In Defence of Biebs
I don’t know why everyone pegged me with Bieber Fever. I think it all goes back to the fact that one weekend my friend started a thread regarding a party she was having through her grad school program. Did I respond to that thread with the video of Justin Bieber’s “Baby”? Yes. Did my buddy fall in love with Biebs and his bangs and play it every time I came over to visit? Of course. (Would I be friends with him otherwise?) Did those jam sessions lead to calling out “Baby, Baby, Baby – OooooooWWWwwwwww!” as if we were dying cats? Most definitely. Did a victorious game of beer pong with that friend and myself lead to the spontaneous creation of a chant called “Hail, Bieber! King of Pop! King of Pop!” complete with goose-stepping and arm waving. …Why do I do this to myself?
Okay, so I can see where the confusion comes in.
But when it comes down to it… The Biebs is really indefencible…however, that doesn’t preclude him from being indefensible. He makes catchy songs. He has long flowing locks. And my nieces like him and he doesn’t bang anyone, snort anything, or go clubbing. If the lyrics of his single “Eenie Meenie” mean anything either… He’s also a poetic genius. For example:
“She’s indecisive…
She can’t decide.”
Could the use of the same term in different iterations be a reflection of the lady in question’s own indecisive mind? Or is it just the possibility that most fourth graders don’t know what “indecisive” means? Scholars will probably debate for decades. Verily, it’s a work as dense as Joyce’s “Finnegan’s Wake” (Only, of course, with more pool parties and the word “Shawty” used repeatedly). In the end, Biebs is my boy. The most important reason?:
He had ninjas in his last video.
I thought I Outgrew This:
I recently joined a new Bible study. It can be hard for me to get to church on Sunday mornings, not just because I’m lazy and go out a lot of Saturday nights, but also I travel a lot and stuff, so it’s just hard to get into a regular pattern.
Well, I went last Monday for the first time and it was an eye opening experience. For the past year or so I have been in pretty safe social surroundings. I’ve had a couple jobs though and adapted to new people/friends/surroundings etc. So when I went to this group meeting, I expected myself not to be shy or awkward in any way – or at least not to an extreme degree.
The first night I made it through pretty decently. I talked once, but it came during a weird time in the conversation when half the people weren’t listening so it wasn’t that big of a deal. Well, I went again this week and decided I needed to say something. Another important thing to add is that these guys are really smart dudes. Grad school, professionals, etc. Words like “penultimate” and “demonstrative” were thrown around like confetti at my last Bieb-themed party.
Well, I started to say something and it was a trainwreck. My voice was shaky, I couldn’t look anyone in the eye, I mumbled some stuff. Really fantastic. By the end I was staring at the floor and speaking almost inaudibly to try and hide the shakiness in my voice.
Ugh.
Now they probably think I’m the special kid in class. Which is fine. Pity is more powerful than respect, especially in Christian situations.
The one cool thing about it was the article we read for the meeting was really interesting. It was about kids in my generation and how they are really “moral” and “successful” in some senses, but there is this idea that they’ve lost a sense of their character or any really virtuous qualities.
Deep stuff.
Anyway, I came across this quote from a crotchety old Princeton Man’s commencement speech. It’s probably one of the top two quotes that describes my philosophy on life:
“…follow the voice that calls you in the name of God and of man. The time is short, the opportunity is great; therefore, crowd the hours with the best that is in you.”
Followed closely by:
“I throw my hands up in the air sometimes. Singing ‘Ay-Oh! Gotta let go!’ I’m gonna rock this club, gonna go all night. Gonna light it up, like it’s dyn-o-mite!”
They both basically mean the same thing.
Awkward Situations No. 307-308
The other night I was coming out of a bar and happened to run into one of my friends from college. We were all in varying states of inebriation, so regardless of the fact that we hadn’t seen each other or talked in months we acted as if we had been besties forever-forever-ever. His roommate was there as well and another friend I hadn’t met. I was introduced to the new friend, whom I promptly shook hands with. For some reason I opted for the double clasp handshake.
Double Clasp Handshake: Handshake often reserved for the upper class or well to do citizens of a community. Clasping of the extended left hand while then cupping the right hand over the clasped hands. All three hands are then vigorously pumped.
Even in the moment I was like “Who shakes hands like this?” But I didn’t have time to think about it because my friend was already starting a conversation. I had forgotten we had talked online that day and so he said: “I was just talking about gchat…” And all I could think of was “I love gchat!” It was only later when I was thinking about the incident and all its awkwardness that I realized that conversation could be taken out of a book called “Conversations for Dummies.”
“When one meets another for the first time it is always best to bring up a topic with a wide berth so as to evoke a spirit of inclusion. For instance, the weather is almost always brought up in new social settings as people all have varying reactions and thoughts about different weather patterns. Some love cloudy days, while others prefer the quiet falling of snow. Of even more importance than selection of a conversational topic is the opening response to any evoked question or lead statement. One should always show interest in whatever is being said, regardless of whether one has a detailed or interesting response. For instance if one person says “The weather is grand today!” a response of equal excitement should be spoken, i.e. “I love sunny days!” A response, which is negative serves only to stall the flow of talking and create open spaces of awkwardness” (“Conversations for Dummies” p. 204).
I don’t even know how long we talked about gchat before the other person they were with popped out of nowhere and greeted me with a lot of enthusiasm. I had heard through the grapevine that they had just got a new apartment and so we were continuing pleasantries, which eventually led to the standard “We should hang out sometime! I miss you guys!” coda, which all of these weird run-ins create.
So I was like “Well, you guys are having a housewarming, right?”
The highlight of this entire situation was the look on my friend’s roommate’s face when I said this. She was clearly like “Oh…crap…” and quickly recovered to be like “Yeah…” To which my friend said, “Don’t worry we’ll have another one!”
Priceless. By this time the awkward had rained so heavily I was having to slog through it, so I just kind of was like: “Yeah!” Then parted.
Reflecting on such situations is often my favorite part of going out. In case you haven’t noticed dissecting and analyzing social situations is one of my fave things to do. And this was too perfect. I’m eagerly awaiting the invite to their Facebook event: “Housewarming II: All Our Awkward Friends We Didn’t Want to Meet the People We Actually Like.”
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Summer Collage
My Life as a Mimbo
Lately I have been touring the Starbucks in the Lakeview area. I don’t like to go to the same one, so I’ll mix it up some days even go to Caribou when I feel dangerous. I only go because I have this literature class and have to read three massive books (*fist shake* Proust!!); they’re boring as all fishsticks, so I need caffeine to keep me up. Most nights I’m also there reading from 10-12 or later, so the coffee is much needed.
