How fitting a title for a post where I must admit that my lethargy this break will keep me from finishing this series before I begin my second semester! Oh well; we will forge on anyway.
It’s funny—a relief, in a way—how my college turned out to be different from what I expected. Knowing that I was entering an environment with a higher average level of intellect than what I was used to, I assumed that most people would have the go-get-‘em attitude, and that I would be in a minority, engaged in a vicious struggle against my laziness and my tendency to put things off. Somewhat happily, a high number of really, really sharp students is not mutually exclusive with a high number of students who have made high art of procrastination as I have in my academic career. There are many similarly lethargic souls around me, so it has turned out that group-procrastination is a favorite activity ‘round these parts. Dear readers, I give you a few examples.
Longboarding: My neighbor, a unique fellow of the Long Island (or “Strong” Island, as some would have us mainland-American folk believe) persuasion, brought a longboard (a longer version of the skateboard, built for speed, rather than kick-flipping and whirly-gigging capabilities) to school, but soon discovered that it is against state law to ride it anywhere except inside a skate-park (where only the whirly-giggers are useful). So he resorted to riding it to and fro down our hall. We joined in, and the fellows all had a good laugh when I took a turn, nearly falling over, legs wobbling, arms flailing. Unfortunately, it also turned out to be verboten to ride in the halls, so our fun was ended on that front.
Hall Monkey-In-The-Middle: One night a few weeks before we departed for Christmas break, someone brandished a small rubber SuperBall. What followed was an intense, rousing game of monkey-in-the-middle down the length of the hall. Now you may be thinking, dear readers, that the small size of the ball would make it nearly impossible for the monkey to catch it. But, this was also true of the receiver, and the bounce-back wreaked havoc on all parties involved. We stretched the ball to its physical limits, and the game ended prematurely with a scuffle for the ball resulting in its destruction.
Poker: We went through a brief phase where we all signed up for Pokerstars.net and went to the same table. Audible shouts of profanity echoed through the hall—most of them from a character who hails from Atlanta—at the end of most every hand. Never mind that we were squandering valuable potential study-time; there was fake money to win and lose!
As refreshing as it is to know that I am not the only serial procrastinator around here, it is a shame to see the toll it takes on some. My heart drops a bit whenever I hear talk of Adderall—a drug given to ADD/ADHD sufferers—being used by stressed-out students needing to pull and all-nighter in order to finish a book. I saw a friend of mine in the dining hall once, and he looked terribly exhausted: red bags under widely open eyes, slightly frazzled hair, faster tempo of voice than usual. Evidently, he needed to read an entire book and write an essay on it, all in the space of one night. He got it done, bless him, but at what cost? Taking a drug that was not meant for him--a boy of sound, sharp mind—was quite a risk. It’s not a good practice to engage in—taking such a drug can form a habit with potentially damaging result. No grade is worth such possible damage to one’s body, but unfortunately, with the absurd over-diagnosis of ADD/ADHD in this country, drugs like Ritalin and Adderall are becoming easier and easier to procure. We’re headed for bad consequences if people are not careful and practical, forgoing a night of partying in order to work on an assignment that needs more attention than that of a night.
If you’re feeling overwhelmed by work at the time you read this, please stop, close your browser, and get right on that assignment. I’ll be here on the Internet while you do what’s important.
Happy studying.
No lyrical selection this evening.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Ten Things I Learned In My First Semester Of College: Number 6—Pranks For The Memories and Other Tales
One of the main parts of “The Freshman Experience,” it appears, is experiencing and becoming familiar with various ways in which fellow young adult males occupy themselves in times of boredom. A small college tends to bring together people from all parts of the country and world. Naturally, there is bound to be an exchange of ideas, especially ideas on silly feats of mind and body. Allow me to briefly discuss some useful experiences I’ve had with this phenomenon.
Gold Bond: A few days before we departed for Christmas break, this powder figured prominently into the events of one evening. One member of the Hall complained of “Batwing,” a phenomenon I’d never heard of. I am always reluctant to introduce vulgar concepts into this blog because there’s enough of that going around, but in the interest of clarity, I must explain—for those who are unfamiliar as I was—that “Batwing” is when a boy’s scrotum sticks to his leg due to heat, etc. Apparently, Gold Bond is a splendid cure for this condition. Anyway, someone near me borrowed some Gold Bond from another in order to alleviate himself of some groin-based discomfort. Being the easy target and brunt of all shenanigans, mine seemed like the logical door on which to expel some of this powder. Sadly, a bug, drunk Californian—full, also, of hookah vapors—stumbled onto the scene. He snatched up the Gold Bond container, and unleashed about a third of the bottle with a mighty squeeze. Care to guess where it all ended up? Yes, you’re correct, dear readers. It went all over my room. I spent portions of the next few days cleaning up whatever tiny snowdrift piles of the stuff I could find. Unfortunately, I know that I wasn’t able to get it all; spots of Gold Bond still dot the unreachable crevices of my room. It will very likely be the first smell I encounter when I re-enter my dorm room in two nights’ time.
Big Red: Apparently it’s a rite of passage to endure a few minutes’ pain by removing the wrapper from a piece of Big Red Cinnamon gum, licking said wrapper, and sticking it to one’s forehead. According to the tribe of males known as the Freshmen, one must endure a few minutes of pain from the Big Red wrapper in order to gain the respect and admiration of one’s peers. Like walking on hot coals, embarking on a vision quest, or circumcision, it’s something one must do, evidently. I guess I too will have to endure it sometime in the coming weeks.
No lyrical selection this evening.
Gold Bond: A few days before we departed for Christmas break, this powder figured prominently into the events of one evening. One member of the Hall complained of “Batwing,” a phenomenon I’d never heard of. I am always reluctant to introduce vulgar concepts into this blog because there’s enough of that going around, but in the interest of clarity, I must explain—for those who are unfamiliar as I was—that “Batwing” is when a boy’s scrotum sticks to his leg due to heat, etc. Apparently, Gold Bond is a splendid cure for this condition. Anyway, someone near me borrowed some Gold Bond from another in order to alleviate himself of some groin-based discomfort. Being the easy target and brunt of all shenanigans, mine seemed like the logical door on which to expel some of this powder. Sadly, a bug, drunk Californian—full, also, of hookah vapors—stumbled onto the scene. He snatched up the Gold Bond container, and unleashed about a third of the bottle with a mighty squeeze. Care to guess where it all ended up? Yes, you’re correct, dear readers. It went all over my room. I spent portions of the next few days cleaning up whatever tiny snowdrift piles of the stuff I could find. Unfortunately, I know that I wasn’t able to get it all; spots of Gold Bond still dot the unreachable crevices of my room. It will very likely be the first smell I encounter when I re-enter my dorm room in two nights’ time.
Big Red: Apparently it’s a rite of passage to endure a few minutes’ pain by removing the wrapper from a piece of Big Red Cinnamon gum, licking said wrapper, and sticking it to one’s forehead. According to the tribe of males known as the Freshmen, one must endure a few minutes of pain from the Big Red wrapper in order to gain the respect and admiration of one’s peers. Like walking on hot coals, embarking on a vision quest, or circumcision, it’s something one must do, evidently. I guess I too will have to endure it sometime in the coming weeks.
No lyrical selection this evening.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Ten Things I Learned In My First Semester Of College: Number 7—Drugs, Man
Anyone who knows me knows that I am unfalteringly conservative when it comes to foreign substances. A caffeine in a Dr. Pepper is about as “crazy” a substance as I ever intend to enter my body in any meaningful quantity. This means that I am in the minority in my convictions, but I’m okay with it. Unlike many people who don’t drink/smoke/whatever, I try not to look down on those who do. I see every action as the product of a calculated risk. Some can justify so-called “risky behaviors,” but I’m just not that bold.
As a college freshman living in a dorm, I have seen, heard, and smelled some interesting things. One such experience was on the evening of the 2008 Mock Convention Gala. I didn’t attend said gala, so I was shooting the breeze with a few fellows in the Lounge, when a few tuxedo-clad gents stumbled in, giggling and whooping madly. They soon announced that they were “tripping the f*ck out on ‘shrooms,” and wondered if we’d like to join them in the library (apparently looking at rows of things makes the trip all the more intense…who knew?). We politely declined.
Another drug that unfortunately seems to have a significant place at my college is cocaine. Every so often I hear murmurs about people using it, which is very sad to me. I know a few people whose lives (not to mention their families’ lives) have been ruined by it. And why? For a few momentary escapes from reality. Ridiculous, any way you slice it.
(I know that what I just said probably won’t make a damned bit of difference, but hopefully those of you who agree with me will come up with ways to say this more profoundly and convincingly than I can.)
And then we come to the ubiquitous illegal drug: marijuana. Mary Jane. Weed. Pot. No thanks.
It’s like the 1960s all over again, for goodness’ sakes (so I’m told…no, contrary to popular belief, I am not a 60 year old in an 18 year old body)! It’s…interesting, to say the least…to see people breaking a law with such abandon. It never fails to remind me of how I’m wired a bit differently from many others, for better or worse.
Tonight’s lyrical selection: “Cocaine,” by Jackson Browne.
“You take Sally and I'll take Sue
There ain't no difference between the two
Cocaine, running all 'round my brain
Headin' down Scott, turnin' up Main
Looking for that girl that sells cocaine
Cocaine, runnin' all 'round my brain
Late last night about a quarter past four
Ladanyi come knockin' down my hotel room door
Where's the cocaine--
It's runnin' all 'round my brain
I was talking to my doctor down at the hospital
He said, "Son, it says here you're twenty-seven,
But that's impossible
Cocaine-- you look like you could be forty-five"
Now I'm losing touch with reality and I'm almost out of blow
It's such a fine line-- I hate to see it go
Cocaine, runnin' all 'round my brain…”
As a college freshman living in a dorm, I have seen, heard, and smelled some interesting things. One such experience was on the evening of the 2008 Mock Convention Gala. I didn’t attend said gala, so I was shooting the breeze with a few fellows in the Lounge, when a few tuxedo-clad gents stumbled in, giggling and whooping madly. They soon announced that they were “tripping the f*ck out on ‘shrooms,” and wondered if we’d like to join them in the library (apparently looking at rows of things makes the trip all the more intense…who knew?). We politely declined.
Another drug that unfortunately seems to have a significant place at my college is cocaine. Every so often I hear murmurs about people using it, which is very sad to me. I know a few people whose lives (not to mention their families’ lives) have been ruined by it. And why? For a few momentary escapes from reality. Ridiculous, any way you slice it.
(I know that what I just said probably won’t make a damned bit of difference, but hopefully those of you who agree with me will come up with ways to say this more profoundly and convincingly than I can.)
And then we come to the ubiquitous illegal drug: marijuana. Mary Jane. Weed. Pot. No thanks.
It’s like the 1960s all over again, for goodness’ sakes (so I’m told…no, contrary to popular belief, I am not a 60 year old in an 18 year old body)! It’s…interesting, to say the least…to see people breaking a law with such abandon. It never fails to remind me of how I’m wired a bit differently from many others, for better or worse.
Tonight’s lyrical selection: “Cocaine,” by Jackson Browne.
“You take Sally and I'll take Sue
There ain't no difference between the two
Cocaine, running all 'round my brain
Headin' down Scott, turnin' up Main
Looking for that girl that sells cocaine
Cocaine, runnin' all 'round my brain
Late last night about a quarter past four
Ladanyi come knockin' down my hotel room door
Where's the cocaine--
It's runnin' all 'round my brain
I was talking to my doctor down at the hospital
He said, "Son, it says here you're twenty-seven,
But that's impossible
Cocaine-- you look like you could be forty-five"
Now I'm losing touch with reality and I'm almost out of blow
It's such a fine line-- I hate to see it go
Cocaine, runnin' all 'round my brain…”
Friday, December 28, 2007
Ten Things I Learned In My First Semester Of College: Number 8—“In The County”
As I write this at approximately 8:15 on a Thursday morning, I can say with a grim certainty that I do not know exactly where I am. I know approximately: I am at a Holiday In Express somewhere near (or possibly within) Pocomoke City, MD, on the so-called DelMarVa Peninsula. I have a lovely view of the hotel parking lot and a KFC (no, I have not partaken, but I am guilty of a dalliance with a Popeye’s Chicken in Princess Anne last night). But, I don’t know anything more specific than that about my location on this crazy planet.
I know what some of you may be saying to yourselves at this point, dear readers, but it is not what you think. Indeed, your straitlaced buddy remains intact. This uncertainty is in no way due to my fist wild night of partying and drunkenness. I don’t know if I ever wish to have such a night given the anecdotes I have heard thus far in my college career. But that is a subject for another post.
I used to think I knew exactly where I was as all times, at least in America, but I was proven wrong (an experience I do not ever enjoy—perhaps one of my greatest flaws) earlier this year by some of my dorm neighbors. The short version is best presented in bullet-point form.
- Every physical point in my home state of Connecticut lies within the limits of a county.
- Every physical point within a county in Connecticut also lies within a town.
- Every physical point in the United States lies within the limits of a county.
- Every physical point in the United States does not lie within a town.
- Ergo, there are some (many, in fact) areas in the US that are not within the limits of a town.
