More School Griping

Now, in case I haven’t made it clear enough yet, I enjoy being back in school. On the whole, I’d say it is a good thing. With that in mind, it’s time for me to complain about some more things I hate about school (or more accurately, probably, to complain about the same things I already have complained about, in different words).

I’ve got four essays due between now and the end of the term. I don’t mind that, really. I hate doing essays, but I can manage. Except one: For my History class I have to do what they’re calling a Research Essay, which means that I am expected to go out and do learning on my own, then write about it. Okay, fair enough, except that I am paying THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS because I was tired of doing my learning on my own and thought maybe going to school would be a nice change of pace. More than any other assignment I have to do this year, I resent this Research Essay for being a kick in my nuts.

The other thing I’ve got to complain about is the sheer number of tutorial groups they do these days. I am assured this was not always the case, but every English class I’ve got splits the class into smaller groups once a week so they can talk about whatever (this includes my Mythology class, which is technically a Classics course, but I lump it in among book learnin’ classes). These tutorial groups are headed by the Teaching Assistants who struggle to try to make the teen-agers talk by reminding us that our participation mark (usually about ten percent of the final grade, I think) depends on talking. Well, I don’t want to talk, consarnit. I am generally interested in the discussions, and occasionally I don’t even hate the kids in the class, but I still don’t want to participate in the discussions. As I have tried to convey before, I could be in a discussion with my six closest friends on Earth and I’d still get more out of listening that joining in. I suppose that it’s a good thing I don’t care about chasing for perfect grades.

Who Needs The People?

Another thing I’m going to have to put up with as I return to school is that there’s gonna be all those people there. I hate that.

In the time since I last attended school I’ve done a pretty good job of whittling down the number of people I have to be subjected to on a daily basis. I mean sure, I have to put up speaking to people I don’t want to speak to at work, or even just random people on the street who think I might want to communicate with them (like this one probably-drunk guy just last Sunday night who decided I wanted to hear the story about how he got asked to leave a Tim Hortons for smoking), but on the whole I’d say I’ve had to put up with less of that than I will in the coming year.

As I return to school, I’ll be surrounded by people who, probably, will be used to talking with people who don’t have “Why don’t you stop talking” repeating in their heads throughout the whole conversation. b.Some of these people will probably want to speak to me. Heck, I’ll probably actively have to start conversations with people for whatever stupid reasons school will give me for doing that. And, from what I can tell with my encounters with them, the younger generation doesn’t seem like the type cherish succinctness and brevity the way I do.

And it will be the younger generation I am dealing with. I am going to be, like, over a decade older than many of the other students taking first year classes. While this is okay in as much as it means I have a perfectly valid excuse for not relating to them and all their references to young people things (the first time I did university, I had no convenient excuse for my not relating), it also serves to complicate the relations I will have out of necessity. I am already incapable of having a forced conversation without constant awareness that I don’t want to, and the added awareness of the age difference isn’t going to help that.

Anyway, to look for the upside, some of these people will probably not be terrible and boring. I may even encounter people that I can enjoy speaking to (it has happened a handful of times in the past). What’s more, hopefully the fact that a lot of my co-students will be young persons who, for all I know, will be more interested in drinking and reality television will make me look smarter by comparison when it comes to schoolin’. Could happen.

Camels for all!

Okay, so, over on the Secret Government Robots I am starting a four page story today. Here’s the thing, though. This story was actually made a long time ago, like, before I started doing the 22-page stories that have become the norm. I’ve had a couple pages that were similarly done at work with MS Paint on boring nights, but this story was made before any of them. I was saving it in case I ever needed to whip out a few pages because of missed deadlines or whatever, but that time hasn’t come yet. Instead I am using it up because it works in the current spot of the story, and I just got sick of having it around. So, anyway, this is my justification for how simple it is, at any rate.


I won a camel.
You also won a camel.
We all win camels.

Anyway, they’re doing a preventative spray for bedbugs in my building today, which is okay, I guess, I mean, I haven’t had bedbugs yet and I think I’d prefer to stay that way. But it also means I have to be awake at the wrong time of day, and spend four hours out of the apartment where there is sunlight and people, some of my least favorite things. And to make matters worse, I thought it was yesterday that this was happening. I spent four hours outside in the daytime yesterday and now I have to do it again today? There is no justice in the world.

Room for Rent

So I have just now posted an add on Kijiji advertising that I could use a roommate. I’ve never had a roommate that was someone I didn’t know, but my monetary situation isn’t going to heal itself without some kind of help. I figure I’ll help out someone who is trying to get one of those educations that there are. At least that way I’ll feel like I’m helping someone, right?

Also worth noting: Kijiji did not allow me to describe myself as an “anti-social prick”. What manner of police-state censorship society are we living in over here? I had to call myself an “anti-social jerk” instead, which isn’t nearly as accurate.

