100th post

I find it rather odd that I am doing this, simply because I generally revel in my secretiveness. But like any good secret, it is not a great deal of fun to keep it to oneself. Perhaps I was unwittingly coerced by friends who label me as "not liking people" though they admit I am fun and personable. Confusing, eh?

This was a brief excerpt to an extremely brief initial post. I would probably say that this is a milestone of sorts. 100 times now I've sat down and rambled some pretty useless nonsense. From the beginning, I anticipated this being a short-time hobby, something simply to pass the time, something to prevent me from focusing on the ridiculous amount of schoolwork peeking out of my backpack. I think I hesitantly told Andi about it first, probably because she was the one that sucked me into doing this (or according to the first post, because it was she and E who condemned my odd personality on a trip back from some type of school function, prompting this whole blog thing).

I don't know if people know me any better now; if they do, I wouldn't necessarily say that this blog is the reason. I've been around the majority of my readers in person for another five months, so that probably does a better job of showing people who I am than anything. I will admit there is always posturing to a certain degree, both here and in person. I think that if people could truly look into my soul, they would probably have a pretty good idea what hell looks like. But then again, perhaps I'm being overly dramatic. I'm really not much different than anyone else. Sure, I have my dirty secrets and my bad habits. I know that I probably curse way too much to ever be accepted into high society or a church congregation. Not to mention my unrestrained questioning of those beliefs which were hammered into the young Jeremy, those which have somehow shaken loose and been discarded as I've grown older and more cynical. Regardless of all these things, I still firmly believe I am a pretty good--no, probably one of the best people anyone could ever meet. This idea is either true and I am that great of a guy or it could be complete bullshit and it's my own arrogant self-indulgence which blinds my self-perception.

As I've told people before, one of my favorite things to talk about is me. Well, that's not really true. What I really like is to hear other people talk about me, as long as it's not blatantly negative. I like people trying to figure me out or discussing my quirks because it helps perpetuate my belief that I am difficult to understand. And I like to hear people's speculation of me--how I think, what they think I'm thinking, etc. It's a bit scary sometime when they hit close to the truth, but often enough, I find that they are well off the mark. Maybe what it boils down to is this: As much as we say we want people to understand us, it is actually only an idealistic and romantic notion. We do not want to be understood. We do not want to be figured out. We want people to guess, and guess wrong. We want to keep a barrier up between ourselves and everyone else because it is only through that barrier that we can maintain our sense of personal safety. No one wants to be exposed. Because while it could make us all much closer and all of that bullshit, it also makes us very vulnerable. And being vulnerable is perhaps the worst thing to be because it is ultimately scary and uncomfortable--not at all the image I attempt to present.

So I don't. And won't.

But at the very least, I hope it's been a humorous read from time to time. I try not to get too preachy that often, but I've really had very little to say lately. Whether I'll ever get to 200 is truly unknown at the present time. Some days I really need this in order to clear my head. Other times it's a fucking chore. Sometimes it's funny, sometimes it's not. For the moment though, I think I'll be taking a break from all of this for a while. Perhaps I will pick this up again in a week or two, or perhaps I won't. I will likely comment from time to time on others' blogs, though, so I can at least stay in the mix to a certain degree. Thanks to everyone for their interest and comments. It has been much appreciated.

It ain't me, babe

Who's going to be super-busy over the next few weeks . . .

Not me, that's who.
My plans include watching a lot of sports on TV without the guilt factor brought on by various uncompleted research papers. I also plan to do a little gardening, but only if I'm able to drag my lazy ass out of bed before it hits 90 degrees outside. I will probably read a few things, though likely nothing by any dead white guys, as I have way too much tiredhead this week to even consider cracking that type of literature. I also don't really plan on drinking at all, besides a random beer or four during the aforementioned sporting event watching.

This weekend--probably going to Hyena's Comedy Club in Dallas with my brother and our respective spouses. Next weekend--another brother wants us all to go to a winery to drink wine (which I don't particularly like) and eat overpriced food. Haven't decided on that as of yet. I'm guessing I'll probably find some good excuse to skip it.

Also I've got my quarterly visit to Houston next week on Tuesday and Wednesday, and that's always a good time. I have to be there by 7 am to do the bloodwork (which really sucks because my body doesn't really function that early), but I'm supposed to be done on Tuesday by 11:00 or 12:00. In order to avoid the everpresent questions of "Do you drink? How much would you say you drink per week?" from the interns and physician's assistants, I should probably cut back my drinking entirely--or at least until I get back in Dallas. The only good things about that much free time in Houston is that there is a two-story Half-Price books on University Drive near Rice (not nearly as big as the HP church on Northwest, though), so I imagine that I will be spending quite a bit of time there. After that . . . I'll probably be bored off my ass. Maybe I'll go sit at the computer in the hospital where I'm constantly surrounded by people about 40 years older than I am and post some angsty shit on my blog. At least it's better than being stuck near the children's wing . . . that's some sad-ass shit. There is a slight possibility that they may put me on a bi-annual schedule after this visit, so I'm crossing my fingers and hoping that's the case.

In the meantime, I will be spending a good deal of time with my family since I'm sure they've forgotten who I am over this past grueling semester. And I did manage to swing all A's again. I always tell myself that I wouldn't be surprised if I got a B, but that's not really true--I just say that to prepare myself for disappointment. So that's one year down with a perfect GPA. Maybe I should quit now while things are good.

A-train: What do I have to do to get those long-awaited pics from you? I'm starting to think there are no pictures, and you just don't have the heart to tell me.

Random song lyric (shoehorned into this post simply because I think everyone should know a little Hag):

Memories and drinks don't mix too well.
The jukebox records don't play those wedding bells.
Looking at the world through the bottom of a glass
All I see is a man who's fading fast.

But, here I am again
Mixing misery and gin
Sitting with all my friends
And talking to myself.
I look like I'm having a good time
But any fool can tell
That this honky-tonk heaven
Really makes you feel like hell.
--"Misery and Gin"

P.S. --Mavs up 3-1 in series with Spurs after Monday night's 123-118 overtime win.

Post-Mother's Day Blog Post

I've had three whole days without the necessity of going to or attending any type of academic function--no receptions, no meetings, no classes, no work--and I've decided one thing for sure: I really needed a fucking break. I don't plan on even driving to the town the college is in except once, and that's because I'm too much of a jackass to get direct deposit. Good luck to those of you attending the May Mini. I think that class is going to be a good one, but fuck it . . . enough is enough, for a while anyway.

Well, I had a pretty quiet weekend, I guess. Friday was a real asswhip for several reasons. First of all, my A/C decided that it was going to stop working, which is not a good thing. My wife and children went out of town, so that would have certainly given me the chance to get some serious partying done. Except that I was really fucking tired from not sleeping much earlier in the week. So I sat at home all fucking night and laid on the fucking couch. I had a few drinks and burned a few smokes, but it's definitely not what one might call a party night. I thought about watching Capote since it won Best Actor, but I didn't think I'd be able to maintain focus. So maybe I'll check it out tomorrow. Or then again, maybe I won't (Just had to give this some recognition--it could be the most confusing book ever to allow a naive 6th grader to read).

Saturday . . . hmmm . . . well, I'll say thanks to my brother who came over and checked out the A/C, which is now working fine after its mysterious actions from the night before. Then we went and fucked around at random home improvement stores and nurseries looking at gardening type bullshit. As I managed to escape multiple places without spending any money, I felt as though I had really exercised some self-control. I deserve several cookies.

Weird and fascinating quotes I heard recently that makes me think my children are operating on two different wavelengths:
Question: If you could wish for anything in the world, what would it be?

• Tyler: "I wish that bad things wouldn't happen to good people."
• Kaelyn: "I wish the whole world was made of chocolate."

P.S.--Go Mavs.

Last night's party

Despite my doubts concerning my ability to drink and party last night because of my recent lack of sleep, I managed to pull it off as usual and come dragging in about 4:00 in the morning--just as my wife had suspected. I guess it was a pretty good time--lots of Walk the Line, Al Green, and various other artists (not too keen on the ABBA and Blondie, though).

I was glad that the Goose and Beth were able to join the fray last night. T, I hope everything works out this summer--that shit really sucks. A-train, I think your tolerance is probably twice what it was at the end of the fall semester.

For those who wonder what the hell happened to me last night, concerning my disappearing act:
A buddy of mine came in from the University of Arkansas and he was hanging out with some people in Commerce. I thought he was going to come over to T's, but instead he called me and told me where he was at (Driftwood Apts.). So I went over there and played drinking games (mushroom?). The weird thing was that when I walked in, the first thing I heard (besides "HURLEY!!") was "Hey, teach." It turns out that one of the 201 students was there drinking and complained for a while about her B she got in the class. That's the first time I've ever seen a student in one of those types of situations. But then again, she did say I looked like I was in my mid-twenties, so she's not too bad.

A Quick Post

I need a break for a minute from Hemingway (we've spent so much time together lately, I've begun calling him Ernie, as Ernest just seems way too formal. Likewise, he has started calling me J-Dog, which always sounds awkward coming from an old man who is dead). The paper has just started to pick up, as things are beginning to magically come together. Finally, I've been able to piece a few of the random thoughts I had written down into a cohesive argument, though I fear that I may be taking too long to get to the point of the essay. But then again, for a lengthy (and publication worthy) document such as the one I am currently assembling, a little extra explication seems appropriate.

As I have already noted in a few emails, it seems unlikely that I will be attending the post-semester after party which is scheduled for Thursday evening. As my boy Ernie continues to come between me and sleep, it seems a foregone conclusion that I will lack the desire and energy required to participate in that type of debauchery. I do hope that everyone else attends and has a good time. As for me, I figure that I've probably consumed enough alcohol and attended enough parties in my day--I'm sure it won't hurt me to miss one night. But then again, perhaps I may finish early enough to get some sleep sometime tomorrow. If all else fails, maybe I'll attempt to take a nap during Asswhip 521 by stacking an enormous pile of Hemingway novels between myself and the professor, thereby concealing me so as I won't feel obligated to engage in the conversation as I am so frequently prone to do. But then again, even asleep, it may be likely that I will be able to provide almost as much to classroom discussion as many of those who choose not to read the assigned texts. A-train, I know you've read it this week, so I'm counting on you to lead discussion.

Q: What does a person writing a research paper at the last minute and a person with a hangover have in common?
A: Both swear they'll never put themselves through the misery again.
Q: What's the really bad thing?
A: They always do.

Well, that's probably a long enough break. I should get back to work.
But then again . . . I'm sure I've got time to read a little more of Sabbath's Theater . . . maybe a chapter or two. Hmmm . . .

Another Glorious Tuesday

I must start this post by giving props to my girl Bethany who proved last night that she can take a lickin' and keep on tickin' (the meaning here is ambiguous, but not perverted--I promise.). As that was the first time I've ever seen "Party Beth" out and about, it really made me wonder what she was like back in the premarital, prematernal days. All in all, it was a pretty good time, though there was a great deal of randomness going on as well as some odd characters lurching about. But nobody puked and nobody got in a fight, so all's well that ends well, right?

Props also to T who opened up his doors on short notice to entertain.

Before Shakespeare this evening, I'm going to meet my wife and kids and another family for dinner in G'ville. My daughter is playing a softball game over there today, so that's where I'm dumping my son. Speaking of Shakespeare, I should be getting my final research paper back, and I'm hoping for an A, expecting a B, and prepared for a C. Anything less than that and I'll simply have to burn the fucking place down.

Relating to the book giveaway to which students were not given access to, this is the response I received today from one of the head people at the library:

Sorry, but the books came to us via College Station and are state property which we cannot give to students. We kept the books that would the library could use and the rest can be offered to other libraries, state agencies but not just given away. I know this does not make sense but because they are state property we can't let students have them.

In other news, I had an opportunity to deal with a couple of stubborn people, one of them being myself. Hopefully all of that got worked out, but it's always amazing what people will do to punish themselves in the name of pride and self-respect. That's pretty much what I did by wandering through Half-Price for an hour and leaving with nothing. The final point to such behavior: simply to see who cracks first. Which is usually me, since there's really no good reason to be miserable just to prove a point. Unless you're talking about marriage, that is.

Back to Hemingway.

A tasteless joke

Instead of Hemingway, I've spent the greater part of this early morning reading Philip Roth's Sabbath's Theater. Here is a rather tasteless joke I found within the text that I wanted to share with at least the male readers of this blog:

Well, this truck driver, whenever he goes away, his wife, she gets cold and lonely. So when he comes back from a trip he brings her a skunk, a big, furry live skunk, and he tells her that next time he goes away she should take it to bed with her and when she goes to sleep she should put it between her legs. So she says to him, 'What about the smell?' And he says, 'He'll get used to it. I did.'

Granted, it's pretty crass, but it's funny anyway.

All in all, a pretty good Sunday is coming to a close

Even though things have not gone terribly well all weekend, Sunday actually turned out to be a pretty good day. Despite the fact that it was a bad sports day (both Mavs and Rangers lose today), I did get a chance to hang out with a friend of mine while my wife and daughter attended a baby shower in their neighborhood.

On the way home from there, I asked my wife if she wanted to go "piddle around"--something we used to do a lot on Sundays. We generally hit a few stores and just wander around looking at stuff, buying a bit here or there, trying to decide if we really need to spend money on this or that item. We did some clothes shopping--we'd spend a little time in the men's section then wander through the women's section, kids placed firmly into a cart, if possible. There's nothing more fun for a child than to hide in the racks of clothing until the parent(s) begin to panic and start looking around for pedophiles before they eventually come jumping out from a rack of denim capris or somesuch.

So we picked out a little here and a little there. The kids (as usual) were well-behaved, and we had a really good time. It had been a while since I had actually been anywhere outside of my house with my wife, so it was a pleasant surprise that we can still enjoy each other's company. She hardly ever buys any clothes unless I'm with her, mainly because I am very honest about telling her what looks good and what doesn't. After all, I don't want her wearing something that'll embarass me. Plus, she tends to get stuck in a rut (a couple of years ago, it was black pants/slacks and a white shirt--I thought I would have to burn them in order to get them out of her daily wardrobe rotation). So I give her good advice. For those that would consider this to be a bit weird for a man to do, just consider that as a man I know what looks good on a woman, sometimes better than they do.

On the other hand, I never let my wife pick out my clothes for me. We never agree on what I should wear, mainly because I think she wants me to be as unattractive and unstylish as possible--this is done in order to ward off the onslaught of sexual advances I get from the hordes of women who seek my favors. Or so it would seem anyway, based on her selections. So she usually gives advice which I discount immediately. One could probably argue that her taste in clothing is as bad as her taste in men, but that's probably an issue for another day. Or maybe she just wants me to start wearing overalls or T-shirts with Tweety or the Tasmanian Devil on it--these often tell others "hey, I've given up on life. Don't pay me any mind."

But, back to the point of this post. I really had a good time today with the old ball and chain. We didn't argue or even try to argue. We laughed a lot about stuff that was really funny and laughed about other stuff that wasn't funny at all. But we laughed anyway. It was a good day. Maybe it's because the semester is coming to an end, and the stress is considerably less magnified. Or maybe it's just because my wife isn't really the person I see every day, the one who probably does more for me than anyone else, the one that's constantly burdened by the everyday pressures of multiple roles as breadwinner, mother and wife. So it was good for her to get out for a while, too. I think it probably did us both a lot of good.

A bit more reconnected

Yesterday was a fucking worthless day.
Concerning the party last night, I told my wife about it when she got home and she was bitter. I was on the phone with my friend when I asked her, and she immediately started raving about how I "couldn't" go. Keep in mind that "couldn't" does not mean "could not"--in reality, it means "you can, but I'm going to make your life so miserable that all of the fun you have there will only be a drop in the bucket of shit you'll have to deal with when you get back home." So I told my friend that I couldn't go. He just went silent on the other end, and said "Okay . . ." --question mark firmly planted over his head. So I got some reading done instead. This happened about 8:00.

At 9:45, my wife comes over and asks me if I really wanted to go to my buddy's house. I told her it didn't really matter now, since it was almost 10:00. She then starts telling me how I could have gone if I wanted to, and that she wouldn't have really been that mad. Yeah, okay. You're saying that now, I told her. Now you know that I don't care if you . . . that's about the time I stopped fucking listening. I did make it a point to tell her that despite her unwillingness to come between me and a good time, she somehow seems to manage it. It's not that I was really all that bitter. It just bothers me (esp. her "don't use me as an excuse" line) for her to always flip-flop on issues such as this. Either realize you are an excuse and take pride in it, or let me the fuck alone. Don't fucking pretend.

Today, I anticipate finishing the Hurston novel and watching Mavs-Spurs (noon tip-off).

A-train is posting again, and I've sent some emails back and forth to a couple of people--these things help when you feel like you're on a island by yourself.

Down in the dumps . . . (UPDATE)

I can't recall the last time I've had a day such as this. It's not that today has been a complete fucking disaster, but I've been in a pretty shitty mood since about the time I crawled out of bed this morning. I will admit that my wife has been rather accomodating: among other things, she cooked breakfast for me and has begrudgingly went to a birthday party that she assumed I was attending, but didn't. But despite her eventual attendance at said party, there has been more than a hint of bitterness emanating from her person. At this point in the day, I don't really give a shit. I think I've tried picking a fight with her at least twice today (which is really unusual for me), but she's managed to avoid it. Before she left for the party, though, there was a good deal of sniffling and slamming doors, providing me with a pleasant amount of self-righteous indignation.

I took the family unit to Half-Price Books today, but was in such a foul mood that I didn't buy anything. I kinda felt guilty buying more shit considering the fact that I already have in my possession hundreds of books which I have yet to begin. So since I was in a bad mood, I figured that going there and leaving empty-handed would further my self-inflicted sense of unhappiness. It worked. Or maybe it is simply because reading is not something I feel like doing right now, especially since I have more than enough on my plate at the moment. What I really want to do is go hang out at my buddy's place, where a varied collection of fraternity brothers are sure to be gorging themselves on alcoholic beverages.

Since I've gotten back home, I've had several attempts at starting the Hemingway paper, all of which have failed rather miserably. I read a couple more of his short stories hoping to find some other evidence of repressed femininity, but the first story I read this afternoon, "The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber," tells about a woman threatened by her husband's new-found confidence. She kills him. Good times. I'm not real sure how that can work into this idea of "repressed femininity" because she was such a controlling bitch to begin with.

Rather surprisingly, the end of the semester has come. In certain ways, I am glad--it means I'm that much closer to finishing and moving on. In other ways, it seems like my life is bound to return to a level of boredom that tends to sap the life out of me. Sitting around the house for a month, reading random books, watching movies, drinking alone. Wow. That even sounds depressing. I may head to my mom's during the break, just to get away from home and my responsibilities here--maybe do some fishing and work on my sunburn.

So I guess I'll see T and E on Tuesday, and A-train and Goose on Monday and Thursday. Then it's back to . . . whatever it was I was doing before I started grad school. Perhaps now would be a good time to reassociate with all of my friends whom I've been disregarding over the last year. It's really weird that, despite my rather large circle of old friends, somehow my grad student homies have somehow managed to displace many of my older friends. But that's probably just because I spend such large quantities of time with these people. And I generally like them. That's not to say that I understand them (at all). Or perhaps what I'll really be missing is the litlang community as a whole, and these people are just a small representation of that. (As I'm writing this, I'm thinking that this sounds like a really bad ending to a really bad novel--a bit too sentimental, a bit too . . . well, I don't know. Gay?) Anyway, let me put the violins away and stop the sad piano music . . .

I think I'll fix another rum and oj and see how fucked up I can get before my wife gets home with the party favors.
********UPDATE 6:38 PM***********

My buddy called me back and there are countless people at the party, drinking and cavorting and other such frivolity. I'm faced with a dilemma:
My buddy wants me to come over and drink.
I want to go over there and drink.
My wife always tells me that she doesn't like me using her as (or her being) my excuse not to go do things with others that are fun.

So . . . the dilemma? Well, my wife doesn't really mean it. At least not in my opinion. Because time I spend with others is time that I should be spending with her--at least I think that's how it works. Plus, I've already pissed her off today. Plus, I told her I needed to stay home and write (which I haven't really been doing). So naturally, I've been writing frantically for the last 30 minutes or so, just to come up with something that says "See, I've been working really hard." For those of you that don't have to deal with spousal restrictions, I say to you "enjoy it while it lasts."

There's probably a 50 percent chance I'll be going somewhere to drink tonight. If that happens it'll be a very unhappy day here tomorrow. So then again, it always comes back to the age-old question of "What do you do?" I would like to just go and make myself happy and have fun, but there's certainly a risk-reward factor. Especially since I'll probably wind up crashing over there. Being that my wife doesn't go and do similar things, she has a tendency to balk whenever I want to go hang out. As a matter of fact, in the interest of fairness, I told her she should go out with a friend of hers and I would stay at home with the kids. She hasn't/isn't/won't. Despite the fact that I love my wife, things such as this have a tendency to beat me down.

One more week of hell

There is only one more week of hell. I've got one more paper to write--when asked about specific length in class on Thursday, he refused to give us a limit or minimum--I'm thinking 10-12 pages. And it's going to be over Hemingway, so it should be pretty fucking good. At the same time, I'm getting a little down in that the school year is coming to an end, and all of my friends from school are going to be distant memories soon. More on that later . . .