Well, the other day I was talking to my friend and he talked about how he went to the same Starbucks I went to on Halsted and Belmont.
“Yeah,” he said, “I get talked to all the time. People are really friendly.”
“Huh,” I said. “No one ever talks to me.”
“Yeah…” He kind of looked at me for a minute and then goes, “that’s because you look like an arrogant prick.”
I thought about this for a moment and wondered…is it true? But upon reflection I don’t know if I come off as an arrogant prick. Dumb? Evidently. Naïve? Definitely. But arrogant? Hmmm… Let’s look at this on a case by case basis:
Cases #1-3: Grad School
In my grad school classes there’s this thing where no one expects me to be very intelligent. In my first literature class my professor thought I was a giant idiot. I did say pertinent things in class, but I don’t think he ever got over the fact that I look like I’m 17 and in grad school. There was one day where I said something that didn’t come out right and he guffawed and looked around the classroom like, “This is what happens when you let children take grad school classes.”
It wasn’t just that class though, in my video essay class that I’ve talked about earlier (the one where my professor didn’t care for me.) the first day of class we all had to submit commentary on an article we read. There were only two of us guys in the class. The other guy looked older than me and had smart-person glasses. The professor actually chose my article commentary to discuss in class because he thought I made good points. The thing was, the name on the paper was Tedd and he didn’t know all the students in class. So he immediately turned to the guy who looks a little older than me with glasses and goes “Tedd, do you want to read your commentary.” The guy was like, “I’m not Tedd.” Then the professor awkwardly looked at me and goes, “Oh.” But it wasn’t an apologetic “Oh” or anything – it was a “Seriously?!” Oh.
The final case is in my current literature class. My professor was talking about how differences in class are manifested in our current society. He brought up the fact that the yuppies, and upper-middle class people in our society go to the gym and don’t eat unhealthy foods. The observation in itself would be fine, but while the professor was talking about he looked directly at me as if to say, “Like this douchebag. You know when you eat that high carb meal he is judging the shit out of you.” It was all in good humor, but I felt super-duper awkward. I almost stood up in class and was like, “I’m really not a douche. I mean…well…Maybe I am.”
Case #4
Lately I’ve also heard stories from my past where people have told me that I looked “intense” or “hard to talk to” when they first met me. One guy at work came up to me to ask if I wanted to hang out with some people on a Friday night and acted like I was going to beat him for asking. Which…I did. ‘Cuz you I don’t like people making plans for me.
Counter-Points
This whole thing is rather perplexing as when people get to know me they generally talk about what a pushover I am. I was talking to a manager at work and mentioned that my legs were sore from lifting weights and she laughed out loud. She was like, “Oh, Tedd. I bet you go in and lift your little weights.”
These observations are also in direct opposition to commentary that I appear to be a 12 year old choir boy. On many occasions people think I go to church before I actually say I go to church, which is interesting… One time people were talking about drinking at work and someone was like, “Oh, Tedd. Have you ever had a beer?” I laughed because I have had many beers. (I actually have had enough beers to chart my beer-life enjoyment, and find there is a lot of correlation. I also have found that my enjoyment of beer is inversely proportional to its cost. Game Day Ice? Don’t mind if I do.) And when I said this people just looked at me like I was joking and that when I have free time I sing to my small animal friends and read excerpts from books without curse words or sex in them.
There was also one manager at work who refused to believe I didn’t attend the Moody Bible Institute. My first couple months at work I was asked 40 times whether I went there. “Oh, Tedd, you go to Moody Bible Institute.”
“No. I don’t.”
“It’s a great school.”
“I’m sure it is…but I don’t go there.”
“What are you studying?”
“I don’t go to Moody.”
“Yeah, that’s interesting.”
So… I evidently project quite the interesting, contradictory, badass-prick-yet-majorly-religious-pussy-d
Shock Top!
I was working at Nana and I went up to ring some people out. Standing in front of me was Aaron Shock, my rep from Congress. For some reason I got nervous. I was like, “OMG, he’s famous!” So I kind of awkwardly look at him. He actually wasn’t checking out, it was his friend.
I’m going to stop there because the friend of Aaron Shock deserves special recognition. This guy looked like your archetypal douchebag. When I say archetypal, I refer back to this guy named Jon who helped coach my college rowing team. Of ultimate importance to this ultimate example of douchebagness is wavy hair. I don’t know how they all do it, but the hair is wavy and unkempt, it’s like the hair is saying: “Yes. I am rich, but I’m not cutting my hair to appear rugged. But not too rugged! God, no! Look at the waves that roll in here! They show that I’m stylish-yet-rugged-yet-rich-but-kind-of-l
So anyway, I rang out the douchebag and then was like, “Hey. Are you Aaron Shock?” He looked at me really weird. He’s like “Yeah…” I don’t know what he thought I wanted, but all I said was, “I voted for you.”
Politicians are magical. They are like dragon fairies – say the wrong thing and they blow fire, but pet them, love them and vote for them and they will be your bestie forever.
Aaron Shock was all of a sudden my greatest friend.
“Hey! Awesome! What are you doing in Chicago?! Northwestern! That’s a great school! Great! What are you studying? Writing! Cool! Speech writing?! Hahahahahahaha! Ha. See ya, buddy! Take care!”
The conversation ended and I was like “That Aaron Shock is a great guy!” But then I meditated on it and was like “Damn it! That’s what politicians do! I got Washingtoned!” I don’t like politicians or any policies of the past 2 presidencies, but…you’re so nice, Congressman Shock… Maybe you aren’t part of the malignant evil that flows from the capital of our country like a river of darkness.
…Or are you?
The 646
I moved in with two of my friends to a new apartment this weekend. Everything went pretty well, but the first day we moved in there were some major…toilet troubles. We didn’t have a plunger or anything yet, so we went to Target to get the requisite supplies. I have never had trouble clearing a toilet, so I thought my roommate wouldn’t have a problem taking care of everything. Well, there was much plunging and nothing happened. The toilet actually filled with more water that resembled the color of diluted chocolate milk.
We don’t have internet yet, so we went to another of my friend’s houses to watch TV and tap into the world wide web. My roomie looked up more ways to clear a toilet and came up with some…interesting solutions. As we walked back from my friend’s house he stopped at all the newspaper boxes that offered free publications. He kept digging out the scraps of papers left and had soon assembled quite the collection.
“What are those for,” I asked.
“For the toilet,” he said. “I have to spread them around the base.”
“Oh.”
“If plunging harder doesn’t work they say to get a hanger and shove it –”
“Uhhh… I’m good. Just let me know when it’s clear.”
