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342 lines
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<title>Zk | NaNoWriMo</title>
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<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="/style.css?2024-05-04" />
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<h1>Zk | NaNoWriMo</h1>
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<article class="content">
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<p><span class="tag">diary</span> <span class="tag">livejournal</span> <span class="tag">fossils</span></p>
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<p>NaNoWriMo.org is so slow the official picture wouldn’t load, so…</p>
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<p><a href="http://www.languageisavirus.com/nanowrimo/word-meter.html" target="_blank" title="NaNoWriMo writing toys games & gadgets"><div style="width:200px;height:15px;background:#FFFFFF;border:1px solid #000000;"><div style="width:20%;height:15px;background:#003300;font-size:8px;line-height:8px;"><br/></div></div></a>10111 / 50000 words. 20% done!</p>
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<p>For those of you who are reading, sorry about the weird quotes. It’s for <a href="http://makyo.drab-makyo.com/documents/nanowrimo/nanowrimo.pdf">LaTeX</a>, which differentiates between an open and close quote. I went through and replaced them all last time, but I’m too lazy this time :3</p>
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<details text="More drivel. I promise this is going somewhere."><summary>More drivel. I promise this is going somewhere.</summary>
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Our check in was on Friday afternoon, and the rest of that weekend was to be orientation. Part of the whole deal was for us to do much of the activities in the orientation together as a hall and get to know each other well, what with having to live together for the next two semesters.
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The whole hall went to dinner together, along with the other three halls in our wing, in what was a concerted effort to not flood the dining hall with the entire dorm's worth of students at once. The four liberal arts majors sat together again after making their way through the line for pizza and pasta, and the line for drinks. The food was a little disappointing to me, having been brought up on health food under my mom and cooking for myself or going out with my dad. Mark assured us, though, that the our dorm had one of the worst kitchens around, and that if we wanted some better food, there were better kitchens to go to in order to get it.
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After dinner, there were some activities at the student center that we were all supposed to attend and supposedly enjoy, though the whole thing wound up being a blur of boredom and I spent more time picking the occasional table of free goodies such as CSU branded pens and cups than I did on the activities laid out for us. Poker and TV had never appealed to me.
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I asked Mark if I could leave early and got a shrug in response.
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Back at my room, I worked on setting up my computer at the minimal desk we were given. The tower just barely fit under the desk, and if I put it there, I was left with no room for my legs, so it wound up on the corner closest to the windows, where I figured it would block any sunlight from my monitor. The printer sat on one of the shelves beneath it and the shelf below that was able to hold my paper and binders and, I figured, my text books as well. There was only just room on the top of the desk for my monitor --- a battered but usable CRT --- and my keyboard and mouse. The corner closest to the bed had just enough room for my alarm clock.
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Cozy, for certain definitions of cozy, I thought. The room was about the size of my room back at home, and I only got half the space.
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I set up my pillow and blanket with my head near the desk and feet near the door so I would be close to the alarm clock and could see if anyone came in.
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My clothes and laundry basket both fit in my half of the closets, and my small library of books fit fairly well into the three shelves built into the insides of the closet. Unpacked, I decided to check out the bathroom.
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One nine one one, and I was in, confronted with a bathroom divided in half. On one side of the dividing wall were the urinals and stalls, and on the other, stalls for showers and a bank of sinks with mirrors. I peeked into one of the shower stalls on a whim and decided my mom was right: the floor was that a gritty concrete painted a sort of blue. Rough enough to provide traction, but smooth enough to clean. I loathed the texture. I'd go pick up some sandals or something as soon as i could figure out where.
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The rest of the evening was spent finishing my computer's setup and chatting on the 'net about the first day with a few friends on IRC and high school acquaintainces over IM. I crashed at the early hour of ten or so, setting my alarm for seven.
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***
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My alarm startled me from one of those sleeps without dreams that comes with exhaustion and I nearly fell out of my bed. The narrow twin-size mattress would take some getting used to, to be sure. I sat up on the edge of my bed blearily and looked out the window across the open field separating the wings of the dorm to the northwest arm of the `H'.
