Oh, how I love The Onion
http://www.theonion.com/content/node/53278
I'll probably feel that way until I start dating again. You have to admit, though, the article is pretty funny.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Mad student manifesto
Goddamn, it was beautiful today.
How beautiful indeed. All that I saw, heard, tasted, smelled, felt, did, and thought seemed to have some sort of underlying splendor. The magnificence around me was intangible but definately present. It was both a pleasant and bewildering suspicion that teased my subconscious all day.
Why? I know how I'm going to die. Confused? Good. Talk to me about it sometime.
Something else has been on my mind lately. What joy is there in treating people like shit? Or even just being a little mean? Elevate yourself by doing good. Give hugs. Pick up a hitchhiker. Smile at someone you don't like. Give others the benefit of the doubt. Plant a flower. Hang out with a lonely person. Help the struggling. Love your neighbor. Volunteer. Lay on your back, look at the sky, and be grateful. Turn the other cheek. Give a compliment. Exist for a greater good that will probably never exist itself.
I can't figure out what it is that's come over me for the past 4 or 5 days. It's kinda like being in love, but not really loving anyone. I've been feeling a strange sort of feeling of universal good will. Maybe I'll find someone to share it with soon.
Maybe I'll turn this into a poem, too.
How beautiful indeed. All that I saw, heard, tasted, smelled, felt, did, and thought seemed to have some sort of underlying splendor. The magnificence around me was intangible but definately present. It was both a pleasant and bewildering suspicion that teased my subconscious all day.
Why? I know how I'm going to die. Confused? Good. Talk to me about it sometime.
Something else has been on my mind lately. What joy is there in treating people like shit? Or even just being a little mean? Elevate yourself by doing good. Give hugs. Pick up a hitchhiker. Smile at someone you don't like. Give others the benefit of the doubt. Plant a flower. Hang out with a lonely person. Help the struggling. Love your neighbor. Volunteer. Lay on your back, look at the sky, and be grateful. Turn the other cheek. Give a compliment. Exist for a greater good that will probably never exist itself.
I can't figure out what it is that's come over me for the past 4 or 5 days. It's kinda like being in love, but not really loving anyone. I've been feeling a strange sort of feeling of universal good will. Maybe I'll find someone to share it with soon.
Maybe I'll turn this into a poem, too.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Flying Chaucers
Let's revisit a common question.
What do people want? Both guys and girls? This question surfaced during my early British lit class after reading the Wife of Bath's tale. I've been ignoring it since my sophomore year of high school, and I guess it's appropriate that the text once again begs the question. I'm finally going to confront this thing, and I shall begin at the beginning.
It seems necessary to give some context to the question. In the Wife of Bath's tale, a knight errant sees a pretty maiden and rapes her. Unfortunately for our stupid protagonist, the penalty for rape in King Arthur's court is death. The knight is brought before the king, and, luckily for him, the queen intercedes. She tells him that he has a year and a day to figure what it is that women want most. Long story short, he finds an old hag that tells him the answer--women want dominion over their husbands, gets his life saved, is forced to marry the hag, then pisses an moans about having an ugly old wife. When he submits to her will, she becomes young and beautiful and faithful and all that idealistic stuff. Thus, the question is asked: What do women want?
Well, Dr. Stege turned it around when no one had an answer. What do men want?
What do I want?
Fucked if I know, I thought to myself initially, but I resolved to think about it. I've been holding the question in my pocket throughout this afternoon and I think I have a rough idea.
I have an inner need to rebel. Not just typical young adult rebellion; the concept permeates me. I enjoy confrontation. I like angry, politically charged lyrics in my music. I reject the status quo. I hate authority. I suck at keeping schedules. I love philosophical, political, and religious debates.
As such, I find myself romantically attracted to strong-willed women. If you know me well, look at the people I've dated. Love or hate? Maybe I just like to argue. Hell, if you're familiar with the Wife of Bath's prologue, I'm pretty sure you'll notice some similarities between my former interests and that character. Unfortunately, due to this fact, barring a change in attitude, I will likely never cohabitate peacefully with another human being.
That is, if I don't try to find beauty elsewhere. Sure, there's beauty in strength of will, but there seems to be a division amongst strong-willed women. Some of them are, frankly, bitches. I hate using the word, so you'll have to forgive my bitterness. Luckily, there's another group of these women that are ambitious, yet kind. They don't let their ambition interfere with their decency.
I think it's time to switch tracks before I derail.
What do people want? Both guys and girls? This question surfaced during my early British lit class after reading the Wife of Bath's tale. I've been ignoring it since my sophomore year of high school, and I guess it's appropriate that the text once again begs the question. I'm finally going to confront this thing, and I shall begin at the beginning.
