Risky Limes

So I decided a few days ago that I would need to buy a floppy hat, and a pair of men's cargo shorts. Then, I never did it. I always parked kind of close to the English building, and the walk wasn't long. Today, I parked in the Commuter lot. It's clear across campus, and there are no trees. I can cut across lawns and sneak through buildings where I don't belong, or I can go the long way around and follow the road. And you know what? I didn't stop by my apartment when I was out of class. No, I went straight to Walmart and bought myself a floppy hat. The color: "risky lime." And it is a bit risky wearing that color, because you can never match it. Ever. And it certainly is lime. Maybe a hint of chartreuse, but mostly lime. A bit like pale kiwi, but no, it's lime.

And here's the segue into theory. Any word has a meaning not of it's own, but made up of all the things which the word is not. There is a chain of things which the word is not, and after going down the chain, the "meaning" of the word can be deduced. It all goes back to Saussure, and his signifier/signified thing. Most of which I don't understand. But that's why the hat is not chartreuse, kiwi, pale green, yellow green, green grape, or any other number of light-ish neon green shades. Therefore, it is lime. Not only that, but it is risky lime.

Freud would have something to say about the risky. See, risky bears a certain resemblance to the word "frisky." And we (50-something, white, protestant men, according to theory) all know that frisky would appeal greatly to Freud, since everything goes back to sexual desires that have been suppressed. My need to step out from the crowd has led me to purchase a hat which states in its color my desire to take risks and flirt with the men I see. Freud could not be more wrong, however, since I already take risks, and even if I didn't already have a man, none of the ones around here are worth the time and effort to flirt with anyway. As for green, there's no telling why Freud thinks I chose green, but here's the truth: The other choice was red. And I don't like that color. So there.

Today was hot. Hot enough to make me go out of my way during rush hour to buy a silly looking hat. It wasn't where the hats are in the other Walmart stores. So I asked a lady (I belatedly noticed that she was little and old) where the purses and little old lady hats were. She smiled and told me they were by the jewelry. I think every "hip" youngster in the area wondered what I was doing. Some were vocal about it. Little disapproving grunts and the like filled the aisle. A few older women were looking at straw gardening hats. They gave me looks that said I was in their territory, and I had to be a certain age to ride the roller coaster. I shrugged and started flinging on hats. There was a plain hat with a loop of jingling trinkets strung on it that really appealed to me, but then I saw the risky lime. It was the only one of its kind, it had a wider, floppier brim, and the weave was closer to let less sun through. I snatched it up with a triumphant grin and plopped it on my head. The fit was wonderful. I felt so stupid in that hat that I couldn't stop smiling. This hat may be the best thing to happen to my people skills in ages.

I have an office now on the fourth floor that I can move into as soon as I pick up my key to the English building. I have access, once I get the key, to the entire building. I have power. I have an office, so I can store crap under my desk and put up family photos and look cheesy. I think I'll get my key Friday and risk a weekend to set up my office. Maybe not. But I'll be spending some time there.

I got my textbook in the mail today. Join me in a celebratory victory dance. This means that I will not have paid for the book twice by having to make copies all summer. I think I only spent about five dollars on copies, for a book that was supposed to be at the bookstore. All in all, not bad.

I'm going to go eat my chicken and dumplings for dinner, and start on the readings. We're beyond Freud, and into Lacan, who says that Freud was wrong about the Id, Ego, and Superego, since he was simply using that to repress his discovery of unconscious; thus, he followed the rules of his own discovery by repressing it as soon as it came to the surface. Lacan is kind of neat in that aspect, but if the professor says we'll be tearing our hair out with this guy, I think maybe the short reading assignment is a sign of lots of work.

Oh well. If I don't blog tomorrow, you know what happened to me. Lacan. Or someone decided my hat was offensive to their eyes and ran me over as I crossed a parking lot to get to the English building. Take your pick. I'll be in pain either way. Dinner calls. End.