Down in Flames

Because I never get to quit when I say I want to.

So, with essay number three out of the way, I can open my mind to greater horizons--like essay number four. Or, I could finally quit the way I always wanted to. Not bloody likely. Tonight I'm going to turn my sights to Dickinson, and hopefully psychology at some point before I pass out. This schedule is messing with my system: I can't get to sleep until like three or four but have to see a certain someone out around five, so just as I'm about to hit my REM cycle I get rudely brought back to consciousness. It hurts.

Novembers almost over though, finally. We can move on to the holiday season. The thing I like best about the holidays is all the things I can hate: Santa, reindeer, gifts, friends, relatives...you name it. They're all walking around with bullseyes on the middle of their foreheads, rambling about the Christmas spirit and Peace on Earth. In case you haven't noticed, one month of introspection and monetary kindness cannot make up for eleven months of ignorance and greed. Just a thought. At least I get to break open my Advent calendar on Thursday.

Did I tell you about the bus pass fiasco? I think I threw it out along with my student card, so I went to get them both replaced earlier this week. (And by earlier I mean yesterday, but my way sounded more sophisticated...more words ALWAYS equals greater sophistication.) I went to my favourite place on campus--the Registrar's office. There, I spent 45 minutes waiting for them to work out the kinks in their database so that they could print me a new card with a picture that's even worse than the first one. Honestly, I didn't think that was possible. I guess the moral of the story is to never doubt the limits of the world's spite for you and your unphotogenic nature. Next, I went to Infosource to get a new bus pass. Twenty-five dollars and twenty feet of receipt paper later, I was told to come back at 5. I love the world. It just hates me so much it's really adorable.

Like I have time for any of that nonsense. But the time-wasters don't just work at the registrar's office and Infosource, oh no...they are everywhere. Particularly, they flock to Student Health Services. I had an appointment this afternoon that was supposed to be very brief...drop-in in nature as a matter of fact. I waited 5 minutes for someone to tell me that I had to talk to someone else who made me wait 10 minutes to talk to her, then told me to sit and wait another 10 or 15 minutes to be seen. Did I mention I only had a half hour from the time I got there until I had to be in class to hand in my essay?

And oh, it gets better. My name was finally called and I went and had my little powwow with the nurse. She tells me she just has to take my blood pressure then I'll be on my way. I drop the layers and she does her bit. Frowns a little. Tells me I can sit back down beside the desk while she goes to check on something. I wait. She comes back and says that my blood pressure was a little high, and asks if I was rushing around before I got there. I told her I'd been sitting in the waiting room for at least 5 minutes before she called my name and waited around before that...no, I wasn't running or walking quickly or anything. Just sitting. Hmmm...she decides that she'll let me sit and stew for a few more minutes on my own then take it again.

Still high. What the hell? Is it really that high? No, just higher than at my last physical (which was in November of last year...) I am getting really frustrated at this point. The more frustrated I get the worse my reading gets. The nurse leaves to consult with the doctor. I'm thinking, holy hell, will I ever get out of here? She comes back and tells me the doctor isn't worried about me, so I'm free to go.

I hope I have a stroke tomorrow. At least then that nonsense will have been for some purpose and the nurse can nanananana at the doctor for letting me leave. I kinda liked her, I just didn't like all that waiting. It would be nice if she was right and I finally got to go down in flames.

P.S. A quick plug I meant to get to half a month ago. Look into Jenn's blog because I am her sole inspiration: http://jschwass.blogspot.com and if you like to see my name mentioned in random and strange ways under the guise of explanation for artwork, try out Brendan's : http://rampantranting.blogspot.com

Procrastination Generation

Or, how to successfully avoid--and validate your avoidance of-- all things unpleasant in life.

You are on the right track, let me tell you. If you have something to read or write or otherwise complete, this is the place to come to prevent you from doing that. There are a few tips that can help you with overall procrastination:

• Get mopey. You already don't want to do any of the things you are supposed to be doing. So put on a sour face and the world will leave you to your sulk party.
• Make everything alliterate. It takes longer.
• Value irony. Spend the majority of your time complaining about how there aren't enough hours in the day to get everything done.

But, that's just the beginning. Take it from me, a world class procrastinator, you really need an entire list of things to choose from when you want to avoid doing something. Like me, here I sit, instead of writing an essay that is due on Wednesday I am protesting writing altogether. Value the hell out of that statement, and read these more specific tips:

