A Night In
My success defines my sense of worth. It is my identity in my own mind ... the validity of my being is reliant upon my ability to rise above others. I limit this definition of success, however, to that which is quantifiable and capable of direct comparison. Numbers are an integral part of my self-affirmation- such is why grades and clubs appeal to me so much.
The parameters I place upon success inherently limit that which may ultimately be considered worthwhile. To be a good son, a good brother, or a good friend are all things which I strive for, but usually as far as I am not made guilty by poor performance. I will rarely go above and beyond; I am far more likely to sustain satisfactory behavior so that I may avert consequences that would otherwise result in embarrassment or disappointment.
As I work to obtain success, to achieve grades and levels of performance that others will not match, I am finding myself inexplicably drawn to recurring thoughts. The idea that this work is not actually fulfilling. The notion that I am becoming increasingly lonely, even as I attempt to reach out to close friends and spend more time with them. And, on a somewhat frightening level, the reality that I will sacrifice anything that does not directly contribute to the success I defined above. If something is not part of my grades or resume, it will never be able to achieve top priority in my life.
It is not even a question anymore. There is no ambiguity to what I will do or the choices I will make on a day-to-day basis. I will wake up, work until I am through, and sleep. Only if the work ends will I consider doing something outside of these activities. Such is the reason why practicing, seeing friends, or just hanging out stop happening as the semester rolls on. The work builds up, and I rise to meet it because that is what I must do. Failure, or anything less than top performance by comparison, is unacceptable.
I am lonely because I do not like to let people see me vulnerable. I do not share my feelings except with those I trust the most, and even then I often leave information out or pass off my worries, wants, and fears in a trivial way. In an almost reactionary fashion, I use humor and sarcasm to make others laugh. The joy I find in making them laugh, however, is not based on them being made happier through my humor. It is in their laughter that I find acceptance. If I can make people laugh, then I can make them want me around. If they want me around, then maybe there's more to me than grades and performance.
I've realized that the reason I miss being in a relationship is that I miss the feeling of comfort and acceptance I used to feel. That there was someone out there who knew my faults, my fears, my shortcomings, and loved me anyway. Who wanted to see me and spend time with me. Who accepted me on seemingly every level of my person. I used to have that ... but I walked away from it. Be it from arrogance, disillusionment, or laziness, I took that connection for granted and decided I no longer needed it. Or, if I did need it, that I would be able to find it again without much difficulty. I know now how important and special that connection was ... and it pains me to realize what I've lost.
The choices you make on a daily basis define who you are. Each day you will wake up, and what you do that day will determine a little bit more of who you are. Your priorities will shape themselves without your knowledge, until eventually they have become your character.
All I want is to find a way to stop defining myself like this ... but even as I write that, I am afraid to let go. How will people see me, if not as who I am today? How will they speak of me, if not as the overachiever?
How do I stop this?
How do I make those I love the foundation of my worth?
Interesting ponderings for a Saturday night of work.
Have a good evening.
February 17, 2007
February 16, 2007
Uh-oh
We all know that semesters tend to follow a cyclic pattern. While it's true that they are all usually unique in some way (harder classes, different personal stuff to deal with, specific events/people/places, etc.), it's also plain by about sophomore year that each one shares distinct similarities with the others. From my experience, it seems that these common elements are typically linked chronologically. I've thus constructed the following rough timeline for ease of explanation and a more in-depth analysis of how each semester erodes from collegiate paradise to festering hellhole.
Weeks 1-3
New classes with new material may be tough to grasp at first, but eventually you figure out the professor's way of thinking and administering the material. Either that, or the material is so easy that you doubt the validity of the class entirely. Organizations are just starting their semester plans, sports teams and music groups are beginning their own preparations, and everything is predictably serene. There's plenty of time to see friends, go out for the night, have long meals, and maybe even sleep if you're careful.
Senior Sobriety Level: 3-6 nights per week are devoted to drinking. Good times.