Actually I laughed really hard when he told me the process for unclogging. So much so that I taped part of the process and hope to someday show it to his children when they ask me about the grand achievements of their father.
“Yes, children. Come see how your father laid down a douce so GRAND that it couldn’t be flushed by a mere plunger. Behold his usage of the coat hanger!”
The Biebs-B-Q
Last weekend my roommates and I hosted our semi-annual Justin Bieber themed event. It was just going to be a party, but then I thought of the play on words above (“It’s a Biebs-B-Q…Get it!) so I arbitrarily made it a cookout. It was a lot of fun and led to the quote that might be my favorite ever:
“Tedd! Get in the living room quick! The dance party is dying!”
It also marked the greatest beer pong series I have ever participated in. My friend, who I chose to call the Flannel Dragon due to his attire, and I knocked out six teams before everyone got tired of us and our table was moved to make way for a dance floor. I don’t expect to ever have that kind of success recur again, but it was awesome and I will tell all my future progeny about that success.
Random Notes:
1. I hate how much I love Katy Perry.
2. I also hate that she spells her name K-A-T-Y.
3. Proust is now over. I hate that guy so much.
4. You, Me and Everyone We Know is awesome and I will see them in concert Thursday.
5. I took a poll at the BBQ and everyone thought I should keep growing my hair out.
6. I have recently discovered the Candy Blast Chips Ahoy are of equal greatness to my former favorite cookie: Rainbow Chips Deluxe.
7. My new neighbors in my building are 18 years old. I officially know what it feels like to feel old.
8. I now refer to high fives as “Pancakes” due to confusion over an invitation to IHOP.
9. I sometimes think about random James Joyce quotes while I walk around.
10. True Blood is awesome.
The End.
Lately I have been touring the Starbucks in the Lakeview area. I don’t like to go to the same one, so I’ll mix it up some days even go to Caribou when I feel dangerous. I only go because I have this literature class and have to read three massive books (*fist shake* Proust!!); they’re boring as all fishsticks, so I need caffeine to keep me up. Most nights I’m also there reading from 10-12 or later, so the coffee is much needed.
Well, the other day I was talking to my friend and he talked about how he went to the same Starbucks I went to on Halsted and Belmont.
“Yeah,” he said, “I get talked to all the time. People are really friendly.”
“Huh,” I said. “No one ever talks to me.”
“Yeah…” He kind of looked at me for a minute and then goes, “that’s because you look like an arrogant prick.”
I thought about this for a moment and wondered…is it true? But upon reflection I don’t know if I come off as an arrogant prick. Dumb? Evidently. Naïve? Definitely. But arrogant? Hmmm… Let’s look at this on a case by case basis:
Cases #1-3: Grad School
In my grad school classes there’s this thing where no one expects me to be very intelligent. In my first literature class my professor thought I was a giant idiot. I did say pertinent things in class, but I don’t think he ever got over the fact that I look like I’m 17 and in grad school. There was one day where I said something that didn’t come out right and he guffawed and looked around the classroom like, “This is what happens when you let children take grad school classes.”
It wasn’t just that class though, in my video essay class that I’ve talked about earlier (the one where my professor didn’t care for me.) the first day of class we all had to submit commentary on an article we read. There were only two of us guys in the class. The other guy looked older than me and had smart-person glasses. The professor actually chose my article commentary to discuss in class because he thought I made good points. The thing was, the name on the paper was Tedd and he didn’t know all the students in class. So he immediately turned to the guy who looks a little older than me with glasses and goes “Tedd, do you want to read your commentary.” The guy was like, “I’m not Tedd.” Then the professor awkwardly looked at me and goes, “Oh.” But it wasn’t an apologetic “Oh” or anything – it was a “Seriously?!” Oh.
The final case is in my current literature class. My professor was talking about how differences in class are manifested in our current society. He brought up the fact that the yuppies, and upper-middle class people in our society go to the gym and don’t eat unhealthy foods. The observation in itself would be fine, but while the professor was talking about he looked directly at me as if to say, “Like this douchebag. You know when you eat that high carb meal he is judging the shit out of you.” It was all in good humor, but I felt super-duper awkward. I almost stood up in class and was like, “I’m really not a douche. I mean…well…Maybe I am.”
Case #4
Lately I’ve also heard stories from my past where people have told me that I looked “intense” or “hard to talk to” when they first met me. One guy at work came up to me to ask if I wanted to hang out with some people on a Friday night and acted like I was going to beat him for asking. Which…I did. ‘Cuz you I don’t like people making plans for me.
Counter-Points
This whole thing is rather perplexing as when people get to know me they generally talk about what a pushover I am. I was talking to a manager at work and mentioned that my legs were sore from lifting weights and she laughed out loud. She was like, “Oh, Tedd. I bet you go in and lift your little weights.”
These observations are also in direct opposition to commentary that I appear to be a 12 year old choir boy. On many occasions people think I go to church before I actually say I go to church, which is interesting… One time people were talking about drinking at work and someone was like, “Oh, Tedd. Have you ever had a beer?” I laughed because I have had many beers. (I actually have had enough beers to chart my beer-life enjoyment, and find there is a lot of correlation. I also have found that my enjoyment of beer is inversely proportional to its cost. Game Day Ice? Don’t mind if I do.) And when I said this people just looked at me like I was joking and that when I have free time I sing to my small animal friends and read excerpts from books without curse words or sex in them.
There was also one manager at work who refused to believe I didn’t attend the Moody Bible Institute. My first couple months at work I was asked 40 times whether I went there. “Oh, Tedd, you go to Moody Bible Institute.”
“No. I don’t.”
“It’s a great school.”
“I’m sure it is…but I don’t go there.”
“What are you studying?”
“I don’t go to Moody.”
“Yeah, that’s interesting.”
So… I evidently project quite the interesting, contradictory, badass-prick-yet-majorly-religious-pussy-d
Shock Top!
I was working at Nana and I went up to ring some people out. Standing in front of me was Aaron Shock, my rep from Congress. For some reason I got nervous. I was like, “OMG, he’s famous!” So I kind of awkwardly look at him. He actually wasn’t checking out, it was his friend.
I’m going to stop there because the friend of Aaron Shock deserves special recognition. This guy looked like your archetypal douchebag. When I say archetypal, I refer back to this guy named Jon who helped coach my college rowing team. Of ultimate importance to this ultimate example of douchebagness is wavy hair. I don’t know how they all do it, but the hair is wavy and unkempt, it’s like the hair is saying: “Yes. I am rich, but I’m not cutting my hair to appear rugged. But not too rugged! God, no! Look at the waves that roll in here! They show that I’m stylish-yet-rugged-yet-rich-but-kind-of-l
So anyway, I rang out the douchebag and then was like, “Hey. Are you Aaron Shock?” He looked at me really weird. He’s like “Yeah…” I don’t know what he thought I wanted, but all I said was, “I voted for you.”