• MSN. This one should be pretty easy, and it tends to be on the top of most people "procrastination list", which brings me to my next point...
• Lists. Make everything into a list. Write down everything you have to do and then allocate time for every activity. Frame the list. Love the list. And let the list mean nothing to you.
• Make everything into a drinking game. Barrel of monkeys: every player tries to pick up as many monkeys as they can. As soon as they drop a monkey their turn is over. The person with the most monkeys doesn't have to drink, but everyone else has to have one shot/sip/chug for every monkey on their chain. It is REALLY hard to play alone, in case you were wondering. Make a list of the rules for all your drinking games. Don't patent it. Procrastination cannot be turned into capital gain.
• Read random blogs. Umm, like this one.
• Write random blogs. Umm, not like this one. Mine are never random. They are incredibly well thought out works of ingeniuty.
• Practise a menial task. See how many times different ways you can wrap an elastic around itself. Do all kinds of sit ups and push ups. Turn pieces of your essay into poetry, then back into prose (Did you know that Benjamin Franklin did that to improve his vocabulary?).
• Lead by example. Bring the whole world to your world of procrastination but don't call it a party. It is a meeting of the minds.
• Make Benjamin Franklin your role model. Even he couldn't be as good as he wanted to think he was. Man, I have Benny on the brain today.
• Do other people's work. Read pages and pages of legal crap for no real reason. Proofread essays in topics you know nothing about. Focus your efforts on getting everyone around you through school while you slip through the cracks. In other words, become an academic doormat. (For more on academic doormattism, see previous anecdote about a certain teacher that gave me a B- to prevent another student from failing outright...)
• Fuss about the significant other in your life. If you don't have one, fuss about the lack of one. If you vowed never to let these things bother you, then fuss about how the world fusses too much about such stupid things.
• Go through this entire site and figure out what I was doing because I really believed in it and what I was doing purely to mess with your head. When you're done that write me an angry letter for messing with your head.
• Turn everything you say into a song, either by talking in song lyrics or by singing about what you're doing. People at work were wicked at this. I don't know how many "I'm going to the bathroom, where I will pull down my pants and pee" songs I heard this summer.
• Play the shadow game with your roommate. If you're super bored, play the literal version, where you actually follow him/her around for hours at a time, mimicking his/her every move.
• Sit on your porch, balcony, etc and comment loudly on people passing by. When there's no one around sing only these lines by PUSA: "Kitty at my foot, meowing out a conversation. Two string on my lap, all plugged in to amplification. Rocking back and forth, that's my only destination. Cuz I'm an old man on the back porch." By the end of those lines there should be someone new to comment on.
• Spread your doomsday scenerios.
• Email surveys. Answer in riddle, alliteration, or at least complete falsehood.
• Use email surveys to spread your doomsday scenerios.
• Convince someone that life just isn't worth living. Then, tell them you're leaving to do all the things that you know they love most in life. For example, if you are talking to a horny alcoholic, when the convincing is done, tell that person you're going to drown your sorrows in booze and masterbation.
• Never let the truth get in the way of your happiness.
• Make up random titles to explain your positions in life.
• Practise using oxymorons. When people think you've lost your mind say, very clearly, "Well, all in all, you're just another prick with no job."

Last but not least, convert. You can drag that out as long as you want and I'll be happy to help you out there. Meanwhile, I have a few essays to finish up.

Soul

There's always something tearing you apart. It's always so much longer than you counted on. It hits you so much harder than you thought. But you don't worry; you don't worry. 'Cause darling you've got so much soul.

Something Tearing You Apart
Whether it is a term paper that you just can't stand to think about anymore, or an ongoing argument that you can't seem to escape--there's always something. Moreover, there is something tearing apart every one around you too. Poor people. I don't know how many times I've seen people this week that look so sleep-deprived and stressed out that I wanted to take over their life for them and set them straight. Insomnia isn't the answer. It is not a solution. Eat, sleep, and do your homework in an organized fashion.

So Much Longer than You Counted On
November. One week in November. Today. This hour. The next ten minutes. It's ongoing. No matter how sure you are that you can make it through that 50 minute lecture, there's always going to be some part of you preparing to bolt at the first opportunity. Grin and bear it. Reward yourself when it's all over.

It Hits You So Much Harder than You Thought
This is a quick reference to the fact that you've been wandering around with your head full of ideas and thinking you might just be on the right track finally when smack bang boom you realize you're completely screwed. This is about that second when everything falls apart. You fall apart. I see it all the time. I haven't snapped yet. Be prepared for some pretty intense fallout from that one. It's been building for a while.

But You Don't Worry
Why bother worrying? Where has worrying ever gotten anyone? It's just like not sleeping, it just makes your life harder. So don't.

No, You Don't Worry
Reiteration is sometimes key. Saying the same thing in different ways can help you understand complex concepts better. Don't have panic attacks over life. I've told you before, get your spite out early in the morning over something that can't cause you any additional grief. Fighting with partners, professors, roommates, etc.--bad; Fighting with your cereal for going soggy too fast--good. Yesterday I heard the blandest story I've ever heard in my life. This guy was all jazzed to tell his friend about his run in with breakfast: he never eats cereal and the one day that he really just wanted a bowl of cereal there was no milk!! Can you imagine?? Obviously you can. The world needs to come to terms with Murphy's law and be more proactive about these things. Ie. Check to see that you have milk before pouring the cereal. What a concept. What a moron.

'Cause Darling You Got So Much Soul
Even if you don't think you'll make it through, you will. You're strong. You're intelligent. You may be lazy, but you know how to put your nose to the grindstone when you must. I've seen it. Just remember that the world is out to get you, but your best defense is spite. Don't let anything get you so far down that you don't want to get up again.

If You Don't Have Soul
So, you actually really let November get to you? You really are beyond the verge of tears and are fully committed to quitting life altogether. At least you still have me. And I'm freaking awesome, guys. I have more soul than all the angels in heaven put together on their most soulful day. Just because I'm really that pompous. Believe me, I believe in you. For better or worse. I may be little but I'm tough as raw meat. But I better get to class or I'll be cooked.

Holy Hangover, Batman

And other things that will set your mind reeling first thing in the morning...

Long weekend--in the figurative as well as literal sense. In fact, I wonder if I really had a "week" in between because I seemed to go right from one weekend to the next with just a jumble of random unweekly events crammed in between. Friday did mark the arrival of a very special guest (no, not Aunt Flo), by train, around 7:30. I believe his first words were, "What the fuck? Why is there snow?" Followed closely by, "Oh my god, I sat beside the fattest guy I've ever seen on the train..." What a perfect way to set up my "random things that people say that make me laugh or question whether there is any real meaning in life" blog. Fascinating stuff we'll be getting into here, folks.

But first, I'm going to take advantage of the space I have here to get a certain something off of my chest. Today was the worst day ever. I lost my bus pass; and you know how I feel about public transit in general so you know that I was not off to a good start. I sucked it up and paid the fare because I had a presentation at 11:30 for my very favourite (read worst ever) class on Gulliver's Travels Book One and Two. The presentation was supposed to be sixty minutes long and I had put some extensive work into it. Nervous, as you might expect, I got to class with time to spare and talked to my partner a bit.