To quote Eric Burdon, “this really blew my mind, the fact that me, an overfed [short]-haired leaping gnome should be” wrong. On that night, instead of doing my Calculus homework, I learned that people can actually live “in the county”—not within the limits of any town. It’s a depressing notion to me—not having a concrete town to call one’s own was obviously a big enough concern to Connecticut’s founding fathers, a fact that has not gone overlooked by yours truly—but to many, it’s the way things are. That the following sort of conversation can take place is a bit depressing:
- American A: Hello friend; you seem like an agreeable chap. How’s about let’s be chums, eh?
- American B: Agreed! Say, where are you from?
- A: (energetically) I live in the town of Avon, Connecticut.
- B: (depressed) Well gee, that’s nice…
- A: (puzzled) I say, friend, what seems to be the trouble?
- B: (stifling tears) I…I live in an…(sniffles) unincorporated area! (cue dramatic music, B breaks down in sorrow)
- A: Oh me, what a shame! (fades to black)
This brief dramatization hopefully gives some idea of my own perspective on towns, etc. I personally hope I’ll always live in an incorporated area. Subject to the lawlessness of the open frontier (not really), I just don’t know if I could survive.
No lyrical selection today.
—12/27/07
NOTE TO READERS: Please let me know what you think of these posts through comments (you can submit anonymously if you wish). If I'm boring you to tears, please let me know.
I know what some of you may be saying to yourselves at this point, dear readers, but it is not what you think. Indeed, your straitlaced buddy remains intact. This uncertainty is in no way due to my fist wild night of partying and drunkenness. I don’t know if I ever wish to have such a night given the anecdotes I have heard thus far in my college career. But that is a subject for another post.
I used to think I knew exactly where I was as all times, at least in America, but I was proven wrong (an experience I do not ever enjoy—perhaps one of my greatest flaws) earlier this year by some of my dorm neighbors. The short version is best presented in bullet-point form.
- Every physical point in my home state of Connecticut lies within the limits of a county.
- Every physical point within a county in Connecticut also lies within a town.
- Every physical point in the United States lies within the limits of a county.
- Every physical point in the United States does not lie within a town.
- Ergo, there are some (many, in fact) areas in the US that are not within the limits of a town.
To quote Eric Burdon, “this really blew my mind, the fact that me, an overfed [short]-haired leaping gnome should be” wrong. On that night, instead of doing my Calculus homework, I learned that people can actually live “in the county”—not within the limits of any town. It’s a depressing notion to me—not having a concrete town to call one’s own was obviously a big enough concern to Connecticut’s founding fathers, a fact that has not gone overlooked by yours truly—but to many, it’s the way things are. That the following sort of conversation can take place is a bit depressing:
- American A: Hello friend; you seem like an agreeable chap. How’s about let’s be chums, eh?
- American B: Agreed! Say, where are you from?
- A: (energetically) I live in the town of Avon, Connecticut.
- B: (depressed) Well gee, that’s nice…
- A: (puzzled) I say, friend, what seems to be the trouble?
- B: (stifling tears) I…I live in an…(sniffles) unincorporated area! (cue dramatic music, B breaks down in sorrow)
- A: Oh me, what a shame! (fades to black)
This brief dramatization hopefully gives some idea of my own perspective on towns, etc. I personally hope I’ll always live in an incorporated area. Subject to the lawlessness of the open frontier (not really), I just don’t know if I could survive.
No lyrical selection today.
—12/27/07
NOTE TO READERS: Please let me know what you think of these posts through comments (you can submit anonymously if you wish). If I'm boring you to tears, please let me know.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Ten Things I Learned In My First Semester of College: Number 9—Snow Sensations
As I write this, I am sitting in the car on the way to Christmas Dinner some 65 miles from home. The scene is, frankly, an ugly brown-flecked white, as the snow that fell about 10 days ago still remains, topped by an icy crust—the remnants of some precipitation from the middle of last week. Being a golfer through-and through, I despise snow, despite my New England upbringing. Previously, I’d always felt as though if I never saw snow again, I wouldn’t mind.
A few days before I left my lovely university in the South for Christmas Break, it snowed for about three or four hours one cold December morning. Only an inch or so accumulated, and as the temperature rose through the afternoon, much of it was gone soon enough. This wasn’t terribly interesting in itself—I know that the area where my school is located receives some snow each year (though happily very much less than I see in Connecticut). As I nearly fell flat on my face on the way to class, I cursed under my breath, but I then perked up at the thought that this could well be the first time that some of my dorm neighbors had ever seen snow fall.
Sure enough, I was correct. Two of my best college friends to-date—a Texan and a Floridian—had never witnessed a snow event first-hand. This fascinated me. Now, I’m not saying that I’m so ignorantly egocentric as to have been surprised that there are Americans who have never experienced what is a part of yearly life in the American Northeast (I should hope not, at least), but the revelation was a bit jarring anyway.
This little experience and reflection re-illuminated for me one of the most important non-academic aspects of college—the coming-together of people from all over the place. It excites me to know people who call places such as Florida and Texas (not to mention Fiji and Nepal) home, as they are places with which I would like to become somewhat acquainted someday. I would also like to think that people think my living in Connecticut somewhat interesting (and despite what people may tell you, dear readers, Connecticut is usually a lovely place), if for no other reason than the fact that I get to see snow fall every year. At the end of all this, I have a slightly renewed appreciation for snow. Though its prolonged presence will forever irritate me, I now see it as an intriguing bit of manna from the winter sky. At least for 12 hours or so.
No lyrical selection this evening.
A few days before I left my lovely university in the South for Christmas Break, it snowed for about three or four hours one cold December morning. Only an inch or so accumulated, and as the temperature rose through the afternoon, much of it was gone soon enough. This wasn’t terribly interesting in itself—I know that the area where my school is located receives some snow each year (though happily very much less than I see in Connecticut). As I nearly fell flat on my face on the way to class, I cursed under my breath, but I then perked up at the thought that this could well be the first time that some of my dorm neighbors had ever seen snow fall.
Sure enough, I was correct. Two of my best college friends to-date—a Texan and a Floridian—had never witnessed a snow event first-hand. This fascinated me. Now, I’m not saying that I’m so ignorantly egocentric as to have been surprised that there are Americans who have never experienced what is a part of yearly life in the American Northeast (I should hope not, at least), but the revelation was a bit jarring anyway.
This little experience and reflection re-illuminated for me one of the most important non-academic aspects of college—the coming-together of people from all over the place. It excites me to know people who call places such as Florida and Texas (not to mention Fiji and Nepal) home, as they are places with which I would like to become somewhat acquainted someday. I would also like to think that people think my living in Connecticut somewhat interesting (and despite what people may tell you, dear readers, Connecticut is usually a lovely place), if for no other reason than the fact that I get to see snow fall every year. At the end of all this, I have a slightly renewed appreciation for snow. Though its prolonged presence will forever irritate me, I now see it as an intriguing bit of manna from the winter sky. At least for 12 hours or so.
No lyrical selection this evening.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Ten Things I Learned In My First Semester of College, Number Ten: A Phallic Phenomenon
(As always, I apologize for posting so sparsely. Thanks for sticking with me.)
Like most college freshmen, a “whiteboard” hangs on the outside of my dorm room door. Perhaps I should have known that my tendency to invite constant fun-poking and jibe-slinging would follow me to college. I fell asleep my first night at school and woke up the next morning to discover that someone had obnoxiously drawn a penis on said whiteboard. Now I had gone to high school with a few people who enjoyed drawing such things on any available flat surface, so I wasn’t immune to the phenomenon. However, after all, this is college. You know, a time of maturity, of taking responsibility, right? Apparently not! Nary a day has gone by when I haven’t discovered such perverse artwork on my whiteboard.
It is also worth noting that this activity is not confined to the sui generis “three-second version” (though this is certainly the most popular manifestation). Oh no, dear readers, sometimes I emerge one morning to find a drawing so explicitly, appallingly detailed (courtesy, usually, of one Strong Islander in particular) that I must make audible my bemusement at human weirdness (usually a chuckle, sniff, or guffaw). I refuse to go into further detail because it would serve no good—suffice it to say that such scenes as are drawn on my whiteboard would hurt the eyes of any decent person.
BOTTOM LINE: It would appear that some young adult males are so very intrigued by their own, shall we say, unique equipment that they wish to express their love for said equipment by drawing it hither and thither. Is it because they feel inadequate and therefore must compensate by bringing such a heretofore-taboo subject into daily life so incessantly? Are they so desperate for the intimate companionship of another that their fixation with drawing penises should be seen as a cry for help and counseling? I am not altogether sure of the answer.
Perhaps an appropriate lyrical selection for this subject is the anthem of all those who are sexually lonely and frustrated: Jackson Browne’s ode to his own member, “Rosie.”
“She was standing at the load-in when the trucks rolled up,
She was sniffing all around like a half-grown female pup,
She wasn't hard to talk to; looked like she had nowhere to go,
So I gave her my pass so she could get in and see the show.
Well I sat her down right next to me and I got her a beer,
While I mixed that sound on stage so the band could hear,
The more I watched her watch them play, the less I could think of to say,
And when they walked off stage, the drummer swept that girl away.
But Rosie you're all right - you wear my ring,
When you hold me tight - Rosie that's my thing,
When you turn out the light - I've got to hand it to me…
Looks like it's me and you again tonight, Rosie.
Well I guess I might have known from the start: she'd come for a star,
Might have told my imagination not to run too far,
Of all the times that I've been burned, by now you'd think I'd have learned
That it's who you look like, and not who you are.
But Rosie you're all right - you wear my ring,
When you hold me tight - Rosie that's my thing,
When you turn out the light - I've got to hand it to me…
Looks like it's me and you again tonight, Rosie.”
Like most college freshmen, a “whiteboard” hangs on the outside of my dorm room door. Perhaps I should have known that my tendency to invite constant fun-poking and jibe-slinging would follow me to college. I fell asleep my first night at school and woke up the next morning to discover that someone had obnoxiously drawn a penis on said whiteboard. Now I had gone to high school with a few people who enjoyed drawing such things on any available flat surface, so I wasn’t immune to the phenomenon. However, after all, this is college. You know, a time of maturity, of taking responsibility, right? Apparently not! Nary a day has gone by when I haven’t discovered such perverse artwork on my whiteboard.
It is also worth noting that this activity is not confined to the sui generis “three-second version” (though this is certainly the most popular manifestation). Oh no, dear readers, sometimes I emerge one morning to find a drawing so explicitly, appallingly detailed (courtesy, usually, of one Strong Islander in particular) that I must make audible my bemusement at human weirdness (usually a chuckle, sniff, or guffaw). I refuse to go into further detail because it would serve no good—suffice it to say that such scenes as are drawn on my whiteboard would hurt the eyes of any decent person.
BOTTOM LINE: It would appear that some young adult males are so very intrigued by their own, shall we say, unique equipment that they wish to express their love for said equipment by drawing it hither and thither. Is it because they feel inadequate and therefore must compensate by bringing such a heretofore-taboo subject into daily life so incessantly? Are they so desperate for the intimate companionship of another that their fixation with drawing penises should be seen as a cry for help and counseling? I am not altogether sure of the answer.
Perhaps an appropriate lyrical selection for this subject is the anthem of all those who are sexually lonely and frustrated: Jackson Browne’s ode to his own member, “Rosie.”
“She was standing at the load-in when the trucks rolled up,
She was sniffing all around like a half-grown female pup,
She wasn't hard to talk to; looked like she had nowhere to go,
So I gave her my pass so she could get in and see the show.
Well I sat her down right next to me and I got her a beer,
While I mixed that sound on stage so the band could hear,
The more I watched her watch them play, the less I could think of to say,
And when they walked off stage, the drummer swept that girl away.
But Rosie you're all right - you wear my ring,
When you hold me tight - Rosie that's my thing,
When you turn out the light - I've got to hand it to me…
Looks like it's me and you again tonight, Rosie.
Well I guess I might have known from the start: she'd come for a star,
Might have told my imagination not to run too far,
Of all the times that I've been burned, by now you'd think I'd have learned
That it's who you look like, and not who you are.
But Rosie you're all right - you wear my ring,
When you hold me tight - Rosie that's my thing,
When you turn out the light - I've got to hand it to me…
Looks like it's me and you again tonight, Rosie.”
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
A Grand Old Time With The Grand Old Party
In the relatively sporadic life of this blog, I haven't really had the motivation to craft a bread-and-butter, straight-ahead political post. So, without further ado...
I watched this evening's Republican Presidential Debate (YouTube-themed) from St. Petersburg, Florida, and I feel compelled to give my thoughts.
- Tonight's biggest loser, in my opinion, was Mitt Romney. His night began poorly when he picked a childish fight with Rudy Giuliani, and ended up sounding like a guest on Jerry Springer (I'll comment on Rudy momentarily). Later on, when asked whether or not he took "every single word of" The Bible literally, instead of answering the obvious "No, but...," he stammered and stuttered an evasive response. When confronted by John McCain about whether or not "waterboarding" consitutes torture, he yet again dodged and responded very obtusely to a question he could have very easily handled.
- Tonight's winners, in my opinion, were Mike Huckabee, John McCain, and Rudy Giuliani, respectively.
- During the speaking time he was given (which was more than in previous GOP debates, it seemed), he showed the audience that he is as eloquent as any of his competitors. One of the people I was watching the debate with remarked on how smooth Huckabee is, which is a very good appraisal of his rhetoric. He rarely stumbled, showed energy, wit, and humor, and made his stances clear. I came out of the debate with much more knowledge of and respect for what Huckabee is about.
