don’t care what I do, or because I want to do everything ever.  I’ve come to the conclusion that it is the latter, but still, I know I can’t do everything.  This doesn’t really have much to do with why I write, it’s just a part of who I am.

I write because I can, because I’m somewhat good at it, because I like to create and imagine, because I want to communicate something—a joke, a picture, an emotion—to anyone and everyone, because there comes a day in everyone’s life when they realize they’ll never play major league baseball, because I want to, because I can make myself laugh and I hope I can make someone else laugh, too, because it’s quiet and when I’m alone at night in my basement, just me at my desk with my trusty laptop and a single lamp with an idea for a story swimming around in my head, the only thing that gets me to bed at 4:30 in the morning, having written down 20 pages of what I hope isn’t crap is my inability to keep my eyes open any longer, because I have a story to tell, because I have a hundred stories to tell, because if I don’t write them down, someone else will, because if I don’t write them down, no one else will, because I live in the middle of nowhere, because the world is round it turns me on, because I’m easily bored, because, while I aspire to be rich and famous one day, I’m a masochist, because words are great, because grammar is my friend, because I love correcting papers, because one day someone will say, “Aaron, I want to make a movie out of that story you wrote about the blind blasphemer and his  deaf nun lover who run away together to open a kebab stand in upper Michigan and/or the coast of the Bolivia,” and I’ll say “Bolivia?” and they’ll say, “We’re thinking of moving it to the coast of Bolivia,” and I’ll say “Bolivia is land-locked,” and then they won’t want to make the movie anymore, because I can go this long without using a period, because there are times in your life like right before you graduate from college when you think, “Why did I just do that?” and for a moment, it’s all rubbish, but then you really think about it, and you remember that throughout seven majors and three schools all you’ve ever done or wanted to do or kept doing is write, and so I write.

My almost-anguish.

When hearing about how an audition went, the last thing you really need is a fake out—not that I was faked out, exactly.  But usually, being thanked for the audition right away means they’re going in a different direction, a.k.a. you sucked.  And yet, somehow, against all odds, that being me vs. another guy who got in anyway because he tried out for two parts, I am now a member of UWEC’s own Impromptu.  Not gonna lie—I’m completely pumped.

Agony.

I know you’re all waiting with breathless anticipation for the news, and if you’re not, then you’re not, I guess.  But I am.  And there’s still nothing.  So just wait a little while.  Yeah.

Fifteen.

Callbacks, or should I say “callbacks”, lasted less than twenty minutes.  We sang the same numbers we did the other day, just with Doc in the room, and then it was over.  Supposedly, I’ll know tomorrow night, but it sounds like they’re discussing tomorrow morning, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I found out sooner.  I’m not sure how hopeful I am.  Cautious optimism, people.

A little sad, but who knows?

Auditions for Impromptu were this evening, and after a last-minute freak out and song change, I feel like it went well enough.  I was one of two tenors auditioning, with one of the tenors, that being the other tenor, also auditioning as a baritone against one other.  Three guys.  My tenor friend and I have a good enough feeling about it, but we’re still cautious just because the whole thing was so weird feeling.  There are still callbacks!  Who are they going to eliminate?  It’s all up in the air.  I like my chances, but we’ll just have to wait and see.

Impromptu audition…get it?

I wasn’t really planning on auditioning for Impromptu, Concert Choir’s a capella group, but now I guess I am.  Now I need to pick a song to sing at auditions, and I think I’m making it more complicated than it needs to be—pick a song, be done with it, right?  Not so much.  No, this song needs to be perfect now, because now that I’m auditioning, I really want to get in.  Why audition for no reason?  Exactly.  I rarely have the need to play to win in an ultra-competitive way, but music is very much the exception to that rule—that is to say, I’m playing to win.  I’ve even got a shot, one single shot, in hell, so it’s pretty exciting.

The Small Matter of Infinity.

My math course.

I’m unsure how to go about putting into words my…whatever it is I have against this class. It’s incredibly easy, first of all, which I don’t mind. What I do mind is the professor treating us like we’re as dumb as rocks and taking us through each step as slowly as possible, ending every statement by having us fill in the last…word. This technique can work well, but not when it’s every single sentence, and not when we don’t even know what he’s talking about yet! Fortunately, I’m taking the class with some friends, so one of us is usually able to find the funny in it.

Yeah…he misspelled “endless” today. How? E-m-d-l-e-s-s. Emdless?

Sometimes I forget I’m a senior.

