Eclectic Dorm Rant

Sunday, 30 June 2002

i live with the most eclec­tic gath­er­ing of peo­ple. for the sum­mer this dorm con­tains the Notre Dame foot­ball, bas­ket­ball, base­ball, hock­ey, soc­cer, lacrosse, and track teams. how­ev­er on­ly one per­son in my hall­way is from one of these teams, the oth­er thir­ty-so peo­ple in my sec­tion are biblethumpers. i am not kid­ding when i say that these blokes live and breathe the catholic church. they are here for some six week course in the­ol­o­gy. i am dead se­ri­ous when i say that in the two weeks that they have been here i have yet to hear them dis­cuss some­thing oth­er than var­i­ous in­tri­ca­cies of catholic doc­trine and di­vine yaketyak. Not one word about a new movie, a cute girl, a song on the ra­dio or the score of a ran­dom tele­vised sport­ing event. in­stead, hom­i­lies, dog­ma nit­pick­ing and com­par­i­son of dif­fer­ent trans­la­tions of the bible have been the course du jour. the world is full of strange peo­ple.

i al­so share the kitchen with the foot­ball team. or should i say i share the kitchen with the girls who fuck fix food for the foot­ball team. it didn’t both­er me too much for about the first five min­utes. then they start­ed steal­ing my stuff. so 3 bowls lat­er i keep my eat­ing uten­sils in my own room. they al­so don’t clean up af­ter them­selves. the en­tire kitchen is a moun­tain of dirty dish­es. there is ab­solute­ly no room to set any­thing clean down. the oven and range­top are bro­ken and the re­fridger­a­tor is sink­ing un­der the weight of things shoved hap­haz­ard­ly in­to it. the hall man­ag­er, so in­tent on not let­ting the foot­ball play­ers rule the dorm he is in charge of, mere­ly whim­pers and whines when i men­tion that he might start en­forc­ing some rules. this week we were cook­ing a lasagna in the oven and some of the foot­ball sluts cooks TAKE OUT OUR LASAGNA and put in their CAKE and brown­ies. They don’t even LIVE in our dorm and they see no prob­lem with com­man­deer­ing the oven for their own use DESPITE THE FACT that some­one else is al­ready us­ing it. i hope those big black dicks on the foot­ball team get food poi­son­ing from their cock-sock­ets and start go­ing to the din­ing hall. then maybe i can have a de­cent meal again.


Friday, 28 June 2002

hoo-ray for the week­end. alas for the demise of hunter-gath­er­ers. if i were a no­madic hunter gath­er­er from one thou­sand years ago i would on­ly have to work about two hours a day to sup­ply my­self with every­thing need­ed for sur­vival. this is doc­u­ment­ed. (best i could find giv­en 5 mins search­ing.) the risks of de­vel­op­ing a de­gen­er­a­tive dis­ease would be great­ly de­creased and my over­all nu­tri­tion­al con­tent would be bet­ter al­though i would have less pro­tein in­take than what the USRDA rec­om­mends. Nuts and berries are good for you folks. but be­fore you go gal­li­vant­i­ng off to be­come a !Kung re­mem­ber that the rea­son we switched over from hunter/​gatherer to swid­den agri­cul­ture was an in­crease in pop­u­la­tion that could on­ly be sup­port­ed by cul­ti­va­tion and do­mes­ti­ca­tion. it takes a lot of acreage to pro­vide for even one per­son and lifes­pan is sig­nif­i­cant­ly short­er and the birth rate low­er among hunter-gath­er­er so­ci­eties.

all this DOES re­late back to the week­end. back in the day the week­end wasn’t much dif­fer­ent than week­days. in fact if you got all of the work done in the morn­ing, the af­ter­noon was pret­ty much equiv­a­lent to the week­end. be­com­ing seden­tary changed that be­cause it takes more work to pro­vide for more peo­ple. even­tu­al­ly through the evo­lu­tion of so­ci­ety we have come to have the con­cept of the week­end as our time to re­cu­per­ate from 5 days of work (sad­ly this too is start­ing to dis­ap­pear). The week­end is the car­rot dan­gling be­fore our nose. Glory be to the Protestant work eth­ic of Americans, which cap­i­tal­ism has uti­lized to its ben­e­fit. That is why I want to move to Europe where they take things easy for sev­er­al months a year. Sure the stan­dard of liv­ing isn’t as great as it is here, but i’m sure they don’t have as many ul­cers as we do ei­ther. i don’t re­quire a high stan­dard of liv­ing any­way.

