Tue 5 Feb 2002
Went to open mic nite at the local coffee shoppe tonight. Had a pretty good, culturally-enriching time. One guy sang covers, but everyone else played their own (mostly emo-punk) stuff. And there was an accordion, which was played by the only girl performer there! There was also a one drink minimum, but no one played that. I didn’t have any money to get something hot, so I picked me up a root beer in one of those fancy brown bottles. As a result I ended up walking back to the dorm afterward with what was very obviously a bottle of beer, though its “root” content may not have been obvious to the casual viewer. I felt oh-so-college. Or maybe oh-so-high-school? I don’t know. I never really went to those parties. When I come back home, everyone else has wacky “and there were these guys who were sooo drunk” stories to share, but poor Aaron on the Substance Free Floor just gets to say “I don’t go to those parties.” Maybe I should. I feel like I’m missing out. I really have no desire to drink (my parents, reading this breath a sigh of relief), but it seems like I should at least get to laugh at some other people getting drunk. I mean, everyone else is doing it . . .
I’m reading The Poisonwood Bible, which is the longest, non-comic, non-text book I’ve read in months I think. Sad, but not cry your eye out sad, fortunately. I really like it and say “yay books!” but most of the other kids in my class are like, “eh, book.” I’m such a dork. I actually like doing work, I think. I really thought I got a lot out of the big old honors science class which apparently everyone hated. But then again, it’s a lot easier to say you hate something than you thought it was cool, so maybe just a few, really loud people hated it (true), and everyone else thought it was ok but kept quiet (probably false). Oh well; so I’m a dork. I mean, I just used a semicolon in that last sentence; for crying out loud! Here’s further proof: in my editing class today the prof. was explaining how we could back up our projects on tinny little floppy disks, and then the system could use that little bit of data to reassemble all of our huge audio, video, etc. files on a different computer! Our of the blue, and I swear I was not even trying to be a smart aleck about this, I exclaimed, “Just like DNA!” Well slap some glasses on me and call me Poindexter; I totally thought that was the coolest, most obvious analogy ever, and wondered why the professor hadn’t thought of it himself. I found out why when the whole classroom went silent. My lame attempt to regain some non-nerd like dignity was, “Well, you know, ’cause it’s like the building block for the project?” I think all my brain’s resources were too busy trying to figure out why I had brought up DNA in the first place to be able to access any useful social skills. I mean, I can go days, weeks even without even thinking about cellular biology! I’m sure I’d be a better person if I did, but, well, it’s just seems so square!
If Grant’s page has been updated in the last couple of days, send him an e-mail and tell him to go to bed instead of updating. He’s doing post-production for Blue Me, and suddenly I think he regrets laughing at me for when I had to get up at four in the morning to film it. Because now he’s coming home at four in the morning from trying to make our DNA-like editing system just do something right. That’s what he gets for having no problems editing his visual storytelling projects while I was coming back from editing at the same time normal people are having breakfast. Aside from our Aikido class, I think I’ve seen him for less than one hour total in the last four days. Feel his pain. I know I do.
And after you’ve done that, go feel Ed’s page. He promises me that it’s updated. I know he’s been yelling things like “no! why won’t you work!” pretty constantly the last few days. He reassured me that it wasn’t me he was mad at, so I guess it must have been his computer. They seem to have squared things up now, though, so go take a look!
Christina will yell at me if I don’t mention her.