Now, here is the kicker. I was presenting second, for thirty minutes straight because my partner didn't want to bother rehearsing the presentation or comparing notes or anything of the sort. However, she did tell our prof that we wished to be graded together instead of receiving separate grades based on our individual contributions and presentation styles. And she sucked. I don't mean she was not really that great, I mean she really blew chunks. She just stood there reading her notes for thirty minutes straight about the wrong sections of the book and then she finally let me have my time. I knew I had to do some extensive damage control so I turned every statement I was prepared to make into a question to involve the class and pounded home my points with a dedication I didn't know I was capable of exhibiting.

Then I sat through the rest of the class and waited. I wasn't sure if we were being graded together or not so my hopes were still high that I would pull off a decent mark. We were to meet Zeitz after class in the lobby downstairs. I had to pee so bad it was not even funny, but I didn't want to keep her waiting so I crossed my legs and held my breath. After some ado, (though not much ado really) Zeitz sat us down and broke the news to us. We almost failed. In fact, after the first half of the presentation, Zeitz wasn't sure what she was going to do because there was nothing for her to use to formulate a relevant grade. In fact, I was the saving grace of the presentation. Everything I did was perfect, insightful, right on the money. So we were both getting a 72.

What kind of corrupt, inconsiderate, boneheaded system are we working under? How, tell me, how does something like this happen? How does a failing grade become a 72 and a perfect grade get the same treatment? Why am I getting the royal screw job, again? Why is someone I barely know benefitting from my hard work? Why am I suffering for someone else's idiocy? And, of course, I came to this conclusion: because that is life and life kinda sucks.

So, we're back to quitting again. But why bother with that either? Let life end when it will. Hang on. Or let go. Whatever. Let's get to the random quotes bit.

• "Holy hangover, Batman! Where are your keys? I'm going in the hot tub." Imagine my reaction to that one for a little laugh.
• "If you will just touch it once I will die a happy man because I will be able to say that I saw you do it." Don't let your imagination run too wild with that one. It's not nearly as kinky as it might sound.
• "White coats are going to be all the rage this year." Followed by my assertion that my pink coat was way nicer than all of the white coats because it was almost the same but more pink. Followed by confused looks because the coat I was wearing was definitely black.
• "Well, I started to feel better but then I drank a lot of milk..." And Jeff says, "I told you so!" Puking milk has got to be one of the worst calls of life.
• "I think I am addicted to pain killers." Of all the things in the world to get addicted to...I don't think that's what I'd choose.
• "Do you want some Malibu?" asks the girl standing in front of us in line at the bar, holding out a decrepit water bottle.
• "My girlfriend is just getting us a couple drinks. She'll be back any minute," pointing to me in an effort to use his little sister to ward of the bar hoes.
• "The casino was the biggest disappointment ever. I only went there to smoke and look at the waterfall. I quit smoking. Why did they have to take out the waterfall? Why?"

It is hard to pick random quotes when I can't include myself in the melange. (Ooh, a french word!) I would also like to randomly include song lyrics but something tells me that annoys the world. Well, I can't explain glacial motion. But everybodywantstobejustlikeme. Do you know why? You better. Convert.

Morning After Conclusions

This week has inspired me to do some introspective considering. You saw my post-oar house musings...very deep, I know. And so, I have come to a few conclusions, then universalized them and put them into a list (what a shocker!).

Things every drunk person needs to remember:

• Cartwheels are for gymnasts and 10 year olds. (Sidebar: When I was 8, one of my friends broke her fingers trying to do a one-handed cartwheel. I had to write all of her homework for her...including cursive handwriting practice. Elementary school teachers are so smart.) If you really feel the need to do a cartwheel, look around. If you are on a hill going into a tunnel...or up out of a tunnel, resist the urge. The consequences of not remembering this rule may include: scraped palms, head trauma, and pulled leg muscles...or in my case all of the above.
• You're not smart. Don't try to talk about smart things when you're drunk. It is perfectly acceptable to try to explain the philosophical importance of how sticky beer-covered floors can be. It is not acceptable to discuss term paper or your fourth year thesis.
• You're happy. Alcohol is, in all fairness, a depressant, but you really need to avoid becoming a weepy drunk. No body ever wants to hang out with the cry baby.
• Cheap shots are the bane of your existence. Especially the ones that actually taste good. Before you know it you will have forgotten all these rules and you will be making a complete fool of yourself.
• Beer is better for you than studying. Don't proofread your essay; have some beer.
• You should not sing along to the songs you don't know. When you're drunk, you think you know all of the songs. You don't. You know none of them. Stop singing.
• You have to snort the key. If you promise to keep a secret, you lock your lips. If you lips are locked you can't open your mouth to swallow the key. You have to snort it. Thanks for the tip, Steve. At least I retain my appreciation for irony after a few beers.
• Walking home is not a better idea than letting someone pay for your cab.
• It is colder than you think.
• You are louder than you think.
• Some things are really important, like the whereabouts of a few key things, like your keys.
• Falling down is not cool. It will hurt in the morning.
• Things like pavement and wood tables remain hard even after you lose your tactile senses. That is to say, don't slam your hand down on the table when you spill a bit of beer on yourself. Don't knock your head against walls. Don't encourage other people to fight. All these things will come back to haunt you in some form or another.
• Water is a foul weather friend. Avoid it until the end of the night, then keep it close to your bedside while you sleep. Don't let people trick you into loving water too soon. Sometimes water is the enemy.
• No one is going to throw up. Your body can totally handle as much alcohol as you just put in it. If you're feeling foul give your friend water a try.
• Toast is a key part of drinking. I don't know why. I just love toast so much sometimes.
• Laying down in the middle of the road is bad. Sitting on the floor at the bar because you're laughing too hard to stand is ok. Regardless of what the bouncers say. It's okay to sit on the bar in order to feel taller. Again, no matter what the world tries to tell you, don't forget proper protocol for where to sit, stand, eat, drink, laugh, and otherwise exist.