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I hadn't set up my coffee maker yet, and finding a place to do so proved to be a challenge. Eventually, it wound up on the bottom shelf of my desk while my paper wound up under my printer and the binders stacked neatly under the head of my bed. Liquids above electronics equipment had gotten me in trouble before, and I was nearly paranoid now.
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Coffee got me awake enough to make it to the showers with my towel, where I rinsed off quickly, standing on the balls of my feet to avoid as much contact as possible with the distressingly textured floor. At least they had water pressure to the point where I could barely stand the shower turned on to full blast. Excellent.
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There was a sign taped to the doorway to the stairwell that said we would be meeting at eleven. ``Good, three hours,'' I mumbled. Time to eat and maybe go buy books.
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The eggs were unimpressive, but plentiful. I sat with Mark, who was holding his head in both hands over a cup of coffee.
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``Rough night?'' I asked, dousing the eggs in pepper.
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``Not a morning person,'' he grumbled, sucking down half the cup of coffee at once. ``And the coffee, it does nothing.''
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``Well, yeah, if you can see the bottom of the mug through a full cup of coffee, you know it's going to be worthless. Brought my own coffee maker.''
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``Good man, good man. Gotta say, if you want coffee, stay away from the dorms, go to one of the bajillion coffee houses out around campus.''
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``Yeah? Any good ones in particular?''
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``Any of them are good after a month of drinking this stuff. Don't get my first paycheck until Friday.''
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I winced, ``Yeowch. There much in the way of jobs here on campus, speaking of?''
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``Sure,'' he nodded. ``Check the campus site. They have some student job listings there.''
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Eggs were followed by a bowl of cereal. So much cereal. At least breakfasts were looking to be fairly enjoyable.
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``Hey, uh, Mark,'' I mumbled, poking at my `Frosted Mini Spooners' with my spoon, the bran pillows only stubbornly soaking up the milk. ``My mom told me to say, er... well, she told me to, well, to come out to you,'' I continued hastily, sure that my face must be past red and well into purple.
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Interrupted from his coffee gazing, Mark blinked up at me blearily. ``Oh. Okay, cool.''
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Anti-climax is the warp and woof of the world, but reactions like this were always a bit of a let down. The logical side of my brain argued with the illogical side, which was claiming loudly inside my head that this was a Big Deal, don't you know, and that Matthew Shepherd died in a hospital in this town, it's a Big Deal. ``Think it's gonna be a problem on the hall?'' is what I said instead.
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``Nah,'' he shrugged and downed the rest of his coffee. ``If they do, we can talk. Talk with the gay office, too, they can help if that happens.'' He heaved himself up from his chair and made his way to get coffee and cereal. He was wearing rubber ducky print pajama bottoms.
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Well, at least that's done, I thought, staring after my stumbling RA.
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I finished up my breakfast and left my tray at the window to the dish room before making my way back to my own room to pick up my class schedule. I wandered over to the student center and found the bookstore on the lower floor.
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Music theory one. New books only, sixty dollars.
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Introduction to music history. A used book, forty-eight dollars.
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Analytic trigonometry. One used book, twenty dollars.
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No books for trumpet studio, marching band, or symphonic band.
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I wandered to the other side of the shelves to look for the college composition books, gritting my teeth over the price I was paying for my few books. There was a crowd around the shelf holding the books for CO150, and it took a bit of waiting before I got to the sheet taped over the shelf, listing which sections needed which books. Great, two more books for that one class.
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``This is absurd,'' the girl mumbled to herself, squatting down and peering at the stacks of books I was headed towards myself.
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``Pardon,'' I said quietly, kneeling down and juggling the books I was already holding as I reached for one of the books. She smiled and handed me the other, one of the two used copies left, taking the other for herself.
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``Another thirty dollars, here you go,'' she said.
