12:33 p.m. - 03.08.2003
The Return
So - I'm back in that swinging college-town known as Clemson.
I'd forgotten the homogeny of a college town. It's just like any other town, except everyone is 18-28 and gorgeously hip. Not like the real world. The real world is 43 and quite sedentary.
I stick out like a sore thumb in my current city of residence. When I go out, I'm pretty sure all eyes are on me, as if to say, "A strapping young lad like that, here? Shouldn't he be in Kuwait or something? How can he deny himself such honor? Poor thing. He must have *whispering* a condition."
I do have a condition - an educated mind.
So, I'm back here in munchkinland. Clemson might as well be munchkinland - everybody looks the same. The frats are the Lollipop Guild (I'm a reformed member), the So-Ho's are the Lulliby League, and the rest are the blissful denizens.
Naturally, within an hour of my return to munchkinland I found myself at an oh-so-familiar Lulliby League event.
It's disturbing that I can walk down the street still and hear my name called out, followed by "so...still here, eh?". Relationships in a college-town are simply a way of marking time through a parade of faces of which you only ever know their first name. Or some loveable drunken nickname.
To say the least - I'm having fun. I met with Mikael, the Swedish witness to my arrest, and we had drinks while we talked about the fateful event and the possibility of him acting as a witness at my trial. Those are good people, the Swedes. Don't let the Norwegians tell you any different.
Later - more drinks. And after the bars closed - afterhours fun.
Tonight - more of the same. I love the homogeny of a rigourous college-town schedule as well.
***
Yellow Deer-Crossing signs that have a red circle sticker on the deer's nose give me no end of joy.
***
I'm going to start saying "thanks" like the Irish - "Tanks". Tank you. Tanks a lut.
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