It’s an understandable mix-up.  I am taking MATH 106, which is little more than word problems and logic puzzles.  I’m also still taking a 200-level English course, usually meant for sophomores and juniors.

But there comes a time in everyone’s life when they realize they’re taking a 300-level Physics course and they’re actually okay with it.  Yes, upper-level science—Physics of all things!  It’s Astronomy, yes—my professor would, more appropriately, call it Astrophysics—but still!  I walked in thinking, “Wow, I might have to drop this, what was I thinking?”  But then he said the magic words: “We’re not doing any math.”  And it was all okay again.

The last day of summer.

I’m glad it’s over with, actually.  Without a few goals to reach for, I just turn into a boring mass of nothing that wanders about the internet in search of more random trivia and partially-amusing YouTube videos.  But now?  Now I have a nice little purpose, like not failing out of college, though that’s a little glass-half-empty, isn’t it?  Fine.  I guess my goal is passing, if that’s better.  Okay then.

Another goal might be to kill the Cardio Kick people.  Who’s like, “Yay, Aerobics!” at 10am?

Just something I did.

Yesterday, I drove down to Appleton and took a four hour-long Responsible Beverage Server class, which means I can now become a bartender if I so choose, which I might.  The class itself was really simple, unless of course you didn’t know not to drink and drive, and most people just spent the evening zoning out.  The girl sitting next to me was doing Sudoku puzzles the whole time.  I’m not entirely sure why I did this, but now I really think I’ll get a bartending job when I go back to Eau Claire, because then I might just be able to afford going to Europe.  How comforting.

Lighting Design: The Aftermath

I am so happy it’s over. Sure, I don’t have my grade yet, but my final project for Lighting Design—a course with more busy-work than the federal government—is done! I never have to open VectorWorks again, organize an instrument database again, or draw color keys and magic sheets again! Of course, it did cost me (see: my mother) $8 for the binder and dividers I needed. But it was worth it just so I could have a little plastic pocket to put a cover page that printed crooked because the paper got jammed in the laser printer. Yeah. It was a good day.

We filled out evaluations for our professor today, and I felt a little bad because I know how most people rated him. I tried to be positive, but I couldn’t not say something about the lack of grading criteria for assignments, endless projects, and no grade feedback the entire semester until the last week of class. If I were a professor, and one day I might hope to be one, I would think that using feedback like grades is the best way for kids to learn from their mistakes. But if a student never sees that grade, then he never knows what he did wrong, and I have no clue what grade I’m getting because I never found out what I did wrong, which is upsetting, and why I’m glad it’s over.

The long one I’d been searching for.

This is the last week of my junior year in college.  I’m at my third school on my third year, living with my third roommate, working toward my first degree in my…seventh major.  That’s right: I’m not a Theatre Arts major anymore.  Funny story, actually…

Less stress.

Okay, I got my paper started, and I feel a lot better, though I wish I didn’t have to take a Saturday to do it.  It’ll finish itself tomorrow, along with half of my lighting project, and then I’ll be able to mostly relax for the rest of the week.

I want to finish a short story.  I have no problem starting them, but finishing them is hard.  I can find my ending sometimes, but by the time I’ve gotten that far, I want to completely redo my beginning, and thus the vicious circle begins.  I feel like I am in a place right now to write something well, something entertaining and something interesting.  I am so close, I just need to spit it out onto the page.

The finals thing.

It’s that time of the semester again—classes have ended, I still have homework to do, and finals are just around the proverbial corner.  The short rundown: finish my lighting project and give the corresponding presentation that doesn’t exist yet, start and finish my Frankenstein paper, take my Astronomy final, and take my English final.  Oh-freaking-joy.  I’m picturing myself up at 5am Monday morning…as in not having slept yet.  I’m freaking out a little bit right now.  I’m going to go sleep it off and hope it doesn’t come back until the end of the weekend—no, that’d be really bad.

No, no, they weren’t kidding.

Maybe ten minutes after writing my last post, I walked outside to a very odd smell.  I thought it smelled like something was burning, like something was on fire.  And where there’s fire, there’s smoke.  Or something.  So yes, indeed, the sky was filled with smoke.  From what I heard, Minnesota is on fire and the wind is whipping it our way.  Of course this would happen on the day I find out I have Bronchitis, but that’s just how my world works.

Here are some crappy pics from my cell phone.  This is what it looked like with no clouds in the sky, and no, the smoke didn’t make everything purple—leave my Nokia 6133 out of this!

This is, uh, different.

