about a square peg in a round hole

Here’s some highlights of Auckland Uni today:

Boys and Girls in graduation gowns, each incurring a 6-hour rental fee of 45 pounds (well, at least mine cost that much last year), shuffling down Symonds St., to attend what may uniquely be the proudest and most unneccessary ceremonius confirmation of self-worth, uncomfortably adjusting the coloured flaps on their backs and square hairstyle-destroying hats in vain attempts to not look like complete idiot savants.

Of course, the Indian graduates are huddled in groups, complete with trigger-happy relatives with automatic cameras and congratulatory chimes, as they usually are, not unlike foreign dignitories encircled by opportunistic journos sniffing for scandals or faux pas (is there a plural form of the term?), or Bradjelina’s paparazzi activities post Angelina’s labour. (Not a rascist statement, just a global observation.

Punk/Rock band with Big Band influences playing at the AUSA quad during Lunchtime packed with more students loitering than a singular matchbox-sized nuclear bunker built to house the global Anglican community in the event that the Pope accidentally fingers the red button.

Easter came. Easter went. I remained inert, mentally, spiritually and physically. On a couch. Sipping tap water flavoured with air, chewing crocodile jerky, watching Disney Playhouse Channel.

Holidays suck. The anticipation starves you. Its exodus bewilders you. Of the experience itself, one can never descriptively remember, rather like driving in mile-thick fog in a minivan with broken lights, blind drunk and hopelessly wasted, settling for “it was too short”, always.