Wednesday, June 18, 2003

Well, its been awhile since I've posted any more than a quick link here, but with finals ending and all, I was busy, and then needed time to recover. Finals went poorly. I was not really prepared for my econ final, no one to blame but myself, and maybe the fact that econ is boring. For the most part. Anyway, my literature paper was more of a disappointment. I did a fair amount of research for it, and started writing it early the night before it was due, which isn't too bad, since I was prepared. But Microsoft Word was not loading; it had gotten corrupted, apparently. No worries, I'll write my paper using WordPad. Which was educational. Turns out, WordPad really is bare-bones; apparently, we're not all suckers for paying money for Word after all. I couldn't even add page numbers. More distressing, I couldn't create endnotes. So I simply marked where the endnotes belonged, and decided to worry about it in the morning. The paper wasn't due until one, after all.

Skip to that morning. I had contacted Cecily that evening, and she agreed to allow me to use her computer. She would be in class, but I had a key and could let myself in. But first, I have to go to the library, because I forgot to write down the author of a magazine article I had cited, and the database that had directed me to that article could only be accessed by computers on campus. So I went to CLICS, a more convenient library, as far as parking is concerned, than the HSS library where the article is located on microfiche. So I pull up the database, and it turns out it also does not know the author of the piece. So I have to hike over to the main library and again find the original article to get the author. And then rush back to my car to get over to Cecily's to fix my paper before the deadline. So I get to Cecily's, make the changes, which took longer than I anticipated, and printed the paper. With one page to go, the printer runs out of paper. I don't know where Cecily keeps her paper, and don't want to rummage through all her possessions, she might frown on that. But I look all over, and am about to give up and print the last page on some sort of scratch paper, when I find the paper right under the computer, where I'm certain I'd looked before. So I get the paper assembled and am off to hand it in. It's finals week, parking shouldn't be too bad, I'm sure I'll at least find a metered spot. Like virtually every day, the metered spots had been roped off for some VIPs, and there is no parking. I finally find a twenty-minute loading spot, which should be plenty of time, but when I get to my professor's office, no professor. I still have about fourty minutes to hand in my paper, so she should be there. I decide to move my car into a legal spot, and then investigate. I see a metered spot, but I turn onto the wrong street, and by the time I get turned around, its gone. As are any spots at all. I go back to the loading zone I was in, but its full, too. I'm getting pissed off, and eventually decide just to park in the one open faculty space I can find. I go back to her office, still no professor. Finally, I decide just to get a time/date stamp from the front office and put it in her mailbox. On the way home, I'm getting annoyed at the professor, until I get home and consult the syllabus, and discover the paper had been due the day before. So I write a very contrite e-mail to my professor, but get no response. The paper is only 20% of our grade, and I think I had an A going in, so it shouldn't be a major deal, but if she elects to not accept the late assignment, and enforce the "all work must be completed to receive a passing grade" proviso of the syllabus, I'm toast. Which sucks, because I thought this quarter was going swimmingly.

Well, that was long and dull and of no interest to anyone, I appologize. I just felt like getting that out, so I can move on to whatever post-school issues might bear discussion. I'm going to the Fair tomorrow, to see Weird Al Yankovich. Should be fun, I think. I loved Weird Al as a child, even before listening to the music he was mocking. Until I was old enough that the image of Paula Abdul's gyrations in "Cold-Hearted," themselves a Yankovichian parody of All That Jazz, could bring me over to the sexy world of pop music, Al's wide-ranging humor, on topics as diverse as TV and food, were very satisfying. And I hear he puts on quite a show.

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