Weeks 4-7
Exams appear, seemingly out of nowhere, and give you a rude awakening either because 1) you're forced to cram, 2) you screw up, or 3) both of the above. Professors begin whispering of long-term group projects that will be due in the next ten weeks, but you won't start any of them. Plans for extra-curriculars are solidly in the works now. Sports teams are traveling and musical groups may be in dress rehearsals for their first performances of the season. Your life has begun its descent into chaos.
Senior Sobriety Level: Seniors may now begin to diverge into two packs- the hopeful and the hopeless. The hopeful will cut down their bar nights to 1 or 2 per week. The hopeless will continue their previous plan, maybe increasing the average to 4-6 nights per week.
Weeks 8-11
Break came and went, and all the sleep/work/preparation you were going to do went out the window. You return to school only to be drop-kicked in the face by a second round of exams, perhaps a project due date or two, and the approaching high point of music/sport/extra-curricular activity. You wonder why you chose your major, your clubs, your societies, and your activities the way you did, because right now all you want to do it sleep, drink, have sex, or some combination of all three.
Senior Sobriety Level: Seniors are now fully diverged, having begun to see the light at the end of their respective academic tunnels. The hopeful may go cold turkey on alcohol. The hopeless may require hospitalization.
Weeks 12-15
You swore it couldn't have gotten any worse, but here we are. Performances, games, activities, programs, and speakers are all happening at 3 PM every afternoon, lasting until 2 AM the following morning, and you have more projects due than you thought possible. Last-minute topics and homeworks fall on deaf ears as the student body seeks to maintain some semblance of its motivation, drive, and sanity. The only inspiration you can find comes in the form of heavy caffeination or the idea that, for better or worse, it will all be over soon.
Senior Sobriety Level: The last remnants of the hopeful have plunged into the abyss of hopelessness. The original hopeless seniors are now out of the hospital and, quite sadly, are registering for fall courses.
Anyway, we're just now entering the second part of the cycle, and frankly I think this time I might be in over my head. Classes, music, gryphoning, trips, other organizations ... there's only so many hours in a day. Time will tell, I guess, but let's just say I can't wait for the weekend so that I have a chance to do as much work as possible. Ouch.
We all know that semesters tend to follow a cyclic pattern. While it's true that they are all usually unique in some way (harder classes, different personal stuff to deal with, specific events/people/places, etc.), it's also plain by about sophomore year that each one shares distinct similarities with the others. From my experience, it seems that these common elements are typically linked chronologically. I've thus constructed the following rough timeline for ease of explanation and a more in-depth analysis of how each semester erodes from collegiate paradise to festering hellhole.
Weeks 1-3
New classes with new material may be tough to grasp at first, but eventually you figure out the professor's way of thinking and administering the material. Either that, or the material is so easy that you doubt the validity of the class entirely. Organizations are just starting their semester plans, sports teams and music groups are beginning their own preparations, and everything is predictably serene. There's plenty of time to see friends, go out for the night, have long meals, and maybe even sleep if you're careful.
Senior Sobriety Level: 3-6 nights per week are devoted to drinking. Good times.
Weeks 4-7
Exams appear, seemingly out of nowhere, and give you a rude awakening either because 1) you're forced to cram, 2) you screw up, or 3) both of the above. Professors begin whispering of long-term group projects that will be due in the next ten weeks, but you won't start any of them. Plans for extra-curriculars are solidly in the works now. Sports teams are traveling and musical groups may be in dress rehearsals for their first performances of the season. Your life has begun its descent into chaos.
Senior Sobriety Level: Seniors may now begin to diverge into two packs- the hopeful and the hopeless. The hopeful will cut down their bar nights to 1 or 2 per week. The hopeless will continue their previous plan, maybe increasing the average to 4-6 nights per week.
Weeks 8-11
Break came and went, and all the sleep/work/preparation you were going to do went out the window. You return to school only to be drop-kicked in the face by a second round of exams, perhaps a project due date or two, and the approaching high point of music/sport/extra-curricular activity. You wonder why you chose your major, your clubs, your societies, and your activities the way you did, because right now all you want to do it sleep, drink, have sex, or some combination of all three.
