Griffin Weston Prioritizes

Massive Botany Test tomorrow. Massive Botany Homework Packet due tomorrow.

Old faithful readers, you all know what that means.

It means Griffin is freaking out. How does Griffin freak out?

Not by studying, that's for fucking sure. Griffin freaks out by acting a little suaver than usual, a little more friendly, more creative, more willing to help solve your problems.

Not here, though. Here is my pedestal, where it is all me all the day long, and I can be as self-centered and selfish as I like.

Which is a lot, in case you had forgotten.

So: Me.

I am a being composed entirely of fleeting, insubstantial - indeed, nonexistent- relationships with girls.

"Now, wait", I hear you say, "You sit at your computer and play videogames and don't lift nearly enough weights to be made of women, oh Griffin Weston."

I have been on a saying-my-own-name kick as of late. This may be directly relevant to the topic at hand.

That's true. I admit, I was being poetic.

Here is what it looks like without glamor:

The only people who's opinions about me I think are worth a damn are pretty† girls.
That is to say, I don't care. At. All. What any male thinks of me. Friend, foe, sibling, stranger.
Unappealing girl? Same thing.
They only matter when they have influence on the thoughts of the aforementioned pretty girls who, alone, determine my every movement/thought/action.

They are the ones I look to first and last in every conversation, the ones I calculate for, the ones who have power over me, the ones with 德.

Perhaps I lapse into hyperbole. None of you are acting very surprised.
I have been called observant. This is short of the truth.
Scenario: I carry ice cream cone. I drop ice cream cone in public place. I plaster convincing facade of lighthearted lamentation on face while simultaneously screaming bloodcurdling murder-howls in back of brain and scanning surrounded area for pretty girls.
Should there be none, I relax. Well, rather, I move one notch down on my brain-ladder.
Should there be some, I then and only then look at everything else to check upon their influence on said girl's world (which, in my brain, consists solely of includes me).

I am observant for purely selfish reasons. My keen eyes are byproducts of a keen ego.

Edit: Which gives us the conclusion that, when inside the range of a pretty† girl, I am concurrently at my highest operating potential and my most neurotic. Discuss.

So: Me.

I've gotten back into my DS thanks to Scribblenauts teaching me I can solve all of life's problems with a pegasus and a grapple gun.
Unfortunately, it spawns the sort of problem you'd expect to have on the eve of a prime Botany exam:
How do I pull off playing a DS in a public college campus?

It is influenced by Player, Location, Level of Interest, and Visibility.
I have to be a specific person playing a DS, here. I can't be full nerd, heaven forbid. Which means I can't wear my nerdiest XKCD shirt while playing. Ever.
I have to counter the DS with an equal and opposite amount of cool.

I also have to remain somewhat conspicuous. That is, I can't ever play it holed up in the library, or in a corner of the café in case I was seen and they assumed I had gone there specifically to play, privately.
But I can't just do it in the middle of a busy area in case they see what game I'm actually playing.
This is relevant because I intend to play the fuck out of Pokemon - but I obviously can't do it while anyone is in a 45 degree arc behind me within visible range of the screen.

I also have to play games that aren't stylus-intensive so I don't appear too engrossed in my task. It needs to be a lazy distraction. Oh, have I run out of Popular Book? Are none of my compatriots texting me with hilarious We-Must-Tell-Gatbsy-Of-This-Day tales? I suppose I'll just PLAYSOMEFUCKINPOKEMANZ.


Now. Now wait. Get this. At the same time as I'm thinking all of this, I'd be fucking overjoyed to see a pretty girl playing a DS, regardless of outfit, location, or enthusiasm.
Because these rules only apply to me. That's how self-centered I am.

This crops up more often than I'd like because I keep getting false positives with all these bitches texting on their flip-phones that look an awful lot like a game system. Cut that out. Stop getting my hopes up.

And disregard the fact that the logical strikeout-text Dark Prince side of my brain is reminding me that anyone who would negatively judge a person for playing a DS would never be a prospective mate person of interest in the first place.


Simultaneous Edit: Am I late to the Owl City party? Has everyone been listening to this while I had bananas in my ears? Regardless. Owl City!


(†)To be defined in a later entry