El Greco Hands

Kurt Vonnegut

2007-04-12T17:22:00.000-04:00

I can't claim to be the biggest acolyte, but I am a minor fan. Today I'm another proud fellow Hoosier. Don't tell me Indiana never did anything for American culture. The middle isn't for flying over. It's for the quiet cultivation of crops and minds to be shipped away to the East and West.

Quote of the Day

2007-01-02T13:48:00.000-05:00

This is probably quote of the month seeing as how regularly I come back here, but this amused me. Anyone who's been to this Mecca of Flight Delays will attest to this statement from a United worker. It concerns a UFO sighting at my second favorite Chicago airport:

"To fly 7 million light years to O'Hare and then have to turn around and go home because your gate was occupied is simply unacceptable."

I once waited over an hour on an airplane for a gate to open up so that we could deplane.

In other news, I'm bored.

Worst Ever?

2006-12-04T13:07:00.000-05:00

This is bigger than it seems. Eric Foner is a truly brilliant historian and quite possibly my favorite. His book on Reconstruction has almost single-handedly shifted the way people think about America in the past and in the present. I studied under some of his acolytes at the big H. For him to write this is huge.

Although somewhat to the left, he's respected by people across the spectrum. This is a major statement coming from a man of his seriousness. The Michael Moore comparisons will not stand.

I'm not sure I disagree. I've mentioned this to friends in the last couple of weeks. I've always thought that people who thought he was the worst ever were blowhards and stupid. Now, I'm scared to say that I've come to the same conclusion. I think the failure in Iraq the last couple of months has really hit home, as has the way in which he exploited a great nation in its time of weakness and vulnerability to call upon our darker angels to hold on to political power and demonize the opposition, dividing us when we should have been united.

And then today comes this. Read it. Look at the pictures. And ask yourself how we came to this point.

Benedict the Fabulous Lives!

2006-11-29T16:57:00.000-05:00

The piece I wrote for the Advocate nearly a year ago has been brought back from the grave. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that I provided the blogger of record with my piece as response to one of his posts on the pope's fashion. But anyway, here it is:

http://time.blogs.com/daily_dish/2006/11/papal_fashion.html

In other news

2006-11-14T11:46:00.000-05:00

We have a leak. I woke up this morning, and we have a leak. Water was pouring into our living room on top of our vcr. We have a big lobster pot collecting water, and we expect it to fill up by the time we get back from work. Never trust a man in a toupee. That's a mistake I'll never make again. Although I must say that they seem to be on top of it.

I'm going home on Friday. The Lush and I are going to the IU/Purdue game with a bunch of Region Rats. Should be one for the highlight reel.

I love Thanksgiving, but I'm not too enthused this year. I've been feeling a little smothered, and family holidays do little to relieve that feeling. Really excited to see family despite this. Mom's been driving me absolutely bonkos. Maybe I'll just spend most of my time with Grandma.

I'm reading Menand's The Metaphysical Club at home and Don Quixote during my lunch breaks. I can't say enough good things about both of them. Quixote's just incredible. Another book that can best be described as a miracle. Reading it is like nailing jello to a wall. (Little Russ would say I've never tried his sister's jello. WAAHAHAHAHA! Man is Tim Russert unfunny. Not like my main man Chris Matthews who drives me crazy, but will sometimes surprise me.) Actually, it's like trying to catch a cloud and pin it down. Nope, that doesn't work either. The truth is that not much compares to the experience of reading about Our Man in La Mancha. My perspective and interpretation of Quixote is constantly changing. In some ways it is a mirror on the reader's soul. The Metaphysical Club is just eternally frustrating as Menand distills big ideas in elegant sentences that twist my brain in knots. But it pushes forward with a narrative that is heartbreaking and inspiring and all those things. Who knew scholarship could be so vital?

My friend Rusk and I spent all of Saturday outside because it was beautiful, so we just strolled all through Boston. A truly great day in my life.

The last couple of days have been all too typical of this city. Cloudy, dark, and rainy. The sun's light has barely filtered through the clouds, so it always looks like dusk around here. And I always get home with soaked cuffs. Also, they're doing construction all along my route home, so I'm walking in the street, off the sidewalk, stepping in puddles, getting mud everywhere, dodging cars. It sucks. Why can't they do the sidewalks one side of the street at a time. Why? Because it's Slummerville and they do what they want. Municipal Freedom Gives National Strength. My ass. Municipal Freedom Gives Wet Clothing and a Shitty Disposition.

I loved the election. It restored my faith in this great country and reminded me why I'm an Americanist. That's a term I know Schnocone despises, but it's what I had been in Hist & Lit, and it still occupies my extracurricular mind. That doesn't mean I don't love packing a suitcase and lighting out. That's a proposition that's looking more and more appealing as time goes on. There's something so refreshing about getting along in a country where your language skills are clipped.

That said, Beulah and I are going to go see Volver once we get back from Thanksgiving. I've been waiting far too long to see this movie. Last week I watched Todo sobre mi madre with Bobeena. Loved it all over again.

I'm rambling.

An Oldie but a Goodie

2006-11-14T11:42:00.001-05:00

So I was talking with the Lush about how boring life is. I think that's pretty much the main reason why this blog thing hasn't been working out so well. In that spirit, I'm reposting an entry that I wrote last year, when I was in Istanbul. I can't believe my life used to be this exciting:

The Hostal of the Damned

For other people, the hostal I'm staying in may be considered hell, but for me, I just like to call it home. In the hostal are many colorful characters, although they have basically all fallen on hard times. There's a ton of Peruvians who are staying there for a few months to make money because 1) It's hard to make money in Peru and 2) Their Peruvian passport won't get them into any other country. It's somewhat sad if you start to think about it and develop the horribly condescending emotion of pity, but they're all amazingly friendly people who love that we get to use our broken Spanish with them. Last night, they tried to give us free hot water for our tea, but the grumbling night manager made sure that we payed for the use of gas since gas and electricity are very costly in Turkey.

Also living in our hostal is a long-haired Syran political refugee who I've come to believe is a nihilist, based on the fact that he likes to use "fucking" when describing power structures, the media, government, and especially the "fucking garbage" that is television. Also adding to his cv of the damned is his long, straggly hair and evidently useless, bluish/cataractic right eye. Quite the card.

Adding to the atmosphere of the inferno is that there are numerous passing souls who are extremely friendly, but abruptly leave. The first night in the hostal we spent chatting with a Kiwi, a Brit-Kiwi, and an Aussie, Oh My. They were great fun--primary school teachers on vacation, bemoaning their inner city students, especially the seven year old with a buxom rack, and another kid who likes to imitate sexual moans when they're learning vowels and is sure to impregnate every girl around him once he reaches puberty. Of course, these figures were too good to be true and vanished quickly. Another purgatory-like figures were the Germans who bought a bus ticket and were just waiting in our living room for the bus, before they were kicked out by the crotchety night guy who charged us for gas. The exception to the rule is this supremely awesome Spanish couple who we've spent a lot of time talking to, but are never around when we just want to hang out. They're like the Vergils of our Inferno, guides who can wander into the inner circles of hell, but really are confined to the upper realms and don't much socialize with the people below them. Oh, right, and there's no heating and it's freezing in Istanbul at night, so we've got that going for us. The Peruvians told us they'd smuggle us in a space heater. God, I love the hispanohablantes.

V-O-T-E

2006-11-07T15:40:00.000-05:00

Throw the mother-grabbing bastards out!

Housewarming

2006-10-04T16:21:00.000-04:00

Last weekend we had a housewarming party. Wubulu,the Lush, and Schnocone came in. It was a blast. Words fail. I know I'm not Jewish, but I refuse to think that this bars me from speaking what little Yiddish I know or from making Jewish cultural references.

It's in this spirit that at the end of the weekend, I remarked on the thought that crosses my mind whenever the hometown crew comes together. I love the little line in the Seder "Next year in Jerusalem!" One of my favorite moments. Well, at the end of these weekend get-togethers, I often feel impelled to shout "Next Year in Chicago!" This region diaspora will not stand. This too shall pass.

But I'm not done with my wanderings. I feel as though I may be done with Boston after this year, but we'll see. I've never lived on the West Coast, so I think that may be next. Although I may save that for grad school. That unhappy proposition poked its head today as I was talking with a lecturer who edited my thesis. I told her that I wasn't quite fit for the office life. Her response: "Have you considered grad school?" Why does everyone want me to drink the Kool-Aid? Right now, I'm pretty sure I'm waiting until 25 before I commit.

I'm not going to Harvard-Yale. This is upsetting some people. Oh well. I'm going Big Ten style and hitting up the Breakfast Club for the Purdue/IU game.

The Sox ended up eating it in the home stretch. Completely and utterly disappointing. I'll console myself with last year's championship and hopes of next year. They've still got a pretty good team, they just underperformed.

Most people are comforting themselves with the terrific success of the Bears. I don't much like football, though. In the words of Don Fanucci, "Too violent." I got my fill in high school. I suppose I'll watch the Bears whenever they show up on Boston television, though. It's just difficult for me to support a sport in which all the players condition themselves in the offseason by beating their wives. On that note, I'm out.

Funny Men

2006-10-04T09:24:00.000-04:00

I wrote this post two weeks ago. Whatever. I think the deathwish truck driver deserves a mention.

Horatio Sanz fired. I call bullshit.

Hugo Chavez. Ridiculous.

Deathwish truck driver. If you're driving for deathwish, you might as well act like it. Also, it's a piano moving company, so it offered the hilarious death of getting run over by a truck and have a piano fall on you.

SNL can go to hell

2006-09-22T09:41:00.000-04:00

Yeah, the show's been pretty much unwatchable for at least the last four years. Still, the pruning they did was pretty bad. Actually, I'm kind of glad they got rid of Chris Parnell and Finesse Mitchell. They were awful. But while they were at it, why didn't they dump Darrell Hammond. He's overstayed his welcome by about six years. Once Gore was out of the picture, he was dead in the water. And Horatio Sanz. Dear, dear Horatio. The one cast member to have a skit that I actually laughed at (besides of course comedic genius Fred Armisen). That's right, I'm talking about "Carol." Easily the stupidest, most underwhelming writing the show has seen since "Simmer Down Now." Still, like Cheri Oteri, Horatio could somehow pull laughs out of nowhere. Ah well. While we're at it, some others who should have been led to the guillotine: Seth Meyers, Will Forte who couldn't find a laugh with a maglite and GPS, Kenan Thompson (he of the big-boned black drag characters who all have the same personality). What were they thinking? Once again, if the show hadn't already been in a four-five year decline this would upset me much more. Ah well.

The Deep Freeze

2006-09-18T12:30:00.000-04:00

We got cable this weekend. It's too much. Just surfing through the programming guide to find out what's on requires too large an effort. I don't have the energy. That doesn't stop me from watching way too much tv. It has a life of its own. I can't stop. I watched hours of a WifeSwap marathon. I can't stop.

The apartment is coming together. The living room is pretty much done. The job is rolling along.

Tomorrow is Primary Day here in Massachusetts. I still haven't decided. I watched a debate last week or so. It was boring. These things tend to be.

I just hit the tipping point in Augie March. You know, where all the description gives way to profundity. Pretty good. Still too long.

It was a beautiful weekend. Pity I was glued to the tube.

I love S&S. It's my favorite. I go there for the matzah ball soup and hot pastrami on marble rye. Same thing every time. The soup comes with a glass plate on it to keep the vapors in. It's glorious. But only one matzah ball is a little skimpy.

Going to a concert tomorrow night. Drive-By Truckers. Not that familiar, but a friend has an extra ticket and it's cheap. They're from Athens, natch. I hate natch, but this blog hasn't met its natch quota. I'm afraid I might get thrown out of the blogosphere if I don't meet this quota. They'd probably hire some natch scabs.

I hate our couch. There was a mixup and we got the wrong couch. We don't get the right one until Oct. 1. The wrong one is fake leather. And it smells like it.

Huey's in Nash Vegas for a week. Bobeena and I are left to our own devices. We'll probably starve. Pray for us. Actually, I think we'll be ok. Our scarily religious "Catholic Wall" will protect us. It must be seen to be believed. An El Greco Crucifixion painting, Duccio's Madonna and Child, an illuminated manuscript print dubbed "The Sassy Saint," Bolivian clay angels, and a shelf with a figurine, rosaries, and candles. It's quite something. Man, I hope I'm not on the wrong side of this whole sacrilege sacrilege thing. I'm pretty sure I have nothing to worry about. Right?

Benedict the Bold

2006-09-15T15:57:00.000-04:00

I've made no secret of my repulsion to Papa Ratzinger. Nevertheless, I have to say that I'm growing a fond respect for the old codger. For one thing, I respect his intellectual take on religion. He's obviously a brilliant thinker and master reasoner. This, I applaud. However, it makes one question his commitment to logic and respect of free will that he's so fond of coercing the faithful to accepting his dogma or not receiving the sacraments. Nevertheless, I think that his recent homily on Islam is striking in a good way. I regret some of his quotations from Empror Paleologus saying that the only thing new that Mohammed offered was blood. Still, no one in recent memory has offered such a scathing denunciation of the suppression and bloodlust that characterizes fundamentalist Islam. His condemnation of jihad and praise of reason are some of the most thoughtful words to come out of the Vatican in some time. Mmmm. More please. If only the Democrats could speak with such conviction.

A little bit of math

2006-09-13T10:24:00.000-04:00

20 vacation days
12 sick days
11.5 holidays
+ 3 personal days
______________________

46.5 days off per year > 9 weeks off per year > 2 months off per year=crazy

How is this man president?

2006-09-13T10:04:00.000-04:00

Unbelievable:

Guilty Pleasures

2006-08-22T20:26:00.000-04:00

1. "We Belong Together" by Mariah Carey. I love this song and I don't care who knows it. Ooh, especially the freakout part where she starts screaming, and you wonder whether or not she's going to have to go on another "exhaustion"-induced "hiatus." I've never liked Mariah at all, but this is just great.

2. Hot Pockets. I actually don't buy these independently, but when I'm at home I eat them compulsively. Along with String Cheese and Banquet Chicken Pot Pies. Those are all listworthy as well.

3. Dick. That Kirsen Dunst movie. I love it. Actually, I think I may go out and buy it. Is this even a guilty pleasure? I actually think it's a great movie. Hmm, maybe I should put another Kirsten Dunst movie on for good measure. Bring It On. Yes, that is sufficiently awful. Even sadder is the fact that I've sat through this movie in Spanish. Actually I've also seen Dick in Spanish. Weird. Oh, and I also watched the direct-to-video sequel to Bring It On (Bring it On Again) with Bighead. Give me a break. It was on basic cable, it was raining out, and we were bored.

4. Newsweeklies. I know it's so tragically uncool to like Newsweek and Time. So so middlebrow. New Yorker this, The Nation that. Please. Who has time anymore. I mean it's a magazine. They're all middlebrow. Just ask Dwight MacDonald. I'm really just a news junkie. I could easily Sunday morning talk shows on this list too, like This Week (my favorite) and Meet the Press on this list too. Actually, I like This Week but never watch it. It's on too damn early. So I have to settle for Little Russ because he comes on an hour and a half after George [Insert Greek Name Ending in Opoulos Here]. I actually don't really like Meet the Press, but I settle because there's no way in hell I'm getting up at 9 on a Sunday.

5. Blogging. Obviously.

6. I don't really have any guilty pleasure books like The Da Vinci Code. I figure if I'm gonna put in the time to actually read a book I might as well read a really good one. So I haven't really read any bad books that I really enjoy. I'll just say "How to Eat Fried Worms" because I noticed last night that they made a movie about it, and I remember really liking that book in 4th grade. I was shocked to remember this title because it had been completely stowed away in the nether regions of my brain.

7. Norman Rockwell. Completely written off for so long. There's nothing wrong with blatant Americana, though. Also, that painting of the little black girl being escorted into an integrated school is heartbreaking. "The Problem We All Live With." Go ahead, click. It won't make you less intelligent, I promise. Now then. Isn't that a great painting? You think the photographs are more powerful? If so, you're only half right. Without him, there very well may not have been an Andy Warhol. I can't really think of other guilty pleasure visual artists. If I liked Rubens, I'd put him up here, but I can't stand him. I just like the way he paints the grease on fatty flesh. Chagall? Nah. Beautiful use of color.

I think that's about it. I tried to include as many genres/media/whatever as possible. I hit a brick wall.

The Summer of...

2006-08-21T22:16:00.000-04:00

I mentioned last year how my summers seem to be themed artistically. Normally I pick out some artist to be the soundtrack of my summer and I stick by it. Sometimes there's a tie and it's hard to decide. Sometimes nothing really grabs me, so I have to make an effort. This time it was easy. This was in every way the summer of...
Sleater-Kinney

It makes perfect sense. I tend to like bands that have broken up or are past their prime. It's an exercise in masochism. So of course immediately after hearing of their impending hiatus/breakup, I decided to revisit their work. I never got The Woods at all. The Fox was so dissonant that it made me think the whole album was contrary. Now I absolutely love it. I've revisited One Beat, and have moved on to Dig Me Out. Did I get to see one of their farewell shows? No. Of course not. I probably could have made it to Lollapalooza, but even for me that would require too much of an effort and waste of money. It would easily have trumped the time I drove to Detroit twice to see the Stooges (there was the blackout, so the first show was canceled). Oh yeah, and I got a nasty traffic ticket on the first voyage. Yikes.

Beyond that, this is also the Summer of the Picaresque. I reread Huck Finn, and keeping in fashion, it is now my favorite book. Of course before that Beloved was my favorite book. Basically the last good book I read becomes my favorite. I think this may actually hold, though. I do love Beloved, but I'm not sure it ever really knocked out American Pastoral. Is that really my favorite? Hmmm. I'm thinking, and...yes, I think it is. Well, maybe Gatsby actually. It has a psychic grip on me. And of course it all comes from being a Midwesterner uprooted and transplanted on the East Coast. I think that chip is what makes the shoulders so big. Then why are mine so narrow? But anyway. I'm restarting Augie March for the third time. I really do enjoy it, but I just get sidetracked by other, slimmer volumes that pique my interest. Hmm, pique-->picaro-->picaresque. How about that? Well, the point is that once I'm done with this and moved into my new place, I'm going to start El Quijote. Wow. Good for me. I'd like to start it before Sept. 21 so that it can actually be the Summer of the Picaresque. There's really no way that I'm going to finish both Augie March and Quijote, but I'd like to get the final one started. Wish me luck. Who am I talking to? No one actually reads this.

His Sweat Has Made the Blind Man See: Thoughts on His Airness

2006-08-20T20:02:00.000-04:00

I just watched an interview of Michael Jordan on 60 Minutes. There are few things in this world that bring me as much joy as watching Michael Jordan. I can't explain it (but I'll try).

I think that for just about every kid growing up in Chicagoland during the 1990s, there is no one that matches his mythical stature. Talking about sports last year with my friend during the White Sox' amazing championship run, we discussed how we can't really watch the NBA anymore. Sure March Madness is good for a few moments every year, but I find basketball to be a little boring. Too much scoring. It's the opposite of soccer. But we both agreed that Michael Jordan transcended basketball. For me, he's even beyond sports. When Jordan was playing, you couldn't keep your eyes off of him. Watching highlight reels during the 60 Minutes interview I found myself repeatedly smiling or laughing in amazement as he flew through the air.

There's an article in the Times this week about Roger Federer and how watching him can sometimes be a religious experience. I'm more of a Nadal fan myself, but I understand the idea in relation to Jordan. Even in replays of shots made ten years ago, I think Michael Jordan retains the ability to move something deep inside of you. I could watch the man cook eggs. Just watching him talk for twenty minutes moved me to write this entry. I'll probably cry when he dies. Until he rises again on the third day.

Blow Up the Past

2006-08-13T23:54:00.000-04:00

That was the title of my thesis. My advisor just asked me that question so that he could put it on his cv. It also accurately describes this weekend. In three short days, I met up with friends from college and home for a really great weekend. I went to New York for Bighead's birthday. We had a great time with that crew, and the Drake was there as well, so it was good to see her before she heads off to St. Paul for the school year. Tonight I also saw two of my four freshman year roommates. The whole weekend was one big nostalgia trip. In high school, one of our teachers said that she'd never seen people so young reminisce as much as my friends and I did. Well, this weekend wasn't so much reminiscing, but it was totally catching up with some people that I don't see nearly as much as I like to. Bittersweet. I guess this is the big sacrifice you make when you fly the coop and make friends with people from very different backgrounds for four short years. Everyone continues to spread themselves widely, devouring portions of the nation. Sure, we're all pretty much still on the east coast, but it's disconcerting none the less. Am I being a little melodramatic? Sure. But it's still difficult to become great friends with people that you know you may not see all the time. I think this is one of the defining aspects of modern living. People traveled far and wide before and made quick friends that they also quickly lost touch with. But they never traveled so much. And making superficial contact with people through instant messaging, email, or cellphones was not possible. So you maintain these tenuous contacts. And every once in a while, you see them, and it's all the same. But then you separate again. Ah well. It's too late for me to be articulate, but you get the gist. It's nice to maintain contact with people you don't see very often, but in many ways it makes the pain of constant separation that much more acute. Enough. I'm being sentimental. Deal with it. It was a very strange weekend.

Let's Blog Again, Like We Did Last Summer!

2006-07-06T16:57:00.000-04:00

Let's blog again, like we did last year!

After a long absence, I'm back blogging. Today was my first day at work, and I'm just finishing up. It was mostly meeting people, forgetting their names, eating lunch, reading news articles and press releases, and not much else.

I graduated since last writing here. It was great, followed by a month of nothing. I came back to Cambridge from home yesterday. I'm in a little sublet that Melorra from Ghost World would describe as "funky."

The big news, though, is that I have my own office. It has no windows, but it's big, and I even have a table and chairs for guests. Now I need some window decorations because the white walls and institutional lighting make it feel a little like an insane asylum. Let's just say that if there were yellow wallpaper on the walls, I wouldn't be shredding my fingernails through it, but rather welcoming the change from the sterility of my current quarters.