Senior Sobriety Level: Seniors are now fully diverged, having begun to see the light at the end of their respective academic tunnels. The hopeful may go cold turkey on alcohol. The hopeless may require hospitalization.
Weeks 12-15
You swore it couldn't have gotten any worse, but here we are. Performances, games, activities, programs, and speakers are all happening at 3 PM every afternoon, lasting until 2 AM the following morning, and you have more projects due than you thought possible. Last-minute topics and homeworks fall on deaf ears as the student body seeks to maintain some semblance of its motivation, drive, and sanity. The only inspiration you can find comes in the form of heavy caffeination or the idea that, for better or worse, it will all be over soon.
Senior Sobriety Level: The last remnants of the hopeful have plunged into the abyss of hopelessness. The original hopeless seniors are now out of the hospital and, quite sadly, are registering for fall courses.
Anyway, we're just now entering the second part of the cycle, and frankly I think this time I might be in over my head. Classes, music, gryphoning, trips, other organizations ... there's only so many hours in a day. Time will tell, I guess, but let's just say I can't wait for the weekend so that I have a chance to do as much work as possible. Ouch.
February 07, 2007
Flashback
I composed the following during my time at Lockheed Martin and published it on a previous blog. I still like it, although admittedly it's missing some major characters that I could describe ...
I composed the following during my time at Lockheed Martin and published it on a previous blog. I still like it, although admittedly it's missing some major characters that I could describe ...
The Class System
The following is a brief list I compiled this morning at a start-of-the-week meeting. The meeting itself was one of those things I'm required to attend but never has anything to do with my work, project, or documents ... so I'm forced to stay awake by my own devices. As I thus lazily glanced around the room, I came to realize that this lecture was almost identical to every large-scale college lecture I've ever sat through. The similarities I then found between the engineers at the meeting and my classmates at college inspired me to make this list ... feel free to add anything that I might have missed.
I hereby present
"The Class System- A Handy Guide to Shallowly Labeling Your Peers while You're Bored in Lecture"
1) The White Rabbit
He's elusive, he's always in a hurry, and much like the rabbit
Attributes:
-still has the balls to talk to the professor afterwards and ask what he missed
-refuses to sit in the back or on the end; he must push you out of the way to get to his favorite spot, which happens to be third-row center
-typically carries an exceedingly large container of liquid; usually spills it immediately after crashing into his seat like a tranquilized grizzly bear
2) Captain Nemo
Nemo is actually Latin for "no one," and that's basically what this guy is. You'll see him on the first day of class, but within moments of grabbing the syllabus, he'll have vanished in a light gust of wind. Whole weeks will go by with no appearances by the Captain, and logic will tell you that he must have changed sections or dropped the class for some reason. When exam time finally rolls around, though, you stroll in a few minutes early to find ... Nemo? What? Where the hell has that guy been? "Oh well," you say to yourself, "He hasn't been here; his grade will help the curve. How could he possibly do better than me when I've been coming to class regularly?" That's easy to explain, especially when Nemo gets a 98 and beats the curve by 35 points ... he's a shit-load smarter than you and the rest of the plebians who still go to lecture.
Favorite Past-times:
-never, ever, ever handing in daily homework ... ever
-lamenting how easy the exam was on the way out
-not buying the textbooks associated with any of his classes
3) Endymion
Named for the mythological Greek king who chose eternal sleep over death, this character seems to have also forsaken the cycle of life in favor of his own desires. No matter how far you are into class, who's speaking, or how close to the front this guy is, nothing will stop him from slipping into peaceful slumber at the drop of a hat. His friends have suggested everything- chewing a whole pack of gum, having one headphone in during lecture, or even just wearing a hat to make it look like he's not sleeping. Alas, neither man nor beast will slow this narcoleptic juggernaut in his quest to never learn a damned thing. The only question still left ... why does he even bother to go to class at all, let alone every single one of the semester?