Politicians are magical. They are like dragon fairies – say the wrong thing and they blow fire, but pet them, love them and vote for them and they will be your bestie forever.
Aaron Shock was all of a sudden my greatest friend.
“Hey! Awesome! What are you doing in Chicago?! Northwestern! That’s a great school! Great! What are you studying? Writing! Cool! Speech writing?! Hahahahahahaha! Ha. See ya, buddy! Take care!”
The conversation ended and I was like “That Aaron Shock is a great guy!” But then I meditated on it and was like “Damn it! That’s what politicians do! I got Washingtoned!” I don’t like politicians or any policies of the past 2 presidencies, but…you’re so nice, Congressman Shock… Maybe you aren’t part of the malignant evil that flows from the capital of our country like a river of darkness.
…Or are you?
The 646
I moved in with two of my friends to a new apartment this weekend. Everything went pretty well, but the first day we moved in there were some major…toilet troubles. We didn’t have a plunger or anything yet, so we went to Target to get the requisite supplies. I have never had trouble clearing a toilet, so I thought my roommate wouldn’t have a problem taking care of everything. Well, there was much plunging and nothing happened. The toilet actually filled with more water that resembled the color of diluted chocolate milk.
We don’t have internet yet, so we went to another of my friend’s houses to watch TV and tap into the world wide web. My roomie looked up more ways to clear a toilet and came up with some…interesting solutions. As we walked back from my friend’s house he stopped at all the newspaper boxes that offered free publications. He kept digging out the scraps of papers left and had soon assembled quite the collection.
“What are those for,” I asked.
“For the toilet,” he said. “I have to spread them around the base.”
“Oh.”
“If plunging harder doesn’t work they say to get a hanger and shove it –”
“Uhhh… I’m good. Just let me know when it’s clear.”
Actually I laughed really hard when he told me the process for unclogging. So much so that I taped part of the process and hope to someday show it to his children when they ask me about the grand achievements of their father.
“Yes, children. Come see how your father laid down a douce so GRAND that it couldn’t be flushed by a mere plunger. Behold his usage of the coat hanger!”
The Biebs-B-Q
Last weekend my roommates and I hosted our semi-annual Justin Bieber themed event. It was just going to be a party, but then I thought of the play on words above (“It’s a Biebs-B-Q…Get it!) so I arbitrarily made it a cookout. It was a lot of fun and led to the quote that might be my favorite ever:
“Tedd! Get in the living room quick! The dance party is dying!”
It also marked the greatest beer pong series I have ever participated in. My friend, who I chose to call the Flannel Dragon due to his attire, and I knocked out six teams before everyone got tired of us and our table was moved to make way for a dance floor. I don’t expect to ever have that kind of success recur again, but it was awesome and I will tell all my future progeny about that success.
Random Notes:
1. I hate how much I love Katy Perry.
2. I also hate that she spells her name K-A-T-Y.
3. Proust is now over. I hate that guy so much.
4. You, Me and Everyone We Know is awesome and I will see them in concert Thursday.
5. I took a poll at the BBQ and everyone thought I should keep growing my hair out.
6. I have recently discovered the Candy Blast Chips Ahoy are of equal greatness to my former favorite cookie: Rainbow Chips Deluxe.
7. My new neighbors in my building are 18 years old. I officially know what it feels like to feel old.
8. I now refer to high fives as “Pancakes” due to confusion over an invitation to IHOP.
9. I sometimes think about random James Joyce quotes while I walk around.
10. True Blood is awesome.
The End.
How Mariah Carey Broke My Window
Oh, my. This summer has sucked. I’m just going to throw that out there. For some reason Nana has been scheduling me like crazy, my other job has asked for my hours, and the job I thought I got fired from has come back from the dead and is asking for three scripts a week. What? Stop making me so useful jobs! I’m not some sort of machine designed to labor and earn income to support my extravagant lifestyle (this sentence will be even funnier later…).
I also thought that summer school classes would be easier than regular quarters… I don’t know why I thought that. Probably because my friends in undergrad who took summer school classes were drunk 24/7. Evidently they’re not trying to support that kind of lifestyle in grad school. Come on, College. You used to be cool.
My one class this quarter is Proust. Just Proust. If you don’t know who Proust is here’s a haiku describing him:
Proust was a Frenchman
He wrote seven giant books
That now ruin Tedd
I haven’t taken a literature class since the Fall of ’06 (Sidenote: I’m enjoying now being old enough to refer to sections of my life by season and year.) so this is a huge switch for me. After I graduated high school I thought to myself “Okay, I’m smart enough to be able to read anything.” Then I read Joyce’s Ulysses. Then I finished undergrad and was like “I’m pretty much smart enough to read anything.” But then this summer Proust (He would be French!) came out in his twisted verbiage and kicked me in my critical reading nuts.
I literally have no idea what is happening most of the time in these book. It’s not really because they’re so difficult in terms of content, but they are just so boring… He will write pages of tiny print that are six sentences long, with a plethora of semi-colons, that talk about trees or the milkmaid that he hopes will come out of the trees and bang him.
The milkmaid is actually a full page in the book.
But I have to read 200 pages a week, of which I roughly retain 2%. So by the time I get to class and people are like:
“You know what I found fascinating. The bridge/whippoorwill incident.”
Too which everyone will shake their head in pretentious acquiescence and I’ll be like “Was that before or after he wanted to bang the milkmaid?”
My professor is actually really cool though. He’s got the gift of breaking down the boringness of Proust and making it easier to swallow. I thought he was good until this week when he compared one of the characters in the book to Don Johnson at which point he was raised to greatness in my mind. He’s almost forgiven for making me read Proust in the first place.
To be fair my summer hasn’t been that bad. Basically I work from about 11-11 every day Monday to Friday and then cram in one day of weekend fun.
Fourth of July was great, I went down to St. Louis and partied with my crew down there. There were copious amounts of Stag drunk and there were many fireworks. The weekend was crazy. I got off of work at 6 on Friday, drove to St. Louis, got in at 1, went immediately to the bar for shots and drinks, went to bed at 4, woke up at 9 and read Proust (EFF!), went to the matinee showing of Wicked at 2, went to my friends’ BBQ, went to Toulainia’s a dance club that’s playlist featured the entire song list from Jock James Vol 1-5, went to bed at 4, woke up at 10, went to a water park, left the park at 3, went to fireworks downtown STL at 8, watched the fireworks, then we all went to my friends apartment and died. Best. Weekend. Ever.
