So, last week I made a video that, in part, referenced a paper I was supposed to be writing. I’m looking back now thinking God that paper was so easy, why the hell didn’t I just sit and write it? The paper was for my Media Studies 101 class, about encoding/decoding media messages. I was given the above commercial and had to write about these three frameworks we learned about in class, and how a peron operating within each would decipher the commercial. Blah. Blah. Blah. The point is, I fucking love my Media Studies class, and I’m glad, because I get to spend the rest of my time at this University taking MS classes. Yep, that’s right, I love my major. After heartbreakingly being denied admission into our College of Media last semester, I was welcomed with open arms upon my second attempt. Whether it was because I worked harder to boost my GPA or they simply took pity on me, we’ll never know. Regardless, I am a Media Studies major, and for probably the only second time in my college career I’m excited for classes. Isn’t that sad?

Anyway, I’m sure you’ve noticved that I’ve taken posting videos more, and that’s because I’m too lazy to actually sit down and write a post. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I am too lazy to sit. Amazing, I know. Hopefully you like the videos, if not, oh well.

Watch in HQ :]

I want to love my major. Every single person around me seems to be so completely infatuated with their major that I can barely stand it. It seems like all of my decisions up until this very moment have been so pragmatic and out of utility. I became a psychology major because I understand psych and it would lead me toa lucrative career later in life. My cousin, for instance, just because a freaking Superintendent and her course of study is the one mine is currently modeled after. She’s going to make so much money it’s not even funny. She gives cars as gifts, it’s sickening. Oh, she’s 34. But she loves psych, she loves what she does.

I look at other women in my life. the Besite and the Mistress. the Bestie’s main concern is choosing a major that will make her money. She doesn’t even like what she studies. Not a single course. She changes her major the way you and I change panties. Everyday she calls me and tells me how much she detests school and can’t wait for it to be over so she can make her money. Money, money, money. That’s all that keeps her going. Then I look at the Mistress. It isn’t my place to tell you what her major is, but suffice it to say that most people look at it and their immediate reaction is, “What are you going to do with that?”

But you know what? She loves her major. Classes aren’t a chore, because it’s like they were made specifically for her. I want that.

The funny thing is I can have it. I’m absolutely in love with the Media Studies major. It’s like everything I’ve ever cared about all rolled into one pretty course of study. But it’s one of those majors where it isn’t immediately obvious the post-graduate jobs open to you.

So, I’m stuck. Do I stay with psych? Do I apply for advertising like I originally planned, hope I get in and still study something I’m not completely in love with?

Or, do I apply to switch into Media Studies, fucking love what I study, and rest a little less easy about my future?

Le sigh.

You know, when you think about Illinois you probably think about some cornfiled state that happens to house the fabulous city of Chicago. And, for the most part, you’d be right. Aside from the gem that is Chicago, there isn’t much in Illinois except corn. Lots and lots of corn. But for a state known for its midwestern quaintness, there really is a lot of diversity here. Look at me! I’m mexican, I’m also gay. My best friend? She’s black. My person, he’s Thai and Mexican. My coworkers in the residence hall are actually not overwhelmingly white. BossLady? She’s Asian. Her boss? Is a lesbian. Her boss? Is Gay. Isn’t it wonderful! Some of my readers will immedietley point out the fact that I work in Residential Life, probably the most diverse and accepting sector of higher education EVAR. To them I offer this; I also work in the College of Education on my campus. I work in the tech department which means I work with and for pretty much everyone. The head of one department is black ,the head of another is a gay hispanic. One assistant dean is a black woman, another is a lesbian. Our dean is also a woman. Anyway, my point is that even I somtimes fall into the sterotypical notion that there’s no diversity here in Illinois, and I’m always suprised when I come across unique individuals like the person I just met in my psych class.

Yesterday, I shuffled into Industrial/Orginizational Psychology, a class I was originally really excited to take, but now that I realize the class consists of some poor grad assistant reading slides prepared by some unseen professor, I want to gnaw my ears off with my own teeth. I have to go because participation counts (is this high school? ugh) but I can’t take one more minute of being read to like a Kindergartener. Seriously, the man offers absolutely no input of his own. If it isn’t on the PowerPoint, he won’t say it. Anyway, I turned to the young man seated next to me and asked if he had a pen, mine went dry from trying to stab myself with it so many times, and I was shocked when he took off his coat to look for a pen and revealed that he had a pair of breasts. He answered with a voice too high for a boy, but too low for a female. “Thank you,” I said, taking the pen he (she?) offered. Anyway, I glanced over at her (his?) notebook and it was labeled “Alex” something or other. Damn! Alex goes both ways. So, me being well me, straight up asked. After class, I returned the pen and very politely said, “Can I ask you a question?.” Alex turned to me and said, I’m pre-op, but hopefully by the end of the year, that won’t be the case.” And we left it at that. I had a billion questions, “When? How? Why? What’d your parents say? OMG YOU GET TO WEAR MARC JACOBS!” But I refrained.

And I was a little amazed. Because for all the sterotypes that this state gets, here was an extraodinarily brave human being here in my midst. I don’t know, maybe I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, but it’s not often the “T” is represented in GLBT; It just filled me with this weird sense of pride to meet Alex.

As part of my course of study, I’m required to take some sort of statistics course; I settled on the not-too-difficult-sounding STAT 100. Everyone I polled (with the notable exception of the Mistress) told me that I  absolutely must take it with a certain professor. “Oh, she’s the best” I was told, time after time. I would learn so much, and would walk away with the easiest A I’d ever earned. Well, that all sounded really good; I checked out her profile on RateMyProfessors and it was hard to ignore her absolutely glowing reviews. So, I enrolled in STAT 100, certain that I’d joined one of this beloved lecturer’s sections. I entered class with a certain amount of optimism, it’s hard not to, the way this woman is spoken of.