Every now and then I start to think that maybe I need to focus a little more on my studies. And after an entry like that you are probably nodding along, thinking, sounds like a good idea to me too. Then I remember, sometimes hangovers are condusive of creating the appropriate appearance for certain presentations--like the ones where you are demonstrating how to turn a puppet show into a drinking game (true story: my idea). Besides, judge ye not...you'll lose.

Can you tell I'm trying really hard to cope with my Novembers? Actually, I was protesting the month when it first got here. The hostility continues, or so it seems. I'm off shots for the rest of the day at least. They are nothing but trouble. Convert now.

Post-Oar House Musings

I think that there is this point, where we all want to be able to tell eachother that life is worth living. I mean, seriously, if you have a friend that is really on the brink...you want to be able to talk some sense into them don't you?

But what is sensible? I'll admit, I'm not a fan of "hard truths". They tend to come across as a reason to cut into someone you're mad at. Consider,"Yes, of course you screwed up!" as a hard truth. You're just mad. You just want to let out your own frustration when you deal in "hard truths". But reality, actual real life, is so full of the hard truths that people use as weapons that hurt is inescapable. In fact, pain is a hard truth. And essentially, so is life. Deal with it, so says the world. But I'm not ready for that yet.

Thus, there is a stubborn part of me that is not ready to admit that the whole world is hopeless. There is an incessant part of me that wants to cling to hope the way that a toddler clings to her favourite blanket. I'm not ready to give that up. I'm not ready to lose all my faith in the world. And, God, don't I know how hard the world works to prove me wrong; but I will hold on to the belief that everyone in the world is just struggling for something they can't have...and that all we can do for one another is try to make that thing more attainable...or at least try to make life more bearable.

Is that pathetic? Are you sitting there wondering if I've completely lost my mind? I know, far be it for me to show any compassion...but if life is one big trial...if life is nothing but a string of fortune or misfortune, then why can't we be friends? Why can't we all just try to get along? Why do we insist on letting our minds or our hearts get in the way? If someone offers you a hand, or holds open a door, why should you read it as a patronizing act? Why do the kindest gestures have to be turned into condescension? The simplest explanation for all things may be the right one: we just are. And if that's all it is, why can't we just let eachother be? Why can't we help eachother without turning against one another.

So tell me all your thoughts on God. 'Cause I'd really like to meet her...

I love people. That is one fact I am really slow to admit. There are people, though, who my heart feels a special something for that I cannot explain. I don't want to be anything special to them, but I want them to know that they are something special to me. And truthfully, some of these people I gave up on in the end. They didn't need me and I didn't need their drama. They'll never know it. They still think I feel the same as ever. I may be cynical and bitter and all kinds of horrible things, but I swear, I really am dedicated to the people that I call my friends. If you gain my loyalty you can count on me to always be there--whether I like it or not, and whether you like it or don't. (Did you catch the bad parallelism? Tell me you did. I will feel successful then). There are a handful of people in my life that I would go to extreme lengths to help, and who don't even realize that I'm willing to do that. More than that, I'm just as willing to step into the line of fire for them when I'm sober as when I'm drunk--shocking I know.

But would you do it for me? No wonder I feel so alone. I am alone in this. I would go to such great lengths for you that you can't even imagine what I'm willing to do, and you won't even spend the time it takes to tell me what I can do to help you. If you didn't know that would be one thing. But you just don't want to accept my help. You think that there should be strings attached...because if the situation was reversed you would be tying the strings yourself. I guess I got caught in the ruse of the world because it's just a promise no one ever keeps. But whose the one you answer to? Do you listen when he speaks? Night all. Sleep sweet as ever.

The Problem with Life

I've boiled it down to one very simple and unsolvable dilemma: goodbyes. Then I wrote you a delightful essay on it. Do you think that's a sign that it's November?

I spend a lot of time thinking (in case you haven't noticed), and I've only been able to come up with one definite conclusion: I hate goodbyes. To be fair, some goodbyes are better than others; but on the hole they may just be the very bane of my existence. Let us explore this idea further, shall we? First and foremost, goodbyes can be categorized and then described succinctly with two words (only to be further explained with several more):

• Break-ups: Emotionally draining. They are the goodbyes that are tainted the most by denial because of that age old phrase, "We'll still be friends, though, right?" I have avoided these kinds of goodbyes splendidly for the last 20 years...well, more like 3 but you get my meaning. For those of you less practical than myself, my heart goes out to you.
• Moving on: Bitter sweet. These goodbyes cause the most conflict because whether you are the one leaving or you are the one being left behind, you know full well that things will never be the same. And that really smarts.
• Moving away: Major denial. The problem with moving away is that false hope that nothing will change because no one is "moving on," the distance between you and the rest is just being altered. Moving away goodbyes are easier to deal with if they're piggy-backing a moving on goodbye, as was the case with Katrina. She went to Korea, but she went because she was done school. The promise of return makes moving away goodbyes harder too because the timeline is never very clear.
• To Bad Rubbish: Good riddance. You know the kind I mean. These are the goodbyes that happen because you can't technically "break up" with your friends. And these goodbyes are about friends, not enemies because you don't ever say goodbye to people you hate: you avert your eyes and run away from them at the first opportunity. To me, these are maybe the worst kind of goodbyes since they are often left unsaid. They are the "and one day she just stopped talking to me" goodbyes. In many ways, they are the most necessary. They are the strangest version of "moving on" goodbyes. They happen because of necessity, but they seem so painfully inexplicable.

Now that we've cleared that up, maybe you can see why goodbyes are the problem with life. Everybody has to deal with them at some point in some way--even hermits. Hermits take goodbying to the extreme: they say goodbye to everyone all at once and never say hello to anybody ever again. And like so many things in life, goodbyes are highly misunderstood. The problems of goodbyes are pinned on loneliness, when loneliness is just a symptom of a bad goodbye, or many bad goodbyes as the case may be.

