I want that

It doesn't surprise me that in our ultra-material culture, there are a bunch of things that I find myself wanting throughout the day. What often does surprise me is how come Christmas time, I can never think of any of it, and I end up with some Barnes & Noble gift cards, a CD or two I could download for free, and a new collar for the cat (which, if you think about it, isn't really so much for the cat as it is for me).

I kind of want my own podcast. There are a few major problems with this idea, but before I get to them, I'll tell you why I'd enjoy having a podcast. I think it would be very cool to falsely assume I had a cult following. It would be blatantly obvious that I wouldn't have a popular following, but since I'd see one or two new downloads per month pop up, I could probably convince myself that my music selections and interesting musings on the state of whatever had earned me a special place in the hearts of at least a few perceptive individuals. I wouldn't really care about whether or not it was true so as long as I could name the podcast something like "Snack Break." Or "The Bus Stop."

Then again, I still am not really sure what a podcast is or how you make one, so that's probably out the window. Plus, it would pretty much be the same shit you can read here, except I wouldn't be able to put funny pictures I find on Google at the beginning of each installment like I can on a blog.

I want to like Twitter. It seems like something that should either come easily or not be a stressful thing to ignore, but somehow Twitter seems like such a cool, modern idea until I actually go to update my status with it. I never know what to say. "Met a hobo"? "Went 2 the hospital"? "Still using Twitter"? Why even "microblog" in the first place? Hardly anybody reads my long blog, let alone my carefully-worded-so-as-to-fit-into-the-140-character-limit microblog.

I want a giant White Stripes poster. I actually already have one that's nearly as tall as I am, but I think it would be super keen to have two of them right next to one another. Then people could come into my apartment and think I was some type of White Stripes goon, but I could just be like, "Naw, check it out--if you stand right here, it looks like that Meg White is whispering something to the other Meg White." And then I would be thought a visionary.

I also want to bore a tunnel from my living room to the basement so I could do laundry without having to walk all the way around the building, but I'm going to be moving out soon anyway so I may put that one on the back burner for a while.

College would be so much better without classes

So I have a class this semester called "Intro to Logical Thinking," and I can't quite decide what to make of it. On one hand, there's the fact that it's actually very vaguely interesting to me in an "I feel like Aristotle when I think about this stuff" kind of way. On the other hand, it starts at 9:40am, which is clearly illogical. And like I said, it's only vaguely interesting. In fact, I'm avoiding the logic homework that's due tomorrow morning right at this very moment in order to waste impressive amounts of time on the internet and poking around my room for books and video games and other things that are more interesting than logic. I spend most of my time in that class on Facebook or Wikipedia'ing string theory (because when abstract thinking gets me in the mood for deeper abstract thinking, Wikipedia is always my first stop), and then when the teacher calls on me (who calls on people in a lecture, anyway?), I look up very slowly because I'm not sure he's really talking to me.

Why? Because he calls me Jake Pendergast. That's right, Jake Pendergast. He got both my first and last names incredibly wrong but sticks to his guns every time I try to politely correct him.

"Oh, right, Jack, sorry. Okay, everyone, let's listen up to Jake here, because he's got the answer. Go ahead, Mr. Pendergast."

I don't even know where he got "Pendergast" from. I think there's actually another Jack in the same class that might have that last name, which might be what tripped him up, but I'm almost positive there aren't any Jakes. And not that I don't appreciate the move to get to know his students, but if he's going to forget my name literally two seconds after I tell it to him day after day after day, why even bother trying to learn names? I wouldn't be at all offended if he referred to me as Piano Scarf or Big Shoes Guy. I think tomorrow, when he calls on Jake Pendergast while staring me down with his rheumy marble eyes and one open palm clapped against dry erase board next to the illegibly scribbled problem he wants someone to solve, I'll just belch really loud. That'll show him.

Another dummy class I have this semester is "Digital Premedia File Creation." I still haven't finished deciphering the course title, but what it boils down to is playing Super Mario Bros. 3 on my computer while the teacher rambles on about not traveling to Mexico because of drug lords or something. He gave us a giant assignment about scanning various things and putting them in a big document to print and some other garbage, but all it left me with was the following burning question: who the heck scans anything anymore? The last time I saw a physical photo album was in an episode of Buffy that definitely hadn't been on the air since 1996. Plus, all the pictures and junk we had to scan came out of a dusty cardboard box labeled "IMPORTANT!" even though it was clearly not that. And neither were the creepy awkward family pictures or photographs of breakfast sausage still lifes sitting inside that we ended up scanning.

Once again: man, college would be so much better without classes.