The perfect end to the weekend was the next day when I drove home. After the weekend of craziness it was like I was caught in suspended animation. My mom made an awesome meal, we ate, watched TV, ate again, watched TV (Well…my parents and grandparents did…I…sigh…read Proust), then we all went to Denny’s. It was glorious.
One of the funniest things that happened all weekend was at Denny’s. One of my grandma’s was telling a story and it went something like this.
“So I was at the grocery store the other day and I came outside and found a woman opening my car!”
She just kind of stopped there, and me, being a creative writer, filled in the holes where I thought they were needed. My step-dad wasn’t so satisfied though and was actually concerned so he started asking questions.
“Wait,” he says, “so she tried to break into your car?”
“No, she thought my car was her car.”
“But she opened it?”
“Her remote opener opened it.”
“So she opened your car.”
“She tried to.”
“So…”
“So she was opening it and I stopped her, and she told me that she thought it was her car so she was trying to lock it.”
“…That doesn’t make any sense.”
“That’s what she said too!”
I didn’t know where the miscommunication was coming in, but that was the best way to finish a story ever.
Bang Watch! (Picture Update Below):
It’s Week 9 of the Bieber Hair Bet – 4 more left! My buddy who made the bet said I could have one haircut all summer, which I took advantage of last week. For some reason I told the haircut guy the whole deal and he felt the need to sass me during the entire haircut. Why would you make fun of a 25 year old man whose friend bet him he wouldn’t grow out his hair for 10 weeks to look like a teen pop star in order to get a keg of nice beer for a housewarming party?
Some people…
Last story for this time is about that b*&#h Mariah Carey breaking my window.
So my roommate moved out last week and…I don’t own anything in the apartment so basically now I have a bed and a giant living room with nothing in it… My friends who lived down the street had just moved out and also left me with a beer pong table. This seemed like a great time to have a party because… You can’t ruin anything if there’s nothing to ruin. (This is the joke from the first paragraph.)
So I decided to have a faux wine and cheese party with Franzia, crackers and Easy Cheese. I really didn’t expect anyone to come, but quite a few people showed up. It was quite the conglomeration of my friends from college, grad school and Nana.
I actually spent very little time in my apartment that night – between beer runs, helping people find my apartment, and walking people to the El Station, I was MIA for a large part of the party. I returned from one such escapade and discovered that a group were in my room in the first stages of making out, my window was broken, and there were two other dudes I didn’t know that well just hanging out in the corner.
My buddy pointed out the window problem. Evidently one of my friends has merely stepped back and leaned against it and the contact caused it to break. Whatevs, it happens. But for some reason the most important part of that problem that came to my mind was that we needed to turn off the air conditioning to save electricity. Or that we needed to shut the storm window so that we could leave it on. That was it. So basically I was upset for ten seconds and then I played a game of beer pong against those guys I didn’t know very well with my friend.
The next morning my friend posted a status message on Facebook that she had fun at the party but wished more Mariah Carey had been played. Logically I concluded that the real reason someone had broken my window was because some of the attendees had gone into a rage that Mariah Carey’s collected works didn’t appear on my iPod. Sure, I had “Heartbreaker” and “Always Be My Baby” but what about “Don’t Forget About Us”?
So I blame her and her 8 octave range for my window being broken. I’m coming for you Mariah. And your little Nick Cannon too.
Lastly, I want to send a shout-out to one of my main homegirl g-funks. I wrote this song with no music (some would call it a poem) for you. It’s called “We Love Bumbles”:
Ooooohhhh (Ooooohhhhh)
Bumbles (Bumbles)
Girl you’re the Queen of Vegas,
Ride the monorail hope cheap booze will save us.
Everyone thinks you’re the magic school bus –
But we all know you’re a bee with stardust
In her eyes (Oooooh)
Queen of the night (Yeeeaaahhh)
Bumbles! Rockin’ out with her homeboy Gare-bear
Bumbles! School Bus costume makes a homeboy stare!
Bumbles! Cross this girl and she’ll get into a rumbles!
Bumbles! Give her a cocktail and watch her stumbles!
Bumbles! Bumbles! We love Bumbles!
I also thought that summer school classes would be easier than regular quarters… I don’t know why I thought that. Probably because my friends in undergrad who took summer school classes were drunk 24/7. Evidently they’re not trying to support that kind of lifestyle in grad school. Come on, College. You used to be cool.
My one class this quarter is Proust. Just Proust. If you don’t know who Proust is here’s a haiku describing him:
Proust was a Frenchman
He wrote seven giant books
That now ruin Tedd
I haven’t taken a literature class since the Fall of ’06 (Sidenote: I’m enjoying now being old enough to refer to sections of my life by season and year.) so this is a huge switch for me. After I graduated high school I thought to myself “Okay, I’m smart enough to be able to read anything.” Then I read Joyce’s Ulysses. Then I finished undergrad and was like “I’m pretty much smart enough to read anything.” But then this summer Proust (He would be French!) came out in his twisted verbiage and kicked me in my critical reading nuts.
I literally have no idea what is happening most of the time in these book. It’s not really because they’re so difficult in terms of content, but they are just so boring… He will write pages of tiny print that are six sentences long, with a plethora of semi-colons, that talk about trees or the milkmaid that he hopes will come out of the trees and bang him.
The milkmaid is actually a full page in the book.
But I have to read 200 pages a week, of which I roughly retain 2%. So by the time I get to class and people are like:
“You know what I found fascinating. The bridge/whippoorwill incident.”
Too which everyone will shake their head in pretentious acquiescence and I’ll be like “Was that before or after he wanted to bang the milkmaid?”
My professor is actually really cool though. He’s got the gift of breaking down the boringness of Proust and making it easier to swallow. I thought he was good until this week when he compared one of the characters in the book to Don Johnson at which point he was raised to greatness in my mind. He’s almost forgiven for making me read Proust in the first place.
To be fair my summer hasn’t been that bad. Basically I work from about 11-11 every day Monday to Friday and then cram in one day of weekend fun.
Fourth of July was great, I went down to St. Louis and partied with my crew down there. There were copious amounts of Stag drunk and there were many fireworks. The weekend was crazy. I got off of work at 6 on Friday, drove to St. Louis, got in at 1, went immediately to the bar for shots and drinks, went to bed at 4, woke up at 9 and read Proust (EFF!), went to the matinee showing of Wicked at 2, went to my friends’ BBQ, went to Toulainia’s a dance club that’s playlist featured the entire song list from Jock James Vol 1-5, went to bed at 4, woke up at 10, went to a water park, left the park at 3, went to fireworks downtown STL at 8, watched the fireworks, then we all went to my friends apartment and died. Best. Weekend. Ever.
The perfect end to the weekend was the next day when I drove home. After the weekend of craziness it was like I was caught in suspended animation. My mom made an awesome meal, we ate, watched TV, ate again, watched TV (Well…my parents and grandparents did…I…sigh…read Proust), then we all went to Denny’s. It was glorious.
One of the funniest things that happened all weekend was at Denny’s. One of my grandma’s was telling a story and it went something like this.
“So I was at the grocery store the other day and I came outside and found a woman opening my car!”
She just kind of stopped there, and me, being a creative writer, filled in the holes where I thought they were needed. My step-dad wasn’t so satisfied though and was actually concerned so he started asking questions.
“Wait,” he says, “so she tried to break into your car?”
“No, she thought my car was her car.”
“But she opened it?”
“Her remote opener opened it.”
“So she opened your car.”
“She tried to.”
“So…”
“So she was opening it and I stopped her, and she told me that she thought it was her car so she was trying to lock it.”
“…That doesn’t make any sense.”
“That’s what she said too!”
I didn’t know where the miscommunication was coming in, but that was the best way to finish a story ever.
Bang Watch! (Picture Update Below):
It’s Week 9 of the Bieber Hair Bet – 4 more left! My buddy who made the bet said I could have one haircut all summer, which I took advantage of last week. For some reason I told the haircut guy the whole deal and he felt the need to sass me during the entire haircut. Why would you make fun of a 25 year old man whose friend bet him he wouldn’t grow out his hair for 10 weeks to look like a teen pop star in order to get a keg of nice beer for a housewarming party?
Some people…
Last story for this time is about that b*&#h Mariah Carey breaking my window.
So my roommate moved out last week and…I don’t own anything in the apartment so basically now I have a bed and a giant living room with nothing in it… My friends who lived down the street had just moved out and also left me with a beer pong table. This seemed like a great time to have a party because… You can’t ruin anything if there’s nothing to ruin. (This is the joke from the first paragraph.)
So I decided to have a faux wine and cheese party with Franzia, crackers and Easy Cheese. I really didn’t expect anyone to come, but quite a few people showed up. It was quite the conglomeration of my friends from college, grad school and Nana.
I actually spent very little time in my apartment that night – between beer runs, helping people find my apartment, and walking people to the El Station, I was MIA for a large part of the party. I returned from one such escapade and discovered that a group were in my room in the first stages of making out, my window was broken, and there were two other dudes I didn’t know that well just hanging out in the corner.
My buddy pointed out the window problem. Evidently one of my friends has merely stepped back and leaned against it and the contact caused it to break. Whatevs, it happens. But for some reason the most important part of that problem that came to my mind was that we needed to turn off the air conditioning to save electricity. Or that we needed to shut the storm window so that we could leave it on. That was it. So basically I was upset for ten seconds and then I played a game of beer pong against those guys I didn’t know very well with my friend.
The next morning my friend posted a status message on Facebook that she had fun at the party but wished more Mariah Carey had been played. Logically I concluded that the real reason someone had broken my window was because some of the attendees had gone into a rage that Mariah Carey’s collected works didn’t appear on my iPod. Sure, I had “Heartbreaker” and “Always Be My Baby” but what about “Don’t Forget About Us”?
So I blame her and her 8 octave range for my window being broken. I’m coming for you Mariah. And your little Nick Cannon too.
Lastly, I want to send a shout-out to one of my main homegirl g-funks. I wrote this song with no music (some would call it a poem) for you. It’s called “We Love Bumbles”:
Ooooohhhh (Ooooohhhhh)
Bumbles (Bumbles)
Girl you’re the Queen of Vegas,
Ride the monorail hope cheap booze will save us.
Everyone thinks you’re the magic school bus –
But we all know you’re a bee with stardust
In her eyes (Oooooh)
Queen of the night (Yeeeaaahhh)
Bumbles! Rockin’ out with her homeboy Gare-bear
Bumbles! School Bus costume makes a homeboy stare!
Bumbles! Cross this girl and she’ll get into a rumbles!
Bumbles! Give her a cocktail and watch her stumbles!
Bumbles! Bumbles! We love Bumbles!
La Vie en Lapin
There are moments in life when you look at yourself and you think, “Holy Cheese Curds, how did it come to this?” It actually takes a lot for me to invoke the holiness of cheese curds. I’m in an MFA program for cheese curd’s sake. My hopes are pinned on the fact that I’ll publish a novel in order to have enough street cred to teach night classes at an obscure community college, whilst probably working part-time at some Banana Republic located in the same North Dakota town.
I readily accept that. So for me to look at my life and question direction I need quite the push.
But things came to that point this afternoon.
I’ve generally kept one of my jobs in Chicago under wraps because… To be quite honest I didn’t know if it would ever qualify as something you put on a resume. I joined this writing group last August and then was hired by the boss last November to do HR and hiring for other writers. The company basically started last May and has been moving steadily toward… I don’t know what for the past year.
The goal is to develop a web sitcom based around characters in mascot costumes. It’s actually a hysterical concept and the writers have done a good job creating some characters who are really bizarre and a lot of fun. Over the past few months I’ve moved from HR manager to head script editor to now head of production. All of these titles mean absolutely nothing, but my boss likes to throw them around in order to make me feel important, so that, for instance, when we are redrafting scripts about…say how a man dressed as a fox is running for political office and is invoking the rivalry of a man dressed as a rabbit, who is angry because said fox has beat him to the publication of an expose on Rutherford B. Hayes, I have the willpower to not walk out of the room and apply for certification as a paralegal.
Well, over the past couple months we’ve made some major headway in script development and built a pretty solid set of writers who have been with us for about 6 months. It’s been my motivation all spring to shoot some actual video so that we actually have some recruitment tools when we invite people to interviews.
The first shoot I planned my boss backed out of. There were some snafus with costume rental and he didn’t think we were ready to actually shoot anything, so we had to cancel everything. I was pretty miffed, told him such and ended up with a raise and the green light to develop promotional videos for the eventual episodes that we are going to shoot.
Today I got my wish.
I organized a shoot and got about five of the other writers to jump on the bandwagon with me.
It was somewhere between dressing my boss in a rabbit costume and discussing the logistics of pushing him on a skateboard across uneven pavement that I began to question my life.
I thought, “Tedd…Okay, you have a degree from a top 20 University and are pursuing a master’s at another top 30 university.” And I answered myself, “Yes.” Then myself continued to say, “Well… Why are you dressing a man in a rabbit costume and shooting a scene about him skateboarding across a seedy alleyway while a group of kids observe and comment on such.”