Favorite Positions:
-the "Sleepy Kitten" (upper body curled up on the desk, arm possibly over eyes)
-the "Thinking Man" (head leaning sideways on one arm, other hand probably resting on crotch)
-the "Birdshit Receptacle" (head all the way back, mouth open and gaping up to the sky)
4) Doodles
You see this person in class, and at least in the beginning of the semester you think to yourself, "Oh wow. That girl's really paying attention and taking a lot of notes. I might ask to see them when I need to miss class next week." And it's a true observation ... every single day, this person remains wide awake, seemingly focused, and never stops jotting stuff down with their pencil or pen. Eventually the time does come when you will need notes, so you walk up to her, borrow them, and then head out of class thinking you just received the sacred tome that will save your sorry ass come next exam. You sit down to copy the notes that night, only to crack the book and find 153 games of Tic-Tac-Toe, 57 different copies of her signature (she was practicing), and a healthy sampling of the dumb, uninteresting comments she shared with the person next to her. Bitch.
Common Creations:
-that weird-ass dot/line game that only girls know how to play
-nonsensical curves, tracings, stars, and other ventures into the realm of abstract art
-a hand-turkey
-nothing resembling even a glint of knowledge
5) Sloppy McDopolis
Oh man, it a great night last night. What happened? No clue dude, I blacked out around ten. According to my buddies, though, the
Things He Usually Forgets:
-a shower/gum/anything that makes him stop smelling like a dumpster filled with horse sweat and jizz
-that the final exam is in 20 minutes
6) The Kid You Want to Murder
You know him, and if it were up to you, he'd be dead by now. He sits front-row center, is on a first-name basis with the professor in a 200-person lecture, knows a heck of a lot more than anyone else in the room ... and has the social skills of a masochistic leper with a superiority complex. Nothing will stop him from raising his hand to point out a mistake on the board. No one can control him if he feels the need to add some bit of information to the lecture that the professor "missed." No man-made structure can contain the unbridled enthusiasm exploding from him when he's finally called on (some might compare it to a normal human reaching orgasm, or experiencing the Rapture). The only thing you know for sure about him, aside from his name, is that you hate him and the fact that he can't just shut the fuck up for 50 minutes at a time.
Fun Things You Think about Doing to Him during Class:
-punching him in the face
-throwing his graphing calculator into the river and watching him jump after it
-taking a dump in his bed sheets
Mark Capriotti
Mr. C was my trombone teacher and assistant band director all four years of high school. I learned a lot about music, playing, and working from him, but the most important lesson he gave me was probably about how to improve at something. Seeing how the last couple of weeks have gone, it would appear as though I need to figure this lesson out again, and fast.
It was the end of a lesson sometime during freshman year; Mr. C and I were discussing practice times and methods. He mentioned how I'd been getting steadily better since I'd arrived, and the below conversation ensued. Looking back, I now really understand what he was driving at (there's a very good chance I didn't, at the time).
J: "Oh yeah, I try to practice an hour or an hour and a half every night."
C: "Well that's great for stamina, but what do you practice for that long? I haven't given you new material in a month or two."
J: "I usually play old pieces from middle school that I like, I guess."
C: "As long as you enjoy it, that's fine. Just don't start thinking that how long you practice determines how well you're practicing. There were guys back at college who would walk around bragging how they spent 6 or 8 or 10 hours in the practice room on any given day. Most of their time, though, they wouldn't be solving anything ... they'd be working hard without really focusing and practicing the right way. I'd do 2 hours a day on my own and end up ahead of them at our lessons because I figured out what had to be done, the way to do it, and then I did it."
J: "So how do I do that?"
C: "Keep practicing- I'll let you know what you stink at over time."
The result of that conversation was the formulation of a real work method for myself. Mr. C was telling me that anyone can take an instrument and noodle around on it for an hour a day- someone interested in being better than average needs to discern what the problems are and how they can specifically, logically, systematically fix them.
