Tonight The D.J. and I went to the "Interpreting Gender" exhibit at Lawrence's modest art gallery, which was supervised by an art professor with either a slight accent or a slight speech impediment.

He made a lot of references to the superiority of women. For example:

This etching was done during WWI, when women, who were not in power and therefore not responsible for the war, were seen as innocent. I think we can all agree that things would have been different had women been in power.

I try not to be sexist. I really don't think I am; I just have to be fair, and that's the problem. As a guy, I've been told I'm not allowed to make sweeping generalizations about women, claim that a for-women-by-women version of anything is inferior, or use a negative adjective like "ugly" or "old" to describe a woman.

The crown jewel, the proverbial 'gem' of the Lawrence gender exhibit is a sketch of a gaunt rat-faced man, probably insane, who is missing both his arms and his 'special purpose'. The girls laughed when told that he was castrated, which I don't understand, and I said as much. Can guys laugh at female castration, or is that mutilation not 'funny'?

Well, that's not really fair, I guess, given the rape-related comments I made to The Diplomat on Monday, which may have been in bad taste. Still, there's reverse sexism brewing on this campus, and I want to crush it, or do whatever you do to stop a brew, before it's too late. Drink it, I suppose. Drink the reverse sexism.

In Qur'an class today, The Gnostic Redeemer once again tied Islam back to Christianity, and got really loud. He gets louder and ruder the smarter he tries to sound, which annoys the whole class.

Before class I went into the bathroom to fix my hair, and since that's all I did, I saw no reason to wash my hands. One of my classmates was at the drinking fountain however, and I'm sure she noticed that I came out of the bathroom much too quickly. So now she thinks I'm unsanitary.

By the by, in Colman at least, how often you wash your hands in the bathroom seems related to popularity, but not in the way you'd think. I make a point of washing my hands constantly: if they're not bleeding, they're not clean.

When I got back, my pen was gone and I spent the entire class period working up the nerve to ask my neighbor where he'd gotten such a suspiciously identical pen. I finally did, he denied it, and I walked out shellshocked, sorta.

I ran around campus and was late for Freshman Studies. It wasn't that great anyways, though the discussion was evenhanded. I'm sometimes worried in that class that the other, wiser members don't respect me because I often speak without knowing what I'm talking about, or why I'm talking at all. But I've covered this subject before. Je m'en fichisme.

I am a moron, though. After telling my FS class the pen story and handing in my poorly written rewrite, I found my pen halfway through class, in my shirt pocket for some reason. Someone must have stuck it there. Dungeon Master and The Politician seemed amused.

At dinner, I was accused of being a percussionist hanger-on because I'm always sitting with percussionists. It makes sense, kind of, but since this theory was uttered by an odd little drummer informally known as Prince, I'm going to disregard it. There's apparently already a drummer groupie named Timothy (guy or girl, I just don't know anymore).

Well, I tried. It's kinda short? Isn't it… I suppose not. Later.