This morning, I made great strides towards becoming more Ferris than Cameron. I rescued my car from the Garland parking prison.

Let me provide a bit of backstory here. The visitor parking lot in front of Garland Hall charges money. I don't like to waste money on things like parking when I can waste it on things like DVDs. When I'm too late for class to walk the fifteen minutes to campus, I drive. If I park in the lot, and leave my car there until after 9pm, the gatekeepers go home, and I can take my car out for free. However, I'm a forgetful person. So, sometimes, I forget my car there overnight, effectively locking my car up until 9pm the next night. This isn't bad in itself, but sometimes I do actually need my car.

Like today. Today my Modernist Poetry teacher has decided that we will have class in the Walters Art Museum, our second class in a museum in three weeks. This little field trip is already gonna cost me $11 for parking and admission, plus it starts at 2pm (the class normally starts at 3), I don't get out of my Expository Writing class until 1:50, and it's definitely gonna take more than ten minutes to get my car and drive there.

Which brings me to getting my car. I came up with the brilliant plan of parking in 2-hour street parking for Expository Writing, so I could have my car close by to make the mad dash downtown. This all came crashing down around me, however, when I realized late last night that I'd forgotten my car yet again. It was too late to go; this is Baltimore after all. I decided I'd wake up early, like 5 or so in the morning, and get the car before the gateminders checked in.

Well, of course, I fell back to sleep after my alarm went off, and didn't wake up again until twenty to 7. I flew out of bed, but what was the point? Should I even walk over to campus and try to get my car now, this late, when I'd just have to walk back in defeat? It was just like the scene where Cameron's deciding whether or not to pick up Ferris.

But then something wonderful happened. I stopped waffling, threw on some clothes, made my way over to campus, slipped through the tunnel under Gilman Hall, and got to the parking lot, where, of course, the light was on in the gatehouse. Upon closer inspection, however, though the entrance gate was down, the exit one was up. I quickly hopped into my car, and drove out, glancing up at the gatekeeper though my closed window, but not stopping to ask if it was ok. I listened to The Rentals and savored sweet freedom as I took my time driving home.

That's right: I'm a rebel, now. I do what I want, no questions asked. Or something. I hope that guy didn't take down my license plate.

Insomnia! Insomnia! My joints creak like I'm an arthritic old man, and, oh, the pressure behind my eyes is burning, and I know I should close them, and I want to so badly... this is a horrible night. There is work I could be doing, but I'm in no condition... I have no idea how I'm even typing this. I had to look up "creak" on m-w.com to make sure I spelled it right. The fingers on my left hand are half-numb because I spent a bit too long leaning on that respective elbow. My body is screaming at me to sleep sleep sleep.

I'm reminded of an drinking episode as a first-year counselor at summer camp, the summer before college... getting a ride to the nearby lake... downing cans of aged Budweiser a bit too fast... the heavy weight of nausea but lack of actual vomiting... a girl impressed by my polysyllabic drunken vocabulary... convincing myself the next morning (Parent's Day, of all days) that I wasn't hung over, because I had a stomachache, not a headache... my body hated me then too.

It hurts. My fingers are bracing into little claws, and I wonder if I'm not turning into some kind of hyper-aware ferret... a ferret with horrible insomnia. There's a point where logic and wit leave you behind, and I think that was a few hours ago.

My beautiful Microsoft optical Intellimouse Explorer died. The first one of it's kind, and it had much bigger thumb buttons than the later versions, and so I can never get it again. Tragic. I bought an even more beautiful mouse to replace it: the Logitech MX700. Even the name sounds badass. It's an optical mouse (with, sadly, tiny thumb buttons). But it's also a wireless mouse. And it's also a rechargable mouse. Oh, it's so perfect, as long as I remember to put it in its little charger/base station overnight. My old one died because of an increasingly faulty connection where the wire hits the mouse. That cannot happen to MX700. MX700 is my new desktop deity, joining the existing pantheon of Logitech QuickCam Pro 3000, Swingline mini stapler, Illuminations Tangerine candle, and giant plush Pikachu.

