Beauty School Drop Out

I went to class yesterday. The Doctrine ampersand Covenants. My teacher looked strikingly like Martin Scorsese for a man that teaches religion to the religiously minded. This wasn't a problem for me. I can learn to listen to a syrupy, slow version of one of cinema's true remaining champions. I was much more squirmy knowing that only 24 hours earlier I had arrived home from a nearly week long visit to this glorious nations westernmost edge. 

His words droned on, providing a gapless background score for my much more enticing thoughts. I wondered if summer was really the best time for college. I wondered about how much money they pay you in the seedy back alleys of the medical community for spinal taps and thigh-skin samples. I wondered where I would be more likely to find myself a suitable cuddle companion. I wondered how many of my friends had opted to give school the slip.

I sat, scarcely making out names like "Sidney Rigdon" and "Brother Brigham", and decided to call on the sage wisdom of a few friends, instead of listening intently. "Give me ONE reason to stay in school. Otherwise I'm gone", said the mass text. I waited, as many of my generation do, in cyber limbo. Waiting for an indecipherable and emphatically ambiguous response from someone. Anyone. 

But in my waiting, a high pitched electric scream slid in under the door. A confused room of eager pupils looked heavenward, as it were, to identify the sound. Fire alarm. Just then, three texts came back informing me to GET OUT. I got my answer. From above? Hard to say. What is true, though, is that this school is too dangerous for the summer. So I slipped on my shades and never looked back.

It's hot outside. Go get weird. That's what I'm up to.

You're the best.