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``Really? Jeeze... this is, like, half of my savings!''
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``I know, I should go into text book publishing.'' She smirked and hefted her own stack, looking appraisingly at mine, ``You got a pretty light load, though, looks like.''
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Following her over to the zig-zagging line to check out, ``I suppose. How many classes are you taking that you have eight... ten books?''
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``Four,'' she said over her shoulder. ``I'm an English major. We're sort of required to read.''
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I nodded, feeling my ears redden, ``Oh, yeah...''
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When we reached the end of the line, she tilted her head and shifted her weight to one side so as to read the spines of my own books, ``Music major?''
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``Yeah, music education.''
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``Mm. I guess they just lump everyone together in composition, I guess. I thought the entry exam was BS, so I skimped on it. A basic writing class sounds just as full of BS, though. Guess I should've tried harder.''
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I nodded with as much commiseration as I could muster. I had done my best on that exam and placed solidly into that middle level class. ``I'm Cory, by the way, since we're in the same section and all.''
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``Kris,'' she replied. ``I'd shake your hand, but I got an armload of books, so I guess this awkward run-on sentence will have to do for now.''
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We chatted our way through the line. She was the daughter of two engineers and lived in Boulder. She certainly looked the part. Two t-shirts --- one brown and one pink --- with band names on them; a tiered, crepe-fabric skirt the color of green tea; and her short, dishwater blonde hair done up in chaotic whorls above her head, doing little to hide the lopsided piercings in her ears: a silver hoop in each, two studs in her left ear and one in her right. She was fairly attractive, I thought, as much as I could be the judge of that. Rumpled without being dumpy, stocky, a bit of a tummy without being fat. It suited her.
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We each went our separate ways after paying for our books, waving our goodbyes as I headed back to my room, dwelling on how much money it had cost for my five books. Hopefully the classes would be worth it. I hadn't seen the bills my parents had gotten from the university, but from the way they talked, this was quite the undertaking in all aspects.
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Relevant education is expensive, I thought.
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***
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The rest of that first weekend was a flurry of, I thought, useless and overwrought activity. There were two more tours of the campus, to add to the two I had already taken. There was a series of games we had to play in one of the large grassy areas to the west of the student center that were probably intended to get us to relax but were almost universally greeted with sarcasm. All the new freshmen packed together so that our sweating bodies spelled out `CSU' while a photographer on the roof of the recreation center took our picture. I had a bit to do for marching band, but other than that, the first weekend of school had very little to actually do with school.
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Eric, Joseph, Jamen, and I all hung out together for most of the weekend, sampling the food at a few of the other dorms around the campus and finding a few places that actually served food worth eating. Mark and I headed to a coffee shop north of campus and ran into Kris there, where we watched a woman who looked rather a lot like Kris only taller cook omelets and waffles, drinking our pricey espresso drinks and feeling out of place.
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My roommate didn't show up until Sunday night at about ten. I was just heading to bed, but since he needed to unpack all his stuff, I figured I'd stay up a bit longer and talk with him while he did so.
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Thomas was a short, fit looking kid with a week's worth of stubble on his cheeks and chin, colored red, brown, and gray. He moved in a dazed sort of way, though he didn't seem particularly confused. When he talked, I could tell he was a little stoned.
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``So,'' I ventured. ``How were you able to get out of this weekend's madness?''
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``I'm a sophomore, just chillin' in the dorms for another year,'' he drawled. ``Didn't get my act together last year. Heh. 'Sides, I ain't payin' for this place, m' dad's got that covered.''
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I smirked and nodded, lounging back in my desk chair. The thing was something of a mockery of a rocking chair: it had two rails along the bottom like a rocking chair, but they were straight and shaped so that it only had three positions: forward middle and back. ``Good thing. Bunch of bull this weekend, I thought.''
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Thomas chuckled in that stoner rumble of his, ``Yeah, I 'member that shit. All team building and `go rams' and hype. Fuckin' gay.''
