Shafted

People tell you that you're going to look back on certain things and laugh. However, the type of events people say this in reference to are not laughing matters.

They are the things that seem like little crises at the time of their occurence -- miniature catastophies that can destroy a day or spoil a mood. They can be absolutely terrible to the person experiencing them, causing brief mental trauma and mild embarassment. And yet, at the same time, these are the kinds of occurences that other people find funny. So in a pitiful attempt to excuse their giggles, they tell you that soon enough, you'll be chortling heartily right alongside them. I think we all know that any future laughter will be insincere and accompanied by a sting of resentment.

But things like this happen randomly every day. Nothing major. Nothing earth shattering. Just vaguely humiliating or wholly inconvenient. In the past few days, I've had a rash of these occurences.

Let's examine last week on Tuesday -- the day I was going home for Thanksgiving break. There I was, standing outside the Golden Bear Cafe, waiting on people to show up for a meeting. Sure, the people never showed up, but that's beside the point. While I was standing there, minding my own business, I happened to look up. I saw a flock of seagulls circling above me. I remembered all those times in elementary school when the silly popular girls used to scream and cover their heads every time the gulls would fly above them, terrified of getting hit by bird excrement. As I stood there on that sunny Tuesday outside the GBC, I chuckled at this memory. I would never be so silly! Birds didn't frighten me!

And that's when I felt a dull thwack on the side of my head -- like someone flinging a spoonful of jelly onto a tile floor or a slug being catapulted into a brick wall. Yes. All those fears that never came to fruition for those silly little second graders had finally come to pass. I had been hit by a flying peice of bird excrement.

It was in my hair. Do you know how disgusting that is? First, there's that sinking feeling. Then there's disbelief. So what do you do? You reach up and touch your head. Surprise! Now you've got fingers covered in nasty avian waste. So I ended up washing that small section of my hair in the sink of the GBC bathroom, using handsoap to wash away the germs and rough paper towels to dry off my poor, embarrassed head. That kind of put a damper on my happiness. No big deal, though. I got over it. My excitement about going home sort of superceded the aggravation.

Still, that doesn't mean it made me feel better to hear from 20 different people that having a bird poop on your head is good luck in some cultures. Not funny. I will laugh at myself in my own time, thank you very much.

To follow up that brilliant preformance, I dropped my student ID card down the elevator shaft earlier today. I didn't even see it happen. At first, all I noticed was a slight and sudden lightness of my lanyard. Then I glanced at my ID case only to see no ID. Seeing there was nothing on the floor of the hallway and that the elevator was totally empty, my eyes alighted on the gaping canyon that is the space between the elevator and the 7th floor. And then I heard the soft pitter patter of a little plastic card tumbling down a metal shaft.

All this happened in a split second. That's why it's interesting that it took me about five minutes of staring at the closed elevator doors in disbelief before I finally processed the situation. Then it was five minutes trying to explain to the nearest janitor what had happened. Then it was fifteen minutes going down to the mail room to report a complaint. Then it was 30-45 minutes to walk down to the CalCard offices and get myself a new card for $25. You see, they couldn't just go get it for me. Oh, no. That costs $150. Who knows why -- it just does.

This is not funny. Sure, I told it to people as a point of unfortunate amusement later on, but that doesn't mean that it was a laughing matter at the time. I suppose the lesson I can take from this is to just go with the flow -- take these things as they come and be thankful that they're small. Be thankful that I can laugh at them later. That's a good way to strap on those rosy shades and move on with your day. So what if a bird defecated on my head? So what if my ID card escaped me? It's all good.

So stop laughing.

Stop and Smell the Sudoku

I'm a busy person. I feel like I'm constantly on the go -- studying for class, reading in preparation for a lecture, writing a paper, attending club meetings, working club functions -- whatever. It's as if I'm constantly on the go. And yet, somehow, despite all of this action, I still find time to waste.

