Six days later

Sometimes I feel bad for neglecting this stupid little blog. I probably look at it almost every day, but I just don't seem to have the energy or a blog-worthy subject at the same intervals. When I have something cool to say, I'm too bogged down in the day to day grind or just lazy. Whenever I feel like sharing something, I have nothing of any importance to share.

Blah.

So I would probably say that the biggest news for me right now has been the recent MLB trades involving the beloved yet failing Texas Rangers. Not only did we send the likeable Mench, the questionable Cordero, and the never-will-be-anything Nix to Milwaukee, but we received All-Star Lee in return. I just saw where they made a trade with Colorado for a catcher (for cash), which should mean that Barajas (not Laird, please not Laird) should be on his way out the door, hopefully involved in a trade that would send the one-dimensional (HR or bust) Blalock to the Orioles for a certain Miguel Tejada. It sounds like a good idea, but we will likely be unable to pull it off. On another front, NFL training camp has begun, and I'm already rubbing my hands together in anticipation.
The sports scene is improving on a daily basis which is not necessarily a good thing for my studies.

On another note, I have recently contracted some type of ear ailment (no hearing AIDS jokes, please) which has left me lying on my left side with cotton in my ear. Reminds me of a camping trip I went on once . . .

This ear inflammation was likely caused by the asswhip of water rides at theme parks.

Here is the family at Six Flags on Saturday, enjoying the heat along with 15 million other people. I think the longest wait was 1:45 minutes for a roller coaster.

On the left is my daughter, then my son, then some random girl, then my wife. My son was not really digging putting the hands up:


Good times.

A Tale of Two Do-Nothings in Cancun: Visual Impairment, Fire Tequila, and "Together, Together"

Well, despite the fact that I did not lose an eye in a knife fight, I still wound up being visually impaired during my recent excursion to Cancun. Somewhere in the Carribean Ocean, there is a $400 pair of glasses that I really could use right now. But what do you do? Let's see, I lost them on Wednesday, which of course was the very first day I got down there.

I did manage to pick up a couple of boxes of Cuban cigars from some random dude wandering the beach. It seems that the beach is quite an area for vendors. While I was there, I was offered cigars, vacation packages, watches, necklaces, conch shells, and even "something to make me feel good, like Bob Marley" according to this particular gentleman.

The most random thing probably happened on our way back from Chichen Itza. Our bus stopped at a restaurant to eat, and my brother and I were forced to sit directly across from the worst kind of couple. They were laughing and giggling the entire meal, feeding each other, acting all cute and shit. They were basically unbearable. My brother asked if they were newlyweds because they were acting so gay. They said they were (naturally) on their honeymoon, though they claimed they had been acting like that for years. I told them that they would get tired of that eventually, while actually I was thinking that the dude (who was a fucking douchebag) would probably get tired of her within a week or so. Anyway, after we were forced to have a conversation with them, the lady asks us if my brother and I were together. We said that we were together. So she asks, "Are you guys together together?"

Keep in mind that my brother and I look a lot alike. We're the same build, hair color, etc. Plus, we're both wearing rings which don't match, and we were not acting in the least bit homosexual. So I think that may be the first time someone has ever asked me if I was hooked up with a dude. As dumb as it sounded, we couldn't help but laugh at her before we stabbed her in the eyes.

FYI--Don't drink a half of a cup of tequila with jalapenos in it and pretend it's just a shot. If it takes four to five gulps to get the tequila down, then you probably have too much. Thank you for the Sunday morning hangover, Jose. Good times.

My wife has been putting lotion on my head for the last thirty minutes because my scalp has been itching like a bitch from the sunburn I got while snorkeling. Even though it itches, I'll probably still be wandering around in a few days with what appears to be the worst case of dandruff ever.

News Flash

Two things:
If I make it back from Mexico with both eyes still in their sockets and functioning, I would like to propose a Friday or Saturday night drinking fest at my house in the upcoming future. Since I will likely never be able to make the Sunday brunch, Friday happy hours, or weekend play dates, I figured I might as well invite some people over to my house sometime soon. I think near the end of the summer semester might be good, or possibly sooner.

This event would serve a variety of purposes: First of all, it would give me a chance to hang out with my friends and get drunk. Secondly, it would allow my spouse the opportunity to socialize with people and further work on her tolerance. Thirdly, it could be an opportunity to get some of the recent stragglers such as T and Cynthia to become reacquainted with us. Fourthly, it would cut down on E's drunken drive home. Fifthly, it would cut down on my drunken drive home. Sixthly, perhaps if someone will vomit on the carpet, it will force my wife to steam clean.

While I don't often do much entertaining, it would give me an opportunity to hang out on the weekend for a full evening of debauchery, as opposed to an hour or so after work. If anyone feels like they can't make it, please let me know as I will be looking for someone to babysit the children . . .

Have fun in the WC, and say a prayer for me so that I might ward off any of the various forms of Mexican VD.

Good times.

And by the way, if I'm not back at my post on Monday, then I'm probably dead or still working on coming up with bail.

Decisions, decisions (Update)

It's roughly about 7:00 in the evening here in the greatness of 100 degree Texas weather. While at school/work today, there happened to be quite a little downpour. Luckily, my three colleagues and myself were safely tucked away in a booth inside our favorite haunt as the rain beat down. As expected, whenever I completed my evening commute back to my home, I noticed that not a drop or precipitation had fallen at my home. Apparently, God himself is in on the scheme to run up my water bill. I considered mowing for a little while, but then decided against it. It will have to wait until tomorrow.

So here I am sitting at home, slightly bored with way too much shit that I need to be doing. What my father always classified as "the want-to" has currently left me. All I have now for company is a "drinking way too many beers during the day and then suddenly stopping" headache which has become quite a distraction as I peruse the book of tales and random nature sketches which has become assigned reading for my Hawthorne class. I should be reading--TGLJC knows I'll never make it to the secondary critical readings--but the odds of that happening are growing fainter and fainter as the time passes. It's almost as if the body objects to the teasing of pouring small amounts of alcohol into it. In retaliation, it summons a dreary mid-day headache that often rivals even the sorriest of next morning hangovers. But it is the daytime still, and there is still so much to do, yet I don't seem to have the attention span to even read a page, much less an entire story.

So that leaves me with a decision to make. While my intentions earlier today revolved around an evening of consumption, my plan was unfortunately aborted by a prior engagement which rendered my fellow associates relatively unwilling to partake in said drinking, as the majority of them were still suffering from post-habanero syndrome and the excessive imbibing of champagne cocktails. So with this in mind, I will focus my energies on the task at hand--to continue drinking and get absolutely nothing accomplished, or stop and let the pain in my head gradually subside until I am once again able to function as a willing and agreeable graduate student.

************Update************
Apparently, God hasn't finished tormenting me with the rain. While I can't seem to get a drop to fall from the sky here, rain appears to be abundant in Cancun according to the latest weather forecast. I'm still expecting a hurricane, just because. But then again, at least the temperature should stay out of the triple digit range.

Wed
Jul 19 Isolated T-Storms
91°/80°
Thu
Jul 20 Isolated T-Storms
91°/79°
Fri
Jul 21 Isolated T-Storms
88°/79°
Sat
Jul 22 Scattered T-Storms
89°/80°
Sun
Jul 23 Isolated T-Storms
90°/80°

Clearing up misconceptions

Apparently, there are those in my immediate circle of friends and family who believe that no matter what type of school work I need to be working on, I will always readily put the aforementioned work away in order to participate in any type of drinking activity. My wife, in particular, holds this assumption of me simply because she thinks I'm always drinking or drunk. Oddly enough, it doesn't seem to register that I always get my work done because (believe it or not), school work, especially when the due date is unavoidable, is always the priority--over alcohol, sex, yard work, etc.

While I will not go into the numerous lessons learned last night from my wife's attempts to increase her tolerance, I will say that it was a pretty bizarre night that ended in a most routine fashion (think the whole "sickness and health" vow . . .).

Due to my efforts to appease the wife, I sat on the back porch drinking with her until about 10, even though I had a real assload of shit to read. I crashed out about 3 am with my readings only about half-done. So I have to walk into class with the fear that I will be asked something directly related to a particular story and consequently look like a complete jackass. Luckily, I had read all of the stories we covered today, so the complete and utter embarrassment will have to wait until another day.

On a brighter note, I will be leaving for Cancun in less than a week. It means getting on an airplane and leaving the country, two things that I'm pretty sure I've never done. While the rest of my fraternity brothers were always whooping it up in Mexico or Panama City during Spring Break, I was always the poor sucker left in C-town because I was working. But I finally get to go. Needless to say, I expect the plane to crash somewhere over the Rio Grande where I will be rescued by coyotes (the people not the animals--this isn't the Call of the Fucking Wild). Afterwards, they will nurse me back to health and promise to send me home whenever I'm able to get around (It's likely that the plane crash would've chopped both of my legs off; therefore, the need for a wheelchair or a motorized double-knee scooter would be imperative). Once I'm off the respirator (my chest, of course, has been caved in during the wreck), the coyotes send me to the Honduras where I'm forced to sell spices along with the rest of the indigenous people. Maybe I'll pick up sniffing glue.

Pynchon the Master Writer: A Re-evaluation

Blogger has kicked me in the crotch twice as I've attempted to post on this book.

The first post was rather lengthy and funny. For some reason it disappeared.

The second post was much shorter and not funny, simply because I hate doing shit twice.


As opposed to rewriting my post again, instead I have decided to reprint the following interview over the novel that I did with Playboy magazine back in the late 60's.

Question 1:
Would I recommend this book?
No. Not unless someone was in desperate need to write a paper over forms of (mis)communication, southern California drug culture, paranoia, or books that leave the reader hanging. While there is a certain high-brow element in the text, it seems more scattered than Joyce and abundantly more pointless. It's almost as though he is attempting to confuse the reader even more than The Waste Land, with a lot less ability. I will give the author credit--it is an awfully confusing novel that tries too hard to be experimental, reminding me of the failures of Gertie Stein and other such literary revolutionists. The last third moved more quickly and made more sense, though the book's true purpose (seriously) is to confuse the real issues. What are the real issues? I doubt even the author knows. But then again, I think that's exactly what he was going for.

Question 2:
How did you feel about being left without a "proper" ending. Everyone knows how much you hate ambiguity. Does this fall under the same type of novel?
Not at all. I would much rather have an ending like this. While it could still be considered lazy, wrapping the story up in a nice little package would distract from the chaos of the novel. So I felt that it fit, especially in a story where everything is left a fucking mess.

Question 3:
What have you learned about picking up books to read for fun simply due to the number of pages in a text?
Obviously, it's something I must seriously consider from here on out. I've made a lot of poor judgments in my past, but this one could top them all. It was similar to my experience in middle school of reading Steinbeck's The Red Pony. While it was much shorter than some of the other books we had to choose from, it really didn't make much sense to a kid that age. I think the book with the boy having wet dreams made more sense to me. After I read the Steinbeck book, I contemplated suicide for about a week afterwards.

How do some authors ever get published?

I'm currently reading The Crying of Lot 49 and am roughly about 1/3 of the way through it. The book itself is only about 150 pages or so, though it seems more like 300. This is my first run-in with Pynchon, and to be honest, I've developed a good deal of sympathy for certain people who have previously attempted to tackle some of his other works such as Mason and Dixon (Word of advice--just put the book away as it will never be completed). As a pretty experienced reader, I find that Pynchon's prose style is unnecessarily confusing--it seems as though he doesn't have an understanding of the term "sentence clarity" or "sentence structure." While there may be those out there who would be quick to label him "genius" and attribute the salvation of modern literature to his works, I will (as I generally do from time to time) call bullshit. Those who have discussed certain novels in detail with me know that I am not an apologist for any author.

Granted, I'm not finished with the book yet, but it's turning out to be one of those that you want to hurry up and finish simply because you don't want to ever fuck with it again. Ever. If anyone out there can shed some light on this author or this book, please comment accordingly. I don't care whether it's good or bad--as of right now, I just don't get it. Why would anyone want to read this shit?

Someone just shit in your lap -- now what?

That pretty much sums up the way I'm feeling right now, particularly in regards to work. Despite the advice of my mentor, I decided to accept a position for the upcoming year that I really didn't want. Why would I do such a thing? Perhaps it was because I felt like I had no choice--and maybe I really didn't. My mentor kept telling me to wait it out, as things are always in turmoil over the summer since people have a tendency to begin dropping like flies from the program during this time of year. And boy was he right.

First of all, I will say that I do not harbor any ill-feelings toward those who have moved on--they are doing what they feel is best for them and/or their families. Instead, it seems as if I have dealt myself one helluva kick in the crotch, though I'm just now beginning to feel that queasiness in my stomach that is generally a sign of the pain that will eventually follow. I have a reasonable fear that I will be left alone to supervise a bunch of undergrads since there will probably not be enough grad students to fill all of the vacancies. And to say the least, that prospect is leaving me a little bitter about getting sucked into this position even though I had no interest in it to begin with. I didn't feel it would help me in the future, or at least as much as actual classroom experience would.

But unwittingly, I thought that this would be beneficial to the department (which it is), and as I've said before, I felt obligated to do it. Unfortunately, I felt somehow responsible for that area. But now that I've agreed to sleep in this bed, I've only just begun to notice the random bedbugs, cumstains, etc. that I've been stuck with. And I'm not terribly fucking happy about it.

Why is it that whenever I make a decision (against my better judgment) in order to "be responsible," I always wind up unhappy and feeling as though I got the short end of the stick. That's probably why I try to be as selfish as possible most of the time--it's basically the only way I can ensure my happiness.

Damn, I'm fucking bitter . . .

Recapping the week that was

Since I haven't posted anything since Wednesday (or actually what I would consider Tuesday night), I thought I might update the world on exactly what I've been up to over the past several days:

Wednesday: Work as usual. I once again was allowed to visit A-train and her charming mother as I drank beer and lounged in the pool. I even think the dogs are getting accustomed to my presence, as the barking factor, while still present, seems to have subsided to a more reasonable degree. After that, it was a fun-filled evening at Charles' place; hopefully, there will be more of that in the future. It was a good time, despite the asswhip incurred through the local Taco Bell chain . . .

Thursday: Work as usual. Class was thankfully shortened due to our professor's campus obligations, so I was actually able to get home before four o'clock. No Netflix arrivals, unfortunately, something which seriously hampers the quality time my wife and I spend together. The better part of the evening was spent doing lawn-related activities--mowing, edging, and positioning water sprinklers for the marathon that occurs on Friday (my day to water, according to local authorities). I think I crashed out about 10:30, due to the lack of sleep I had accumulated over the days prior.

Friday: No work. Up at 6:30 to start watering and finished up the morning watering session at 10:00. Sent A-train something for her e-zine that I hope was at least passable. Drove around for a while, went to Circuit City, and other random crap. Went shopping with my brother for some fishing supplies, watered some more in the evening as I dreaded the trip out to my mom's. Left my house about 9:00 and got to my mother's about 10:00, ate a sandwich and went to bed.

Saturday: Up at 5:00, got all of my fishing equipment loaded, and sat around waiting on one brother to arrive with the minnows while another one slept late. Josh and I were hesitant to wake my brother (who had arrived the day before from Tennessee), mainly because he had his whole family in one room. Granted the room is huge, and there was easily enough room to accomodate them all--my main issue was having his wife bitter at me for waking up all of their kids before the crack of dawn. But in times like these, one does what one must. So I tapped lightly on the door twice . . . and then opened it. I must admit that I also had a fear that his wife might be naked, something that might cause some discomfort on my part--not that she's not cute, but I just don't really want to see that.

I opened the door and there she lay, uncovered by the sheets (which was unfortunate); luckily, she was fully clothed (which allowed me to breathe a sigh of relief). I walk over to my brother who's curled up in the fetal position and shake him once, twice . . . when suddenly, his eyes pop open with that "shit I just missed the school bus look" as he realizes he should have been up an hour ago (it was about 6:30 by this time).

Anyway, we fished from 7:00 in the morning to 9:00 at night and wound up with close to thirty or so worth keeping. I think I was the least productive, having only reeled in three that were of significant size. Last year, I caught fourteen by myself, so I'm not really bitching. By the time we got back to my mom's to clean the fish, we had finished off a lot of beer and were working on my giganto bottle of rum. My brother from Tennessee was the most hammered, as it seemed that he and I pretty much went drink for drink all evening. He started getting a little sentimental, telling us how much he missed us, etc., and how he wished he could be closer to us.

His wife even made a comment as she watched us fillet the fish--now that I think about it, drunk people handling really sharp fillet knives was probably not a good idea--that made everyone laugh a bit. My brother had asked a few minutes earlier if our wives minded us (the husbands) coming home drunk (I replied that my wife hardly recognizes me any other way). He said that he tends to get more action whenever he's in this state. So when his wife walked out on the porch--for some reason I'm always the guy to direct the conversation into either sexual or other uncomfortable grounds around there--she comments on his drunken state. I informed her to prepare herself, as he was expecting plenty of "action" that night. My brother's face gets a little red and then he answered, "That is unless Jeremy and I wind up going in the wrong rooms" (jokingly meaning that he and I would wind up accidentally getting in bed with each other's spouses). "The bad thing," she says, "is that ya'll probably wouldn't even know the difference." (Cue crickets chirping)


I thought about making a comment but decided against it. A day later, I think I understand what she was trying to say . . . but it was still a bit awkward.

All in all, we had a really good time, especially since we weren't forced to deal with certain other people who can only be described as "complete powerdowns." I sneaked off to bed about 11 or 12.

Sunday: I got up the next morning and promptly headed back to my house before I had to deal with any of the other members of my family. I skipped out on lunch with my dad and my mom, but I really needed time away from all of that nonsense. I came back home, updated Book Collector, and watched Seven Samurai--a three and a half hour movie recommended by Charles. It was an okay movie, very Western (as in Old West) in its style--it reminded me of The Magnificent Seven. I'm sure there's some connection there. I may watch another movie before I head to bed, mainly because I'm not ready to crash out, and I don't feel like reading.

What else did I do? Finished Of Borders and Dreams, read some more of the Corder book on loan from E. Apparently, I missed a day out with the colleagues, but unfortunately my life does not always allow for such activities. Perhaps someday I can try Gelato, though it might be a bit too "cute" for me.

And on another note, my brother Josh emailed me and asked me if I wanted to go to Cancun with him sometime this month for a "guys weekend out" according to his wife. Random, huh? But it should be a good time, though a rather lengthy drive . . .