student affairs.

They were on sale for 20% off with a student ID. I figured it was a sign. Happy first day of school to me!

Also, it feels good to be able to retire my ratty old Wisco ID, which I've used for student deals a full two years post-graduation. I'm sorry, I like a bargain. I will use a student ID discount until the day they say, "Sir, you're a fossil. I can't accept that." Which, if I time it right, should be just in time for me to start getting the senior citizen discount...

we don't need no education.

It's the last day of summer vacation. I have my first official day of school tomorrow. If only my mom were going to be here to take a picture of me on my way out the door, donning my awesome back-to-school outfit.

Then again, the day will really be nothing like a first day of school at all, as the only class I have on Mondays is the one I teach -- Spanish 101 with Señor Koronkiewicz. I'm actually in charge of 23 undergrads' education. A scary thought, isn't it? But like any good instructor, all we're doing on day one is going over the syllabus, which is mandated by the department to rather specific detail, so it should be an easy day.

I have no idea what to expect. This should be interesting. Here's hoping they don't see right through me in less than five minutes and realize I have no fucking clue what I'm doing! And if they do ask me if I'm new, I plan to to lie. I plan to lie vehemently, saying that I've taught Spanish a million times over. I'm in charge, bitches. My word is truth. And if you want a good grade, you had better get used to it now.

facial hair today, gone tomorrow.

This whole new "grad school Bryan" is a crazy man! Case in point, I shaved my beard today. At the time I thought it was just a whim, but now I realize perhaps it was an attempt to solidify my new identity. Either way, considering I regularly trimmed it to a miniscule 3mm in length, by no means was it a full on grizzly-man beard, but rather just a state of constant facial hair, if you will. (You can read about / see when I embarked upon this journey of manliness back in January.) After 8 months of hiding behind it, however, I must say I feel kind of naked without it now. I keep touching my face and feeling its absence. (Thank goodness I'm alone or I'd be embarrassed.) We'll see if this keeps up or if in a week's time I'm letting it grow back out.

You might be asking yourself, "Does he not have anything better to worry about?" And the answer is yes. Yes I do. But this is how I cope. I find something arbitrary and make it monumental. Then I have less time to over analyze the big, messy stuff. Plus it's fun being in a new place surrounded by new people, because it leads to finding the new Bryan. And the new Bryan is happy, excited, and apparently... (for the time being) beard-free.

then i see you, you're walking across the campus.

I kid you not, as I was striding toward University Hall this morning, only minutes before I was about to start my first day of orientation at the University of Illinois at Chicago, the song "Campus" by Vampire Weekend came streaming out of my earphones. I immediately thought to myself, "Well this has to be a good omen." And it was.

I'm too exhausted for details, especially since I have another full day ahead of me tomorrow, but I will say it was a good day and I'm really excited about this whole thing. Grad school, Chicago, UIC... all definitely where I belong.

my kicks is clean.

Like the symbiotic relationship between the clownfish and the sea anemone, one could not exist without the other.

swimming pools... parallel bars.

Turns out I missed my athletic calling. Twice!

1. My natural flexibility, balance, and affinity for flipping around on bars and such, if honed correctly and had I not quit after the 2nd grade, could have lead me to the men's Olympic gymnastics team. But alas! My discontent from being the only boy in class caused me to miss out on my chance at the gold.

2. Also, Michael Phelps is 6'4" tall, but he has the torso of a man 6'8" and the legs of a man 6". I have the same problem! I wear a 30" inseam (that's a men's short), yet I have trouble finding shirts long enough for my torso, not to mention neckties always hit me way above the appropriate spot (right on the belt buckle) no matter how long I try to make them. Apparently I'm built like a human fish as well, but once again this skill was left untapped.

Who's to blame? Perhaps my parents for not forcing me to be awesome at something since the age of 4. Free will, guys? Overrated when you think I could have been an Olympian! However, I should truly blame it on being from a town where the only legitimate options are football, baseball, basketball, and wrestling. C'mon, I need something a little less testosterone-filled than that.

Although, no matter how much I may lament my missed Olympic opportunities (my logic is flawless!), my perfectly average height probably would have eventually ruled me out of both of these sports, as I'm too tall to be a gymnast, yet too short to be a Michael Phelps-like swimmer. Damn you, 5'11" and your mediocrity!

chicago by sufjan stevens. on repeat.

I went to campus yesterday for the first time. This is my view as I walk to the blue line back home. No big deal. How many times can you fall in love with the same city? So far it's been about a dozen.

wash away my sins.

I love when I don't shower right away in the morning because I convince myself that I'm going to work out eventually and I'll just shower after that. The efficiency of this plan is quite flawed, as I usually just end up not showering, nor working out. Which is especially weird, considering that watching all this gymnastics lately really makes me think I want to be more active. Tomorrow it is! At least showering, that is.

quit playing olympic games with my heart.

Reasons why I love the Olympics:

• I'm unemployed and don't have cable, so watching any sport and every sport, for hours on end, is easy, if not obligatory.
  
• Also, if I leave the house, no matter where I go, there's a TV with it on.
• In addition to the US, I also naturally root for any and all Spanish-speaking countries, as I consider myself an honory Latino. And there are a shit-ton of Spanish-speaking countries, so I get to root a lot.
  
• I like these athletes a lot better than pro-players. I'm a sucker for those personal story interstitials they do. It's like watching sports and Oprah at the same time.
  
• I like these sports a lot better than pro-sports. Synchronized diving, men's volleyball, and badminton, oh my!
  
• I don't feel like an idiot for not knowing all the rules and techniques, because no else watching does either.
  
• Umm, hello! Ralph Lauren designed the USA uniforms. Need I say more?
  
• You get to use Olympic jargon in daily conversation and you're considered topical, not weird...

Courtney: Where did you get tacos?
Bryan: Flash Tacos... I give it a 5.6.
Bryan: I prefer Picante Taquería, which is closer to me, but was not open sadly.
Courtney: Yes... but what do the Mexicans give it?
Bryan: Probably a 9.2. They're so self-aggrandizing.
Courtney: Ag-grande-izing!!

(Sidenote: The Russians give Courtney's pun an 8.7. She totally stuck the landing.)

But the main reason that I love the Olympics is that it is so ephemeral. It's over before I can get sick of it. I have athletic ADD and can only do sports in small doses, usually lasting about a month. Other prime examples include March Madness and the World Cup. So games on!

But speaking of the Olympics, can I just take a second to discuss Chicago and their candidacy for the 2016 Summer Olympics? Whether positive or negative, seems to me every Chicagoan has something to say about it. But somehow it is always treated as if it's happening tomorrow. Listen up people, it's eight years away! Cool your jets.

I brought this point up at dinner the other night, explaining that we'll be in our thirties. Who knows what our lives will be like then, so what good is it to weigh in with an opinion now? My friend Jason added, "Yeah, I might not even be in Chicago." To which I responded, "Yeah. Or you could be dead."

Let's just say that awkwardly, yet swiftly, put an end to the 2016 talk.

market fresh.

Thursday, Friday, Saturday and yes, even the Lord's day, Sunday, was one giant, blurry mess known as Market Days, where the drinks were constantly flowing and Rihanna, Katy Perry and Lady GaGa were streaming from the speakers on repeat. Consequently, I have done almost nothing of value today. I would say my greatest feat was walking half a block and back to Subway. Nonetheless, I'm going to have to chalk up my first full weekend in Chicago as a major success.