This time I couldn’t really answer myself.
It was about this time that - I can’t even make this up - a guy about my age, driving a new BMW with a Notre Dame sticker across his back windshield pulled into the garage next door to where we were shooting.
I looked for a brief moment between the Beemer and the rabbit and I thought for a second about the whole situation. Whether I could just trade in my skateboard for a BMW. And I probably could.
But then, of course, there is the question of who will support the rabbit as he flies across the alleyway in the suit with no eyes. Someone has to hold his legs, of course, and tug him along so that the camera operator can get the close-up as he brandishes a bottle of alcohol and waves at the kids in the alleyway. Someone has to do that.
And I can’t trust that task to just anyone.
So we finished the shoot and went inside. That sentence, of course, skips over the other 1.5 hours we spent in the 80 degree heat while I filmed close-ups and wide shots of the guys, who were playing teenagers, pretending to pass around a cigarette. “Are we done yet?!” they moaned. “You haven’t done video shoots before, have you?” I asked.
So we get inside and my boss hooked the video up to the TV. We started the video just as the other writers who hadn’t participated in the shoot walked into the room and took seats. The first clip that came up happened to be the shot of my boss flying across the alley on the skateboard.
The shot looks so bizarre and awkward that the whole room broke out into laughter. And in-between thinking about how awful the sound is going to be and how we should have gotten more coverage on the rabbit and how I should have gotten a close-up of Teenager #3 because his reaction to the other two Teenagers was important in one particular line of dialogue and how the light in the one shot doesn’t match the others, I thought that maybe it’ll turn out all right. But mostly I was relieved someone had held the rabbit’s legs; because at that moment my boss divulged that he had two fused vertebrae and a fall in the rabbit costume could have resulted in a trip to the ER.
“Holy cheese curds,” I thought, “I’m glad I didn’t go with my original concept to have the rabbit on a unicycle.”
I readily accept that. So for me to look at my life and question direction I need quite the push.
But things came to that point this afternoon.
I’ve generally kept one of my jobs in Chicago under wraps because… To be quite honest I didn’t know if it would ever qualify as something you put on a resume. I joined this writing group last August and then was hired by the boss last November to do HR and hiring for other writers. The company basically started last May and has been moving steadily toward… I don’t know what for the past year.
The goal is to develop a web sitcom based around characters in mascot costumes. It’s actually a hysterical concept and the writers have done a good job creating some characters who are really bizarre and a lot of fun. Over the past few months I’ve moved from HR manager to head script editor to now head of production. All of these titles mean absolutely nothing, but my boss likes to throw them around in order to make me feel important, so that, for instance, when we are redrafting scripts about…say how a man dressed as a fox is running for political office and is invoking the rivalry of a man dressed as a rabbit, who is angry because said fox has beat him to the publication of an expose on Rutherford B. Hayes, I have the willpower to not walk out of the room and apply for certification as a paralegal.
Well, over the past couple months we’ve made some major headway in script development and built a pretty solid set of writers who have been with us for about 6 months. It’s been my motivation all spring to shoot some actual video so that we actually have some recruitment tools when we invite people to interviews.
The first shoot I planned my boss backed out of. There were some snafus with costume rental and he didn’t think we were ready to actually shoot anything, so we had to cancel everything. I was pretty miffed, told him such and ended up with a raise and the green light to develop promotional videos for the eventual episodes that we are going to shoot.
Today I got my wish.
I organized a shoot and got about five of the other writers to jump on the bandwagon with me.
It was somewhere between dressing my boss in a rabbit costume and discussing the logistics of pushing him on a skateboard across uneven pavement that I began to question my life.
I thought, “Tedd…Okay, you have a degree from a top 20 University and are pursuing a master’s at another top 30 university.” And I answered myself, “Yes.” Then myself continued to say, “Well… Why are you dressing a man in a rabbit costume and shooting a scene about him skateboarding across a seedy alleyway while a group of kids observe and comment on such.”
This time I couldn’t really answer myself.
It was about this time that - I can’t even make this up - a guy about my age, driving a new BMW with a Notre Dame sticker across his back windshield pulled into the garage next door to where we were shooting.
I looked for a brief moment between the Beemer and the rabbit and I thought for a second about the whole situation. Whether I could just trade in my skateboard for a BMW. And I probably could.
But then, of course, there is the question of who will support the rabbit as he flies across the alleyway in the suit with no eyes. Someone has to hold his legs, of course, and tug him along so that the camera operator can get the close-up as he brandishes a bottle of alcohol and waves at the kids in the alleyway. Someone has to do that.
And I can’t trust that task to just anyone.
So we finished the shoot and went inside. That sentence, of course, skips over the other 1.5 hours we spent in the 80 degree heat while I filmed close-ups and wide shots of the guys, who were playing teenagers, pretending to pass around a cigarette. “Are we done yet?!” they moaned. “You haven’t done video shoots before, have you?” I asked.
So we get inside and my boss hooked the video up to the TV. We started the video just as the other writers who hadn’t participated in the shoot walked into the room and took seats. The first clip that came up happened to be the shot of my boss flying across the alley on the skateboard.
The shot looks so bizarre and awkward that the whole room broke out into laughter. And in-between thinking about how awful the sound is going to be and how we should have gotten more coverage on the rabbit and how I should have gotten a close-up of Teenager #3 because his reaction to the other two Teenagers was important in one particular line of dialogue and how the light in the one shot doesn’t match the others, I thought that maybe it’ll turn out all right. But mostly I was relieved someone had held the rabbit’s legs; because at that moment my boss divulged that he had two fused vertebrae and a fall in the rabbit costume could have resulted in a trip to the ER.
“Holy cheese curds,” I thought, “I’m glad I didn’t go with my original concept to have the rabbit on a unicycle.”
This Time, Baby? Bulletproof.
Oh man, sorry for the delay in posting, but I have been teaching my roommate’s cat to read so I could have that coveted 3rd reader of my blog. He has made progress on the alphabet, however we are still suffering from some basic issues with phonics. Details to come.
A Bet
The most exciting news I have to report is about a little wager my friend and I made over the weekend. Everyone mark your calendars for the weekend of August 21st. That will be the date of the End of Summer Ultimate Dance Party Dance Dance Bieber Celebration Fest. The reason?