It seems necessary to give some context to the question. In the Wife of Bath's tale, a knight errant sees a pretty maiden and rapes her. Unfortunately for our stupid protagonist, the penalty for rape in King Arthur's court is death. The knight is brought before the king, and, luckily for him, the queen intercedes. She tells him that he has a year and a day to figure what it is that women want most. Long story short, he finds an old hag that tells him the answer--women want dominion over their husbands, gets his life saved, is forced to marry the hag, then pisses an moans about having an ugly old wife. When he submits to her will, she becomes young and beautiful and faithful and all that idealistic stuff. Thus, the question is asked: What do women want?
Well, Dr. Stege turned it around when no one had an answer. What do men want?
What do I want?
Fucked if I know, I thought to myself initially, but I resolved to think about it. I've been holding the question in my pocket throughout this afternoon and I think I have a rough idea.
I have an inner need to rebel. Not just typical young adult rebellion; the concept permeates me. I enjoy confrontation. I like angry, politically charged lyrics in my music. I reject the status quo. I hate authority. I suck at keeping schedules. I love philosophical, political, and religious debates.
As such, I find myself romantically attracted to strong-willed women. If you know me well, look at the people I've dated. Love or hate? Maybe I just like to argue. Hell, if you're familiar with the Wife of Bath's prologue, I'm pretty sure you'll notice some similarities between my former interests and that character. Unfortunately, due to this fact, barring a change in attitude, I will likely never cohabitate peacefully with another human being.
That is, if I don't try to find beauty elsewhere. Sure, there's beauty in strength of will, but there seems to be a division amongst strong-willed women. Some of them are, frankly, bitches. I hate using the word, so you'll have to forgive my bitterness. Luckily, there's another group of these women that are ambitious, yet kind. They don't let their ambition interfere with their decency.
I think it's time to switch tracks before I derail.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Love is a dunghill... and I am but a cock that climbs upon it to crow
Ah, amour.
Hackneyed, overwrought, typical love. I think Hemingway may have been right about it from the quote in the title.
People "love" everything. I'm sick of hearing the word used over and over again to connote trivial matters.
"Oh, I love that show!"
"Don't you love that song?"
Kindly go fuck yourselves.
Don't mistake my spite as hatred of love--the modern, consumerist "love" raises my bile by blinding the eyes of the unaware. It hides behind Hallmark cards and candy hearts and dozens upon dozens of red roses. Three cheers for the iGeneration.
"I love you."
There's some thin ice. People pass those words around like a lit joint. The problem is, they don't know if a hit will make the next person high.
"Let's make love."
There's an interesting phrase. It's glaringly obvious that sex is not the same as love, but love without sex is inconsummate and sex without love will make a shell of you.
"What is love?"
If you said "Baby, don't hurt me no more," you should stop listening to one-hit wonders. What is the unpackaged form of love? The cynic in me says it's nothing but two animals with their fangs in eachother's throats--too afraid to let go for fear that the other will bleed to death. The optimist in me says I'll know it when it hits me. The realist has trouble finding gray areas.
And so, I am brought back to Hemingway. Approaching love, like the dunghill, is dirty business. The best I can do is make some use of it; I'll climb atop it to make myself known and heard to the one that hears me best.
How do you know how do use something if you don't know what it is? I'm not entirely sure, but I think it's the same reason we don't let toddlers handle firearms.
Hackneyed, overwrought, typical love. I think Hemingway may have been right about it from the quote in the title.
People "love" everything. I'm sick of hearing the word used over and over again to connote trivial matters.
"Oh, I love that show!"
"Don't you love that song?"
Kindly go fuck yourselves.
Don't mistake my spite as hatred of love--the modern, consumerist "love" raises my bile by blinding the eyes of the unaware. It hides behind Hallmark cards and candy hearts and dozens upon dozens of red roses. Three cheers for the iGeneration.
"I love you."
There's some thin ice. People pass those words around like a lit joint. The problem is, they don't know if a hit will make the next person high.
"Let's make love."
There's an interesting phrase. It's glaringly obvious that sex is not the same as love, but love without sex is inconsummate and sex without love will make a shell of you.
"What is love?"
If you said "Baby, don't hurt me no more," you should stop listening to one-hit wonders. What is the unpackaged form of love? The cynic in me says it's nothing but two animals with their fangs in eachother's throats--too afraid to let go for fear that the other will bleed to death. The optimist in me says I'll know it when it hits me. The realist has trouble finding gray areas.
And so, I am brought back to Hemingway. Approaching love, like the dunghill, is dirty business. The best I can do is make some use of it; I'll climb atop it to make myself known and heard to the one that hears me best.
How do you know how do use something if you don't know what it is? I'm not entirely sure, but I think it's the same reason we don't let toddlers handle firearms.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Quiet, please
I've been told that all men live lives of quiet desparation. I can see that. I've also noticed that the ones that live in open desparation are pathetic.
I've been rolling some recent decisions over in my head lately. The majority of the ones I've made have stood up pretty well, I'm happy or at least neutral about them. These would include joining clubs, quitting smoking, and not doing something stupid and vengeful.
