I got through Finals week relatively intact, and here I am, halfway through spring break. My does time fly.
How were finals, you ask? As I've told others, if Baghdad was my grade, my last final was the US Air Force. A good portion of the class simply gave up and left early. Since everyone seemed to do terrible, I think I may end up alright with the curve.
The first few days of spring break were a combination of summer-like laziness and a flurry of social activities. Made the obligatory visit to Café Bistro, chatting the night away with friends and learning that a parfait crépe is a tad too sweet for my tastes (though still oh so good). Picked up my hours at work, hoping to make some extra cash with a financially-tight Spring Quarter looming on the horizon.
I'd like to be more regular about updating this thing, but I've been spending most of my computer time working on a project. I've spent more time on it than I have on any other project in recent memory. 270 hours would not be an unreasonable estimate at the amount of work I'll have to put in, but I think it'll be worth it. Stay tuned for more details.
Got a much need haircut today. I've finally found a keeper for a barber: last time I went to Frank, people actually complimented me on my haircut: more "Nice haircut!" type comments, as opposed to "Erm...what happened?" type comments. There are probably less than a half dozen true barbershops in Davis, and Frank's is one of them. I love the place: a single cushy black seat, with a few other chairs to wait in while reading the paper or the half dozen car magazines strewn on a small table. The decor ranges from cycling memorabilia to stuffed pheasants.
Every time I've come in (twice now), all the other customers were blue-collar workers, and their frank conversation is kind of refreshing in this fairly pretentious college town. The topic of conversation today, of course, was the war. On arriving, I sat down with today's Bee while Frank clipped meticulously at another customer's hair. The man in the chair related stories he was hearing from friends at war. He told of how during the first Gulf War, surrendering Iraqis would use their own underwear as a white flag of surrender. This time around, they're doing the same thing— but now the "deserter" would be surrounded by armed comrades in the sand. Frank shook his head in disbelief at this.
Both men expressed their disapproval of anti-war demonstrators, a minority opinion in a very liberal town. "Once the war starts," the man noted "you've got to support our troops. They're over there fighting for us."
My turn came shortly after another man entered the store. He immediately related news about his daughter in Korea, a college teacher who was returning permanently to the United States.
"Did she learn Korean?" Frank asked.
"Nope," the man replied, reaching into his shirt pocket.
"Did she like any Korean food?"
"Nope," the answered, fingering out a piece of beef jerkey from his pocket. "She lost 47 pounds in two months!"
"Golly!"
"Yeah. I don't like it, that's too much weight too fast," the man replied, eyeing his own paunch. "I'd rather have her fat and happy instead of thin and sassy. At least if she were fat, she'd be happy. She said the first thing she wants to do when she gets here is eat a beef taco, a beef burrito, and a beef tostada."
"Really?"
"Yup. A steak that would cost us six ninety-five costs fourteen dollars a pound over there. Fourteen dollars! Oh, by the way, I made some jerky."
He pulled a bag of the stuff out of his pocket and left a piece for Frank on the counter. He offered me a piece, too, which I gratefully accepted. It was good stuff: never thought I'd enjoy a haircut so much for my spring break.