I've found that there are many ways to waste time in college. In The Daily Cal (UC Berkeley's free and independent representative of the fourth estate) there's sudoku and crosswords on the last page. It's fantastic. Mindless little activites with absolutely no educational value -- the perfect waster of time. Of course, you can tell yourself that you're throwing your time away. You can tell yourself that you're stretching your mind, doing these puzzles as an exercise to hone your mental acuity. But you know you're lying to yourself. It's not practice for balancing your books or warming up for starting your math homework by doing Sudoku. Crossword puzzles won't help improve your writing skills or make you a better speaker. It's just something fun to fiddle with while you're waiting for class to start.

It's like keeping your hands busy when you're feeling restless. Same thing. You're keeping your mind active as a way to relieve the tension caused by procrastination or plain, old down time. Puzzles are the mental twiddling of thumbs, only one step above counting the number of panels on the ceiling. But then, of course, when you finish a puzzle, it all seems so worth it. There's a momentary feeling of absolute elation and joy over a job well done.

Until you realize that what you just finished was meaningless and now you've gone and finished the sudoku with two hours left to kill. Then the happiness fades and the boredom sets in.

There are other ways to waste time, though. Crossword and sudoky are just the most accessible ways. The traditional wasters of time are a little harder to get to (ie television, movies, video games, etc) but that doesn't mean it's impossible. Laptops are the norm. We all have personal computers and the whole campus is moving toward total wireless access. Voila. A whole new world of cyber distractions is opened up to the entertainment-starved college community.

Various sites offer venues to watch TV shows of all kinds, everything from top-rated television hits to cancelled series that have been long forgotten. It's great -- me, a 21st century teen able to see Alfred Hitchcock Presents or Roald Dahl's Tales of the Unexpected. Not to mention the modern day shows that have premiered since I've moved to college (specifically Journeyman and Pushing Daisies) that are just fun to watch. It's pretty cool. Not that I watch TV all the time. Far from it. I rarely watch anything. But it's nice to occasionally brew myself a cup of tea and relax in between readings by chilling in the Twilight Zone. That alone knocks out an hour or so.

As for games, the computer gives you those too. Can you say Minesweeper? Solitaire? I certainly can. Those games rock my socks. If I wanted to, I could shrink those sweet, sweet babies and play them during lecture -- something many of my classmates do. Alas, I've never worked up the courage to do that, fearing some omnipotent and angry GSI hovering over my shoulder or missing some important point.

And then they're blogging. The digital version of a diary. One of my personal favorites. It's a good way to reflect on the day, gather your thoughts, and provide something for yourself to look back on and laugh. Not that I would ever write one during class.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go back to paying attention to the professor.

Like the Hourglass

Have you ever had a day just slip right through your hands?

Today was one of those days for me. Not the "time flies when you're having fun" kind, though. No, the sands of time were not held in a cute, playpark sandbox for me today. What was slipping through my fingers felt more like the leftover grit that gets stuck in your shoes after a trip to the beach or the grainy residue on spinach you can never seem to wash off. Not the kind of stuff you want to get on pale, delicate fingers like mine.

Yes, today was filled with the nitty-gritty of college life. All the focus I was forced to put on my studies caused the abrasive seconds to waste away before my red and frustrated eyes. Today's task was an extensive bibliography and in-text citation of a position paper for my geography class. One wouldn't think that a bibliography would take too horribly long. But one would be wrong. Bibliographies are a special kind of torture -- tedious, time-consuming, and requiring painstaking detail. Teachers are always sticklers for bibliographies, pouncing on minor flaws like a shark on the scent of blood. A bibliography is nothing more than one long headache waiting to happen.

Adding to the headache is all the different formats for bibliographies. Throughout high school, it was MLA. I don't know why. I don't even know what MLA stands for. I don't really want to. My best guess if Maliciously Lengthy Assignment because that's what it always accompanied throughout high school But here in college, MLA isn't good enough. No! They have to have a sophisticated collegiate method for giving people credit! So now all of my citations are in APA format. I haven't even started pondering what that one stand for. I'm truly afraid to find out.

What terrifies me even more is how long it took me to site my sources. It took me all day. All flipping day. Given, "all day" started at 11:30 after I finished breakfast and lasted until about 4:00 when I finally got it all printed out. But still! That's a whole four and a half hours I could have spent doing something else -- like studying for my map quiz or reading for my Peace and Conflict Studies class!