Senior Week: An Aptly Named Event

2006-06-02T15:09:00.000-04:00

So this is Senior Week. Finals are over and we're all just sitting around in a metaphorical waiting room until the big transition into the real world. Theoretically, this is a week of craziness, massive partying, and charged emotions. In reality, however, the opposite is fairly true. Yeah, there's a lot of late-night fun to be had, but I've been out of school for over two weeks now, so I'm a little bored with all that, as are most people.

Truthfully, senior week feels a lot more like living in a retirement community. Most people sit around all day as shut-ins in their dorms or reading or talking to people in common spaces like courtyards. We're all lazy bums just waiting for our student lives to quietly die, much like senior citizens in retirement communities kind of...oh, forget it.

I've hit job applicant's block. It's like writer's block, only for job applications. I'm sick of writing cover letters and getting no responses, and my summer job has made me kind of lazy on that front. I'm very close to giving up looking for a job in New York because I don't think it makes a lick of sense to find a job whose only advantage is that I'll make a lot of money when almost all of that money will go to rent, and even if I should have the extra bit of cash to go out occasionally, it'll all be gone within an hour of stepping outside of my apartment. No, I don't think New York's for me at this stage of my life. Maybe later when I have more work experience that can garner me a higher wage, but right now it just seems kind of foolish.

Also, the i button on my keyboard is extra-sensitive right now. If I so much as touch it, it types up an i. It's really annoying. for example iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii. See, I didn't even press it down.

Holiday Weekend

2006-05-29T15:11:00.000-04:00

Dear Journal,

What a weekend! Friday Schno and I had a yard sale to get rid of some of our junk. We didn't get rid of much, but we did have a nice afternoon sitting out on the futon in the middle of the sidewalk for the whole afternoon taking in the sun and doing crosswords. We also had three parties to go to, but only made it to two because one was busted. It was a nice night. Kinda mellow.

Saturday we went to Beulah's and she took us to The Christmas Tree Store. It was fantastic. So much cheap randomness. Just seasonal overstock for the uninitiated. I bought some potato chips, bowl noodles, crackers, and a kite. Still have yet to fly it. It's pretty hot out and windless. That night the Lush came to town and we hung out in the courtyard because she was inexplicably hot the entire time. Later I went over to the Q where they were having a nice, lowkey get-together.

Yesterday we had a party. After midnight rolled around and half the confirmed guests hadn't shown, I did some sleuthing on my own and broke up a whole other party singlehandedly shutting down the music and ushering the guests over to my place. It turned out to be a blast. I kind of went crazy and became party nazi, but I had to kick it into high gear. So began Senior Week. Plenty more debauchery to come.

Today is Memorial Day. We were going to have a cookout at Huey's new place, but that would involve buying a grill and buying food, so instead we're going to go to a barbeque restaurant near his place and hopefully for a movie after.

Oh, and I got a job working with Beulah this summer as a counselor for an international summer program. Should be a blast! Thanks again, Beulah.

Passive Aggression...

2006-05-22T01:55:00.000-04:00

...must be answered with Aggressive Passion.

That is all.

D.O.N.E.

2006-05-20T19:03:00.000-04:00

Well, my undergraduate career is over. As Hawk Harrelson says, "You can put it on the board, YES!" Speaking of, I really relish the talk flying in the Chicago press about how the Sox and Cubs aren't even rivals anymore because there's nothing contested. We won and are doing a helluva job defending, and the Cubs, well, maybe the Cubs should be competing in a league in which they can actually win. You know, a league for little people. A Little League.

Anyway, I'm fat and lazy now. It's amazing the free time I have. Sure, I'm applying for jobs. We'll see how it turns out. Right now it feels like I'm running a sprint, trying desperately to get employment before my final coupla weeks here are up and poof, I find myself back in Indiana. Although, being in Chicago would have its advantages. First off, I have a sizeable friend base. Family. And most importantly, I wouldn't have to watch MLB Gameday which is just terribly boring.

Finishing was the biggest adrenaline rush of my life.

Right now, Wudle and I both have prospects for jobs in NYC, but we're knocking on wood until our fingers bleed.

The Return of Hot Pocket

2006-05-08T19:29:00.000-04:00

So my oral exam was today. Johnny Mac and I were completely expecting not to get Hot Pocket as an examiner. But lo and behold he was. And boy did he have some whoppers in his arsenal. To friends I've described the experience as playing tennis...against Venus Williams...armed only with a paddleball racquet. It was a harrowing experience, and Hot Pocket had an inclination toward very specific questions with right and wrong answers that I was not expecting. Here's a smattering:

Was Walt Whitman an abolitionist?
Is Song of Myself an abolitionist text?
Who coined the term "Lost Generation"?
Where does it appear in this topic?
What denomination was the minister Elmer Gantry?
Where was David Walker born?
Where was Phillis Wheatley when she wrote her poems?

It was rough. I walked out of the exam feeling like I'd been run over by a train. I have no idea how I did, but I'm kind of proud of myself for weathering such a tumultuous storm. Let's just say that I began the exam with perfect posture and ended slumped over to one side in my chair with a spine as crooked as the accusatory question marks lobbed at me throughout the hour.

Allergies

2006-05-07T19:21:00.000-04:00

A coupla weeks ago at work I was hacking or something and wondering aloud why I was still sick when I seemed to have kicked the awful cold that plagued me. At this point, Beulah gave a reasonable explanation that, although I believed it, somewhat rejected. "I can't have allergies" I told myself. I've never had allergies. I've always kind of scoffed whenever I've heard people talk about their allergies. But it turns out I do, in fact, have allergies. Yesterday after Arts First I was walking into Boston for half price burgers with Bighead when I could not stop sneezing and my nose was running fierce. Finally, I admitted that I indeed have allergies. On my way back, my left eye really started to itch, then burn. And finally I got home and looked in the mirror to see what a mess my eye was. It was bloodshot, as Grandma would say, and a part of what looked like my tear duct was grossly inflamed.

Last night was the QBall and Friday was the last night of parties at Harvard. Both were amazingly fun. Unbelievably fun. Tomorrow I have my orals.

The Question

2006-05-06T14:09:00.000-04:00

Our commencement speaker is Jim Lehrer, a man who makes vanilla look spicy. (Hat tip if you know someone who actually thinks vanilla actually CAN be spicy. Schno, I'm looking in your direction.)

So in honor of Lehrer and his long history of presidential debate moderation, I've come up with what I believe to be the greatest question ever. Ask it and watch the hair fly. It's very simple, and anyone with an ounce of formal education knows the answer to it. But in answering it, you can just see politicians try to finesse their way around it in order to not alienate the southern vote. So here it is:

Was the Civil War fought because of slavery or states' rights?

Wammo. It's so deceptively loaded. Can you risk the alienation of so many people who still by the states' rights mumbo jumbo in order to speak the truth? Could you imagine any kid learning elementary history slap his forhead as some pol tries to finesse his way around it? Or am I just being a little ridiculous. I realize that a lot of people in the South think that it was fought over the slavery issue. But at the same time, I've also encountered a lot of people in the last couple of weeks who have spoken about their peculiar history classes in the South. A black girl in my class said that in elementary school she would actually feel herself rooting for the Confederacy until she slapped herself and awakened herself from the romantic vapors of revisionist history.

The Big, Juicy Van.

2006-04-17T22:39:00.000-04:00

So this weekend I went down to Yale to see my brother's girlfriend's senior project, Five Women Wearing the Same Dress by Alan Ball. It was really excellent: hilarious, moving, and all that happy horseshit. Although I enjoy going to the theater, often it entails a couple of minutes of actively thinking you're enjoying something rather than sitting there enjoying it without convincing yourself. This is probably especially true of college productions. Not so with this play. Although I do have a problem with how Alan Ball writes Christians or "straights" (not sexuality-wise, but cultural-wise). This had a little bit of that. I like to call it the Kushner tendency. Still, it was a very good, "Steel Magnolias"-esque production that I loved.

The real story of the weekend, however, was the big, juicy van that I rented from Hertz.

I had requested a small, compact, cheap car to drive down to the Haven, but they gave me this weird SUV-Van hybrid at no extra cost. On the outside it looked like an SUV, but on the inside it was full-scale van. Totally weird. Despite the fact that gas-prices cooked the cost-effectiveness of this venture, it turned out well because I was able to drive my brother to the airport and help his girlfriend strike the set. Let me tell you, there's no fun but parallel parking a big, juicy van. Or driving one. The whole experience was transplendent. I loved it.

Of course, this being my first driving venture in New England, it was also my first brush with real life Massholes. I was a pretty bad driver since the whole experience had my mind somewhat removed since all I could think about was the fact that I was driving. a van. in massachusetts. alone. So yeah, I got a few honks since I didn't really care to use my mirrors ALL the time. But I figured that's the Masshole way. So anyway, in a line to pay a toll, this car comes from the side and bypasses the entire line to try to squeeze in at the front. I have NEVER seen anything like this. The person was not letting him in either, and he kept pushing forward. Eventually he gave up and just took the space behind the chicken match. I can't believe people behave like this. They just don't follow the rules of a civilized society. You'd think they'd all grown up on the Upper East Side or in a wild cave raised by a she-wolf. (Is there any difference?)

Oh, I've also gotten a Neti pot which I talk about non-stop, so there's no point in mentioning it here. If I haven't discussed it with you yet, then you've got quite the conversation coming up.

One of Those Stories You Hear About

2006-04-13T13:31:00.000-04:00

I awoke this morning with an email from Johnny Mac telling me to go pick up my thesis readings, because I was going to be pleasantly surprised. So I did, and boy was I. I got a Summa reading from a very prestigious, brilliant, tenured faculty member, whom I will henceforth refer to as Hot Pocket (take that as a hint, but if you need more help, I'll oblige you...he's kind of a big deal). So I take it back to my room, in a state of euphoria. Then Johnny Mac emails me saying that something's amiss in Hot Pocket's reading. The comments do not match a Summa ranking. They seem more like a very low Cum reading.

So we talk about it and decide to keep hush hush because 1) Hot Pocket is notoriously weird 2)The reading and criticisms were lazy, skimpy, extremely poorly argued, typed in Courier, and handed in weeks late. As a result, I rationalized that Hot Pocket figured that the strengths were self-evident and reflected in the ranking, so he'd just point out the flaws.

Not so. A few hours later, I check my email, and Hot Pocket has emailed me with the subject "Thesis." Oof, my heart skips. Will I get a really low Cum reading, or worse a No Distinction? Only clicking my mouse will tell. It turns out I did fine. I got two Magna readings, so I'm incredibly proud, especially since Hist/Lit seems to hate my writing style. But after getting a Summa reading for several hours, a Magna is anticlimactic. And some members of the Hist/Lit faculty are really upset at Hot Pocket for not taking senior theses seriously. But who the hell cares! If you would have told me I would get Magna in the death throes of January, I would have probably slappeed your face for being so cruel, Zsa Zsa style.

On another note, this doesn't really affect my graduation at all considering I don't really come close to having Summa grades. So unless I bomb my orals, I'm sitting pretty. Not that any of this matters considering I do not have a job for next year and honors don't matter for bunk in the real world. But it's still a pretty nice thing.

Toilet Humor

2006-04-09T02:09:00.000-04:00

In my suite, the bathroom is immediately adjacent to my room, the living room. There's no corridor, no corner to separate it. It's right there in the middle of a wall of the room, in a very conspicuous location. In fact, when the door to it is open, you can actually look at the toilet while you watch tv. The only sound barrier this bathroom has is a door with a pretty big lip on the bottom. It's safe to say that there's really no sound barrier at all. This of course presents a problem because anyone who needs to use the toilet has absolutely no privacy.

Over the last year, the subject matter of a frighteningly large percentage of the conversations between Schno and me have focused on bodily functions and other disgusting subject matter. I think it can mostly be attributed to the bathroom being in the living room. Any reason to suppress such conversations just doesn't exist. There's no reason to pretend like I don't have an intimate knowledge of the state of my roommate's digestive system.

And I must say, it makes for pretty funny conversations. Bodily functions, disgusting or not, are never dull subject matter. The only time this presents a problem is when you're at your friend's house eating with her parents and the tub of sour cream describes the contents as "so thick, so rich."

Hurricane Whitney

2006-04-07T07:37:00.001-04:00

I'm sorry, but this is too good to pass up. According to CNN, because of the numerous awful hurricanes last season, they are retiring five names and adding five new ones. Among them, Whitney. That's right, Hurricane Whitney. Judging by the Enquirer story, this does not seem to be anything new. It appears Hurricane Whitney has already appeared, localized entirely in an Atlanta bathroom. Can you say Cat 5?

How long till this appears on Gawker?

Ojo Rojo...Oh No!

2006-04-06T01:35:00.000-04:00

So I've got the exact same migratory infection that plagued me in Spain when my family came to visit. It starts in the nose and throat, causing much pain and congestion. Then it moves to the left ear, cutting off much of my hearing in it. Then, just when I think it might be getting better, it traverses some duct and enters my eye, ending in, you guessed it, pink eye. Or as the Spanish call it, ojo rojo. I find their terminology much more charming...it rhymes, get it? Seriously, this thing does more traveling than a band of Mexican field workers. Badumching! Honestly, there's nothing that pisses me off more than xenophobia. The dirty little secret is that so many businesses rely on illegal aliens to do the workload. But then again, they are brown, and don't we have enough of that riff-raff in our country? That's pretty much the only reasoning I can see behind the other side's argument. Oh, and *gasp* they don't speak English. God forbid we turn into a bilingual country. Besides, isn't it the American way to neglect English and just have your kids assimilate. Honestly, who has ever had the time to learn a non-phonetic language with far more exceptions than rules. That was a sidebar.

In other news, there is no other news. I've spent all my time here failing my course in convalescence and struggling to write papers for every course I'm taking. Each one has a paper due this week. Is that not obscene?

Next week is Passover. I won't be Sedering in Jersey this year since Franklin Delano Cashew will not be going home. Instead, we will be enjoying the lovely food at Hillel...waaay better than dining hall grub.

My birthday's next week, too. On Good Friday. I think I'm hitting up the Cantab for some Little Joe Cook action. I think the blasphemy could get a little out of control. Good Friday and birthdays are not a good combination. I can only imagine the perverse sacrilege my mind will concoct.

TCB on SB

2006-03-30T21:04:00.000-05:00

Spring Break '06, WOOOO!

Ok, I don't have time to do this justice, but I thought I'd update since I haven't in quite a while. Right now I'm at Beckster's house where her parents are completely doing us right. We've been having a blast. Went to the Dali museum, which was amazing. A Renaissance Fair which was hilarious. Disney which was brilliant and kind of oddly/sadly nostalgic (but a TON of fun). We went to Pleasure Island, the adult nightlife hotspot there and basically almost burned the place to the ground. At least we didn't go to Disney Prison which I think basically is the government's training ground for its torture policy. Just a bunch of disgruntled employees finding new ways to electroshock testicles. Yesterday we hung out. Today we went canoeing and almost got eaten by alligators and snakes. Tomorrow we don't know.

We also went to Round-Up which is a line dance bar. Let me just say that the hillbillies know how to have a good time. Rarely have I had that much fun at a bar. We may go again tomorrow. The best part about places like the Round-Up and Disney is that they lack any pressure to be cool. For Harvard kids this is great, because we basically get to be the inner nerds that we've been somewhat suppressing for a while. So yeah, not having to deal with any hipsters WHATSOEVER has been quite the relief. It's so much more fun to wear junk and push your tush to some really awful country pop. Because honestly, who the hell cares?

Postpartum

2006-03-03T00:37:00.000-05:00

So I finished my thesis, and I have to say, I empathize with Brooke Shields. Tom Cruise can go to hell, postpartum depression is real, and I have the scars to prove it. Today was my first day thesis-free and I spent most of it sleeping. I even slept through a Sarah Vowell reading...sad. But I did catch the second one. She's fantastic. But anyway, I missed work, didn't do the homework I was supposed to, and now I'm just sad. Blue.

I don't have any more projects, so I feel kind of untethered. I guess now it'll be nice, though. I can focus more energy on the arts festival and finding a job. Still, I miss it. It's hard to explain. I think I'm going to go get a slurpee and watch a movie to cheer up.

Maybe I'll start writing a novel. It's been so long since I've done any creative writing, but I think it'll be good for me. Actually, Johnny Mac said that we should try to publish, so that could be a next step. Of course, it's really boring, so that would require me adapting it into a more readable style and determining which choice bits to pick out and honing and editing.

Ok, I'm gonna go seek out some comfort foods. Out.

I Got Fuckin' Shot in the Face!

2006-02-13T15:33:00.000-05:00

So that was weird. What's even weirder is that Cheney kind of looks like Harve Presnell from Fargo, the man who shot Steve Buscemi in the face. Take away the mustache and add a pair of glasses. I report you decide.

Thesis due in 2.5 weeks. Holy Cow.

New Lows in Procrastination

2006-02-07T21:23:00.000-05:00

Yes, political blogs, White Sox coverage, and Tom Toles cartoons no longer suffice. I had to find a new way to procrastinate. Here are the low points of the last week:

1. Listening to podcasts of "Wait...Wait, Don't Tell Me." I love that show. Of course, being the chronic procrastinator and news junkie that I am, I knew EVERY single question asked.
2. Spanish Newspapers. Yes, American newspapers no longer suffice. Often, I will read Spanish accounts of the same news that I've already read in English. I like to get the international perspective on issues such as the crazy Muslim reactions to those cartoons as well as the passing of Coretta Scott King. More on this later.
3. Games. I normally refuse internet games, but I succumbed today to playing a paparazzi game on peerflixgame.com.
4. Working Out. A perfect procrastination game.
5. Crosswords. That NYTimes crossword book is already halfway gone.

So is anyone else following the reaction to those pictures of Mohammed? This is insane, right? Are the cartoons really even that offensive? I really liked the one where the prophet says to some people waiting to enter heaven "oops, we ran out of virgins." Then again, I'm not the most politically correct person. I still think that political correctness is the one gripe I have with the Left, and I'm glad to see it dying down a little bit. I still think Harvard needs to be checked on this, and like any good Harvard student, I think that all the worlds problems can be solved by another student group: Students for a Politically Incorrect Campus...SPIC--Get it? I'm half Hispanic. I can say that.

Coretta Scott King's contribution cannot be overstated. I've even gotten a little choked up about it, watching the news coverage. Yeah, yeah, bleeding heart, but there's still SOOO much work to be done.

Oh, that reminds me...there's still sooo much homework to be done too.

Out.

The Godfather--TCB

2006-02-04T02:02:00.000-05:00

I turned on the Godfather tonight in order to help me relax. I've probably seen the movie over ten times (a lot for such a long movie), and it's kind of scary how well I know it. At this point it's background music. I put it on and used it to kind of keep me company as I cleaned the room for the first time in god knows how long.

There's something about taking care of business that really helped me take care of business. I figure if Pacino can go through the trouble of murdering the heads of the five families, then I can at least throw away all the back issues of the crimson crowding the futon. I've been paying very little attention, and yet I know every little move that takes place. It's a sick obsession.

Maybe tomorrow I'll play Godfather II while I write my thesis. Or Goodfellas. I don't know that one well enough to tune it out, though. On the thesis front, I got some harsh criticism last night because I made a lot of claims and didn't back them up. The tutor said that she thought I probably had a creative writing inclination and that I should find a way to vent that because my writing is good and elegant, but there's no evidence to back up my outrageous claims. She said if I were Philip Fisher I could get away with it, but as Ryan Cortazar I can't. Well I say balls to that. So maybe I shouldn't even be writing this thing. And if my worst fears are confirmed and I fail, I'm ready to accept that. Academic writing just isn't my thing. It's probably about time I started creative writing again anyways. It's been a helluva long time. Or magazine writing. Keep your eyes peeled for my Advocate article. It was written in a hurry, but it's pretty fun.

Tonight we had a very adult night of fun. After senior bar it had to be. I think this is going to be my new thing. Uh-oh, Carlo's about to eat it. And if Carlo dies, can the Diane Keaton door close be far behind?

Last Semester

2006-02-02T02:23:00.000-05:00

Last night I watched the State of the Union. I don't know why I put myself through that. It made me realize that part of the reason I get so crabby and disagreeable has to do with the fact that I'm a political wonk. I'm addicted to political blogs of all sorts and editorial pages. When I have cable I actually watch C-SPAN. Yes, C-SPAN. I can remember in high school watching congress and wishing we had C-SPAN 2 so I could watch the Senate. Over intersession I watched the Alito vote as well as Molly Ivins on Washington Journal or Booknotes or something. I was really a much brighter, positive person in Spain, and I think that my detachment from American politics had a lot to do with it (also my detachment from American workaholism/homework). Remember after the 2004 election...I was inconsolable. After 2000 I was just pissed, but I thought it could be fun to be on the other side of the argument, you know, the one that gets to bitch all the time about how horrible the president is. It turns out 8 years is just too long a period of time to be in that mindset. Especially with Congress being all Republican, too.

So today was the first day of last semester of my life...unless i eventually decide to go to grad school. It was meh. Because I have to finish up some requirements, I'm taking a class I probably wouldn't normally. It's Calvinist Legacy in American Culture. The reading list is pretty good, but I just don't much care for Protestantism. It's probably the most biggest part of the Catholic education to be held over besides the guilt and the cultural effects which pepper my vocabulary and conversations. So yeah, I have a weird aversion to Protestants. It probably has more to do with stereotypes, so it's really more my problem than theirs. I can't stop thinking about WASPs and fundamentalists, and I strongly dislike both of them. But for this class we're reading The Scarlet Letter (snooze city, but I guess it's important), Elmer Gantry......., Winesburg Ohio (hell yeah), and some other stuff (Flannery O'Connor, James Baldwin) that should hold my interest.

There's going to be a lot of reading this semester that I'm just not going to do, so that kind of sucks.

Mondayish I go back to work for the arts fair. Thank god. Meaning in my life. I can't wait to reacquaint myself with my old friend the water cooler. I was never so hydrated as when I worked there.

Thesis due in less than a month. Woof. Johnny Mac put me at ease today, though. I was expecting a rough meeting, but he was pretty encouraging, despite the fact that I have so much work to do. I have no class on Thursdays or Fridays, so that's a plus. Also...No Finals!!