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I hid my wince behind my travel mug of water.
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``Anyway, 'nough of that. I'm in for journalism, how 'bout you?'' he continued blithely.
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``Music eduation.''
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``Oh, teacher, cool. I respect that. Whatcha play?''
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``Trumpet,'' I replied, gesturing to the narrow case by my bed with my foot.
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``Awesome,'' he said, nodding. He nodded for about thirty seconds, hands absent mindedly arranging books again and again on his desk. I got the feeling he was a little eccentric, like he was hearing music in his head that he was nodding to. Maybe he really was just stoned. ``Hey, uh... Cory. You... y'know... smokeup at all?''
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``Er... no,'' I shook my head. That answered that, then. ``Not against it or anything, just never had the chance.''
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``Oh, cool, cool,'' Thomas mumbled, getting his stuff all put away and sprawling back on his ratty covers. ``I, y'know, I'm kinda into it a bit. Heh heh. A lot, really. Just let me know if it bothers you, and I won't do it in her or anythin'.''
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My stomach turned a little in my nervousness. I hadn't screwed around with drugs at all in highschool, though I'd read plenty: I knew all the good sites. My parents had both talked about it some and discouraged me, each in their own way. Didn't stop me from being curious, though. ``I really... well, I guess I don't care. Never been around it. I'll let you know if it bugs me.''
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``Mm.'' Thomas had pulled out his MP3 player and started fiddling with it. I sat for a bit before getting up to turn off the light, leaving my roommate with his desk lamp and music. College was a bit of a let down so far. The dorms were only passable, my roommate was questionable, and here I was already thinking about drugs, and I hadn't even had my first class. It all made me feel rather pensive about myself and my situation.
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***
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Wednesday. I'd made it through all of my classes at least once.
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My schedule had Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays fairly full with only composition and symphonic band on Tuesdays, plus a large block of time that I'd scheduled for my independent study type math class. So far, all I'd done in class, though was gotten a bunch of papers: syllabi, grading rubrics, a few questionaires. We'd played some sort of name game in all of my classes except for band, which still required another audition.
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I ran into Eric a good deal at the new music building. It was quite a walk from the dorms and we both made the trek there for our early-morning classes. The fact that the building used to be the old Fort Collins High School only served to make everything seem more like my old school. The campus was open, sure, and the classes were more specific, but it was still walking around with a backpack carrying too much stuff through room-lined hallways.
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Along with Eric, Joseph and Jamen took to spending a good deal of time in my room. It turned out that Jamen already knew my roommate from somewhere else, though he wasn't exactly specific where from. On Tuesday night, I came home to find a TV occupying some of the empty space by the window between our two halves of the room. Jamen and Thomas were parked in front of it watching Starship Troopers, and the whole room smelled a little of nag champa incense and a muskier undertone. Judging from their giggles and glassy eyed stares, I could guess how Jamen knew my roommate.
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I had sat next to Kris during composition, since she was the only person there that I knew, and we talked a litte more as we made our way out of the engineering building, apparently the only place they could stuff this inconvenient class. She was into jazz and rock from Japan; I liked computers; she was raised Christian but felt more Buddhist about everything; I was apathetic, raised by apathetic parents; she wanted to be a writer, or at least an editor; I didn't want to be a teacher, but it would make me money. She was a pretty funny girl, and one of the few people I had gotten to know in my five days at school, and she apparently felt rather the same way, so we made plans to get together for lunch the next day with a few of each of our friends.
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I had sat next to Kris during composition, since she was the only person there that I knew, and we talked a litte more as we made our way out of the engineering building, apparently the only place they could stuff this inconvenient class. She was into jazz and rock from Japan; I liked computers; she was raised Christian but felt more Buddhist about everything; I was apathetic, raised by apathetic parents; she wanted to be a writer, or at least an editor; I didn't want to be a teacher, but it would make me money. She was a pretty funny girl, and one of the few people I had gotten to know in my five days at school, and she apparently felt rather the same way, so we made plans to get together for lunch the next day with a few of each of our friends.