Another bunch of randomness, simply because it's easier than putting together anything focused:

• I just came home from the dentist, and only half of my mouth will move. I look like a very young yet unfortunate stroke victim. I think I've got about two more hours before it wears off. My biggest fear is that I will accidentally bite my cheek or tongue just before I lie down for a nap, and then inadvertently choke to death on my own blood as I'm sleeping.
• Much props to Amanda and her mother, simply for introducing the world to this phrase: "Elvis died so you could live." The religious undertones are fantastic. I also like the idea of Elvis as the Christ-figure.
  
• I loaned A Confederacy of Dunces (John Kennedy Toole) to my brother today. If you've never read it, you're missing out on a hysterically funny Pulitzer Prize-winning novel. Like all great artists, Toole's life ended tragically (suicide)--this occurred well before his book was ever published. So when you read about me in the paper, please scavenge my home for a manuscript (or check my car like Camus)--there will be a great piece of fiction around. I guarantee it.
• I did not have a great morning, though. I went to Commerce to pick up some paperwork. While there, I was going to a book giveaway on campus that had been advertised on the university library's website. Upon my arrival, I was told that students were not being allowed to enter. WTF? I emailed someone about it because it kind of pissed me off--I'll let you know what I find out.
• Mowing the yard is not a good time.
• Edging is about 10 times worse than mowing.
• During the Suns-Lakers game on TNT, they kept running an add for a money clip (only $19.95!!). One of the testimonials showed a lady who said something to the effect of: "All those rubberbands on my husband's wallet are really unsightly." Again, WTF? I don't know any man that puts rubberbands on the outside of his wallet to hold it closed. When it gets to that point, you should probably clean the fucking thing out. By the way, the clip is designed to hold up to 30 bills and 8 credit cards. No word yet on condoms.
• Most women I know would argue that ass-sex is great . . . if you're an ass, mule, donkey, or other such equestrian type mammal. Otherwise, not so much. This often causes confusion among men, as the porn movies always seem to rate it as such a highly enjoyable experience . . . [Also the reason I would rather die than go to prison--would not be a good time for me--too little, too tasty . . . (shiver)]
  
• Still need to go to Half-Price. Maybe next week.
• First place Texas Rangers.
• The condom line earlier reminded me of a comment the Goose made at lunch one day (when he would hang out and not be embarrassed of us). Somehow we were talking about condoms and someone had made a comment on different sizes, magnums, etc. Out of nowhere, the Goose responded that he thought that "the really big ones are the only ones they made." It was pretty funny, plus he got some phone numbers out of it, too. Party on, Goose.
  
• I started reading Their Eyes Were Watching God today at the dentist's office. The copy I have is a used paperback (sigh). Apparently the previous reader enjoyed reading closely. Very closely. Every time there is a metaphor being used, she writes "METAPHOR" in huge letters. She has also underlined almost every sentence in the text and made some sort of useless notation nearby. People like this should be shot in the stomach and left to die a slow and agonizing death.
  

Random thoughts at 2 a.m.

I'm finally coming down from the caffeine high of Tuesday, though I keep wanting just one more for some weird fucking reason. As I was sitting in my late class with my FULL THROTTLE (yes, this must be screamed), I noticed that my hands were shaking, though I can't say if it was from exhaustion or the energy drink. I'm still feeling a bit odd, even now.
Today, I got to work late and left early--something that I justify by remembering all of the bullshit paperwork and other nonsense I usually wind up doing on my days off (Tuesday/Thursday). I went to a little shitty bookstore near my home (the kind with about 80,000 used paperback romance novels) and was actually surprised to see a lot of classic canonical literature. But I left without buying anything--must have hardcover . . . Get home, help my daughter with a presentation on Booker T. Washington, hung a light fixture at the neighbor's house (during Lost, mind you), came back home, read some more Absalom, Absalom (75 pages to go), watched Lost and Invasion (had to tape them both) and here I am--at two o' fucking clock in the morning.

But now some random thoughts:

• Spent some quality time today reflecting on the usefulness of Febreze.
• Being that there are about 20 different dry cleaners within 2 miles of my house, how is that none of them are ever more conveniently located so that I actually will take my clothes there?
• Washing a vehicle is a fucking timewaste. As much as I like to drive a clean car or truck (or SUV, Andi), the time commitment required to keep the aforementioned mode of transportation clean is not worth it. While I do try to keep the interior clean, the exterior usually only receives attention about once a year. It's just another one of those things on the list of "Things I don't do except on special occasions."
• I don't understand why people still change their own oil. It's not worth the time and isn't terribly cost-effective.
• I have two more suckers joining the Ulysses reading group. Welcome, Goose and A-train.
• I believe that many people assume that my life is much more interesting than it really is. Or maybe they're right, and I'm just in denial.
• The reason why sports is such a big deal for men is because it provides instant fodder for conversation with other men, even if they're complete strangers.
• Why would people have ever thought that they needed a cap to wear to bed?
  
• Falling in love tends to be a sure setup for future disappointment.
• Since I will be filling up the Explorer in the morning, I anticipate gas prices skyrocketing tomorrow.
  
• As some words may have multiple meanings and conotations, sometimes I need some clarification before making the proper response. Otherwise, I just wind up feeling a bit silly, even though it can present some humorous discussions later.
  
• Don't ask people questions that you don't want to answer.
  
• Every time I call someone and they tell me they're out walking, I often wrongfully assume they need a ride.
• Elvis is about 50 times better than the Beatles.
• I need to put an APB out for the Camus book I borrowed from T which has been absent for a few weeks. He and I assume that my son is keeping it under his bed and writing notes in the margin. I should probably check his ChainReading profile.
  
• One of my colleagues couldn't believe I was raised on a farm; instead, they considered me to be more "metro"--whatever that means. But then again, E's musical transitions may prove that we are always evolving.
  
• Sleep may be a necessary evil, but it's a hell of a lot more intriguing right now than Faulkner.
  

To be too tired to think straight, I feel pretty damn good about life

I started the fucking Shakespeare paper about 10:00 last night. I finished it (11 pages and change, not counting the works cited) at 11:00 this morning. If I do say so myself, that was a pretty impressive bit of writing. I knew I could do it, so now I've spent the morning patting myself on the back--not too hard, mind you--if I were to knock myself down, I don't think I would have the energy to get back up. I'm currently running on a 4 pack of energy drinks, and I'm completely fucking wired. All I need now is about half a pack of cigarettes, but unfortunately, I'm currently on campus and I don't smoke here. Don't want to ruin my image as the fucking golden child.

So I'm waiting to do a course evaluation at 2:00 and then a presentation at 3:00. That would probably give me enough time to take a nap, but then I would be dead to the world. At least I've got one paper done--not well done--but done nevertheless.

Eight fucking pages to go

As I projected earlier today, I made a 10:30 trip to Wal-Mart to pick up two 4-packs of Full Throttle energy drinks (one regular, one whatever the fuck the other one is), a pack of mechanical pencils, and a pack of highlighters. So I'm back home by 11:00 and waiting for my caffeine medicine to find a more drinkable temperature as it hangs out with the milk and beer in the fridge. I started looking over a couple of articles, but I really need the energy drink before I start, and since it's not cold, then voila--another opportunity to procrastinate. I'm also thinking about burning a couple of smokes, but I think my body is starting to revolt. I've probably smoked a whole pack of cigarettes in the last two days--and that's something I just don't do--at least not to that degree anyway. I've been coughing lately, so I think my lungs are trying to tell me something.

These next two weeks are going to be absolutely miserable because of all the work coming up. And I'm worried about the Shakespeare class--I'll be a bitter mother fucker if I get B'd. That will cause a great deal of unnecessary agitation. But at least I've learned one thing this semester--I'm never taking that particular instructor again. For anything. Ever.

I feel kinda bad that I don't have any wild or crazy theories to throw out at this time. Several things I was reminded of today, though, and a few random comments:

• I don't care anything about national issues such as immigration. This has been an ongoing issue, and is only being brought up now to divert attention from the economy and the Iraq War. I voted Republican last election, so it's not like I'm some bleeding heart liberal--unfortunately, some fucking poll showed that most conservative Americans (generally white, middle class) care about immigration, so here is the thing for the party to push on the ticket for the upcoming elections.
• Gas prices. I also don't really care, mainly because I can't do anything but buy the friggin gas. And per an earlier discussion today about oil, the U.S. produces about 33.8%, with Canada and Mexico chipping in another 23% combined (that's about 57% for those tallying). The OPEC countries (Top Four: Saudi 9.5%, Nigeria 9.0%, Venezuela 8%, Iraq 3%) contribute about 32%--the remainder comes from a bunch of other countries. Here's a good place for facts, if you're interested.
• I still hold to my lifelong theory that the reason left-handed people have generally bad handwriting is because they are taught how to write by right-handed teachers.
• I believe that everything is relative. It is impossible to judge anything fairly outside its context.
• Women assume that being a man is easier in that there are not as many societal constraints regarding expectations and options. I call bullshit, but I still would rather be a man.
• I still stand by the old adage of "Don't trust anything that bleeds for a week straight without dying."
• I fear going into politics because I'm afraid people would find out all of my dirtiest secrets.
• I consider myself a fairly likeable person, simply because hardly anyone really knows what I'm thinking.
  