- John McCain continued his straight-talk way tonight, which gives him a lot of persnal credibility with me. Even though I don't support everything he supports 100%, I am impressed at how well he acquits himself against his fellow Republicans. And of course, his record and experience is simply unparalleled, which is a big bonus. I also reject the idea that he is too old, so his grandfatherly appearance suits me fine.
- I felt that his instigating the sily quarrel over whether or not Romney employed illegal immigrants (a topic I aim to tackle in a near-future post) with Romney aside, Giuliani came up with many fine answers tonight. I am sure that people are wont to criticize him for constantly referring to his experience as mayor of New York City, but the more facts he gives in support of his credibility as a candidate, the better I feel about him as a prospective Commander-in-Chief. In short, he remains my front-runner because if he can turn New York City 180 degrees, he certainly has the ability to affect the kind of changes in America that will be necessary going forward, be they in foreign policy, economic policy, or social policy.
- Ron Paul's ideas on foreign policy scare me quite a bit. Don't let him convince you that he isn't an isolationist, because that's exactly what he is. His reasoning that our problems with radical Islamic terrorism will go away as soon as we vacate the region is simply ludicrous. John McCain is correct--along with most of the other candidates--in saying that if we cut-and-run from the Middle East, it will symbolize a concession to arguably the most dangerous group of people in the world (and of course I am referring to radical Islamic terrorists, because as Giuliani correctly observed, Islam is a vibrant, peaceful religion that has been corrupted by a few sick individuals). That is a concession that must not be made. When John McCain was in Iraq over Thanksgiving and he brought up the ideas of the American war opposition, the response by the soldiers with whom he spent time was "Let us win." Those soldiers are absolutely right. They deserve the opportunity to finish the job properly, and that sure as heck-fire will not happen with any of the Democratic candidates or Ron Paul.
Okay, I've said enough on this matter for one evening. No lyrical selection.
I watched this evening's Republican Presidential Debate (YouTube-themed) from St. Petersburg, Florida, and I feel compelled to give my thoughts.
- Tonight's biggest loser, in my opinion, was Mitt Romney. His night began poorly when he picked a childish fight with Rudy Giuliani, and ended up sounding like a guest on Jerry Springer (I'll comment on Rudy momentarily). Later on, when asked whether or not he took "every single word of" The Bible literally, instead of answering the obvious "No, but...," he stammered and stuttered an evasive response. When confronted by John McCain about whether or not "waterboarding" consitutes torture, he yet again dodged and responded very obtusely to a question he could have very easily handled.
- Tonight's winners, in my opinion, were Mike Huckabee, John McCain, and Rudy Giuliani, respectively.
- During the speaking time he was given (which was more than in previous GOP debates, it seemed), he showed the audience that he is as eloquent as any of his competitors. One of the people I was watching the debate with remarked on how smooth Huckabee is, which is a very good appraisal of his rhetoric. He rarely stumbled, showed energy, wit, and humor, and made his stances clear. I came out of the debate with much more knowledge of and respect for what Huckabee is about.
- John McCain continued his straight-talk way tonight, which gives him a lot of persnal credibility with me. Even though I don't support everything he supports 100%, I am impressed at how well he acquits himself against his fellow Republicans. And of course, his record and experience is simply unparalleled, which is a big bonus. I also reject the idea that he is too old, so his grandfatherly appearance suits me fine.
- I felt that his instigating the sily quarrel over whether or not Romney employed illegal immigrants (a topic I aim to tackle in a near-future post) with Romney aside, Giuliani came up with many fine answers tonight. I am sure that people are wont to criticize him for constantly referring to his experience as mayor of New York City, but the more facts he gives in support of his credibility as a candidate, the better I feel about him as a prospective Commander-in-Chief. In short, he remains my front-runner because if he can turn New York City 180 degrees, he certainly has the ability to affect the kind of changes in America that will be necessary going forward, be they in foreign policy, economic policy, or social policy.
- Ron Paul's ideas on foreign policy scare me quite a bit. Don't let him convince you that he isn't an isolationist, because that's exactly what he is. His reasoning that our problems with radical Islamic terrorism will go away as soon as we vacate the region is simply ludicrous. John McCain is correct--along with most of the other candidates--in saying that if we cut-and-run from the Middle East, it will symbolize a concession to arguably the most dangerous group of people in the world (and of course I am referring to radical Islamic terrorists, because as Giuliani correctly observed, Islam is a vibrant, peaceful religion that has been corrupted by a few sick individuals). That is a concession that must not be made. When John McCain was in Iraq over Thanksgiving and he brought up the ideas of the American war opposition, the response by the soldiers with whom he spent time was "Let us win." Those soldiers are absolutely right. They deserve the opportunity to finish the job properly, and that sure as heck-fire will not happen with any of the Democratic candidates or Ron Paul.
Okay, I've said enough on this matter for one evening. No lyrical selection.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Blood: The Latest Hookup Medium?
It's really weird to come home from one's first couple months at college (more on that in a future post, I imagine) and find how little there is to watch on television. Nevertheless, I, like many of my fellow lazy college students (I suspect), have taken every opportunity to watch TV. The highlight--or lowlight; I'm not too sure how to label such an odd experience--was the latest episode of "Taboo," on the National Geographic Channel. The subject tonight: mating. The first segment dealt with modern vampires. Yes, you've read correctly.
The focus of the opening segment was an American couple, Heather and Vincent. Normal adult mating behavior is simply too boring for these two, so they choose to include an unusual element of foreplay.
NatGeo cameras roll as Heather lies on a bed, wearing a black bra over her torso. She smiles widely to reveal sharpened canine teeth on either side of the top of her mouth (this gal doesn't half-ass the vampire business!). Vincent (same dental situation, FYI) sits in a chair next to the bed and gazes lovingly into Heather's eyes. He produces a small scalpel from his pocket. He draws it lightly across her skin just below her navel a few times, forming a ragged red X. Using his fingers (his fingernails are also sharpened so as to resemble claws) and the scalpel to draw the severed skin apart slightly, he collects small spots of blood on the blade and his index finger. Hastily, he draws his fingers and his blade to his lips, and laps up Heather's blood, relishing it lustily and eerily.
It is worth noting at this point that before beginning this ritual, Vincent sterilizes Heather's stomach with rubbing alcohol. You know, to prevent anything from enering his mouth and body that isn't supposed to get in...
I'm in favor of "vive la difference" and all that, but...eww. Yech. Ick. Right?
No lyrical selection tonight, due to lack of vampire-themed music (are you surprised). If you're dying for it, just take the song "Hair" from the eponymous musical and substitute in the word "blood."
The focus of the opening segment was an American couple, Heather and Vincent. Normal adult mating behavior is simply too boring for these two, so they choose to include an unusual element of foreplay.
NatGeo cameras roll as Heather lies on a bed, wearing a black bra over her torso. She smiles widely to reveal sharpened canine teeth on either side of the top of her mouth (this gal doesn't half-ass the vampire business!). Vincent (same dental situation, FYI) sits in a chair next to the bed and gazes lovingly into Heather's eyes. He produces a small scalpel from his pocket. He draws it lightly across her skin just below her navel a few times, forming a ragged red X. Using his fingers (his fingernails are also sharpened so as to resemble claws) and the scalpel to draw the severed skin apart slightly, he collects small spots of blood on the blade and his index finger. Hastily, he draws his fingers and his blade to his lips, and laps up Heather's blood, relishing it lustily and eerily.
It is worth noting at this point that before beginning this ritual, Vincent sterilizes Heather's stomach with rubbing alcohol. You know, to prevent anything from enering his mouth and body that isn't supposed to get in...
I'm in favor of "vive la difference" and all that, but...eww. Yech. Ick. Right?
No lyrical selection tonight, due to lack of vampire-themed music (are you surprised). If you're dying for it, just take the song "Hair" from the eponymous musical and substitute in the word "blood."
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
An Alarming Revelation
I got the idea to post on this a few days when the idea first hit me, but naturally my laziness overcame my studious side.
A few weeks ago in my French class, we staged a relatively informal debate on the environment as a change-of-pace sort of way to get the class talking. My professor videotaped us for the purpose of showing the DVD to the class in order to point out phrases or idioms that we may have misused, etc. A good idea; no problem.
He showed us the video last week. My partner--who speaks much better French than I--and I were first up. As soon as TV Tim opened his big mouth, real-world Tim thought something closely along the lines of the following:
"Gadzooks! I never knew how annoying my voice sounded! I really ought to apologize to those who have had to deal with my constant jabbering on a daily basis. Aww, but then that would mean I would be doing even more talking on top of my normal load, thereby annoying them further. AAARRGHH, what's a weirdo to do!?!?!?"
This is not a new revelation per se, but it just seems that currently, my voice sounds more annoying and strange to others than it ever has.
It's a fascinating and strange phenomenon, when I experience it. I'm so used to hearing myself talk from a first-person perspective. But--for me, anyway--hearing myself talk from a third-person perspective is always quite jarring. This last time, I said to myself briefly, "Cripes! If I were someone else, well heck, I'd even be annoyed by my voice. That's a pretty grim idea, n'est-ce pas?
Thankfully, I got over this fleeting crisis in short order. Naturally, I know as well or better than anyone that it would be a fool's errand to try to suppress this unfortunate quirk of mine by cutting back on talking. So it appears as though I will blunder on, but with an added few thoughts on the matter:
Little experiences like the one I just described tend to put us in our place somewhat. It exposes something we tend to take for granted. It brings me back to perhaps the single most important lesson of my schooling: the first day of 8th grade, when my English teacher made clear for the class the meaning of the word "egocentrism"--the inability to think outside one's own perspective. At the time, I accepted it as a nifty word, useful in certain situations but otherwise fairly inconsequential. But in the years since then, it has become more and more clear to me that one of the most important battles we can wage is the battle over our own egocentrism. Realizing that my voice sounds rather different from my perspective, opposed to that of others, is just a small example of a fascinating struggle that must be undertaken.
C'est l'égoïsme; c'est la vie.
Tonight's lyrical selection: "The Battle of Evermore"
"Queen of Light took her bow, And then she turned to go,
The Prince of Peace embraced the gloom, And walked the night alone.
Oh, dance in the dark of night, Sing to the morning light.
The dark Lord rides in force tonight, And time will tell us all.
Oh, throw down your plow and hoe, Rest not to lock your homes.
Side by side we wait the might of the darkest of them all.
I hear the horses' thunder down in the valley below,
I'm waiting for the angels of Avalon, waiting for the eastern glow.
The apples of the valley hold, The seeds of happiness,
The ground is rich from tender care, Repay, do not forget, no, no.
Dance in the dark of night, sing to the morning light.
The apples turn to brown and black, The tyrant's face is red.
Oh war is the common cry, Pick up your swords and fly.
The sky is filled with good and bad that mortals never know.
Oh, well, the night is long, the beads of time pass slow,
Tired eyes on the sunrise, waiting for the eastern glow.
The pain of war cannot exceed the woe of aftermath,
The drums will shake the castle wall, the ringwraiths ride in black, Ride on.
Sing as you raise your bow, shoot straighter than before.
No comfort has the fire at night that lights the face so cold.
Oh dance in the dark of night, Sing to the morning light.
The magic runes are writ in gold to bring the balance back. Bring it back.
At last the sun is shining, The clouds of blue roll by,
With flames from the dragon of darkness, the sunlight blinds his eyes.
Ooh, Bring it back, Bring it back..."
A few weeks ago in my French class, we staged a relatively informal debate on the environment as a change-of-pace sort of way to get the class talking. My professor videotaped us for the purpose of showing the DVD to the class in order to point out phrases or idioms that we may have misused, etc. A good idea; no problem.
He showed us the video last week. My partner--who speaks much better French than I--and I were first up. As soon as TV Tim opened his big mouth, real-world Tim thought something closely along the lines of the following:
"Gadzooks! I never knew how annoying my voice sounded! I really ought to apologize to those who have had to deal with my constant jabbering on a daily basis. Aww, but then that would mean I would be doing even more talking on top of my normal load, thereby annoying them further. AAARRGHH, what's a weirdo to do!?!?!?"
This is not a new revelation per se, but it just seems that currently, my voice sounds more annoying and strange to others than it ever has.
It's a fascinating and strange phenomenon, when I experience it. I'm so used to hearing myself talk from a first-person perspective. But--for me, anyway--hearing myself talk from a third-person perspective is always quite jarring. This last time, I said to myself briefly, "Cripes! If I were someone else, well heck, I'd even be annoyed by my voice. That's a pretty grim idea, n'est-ce pas?
Thankfully, I got over this fleeting crisis in short order. Naturally, I know as well or better than anyone that it would be a fool's errand to try to suppress this unfortunate quirk of mine by cutting back on talking. So it appears as though I will blunder on, but with an added few thoughts on the matter:
Little experiences like the one I just described tend to put us in our place somewhat. It exposes something we tend to take for granted. It brings me back to perhaps the single most important lesson of my schooling: the first day of 8th grade, when my English teacher made clear for the class the meaning of the word "egocentrism"--the inability to think outside one's own perspective. At the time, I accepted it as a nifty word, useful in certain situations but otherwise fairly inconsequential. But in the years since then, it has become more and more clear to me that one of the most important battles we can wage is the battle over our own egocentrism. Realizing that my voice sounds rather different from my perspective, opposed to that of others, is just a small example of a fascinating struggle that must be undertaken.
C'est l'égoïsme; c'est la vie.