So this is what I found upon checking Weather Underground this morning—I guess Eau Claire has become such an industrial city (see: sarcasm) that we too must suffer under the thick and heavy burden of smog? Or is it just smoke? Cause I’m sitting next to a window right now, and I don’t see any smoke. Maybe someone was smoking outside the weather station and they got confused? Or maybe they’re listing their favorite Mortal Kombat character. Or maybe this is a new cigarette campaign targeted at those who like to be updated about the weather.

Just maybe.

Spiderman 3…hmm…

Last night, I saw Spiderman 3 with some friends, and after it was over I was left with just one thought—really?  Was that really what I just watched?  Now I’m told that this movie was very loyal to the comic, supposedly, and that the comic is very campy and such.

But [MINOR SPOILER:] “I forgive you…” [END MINOR SPOILER]??

Is that the only emotional depth that can be reached?  Is that as far as it goes?  The entire ending was a huge misstep for me.  I should have stopped watching ten minutes before it was over.  If there is no Spiderman 4 in the future, then Spiderman 3 ruined it completely.  And it wasn’t even that bad, it just didn’t make up for it by being good, either.  Bruce Campbell was hysterical, and the action sequences were nice to look at (even if Spiderman should have died 15 times over from his injuries), but it just wasn’t enough.  Spiderman 3 is better than X-Men 3, but that’s not saying much.

Obviously, I need a business card.

I don’t care what profession I end up having–be it writer, director, restaurateur, or rock star…I want a business card. And not just any run-of-the-mill business card, either. I want an incredibly memorable, graphically priceless piece of art on card stock paper. And I was a graphic designer in a previous life [see: my first major] and I really think I could handle something like this. It’s just such a neat little piece of pointless marketing that I feel the need to be a part of, like my life will be complete with business cards. Yeah, I can buy that.

Europe 2008.

I found out today that I am officially in for next years Concert Choir European Tour 2008. I’m all a flutter—not only because I get to go to Europe again, but because I get to go with some of my best friends, spend a whole year singing with them here, and then go sing in some amazing places on another continent! The plan is Germany, Czech Republic and Poland, and all for the low, low price of $3600! Oh, I am going to be so poor, it’s true. But I don’t really care, because I’m going to Europe!! Sorry, did I mention that already?

Hello Bach, goodbye futon.

Today’s the day my futon goes away. I will miss it dearly. It wasn’t very comfortable, and it was really quite impossible to make into a bed, but its lovable brown slipcover brought warm feelings to me every time I sat upon it, unless someone had just spilled, of course. But we will meet again, dear futon! Nothing can keep us apart.

Today’s the day Bach rolls in his grave. Good riddance. It will be a good show, Bach’s Mass in B minor, to be sure–come on, its UW-Eau Claire’s very own Concert Choir with the Symphonic Choir, accompanied by the amazing University Symphony Orchestra. It’s going to be a good time for everyone except the audience, thus my problem with the Bach. You need to get to know the Mass in order to appreciate how good it is–Cruxifixus alone is worth the price of admission. But I’m afraid it will all fall on unappreciative ears, and thus so make its exit.

It’s all correlated.

The amount of late-night craziness on a Friday relates directly to how much work I want to do on a Saturday. Namely, last night was really crazy, and today I have just been sitting around.

Last night was the Statesmen concert and, as expected, it was amazing. Incredible at times, but mostly just amazing. I only yawned once, and that’s just because I had already heard some of their songs. Good times.

Being there.

Tonight only! The Singing Statesmen, in concert, under the direction of Gary R. Schwartzhoff!

 It’s one of those few and far between nights when I really wish I was in Statesmen.  There’s something different about it, beyond the shenanigans, that is unique.  I love Concert Choir and would never want to leave that–12:00 is my favorite hour five days a week, and a European tour is on the horizon that is being built up to be the pinnacle of my existence so far.  I just wish there was a little more time in the day for that intangible something, and shenanigans.

This is for the world, right?

I’m upset.  I’m disturbed.  I’m bothered.  How is it possible that a man can get away with such gross negligence?  He’s fine.  He was in a massive collision and he’s fine.  But others weren’t.  I’m slightly disconnected from the whole thing, but I have friends who know people that were there that night.  I wish I could communicate clearly how this all makes me feel.  There’s something in one of the news articles I read about trusting the legal system, but trusting it doesn’t make me feel any better about the outcome.

I’m home.

I’m done for the semester, and I don’t have to (get to?) go back until January 14th. But first I have to go to Ireland.

