Obsessive Geekdom

It's not that I'm obsessive. It's just--

Oh, who the hell do I think I'm kidding. I'm obsessive. And more than that, I'm a geek. Oh, don't get me wrong--I fly under the radar, for the most part. And given the company I keep, I'd say I fall on the mild end of the geek scale. But I can identify the episode of Star Trek by watching about three minutes, I know why the meaning of life is 42*, and I've long since stopped arguing over whether or not I really need to wear medieval garb to the various events that O. takes me to.

And I would totally walk through an alien device that generates a stable wormhole to a city in another galaxy, and I would live in that city regardless of the fact that said galaxy is overrun with life-sucking space vampires and evil killer robots.

See? Geek.

O. has said on more than one occasion that he feels like he was born in the wrong time, like he really would have fit better in centuries past. I feel the same way, but I feel like I should have been born in the future. The idea of aliens fascinates me. The idea of traveling in space fascinates me. The concept of setting up a colony on another planet fascinates me. I think this is one reason that I'm such a sucker for science fiction--I feel like there's so much potential out there, and it kills me that we don't know more about it.

I've been weeding the astronomy section of the library where I'm doing my practicum, and there are a ton of outdated books. Many of them were written in the 60s and 70s and had these awesome predictions for where we'd be by now--setting up colonies on the moon, space tourism within reach of the average person--but I doubt any of this will happen in my lifetime. I want my flying car, damnit.

All of this is a very convoluted way of saying, if you're trying to get ahold of me this week and cannot, blame the fact that my Stargate: Atlantis Season 4 DVDs arrived recently, and I'm currently engrossed in a marathon. What can I say--I'm obsessive.

*Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. Don't forget your towel.

A Word to the Wise (Part VII)

Even though you think it's silly to take the elevator down one floor at the Wheaton Metro station parking garage--especially since the stairs are right there--do it anyway. Those puddles on the steps? Not water.

Sanctioned Avoidance

I am an avoider. When faced with an unpleasant task, I generally do whatever I can to weasel out of it. My comprehensive exams--the culmination of my Masters degree and the major hurdle toward graduation--were scheduled for next Friday, the 18th, and they definitely fall in the unpleasant task column. I don't feel particularly prepared, which is totally my fault since I've barely cracked a book. But I had a detailed study plan laid out for the next two weeks to get myself ready. This did not stop me from considering rescheduling to take them in the fall. In fact, I quite sternly talked myself out of rescheduling them, because I thought that was taking my weaseling tendencies a bit too far.

Well, today I learned that it's out of my hands, and I must take comps in the fall; it has to do with a technical matter regarding my practicum and the requirement that I take comps my last semester.

This is awesome.

Catholic University is doing my weaseling for me.

And, I have a second chance to get the studying part right. Which means I have to work on my tendency for procrastination...

Dream trauma

Twice in the past week, I have dreamed that my father was dead. The first was very upsetting, but explicable--my father has had heart problems; my uncle died just over two months ago of a heart attack. Dreaming that my father died of a heart attack freaked me out to the point that I called him when I woke up, just to be sure--but it's not shocking that I would dream this.

Last night...well, I can think of no earthly reason why I would dream that my father was "disappeared" by a Central American dictator.

But dream it I did. It was one of those weird dreams where the details slipped away within minutes of my waking, leaving me with only the overarching theme of the dream. But my father...he is certainly a principled man, and he is not afraid to speak up when he feels strongly about something, but a revolutionary, he aint.

O. pointed out, quite reasonably, that I was most likely influenced by the rescue of the hostages from FARC, which is no doubt true. But it was still very weird.

I really wish I'd quit dreaming that my father had died. It's unsettling.

A Word to the Wise (Part VI)

If you are venturing out to a bar on a weeknight--when you've only visited said bar on the weekends--make damn sure it's not karaoke night. I heard a rendition of Devil Went Down to Georgia last night that I will never be able to banish from my brain.