Apologies for the short entries—these days my brain tends to sit in a semi-molten, slightly fermenting state of daze sprinkled with confusion. You see, as I’ve previously noted, they’re trying to kill us. My schedule looks something like this (assume I roll out of bed at either 10:05 or 11:05 in the morning on weekends, assuming I set the alarm clock for the right time on the right days):
Monday: sit through brilliant Eisenman lecture in near comatose state, catch furtive glances at hot chick in front, be simultaneously amused and irritated (in nearly Schroedinger’s Cat-esque manner) at Eisenman slyly insulting students who ask questions, consume lunch with most-likely-Asian friend, FOUR HOURS of studio (probably a pin-up), resign self to studio desk, ponder studio stuff before getting up to bother people on other side of studio hall, drink from fountain (”fountain break”) approximately one thousand times
Tuesday: sit through brilliant Forster lecture in near comatose state (conserve oxygen by breathing less in crowded, slightly misty room), lunch, last-ditch attempt to finish studio stuff, FOUR HOURS of studio (desk crits?), over-priced dinner, crap out 5-8 hour [Prof.] Blood drawing (wonder how to draw dodecahedron slice; draw yet more dramatically distorted cubes instead; bitch about with studiomates)
Wednesday: oh shit today’s Wednesday I have structures! procrastinate in bed until last minute, then sit bleary-eyed through reasonably passable Structures lecture while enough stomach acid accrues to digest a two-storey Victorian row house, Blood lecture of unbelievably trying/boring length, take notes on drawing spheres in perspective, feet get swollen while standing for far too long watch TAs/profs review drawings, dinner (did have lunch?), stay up til’ 2 am working on studio stuff, watch Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann ’til 4 am, think about answering email but go to sleep instead.
Thursday: what class do I have again tod-oh my god history in five minutes! arrive late to brilliant Forster lecture, meekly sit in side aisle until prof recognizes my presence and convolutingly tells me to sit in an actual chair, try to sit next to ridiculously hot girl with boyfriend in another city (but fail), take notes with a 0.1mm Sakura pen b/c forget normal pen, stomach growls, snag lunch then furtively finish studio stuff in time for FOUR HOURS of studio (pin-up? water torture?), watch as critic talks until four-point-FIVE HOURS of studio have passed, snag dinner, start working on Structures problem set in loose clump of confused people, crack bad jokes in an almost reflective manner.
Sat… I mean, Friday: just in time for Structures lecture with enjoyably absent-minded professor, quietly write down everything written on blackboard while hoping not to be called on, called on to do question and instantly blank out, get merely passable pita sandwich, somehow it’s 5 PM already, get dinner, perhaps go to 6-on-7-on-2 (i.e. weekly drinking party) but probably not because need to spend six hours doing Eisenman readings then four hours doing obscure analytical axon ink-on-mylar drawing while softly sobbing and whimpering
Saturday: Show up at 4 PM to studio with lunch in Gourmet Heaven brown bag, say quick hellos before plugging into computer and charging The Matrix for the next twelve hours
Sunday: Show up at 3 PM with turkey-on-white-with-brie-and-mustard-and-green-apple sandwich in brown bag, ponder meaning of life while in almost completely comatose state, find inevitably Existentialist explanation for endless suffering, drink steaming black coffee, conclude half-Chinese girls are hotter, pull almost-nighter powered by the dwindling light of my very soul itself, play The Avalanches into the ground
Strangely, I’m now the most lucid in the middle of the night. Trained?
On another note, food in New Haven almost uniformly sucks. All the rumors about the burgers and pizza rocking were complete and utter lies possibly fabricated by people tragically born with daytime television for tastebuds and no ability to leave Connecticut’s leafy yet limited environs. And, and, it’s almost all $6-8 a pop. (I’m tempted to ponder what the hell is wrong with the East Coast, but I had awesome Italian in Boston once so I’ll hold my tongue.) There’s good Thai, decent Indian, pretty good ice cream, and that’s it. Oh Berkeley, most wondrous of inbred liberal hippie college towns, I miss you!
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