30/05/2002 - 6:38 p.m.

Speaking to no one in particular

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have done the expected- I have no passed the class that was sapping my will to live. Well, actually, I did pass it, got a C. However, a C isn't good enough, oh no, got to get a B to go in and get your license without having to drive for the DOT people. So, in essence, I failed, cause the only reason I was taking that damned class was to avoid having to do just that.

"Ya need more practice," he says. Well, you know, I'm sorry- I came to this class with the intention of being taught to drive, that's what I paid my money for, and yet you spend all your time telling me "Six hours of drive time ain't gonna do it." Well then, why the hell don't you put more hours into your class? (I guess I shouldn't argue with him, a lifetime of speaking English hasn't done him any good.) Because you expect that everyone is here as a formality and already knows how to drive and just want to make some easy cash. That's not a way to run a business, but they've practically got a monopoly running so it doesn't matter how they run things (there are two other classes, but the one is super expensive and the other is rumoured to be really shitty).

So anyway, that has royally pissed me off. Nick suggests I move to a Lichtenstien-y shanty (Say that five times fast) because you can walk across the whole country in an hour. Other choices include London and Paris, or maybe NYC. Or, as my mother puts it, you could just go take the damn test. I see that as the greatest of the evils.

I left my camp address in the drama room up on the "upcomming auditions" side of the bulletin board. I expect everyone will forget but expect me to write to them. Of course, what was funny were all the "I'll miss you" people going "What are you doing here? Go home. You're done!" Well, you know, it would be such a true waste of my time to go all the way from home to Roosevelt just to call my dad and go back home again, why not hang out with people I don't detest?

So I hung out in Mr. Pfander's first hour, learnt something about science fiction that had never occured to me. Science fiction is based on the probability of an event, if it could happen, it's science fiction, if it couldn't happen, it's just a silly imagination. That finally explains Douglas Adam's Improbability Drive.

Let me just say that Mr. Dingo did not instill me with any such useful knowledge. No, I got to listen to a bunch of "advice"- walk to Greenwood park and think about your life, it's not important to read Beowulf unless you want to be an ancient language scholar (or read any of their works, you big ass- Tolkien's got a translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight that I've been trying to find), we all have a love for material objects, and a load of religious dogma. The only thing about his class that I will remember, is when we'd get into talking about psychic stuff. That's the only class I've ever been moved in to talk about the things that I can see, and know, and the altogether weirdness of me (I've mentioned the auras, I believe?), and I think I must have known that he was sorta that way too, or I wouldn't have said anything. Not that he was much help though, he didn't want to know anything about why he could do what he could, or anything. I do.

I'm reading Two Towers again. I think I'll adopt Christopher Lee's practice and try to read the whole trilogy every year.

A word I've been particuarly drawn to recently- gravesend. Is it supposed to be "grave's end", or "grave send"?