My point is that, this semester, I'm finding my traditional methods of work to be unsuccessful. Until now, my philosophy was that if I just devoted more time to schoolwork than anyone else, I'd come out on top. Sitting down night after night and attempting to muscle my way through my work like this used to be the way to go, too ... I'd figure it out, the concepts would make sense, and I'd learn what I needed to to do well. This spring, either the work is time-consuming without too much difficulty being involved (manufacturing, electrical lab) or so difficult that it becomes time-consuming due to lack of understanding (gas dynamics, elements). Chugging through these problems in my conventional way has resulted so far in only minimal understanding or less than desirable grades. By the end of the week, it seems like I'm simply running too low on sleep and energy to keep a high standard going.
In short, I need to find new, more time-efficient solutions to getting this work done. There must be ways to optimize the time-intensive tasks, and there must be ways to more quickly understand the difficult tasks to expedite them as well. If I can't find these solutions, this semester could quickly turn into a shitshow the likes of which I've never encountered before.
Thanks for the insight, Mr. C ... I think I get it, now.
Mr. C was my trombone teacher and assistant band director all four years of high school. I learned a lot about music, playing, and working from him, but the most important lesson he gave me was probably about how to improve at something. Seeing how the last couple of weeks have gone, it would appear as though I need to figure this lesson out again, and fast.
It was the end of a lesson sometime during freshman year; Mr. C and I were discussing practice times and methods. He mentioned how I'd been getting steadily better since I'd arrived, and the below conversation ensued. Looking back, I now really understand what he was driving at (there's a very good chance I didn't, at the time).
J: "Oh yeah, I try to practice an hour or an hour and a half every night."
C: "Well that's great for stamina, but what do you practice for that long? I haven't given you new material in a month or two."
J: "I usually play old pieces from middle school that I like, I guess."
C: "As long as you enjoy it, that's fine. Just don't start thinking that how long you practice determines how well you're practicing. There were guys back at college who would walk around bragging how they spent 6 or 8 or 10 hours in the practice room on any given day. Most of their time, though, they wouldn't be solving anything ... they'd be working hard without really focusing and practicing the right way. I'd do 2 hours a day on my own and end up ahead of them at our lessons because I figured out what had to be done, the way to do it, and then I did it."
J: "So how do I do that?"
C: "Keep practicing- I'll let you know what you stink at over time."
The result of that conversation was the formulation of a real work method for myself. Mr. C was telling me that anyone can take an instrument and noodle around on it for an hour a day- someone interested in being better than average needs to discern what the problems are and how they can specifically, logically, systematically fix them.
My point is that, this semester, I'm finding my traditional methods of work to be unsuccessful. Until now, my philosophy was that if I just devoted more time to schoolwork than anyone else, I'd come out on top. Sitting down night after night and attempting to muscle my way through my work like this used to be the way to go, too ... I'd figure it out, the concepts would make sense, and I'd learn what I needed to to do well. This spring, either the work is time-consuming without too much difficulty being involved (manufacturing, electrical lab) or so difficult that it becomes time-consuming due to lack of understanding (gas dynamics, elements). Chugging through these problems in my conventional way has resulted so far in only minimal understanding or less than desirable grades. By the end of the week, it seems like I'm simply running too low on sleep and energy to keep a high standard going.
In short, I need to find new, more time-efficient solutions to getting this work done. There must be ways to optimize the time-intensive tasks, and there must be ways to more quickly understand the difficult tasks to expedite them as well. If I can't find these solutions, this semester could quickly turn into a shitshow the likes of which I've never encountered before.
Thanks for the insight, Mr. C ... I think I get it, now.
February 04, 2007
George Hopkins
Below is an excerpt from a recent "Hopblog" entry. Mr. Hopkins is the Executive Director of The Cadets and has been for going on three decades. His work in the drum corps arena is legendary, as is his devotion to youth education and the pursuit of excellence. Anyone who has ever wondered why the Cadets work and succeed the way they do need look no further than Hop. He and the design team of the corps have constructed a standard of diligence and performance that few other organizations in the world can match on a consistent basis. His mentality is thus that of the corps, and one of the primary reasons why 1. I fell in love with The Cadets, 2. I auditioned there, and 3. I felt so at home once making the corps.