You may wish to argue the converse: the problem is not bad goodbyes, but a lack of hellos. I, however, try to avoid negative thinking whenever possible. Don't blame the absence of something when the problem can be explained as a presence of something else. As in the example with the hermit, however, you need to recognize how goodbyes and hellos interact to get to the root of this thesis.

There's the problem--laid out for your inspection. But where is the solution? I don't know. There may be no solution to the sound of this polution in meYEA. I think the most important thing to take away from this is the fact that goodbyes are universal, and inevitably linked to so many other aspects of life. I've already shown you how goodbyes are linked to loneliness, but what about something slightly more obscure? How about...writing an essay? Well, that's actually pretty easy to link. You see, you know that you have to say goodbye to your work at some point...finish it up and send it off into the world. Thus, writing an essay links to moving on goodbyes, and occasionally good riddance goodbyes. See how that works out?

Goodbyes actually prove to be a really complex problem because of their relationship to so many other things. With all that said, they are still very important. That song "don't say goodbye, say so long" doesn't sit right with me. The finality of goodbye is its most important attribute. You may think, with that in mind, that I've forgotten death goodbyes, but to me they don't count. Dead people can't hear you say goodbye, so the closure you seek from saying goodbye is just a performative action for your own benefit (Yay, Butler). It doesn't quite fit the goodbye mould. If you know what I mean. Goodbyes must have a purpose and an impact, or they become something else. I don't know what else.

And finally, a word on good riddance goodbyes. I don't want to show any favoritism, but I genuinely believe that these are the bitterest goodbyes. The optimism (or denial if you like) of the other goodbyes doesn't exist in this case. You have to give up something you love because being near it causes you distress. They are also usually decided at midnight in a drunk stupor. It may sound juvenile, but some days I genuinely trust my drunken self more than my sober self--so here we are. Usually, these goodbyes are just decisions that we make and never speak. That is why I always say, if you really make me mad you'll never know it. I just sever the tie and accept that things will never be the same again. Ironically, good riddance goodbyes are also the most likely to be reversed properly. I don't usually believe in going back, but maybe today we could put the past away. Probably not.

Well, don't get lonely now.

Eat My Cherry

A birthday blog for a crazy roommate (and her birthday buddy, Jenn).

Do you know why there are so many birthdays around this time of year? Think about it for a minute, and then I will tell you. Valentine's Day. November is nine months after Valentine's Day. If you were born on the fourteenth (or a few days later especially) you can count on your conception being the result of rigid duty or careless romanticism. Nice. Those of you born before the fourteenth have it even worse--your parents couldn't wait.

That said, it is Amanda and Jenn's birthday today. Jenn always says that I have nothing worth saying about her. I would agree, but it's Wednesday. You know what that means. An ode to all things Jenn:

• Canadaopoly. No one else would ever play it with me. You saved me from myself after long, hard Mondays by keeping me company and playing that game.
• Mario Party. It was 3 AM. Neither of us could move. Neither of us would turn off that damned game.
• Doug. Most people are worth loving for their significant others. Doug is so a male you.
• Passing out in the stairwell. Did you think I'd forget? I thought you were going to die!
• Sidekicks. I always made yours for both of us. It was a sweet deal. I ate for free and you didn't have to learn how to boil water.
• Your limitless supply of everything. I'd walk into your room and you would open your top drawer and offer me every kind of snack under the sun. It always creeped me out because I reserve the top drawer for undies.
• The way you used to skulk near my half-opened door trying to decide if you should knock or leave me alone.
• The way the decision was usually based on what day of the week it was.
• You egg me on. There is no "I don't think that's such a good idea with you." As far as you're concerned, I should drink until I can't stand or draw hopscotch boards on the kitchen floor.
• Your fear of public transportation and all things "urban".
• Your English conversation group. Funniest thing I've ever heard you say: "I asked them what they thought 'the cop showed his badge' meant and they thought cop meant prostitute and badge meant bitch." Oh, Jennifer.
• Your taste in music. You were playing the song that Shane and I made fun of endlessly on our first date. Now you're listening to Smash Mouth...It's so random. It's so perfect.
• "Oh, you know..." Your signature phrase.
• Your rabbit stories. I'm really sorry Tuttles died...no, Tuttles's husband. My mistake.
• Whiskey. You make it sound like such a manly drink.
• Trips to Wendy's. How I had to fight with you for hours to take me...how you sat and watched me eat...how you called me fat and evil for making you drive...What fun.
• Your ongoing assumption that every word I say is tainted with bitterness and sarcasm.
• How often you are right.

And the roommate birthday bonanza doesn't end there...There is so much more. A moment, if you please, for all things Amanda. Here, my dear, is why I love you:

• You met me for lunch the day after you got your wisdom teeth taken out. You found out that I was into "all things foam" and took a trip with me to Michael's so that you could have foam fun too.
• Your foam finger says that you are number three. You adhere to all the rules of Weinism without understanding a single one of them.
• You make obscure family members read my blog.
• You tell obscure family members that I'm wasted when I write my blog.
• You spit all over me tonight and you are never going to live it down. I'm currently working on a master plan to replace your shower water with saliva from random people I meet on the street.
• When you say things like "eat my cherry" I can just walk away shaking my head. You know full well that I'm beyond laughing or trying to understand.
• Because tinsel is for life.
• You make me an alcoholic. Okay, for you skeptics out there, it really is Amanda's fault. Every time we want to have a drink and watch some tv, she tries to dump her drink. It's too strong. It tastes too bitter. It tastes too sweet. And you all know how I feel about wasting alcohol...so guess who drains it. Case and point: Tonight Amanda brought out a bottle of Peach wine to celebrate her birthday. No glasses. We don't need glasses. She puts it down in front of me. And that is the end of that.
• When I come home from a long day at school and don't take off my headphones because I have to pee more than I have to breathe, you think I'm mad at you.
• Every time you knock on my door and I tell you I'm naked you say, "Like that's ever stopped me before" and wait patiently for me to find my pants.
• Yahtzee.
• Ergo: (Latin) Bite me.
• You love your cat so much. Way more than me.
• You got so jealous when Shane bought me flowers.
• You hated the "book-a-month" plan, even though it was made to keep you free from looking at the flowers.
• Your ongoing belief that I have a valid opinion about what you should wear. Have you seen how I dress?
• Starbucks before the VPP meeting. I'm surprised we didn't cause a riot.
• Giggling in Lily's class. I'm not a giggler. What the hell?
• The way you hated me for playing Feather Pluckn when you wanted to listen to Lump. You are so sensitive. It's hilarious.