Tonight's lyrical selection: "The Battle of Evermore"
"Queen of Light took her bow, And then she turned to go,
The Prince of Peace embraced the gloom, And walked the night alone.
Oh, dance in the dark of night, Sing to the morning light.
The dark Lord rides in force tonight, And time will tell us all.
Oh, throw down your plow and hoe, Rest not to lock your homes.
Side by side we wait the might of the darkest of them all.
I hear the horses' thunder down in the valley below,
I'm waiting for the angels of Avalon, waiting for the eastern glow.
The apples of the valley hold, The seeds of happiness,
The ground is rich from tender care, Repay, do not forget, no, no.
Dance in the dark of night, sing to the morning light.
The apples turn to brown and black, The tyrant's face is red.
Oh war is the common cry, Pick up your swords and fly.
The sky is filled with good and bad that mortals never know.
Oh, well, the night is long, the beads of time pass slow,
Tired eyes on the sunrise, waiting for the eastern glow.
The pain of war cannot exceed the woe of aftermath,
The drums will shake the castle wall, the ringwraiths ride in black, Ride on.
Sing as you raise your bow, shoot straighter than before.
No comfort has the fire at night that lights the face so cold.
Oh dance in the dark of night, Sing to the morning light.
The magic runes are writ in gold to bring the balance back. Bring it back.
At last the sun is shining, The clouds of blue roll by,
With flames from the dragon of darkness, the sunlight blinds his eyes.
Ooh, Bring it back, Bring it back..."
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Follitics
Yes, dear readers, I've coined a new term. "Folly" meets "politics." I'm hoping that it'll be bigger than "truthiness" eventually.
A few days ago, faux-political pundit Stephen Colbert announced his intention to run for president. As a result, I am ashamed and furious. Allow me to elaborate.
Colbert's obnoxiously grandiose entrance (whether or not it's a fabrication is irrelevant; it's the principle of the thing that grinds my gears) makes a political system that millions of people take for granted even less serious. In the 2004 presidential election, less than 61% of eligible American voters cast ballots. Just think about that for a moment, but not too much more than that, because if you have even half a brain, thinking about it for more than a moment might well cause your head to explode, and we don't need any more of that. Anyway, such a low voter-turnout rate shows that people are too busy spending their time feeding their addiction to Facebook, playing HALO, getting drunk, and smoking marijuana (read: doing other things less important than voting) to help guide the direction their country heads in. You know, no biggie.
What role does Stephen Colbert (fellows Bill Maher and Jon Stewart are also culpable) play in this mad dash to the septic tank? Well, you see, he's a comedian (a crappy one at that) who makes his living lampooning any and every aspect of the political system; the protocol, the people, etc. But now, in the ultimate show of bad taste and disrespect, he's actually trying to enter that political system--whether or not he's at all serious does not matter--in a blatant attempt to subvert the system even more. To stand for the antics of this clown constitutes a complete disregard for the reasons why America as a whole is better off than the rest of the world. And that's no better than burning an American flag as an American citizen (an atrocity I believe should be repaid with immediate, permanent exile from the country, no questions asked).
The icing on the cake? My generation is taking this bag of nonsense and running amok with it. There is a Facebook group called "1,000,000 Strong For Stephen T Colbert," which now has 1,125,175 members. It's unspeakably, pathetically sad. It really is.
No lyrical selection tonight. Instead, I will define this new term.
fol•li•tics [fol-i-tics]
-noun (used with a singular or plural verb)
1. The deliberate mockery of the system of government, manifested by participation in said system, e.g. Stephen Colbert's stated intention to run for president.
2. The use of politics as a joke.
Sentence: Stephen Colbert is a prime example of how the American government system has turned into mere follitics.
A few days ago, faux-political pundit Stephen Colbert announced his intention to run for president. As a result, I am ashamed and furious. Allow me to elaborate.
Colbert's obnoxiously grandiose entrance (whether or not it's a fabrication is irrelevant; it's the principle of the thing that grinds my gears) makes a political system that millions of people take for granted even less serious. In the 2004 presidential election, less than 61% of eligible American voters cast ballots. Just think about that for a moment, but not too much more than that, because if you have even half a brain, thinking about it for more than a moment might well cause your head to explode, and we don't need any more of that. Anyway, such a low voter-turnout rate shows that people are too busy spending their time feeding their addiction to Facebook, playing HALO, getting drunk, and smoking marijuana (read: doing other things less important than voting) to help guide the direction their country heads in. You know, no biggie.
What role does Stephen Colbert (fellows Bill Maher and Jon Stewart are also culpable) play in this mad dash to the septic tank? Well, you see, he's a comedian (a crappy one at that) who makes his living lampooning any and every aspect of the political system; the protocol, the people, etc. But now, in the ultimate show of bad taste and disrespect, he's actually trying to enter that political system--whether or not he's at all serious does not matter--in a blatant attempt to subvert the system even more. To stand for the antics of this clown constitutes a complete disregard for the reasons why America as a whole is better off than the rest of the world. And that's no better than burning an American flag as an American citizen (an atrocity I believe should be repaid with immediate, permanent exile from the country, no questions asked).
The icing on the cake? My generation is taking this bag of nonsense and running amok with it. There is a Facebook group called "1,000,000 Strong For Stephen T Colbert," which now has 1,125,175 members. It's unspeakably, pathetically sad. It really is.
No lyrical selection tonight. Instead, I will define this new term.
fol•li•tics [fol-i-tics]
-noun (used with a singular or plural verb)
1. The deliberate mockery of the system of government, manifested by participation in said system, e.g. Stephen Colbert's stated intention to run for president.
2. The use of politics as a joke.
Sentence: Stephen Colbert is a prime example of how the American government system has turned into mere follitics.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
The War On Texting
I can hold in my objections no longer. I am officially declaring war on text-messaging as the new American pastime.
Have we really become so obsessed with "instant communication" that we must resort to this inane, distracting exercise? I try my best not to do it, and even when I must resort to it, I feel dirty such that I am compelled to take a shower immediately afterwards. Whenever I see the cell phone company (Verizon?) commercial whose main subject is the girl who sends "a record 43 text messages in three minutes," I must work hard to suppress my own vomit.
Why does text messaging irk me so? Well, dear readers, its principal function seems to be an expansion on the gross misuse of iPods--the continued individual self-isolation in society and the death of tavern culture. Put simply, people now much prefer to lock themselves up in their own little bubbles, rather than interacting with others. The contribution to this unsettling phenomenon by text-messaging (I refuse to use "text" as a verb, because that's just preposterous) is that people walk around with their noses buried in their RAZRs, SLVRs, and iPhones (that the Internet has been brought into the palms of our hands is a rant for another evening, and probably would go much like this one anyway), lifting nary an eyelash to acknowledge their fellow Man.
Maybe I'm asking too much, but I get anxious when I see people looking down at their phones instead of eating [insert meal name here], watching a movie, pulling out money or University Cards to purchase something, etc. Maybe I wish to wage war against text-messaging because I'm a wannabe attention-hog (which is a problem, knowing full-well that my strangeness repels many people). Maybe I really am a 65 year old at heart (after, some of my college peers have made that observation independent of my high school peers). Maybe I'm bored and have nothing better to write about. Who knows. All I can say is the following:
1. Please join me in the War on Text-Messaging, and
2. A pox on you, Tommy "Two-Thumbs" Thompson. A pox on you and your ilk!
Tonight's lyrical selection: "I'm Looking Through You," by The Beatles
"I'm looking through you,
where did you go?
I thought I knew you,
what did I know?
You don't look different, but you have changed.
I'm looking through you, you're not the same.
Your lips are moving,
I cannot hear.
Your voice is soothing,
but the words aren't clear.
You don't sound differnt,
I've learned the game.
I'm looking through you,
you're not the same.
Why, tell me why, did you not treat me right?
Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight.
You're thinking of me,
the same old way.
You were above me,
but not today.
The only difference is you're down there.
I'm looking through you,
any other way.
Why, tell me why did you not treat me right?
Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight.
I'm looking through you,
where did you go?
I thought I knew you,
what did I know?
You don't look different,
but you have changed.
I'm looking through you,
you're not the same!"
Have we really become so obsessed with "instant communication" that we must resort to this inane, distracting exercise? I try my best not to do it, and even when I must resort to it, I feel dirty such that I am compelled to take a shower immediately afterwards. Whenever I see the cell phone company (Verizon?) commercial whose main subject is the girl who sends "a record 43 text messages in three minutes," I must work hard to suppress my own vomit.
Why does text messaging irk me so? Well, dear readers, its principal function seems to be an expansion on the gross misuse of iPods--the continued individual self-isolation in society and the death of tavern culture. Put simply, people now much prefer to lock themselves up in their own little bubbles, rather than interacting with others. The contribution to this unsettling phenomenon by text-messaging (I refuse to use "text" as a verb, because that's just preposterous) is that people walk around with their noses buried in their RAZRs, SLVRs, and iPhones (that the Internet has been brought into the palms of our hands is a rant for another evening, and probably would go much like this one anyway), lifting nary an eyelash to acknowledge their fellow Man.
Maybe I'm asking too much, but I get anxious when I see people looking down at their phones instead of eating [insert meal name here], watching a movie, pulling out money or University Cards to purchase something, etc. Maybe I wish to wage war against text-messaging because I'm a wannabe attention-hog (which is a problem, knowing full-well that my strangeness repels many people). Maybe I really am a 65 year old at heart (after, some of my college peers have made that observation independent of my high school peers). Maybe I'm bored and have nothing better to write about. Who knows. All I can say is the following:
1. Please join me in the War on Text-Messaging, and
2. A pox on you, Tommy "Two-Thumbs" Thompson. A pox on you and your ilk!
Tonight's lyrical selection: "I'm Looking Through You," by The Beatles
"I'm looking through you,
where did you go?
I thought I knew you,
what did I know?
You don't look different, but you have changed.
I'm looking through you, you're not the same.
Your lips are moving,
I cannot hear.
Your voice is soothing,
but the words aren't clear.
You don't sound differnt,
I've learned the game.
I'm looking through you,
you're not the same.
Why, tell me why, did you not treat me right?
Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight.
You're thinking of me,
the same old way.
You were above me,
but not today.
The only difference is you're down there.
I'm looking through you,
any other way.
Why, tell me why did you not treat me right?
Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight.
I'm looking through you,
where did you go?
I thought I knew you,
what did I know?
You don't look different,
but you have changed.
I'm looking through you,
you're not the same!"
Thursday, October 11, 2007
A Note Of Thanks And Some Thoughts On All This
Because I can't hope to respond individually to a few dozen Facebook Wall postings (as much as I'd like to), I would like to thank warmly and sincerely everyone who wished me a happy birthday. It's nice to feel remembered, To those whom I have known for some years, I miss you all dearly, and to know that you're still thinking of me (even if it's only because Facebook has reminded you) warms my heart. To those whom I have know only briefly, I thank you graciously for your well-wishes, and I look forward to what lies ahead in your company.
It was a fairly inauspicious day. Nothing too grandiose. Just a couple classes, shooting the breeze with friends, dinner with friends, more shooting the breeze with friends. I am mostly alone in my section of the dorm (we don't have class again until Monday, so a lot of people who haven't gone home for the weekend are out on adventures and at social gatherings). My well-meaning neighbors were not able to convince me to break my vow not to explore the high-octane (and high-ethanol) social scene here until after fall golf is over. Sitting here, I am bathed in a feeling of dignity. Even though "18" is simply 17 + 1 on one level, the revelation that I am now 18 years old, recognized by the State as an adult, I am tempted to allow a certain new feeling of dignity to come over me. The next minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades will determine whether or not I have earned that dignity. It's going to be an adventure.
It's bittersweet, for sure. I don't know if I'll go so far as to say that this marks the end of my childhood, but I have to think that if not, the time to shrug off the title of "old boy" and the time to put on the title of "young man" fast approaches. It's going to be an adventure.
No lyrical selection this evening. The obvious choice is The Beatles' "Birthday," which would render its inclusion in this post rather cliché.
It was a fairly inauspicious day. Nothing too grandiose. Just a couple classes, shooting the breeze with friends, dinner with friends, more shooting the breeze with friends. I am mostly alone in my section of the dorm (we don't have class again until Monday, so a lot of people who haven't gone home for the weekend are out on adventures and at social gatherings). My well-meaning neighbors were not able to convince me to break my vow not to explore the high-octane (and high-ethanol) social scene here until after fall golf is over. Sitting here, I am bathed in a feeling of dignity. Even though "18" is simply 17 + 1 on one level, the revelation that I am now 18 years old, recognized by the State as an adult, I am tempted to allow a certain new feeling of dignity to come over me. The next minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades will determine whether or not I have earned that dignity. It's going to be an adventure.
It's bittersweet, for sure. I don't know if I'll go so far as to say that this marks the end of my childhood, but I have to think that if not, the time to shrug off the title of "old boy" and the time to put on the title of "young man" fast approaches. It's going to be an adventure.
No lyrical selection this evening. The obvious choice is The Beatles' "Birthday," which would render its inclusion in this post rather cliché.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
What A Stupid I Am
Ever since about the second week of college, I have been feeling pretty good about not being too overloaded with work. In fact, I derived a certain amount of amusement from hearing people speaking nervously of the stress caused by the amount of schoolwork they had to do. I was actually a little nervous, thinking that my relatively light workload meant that I might be taking classes that weren't taxing enough. Well thankfully and un-thankfully, I don't have to worry about any of that tonight. I realized that part of the reason why I felt as though I didn't have much work the past few weeks is that without even realizing, I had been neglecting to do a decent portion of it.
