we've got to get out of this place...

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6 september 1997

8:36 p.m.

Dear diary, Who would have thought there'd be something bigger to worry about on campus than parking? With the new parking structure -- and with parking rates capped at $3 a day (pricing many entirely out of the market) -- the lot's rarely full. And parking isn't a problem for me this semester anyway, as I miraculously landed a parking permit. Being a sixth-year senior does have its advantages. But a nasty fire at the main cafeteria at Campus Center last semester has created another supply-and-demand crisis. The Campus Center outlet, though it served mostly mediocre slop, was at least big enough to serve lots of it. Now, by the time 10:30 a.m. rolls around, lines are snaking from nearly every other 'satellite' eatery on campus. Actually, it's interesting to see how Marriott -- the corporate monstrosity that it is -- tries to adjust to having it's biggest spigot (or vacuum, depending on your point of view) plugged. They've finally broken down and put more than one cashier in the new Hamilton cafeteria (I refuse to call it "Paradise Palms"). They set up buffets along courtyards and walkways. And there are a number of little food carts and tents scattered all over the place. The chaos has its charm. Yesterday, I ate at one of the three, maybe four, makeshift lunch areas they set up in Campus Center. I can't remember the name, but no doubt it was something cute like "Saimin Smiles" or "Ramen-o-Rama." The food was decent (though admittedly it's hard to mess up saimin), and compared to the mobs I've become accustomed to, the place was practically empty. I actually liked it better than the big, cavernous cafeteria. Maybe it was simply being outdoors, eating in the open where you can watch students walk by. I got to watch a bunch of Jesus Freaks -- hoping to disarm unsuspecting students with self-effacing signs that read "Beware of Jesus Freaks" -- try to recruit new sheep. The official recruiting techniques a cult-survivor friend of mine once shared were in full practice... targetting people walking alone, looking down, or of meek or nervous stature. With the concentration of shoyu bunnies that frequent the area, there were lots of targets. Sadly, there were no hits. Mother Teresa died. Boy. It hasn't been a good season for humanitarians. I doubt I'm not the only one who thought of her after Princess Diana went. The "everything comes in threes" superstition, though clearly without basis, nonetheless spooks me time and time again. And I confess now -- though I wouldn't dare set it down at the time -- wondering if Mother Teresa would be lost within the month. Her death isn't resonating through the media as powerfully as Di's, but I'm not sure it should. To say Mother Teresa had a "full life" is a grotesque understatement, and her contributions to the world were both countless and enduring. She's been ill for months, and has delivered many a phrase that were taken as loving farewells to the mortal world. Diana, by contrast, was lost suddenly, and more or less still at her peak. The news came down in the same class I ranted in over Diana's death on Wednesday, and though there was a lesson to be covered this time, it was quickly tossed aside in favor of again discussing current events. An unfortunate but unavoidable result of losing both Princess Diana and Mother Teresa in the same week was comparing the two. And while I quickly conceded that Mother Teresa's legacy far outshines that of Diana, I really didn't thing the exercise was appropriate. What we ended up with was an out-and-out bashing of the late Princess, which -- despite how anyone may weigh her accomplishments -- was uncalled for. For crying out loud, she didn't get her body crushed in a tunnel to win a popularity contest. Turns out I didn't get the other campus job either. At least this time I didn't lose it to a 'more qualified applicant.' The student who last held the job -- and was pretty much irreplaceable, from what I can tell -- suddenly decided to come back. I think I'm going to hold off on the student employment thing for a while. This weekend brought the first substantive mass of studying, and I'm painfully out of practice. And going into the referral office is like walking in on a shark feeding frenzy. Maybe I should hunt down those web design clients I sort of forgot to call back... Cabin fever set in something fierce last night, and I dragged Derek out to Pearlridge to see a movie. I didn't care which. As long as I could make my arare-and-popcorn mix -- a delicacy Derek has yet to acquire a taste for -- I was happy. After we got there, though, my enthusiasm waned. Part of it was Pearlridge itself -- ever my least favorite mall and twice as annoying now that they've got some animatronic whale show going on -- and part of it was the selection of movies. I suddenly decided -- as is my tendency when its least convenient -- to become finicky. Twelve theaters, and nothing really appealed to me. Cruelly denied a promised quiet evening of cuddling and reading, Derek would've been willing to watch a documentary on gumballs so long as it meant getting home before midnight. He suggested "Leave it to Beaver," and I laughed... until I realized he was serious. "Anything, really," he said. "Well, except 'G.I. Jane.' I think after seeing that you'll want to kick my ass." Twenty minutes of careful study narrowed it down to "Conspiracy Theory" and "Excess Baggage." I couldn't decide whether Alicia Silverstone or Julia Roberts was less annoying. We settled on "Conspiracy Theory" when we realized the other was actually playing across the street. It wasn't bad at all. Almost good. And Roberts, much as it pains me to admit it, was as good in her role as Mel Gibson was in his (and he was great). I get the feeling the movie's original intent was to be a little grittier (and the happy ending seemed tacked on), and I couldn't help but wonder what the picture would have been like in the hands of a smaller studio. Derek -- a fan of Patrick Stewart -- enjoyed it even more than I did. And his humoring my need to get out was rewarded when we got back in.