Yesterday the weather was a proper April fools bitch and ruined our weeks-long run of achingly-almost-spring-ness by dumping eleven inches of snow on our heads. Thanks, babe, much appreciated. This was a nice short week, though, and now there are only two more until break. It's almost as if there's a god. However, today ruined all my (slim) chances of believing such a thing. This place is a public school, which means we have to have a certain number of school days in order to, you know, get state funding, etc. So, instead of operating on a normal high school schedule, we occasionally cram mandatory "school days" into weekends. This is apparently "theme weekend" though nobody's mentioned the theme. I guess it must be math and science. What a lovely change. So, I sat through two hour-long lectures on meteorology and weather broadcasting. The first one was actually incredibly fun - the guy was from Alabama, said "I'm jus' sayin'..." about three hundred times throughout a lot of different powerpoint presentations that could really have been consolidated, but were okay because they concerned things like storm chasers, nutcases who drive into hurricanes with their video cameras, and what a bitch the TV weather broadcast industry is. The second one, after lunch... well. I was honestly fighting to stay awake. But not very hard. It wasn't worth it. He gave up maps of the United States. We drew lines around pressure zones and things like that in different coloured pencils. Or we were meant to. I drew lots of little purple circles.
I'm getting nervous. I still haven't heard back from NSLI-Y, and people are starting to. One of my friends from Turkey last year is an alternate for this year, and I just want to know so that I can get a job if I don't get in. But I really want to get in. I don't care where, though India or Tajikistan would be amazing.
Groucho Marx. Goddamn genius. I've been flipping through a book of his personal correspondence, and the man was just so rude to everybody, and so funny! Observe this excerpt from a letter to some friend of his:
"Years ago I used to have a girl friend who made a pretty good living addressing envelopes for a mail order firm in Hollywood. She used to get five dollars a night for a thousand envelopes and she would knock them off by midnight. The most of the night she spent in the sack with various men friends. She averaged about a hundred dollars a night, five dollars from the mail order business and ninety-five from the female order business. Well, that's about all there is to the story, it was only a brief romance, but I did salvage some of the envelopes for myself. Ah, youth, that it should be wasted on addressing envelopes."
I mean... people just don't write like that any more. It's crazy.
I want new headphones, and I can't decide whether I should get some okay earbuds or go all out for a proper headset. Advice?
Well, it's Saturday night, which means pretending to do homework. Chem test on Monday, and so much English. I finished Great Expectations, but that bitch of a book isn't done with me... there's still an essay, and So Many Notes. And I liked Estella, which nobody is supposed to do. So I feel like if I write an essay happily equating feminism with lovelessness... I'll get in trouble. Gah. Whatever. Night.