Cassis11 (12:09:26 AM): and i think that no one else matched your intensity

Two noteworthy events in the life of Richard "Larry David"/"George Costanza" Killiam tonight. First, some background. I am not very efficient, especially with big ten-page semester projects. So I turned in last semester's big paper for American Modernism 4 days late. Pretty bad, but even worse because I think my teacher had already left for vacation or some such. Early next week, I checked and the paper still sat in his mailbox. I can only hope my emailed copy was received and it wasn't too much of a hassle for him. Either way, I am scum.

So I'm walking downtown to meet a girl for "ice-cream and Henderson lawn." On campus the rule is that pedestrians always have priority, so on the outskirts of campus (but not campus proper) I often assume this is the case. So when I am nearing the end of a crosswalk and a small car speeds towards me as if aiming for me in a game of GTA, I am shocked. Of course, at this point, at 9pm on a Sunday night in the summer, the rule probably doesn't apply. Still, I was in the crosswalk, and the light was red when I started across the street. I stood and stared in shock for a half-second.

At this point, the car seems to become even angrier and more agitated. I remember it was a red car, and maybe that was why, but for some reason I had the distinct impression that the car was jerking steadily towards me in a manner indicating an intent to kill. I rushed to the sidewalk and the car makes the turn, speedily but slow enough for me to notice two things. First, the passenger gesticulating wildly to convey how incredulous he was that people are so stupid. Two, the driver looked like my teacher from the class mentioned above last semester.

Now that is what really gets me, that it may have been my teacher. He had a really annoyed look on his face, and was even coming from the direction of the English department's building, where his office--and my lonely paper--sit. Not many people have a large, unkempt beard and thick, tinted glasses. It could have been Allen Ginsberg himself driving, but no I think it must have been his lookalike.

That teacher must really hate me. I probably am the reason he had to come all the way to his office on a Sunday night, to pick up a paper that was due ages ago, so that he doesn't have to fail a student he wants to like but has failed before. Then he is rushing out, annoyed at the waste of time--probably late to go see a movie or something with his son who was in the car--and he sees the student himself brooding in the middle of the street, blocking his passage. What gall!

I'm not suggesting that he wanted to run me over, but I am still embarrassed thinking of the moment. You might be wondering, as I sometimes do: what came first, the endless neuroses or the appreciation of Seinfeld and Woody Allen?

As for the other story, I sat and ate a steak alone, and the waitress and I talked a good deal. We had enough common ground that the conversation was not just idiotic Blacksburg small talk, though there was a certain amount of that, as well. By no means was my interest provoked by the pleasing curves her body presented my eyes with, of course. I decided it would not be uncalled for to want to continue this conversation at a later date, but before I could arrange for this she cut me off with : "You would be perfect for my sister. Do you have a girlfriend?"

This is funny because my sister had just chided over the phone, "How's not having a girlfriend?" and I hung up on her, offended by her daring. So I give my email address to give to her sister. I don't know why I feel like email is preferable to a phone number in this situation. I barely use email in comparison to the minutes I rack up on my cell phone. It remains to be seen how this will turn out, but it sure did produce a fascinating blog entry!


Oh and I never did meet that girl for ice cream--almost run over, stood up, and then a surrogate come-on. Just another night in Blacksburg!