Snerds of the World Unite

2006-01-25T01:04:00.000-05:00

For those not in the know, last year I invented the word "snerd" in order to describe myself in relation to my obsession with crossword puzzles. It's an elision of the words snob and nerd, and in itself would be a pretty good answer in a puzzle, if it ever gains mainstream acceptance (not likely).

Recently there was that Crossworld book that came out, and now there's a new documentary that came out at Sundance. Some of our greatest minds are snerds, and in a recent article at CNN, they include:

Bill Clinton
Jon Stewart
The Indigo Girls
Mike Mussina of the Yankees (coastal bias...we all know that baseball's greatest snerd is...)
Paulie Konerko

Will Shortz, the (as Elaine would say) svenjolly of crossword puzzles is a Hoosier! Born in Crawfordsville (wherever that is) and went to IU.

Of course Beulah, Beckster, and my brother are also snerds who could probably turn out my lights on a puzzle, but I've been working. The past two Christmases I've gotten compendia of NY Times crosswords from Beckster and the Lush. I rank these as some of my most favorite gifts...I don't think there's anything snerdier than taking my crossword puzzle books to the dining hall or the airport and curling back the page and burying myself in the puns and trickeries that good old across and down have to offer. I've spent way too much time at some lunches ignoring my tots trying to figure out what the question mark means for any given clue. Is there anyone else out there that has the love/hate relationship with the question mark that I do?

Themed crosswords are the way to go, and that's why the Times stays ahead. Doing a generic crossword, you always feel like you're wasting your time. These, dear readers, are the VH1 Celebrealty shows of crossword puzzles. Their writers the Flava Flavs of the printed press. They don't leave you with the sense of satisfaction that comes from watching...Roseanne (it's as if Jesus doesn't want me working on my thesis at home--every night is a Nick at Nite marathon). Half the fun is guessing out the punny title and the words or phrases. And so, without further ado, I grab my book, lick my ballpoint pen (I'm an optimist--pencils are for amateurs...or "Thursday through Saturdays")and begin...Fishhook feature (four letters)...this one's going to be a doozy.

Fabrication is the New Plagiarism

2006-01-19T23:43:00.000-05:00

So I'm about 37 pages into my thesis, and I'm absolutely sick of quoting. I'm disgusted by citations. I absolutely hate the process of looking at my notes, then taking those notes and the page numbers, going to the texts, then looking up the texts and typing up the quotes into my computer. Then you have to set them up, then you have to explain them, then you have to interpret them. Well, I'm sick of it, and I'm not doing it anymore.

I actually think I may send Johnny Mac an email tonight telling him that quoting is dead to me. It's not like it's an ec or psych or bio thesis where you actually have to have studies and equations and charts to back you up. This whole thesis basically exists inside my head, so why not just make it up. If it worked for James Frey, it can work for me.

So here's the thing. I'm starting to absolutely hate the sound of my own voice on the page. I hate starting sentences with "Although," "Further," "Indeed," "Moreover," "Furthermore," "Despite this." It's all so BORING AND REPETITIVE. So I figure I can at least bolster my argument and spice things up by putting in some quotes of my own imagination.

Here's one for you:
Philip Roth argues, "ryan's argument is the bomb biggity and he doesn't need me to back him up."

I smell Summa. You can't argue with Philip Roth. It's science.

Only six weeks left, and I can honestly say at this point I don't just hate writing the thesis--I actually hate what I'm writing. I'm not clear, I'm not resolute, I have no control over the flow of my argument. Tania's totally wearing the pants in this relationship. And here's the thing, she's really stupid.

Out.

One Dangerous Negro

2006-01-17T17:09:00.000-05:00

So I've been making bad life choices instead of working on my thesis (little does Johnny Mac know).

Saturday I went to see Match Point with Beulah and Baby Huey. We all liked it. I've gotta say. I've been a huge Scarlett Johansson fan since, oh, let's say Ghost World, and this really clinched it. I'm not saying she's a great actress. A lot of times she can be a little flat, but that's part of her charm. I think she's probably the only person of my generation with star power. That flat monotone voice vaguely reminiscent of Lauren Bacall, the buxom body of a 1950s pinup. In the words of Elaine Benes, she's a woman--babababoomchickaboomchickaboomboomboom.

The other big star I think is Shakira. To me she's the biggest pop thing since Madonna. As I've read over and over again in raves of her new album, the girl is just plain weird. Her take on the English language is just plain peculiar. Take for example this oft-quoted spoken interlude:
"For you, I'd give up all I own
And move to a communist country
If you came with me, of course
And I'd file my nails so they don't hurt you
And lose those pounds, and learn about football
If it made you stay, but you won't, but you won't"

She's also compared herself to a horse before castration, just full of energy and creativity, whatever that means. Plus, she can't stop referencing her small and humble breasts. What a strangeo. But a brilliant strangeo. I couldn't find smarter pop music in the last ten years if I had a week to think about it.

And last night, finally the Golden Globes. I've stated many times in the last few days that they're the deep-fried oreos of awards shows. Nobody there really gives a shit if they win (oh wait, they're egomaniacs, of course they do). Plus, there are drinks involved so you get to watch drunken celebrities make the most incoherent of all acceptance speeches. Could you imagine if Shakira won a Globe. Jeez, I think she'd thank the all-powerful mother chicken, as well as her unconceived children that she stores in her right foot so that they cannot escape.

Yesterday was MLK day, and I have to say I really made the most of it. What did you do? I celebrated in typical liberal fashion by throwing money at problems and attending a feel-good service at Memorial Church where we all patted ourselves on the back for coming, but then were exhorted to become dangerous Negroes. Count me in! First on my list--calling for the filibuster of Sam Alito. Sure it would be disastrous, and Democrats would hold no power after the nuclear option inevitably went into affect. But fuck it, we're dangerous Negroes, and we don't give a shit. If you don't show a little spine and initiative, how will you ever convince America to give you b[l]ack power.

Is there any doubt about this guy's motives? I mean a lot of hay has been made of Kennedy's membership in the Owl Club, a disgusting, elitist, date-raping organization in its current manifestation, but the Owl Club has nothing on Concerned Alumni for Princeton. Maybe that's just because Harvard misogynists are smarter than Princeton misogynists. Harvard misogynists realize that if you keep women out of the university you can't really date-rape them, can you? And how can you exclude minorities and the poor from your secret organization if they aren't even allowed in your school? You can't have a plantation-style social system if you don't even let blacks into the social strata. I mean come on. Use your heads. In Kennedy's defense, when he went here, the Owl Club, although no doubt disgusting, probably wasn't as bad as it is now.

Karaoke King

2006-01-10T17:03:00.000-05:00

Tonight's senior bar event takes us to my favorite bar in Cambridge, Charlie's Kitchen, for karaoke night.

As many of you know, I take karaoke very seriously. I mean that in an almost purely unironic way. I absolutely love karaoke. I think it's very democratic and should be taught in every high school civics class. Everyone gets a fair shake, talented or untalented. The audience loves the lows as much as the highs, and those who obviously rehearsed and are looking for more padding to their lovingly massaged egos are generally ignored.

Plus, it inspires teamwork and cooperation. You don't just pick your favorite song to sing. That is far too selfish. Like picking the ideal band to play at your wedding, you must take your audience into consideration and go for a crowd pleaser. Not just any crowd pleaser will do. Whitney Houston's butchering of Dolly Parton's painfully beautiful "I will always love you" often gets a tepid response. Real classics lie in the area of David Bowie, Neil Diamond, and the even cheesier arena of songs like "total eclipse of the heart" which can really bring down the house. Also, it's always best to pick the one song that has maybe one or two notes completely out of your range in order to show that you're really trying, even if you end up screeching. That's why I've received many email requests in the leadup to tonight requesting me to sing Kelly Clarkson's Since U Been Gone. Unfortunately, I think it's too recent to be on the list of songs.

Tonight I'm undecided as to what I will choose. They have Radio Free Europe on the list, and that is one of my favorite songs, but I think, sadly, it is a little to obscure and doesn't allow for the kind of emoting that the audience craves. The intense singer face shown above always gets a huge response. David Bowie's always a welcome choice. I could whip out my Mick Jagger impression which Franklin Delano Cashew enjoys so much. So many options, but with the crowd at senior bar, it's likely I'll only get to sing one song. Any suggestions in the next coupla hours or so?

One Big Fat "Ugh"

2006-01-10T15:10:00.000-05:00

Is this really necessary? I mean honestly. As if I'm not already sick of hearing this day in and day out. Seriously, it's ok in private, but putting this on the blog is just embarrassing. It almost reads like a drunk email or voice message. Has Lisa been getting into the sauce? It's not that I'm ungrateful for the unconditional love of a mother, but this is really emotional diarrhea that is best not put on the internet. Confucius say: When dealing with the public, it's important to keep a sphinx-like countenance. Don't let them know your inner thoughts. Keep them guessing. Seriously, I may have to ban my mom from the comments section. You've been warned.

You and Rick are special. There is no mistake that you have had unbelieveable opportunities provided to you. God has a plan. I firmly believe that. You must always remember that. You must give back. There are not many people in positions of strength who have lived humble lives... It is just the way society is. Many people who are in positions of strength cannot understand why people don't support privatizing social security because they have the money to put into the system. They cannot understand the issues people face who do not have money because they have had no exposure. Money has not been an issue for them. It is not their fault. People like you and Rick must help them understand in whatever capacity you are directed so policies can be changed to help people escape poverty, etc... Not many people who grew up in Northwest Indiana have had the exposure that both of you (and your friends) have had with regard to education, etc. It is a gift. Don't ever be ashamed of your roots. You must never forget your humble beginnings and help others understand the other side in whatever profession you choose so changes can be made to help others... Can you tell how important I feel about all of this???!!!...enough preaching...
Love,
Mom

Let's get ready to Ruuuuuuuumble!

2006-01-09T13:13:00.000-05:00

I just found free streaming video on NYTimes for the Alito hearings. Score! Now what's more important, finishing papers, or watching senators get snippy?

Man, opening statements are boooooooring. Wouldn't it be great to be a senator? These guys are so insulated, they have no idea what the real world is. It's kind of like spending your entire life inside the Harvard bubble. And these people represent us? Sheesh.

Accentuate the Positive!

2006-01-08T23:35:00.001-05:00

Last night I went out to see The Squid and the Whale with Dame Dane and Beulah. I liked it a good deal.The big story, though, was Beulah telling Dame Dane that she's the most positive person she knows. It was kind of inspiring, because I'm in general a pretty negative person, and the thesis among other things has been getting me down. So my big thing today was trying to be a positive person, and you know what? It worked out pretty well. Sure, I was kind of manic, but that's ok. My one worry is that this delusional happiness is the last stop on the Mental Breakdown Express Line. I don't think it is, but it's weird to be happy for no apparent reason.

I was so motivated and ebullient today that I even worked out! Wubulu and I went to the Quincy Gym and I biked for 10 miles. Not a huge bike ride, but a solid 45 minutes of cardio. I haven't done that since, well, insert long time period here. I have so little energy so often, that I thought if I work out, it'll give me energy. This is true, right? I'm not making this up? Cardio doesn't just take energy, does it? It gives energy, right? Plus, the adrenaline rush and sense of accomplishment is pretty good. And I may sleep better, and food may taste better!

I haven't gotten a ton of work done today, and Johnny Mac may kill me when he finds out I don't have what I said I'd have to show him tomorrow, but I'm not sweatin' it. The rough draft of the Athens paper will be done tonight, and that's all I can really ask for. Not too shabby.

Sure, being positive is an adjustment. I still berate myself for being pretty bad at starting to write, but not too much. The important thing is that I've already got 5 pages of an 8 page paper, and the paper's not even due until Tuesday! I'm even using exclamation points!!

Ok, this is a little disgusting. Deal with it. I guess this means I'll have to start listening to the Polyphonic Spree or some other druggy Jesus music. I don't even think I'm that annoying about it, like a born-again Christian telling you how they've seen the light. Maybe because my positive outlook is so damn fragile. It always seems as if it can snap at any minute. Well, I guess it can. I need to get to work! In the words of a fictional FDR in the work of Philip Roth: "We. Choose. Freedom."...or rather..."I. Choose. Life." Does this mean I have to join Crimson Key Society?

Supreme Court NHB Cage Match

2006-01-08T13:11:00.000-05:00

The Alito hearings start tomorrow. Could everyone please retire the ScAlito moniker? It has to be the most annoying thing the Left has produced since John Kerry's salute at the Democratic Convention.

I'm wondering whether or not I should just buy a month's subscription to CNN pipeline so that I can watch these hearings since I don't have C-SPAN. Am I that huge of a nerd? The answer is yes.

I cannot wait. This guy has a paper trail longer than Courtney Love exiting the bathroom. And even better, his excuse for covering up his on-the-record support of overthrowing Roe is that he has no scruples. Oh Joy!

Now if only someone can russle up a pubic hair or two.

Nothing to show for myself but a few extra pounds

2006-01-04T00:01:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow I return to Cambridge. When I get back, I have to write two papers, an Advocate article, and a rough draft for the second chapter of my thesis. I hoped to get at least one of these done over break, but unfortunately I accomplished nothing. I read a little bit of Philip Roth criticism and wrote about a page for the Advocate article, but beyond that--zilch. I may be able to finish a rough draft for the article by the time the plane touches down but I'm not holding my breath.

SKIP THE NEXT PARAGRAPH IF YOU'RE NOT INTERESTED IN A RANT ABOUT THE CURRENT STATE OF TELEVISION AND THE SUPREMACY OF ROSEANNE
What kept me from doing any more work for my thesis you ask? If you haven't guessed TV already, do you really know me? I often get a bad rep for being a couch potato at school, but I only watch about an hour or two a day in my dorm, and I find it much more relaxing than wasting time on the internets. I think it's more that I like to talk about TV more than the average person, especially Seinfeld and Roseanne. I saw a Roseanne reunion on Larry King on Christmas, and it was really great. It really helps seal in how remarkable that show was, without being revolutionary. In order for it to be revolutionary, I think TV must have changed. Unfortunately, I don't think it has. Sure, the dysfunctional family has become a sitcom cliche, but no other television comedy has come close to the social relevance of Roseanne. I think Roseanne was the Steinbeck of our age. Maybe even better. Although other shows try to dip into drama or have "serious issues" shows, no other was able to combine the drama and comedy and social conscience in the way that Roseanne did without getting preachy. Its focus on the working class is also remarkable. Think about the most popular sitcoms of the last decade or so. Done? The yuppy factor has got to go. How many people can really relate to the characters on Sex and the City or Friends? How many times has a character in any popular sitcom actually struggled to pay bills? One of my favorite Roseanne moments is when the electricity gets turned off because they couldn't pay the electrical bills and Roseanne says "Well, middle class was fun." or on the issue of racism where she says "it's bigots like them that make respectable white trash like us look bad." I've had people say that they can't watch Roseanne because they're too crude and can't relate to the characters. I realize I go to Harvard, but that just strikes me as sad. I'd much rather identify myself with the rude morality of Roseanne than the glib, soulless characters on a show like Will and Grace...or dare I say, Friends?

In other news, I think Project Runway is the best show on television. I don't get Bravo at school which sucks because I don't know where I'm going to watch it, and I must. I know a lot of people that watch Top Model. I like that show, especially for Tyra Banks' absurd personality, but it ain't got shit on Project Runway. I think the fashion industry is a kind of Elysian Fields for the bitchiest, most conniving members of our society. It's like the characters of Will and Grace brought to life. Hmm, hypocrisy...yeah. Get over it. This show is addictive, and I don't want to get the monkey off my back. I don't care about the fashion world at all. In fact, I despise it. But for some reason this show sucked me in. Thanks to Salon's Heather Havrilesky for making sure I didn't miss it. Santino is evil. I hope he eats it in the future, but still want him to stick around long enough for more drama and ego. I think I want Daniel V, Emmet, Marla, or Diana to win. They seem the nicest or at least the most out of place.

Also, after I got my wisdom teeth out, Rusck sent me a message screaming "nooooo, now you're going to lose weight. it's not fair, and i'm afraid you'll waste away." Well, my mom always told me I was special, and I guess I am. I actually gained weight after getting my teeth pulled. 10 pounds. The mounds of holiday food combined with my immobility after surgery I guess combined to give me a bit of a belly. Oh well, I'll take it.

NYE was ok. Not as great as last year, but then again, I don't think it's fair to compare the two. This was a pretty good one, though. Except Bighead got into an abortion argument for the second time in a row on a night in which he was staying the night in the apartment of one of MY friends. Different friends, but still. Who doesn't know that you never NEVER NEEEEVEEEER argue about abortion. It's completely pointless. There's so very little common ground.

That's about it.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes (Turn and face the strain)

2005-12-31T03:19:00.000-05:00

Well, this is the last post of the year. In the big picture, 2005 was an awful year. National and worldwide tragedies, disasters everywhere. Personally, though, it was pretty damn great. Maybe the best in my life. 6 months in Spain, summer in Cambridge, good times at home in Indiana, and the like. White Sox World Series. That alone...dayenu.

There were also some pretty terrible things, though, such as getting my wisdom teeth pulled two days before Christmas. All four of them were impacted, and one of them was impacted, and deformed, and sideways. 1 out of 1000 chances type deal. So I was in major pain, but the pain medication worked pretty well. My uncle also took great care of me, and it's nice to have an excuse to boss people around. The best part was that it gave me an excuse to stay home with family and just lounge with my grandma uncle and mom.

2005 was also the beginning of things that will make 2006 just plain awful. First off, the thesis. Yuck. That alone is enough to sink 2006. Then there's the job hunt. Can't even think about that one. Like I mentioned earlier, Marshall Field's is turning into Macy's this coming new year which is a tragedy, and a few days ago, we found out that another Chicago landmark, the Berghoff is closing in 2006. The Berghoff is a German restaurant that has been there forever. A real institution. It even brews its own beer and root beer. It's the kind of place that you go to every year. I'll be going in January over intersession before it closes in February. I have some great memories of that restaurant, going there with friends and family before going to see lavish broadway musicals such as The Producers, before it was a Broadway musical...just a musical on its way to Broadway. Ugh, I don't know what I'll do without it. What is with Chicago surrendering its sentimental landmarks? Next it'll be Uno's. They'll probably make the decision to stop making the pizzas there from scratch and just start throwing in those shitty imitations that they make at the chain restaurants. If that ever happens, I don't know what I'll do, but it will probably involve hostages.

Last night we went to Shaw's, another Chicago culinary institution. Seafood. God, I love seafood. Afterward I stayed the night at my brother's and today we went out for Japanese, not at the usual place, but at some other place that is pretty good. I got my hair cut at Milio's, which is really the only place I trust to give me a really cool euro haircut. As a result, I now have the American equivalent of the protomullet that I donned in my last few months in Spain. It's pretty damn cool.

Tomorrow night I'm skipping the madness of Chicago...I would like to, but we have plans for Purdue. It'll be cheaper and looser. It probably won't be as destructive as last year with its legacy of rockstar hotel vandalism (actually dorm apartment vandalism), but it should be fun regardless. I'll see some high school folk that I haven't seen since, well, last NYE.

That's it!

Sympathy for the Frying Pan

2005-12-18T19:49:00.000-05:00

Like Beulah a week or two ago, the temperature control has gone haywire. The radiator cap broke at some point this semester, and now we are completely at the whim of the superintendent. It's spewing steam into the room, and right now I don't have a thermometer, but I would bet it's over 80 degrees. I don't really have a problem with this. I like the heat. I can just drink cool water. The problem lies in the fact that it's cold outside, so if I have errands to run and am constantly in and out of the room, I'm constantly shedding and putting on layers. In my room, I cannot wear any more than a tshirt. Jeans are pushing it. I sleep in the bare essentials, because a flannel comforter is really more than enough. I can't even really keep it all over me. It's kind of bunched around.

Also, yesterday, after lunch I went with some Quincy kids to go see Brokeback Mountain. It's really excellent. I'm not one for romances, but this is pretty damn good. I think the key to its success is that it doesn't really pull at the heartstrings too hard. Watching the movie and immediately afterward, I was pretty drawn in, but not sure about its greatness. Afterward it sticks around. I think that's the proof. Heath Ledger and Michelle Williams break through. Ledger's Western accent--Dayenu. After that, the rest of the movie could have been an afterthought. It wasn't.

I'm watching Andy Rooney now. When are they going to put him in a home? Have they already? Will he even know the cameras are gone? Does he know they're there now? Some worthwhile thoughts to ponder the next time you watch 60 Minutes. I'll miss him when the day comes.

Everyone has plans for next year except ----------. Yup, you guessed it. Well, maybe not everyone...just everyone in Adams.

I go home on Tuesday. I'm not sure how. The room is a mess, and I still have so many errands to do. Maybe we'll have visitors when we get back. Help me come up with names for my future pet mice/cockroaches.

That's all for now.

Masterpieces of the Western Canon

2005-12-18T16:08:00.000-05:00

The Creation of Adam:

The Birth of Venus:

Judith and Holofernes:

Random Lactation Painting from the Prado:

10 Points! (Cupid peeing on Venus from the Met)

Crucifixion:

The Annunciation:

La Pieta:

The Last Judgment:

Girl With A Pearl Earring:

The Last Supper:

The Third of May:

Arnolfini Wedding Portrait:

American Gothic:

Plateau

2005-12-13T17:17:00.000-05:00

This is probably the first entry in a very long time that I haven't written to escape the mental box that is writing a paper. There's not much to report. Except that when Mamá said that the devil he can be man, priest, or even little boy, but devil he can no be woman, she should have also said that devil he can be open bar. Adams formal is this weekend, complete with open bar. I will be very careful, and not overindulge like at the Quincy Formal. This was really my first experience with open bar, and afterward people tell me that open bar is the devil. I wish someone had told me earlier, because I was under the impression that it was the Messiah.

Speaking of, Christmas is coming. I'm not really that into it. I never really feel it until I get home, because my dorm is always a trashy mess, and we haven't even plugged in the syphilitic Christmas tree.

I'm also very happy that Beulah will not be one of the official readers of my thesis. Or my Athens paper.

