Listserv abuse

Oh how I love the Poli Sci listserv. For those of you not privileged to receive Janet Ward's wonderful forwarded emails, I will share a little nugget I received today; a wonderful little email that gave me plenty of material for a post. (Disclaimer: this post will be long and political, so if you don't like longness or politicalness, better just go read Dan's good post about UNC basketball.) And so I quote the email, sent by the always idiotic UNC Young Democrats- "It is unfortunate that the Religious Right has created a stereotype of all religious Americans as nutty, bigoted, Southern-Baptist hypocrites who use select Biblical verses to rant against gays, abortions, Muslims, liberals, and anything that offends them. This stereotype is true of some vocal figures like Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson, Ralph Reed, and James Dobson. But it leaves out many millions of Christians, Jews, Muslims, and other religious faithful." The email continues to encourage attendace to a program entitled "The Religious Left." Where to begin with this email? Well, I guess the best place to start is the first sentance. It is terrible what some have done with the good name of religion in this country, with the talking (or shouting) heads on cable news making believers look like fanatics. However, perhaps I missed the moment when nutty, bigoted, and SOUTHERN BAPTIST HYPOCRITES all became equal epithets used to condemn those few who chose to bring out the bad side of religion. It is good to see the Young Democrats feel that Southern Baptist is equal to bigotry and hypocracy. This is a particularly offensive viewpoint to me, as I come from a family of baptists, who also happen to be Liberal Democrats. Now, I know this might be hard to belive, but I fail to recall a single episode of my Grandmother using biblical verses to rant against Gays, Abortion, and Muslims. I'm sure the YD's did not mean to be terribly offensive in this quote, and also I am sure that many Southern Baptists fit their idea of "hypocrites" (what exactly are they hypocritcial about though?) But this is exactly the danger of the slippery slope these type of stereotypical allegations present. We are asked to consider that all those on the Religious Right are similar, and the positive rests with those on the Religious Left. It is a short leap to claiming all devout Muslims are terrorists, all Conservative Christians are Racists, and a million other dangerous generalizations. I hate this email for another reason; the approach it represents from the political left. Obviously this email wishes to establish a block of religious liberals, similar to the success of the Religious Right to which it refers. The entire reason I was drawn to the Left side of our political spectrum was the acceptance and diverse nature of what it represented: From working class unions to minority religions to homosexuals to ethnic and racial minorities. Not that I am any of these, but it shows an atmosphere of openmindedness, something I respect above almost any other trait. So to see an attempt to form a block of religious voters similar to the approach of conservatives goes completely against what I want from this political group. Why should religion be at all involved in my political considerations? If anything is a personal matter, it is the relation between myself and my God. If some want to belive other than I do, I cannot justify condemning them for that, and I feel my God would not want me to. As far as I am concerned, my God would like for me to be as accepting of others as possible, regardless of the path they have chosen or the mistakes they have made. My God does not have to be your God, or perhaps you do not have one at all. There is the problem I see in this approach; you alienate entire groups of people who would otherwise be willing participants in the Political system when you charge it with the Judeo-Christian beliefs that are coming to dominate the Political System today. At the end of the day, I won't be judging others, even though I happen to be a SOUTHERN BAPTIST (although perhaps not a very good one). And anyone who tells me how I am, because of what religion i subscribe to, is no better than the ones who are doing the condemnation. Sorry for the excessive banter, but sometimes that bitch Janet Ward should be screening the Junk Mail.

Pizza and Gmail

Ah what a day. To begin, perhaps I should share what has happened over the past few days. Saturday, I worked from 2-7pm. But actually, since my sister jenny was here, I skipped an hour and a half, and instead she got the grand tour of 40H. We went to PF Chang's, a very good resturant for those of you not in the know about "the chang" as jenny calls it. Since chinese food happens to be her addiction, she selected the appeitzier and reccomended a meal selection. Turns out, if you elect to sit outside, you are fair game for the young dumbass waiters, the kids they don't want fucking around on the inside where the people that care sit. We drew a blonde, curly-headed kid, likely in college, but who seemed to still be dealing with the awkwardness that growth spurts and voice changes bring to a young man. We still tipped him $7, which was plenty for the service we recieved. I then took her for a ride around Duke's west campus, which she and my dad have always liked (guess you wouldn't expect my dad to be a Duke fan, huh?) Then it was time for work, in my gray shirt and khakis; I didn't feel like changing into the uniform, which was to be a recurring theme of the weekend. After spending the entire day sitting at the desk wasting time with Kristin and Tihitu, I came home, obviously expecting to make a night of it. Then, I ate some leftovers, and the dreaded drowsy feeling came. I must have a special kind of disease, because after a large and fufilling meal, its lights out. Mexican, Chinese, pizza, etc., all will do the trick, and in a hurry too. Around 9, in a semi-dreamlike state, I saw Chris, shirtless, coming in from the balcony, wheeling his 18-speed. Was this a dream, or just some stranger-than-fiction reality? I said to him "what the fuck are you doing?" His response: "I'm doing some curls." Working out with a bike, not on a bike; that is thinking outside the box. Who else is sick of this Tendercrisp bacon cheddar ranch commercial from Burger King? The one with the dude from Hootie and the blowfish, and the bizzare Wizard of Oz style theme, and "Hard Rock Candy Mountain" ripoff song. Whoever thought that was a good plan, damn, go home and think about why I'm not pleased with you. I slept the entire saturday night away, and awoke sunday, just in time to go to work AGAIN. So, I put the gray shirt, khakis and sauconys back on, rolled into the Union, and did almost the same routine. All desk, almost all the time. I drank about 3 cups of Diet Coke, pissed off Liz immensely, talked to winna on IM even though she was 10 ft behind me, and generally did almost no work. Coming home, I was in time to watch an epic maryland game, a scary but awesome ending, and it was good to see a road win that wasn't Virginia or FSU. An extended period of couchsitting ensued,with my ass being planted in its usual spot, left side of couch, feet on the coffee table. I am beginning to become disturbed by the amount of time I spend on this couch, but the siren song of the internet/TV combination is irresistable. Paul rolled in around 11:30; immediately the frozen pizza goes in the oven, and Iron Chef came on the TV. Fuck you guys, that shit really is awesome. I spent about 2 hours trying to decide a new name for my Gmail account, courtesy of an invite from Mr. Findlay. Started with the idea of amp3, nope, has to be longer than 6 characters. AlexPhipps, taken. PhippsAlex, also taken. Alexmp3, taken. In desperation, I stumble upon AMphipps3. Hey, whatever works for Gmail, right? In case you are keeping tabs, I did not make it to a single bar this weekend; I consider this a positive, as one's life cannot consist of Top of the Hill and Cosmic. I have a good feeling about this week; not a day into it and already we have a wintery mix prediction. How can that not be a good sign?