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And so... Wednesday. Trudging across campus on I had sat next to Kris during composition, since she was the only person there that I knew, and we talked a litte more as we made our way out of the engineering building, apparently the only place they could stuff this inconvenient class. She was into jazz and rock from Japan; I liked computers; she was raised Christian but felt more Buddhist about everything; I was apathetic, raised by apathetic parents; she wanted to be a writer, or at least an editor; I didn't want to be a teacher, but it would make me money. She was a pretty funny girl, and one of the few people I had gotten to know in my five days at school, and she apparently felt rather the same way, so we made plans to get together for lunch the next day with a few of each of our friends.
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And so... Wednesday. Trudging across campus on tired feet with my mug of coffee, talking with Eric to keep from spacing out.
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``Man, I'm friggin' jealous of my roommate. His classes don't start until nine. I mean, I guess that's only an hour later, but that's an hour of precious sleep,'' he whined.
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``I hear ya.'' I swapped hands holding my mug so I could shake the other one out. August mornings were much warmer down here on the plains than up in the hills. ``It's like.. all our academic classes are in the morning, in music, and all our ensembles in the afternoon.''
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``Well, it's good for us singers. We had choir in the morning in high school, and it's pretty rough.''
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``I guess it makes sense, yeah. Everything started at seven thirty in high school, too. Dunno why eight in the morning feels so damn early now.''
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``Wow,'' Eric laughed. ``I think that's the first time I've heard you curse. Did your parents always get down on you for that?''
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I felt my cheeks redden, but chuckled along with him. ``Yeah, I wasn't supposed to cuss at home, and guess I never got around to it at school.''
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``Never got around to it,'' Eric smiled. ``Fuck. Goddamn shit,'' he added and I burst out laughing at the look of relish on his face.
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``Yep, fuck,'' I said in response. ``It's hard to shake the feeling of living under someone else's rules when you've done it for eighteen years.''
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Eric nodded, ``We're free now, though.''
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Walking through the underpass beneath College Avenue, the main thoroughfare of Fort Collins, I remembered about Kris, ``Oh yeah, going to lunch at Parmalee with this girl I met in my composition class and some of her friends. Noon. Want to come, too?''
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``What? Meeting girls already? You band kids are such players,'' Eric laughed as I socked him in the shoulder.
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``It's not like that, I promise,'' I said, adding silently, `I don't go for girls.'
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``Sure, that's what you say now. Anyway, yeah, I'll come along. I think Joseph has class, but if I run into him, I'll get Jamen to come along too, if you want.''
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``Yeah, go ahead. You'll probably see him before I do.''
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Eric nodded and waved, ducking up along a more northerly path towards his class as I continued on toward the front of the building and my theory class to review what I'd already learned in highschool.
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Theory was followed by history, where I spent more time looking at the teacher than listening to him talk. I shook myself out of it a few times, trying to convince myself to pay attention. I'd always catch myself staring again; at least it looked like I was paying attention. He was a grad student and a bit of a looker. He reminded me of Jamen
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I had a spare hour after history before a manditory meeting of the music department and I decided against the long walk home if I'd have to walk back. I walked around for a few minutes before I found a few chairs on the landing of the grand staircase above the entry way to the school. I picked one in the corner and pulled out a book to read, but I wound up getting distracted by the singers next to me talking and laughing, letting myself get caught up in their conversation.
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The departmental, the meeting I had to go to, turned out to be just a bunch of rules I'd already read, so I spent most of the time zoning out. I had skipped breakfast and was looking forward to lunch. Food and friends.
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Despite time dragging its heels, eleven fifty rolled around before too long and Eric and I hurried out of the music building. The dorm we were eating at, Parmalee, was most of the way across campus, and we weren't even technically on campus. We walked quickly and laughed as we talked along the way. We even met Jamen in the plaza in front of the student center by chance and dragged him along with us, easily overcoming his objections of wanting to take care of his math homework, the same type of stuff I was supposed to be doing.