My new interest is getting a Harvard travel grant. My friend the Haitian is trying to get one to go to Spain and join the circus underground subculture where she wants to learn that weird thing where people hang from pieces of fabric from the ceiling. It has a specific name that she told me, but either forgot or didn't hear because I was laughing too hard. Damn I wish I could come up with something as cool as that. But that only delays the problem, doesn't it? Well, procrastination is my forte! Maybe I could study the secularization of the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage. Mmmm, sounds delicious.

It's a Girl!

2005-12-09T00:23:00.000-05:00

After much time and consideration,I've decided to name my thesis Tania. The sad thing is that I can't refer to it in a violent context without me sounding like some four-toothed hillbilly beating up his girlfriend after losing in a barfight.

Where does Tania come from (put your hand down Beulah, teacher's going to explain). Well, after Patty Hearst was abducted and decided to join the SLA, she changed her name to the deliciously menacing Tania. Menacing in the way only a bruised stripper with cigarette burns on her shoulder can be. Wow, I"m really buying into this whole white trash thing, aren't I. Maybe I should trash Tania and just name it Brandee. After all, it's probably going to marginally resemble the work of someone with an IQ of 95.

Tomorrow Baby Huey's going to be Mary Sunshine in Chicago. I'm so excited. Should be good. Saturday formal season continues with the Quincy Formal with the one girl that thinks I have an overpowering Chicago accent. It's funny. I think I have one, but whenever I mention it, people normally say "You don't have a Chicago accent." I guess it's not as thick as the Lush's "Ooooh my Gaaaaahd, Howww aem aayy goooing to get a jaaaaaahb? 'Dis year is going to suck." Haha, I love her accent.

I'm also eating latkes, potato pancakes for the goyim, and my god, they're noisy. I'm sitting here, and my intestines are crying. In the library, normal digestion can be pretty loud. Tendick (my new favorite nickname for my Tibetan friend, accomplished by combining the first two syllables of her names) laughs every time my intestines squeak and she says it sounds like sex. She should know, she shares a wall with an Albanian nymphomaniac.

Liveblogging from Hell

2005-12-06T03:35:00.000-05:00

I'm updating again, and once again, that can mean only one thing...yup, I have a bigass paper to do and no desire to do it. Oh, and it's really late.

I'm currently in the Adams House Library at 3:35pm. It's just me in here with another guy who's sleeping with his head on a table. He's cramping my style. In the words of the Hoosier Lush, "He stole that from ME."

So my thesis breakthrough that I had over break ended up being a millstone around my neck. Sure my thesis will probably be better, but what this really amounts to is WAY too much homework in the short-term. I'm drowning here. I think I'm going to take the Beckster's advice and name my thesis. The problem is that I can't come up with a good name for it. What do you think? The best I've got off the top of my head is George or Barbara. Whoa, they're both Bushes, that's weird. I guess it works, because this basically serves as a mechanism for me to bitch about my thesis without seeming pathetic. Like for example--George and I are not on speaking terms. I hate George. He thinks I have nothing better to do but spend every hour obsessing over him. Fuck George. Nothing I ever do is good enough for him. I love you George, take me back. Ahh, the horribly unhealthy obsession the thesis provides every senior stupid enough to write one.

Saturday was Schnocone's birthday. Fun times. We pigged out at the Kong, and then Schnocone grossly ate ramen noodles after we'd already eaten way too much. In other news, he's got a completely sweet job lined up in NYC, and the Lush and I have already declared an open door policy a la China in order to slice our pieces of his earnings away. What we've come up with is this: We all live in a three bedroom apartment in the city on Schno's largesse. She and Schno share a room. Huey and Bighead share a room because they're hangers-on, and we got in on the ground floor. And I get my own room (a suite really) all to myself. And when the Lush gets sick of Schno, she gets to stay in my anteroom. How suite is that?

Thursday night I went to the first formal of the summer with Wubulu. It had a cash bar, and I'm poor and not willing to pay a lot on drinks (we're talking 6.25/beer bottle), so basically the little Chinese glutton and I would wait for a drink to be abandoned and then swarm like some kind of military squad team, and steal it. It worked out really well. Who cares if I get date-raped? Nobody wants to daterape me. Besides, at this point I'm pretty sure I'm immune to Rohypnol.

OK, I really should go get a bagel or something before I take a nap and continue writing this piece of shit, I mean the greatest contribution the study of the historical novel known to man. No wait, I had it right the first time.

At Home

2005-11-23T16:59:00.000-05:00

So here I am in Hobart. This past weekend I went to Harvard-Yale. I'm glad I went, but the third time was old hat. The lack of portapotties was especially annoying. I'll spare you the specifics on how I remedied the problem. Most of you probably know, but that doesn't mean I need to get into specifics.

Baby Huey's family came to town and treated us to some meals and good company. It was really great to see them.

Went to Chicago and the Art Institute yesterday. What a wonderful museum it is. Plus it's humongous and particularly weird, because it doesn't focus on one portion of art history. It combines modern, early modern, renaissance, medieval, and ancient art all under one roof. Of course, it's known for its collection of paintings from the impressionists on. I hadn't been there in a while and rediscovered some really great stuff. Plus, I spotted a Ribera from about thirty feet away. I'm awesome.

I got a B- on a paper I wrote on the Civil Rights Movement. I hate to sound like a whiny smartypants, but in case you don't know, B- is really bad in a school that generally gives a gentleman's B. If I can indulge my nerdy side for a second, I'm going to vent. I've already talked to several people about this who agree that this is ridiculous. Especially for a paper that was only a weeklong assignment, 8 pages, and given in the same week that I had to read 360 pages for this class. Plus, I really worked hard on this paper and thought it was really good. All the quibbles were stylistic, and in some cases, I was actually right (in terms of whether to use that or which). Anyway, papers shouldn't be graded on style, but rather on the ideas and arguments presented in them, which the grader said were very good. Plus, my thesis advisor, Johnny Mac just told me a week before I wrote this thing that my writing style was good and entertaining. Cheeky, if you will.

Another thing that gets on my nerves in this class is when we'll be reading a passage, but when the word "nigger" comes up, the instructor will start to paraphrase the quote after she had already begun reading word for word. Aren't we past that? Obviously we're not allowed to say nigger in day to day conversation, but I think we're allowed to read it when we're quoting? Especially when the story we're reading, that she picked out, is called, in fact, "An Artificial Nigger." Plus, she thinks I use the word black too much. I'm sorry, but I'm not comfortable with using African-American. If I'm talking about black/white relations, I'm going to say black and white, not African-American/white relations. And if I'm going to say African-American in a paper, then I'm going to be consistent and use it throughout, and in response to this, I'm also going to use Euro-American or Anglo-American to refer to whites. I'm not comfortable using hyphenates for some people and not for others. If I'm going to qualify Americanness, I'm going to qualify it for everyone. And if I'm not, then I'm going to use words like black, white, latino, etc.

Oh, and this is the Southern class, so chances are my Athens paper is going to be less than favorably reviewed. Adding to the stress is Beulah's insistence that I "get it right." Oh, this isn't going to end well.

Hello, It's Me.

2005-11-14T20:17:00.000-05:00

Does anybody still come here. In case you haven't noticed by my lack of activity, I'm puh-busy. Working like a...oh, I shouldn't say that, that level of political incorrectness is only funny when not in a native tongue. Let's see. Everyone's sick of me talking about how I'm better than them because I take multivitamins and floss. Wu and I got study carrels in the library, but the priveleges office must have known that we only wanted them so that we could throw spitballs at them because our carrels are on opposite sides of the library. Harvard Yale is this weekend. At this point it just seems like a chore and I can feel my liver shriveling already. I'm still kind of excited, though I may just be going through the motions. Went to NYC with Schnocone only to find out that being a member of his entourage means taking shit from him the whole time because I want a coke from the minibar, despite the fact that he has a $100 credit but won't use it. Can't wait till the Lush comes and joins the entourage...that way we'll be using those expense accounts for cheeseburgers champagne and porn. Hurrah for Medieval Mischief.

Obviously I have a paper due. Why else would I be wasting my time here? My daily duty now includes watching Roseanne whenever possible and Oprah whenever it interests me. Going home in a week should be exciting. Saw Capote with Beulah and man was it great. Very good. Walk the Line coming up.

While I was in NYC I went to MoMA. But I went by myself which means I only got to appreciate the art, and really missed making snarky comments with Wu that make everyone around us think we're illiterate idiots, despite the fact that we think saying "i don't like the colors" and "ew" is very valid art criticism. I get it, it's from a variety of angles and viewpoints, now could you please paint in something other than brown. Ugh. Then I went to the Met and saw Chachi's (my Spanish homestay mom's) ancestor whom Goya painted and is on permanent display in their Goya room. That was way cool.

Even cooler were my celebrity sightings. I saw Greg Giraldo, you may know him from Comedy Central Roasts. I was less than underwhelmed. I had to blow about 20 minutes trying to figure out who it was. You know the "I know the face but can't place it" game via google. But the crowning achievement was seeing David Hasselhoff on 5th Ave. I wouldn't have noticed him except he had on a very long leather trench coat and eurotrash sunglasses at night. It was as if he wanted to be recognized. There weren't many people around, though, and none of them were German, so he seemed to be pretty safe in his anonymity.

Maybe I'll keep this up. I enjoy this entry. It's all over the place. Much easier than actually thinking about what I'm going to write.

2005 World Series Champions

2005-10-29T14:50:00.000-04:00

Well, here's something I never thought I'd see. I'm not quite ready to write this entry yet. But I will soon. For now, I've got a ton of homework to do. 1.75 million fans at first ticker tape parade in Chicago since the 85 Bears, after which they agreed to never have another one. This was special.

The Wedding Game

2005-10-15T15:32:00.000-04:00

Beulah's got a great little post trying to determine who would play at your wedding. It's a fine question because some of your favorite bands might not be wedding fare (hello Husker Du). So here's my list:

R.E.M. (come on, Beulah, you gotta keep the dots!)
Replacements (if only because their drunkenness would overshadow my friends', so the fam wouldn't judge the company I keep).
B-52's
New Order (one crazy dance band isn't enough)
Flaming Lips of course
Liz Phair maybe so she could do Divorce Song and make everyone uncomfortable
Neil Diamond
Bjork! (just imagine what she'd look like at a WEDDING. All I have to say is wear sunglasses and don't look directly at it.)
Any old mariachi band. Ole.
ABBA...with spandex spacesuits, explosions, and all
Jackson Five to bridge the generation gap
Bobby Darin because Grandma would want someone who really knows how to SING. Nobody today really sings, you know. It's all this shitzky bitzy yelling or talking. I've had enough of that jazz. Boy, I sounded on all those musicians today.

This game reminds me very much of the who would you invite to dinner game. Does that game ever go down without someone mentioning Clinton. So maybe Clinton could give a toast. As long as we lock him up in the corner. We don't want any funny business in the coat room.

Oh, and GO SOX. Damn, this is exciting.

Go-Go Sox

2005-10-04T00:46:00.000-04:00

The division series begins this week between the Red Sox and White Sox. I can't adequately describe the fear, joy, anxiety, and anticipation that I'm feeling right now. For Yankees fans and Red Sox fans, this is all very run of the mill, but the White Sox have not been in the playoffs for five years. Before that it was 93, then 83, then 59, then 1919, the year they sold out the World Series, and Hyman Roth's favorite moment in sports history. It's a very Chicago moment, but with it comes sport's only true curse. I don't want to hear about the Curse of the Bambino or the Billy Goat curse. This is the only one that matters and makes sense.

I honestly feel like I'm about ten years old right now, living in 1994 which any self-respecting Sox fan knows was the year they would have won had Reinsdorf and the owners not instigated a strike that robbed the Sox of glory in the year that their only rivals, the Blue Jays were weakened. The main question I keep asking myself is "Why not us?" Why do the big teams or teams that no one cares about have to win? The truth is that if I weren't a ChiSox fan I'd be way more optimistic about their chances, but with the allegiance comes the crushing pessimism and irritability.

I've been shooting my mouth off a lot here in the last week, and all I can say is that I really hope they don't choke against Boston. That would really make life unbearable in addition to the stress of senior year. I think after the game tomorrow I may actually go to a yoga session to get rid of all the negative energy that accumulates in the the body of a Sox fan.

All I can say is that this year has been quite historic for the South Side. 2005 brings the passing of Saul Bellow, the man who put Chicago in the same literary universe as Joyce's Dublin and Dickens's London. Along with this sad loss has come the justification of the self-hype Kanye West has been creating for the last year. Late Registration is amazing. All I can say is that what better way to cap off the year before the cold Chicago winter sets in than with a trip to the World Series? Come on, do it for old Saul, exiled from his own city and resting here in foreign New England.

Seriously, if they lose, I might cry. If they win I might cry. I'm an emotional wreck. A boychild. It's weird how my strongest sports affiliation can bring this out of me. Seriously. I've seen Liza on bad days appear more stable than me right now. Oh, and Happy New Year! (I know I'm not Jewish, you don't have to tell me. But I am writing my thesis on Philip Roth and dammit, that has to count for something.) In conclusion, I think I may pray tonight for a White Sox victory. That's how important this is. What is going on in my brain? Maybe I should go to UHS mental health. This cannot be normal. I can't focus. I can't sleep. The next thing to go is going to be my digestive system. And when that goes it's not pretty. I think that's a nice image to end on. Good night, and good luck.

Win. Or Die Trying.

2005-09-29T16:01:00.000-04:00

The Sox are going to the playoffs. The rumors of their late season collapse were greatly exaggerated. My favorite headline was "Sox Choke...On Champagne." As many of you know, I had completely lost hope in their ability to even make it into the playoffs, so this is a day of celebration. I think I'll celebrate tonight. Hmm, how shall I celebrate? As if there was more than one way!

In related news, the other Sox team is, indeed choking. I hope they get in. I'd love to see a Sox-Sox playoff series, mainly because it would pit me against, oh, let's see, ALL of my friends, minus 5 in the area. I'm not entirely convinced that my Sox will win even one playoff game, they haven't in a long time. But to be able to see them beat that other Sox team would be the ultimate. Especially since I had to sit through last year's ridiculous celebration. I'm not going to lie, I really enjoyed it, especially watching them win four in a row against the Yankees. That really is a memory that won't fade.

Still, my enjoyment was more than partly through osmosis. Right now I'm really reveling in this. Yes, I should be focusing on my thesis. I love my thesis advisor because he doesn't take any of my shit. I'm pretty sure he's going to kick my ass all year long. It's awesome. Except I'm lazy. But I'm on top of it. I think I'm ahead of at least some people. Shudder Shudder.

The good news is that with the Sox win today that I don't have to spend hours on the internet watching MLB Gameday. I'm not sure if you know what this is, but it's basically a window that updates whenever a pitch is thrown, letting you know whether it was a strike, ball, hit, etc. It also keeps track of outs and base runners. In short, it's completely mindnumbing, but when your teams games aren't broadcast where you live, it's all you have unless you want to pay. No thanks. So now I can relax until the playoffs begin next week and hunker down on my thesis.

Lazy Bones

2005-09-28T17:54:00.000-04:00

So the thesis is stumbling out of the blocks. I do have a topic, though. I'm not in love with it, but I don't hate it either, so that's a plus. What is it, you ask? Well, chances are you already know. For those of you who don't, here's the working idea. By studying "American Pastoral" and a number of other works, I hope to examine how Americans in the 1990s interpreted the 1960s and used it to explain the America in which they found themselves. In reality, it'll probably be more about me going crazy about deadlines and writing until I join some modern Weather Underground organization where I bomb my concentration department in order to avoid having to write the thing, but cleverly disguising the whole ruse as a political statement intending to "bring the Iraqi war home." Just kidding...I hope.

Tom DeLay was indicted today; so that's good news. Today is Tiff's birthday, so I'll be going to BU to celebrate. Currently, I'm supposed to be meeting Wubulu for dinner, but instead I'm writing here. Still haven't seen the new Curb yet, but Bighead has Tivo at his frathouse, so I'll catch it some time soon.

I watched the Dylan documentary by Scorcese on PBS. Loved it. Long, though. In fact, I spent 3.5 hours not actually doing homework, but convincing myself that somehow watching Dylan and his transformation in the early 1960s was somehow relevant to my work on interpreting the late 1960s in the 1990s. In truth, it's not. But I have to find some excuse.

I also read a book on Reconstruction. Man o man, is that the most depressing chapter in American history? I think so. It's so heartbreaking and devastating. Welp, here I go around again. Gotta do stuff.

Chicago Burning

2005-09-21T14:03:00.000-04:00

News came today that Marshall Field's, the beloved Chicago department store, will have its name changed in a dumbfounding move of cultural insensitivity. To add insult to injury, Field's will now be known as Macy's, as in New York's Macy's. The move has been reported as an effort to make national marketing efforts more cost-effective, and many other stores will undergo the same change, including the Ayres of the shopping mall in my hometown.

Now, I don't care whether or not they change LS Ayres to Macy's, but Marshall Field's plays an important part not just in the history of the city, but in national history as well. At this point, almost all Chicagoans are speaking out from a sense of nostalgia, but this move goes far beyond that. Yes, we've all spent snowy December days in the palatial department store, feeling like Gold Coasters as we slipped up and down the escalators, pondering the Tiffany ceiling and looking at the window displays on State Street beneath blaring gold trumpets and garland. We have been reassured that all this beauty will continue, no jobs will be lost, and the Chicago store will be transformed into the third crown jewel of the Macy's fleet, alongside the flagship stores of New York and San Francisco.

Hogwash. Is this supposed to make us feel better? How insensitive are these idiots? Do they not know that Chicago has always deeply resented its status as the Second City, even as we revel in it. Why do we resent it? In the words of a song by Chicago rapper Kanye West..."Two Words": New York. We hate that the coastal elites refer to our neck of the country as flyover states, and if they think that linking us with two coastal cities is supposed to make us feel better they're damn wrong. Sure, many of us secretly love New York, but none of us want to BE New York. What birdbrains are these executives that they think that we would be comforted to learn that one of the things that was quintessentially ours and one-of-a-kind is now simply one of three, with New York at the top? Marshall Field's was ours. Macy's will always be New York's. Tying our wagon to the Big Apple's will never be acceptable. Perhaps next they should rename the Sears Tower the Empire State Building.

But this issue cuts deeper than that. Marshall Field's was not merely important in the minds of Chicago, but it held an important place in the history of the country. Most twentieth century cultural history classes begin with the road to mass entertainment, culminating in Coney Island and movie palaces. But Marshall Field's predates those, and most scholars recognize this and give the department store its due by namechecking the transformation from shopping from an errand to an event of mass entertainment, creating exotic showrooms exquisitely decorated, showcasing products from around the world. In this sense, and in the Columbian Exposition of 1893, Chicago helped pave the way toward a transformation of leisure time and mass entertainment that continues today. As of September 2006, this legacy will be as deconstructed as the buildings of the White City, mystified and understood only by proxy. And so it goes.

In other news, my White sox managed to squeak out a win yesterday against the Indians, putting both of their magic numbers at 9. It's scary that they have two magic numbers, but whatever. And to make matters worse (a theme of this column), their rival in the wild card race, should they lose the division to Cleveland is none other than the New York Yankees. Should they lose a spot in the playoffs due to the Yankees, I hate to think where this leaves us.

The Comeback

2005-09-19T18:14:00.000-04:00

I'm back in Cambridge living and working and schooling. After a week of complete lack of productivity, I'm now shopping classes like they're on sale. I went to three classes today, and they were all fantastic. Only one of them will I probably take, though. It's History and Literature of the Modern American South, and I felt all special today because of my road trip there after freshman year, understanding how things like kudzu define the south. Yes, we discussed kudzu for a few minutes. I must say that I haven't missed self-important, argumentative brats. While we were discussing it I said that despite the fact that it now grows like a weed, it can be pretty cool. The girl next to me was responded under her breath "it's awful" to which I said that in certain areas it can be quite beautiful, i.e. under railroad trellises on your favorite album cover, but whatever, she can die.

This was the same person who at the beginning of class, as we were answering the prof's preliminary question of what the Confederate flag meant in the North vs. the South, said, "I think it's a little more complicated than that." Um, yeah. You're not in middle school or the executive branch of the federal government where everything is in black and white. The point of the question was to lay some groundwork for discussion and accepted generalizations are the best way to do that. Ok, I'm ranting, but this girl's shortsightedness really got to me. I think she was from the South and had this attitude that no non-Southerner could possibly understand it, like we were all judging her. Um, let me just say that we probably wouldn't be taking the class if we were so judgmental, and second of all, don't assume all Harvard students are New York-centric Manhattanites.

So that's out of the way. What else happened of note. Probably the most exciting part was going to Allston to see my BU friends. Seeing as how close it is on the 66 bus, I'll probably be over there all the time.

Haven't seen Beulah yet, sadly.

Fretting about my thesis, but I'll probably get over it. I'm narrowing into Philip Roth, but right now I'm starting a lot of books and not finishing. I took a break from Augie March for a few days and now am reading White Noise just to get that under my belt before classes begin.

My thesis is due March 1, which is probably less than a month into 2nd semester which is terrifying, especially since so many of my friends are ditching their theses, a luxury which I don't have...not that I'd want to.

The Supreme Court thing looks pretty much sealed. I really enjoyed discussing it with AirPizz who had an internship there, so basically, she knows all the justices, which is amazing, and she really cares and knows so much about it that it's always a fun topic of conversation. I don't know where I stand on whether the Senate Dems should oppose the nomination. I suppose there's no harm in voting "no" to send a message, but at the same time, it may strike a wrong note politically considering that at least on the outside Roberts is pretty likeable. My favorite part of the hearings?---Pat Leahy saying, "We're rolling the dice with you, Judge." All I could think of was a bunch of shady alleyway figures shouting "clickety CLACK." Ok, I've told that joke to just about everyone, but it still puts a smile on my face.

Over and out.

Apres moi, le deluge...