Apparently, college professors like to assign work, but sometimes don't collect it, at least not on the day it's due. Because of my hilariously pathetic failure to realize this and motivate myself to do the work anyway, I am now faced with a scary amount of backlogged French homework, AND I have to watch a movie and write a page-long critique of it, to be handed in tomorrow. I'll be 18 years old in a little more than two hours, and I still have yet to get with the program. Ah well. It's going to be a sleepy birthday.
Welcome to college, Tim, ya dumbass.
Tonight's lyrical selection: "Murder Incorporated," by Bruce Springsteen
"Bobby's got a gun that he keeps beneath his pillow (oh yeah)
Out on the street your chances are zero (oh yeah)
Take a look around you (come on down)
It ain't too complicated
You're messin' with Murder Incorporated
Now you check over your shoulder everywhere that you go (oh yeah)
Walkin' down the street, there's eyes in every shadow (oh yeah)
You better take a look around you (come on down)
That equipment you got's so outdated
You can't compete with Murder Incorporated
Everywhere you look now there's Murder Incorporated
So you keep a little secret down deep inside your dresser drawer
From dealing with the heat you're feelin' down on the killin' floor
No matter where you step you feel you're never out of danger
So the comfort that you keep 's a gold-plated snub-nose thirty-two
I heard that you
You got a job downtown, man it leaves your head cold (oh yea)
And everywhere you look life ain't got no soul (oh yeah)
That apartment you live in feels like it's just a place to hide
When your walkin' down the streets you won't meet no one eye to eye
Now the cops reported you as just another homicide
I can tell that you was just frustrated
from livin' with Murder Incorporated
Murder Incorporated
Everywhere you look now
Murder Incorporated
Down on your knees
Murder Incorporated
Everywhere that you turn it's Murder Incorporated."
Apparently, college professors like to assign work, but sometimes don't collect it, at least not on the day it's due. Because of my hilariously pathetic failure to realize this and motivate myself to do the work anyway, I am now faced with a scary amount of backlogged French homework, AND I have to watch a movie and write a page-long critique of it, to be handed in tomorrow. I'll be 18 years old in a little more than two hours, and I still have yet to get with the program. Ah well. It's going to be a sleepy birthday.
Welcome to college, Tim, ya dumbass.
Tonight's lyrical selection: "Murder Incorporated," by Bruce Springsteen
"Bobby's got a gun that he keeps beneath his pillow (oh yeah)
Out on the street your chances are zero (oh yeah)
Take a look around you (come on down)
It ain't too complicated
You're messin' with Murder Incorporated
Now you check over your shoulder everywhere that you go (oh yeah)
Walkin' down the street, there's eyes in every shadow (oh yeah)
You better take a look around you (come on down)
That equipment you got's so outdated
You can't compete with Murder Incorporated
Everywhere you look now there's Murder Incorporated
So you keep a little secret down deep inside your dresser drawer
From dealing with the heat you're feelin' down on the killin' floor
No matter where you step you feel you're never out of danger
So the comfort that you keep 's a gold-plated snub-nose thirty-two
I heard that you
You got a job downtown, man it leaves your head cold (oh yea)
And everywhere you look life ain't got no soul (oh yeah)
That apartment you live in feels like it's just a place to hide
When your walkin' down the streets you won't meet no one eye to eye
Now the cops reported you as just another homicide
I can tell that you was just frustrated
from livin' with Murder Incorporated
Murder Incorporated
Everywhere you look now
Murder Incorporated
Down on your knees
Murder Incorporated
Everywhere that you turn it's Murder Incorporated."
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."
~~~
"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…”
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…"
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…"
Friday, August 24, 2007
For Lack Of Original Material To Publish
Everyone's been doing survey things, so...
(hopefully this'll show up properly)
(hopefully this'll show up properly)
| Odd Facts about ME | |
| DO YOU SNORE?: | No one's ever accused me of it. |
| LOVER OR A FIGHTER?: | Hey man, I'm just a lover, man. |
| WHAT'S YOUR WORST FEAR?: | Big, sweeping change. |
| AS A KID, WERE YOU A LEGO BUILDER?: | No, but i dabbled in Duplos. |
| WHAT DO YOU THINK OF "REALITY TV"?: | I hate it. |
| DO YOU CHEW ON YOUR STRAWS?: | Vigorously. |
| WERE YOU A CUTE BABY?: | Very, even if i do say so myself. |
| HOW IS THE SINGLE LIFE FOR YOU?: | Okay, I suppose. |
| WHAT COLOR IS YOUR KEYBOARD?: | Silver, or grey (depending on your world outlook). |
| DO YOU SING IN THE SHOWER?: | I sing most everywhere. |
| HAVE YOU EVER BUNGEE JUMPED?: | No, and I don't intend to do so. |
| ANY SECRET TALENTS?: | If I had them and revealed them, they would no longer be deemed "secret." |
| WHAT'S YOUR IDEAL VACATION SPOT?: | Pawleys Island, South Carolina or Sonomo or Napa Counties, California. |
| HAVE YOU EATEN SUSHI?: | Yes, and I love it. |
| HAVE YOU SEEN THE MOVIE "DONNIE DARKO"?: | No. |
| DO YOU GIVE A DARN ABOUT THE OZONE?: | Fourteen and a half darns, in fact. |
| HOW MANY LICKS DOES IT TAKE TO GET TO THE CENTER OF A TOOTSIE POP?: | I haven't the foggiest of ideas. |
| CAN YOU SING THE ALPHABET BACKWARDS?: | I've never made an attempt |
| HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ON AN AIRPLANE?: | Yes. |
| ARE SPEEDO'S HOT?: | No. |
| WHAT'S YOUR STAND ON HUNTING?: | It's biologically sound, in moderation. |
| IS MARRIAGE IN YOUR FUTURE?: | And little Gavriches, hopefully. But a while in the future, of course. |
| DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?: | Yes, but only because it's absurdly messy. |
| WHAT ARE YOU ALLERGIC TO?: | Nothing. |
| WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SAID, "I LOVE YOU": | Earlier this evening. |
| IS TUPAC STILL ALIVE?: | No. |
| DO YOU CRY AT WEDDINGS?: | I doubt I would, but I do cry from time to time (I'm a sensitive male for the 21st century). |
| HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS?: | As an omelette, I think. |
| ARE BLONDES DUMB?: | Not at all. |
| WHERE DOES THE OTHER SOCK END UP?: | Hopefully on my foot. |
| WHAT TIME IS IT?: | 11:39 PM |
| DO YOU HAVE A NICKNAME?: | A teacher once mispronounced my last name, so some people now call me Garbage. |
| IS MCDONALD'S DISGUSTING?: | Only if you eat there more than once every two months or so. |
| WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WERE IN A CAR?: | This past afternoon. |
| DO YOU PREFER BATHS OR SHOWERS?: | Showers. |
| IS SANTA CLAUSE REAL?: | One never knows. |
| ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK?: | A teensy bit. |
| WHAT ARE YOU ADDICTED TO?: | Golf, talking, food. |
| CRUNCHY OR CREAMY PEANUT BUTTER?: | Crunchy. |
| HAVE YOU EVER RIDDEN IN AN AMBULANCE?: | No. |
| HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU BRUSHED YOUR TEETH TODAY?: | Twice. |
| IS DRUG FREE THE WAY TO BE?: | Yes. |
| ARE YOU WEARING SOCKS?: | Not at the moment. |
| HAVE YOU EVER HITCH HIKED?: | No; that's how people get killed. |
| WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR EYES?: | Brown. |
| WHEN'S THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?: | Just a couple minutes ago. |
| DO YOU LIKE YOUR LIFE?: | Very, very, very much. |
| WHOSE LIFE IS BETTER?: | No one that I know of. |
| ARE YOU PSYCHIC?: | No. |
| HAVE YOU READ "CATCHER IN THE RYE"?: | My all-time favorite novel. Period. |
| DO YOU PLAY ANY INSTRUMENTS?: | Alto saxophone and tenor saxophone. |
| CAN YOU SKATEBOARD?: | No. |
| DO YOU LIKE CAMPING?: | No. |
| DO U SNORT WHEN U LAUGH?: | No, but I have shed tears from laughing so hard. |
| DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC?: | I believe in mystical occurrences, visions, and experiences. |
| IS A DOG A MAN'S BEST FRIEND?: | I don't see Man's relationship with animals in that way. But, I dearly love my dog. |
| YOU BELIEVE IN DIVORCE?: | Yes, but only in extreme circumstances. |
| CAN YOU DO THE MOONWALK?: | No. |
| DOES YOUR MOM KNOW YOU HAVE A MYSPACE?: | Yes, but I am trustworthy. |
| WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?: | Ice cream. |
| DO YOU WEAR NAILPOLISH?: | No. |
| DO YOU LIKE SOMEONE RIGHT NOW?: | Yes. |
| WHAT'S THE MOST ANNOYING TV COMMERCIAL?: | HeadOn Headache Relief. |
| DO YOU SHOP AT AMERICAN EAGLE?: | No. |
| FAVORITE BAND AT THE MOMENT?: | The Doors. |
| Take this survey | Find more surveys Bzoink - The Original Survey Site | |
Monday, July 30, 2007
Long Time, No Talky-Talky
It's been a while since I last graced the Information Superhighway with my semi-organized blathering, so I'll endeavor to make this brief.
To put it bluntly, I had the nerd-highlight of my life today. If it is not already apparent to you, I am a nerd, and a proud one at that. One of my nerdiest daily activities is a few games of Scrabble through the Internet Scrabble Club (isc.ro ...join me, won't you? My ID is tgavrich07). Anyhoo, during the course of a game today, I played the word "fellated," with the "f" on a red Triple Word Score space, and garnered 88 points. I ended up winning the game. As I punched in this brilliantly irreverent play, I chuckled aloud, and did a "Yesssssss" that would have brought an envious smile to even the stoic face of Napoleon Dynamite.
Well that's all for now. Call me a nerd if you want--I'll cop to it. But you can still talk to me. I'll try not to breathe on you...honest!
Tonight's lyrical selection is especially apt, I feel.
"White and Nerdy," by 'Weird' Al Yankovic
"They see me mowin'
My front lawn
I know they're all thinking
I'm so White N' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Can't you see I'm white n' nerdy
Look at me I'm white n' nerdy!
I wanna roll with-
The gangsters
But so far they all think
I'm too white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
I'm just too white n' nerdy
Really, really white n' nerdy
First in my class here at M.I.T.
Got skills, I'm a Champion of DND
MC Escher that's my favorite MC
Keep your 40
I'll just have an Earl Grey tea
My rims never spin to the contrary
You'll find they're quite stationary
All of my action figures are cherry
Steven Hawkings in my library
My MySpace page is all totally pimped out
I got people begging for my top 8 spaces
Yo I know Pi to a thousand places
Ain't got no grills but I still wear braces
I order all of my sandwiches with mayonnaise
I'm a whiz at minesweeper I can play for days
Once you see my sweet moves you're gonna stay amazed,
my fingers movin' so fast I'll set the place ablaze
There's no killer app I haven't run
At Pascal, well, I'm number 1
Do vector calculus just for fun
I ain't got a gat but I gotta soldering gun
Happy days is my favourite theme song
I can sure kick your butt in a game of ping pong
I'll ace any trivia quiz you bring on
I'm fluent in Java Script as well as Klingon
They see me roll on, my Segway!
I know in my heart they think I'm
white n' nerdy!
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Can't you see I'm white n' nerdy
Look at me I'm white n' nerdy
I'd like to roll with-
The gangsters
Although it's apparent I'm too
White n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
I'm just too white n' nerdy
How'd I get so white n' nerdy?
I've been browsing, inspectin'
X-men comics you know I collect 'em
The pens in my pocket
I must protect 'em
my ergonomic keyboard never leaves me bored
Shopping online for deals on some writable media
I edit Wikipedia
I memorized Holy Grail really well
I can recite it right now and have you ROTFLOL
I got a business doing websites
When my friends need some code who do they call?
I do HTML for them all
Even made a homepage for my dog!
Yo! Got myself a fanny pack
they were having a sale down at the GAP
Spend my nights with a roll of bubble wrap
POP POP! Hope no one sees me gettin' freaky!
I'm nerdy in the extreme and whiter than sour creme
I was in AV club and Glee club and even the chess team!
Only question I ever thought was hard
Was do I like Kirk or do I like Picard?
I spend every weekend
at the renaissance fair
I got my name on my under wear!
They see me strollin'
They laughin'
And rollin' their eyes 'cause
I'm so white n' nerdy
Just because I'm white n' nerdy
Just because I'm white n' nerdy
All because I'm white n' nerdy
Holy cow I'm white n' nerdy
I wanna bowl with-
the gangsters
but oh well it's obvious I'm
white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
I'm just too white n' nerdy
Look at me I'm white n' nerdy!"
To put it bluntly, I had the nerd-highlight of my life today. If it is not already apparent to you, I am a nerd, and a proud one at that. One of my nerdiest daily activities is a few games of Scrabble through the Internet Scrabble Club (isc.ro ...join me, won't you? My ID is tgavrich07). Anyhoo, during the course of a game today, I played the word "fellated," with the "f" on a red Triple Word Score space, and garnered 88 points. I ended up winning the game. As I punched in this brilliantly irreverent play, I chuckled aloud, and did a "Yesssssss" that would have brought an envious smile to even the stoic face of Napoleon Dynamite.
