Special Report

This is a major break in my normal approach to this journal, and I'll return to backblogging soon (this afternoon if I finish my candidacy paper.) But yesterday and today mark a major (temporary, one way or the other, but major) break in my normal approach to life in general, which is to say: usually pretty damn pleased with the world around me. I cannot remember the last time I was this furious - or insulted.

I looked at the date on my watch and realized it sounded kind of familiar; my diploma, the first one, marked as it is with the "fourth day of May, 2002," explained why - this isn't the anniversary of my bachelor's degree by date, but it is by days.

So on this fifth first-Saturday-in-May, I've woken up fuming and sit here stewing even as I work on my paper. I felt fortunate back then, and I feel fortunate now; I've always been lucky enough to anchor myself to a sense of promise I don't think everyone in the world gets to enjoy. But other dispositions float below that happy approach, ready to come to the surface when it's appropriate. One, of course, is that you don't fuck with my people. Come on and hit me, as the Sergeant Major says, but do not play around with my pack. That I've had to shape daily into a reasonable attitude, and I can handle it.

Another, however, I thought wouldn't come visible until my next interaction with used-car salesmen, whom the administration of this college are doing their best to emulate.

I do not take kindly to the bait-and-switch model, especially when I uprooted my life by 1300 miles to come and take the bait.