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We were only five minutes late for our noon o'clock lunch at the dorm and waited to be swiped in to see Kris and one of her friends loitering just past the entrance. She smirked at us as we we waited to have our IDs scanned, tapping at her decidedly watch-less wrist. I gave her a helpless shrug and a stupid grin.
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``Hey Cory,'' she said, gesturing to her friend. ``This is Erin, my roommate.''
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``Nice to meet you. This is Eric,'' I gestured in turn, feeling stupidly formal as I did so. ``And Jamen.''
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There was an awkward pause for a moment before Kris burst out laughing and we all chuckled, ``Effin' stupid. We gotta get food before I implode.''
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We made our way across the dining hall and then down a narrow hallway to what was apparently another section of the cafeteria, Kris explaining over her shoulder, ``Parmalee and Corbett are attached at the kitchen. The Corbett side's better. All sorts of Mexican and stuff over there.''
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We split up when we got to the Corbett side and each went to one of the different `restaurants' they had over there. Kris, Jamen, and I wound up waiting in line for quesadillas while Eric and Erin sought out one of the main entree lines; they seemed to be hitting it off fairly well.
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``So how's the whole school thing going for you guys?'' Kris asked, leaning back against one of the poles of the rope barrier, standing on the base with her heels so that it didn't tip over.
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``Good enough,'' I mumbled. ``Boring so far.''
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Jamen shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest, ``Too much politics.''
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``Wow, already?'' Kris winced.
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``Yeah. You can tell some of the teachers don't like the others in the art department, and there's all this seniority crap that some people take way too seriously.'' Another shrug, then, ``Oh well, it's all good. How 'bout you?''
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``Oh, I dunno, I'm having fun so far.'' She nodded her head at me as she said, ``Our comp class is a bunch of crap. I think our teacher's a fundamentalist.''
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I laughed and nodded, ``She's pretty nuts.''
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Jamen grinned and nodded, ``Mine too. We started talking about writing arguments, like how to argue a point, and she wants us to focus on gay marriage this semester.''
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``So? What side are you going to write about?'' Kris asked. She had gotten there before me. It was one of those innocuous questions that could tell you about your friends before you outed yourself to them. Couch it in a current news item.
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``Well,'' Jamen mumbled, blushing now that he was on the spot. ``I'm all for it. Gay marriage, that is.''
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``Good!'' Kris laughed and looked pointedly at me, ``I'd have to question your taste in friends, Cory, if Jamen here was against it.''
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I blinked, taken aback, ``Er? Well... why?''
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``Well, my brother's gay, but too lazy to be an activist about it, so I do it for him!''
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We laughed a bit and I swallowed the rising bile --- I had been worried that she knew that I was gay and was about to blurt that out in front of Jamen. I had wanted to tell everyone on my own terms.
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Jamen, being the first in line, got his quesadilla first and wandered off to the table that Eric and Erin had picked out and were already holding an animated discussion over. Kris watched him go, then looked at me side-long, ``And you are too, aren't you?''
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Stunned once more, I nodded a little bit.
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``It showed in your reaction.'' She looked at me a little more intently and laughed, ``Hey! Relax! I just said I was alright with it, didn't I? Its not like I'm gonna shun you and tell all your friends.''
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I must've relaxed visibly because Kris giggled again and gave me a half-hug, one hand taken up by her quesadilla on a plate. I returned the hug awkwardly. With her hair, she came up to about my nose. She smelled like peppermint. ``Just relax, get your food.''
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***
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``C'mon, Cory. You take friggin' forever.''
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I threw my binder into my backpack and tucked the New York Times in along with it, zipping the thing up so quickly that neatly perforated a corner of the paper that hadn't quite made it in all the way. ``Sorry, sorry... wasn't paying attention.''
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``You're worse than a girl, boy,'' Kris laughed. ``Hell, you're almost worse than Erin.''
