Society and Culture Through Stupidity

Monday, 30 September 2002

my Society and Culture Through Film class is tor­ture. i’m pret­ty sure i’ve al­ready men­tioned this, but the things peo­ple say about movies in that class wound me. For in­stance:

Girl: I just want­ed to say that I think it is in­ter­est­ing how they uh, like, nev­er show the Indians be­ing killed, they just, like fall off their hors­es.

Professor (Brazilian ac­cent): That is a good point, il­lus­trat­ing the ca­su­al at­ti­tude Americans take re­gard­ing the death of their en­e­mies.

Adam’s mind: …or it could be that the lim­i­ta­tions of the Production Code pre­vent­ed film­mak­ers from show­ing death in a more macabre fash­ion un­til the ear­ly ‘70s, plus the fact that ‘re­al­is­tic’ spe­cial ef­fects that would en­able closer shots of bat­tle and death did not ex­ist at the time of the mak­ing of this film.

but hell, none of them are film ma­jors. then again, this isn’t a very good ex­am­ple of what a class about Visual Anthropology should be about. not one ethno­graph­ic piece is on the list. boool­ll­shi’!

Lonely Guy

Sunday, 29 September 2002

i’m a lone­ly guy, no doubt about it. it is my choice and my con­se­quence. but when­ev­er i de­cide to try and do some­thing about it, the stu­pid mat­ing game that must be played makes me sat­urnine. i am a man who does not like to bandy about emo­tions and i am not a man who is will­ing to in­dul­ge in care­less trysts to sat­is­fy his lusts. i am al­so not a man who will al­ways be hap­py in tandem with his wom­an, eu­pho­ria is ethe­re­al and sub­stance con­sists of mix­ing wa­ter with dirt and mak­ing mud. i’m a cyn­i­cal guy, no doubt about it. it is my choice and my con­se­quence. it is the pro­duct of end­less bouts of beat­ing my head again­st the wall be­ing the un­co­or­di­nat­ed kid no one wants on their team try­ing to un­der­stand the rules of the game while not even in­ter­est­ed in play­ing the stu­pid thing. if there are any wom­en out there who feel the same way, ’tis un­for­tu­nate be­cause the state of ab­jec­tion cre­at­ed by our ex­clu­sion pre­vents con­sol­i­da­tion and di­a­logue by our very sta­tus as Other. archived

i’m as fine as any­one can be about be­ing alone. it is very low main­te­nance and al­lows me to im­prove my­self and fo­cus on what is im­por­tant for me. the prob­lem with be­ing alone is that you be­come too self-cen­tered and self-ab­sorbed and can forget…um, stuff. it is, how­ev­er, re­fresh­ing to be not con­cern your­self with hook­ing up and seek­ing a men­tal­ly over­con­struct­ed love af­fair, even though i still tend to con­cern my­self with both. i nev­er said i could prac­tice my preachy­ness. its much eas­ier to han­dle re­la­tion­ships with wom­en when I have noth­ing more in mind than sim­ple friend­ship.

i’ve come to a con­clu­sion. i want to have my cake and eat it too. i need the feel­ing of a healthy lov­ing re­la­tion­ship right now. how­ev­er, i don’t want any­thing to do in that ca­pac­i­ty with any girl around here. so in com­pro­mise i want a hook-up.

Chariot Race

Saturday, 28 September 2002

Today was the 5th an­nu­al Keough Hall Chariot Race. Last year, my sec­tion, 4B won the race. This year we were elim­i­nat­ed in the 1st round. These char­i­ots are con­struct­ed out of ply­wood and 2x4s by the var­i­ous dorms on cam­pus. Keough, as host, has a char­i­ot from each sec­tion. Our char­i­ot was con­struct­ed by the ven­er­a­ble se­nior me­chan­i­cal en­gi­neer and ram­pant philadel­phi­an John Fay, my neigh­bor. He is a mas­ter of var­i­ous ar­cane things called ‘mo­ments’ and ‘de­grees of some­thin­gorother.’ Despite our chariot’s ex­cep­tion­al de­sign, the in­ex­pe­ri­ence of the run­ners was our demise. such is life.

be­sides char­i­ot rac­ing we al­so had mud wrestling and joust­ing, and to­gas were in vogue for the af­ter­noon. I have had 4 years to per­fect my cos­tume and de­meanor, and I dare­say I would make a good dead lan­guage speak­er. I was al­so in­vin­ci­ble in the joust. I even joust­ed my rec­tor, he couldn’t keep his bal­ance and i couldn’t be knocked off. I am a king of the moun­tain. The beau­ti­ful Pom squad did a lit­tle dance for us as well. A good af­ter­noon.