2005-09-06T11:02:00.000-04:00

The comparisons to 18th century France are striking. We literally have a deluge and a president whose attitude seems to suggest the famous "After me, the deluge" quote of Louis XV in terms of budget policy, international relations, you name it. Further, his mother, donning her powdered Marie Antoinette wig, manages to embarrass herself with the line "And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this --this is working very well for them." Mid sentence, where the hyphen occurs, there's a brief chortle if you've heard the audio. I'm willing to excuse this and not make the big deal out of it that other bloggers have. It seemed more nervous than anything, but as someone else put it, the sad thing is that she probably doesn't even know that the statement is offensive. On top of all this, I can recall the after the 2000 election people referred to the president as the dauphin president, mocking his relation to the ill-fated Louis XVI, and now that couldn't be more apropos. It's times like these that make me wish we lived under a parliamentary system so that we could call a vote of no confidence. Is there anyone who feels safe with this man in office. I think that it's true that local authorities didn't do enough, but their failures don't even begin to stack up to the numerous blunders of a FEMA made ineffective by budget cuts, and its fearless leader, the horse breeder.

I'll miss New Orleans, but I can't wait for it to come back. Sure, I was only there a few days with some friends while on our tour of the South, but it left an indelible impression on my friends and me. The muffaletta, the beignets, the cafe au lait, the charming streetcars, the lively street performers, po'boys, hurricanes (the drink), and gumbo. I can't wait to go back and take all these in again down the line. These are all the things I talked about with my uncle (who is the the most New Orleanian of all non-New Orleanians in the world) over Labor Day.

I normally don't like to get political in the blog, but this has basically been my last week--sitting in front of the tv watching in horror and pumping my fists as the media fought back for the poor. I believe we need a government led by people who still think that government can be an agent of good in the world and not a necessary evil. A real Roosevelt with dreams and Trumanesque accountability. God, I sound like my grandma. What we don't need are photo-ops and buck-passing. It's hard to write about this because everything has been said, and yet it still demands to be aired personally. Is there any faith left in the federal government?

Well there you have it. My soapbox collapsed right from under me. I'm in the last week of summer and kind of reeling. My thesis is spinning out of control. I can't focus, I've just added Saul Bellow to the list of possible topics, I'm pushing Moby Dick out of the way once more so I can fit in the new Roth book, I'm planning to read For Whom the Bell Tolls, too, and all this on top of packing and moving in and Camp Harvard. Stop this ride, I want off.

Oh, wait, SCOTUS. I forgot how I was so excited about Supreme Court hearings, and now Rehnquist is gone. I applaud Bush's decision to move Roberts into the Chief Justice chair because you know he was just itching to put in Nino Scalia or Clarence Thomas. I really think we dodged a bullet on this one, but no one really knows what this guy will do. Still, he can't be as conservative as Rehnquist, a man who disenfranchised black voters in Arizona in 1962 and Florida in 2000. (The Arizona case is rock solid, no matter what you think of Bush v. Gore.) Plus, he did a few hours of pro bono work for gay rights, so he can't be that horrible.

Which brings to mind dear old Sandra Day. I think we're getting a woman with this one, and probably a red herring ringer in the Clarence Thomas sense. We'll see. Bush is awfully weak right now.

As I mentioned earlier, I'm currently reading The Plot Against America by Philip Roth about the fictional presidency of fascist sympathizer Charles Lindbergh, a man who barnstorms the country in a flight suit, oversimplifying international affairs. hmmm. I'm told it's not quite so allegorical as it first seems, but we'll see. In one review of it, the critic talks about Roth's ability to turn up or turn down the volume dial of his dialogue. What insight! In this book and American Pastoral, you can hear the characters screaming or mumbling, and feel the hot breath on your face.

Thursday we'll probably go to a Sox game to go see the Good Guys rip Kansas City a new one. What fun!

Requiem For A Mullet

2005-09-01T13:30:00.000-04:00

Et lux perpetua dadum da DUM et lux perpetua da dum da DUUUUM, and all that.

So yesterday I went into Chicago with the Drake and had lunch, got a haircut. I originally planned to go to the place where my protomullet was born, but as we stopped to say hi to another of our friends who works in a Lebanese restaurant in the neighborhood, he said he knew of a great cheap place to go. So he made me an appointment, and I entered Esteban's. That's right, Steven's. All systems were go, and I was very excited. I explained exactly what I wanted. Esteban had a little bit of trouble understanding, so I tried to be as explicit as possible. When we got to the protomullet, I said I wanted that hair to be the same length as the hair on top. He asked me if I wanted him to shorten it, and I said yes, since it had grown a little long, but he took that to mean to take it off completely. So it goes.

The protomullet is no more. It will take me at least a solid two months to grow it back to a noticeably decent length, and then perhaps we can try again. I'm quite upset since reviving the American mullet is a pet project of mine, and now it's dashed. I should know better than to try to revive things past. We all know how the campaign to bring back the high five went. It ended up being more annoying than anything.

The haircut is still fairly nice, though, and here's the reason that I'm not quite so upset. As you could guess, Esteban is Latino. I'm not quite sure how he knew that I speak Spanish, but the point is that he did. (I think he may have seen my ears perk up when he talked with his coworker.) So we chatted away the time in Spanish. Generally I find it hard to talk to haircutters, but I guess when you find out that you both speak Spanish, it creates something to latch onto. (How did you learn Spanish? How did you like Spain? Have you been to Mexico? etc.) It was great, and I was surprised how well I've retained it.

The Drake is now on her way back to St. Paul. It's very sad, first I said goodbye to the Hoosier Lush...now the Drake. My whiplash trip home is coming to the end of its friendphase and will soon move onto the familyphase before returning for my last stay at Camp Harvard.

Celebrated Summer--A Dirge

2005-08-28T16:02:00.000-04:00

I'm going to wax a little nostalgic as is my wont. I can remember my American history teacher in high school saying that she never saw a group of people so young reminisce so much as my friends and I did.

Yesterday, the major players of summers past assembled around a familiar kitchen table for a short reunion, reminding me that our small corner of Indiana has people as varied and interesting as almost anywhere in the world. Even though I've had a really great summer, bouncing around Cambridge and Spain in indigence with some of my best friends in the world, I couldn't help but be a little saddened upon my return to Indiana. The time spent in Bloomington with old friends, and the week to come in the Region cause my mind to wander into the pockets of past summers at the waterpark, the cafe, and the houses of friends. It also sparked the creation of alternate realities which I find I'm able to create as easily as if I had lived them. The breakneck spiral of St. Patrick's Day at the Cantab echoes in my brain as if I had witnessed the Lush handing out doritos and pointing to the drummer, Schnocone collecting the pieces of a shattered lamp, and the Italian with Shick Chick discussing her parents watching Wheel of Fortune and drinking kickaboo juice. The other alternate reality I like to kick around is my American 21st Birthday Bash which never happened but has still been colored by cliches and flourishes.

Anyways, enough of that noodling, I know you probably want to know about my week in Bloomington at a campus that isn't included in Playboy's list of top party schools because they don't think it's fair to include a professional in a list of amateurs.

So first, I want to relate the various quotes that came out of this week.

"I'll have a walnut egg."--Schnocone, trying to order pecan walnuts at Waffle House.
--(Waitress--We don't have that. Schno--Ok, I'll have a walnut pancake...walnut waffle. Waitress--We have pecan pancakes. Schno--That's what I said. Walnut egg. (actually he said "That sounds fine" but I find this response funnier.

Schnocone: Mmmm, this popsicle was created by Jesus.
Hoosier Lush: The only thing Jesus ever created was pointless suffering.

Hoosier Lush: Baby's in a baaaad mooooood. (To Schnocone, repeatedly, when he was having none of it.)

Hoosier Lush: The only thing Bighead knows about is God.

So here are other things that happened during this past week.

All my friends went out to Bullwinkle's in Bloomington. The best part about Bullwinkle's is that it's Bloomington's gay club, but it's housed in what used to be the old Moose Lodge of the area. How hilarious is that? Well, we went to Bull's in order to see the Wednesday night drag show over the opportunity to sing karaoke at the Office Lounge. At first it seemed like a mistake since the drag queens had quit in a huff that very day over some pay dispute or something. We went in anyway, and after some much needed lubrication (maybe I should be more careful in my word choice), the Lush and I decided to hit the dance floor where we went absolutely bonkos. I'm not much of a dancer, but we were so infected by the mixes that we went absolutely crazy, taking up probably almost a third of the dance floor with our routine that ranged from swing-ish arm moves to a recreation of a bull fight to faux Pulp Fiction hand moves and writhing on the ground, a la Madonna doing Like a Virgin at the first VMAs. It was possibly the most fun I've ever had dancing anywhere. We were out of control.

Friday night we went on a bar crawl for one of our friends there. It all began over Sink the Biz at Nick's, which was a big, loud, blast. Afterward, we went to Kilroy's which proved that Bloomington may not be the coolest place based on the music selection of American Pie and Ob La Di and Build Me Up Buttercup. That's not to say I didn't enjoy it, but Kilroy's is pretty bad. From there we went to the Bluebird which was my uncle's favorite place back in the day. Their night's attraction was Headbanger's Ball where they had a hair metal cover band. How I was able to endure it is beyond me, but the general ridiculousness of it actually cracked me and everyone else up. Some audience members were a little too into it, though.

That may be about it in terms of general craziness. If I remember anything else, I'll post, but I think I've bored you enough.

Oh, here's something that is currently pissing me off. On the list of VMA performers, Shakira's duet partner Alejandro Sanz is missing, which means that I think they're replacing him with Ricky Martin. This is unfounded, but the fact that he's even at the event makes me think, this to be true, which would really, really suck, as he lacks any of the hardcore sexuality needed to make the song work, making La Tortura as autoerotic for Shakira as a Walt Whitman poem. The only thing worse would be if Shakira performs an English song.

Over and Out.

Coming Home, Via Chicago

2005-08-18T14:03:00.000-04:00

It's my last day in Cambridge, and at 6:55pm I will be in the air bound for Chicago. OK, I shouldn't get ahead of myself here. I have the uncanny ability to delay any flight I'm on, ESPECIALLY flights to Chicago. So even though my landing time is 8:42pm, I probably won't actually land until well after 10pm. It's a science.

Last night I helped Bighead move and we were awesome. We did it in about 2.5 hours, not counting the big furniture we moved the day before. As a reward, we went out for a delicious beer afterward. I'm going to miss my beloved UFO. Is there anything quite like a wheat beer in summer with a twist of lemon? I don't think so. Tonight after I get in I plan to immediately stop at Al's #1 Italian Beef for an Italian beef covered in hot peppers, and the bread dipped in the juices. Afterward, I'll go directly across the street to enjoy some Mario's Italian Lemonade where a gracious Mexican (no, not many Italians are actually left in the historic Italian neighborhood) will serve me a cantaloupe lemonade. I cannot explain to you the magic of this delicious, shaved ice concoction made only of the purest ingredients and freshest of fruits. Most amazing is the way that the cantaloupe and lemon flavors blend in order to help rid the flavor of the cantaloupe from its more garbage-like tones. (In case you don't know, cantaloupe tastes vaguely of garbage...especially if it's a little ripe.)

Then we will drive home on the Skyway past the steel mills where my nostrils and lungs will jump for joy with the return of the aroma of hard work and pollution. Honestly, I haven't drunk in these odors in quite a while. Then we will wind our way into the sleepy suburb of Hobart where I will retire to the luxuries of satellite tv and my new computer with which insurance has replaced the stolen one.

Last night I finished "American Pastoral" and although I loved it, I couldn't help feel extremely let down by the ending. About fifty pages from the end I realized that Roth wasn't really that interested in wrapping things up, so we wouldn't hear about future interactions between the protagonist and his daughter, or her death, or his, which are all spoken of in the first section, so I haven't ruined any spoilers. In the last three pages, it looked as though we were on our way for a crash landing, but it turned out to be a clever, mind-ruse, which was quite upsetting. I must say that he didn't take the easy way out, but I'm kind of upset that so much of the future of these characters' lives was left hanging at the end. We're talking no resolution whatsoever. I'm still trying to construct their past futures in my head, getting nowhere, which I guess is a good thing, but it's also very upsetting.

And all this means one thing...I need to finish Moby Dick. The second half is next in the book queue, so there's no way around it. I've already procrastinated by plowing through four books in my time here, and the moment of reckoning is at hand. Honestly, people, have you ever known me to read this much? It's bizarre, but I think my moment of castellano captivity in Spain awakened my love of the English language and literature. That's not to say that I don't miss Spanish...a LOT, but it's so much more satisfying to read a book in your native tongue.

The ipod is charged, the bags are packed, the lunch is eaten, and now I'm settling into a few hours of delicious tv time before returning to the Crossroads of America, which may seem like an odd slogan for a state as sleepy as Indiana, but if you've ever been in Indiana even for a little bit, you know how easy it is to leave it. There are just about a million interstates all intersecting, making it perfect for leaving, which I will be doing in about three weeks. But in the mean time, I will be basking in the understated, pastoral beauty of dunes and cornfields, as well as the mighty brawn of industrial steel. Oh, not to mention trips to Chicago, where I'll hopefully be seeing my first place Sox getting over their losing streak and becoming a major playoff contender. And the Gary Southshore Railcats, because honestly, is there anything to compare with independent minor league baseball? Methinks not.

Turkey Time, Part II

2005-08-14T23:53:00.000-04:00

The feast is over. We had turkey, stuffing (does anyone else call it dressing?), broccoli, mashed potatoes, gravy, and cranberry sauce with $1 wine and strawberry rhubarb pie which Schnocone brought from the grocery store. The turkey was amazing, and we have so much left. We may not finish all of it before I leave.

But the meal was not without hangups.
1. Finding the organs in the turkey is like hide and seek. Why don't they put all of them in the cavity. Bighead watched me as I searched up and down, banging the thing, looking for the liver, etc. I finally decided that maybe this wasn't included in all turkeys, and after pulling out the neck and gizzard, stuffed the turkey and was done. Only after cooking it, did we find the innards, underneath the neck flap. Luckily, this in no way affected the delicious taste of a truly juicy and delicious bird.
2. Gravy. I don't understand gravy. It is a sphinx. I can make it. It tastes pretty good, but it is never as smooth as it should be. I'm quick to blame the lack of a proper pan, but I'm pretty sure the problem is me. After a couple more times, I'm sure I'll get the hang of it. The color and flavor were pretty great, but there were some burnt floaties. Practice makes perfect.

This was a real team effort, proving that Schnocone, Bighead, and I can feed ourselves without having to rely on the aid of Baby Huey or our parents. For a first attempt, we kicked ass. Obviously we still have a ways to go, but this was quite a success.

Turkey Time!

2005-08-14T17:30:00.000-04:00

So after a ridiculous party at the girls' place on Friday, and the obligatory Saturday recovery and guilt-fest over Wendy's value menu, today is Sunday, and it's a whole new week offering the promise of Chicago, the Region, and IU. There will be some major traveling, major being a relative word. Really, it's nothing compared to some of my whirlwind trips on the Iberian subcontinent and Asia Minor. I only have one more week left of survival, work, and Cambridge, and so Bighead and I decided that to celebrate the end of summer we are making a turkey. (Also, Bighead made pretty good pasta sauce from scratch on Friday, but that's neither here nor there. Neither is his birthday which was a blast, except for the fact that I got tired and cranky. Sorry.)

But on to the turkey! It's in the oven now, it's all buttered up, stuffed with stuffing, and we're just waiting to start the mashed potatoes and broccoli and cranberry sauce that will accompany it. This is a major endeavor. It's the first time we've used the oven, not counting the delicious cookies we make with prefab cookie dough. We're pretty sure it's going to be awesome. We got the bag and everything. The only threats to this turkey are a possibly unreliable oven which may or may not have even heating, and the dreaded gravy. However, after making semi-decent pork gravy, I feel like making turkey gravy will be...well...gravy. Oh, and Bighead bought these red onions that made me weep. It was painful, and I made the mistake of wearing my glasses, so I couldn't wipe my tears on my shoulder, and I couldn't chop with my glasses off because I'm blind.

In other news, I really love Shakira. If there's a better pop artist out there right now, I'd like to know about it. I'm pretty sure once I get to IU on Saturday the Lush and I are going to break out some screaming at the top of our lungs La Tortura over Keystone and hot porch action. I cannot wait for the porch. I think it has a swing, too. This is the problem with not going to school in a city that lives for the college and doesn't have cheap housing for rent. DeWolfe doesn't even have little patios.

In other cooking news, there's some station here that plays classic Julia Child. We're talking vintage "The French Chef." It's amazing. She's so entertaining. Nobody on Food Network can even touch her apron strings. I don't know if it's the voice, the amazonian girth, the brute force of her hands struggling with an unforgiving chicken or what, but it's like watching poetry.

Stay tuned to find out how the bird turns out. Should be interesting. Also, we have no idea why the Butterball turkey hotline exists. It all seemed so easy to do. Perhaps I'm speaking to soon.

Summer School

2005-08-11T17:13:00.000-04:00

I don't know if it's being at Harvard or the fact that last semester wasn't really like school the fact that this is my last year of school or what, but this has been a pretty academic summer as summers go. What follows is an insight into what's been going on inside my brain for the last few months while it may seem like I've basically been working, arguing, and, yes, wilding.

So here are some fun facts about me and Lincoln. I like to compare myself to the greatest president ever, so bear with me. It will be like Lincoln/Kennedy comparisons, only less freaky.

1-I was born on April 14, the day Lincoln was assassinated (also the day the Titanic struck an iceberg (booooring) and the day the Segunda Republica Espanola was created). Isn't that a great birthday?
2-We're both 6'4", which means should I ever go to his house in Springfield, I can have the truly awesome experience of gazing into the shaving mirror that he gazed into each and every day.
3-We both spent our formative years in Indiana...although I spent my whole life there, and he just spent his childhood/adolescence.
4-We both think slavery is wrong.
5-Neither of us would be Republicans today.

Ohok, so I ran out of steam on the last two, but whatever.

In other news, I've been doing something I've never really taken seriously before--summer reading. I'm reading more this summer than I have in, well, ever. I'm a reading machine. I love it. So far this summer I've read The Long Goodbye, The Sun Also Rises, The Partly Cloudy Patriot, Assassination Vacation, great parts in Leaves of Grass, Winesburg Ohio, and am currently in the middle of American Pastoral and Moby Dick.

I'm not sure the two Sarah Vowell books count, though, since I read both of them in about half a week, although not consecutively. Winesburg, Ohio was really great. I completely disagree with what Huey read and related to me, namely that it's basically bogus how it's based on a premise that small-town life is crazy. The best part of Winesburg is that most of the stories aren't crazy. They're refreshingly normal. My family probably has people with much crazier stories than those. I just love that it doesn't go over the top, but rather simmers in a way that "small-town" or "suburban" literature doesn't anymore. Exhibit A--American Beauty, a good, if deeply flawed movie. I must admit, though, that most of the book I was underwhelmed, but the last couple of chapters were really good, and by the time I finished I absolutely loved it. "An american town worked terribly at the task of amusing itself." I love that line. Overall, I like a little bit more stylized prose, but the conversational, let-me-tell-you-a-story approach is kind of nice. It's not terribly artistic, but it matches the subject matter well.

Yesterday before I hunkered into reading American Pastoral I was talking about how it wasn't really grabbing me. I was only 59 pages in at this point, but still I was kind of bored by the whole Jewish assimilation stuff, and the prospect of tackling the Vietnam war seemed a little boring since, well, like most people of my generation, I'm sick of hearing about Vietnam. But wow. Roth knows how to pack a punch. I wish I had some choice quotes to lay out before you, but I don't. It's really great. Could be thesis worthy. My brother actually recommended it because he thought it matched my preocccupations with America well, and boy howdy does it. I can't wait to see where it takes off. I'm still just about a third of the way into it.

Today is Bighead's birthday, so we're going to go karaokeing, and he's just going to have to wait until I have some money for his present because I'm still kind of poor.

I'm home a week from today which is shocking. When I arrive, I will have been away over 7 months. That's not a terribly long time, but it seems like it, especially as action-packed as my life has been this past half year.

On Monday I had to turn in thesis topics in a crunch because I was notified that day they were picking advisors and if I didn't get my stuff in, then I'd probably get a random advisor who in all likelihood would not match my interests. So here's what my brain came up with when I got that sucker-punch of adrenaline, condensing all my deep academic soulsearching of the last three years into one email. These, ladies and gentlemen, are my interests, in email form:

-------------------------------
Sorry about the delay. I also apologize that I'm currently preoccupied with
three or four ideas running circles in my head. I'm still undecided about a
thesis topic and am reading as fast as I can this summer. I think most
importantly, my ideal tutor would be interested in the 1950s or 1980s (with the
60s and 70s also possible). In addition to this, I've become interested in the
time after the Lincoln assassination:

In regard to the Lincoln assassination, what interests me most is the idea of
the American martyr, and the importance the nation placed on his death on Good
Friday, as well as his near deification by Whitman. The imagined relationship
between Whitman and Lincoln, the difference between the idealist poet and the
pragmatic politician I think holds the strongest possibilities. Before the
Civil War, Whitman has in some ways been credited with creating a new American
religion, linking body and sould in spirituality, and his near deification of
Lincoln in subsequent versions of Leaves of Grass fascinates me.

In the 1950s, I would be most interested in studying Chandler's The Long Goodbye
as a kind of precursor to pop fiction...a paperback masterpiece. Also, it's
connection with post-war consumer culture, anxiety about power, and the idea of
crime as a symptom of freedom, and not a disease in itself also interest me.

In the 1980s, I'm interested in how the apocalypse plays out in American arts,
from rock music to movies, etc. I haven't decided on a text, but have noticed
how both the religious right and idealist liberals both viewed America as
spinning out of control. The right saw us as moving toward certain apocalypse
awash in a sea of vice, while the left may have believed in the myth of America
too much, and as the Civil Rights movement came to a near screeching halt in the
Reagan administration, the left saw America as not living up to its potential,
and regressing into a modern imperialist juggernaut.

(Also of interest to me is a reading of The Great Gatsby as a novel of Midwest
displacement on the east coast, and the alienation that comes with it. The
idea of mobility in terms of physical mobility in an automobile, covering the
terrain of America, and the social mobility as seen by Gatsby's rise in wealth
would both be cautionary as in the end, all the characters are Midwest,
incapable of adjusting to life in east coast standards, and Gatsby unable to
pull off his upper class aspirations, falling flat, notably in the face of his
fellow Midwesterners.)