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Now that it was a few weeks into the semester, classes were picking up. Our composition teacher had required us to get a newspaper at least once a week and write a one page basic analysis of one of the articles in it for every Tuesday's class. Kris and I had gotten in the habit of doing that on Tuesday afternoons before class in my room; me working on my desktop and Kris on her laptop so that she could use my printer. She always finished before I did.
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I bounced out of the room as she held the door open for me, letting it shut heavily behind us as we walked quickly down the hall.
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``Man, I hope that didn't wake Thomas.'' I said, ``He was pretty zonked out.''
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``Poor boy must not be sleeping well,'' Kris said, sounding worried. It had caught me off guard, originally, that the little anachronisms of her speech sounded so natural coming from her.
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``Oh, come on, you don't really believe that, do you?''
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She laughed and shouldered me against the wall, ``'Course not, he was stoned out of his gourd.''
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September had taken an edge off the heat of August, but only a bit. It was still warm enough for t-shirts and, for the adventurous and slightly fashion challenged Jamen, shorts outside, so Kris and I speed-walked to the engineering class from my dorm unencumbered by heavy clothing, dodging guys on longboards and girls on cruiser bikes.
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My back was sweaty from hauling my pack by the time we got to class, just barely avoiding being late. I sat forward in my chair and tugged the damp t-shirt away from my skin, pulling on it a few times to help cool myself down. Kris made a gagging face at me and I stuck my tongue out at at her.
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``At least this building has AC,'' I murmurred to her, hushing up quickly and looking apologetic when the teacher gave me a Significant Glance.
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``Alright, pass your papers to the aisle and up to the front,'' the teacher said in that insufferable whine she had for a voice.
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I pulled my paper out and handed it to Kris, getting my New York Times out as well and putting it in front of me, relaxing back against the seat a bit as the papers percolated to the front, the class then going from person to person to give a brief synopsis of the stories they had written about. I'd picked something about how global warming was viewed in the UK, and Kris had picked a story about book banning.
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Class plodded along dully and I spent most of the remainder of the hour and a half trying to see how close together I could draw concentric circles with a ball-point pen without them touching, taking up most of the margins of my newspaper. I spoke up once or twice in the discussion about appeals in an argument, enough to get me credit in the class. Having been in school long enough now, I had come to agree with Kris --- college comp was bullshit.
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When we were finally free to go, Kris and I walked back to my place much more slowly than we had to get to class, drifting across the plaza almost without direction.
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``Alright, so if I were to design a curriculum to teach English majors writing,'' Kris began. She talked about this almost every time after composition. ``I'd probably drop all this BS about arguments. They're teaching us as if we all plan on going into politics and we need to come up with rebuttals to proposals. The appeals stuff is cool, at least from a fiction standpoint. I mean, it's kinda cool to see how pathos and logos turn up in novels. Real novels, not that trashy sci-fi you read.''
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``Hey! It's not trashy! It's legitimate writing! At least, the stuff I read. No little green men or anything.''
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Kris laughed.
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``Speaking of debatably legitimate writing, want to go see the new Batman movie tonight? Haven't been to a movie in this town yet.''
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``Sure, I guess.'' Kris shrugged, ``Mind if Erin comes along? She's all gung-ho about it. Plus, she can drive. The theater isn't exactly walking distance from campus.''
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``Erin, huh? That means Eric's going to have to come along, too.''
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``Oh, come on, he's your friend!'' she laughed
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``I know, I know,'' I replied. ``They're just so... disgustingly cute together. They need to just, like... officially start going out and quit teasing us all.''
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Kris elbowed me in the side, ``What, you have a problem with them being close?''
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I elbowed back, just because. ``No, it's not that. I just think it's a little quick for them to already be getting into a relationship.''
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``Whoa now, you just said they should get together...''
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``Jooooookiiiing,'' I sang out.
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``Jaaaaackaaaass,'' Kris mimicked.
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</details
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