I'd been looking for a pair of lost sunglasses all semester, and I finally found them while at home for Passover, just before coming back to Baltimore. They have thick black frames, and a light blue to clear gradient lens coloring. Wicked awesome sunglasses are key in my constant quest for super-coolness, so it was quite the momentous event, and I shouted loud enough to worry my parents. I wore them on the ride down to prove to all the other drivers how amazingly cool I am. Then I wore them to the recording studio at the Digital Media Center at the Mattin Center here on campus. Some members of Throat Culture (read: three) sang some of the songs from AIM: The Musical (words and music by me, guitar arrangements by Jake and Gillian), and we're about halfway done with laying down this Original Cast Recording. It's very exciting, and not just the fact that songs I wrote are being put on a CD. The experience of actually singing in a studio with a soundboard and a computer and foam on the walls is a rush. The recording studio itself is very intimidating, because the speakers will feedback on you in an angry rage if you don't treat them nicely. And because it all looks too professional for us to be using.

And I wouldn't want to forget... recently purchased DVDs:
- Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone (I already have the British region 2 Philosopher's Stone DVD)
- Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
- Spirited Away
- Family Guy Vol. 1 (Seasons 1 and 2)

My face feels lethargic, like when you've been out in the cold wind too long, or when you've had a stroke. Ferris Bueller's Day Off was on Turner Classic Movies on Saturday night, uncut, no commercials, in widescreen. Needless to say, even though I have it taped off HBO, the DVD went immediately onto my wishlist. The movie, as an existential statement on the virtues of movement, meshes perfectly with my current philosophy/world view, and I think it may be time to finally buy the damn flick after years of slumming it off TV. I identify with Cameron more than any other John Hughes archetype, even though I don't necessarily have all the parental problems he does. Cameron's a head case to the point of physical sickness (see: my college career). He allows himself to get talked into things by his best friend (see: my grade and high school careers). He likes hockey. He has no girlfriend. To quote Ferris: "Cameron's never been in love. At least, no one's ever been in love with him." Yes, I know, it all sounds very depressing, but Cameron has at least a bit of a turnaround at the end, and this is the sliver of hope I hold on to for myself: that I can overcome my own issues at some point, and enjoy a little riding time in the back of a classic Ferrari.

So, omg, omg, omg, first off: the Matrix Reloaded trailer. I'm sure everybody and their mother will be linking to this, but I just downloaded it (~60mb), and it was so hot that I have yet to recover. That's the large one, by the way... if you want a choice, go here.

Let's see... went to see Rent at its current tour stop here in Baltimore at the Lyric Opera House last Saturday... dressed up as Mark for the show, but no pictures, sorry. Don't be too sad though, 'cause I'll probably use the same stuff for this coming Halloween, and take a webcam snap then. I bought these +1.00 cheap reading glasses to seal the deal... they really hurt my eyes though... guess I do not, in fact, need glasses. This was my first time seeing Rent on tour, and my fifth time over all.

I've been sick, sick, sick the last few days, but I made about half of my classes, the morning ones being the hardest to get to (and no cracks about morning sickness!). One of these classes took place at the Baltimore Museum of Art, making it my second class there this semester... which is a risk you take, I guess, when you only take English and Writing courses... not sure how often Bio classes've met there over the years, but unless they had some kind of nerdy science exhibit, I'm gonna go with "not so much." I have to say, though, that the BMA's free admission to Hopkins students and its placement basically on campus make it very attractive to visit in general... not to mention Gertrude's, the slick restaurant they've got there.

Anyway, learned the following this week...
William Carlos William's wife: "Bill, tell me the truth: do you want to make love to every woman you meet?"
After thinking for a bit, WCW: "Yes."
Yay!

Is it just me, or have the respected United States armed forces resorted to football plays? I've been comparing troop movements to Madden 2001 play calling, and there seem to be a number of similarities. Maybe they'll come out with War! 2003: Play Calling Edition or something. If it was anywhere near as good as Madden, I'd buy it.

So, got Iraq out of the way... any other big news? Besides the fact that new Edward Norton (Red Dragon) and Friends (season 3) DVDs came out this week?

Oh, Throat Culture, right. So, Throat Culture went really well last weekend, although Hell Week was super stressful and got me sick. We had some technical difficulties, but nothing really serious, and my musical about AIM was so well received that I think we may be doing an original cast recording. Swiznack! And I can now finally take credit for all the work I did on the very wicktastic notbrody.com site. It certainly was the longest build-up to the worst joke in history, and I was glad to be a part of it!

Tomorrow, in my Poetry and Community Development (Teaching Poetry to Schoolchildren) internship, I get the chance to teach the kids The Cremation of Sam McGee. This poem, for the most part, was what got me interested in poetry beyond that of Shel Silverstein's oeuvre. I owe so much to Robert Service, even if he isn't the "best" poet, and now I have the opportunity to (hopefully) pass that excitement on to a younger generation. It's very cool. I'm totally gonna end up as a stuffy professor! Let you know how this goes tomorrow.