So, it's the second day of school, and I'm walking to class, and think about the semi-blasphemous lyrics to a "Jurassic 5" song, when it hits me: I have come not to destroy Furman, but to fulfill.

I think the reason I'm at Furman is that all computer nerds when excited take on the same Pentecostal-like fervor towards their area of interest, to use a terrible cliché. Whether it's a game or hardware or code or whatever, they change into this universal tone that says, "Hey! Here, this is the meaning of life. Doing this." When I heard someone talk like that on Furman-look-at-crap-day, I was hooked.

When you have a friend-- no matter how good-- there will be a last time that you see them. So, don't fear it, just make it as cool as you can. That's my story about the Governor's School reunion.

I've met a lot of people, who have told me a lot of things about the meaning of life. I've met people, who said the meaning of life was following a car painter and painting things blue. People, who believe that you must live your life for yourself. People, who believe that you oughta follow some Jewish carpenter dude, some Arabian rich dude, some Indian prince guy. I've heard tell that the meaning of life is drinking Coca-Cola® and Coca-Cola® brand beverages. I've even heard that all those other "meanings" carry a kernel of some bigger meaning. I've heard there is no meaning, but you can and should make something up anyhow. So, the point is, opinions vary and the stakes are high.

Above: Capitalist obsession.

Funny story about my Spanish class - I came 10 minutes late the first day, and the second day, I skipped it. The Gschool reunion was a higher priority. A few minutes after 9:15AM, I came striding out of Riley Hall, wearing my Goodwill/J. Crew button-up shirt, brown striped Goodwill tie, dark brown with little white threads sport coat, brown corduroy pants and a brown with two white stripes, grandmother-knit stocking cap (or as we say down south-- toboggan. The sled has the same name just to confuse Yankees.) I'm pretty good with earth tones, I think. All were used in conjunction with cracked rose-colored glasses, a digital camera, and a CD player with a CD full of Japanese rock.

On Furman-look-at-crap-day, I met a kid name Carl. I had never done that before. He was a philosophy major. His major is the pursuit of the meaning of life. Playing the high stakes game of finding truth. When I thought about Carl pursuing the meaning of life, I was hooked.

Above: Composite image from backseat.

Ashley and Sarah picked me up outside the library in a '70s Chevy Malibu and we drove to Newberry, where AJ the bike-owing bum took over the driving. So eventually, I'm in H-ville with my peeps. Shige, Catherine, Reid, Bevin, Ali, Neil Das -- a whole crew. Everyone but ex-mate of room Lewis and some FUCsters. (The Fucked Up Clique or fook, sadly lives only in our hearts …) I went to D&S with Shige and Catherine; I went to a Pep rally with Bevin & Ali; I went dancing with Ms. Clonts. 'Twas an all together an enjoyable experience. I even saw Peter successfully shoot his potato gun (once).

When I returned from Governor's School, I was exhausted. Not, I believe, merely because I was up until later than 4AM the night before. Rather, it was because of all the running around, all the experience, all the inside jokes and knowing laughs and an assload of dancing. (It seems that I am the only one who has danced since graduation. No one else goes to fraternity parties. I do only because they are the only real parties here. Frat people I have no feelings toward, but a strong beat attracts me.) All the experience of being reunited if only for a short time has a certain *je ne sais qua* that I find impossible to put in writing. It's like joy, only Transfinite.

It was odd to see the new Juniors so assimilated into the culture of Governor's School. It seems that for every personality that defined our class there was a new and improved replacement. It seems that even as the past fades, there is at the heart of Governor's School some eternal template, like a Platonic form, that guides the applicant selection process. It was funny to watch some of the J's blow sunshine up our asses, 'cause the 2001s have instilled great respect for the alumni of Gschool. "Yes, I *did* found Transfinite Joy…" I think I can get accustomed to their being a bunch of new kids there, a lá "Saved By the Bell: The New Class", but I can't wrap my mind around the fact the 2001 kids know them as we know the 2001s. Time, life, stuff, it's all so mysterious. Also, all are magazine names.

Thing is though, the word on street is that things are bad all over. Nowhere is like Gschool, or at least nowhere in the tristate.

People ask me, how do I like Furman. So I have a stock answer, it's fun. But the way I say it, somehow people assume I'm miserable here. I'm sick of the question, yes, but miserable about school? Let it never be said. I have crazy love for people at this place, too. No, things aren't the same, but that's the point-- time moves forward everyday. The alternatives are sketchy.

By way of example, the day after the reunion, the FU kids head out to the mall. I tag along, 'cause I figured I'd have some fun and I need more underwear. So, we're running around and I decide to pull the oldest prank in the book-- accusing a punk of attending super-Christian Bob Jones high school with me. Of course, later at the GAP, some dude asked me if I worked there in spite of my Boy Scout shirt and fedora, so karma is preserved. I gave the joy of "Adbusters" to a friend. I watched "Seven" and "The Way of the Gun". Is it Governor's School? No, but it's fun and it is what it is. I run around and have some laughs and get depressed and get cheerful and everything else. It's a life.

One day, two people, a chick and a frat looking dude, introduced themselves to me, completely clear blue sky. Last week in the library, a chick I've had a crush on introduced herself, while I read "Science News" ('cause I'm a dork at heart).

Above: Typewriter case.

One time at lunch, some skirt came and asked me about my typewriter case as I went to get a drink. So I wonder, am I wearing a shirt that says, "Introduce yourself to me"? Then I realized that I more or less am. I like that I can stand out. It's so much cooler to be a beatnik than it is to be a hippie. Why try to stand out in a crowd if everyone else is? Where are cool people more needed, some place square or some place hip? This is cool. This being a pointer to life.

My days are becoming more and more like "Majora's Mask". It's all blending together. Which, I love. Wake up, sleep in code 12, do spanish homework, go to spanish, eat, repeat as needed. Eventually, I ought be able to stop the moon from hitting. I see people everyday, some I know, some I don't. But there's the feeling that I could and will given enough time. It's weird. Given enough time, I could remake all of Furman in my image. But I might need to be crucified first…

So how's Furman? It's fun.