I will hopefully be sending you a list of tutors that I think may be best able
to help me in the next hour.

Ryan
----------------------
Obviously there are some errors in this, as The Long Goodbye is not actually a "paperback" novel, but it is certainly pop and subversively highbrow. Unfortunately, I failed to mention American Pastoral and have also failed to mention the Godfather which would be a really great choice as it totally and completely reflects America at that time, avoiding allegory, thank god, but still having layers upon layers of symbolism.

If you've gotten through this potentially very boring post, you're a better reader than I.

Back in the Bread Line

2005-08-07T22:12:00.000-04:00

If there's one thing that I've learned since the new year, it's that you really only need one pair of pants. After Huey's spending a week and a half traveling in high school wearing one pair of corduroys, we coined the term "everyday pants." It was basically just to make fun of him, or ourselves should we wear the same pants too often. But let me tell you--you don't really need more than one pair of pants. I've been wearing this one pair of jeans all summer and practically all last semester. One is enough. Also, they aren't dirty and don't even smell. The only drawback is that you have to avoid rain like a mouthbreather. Because the slightest bit of moisture will unleash scent memories that your pants have recorded since the last laundry day.

Last night we tapped a watermelon and had a nice night on the porch, except it wasn't that nice. We were mostly annoyed and not remotely interested in what was to come. Luckily, the night was saved by a nice ABBA doc on WGBH. I think the exchange of the night was as follows. Me: You think economics is more important than morality?--Schnocone: It's more important than everything!

The day before I basically spent blowing off friends. I forgot I promised Schnocone we'd do an Indian buffet, and instead ended up meeting Beulah for lunch on her day in the area. And that night I ignored the Beckster and Bighead to talk to my small, curly, Haitian friend who I hadn't talked to in a long time. I'm sorry to all the snubbed involved, but whenever we see each other we basically become completely ensnarled in our own conversation. A murder could probably take place and we wouldn't notice.

Today we went to the Mt. Auburn Cemetary to see mildly famous dead guys. We saw Charles Sumner's grave which was very disappointing. We were expecting some sassy quote ripping into slavery or maybe a bloody gold cane or something to identify this pre-Civil War icon. We also saw R. Buckminster Fuller's grave which was equally disappointing. We expected a concrete geodesic dome. We got a concrete cross. Isabella Stewart Gardner's family tomb was also upsetting. Basically, it was just big, trying to prove to her neighbors that she has more cash, even in death. The most interesting was that of Edwin Booth. Booth is the brother of John Wilkes Booth, and all the info I know about him comes from reading Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation which I just finished yesterday. I plowed through it. Basically, Booth was the best Shakespearean actor of the 19th century and the Hamlet of his time. He also saved Robert Todd Lincoln's life by picking him off the train tracks after he had fallen before a train ran him over. So, as opposed to his brother, he was the Booth that saved a Lincoln's life. blah blah blah. His grave had a copper or bronze plate of his head, kind of ornate with a generic Bible quote on front and a better Shakespeare quote on the back. The best part of his gravesite, however, was, as Schnocone noted, that the headstone of his wife is simply engraved with "Wife of Edwin Booth" and not her actual name. Even their dead baby lying beside them actually got a name (Edgar). What did this woman do to deserve eternal anonymity?

In other news, somehow I've slipped back into poverty. I'm not quite sure how this happened. It's actually due to the fact that I haven't been paid in around four weeks, and this week, the first in which I was to receive a paycheck, Direct Deposit somehow screwed it up, or it got delayed, or it may be in the process of being forwarded home to Indiana. It sucks being poor. What's worse is that now I've got debts. Not major debts, but it does suck that Bighead's birthday is coming up and I may have to beg borrow and steal to actually be able to do anything for it. The other annoying thing is that I do have money. I've been working. I just have NO access to it. blech.

Friday I had a nice little lunch with Beulah where we both discussed our somewhat random existences and experiences squatting. Let's just say her squatting is way more interesting than my squatting. That sounds a little stranger than it should. However, within two days she may land a full time job, which is a little disappointing, because then our springtime fun in the office will be gone. Still, I wish her luck...mainly because the job sounds sooooo cool.

Mutha of Jeff Davis! The problem is me.

2005-08-04T20:03:00.000-04:00

After arguing with Bighead the entire way home about whether or not Bush is smart, (I say he's not dumb...although he lacks intellectual curiosity) and whether or not there will be any indictments in the Plame scandal, I came to realize my life has a theme--arguing. Normally I blame this on Bighead and Schnocone, but I think now the problem might be me. Like Hoosier Lush likes to fight and hold grudges...I just love to argue. I can't get enough of it. If Bighead and Schnocone didn't argue while I was away last semester then the problem is totally me. I also think the problem is that sometimes people say completely ridiculous things that I cannot let go of until they admit their fallacy...something which they NEVER do. For example, about two weeks ago we were talking about the 2008 election like we always do, and I said that if Hillary runs against McCain, McCain would win a ton of Democratic crossover votes. Schnocone said that Hillary would get more Republican crossover votes than McCain would get Democratic ones because Hillary is positioning herself as an advocate for family values and a strong centrist. How can I let that go? It begs to be argued. But the fact that I'm still thinking about this further illustrates how crazy I am. I just can't let these things go. They drive me crazy. So now I realize I have a problem...but I love it. I don't care. It makes the walk from Harvard to MIT go by much faster when you're arguing with someone.

In other news, last night we celebrated the Beckster's birthday by going out. Of course, her birthday was actually Tuesday, but she ditched us to spend the night at her boyfriend's house (she just spent the entire last week in Portugal with him...sheesh). But I understand, they were apart for a long time. But now she's gone again tonight. Are we sensing a theme? Mehopes not, because otherwise I'm going to have to Lay it Down, Clown.

I'm actually going home two weeks from today which is scary. If hometime comes, can the school year be far behind? Ugh, and school year means I'll be freaking out over my thesis, still undecided, but tomorrow I'm going to speak with kflood about it. Next week I may be going to NYC to celebrate a friend's birthday. Pray for me if I do end up going.

I'm currently reading Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell. I think it's easily her best book. It's much more focused, despite the fact that it jumps around a lot and is filled with Judge Ito sidebars. Huey was right, though, her idea of Spanish history explained in the preface is completely all over the place and wrong. I can't believe an editor didn't correct it. Especially since it's not obscure history. I think a good number of people know that the mark of the decline that she notes as occurring in 1588 was the fracaso of the Armada Invincible which was under Felipe II's reign, and not under that of Carlos el Hechizado. Still, the book is completely enthralling and makes me very proud of our history while at the same time infuriating me. For example, John Ashcroft, in an interview with a magazine with Confederate sympathies, praises said magazine for debunking the idea that Jefferson Davis was anything but a traitor and a racist. Oh, and this magazine also sells shirts with Lincoln's portrait on it with Sic Semper Tyrannis--Thus Always to Tyrants, meaning all tyrants like Lincoln should be killed. Can you honestly believe people still hate Lincoln? Our greatest president ever? Could you imagine how much more the South would hate him if they bothered to pick up a book and find out he was gay? That magazine also sold bumper stickers that said Clinton's Military--A gay at every porthole, a fag in every foxhole. Mutha of Jeff Davis!--It's enough to make you want to invade the South again! If it wasn't for my eating and musical tour of the South two summers ago (is it really that long ago?), I would probably think it was dispensable, too. Of course it's not. The country would not be nearly as colorful without it. I don't even think the term local color would exist without it, and American music would still revolve around Christian God Puritan church hymns, drum and fife Yankee Doodle arrangements, and British standards like God Save The Queen americanized into Our Country Tis of Thee. God I hate that song. Really...is there anything more annoying than My Country Tis of Thee? Unfortunately, too many Americans do think think the South is dispensable. On another note, how did the Southern colonies which were the antithesis of the Bible thumping Puritan North become the Bible belt. That could be a good thesis. When did this change take place? All the Great Awakening hotspots were in the North. I completely love the South, but my Chinese friend informs me that that's just because I'm white. Oh well.

Summer Laze

2005-08-02T01:41:00.000-04:00

It's late, and I should be in bed since I have to work tomorrow in the day and bring the party to the Beckster for her 22nd birthday party in the night. However, I'm not feeling it and have decided to write a little bit here.

I just got off the phone with my former roommate Sancho Panza who will be living in South America next year which makes me incredibly jealous. His life sounds pretty good...at least entertaining. Of course, I maintain a certain confidence with Sancho, so none of that will be elaborated on here, but he always has a lot on his mind, cracking me up and boring me at the same time. Hadn't actually heard his voice in seven months, so that was more than exciting.

This weekend reminded me of how hilarious my life can sometimes be, just from an observer's perspective, without me really having any action. Between some crafty, passive-aggressive homewrecking on my friend's part disguised as a surprise visit at a birthday party in addition to denied Indian/brown fetishes proving themselves once again, to getting in trouble for relating a story and evesdropping despite the fact that I was simply relating a story that I heard the next day to dime slit eyes, to getting ditched while doing a very noble job of stealing toilet paper and Wubulu always cracking me up for reasons I don't quite understand. These are somewhat vague references, but they're going to have to suffice.

My job continues, and the training portion proves to be more exhausting than that for the CIA or FBI. I'm still maybe only halfway done, and I've been working there forever.

I don't know if I mentioned this in the blog before, but it bears repeating. Everyone around me knows this, but I have yet to elaborate on it here. I've come to the conclusion that poverty breeds crime. This would be obvious to anyone living in urban America, and of course I've known this before, but since returning to America, I know it from personal experience. For example, in my more desperate hours, when I was unemployed, crime was always popping into my head. Every time I went to the grocery store all I could think about was how much I would rather steal food than pay for it. Of course I couldn't do it, but I think that if I had gone a little longer without income it seriously would have happened. Hooking was also a very considerable option that I weighed. Honestly, I'd be a hot commodity, a fetish item, like an Asian or midget. There's got to be a specialty market for bony white boys with mullets. This actually came to me the moment I stepped out of the Chinatown bus in Boston. I was thinking about how awful it was going to be walking across Boston from South Station to the northern suburb of Cambridge, and all I could think was how much easier it would be to give a cabbie a hand job in exchange for a free ride to Eliot. Try to get that image out of your head!

Actually, I can! When Schnocone returned to South Station after spring break in Puerto Rico last year he was mulling over the idea of staying at the station until the subway restarted when he went to the bathroom to see some guy in cowboy boots defecating in a stall with the door open and...wait for it...a hobo washing his genitalia in the sink. I hate to steal the thunder of that story from Schnocone because it is oh-so-hilarious, but I needed some mental sorbet to cleanse the brain palate, and since I didn't have any, I decided to throw that rank stinking pile of garbage into your head.

Umm, this is what happens when you're basically lazing around in the summer. Your mind wanders. Currently reading Winesburg, Ohio and about to start American Pastoral in order to finish it before I go home and devote my time to finishing off Moby Dick. Yesterday I watched Todo sobre mi madre, or All About My Mother...so good. I love that imbecil Almodovar, I don't care what my Spanish parents say. Also, I'm totally freaking out for Liz Phair. Seriously, what happened? Before at least she said she wanted to make throwaway music that was catchy as hell and kind of fun, but now I read a NYTimes article where she talks about the label pressures and how she's still able to control some of her artistic decisions. This just makes me sad and mad as hell. How can a label engage in such a smear on one of the greatest minds, male or female, of pop music in the last ten years? God, they already have Sheryl Crow, why do they need a clone that can't even live up to her dumb standards and ends up compromising and falling short of even that low standard. I'm sorry, but this is really upsetting. I blame LA. This would never have happened if La Liz had stayed in Chicago. Ugh. And I don't need people who never really appreciated Guyville completely to join in my lament, because you don't really understand the fall. I care shit for credibility or hype. I'd take another whitechocolatespaceegg, but this is ridiculous.

OK, that went on a lot longer, but I realized I was ranting. In other news, nothing.

TREASON!

2005-07-29T02:17:00.000-04:00

I hereby bring before the High Court of Blogdom, one Schnocone, charged with the crime of treason.

What did he do, you ask...well, in the course of the evening quite a lot, but let's start with the treason.

As I related last week, I got fired under extremely ridiculous circumstances (Schnocone agrees to this point). As a show of solidarity, he quit the same job the next morning. So that updates us to yesterday morning when Schnocone returns to Ellsworth's to continue working. The Reason: Schnocone felt bad for Ellsworth because he's been working on this project since February and Schnocone wants to see it through to the end. True, he got me this job, and it pulled me out of the throes of poverty. Regardless, you do not quit a job to show your loyalty to a friend only to start the job again within a week. What a betrayal of friendship! Schnocone also says that he quit only because it was awkward once I got fired. Is it not more awkward now that he already quit and decided to return a week later. That, I say, is far more awkward. So here we are now. In an act of appeasement, I got a free margarita tonight, which if I may say so, was not that strong. I think it's not so much to ask for a free drink every night that he works, which amounts to less than five dollars out of the sixty dollars earned a day. That's certainly the cheapest price I've heard for a betrayal of friendhsip, but apparently it's not enough for economics-major-Schnocone.

Which brings me to my next point. If you weren't with me on the last one, you're sure to be with me on this one. Schnocone thinks that there was nothing wrong with the Civil War era draft where the rich could pay someone poorer than them to take their place place in the battlefield. When Bighead and I tried to argue that this was fucking crazy...an idea that they threw out in the 19th Century, he argued that there were no victims in the case, and that we were trying to deprive poor people of the free choice to earn money by replacing rich people on the battlefield. He actually accused us of being against poor people through what he hinted was condescending patronage...He actually believes this!

Bighead and I exhausted all avenues of debate, but it wasn't enough for the economics major who believes that everything has a price and the contract entered into should be honored as pure free will of all individuals involved. Sure, we tried to say that certain things shouldn't be given a money value, and one shouldn't be able to buy themselves out of their obligation to their society, but he said that they were fulfilling their obligation through their monetary payoff to the poor person.

Even when we tried to argue that one shouldn't be able to buy oneself out of a social contract it wasn't enough. Apparently I'm depriving poor people of money that they may need. We also tried saying that a society should hold that certain things do not have a cash value, because there are certain things that are beyond the realm of money, but once again we were accused of depriving the poor of their free will. Is it just me or is this insane? Tim said that his argument was in the spirit of the social contract that the rich are fulfilling their obligation to defend their society in time of war while we said that the social contract is above financial matters. But again, Bighead and I were depriving the poor and not making sense, grabbing at abstract, ethereal values in a concrete world. I can't explain my frustration. Maybe Schnocone can explain it better, but am I the only one disturbed by this?

By the way, this whole argument started over whether or not scouts should be able to pay someone to do their police call garbage pickup for them.

P.S.--I really want comments on this one, because it was a huge argument and I'm eager to know whether or not one of us is crazy. So if you read this, please comment.

Uh-Oh.

2005-07-28T01:18:00.000-04:00

So here we are, preparing for the next Supreme Court confirmation hearings, and now we have the personal memoranda of the candidate, analyzed by the NYTimes, the former beacon of quality reporting. Eh what the hell, there's really not a major newspaper better than the Times, so I guess they're still the beacon...at least the crossword hasn't diminished in quality. Well, here's the article. So yeah, we're fucked, and all the quality time spent in the Region isn't going to help him...it was the outskirts anyway.

So here are the predictions--
1. You can kiss the opposition to the Solomon Amendment goodbye, and any hope for gay rights. This means don't ask don't tell still stands, states won't need to recognize the marriages of other states, and sodomy laws could well be reinstated, so get your buttfucking in while the time lasts.
2. Affirmative action is also going into the shitter, so if you're brown, remember all those injustices your family suffered and you may have suffered as well...well, don't expect any leg up from state schools. What we need is another brown justice, which is why I support the Hoosier Lush for the Supreme Court. She'd do right.
3. Prisoners' Rights...what prisoners' rights?
4. Prayer in school? Sorry Schlomo, you're going to have to take your yarmulke off and direct your "Baruch attas" at that cross on the wall. Yahweh will understand...after all, Jesus was his son...wasn't he?

I suppose that's all I have to say for now. I hope my overreacting was grandiose enough. Can I officially take the place of Cassandra, pulling out my hair, raving about the end times? Schnocone already got his turn with the Ellsworth job, so now it's mine. Speaking of the American Apocalypse, I'm thinking this could be my thesis topic because both the left and the right like to foresee the end of America in their grandstanding, just on different terms.

In other news, I finished a rather annoying part of my job training today, thank Jesus (see heathens, was that so hard?). Not sure what I'll be doing tomorrow, but I do enjoy my job, it's kind of relaxed and very air-conditioned, and when I'm done, I just stay at the library and go upstairs to read, because there's no better place to read than the library.

Also, I'm LOVING TVE at Bighead's, where I listen to lisping Spaniards to my heart's content.

After the Deluge

2005-07-25T23:54:00.000-04:00

So I started work at the library. It's a pretty good job, but kind of confusing because all the books are not catalogued using one uniform system. Because the library system at Harvard predates the Library of Congress call system, there are two different ways the books are catalogued which is really confusing, and I always feel like an idiot when I make a mistake. And they always catch mistakes. They're so meticulous, they would really be amazing Nazis. We're talking Hitler's finest. Ok, maybe that was too far.

Friday night...well, let's not talk about Friday night. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Let me know if you're interested in how I was duped into smoking a hookah all by myself and then finding out that it wasn't just filled with delicious flavored tobacco. Otherwise, it's hush hush and probably not internet worthy. Nothing embarrassing in the vein of Indian-Pilgrim relations night on the Harvard shuttle, but still unpleasant.

So, that's about all that happened this weekend. Schnocone made garbage fried rice and Bighead deceived us with a big stupid internet rumor of the Smashing Pumpkins (one of my favorite bands e meritus) reuniting at Lollapalooza. What a waste.

Some things I still miss about Spain: the lisp, bread for 40 cents, wine for 40 cents, clara (beer and sweetened seltzer mixed), sunlight at 10pm, etc.

BUT, today I found out that Bighead's random MIT cable gets feed from TVE, that's Television Espanola, so tonight I watched a little bit of flamenco and heard the glorious lisp for the first time in weeks. Hallelujah!

A Gift from the Alcohol Fairy

2005-07-21T21:15:00.000-04:00

So after going to bed last night slightly tipsy, I woke up today with a few little gifts from the alcohol fairy. 1)A barely perceptible, but very persistent headache, and 2)A Brand New Job.

I woke up, went to assure that I had work study, and prepared for my interview. I went to the library at 4, had a brief interview and got hired on the spot. I really think that the internship in Spain is a huge plus. People see it and their interest is immediately piqued. I love it, even though it was such a waste of my qt in Spain.

So now I have work on Saturday which is a blessing and a curse. The good news is that I have a job, but the bad news is that Becky's friend is coming to town and bringing with her free admission and free drinks for me at The Liquor Store because she's, how shall we say...friendly, with a Yankee and a bartender there, so we're connected. Unfortunately, I can't go all out because I need to bring my A game to work on Saturday. How sad.

That's it!

The Big Chill

2005-07-21T12:58:00.000-04:00

Ok, so now I'm in cool-down mode. After getting fired and completely hopped up on adrenaline and endorphins and then bringing it down with alcohol, I'm finally in my right mind and can speak about things a little more clearly.

First of all, of course Ellsworth was a decent person who overpayed us for the work we did. I just like to talk. Is that wrong? And when he came in, I talked with him because I like to be on good terms with my employers. Apparently this was seen as slacking. Whatever, I'm over it.

As for the flittish comment last night, I think the mixture of adrenaline, endorphins, and cheap champagne (Thanks Ethel and Becky!) may have loosened my lips a little...ok, a lot. Things were said, accusations were made, imaginations ran wild, and that's what you get. Really, we just wanted to think of ways of getting some money out of the guy, and what with sexual harassment on the mind after Becky's altercation yesterday, that's what sprung to our minds. oops. all apologies.

Last night was a blast, though. Schnocone was late coming, so Becks and I went to Shay's and talked it up, spilling some super-double top secret stuff. Let's just say Becky has looser lips than Karl Rove and me combined! Ethel bought us a bottle of champagne to celebrate our getting fired, and we took an elegant, entwined arms toasting picture. Schnocone also bought me a beer because he was going to make some more money off of Ellsworth before quitting. And today, as a show of his Polish roots, Schnocone enacted a demonstration of solidarity and quit his job this morning, so now the work force over there is crippled.

Today, I got an email for an interview about a library job, so everything's coming up Zorro. Still have yet to hear about the time and place, though. Shouldn't be unemployed for long.

CANNED!

2005-07-20T23:03:00.000-04:00

So...I've been fired. Me especially. Here's the exact email. Very exciting--

Tim, I've appreciated greatly your work and thank you. Unfortunately, when Ryan
and Becky work together not that much is getting done. When I came by (you were
not there that day) the two of them stood by a dining room window, spent a lot
of time (Ryan especially) holding the brush in the air while they talked away,
every so often applying some paint to the wood. I didn't say anything, but did
ask Tom to separate them so they would have to work more (since I felt the
payment was sufficient for the work that needed to be done). Well, last time,
they again were together, not accomplishing much, and when Tom returned,
evidently sitting and chatting in the living room.

All this is to say that I don't think I can continue to have Ryan do work and
am unsure about Becky once Ryan is not there, but I know Becky is your friend
and perhaps you can discuss this with her.

I am blunter than Tom wanted me to be, but I wanted to be as clear as I could
with you. You and Andrew are outstanding, but I will understand if you feel this
is somehow unfair to you. Tom said you'd be by at 8 a.m. tomorrow and I don't
know if you'll get this before then. I'm going to see if you also gave me a
phone number.

If you get this you can get back to me. If you don't get it I'll call in the
morning once you're at the apartment.

