The title of tonight's entry comes to us from "Porphyria's Lover," a rather morbid, but quite well-written, poem by Robert Browning. Unfortunately, I can't seem to make the subject long enough to hold the entirety of the lines I desire to share with you. Below is the excerpt in all its glory, unbesmirched by the limitations of the LiveJournal website:

Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me for ever.

Good evening, ladies and germs! Long time no write—I apologise for my absence, as usual, but rest assured that you haven't missed much. I spent the summer working (I'm now a manager at Pipeline, the purveyor of foodstuffs where I've worked two summers in a row), reading (which was still more prevalent, my laptop currently being out of commission), and watching movies. I spent far too much money, naturellement, and came back to Pomona with my tail between my legs, as with my new financial worries I'm forced to once again shack up with the 'rentals. (There is the small matter of a foray into Tijuana and the orgiastic "clubbing" experience that followed, but I shall speak of that in another entry.)

So that brings us to the present, which, with my current living conditions being what they are, and the advent of classes, is not nearly as pleasant as the summer was. But it is nice to be back in Phillips Ranch, where familiar faces greet me at every turn; and back to Cal Poly, which, surprisingly, I had missed. To get you up to speed: I'm still the assistant copy editor of the campus newspaper, The Poly Post, and am now going to act as an English tutor for the on-campus Writing Center. As an English major with emphasis on Language and Literature, my schedule this quarter is a bit literature-heavy, perhaps, but that is my area of expertise, after all. It is as follows, and, as you can see, it's masterfully balanced:

Monday/Wednesday:
0915-1020: English Romanticism
1400-1550: Development of Modern English
1600-1750: Shakespeare

Tuesday/Thursday:
0800-0950: Introduction to Astronomy

Friday:
0915-1020: English Romanticism

I've had Intro. to Astronomy and English Romanticism thus far, and from what I have seen, they ought to be interesting enough classes—tomorrow (later today, I suppose I should say) I have Development of Modern English and Shakespeare, which should prove equally interesting. Because the English department at Cal Poly is relatively small, I already know quite a few people in my classes, and look forward to meeting the rest. Which, unfortunately, brings us to a problem I've faced recently, one that indirectly inspired my selection of lines from "Porphyria's Lover" quoted above.

You see, friends and devoted readership, it seems I have an uncanny knack for being attracted to young women who are already in a relationship. Yes, it's true; while some people's "gaydar" is more attuned than others, I have the highly specialised mutant ability to seek out spoken-for girls. This is evidenced by recent happenstance on two separate occasions, and, folks, I've only been at school two days.

First, in Astronomy, I met a lovely young woman named Hyatt (which apparently means "life" in, I believe, Arabic). After class, we chatted and got to know one another over lunch—she's a freshman, currently undeclared, and provided sparkling conversation. We discussed movies and books while enjoying Panda Express, and then touched on our personal lives a bit, which is when she mentioned her boyfriend. After eating, we went to the library, since she said that she wanted to look into tutoring, and I mentioned that I wanted to check up on my application at the Writing Center. She picked up some applications, then waited for me as I had my interview, and shortly thereafter we parted ways until Tuesday.

Now, you must understand that it's not as if I were desperate to get into a relationship with Hyatt, although I certainly wouldn't be averse to the idea; it's merely frustrating as all hell that it seems as if every nice girl I meet already has a boyfriend, and the chances of my friendship with her becoming anything more are nil. I will, of course, still strive to be Hyatt's friend (which is a damn good consolation prize, actually), but it is nonetheless vexing.

Secondly, on my way toward the bus stop nearest to campus (they're doing construction in the area where the Cal Poly "transit center" stands, so the closest that Foothill Transit now comes is a brisk walk away), I ran into a young woman I'd talked to a few times in passing on campus. The first time we met was at the Financial Aid office at the beginning of last year, and we'd been on a "Hello, how are you?" basis for a while. Sometime near the end of the Spring quarter, I interviewed her for a parking story I was writing for the Post, and learned that her name was Shaina.