Blah Blah Blah, Yakkity

Thursday, 27 June 2002

right be­fore i came in­to work i was sit­ting out­side en­joy­ing the day and watch­ing two girls who were asleep on the quad out in all that sun­shine. well hell, i got in­spired and wrote a po­em on the spot. i was plan­ning on tak­ing it over to them and just leav­ing it once i got fin­ished as a sort of sur­prise thing for when they woke up. well one of them de­cid­ed to get up and move around right as i was fin­ish­ing the po­em which made it hard­er for me to go over there. still i copied it down and walked over, but at the last mo­ment my re­solve failed and i wimped out. sand in my crotch. sur­round­ed by lit­tle vi­o­lins play­ing “my heart bleeds for you.” i am ridicu­lous. and i laugh at my­self be­cause it re­al­ly ain’t that hard once you get your ass in gear, right? right. pbbtt!

in oth­er news, i went to this hole-in-the-ground used book store in search of some rather an­cient fan­ta­sy nov­els. Fritz Lieber, Steven Grundy, and Meryn Peake in par­tic­u­lar. well i found one book by Lieber so that is a start. al­so, i could not fin­ish read­ing Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. it bored me bonkers. Right now i am read­ing Walter Miller’s Canticle for Liebowitz a rather grabs-you-by-the-col­lar post-nu­clear holo­caust clas­sic. to­day seems like it should be dubbed Adam-overus­es-the-hy­phen-day.

i went to the or­tho­don­tist and he said i should be get­ting my braces off be­fore my se­nior year of col­lege starts. bout damn time. first thing i’m go­ing to do once they come off is find my­self a nut-cov­ered caramel ap­ple and a big bag of skit­tles.

we lost pow­er last night in a wimpy storm. stu­pid pow­er­plant al­most fried every elec­tri­cal ob­ject in my room when they fi­nal­ly got the juice back on. blessed be the surge pro­tec­tor.

de­fin­i­tive an­swers are an im­pos­si­bil­i­ty be­cause the na­ture of de­f­i­n­i­tion im­plies stag­na­tion. all is flux. the on­ly con­stant is change? how can CHANGE be CONSTANT. that is like say­ing no-thing is some-thing. we need a new word for these di­chotomies. a term that en­com­pass­es both the idea of some-thing and the lack of some-thing, which is no-thing. what is the mean­ing of life? 42.


Wednesday, 26 June 2002

i just found out that my 85 year old great un­cle was Murdered. they found him in his garage with mul­ti­ple stab wounds to the neck. Murdered. 85. what rea­son is there to Murder and 85 year old man. rea­son doesn’t en­ter in­to the equa­tion, caus­ing the prob­lem. if the Murderer had rea­soned (a so­cial­ly con­struct­ed idea to be sure) Murder most like­ly would not have oc­curred. peo­ple are ter­ri­ble. lack of emo­tion­al con­trol is ter­ri­ble.

i did not know my great-un­cle Claude very well. in fact i on­ly met him once about ten years ago. i re­mem­ber that he seemed like a very gen­tle man and he tried to in­ter­est me in stamp col­lect­ing. one would think that i there­fore would not be very grief filled in re­gard to his death. i am not. he had lived for 85 years and had raised an up­stand­ing fam­i­ly and watched his chil­dren raise their own up­stand­ing fam­i­lies. he had a full life. i am, how­ev­er, griev­ed at the cir­cum­stances which led to his death. Murder. There is nev­er any rea­son to kill some­one ex­cept in de­fense of your own life or the lives of those that are de­fense­less. noth­ing on this earth is worse than the need­less de­struc­tion of life. even though i am filled with a cold rage di­rect­ed at the name­less, face­less Murderer, i still would not now take or ask for his life, de­spite the fact that he Murdered my kin.

