Thursday, August 31, 2006

Don't Make Midget Piñatas

This year I believe I will love my school. I have some excellent professors. Today John Bertreaux had his ethics class help him consider whether becoming a male prostitute would be a good career change for him, amazingly incorporating this into the text the entire time. Ondine Gage asked her linguistics students to feel her neck as she spoke, and then asked us to imagine chopping off her head. The enthusiastic, yet out of touch, Jennifer Fletcher has not yet realized that her junior and senior Brit lit and linguistics students are not the 14 yr olds she has taught the past 10 years. I will not be shocked if she asks if we need a juice box and graham cracker break tomorrow.

Classes are refreshingly challenging, but not enough to distract me from my friends or Myspace. I am meeting new people, collaborating with amazing minds, and making a genuine attempt at being a real CSUMB Otter this semester, this is of course, if someone can murder the midget fucking with the AC.

What? What's this about a crazed midget? At first I thought maybe the CSUMB climate control officials were confused, and wanted to pretend we were in sunny San Diego, not freezing Seaside, but this is unlikely. There is no way anyone in CSUMB could be this coordinated, or has been to San Diego. It has to be a midget. I'm sure he is the kid from 10 years ago (is the school that old yet) that was made fun of for being a midget and wasn't invited to parties (save as a novelty that some drunk junior would attempt to tie a string to and scream "piñata!!!") and has since sworn himself to a life of revenge on all Otters. We sit in our classes, bundled against the cruel Seaside mist (it gets intense) when suddenly, like a gift from heaven, the heat kicks on. We begin to peal away the layers, the blonde little sophomores revealing tiny matching outfits, us old kids revealing whatever we slept in the night before. And then the AC happens. Ice cold air cascades from then giant vents like an alien invasion and we bitterly rebundle. This may continue for the rest of the class, or in vicious outbreaks as soon as we begin to feel safe and unfrozen. Today a large male student even whimpered "is there anything we can do about the fans? I'm cold." The professor said no, and cast her eyes away, because he was shameful. I suggested a sacrifice for the AC gods, but instead of selecting the weakest among us to die (I was gonna vote for cold guy), we all laughed. We all know there are no AC gods, only a bitter and crazed midget, peering through the vents and giggling.

If this was a form of torture being used by the Chinese to get me to talk (I heard they do stuff like this too, must be a size thing) I would have already told every secret I know, and don't know. I don't know what the midget wants from me, but when I find him, I'm gonna get drunk, tie a string to his head and scream "piñata!!!"

Hehehe. . . it makes me giggle every time.

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