Monday, December 26, 2005

Happy Jews Go To The Movies Day.

I don't know whether I coined the phrase myself or if I stole it from someone funnier. History leads me to believe the latter, so don't even think, my dear friends, of giving me any points for owning up to it...not that you would anyway. The thing is that I don't feel very funny these days - I don't think I've been funny for a long time - which is why, in stark contrast of this day of holly jollies and ho ho hos, I tender this depressing-ass introspection, all Hawthorne style and shit…well, less morbid, perhaps. It's been a long time coming.

Let's get the really hard stuff out of the way first.

As you all know Amber broke up with me about 3 years ago and I'm still pretty raw about it. It wasn't a big deal, or so I thought, until I went to visit her back in March. Everything was cool until the second night when she carelessly related something our mutual friend, Jennifer, told her. From then till now, I've been a bit of a mess, while I was there I was a lot of a mess. And oh, what good friends you are; how much better you know me than I know myself. You've known longer than I have, but you kept quiet about it. That's both sweet and fucking lame of you all. But I'll get to you later, right now I'm trying to talk about being lonesome and miserable 9 months out of the year.

Like Peter Stormare, this was my big guy in the shower - my "Oh Nancy." This year, I've come to know myself so much better, and honesty compels me to admit that I don't like myself very much. Thinking that way makes it hard to smile and even harder to make others do so. I'm trying to turn that around, but it's hard. I've lost the art of conversation. Somehow it got up and walked away. I used to be able to walk into a room, grab the mood by the bloomers, and make it my bitch. Now, I'm just trying to keep my head above water. I can smile while I'm doing it, but I've got to work at it.

I'm going to be 26 by the time I graduate, at least that's the idea, and I still have no idea of what I want to do with myself. Remember back when you were little and someone asked what you wanted to be when you grew up? I never had an answer. Not ever. Some people wanted to be doctors or policemen or cooks. I never had a dream job or anything like that. My fantasies have always episodic and always taking place in the present. It's only been recently that concern for the future has taken root in my mind. I wonder why that is. Why only now?

Well shit. It's been 3 hours since I've started, and see what you get? I think I've said all I can for now anyway. I hope you've found this little romp through my mental state at least somewhat entertaining. I hope your holiday has been more enjoyable than mine tend to be. More later. See yall soon.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Study Break.

I'm just going to assume it was Casey who called me at 4:30 this morning. You sounded drunk and Jamaican or German, I really have no experience with "doing voices." You were also speaking waaaaaay too loudly into the phone which is why I couldn't understand what the fuck you were saying. I heard, "my friend," a few times, but that's about all I got out of the conversation. Sorry for hanging up on you, but it was 4:30 in the morning. And if it wasn't you, Casey, I apologize. Whoever it was, the accent sounded pretty cool.

So, you know this paper I'm writing? It's painful. I've got all these words and thoughts floating around in my head, and none of them want to come out. This has been the worst final week of school ever. It seems like my brain went on vacation a week before Thanksgiving and has refused to come back. Thank God Jesse and Cofer were around to eat sushi with me last night, I don't know what I would have done. Oh wait...yes I do...Taco Bell. But having friends around always makes eating a lot more entertaining, which makes the food that much more enjoyable. Nabe wasn't on form last night, the sushi wasn't all that great, but having friends made it all worth while.

For those of you who care, I should be in Oak Ridge by Friday. My last day at CMS is Thursday, and I can't say I'll be too happy to go. From what Chirsty tells me, I'm practically guaranteed a job with Gear Up next semester. She was telling me that I could keep doing the in-school thing, or switch to the after school program and have seven or eight kids of my own for a few hours every day. I've got to say that the concept appeals to me, but looking at my work load with school next semester makes me hesitate.

I realized just now that these words are coming out all wrong. I can't even think straight any more. Fucking finals. Gime a break, would ya, World? Just this once, I'm asking nice. Aaaah, fuck it. Back to work I go. Maybe I'll be able to say something worth reading tomorrow.