Friday Night Lights

Today, we mopped the kitchen floor. IF you have ever been to 40H, you will know that this is an odd and rare practice. What brought this about, you ask? Chris Butts, in his finest form, putting up clean glasses from the dishwasher, managed to completely annihilate one of the cheapass wal-mart glasses we nursed along with since the beginning of the 40H experience. This only speeds the process of conversion we are undergoing here, from glasses we have bought, to glasses we have stolen from bars. Top of the Hill glasses are currently in the lead, by a fair majority, but making up a sizable amount of the coalition is Linda's, and Ham's has also contributed to the general drinking utensil supply. I slept for almost the entirety of a shift at the Union, head down on the desk, office lights turned off, oblivious to all surroundings. Where was my co-worker you might ask? Stuart Anderson, quality employee that he is, was laying on the ground in 3203, cleared meeting room, sleeping face down on the carpet. The things I do for $6.05 an hour. Let us discuss for a moment literary matters, as I discovered today a disturbing trend that I was ignorant to previously; some individuals managed to attend this university without reading the original Hemingway novel, The Sun Also Rises. How does one manage to slide through a complete High School education, in preperation for a College career, without reading that book? It would be understandable for someone on the Ag-tech track at allegany high, spending all day in the shop and listening to Mr. Irwin extoll the virtues of the Chrysler automobile. Also for those buried under the opressive regime of Tom Smith's Physical Conditioning class, being forced to sing along to every Garth Brooks song that happened to play on the all and only country radio. But for a person attempting to better themselves in preperation for a Liberal Arts education, this is unexcusable. For some obsurd reason, Harris-Teeter considers $11.99 a "Bonus Buy" for a case of Busch Light. Has Busch Light ever cost less than this? Has it ever cost more, for that matter, at any Harris-Teeter? What makes Busch think that it qualifies for an entire extra dollar over Milwaukee's Best? The difference is certainly not Dollarworthy, to my sensitive palate. And who really knew that PBR also came in Light form? All these wonderful discoveries were made at our local, friendly HT on 54. Another matter which has concerned my thoughts lately: What would Diet Coke taste like with Splenda instead of Nutrasweet? Would it be terrible? Would it be good? Who wants to go to the mountains? Honestly, this needs to happen soon, because the time is passing quickly. Let me know, please. As this post has posed more questions than it has provided answers, I will wrap it up with a final thought- I have a couple throwbacks, I just choose not to wear them.

Sarcastic (in a happy, positive way)

Love and marrage, love and marrage, they go together like a horse and carrage. Yes, Married with children is a hell of a show. In case you didn't know, it comes on late nights of FX, officially the randomest channel of the map. It is quite hard to manufacture a Blog post when your day consisted of skipping the 11:00 class and getting a ride from Paul the Taxi-man to the 2:00, where you watched Blade Runner and then walked home, ate at bandito's and played darts till 12. Yeah, thats a big day. In a moment of introspection, I came to the realization that I have begun to resemble Mr. Bundy in my daily routines. I give the same amount of Not-A-Damn at work, I have the same terribly lazy activity level afterwards, and that one hand in the pants pose is suprisingly comfortable. Things that I'm looking forward to this week/weekend include my two digiorno pizzas, a possible visit from Jenny, my sister, and perhaps the festivities in raliegh of Erik Mizerak's 21'st bday (sparta people gotta celebrate their own). Baby carrots are also quite the positive. Let us take some time to reflect on serious matters: Blade Runner is a good movie. Today, some asshole said "this movie sucked." FUCK that kid. Maybe there are some really weird parts, and some symbolism that is a little over the top. And yes, it does rain every day, because it is a modern interpretation of FILM NOIR! Film Noir=rainy, dark, grimy movies. Another serious statement, let us have a discussion, straight from Phil 42, as to why the logic of cultural relativism breaks down in the real world. Relativism basically states that every culture determines its own concepts of moral right and wrong, and there is no universal moral truth. The basic assumptions are that we should not impose our moralistic views on other cultures, and that each culture should be allowed to develop its own views. If this moral term is bothering you, you can subsitute Human Rights, or some other term that satisfies the idea of a universal human ideal. This is one of the more prevalent arguments of laymen and some philosphers, but not many, because of its inherent weaknesses, which we will now discuss. In practice, this "Live and let live" approach gives us the danger of a certain kind of society exploiting the two main weaknesses. A good example would be the Nazi regime, where a society embraces its own superiority and authoritarianism, and has expansionistic tendancies. Now they would be obviously a problem, but in line with relativisim, they are entitled to their position, and no action should be taken. Yet we can see that this is a problem, and to sit back and allow Hitler to rise to power would be mighty foolish in a modern setting. Yet this is exactly what we argue when we argue for Cultural Relativism. Yes, I am writing a paper on it, and yes, you are my practice. I grow weary of watching paul play away on GTA, so I belive it is time to wrap this one up. If I bore you, let me know, because I will do my best to Kick it up a notch. I work in the morning as well, Oh JOY. Gives me a chance to drink these damn redbulls in the fridge, and get really wild on the 9:05 A bus. Yessss.

