And after such a refined post too...

AAAAAAAGGGGHHH I FORGOT TO ATTACH THE DATA FILE.

And I lost 10 points off my lab grade. Because I forgot to send my professor the data file that goes with this script.

10 points. There is no emoticon for this moment.

Disclaimer: This blog may be disturbing to some readers in that it addresses in the first paragraph material of both a personal and somewhat depressing nature. Be warned. (You know who you are.)

 It’s official: I’m trying to do too many things. There are several ways I know this. 1) I find myself, at times, going slowly insane with the pressure of it all (And extracurriculars should not be pressure. They should be fun.) 2) When you can no longer remember your schedule, it’s probably a sign you’re doing too much. I find myself forgetting important things that I’m supposed to go too. 3) It’s the first semester of freshman year.

Clearly, I was not that prepared to start college. Because like my freshman year of high school, I find myself trying to do everything. My seldom reminders of not to do too much have been too seldom. Too easily ignored. And it’s just now I realize that if I continue down this path, I will end up permanently in therapy.

There are several things I want to address in this blog. Firstly I’d like to start the blog with a list of warnings for future generations of college students. These are all signs that you are trying to do too much. Recognize them. And if you find yourself doing them, maybe it’s time to sit down for an afternoon and re-examine your life.

The first semester of freshman year is a lot like the first season of a young, bright-eyed ingénue living in 19^th Century Victorian England. The 18-year-old beauty is presented to the Queen, and then released out into the world to dance with men and try to attract a marriage proposal. Being young and bright eyed, she actually attracts many marriage proposals. In this scenario, the freshman is the young ingénue, and the massive conglomeration of student organizations on campus is the population of eligible young men. Like a young ingénue, the inexperienced freshman must be cautious and discerning in such a world. There are several rules that must be followed at all times.

1.  Don’t accept the first proposal you get: Every club on campus is vying for your attention and membership.  Don’t be attracted to the first offer you receive. Think it over, and decide if you really want to join this particular club, or if you’re just accepting their proposal out of desperation to be part of a club.
2.  Don’t accept a proposal out of pity: Some clubs are less eligible than others, in that they have a very small population of members. These clubs are the more persistent ones. But be warned: don’t join them just because you feel sorry for them.
3. Follow your heart: After the first student activities fair you attend, you may find yourself driven in so many different directions you think it’s impossible to decide. Some words of advice: consider seriously the clubs you are genuinely interested in. There’s no use in putting off a decision just because you don’t want to admit that you love one club, and that you don’t love another club. Suck it up and reject some of your suitors.....I mean, clubs. Suck it up and reject some clubs. The best way to reject a club? Politely. Don’t draw it out and don’t lead anyone on, and they’ll get over it.
4. Don’t accept too many proposals: Like a marriage, membership of a club requires commitment, devotion, and love. If you find yourself too busy to commit, too unenthusiastic to be devoted to the club, or too stressed to love the club the way it deserves to be loved…I have two words for you. Drop something,

Secondly, I’d like to address my own personal experience with club-joining. To this end, I have decided that the clubs courting my attention must each duel each other in a battle to the death.

No, don’t keep reading, take a moment to picture it.

It would be awesome.

If I could photoshop….

Okay, what I’m actually going to do is create a bracket, NCAA style. Oh, whatever, so I’m organized in the extreme, deal with it. It helps me think. The goal of this exercise is to narrow my activities down to ONE OR TWO CLUBS. So I’m only insane some of the time, as opposed to all of the time. Here goes.

Responsibility?

Hi, all. I have a numbered list of things today:

1. I'd like to publicly thank Mom and Dad for getting me magazine subscriptions! Everyone loves getting mail. I don't know what Games Magazine is, but it sounds fun. And I can't wait to read Time and Sky & Telescope. Thanks y'all!

2. I can now share the sentiment of college being worse, work-wise, than high school. I came to this realization when it occurred to me that I had been meaning to do laundry for a week, and still hadn't gotten around to it. The various other things to do just took up all the time in between classes.

3. Cleveland weather is just like Cary weather. It's very disappointing. What I mean by this is that it was 70 degrees yesterday and 95 today.

4. In band rehearsal today, as we were about to begin "Four Scottish Dances" by Malcolm Arnold, mvt. 4, our conductor Dr. Ciepluch gave us this priceless quote with a grin on his face: "I bet I can make it to the end before you." He later addressed the counter-melody instruments separately about us upper winds: "Don't worry, they'll get it in a couple of weeks." (It's a pretty bloody impossible part taken con brio, "with [flipping] spirit.") Band never changes.

5. I hate keeping book for volleyball.

6. I love air conditioning.

7. Finally, I have come to the conclusion that I am just as responsible now as I was when I was 12 years old. I can process things more efficiently now, but my level of responsibility hasn't changed. Good? Bad? I really can't be sure. I'd think you could argue it either way.

Everything that happened today made me think of one of my favorite quotes. It doesn't hurt that Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy was mentioned by my programming professor during his lecture this afternoon.

“Let's think the unthinkable, let's do the undoable. Let us prepare to grapple with the ineffable itself, and see if we may not eff it after all.” 
― Douglas Adams, Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency

The Historic New Bern Ride (or 'How I met your mother' and kicked off the first in a long line of mutually inclusive vignettes)

...just a few lines to summarize a beautiful weekend in New Bern.  But first let me take you back, in the annals of lore, to a simpler time...

We (Dianne and I) have been to New Bern for the MS 150 before.  We figured out that the last time we went must have been when we were dating, but before we got married.  It couldn't have been the year we met (1989) since we met in the fall; so it must have been in 1990.  In other words; it was 23 years ago!