Well that's all for now. Call me a nerd if you want--I'll cop to it. But you can still talk to me. I'll try not to breathe on you...honest!
Tonight's lyrical selection is especially apt, I feel.
"White and Nerdy," by 'Weird' Al Yankovic
"They see me mowin'
My front lawn
I know they're all thinking
I'm so White N' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Can't you see I'm white n' nerdy
Look at me I'm white n' nerdy!
I wanna roll with-
The gangsters
But so far they all think
I'm too white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
I'm just too white n' nerdy
Really, really white n' nerdy
First in my class here at M.I.T.
Got skills, I'm a Champion of DND
MC Escher that's my favorite MC
Keep your 40
I'll just have an Earl Grey tea
My rims never spin to the contrary
You'll find they're quite stationary
All of my action figures are cherry
Steven Hawkings in my library
My MySpace page is all totally pimped out
I got people begging for my top 8 spaces
Yo I know Pi to a thousand places
Ain't got no grills but I still wear braces
I order all of my sandwiches with mayonnaise
I'm a whiz at minesweeper I can play for days
Once you see my sweet moves you're gonna stay amazed,
my fingers movin' so fast I'll set the place ablaze
There's no killer app I haven't run
At Pascal, well, I'm number 1
Do vector calculus just for fun
I ain't got a gat but I gotta soldering gun
Happy days is my favourite theme song
I can sure kick your butt in a game of ping pong
I'll ace any trivia quiz you bring on
I'm fluent in Java Script as well as Klingon
They see me roll on, my Segway!
I know in my heart they think I'm
white n' nerdy!
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Can't you see I'm white n' nerdy
Look at me I'm white n' nerdy
I'd like to roll with-
The gangsters
Although it's apparent I'm too
White n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
I'm just too white n' nerdy
How'd I get so white n' nerdy?
I've been browsing, inspectin'
X-men comics you know I collect 'em
The pens in my pocket
I must protect 'em
my ergonomic keyboard never leaves me bored
Shopping online for deals on some writable media
I edit Wikipedia
I memorized Holy Grail really well
I can recite it right now and have you ROTFLOL
I got a business doing websites
When my friends need some code who do they call?
I do HTML for them all
Even made a homepage for my dog!
Yo! Got myself a fanny pack
they were having a sale down at the GAP
Spend my nights with a roll of bubble wrap
POP POP! Hope no one sees me gettin' freaky!
I'm nerdy in the extreme and whiter than sour creme
I was in AV club and Glee club and even the chess team!
Only question I ever thought was hard
Was do I like Kirk or do I like Picard?
I spend every weekend
at the renaissance fair
I got my name on my under wear!
They see me strollin'
They laughin'
And rollin' their eyes 'cause
I'm so white n' nerdy
Just because I'm white n' nerdy
Just because I'm white n' nerdy
All because I'm white n' nerdy
Holy cow I'm white n' nerdy
I wanna bowl with-
the gangsters
but oh well it's obvious I'm
white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
I'm just too white n' nerdy
Look at me I'm white n' nerdy!"
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
A Goode (sic), Humourous (sic) Programme (sic)
Well I'm sitting in a easy chair in my basement. It's 10:30 PM, and I'm watching what I have always thought was one of the most underrated shows of all time. That show, of course, is "The Wonder Years," which I have recently discovered, on channel 10 (ion TV is the name of the channel) from 10-11PM on weeknights (jeez, that sentence is choppier than the North Sea during a bad winter; sorry about that).
Anyhoo, although I quite enjoy watching "The Wonder Years," it does make me kinda sad. I find myself envious of the characters in the show, even when they're having a tough time of things. And the narration by an older, wiser Kevin Arnold (the show's protagonist) is spot-on, capturing nearly perfectly the feelings of a typical teenage boy towards life's little things. And therein lies the brilliance of "The Wonder Years." Even though it is so highly idealistic, it works very well. Even though it may be slightly dated, it is nearly as much Americana as hot dogs and apple pie.
Anyway, this wasn't a terribly insightful post (more like a plug for a nostalgic TV favorite), but it's more than nothing (though I suppose some might disagree).
Tonight's lyrical suggestion is quite obvious if you know "The Wonder Years." It is "With A Little Help From My Friends," by The Beatles.
"What would you think if I sang out of tune,
Would you stand up and walk out on me?
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song,
And I'll try not to sing out of key.
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends,
Mmm I get high with a little help from my friends,
Mmm I'm gonna to try with a little help from my friends.
What do I do when my love is away?
(Does it worry you to be alone?)
How do I feel by the end of the day?
(Are you sad because you're on your own?)
No, I get by with a little help from my friends,
Mmm I get high with a little help from my friends,
Mmm I'm gonna to try with a little help from my friends
Do you need anybody?
I need somebody to love.
Could it be anybody?
I want somebody to love.
(Would you believe in a love at first sight?)
Yes I'm certain that it happens all the time.
(What do you see when you turn out the light?)
I can't tell you, but I know it's mine.
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends,
Mmm I get high with a little help from my friends,
Oh I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends
Do you need anybody?
I just need someone to love.
Could it be anybody?
I want somebody to love.
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends,
Mmm gonna try with a little help from my friends
Oh I get high with a little help from my friends
Yes I get by with a little help from my friends,
With a little help from my friends..."
Anyhoo, although I quite enjoy watching "The Wonder Years," it does make me kinda sad. I find myself envious of the characters in the show, even when they're having a tough time of things. And the narration by an older, wiser Kevin Arnold (the show's protagonist) is spot-on, capturing nearly perfectly the feelings of a typical teenage boy towards life's little things. And therein lies the brilliance of "The Wonder Years." Even though it is so highly idealistic, it works very well. Even though it may be slightly dated, it is nearly as much Americana as hot dogs and apple pie.
Anyway, this wasn't a terribly insightful post (more like a plug for a nostalgic TV favorite), but it's more than nothing (though I suppose some might disagree).
Tonight's lyrical suggestion is quite obvious if you know "The Wonder Years." It is "With A Little Help From My Friends," by The Beatles.
"What would you think if I sang out of tune,
Would you stand up and walk out on me?
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song,
And I'll try not to sing out of key.
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends,
Mmm I get high with a little help from my friends,
Mmm I'm gonna to try with a little help from my friends.
What do I do when my love is away?
(Does it worry you to be alone?)
How do I feel by the end of the day?
(Are you sad because you're on your own?)
No, I get by with a little help from my friends,
Mmm I get high with a little help from my friends,
Mmm I'm gonna to try with a little help from my friends
Do you need anybody?
I need somebody to love.
Could it be anybody?
I want somebody to love.
(Would you believe in a love at first sight?)
Yes I'm certain that it happens all the time.
(What do you see when you turn out the light?)
I can't tell you, but I know it's mine.
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends,
Mmm I get high with a little help from my friends,
Oh I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends
Do you need anybody?
I just need someone to love.
Could it be anybody?
I want somebody to love.
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends,
Mmm gonna try with a little help from my friends
Oh I get high with a little help from my friends
Yes I get by with a little help from my friends,
With a little help from my friends..."
Monday, June 11, 2007
A Collection of Thoughts
My apologies for a somewhat prolonged lull in the action. To those of you still reading, bless you.
So, quite a lot has happened since last I wrote. Well perhaps that is a bit of an overstatement, but there are a couple things worth mentioning.
~ ~ ~
First of all, after graduating high school, I attended my first and second major booze-fueled social gatherings. And while I did not really drink at either (my personal feelings about alcohol are fodder for another post, but suffice it to say I'm not a fan), I must admit that I had a good time. Though I was a little unsettled to see so many of my friends and acquaintances stumbling and slurring their words and carrying on quite a lot, it was good fun to see people getting along so well. I was also pleased that no one placed too much pressure on me to drink. My personal distaste for consuming alcohol was respected, and I salute everyone for being kind in that way. I also had a wonderful time going to and fro with my van-mates (you know who you are), so all in all, it was a good weekend.
I will close this segment by saying that after these parties, I had somewhat mixed feelings about taking such a strict stance at these parties. However, I do not lament the time I had, and am sure I will figure out the right measure of personal strictness in college.
This evening's lyrical selection is somewhat random, but I like the song, so whatever.
"If You See Her, Say Hello," by Bob Dylan
"If you see her, say hello, she might be in Tangier
She left here last early spring, is livin' there, I hear
Say for me that I'm all right though things get kind of slow
She might think that I've forgotten her, don't tell her it isn't so.
We had a falling-out, like lovers often will
And to think of how she left that night, it still brings me a chill
And though our separation, it pierced me to the heart
She still lives inside of me, we've never been apart.
If you get close to her, kiss her once for me
I always have respected her for busting out and gettin' free
Oh, whatever makes her happy, I won't stand in the way
Though the bitter taste still lingers on from the night I tried to make her stay.
I see a lot of people as I make the rounds
And I hear her name here and there as I go from town to town
And I've never gotten used to it, I've just learned to turn it off
Either I'm too sensitive or else I'm gettin' soft.
Sundown, yellow moon, I replay the past
I know every scene by heart, they all went by so fast
If she's passin' back this way, I'm not that hard to find
Tell her she can look me up if she's got the time."
So, quite a lot has happened since last I wrote. Well perhaps that is a bit of an overstatement, but there are a couple things worth mentioning.
~ ~ ~
First of all, after graduating high school, I attended my first and second major booze-fueled social gatherings. And while I did not really drink at either (my personal feelings about alcohol are fodder for another post, but suffice it to say I'm not a fan), I must admit that I had a good time. Though I was a little unsettled to see so many of my friends and acquaintances stumbling and slurring their words and carrying on quite a lot, it was good fun to see people getting along so well. I was also pleased that no one placed too much pressure on me to drink. My personal distaste for consuming alcohol was respected, and I salute everyone for being kind in that way. I also had a wonderful time going to and fro with my van-mates (you know who you are), so all in all, it was a good weekend.
I will close this segment by saying that after these parties, I had somewhat mixed feelings about taking such a strict stance at these parties. However, I do not lament the time I had, and am sure I will figure out the right measure of personal strictness in college.
This evening's lyrical selection is somewhat random, but I like the song, so whatever.
"If You See Her, Say Hello," by Bob Dylan
"If you see her, say hello, she might be in Tangier
She left here last early spring, is livin' there, I hear
Say for me that I'm all right though things get kind of slow
She might think that I've forgotten her, don't tell her it isn't so.
We had a falling-out, like lovers often will
And to think of how she left that night, it still brings me a chill
And though our separation, it pierced me to the heart
She still lives inside of me, we've never been apart.
If you get close to her, kiss her once for me
I always have respected her for busting out and gettin' free
Oh, whatever makes her happy, I won't stand in the way
Though the bitter taste still lingers on from the night I tried to make her stay.
I see a lot of people as I make the rounds
And I hear her name here and there as I go from town to town
And I've never gotten used to it, I've just learned to turn it off
Either I'm too sensitive or else I'm gettin' soft.
Sundown, yellow moon, I replay the past
I know every scene by heart, they all went by so fast
If she's passin' back this way, I'm not that hard to find
Tell her she can look me up if she's got the time."
Sunday, May 27, 2007
The End Of An Era
Well, ladies and gentlemen, that's all she wrote. My high school years are over. And I must remark that the last four years were well spent (not to mention the thousands of tuition dollars doled out by Ma and Pa). Now, I feel obligated to engage in some brief recapitulation of my high school years.
WHAT I ENJOY(ED)/FELT GOOD ABOUT:
- The People: I count myself extraordinarily fortunate to have coexisted with so many wonderfully bright, friendly people. People from various backgrounds, who created an environment of ideas from various perspectives. I know that had I attended public high school, I would not have been exposed to such vibrant characters and minds.
- The Learning: With such sharp, excellent faculty as there are at my now-alma mater (God, it makes me feel old to say that), who needs certification in education? Male and female, younger and older alike, there have been a great many adults who partially donate their own minds in the hopes of growing those of their students. Perhaps I will someday try my hand at teaching (though I'm sure some of you might not want to subject your children to my oddness), and this feeling is because of those who have taught me not only how to read critically, but to THINK critically. I now understand how to analyze myself as I would a great work of literature, and I am eternally grateful for all the wisdom to which our teachers have exposed all of us.
- The Community: I am touched by the keen ability in the school to understand people's differences and embrace them. My school has set an admirable example in this way; because of the wide range of interests that one may pursue, one is seldom at a loss for something interesting to do. Hardly anyone is unable to follow his/her own path (assuming that path is within reason, of course) because of the breadth of interests served by the school. I for one have always considered myself as existing outside the "mainstream," but I have never felt out-of-place, and for that I am indeed grateful.
WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN BETTER:
- The Society: While I believe the school knows how to celebrate one's differences, I have felt on occasion that some students band together and do not mirror the views of the school. I have at times seen and heard undeserved ridicule, and I am saddened that we are not more tolerant. But with the right leadership, people can be shown a more supportive attitude, and fewer people will feel resentment of "normal" and "cool" students. We all deserve a fair shake, and sometimes I have felt that certain people have been slighted.
As you can see, my general complaints about my high school experience are relatively minor when compared with my compliments of the period. I will air a few grievances against myself, however.