Anyway, she was sitting on some steps strumming a guitar, and I reintroduced myself, asking about her instrument. She said that she was taking a guitar class, and was simply practicing some chords while waiting for the next shuttle to the just-slightly-off-campus apartment complex. I told her that I was headed in the same direction, and she offered to walk with me. Shaina was efficient, and mentioned her boyfriend right off the bat as the one who had loaned her the guitar, but the conversation otherwise was quite pleasant, running the gamut from astrology to possible careers and general interests. Since I was early for my bus, she asked if I wanted to watch her clean her room at her apartment, which was just a hop, skip, and jump away from the bus stop. So off we went. She showed me her apartment, and we chewed the fat for a few more minutes as she tidied up her room. When I left for the bus, she said that I was more than welcome to visit anytime, and I intend to take her up on that.

I understand that there's nothing wrong with being girls' friend, and I cherish the many friendships I have with attractive, intelligent, engaging young women. What frustrates me is that those relationships never blossom into anything more; as I've said on more than one occasion, I feel as if I'm the "gay best friend" to every girl I meet, with the slight disadvantage of being straight (so far as I know). Perhaps I simply don't have the cojones to take the initiative, or maybe it's just that I'm afraid to drive the girls away and not only lose a potential girlfriend, but also an existing friend. Whatever the case may be, between my brotherly aura and apparent penchant for girls with boyfriends, my romantic life is, once again, nonexistent. But c'est la vie, right? It's not a bad thing to have girls as friends; they're certainly preferable to most guys.

Let's see, in what new aspects of popular culture have I been steeping myself recently? Currently, I've been listening to a lot of Yellowcard (their new album, Ocean Avenue, is breathtaking), Dashboard Confessional (A Mark, A Mission, A Brand, A Scar), MxPx (Before Everything & After), and the Freaky Friday soundtrack, which is surprisingly excellent.

Reading material at the moment is Stephen King's The Dark Half, although I've been thumbing through Isaac Asimov's Science, Numbers, and I, and I'll have plenty of reading for my literature classes soon enough.

Films? On DVD, I saw Two Weeks Notice today, which I thoroughly enjoyed, as Hugh Grant is one of my favourite actors, and Sandra Bullock is always brill. In the theatres, Matchstick Men and Underworld were my most recent, although I watched nearly everything decent that came out over the summer.

Matchstick Men, by director Ridley Scott (of Alien and Gladiator fame, interestingly enough, considering the genre of this film), was an absolute masterpiece, combining heartwarming tenderness between newfound father Roy (Nicolas Cage at his obsessive-compulsive best) and daughter Angela (Alison Lohman, a rising starlet whose performances in this and White Oleander have made me an instant fan) and the intrigue that apparently comes with the life of a conman. Between the warm glow of vicarious fatherhood and the frissons of suspense, this movie left me awestruck and in tears. (I hope to read the books from which Matchstick Men and White Oleander were taken, by Eric Garcia and Janet Fitch, respectively, as soon as possible.)

Underworld was also very well-done, dominated by an atmosphere rivaled only by that of The Matrix. Kate Beckinsale (whom I adored in Serendipity) played beautiful but deadly Selene masterfully, and, with a wardrobe consisting mainly of Latex, was quite fetching as she rid the streets of lycans (werewolves, presumably from the root of lycanthropy). The special effects were impressive (despite my cousin's naysaying), the action scenes and gunfights elaborate, and the costuming spectacular. Although I've heard critics badmouth this as merely derivative of The Matrix and Blade, I feel that Underworld has a feel all its own, and enough goth appeal to make it a cult classic.

Well, this entry is quite long enough, so I think I'll let you get back to whatever else you people do with those "life" things. Until next we meet, I bid you farewell. Au revoir, tout le monde!

[Exit Orpheum.]