I can tell you, dear reader, this woman is certifiably batshit crazy. I can immediately understand her appeal to students: she’s attractive for her age, and teaches in such a way that is almost indirect to the point of nonsense. Meaning, she contrives these super complex scenarios, trying to explain some statistical concept, only to lose herself somewhere down the winding path that she’s created. It’s comical, almost, endearing really, to watch this revered professor stumble to find her way back to reality. Before enrolling, it might have done me service to take into consideration the fact that it was overwhelmingly males who recommended her class to me. I’ve realized this was not an accident. She has a way of holding herself that lets you know that she’s aware of her underlying attractiveness. When she giggles, which is often, she throws her head back, and kind of protrudes her chest. It’s interesting, because I almost think she does it on purpose. She’ll lean over a desk, a tad provocatively, and wears outfits, that, while not revealing, leave little doubt in your mind.

I’ve only had one class with the woman, so it might be unfair of me to make these assumptions on one fifty minute encounter. But I don’t think so. It’ll be interesting to see how this class plays out. I’m not going to lie, I was kind of excited to be in a math class again (cue the Mistress: Oh, it’s not math) and I hope this woman’s childish giggling doesn’t get in the way of you know … learning.

See that? That’s my desk. It’s really clean. Like, so clean. I never clean my desk. Never. Tongiht I did, though because I will do anything (anything) not to have to study for my exam. I need to do well on it. (Ish…? Not really, I could not take it and get a C in the class) So, I’ve cleaned my desk, watched Grey’s on some weird Japanese YouTube, and put a lot of random crap on my walls. But study? Study those three pages of spanish vocab? Nope. Can’t even do it.

When I was a freshman, my campus made a big stink about not going home before Thanksgiving. Meaning that you should cut off ties to your home before it was turkey time. Wait, what? That doesn’t make any kind of sense. I hate this notion that people have that when you go to college, suddenly your life in your hometown just disappears. I never accepted that. I reject that idea. My home life is important to me; I talk to my mom regularly. the Ex still lives on the North Side, and most of my friends are still here. Why do I have to stay on campus? So I don’t miss the big pep rally? Squeze in as much hot library action as possible? Bump that. I’m sick of people making me feel all guilty ’cause I like to go home. Sorry your home life sucks, hombre, but you need to put down your bottle of haterade.

At least on my campus it is. See, everyone’s tweaking over finals, apparently. All not eating and not sleeping, as it were. [Random Interjection: Remember when Mariah Carey recorded that song, "Time of Your Life" but it was only for like ringtones offered through Pepsi? God, that song is amazing, but wtf it's only like :45 long. Boo on your life, Pepsi.] Anyway, it turns out that studying and all this non-eating non-sleeping business can lead to your body getting fucked nasty. Literally. The police found a sex offender living in our undergraduate library. I mean, really? They found out this dude had been living behind the movable shelves. Oh, wait. JK. He just had a blanket which is against ‘library policy.’ Regardless, dude had a three inch knife and a sex offender registration form on him when the librarians called the PoPo. I wonder why he had the form on him. Was he going to be all like, “Don’t worry ma’am I’m a professional!” I mean honestly.

*Yes, that’s our actual library. It’s underground. Pwn.

In my mind, it goes without saying that I’m an GLBT Ally. I’m a boy, I like boys. How much more of an ally could I possibly be, you know? It turns out there’s a lot I don’t know. Yes, my heart and effort went into combating Prop 8, but I’m in Illinois, there’s only so much I can do. Well, as an employee of a University that cares dearly for social justice [a term I hadn't really heard thrown around much until I got here] I have all of these wonderful opportunities to broaden my horizons, as it were. So, this past Saturday, I spent time in ally training.

I won’t lie to you, I often forget aboout the BT in GLBT. Shit, I forget about the L. [Ew, lesbians.] But I spent a lot of time learning terms like “Gender Fuck” and “Ze and here.” For instance. Ze doesn’t like to go to WalMart because they don’t carry here’s favourite bread. It’s about using more inclusive terms, and not assuming that a person identifies as a man or woman. And I know a part of sounds like some hippie bull-shit, and it can on times, because it’s like you’re making all these changes and excpetions to cater to like 0.02% of the population; But you know what? As a super-minority I feel like it’s worth it. And I know what’s it like to be in uncomfortable situations because people make assumptions about me.

And this whole Prop 8 business has weighed so heavily on my mind. I can’t tell why. As I’ve told the Mistress, I don’t often feel the plight of the gay community. I’ll be honest. I’m just in it for the butt sex, but that one hurt. Prop 8 hurt because I felt like it was a double blow. Not only was marriage taken away from GLBT Californians, but it was taken away on a day that should have been celebratory and monumentous. Barack Obama, a black man, was elected president. 150 years ago, he would have been property. Now he’s the fucking president. It’s wonderful. But it’s tragic, that his victory, the civil rights victory that he represents, is marred by the passage of laws in four states that oppress gay and lesbian people. It saddens me.

More than I thought it would.

There it is. The Psychology building. It kind of looks like a jail doesn’t it? With its ominous rows of perfectly square windows. It’s evil. Swear to God. It’s where hopes and dreams go to die. I entered school as a psych major; ready to pick apart the mind, and help troubled adolescents, such hopes. And you think you’re going to take these classes that inundate you with the collective knowledge and wisdom of our “world-renowned” psych program. But then you get to class, and you have Pedro, a PhD candidate from Ecuador that can’t speak English trying to explain Maslow. Wait a minute, didn’t I learn Maslow like . . . eight years ago? Oh, that’s right. I did, when it was free. Now it costs $20,000 a year.