After having a recurring observation or performing an inexplicable action, I often brood over the most pressing existential question to ever face teenage sit-com characters: am I weird?

Below are a few thoughts I have had over the past few weeks. Ideally, you, the reader, will comment and let me, the blogger, know if we have a shared musing or if I’m just weird. Let’s make this relationship work.

1. Shortly after I facebook stalk someone, they will inevitably appear in real life. I’ll see someone on Locust Walk, and their Facebook profile seems to appear over their heads, as I quietly judge them for their laughable music taste (Nickelback? For real?), embarrassingly contrived profile picture (your heavily-Photoshopped default with your eyes gazing to the far left is neither unique nor hip), or their “Hot or Not” application (if you have to ask, the answer’s “not”). Occasionally, I will meet someone for the first time in reality, even though I have already seen an entire album of their dog wearing clothes. I suspect that this new acquaintance remembers that “Dude, Where’s my Car?” is listed as one of my favorite movies. Neither of us mention anything.

2. Maybe it’s just me, but does anyone smell something funky on Locust Walk in between Van Pelt and College Hall? I try to spot someone holding their nose or making a face, but am never successful.

I’ve noticed that the scent has not been as strong lately. It’s conceivable that the 24/7 prayer tent warded off the aroma.

3. In the morning, before class, I often employ a time-saving tactic which seems perfectly sensible as I’m waking up. I can afford to hit snooze one more time or sleep for several more minutes if I first mentally map out my to-do list. In this daze, it is entirely rational that I will save at least five minutes if I think to myself, “Okay, yeah, shower. Toothpaste. Clothes. Uh, backpack. Class.”

4. Airplane rides on your way home for break are a great time for rumination. I enjoy watching alpha males uncomfortably stare at Middle Eastern travelers as they board the plane. No doubt they are daydreaming of becoming the hero of the flight by putting a would-be hijacker in a headlock. I consult the flight number to see if it has a cinematic ring to it, like “United 93.”

Flight 3344? Nice. 7461? Eh. 666? Perfect.

Tags: musings, poo, prayer, Zoltan

This entry was posted on Thursday, March 20th, 2008 at 9:53 am and is filed under Penn, Random. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.