Now, I don't mean to pretend that I can draw comparisons between myself and Hop. He's devoted three decades of his life to impossible goals and formed one of the premier youth music groups in the nation. He's at a crossroads as he now attempts to determine the future path of the company he founded to back the Cadets and his own high school marching circuit, the USSBA. I'm a college student with some idea of the direction I want to take, an addiction to work/recognition, and a vague notion of how I want to find more to life than engineering. It's just that his blog remarks sometimes strike a chord with me, resonating with my own feelings in a way I can't seem to articulate myself.
So read below ...
"I have struggled letting people love me. I have come to realize something.
To me ... my perception ... I was loved because I had great grades.
I was loved because I never got in trouble.
I was loved because I went to college.
I never felt I was loved for me.
So ... of course, as I look at things now .... I am what I do. I take pride in my work, and when someone, anyone, shows interest in me past a certain point, I realize that I push back. I do not understand. I am uncomfortable.
I need to get past this point. I see it. I can intellectually see it ... now what? "
-George Hopkins, 2/3/2007
What do you think ... does this describe me?
And if so- what do I do?
Below is an excerpt from a recent "Hopblog" entry. Mr. Hopkins is the Executive Director of The Cadets and has been for going on three decades. His work in the drum corps arena is legendary, as is his devotion to youth education and the pursuit of excellence. Anyone who has ever wondered why the Cadets work and succeed the way they do need look no further than Hop. He and the design team of the corps have constructed a standard of diligence and performance that few other organizations in the world can match on a consistent basis. His mentality is thus that of the corps, and one of the primary reasons why 1. I fell in love with The Cadets, 2. I auditioned there, and 3. I felt so at home once making the corps.
Now, I don't mean to pretend that I can draw comparisons between myself and Hop. He's devoted three decades of his life to impossible goals and formed one of the premier youth music groups in the nation. He's at a crossroads as he now attempts to determine the future path of the company he founded to back the Cadets and his own high school marching circuit, the USSBA. I'm a college student with some idea of the direction I want to take, an addiction to work/recognition, and a vague notion of how I want to find more to life than engineering. It's just that his blog remarks sometimes strike a chord with me, resonating with my own feelings in a way I can't seem to articulate myself.
So read below ...
"I have struggled letting people love me. I have come to realize something.
To me ... my perception ... I was loved because I had great grades.
I was loved because I never got in trouble.
I was loved because I went to college.
I never felt I was loved for me.
So ... of course, as I look at things now .... I am what I do. I take pride in my work, and when someone, anyone, shows interest in me past a certain point, I realize that I push back. I do not understand. I am uncomfortable.
I need to get past this point. I see it. I can intellectually see it ... now what? "
-George Hopkins, 2/3/2007
What do you think ... does this describe me?
And if so- what do I do?
February 01, 2007
The Funk
In general I think I'm probably pretty unaccepting of others. Not that I'm intentionally intolerant or go out of my way to belittle people, but it seems that I just have no patience when it comes to certain personality traits. People who don't work to their potential, go out of their way to avoid work, or feel that they deserve something just for being alive, for example, all irk me to the extreme. Despite this sense of elitism, I would still like to think that I have an average amount of specific pet peeves. There are only a few of them that draw my attention on a regular basis ... bad teeth, ME 252, etc. In truth, there is really only one pet peeve I encounter that I can't seem to handle even after 21 years of living.
I speak of the Funk.
Let me provide some background on the subject. Every morning, regardless of when class starts or if I'm hitting Zoellner or the gym, I make an effort to destroy the Funk that has pervaded my own body during my hours of slumber. A shower, shave, toothbrushing, swipe of deoderant, and shot of cologne underneath clean clothes are all it takes to leave me feeling fresh and clean, even at 8 AM. I then grab my books and saunter to class, Funk rendered harmless and ready to face the day.