Alright, and if that isn't enough for you that's just too damn bad. I need to get to sleep. Exam at noon tomorrow. These personalized blogs are catching on...soon I'll have to start collecting commission. Tune in next time for some less directed hostility and bitterness--the way you like it best. Don't forget: everyone wants to be just like me--and you didn't believe me when I said that everybody knows that the world is full of stupid people. But I got the pistols. (No, I really don't.) Convert.

Brendan's Birthday Blog

Back and better than ever...Following through on that not-so-forgotten (anymore at least) promise. To those of you who are NOT Brendan: you should read the books too. I'm an absolute genius when it comes to these matters.

Whether you remember or not, I promised you a list of books to read for your birthday. The list got shorter, and then I made it longer again. Why? Because I'm in charge here and I want everyone to know it. Here's the list, in the order I liked best:

• Shogun. James Clavell. Oh wait! You already finished that one. This is my way of celebrating that milestone with you. YAY!
• Fury. Salman Rushdie. The book I was crying about the first time you came over to talk to me at five percent. When you're finished you can help me write that essay about the truth of the progress narrative and anti-Emersonianism. Because I know you are dying to hear more about that. Just like the rest of the world.
• The Salmon of Doubt. Douglas Adams. Odd essays and other non-fiction by the author of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. There's a really weird story about some dogs, and how dogs don't understand loyalty the way that people do. Dogs don't think like people?? WHO KNEW?? You can read the guide too if you like.
• I Know this Much is True. Wally Lamb. Long, but moving. It's about being the identical twin of a schizophrenic. It hammers home the issues of essentialism and constructivism even though it only really mentions that idea once. Actually, it's just another good tear-jerker.
• The Sun Also Rises. Ernest Hemmingway. I hear it's about impotence. I thought it was about love. "Isn't it pretty to think so?" That'll make sense if you read the book.
• The Satanic Verses. Salman Rushdie. You gotta love contraversy, don't you? I highly doubt you'll be able to borrow my copy though: Shane bought me a first edition hard cover for my birthday because it's bad form to buy kahlua and sidekicks for the love of your life.
• Moby Dick. Herman Melville. Just kidding. It's torture. But I finally finished it.
• A Fine Balance. Rohinton Mistry. Indian politics in the 70s. Since oversimplifying is one of my strong suits. It's another big book though. And I think I may have lost my copy.
• The DaVinci Code. Dan Brown. Because I hated it and I want someone to share that hate with. Everyone I talk to about it (other than Mrs. Jobe) thinks I'm nuts for wanting to watch it burn. You will probably love it and then I can reassert the fact that the world hates to agree with me.
• With Every Mistake. Gwynne Dyer. After you finish the one I mailed to you. You should read War too. If I knew when I was shopping for your present that you would enjoy Dyer that much I would have got that one instead.
• "Socioeconomic Integration in Major Barbara." That's the essay I wrote that you still haven't looked at.
• Robinson Crusoe. Daniel Defoe. So that I don't have to. Actually I read the illustrated version once...
• Whylah Falls. George Eliot Clarke. Because we all need some poetry in our life. If you won't read Whylah Falls at least read Blue. Better yet: read them both.
• From Ink Lake. Compiled by Michael Ondaatje. Canadian short stories. My favourite is called "The Lake" by Joe Rosenblatt. I've had the book for about 5 years and never finished it because all I want to do is read that one story.
• Things Fall Apart. Chinua Achebe. After you finish it, you can read my insightful essay on how Aristotelian analysis fails with non-European and non-North American fiction. My Theocrit prof went on a mild rant about this after he read my response paper. I hid in the back and tried not to cry. Or you can just enjoy the book.
• The Buenos Aires Affair. Manuel Puig. Everyone dies. But they deserve to because they're all addicts and sex fiends. The girl falls in love with the guy that kidnapped her to rape her. You can consider the problem of consent in abusive relationships while you read it. I sure did.
• Bushworld and The Best in American Crime Writing. You have the authors' names because these are the books I gave you. I only read a bit of each, but I trust you to tell me how they turn out in the end.
• Go Down, Moses. William Faulkner. Mostly because the bookstore won't take it back and I have no time to read it.
• On Bullshit. Harry G. Frankfurt finds a way to define the difference between lying and bullshitting, following the epistomological roots of the two words and coming to a shocking and revolutionary conclusion.
• In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Kim Cooper. Because Rory talks about it non-stop. It's still not in print yet. In the meantime you can evidently just listen to the album.
• War Trash. Ha Jin. You can't read it until I finish it though.
• The Prison Notebooks. Antonio Gramsci. Oh, hegemony. You will love this as a follow up to Marx. I told you about it once before and you just gave me confused looks. At least my cult studs class was good for something--confusing you. Muahaha.
• Imperial Ambitions. Noam Chomsky. Just for kicks.
• Step Across this Line. Salman Rushdie's collection of non-fiction. I had no idea "The Wizard of Oz" had so much history. You might have to fight with Jean for it. Last I heard it was keeping her hamster in her cage. That is a really weird sentence.
• Mythologies. Roland Barthes. Talk about reading too much into everything. It's hilarious, but I don't think it's supposed to be.