- I didn't exactly capitalize on the opportunity to "begin anew" and establish a more standard reputation than I had had in middle school. Don't get me wrong--I have never wanted to be a conformist, and I know I'm not cut out for garden-variety "coolness," but I think I could have done a decidedly better job of integrating myself into school society.
- I underachieved academically. I had a chance to wow the masses, and I just never found the motivation to do things like reading ahead in textbooks, going in for a lot of extra help, and studying seriously for important examinations. I certainly hope that I will learn these valuable skills shortly after the beginning of the next stage of my education.
- And speaking of underachievement, in terms of matters of the heart, I remain utterly, profoundly deficient. No more need be said of that.
Anyhoo, when all positives and negatives are taken into account, I give my high school experience a solid B. Not bad, but there is room for improvement. College begins the last week in August, and I will set about working on improving upon the solid B at that time. But fear not, I shall continue to blog, so stay tuned.
Tonight's lyrical selection: "Don't Stop," by Fleetwood Mac
"If you wake up and dont want to smile,
If it takes just a little while,
Open your eyes and look at the day,
You'll see things in a different way.
Dont stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Dont stop, it'll soon be here,
It'll be, better than before,
Yesterdays gone, yesterdays gone.
Why not think about times to come,
And not about the things that you've done,
If your life was bad to you,
Just think what tomorrow will do.
Dont stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Dont stop, it'll soon be here,
It'll be, better than before,
Yesterdays gone, yesterdays gone.
All I want is to see you smile,
Even if it takes just a little while,
I know you don't believe that its true,
I never meant any harm to you.
Dont stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Dont stop, it'll soon be here,
It'll be, better than before,
Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone.
Don't you look back,
Don't you look back..."
WHAT I ENJOY(ED)/FELT GOOD ABOUT:
- The People: I count myself extraordinarily fortunate to have coexisted with so many wonderfully bright, friendly people. People from various backgrounds, who created an environment of ideas from various perspectives. I know that had I attended public high school, I would not have been exposed to such vibrant characters and minds.
- The Learning: With such sharp, excellent faculty as there are at my now-alma mater (God, it makes me feel old to say that), who needs certification in education? Male and female, younger and older alike, there have been a great many adults who partially donate their own minds in the hopes of growing those of their students. Perhaps I will someday try my hand at teaching (though I'm sure some of you might not want to subject your children to my oddness), and this feeling is because of those who have taught me not only how to read critically, but to THINK critically. I now understand how to analyze myself as I would a great work of literature, and I am eternally grateful for all the wisdom to which our teachers have exposed all of us.
- The Community: I am touched by the keen ability in the school to understand people's differences and embrace them. My school has set an admirable example in this way; because of the wide range of interests that one may pursue, one is seldom at a loss for something interesting to do. Hardly anyone is unable to follow his/her own path (assuming that path is within reason, of course) because of the breadth of interests served by the school. I for one have always considered myself as existing outside the "mainstream," but I have never felt out-of-place, and for that I am indeed grateful.
WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN BETTER:
- The Society: While I believe the school knows how to celebrate one's differences, I have felt on occasion that some students band together and do not mirror the views of the school. I have at times seen and heard undeserved ridicule, and I am saddened that we are not more tolerant. But with the right leadership, people can be shown a more supportive attitude, and fewer people will feel resentment of "normal" and "cool" students. We all deserve a fair shake, and sometimes I have felt that certain people have been slighted.
As you can see, my general complaints about my high school experience are relatively minor when compared with my compliments of the period. I will air a few grievances against myself, however.
- I didn't exactly capitalize on the opportunity to "begin anew" and establish a more standard reputation than I had had in middle school. Don't get me wrong--I have never wanted to be a conformist, and I know I'm not cut out for garden-variety "coolness," but I think I could have done a decidedly better job of integrating myself into school society.
- I underachieved academically. I had a chance to wow the masses, and I just never found the motivation to do things like reading ahead in textbooks, going in for a lot of extra help, and studying seriously for important examinations. I certainly hope that I will learn these valuable skills shortly after the beginning of the next stage of my education.
- And speaking of underachievement, in terms of matters of the heart, I remain utterly, profoundly deficient. No more need be said of that.
Anyhoo, when all positives and negatives are taken into account, I give my high school experience a solid B. Not bad, but there is room for improvement. College begins the last week in August, and I will set about working on improving upon the solid B at that time. But fear not, I shall continue to blog, so stay tuned.
Tonight's lyrical selection: "Don't Stop," by Fleetwood Mac
"If you wake up and dont want to smile,
If it takes just a little while,
Open your eyes and look at the day,
You'll see things in a different way.
Dont stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Dont stop, it'll soon be here,
It'll be, better than before,
Yesterdays gone, yesterdays gone.
Why not think about times to come,
And not about the things that you've done,
If your life was bad to you,
Just think what tomorrow will do.
Dont stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Dont stop, it'll soon be here,
It'll be, better than before,
Yesterdays gone, yesterdays gone.
All I want is to see you smile,
Even if it takes just a little while,
I know you don't believe that its true,
I never meant any harm to you.
Dont stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Dont stop, it'll soon be here,
It'll be, better than before,
Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone.
Don't you look back,
Don't you look back..."
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Guilty Pleasures, etc.
For some, it's chocolate. Others, expensive clothing. Still others, BDSM. Everyone has 'em. Mine is a little thing called "The Soup."
Yes, readers, I love the show "The Soup" on E!. I know, it seems to run against my policy of finding the comings and goings of celebrities revolting and utterly petty, but I cannot help myself. The show--despite the fact that it discusses things that I abhor with every fiber of my being (and if you know me, that's a lot of fibers!)--is brilliantly zany and enthralling. Despite being a decidedly B- to C-list comedian, Joel McHale delivers silly and offbeat jokes with a kind of panache that makes them not only palatable, but enjoyable. Segments such as "Oprah's Va-jay-jay," "Let's Take Some E," and the "Kickass Clip of the Week" contain just the right mix of satire and bizarro celebrity behavior to divert one's attention from serious, worthwhile matters, if only for a brief, savory half hour.
~~~
In other news, I am about to shed my status as a "high school student," though that title in reference to me really deserves an asterisk (I have hardly behaved like a normal high school student, as you will soon see). In a brief eight days, I will cry like a little baby at Commencement, knowing that my days of sleeping on my cushy featherbed at home are numbered not in the hundreds, but in the dozens.
~~~
In still other news, I will be attending my first proper party the day after Commencement. I am both extremely excited and apprehensive about the experience. I am excited because I am eager to learn what such gatherings are like (I don't get out much, if you have not already caught on). I am quite apprehensive, however, because being the Class Dad, I have always stayed on the path of lawfulness and righteousness. I don't intend to become inebriated (I prefer to spend my evenings lucid), but I have a sneaking suspicion that some people are curious as to what an inebriated Gavrich would be like. I don't know if I want to know that myself. Ah well. It shall be interesting, regardless.
Tonights lyrical selection: "Streams of Whiskey," by The Pogues
"Last night as I slept
I dreamt I met with Behan
I shook him by the hand and we passed the time of day
When questioned on his views
On the crux of life's philosophies
He had but these few clear and simple words to say
I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
I have cursed, bled and sworn
Jumped bail and landed up in jail
Life has often tried to stretch me
But the rope always was slack
And now that Ive a pile
Ill go down to the chelsea
Ill walk in on my feet
But Ill leave there on my back
Because I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Oh the words that he spoke
Seemed the wisest of philosophies
There's nothing ever gained
By a wet thing called a tear
When the world is too dark
And I need the light inside of me
Ill walk into a bar
And drink fifteen pints of beer
I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Where streams of whiskey are flowing."
Yes, readers, I love the show "The Soup" on E!. I know, it seems to run against my policy of finding the comings and goings of celebrities revolting and utterly petty, but I cannot help myself. The show--despite the fact that it discusses things that I abhor with every fiber of my being (and if you know me, that's a lot of fibers!)--is brilliantly zany and enthralling. Despite being a decidedly B- to C-list comedian, Joel McHale delivers silly and offbeat jokes with a kind of panache that makes them not only palatable, but enjoyable. Segments such as "Oprah's Va-jay-jay," "Let's Take Some E," and the "Kickass Clip of the Week" contain just the right mix of satire and bizarro celebrity behavior to divert one's attention from serious, worthwhile matters, if only for a brief, savory half hour.
~~~
In other news, I am about to shed my status as a "high school student," though that title in reference to me really deserves an asterisk (I have hardly behaved like a normal high school student, as you will soon see). In a brief eight days, I will cry like a little baby at Commencement, knowing that my days of sleeping on my cushy featherbed at home are numbered not in the hundreds, but in the dozens.
~~~
In still other news, I will be attending my first proper party the day after Commencement. I am both extremely excited and apprehensive about the experience. I am excited because I am eager to learn what such gatherings are like (I don't get out much, if you have not already caught on). I am quite apprehensive, however, because being the Class Dad, I have always stayed on the path of lawfulness and righteousness. I don't intend to become inebriated (I prefer to spend my evenings lucid), but I have a sneaking suspicion that some people are curious as to what an inebriated Gavrich would be like. I don't know if I want to know that myself. Ah well. It shall be interesting, regardless.
Tonights lyrical selection: "Streams of Whiskey," by The Pogues
"Last night as I slept
I dreamt I met with Behan
I shook him by the hand and we passed the time of day
When questioned on his views
On the crux of life's philosophies
He had but these few clear and simple words to say
I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
I have cursed, bled and sworn
Jumped bail and landed up in jail
Life has often tried to stretch me
But the rope always was slack
And now that Ive a pile
Ill go down to the chelsea
Ill walk in on my feet
But Ill leave there on my back
Because I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Oh the words that he spoke
Seemed the wisest of philosophies
There's nothing ever gained
By a wet thing called a tear
When the world is too dark
And I need the light inside of me
Ill walk into a bar
And drink fifteen pints of beer
I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Where streams of whiskey are flowing."
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Score One For Justice!
Well my life is pretty boring at the moment, but Paris Hilton's isn't!
From fox.com:
"Psychiatrist: Paris Hilton 'Distraught' and 'Traumatized' Over Jail Sentence"
LOS ANGELES — Paris Hilton is "emotionally distraught and traumatized" over her 45-day jail sentence and isn't capable of testifying in a civil lawsuit against her, the socialite-reality TV star's psychiatrist said.
Dr. Charles Sophy has been seeing Hilton, 26, for the past eight months and has talked with her several times since her May 4 hearing for violating the terms of her probation in an alcohol-related reckless driving case, according to court papers.
Sophy said Hilton needs time to recover from the shock of receiving jail time before testifying in a civil case brought against her by actress and diamond heiress Zeta Graff.
Messages left with Hilton's spokesman and lawyer weren't immediately returned early Tuesday.
In court papers filed Monday, Sophy said Hilton is "distraught and traumatized as a consequence of the findings at the May 4 hearing ... and her fear of incarceration."
"At this point in time," he continued, "Ms. Hilton cannot effectively respond to examination as a witness or provide any significant input into her defense."
Graff filed a $10 million lawsuit against Hilton in 2005, claiming the reality TV star spread "vicious lies" about her. Hilton has denied that she was behind a report alleging Graff once tried to grab a necklace worth $4 million from her throat.
Superior Court Judge Linda K. Lefkowitz postponed the trial to August. It had been scheduled to begin this month.
Hilton and her pal Nicole Richie star on "The Simple Life," which throws them into everyday situations. After famously feuding and filming their parts separately last season, the celebutantes have reunited as camp counselors for the show's upcoming installment on the Comcast Corp.-operated E! network.
~~~~~~~~
From Gavrich's Brain:
I for one am ecstatic to see that for once, the rich and famous can't buy their way out of trouble. Boy, would I love to see the look on Paris' face when she meets her new roommates. Now that would be a reality show worth watching! It would be just the next edition of The Simple Life. Ah yes, I can see it now: "The Simple Life: In the Jailhouse Now"
Speaking of which, tonight's lyrical selection
"In The Jailhouse Now," written by Jimmie Rodgers (as performed by The Soggy Bottom Boys in "O Brother, Where Art Thou?"
"I had a friend named Ramblin' Bob,
Who used to steal, gamble and rob,
He thought he was the smartest guy in town.
But I found out last Monday,
That Bob got locked up Sunday,
They've got him in the jailhouse way down town.
He's in the jailhouse now, he's in the jailhouse now,
I told him once or twice, quit playin' cards and shootin' dice,
He's in the jailhouse now.
He played a game called poker pinochle with Dan Yoker,
But shooting dice was his greatest game,
Now he's downtown in jail nobody to go his bail.
The judge done said that he refused a fine,
He's in the jailhouse now, he's in the jailhouse now,
I told him once or twice, quit playin' cards and shootin' dice
He's in the jailhouse now.
I went out last Tuesday, met a gal named Susie,
Told her I was the swellest guy around.
We started to spend my money,
Then she started to call me honey,
We took in every cabaret in town.
We're in the jailhouse now,
We're in the jailhouse now,
I told the judge right to his face,
We didn't like to see this place,
We're in the jailhouse now."
From fox.com:
"Psychiatrist: Paris Hilton 'Distraught' and 'Traumatized' Over Jail Sentence"
LOS ANGELES — Paris Hilton is "emotionally distraught and traumatized" over her 45-day jail sentence and isn't capable of testifying in a civil lawsuit against her, the socialite-reality TV star's psychiatrist said.
