Saturday, September 02, 2006
Class
Starting tuesday. We lead off with the venerable Walter Frisch's Music Humanities. Later that day we have Chinese, and from there we whisk ourselves to Contemporary Chinese Culture. Wednesday morning wakes us early and eager for Jeffrey Sachs' course on Challenges of Sustainable Development.
And that's about all I know. I have fridays off. I don't know where I'm living or with whom, nor what books to buy. Yesterday I took the Chinese Placement exam. Three hours of Chinese calculated to baffle you is a little exhausting. The worst part was listening comprehension, which is always tough, but it's even worse when you have to listen to a scratchy CD played from a small boombox turned all the way up in a large room with jackhammers clattering away just below the window. I don't really mind; they were never going to put me in intermediate anyhow (though I bet I can swear better than anyone else in that class). I just didn't want to go back to "ni hao."
Going to the MOMA today with my brand spanking new Columbia ID, which gets me in for free. Rawkus.
And that's about all I know. I have fridays off. I don't know where I'm living or with whom, nor what books to buy. Yesterday I took the Chinese Placement exam. Three hours of Chinese calculated to baffle you is a little exhausting. The worst part was listening comprehension, which is always tough, but it's even worse when you have to listen to a scratchy CD played from a small boombox turned all the way up in a large room with jackhammers clattering away just below the window. I don't really mind; they were never going to put me in intermediate anyhow (though I bet I can swear better than anyone else in that class). I just didn't want to go back to "ni hao."
Going to the MOMA today with my brand spanking new Columbia ID, which gets me in for free. Rawkus.
Monday, August 28, 2006
In which jetlag fights dirty
Never underestimate jetlag. Never be cavalier or dismissive of it. Never prematurely declare yourself free of its tethers, nor publicly mock the dictum that for every time zone you have crossed, you will need one day to acclimate, for the simple reason that jetlag is easily injured and is bound to punish such presumptuousness very harshly. As it has me. Here it is 3:30 in the morning. I went to sleep two and a half hours ago, utterly exhausted, and hopeful that after three consecutive near-sleepness nights, this would be the night I would finally set myself aright.
As I think on it now, my fatigue was a symptom not of my body noting that 1am is my normal bedtime, but of that body's simply running out of fuel after 96 hours of being driven. Essentially, it thought it was taking an afternoon nap--which, in China, it would have been--and after two and a half hours, felt that that was quite enough indolence for one afternoon and that now it was time to go be productive again. There is not the slightest bit of tiredness left; I am quite wide awake. This is good, I suppose, but I know that three hours from now, I am likely to crash again, and have a great deal of trouble rousing myself at 8am to make my way up to Columbia for orientation. Which to be perfectly honest I could use, given my current disorientation.
Last night I was lucky; I got nearly five hours, from 3:30 till 8. Then a nap. The night before that was a lost cause entirely, featuring no sleep at all--we celebrated the 21st birthday at McSorley's Wonderful Saloon and The Thirsty Scholar in the east village--and then there was just no point in going to bed until about 8. I got up at 9. The morning before that, after 27 hours of less-than-delightful travel (three airports, six hours of layover, 18 of flight, three hours of sleep) I touched down in New York at 12am, and was feted to my contentment by Rebecca and An Ze Naughton at McAleer's, resulting in a bedtime of 5am. And a waking time of 9am. I am surprised my eyeballs haven't fled entirely. This is getting tiresome.
On the other hand, I am thrilled to be home, 21 and starting Columbia. New straw for the old broom.
As I think on it now, my fatigue was a symptom not of my body noting that 1am is my normal bedtime, but of that body's simply running out of fuel after 96 hours of being driven. Essentially, it thought it was taking an afternoon nap--which, in China, it would have been--and after two and a half hours, felt that that was quite enough indolence for one afternoon and that now it was time to go be productive again. There is not the slightest bit of tiredness left; I am quite wide awake. This is good, I suppose, but I know that three hours from now, I am likely to crash again, and have a great deal of trouble rousing myself at 8am to make my way up to Columbia for orientation. Which to be perfectly honest I could use, given my current disorientation.
Last night I was lucky; I got nearly five hours, from 3:30 till 8. Then a nap. The night before that was a lost cause entirely, featuring no sleep at all--we celebrated the 21st birthday at McSorley's Wonderful Saloon and The Thirsty Scholar in the east village--and then there was just no point in going to bed until about 8. I got up at 9. The morning before that, after 27 hours of less-than-delightful travel (three airports, six hours of layover, 18 of flight, three hours of sleep) I touched down in New York at 12am, and was feted to my contentment by Rebecca and An Ze Naughton at McAleer's, resulting in a bedtime of 5am. And a waking time of 9am. I am surprised my eyeballs haven't fled entirely. This is getting tiresome.
On the other hand, I am thrilled to be home, 21 and starting Columbia. New straw for the old broom.
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