Again, Tim, I really do appreciate your help, and when Ryan was not there, I
did not think the same problems arose. My best to you, Ellsworth

Ok, so this guy is obviously a douche and here's why...He didn't send me any news of my firing, instead sending this email to Tim, and an email to Becky telling her to tell Tim to check his email. Secondly--the reason that I would be seen dilly-dallying is because they had no fucking idea what to do next, so of course I was twiddling my thumbs. Secondly, the only day he actually saw me working, he chatted me up, so of course I'm going to be genial to the boss to establish a good relationship. Maybe he doesn't understand, but I've been living in SPAIN for the last six months. Does he not understand that I'm still acclimating myself to the American work ethic? Seriously, for that subcontinent, I'm a fucking machine. A tower of power. Becky and I were ready to do work today, but they had no paint. Hello, if there's no paint, we can't...wait for it...PAINT. And taping takes a lot more time than expected. Moreover, we were never alerted to the fact that we were doing subpar work slowly. Maybe if ONE SINGLE GODDAMN word was said, then we could have moved faster, but nothing was said...NOTHING. OOOH, I'm on fire. This is the second time I've been passive-aggressively fired, and I'm not happy. But on the upside, I sucked over $300 from this schmuck, so the jokes on him. I'm looking for a library job now anyway. Plus, I care about my country. I want a job that can contribute to this fine country of ours. Maybe I should report this guy to the unions and the IRS for hiring scabs...illegally at that!

I'm not the most confrontational person in the world, but for the love of god, perhaps a warning or dealing with me personally would be in order. When I was there, I worked fine. Ellsworth, who was there one day, should perhaps have observed me personally, and if he thought I was doing unsatisfactory work, then he should have had Tom tell me to step it up. As it was, none of this happened, and now I'm pissed and going out because I don't have to wake up at the asscrack of dawn tomorrow. UGH. Back to poverty! Have fun Ellsworth...Becky's not coming back either, and Tim already wanted to quit but I pressured him to stay. Now you only have two people left. I'm sorry that I'm a chatty person, but unlike some people, I can actually talk and work at the same time. Don't miss my supreme court exclusive below.

The Supreme Court Nominee and I

2005-07-20T19:16:00.000-04:00

So it turns out that John G. Roberts is a Hoosier. Furthermore, it turns out he's a Northwest Indiana Hoosier, hailing from the outskirts of the Region. While it's impossible to call him a Region Rat since he's really from Michigan City/LaPorte, we still share basically the same cultural upbringing...namely, steel mills and Catholic school. It's funny to think that had he grown up a few miles east of where he did, he probably would have graduated from my high school. We're talking same-diocese close. Which begs the question...Why have I never heard of La Lumiere, the Catholic boarding/day school which he attended? Is it because it's near LaPorte? Because it probably doesn't have competitive sports on the same level? Because it's a frickin' boarding/day school? I don't know, but it's all very strange. I always thought there were only three Catholic high schools in the diocese, and now there's this phantom school? Very strange indeed, but it does seem a little east coast for the Region...uniforms with ties and jackets, dorms, etc. Still, this is very weird for me.

As you can see, I'm kind of developing a soft-spot for the guy. Yesterday, of course, I was less than enthused. I was actually, downright ecstatic, hailing the end of America. My mantra for about an hour and a half was "America is over. O-V-E-R over." (Don't you think an "America Is Over" t-shirt would be great? I just don't want to get my ass kicked by hilljacks in pickup trucks which is exactly what would happen if I donned it outside the Harvard bubble, although even here we're sometimes not safe.) In the time since passed, it's hard to say exactly where he stands, but I have been advising my friends to use condoms because otherwise they're gonna have babies popping out left and right. (Yes, as you can tell, I have very high opinions of my friends.) It's comforting to know that if anyone is going to spell the end of American progress, it's a nice gentleman from my neck of the woods. Good Rust Belt stock, and not some bitchy East Coast aristocrat, Western cowboy, or southern Bible thumper. Don't you just love how I write off all of America except my neck of the woods, lumping them all together in one big pot? I'm sure you all love that. Seriously, though, I love the East Coast, my road trip to the South was perhaps my favorite vacation of all time, and I don't really know the west except LA, but I'm sure I'd love the big sky and open range.

Plus, how conservative can this guy really be? He worked in a steel mill through college! His dad also worked in a steel mill! He's got union blood running thick through his veins. If he does flip America back to the 1950s, at least he'll be betraying not just his country, but also his roots. Oh wait, he's Catholic. Shit, we're fucked.

I was in another one of my pissy, sick-of-America moods because of this, swearing my expatriation to beautiful, forward-thinking Spain, when I settled into my bed (ok, futon pad on the floor) to read some Sarah Vowell. I ripped through a hundred pages starting at around 12:30pm and felt immediately better. Few things make me prouder to be American than the curmudgeonly patriotism of Ms. Vowell. I'm all geared up to read Winesburg, Ohio and American Pastoral, but I have a millstone called Moby Dick around my neck. I'm already halfway done, so I have to finish it, but I swear to god, every time the thing gets off plot and digresses into info on whaling (i.e. every fucking chapter), I find myself wanting to gouge my eyes out with Schnocone's plastic forks so that I won't have any choice but to not finish it.

PS--I'm obsessed with the Supreme Court, and no one else really seems to care to talk about it. Schnocone had no idea what was up when I walked into the room, and the Beckster and I were the only ones watching the tv for the announcement. Bighead showed a reasonable amount of interest, but lacked the passion I had. (maybe because he's not quite the defeatist that I am when it comes to America. I've pretty much given up all hope and joined in this macabre death march to the repressed past with bells on. I've seriously lost almost all hope. Hopefully the midterm elections will perk things up, but as it is, I'm riding this thing until the wheels fall off, then doing an awkward butt-scoot until we ride it clear off the cliff. I really think it's fun to embrace defeat and the end times. Look at all the fundamentalists and all the mileage they get out of the Rapture, Apocalypse, whatever. Don't tell me they don't get sick pleasure from talking about end times and fire licking the loins of heathens like me. mmm, fire loins. that's some good condemnation right there. Ok, maybe I'm losing my brain, drunk on the idea of the end of America, which I think could be a thesis topic--the end of America at the end of the century...negative images of the USA in post-modern society. Because let's face it, both the leftist idealists and the right wing hystericals regard America as some kind of warped, twisted place in need of correction. They just look at this state in different ways. Is the jaded view of the noirists that different from the sincere view of the apocalypse-fetishists? They both see the terminus of the American Dream as a pretty black, dark place. Where's a professor when I need one.

Settling into Prolonged Vagabondage

2005-07-19T12:13:00.000-04:00

I'll thank you to keep your mind out of the gutter. This has nothing to do with S&M, although you could assume, quite rightly, that I do derive some sort of pleasure from forcing myself to live a nomadic existence (the masochism), and also derive pleasure from forcing my presence on friends who may or may not be sick of me (the sadism).

Sunday, after housesitting for the chicas, I cooked them chicken paprikash that I stewed for about three hours, and some dumplings that didn't turn out quite well, along with cucumber and tomato salad that my grandma makes, with a twist...fresh mozzarella. (On a Judge Ito sidebar, we've been watching a lot of Food Network, and don't you think Mario Batali needs a queer makeover? I mean he's a great chef, and people think I am annoyed by him because he's fat, but that's not the case. I'm no weightist. I'm annoyed because he's a slob. Get rid of the pony tail and get rid of those short pants, hippie. Plus, he's obviously my favorite Food Network all-star, so take that.)

--DON'T SEE CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY--
I don't know why anyone is treating this movie as anything more than a shitty remake of the 1971 original. It's as if Gene Wilder and everyone else from that superb movie is the elephant in the room that can barely be mentioned in any review. In short, there was no reason to make this movie. They would have you believe that it's more faithful to the book, but at heart, that's not enough. It's still the same movie as the original, done on a more annoying scale. Johnny Depp is absolutely unbearable. The entire time all you can think about is Gene Wilder and how much better it would be if they resurrected him from retirement to restar in a remake of his old movie. If that sounds masturbatory to any of you, maybe you should see this movie just to see how bad Depp is in it. That said, the beginning of the movie is pretty great. The Charlie is better, and very sweet, but once they enter the chocolate factory, the movie goes to shit, and that's not how it's supposed to be. The songs are terrible, and they are what really gave the factory magic in the original. Pure Imagination, the Grandpa Joe song, the Oompa Loompah songs which are infinitely better than the ones here are sorely missing, and it just seems like a CGI fest. And has no one noticed that for all the vision of Tim Burton, the main room of the factory looks almost exactly like the one in the 1971 version. Ok, I'm gonna back off now because I'm getting too worked up.

This weekend I saw Ada from Madrid. It was awesome. We went to the People's because the Cantab was charging cover...I hate cover. As Huey says, it's wholly undemocratic. After, we went to the Kong and shared what was my first scorpion bowl. It was heavy on the ice and Schnocone stealthily snatched up all the plastic playthings.

My job continues to trail along, but it's only a matter of time before it ends. That said, I return to the Region on August 18 which is almost exactly one month from today.

Espana Strikes Back

2005-07-15T19:12:00.000-04:00

So yesterday, the day after my one week anniversary of arriving in the States, I got the strongest pangs of homesickness for Spain that I have registered. I'm not quite sure what brought it on, but I found myself sitting in Bighead's slightly depressed, desperate to hear Spanish and drink a clara (a drink which is half beer and half sweetened seltzer water). No doubt most people cannot understand the allure of such a nauseating sounding drink, but I was jonesing for it. I went up and down Cambridge aching before I realized that I should just go to the Coop and read some Lorca which I did. Unsurprisingly, it only made things worse, and so I grabbed for that great American writer Sarah Vowell.

I picked up her latest, Assassination Vacation, and loandbehold it begins with a preface equating historical tourism to the Camino de Santiago in Spain. Damn, even she's against me. The thirty pages or so I read rejuvenated my spirits, but I still felt a little disheartened because let's face it, my enthusiasm for my country just didn't match hers, although the whole experience definitely gave me a shot in the arm.

I think it may have been brought on by my failed attempt to write an email to Chachi and Joaquin because I don't have accents or tildes on these keyboards, and I can't find a computer with MS Word that makes it easy to add them, so I gave up, deciding to wait. I also noticed some hand motions on TV which were quintessentially Spanish body language, and I watched a little Mexican tv, but it also was unfulfilling since the Mexican accent although beautiful and clean, still doesn't sound quite right to my ear...a little too exotic and sibilant. I need my elegant lisps. Thhhhh DAMN IT Thhhhhhhh!! There was a great gossip program on, though, called the Fat Man and the Skinny Lady, and guess what?...they were in Madrid, but they didn't speak to a single Spaniard, so my thirst for the Spanish tongue went unsated.

Today I feel a little better. I'm apartment-sitting for the girls who went to the Vineyard today, leaving me and Schnocone behind because I don't really have the desire to spend the travel money, even though I'm not quite poor anymore.

PS--Where's Beulah? Calling all Beulahs?

I have poor taste and What is my personal summer soundtrack??

2005-07-13T15:54:00.000-04:00

Spain has crippled my critical sense. Here's some examples:

1. I watched Miss Congeniality 2 on the airplane and actually enjoyed it. Yes, I knew it was bad, but I didn't care. I laughed without reservation, heartily and with passion, as Schnocone likes to say.
--I also watched Melinda and Melinda, Woody Allen's latest film. I liked that, too. I remember Anthony Lane or some schmo talking about how awful and stilted the dialogue was. Did he completely miss the point? The movie was the creation of two hackish playwrights. Play dialogue is almost NEVER believable. It's always overblown and hyperbolic.

2. I've been watching way too much CelebReality on VH1, including The Surreal Life, Hogan Knows Best, and Celebrity Fit Club 2. Yes, they're really bad, but I can't stop. I've been watching people pick euro amounts out of boxes for fun for the last six months. Plus, watching Hulk Hogan's family is absolutely hilarious, and I know I'm not the only one who loves it, as Hoosier Lush has professed her love for the show.

3. In the music realm, I'm kind of inundated. I don't know where to begin since I've been gone so long listening to my old music for a while, which was actually kind of good. I totally rediscovered Wire, some more Dylan, the Supremes, Disc 2 of Being There, and of course, Tim by the Replacements which is truly awesome.
--New music, however, is completely bewildering. I've decided to dedicate my efforts to Sufjan Stevens since Bighead is taking me to his concert as a birthday present. I don't know how I feel. It's totally a loveit/hateit type of music. Schnocone hates it. Bighead loves it. I find myself somewhere in between. I really like it, but I think he sings almost completely dispassionately...almost academically, and the minimalist influence can be trying, but on the other hand I really like it. And I'm not sure whether or not some of the themes are just too maudlin, because honestly, who writes a song about John Wayne Gasey. Sure I had a visceral reaction to it and it hit me like a ton of bricks, but I feel like it might have been manipulative in a Million Dollar Baby, pander to your emotions type way. I mean, honestly, who isn't going to be a little disturbed by a song about the scariest serial killer of all time, especially when you hear about a guy dressing up like a clown and killing young boys when you are a young boy and live in an adjacent state. We'll see. I think overall I'll probably end up loving it. Which brings me to my next dilemma--

THE SUMMER WITHOUT A SOUNDTRACK?
Every summer for the past five years or so have had a soundtrack, but this one doesn't, and it's a little disturbing. I'll list them. I'm very obsessive about music, and all the free time in summer causes me to latch onto one artist and suck the blood out of them. Here have been my previous obsessions:
2000--The Smashing Pumpkins
2001--R.E.M. / Patti Smith--it was a pretty big summer. I think this is all I listened to the entire time.
2002--Sonic Youth--I totally burned out on them. Not even sure I still like them at all.
2003--Liz Phair--Oh how you betrayed us all. Still have hope for the next album, though. Yes, I'm crazy.
2004--Bjork.
2005--?????????

I'm still accepting applications, but so far no one is really filling the hole. I think it may be the Walt Whitman summer since I totally love Leaves of Grass. The End.

They Need To Learn

2005-07-09T20:36:00.000-04:00

So I've recently realized that people are not employed based on qualifications, but random acts of something I don't quite comprehend. How else can you explain the fact that when I strolled up to Cafe Pamplona to inquire about employment I was told by the waiter that they were not hiring at this moment? Obviously Cafe Pamplona has sacrificed its authenticity since reopening. I read an article about a few years old about how they only used to hire waifish men. When I entered, the wait staff consisted of a woman and a slightly pudgy guy. I'm obviously qualified, and I speak Spanish with a Spanish accent. I have all the qualifications according to Beulah: maleness, black trousers, and a slouch. Come on, I'm the poster boy for that. I'm certain if I met the proprietress she would immediately fire all other employees and put me in charge. But alas, she's really old and not quite present at her cafe. How sad.

Also, my good friend was also rejected today with the same response when she asked about employment at Lollicup bubble tea. Come on, people, she's female and Chinese, what more do you want?

So that's upsetting. Still unemployed, but now I'm a vagabond worker who fills anything HSA tells me. Also, my swipe card still works all over campus, which is a privelege only study abroad students have because everyone else's has been deactivated. How awesome. If things get really bad, my freshman year roommate is operating a homeless shelter in the square, and he's already preparing a room and a pot of soup for me. mmmm hobo soup.

The Teamster Try

2005-07-08T12:39:00.000-04:00

Today I worked! That's right, I made 60 greenbacks for 4 hours of work painting with Schnocone and Beckster while listening to the Boston oldies station. Can we all agree that the oldies station is the only worthwhile corporate station in every market? It's so reliable, especially now that Schnocone tells me that XRT in Chicago has reached a new low...actually playing Nickelback.

The best part of work was the fact that it was basically just the three of us, talking, singing, and working very slowly. No, we're not in a union, but that doesn't stop us from acting like we are.

Last night Beckster made me some coconut skrimp and caribbean rice. It was delicious, and very filling. After, we went to my very first American bar legally. I was kind of nervous. We went to the People's Republic and had a great time. Just one drink because we had to wake up early tonight, but it had a good atmosphere...sooooo different from Madrid. Honestly, it was a Thursday night but felt like it was Monday morning. In Madrid it would have been wall to wall packed with the streets filled with people searching for the party. I totally love the American scene, too, though...just in a different way. I loved the mellow and the fact that I could actually sit down, hear my friends talk, and still get a hint of the ambient music. It was like my 21st birthday, which I think we may celebrate tonight at the Cantab. I'm crazy excited.

For lunch today we had some of Schnocone's garbage cuisine. It's a really great innovation. It's just like fusion, except way trashier and uglier. Schnocone is a master of garbage cuisine. At NYE, he made delicious garbage fried rice, and today we had garbage scrambled eggs. I can't wait to see what other garbage he can put together.

Today--more job hunting...maybe.

Sleep Study?

2005-07-06T10:15:00.000-04:00

Dare I get rich quick?

We all know about sleep studies. 9 days in an environment without windows clocks, phone calls etc. Sounds like hell, right? But if hell pays $1,860 for nine days it can't be that bad...right?...right? And I am po po. What shall I do? I totally need advice for this one since it could drive me to the looney bin, but I do need the money, and it does sound pretty enticing.

Back in the Bridge and Still Alive

2005-07-06T09:15:00.000-04:00

Rumors of my untimely death in the city that never sleeps have been greatly exaggerated.

Who thought a little flight delay and no cash to call anyone could cause such a stir? Yesterday my flight was delayed about an hour and a half, setting off a chain reaction of events that included phone calls to the NYPD, Fung Wah bus company, etc. to confirm my still being alive. I didn't mean to freak anyone out, but I had no money to call anyone with, hadn't quite thought about the possibility of collect, and was really in a hurry to get to Schnocone's as soon as possible. ASAP in this case meant 4am...oops, but that's really the best I could do. I made a friend on bus, which I NEVER do, but it was good because I had someone to walk through Boston with me since I didn't have money for a cab. Anyways, I'm sorry for the scare, but I don't know why the frantic calls began at 7pm when that's only an hour after my "scheduled"arrival time in NYC. Whatever, I'm alive. blah blah blah.

The job hunt begins.......NOW.

No es adiós. Es hasta luego.

2005-07-04T15:22:00.000-04:00

So this is my last blog entry from Spain. I´m sad, but in denial so I don´t even really feel like I´m leaving. Plus I´m sure I´ll be back soon.

Tomorrow I arrive in Boston probably after midnight which SUUUUUUUCKS because I´ll be in Chinatown and probably won´t be able to take the metro home even though I don´t really have enough money to take a taxi. If anyone has a car, let me know. I don´t know how this would help since you can´t get in contact with me...so better yet...let Tim know. Seriously. I need to get in before 12:30 which doesn´t exactly seem likely.

I Blame You.

2005-07-04T07:40:00.000-04:00

Happy Independence Day, or also importantly, 150th Anniversary of Leaves of Grass, first edition.

Yeah, I´ve totally been getting into Walt Whitman. It´s especially great to read now that America is flushing itself down the toilet just like in 1855 when it was first published. I don´t think any other poems quite affect me the way these do. It´s better than the Declaration of Independence and Constitution combined. If we could form a government based on the thoughts contained within Song of Myself, America would be all the better.

On the other side of the America coin, I saw "Evangelism´s Rising Star" on Larry King last night because I´m in a hostel and I can watch it. He was very interesting and not quite so repellant as most evangelists. He had a very "I don´t have the answers. I don´t judge. That´s god´s job," although I´m sure he would use the uppercase G. Granted, I would never hang out with the guy, but lack of fire and brimstone was refreshing. The audience was not. Here were some of the call-in questions:

"I want to know what you think about something my friend told me. We were talking and he said that after the Rapture, the last person who god lets into heaven will be Lucifer because he´s a forgiving god."
--I don´t know where to begin on this, other than to pull the trigger after the bad taste that left in my mouth to think that people actually believe in Revelations, the Rapture, and Lucifer. Are you fucking nuts? Holy Shit woman, buy a clue. No, better yet, I´ll buy one for you.

"I don´t know why you shrank from Larry´s question when he asked you if people can get into heaven without accepting Jesus as their personal lord and savior when the Bible clearly says that the way to the father is through the sun. I am the way the truth and the light blah blah blah."
--AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! We actually had thoughtful, caring evangelist who admitted that only god can judge people´s hearts, and now we have this raging lunatic attacking any semblance of rationality. God Damn It are some people stupid. I´m ripping my hair out as we speak, and stuffing it down my throat to induce vomiting yet again.

Luckily he didn´t shrink from his thinking and said that he agreed with what she said but wouldn´t say that only Christians would get into heaven. Some people may wonder why I care so much about something that I don´t really care about, but these people have the same electoral strength as I do. I don´t paint myself as some kind of elite, I think they should be able to vote, but for the love of god, could we start an NGO to buy these people some clues because it is going to cost a wholehelluvalot.

So that´s my 4th of July Rant. But wait, here´s more, and it´s directed at my friends.

I BLAME YOU. That´s right. I blame you. You alone. As we know, I got sunburnt this weekend. I´m pretty much better now, but I still blame you. Why you ask? Here you go. I don´t give a damn how pasty white I am. I haven´t had a hint of a tan most of the summers I´ve lived, except my awesome one when I worked at Dr. Waterpark. But here´s the thing. Whenever I go on vacation to some place remotely nice, you coños always bitch to me about how I spent a week or two in Florida or Puerto Rico or Spain or the general South on a road trip, but I´m not tan. Fuck hugh...I don´t tan that easily. I can be out in the sun for a long time and still be pasty, or I just get burnt. There is no logic. It´s a cross between my pasty white eastern european blood which is pale and my hispanic blood which has a high sun tolerance (to a point). So whenever I go on vacation I anticipate your bitching and the last day I have to get sun, I go all out because obviously casual sun exposure won´t do it. Then I burn. On the last possible day. I burn. Because I already was at the beach a lot, but it doesn´t show, and I don´t want you nagging about how I spent all day inside...which I didn´t. So I blame you. May the god of the crazy Larry King call-ins have mercy on your dogsouls.

Physics Genius or Pseudoscience

2005-07-03T08:20:00.000-04:00

I´m calling upon Tim and Brian to confirm my theory. I know nothing about physics, but I think I may have come up with something after straining my brain last night trying to remember my semester studying the nature of light.

