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New year //

The smooth sounds of Fleet Foxes coming from the earphones deceptively implanted in me the permission to lounge around, but in five minutes I had to take a final exam that I had forgotten about until the day before (who does this?!).  It was the Monday of the week before finals started – well, the week before reading days – and the looming paper and project deadlines occupied all of my thoughts. I knew I would have to get an ‘A’ on this exam so I could move out of the ubiquitous gray zone between the A and the B. Unfortunately this gray zone has become a regular thing. The flipside is that my grades will be a surprise!

So, because I had forgotten about the exam until the day before, I spent all night in the library cramming every little bit of information I could into my poor brain that’s already been overwhelmed by my 21-credit course load. My stomach made a noise. This one sounded like a lunch-time grumble. I looked at my cell phone – oh hell, it’s 1:45. I had five minutes. There were two books and a dozen or so printed PDFs sprawled out on the table in front of me, and while I usually took my sweet time with packing things up, I was out of that hole by 1:47. Don’t believe what my professors and friends say; I AM capable of hurrying.

I silently congratulated myself for my success at cramming as I darted from the library to the academic building, while strategically routing myself so as to avoid the sufficiently awkward exchanges, maybe with that guy I met Freshman year on a random weekend adventure, maybe with that friend-of-a-friend I used to sit with in the Bon. Brief as these encounters are usually, time was of the essence here. God, I could really use a cigarette.

But I did not even make it onto the staircase before I came across…well, this:

hipster irony

Poster-glued in the dead center of the wall in front of me was this statement on white paper that is so structurally simple yet so symbolically powerful in reminding me of all my past frustrations with this school that the years have helped me get over. It is not about Gucci Mane. It’s an instance of hipster irony at its finest, and it made me remember my rant about LC after watching Juno (”I hate people who talk like that!“). And when I turned my nose up at the guy on the dance floor who wore pants five sizes too small and glasses that were way too big for his face, not to mention lens-less. Snicker-worthy maybe, but that was it. There is so much hate in this world. Why muster up the energy to hate on the people and things that really don’t matter to me. Really. I can stand to grow up a little, in every aspect, in every meaningful way. So, here’s to growing with the new year.

24 December 2009