I like chicken salad

TWO CUPS OF COFFEE ARE LIKE A KICK TO YOUR FACE! RIGHT IN THE FUCKING FACE! Tonight the desk had some small finger sandwhiches, which I found to be excellent. They reminded me of how much I like good chicken salad. Man, that stuff is really good. Put some chicken salad, (the cheap, mushy chicken salad, not the chunky legitmate kind they serve in resturants) on some good wheat bread, and throw some french fries in there, oh man, thats a quality meal. I worked at Roaring Gap for a few years, in the kitchen doing random shit jobs like dishwashing and running the flatop at the lake grill, making burgers and chicken breasts and random other unhealthy foods. In all this time, I was constantly in contact with the fine chicken salad prepared by Bill Wehr, the golf grill chef and all around badass. It could not hold a candle next to the mushy, day old chicken salad sandwhiches prepared at the Prostop BP station located outside the club, which were wrapped in clingwrap and sold for like a dollar. Pair that shit up with some cheerwine, and you have a prime summer meal. Bill gave me hell about this, and everyone knew my preference for the cheap stuff. A running joke was to yell to customers as they were walking up "The Prostop has great sandwhiches!" to discourage their frequenting the Grill. Did this work? Hell no, are members of a private club going to eat at a gas station? I also loved to eat french fries dipped in our Honey Mustard. If you have never tried this with good, thick honey mustard, I strongly encourage it. In order for the Honey Mustard to be good, it must be made of a base of mayonaise, providing a very high calorie and fat count to begin with. Add fresh fries with a shitload of the good salt, and you have a tasty snack guaranteed to add pounds in no time. This is why I constantly smoked cigarettes and drank Diet Coke, in case you are wondering how I kept my youthful figure. Yeah right, I gained like 15 lbs. Ahh the stories from that job, they would make a whole new blog, or perhaps more material when I feel like rambling. Today I got up at 1:00 PM, skipping my first class. I had a Hotpocket for breakfast, turkey broccoli and cheddar, to get the day started right. I guilt-tripped Paul into driving me to school, went to my movie class and watched a movie, got out, ate at cosmic, and walked home. Quite the tough day. At work, I did nothing except eat the sandwhiches, and erase the ENTIRE DAY'S SHIFT REPORT. Quite the smoothness on my part. I realized that in addition to being a nice table on our balcony, we can also use the lonely remaining keg for a trash compactor, so we can fit more trash in the black trashcan, thereby reducing the number of shitty trips to the dumpsters we have to make. A keg can really be a useful addition to your home, performing many different household roles, and generally making work easier and more enjoyable for you. It also is useful in those nighttime situations where you might want to provide 30 or so of your friends with a nice solo cup of beer. Just be sure to be careful as to the level of Thump you have involved in the equation. Thump can quickly lead to the end of a otherwise positive experience. A female cop will come to your place of residence, complain about the level of Thump, and let you know you could be arrested if you do not take steps to lower said Thump. There are pennies on the couch. My shoes are on the coffee table. I still taste the alpine brew, ugh, it will be the death of me. Have a good Tuesday, I sleep till 11.

Things that suck.

