Phuuuk...must...have...air!

Ho, boy.

Now, I will admit this is a blow-off class. So does my prof. It's a required class because yet another set of TPTB (that run my program) think that by the time we get to this level, we couldn't go through everything G.I. Jane did for a month straight with the exception of eating and sleeping, and then, once allowed to sleep, be awakened in the middle of REM rebound by a rifle butt to the head and reel off the rotogravure of our trade. Seven stages? Here. Hierarchy of Needs? There. What happened on Old Olympus' Towering Tops? Right back at'cha, Bucko. Bios? You want bios? I can tell you what Ray Cattell ate for freaking *breakfast* on 3 February, 1998*. I can tell you what James Cattell told his grad students to do on 21 January, 1944**. I can tell you the who, what, when, where, and why of....well, pick it. Hoo-hah.

And, granted, I read and study fairly obsessively...usually. There may be some who need a refresher on this stuff (and I could name names, if we want specifics)...but it isn't Our Girl.

But, nevertheless, this is required. So fine. Fine.

So I am in the middle of the Take Home Test From Hell. HELL. Not because I don't know it, but because, since this is a blow-off class, we have no real projects, or anything else. Our prof wants to go on break early (thereby thumbing his nose at TPTB's mandate that holding class during finals' week is compulsory even if there is no final--since that pack of TPTB had no luck in their attempts to make having an *actual* final that is administered during finals' week mandatory), and so he is getting us done halfway through his lectures.

Now bear in mind that this guy rocks. He really does. He is cool to the coolthiest power, he knows everyone, has done everything, and actually personally heard many of the people we are studying lecture; he's been on panels, boards, and committees that I will never be able to touch with a ten-foot pole--we're talking bodies that might deign to read something I peck out one day as a courtesy due to my affiliation with him only (before they turn me down, of course). That's why he's been elected Timekeeper for our department (ie, he has to teach this class in addition to what he normally does). He's also Old As Hell, and they're probably planning on dragging him back to campus kicking and screaming as an emeritus if he ever manages to sneak off and retire. I'd bet my right arm. He says he still teaches 'cos he loves it (and us) so much, but I personally think that his meds haven't kicked in yet; once they do, I'm sure he's outta here. And I love him muchly. Rilly. He's wonderful, funny, and has the coolest and most extensive collection of ties I have ever seen. I like ties. He and I talk about his ties a lot. No, rilly--they all have stories and came from neat places, and/or are reproductions of cool art or space and stuff.

Now, bearing this in mind, this son of a b...errynicemamaI'msure has taken what has to be the ENTIRE test bank of questions from our text book and given them to us as our final. Are the questions hard? No. Are they stupid? Ohellyes. Are they long, tedious, and boring? Oyeahyoubetcha. Do they take long to answer? BWAAH!

We are talking about two hundred questions. Or more. I am about halfway through. I want to SCREAM. I know this was intended as an easy test, but...it takes *forever*! All you really have to do is look in the book (so that you don't get an answer wrong because the question--or answer--is ambiguous or the book was wrong and the test bank follows the book), but... BWAAH! And it is So Like Him to think that this is easier than a bullshit essay paper. Augh.

Just shoot me.

I had to take a break. This is driving me nuts.

In other news, Squoosh Popeil has failed to manufacture a viable Poop On A Rope, despite his best efforts. He's so weird. Romeo invented "Fetch"***, and Squooshable goes and invents Poop On A Rope. Sigh. I tried to ask Squoosh why anyone would *want* Poop On A Rope, and he just said, "'cos I invented it, Baby!". He wants to apply for a patent; I told him that the Patent Office would probably tell him that there's not much call for Poop On A Rope.

Well, I can't think of any uses for it.

I have to get back to this thing, but I am just dreading the hell out of it. Me no wanna type no more!

...did I say "BWAAH!" already?

I missed Showdown tonight, 'cos Son-Friend was too tired. He just moved. He has finally started receiving his Disability payments, so maybe things won't suck so badly soon. Yay. But since I missed tonight, I'm going to work until the online trivia chat I play comes on at midnight, and then go to sleep and finish this stuff after Eviljob tomorrow (if I don't already have it done).

Whee.

--------------------------------------

*Not a god damned thing; he died on 2 February, 1998. This is one of my favourite jokes. And yes, I made it up. Undergrads Upon Whom I Have Been Inflicted have failed to see how damn clever it is, the bastards. ;-)

**Absolutely nothing; he died on 20 January, 1944. This is my alternate to Joke 1. :-) And, in truth, I switch out people--I don't only pick on the Cattells.

***Yes, I know Measle didn't *actually* invent "Fetch", but seeing as how it's not as if he read about it somewhere, or picked it up at daycare, it *is* kind of like he invented it. He's a smart measle.

****There was no fourth footnote. :-D