Dr. Charles Sophy has been seeing Hilton, 26, for the past eight months and has talked with her several times since her May 4 hearing for violating the terms of her probation in an alcohol-related reckless driving case, according to court papers.
Sophy said Hilton needs time to recover from the shock of receiving jail time before testifying in a civil case brought against her by actress and diamond heiress Zeta Graff.
Messages left with Hilton's spokesman and lawyer weren't immediately returned early Tuesday.
In court papers filed Monday, Sophy said Hilton is "distraught and traumatized as a consequence of the findings at the May 4 hearing ... and her fear of incarceration."
"At this point in time," he continued, "Ms. Hilton cannot effectively respond to examination as a witness or provide any significant input into her defense."
Graff filed a $10 million lawsuit against Hilton in 2005, claiming the reality TV star spread "vicious lies" about her. Hilton has denied that she was behind a report alleging Graff once tried to grab a necklace worth $4 million from her throat.
Superior Court Judge Linda K. Lefkowitz postponed the trial to August. It had been scheduled to begin this month.
Hilton and her pal Nicole Richie star on "The Simple Life," which throws them into everyday situations. After famously feuding and filming their parts separately last season, the celebutantes have reunited as camp counselors for the show's upcoming installment on the Comcast Corp.-operated E! network.
~~~~~~~~
From Gavrich's Brain:
I for one am ecstatic to see that for once, the rich and famous can't buy their way out of trouble. Boy, would I love to see the look on Paris' face when she meets her new roommates. Now that would be a reality show worth watching! It would be just the next edition of The Simple Life. Ah yes, I can see it now: "The Simple Life: In the Jailhouse Now"
Speaking of which, tonight's lyrical selection
"In The Jailhouse Now," written by Jimmie Rodgers (as performed by The Soggy Bottom Boys in "O Brother, Where Art Thou?"
"I had a friend named Ramblin' Bob,
Who used to steal, gamble and rob,
He thought he was the smartest guy in town.
But I found out last Monday,
That Bob got locked up Sunday,
They've got him in the jailhouse way down town.
He's in the jailhouse now, he's in the jailhouse now,
I told him once or twice, quit playin' cards and shootin' dice,
He's in the jailhouse now.
He played a game called poker pinochle with Dan Yoker,
But shooting dice was his greatest game,
Now he's downtown in jail nobody to go his bail.
The judge done said that he refused a fine,
He's in the jailhouse now, he's in the jailhouse now,
I told him once or twice, quit playin' cards and shootin' dice
He's in the jailhouse now.
I went out last Tuesday, met a gal named Susie,
Told her I was the swellest guy around.
We started to spend my money,
Then she started to call me honey,
We took in every cabaret in town.
We're in the jailhouse now,
We're in the jailhouse now,
I told the judge right to his face,
We didn't like to see this place,
We're in the jailhouse now."
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Oh, The Irony!
I meant to opine about this incident when it was fresh in my mind, but due to my debilitating inability to be proactive in most anything, here it is, five days after the fact.
I am a pretty competitive person, which can be a problem when you're as generally athletically deficient as I am. Luckily, though, I am able to play golf with a decent amount of proficiency. So, ergo, I am a very competitive golfer.
Last Wednesday, my team had a match against three other teams. It was the most important match of the season to-date. Happily, I was able to piece together a very good round of even-par 70, which was good enough for a tie for the low individual score for the match. The other co-medalist shall remain nameless, but let's just say he was named after a Caesar. Anyway, upon finding out that my team had beaten his team (quite an upset), I was extremely happy, as anyone who could understand the gravity of such a victory would be. But evidently, I was a little too happy for this unnamed player, who very sternly said, "Have some f***ing class, Gavrich."
Now surely you see the irony of this. Why use the expletive in an effort to be more classy than another? It is a question I have mulled over at length, and am still at a loss to answer.
But wait, there's more irony!
I was later informed by a teammate that I have earned a nickname among the team to which the would-be Arbiter of Class belongs. My nickname: "Timothy Faggot." Thanks, guys. You're so classy; I wanna be just like you when I grow up...NOT!
Tonight's lyrical selection: "Poor Boy Down," by Mike + The Mechanics:
"He's a poor boy in his pocket
he's a poor boy in his shoes.
he's done his time
he's stood in line
that boy has paid his dues.
He ain't looking for a handout
he's just looking for a start
he don't hate anyone
he don't carry a gun
you can tell that kid is smart.
So you can't
REFRAIN: Keep that poor boy down,
You can't keep that poor boy down,
you can be unkind
you can rob him blind
but you can't keep that poor boy down.
(REFRAIN)
you can lie and cheat
you can chain his feet
but you can't keep that poor boy down.
And all down throught the ages
the kid's been treated rough
just take a look
in any history book
you can see that times were tough.
Now we move up to the nineties
up to the 21st
one day he'll stand
a full grown man
and be the same as all of us.
So you can't
(REFRAIN)
you can lock him up
you can break his cup
but you can't keep that poor boy down.
(REFRAIN)
You can fight and steal
you can drag your heels
but you can't keep that poor boy dow
(REFRAIN)
You can kick his ass
if the kid's got class
you can't keep that poor boy down.
(REFRAIN)
Let's stop the truck
go back and pick him up
you can't keep that poor boy down.
Let him go!"
I am a pretty competitive person, which can be a problem when you're as generally athletically deficient as I am. Luckily, though, I am able to play golf with a decent amount of proficiency. So, ergo, I am a very competitive golfer.
Last Wednesday, my team had a match against three other teams. It was the most important match of the season to-date. Happily, I was able to piece together a very good round of even-par 70, which was good enough for a tie for the low individual score for the match. The other co-medalist shall remain nameless, but let's just say he was named after a Caesar. Anyway, upon finding out that my team had beaten his team (quite an upset), I was extremely happy, as anyone who could understand the gravity of such a victory would be. But evidently, I was a little too happy for this unnamed player, who very sternly said, "Have some f***ing class, Gavrich."
Now surely you see the irony of this. Why use the expletive in an effort to be more classy than another? It is a question I have mulled over at length, and am still at a loss to answer.
But wait, there's more irony!
I was later informed by a teammate that I have earned a nickname among the team to which the would-be Arbiter of Class belongs. My nickname: "Timothy Faggot." Thanks, guys. You're so classy; I wanna be just like you when I grow up...NOT!
Tonight's lyrical selection: "Poor Boy Down," by Mike + The Mechanics:
"He's a poor boy in his pocket
he's a poor boy in his shoes.
he's done his time
he's stood in line
that boy has paid his dues.
He ain't looking for a handout
he's just looking for a start
he don't hate anyone
he don't carry a gun
you can tell that kid is smart.
So you can't
REFRAIN: Keep that poor boy down,
You can't keep that poor boy down,
you can be unkind
you can rob him blind
but you can't keep that poor boy down.
(REFRAIN)
you can lie and cheat
you can chain his feet
but you can't keep that poor boy down.
And all down throught the ages
the kid's been treated rough
just take a look
in any history book
you can see that times were tough.
Now we move up to the nineties
up to the 21st
one day he'll stand
a full grown man
and be the same as all of us.
So you can't
(REFRAIN)
you can lock him up
you can break his cup
but you can't keep that poor boy down.
(REFRAIN)
You can fight and steal
you can drag your heels
but you can't keep that poor boy dow
(REFRAIN)
You can kick his ass
if the kid's got class
you can't keep that poor boy down.
(REFRAIN)
Let's stop the truck
go back and pick him up
you can't keep that poor boy down.
Let him go!"
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Something Momentous
Well readers, it appears as though barring any monumental academic collapse or significant legal misadventure, I am headed to the mountains of Virginia and Washington & Lee University next year. I look eagerly forward to four more years spent in an idyllic setting among fellow intellectuals, learning, playing, relaxing, and "becoming my best self," as Big Freddy Nietzsche would say. That said, I am still apprehensive about a few things.
- LEAVING THE NEST: I tend to grow homesick after being apart from my family for a period of time. I suppose everyone does, but mixed in with the blissful hours I will spend among new friends and colleagues, there will be periods of loneliness mixed in. Such is college, and such is life.
- KEEPING UP: I have always had outside motivation for doing my work diligently and to the best of my abilities. I won't have many eyes looking over my shoulder, making sure I'm on task and on time. I would like to think that I will be able to grasp the reins of responsibility and use them effectively, but I am somewhat uncertain. It will be an interesting experience.
- LIVING IN HARMONY: I am fairly confident that for better or worse, the people with whom I will be living next year have never encountered someone quite like me. I will go to them (and they to me) with a clean slate. What sort of reputation will my initial actions create? Will I be able to control myself so that I don't irk people. These are questions with a range of answers--which will turn out to be correct?
- WOOING AND COOING: Will I finally have a breakthrough when it comes to girls/women, or will my shyness hinder me as profoundly as it has throughout my high school years? Will I meet someone who is compatible with me? Will I be seen as compatible? Desirable? Time will tell, I suppose.
Before tonight's lyrical selection, I would like to thank you "Phoebe," for your kind comment on my last post. If you see fit at any time to reveal yourself, I would be pleased to know who you are. But at the same time, I fully understand your desire to conceal your identity. Regardless, I extend my sincerest gratitude to you.
Tonight's selection: "Visions of Johanna," by Bob Dylan
"Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it
And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptin' you to defy it
Lights flicker from the opposite loft
In this room the heat pipes just cough
The country music station plays soft
But there's nothing, really nothing to turn off
Just Louise and her lover so entwined
And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind.
In the empty lot where the ladies play blindman's bluff with the key chain
And the all-night girls they whisper of escapades out on the "D" train
We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight
Ask himself if it's him or them that's really insane
Louise, she's all right, she's just near
She's delicate and seems like the mirror
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Johanna's not here
The ghost of 'lectricity howls in the bones of her face
Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place.
Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously
He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
He's sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall while I'm in the hall
How can I explain?
Oh, it's so hard to get on
And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn.
Inside the museums, Infinity goes up on trial
Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while
But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles
See the primitive wallflower freeze
When the jelly-faced women all sneeze
Hear the one with the mustache say, "Jeeze
I can't find my knees"
Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule
But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel.
The peddler now speaks to the countess who's pretending to care for him
Sayin', "Name me someone that's not a parasite and I'll go out and say a prayer for him"
But like Louise always says
"Ya can't look at much, can ya man?"
As she, herself, prepares for him
And Madonna, she still has not showed
We see this empty cage now corrode
Where her cape of the stage once had flowed
The fiddler, he now steps to the road
He writes ev'rything's been returned which was owed
On the back of the fish truck that loads
While my conscience explodes
The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain
And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain."
- LEAVING THE NEST: I tend to grow homesick after being apart from my family for a period of time. I suppose everyone does, but mixed in with the blissful hours I will spend among new friends and colleagues, there will be periods of loneliness mixed in. Such is college, and such is life.
- KEEPING UP: I have always had outside motivation for doing my work diligently and to the best of my abilities. I won't have many eyes looking over my shoulder, making sure I'm on task and on time. I would like to think that I will be able to grasp the reins of responsibility and use them effectively, but I am somewhat uncertain. It will be an interesting experience.
- LIVING IN HARMONY: I am fairly confident that for better or worse, the people with whom I will be living next year have never encountered someone quite like me. I will go to them (and they to me) with a clean slate. What sort of reputation will my initial actions create? Will I be able to control myself so that I don't irk people. These are questions with a range of answers--which will turn out to be correct?
- WOOING AND COOING: Will I finally have a breakthrough when it comes to girls/women, or will my shyness hinder me as profoundly as it has throughout my high school years? Will I meet someone who is compatible with me? Will I be seen as compatible? Desirable? Time will tell, I suppose.
Before tonight's lyrical selection, I would like to thank you "Phoebe," for your kind comment on my last post. If you see fit at any time to reveal yourself, I would be pleased to know who you are. But at the same time, I fully understand your desire to conceal your identity. Regardless, I extend my sincerest gratitude to you.
Tonight's selection: "Visions of Johanna," by Bob Dylan
"Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it
And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptin' you to defy it
Lights flicker from the opposite loft
In this room the heat pipes just cough
The country music station plays soft
But there's nothing, really nothing to turn off
Just Louise and her lover so entwined
And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind.
In the empty lot where the ladies play blindman's bluff with the key chain
And the all-night girls they whisper of escapades out on the "D" train
We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight
Ask himself if it's him or them that's really insane
Louise, she's all right, she's just near
She's delicate and seems like the mirror
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Johanna's not here
The ghost of 'lectricity howls in the bones of her face
Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place.
Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously
He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
He's sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall while I'm in the hall
How can I explain?
Oh, it's so hard to get on
And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn.
Inside the museums, Infinity goes up on trial
Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while
But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles
See the primitive wallflower freeze
When the jelly-faced women all sneeze
Hear the one with the mustache say, "Jeeze
I can't find my knees"
Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule
But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel.
The peddler now speaks to the countess who's pretending to care for him
Sayin', "Name me someone that's not a parasite and I'll go out and say a prayer for him"
But like Louise always says
"Ya can't look at much, can ya man?"
As she, herself, prepares for him
And Madonna, she still has not showed
We see this empty cage now corrode
Where her cape of the stage once had flowed
The fiddler, he now steps to the road
He writes ev'rything's been returned which was owed
On the back of the fish truck that loads
While my conscience explodes
The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain
And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain."
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