I finally finished the last class of the class I took at Stanford about some junk in the ground leading to wars and shit.

Somewhere in my fantasy land brain, I kind of sort of thought I would be all attentive and do all the reading and think deep thoughts and shit. But, nah. Turns out pure fantasy.

I got through my undergrad degree with a key formula either (a) do the reading and rarely show up for class or (b) do no or very little reading and actually show up. I lived true to form decades later and ended up at (b) despite pretty fancy intentions.

That whole showing up thang had a corollary I lived again. Doze when the going got all-body tingling numb and dull. Yup, I’m living it.

I’ll probably keep the books and get aroud to reading them even. Or we’ll move and I will put them in order on a new shelf somewhere. Plus ce change and other probably mispelled French.

I did wake up a bit during this the last class, mostly to try to utter something other than the “shut up you arrogant prick” thought racing my brain. I know I got my own self-esteem issues and whatnot that I sometimes blame on gender. But, at the end of the day, I fucking hate, can’t abide, want to fight with middle-aged dudes who think they know shit they don’t know.

I don’t know, could very well be me. Could be envy. You know the kind of guy who always sits with his arm wide dangling off the seat beside him and his legs wide in that gargantuan balls need air spread and a smug inner satisfaction grin with maybe a bit of residual vacation tan dappling the surface? That guy without a care in the world, who, in fact if people only listened, thinks he could fix the planet?

In this case, the guy was an orthopedic surgeon dabbling in a little night school self-improvement. Yay for keeping busy smart man.

But come on, douche, can it with your uninformed opinion. I can pull straight from my ass 27 reasons a big old U.S. federal tax on oil isn’t going to save the world, starting with Civics 101 on how taxes on shit work and state rights and all.

Ironically, the person who I most wanted to hear speak up, because she seemed to have a wealth of actual government, foreign policy knowledge and experience, walked out the door the same time as me asking, “Was I rude in that class?” She did often insert names and dates and factual data that for me were living history lessons and an honest counterpoint to the more theory intense ramblings of the prof.

How come it’s always the people with info and ideas apologizing, while the smug bastards remain unrepentant?