At that time I was twenty six years old; and I had the confidence of my convictions that we could do anything; and we could certainly do this ride.  Dianne had no real preparation for the ride; but she could spend hot, summer weekends playing doubles volleyball tournaments; and she was willing to try anything to get her away from biostatistics.  There were her exploits on the soccer field, and her foray into Intramural softball; but those stories will have to wait for another time.

So; at the same time; I had built up what I thought was a pretty impressive biking resume of my own.  I had joined three other students at the NC School of Science and Math for a ride from Murphey to Manteo that we completed during our "Special Projects" week at school.  We were totally and ridiculously unprepared; but we were able to tolerate frigid nights in the mountains; live on cold pop-tarts, oreos, and bananas; and more or less look out for one another for eight days.

Also, before 1990; during a spring break at NCSU; I had done a solo ride from Washington, DC to Stanley, Virginia and then down to Raleigh.  During my brief stent at Vanderbilt; I had joined the biking club; actually learning the art of riding in a pace line; and the unnatural ways of semi-competitive cyclists.  And most importantly...back in 1979; I had seen Breaking Away.  So; as you can see; I was pretty much (less than) ideally prepared to bike 75 miles a day for two days in a row, with my unsuspecting fiancee!   Never mind that, in 1990, my biking was sporadic, and Dianne's biking was non-existent.

Believe it or not; we registered for the ride; and we raise the funds for MS ( which is really the best reason that we must have had for the endeavor); and we went down to New Bern to prove our mettle.  On the first day we rode together, at what I recall as being slower-than-a-snail's pace.  Which was shocking for me; since I must have secretly believed that Dianne was being modest when she said that she didn't bike.  So we were slow; very slow.  but we were determined.  We did 75 miles; and we hurt in places that we didn't know existed.  But we made it through the first day unscathed.

Well not completely unscathed.  I hit some gravel on a left hand turn and wiped out.  I wiped out as gracefully as one can wipe out when strapped into his pedals; and fueled by the courage of his convictions.  I got up; and picked out the little sandy bits of gravel; and I thought about finding the race marshall or course coordinator, or whoever could have been so careless to have overlooked the gravel on the road.  I guess at the time I assumed that someone would have been out sweeping (like literally sweeping, with a broom) all the biking lanes; kind of like they sweep the volleyball court before a USVBA match.

So I did wipe out on day 1.  Dianne saw me wipe out.  I didn't cry; but I was unhappy.  I sulked for a mile or two; but never did my illusion of being a great cyclist waver.

So day two arrives; and we get up; and now every muscle in our bodies is sore.  Ok, so our Quadriceps' are sore; our Gastrocnemius' are sore; our Gluteus maximus, minimus, and infinitessimus are sore (I made up that last one).  The ligaments in our knees, neck, and spine are sore.  Our wrists are sore. Our Trapezius' and our Sternocleidomastoid muscles are sore.  The muscles under the shoulder blades that can't be reached (because they are UNDER the shoulder blades) are sore.  So now we are starting to wonder, "Was this a good decision"  or was this simply the first in a long line of insanely comedic misjudgements that we would share as hapless soul mates.

Anyway... we managed to (painfully) remount our bike saddles; under what must have been the influence of the encouragement of our peers or sheer foolhardiness.  We rode separately on day two; and we both had a good ride. It took a few miles of bonding with our bikes to reacclimate ourselves with the road; but we both had a good ride.

Coda:  I see that my story has grown long; and I believe that I will tell you about the Historic New Bern ride of 2013 in my next entry.  So that you won't be left totally wanting;  let me tell you that the 2013 story involves less bravado; but no less shortage of drama.  Dianne has an intimate encounter with a car at an intersection.  Steve is admonished for 'pulling' too fast at the front of the pace line (Yes...I'm SO fast that I must be restrained).  Unfortunately, this story is still fresh in my mind; so the opportunities for embellishment and exaggeration are greatly limited compared to my tales of yore; so I'm afraid the next installment could be far more factual, and less instructive.

Thanks for reading,

Steve

Good grades, a social life, and your sanity--you can only pick two.

I am being drowned in reading. Please, take this seriously you guys. It’s a very real concern. I have a grand total of 170 pages of reading to do by Monday. ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY. Do you know how many pages of reading that is? That’s a short novel. That’s a good four to five chapters of a textbook. It’s thirty-four 5-page essays. It’s ridiculous is what it is.

I think they should schedule college differently. Everything should be staggered. There would be a week for extracurriculars. You could go to all the “first” club meetings and work out which ones you’re sticking with. Then there could be a week for auditions season: A Capella clubs, straight plays, musicals, choirs, IMPROVment. And when you hear back from all of them, you can really pin down your non-class schedule.

In the meantime, you’re meeting all kinds of new people, and getting enough sleep. You’re finding your way around classes, working out a kind-of routine, and figuring out where and when events are happening on campus.

If only.

Instead, my first two weeks at Case have been crazier than Spock after reboot-Kirk’s death. And that’s pretty crazy. (I just re-watched “Star Trek: Into Darkness” the other day, so sue me.)

I feel like I can connect to Spock a little more easily now. I feel like I understand him better. It’s like the entire world just snapped loose from it’s moorings, and is spinning so fast that it’s impossible to get a grip on the surface. I feel like I’ll never be able to find my feet.

There are moments where it’s all I can do not to break down in tears. Or just scream. Or want to run away and hide in my bed and never ever come out of my dorm room ever again. There are moments where I feel paralyzed. Where I feel like I can’t do anything right. Where I feel tremendously, completely, and permanently out of control.

And then I write a few paragraphs, and I feel better about things. It’s absurd. It’s bewildering. Somehow, being able to put something in words makes it less scary. Being able to know it completely enough that you can show it to someone else—somehow it makes the world seem brighter. Less full of fear.

And I feel like maybe I can do this after all. Even the 170 pages of reading.