And that's all for now. See how I kept it short and sweet and then came back and added more? Everything that I wrote after that question doesn't make sense any more. Do you remember what I wrote? You said it was ingrained in your memory. Liars exhaust me.

And now, in Weinist tradition, I better make the list of reasons to celebrate your birth (like anyone ever needed an excuse):

• The look on your face when you stumbled into your party. It was not just surprised. You were dumbfounded.
• Your name alliterates so well with this topic. And you know how I love to alliterate. BBB...that's so awesome.
• Your mom says I'm a good influence on you. Maybe that's a reason to love your mom, but you came out of her so my statement stands. I like to believe I am. After all, look at that list of books I made for you.
• That time you made me watch the Corporation. On top of that, the way you got so excited when you thought I was going to burst into tears at the horrendousness of life. So compassionate of you.
• Your consistent refusal to take any of the blame for my problems. Like when I tried to tell you that I would have finished Uncle Tom's Cabin back in August if you didn't make fun of me for reading it in the first place. Or the way you told me that if I went blind from trying to read it in one night you wouldn't care.
• You used to dance to make me feel better at work. You're a terrible dancer. It's one of my favourite things in the whole world.
• The only day I really wanted to do your work for you was the day you refused to let me. You have a spitefulness in you that you're not even fully aware of. Plus, I think you thought you were being nice.
• You hate to lose any argument. And everything is an argument. That one day that we sat and debated for two hours you followed me to the washroom so that you could keep fighting with me. In all fairness, it was a five minute walk and you made some excellent points along the way.
• The way you congratulate me for the randomest acts in the history of the world. You'll have to figure that one out for yourself.
• The way you lied to me about your age until you found out I was younger than you. I spent like 3 hours trying to figure out why you couldn't drink in the states when you'd just told me you were 24. Very confusing. Very sneaking. Very unnecessary.
• Your devotion to the hot tub. It is so central to your life, and yet, it is never ever working.
• You taught me how to cope. Well, you gave me a book from the 80s that made fun of stuff. And that got me through most of October.
• Your inability to understand Table Fries or their revolutionary traits. They are so much more than strips of fried potato, comrad.
• Your insistence that I was jealous. I'm pretty sure I just wanted to tell you that you should protect me from "those people trying to make me smoke things I didn't want to" in the Buick. And that the Buick scared the crap out of me.
• The essays you want me to proofread for you. First, they weren't that bad and you knew it. And second, I happen to love the highlighter plan. I'm using the highlighter next time FYI.
• The stress card that you carry around with you. And more than that, the fact that you couldn't find it when you thought I was going to give myself a stroke over something at work. I thought you were looking for chocolate. I wish you were looking for chocolate. I really wish chocolate didn't give me migraines.
• Green apple vodka in green apple crush. You're so innovative.
• Your complete and utter lack of faith in me. Or your complete denial of the aforementioned lacking.
• Your undying gratitude. I spent weeks trying to find you the perfect gift and you reduce it to my ongoing conspiracy to sabotage your attention to schoolwork. Plus, when I told you I spent almost two days trying to find Mein Kampf for you, you just laughed at me because I was afraid to ask Mr. Pickwick for the Hitler book.
• Your love for my bitterness. No one else in the whole world is as amused about my eagerness to witness my own demise. You can't wait to see me go down in flames. I happen to hope that you are looking up at me as I plummet.

And that, my friend, is that. If you call it "nice" ever again...well, just don't. I hope your birthday was everything you hoped it could be, and then some. I hope you never let anybody read this without my written consent. Oh, I know it's posted on the Internet. And finally, for the second time today: Happy birthday one last time. I'm down in all my fears but I ain't crying no tears...over you. Know what I'm singing? Convert.

Walking Week Wednesday

A post for the workoholics of Weinism. And you thought Hostile Wednesdays were bad before...

So I'm walking down the street--literally? what the hell? It's getting to be damn cold in this city...and in this country for the most part. So why walk? Oh, let me tell you: I lost my bus pass. Actually, I just misplaced it. Actually, I know exactly where it is, but I can't get to it. "Cuz you're so short?" AHAHAHA...no.

So, my bus pass is in Burlington, and I'm walking to school. But that's not enough. I'm walking to school three and a half hours before I have to be on campus because I agreed to volunteer at the grad and professional schools fair. For fifteen dollars and a free t-shirt, I spent three hours smiling and greeting recruiters, directing lost souls, and answering some of the dumbest questions I've ever heard in my life. I was supposed to help distribute water bottles too, but I decided I was above that.

Then there was the actual school part--never anything much to report there. Prof talked; I took notes; prof stopped talking; I went and bought 10 dollars worth of gum; and I was back on the road again. (Of course, by the road I mean sidewalk...I don't have a death wish this week.) Now the worst part of the walk home was the feeling of panic and hurriedness. It's November people...I don't have time to breathe let alone spend 45 minutes climbing Sarnia mountain. Oh, it's steep like a mountain.

So, I was hurrying. And here's the really sad part: I was hurrying home to do someone else's homework. I'm sure that Someone Else would love to pipe in and explain that I was just helping to correct the homework...but that he really doesn't have a voice in the world of my rants. And that brings me to the focal point of this particular entry: I just realized I'm a workoholic.

