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Twist Ending
Feb. 1st, 2002 05:29 pmIn order to graduate this May, I have to take a class on public speaking. Or rather, as the academic community takes great pains to distinguish, COMM 1010, a "communications studies" class which mostly involves making speeches in public. (Take that, you philistines with your nonsensical "meanings are in people, not in words.")
In any case, yesterday's activity involved pairing up with someone we'd never met and guessing a number of things about them solely based on the way they look. Here are some of the things my parnter guessed accurately about me:
1. I drive a Honda Civic
2. My last meal would be anything I could eat with chopsticks.
3. I was listening to jazz just before class.
4. I want to go on vacation to France.
5. If I was going to a costume party today (or rather an rpg), I'd be Peter Pan
6. On the weekends, I wake up at 11:00
I've forgotten the other stuff, but it was impressive. She was dead on 13 out of 15 times. Her only misconceptions were that I wanted to move to Australia (No, although I do think fondly of "The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day,") and that I am a dancer (hey, flattering). Other people would find this eerie and contemplate pressing charges. I say: score another one for the Romie marketing department! Clearly the way I dress and act does accurately present who I am!
As an added bonus, it messed up the lesson the class was supposed to learn -- not to judge by appearances.
Last entry, I posted the result of a personality test that said I was Tyler Durden, but I didn't have time to explain why I was so amused. See, three people, (including my sister and Valancy,) have told me that half the reason they enjoy watching Fight Club is that Tyler reminds them of me.
Speculation on the matter has led me to conclude that I am imaginary, something which has never particularly bothered me. I mean, it makes sense -- I'm not particularly believable as an actual person.
y'know, fuck it. This was going to be a good journal entry, and it was going to be funny, but it's just not happening. I'm too tired, and I've been too tired for at least two weeks. It's getting old.
I don't want to do this anymore. I don't know what "this" is, but I'm sick of it.
In any case, yesterday's activity involved pairing up with someone we'd never met and guessing a number of things about them solely based on the way they look. Here are some of the things my parnter guessed accurately about me:
1. I drive a Honda Civic
2. My last meal would be anything I could eat with chopsticks.
3. I was listening to jazz just before class.
4. I want to go on vacation to France.
5. If I was going to a costume party today (or rather an rpg), I'd be Peter Pan
6. On the weekends, I wake up at 11:00
I've forgotten the other stuff, but it was impressive. She was dead on 13 out of 15 times. Her only misconceptions were that I wanted to move to Australia (No, although I do think fondly of "The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day,") and that I am a dancer (hey, flattering). Other people would find this eerie and contemplate pressing charges. I say: score another one for the Romie marketing department! Clearly the way I dress and act does accurately present who I am!
As an added bonus, it messed up the lesson the class was supposed to learn -- not to judge by appearances.
Last entry, I posted the result of a personality test that said I was Tyler Durden, but I didn't have time to explain why I was so amused. See, three people, (including my sister and Valancy,) have told me that half the reason they enjoy watching Fight Club is that Tyler reminds them of me.
Speculation on the matter has led me to conclude that I am imaginary, something which has never particularly bothered me. I mean, it makes sense -- I'm not particularly believable as an actual person.
y'know, fuck it. This was going to be a good journal entry, and it was going to be funny, but it's just not happening. I'm too tired, and I've been too tired for at least two weeks. It's getting old.
I don't want to do this anymore. I don't know what "this" is, but I'm sick of it.
