Never hit a man with glasses. Hit him with a baseball bat.
This image here is quite possibly the best illustration of my life so far at college - it is both fantastically hilarious (how hilarious? Like "playing DDR and Katamari Damacy at 3:00 in the morning with thirty other people while singing Keane karaoke in between discussion of this season's TV series premieres" hilarious) and mind-numbingly overwhelming. (How overwhelming? Like "three psycho-emotional breakdowns within the span of 12 hours" overwhelming.) So as you can guess, this is the big Academia Post Number 1.
I've taken to making LJ posts more frequently during the early parts of morning (also commonly known as: ungodly hours) as well as with the least amount of coherency possible for a human being (see, look at that, I'm already making no sense).
So here's the big question all of you guys are probably first wondering about (or, you might not even be wondering at all and I might just be considerably more egotistical than I had originally thought): Shyue, you psychotic mess of a human being, what exactly are you majoring in? What do you want to do when you grow up? Well, there are three answers for these two questions. The first answer is: I am majoring in Forensic Anthropology (or Pathology - the difference being whether or not I want to crucify myself through medical school). The second answer is: INDIANA-FREAKING-JONES. Yeah. Or, alternatively: TONY FREAKING STARK. That might fit better. Take a moment to think about that (in which time you may also consult Wikipedia or Yahoo or Google or a local therapist - don't worry, I sympathize). The last answer - and the actual, really honest one - is: I don't know.
With that said, school has not been the brightest bucket of sunshine for me because truth be told, barreling into this whole thing was really kind of a miniature experiment. My brain is wired to be an artist, to major in those things that will eventually make me starve to death, says 21st century America. So the fact that I'm spending time in things that are so far left of this epiphany is either really insane or just really adventurous (Indiana Jones, baby, didn't I tell you?). Or both. Most likely both. I'm not going to delve into the details of all my frustrations at the moment (read: or ever) because those who know, know, and those who don't may be better off not knowing. This kind of information is not going to change the world, change your life, or make the next episode of Heroes come out any faster than it usually does. So just trust me here - Karma's been a bitch and this is my third bowl of Easy Mac since 9:00 am.
New layout for the LJ though. But that's par for the course whenever it takes me more than four weeks to work up a new entry.
There are times when I'm upstairs in the kitchen making breakfast or heating water up for tea or getting my finger stuck in the sink drain (true story) that I am suddenly filled with the urge to drive out to the nearest airport and sign up to be a pilot or a flight attendant. It's shockingly random and completely unrealistic but all in all, it brings out a strange comfort to me. I'm so restless, it seems (and I also have a sick obsession with uniforms. That could be it too).
So I am not at the main campus. I don't see a reason as to why I would hide this so there you go. I am actually 40 minutes outside of the main campus on another campus that is considerably smaller and less well funded and surrounded by cows. We don't have much but we've learned to find joy in the little things, I suppose. Little things being just a week or so ago, the Dean put in a swing on a tree. It's a rather nice swing, very primitive, just a piece of unevenly cut wood held to two ropes with duck tape and some metallic circular structures. And suddenly the entire campus has turned five years old. Slapdash but cute, it's ours (just like that Waffle Maker. Another story, another time) and people actually line up to sit on it. I mean, you can't even swing very far and there are mosquitoes everywhere anyway so in essence you really just sit there for a while, careen back and forth if you're the adventurous sort, listen to the tree groan in protest. Despite its grungy appearance, it does help in brightening up the day sometimes.
Planning to go see Eagle Eye with a few friends sometime today or next weekend or something. Hey, I like Shia "thank-god-for-beef" LaBeouf, okay? Shut it.
Also, I already have tickets to come back to NJ for the weekend of October 10th as well as the following weekend of October 17th. Get psyched.
According to some reliably unreliable sources (ie: my roommate) the male version of my name is Grant. Please do not call me Grant (Then again, this is coming from the same girl who thinks the female version of the name Clint is Georgina. Just take that into consideration for a moment there).
I've taken to making LJ posts more frequently during the early parts of morning (also commonly known as: ungodly hours) as well as with the least amount of coherency possible for a human being (see, look at that, I'm already making no sense).
So here's the big question all of you guys are probably first wondering about (or, you might not even be wondering at all and I might just be considerably more egotistical than I had originally thought): Shyue, you psychotic mess of a human being, what exactly are you majoring in? What do you want to do when you grow up? Well, there are three answers for these two questions. The first answer is: I am majoring in Forensic Anthropology (or Pathology - the difference being whether or not I want to crucify myself through medical school). The second answer is: INDIANA-FREAKING-JONES. Yeah. Or, alternatively: TONY FREAKING STARK. That might fit better. Take a moment to think about that (in which time you may also consult Wikipedia or Yahoo or Google or a local therapist - don't worry, I sympathize). The last answer - and the actual, really honest one - is: I don't know.
With that said, school has not been the brightest bucket of sunshine for me because truth be told, barreling into this whole thing was really kind of a miniature experiment. My brain is wired to be an artist, to major in those things that will eventually make me starve to death, says 21st century America. So the fact that I'm spending time in things that are so far left of this epiphany is either really insane or just really adventurous (Indiana Jones, baby, didn't I tell you?). Or both. Most likely both. I'm not going to delve into the details of all my frustrations at the moment (read: or ever) because those who know, know, and those who don't may be better off not knowing. This kind of information is not going to change the world, change your life, or make the next episode of Heroes come out any faster than it usually does. So just trust me here - Karma's been a bitch and this is my third bowl of Easy Mac since 9:00 am.
New layout for the LJ though. But that's par for the course whenever it takes me more than four weeks to work up a new entry.
There are times when I'm upstairs in the kitchen making breakfast or heating water up for tea or getting my finger stuck in the sink drain (true story) that I am suddenly filled with the urge to drive out to the nearest airport and sign up to be a pilot or a flight attendant. It's shockingly random and completely unrealistic but all in all, it brings out a strange comfort to me. I'm so restless, it seems (and I also have a sick obsession with uniforms. That could be it too).
So I am not at the main campus. I don't see a reason as to why I would hide this so there you go. I am actually 40 minutes outside of the main campus on another campus that is considerably smaller and less well funded and surrounded by cows. We don't have much but we've learned to find joy in the little things, I suppose. Little things being just a week or so ago, the Dean put in a swing on a tree. It's a rather nice swing, very primitive, just a piece of unevenly cut wood held to two ropes with duck tape and some metallic circular structures. And suddenly the entire campus has turned five years old. Slapdash but cute, it's ours (just like that Waffle Maker. Another story, another time) and people actually line up to sit on it. I mean, you can't even swing very far and there are mosquitoes everywhere anyway so in essence you really just sit there for a while, careen back and forth if you're the adventurous sort, listen to the tree groan in protest. Despite its grungy appearance, it does help in brightening up the day sometimes.
Planning to go see Eagle Eye with a few friends sometime today or next weekend or something. Hey, I like Shia "thank-god-for-beef" LaBeouf, okay? Shut it.
Also, I already have tickets to come back to NJ for the weekend of October 10th as well as the following weekend of October 17th. Get psyched.
According to some reliably unreliable sources (ie: my roommate) the male version of my name is Grant. Please do not call me Grant (Then again, this is coming from the same girl who thinks the female version of the name Clint is Georgina. Just take that into consideration for a moment there).