Pat Talk: A Guide to Marrying Patrick D Ryalls

Okay, I think we can all accept that I’m probably never going to get married. I lead a practically monastic lifestyle and I’m anti-social to levels just short of where I’d have to start doing murders. But still, thoughts enter my head from time to time when I see other marriages that make me wonder what it would be like for me. Plus, I gotta find something to put up on this damned website, right? So this here is a message to my Future Wife. You probably don’t exist, but this guide still does: What to expect if you marry PDR.

Okay, Future Wife, somehow you’ve found yourself in a position where you think marrying PDR is a good idea. Probably a disease wiped out most of the dudes on Earth or whatever. Whatever the cause, you have somehow seen past all the annoying neuroses, childish thoughts, and general stupidity that surround PDR and you mistakenly think he’s an okay guy beneath it all. Well, I’ll not argue that right now (there’ll be time after the honeymoon), but I will offer some other advice that you can use.

PDR don’t wedding. I don’t want a big wedding. I really don’t. I have mentioned this previously on the site and I still stand buy it. If you want a marriage with PDR, he’s okay with that. If you want a wedding with PDR, he is less okay with that! There’s probably some leeway in here, I admit. I’m willing to compromise to an extent since, it is my understanding, some people are close with their families and would want them involved, but that’s about as far as I can go. The ideal situation for me would be, us, the marryer person, and I think we need a witness or something? Well, okay that’s not the totally ideal one, it’s just realistically ideal. The totally ideal one would involve wizards that give us powers so that we can become a crimefighting superhero couple. But the odds of that are so ridiculous that they’re slightly more unlikely than me getting married to begin with.

Also, another tradition I’m going to go against: Don’t take my last name. I assume you’ve got a last name, Future Wife. Unless there is something tangibly wrong with yours, why would you want to go and change it after decades of living with it? And if there is something wrong with it, you had decades where you could have changed it without getting me involved. And think about me, too. I don’t want that. I don’t want to have to learn a new name for some person I apparently like enough to marry. Keep it simple. The bottom line is this: I’m not conquering some undiscovered land here, Future Wife, I’m making allies with an already peopled land. Do you get it Future Wife? Do you understand metaphor Future Wife? I do hope I won’t have to always resort to simile for you. That would be frightfully boorish.

While we’re on the topic of nomenclature, Future Wife, please don’t refer to me as “hubby” either in conversation with me or when talking to other people. For some reason it is a term that doesn’t sit well with me. I can tolerate being called most things. If no variation on my name suits the situation, there’s a million other things that I’d accept first. The usual pet names like “Dear”, “Sweetie”, “Your Holiness”, “Asshole”, “Fuckhead”, “Dickless”, “Hey Idiot”, “You Grandmafuckingcockstrangler”, “I HATE YOU AND IF YOU DIED IN A FIRE WITH A MILLION BABIES AND GOD OFFERED ME THE CHANCE TO TURN BACK TIME AND PREVENT THE FIRE I STILL WOULDN’T” or “Honey” are all good. “Hubby” is just in this weird zone of vagueness and formality. I like to think of the husband role as being secondary to us being friends, Future Wife. So address me as a friend instead of as a husband. Or something. Anyway, I don’t like it.

Switching gears entirely: I’m nocturnal. Granted, at the moment I’ve got an excuse that I’m that way for work, but I really can’t see myself ever wanting to fully make the transition back to being a full-time diurnal person. I no longer get the headaches I got for years during the times when I was in school or worked days. I think this is because I’m really supposed to be a night person. Don’t worry, though, Future Wife, I’ll still have time for you. I assume you’ll work during the days during the week, so I can sleep while you’re at work and have dinner ready when you get home. And on weekends you’ll have nice morning hours free from my odious presence until I wake up in the afternoon and we can sup on sunlit verandas then dance the night away to our heart’s content*. In many ways my being nocturnal is way better for us, Future Wife. So don’t try to change this. It’s what is right.

(* I will not actually dance the night away)

Eventually we’ll probably have kids, Future Wife. That seems to be what married couples feel like they have to do, even though if they really thought about it they’d realize “hey, maybe let’s don’t do that” but whatever, we probably will. Such is the nature of hypothetical scenarios. Here’s the thing: If I were a single parent my kids would not be raised to celebrate Christmas. This, of course, makes me the villain in most movies. I know, but this is who I am. But that’s irrelevant anyway! You, Future Wife, assuming you’re not stupid enough to die and leave me alone with Future Child, are going to be there too, and I think it is very likely that (unless you’re both non-Christian and non-secular in which case how did we get this far without me somehow insulting your religion?) you probably do the whole Christmas thing, so I will acquiesce to you. I will try to instill this one day with a level of joy I don’t think it can really contain at the detriment of joy that could be found on other days if you want me to. Just don’t expect me to be enthusiastic about it. I reserve the right to complain about every dumb holiday decoration, every stupid holiday obligation, and especially any Christmas song, and you don’t get to be surprised or hurt. Because I laid this down early and plainly. Got it? And if you die, I’m stealing Christmas from that kid, you better believe it! Hahahahahaha!

Ahem. Finally, and perhaps most important: No racist hate crimes. All hate crimes that we commit as a married couple shall be motivated by class. This is non-negotiable.