Friday, December 09, 2005


Happy Birthday Rachel. Game over and such. Sorry I couldn't go to Chicago and stuff. I hope you're having fun with K-to-tha-C. Tell her to update her damn page and shit.

Oh God, my Latin Final melted my fucking face off! I think the prof. even talked me into taking the 2nd part next semester. Why do I do these things to myself? Oh shit, history final in an hour. Time for some crammin.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

I Put On a Good Show

So, at that party I mentioned, Kelly says to me, "Chuck, you're a cool guy." Bullshit. I just put on a good show. And that's what I said.

Self-deprecation, folks. I'm great at it. Know why? Kuz I'm so fucking humble? No. Because I don't give a shit what people think of me, which is so bizarre when you take into account how goddam shy I am. Ain't that just weird? How the hell did I ever make friends in the first place? Oh right, high school. Things were easier then.

Or were they?

Watch this space for future ponderings.

Monday, December 05, 2005

The Things We Do As We Do Them

So, Rhys calls me this afternoon around 4:15 and says, "Hey, let's get some beer." And I was just okie dokie fine and dandy with that jive. So I wind up at Lunchie's pad, and there's this chick there named Lisa or Linda or something close to that, yall know how horrible I am with names. And we go to Taco Mac and everything's cool and shit. I get the impression that the chick ain't too fond of me, which is cool and all, kuz I don't really care all that much and it takes time to get to know people and shit. So that's that.

And it just so happened that Jesse gave me Bad Santa, which I dutifully returned to the video depository (suppository is more like it). On the way back to my crib, I decided to stop by Amigo's to check up on the "fiddy-cent taco crowd," and ran into Trashley and company. Apparently there is some partyage of some sort taking place tonight and I'm somehow invited. Needless to say, I think I'm going.

Here's to you, here's to me, may we never disagree.
But if we do, fuck you, here's to me.


Drunken Update - 5:10 a.m. 6 December 2005

I spent most of tonight talking with Kelly, who almost none of you know. Rhys knows her, perhaps only because he met her tonight for the first time. Fucked if I know if that's the case. Anyway, here's the deal. Kelly's into me, and I'm not so much into her for anything other than friendship. The fact remains, however, that we are good friends. And as such, we've got each other’s backs when we arrive in situations to which any patterned response is proven futile, i.e. a Sigma Chi fraturnity party.

Now, I'm all for fraternal brotherhood. Hell, I would have pledged Phi Delta Theta if dad had let me, way back when. But as things stand, I didn't. I can't exactly say I'm better for it, but I'm certainly not the least bit remorseful now for having that door closed to me. The fact is, that things being as they are, the Greek type ain't my crowd. So, thrown into unfamiliar waters, I look for things I know. And I know Kelly, so having her around was very comforting tonight. In fact, having Candice and Ashley as well, was quite nice. Fuck, do I gota say it? Any familiar face in that house o'horrors woulda been a comfort.

I met a decent amount of new people tonight. Be fucked if I can remember most of their names. I remember a dude named Jeff, an Eric, a really cute 18-year old, and thus not in my narrow scope of prospective love interests, named Emily (who I've met before along with her friend, What'shernamewhoIseeatStoneCupfromtimetotime, at other parties but never spoken with), and perhaps a Matt. Faces I remember, but I suck so hard at associating the names with them.

So we wound up at this frat party around 10pm, and it was loud and the DJ sucked. Simply put, I could have mixed the guy out the door and into the next fucking county. Fuck his music selection. It was brilliant. Not a single track he laid down was excluded from any top 40 list from the last 3 years. The guy knew his crowd...but not his equipment. Play, pause, play, pause. The same shit Jesse and I were doing back in 1990 with the nad pad. And this is what kids are getting down to? To what depressing depths have our fraternal and sorrel institutions been reduced? I ask you, when will the actual leaders of the future (sadly) come to the realization that they've been dooped. They paid how much for that shit? I'd do it willingly free of charge if only they would but ask.