Murder. fuck.

Addicted to Weblogs

signs you are ad­dict­ed to weblog­ging.

1. your weblog is the start­up page on your in­ter­net brows­er

2. you spend more time read­ing weblogs than do­ing work

3. you make lists about weblog ad­dic­tion

4. when you meet friends who al­so blog, you talk about your re­spec­tive weblogs with them (very nerdy)

5. you use words like blog, blog­ger, blog­ging, and midget pornog­ra­phy, in nor­mal con­ver­sa­tion

6. when peo­ple ask you what you have been up to late­ly you re­fer them to your blog

7. you are ac­tu­al­ly read­ing this list

8. you do­nate reg­u­lar­ly to MetaFilter (MeFi)

9. you re­fer to MeFi as MeFi

10. your list of links to oth­er weblogs ex­ceeds 25. (to­tal­ly ar­bi­trary on my part)

11. you do com­pli­cat­ed nu­me­r­i­al ac­ro­bat­ics with your web­stats in a des­per­ate bid to see if you are get­ting more pop­u­lar

12. you have/​are a blogstalk­er

13. how many com­ments you have de­ter­mines your self-es­teem for the day

14. you use tags in the place of quo­ta­tion marks or to add an emo­tion to a com­ment. ex:

Scared Shitless

Tuesday, 25 June 2002

i’m not afraid to ad­mit it. i am scared shit­less that every time i walk in­to the fenc­ing gym i am go­ing to dis­lo­cate my kneecap again. with just rea­son too. since the con­nec­tive tis­sue hold­ing it in place is pret­ty much shot, i have to re­ly on mus­cle strength alone to keep it in place. and that is no guar­an­tee. i want bad­ly to fence and be phys­i­cal yet the pain i have ex­pe­ri­enced the times i have dis­lo­cat­ed my kneecap is too hor­ri­ble to dwell on.

i can­not think about it ex­cept in the most gener­ic way (FACT: kneecaps can be dis­lo­cat­ed) with­out feel­ing nau­seous and get­ting a chill. be­cause for me it is per­son­al (FACT: adam’s kneecap has been se­vere­ly dis­lo­cat­ed twice *shiv­er*) i think i would rather have a gap­ing flesh wound than a tem­po­rary dis­fig­ure­ment that gives the sen­sa­tion of some­one si­mul­ta­ne­ous­ly pulling and saw­ing through your leg.

every night for the past week and half now i have re­liv­ed this ex­pe­ri­ence in a re­cur­ring dream. kneecap pops out while fenc­ing, adam screams, falls down, writhes, pain.

and now af­ter hav­ing ac­tu­al­ly ex­pe­ri­enced this twice (the sec­ond time re­quir­ing ex­ten­sive phys­i­cal ther­a­py in or­der to learn to bend my leg again) i am a 21 year old with arthri­tis, a knee that cracks con­stant­ly, aches in tan­dem with the fluc­tu­a­tions of the barom­e­ter, and hurts se­vere­ly af­ter any phys­i­cal ac­tiv­i­ty. this on­ly in­creas­es my anx­i­ety. a lit­tle over a quar­ter of the way through my life, am i al­ready lim­it­ed by a phys­i­cal ail­ment that will pre­vent me from do­ing what i want to do and be­ing phys­i­cal­ly ac­tive?

Phil’s 21st

Sunday, 23 June 2002

well, watch­ing my bud­dy Phil get wast­ed with the whole cross-​country/​track gang from the high school on his 21st birth­day was fun. even the point when he yarfed all over my car. sure it was gross but it is on­ly a once in a life­time ex­pe­ri­ence. i was rather sil­ly my­self. then yes­ter­day i did a bit o swim­ming.

drinks i con­sumed fri­day night:

red­head­ed slut(shot): 1/​2oz jager­meis­ter, 1/​3oz peach schnapps, cran­ber­ry juice

tequila(shot): 1.5oz tequi­la, salt, lemon

long is­land iced tea(mixed):1oz vod­ka 1oz gin 1oz rum 1oz tequi­la splash of triple sec, splash of lime juice, splash of coke, lemon

cream soda(mixed): 2oz spiced rum, sprite