Now hold on. I know what you're thinking. But, staying in character, I'll prove to you that I am in fact a complete workoholic with one of my lists. Ahem. You know you are a workoholic when:

• You walk to and from school in order to save yourself $2.50 or the shame of being caught trying to sneak on the bus at Natural Science. (Not that I would ever even think of such a thing.)
• You walk at a superhuman pace because you have to get home to read.
• You have to get home to read someone else's assignment.
• Someone offered to pick you up, but that would involve waiting around for 10 minutes extra. (Remember, it's a 45 minute walk.)
• While you walk you try to formulate the perfect essay topic.
• For all three of your papers and how to change the papers just enough to get away with it.
• When you're not scheming about your essays, you're wishing you were pregnant. Have you heard this logic yet? If you were pregnant someone would take pity on you and offer you a ride home. If you were pregnant you wouldn't have to be afraid of being raped (that would be too awkward for the potential rapist) so you could accept the ride as the act of a good samaritan.
• Your heart rate increases when you realize the outline for your term paper, which is to be between eight and ten pages, is fifteen pages long.
• You spend ten minutes explaining passivity to someone, then give up and lapse into grammar jargon that even you can't understand.
• You vent for half an hour about how you don't even have time to eat a proper meal only to conclude that you don't like food that much anyway.
• You revel in the idea that your thoughts might be confusing enough to give someone a headache.
• You have more than one panic attack a week.
• Your panic attacks revolve around what other people are wearing and the stupid things that other people say.
• Your proposed essay topic is declined, but you decide to write it anyway--out of pure spite.
• There is nothing unusual about the fact that you have 200 pages left to read at midnight.
• When you hear someone bemoaning the fact that they only have 2 weeks to write a paper you restrain yourself from slapping them. Two hours is all you need. Two hours and a lot of caffeine.

And, according to tradition, here is the list of ways to overcome the issues of workoholicism:

• Make up new words. It will make you feel better.
• Spend the money you saved by walking on booze. Holy call for rum and coke.
• Skip instead of speed-walking. It's really fast and dorky looking. You just can't be stressed out when you're skipping.
• Always remember that someone else's procrastination is not your emergency. No one is going to let their assignment be handed in late just so that you can stress over their grammar (or content for that matter), so they can either give you adequate time to take care of it, or do without your expertise. (NB: I had lots of time; but lots is never enough.)
• Waiting time doesn't have to be wasted time. Turn the time you have to spend sitting on a bus (if you're so lucky as to ride one) or just before you get sleepy to do something you really like. I read the books I wouldn't otherwise get to read. And eat chocolate. Oh, chocolate.
• There's nothing wrong with thinking and walking, but be aware that those revelations you had may be best attributed to the gas fumes.
• A baby will not fix anything. Ever. I have nothing against the little droolers, but they are not the solution so forget you ever thought they could beYEA...yea.
• Tell yourself that increasing your heart rate is a form of exercise. Even if you're panicking. NEVER let the truth get in the way of your happiness.
• Claim that the overuse of any type of jargon is satirical. If you're a scientist and you find yourself talking about everything in terms of biology, chemistry, or physics (etc), when you catch yourself, smirk and say, did you see what I did there?
• There really is nothing unusual about having that much to read.
• Chocolate is the only kind of food you really need. Free chocolate is the best kind of chocolate in existence.
• Become overly egotistical and carry a bottle of aspirin around with you. Whenever you go to pitch an idea to a prof or want to talk to someone about your classes, offer them a pill before you start.
• Quit panicking. God, what are you? Some kind of freak?
• Oh yea, people really are stupid. Laugh at them instead of hyperventilating though. You now what they say about laughter and medicine: They mix poorly if laughter is induced by alcohol. (NB: I don't know who "they" are. Maybe the voices in my head...pfft.)
• Don't abuse spite. It is a beautiful thing if it's properly employed. You can be as spiteful as to write a paper unnecessarily only as long as the real papers are already finished.
• Caffeine is bad for you. It gives you insomnia. That's the editorial you: caffeine gives everyone insomnia.
• Just remember: When ten million monkeys all picked up guitars--no body taught them how!

And that, my dears, is that. Walking week continues tomorrow. Wish me luck. Don't be a workoholic anymore. Fight the desire to do too well. Sleep sweet. And remember that every thing's totally feather pluckin insane.

Positively Hopeless

And other mind-boggling paradoxes.

My favourite thing to do is come up with random questions about relatively normal things. Granted, normal to me is rarely normal to the rest of the world, but my hobby persists unfettered by such contentions. So, I'd like to give you all an opportunity to skulk around in my brain for a while; this is your chance to think what I'm thinking...

• Why do misnomers, oxymorons, and paradoxes have such a tantalizing effect on thought processes? What is it about considering "fighting for peace" that is so amusing? How about the desire to turn latent dream content into manifest content? It is impossible. Why does anyone waste any time on it? Let alone years and thousands on therapy...I hate psychoanalysis.
  
• What is it about gray skies that is so cheerless? Is it a social construction or is there some other plausible physiological explanation? If the sky was blue when it rained, would we be less depressed by it? Who came up with pathetic fallacy? Were they following social norms or did they create them?
  
• Why can't students penalize professors for their grammatical and spelling errors? If your TA comma splices in her comments on your paper, shouldn't you be allowed to take off stylistic marks? Shouldn't those marks be added to your paper?
  
• If you fall on your ass but you're too drunk to remember it, will you bruise as badly?
• Why aren't there more public washrooms?
• Why does the weather insist on going from too hot to breathe to too cold to move so quickly?
• Are there no happy mediums left in this world?
• Do happy mediums give happier predictions?
• Did you see what I did there?
• Are you still following?
• Why would anyone ever think I'm older than I actually am? Have you seen me? Is it a good thing or a bad thing to be called "mature for your age"?
• Should I be grateful or annoyed that Jack wanted to fix my life and plan my future for me?
• Who eats gummy bears? They make me feel so sick. Bring back the chocolate.
• I want a candy apple.

Wasn't that exhilarating? Now you know what it's like to live inside my head. Stressful huh? Kinda confusing? You're one step closer to being converted. I'm positively hopeless.