I gotta straighten my face

The good thing about having a leisurely morning is that you can fix yourself a delicious hot bacon sandwich and a good cuppa hot tea for breakfast instead of cold cereal. It's a bone-chilling 53 degrees in the mornings nowadays.

Anyway. On to Art class. We had a quiz, which I felt I did quite well on. We had to analyze a given illustration from a children's book in terms of five art elements (line, color, shape, texture, space, and form). Now, a quiz on facts from the book I've never read? I might not do as well as possible on that. But a quiz where I'm given a setup and told to "analyze" (read: BS) the holy hell out of it? That, my friends, is where a man with a philosophy degree is in his element. We're specially trained to be able to write convincingly any number of pages on any topic. It takes a certain kind of vacillating blowhard to handle the true philosophizin' skillz.

I drove home after a truncated class, finsihed up the various Diagnostic Reading assignments that have been stressing me out all weekend, and then drove back up to State School for class. I can't even begin to express how boring, yet enraging, this class is. Dr. C is the most maddeningly obtuse, flighty, obstinate ditz I have ever had the misfortune of calling a "professor." We watched a video on a word recognition program at a special school, which although slightly boring was nevertheless pure entertainment manna compared to Dr. C's contradictory, confusing, confrontational lecture style.

***

After school, I stopped by the Hangout, something I haven't mustered up the energy to do for a good while now. An acquaintance of mine runs a karaoke show with full band, and has installed herself at the Hangout for the last few weeks. This was the first time I saw it, and I enjoyed it. The Friar was there, of course, and Sonar, and the guitarist for Auric's band was a judge. Only one singer was bad, and most of the people were surprisingly good --- I was surprised to hear a brother rocking the joint with a note-perfect copy of "Highway to Hell" --- but the show started and ran late, and I've been exhausted all week. I left as the singer for one of Friar's bands was drunkenly mangling "Folsom Prison Blues."

I had asked both K and the Maddening Angel to attend as well, but they declined. MA is dating a new guy and has no time for such shenanigans, but K was just home watching TV and still didn't want to go! I was under the impression that the ladies loved karaoke. I may have to adjust my entire worldview.