The last class of my college career was Wednesday. Here are my notes in full.
Jicky the Slightly-Self-Actualized Abomination of Science: It would be easier to make a sandwich if my hands weren’t all burnt – all right, there they go. I always have remind my self-healing powers…
Casey the College-Educated Berserker: …okay, look. Are you bored over there?
Jicky: I can’t tell. What do you want me to do?
Casey: Can you work a computer?
Jicky: I’m from space.
Casey: Do they have Windows in space?
Jicky: Yes, but one mustn’t open them.
Jicky: I’m really very sorry. I don’t know why I said that.
The last class of the semester was comm. Here are my notes in full:
I spent about fifteen minutes trying to decide what he was saying, and then the school year was over.
Filenames in the “Magus Anmere: Cyborg Werewolf” folder:
I’m tired and was having to open them to figure out what they were just now. If stuff can surpass its maker and go rogue, my filenames will shortly be rising up against me.
I think the tempo of songs stretches out in the time they spend sitting on CD’s and hard drives. In a thousand years, an advanced civilization will discover the last remaining open Apache server, and be unable to recognize its contents as music, its pace will have so slowed in the intervening centuries.
Status of review of The Hidden Stars – still too sad
Status of Green Lion re-read – half-way through third book; convinced world needs Ceilyn/Tryffin slash
That Woman came up to me after and said, sounding kinda surprised, “That was actually quite good.” Soon I shall feast upon her entrails. Of *course* it was a fucking good presentation. It’s because I am fucking *eight million times* smarter than you, you *bitch*. You are a *shitty art teacher* and I am a *genius* who is such a *sophisticated internet user* that I use *asterisks* rather than CAPS LOCK to lend *emphasis* to *words*.
Disclaimer: I am a snob and am about to be completely unfair to my classmates. (But not to the professor, I don’t think.) My excuse is that I’ve hurt my foot and my head feels like gnomes are hammering and sparkling their way out of it. But still, take note – I am going to be an asshole here. You might want to go read a Janet Kagan book or something instead if, you know, you’re not into that kinda thing. Eat some chocolate.