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Thursday, March 31, 2005

God makes babies

I have been asked to refrain from writing boring crap about my classes, and instead to cover juicier topics than Socrates (as if...) like, of course, sex. Specifically, I have been asked to explore the very nebulous relationship between sex and classes--sex in classes, sex with classes, sex as a class even. As luck may have it, I have a great deal of both abstract academic knowledge about this subject and personal experience with it.

For example, once, in about the seventh grade, it was reported that a girl in my class had had sex with a boy in my class in the janitor's closet. Now, a janitor's closet is not a class, but this girl was not one to typically frequent classes, so a janitor's closet is about the closest she could reasonably come to having sex in a class. It was all very scandalous, but I was really too busy being in classes myself to pay it much attention. Plus, I wasn't popular enough to get the really juicy details of the story. In the end though (like, two months later), I forgot which boy had been implicated, and the girl seemed to disappear off the face of the planet (anyone know where Mandy went?), illustrating that sex in or near classes is inadvisable and not likely to get you permanently enshrined in junior high mythology--at least not as much as being The First Couple On Earth To Do IT (Krista and Cory--sixth grade) or threatening to kill your classmates (which didn't even happen at my own junior high, but the act is so myth-making that I know the story of David Warda from a neighboring district) or losing half a finger in a door, getting the nickname Nine-and-a-Half, and becoming a complete social reject.

As for sex with classes, the topic can be seen in two ways. On the literal level, there is the possibility of having sex with everyone in one's class--serially or all at once. The former has probably been done and I'd venture to guess that I know some individuals who have accomplished it, but it is outside the public academic realm of our inquiry. I'd imagine it would be really unsettling to walk in on one's class engaging in the latter (let's all take a moment to picture that with a class of our choosing...ok, good), but I guess it would depend on the class. If I could choose a class with which I would prefer to engage in a mass orgy, I would probably refrain because it would imply that I would also like to engage in such behavior with all of its members individually, and that would both give people the wrong idea and be massively untrue because there is at least one hairy toad/descendent of a goat in every class. This leads us to the second method of looking at sex with classes--that is, the metaphorical level, the intellectual orgy, if you will. Those are great. Highly recommended.

Now, the third possibility--sex as a class--I also have a story about. In the third grade, I had my first ever sex ed class. It involved a slim yellow paperback with the most scandalous photograph my young eyes had ever glanced upon--two frogs doing the dirty. In fact, it was basically one frog piggybacking on another like a PG-rated Discovery Channel nature photo, and if they had told us that it was a daddy frog playing with his baby frog, we would've swallowed it unquestioningly, but now we were wise. We knew better. Those frogs were sexing. They were making babies. Without the stork.

Later that week, I was playing with my neighbor, Scott, who was my age but attended Catholic school. He, too, was learning about making babies, it turned out. I showed him my amphibian porn. He showed me his textbook, which had lots of cartoon pictures of happy families and some Jesus renditions. We began a discussion of our respective erudition. I asked: "Did you know that people have to do a naked dance to make babies?" He looked at me like I was insane, and responded confidently, "No, people don't make babies. God makes babies and puts them in your mailbox."

Today was a lovely day.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

"But, I feel, like, when I was a child myself, I felt...I had feelings..."

I got all the classes I wanted, but I really didn't want Greek or Childhood in America, so I'm not sure how to consider them by this standard. I got all the classes I didn't want but am obliged to take as well as those I wanted and was obliged to take and those I wanted but was not exactly obliged to take except by the nebulous elective requirements which I may or may not have already fulfilled but don't care enough to check about? That sounds right. More concretely, this means I'm taking: Greek (sucks), sosc (looks promising), Childhood in America (sucks, but only subjectively because sucking is nothing but an imperialist social construct), Socrates and the Sophists (cannot, according to the laws of nature, suck unless you are a sophist and therefore a relativist on the matter of sucking), and Machiavelli on War (auditing and not sucking).

The spring-ness of the last couple days has been disorienting. It's all warm and sticky and reminds me of reading Plato last year, from the same book and with the same professor, no less. Am I a first-year again? Judging by my progress in understanding Plato, I'd say I'm fairly close to it. Although, reading my margin scribbles from last year, I occasionally think, "Wow! That was insightful!" But then I realize that my professor came up with those insights, not me.

And I ate a Skittle that tasted like a chili pepper.