A quickie before my final.

“Revolution X” (Update: link removed, as the Intervet version of the poem is not accurate; see my follow-up), a poem by a New Mexico student, is raising hell. For refusing to destroy the poem, censor other students’ poetry, and destroy various art posters, teachers at her high school are being suspended and fired.

The problem with the article, of course, is that the writer is a friend of one of the teachers involved, but the poem itself is ridiculously interesting and a good read, and if even half the things the editorial writer says are happening actually are, things are getting even nastier in this nation than I thought.

Links courtesy of Dru Blood.

On social things

I realized earlier this week just how odd my social interactions have been this school year. During a discussion with some Thorn staff, it was brought to my attention that most of them probably wouldn’t consider the amount of social interaction I have to be sufficient. And I’m not sure I do, either, once I think about it.

Classes aren’t places to be social, in my opinion. I don’t chitchat or goof off there comfortably at all.

I don’t mesh well with many of the girls on the floor, and those that I do get along with are usually only in one particular area, like music interests, or academics. Not the entirety of me or them.

I’m alienated from NSBE members by culture–I’m too “white” to them to be able to comfortably interact with them. They laugh at my geekiness, at my music tastes, at the way I dress, what I do in my free time, who I choose to hang around with. Not acceptable. We’re friendly, but nothing more than favorable acquaintances.

So there’s the Thorn. On one level, I understand that most of the guys on staff would never have said much more than “hello” to me if not for the service I provide to the paper. (Hell, I’m still continually surprised when any of them acknowledge my existence outside of the office.) I take advantage of that, as Bob frequently finds himself on the receiving end of my rants (I listen to his, too, though), as does Luke, occasionally, though with less patience. I don’t know that I feel comfortable calling them friends (with the exception of Bob), because, well… we don’t hang out outside of the office. I know that to some of them, I’m there to provide a service (three pages a week), and while they’ll keep me supplied in friendly banter, tickles, and chitchat to keep my interest, anything more than that is not worth their trouble.

Yet they are pretty much the extent of my social life. I work and surf and chillax in the Thorn office, and then when someone comes in, we chat, shoot the shit, maybe talk about something serious or let one another vent, then they leave. If I hang out with anyone on the weekends, it’s Nikolai, and we frequently seem to “miss” in conversation–he talks about anime and kung fu movies, and I’m a listening black hole; I talk about people that annoy me, the Thorn, or things I’m reading, and he’s the black hole.

Maybe it’s just me being ready to return to Charlotte for a little while, but I’m feeling the lack of casual, yet serious, friendships. Folks I could go see a movie with, or grab dinner with, or just hang with without me having to wonder if I’m crossing some imaginary line of their tolerance.

Three quarters of this, and I’m ready for a break.

Ohmygod, where’d it go?

I’ve lost my ass.

Somewhere between the walking and running and rowing and elliptical, it just went away. I didn’t even notice until I was getting dressed in front of a mirror this afternoon (I was showering in a different residence hall, since mine has no hot water). Now I’ve got one of those odd figures–decent boobage, wide hips, no ass. It’s disproportionate. When I told Bridget I didn’t have an ass:

Bridget: Sexy, sexy Lissa.
Lissa: What? No. I don’t have an ass, Bridget.
B: Geez, Lissa. Some girls would kill for that.
L: I’m not “some girls”. Ass is a good thing. I don’t want a ghetto booty. I just want something to balance out the rest of my figure.
B: It’s okay, Lissa. You’re still sexy, sexy.
L: [sigh] But I don’t have an ass

She can’t talk. She has an ass. Her ass is bigger than mine. Grr.

I just want to know where it went and how I can get it back. Or maybe just a better one than the defective one that deserted me.

Ooh, ooh! Pictures!

Completely un-Photoshopped for anything other than size, because I’m le tired…

My former mini-boss, Bob, and Luke
From left to right: My former mini-boss (News Editor Emeritus), Bob, and Luke.

My former mini-boss and Luke, sharing a tender moment
My former mini-boss and Luke, cheesing for the camera when she needs to be writing that damn article…


My former mini-boss, Luke, and L.
My former mini-boss, Luke, and L., who is the current Assistant News Editor.

The Sexy Leprechaun and Opinions Editor
From a couple of weeks ago, the Sexy Leprechaun (Entertainment Editor) and our Opinions Editor dressed up for the Multimedia Night (music, movies, stand-up comedy, and live bands–much fun).

The Sexy Leprechaun and Opinions Editor
Those two again. Ow, ow.

Ooh, ooh.  I'm in this one.
And last but not least, me breaking my no-pictures rule. I hope I’m easily identifiable. This was taken before I left for a nap at 23:00, when the energy levels were still up.