One thing about this University that continues to anger me, even after 3 years, is the incessant construction that plagues campus. Maybe it is just that I was unluckly, going to college right at the time the Higher Education Bonds passed, and $500 million was dropped on construction. It just kills me to see so many construction sites, at the same time. I remeber back when I was a freshman (starting to sound like an old man here) and ehringhaus field was actually still grass, instead of a shit-ass gravel parking lot. I would love to actually see this campus without green work fences and trackhoes everywhere. Taking out three 30 gallon trashbags of damn trash from our apartment, in addition to a fuckload of boxes also sucks. Mello Yellow is a pathetic attempt at a citrus soda, and sucks ass like a desperate hooker. Being a DD might suck more than anything else you can do on a Thrusday night. Truly, I would rather stay at home and watch a movie or bust out some Grand Theft Auto. It is not so much the lack of drinking, because I am not one of those "you gotta get wasted" people, but things seem much less interesting when you are sober, and boredom sets in at an amazingly swift pace. Not having groceries is terrible. Going to the grocery store when you are tired and just want to sleep, even worse. Perhaps worst of all is having to decide between drinking a southpaw or a glass of water with your multivitamin and hot pocket in the morning. If only one glass of Orange Juice remained. Beer and Water are also inadequate for accompanying a peanut butter sandwhich. This post is quickly going from simple complaining to all out bitching, so a strike toward the positive must be made, and fast. Redemption comes in the form of Intramural victory. That's right, the first game the team wins just happens to be the first game of the playoffs, where it really matters. Looks like we are some backs-against-the-wall motherfuckers. I think the majority of the negativity that I have at the moment will dissapear with a complete nights sleep, and hopefully that is on the way. It is weird how some very stupid things can put you in a terrible funk, the likes of which even a meal at Sakura cannot solve. But, the sun will come up tommorow, the keg will still be on our porch, the Art of Henna box will still be on the coffee table, and my neighbor's wireless will still be free for me to steal. The damn hell of it is, we now have metal tipped darts. If ever the wall was going to be fucked, it will be fucked now. We're at the point now where we are going to pretend that the sliding glass door never had a handle, so they can't fine us for breaking it off. Hopefully some putty will fill in those big holes in the walls from the double sided tape. But as for the dart damage, well, fucked is us, and us is fucked. My focus has left me, so it's time to wrap up this most forlorn of all blog posts with some nonsense from a song or item of literature, with the hopes of impressing you with my knowledge of obscure and irrelevant material. You will hopefully interpret some deeper meaning into what I choose, one that is doubtfully what I had in mind, but will serve to reinforce the deep intellectual regard that I am attempting to foster. As said in the classic Orange County (2002, Jack Black is a badass as Lance, the dumbass brother) "A writer? What do you have to write about? You're not oppressed. You're not gay." Have a good monday people.

on the couch

Lately I've begun to discover the interesting and debilitating effects that lack of sleep can cause. However, the papers both completed and turned in, my obligations for the week were fufilled. Today basically consisted of 1 terrible history of Rome class, 1 hour of work at the union, and 1 conference with Maura my english 42 TA. One of the most striking events was witnessing the Girl Scout cookie sale in the Pit. Who knew they actually dragged those girls out, in what had to be the middle of a school day for them, to sell cookies to college kids that are definately not being very good role models for them. Stuart, my co-worker at the time, was quickly pressured by 6 little girls into buying peanut butter sandwhich cookies known as "Do-se-dos". The name appears to be a nonsensical moniker devised by some marketing agency to give the cookies a dynamic sense of action or adventure. In reality, they are just normal-ass cookies in an orange box, with pictures of girl scouts on them. Diet coke at the Pit Stop is only $1.16, when Diet pepsi in the drink machine is $1.25, so I think we can all see where the real value in this world is. It is a very sad day when even the prospect of a free drink cannot entice me to purchase the shitwater that is DP. If anyone knows what the hell the "Art of Henna" is, and why it was left at our house after Sabado Gigante, your imput would be appreciated, as the box remains on the coffee table, like a lonely lost reminder of the randomness that was our party saturday. Also one of the 3 kegs still remains on the porch; as the cleaning schedule in this apartment goes, it will remain there for about 4 more months. As Merle Haggard said, "Tonight the Bottle let me down..." and with that, I go to the ruffled goodness of the bed.

This one is for the procrastinators among us.

So, you think you put things off alot? Throw toghether that last second assignment the night before its due, eh? Well, let me tell you the story of my afternoon, then we'll see who really has the worst work ethic, ever. Basically, it started out as a normal Wednesday, food was ate, a movie was watched, all the basics covered. I even had a diet coke today, in case you didn't know, you can still get them in the Pit Stop (it feels like buying pre-embargo cuban cigars from some guy on the corner, but who cares, its DC.) After the Film, a very excellent Do the Right Thing by Spike Lee, I went to participate in a study for a friend of Tyrell's, on squatting. This was at the same time interesting and somewhat painful, as we were doing parallel squats in multiple sets, and my technique is decidedly non-parallel since high school ended. Regardless, after this was over I made the walk down hillsborough, made some spaghetti, and watched the retro game. Here began the downward spiral of activity. Somehow the complex mixture of spinach pasta and Southpaw Light turned into sleeping potion, and boom, before even the end of the second half, I was out on the couch. This would be a good time to mention that for Thursday I had TWO papers due, one for poli 80 (a 2 pager) and one for engl 42 (a 4 pager). My deep sleep was halted by the arrival of Chris, and I moved myself and the laptop to the room, in the hopes of getting underway with the boresome shit that had to be completed. But alas, the sensual ruffles of my asshole bed were calling to me, and to there I proceeded to go. Around 11:30 I got up, somewhat sleepdrunk but ready for coffee and asskicking. The coffee part happened as planned, drank a bigass dose of the hellpoison mixed with splenda, and proceeded to pick up the laptop. Then, the bastard AIM decided tonight would be the night of 2000 conversations. It always happens, without fail, that if you want to do things on your laptop, people that are always away will suddenly be summoned by the AIM satan and begin to steal your attention. However, I pressed onward. About one line into my first paper, I decided it was time for a softdrink. It now being about 1 am, the choices were limited, and I drove to the vending machine at the BP down the road, looking for diet coke of course. Hell no, sold out. So I get Shitty mello yello, proceed back to the house, and bust out the Poli 80 paper by about 2 am. Now I have obviously been dragging ass, and it was time to get in the mode for English 42, all I had to do was find a few E-journals and I was set. Ha, yeah, E-journals. Fucking E-journals. After about an hour of searching I found something that might be useful, for another topic other than the one I had decided to do. So I change it up, and proceed with the writing, it now being about 4:30. Then another soda desire strikes, and it's off to the vending machine again, more mello yello, less paper writing. I start seeing things out of the corner of my eye, listening to Sublime on repeat, and using However repeatedly in my paper. In case you didn't know this, it sounds fuckdamnedly stupid to repeatedly start sentances with However, Often times, So that, etc. Not that I really care at this point, but it's something my ENGLISH TA might pick up on. So, fix that. Then, I begin to notice a change out the window, some weird light in the sky. I realize, oh shit, the sun is coming up. This should tell you how often I've been awake before 10 am. Amazed that the sun actually comes up this slowly, I become distracted out the window watching the trees come into focus. Finally, one last burst of energy, paper completed, mission accomplished, it's early as hell. And I wear the all night crown, king of procrastination, worst of the focusers, future failure and likely bum living with parents. Welcome to my kingdom, bitches.