Okay, maybe the bibliography was preferable.

I must admit that despite my lack of fun this weekend, I do feel like I got something done. I feel like I accomplished something -- like I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing in college. I feel like I've been productive and created a darned fine piece of work. Well, darned fine for what it is. You should have seen the assignment... Vague, broad, confusing...

But that's beyond the point! Nothing that trivial should take that long! The hourglass of the weekend should be filled with something more akin to dust than to molasses. My sand should be used for building castles or making zen gardens, not sandstorms of homework! I feel like I've been sanded down, mentally drained and totally devoid of any further motivation to study. Which is why I'm writing a blog.

But study I must! Map quiz tomorrow on China. Do you think there are any deserts there that could spare some sand?

Legging It

I sprained my leg.

Yes, I know it was stupid. Yes, I admit that it was my own fault. Yes, I have a distinct lack of coordination. Shut up. Let my poor bruised knee suffer in peace.

It's not like I meant to do it. I didn't say to myself "Hey, wouldn't it be cool if I banged up my knee and subsequently be forced to hobble all over campus?" No. It was just one of those horrible moments where carelessness and physical stress collided in quite the literal sense.

I've been walking up the stairs at least once a day. I consider it convenient exercise, me living on the seventh floor and everything. It's kind of like multitasking -- I'm getting a mini workout and reaching a destination. Two birds, right? So I was walking up the 124 steps that lead to my dorm. 124 steps spread out through 16 flights of 8 or 7 steps each. A truly nice arrangment -- resting places if you need them, an elevator on every floor in case you chicken out, and corners to duck in to just in case someone comes barreling down the stairs because they're hungry or late for class. It's really a win-win situation.

So there I was, walking up the stairs. I was at the foot of the last flight, looking up at the little sign next to the door proclaiming that this was the fabled seventh floor -- the sinlge sex floor of Cheney hall, the home of one of the nicest balconies in Unit 1, and most importantly, where I'm currently living. I was tired, looking forward to shoving through to my room and crashing in my semi-comfortable chair and do some hard core reading. I sallied forth.

I fell only three or four steps from my destination. I didn't lift my foot high enough on the stair. That was it. It was that simple. My toe hooked on the step and I feel forward. Luckily, though, I didn't go tumbling down the stairs or land on my lovely little nose. Oh, no. My knee slammed into the edge of the stair, taking the full impact of the fall, twisting slightly as it hit because of the slick concrete.

At first, it didn't really hurt. Don't get me wrong -- I wasn't walking away whistling or anything -- but I just got up and walked away from it, more annoyed than anything else. My quick escape was necessitated by the open door to the floor; someone could walk by at any minute and see my in my vulnerable and clumsy state. We couldn't have that, now could we? So I walked to my room and immediately sat down to my studying, business as usual.

I read for about an hour. Everything was fine and normal. Then I wanted to stand up.

It didn't matter why I wanted to stand. I just remember that I stood and suddenly there was a rich, gut-warming firework of pain in my leg. It almost collapsed underneath me. All of the sudden, it hurt. I rolled up my pant leg to see the damage. My knee was swollen and pink. And sore. Very sore. And silly little me, never having has a real leg injury before, ignored it. It wasn't until later that night when I called my parents that I did anything about it. They told me to ice the knee and keep it elevated. I did. The next morning, the swelling was still there. There was a thin brown line around the spot where I had banged it -- the harbinger of a lovely rainbow bruise. It still hurt to walk. So I talked to the resident health worker. That was when I had a term for what I had done. I had sprained my knee.

And that's where it stands. My knee is still slightly swollen and the bruise is coming along nicely. I expect it to be all grown up sometime next week. I'm wearing a knee brace, meaning that I can only wear my black pants because it won't fit under my jeans. It helps a little, but because of all the hills and steps all over campus and the distance between my classes, I don't think my knee is getting any better. Frankly, I think I'm making it worse. I even went bowling with my bum knee. Not very smart. So perhaps I'm getting better. Slowly.

So yes, I know it's my own fault. Yes, I know that I'm probably making it worse. Yes, I realize that I can't wear only my slacks for weeks without becomig stylistically dull.

Shut up.