Blessed Be

Friday, 27 September 2002

May a blesséd star shine up­on Alissa and Sarah and Salim. I give them thanks a thou­sand times. As I strug­gled to haul my sev­er­al hun­dred pounds of film equip­ment across cam­pus, I passed at least a dozen guys who I know. None of them asked to help. However when Alissa and Sarah saw me about to fall over from the weight of an Arri16BL and a light kit com­plete with sand­bags (mind you I was on­ly about 50 yards out of my dorm) they im­me­di­ate­ly of­fered to help me take them to Oshag. Sometimes girls are a hel­lu­val­ot cool­er than guys. For the 2nd trip I en­list­ed Salim, the FTT ma­jor next door to as­sist me. He’s a good man and I didn’t want to trou­ble the pret­ty nice wom­en any longer.

The Friday mp3

The Toadies have been a band I’ve lis­tened to since my fresh­man year in high school. They on­ly put out two al­bums in 8 years and then they split but not be­fore com­ing plat­inum record sell­er for their al­bum Rubberneck. The Friday mp3 is the last song on the al­bum and my per­son­al fa­vorite, al­though every song on the al­bum is damn damn good. I Burn is in a word, brood­ing. A song about witch­craft and damna­tion, I’m pret­ty damn sure it is di­rect­ly in­spired as a re­ac­tion to the lead singer’s strict Southern Baptist up­bring­ing.

What is the Difference?

Thursday, 26 September 2002

what is the dif­fer­ence be­tween in­no­cence and con­fi­dence, plea­sure and hap­pi­ness? what am­bi­tions de­rive their source in our dark­er selves and what does the light side con­tain of pow­er? why do inani­ties dis­tract us from mean­ing and struc­tured un­der­stand­ing of mo­ti­va­tion, de­sire, and ac­tu­al­iza­tion? why do we live out our time in rote mech­a­nisms that turn life in­to an ‘in­sert slot-A in­to con­nect­ing tab-B’ in or­der to get the cap­i­tal­ist bour­geois lifestyle that of­fers no true chance at mean­ing­ful ex­am­i­na­tion of life? why do i strug­gle again­st this while at the same time de­sir­ing the sim­plic­i­ty of a herd men­tal­i­ty life?

Sprinkler Madness

Wednesday, 25 September 2002

moth­er­fuck­ing, god­damn sprin­klers. i was all set up for my test shoot, the light­ing was done, the tal­ent was ar­riv­ing mo­men­tar­i­ly and then guess what happens…the moth­er­fuck­ing, god­damn sprin­klers turn on! er­go, i rushed about mov­ing ex­pen­sive cam­era equip­ment and lights around while jets of wa­ter squirt about me. shit like that al­ways hap­pens on film shoots. re­mem­ber what i said about sprin­klers a while ago? fuck the ab­surd. god­damn ex­is­ten­tial­ists. they make me nau­seous.

Fencing Conditioning

Tuesday, 24 September 2002

fenc­ing con­di­tion­ing is a rather in­ter­est­ing ac­tiv­i­ty. sure we do lots of foot­work, etc. but Zoltan our Euro as­sis­tant coach has his own unique meth­ods which i be­lieve are called the Idiotic Hungarian Jumping Drills. They are not id­i­otic be­cause they are un­ef­fec­tive, on the con­trary, they are good aer­o­bi­cal­ly and mus­cu­lar­ly. they are id­i­otic be­cause we look like men­tal­ly de­fi­cient hy­per­ac­tive bono­bos while do­ing them. one drill in par­tic­u­lar is in­cred­i­bly ridicu­lous. we have to run the length of the gym ‘high-knees’ style while wind­milling both arms in op­po­site di­rec­tions. what i like least though is the one legged jump­ing. its fine for my right leg but it ab­solute­ly de­stroys my left leg. ac­eta­minophen and ice on­ly do so much.

in oth­er news, the quest for grad school con­tin­ues.