Answer me this: Why doesn’t MySpace allow trackers?

The other day, I signed up for Whospyme.com. The free service allowed me to see the picture profile link of those who looked at my profile. But all of a sudden, it stopped working. I heard a rumor that it was against the policies to have a tracker.

Don’t get me wrong, I am a MySpace stalker and was a little fearful at the idea of a tracker. I’m all about the high school reunion at my fingertips. But I’m tired of the preteens prostituting themselves. It would make the stupid, young girls would think twice about the content they post after they see who is looking. Yes girls, get the memo: Sickos do check you out and think bad things, which leads to acting on these bad thoughts, the kind you hear about every night on the news. (Granted this is not the only time they see these images, and I don’t blame MySpace for their acting out. I blame our culture that thinks porn is okay. IT’S NOT!)

On the other hand, I guess I’m okay with Social Darwinism taking it’s course. If they were stupid enough to put that stuff on there in the first place, I doubt that they’ll stop when they see the sickos.

The sun is on vacation and it’s raining in the suburbs of Los Angeles. Storms are often used as literary tools to bring change to a plot. I know this, you see, because I am currently eating literature for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Even when I am full, I must shove in more large portions of Harlem Renaissance fiction and modern poetry in order to complete my online English class. The binge would be worth it, however, because the end is in sight. A couple more clicks and all assignments would be complete. My fears could rest on the hope that my foolish procrastination would be hidden. Godspeed.

Unfortunately, it only took one click to have the hope stripped from me. My storm came in red, bold letters. Arial, size 24 font: Maximum number of lessons per week exceeded.

It is impossible to make the deadline if I have to wait any longer. This newfound knowledge stung so badly; my pride proved unsalvageable. Even my tears were too shamed in showing their faces. On the warm and sunny May day, I would not walk along the stage in goofy, yet dignified costume. What would I tell my family? My friends?

Only yesterday had we discussed how we are responsible for that which we don’t know. It is the mark of adulthood, we concluded. And let’s not kid ourselves here. An online English class was not about the literature, but the self-discipline to get it done. And I am not going to pass.

Why did I let it get to this point? How could I have not improved on my procrastination in the past four years?

I went to my room for comfort, but I’m overwhelmed with the clutter that grows like ivy on all surfaces of my room. You see, Mrs. Online Instructor, I sleep without sheets on my bed so I can finish your class. I stay up during ungodly hours to wake up shortly thereafter for my other classes. I can’t even get lost in my studies. Tomorrow I will go to Proverbs class only to learn about the differences between the wise and the foolish. Try a lecture from my life! (Exhibit A and Exhibit B.)

The reason the class is not finished by now, I tell myself, is because I’ve put together an entire newspaper practically by myself. This took months and continues to steal all my energy. And the most poignant confirmation for a job well done is an e-mail about the crossword being too difficult. This person has the time to do crosswords and complain about them. Thank you so much for your feedback, I robotically reply. I’m so glad I spent hours upon hours revamping the newspaper, when all I had to do was find a different crossword puzzle.

Even if, by a great measure of God’s grace and sense of humor, I have my class completed by the deadline, I have myself to live with. I’m my harshest critic, though I’ll gladly place the blame on someone else.

Thank you good people of Vitamin Water for not only making the pursuit of good stuff a lot easier to swallow than a monstrous Centrum Performance pill, but for giving me a good laugh during my fifth-straight hour of lecture.

As I headed out the door to class, I grabbed the Kiwi Strawberry because it sounded less dangerous than the Dragon stuff. And because it said “focus” on it. As the super studious college girl, I had to put something in my body that would ease my 12-hour read-read-read-listen-listen-notes-read-read-read-write-write-read-write session. During a discussion about Augustine and Pelagius, I read my water bottle and laughed almost as hard as I do when I read Go Fug (and no, the bottle didn’t capitalize any letters, I’m not being a lazy Internet bum):

now that everyone is glued to their cell phones, no one really pays attention to what’s going on around them. with all that walking and talking, you never know what you could be missing: birds chirping, flowers blooming, shoe sales, really good-looking people, celebrities without make-up, telephone poles, or piles of poo. (and we don’t mean winnie.) that’s why this stuff has vitamin a and lutein to give you all the focus you need. so keep your eyes peeled or that smell could be your shoe.

Thank you, Vitamin Water, for giving me a little laughter during lecture.

At the ripe-old age of 21, I need to start thinking about my future. Especially with graduation looming over the horizon. Shoot, dinner also looms on the nearer end of the horizon and I have to think about that!

This brings me to a hypothetical situation. Very hypothetically speaking, I have a special person in my life. We’ll call him Matte. Matte is very smart and talented, especially with computers. Every so often other people recognize this and offer him a job. And by offer him a job, I mean someone is just asking if they can fill his bank account with lots of money.