speed

It was definately not a cold day today. This to me is beginning to get disturbing. If god wanted us to be having 60 and 70 degree days in Febuary, he would have made North Carolina into Florida, and we would all go shop at the publix and drink 8% alcohol Steel Reserve, as opposed to Harris-Teeter and 6% Steel Reserve (Thank you North Carolina lawmakers.) It is not a happy vision I am having of July in CH: 80 degrees at 9 AM, 90 degrees at Midnight, $100 power bills, that terrible feeling when your back starts sweating against your superheated car seat while the AC is still blowing hot air. It is all on the way people, and as much as I enjoy spring, I would like for spring to occur during SPRINGTIME. Me being a person that enjoys sometimes sleeping on my stomach, I hate really hot weather, because as you will know from rolling over, it always feels hotter when you are laying on your belly. I guess your back isn't much of a heat factory, or perhaps it is that your frontal region is much more sensitive, but either way, it is not a good situation. Laying on your back is cool and all, but you need that extra variety for those nights when it becomes difficult to reach optimum sleep positioning. The free iTunes songs from Diet Pepsi count has reached 2, not too impressive since tonight at work I drank 2 and won nothing. That 1 in 3 stat better hold true. Also, if you haven't driven down friendly Hillsborough street lately, the town of CH has decided to place a radar sign there, ostensibly to discourage speeding on the steepest road in Orange county. As if the rumble strips in front of townhouse weren't already doing their job. However, in the case of individuals such as myself, the plan seems to have backfired. My current record on the sign is 42, and I average in the 36 to 40 range fairly consistently. The intended speed limit is 25; the school buses don't even abide by that. Whatever intended consequences that the sign was to have, it seems to have taken on an entirely different course with the college age residents of the lower portion of Hillsborough. To understand the roots of my slight addiction to speed, one has to return to the days of the gray fox, my original vehicle. Being a F-150 from the model year 1987, featuring a homemade wooden tailgate and sliding glass rear window (No AC) the fox was not quite the sexy choice for a speed machine. As the speedometer only went to 85, it didn't seem that Ford Motor Company felt it was a triple digit threat either. But behind the wheel of the gray fox, I discovered that she was a wolf in sheep's clothing. One night returning from a JV football game in Elkin, I was challenged by a car heading north on 21; youthful pride kicked in, and the Fox was floored. As the speedometer approached 85, my passengers and I waited anxiously for what might occur once that barrier was breached. Would the wheels fall off? Would the Rods blow through the hood like rockets on the Fourth of July? Would the Fox even make it? To the collective suprise of all inside, and surely to the other car, the speedometer did not stop, and no catastrophy ensued. In fact, the needle continued to wind, all the way to the stop peg under the 0. Who the hell knows how fast this was, but damn, it was quite a statement delivered by the old girl. Once this was discovered, the terrible fuel mileage was no barrier to pushing the limits of the 55 mph Alleghany county limit. This eventually resulted in 2 tickets and attendace of a driving school in Duplin county, all of which are stories for another time. The need for speed was born in those red vinyl seats, with a 4 speed regular cab ford named the Gray fox for its striking two tone gray paint scheme (one element of the gray was primer, the other a paint job done by my neighbor stan in his garage). However, since my dad was extremely pissed after ticket #2, the tendancy has reduced quite a bit. Hey, A.M. pays the bills.

Generic Filler Post for a Rainy Day.

I have nothing credible to post about today, but when has that ever stopped me from producing some ass-crap blogging? Today was good for 3 things: 1. Realizing that you don't have a significant love interest. 2. Realizing it is smart to bring your umbrella to class when you have to walk home afterwards. 3. Realizing that you have become completely broke despite working like a damn dog at the hated Union. These three revelations later, I am a more complete being. I also am a being with about $98 dollars in my bank account, and a power bill looming large. Also I happened to participate in another losing contest of Intramural Basketball. Looks like this year is not the year of the regular season victory, much less the year of the blue shirt. Times sure are hard, but when I start to get down about how hard I have it, I just think happy thoughts and think about sunshine. Oh, wait, that is complete bullshit. I actually become cynical and biased, with a slant towards sarcasim and overindulgence in pizza and diet drinks. I've found that if you have a very uninterested and tired look on your face all the time, people won't ask you where rooms are in the Union, and are much less likely to question your request for them to leave the lounges at 1 AM. If you continue with this style of customer service, you encourage the stragglers to leave by cutting off the lights with no warning, and loudly and obviously closing the fire doors in a don't-give-a-shit manner. Barring Managerial intervention, you should quickly be a master of closing the Union, and generally providing little to no "service with a smile." Obviously I've been working, hence the negative tone toward the Union. However, a good thing did happen at work; actually two. I got a chocolate chip cookie from Brian, and Kristin gave me and Preston little candy valentine card things. They were the things that come on suckers, but unfortunately, the suckers were not included, somewhat of a raw deal. But it was better than getting kicked in the face. Honestly, most things are.

Sabado Gigante (this means gigantic saturday in spanish, asshole)

The fateful decision to cancel the trip to the Mountains was made earlier this week, and while some were not pleased with this decision (sorry app kids) the logic proved sound. The resulting events became the stuff of legend, as a weekend of kicking ass resulted. To begin, I have to comment on the update of 40H, and the tribulations of moving mr. Paul Schafer in. Turns out, Paul went with the "plan for the future" school of furniture selection; he possesses every large, heavy article of furnishing that can be imagined, from a 27 inch TV to a Queen bed. Not that I resent this, it adds class to an apartment otherwise totally lacking in "grown up" furinture (A futon and 3 recliners do not count). However, one piece truely made me question his decision, the Bastard Dresser. Yes, that is the title of the heaviest thing in the world, which we happily carried up to the 3rd floor. After a few pieces of wood broke off, and we were all breathing like 40yr old smokers in a marathon, the bastard had arrived in the middle room. Needless to say, I'm not moving that thing out. The other noteworthy occurance involved a piece of Chris's interior decorating, a very tasteful $20 neon lap shaped like a martini that he got at walmart. In the process of moving the TV, the lamp was laid on the futon. Not 2 minutes later, as paul bent over to pick up some forgotten object from the floor, CRACK, goodnight lamp. That's quality walmart construction for you. On thursday, we went to the bars, and as a result I was on the computer till hellatiously late hours, drunkenly producing the shitpost that preceeds this one. What the fuck does "building a house" mean? Friday, I made it to a total of 0 classes, out of 1 possible. I ate at CiCi's though, which brought the day back to even. Then, as a late night decision of action required quick thinking, Dan Findlay came through as he is known to do. With the magic eye, he spotted the 8 piece fried chicken at harris teeter, and this combined with a case of southpaw equaled the preperations for Liz's "Lovers and Friends" party. Sound like a stupid party? Well, if red lights and loudass rap aren't your thing, this would not have been a positive experience for you. However, if you enjoy the "beer goggle" effect that altered lighting has on the opposite sex, then this was the party for you. Not to talk trash about this party, as Liz is my manager and friend, but really, it was no sabado gigante. My perception of this event was especially sharp, as I was the DD for the night, not something I usually do, because DDing is boring as damnit. This party kept me entertained, however, so it must be considered quite an accomplishment. On to Sabado, where the first really planned 40H party occured not involving halloween or grilling out. First of all, we got a keg of busch light, and second, sparta people were involved. These two keys of greatness proved the night could turn out no other way than perfect. Other elements fell into place, as the half consumed "lovers and friends" keg came to the H, along with Andy mcmillan, Patrick Evans, and Scott Mizerak, 3 of sparta's finest holding down the Raleigh portion of the equation. Patience never being one of our virtues, the keg was already flowing at around 9, to go with the Maryland Duke game. As the terps gave duke their first regular season sweep in years, the party began to grow, and the original members level of inebreation increased. With the victory, a collective surge turned the party into a real situation, and drinking ensued. I'll be honest, I can't give total details, because total details did not successfully become encoded in my memory. One defining moment stands out; Chris Butts in the dance-off. A dance off? yes, a damn dance-off, like some perverted scene from Zoolander, set to terrible rap and involving my roommate, who seemed to be channeling Napolean Dynomite and the Special Olympics at the same time. Perhaps the most fucked up thing I have seen at a party lately. Someone stole a sign from our bathroom wall, which angered me, because I had stolen that same sign a month or two earlier from the bathroom wall in Linda's. How's that for Irony? I danced as well, but not in the dance-off, which you will know is odd for me. It probably resulted from the new haircut I have, setting #4 on the ConAir clippers. For another odd occurance, Patrick ended up spending the night with a girl he knew, who happened to live in stratford hills. As he told it to me "I walked down there, but I was so drunk she had to undress me and put me in bed. When I woke up, no one was there, so I just fuckin left" That's how we do it around here, folks. At one moment I remeber looking over, and discovering that a girl was eating our Funions and drinking my Orange Juice on the couch. Not that I was pissed, but damn, who steals someone's Funions? The handle to the sliding glass door finally succumbed to the pressure of use, and is completely broken off. Unfortunately, my original goal of getting so many people into the apartment that the floor would cave in was not reached, but any party that has 3 kegs over the course of the night and is shut down by the cops, vocing a noise complaint from one of our asshole neighbors, is worthy of the title Sabado Gigante. Since the tale of the weekend has reached epic proportions in itsself, I will conclude with another spanish lession I recieved: Me gustan chicas gordas y feas. If you fit the bill, come on by, left-handed is a plus.

building a house

So yes, I went out tonight. It was a pretty good night actually, as the normal crowd went, plus some new and interesting additions. Turns out that I've eaten cosmic at least once every day this week. I'm not sure if that is a positive or a negative, but regardless, it is a fact. Another fact is that I have finally recieved keys to the Union, after about 2 months of waiting. It is quite empowering to think I could go drink beer in the office at 3 am. Not that I ever will, but it is the principle that counts. Also, diet pepsi sucks to me. Yes, I said it. Diet coke is king, and there is no denying it. Diet cheerwine is a classic, but still, for that during the day drink, its gotta be the DC. Sleep is also key, but perhaps my sleep patterns are so fucked up that I have no hope of a regular sleep cycle. I guess as long as it addes up to 8 hours a day, then you are in the clear. Imput on this thesis is requested. Have a good friday, and come out to the party at 40H on Saturday.

Looking for the positives

The game sucked, but I'm sure that it pleased my dad, the family Duke fan. Now that I addressed that, I move on to things that made the day worthwhile, because I refuse to sink into constant second guessing of the final 18 seconds.
Badass things that made it a good day:
1. The fact that I made it to my 11 BEFORE IT STARTED.
2. The further fact that I had time to brush my teeth, eat a cereal bar, and load new songs onto my iPod before said class.
3. The temperature being in the 60's.
4. Recieving an email from my sister bitching about her work.
5. Not having to go to the fucking Union at all.
6. Eating at cosmic, having a quality burrito, prepared before I finished filling my water cup.
7. Seeing lots of boobs in our movie class, watching Boys Don't Cry (even though it is not a good movie).
8. Walking across the sundial in front of Morehead Planetarium, and beating the sorority girl in front of me who decided to walk around it. (Probably a good call on her part, since she was wearing heels)
9. Learning how to properly say "I like girls that are fat and ugly" in spanish from Jason "Dude" Searcy.
10. Realizing all I remeber from spanish in high school consists of random words like, Hot, shoes, and cat.
11. Eating badass hamburger helper for dinner, along with a high quality Sam Adams Boston Ale.
12. Realizing that no matter how bad the game sucked, at least tommorow is Thursday (couldn't say that anywhere but college now could you?)

New plan

Since the past week has been perhaps the roughest non-exam period in my life, there is much pressure on this week/weekend to not suck. The original plan, to go to the mountains, perhaps ski and see boone people, has been axed, in favor of a new and bolder plan, the long awaited 40H party. If any of you know chris or I, you know this party has been discussed since around May of 2004. So, the tenative date has been set as Saturday night, so as not to interfere with another party being thrown by a friend on friday. Hopefully this party will actually happen, unlike previous attempts at it (halloween excluded). Tonight I learned that it isn't the best idea to drink 3 cups of alpine coffee while at work then expect to come home and have a normal night. You would think 3 cups would make you really wired and awake; instead it induces a strange jittery feeling, mixed with exhaustion and what can best be described as "excited" stomach. To counteract the coffee I turned to my only other non-caffenated beverage besides water, Tropicana Orange Juice. Drinking straight from the carton (to conserve cups) I discovered that somehow my lips had become painfully chapped, aggrevated painfully by the acidic OJ. The only redeeming beverage related event of the day was winning a free iTunes song from the diet pepsi I drank as my breakfast. Today was also the first day of the post-John Wyatt days in 40H, and it is strange having an empty room and so much more space in the shower and bathroom cabinet. The arrival of Paul should occur soon, then the 3rd and final transition of 40H will finally be completed. As for the state of the apartment, the glass door's handle is still broken, there are many big torn up places on the walls, and the dartboard, which was obviously a bad idea to begin with, has caused obvious damage to the living room wall. But the pepper is still alive, and we still have the bike on the balcony; knowing chris and his work out schedule, it will likely never leave. I now will commince reading more novels for various classes that should be easier than they are, but remeber this: 40H will have a party, and you should be involved.

Friday...!

The week of hellness has finally drawn to a close, and I re-emerge, alive after 3 tests in less than 24 hours. Objectively, I can say this semester is more work than I anticipated. Subjectively, I think it's bullshit, but I picked the classes, so I am the only one to blame. However, that is not to say this week has sucked all around. Let's be real, Marvin scored 20 points WITH the flu, Noel brought out the dunkness that he has been hiding for about a year, and it turns out that Jessie Holley can hit the 3 (if he banks the hell out of it.) As for good times, Intramural basketball is not quite at the level we would like for it to be. It's fun to play, but Team X we are not. I've come to appreciate that perhaps basketball is not the sport to get a championship in. Maybe it's time for innertube water polo. If you doubt the random qualities that growing up in alleghany county imparts, I have three examples of it for good measure. 1st-Karen tries to tell me that she feels going to the CAA tournament would be as much, if not more fun than going to florida for spring break. 2nd-Lise IM's me at what had to be 7am, commenting on the blog (which I greatly appreciated) but making me wonder how anyone could be up that early and on AIM. 3rd-and perhaps the most random of all, is mr. Robert Banks' persisting dream of the Car CD player for the red rocket. Not only has this been going on since senior year of high school, it seems that every few weeks I recieve an IM with links to new players, asking my opinion. Never a purchase. Ever. This is the same guy who make the lake and Williamsburg promises, and we all saw how well that turned out. All kinds of hell was stirred up today by the new Co-Ed magazine, which used a room in the Union to take a photo shoot of girls for its magazine spread. We managed to procure a copy of said magazine for the office, and I must say, I have never seen a magazine more dedicated to college age males. An article about spring break places, 4 different college girl spreads, a section on College Basketball, and funniest of all, a add stating "B.Y.O.T.-bring your own Trojan" It's an instant classic. As for me, I'll be working the late night party in the union tonight, so all I'll be doing is downing diet pepsi and stolen alpine coffee, but that's what you gotta do to get paid.