Now let's say I have gone through this short cleaning process (14-16 minutes on average) and arrived at class. I'm sitting down, waiting for the professor to walk in, as friends and classmates begin to enter and take seats around me. Casual, often sleepy exchanges can be heard throughout the room. Many people are nursing soda, coffee, or some combination of the two. You can even hear the familiar crack and crinkle of a pack of Pop-tarts being opened. The day has begun.
A few minutes into lecture, I'm laboriously taking notes on something I don't care about and simultaneously doodling a picture of a dinosaur flying a rocket. Or maybe a ninja fighting a bear. Regardless of what cool thing I'm doodling, the same chain of events will then begin to unfold with startling regularity. The student sitting next to me (ranging from good friend to curriculum-based acquaintance) will suddenly decide to lean in and whisper something funny. I might hear the comment, I might not, but one thing becomes undeniably and pungeantly apparent during this brief commentary ... my compatriot has not handled their Funk that morning.
It could be BO. It could be morning breath. It could even just be an overall aura of nastiness that seems to follow this person wherever they go (much like Pigpen from Peanuts). The only thing that is certain about them, however great they might be, is that they are in some way funky and thus hurting those around them on a personal, even emotional level.
Now I know that late nights and a comparably lax lifestyle are two of the trademarks of college society. Hell, these are four (or seven) of the most independent and free years of your life. If you don't take advantage of them, you're missing out. The problem is that this lifestyle choice can make maintaining time in the morning a very, very difficult task. If you're working/drinking/playing until 2 AM, being up at 7:30 for an 8:10 lecture will eventually seem extreme to even the hardiest and most experienced among us. The natural solution is to thus sleep until the last possible second before you frantically roll out of bed and begin the long, arduous quest for your pants.
This minimized waking time before class comes with consquences. In general, you'll probably look like shit. You'll probably forget things you need to bring to class from time to time in your rush to figure out if your manufacturing homework is in the red or green notebook. You'll even probably be cranky as you wait in line for coffee at the cafe that could in no way be construed as "on the way to class" (of course you'll still get coffee before class, and God forbid you wake up 6 minutes earlier so you can both get coffee and be at class on time).
Even compared to these harsh results of your sleep-maximizing strategy, though, the Funk still stands out as the most powerful and ultimately painful punishment that you can inflict on your classmates. Not brushing your teeth or eating breakfast means that every exhale sends liters of morning breath into your immediate atmosphere, choking your fellows and small insects alike. Not applying deoderant (since you obviously did yesterday morning, duh) means that your personal space has become filled with your own personal brand of stink bug pheromone. And, perhaps in the worst case, not doing your laundry regularly means that you've arrayed yourself in an incubation chamber specially designed to harness, store, and even enhance your Funk. Roll all three of those together and you'll smell as good as you look- like shit.
To all of my early-morning friends and classmates, if you're reading this, please do not be offended. The vast majority of you handle your Funk in a satisfactory or even admirable way. I daresay you smell delicious, most mornings. To the rest of you, I do not ask that you change your ways, stop going out, or get up earlier than you normally do. It's not my place to tell you how to live your life or de-stinkify your personage. What I do ask, for my happiness and the health of our friendship, are just a couple little logistical favors that could help both of us get along better:
1. Sit at least two seats away from me.
2. If you're going to greet me, do so from at least two rows away.
3. Please ... stop leaning in to tell me jokes. If you must, write them down and administer them when you are clean. Right now you smell like an anchovy's vagina.
And with that, I thank you for listening to my small requests. Working together, I know we can strive to bring an end to the Funk and live to see a brighter, fresher tomorrow.
In general I think I'm probably pretty unaccepting of others. Not that I'm intentionally intolerant or go out of my way to belittle people, but it seems that I just have no patience when it comes to certain personality traits. People who don't work to their potential, go out of their way to avoid work, or feel that they deserve something just for being alive, for example, all irk me to the extreme. Despite this sense of elitism, I would still like to think that I have an average amount of specific pet peeves. There are only a few of them that draw my attention on a regular basis ... bad teeth, ME 252, etc. In truth, there is really only one pet peeve I encounter that I can't seem to handle even after 21 years of living.
I speak of the Funk.