There are these ramp things, you see.

These ramps have to go together. They have to go together with glue. I have to glue them together. But first I have to line them up. They have to be lined up and going downwards–they have to descend. Then someone has to build the supports, and those have to be measured and cut and secured. Once there are supports that are in the right spot and cut and everything, then you can put the ramp in. You have to attach it, but not with glue. It won’t work. I have to use something else. There has to be something else. And it’s a turn, so it’s important. And once I’ve found the pieces and cut them and glued them and lined them up and built their supports and placed them and attached it all it’ll be done. Great? Great. What’s that? Oh, I have to paint them, too? Well, too bad. I won’t do it. I can only take so much, and painting it is just going too far and asking too much.

I’m okay. Really.

I’m writing very slowly because I almost cut my thumb off with a saw.

It was a miter saw, if you were wondering. I was trying to cut some PVC pipe, and it didn’t work, and it flew into my thumb and then across the room. Nothing really bad happened, except now my thumb really, really hurts and I think it’s still bleeding. That was a really good story, if only because it happened while I was working on Stagecraft! It is now physically, in addition to mentally, injuring me. I had to get out of there, afterwards, if only so I could fully comprehend how much I hate Stagecraft.

When I sleep, I dream about Rube Goldberg.

That’s right–more Stagecraft today. In fact, that’s about all I did. I managed to squeeze in some Theatre History study later on, but I’m hardly counting that. I do wish my two actual exams weren’t both on the same day, but it’s nice to get them out of the way. Wednesday is going to be a pretty pointless day, since I don’t have any exams. Perhaps that will be the day I finally go Christmas shopping. Yeah, that might be a good idea. Or I could pack. Or take a nap. Ooh, a nap sounds nice.

Don’t you love it when the sun is setting at three in the afternoon?

I feel like I’m always doing Stagecraft homework/projects. It’s been endless, all semester long. Assignment after assignment, project after group project. And that doesn’t even include the 26 lab hours needed in addition to a light hang and set strike. Three exams and an online discussion round out my lowest numbered course this semester–THEA 121! It’s the introductory course for the major and is the most work I’ve done for a course in a while. The 300-level Education Psychology course I took as a freshman was less work than this.

This is all to say I have already worked on Stagecraft things for four hours today, and I have three more tonight.

Classes are over and finals are upon me. I have four ‘finals’, including: a scene to perform, a project to present, a non-cumulative exam, and a cumulative exam. I’m a big fan of the non-cumulative final, but thankfully the cumulative one is in German, and I’m pretty good at German, I think. Yeah.

When I look at Tetris, all I see is a hard drive defragmenting, which is to say this will be cryptic.

I know drama–I’m a theatre major, but today was just about the most dramatic and tense day of choir yet, and it wasn’t even that exciting sort of tension that television shows use to attract an audience. It was shock more than anything, and then a lot of “Oh, that’s what they were talking about,” as I reviewed the past weeks in my head. But in the end, the choir decided to be supportive and move on…except that we’re talking about it more tomorrow, well because it was so much fun the first time around.

And by the way: I’m going to Ireland in seventeen days. Wow.

It’s getting late.

Oh, Cabaret…how I love thee.

Tonight was “Show Your Stuff”, a night where the choirs come together to have a good time, learn a non-”Kiss ‘em Good Bye” finale, and watch other people make fools of themselves–err, dance–on stage. My group went last and I must say we did pretty well, besides all the parts we screwed up. Hell Week is looming in the distance beyond winter break, and it should be a most interesting time–dance for hours and hours, party, repeat. If only I could dance–I’ve got the other parts down.

I have to go do a ridiculously long assignment for German now, because I guess the key to reviewing the language is to rewrite the same sentences you’ve already written again and again…

Ich habe diese Saetze schon geshrieben.
Ich habe diese Saetze schon geshrieben.

The asleep-awake ratio is all off.

My weekend was not restful. In fact, it was probably more hectic than my week, if that’s possible. And now it’s the last week of class, if you can believe that, so it just gets even better. Paper, paper, review, review, project, scene, exam times two. I don’t want to think about it.

I know I’m forgetting something.

It’s the UW-Eau Claire Holiday concert this weekend, and I’ve completely forgotten something.

Right now, my head is completely dominated by Christmas carols and remembering to get ready in time and everything having to do with that, so something else is being neglected. An assignment, a project, a paper, a something isn’t getting done. You’d think that if it was so forgettable, it must not be that important–but I forget a lot of important things. I seem to have forgotten all applicable examples, but then that’s just my point, isn’t it? Isn’t it.

