Punctuality Pays

I've been in the study lounge since 9:30 yesterday evening. I took probably about an hour and a half break between meeting Kim's mom and talking on the phone. That doesn't count the few hours I was in here yesterday afternoon. I must say it's quite productive.

I have 17 full pages and I think I might just see the end of this paper. Of course, I'll revisit it later but it will be nice to have it finished. I just wish he'd have stuck to his original page count of 20. I'd have been on my conclusion by now.

I finally saw Geno tonight. We met down the street from my school. We planned on meeting at 7. That didn't happen. He showed up at 7:30. And wouldn't you know it, I have a story to tell about the 30 minutes I waited for him. I didn't necessarily specify a corner on which to meet. I told him to be on the lookout for an eye place and a small cafe. After about 15 minutes and aware of Geno's penchant for being late and always lost, I started to think that maybe I should walk to another street. Maybe he heard me wrong.

After considering this for a moment, I opted to just continue waiting, but on a different corner -- change my perspective a little. So across two streets I went. It was a little wet out so I had my umbrella up as I leaned against Chase Manhattan's wall. As I was scanning every corner, I looked over my left shoulder and noticed a man searching for change in one of the public phones. During the following 45 seconds or so, I thought about the urban legend that people put HIV-infected needles in those things (not that they'd fit), so anyone putting their finger in one would get HIV. That's the extent of my concern for this man and I resumed scanning the four corners.

Not two minutes later, he was in front of me. He was in his late 30s/early 40s, black man, not totally shaven or dressed that well for that matter, but he didn't smell and this is important. Figuring he had no luck with the payphone, I was prepared to tell him I had no money for him when all of a sudden, he asked me if he could ask me a question. To ask permission to ask a question is something I've never completely understood. Anyway, I said nothing and just gave him a half nod, realizing too late that I should have said "no." This is when I discovered that he had a stutter. In the roughly minute or so that it took him to spit it out, I began to consider the numerous things he could have done to me.

Like punch me, or distract me so someone else could punch. This is a busy intersection, as most intersections in NYC are, so I wasn't too concerned. By the time I had reached this justification, he began to speak. "I think you're beautiful," he said. I laughed. Not at him. I just smiled. After about five minutes of fending him off by giving him a fake name, lying to him about the school I went to and where I lived, he finally began to understand that I didn't want to go home with him. He asked me if I was waiting for someone. "Yes," I said, and at about this time I was cussing Geno out in my mind for not being more punctual. He kept telling me I was beautiful and every time I smiled because I thought this was extremely funny.

So then he told me I had a beautiful smile. He asked me if he could be my friend and I told him that I had enough. Unrelenting in his pursuit, he vowed never to give up and that when he saw me next, he would ask me again. Then he reset himself and started again. I finally had to break it to him that I was into women to which he responded with a stutter: "Is there a chance you will change your mind?" I had to break it to him that I've been this way forever so there was a pretty small chance of me changing now. I complimented his courage and wished him well. Then, I went back to my original waiting station and Geno showed up three minutes later. That was some good timing.

You may remember that I did my last paper on Chinua Achebe's critique of Heart of Darkness. I turned the presentation into a paper, which is something we all do because it saves on time, and submitted it last week. It was Jim's turn to grade it so, as always when I receive the paper, I was nervous. I was especially nervous this time because Jim's never given my above a B+. I've gotten two of those and a B from him. Jessica has given me the A and A-. So the time came and he called my name. I sat down next to Jessica (who isn't usually there but she was this time because she wanted to hear the lecture on WWI) to peruse my latest B+. And there it was in all its glory: A-. No it's not an A. But it's not a B+, either. I've got two more papers to submit for him, as well as a presentation (because I don't have anything else to do), so I'm going to try really hard to get As on them. I'd love to get an A of some value in this class. He complimented me on my "critique of Achebe's critique of Conrad" and he thanked me for discussing it in class.

Sac dwellers, get your tickets for Woody Guthrie's American Song. The review came out the other day. Go see it for me since I can't. I'm so happy Shaq is back. I'm tired of the Lakers's inability to deal with losing. Sorry, mom. I hate them. Sarah (my race teacher -- I'll soon stop identifying her like this) and I are hooking up next Wednesday to go over my outline for my white privilege paper. I hope to have an intro hashed out by then. Katharina will join us after and the three of us are going to go enjoy ourselves outside an academic setting. In the wee hours of the morning the other day, I edited an essay that Joanne wrote to get into the Cape Town, South Africa program, which is sponsored in part by New School. They sponsor one during the winter break and during the summer. Doing this for her made me start considering the summer program. I believe it's in Poland. I'd get three credits, which means I'd be able to save some money and time. I think. If I want to go on to the Ph.D. level, then I'd just be able to start that much sooner. And I'd be able to attempt to teach here for some dough. I don't know what will happen, of course. I've still got to finish the semester. I have some class news and then I'm going to bed. It turns out the "Meaning and Effects of the Feminist Movement" will only be offered for eight weeks during the latter half of the spring semester. Therefore, I didn't sign up for it. Instead, I signed up for Feminism and Literature, which is fine, except it's not a Sociology class and I don't think I can cross-list it.

Katharina suggested I just try to add the methods course she's taking. Sociology requires a methods course to get the M.A. So I can take either Ethnographic Fieldwork (no way -- don't want to talk to people) or Texts and Interpretations. Hmmm. Sitting with a book and trying to interpret it in order to maybe come up with something of my own. Although it was a tough choice, I made the decision to try to add the latter methods course in the spring. Hopefully they'll let me in. Well, everyone of the world, it's ridiculous that I'm still awake. The good news is I've only got seven more pages to go (and I think I'm including an Appendix); the bad news, I'm meeting someone at Bobst in five hours. Buenos Noches.