But that's another rant all together. I'm seriously going to drop those poor Greek fuckers a mix CD and say, "Listen, I know you guys like your grooves and shit, but if you ever decide to pretend to get your rave on...I'm your man." At least I wouldn't fuck around on the only part of DJing that requires a modicum of...oh, I don't know...manual dexterity? Perhaps a little vision? Fucking assholes charge money for what they do? You lazy no talent fucks!!!!!

Right. ...As we do them...

So I met a bunch of decent humans this evening, and I've found that my definition of decent has slacked a little. I see this as a somewhat good thing. It doesn't bother me so much that OhWhat'sHerName hooked up with OhFuckThatGuy'sName as it may have in days past. I see it as a sign that I've loosened up a bit, and no matter how much it may eat me up that I can see now how bad he's going to treat her in the not too distant future, I'm not going to get upset about it. College is supposed to be about fucking up a lot, right? At least that's the prevailing attitude. So, sex can be....well...just sex. And people can randomly hook up at parties, and that can be that. There doesn't always have be profound meaning to it. This is a growth moment, of sorts.

And here is the thought that both disturbs me, and fascinates me. Remember when we were watching Sports Night the other day? Remember Dan's line about being in The Zone? You know, "I'm not in the zone. I'm down here with the rest of you." Yeah. I think about this acceptance, and think. Is this the acceptance of truth or a compromise to reconcile myself with the world? Have I existed on a higher plane of consciousness than the rest of you pathetic mortals, or did I just have my head up my own ass. Well, reason leads me to take a stand with the latter and that I just need to have another beer and chill the fuck out. But there's a part of me that wants to believe the former. That part, that I think all people have, that makes us want to feel special. Not so much to be special, but to feel special. We want to be different, or significant, or noteworthy in some way. We want to matter in some way, and there is something there.

That's my sticking point. That's where I trip up when trying to figure out what the fuck is going on with the order of the universe or whatever it's called these days. Life and how to deal with it, maybe. Be fucked if I know; philosophy ain't my bag. But how do you know what you are and are not? And once you have an answer to that, how can you trust it? Is what we say we want really what we want in our greasy heart of hearts? Can we ever transcend selfishness and be truly selfless?

Questioned to be answered when sober...

This has been a drunken and rambling update to a previous thought.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Is There A Point Here?

I don't know how you feel about studying history, but for the love of God's erect penis, pick up a copy of Seven Myths of the Spanish Conquest by Matthew Restall. I'm rereading the first 5 chapters before I get started on the only term paper I have to write this semester. And I've got to say it's going to be my favorite.

Ok, quote time:

"Does this ambiguous relationship between myth and history, or their fusing into mythistory, undermine the quest to find truths about the past? In pursuing that quest, do we run the risk of following in Plato's footsteps and replacing old myths with invented truths or new myths? Are our truths really convenient fictions? They may often be just that, but we can still examine the context and purpose of such fictions. We can compare truths of the conquistadors to our truths about them, and as a result achieve a better understanding of the Conquest - even if that understanding does not pretend to be the truth in an absolute sense. Historical conclusions are not infallible, but when they are well evidenced and carefully argued they deserve to be taken as telling us something true about the world. We can question the truth claims of an historical narrative without going so far as to relegate it to merely one fiction among others. There are always multiple narratives of any historical moment, but that does not mean that as interpretations they cannot tell us something true."

I don't know about you people, but I've been thinking that since Mr. Grey's 7th grade geography class. I was obsessed with Caribbean stuff then. Yeah, mostly because I was playing this Pirates game on the old 386, but I was down with that shit. That game taught me the difference between a Sloop and a Galleon. The interesting part about that of my life was that I still hated to read back then (although it wouldn't take much longer for that to change), and when dad forced Treasure Island upon me, I retched. I'm all about that shit now, even though I haven't picked it up again...yet. Maybe over Christmas break when I'm at home.

This has been an educational session of rambling.