I am fucked

Tommorow I have two tests, one the dreaded Rwandan Book test, which I have not yet finished reading. I'm pretty sure at this point there is no real hope of me getting it done so I've decided that checking away messages and posting on my blog are the proper ways to prepare for the test. There is also a test in Poli 80, but since it is being given by prof. sullivan, there is no real way to guess what might be on it, or really any reason to worry about it. The exterminator woke me up this morning coming in to spray our apartment, one of the lovely perks of living in stratford hills apts. I sometimes worry about being the only one here, and walking around right after chemicals strong enough to kill cockroaches are sprayed all around. But I guess that's my punishment for not having class until 12:30. People that always tell me they have something to do when I talk to them really irritate me. Is it really the case that you have this urgent situation going on right as I happen to IM you? I mean, I can understand it sometimes, but if it seems to happen every single time, it gets old. I would rather someone just say, hey, I don't have the patience to talk to you and listen to your rambling crap today. I wouldn't be offended, because I understand that yes, I am quite a difficult person to have a short, coherent conversation with. I also dislike people that take unusually long pauses between responses, but I have learned to live with it, seeing as Robert has done this since the days of dial-up, even though he had no excuse because he was the first person with DSL. While I'm on it, today I noticed a girl that was sitting in the lefthanded desk in one of my classes, who was actually left-handed. This was pretty crazy, because it's not too often you see a girl, or anyone for that matter, that is actually left handed. Even more disturbing is that I found this strangely attractive. I've heard of a lot of weird stuff, but attraction to lefties has to be a new one. Maybe this means that I am interested in a unique girl. Or maybe it means I'm a nut who is trying to rationalize. Either way, it was pretty cool. Last night was perhaps the strangest night of work ever, as my manager (read: real adult) got towed from the service lot at the Union. Quincy didn't discover this until about 12:30, and came in to ask a large favor of me, basically to drive him around looking for a place to get a money order. So I, ever the good employee, went out to the car (Still on the Clock) and proceeded to take Quincy to 2 different gas stations and a Harris Teeter, none of which would grant a money order after 10 PM. So Quincy calls up Ashley, the assistant manager (read: student). She is asleep of course, in her dorm in spencer, but she wakes up, writes him a check for an amount he would not disclose but I assume must have been above $200 because of the giant wad of cash he handed her. So back to public safety, where he payed the fine and was on his way. I drove back to the Union, walked up still in my uniform, started locking doors as soon as I walked in, and was out the door by 1:30 anyway. Thats what I'd like to consider professionalism.

Melted G.I. Joe

To be honest, I have never been a morning person. I hate the morning, it is too early and there isn't anything going on that I particularly want to be involved in. So it should come as no suprise to anyone that I was late to my 11:00 class, as I have been for every one of them this semester. I've taken up the habit of sitting in the very front row, and I'm sure my professor loves seeing me roll in a consistent 5-10 min after the start of the lecture every class period. The only thing really motivating me to go, besides the presence of a sign-in sheet, is the opportunity to eat lunch on franklin st. with Dude and Karmen. You never realize how much eating at suttons, P&P, or cosmic can be addictive until you do it for a while, then take a day or two off. Regardless, I'm not going back to the days of chick-fil-a, the smell and the greasy hands feeling still brings back bad memories of flex dollars, block plans, Hamilton 100, and the drought of 2002. Robin, a girl that sits next to me in Film Criticism, told me that watching Fight Club last week made her cry. I actually laughed in her face on that one. How the hell can Fight Club make you cry? It's a first in my book, but that is what girls do, cry for strange and unclear reasons. In other news pertaining to my favorite elective of all time, we watched Dr. Strangelove today, a classic that I recommend to all. It is the movie that got Stanley Kubric major acclaim as a director, and is over-the-top funny and alarming simultainously. The contrast of nuclear anniliation's stark reality, and a B-52 pilot reading a playboy while flying the plane creates a special kind of dark comedy. If you can make an audience laugh about the end of the world, then you are quite the director. However, the true highlight of the day came in recitation. Usually there is a jackass in every recitation, the guy (or girl) who seems to be hellbent on proving they came in knowing more than the T.A. ever will. We have a special perversion of this jackass, who one especially creative classmate titled the "melted G.I. Joe" guy. Werid as this sounds, if you ever see the kid, it fits perfectly with his misshapen head and odd hair. Put the standard issue fratty attire on, and he is a walking obsurdity. Add to the equation his pension for rambling, and you get the most despised individual of section 603. Today he asked his why question, then promptly began to answer it, because he had "already figured it out." Well, thats great, dont ask it then. He also voiced his criticism that Kubric pushed his cards too far in making Dr. Strangelove. After the remaining 99% of the class gave him confused looks, he elaborated, claiming the movie lasted far too long (it is 93 minutes, the shortest film we have watched this year) and the ending held no suspense at all; it was obvious to him from the beginning. If you ever get the chance to watch this film, you will quickly see how idiotic these statements are, and you will come to share the hatred we have for the Melted G.I. Joe guy.