Tuesday, November 21, 2006

The only problem with glasses is that they make things blurry, really blurry

After careful review of the diagrams provided in the National Peakographic this week, I have concluded that I am well on schedule to graduate within the next ten years. However, if the bastards don't give me the classes I need any time soon, it may take me far longer, thus delaying my slow descent into grad-studentdom even more.

I'm doing it again. About two years before the end of elementary school I was bored out of my mind and dying to get out. Then because middle school was only two years long, I had outgrown it the minute I set foot inside the doors. It was boring and juvenile and its sole purpose in life was to make me miserable.

Then in high school I was fine until halfway through grade 11, when it too suddenly got boring and juvenile and I told the senior sail to go screw itself and almost didn't go to my own graduation.

So it really comes as no surprise that being an undergrad can only bring one so much satisfaction. Now I find myself following random grad students around just for the hell of it. Then at evening documentary screenings downtown I end up in odd conversations like:

he says: Hey, I've seen you before. Aren't you a cmns major?
I say: Yeah, so are you. You're always in [name of prof]'s office or talking to the guy who has no legs.
he says: Yeah... I am...

Evidently I'm not inconspicuous enough.

I can imagine that I'll get bored of sitting around in a nursing home one day, too. I'll decide that it's too juvenile and boring for my tastes and doff myself. Until then, I can aspire to look more like a grad student, which is to say, looking like the fourth year pictured below, only more homeless and more alcohol.


For now, I've almost made the transition from looking like a third year to looking like a fourth year, according to the charts. (Though, it must be noted that I had taken up wearing hand-me-down sweaters to school as early as the second semester of my first year. Sweaters with moth holes, no less.) The beard is going to take me a while though, as to the best of my knowledge, none of the women in my family were able to grow full moustaches until they were at least 35.

But that can wait. Honestly.