My Little Black Book

I hate food. I hate pork. I hate pigs. I hate my little black notebook. I hate teachers who hand out playdoh and encourage philosophical writing. I hate this essay. The topic is food, how philosophical can it get?


...


I don't actually hate anything mentioned above. I especially don't hate my teacher, she is actually my favorite this semester. And I especially don't hate my little black notebook. But, actually, I do hate this essay.

Really, I love my little black notebook. I feel like I should delete the fact that I ever even thought about hating it. It is so perfect. 240 half-sheet lined pages, bound in black moleskine (that is how the company spells it), complete with bookmark (scripture style), expandable pocket (perfect for watermelon gum), and elastic strap thing that goes around the outside so that the pages don't get bent when you put it in your over-flowing backpack. Sketching, movie reviews, missionary timelines, eulogies, the notebook is perfect for them all.

So anyway, what I was actually going to say in this blog post is that I remember an episode of Gilmore Girls where one of Rory's professors informs them that there was a mistake on the syllabus and all the readings have been moved up one week. When I first saw this episode I did not understand what that would mean. One week of reading. Undoubtedly a few hundred pages, correct? Maybe not a few hundred, but over one hundred. That thought makes me want to cry. If, tomorrow in class, one of my professors gave me this information, I would drop the class. Too much reading, the one thing I really despise about college. The one thing I have a hard time keeping up with already, without a whole week being moved. Thinking about this makes me wonder about the script writers. Could they not have had some compassion on poor Rory and moved the reading up two days? That is still an unreal amount of reading, and it sounds much more doable and less suicidal than a full week. Then I remember that this is simply a TV show. As far as I am concerned, no sane professor has ever, in the history of syllabi, has ever messed up by a week. So, Sadie, rest in peace. This is not a real story.

So now I have something else to be grateful for: though I am not delighted about this paper, at least my reading pile hasn't just become taller than I am.

BTW: Happy belated birthday to Don Raphael. I would have said this on time, but my lack of Spanish, hearing, and the ability to understand the song "happy birthday" being sung loudly in the dishwashing/cookie pressing area has caused a delay.

<3