Addiction.

My friends praise me for having one of the least addictive personalities they know. If I start doing something enough that people think I'm beginning to be dependent on it, I stop. I smoked cigarettes on occasion for a while, and stopped when I realized my lungs were suffering too much for it. I've shared one or two in the last several months, but only when I'm around a good friend of my who smokes. I drink and then I don't. I have men and then I don't. Those things are not critical. However, I have one weakness: A good story.

So, I have Netflix now, which is a wonderful thing for me. I decided I'd watch the first disc of the first season of Lost. Well, my mom came to pick me up to come to Yukon, and I went out later that night to get disc two and three. And then the next day to get four and five. Then I got sick and I was working for my father, and I couldn't get disc six. So, I watched an episode from season two on TV, which is a bad idea for this show. The next day my brother brings me disc six (he love me.) But that was it. I really need to see the episodes from season two.

This show, y'all, is so much fun. There is always something you don't know, and some things that you do know, but doesn't help you much because the things you don't know can change what you do know dramatically. It reminds me of the first season of Alias in a lot of way. I just hope it doesn't fizzle out as quickly as Alias.

Regardless, I am now suffering from withdrawl. My solution? 24. Season 4 is out on DVD. I don't want to think of a world where I have no good books, television, or movies. I could not live under such circumstances.

Farwell to History and Communications.

Well, what can I say about American History from Reconstruction to present? It was a little on the boring side. I had an amazing professor, however, who was kind and genuinely interested in the education of his students. However, the pure quantity of the reading was absurd. I to never have to read that many books in such a short period of time. I also delighted in being in a class of honors students. Such smart and social people.

Communications is terribly ironic. The content of the course curses society for it's rigid determination to make everyone and everything the same. It criticizes schools for creating testing systems that are held under time restrictions and limit creativity. Naturally, this course is taught in the very dull Dale Hall with 200 students and almost no interaction from the students to the teachers. The course is composed of three timed multiple choice exams. The point of the class is well taken. Too bad the professor doesn't get it as well.

One rant, and I'll be done with it.

Okay.

I'm sick and frickin' tired of reading all the bullshit comments that professors leave on my papers. They don't want me to write well, they want me to write like they write. I used to try to keep up with all their little rules, but I've discovered something: none of know the rules. They make them up as they go. One professor says no italics. One professor says I must use italics. One says I should never be afraid to bring "I" into an essay. One demands that I must take myself out. I hate it! Listen to my damn message! If you are listening, all the shit you would add on no longer matters and suddenly what's important is how I think.