Yesterday we went to a beautiful beach where I proceeded to get sunburnt. Not burnt...scorched...incinerated. I wore sunscreen and reapplied like a madman. We all got burnt, but me more than my three companions. I´ve determined that it´s because I spent more time in the water because light travels slower in water, and because wavelength is equal to speed over frequency, meaning that wavelength is proportional to speed. So if it travels more slowly in water it has a smaller wavelength, thus making the UV rays even smaller and more dangerous to my skin resulting in my neon pink hide which I am now donning. It´s not so bad. I´ve been worse, but I´m totally scorched. Blech.

Anyhoo, today I leave Valencia for Madrid. That´s fun. I´ll be spending the fourth in another nation´s capital. Yayhoo. No hillbilly fireworks, thank god.

Also, where´s Beulah? Apparently she´s settled down now, which is good, but the sniper-like random comments were a little confusing. Good to know camp is well.

Over and Out. Tim I´ll let you know when I plan to arrive in Boston. Probably around midnight, but not sure.

Long Day´s Journey into Night

2005-07-01T14:59:00.000-04:00

So Sandra Day O´Connor retired. Fuck. Can´t wait to get home to watch this unfold through the American press. Should be interesting, ugly, brutal. I cannot wait. Lay it down, clown, as my friend Paul Westerberg likes to say. I have no hope that the replacement will be at all moderate. None. Oh, I hope he gets someone worse than Santorum. I will be pasted in front of C-Span watching these confirmation hearings. Good night America. America good night. Good night US Good Night US I´ll see you in my dreams.

Then wait for Rehnquist rehnquit. Damn, this blog has more puns than a Gene Shalit movie review. Save me from myself.

It´s Final

2005-06-30T11:19:00.000-04:00

This just in. Spain legalizes gay marriage in time for the big Orgullo festival this weekend. It´s gonna be ginormous, I bet. That´s pretty crazy. I wonder what the pope thinks. This used to be the Church´s favorite country. Franco was probably their favorite leader. Oh, right. Apparently Franco´s grandson is some big, eurotrash cokehead. How hilarious is that! And he was on a reality show too. HAHAHA. I´m sorry I missed that. It was last year. Damn my age.

I return to the USA, July 5, one day after our blessed Independence Day. How beautiful...I don´t have to deal with hillbillies setting off dynamite in the street or blasting sirens in parades or barbacoa with family (this I´ll kind of miss...a little). I get into NYC and may spend the day there or return straight up to Cantabria to start looking for a job.

Oh, I forgot to mention that I finally saw flamenco in a cozy little tablao. Unfortunately, tourists practically ruined the intimate beautiful experience. It was really amazing and I´m quite glad I finally went. It´s a spectacle and so sensual and tragic. Really grrrreat.

Yesterday went to the beach.

Today the Drake´s family is here, so we´ve got that.

Haven´t determined when I return to Madrid to say my farewells to the only city that truly never sleeps. Bah I say to New York. PS-have you seen the new design for the Freedom Tower. HAHAHA What a piece of shit. I absolutely hate it. It´s so gross. disgusting. behemoth. ungraceful. blech. Chicago wouldn´t be caught dead with that piece of shit. So it goes. If you don´t know what I´m talking about, seriously just go see Batman Begins for the way cool shots of the Second City. Second my foot. I´m really excited about seeing it again...but hopefully not till late August.

The real tragedy of the stolen computer is that now the Drake and I can´t watch Seinfeld or Curb or movies or listen to music. We thought it might be a good idea to pick up a David Sedaris book and read it out loud, but Valencia has shitty English book selections, so that blows.

The End.

¡SOCORRO! or Three Times a Charm

2005-06-28T14:33:00.000-04:00

First off, does anybody have a copy of my resume on their computers that they can email me? Here´s why:

That´s right, dear readers, Bacchus has been the victim of yet another theft, this one bigger and more diabolical than its predecessors. As you know, I´ve been in Murcia, Madrid, and Granada, and while I was in the last two sites, someone broke into the apartment in Valencia through an interior window that looks out onto a shaft, and stole...wait for it...my computer. That´s right, everything I´ve written in college is on that computer and it´s now zip bang gone. What this means in the archives-obsessed hist and lit quarter of Harvard is anybody´s guess. At first of course, I felt horribly violated and very upset, inconsolable, but now I´m ok, so that´s good. I just look at it as one more story...albeit an expensive and traumatic one, but there´s nothing I can really do about it.

Of course I went to the police and of course they did nothing but have me fill out a report. They didn´t even come to the scene. I signed a bunch of reports and added my two scents about how I think it was someone in the building or in the apartment directly across the street, which the woman there told me she would relate to the "investigative group." I don´t know how to roll my eyes in Spanish, so in my inner monologue I just thought "right, I bet you´ve got your best crack team on it right now."

The problem is that there´s probably virtually no serious crime in Valencia, so I think losing a computer should be a pretty big priority, but somehow I doubt it´ll see the light of day, despite the fact that it´s probably incredibly easy to solve considering it happened from within the apartment building. I really wish I had the money to hire a private dick. He could totally solve it. So up in a puff of smoke is the last three years of my life. A little sad, but there wasn´t anything priceless on it, and hopefully I´ll get another one through insurance.

Also, I forgot to mention that I saw Batman Begins and became entirely nostalgic about Chicago. Seriously, that movie is one big wet-dream to a native son living abroad. The Drake and I loooooved it, especially when the camera pans across Marina City to show Batman perched atop a skyscraper, and the part where they pull up all the bridges isolating the island of Gotham from the mainland, which anyone with a brain knows that those bridges don´t isolate shit. They just cut the city in half along the Chicago River. We laughed at this point, and the people next to us were a little perturbed. Also, I remember reading reviews describing this Gotham as being more of this world, like a kind of skewed New York. I can´t remember who this reviewer is, but what idiot cannot identify the most perfect skyline in the world. Seriously, the city itself is an architectural museum. So that´s it. I´m coming home soon if they can get me a flight, otherwise I´m going to starve to death.

Just kidding, but seriously between getting the laptop stolen and Batman making me crazy (almost weepy) nostalgic for home, I think it´s time to get the hell out of Dodge.

Así que ya he vivido.

2005-06-27T13:19:00.000-04:00

Si te mueres antes de ver la Alhambra, no has vivido.

So goes the Spanish saying that "if you die before seeing the Alhambra, you never lived."
And so as I have seen the Alhambra, apparently now I can die...a pauper. It was beautiful and in bloom and all the superlatives in the world cannot do justice to the airy sense of space and nature afforded by the brilliance of those muslim architects that did create it.

Apparently I´m poor. I know I´ve been through this before, but seriously, I´m poor. I´ve talked to my mom, and she´s confirmed it...yep, I´m poor. So I´m currently awaiting word from my travel agent to let me know when I can come home and be poor in America, Boston, where the Beckster has confirmed that I can stay there as a parasite, and damned if I won´t hold her to that. I don´t think she realizes just how little money I have, but hopefully I can find a job there. If things don´t work out, the Drake has been enlisted to drive me home so that I don´t have to waste money on a plane ticket.

In other news, I´m thinking about rewriting Ginsberg´s "America" to apply to Spain:

España, I´ve given you everything and now I´m nothing.
$---.-- to my name.
Go fuck yourself with your old world beauty.
España, I am the conversos.
García Lorca must not die.
España, I love you.

It needs work, but you get the idea. I have no hope to stay in Madrid for the parties of the Orgullo festival nor to see if they get the Olympics (fat chance). Now, I just want to go to Boston so I can be poor somewhere else with at least the hope for a job.

That´s it!

Madrid de Nuevo

2005-06-25T08:26:00.000-04:00

I´m BAAAACK!! Yes. I. Love. Madrid. Yes. Yes.

So I went to Murcia with the fam and had a time. It was basically going to the beach, going to cafes and going to restaurants. Really great. Oh, and watching Urgencias, or ER with them. I loved it. The whole time I was there I couldn´t help thinking that I´m in Spain in the summer home, bathing in the Mediterranean. Who am I? Really. Whose life is this? I can´t even imagine what would go through my head in Mallorca. Probably something along the lines of "I hate this family. Why am I here? I want to go home and spend my last summer with friends, not these rich bitches."

Which brings me to another point. My real Spanish family probably isn´t as rich as I thought. They are by no means poor. They are totally upper middle class, but they aren´t shockingly rich. Their apartment was probably grandfathered in, so it´s really cheap, and they have all this great property and a lot of money, but I don´t think they´re rich rich. Which probably explains why they were nice. Sorry, I can´t escape my working class prole childhood prejudices.

From Murcia I was supposed to meet the Drake in Granada, but the town in which my family lives is a bitch to get to and from, and I don´t think I could get to Granada directly, and when my family offered to take me back to Madrid with them I jumped so here I am with the Drake, showing her around. Tomorrow we go to Granada before going back to Valencia and I´m home in like a week and a half.

THE ANECDOTE PART
Good story. When the Drake and I arrived in Madrid, we went to this pretty nice hostal (sic) there. We asked for a double and they gave us a room with two twins separated by a nightstand with a shower in the room, just hanging out there in the corner. The owner of this hostal proceeds to show us the room, explain its workings, and offers to push the two beds together if we would like. I said no that wouldn´t be necessary, but she was insistent. "Really, it´s not a problem, it´s fine, we just move the nightstand, it´s really more comfortable that way...you know, `nicer.´" All this is translated from Spanish. Of course I blushed and said no thanks, but she wouldn´t let it go, probably thinking I was uncomfortable based on my blushing which was enhanced by a slight sunburn. Then she´d explain how the metal exterior shade worked, offer to put the beds together, explain the air conditioner, offer to put the beds together, etc. The Drake and I were dying laughing after she left the room. Finally she relented, but offered the parting advice "Well if you want to push the beds together later, that´s fine, it´s really quite easy." My god woman, what do you take us for, ashamed nymphos?

This is especially funny since under Franco a man and woman couldn´t even share the same hotel room unless they brought along their family book to prove they were married. So that´s how different Spain is now.

So I guess that´s enough update for now. Coming to the Bridge soon and I´m pretty excited. The next week in Valencia I´ll probably spend at the beach. The Drake and I are thinking about coming back to Madrid for the HUGE gay pride festival next week. It´s apparently the biggest party of the year in Madrid with more 1.3 million people in the march last year, and this year will probably be bigger this year to combat last weeks "traditional marriage" "profamily" rally. In that news, the Senate vetoed gay marriage here, so now it goes back to the Congress where they´ll probably send it back to the Senate slightly modified before it goes into law. A parting note on Spanish politics. Protests are huge here, but they´re not called protests. They´re more manifestations which is good because it shows that you´re not necessarily anti anything, you´re just pro something. And the big traditional marriage manifestation, although it was organized with a little homophobia lurking around the edges went off without a homophobic sign or chant or anything. It was all very civil. Could you IMAGINE that happening in the States...NEVER!

The Long Goodbye

2005-06-20T13:29:00.000-04:00

I just sent an email to my travel agent to begin the discussions of my return to the states, and I´m officially realizing that in about two and a half weeks I will be leaving Spain for another place and I´m a little sad.

BUT, in the last week I´ve discovered just how much I love horchata a cool milk and almond drink that they sell all over the place to cool people down in the scorching heat and humidity. Odd that dairy is used to cool down, but I love it, it´s so weird. Also, they have the equivalent of lemon slushies that are really good too.

Tomorrow I catch a bus at 4:45 AM to meet the fam in Murcia. Very excited. From there I go to the grandeur of the Alhambra, and after that I return to Valencia for a spell before Madrid and then Boston with a possible layover in NYC.

Also, is the term pulling the trigger not a national phenomenon? I swear I´ve been using this forever, but in the last two weeks, I´ve heard from several sources that they don´t know what that is. I won´t explain it because it´s just not necessary if you don´t know, but I absolutely love it (the phrase, not what it describes). Ok, I´ve just checked to see that there is a reasonable definition out there, so I think it is pretty universal. Damn, I was really hoping that this was one of the verbal innovations that my friends have come up with like "sharecropper feet," "no no NO no" "you need to learn" "you do NOT" "he needs to quit it" "lunchy lunch" "little clown" etc.

Ugh, I hate internet cafés, they don´t provide me with the environment I need to write mindlessly about crap.

I still haven´t heard from the Mallorca family which is a little upsetting, but should they call me there´s NO WAY I´m picking up the phone, especially since I had a dream that I caved in and went with them. I´ve been having very vivid dreams lately, but I won´t bore you with them since other people´s dreams are always boring unless they include you directly. I should know, the Drake shared one with me that actually put me to sleep in the middle of it. Unless of course it involves making out with celebrities like, oh, say, the Beatles.

Can´t wait to go back to the Bridge where I will whore myself out to Harvard University Libraries or something like that, maybe a café where I´ll make far less in tips than I will at home, but right now home is not looking like the most appealing option for several reasons, although IU could be fun. Does anyone know if Baby Huey found a job at IU or if he´s made the walk of shame back to 444?

BREAKING BLOG NEWS--BACCHUS QUITS SUMMER JOB IN MALLORCA

2005-06-18T12:11:00.000-04:00

The first step has been taken. At 18:11 Bacchus Americanus sent an assertive email dripping in honey and blood to his employer resigning from his job as Anglobitch and (here´s the sticker) asking for 100€ for travel expenses and airline fees.

The Triple Crown and other horror stories

2005-06-18T11:29:00.000-04:00

I´m just going to get this out of the way. Mom probably shouldn´t read it, but it´s worth noting. Last night I pulled what I like to call the triple crown: pulling the trigger, blacking out, and waking up the next morning oh-so-refreshed. Granted I had the horrible Catholic guilt nagging the back of my mind, but what are you going to do. I have now resolved to be more cautious with hard liquor which I generally don´t drink in Spain do to the fact that beer is cheaper in bars and you can buy a liter of decent box wine for forty cents. That´s all I have to say about that.

I got some killer canvas and rope shoes. They´re so peasant and I love them. They´re called alpargatas.

The New Axis of Evil:
I´m currently waging a new three-pronged war to eradicate the following three evils of the modern world.
1) Only children. Siblings are good.
2) The phrase "hooking-up." Is there a more loathsome turn of the English tongue? I think not. It´s horribly unspecific and whenever someone is using it, the listener wants as many details as possible. I´m sorry, but one phrase should not be able to encompass all activity from making out to having sex, so I´m asking you dear readers, to eliminate it from your stockpile of stockphrases.
3) Regional dialects. Thank god Valenciá is not that prevalent here, but it is still a presence, and I find it and Catalán and the like to be very annoying. Get over your ego and get behind Castilian.

The new White Stripes album. This is the first piece of new music I´ve heard since coming abroad and I like it, of course, but as with all White Stripes albums I have problems with it...major problems. For the love of god, I know it´s inspiring to work fast, and I´m not asking to spend years overproducing sludge, but please spend some time to write a bridge. I love the bridge. Where are the bridges? Ugh. However, I´m not going quite as far as the New Yorker reviewer who I think is basically way off mark even though she has some good points. I think Blue Orchid is a great song and doesn´t really need a bridge, but slower, ballad-like songs on the album scream for them. She´s right that My Doorbell is a killer song, but it´s not a girl group song and could never be sung by the Supremes. It´s obviously a Jackson Five song. Is this reviewer deaf? Oh, and I will not stand for this Meg White bashing. I will have none of it. Yes she´s primitive. No, she´s not as effective or subtle as Mo Tucker, but damn if it isn´t exactly what the band needs. I think the reviewer talks about how her bass thumping ruins Blue Orchid. That´s just annoying and untrue.

Ummm, I guess that´s about it. I´m still dragging my feet on the return home, but should be with it pretty soon.

Good Article

2005-06-16T13:18:00.000-04:00

I´m just giving a heads up for a David Sedaris essay in the New Yorker this week. Check it out online. It has several references to being a crossword snerd that I identify with. Also with getting asked to switch seats on a plane with a married woman´s husband even though you don´t want to and the alternate seat is inferior. This happened on the way back from Puerto Rico, so there´s that.

Standstill. Going to Mucia Monday to visit the family in their summer home and I´m friggin excited. I love them so much. Also, I´m edging closer to putting a close on the Anglobitch job, but still very indecisive. We´ll see what happens. They haven´t talked to me, and I´m pretty much done with them, but I need to contact them and schedule a flight home. I´m afraid that if I talk to them I´ll cave under the promise of endless fun in the sun on one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. But now I´m thinking drunken times with friends is a little better, plus if I don´t like them, my mind can make a hell out of heaven. We´ll see.

Poughkeepsie Ain´t Just a City in Upstate New York

2005-06-13T14:33:00.000-04:00

I´m poor. Not poor poor. But poor nonetheless. I checked my bank account online and I have just over $100. That´s right. I still have substantial wiggle room on credit, but without liquid skrilla I could be in a bit of a pinch this summer.

It´s not so bad. I still have 100€ on hand, so I officially have somewhere around 175€ or $220 left. I have approximately 2.5 weeks left in Spain since I´m dumping the au pair job, but should they come through, I´m thinking that this is looking like my ONLY chance for employment this summer, and I don´t really want to return to the café to bus tables with no friends left in the area (unless Baby Huey by an act of god cannot find a job, and the Drake comes back to work at the café too). I´m told Huey had an interview which does not bode well for me, but there is the off chance that they won´t hire summer help.

So, this is all a little sad, no? I guess that´s what you get for living the trust-fund-throwaway-child life on a po´boy´s bank account. Oh well, at least they did away with debtor´s prison. What I really need now is for phat Harvard cash to come to my rescue next semester. Perhaps I can find a table-waiting job in Cambridge, too, but on these funds, it looks as though I´ll be running home as quickly as possible.

Wasting Time, Sitting Still

2005-06-12T09:11:00.000-04:00

Hey all,
So I´m still in Valencia, loving the life, but I really don´t have a place here and am kind of wasting time, etc. The Drake has quit her Spanish classes, realizing she has no interest in learning another language...how dreadfully American. If you´re reading this and your blog has not been updated, seriously, write something for me...I´m a little bored with the internets.

Of course you want to know about my job. Well, still no word from the mother. I´ve got to get a really bitchy name for her, but I can´t think of one. It looks as though Bacchus is returning home to kick it in the states for his final summer tour before summers become just another season...you know, the one that´s hot, and not the enchanted playland of youth populated with board games, old movies, swimming holes, and yes, of course, sweaty slave labor in dead end jobs with lifers who for some incomprehensible reason have the authority to tell you what to do, all while having contempt for the fact that you go to Harvard, despite the fact that you are in fact without plans for a future, and the dreaded name doesn´t quite carry as much weight, and after I graduate I may, in fact be stuck as a lifer in one of these dead end jobs with these shlubs telling me what to do forever. Well, that or a job in consulting. How I dread that word. I don´t even know what it means, but I think it´s probably the modern day equivalent of being a scrivener, and quite frankly, I´d Prefer Not To.

What a lovely prose rant that was! Speaking of lovely prose, the man who owns my flat in Valencia is an ex-pat writer with a dignified ex-pat accent that screams of an American who spent waaaay too much time in England. You know the type, all plosive syllables are waaaay too aspirated. He´s totally cool, though, and completely reminds me of one of my best acquaintances from the Advocate. You know, the type of person who is a great friend, but you never ever see, so you´re technically not friends, but every time you see them you have great, long conversations. Oh, and he´s also veeeery Irish. We went through quite a bit of wine at dinner at his place and ended up staying there till after 1am talking about America, writing, Bob Dylan, Walt Whitman, etc. Very intelligent guy, but when I´m around him, I kind of feel like I´m putting on airs, really playing the Harvard role, which is funny, because I don´t think I´ve ever behaved this way in my life, I didn´t even know I had it in me. Now I´ve gotta think of a name for this alter-ego. Yes, you all think it should be Master Percy, but I don´t think that is sufficiently uppercrust enough.

The nightlife in Valencia, sadly, is not the equivalent of Madrid. It is quite fun, but lacks the gutbusting powerpunch of the capital. It´s much more of a cafe culture, and there´s not a bar with American/British music to be found. I actually heard Blue Monday once, but I only got to relish in half of it since my accomplices were bored and left. Sad.

I suppose that´s it. Seriously...UPDATE. I have no idea what is going on back home(s).

Balenthia at last

2005-06-09T12:49:00.000-04:00

So now I´m currently in Valencia with the Drake. Today I made rice and filetes, and they were both failures. There´s a lot more to simple Spanish cooking than you think. At first we were disappointed until we decided to just pretend Schnocone cooked it, and then we realized that it was actually pretty good for his garbage cuisine. Tomorrow we try again.

Since I last posted, not much happened, but the Olympics fiesta in Madrid was really great. Beforehand, I decided to botellón which means I drank calimocho (coke and wine). Not a good idea when the temperature is over 100 degrees and you´re about to stand around in a group of sweaty sweaty Spaniards radiating body heat, and pushing to get closer to Shakira. Needless to say I was nauseous and spent half the time craning my neck searching for streams of air that hadn´t already been breathed and blown out of the noses of other people. If I wasn´t as tall as I am, I totally would have passed out. At the fiesta they had an artificial fire display (fireworks), and the explosions blew out the windows of my apartment building because we´re just that close to the center of things. I really hope Madrid gets the Olympics, but I think the French are going to weasel their ways into it. They´re like the Susan Lucci of candidate cities, so you just know the IOC is going to hand it to them this time around.

Ummm, my job could not be sketchier so I´m pretty sure I´m going to squat in Cambridge for a little bit before coming home because Mallorca is looking less and less certain. Then I´d probably return to GI in August. I hung out more with the Señora and her daughter and had a time watching what we call "Los Mexicanos" which is actually just a mexican telenovela, but it´s better to just call them mexicans since categorizing people is what Spaniards do. Ceriously, though, the Lush´s Mumma would love this show, it´s all cheesy period drama that is so bad that I always fall asleep halfway through while the other two sit transfixed. I think I´m going to go visit the fam in Murcia once they arrive, because they´ll probably actually CALL me unlike some Spanish women, so I´ll actually be able to meet them. Ugh.

Oh, but Valencia´s seriously cool and the three of us are loving it, even if we´re a little lazy and don´t actually do anything. That´ll change soon, but I love living my cheap imitation of a trustfund baby´s life.

Luego.

Oh, I also drank at an Egyptian temple in Madrid. It was pretty awesome.