Let me provide some background on the subject. Every morning, regardless of when class starts or if I'm hitting Zoellner or the gym, I make an effort to destroy the Funk that has pervaded my own body during my hours of slumber. A shower, shave, toothbrushing, swipe of deoderant, and shot of cologne underneath clean clothes are all it takes to leave me feeling fresh and clean, even at 8 AM. I then grab my books and saunter to class, Funk rendered harmless and ready to face the day.
Now let's say I have gone through this short cleaning process (14-16 minutes on average) and arrived at class. I'm sitting down, waiting for the professor to walk in, as friends and classmates begin to enter and take seats around me. Casual, often sleepy exchanges can be heard throughout the room. Many people are nursing soda, coffee, or some combination of the two. You can even hear the familiar crack and crinkle of a pack of Pop-tarts being opened. The day has begun.
A few minutes into lecture, I'm laboriously taking notes on something I don't care about and simultaneously doodling a picture of a dinosaur flying a rocket. Or maybe a ninja fighting a bear. Regardless of what cool thing I'm doodling, the same chain of events will then begin to unfold with startling regularity. The student sitting next to me (ranging from good friend to curriculum-based acquaintance) will suddenly decide to lean in and whisper something funny. I might hear the comment, I might not, but one thing becomes undeniably and pungeantly apparent during this brief commentary ... my compatriot has not handled their Funk that morning.
It could be BO. It could be morning breath. It could even just be an overall aura of nastiness that seems to follow this person wherever they go (much like Pigpen from Peanuts). The only thing that is certain about them, however great they might be, is that they are in some way funky and thus hurting those around them on a personal, even emotional level.
Now I know that late nights and a comparably lax lifestyle are two of the trademarks of college society. Hell, these are four (or seven) of the most independent and free years of your life. If you don't take advantage of them, you're missing out. The problem is that this lifestyle choice can make maintaining time in the morning a very, very difficult task. If you're working/drinking/playing until 2 AM, being up at 7:30 for an 8:10 lecture will eventually seem extreme to even the hardiest and most experienced among us. The natural solution is to thus sleep until the last possible second before you frantically roll out of bed and begin the long, arduous quest for your pants.
This minimized waking time before class comes with consquences. In general, you'll probably look like shit. You'll probably forget things you need to bring to class from time to time in your rush to figure out if your manufacturing homework is in the red or green notebook. You'll even probably be cranky as you wait in line for coffee at the cafe that could in no way be construed as "on the way to class" (of course you'll still get coffee before class, and God forbid you wake up 6 minutes earlier so you can both get coffee and be at class on time).
Even compared to these harsh results of your sleep-maximizing strategy, though, the Funk still stands out as the most powerful and ultimately painful punishment that you can inflict on your classmates. Not brushing your teeth or eating breakfast means that every exhale sends liters of morning breath into your immediate atmosphere, choking your fellows and small insects alike. Not applying deoderant (since you obviously did yesterday morning, duh) means that your personal space has become filled with your own personal brand of stink bug pheromone. And, perhaps in the worst case, not doing your laundry regularly means that you've arrayed yourself in an incubation chamber specially designed to harness, store, and even enhance your Funk. Roll all three of those together and you'll smell as good as you look- like shit.
To all of my early-morning friends and classmates, if you're reading this, please do not be offended. The vast majority of you handle your Funk in a satisfactory or even admirable way. I daresay you smell delicious, most mornings. To the rest of you, I do not ask that you change your ways, stop going out, or get up earlier than you normally do. It's not my place to tell you how to live your life or de-stinkify your personage. What I do ask, for my happiness and the health of our friendship, are just a couple little logistical favors that could help both of us get along better:
1. Sit at least two seats away from me.
2. If you're going to greet me, do so from at least two rows away.
3. Please ... stop leaning in to tell me jokes. If you must, write them down and administer them when you are clean. Right now you smell like an anchovy's vagina.
And with that, I thank you for listening to my small requests. Working together, I know we can strive to bring an end to the Funk and live to see a brighter, fresher tomorrow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)