There's one decision, though, that I'm willing to admit was a poor one: deciding to deny myself from looking for a girl. Just because one made me miserable doesn't mean I should roll over and play dead. Though cynical, I'm willing to admit that not everyone is that terrible. It's about time I stopped second-guessing myself and others and put myself back out there. I was going to take the semester off, but I rejected two girls this summer. Enough is enough; if something manages to float by and it seems right, I'll probably consider it. Why deny myself affection? I don't want sex, I don't want heavy petting, I don't even want to make out with anyone. I just want someone to put my arm behind and talk to. Intelligently.
When my hair gets long enough, I think I'm going to grow a beard. My parents are complaining about my wanting to get my ears pierced. They're probably afraid I'll look too feminine with the long hair and earrings. The beard will help offset that. Nothing too lumberjack--just a closely-trimmed connector from my sideburns to goatee. Kinda like Tom Cruise a while ago, just without the insufferable and ridiculous religious convictions. Or the multi-million dollar net worth. Or Katie Holmes. Goddamnit.
I'm looking forward to getting my bass soon. I think I'm going to go ahead and dole out the extra cash for the Thunderbird Goth. I play sitting anyways, so the weight of the neck shouldn't be an issue. I'm a little worried about the tb pickups, but replacing a 9-volt every now and then shouldn't be so bad. After getting an amp, tuner, case, etc, I'm looking at about $600-$700. I'll have to work this winter, but I need the cash anyways. Something to look forward too is always nice.
Back to the subject of women. I like to look at women from a semi-Platonic perspective. I'm beginning to think that I've been concentrating too hard on the shadows on the cave wall. Somewhere outside the cave is the one I'm looking for. I've found some girls who've made it out there, but there's a number of them.
She's out there. I want to grab her hand, look her in they eyes and tell her, "I want you to know, with all sincerity and no hope of reciprocation, that you're a beautiful person, and I love you." Maybe it's the way she's beautiful without trying. Maybe it's the way she puts her mind, body, and soul to everything. Maybe it's the way her eyes look when she's lost in thought, staring away into the sky at something I could never see or comprehend.
Oh, that I could find her.
I'm told that all men live lives of quiet desparation. I'll try to keep it down.
I've been rolling some recent decisions over in my head lately. The majority of the ones I've made have stood up pretty well, I'm happy or at least neutral about them. These would include joining clubs, quitting smoking, and not doing something stupid and vengeful.
There's one decision, though, that I'm willing to admit was a poor one: deciding to deny myself from looking for a girl. Just because one made me miserable doesn't mean I should roll over and play dead. Though cynical, I'm willing to admit that not everyone is that terrible. It's about time I stopped second-guessing myself and others and put myself back out there. I was going to take the semester off, but I rejected two girls this summer. Enough is enough; if something manages to float by and it seems right, I'll probably consider it. Why deny myself affection? I don't want sex, I don't want heavy petting, I don't even want to make out with anyone. I just want someone to put my arm behind and talk to. Intelligently.
When my hair gets long enough, I think I'm going to grow a beard. My parents are complaining about my wanting to get my ears pierced. They're probably afraid I'll look too feminine with the long hair and earrings. The beard will help offset that. Nothing too lumberjack--just a closely-trimmed connector from my sideburns to goatee. Kinda like Tom Cruise a while ago, just without the insufferable and ridiculous religious convictions. Or the multi-million dollar net worth. Or Katie Holmes. Goddamnit.
I'm looking forward to getting my bass soon. I think I'm going to go ahead and dole out the extra cash for the Thunderbird Goth. I play sitting anyways, so the weight of the neck shouldn't be an issue. I'm a little worried about the tb pickups, but replacing a 9-volt every now and then shouldn't be so bad. After getting an amp, tuner, case, etc, I'm looking at about $600-$700. I'll have to work this winter, but I need the cash anyways. Something to look forward too is always nice.
Back to the subject of women. I like to look at women from a semi-Platonic perspective. I'm beginning to think that I've been concentrating too hard on the shadows on the cave wall. Somewhere outside the cave is the one I'm looking for. I've found some girls who've made it out there, but there's a number of them.
She's out there. I want to grab her hand, look her in they eyes and tell her, "I want you to know, with all sincerity and no hope of reciprocation, that you're a beautiful person, and I love you." Maybe it's the way she's beautiful without trying. Maybe it's the way she puts her mind, body, and soul to everything. Maybe it's the way her eyes look when she's lost in thought, staring away into the sky at something I could never see or comprehend.
Oh, that I could find her.
I'm told that all men live lives of quiet desparation. I'll try to keep it down.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Nothing much to say, really
Man. I miss Jonathan. I haven't seen him in a few months, and even then only briefly. Apparently, this is what he's been up to:
Macho Man Jonathan
Enjoy.
Macho Man Jonathan
Enjoy.
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