We went to the grocery store today and I forgot to get more Ovaltine. This makes me angry. It makes me want to drink. Sometimes I drink in an attempt to fill the deep void inside myself. The void that would normally be filled with Ovaltine.
Alas, no beer. Sad times indeed.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Pardon Me, I Must Say I’m Kinda Like a Big Deal
No, not really. In reality I’m pretty unimportant, but I suppose in my own little narcissistic world I am the biggest deal there is. So, there, I’ve just betrayed what an egotist I am while justifying the awkward use of the hook from the new Clipse & Kanye jam as my blog post title. Yay me?
I’ve finished almost all my work for the semester with weeks to spare, so for the first time in quite a while I can spend a whole day being indulgent and unproductive without feeling too bad about it. To illustrate how slothful I’m feeling: I spelled almost every word in that previous sentence incorrectly the first time. The heat certainly doesn’t help; it’s at that temperature that falls just short of unbearable but still manages to saturate the environment and slowly drain your energy as the day goes by and still prevents you from easily falling asleep by the time you’re completely spent. It’s going to be a good last couple of weeks here at the College. I hope.
I’ve finished almost all my work for the semester with weeks to spare, so for the first time in quite a while I can spend a whole day being indulgent and unproductive without feeling too bad about it. To illustrate how slothful I’m feeling: I spelled almost every word in that previous sentence incorrectly the first time. The heat certainly doesn’t help; it’s at that temperature that falls just short of unbearable but still manages to saturate the environment and slowly drain your energy as the day goes by and still prevents you from easily falling asleep by the time you’re completely spent. It’s going to be a good last couple of weeks here at the College. I hope.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
People That I Want to Punch, Episode 47
Today’s entry: the tender lovers in their bubble of self-importance who, in situations that traditionally warrant silence, communicate with urgent whispers that they think cloak their interactions from the rest of the room but end up being more distracting and irritating than if they’d just talked out loud. I’m sitting in the library as two such vermin whisper-fuck each other and it’s making my skin crawl—the pop of their hard consonants puncturing the grating whoosh produced by their unvocal enunciation. What makes them think they’re not being annoying? I’m no silence Nazi—it’s fine if you want to say howdy-doo to one of your mates when you see them in the library, or to ask to borrow a pen or whatever but to sustain such a lengthy and unnecessary conversation in such an inappropriate environment is pretty rude and takes quite a lack of awareness.
Maybe I’m being hasty in my annoyance here, but it’s not just limited to situations like this: last year I was in a film class, and during a two-and-a-half-hour screening a couple appeared to be planning their entire class presentation, among sundry other unimportant topics, through covert whispers throughout the entire goddamn movie. I could probably have ignored them had they not sat directly to the side and front of me. I mean, Christ, at least sit in the back, back row, if you’re going to completely tune out the rest of the people and activity in the room. It was all I could do not to summarily summon them into the hall and, well, um… and excoriate them very uncouthly indeed.
Maybe I’m being hasty in my annoyance here, but it’s not just limited to situations like this: last year I was in a film class, and during a two-and-a-half-hour screening a couple appeared to be planning their entire class presentation, among sundry other unimportant topics, through covert whispers throughout the entire goddamn movie. I could probably have ignored them had they not sat directly to the side and front of me. I mean, Christ, at least sit in the back, back row, if you’re going to completely tune out the rest of the people and activity in the room. It was all I could do not to summarily summon them into the hall and, well, um… and excoriate them very uncouthly indeed.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
99 Problems...
… but a bitch ain’t one. I kind of wish a bitch (literal or derogatorily figurative) was one of my problems, though; that’s a kind of problem I could stand to bear. As it is, I fill my days alternately with marathon literary exploration and hard drankin’. Pretty standard college fare, I’d imagine, and yet, I feel totally separate from that venerated American experience. My little sister facebook’d me earlier* to ask how “college life” was. How the hell should I know? I’m out here in the boondocks of higher education, watching my life veer wildly between noble experiment and spectacular intellectual car crash. It’s less intense than I make it sound, yes, but it’s disconcerting all the same. Wherefore, if not towards the professional world or the social life level-up (to awkwardly utilize gamer terminology), is all this energy, however responsible, being expended?
The end of the semester brings about an unhealthy flurry of frantic non-activity. Life is day-to-day, rather than week-to-week; there are the expected rituals, yes, but it’s less routine than necessary, at this point. The maintenance of habit (I’m being intentionally abstract here: use your imagination) in the attempt to latch onto something meaningful, to connect with my life itself if not the people in it, is the new primary objective. In the midst of all this hurry-up-and-do-nothing anticipation lies my inability to retain any sort of moral knowledge from the multiplicity of experiences I encounter. Sometimes the failure to change my indolent ways is overbearing, and I react, stubbornly, by becoming less responsible. I intentionally slept for almost twelve hours today, and I’m not sure why. Maybe I thought if I kept at it awhile I’d wake up an adult.
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* Being privy to my sister’s daily social thoughts and interactions has become a horrifying fascination. What happened to the sweetly dumb little creature with whom I used to enjoy a bowl of Froot Loops and a Spongebob marathon? When did she start calling her friends on her cellphone to chat unreflectively about the gloriously empty-headed goings-on in the anxious pre-teen social world? When did she start doting on new school heartthrobs/hair-gelled mannequins like the Jonas Brothers? (Not last summer, I tried unsuccessfully to bond with the little one by mentioning how I found the vaunted JoBros to be, of the entire Disney Channel coven, the most tolerable. At the time she replied confidently that she didn’t care for them—how fickle these ones can be.) She seems to be surely transforming into the type of person I used to resent so much in my angrier days, and I’m frightened not by the expectation that I’ll feel the same way about her, but that I won’t be able to.
The end of the semester brings about an unhealthy flurry of frantic non-activity. Life is day-to-day, rather than week-to-week; there are the expected rituals, yes, but it’s less routine than necessary, at this point. The maintenance of habit (I’m being intentionally abstract here: use your imagination) in the attempt to latch onto something meaningful, to connect with my life itself if not the people in it, is the new primary objective. In the midst of all this hurry-up-and-do-nothing anticipation lies my inability to retain any sort of moral knowledge from the multiplicity of experiences I encounter. Sometimes the failure to change my indolent ways is overbearing, and I react, stubbornly, by becoming less responsible. I intentionally slept for almost twelve hours today, and I’m not sure why. Maybe I thought if I kept at it awhile I’d wake up an adult.
---------------
* Being privy to my sister’s daily social thoughts and interactions has become a horrifying fascination. What happened to the sweetly dumb little creature with whom I used to enjoy a bowl of Froot Loops and a Spongebob marathon? When did she start calling her friends on her cellphone to chat unreflectively about the gloriously empty-headed goings-on in the anxious pre-teen social world? When did she start doting on new school heartthrobs/hair-gelled mannequins like the Jonas Brothers? (Not last summer, I tried unsuccessfully to bond with the little one by mentioning how I found the vaunted JoBros to be, of the entire Disney Channel coven, the most tolerable. At the time she replied confidently that she didn’t care for them—how fickle these ones can be.) She seems to be surely transforming into the type of person I used to resent so much in my angrier days, and I’m frightened not by the expectation that I’ll feel the same way about her, but that I won’t be able to.
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