• Talk of suicide is only funny if you're joking.
• I hope that I die before all of the people I love, but I know that I won't--simply because God loves to torture me.
• I hate walking through those security detectors at retail stores because I always fear that it's going to go off and I'm going to be caught stealing something, even though that's something I would never do. But I almost always hold my breath anyway.
• A moment that changed my life happened in a sixth grade art class. I was telling a joke I had heard from a family member to a black guy who sat beside me. Without thinking, I used the word "nigger" in the joke. I felt humiliated and embarrassed of the way I had been raised.
• I had a huge crush on a girl in middle school, so naturally I acted like I hated her. We ran into each other a few years later, and she asked me why I was always so mean to her. I didn't have a good answer.
• I once ran naked through the woods with a group of three other guys in a high school hazing ritual. It makes crossing through a barbed wire fence a very slow and methodical process.
• I remember when I lost my virginity and swore that sex was so awesome that I would have it every day for the rest of my life. Funny how things change as we get older.
• My grandfather was in a nursing home once and everyone expected him to die very soon. It turns out that he didn't, but he did tell me a funny story when I visited him. He went in for a checkup, and the doctor told him to drop his pants and underwear and bend over the table. He did, then paused and looked back at the doctor, his eyebrows arched as he stared at the physician. "What are you looking at?" the doctor asked, somewhat confused by this look. My grandfather replied "I was just making sure you weren't dropping your drawers, too." Funny story to hear from someone believed to be on his death bed.
  

Sports recap: Mavs destroy the Grizzlies in game 4 102-76. Time to get home and twiddle our thumbs for a while. Hopefully all of the other series will go 7, so we can rest and recooperate. The one factor this will truly have on my academic work is that they will play again no sooner than Sunday, which leaves me all week to work on the Asswhip 521 paper. The Rangers also won 3-0 over Tampa Bay, and they're in first place in the AL West.

Finally, A Link Just for Elise.

Putting the nose to the grindstone

Today has been the most productive day I've had in the last several weeks, especially in terms of meeting academic requirements. I mashed out a five page paper for my 676 course in about an hour or two, and I made a pretty good outline for the Shakespeare paper which I am about to begin--I think it's due in about forty-four hours. But I will be borrowing extensively from some of the journals I have written throughout the semester, so I hope she doesn't mind a little double-dipping. But the journals alone should provide me with about four to five pages of material, though I'll probably need to reorganize and rewrite a bit, just so it's not verbatim from my previous work.

Sports has been relatively poor for a Sunday: the Nascar race was postponed due to rain (they will be running tomorrow at noon), the Mavs were off, and the Rangers were on a channel I don't get (which is probably a good thing--they won anyway). The Stars (hockey) lost in overtime, but they were already down 0-3 a few days ago, so it wasn't that big of a surprise. Their season is over. There was some pretty good basketball today, with the Bulls beating the Heat, the Lakers over the Suns (F-Steve Nash), Kings over the Spurs (F-Tony Parker), and the Wizards over the Cavs--I think all of these series are now even at 2-2. And the Dallas Mavericks (3-0 in their series with Memphis) should wrap it up after one more game, then sit around and wait for their next opponent, which should be San Antonio. Word on the street is that Steve Nash is up for his second consecutive MVP award. I still don't understand how he was considered weak and soft while in Dallas, yet an MVP and "awesome" (in the words of Marv Albert and the rest of the dumbass TNT squad) while playing the same game in Phoenix. Plus, he's fucking Canadian. Dirk is much more valuable and much better all-around. While not a defensive giant, Dirk at least has some idea how to play defense whereas Steve Nash is anything but "awesome" when it comes to that end of the court. And how does a team lose an MVP (like Nash) and become better two years in a row? It's fucking mind-boggling. Now why is he the MVP again?

Here's Nash looking very gay . . .

















I was dozing off about 10:00, so I took a nap for an hour and a half, then got up about 12:00 to get started on my other papers now that my house is nice and quiet. I have a twelve pack of Pepsi in the fridge and a carton of cigarettes in the truck--I think I've even got a little motivation (which is a bit scary). But I need to free up some time this week, and the easiest way to do that will be to get most of this paper done tonight.

So here I go.