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I Am Incredibly Responsible

Since the beginning of the semester, I have amassed (at last count) 132 pages from three different textbooks for single class, the History of Africa from 1885-present. Guess how many pages I’ve read since the beginning of the semester? My rough estimate is zero. I haven’t cracked a single goddamn book, and I’m starting to actually feel kinda bad about it. This complete lack of reading any actual assignments coupled with the fact that I’ve shown up for maybe five out of the ten class sessions. This is grossly insubordinate, and if the syllabus hadn’t contained the oh-so-magical phrase “more than three absences may lower your participation grade” as opposed to the normal Columbia standard of “IF YOU MISS MORE THAN THREE CLASSES YOU WILL BE TAKEN TO THE BASEMENT OF THE WABASH CENTER AND DROWNED IN A POOL OF YOUR OWN PUS-FILLED BLOOD,” I probably wouldn’t have missed so much class. But, come on, I can’t even understand what the prof is saying anyway. She has a heavy Liberian accent, and I just sort of sit there drooling and wondering what the hell is going on. Maybe it’d help if I read at least one assignment.

Oh, and speaking of the assignments—since that was at one time the purpose of writing this entry—I planned on getting completely (all right, partially) caught up this weekend, since I quit my fucking bullshit job and my not-girlfriend hates me again, so I have nothing else to do but homework. But it turns out I bought the wrong book. Granted, I have three textbooks, but the bulk of the reading came from the one that I rather inconveniently did not buy. Instead, I have this big fat worthless book that was on the shelf marked with my course number, mind you, but the syllabus says we’re not supposed to buy it—we’ll just be getting intermittent handouts from it over the course of the semester. Now I’m stuck with a big fat semi-useless book, and I’ll only get a quarter of its value during buy-back. I hate college.

So, shit, maybe I should have checked that out prior to my weekly departure from campus on Wednesday night, so maybe I could have purchased the book before going away for the weekend. Of course, I’m not that smart, nor am I ambitious enough to wander all the way into Chicago to buy one textbook. I can just as easily put it off until next week.

It’s Saturday night right now, and I’ve got a few other assignments on tap for Monday, and I’ve started approximately none of them. Fuck, I haven’t even looked at the Fiction Writing syllabus to see what I’m supposed to do for Tuesday. I had also planned on catching up on the reading assignments in that class during this weekend, but of course not. I don’t have the book for that class, either.

And then there’s Aesthetics of Cinema, which I slept through last week. I have to write a paper on mise-en-scène, but I think I’ll be fine if I just wing it by B.S.-ing a paper on how the bowling in The Big Lebowski is a metaphor for the characters, and how that’s backed up by the way the bowling is photographed (by the sp00-worthy Roger Deakins) throughout the film. The prof almost creamed himself when describing my first paper, which was a paper on why Hannah and Her Sisters is the best fucking film in the history of cinema, and that was something I B.S.-ed in the half hour before leaving for class.

And the last thing I need to do is easy as smoking grain alcohol. Writing For Television, my least demanding and therefore favorite class, has required me to come up with two or three A/B stories for the script I plan to write. I think I’m going to write for Scrubs, since I’m only allowed to write for a 30-minute show, but all that medical jargon is hard to B.S. Maybe I’ll just say “Fuck that shit” and write an episode of Ed. Or maybe Push, Nevada, even though it was canceled, because with that show, I don’t even have to make any actual sense. Thank God for Ben Affleck smoking a phat barrel o’ crack and then saying, “Hey, why not do a really bad rip-off of Twin Peaks?” And, of course, I was forced to watch every episode because it had the ultra-cool Melora Walters and the ultra-hot Liz Vassey (of the unfortunately canceled live-action The Tick). I gotta admit, it started to grow on me around the fifth episode. I almost am sad it got cancelled.

Have I digressed again? I guess so. In summary: I don’t do my homework because I’m too busy masturbating during Push, Nevada.

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