Friday, September 21, 2007

Weekend

Even though I have never been a skilled poet, I nevertheless have given it a shot this evening. I just kind of dashed it off in 20 minutes or so. Kindly tell me what you think.

~~~

"Shower, Friday, 7:30 PM"

All is quiet in the dormitory.
Everyone else is out celebrating the
arrival of the weekend “properly.”
Sweaty, sticky, I step into the shower stall.

All is silent. Most everyone else is out
giving their brains the evening off.

I turn the dial. Cold drops startle me,
but soon the water warms up. The shampoo
tingles as I rub it vigorously into my scalp.
To cleanse one’s body is soothing;
I will never understand the urge to
pollute so willingly something so valuable.

In seven hours, I am likely to be awakened rudely
by wild yelling in the dormitory hall
by people whose brains have the evening off,
whose brains have been replaced
by pitiful, fleeting impostors.
I do not begrudge them their revelry;
I am simply different, perhaps dull.

I dry myself off; I dress for an evening
of reading, writing, thinking.
My brain’s employer is relentless.

~~~

Tonight's lyrical selection: "Song For The Asking," by Simon & Garfunkel.

"Here is my song for the asking,
Ask me and I will play,
So sweetly I make you smile.

Here is my tune for the taking,
Take it, don't turn away,
I've been waiting all my life.

Thinking it over I've been sad,
Thinking it over I'd be more than glad to change my ways,
For the asking,
Ask me and I will play,
All the love that I hold inside."

Monday, September 17, 2007

Getting Old

So in about 3 1/2 weeks, I will turn 18 years old. I will be an adult, by all legal standards. In the not-too-distant past, I've not thought much on this fact. I have been wont to dismiss it a just another year of age when in fact, it's quite significant. This change of mind was complete when in the course of dinner conversation the other night, I informed my (golf) teammates that I am not yet 18. This was met with a few looks of disbelief which prompted my current thinking.

What does this change of age mean for me?

- The most important fact that accompanies my turning 18 is the ability vote, which I consider to be one of the most important rights an American has. And seeing how it is important, millions of Americans naturally take it for granted. I have my own views on this issue, but that is a future post unto itself.

When I turn 18, I will be old enough to...

- Be drafted--I don't believe I need to worry about that.
- Purchase tobacco products--Smoking is a nasty un-necessity to me, so that's irrelevant.
- I also don't see myself visiting any houses of adult entertainment, on account of their derogatory and objectifying nature, so that's right out.
- I don't see myself getting married very soo, so the procurement of a marriage license isn't of importance.

The change that 18 brings is mostly psychological. By American societal convention, I will be old enough to fend for myself in 3 1/2 weeks' time. That notion scares the piss out of me. I know that I don't have the wherewithal to be an independent person at this time. Heck, the fact that I am now in college both deeply concerns and strongly excites me. I marvel at those who are my age and are so independent; I know that I'd be hard pressed to survive out in the Big Bad world if misfortune thrust me out into it. It's times like this that I realize how truly fortunate I am. And I also realize how foolish I have been to succumb to laziness and a selfish sense of entitlement at times. Perhaps turning eighteen will turn the "adult" switch in me and cause me to be more savvy. But for now, I'm just an intelligent, strange kid sitting in his dorm room on a beautiful September afternoon.

(As if there were any doubt as to the lyrical selection for today) "Eighteen," by Alice Cooper

“Lines form on my face and hands,
Lines form from the ups and downs,
I'm in the middle without any plans,
I'm a boy and I'm a man.

I'm eighteen,
And I don't know what I want.
Eighteen,
I just don't know what I want.
Eighteen,
I gotta get away.
I gotta get out of this place.
I'll go runnin in outer space.
Oh yeah.

I got a,
Baby's brain and an old man's heart,
Took eighteen years to get this far.
Don't always know what I'm talkin' about,
Feels like I'm livin’ in the middle of doubt,
Cause I'm,

Eighteen,
I get confused every day.
Eighteen,
I just don't know what to say.
Eighteen,
I gotta get away.

Lines form on my face and my hands,
Lines form on the left and right,
I'm in the middle,
the middle of life,
I'm a boy and I'm a man,
I'm eighteen and I LIKE IT.
Yes I like it..
Oh I like it,
Love it,
Like it,
Love it,
Eighteen!
Eighteen!
Eighteen!
Eighteen and I LIKE IT…”

Friday, September 07, 2007

Notes From An 85 Degree Dorm Room At 11 PM On A Friday Night

Good evening. I know it's been a while since I last wrote something, but that's the way it goes. Now that I'm in Academic Mode, I hope to have more to write about. Time will tell.

Well as you should glean from the title, I'm not out partying, as is likely over three-quarters of my fellow students at this idyllic little place in the Virginia mountains. I've decided quite finally that partying is not really my thing, and that even though it is the #1 way to meet people 'round these parts, I'd rather meet people who aren't, as Sir Thomas Malory might say, "enchafed by the heat of wine [or in the 21st century case, Natural Light."

This is not to say that I look down upon people who choose to socialize in this manner. Heck, whereas I used to staunchly oppose any ideas of lowering the drinking age to 18, I know understand that it is a valid idea. Anyway, I recognize that many people enjoy consuming alcohol in order to "loosen-up" a bit. I just don't partake because I am obsessed with keeping in as much control of my faculties as I can.

I realize that the above ideas put me in the minority here in Academic Utopia. This is nothing new to me. In the past, I thrived on being unusual. But as of yet, I have yet to hit my stride. I really (I mean *really* really) want to serve this school in the way I served my former school, but I am unsure of whether I can gain the kind of recognition that would allow me to do so in the manner that I wish to do so.

Anyhoo, I suppose that this is kind of a melancholy little post. It gets kinda lonely 'round here at times, but I'll muddle through. I always have.

Tonight's lyrical selection: "People are Strange," by The Doors

"People are strange when you’re a stranger,
Faces look ugly when you’re alone,
Women seem wicked when you’re unwanted,
Streets are uneven when you’re down,
When you’re strange,
Faces come out of the rain,
When you’re strange,
No one remembers your name,
When you’re strange,
When you’re strange,
When you’re strange…

People are strange when you’re a stranger,
Faces look ugly when you’re alone,
Women seem wicked when you’re unwanted,
Streets are uneven when you’re down,
When you’re strange,
Faces come out of the rain,
When you’re strange,
No one remembers your name,
When you’re strange,
When you’re strange,
When you’re strange…

When you’re strange,
Faces come out of the rain,
When you’re strange,
No one remembers your name,
When you’re strange,
When you’re strange,
When you’re strange…"