Norfolk Terrace, Day 59. [0:29] Return of the Chamber of Whiteboards and Vinnie’s Banter with Emma
[After trying to get to sleep, Vinnie and I had a coughing conversation in which he would go first and then I would go next. It got really heated at one point as our coughs escalated.]
Half the day in time, half the day off.
18-minute abs, 25-min run, 7-min shower, 20-min breakfast, meant to go to the library at this point, but then decided to do more work in the room. Lunch. Structured morning ended up ending by the afternoon.
Studied, more library research on Shelley, unsatisfied compared to yesterday. The flow of the late afternoon in class went smoother exponentially: Robbie’s lecture on George Eliot and her Middlemarch (yeah, Marian Evans took on an alias) took a boring turn. There were some quality high points, though. In chapter 3 of the obtusely long 700-page book, the line “Signs are small measurable things, but interpretations are illimitable” strongly disagreed with Robbie, as evident from his response, and I quote, “Are they? [His brows furrow, his eyes somewhat squint, his lip stiffens] I don’t think they are, George. There may be quite the range, but they’re not illimitable. Any student’s response from Philosophy 1: Bull! Only certain ones are of value. If you think the world illimitable, then…give up.” His mixed inflection of high-spirited sarcasm and ranting annoyance was well-received. Then he went off on another great remark: “At a dinner-party, do I look at someone with a ‘frozen irony’? Oh, piss off, George. I don’t want to be part of your universe.” The final remark involved calling the protagonist an idiot. I’m kinda glad this is my “skip book” for this course.
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| Do you SEE the glittering lava lamp?? |
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| The Walls are Real Whiteboards |
Creative Writing Introduction took place in the Chamber of Whiteboards, for the second time (first on Day 24). This was the most easy-flowing class session—Time was a slide and in this circular room of poetic instructions and discussions, I was right at home. I read out my cinquain poem (5 lines, 2-4-6-8-2 syllables, no rhyme) and afterwards the tutor asked me, “Do you like Walt Whitman?” I said yes, assuming my second line gave him that idea. The cinquain exercise began with one line written by one person, passed to the left, the last line written by that second person, and then to the third person the middle lines were his/her challenge.
Here was my result:
Greatness
Withers away—
Selfish in its gesture,
Left for dead, humbled—will it speak
And rise
The last exercise involved picking out an everyday kitchen object from a bag of the tutor’s and I ended up with a pink, plastic cup. My poem’s title: Little Pink Cup. It was fun.
I picked up pizza on the way home, tired, and watched the play on youtube, “8”, a court re-enactment of the Prop 8 Same-sex marriage issue in the American district court case going on currently. It’s performed by an all-star cast.
Liam, Stef’s roommate, facebook-video chatted me and it was quite fun to see him and his roomies all being crazy in Stef’s room. That was the random bit of the night.
Vinnie threw the door opened, in the midst of my contemplation of how to spend the night (which ended up being not a productive one, relaxing mostly), and I re-met Emma, a girl from a neighbouring flat. At the time of this post, the banter of the funny flirt Vinnie continues and falls flat to Emma’s ears—she’s giving him s*** and it’s quite hilarious. Emma’s constant line: “You’re creepy!”
Then there’s dialogue:
“Look, I’m getting the impression…that you think I’m weird.”
“mmmm. And how did you come up with that impression?”
…”And stop winking at me!”
…”It’s fun to be creepy with you…This could be the moon right now because your skin’s radiating…
Close your eyes and I’ll take you wherever you want to be.”
And so ends the night.
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