This weekend has been too good. Something, as usual, must go horribly, horribly wrong.

Somewhere there’s an evil bunny named Rufus.

The following took place sometime early this morning, between 2:00 and 3:00 a.m.

Loud screaming outside.
Me in bed: What? Huh?
More loud screaming. Pounding on walls.
Me in bed: Uhh…
Screaming. Banging on my door.
Me sitting straight up in bed: What’s going on?
Drunk guy outside my door: I think I’m gonna throw up.
Me getting out of bed: Oh no you’re not!
Guy and others leaving.
Me in the hall without pants on: What’s going on?
Confused, innocent bystandard: I don’t know.
Me in the hall without pants on: There was pounding and yelling.
Confused, innocent bystandard: Okay, sure…
Me in the hall without pants on: You must have missed it.
Me going back to bed: I’m not crazy.

There’s a cover letter I should be writing.

I hate applying for jobs. And it’s not because I dislike work. I loved having a job all summer, if only because it filled time and paid me. But I don’t like this whole process of applying for the job. I’m bad at it. I say the wrong things–mostly by telling the truth. I need to shut up. But then they ask if I have questions. Being a well informed applicant, I usually don’t, which I guess is a bad thing. I guess I’m supposed to ask about something, as if I wasn’t paying attention the whole time, even though I was. Perhaps I’m supposed to show more interest. Well, I am applying for the job, aren’t I?

I’ve got two prospects for next semester, otherwise I’m going to end up very, very poor.

I’m going to offend you and you’re going to like it.

It was one of those rare days today, because I actually paid attention in Theatre History. Don’t get me wrong–it’s a good class that interests me a lot. But by the time I get there, it’s my fourth class, and since it requires no interaction from me, I tend to sit there and zone out for fifty minutes. Today was different. I listened, if only because my professor said something he doesn’t usually say: “Or, if you’re a writer…”

It’s a beautiful phrase to a writer who feels like all he ever hears about is acting this and acting that. Acting is wonderful, I like actors–I like acting. But I’m a writer, and most of time I feel left out of the theatre party. Sure, sure, Playwriting is coming up for Fall ‘07, but it seems like long stretches of time pass between each mentioning of the word “writer”.

What my professor said was that you can’t second guess yourself out of offending someone, because there will always be someone out there to be offended by it no matter what you end up with. You shouldn’t stop yourself from writing what you want to please one group of people, because you’ll only end up upsetting someone else. It’s a vicious circle that might as well be avoided. And I forget that sometimes.

Sitting on the brink.

There are times when I think that I am so close to reaching something, I can’t wait to get it. And it’s a good feeling. It’s anticipatory. It’s moving forward, advancing. But I also feel like I never quite get there, and then I start over again. It could be switiching to four different majors, or transfering to three different schools, but I nonetheless feel it. I don’t know if I like it this way or not.

This is way too deep. I’m going to go sing some soul music now.

There’s a moral ambiguity to rewrites.

There used to be something else here. It’s gone now.

In my seemingly endless sojourn to find a new cell phone and service, I’ve traveled far and wide, from the distant lands of www.alltel.com to the remote expanse that is www.sprint.com. Which service is best seems a little beside the point since they all cost the same and come with very similar features. The three that I’ve boiled it down to are Alltel, Cellular One and Sprint–listed alphabetically to avoid claims of favoritism. Each have different cell phones to choose from, though for some reason beyond understanding, all want me to have a RAZR. I do not want a RAZR. Unfortunately, the best offering from Alltel seems to be the RAZR. That might be a good reason not to go with Alltel, then.

I am lost in a sea of cell phones that won’t stop ringing, even though none of them get reception in Eau Claire.

I’m descending into wireless oblivion.

Wireless oblivion is also a good way to describe cell phone service where I live. Northern Wisconsin is a desolate wasteland when it comes to quality cell phone coverage. GSM, the more advanced and universally accepted (a.k.a. used in Europe) network is a joke up here, but Cellular One claims that they’ll get me good reception. I’d like to avoid Sprint if possible, if only because I’ve had sour dealings with them in the past. But that was the past, so maybe I don’t need to worry. And then there is Alltel, who can’t decide where I’d roam and where I wouldn’t. It concerns me because they call their plan ‘national’ and then say that I can still roam somehow. I don’t get it. But I need to figure it out, if only because it’s my current obsession of the week.

Maybe next week I’ll be obsessed with phasmatids.

