First Day

I think I remember saying that Tuesday was the first day of classes. If I said that, I was wrong. Today, Wednesday, is the first day of classes, which means I'm making my first moves away from the Pre-med track.

This morning, at 9, was Elementary Russian. I'm expecting this to be my hardest class, and it seems like it will live up to my expectations. The saving grace is that the teachers (the main professor, and the recitation leader) are not stiff and intimidating, but friendly and encouraging. I hope that I can keep up.

Then, at 10, was Intro to Psych. The course will be divided into three parts, each taught by a different professor. The first guy... well, he has the voice of an asshole. When adult cartoons try to convey the idea of a jerk or an asshole, they inevitably find someone who sounds like an exaggerated version of this guy. Every sentence that came out of his mouth could have been followed by "Nyah" or "So there". That kind of intonation. The material for this course should be mostly review, because of the classes I took last year in the PNP department. Psych is the least of my worries.

Then, at 11, I had Russian recitation. This was more fast-paced than the main course, and it is meant to reinforce the language beyond the 9-10 class. This one only meets on Wednesdays, which adds to my magic pyramiding schedule (short days on Monday and Friday. Medium on Tuesday and Thursday. Long on Wednesday).

In a few minutes, I'll head back over to campus for my Intro to Film Studies class, followed by the Wednesday recitation of the same class. I'm hoping we don't have to go to the second leg today, but I expect the worst. Anyway, nobody's going to assign any work until later, so I'm not worried.

Tomorrow is Russian, Fiction Writing, and my GLORIOUS INTERNSHIP!!!!!

Finally, the action begins.

-Alan

O Vladimir, Where Art Thou?

Chaz and Alfonzo don't seem to care, but I'm getting more and more worried about Vlad. It's Monday already, and we were supposed to pick him up at the airport on Saturday (not that we actually ever agreed to do so). I feel terribly guilty, but even with Alfonzo's Speed Racer schtick, we still didn't get here in time.

Jesus. I hope he's not dead.

It's the perfect murder; some oblivious foriegner, wandering around an airport. Offer him a ride, or a hotel, lure him in, then knock him over the head and take everything he has. Or maybe it was some sicko sadist, who gets off on slowly dismembering people. Either way, he's just some Russian kid in America; who would miss him? Besides us, I mean.

Well, there's nothing to do but wait and cross my fingers. Maybe I can blame the whole thing on Alfonzo, or the KGB, to give my conscience a rest.

-Alan

One Thousand Nights Of Sleep Couldn't Save Me Now

I don't think I'll ever be comfortable in a car again. I have seen more near misses, blatant violations, and reckless decisions in the past 36 hours than I hope to ever see again.

About 20 minutes out on I-75, Alfonzo is already at 80. He gets pulled over (bless you, Officer. Whatever creed you subscribe to, I thank it), but his 17 MPH ticket is no deterrant. I didn't think a car that full of stuff could go that fast. I didn't know roadkill exploded like that. I didn't know that the cop who pulled us over in Cobb County was the only cop on patrol ANYWHERE between my house and St. Louis.

Through Illinois, I didn't see a single wheat or corn field. I saw planes of solid colors whirr past, but I wasn't sure if we were merely speeding, or if we had gone into plaid. Truly, though, the speed was ludicrous.

The suite is, or will be, perfect. My mattress isn't, and will never be, comfortable. I might be better off sleeping on the pile of clothing under my bed. It seems softer, and less likely to contain latent urine.

At any rate, I've got a little bit of shopping to do before I get settled in.

-Alan

The Internet Is A Dick

I just spent an hour writing a farewell post, and the internet ate it. Fuck you, internet.

Here's the summary : I feel strange packing my life up into a box and driving away from my home. I feel unprepared to make a new home for myself. I hate leaving my friends, family, and home turf behind.

I leave tomorrow, Saturday, at 8am. Alfonzo is driving from the suburbs, and we're riding up together, but I'll feel very alone without my family along for the ride (not that I've ever sought out opportunities to drive for 9 hours with my family).

I'll see you in November, Atlanta.

Love,
Alan

The Cynicism Begins

Let us all pray, here and now, that this foray into blogging is more successful than my past attempts. If I stand accused of neglecting my blogs, I plead guilty. If I stand accused of giving up too soon, I plead insanity. If I stand accused of wasting another blip of cyberspace for my own purposes, I most adamantly plead innocent!

My suite-mates made me do it.

I will try, for their sake, to keep this thing up-to-date and somewhat interesting. In my favor is the fact that my suite-mates are all incredibly idiosyncratic, yet in different ways. I suppose I could be the straight-man of the bunch (though I'm not entirely qualified for the title, for reasons which I may discuss at a later date).

At any rate, I am tired and must sleep.

-Alan