“I can’t. I’m not done with school.”

I’ve always encouraged his scholarly pursuit. For a degree is not just vocational training, but life training in accomplishing a goal. Yet, my goal is about to be (OH LORD I PRAY IT IS ABOUT TO BE … online class = bad idea) accomplished. It will be marked by a 50 yard walk, handshake and the receipt of the expensive piece of paper. Now that the time has come, you begin to question the time spent in order to acheive this goal. Was it worth it?

So when a very special person in your life asks your advice, what do you say?

“School schmool. … I’m in the wrong field.”

T minus 8 hours and 4 minutes, I will have my paycheck. I have not had one in two months.

How I survived? Does the word tuna mean anything to you?

I am not dead. But thank you for all your emails, cards and requests for my things. I am not unconscious or a vegetable. Nor has gravity forgotten me by hurling me out into atmospheric oblivion. I was just in Vegas. Although, it did seem like I was on a different planet. A planet so dry that it chapped all of my skin. A planet where slot machines outnumber blades of green grass. A planet where alcoholic beverages are to be consumed while roaming the streets. A planet where a basic hamburger ends up costing you $17.

The largest college Ultimate Frisbee tournament, Trouble In Vegas 2006, was (for the most part) a success. What could be changed next year would be the fields (ever try diving for a disc in dirt?) and the pooling. It was a great time to spend with my Frisbee friends. I can’t imagine a better way to enjoy Vegas!

The rest of my pictures are here and Christine’s are here.

I am skipping class tonight. This decision was made in hopes that I can finish all that people are demanding of me. (I leave for three and a half days, and it takes me almost two hours to check my email! Not to mention they all contained something to add to my never-ending to-do list.) Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure that my professors will think I am skipping out for a Valentine’s Day date. While I wish that were true, it’s not. I don’t get to see Matt today. Sad Emily. Poor Emily. Everyone give chocolate and money to Emily.

I finally feel like I’m a participating member of Academia. I checked out books from the library. I read and did all my assignments before class. (One assignment was actually early! EARLY! I don’t know if that’s ever happened.) And I’ve only missed on 8 a.m. class!

Mass Media Law is by far my favorite class. My teacher, who is no stranger to TV and he’ll gladly tell you, is funny and up-to-date. I thought I was goofing off by reading E! Online news before class. Oh no! He referenced several of the article topics I read. Like The Pelican, the “private investigator” to the celebrities who has tons of illegally-wired tapes of Sly Stallone. (Did you know that his mom has psychic dogs?) I love to hear it when celebs get nabbed for all their illegal behavior. Dang celebrities that think they can get around the law! Paparazzi caught Britney driving with precious Sean Preston IN HER LAP! Yet, they won’t investigate her or cite her!

Then there’s the class I don’t like. The one with the book that assumes I’m dumb and that should be edited to a third its size. The one where the teacher told us his brilliant proposal: a picture jigsaw puzzle with his heart as a missing piece, oh no the piece is missing, it must have fallen somewhere around here … on the ground … hey, look, I’m on one knee. The one that said he will not accept late work whatsoever! … unless you’re married. If you’re married you can turn in all assignments late, just write “married” on the top. A positive note, however: I don’t have to take his final. So we’ll just let that married bit slip by just this once.

For Jeni’s World Religions class, however, the married people get anything but special treatment. In order to fully understand religions, they have to pretend to be that religion. As monks, they will beg for money. Those who are married are not allowed to have sex for two weeks because monks didn’t have sex.* That’s pushing it way too far!

The road to graduation is so long…

*This is a big deal since I go to a private, Christian university, where only married folk are allowed to have sex. So again, they get all the breaks!

For the past hour and a half, I’ve searched for jobs. I quickly learned that my four years as an undergraduate was really just to prolong the job-finding process while giving me meager skills. I thought I wanted to write, but 3.5 years of writing, and dreading every minute of it, makes me think I want to do design of some sort. Do I have knowledge of design software? Yes. Do I have any design training? Minimal. Mostly self-taught. Do I have an impressive portfolio? I think I deleted the one class assignment I really liked. Darn.

But I’m too proud to be a secretary, waitress or retail sales person. Nothing against those jobs, but I feel like my four-year absence brings along with it grandiose expectations. Rightfully so, I didn’t go to a private university to get a mediocre job. But apparently even those are out of my grasp.

“Matt, I’m doomed.”

“No you’re not. (Links to Craigslist employment post.)”

Clicks on link: Athletic women with muscular bodies needed for body modeling photo and video work by female photographer and filmmaker. Body hair is very much preferred.

This is to commemorate my day of chapel tapes/checking out MySpace embellishments and re-finishing Dawson’s Creek season 1. That is all.

Oh, and to those of you who complain that I complain about your not posting while I don’t post: