Unearthing clues to where the wild things went

At 3:44am on what is technically a Thursday morning I suppose it's fairly safe to say that I have nothing better to do than compose and hopefully publish a blog entry. I can sleep when I'm dead.

So it seems that a semester come is a semester gone, predictably quickly when counting in college minutes. There are a whole lot of things to think about and reflect on after having experienced something as new and unusual as one's first couple monthes away from home. One's first real experience with self reliance and responsibility. So what better a time and a medium for expressing such sentiments than here and now? I can't think of any, and I'll be damned if you can either.

College courses are interesting to say the very least. My week began at 8am on Monday morning with Professor Janusko's smiling, or grimacing, ol' mug. The thing is though, I didn't really mind getting up early after a busy weekend for English class. It was structured in such a way that it was easy to settle into and get used to. There weren't any surprises. Just 20 or so minutes of discussion, 20 or so minutes of freewriting and 20 or so minutes of sharing what we've written. Somewhere in there was a rant and a tangent, but for the most part they were interesting and enlightening. Additionally, Rob J's sense of humor was unparalleled as far as any teacher I've ever had is concerned. Somehow he managed to see the comedy in my half-asleep rants about Frederick Douglass or my masterpiece composition detailing a 6-step method for women to defy the tyranny of men. That's great. Finally, an english teacher with an appreciation for individual style, one who doesn't expect his student to conform to his ideals. Refreshing. I'll miss him.

Feizi's Bio class was Bio, there's nothing more that can really be said. 90 minutes twice a week of him talking at us in his Iranian accent, trying and failing miserably to accurately pronounce and spell the words whose definition he was trying to convey. But still, he had a personality to him that made him more than likeable. Especially when he told everyone to stop smoking cigarettes and start smoking marijuana. That was great.

American Studies was my least favorite class for several reasons. First was the professor. She did not like me. I don't know if she didn't like me because I wasn't a radical feminist, because I wasn't a minority, because I'm male, or because I refused to simply agree with the dumbass opinions she had about everything. Second, I considered myself liberal upon entering Ramapo. Leaving that Am Studies class I felt neo-conservative. A direct quote from one of the lovely future Political Science majors here at Ramapo: "We should really just redistribute the wealth so that everyone is equal. Then there won't be so many problems with like, poverty and stuff." Huh. Someone slap me next time I accidently register for Communism 101. Seriously. I have no idea what my final grade will be in that course but I'm pretty sure I don't care. I have bigger things to worry about than some woman who gets her jollies out of penalizing students for thinking for themselves.

Leadership Skills meant John Yao. John Yao is the man. The class was painfully short for the amount of material available, so I really hope they consider that for the next time they run it.

First Year Seminar. New York. I couldn't possibly have more mixed feelings than I do now, writing about this class. It's one of those things that you absolutely hate and can't stop talking shit about until it's all over and done with and you realize how much you learned and got out of it. I'd never written a 15 page research paper on a neighborhood before. I'd never written, directed, shot, cut, produced, and presented an amateur film before. I'd never scoured the streets of Manhattan in a desperate attempt to find some random-ass coffee shop's name. But I have now. And I'm seriously all the better for it. I've fallen in love with Manhattan, all its opportunities and all that it stands for. In addition, I've met some of the coolest people here at the 'po through this course. Ali and Jess, who scared me with their zaniness on that first walking tour. Sean and his infinite insight and honesty. Noah and his stellar taste in music. Val. Susie. Trina. Elisa. Sam. Heather. Kevin. Yes, Kevin. Everyone added something fantastic and facinating to my first semester here. And if I didn't mention your name here explicitly you probably had such a profound effect on me that that particular part of my brain is numb.

Yeah.

People are important in life.

And here I guess I can say I've met some sweet ones. Keith, Brian, Mark, Kim, Casey, Jenny, Jill, Ryan, Ali, Jess, Justin, et cetera et cetera et cetera. The list could go on for quite a while longer but it's tragically limited by my laziness. Everyone contributed to the flavor of these past few monthes. We've been through great times. We've been through shit times. But as lame as it sounds, we weathered them together. So whatever. You kids are fuckin' cool.

And still, I miss my crew from home more and more every day. Every joke, song or movie seems to remind me of something awesome shared by one or more of us back in Freehold, 'Nallypan, Mar'boro, or Howell. I miss driving aimlessly North and South on Route 9, knowing no other directions or deviations. I miss chilling at the Bava castle or scarfing half-priced appetizers at Applebee's post-10pm. I fucking miss Wawa. It's impossible to imagine a life without Steve, Mike, Eric, Kristen, Christie, Bryan, Nicole^2, Dan, Jim, John, and everyone else. So I dunno. The Rutgers transfer application sits on my desk unfinished and I couldn't really tell you what next year, or even next semester brings in those terms. And I think I'll die if I don't see my drama homies from high school. My life needs some Dustin, Boasi, Egizi, Brent, Buccheri and Yodice lovin' in it. Some lovin' I intent to secure over break.

Love at Ramapo is, thus far, unseen and growing unbelieved in. Everyone constantly tells me that she'll walk into my life the second I stop looking, but I find this silly and terribly unrealistic. I sometimes wonder what I could change about myself to make me more accessible, to become that guy I want, that everyone wants, to be or know or be close to. I believe in knowing thyself. And I believe in making thyself. Still. Vision is so easily blurred, you know. Direction is so easily... misdirected. Despite this, I talk a big enough talk in my lectures to Jimmy and such that I suppose it's time that I myself started holding my head up higher. Besides, how can one see all there is to see with his head fixed on his feet? I guess he can't. And I guess I haven't been. New Years resolutions are only worth so much, but a little goes a long way in this crazy mixed up world of intangible currencies.

But I have found passion at Ramapo. Slam poetry has consumed me and fills every blank page slid in front of me. Next semester I'll be taking TOPICS: Advanced Creative Writing (skipping the initial Creative Writing course entirely, in my infinite wisdom) so that should either make or break me. Maybe we'll all see the beginnings of that novel I've been putting off. Maybe I'll finally share the shit I DO have. Maybe. We'll see.

So that brings me to now. 4:23am. But not feeling any earlier or later. Like our time together, me and this machine, was spent in some rift in time. Independent of anything more than the topic at hand. Venting. Recovery. It felt good, and this shit ran a lot longer than I thought it would. I have no doubt that spelling and gramatical errors run abound. But I'm pretty sure I don't care, and if you do... well. I'm pretty sure I don't care about that either.

Happy Holidays to all, and to all a Good Morning...

Bomb the Blogosphere,
Mike