First Week of Class, Spring 2012
Hi humans.
I am officially done with the first week of classes for the 2012 spring semester.
This past Monday was probably one of the strangest days I’ve had in a while. Seeing as it had been over a month since I had last gone to classes, I somehow forgot where the Sewell Social Sciences Building was, and accidentally went the wrong way out of my apartment. After walking an extra seven unnecessary blocks, I finally made it to my 9:55 AM class, Methods of Sociological Inquiry.
My sociological methods class meets three times a week. I actually transferred into this section at the last minute from a different sociological methods section because the other section had an instructor I had previously, and I knew that instructor to be a bit disorganized, uncohesive, and monotone. The instructor for my new section (in which I’m enrolled now) had a familiar-sounding name, and I realized that was because he was a teaching assistant for a different legal studies class that I took last academic year.
The class seems a bit odd, and I’m not quite sure how to think of it yet. The instructor seems like a good person, and appears to be relatively young. A majority of the final grade is composed of group projects, which usually doesn’t turn out too well for me because I tend to work better independently than I do collaboratively, but it does have the advantage of not having to be too concerned about exams.
After sociological methods, I went to Introduction to Social Psychology, a few doors down. Not being that far of a walk, I arrived in class extremely early into a sizzling hot lecture hall (which, after this entire week, still feels like a furnace). Several minutes later, more and more people filed into the hall; one person came into the lecture hall and sat to my left. Apparently she thought it would be an excellent idea to keep on whipping her hair at me and hitting me in the face.
After a few times, I asked her, “Is that necessary?” She replied, “oh my God, I’m so sorry!” and stopped.
After two minutes, the hair whipping resumed.
The topic of social psychology interests me a lot and this is probably one of my most anticipated courses, but I’m slightly concerned about the instructor. He has an extremely strict no-electronics policy, which is fine because he distributes print-outs of his Powerpoints on which we can take notes, but it creates a more tense and uncomfortable environment knowing that the instructor prefers to run his class in a stricter and more authoritarian manner. Based off the three lectures from this week, he also doesn’t really seem like someone who has high-action lectures. He is relatively older than most other instructors, which works as justification for not being as action-packed, but it seems as if he doesn’t sufficiently energize himself and his students during lecture.
After my first two classes of the day, I went back to my apartment to buy some Jimmy John’s for lunch. After finishing my sandwich, I went to the bus stop to get a ride back to main campus.
But the bus driver thought it would be an excellent idea to skip the stop at which I was waiting.
This time, I didn’t have a chance to ask “Is that necessary?”
I walked my way up a monster hill of a street we like to call Charter Street and made it to my next class, the discussion portion of my social psychology course. This discussion meets once a week, and it wasn’t eventful enough for me to get a good impression about what it is going to be like and how the teaching assistant is.
The following day, on Tuesday, I woke up at 8:00 AM, took a shower, ate some waffles, and went to my first class, Alcohol and Other Drug Abuse. Before the idea comes into your mind, no, I am not taking this course because I need help dealing with a drug problem; this is a required course for the criminal justice minor.
The ridiculous thing about this course is that it’s in the Biochemistry building. I found out later on in the week that one of my friends is taking an Atmospheric and Oceanic Studies course in the Psychology building. I still don’t understand why they’re taking random students and random classes and randomly putting them in the Psychology building and overflooding it, then not having enough space for actual psychology students and throwing them in the Biochemistry building on the other side of campus.
A few hours later, I went to my fourth and final actual class (more on “actual class” later), Psychology of Child Development. The instructor of this course seems to always be really excited, and it was apparent even though she was really sick and lost her voice. One thing that I’m disappointed about in this course is the instructor’s illogical focus on class participation. There are over 200 students in the lecture hall, and the instructor seems adamant about having all of us speak during lecture multiple times throughout the school year. Class participation is great for discussion sections where there are 20 people per classroom, but I don’t think this is going to work out very well for the class of over 200 students.
This schedule basically repeated until Friday, when I had my Music in Performance class for the second semester in a row, the one-credit repeatable humanities class that’s nicknamed “clap for credit.” If you don’t remember from me explaining it last semester, this class is basically where you go into a concert hall, listen to music for 50 minutes, clap, take an extremely easy final exam at the end of the year, and get a credit. This is my second repetition of this course, and I’ll be taking it again next semester so it will essentially take up three credits of humanities and I won’t have to take an actual real humanities class where you have to do real work.
That’s going to be all for today; thanks to everyone who wished me a happy birthday today, and I’ll see you in a few days.
Later that day, I met up with Ed Lam to go to lunch. After we were done eating, we went back to his house, then walked over to a near-by nature reserve. The only problem is, the previous day during
This is Ed doing parkour.
… Actually, this is Ed hopping onto a boulder, jumping one foot into the air, doing a half-spin, and yelling “PARKOUR” as loud as he can while carrying a stick.
This is Ed holding a stick up to my nose so I can look like
About a week later on January 12, a massive snowstorm swept through our neighborhood. It was the first real snowstorm of the season (which is unusual because there are usually harsh blizzards in December, but December this year was relatively tranquil). This photograph was taken at our family business; it’s our front parking lot. We didn’t really have that many customers throughout the day, and most of the cars in the parking lot are owned by people who work at or own the businesses in our building.
I ended up spending the night at our business (which is a laundromat, for those who don’t know already) because it wasn’t worth the risk driving 15 miles (24 kilometers) to go home and possibly get into a collision because of poor road conditions. And no, I did not sleep on the floor or on top of washing machines; we have a couch inside our office.
The bill seems like something that would be the moral and correct thing to do, and a lot of people, including myself, agree. However, even those who do not torrent or steal copyrighted content are opposing the bill because of the methods it proposes to use in order to stop piracy. Instead of doing somewhat of an obvious thing and raiding the servers hosting torrent hubs like the Pirate Bay, they are instead targeting websites who link to copyrighted content without consent. For example, if I were to put a link to watch
That’s better.
After Cloudflare successfully alerted me that Cloudflare was offline in a Cloudception-like manner, I raged a little bit, went to the kitchen to get myself a snack, figured out how terrible aged cheese tastes, itched the top of my head a little bit, then came back to see if Cloudflare was back up.
Knowing my luck, you would probably expect me to say “it wasn’t,” but surprisingly, it actually was back up.
I ran the initial set-up wizard again, waited a little under a minute, and got my results. Cloudflare’s conclusion? It couldn’t find my website either. It asked me to finish setting up the configuration myself.
After almost-literally-but-not-quite falling out of my chair, I removed all traces of Cloudflare from my website, changed my nameservers back to those that point directly to my web host, made a face at my laptop screen, then went to sleep. I figured that if I try this hard and still can’t find my website, it can go die of dehydration.
When I checked again this morning, like an abandoned cat making its way back home, my website reappeared out of nowhere and worked fine. And, like an abandoned cat, I couldn’t really ask it where it had been.
So that basically sums up this story, as well as the story of my life: try really hard to figure something out, epic fail and take a nap or go to sleep in frustration, then notice the next day that there was a pathetically easy solution to the problem and realize that I wasted several hours the previous day.
