The End from the Beginning

Goodbye January. Good riddance too. I’m surviving, but I really wish I had noticed this note in my computer science textbook before the add-drop date passed:

The past 29 days might have been a lot more enjoyable. As usual, things have managed to stay interesting. We got two new roommates, one of whom called me “Chris” for the first few weeks of living here. I was going to see how long I could keep it going, but one day he heard someone say my name and, after a brief moment of silent embarrassment, my newfound moniker was gone. Being called “Chris” didn’t bother me too much since I mistakenly called him Paul for the first few days he was here too. In actuality, he’s Gary and I’m Wes. Pleased to meet you.

Each of my professors this semester are wildly different from each other. Dr. Bergeson reminds me of Animal from the Muppets. He has red hair and lectures with similar comprehensibility. Understanding his lectures is like trying to pick lyrics out of the Barenaked Ladies’ song One Week, and you’re left asking your neighbor, 'What was that—chickety-China??” If I’m ever the one selected to diffuse a bomb or stop a virus, and he’s the guy feeding me instructions over a radio, we’re screwed. On the other hand we have Dr. Gee, a nice guy with an affinity toward the dockers-with-white-sneakers-and-windblown-hair look, who is so accomplished in Egyptology that he is cited in wikipedia. Someday I would love for someone to ask if I use facebook so we can be friends, only for me to politely decline and refer them to my wikipedia page. Baller. While Dr. Gee knows an untold number of languages, it baffles me how even after years and years of reading dusty volumes, he has never come across the word “comb” and wondered what it’s for. Then again, I should just consider myself lucky that my hair is tightly governed by cowlicks and never gets too muddled. It’s only been messed up a few times, like the bad haircut of 1998. <shudder>.

Speaking of hair, I’m sad that Conan and his foot-tall red wave aren’t on TV anymore. Instead there’s Jay with this foot-tall chin and unfunny jokes. Apparently Hulu users aren’t very happy about this transition either, as seen in this screenshot of Jay Leno videos. Ouch.

I feel bad for Conan, moving all the way out to NYC from LA only to be fired within seven months. He’s asked for a fish but been handed a stone more than once. When celebrating 10 years on the air, Mr. T presented him with a necklace bearing a giant “7.” When Conan pointed out that he’s actually been on the air for ten years, Mr. T responded, “I know that, fool...but you've only been funny for seven!” I suppose it’s further evidence that nobody knows the end from the beginning (except NBC producers). I remind myself of this when I think of my youthful vision a few years back, of spending my days with other aspiring accountants, reading the Wall Street Journal by the fountain, my left hand carefully poised, holding a French-dip sandwich. I usually remember this around 8 am while rubbing my bloodshot eyes and rushing to class in the Talmadge Bldg., my left hand carefully occupied with a madly overpriced textbook, bookmarked with a marred transcript. Sorry for dreaming, BYU. My bad.

Occasionally I do guess the end from the beginning with surprising accuracy. In the spirit of doppelganger week, I came prepared with an example. This is a picture of a friend’s daughter, who might not have facebook yet to change her picture to a celebrity lookalike, so I’ll do it for her. I just know this is what she’ll look like. Can you blame me?