Campus organization works to rid students of thought, emotion.

This is the best table flyer I’ve ever seen. It’s from an ad for spiritual meditation:

Tired of being jerked around by your thoughts and emotions?

I’m aware of their intent, and accept that meditation is a viable way to relax and find focus–but I think someone needs to work on shaping their message. This makes them sound like evil robots, not relgious fanatics–I mean, what? So no, I am not tired of thoughts and emotions, nor do I need anyone else to stop them from jerking me around. I rather enjoy jerking myself around and will stop whenever I damn well please.

And yes–that’s how I intended it to sound.

Something weird happened in choir today.

Everything was going well and we were all having a good time singing the old classics of the semester like Whitacre and that other one, but then we were excused a whole eleven minutes early under mysterious pretenses. We got one note into a song, stopped, and then had to leave. A bunch of us met up in the lobby and tried to put together what had happened. “What am I supposed to do now?” “Can we practice out here?” “I don’t want to go have real life experiences.” My musical clock is set so that at precisely noon on Monday through Friday I am ready to go. And that keeps me going until 12:50. You can understand how upsetting it is when such a delicate balance is thrown out of alignment. My whole day was altered. I don’t know what to do. I’m so confused.

You can’t say that on the internet.

So this has probably been the most interesting, if not action-packed, Thanksgiving break I’ve ever had. After coming home from Iowa yesterday, I spent the evening bumming around town and getting lost, to make things interesting–or maybe I just have a horrible sense of direction… Once I found my way back to the house I was staying at, my friend and I went out to a University of Minnesota Band party. It was much more intense than I expected it to be. The short list: a man without a shirt, a man running around shouting, “Drink from the utter!” and a man ripping his pants down the backside while tap dacing. There were more people than that, thankfully, though they might not have been as much fun to watch.

I’m back in Eau Claire, and it will feel nice to sleep in my own bed tonight, however irritatingly uncomfortable it may be.

But first…Cabaret.

I’m out of Africa, and Eau Claire.

I’ve been kicked out of the dorms–for the weekend. It’s Thanksgiving, if you didn’t notice, and the university is of the belief that I should celebrate it away from my school friends, like they’re a bad infulence or something. I feel it’s discriminatory against the homeless and those who don’t appreciate a good turkey. Personally, I dislike turkey, but do enjoy that which comes with turkey, namely pie and being lazy. Also potatoes. And stuffing. Rolls, too. Did I mention pie? Oh, yes, and spending time with family and friends.

Tomorrow I will embark on a harrowing journey south, far south, to the great state of Iowa. I will depart from Minneapolis and fifty-three–yes, fifty-three–minutes later I will land in Waterloo, home of the National Cattle Congress. From there, it’s a hop, skip, and a rather long car ride to Iowa City, where I’ll be staying.

And now…a moment in history…

But Jordan just seems like it’d be so cool, minus the explosions.

Lately, a.k.a. this past week, I’ve been wrestling with the idea of taking a semester or maybe just a summer and studying in some far off land somewhere. But I don’t want to do it just anywhere. It seems like everyone always goes the same places–Mexico, England, France, Germany–the big four. Now some adventurous souls will venture further and farther to places like Austria and Australia, or even China. Now those people get props for going above and beyond the call of culture craziness. And I would be willing to go to those places, but right now my favorite is Amman, Jordan.

That’s right. I said it.

Sure, it’s surrounded by countries that are about as stable as Windows ME. Sure, it’s in the middle of a desert. Sure, I’d have to take 10 credits of Arabic. But it just sounds so awesome, and if they’d lift their ban on travel outside of Jordan during the semester, I’d be even more pumped. And yes, I’d be perfectly happy with the Czech Republic and moreso with the Netherlands–but come on, Jordan! That’d be awesome.

I don’t want to know, and yet I’m strangely curious.

If you can’t tell, my bathroom (which happens to be across the hall from my room) has been blocked off to all customers today. It’s also a self-imposed blockade, really, because I wouldn’t go in there even without the big X and the “DO NOT ENTER” covering the door. Why? Because people are stupid. At least the people on my floor are. Hey! Let’s drink way too much, then run around all night screaming our heads off because we’re such losers we can’t find anywhere off-campus to drink! And then, after that, let’s completely forget about common decency and be really gross all over our own bathroom–wouldn’t that rock?! I’d tell you exactly what they did, but I’m not entirely sure myself. All I know is that it is disgusting, and it’s not vomit…

The joys of living in a dorm.