Well, prior to a Saturday night viewing of the classic surfer documentary, Point Break, my buddy proposed that we make a little wager. He bet me one keg party that I wouldn’t grow my hair out for the summer to look like Bieber. The stipulations for the bet are that 1) I get one haircut this week to provide a solid base – it must be a trim and cannot be a thorough butchering. 2) Prior to the night of the party I must dye my hair with 24 hour dye to make it brown. 3) The quality of the beer purchased will correlate with how much like Bieber I look like at the end of the summer. If it is a close resemblance I will get a keg of GOOSE ISLAND!, if I merely look like the fat guy from The Hangover it will be High Life (To be fair, however, High Life is an amazing product, and the fat guy from the Hangover is awesome.) I’m getting my haircut this Thursday and then it’s game on. I’m expecting things to get ugly mid-July.
My Ideas Suck...More Than I Originally Thought
So a couple weeks ago I had to pitch an idea for my final video project in my video essay elective. My original intent was to make an essay about childhood expectations vs. twentysomething reality. I was going to interview a bunch of my friends and then combine it with images of Chicago. I didn’t think it was a great idea, but I wasn’t prepared for what my teacher would say.
To go back a bit, the teacher of this class hates me. It’s not my imagination or hyperbole, because I have been asked after class why he doesn’t like me. No idea. But it was proved one day when we were in class and we were discussing a movie we had to watch. This movie sucks. The guy has made other movies that are really good, but this was a 2.5 hour documentary about him trying to get a date. Give me 1.5 and I’ll accept it, but 2.5 hours… No, thanks.
Well, I didn’t hold back on my opinion and launched into a diatribe about how it was whiney and narcissistic and that it bored me to death. Halfway through my thoughts my professor slammed his fists on the desk and goes, “NO! He is a great man and a great thinker! I totally disagree with you!”
I was in total shock… I had never seen a professor throw a tantrum before, so the experience was new to me. I kind of stared at him in shock. Then he was like: “You’re totally exaggerating.” To which I responded, “Yes.” Then he calmed down and went into this long speech about how smart people can make movies about how they can’t get dates because they write well enough to “make it matter.” (This detail will come up later.)
At that point I knew he didn’t care for me, but I pay for his class… And I’m going to say what I want in class discussions.
Well, there weren’t any more incidents until this final project pitch when we were going around the room telling our ideas. He was mean to a couple other people before he got to me. One girl he called “chicken” and the other girl he just told her that “no one would care” about her idea.
When it got to me I started talking about my idea. I said something like, “I’m planning on doing this story about Chicago and talking about reality vs. expectation. I’ve had a little trouble with my interviews, I don’t think they’re working, but I’ll try more people.”
At this point he looks at me and is like, “It sounds like a really boring idea. You’re pursuit of your writing dream is haphazard – why didn’t you go to New York? And your friends sound boring. That idea won’t work.”
I was just kind of like: “Uhhhh…”
He continued to talk about the only way of making it work was to make myself “emblematic of my generation” in the video. …So, all I had to do is make myself a social icon in order to make this 5 minute essay that no one would ever see for a grad school class that talks about a genre no one cares about work… …? So I fire back with, “Well, isn’t it my job to make it interesting? It’s my job to make the writing good enough for people to care.” (Uh-Oh! Referencing his own shit!) He brushed it off, however, and was just like, “Whatever. Next!”
So I’m boring and have boring friends and in order to make a good video I have to become a cultural and social icon for my generation.
…I’ll take a B in his class.
Shout-Outs
- First shout-out goes to my two friends from Notre Dame who got married a couple weeks ago. They looked awesomely happy together and had the best wedding I’ve ever been to. Highlights include a night at the Backer, a new dance created to Lady Gaga’s “Alejandro”, and a ND-Georgia Tech flashback shotgun on the top of my buddy’s car. I love my college friends.
- Second shout out goes to my STL crew has been up to visit 3 times in the past 5 weeks. They have provided much needed dance party relief from weeks mired in school, Nana and my other job. They taught me about “Bulletproof”, “Ridin’ Solo”, and the power of chugging a drink, slamming it on the table and yelling “Done! Too Easy!”
- I also have to give a shout to all my friends at the Nana. I’ve been getting 30ish hours a week, which is great for my pocketbook, but has murdered my social life. If it weren’t for the fun people there I probably would have strangled myself with an overpriced cardigan.
I think that’s it. I’ll work on Bieber Bet Updates and my roommate’s cat’s ability to construct simple and complex sentences.
Oh! If anyone wants to check out my video essay stuff you can check one of my vids out:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yh_ozS-x
The video actually sucks, but the music in it is awesome. That score is by far the highlight of my work in that class.
A Bet
The most exciting news I have to report is about a little wager my friend and I made over the weekend. Everyone mark your calendars for the weekend of August 21st. That will be the date of the End of Summer Ultimate Dance Party Dance Dance Bieber Celebration Fest. The reason?
Well, prior to a Saturday night viewing of the classic surfer documentary, Point Break, my buddy proposed that we make a little wager. He bet me one keg party that I wouldn’t grow my hair out for the summer to look like Bieber. The stipulations for the bet are that 1) I get one haircut this week to provide a solid base – it must be a trim and cannot be a thorough butchering. 2) Prior to the night of the party I must dye my hair with 24 hour dye to make it brown. 3) The quality of the beer purchased will correlate with how much like Bieber I look like at the end of the summer. If it is a close resemblance I will get a keg of GOOSE ISLAND!, if I merely look like the fat guy from The Hangover it will be High Life (To be fair, however, High Life is an amazing product, and the fat guy from the Hangover is awesome.) I’m getting my haircut this Thursday and then it’s game on. I’m expecting things to get ugly mid-July.
My Ideas Suck...More Than I Originally Thought
So a couple weeks ago I had to pitch an idea for my final video project in my video essay elective. My original intent was to make an essay about childhood expectations vs. twentysomething reality. I was going to interview a bunch of my friends and then combine it with images of Chicago. I didn’t think it was a great idea, but I wasn’t prepared for what my teacher would say.
To go back a bit, the teacher of this class hates me. It’s not my imagination or hyperbole, because I have been asked after class why he doesn’t like me. No idea. But it was proved one day when we were in class and we were discussing a movie we had to watch. This movie sucks. The guy has made other movies that are really good, but this was a 2.5 hour documentary about him trying to get a date. Give me 1.5 and I’ll accept it, but 2.5 hours… No, thanks.
Well, I didn’t hold back on my opinion and launched into a diatribe about how it was whiney and narcissistic and that it bored me to death. Halfway through my thoughts my professor slammed his fists on the desk and goes, “NO! He is a great man and a great thinker! I totally disagree with you!”
I was in total shock… I had never seen a professor throw a tantrum before, so the experience was new to me. I kind of stared at him in shock. Then he was like: “You’re totally exaggerating.” To which I responded, “Yes.” Then he calmed down and went into this long speech about how smart people can make movies about how they can’t get dates because they write well enough to “make it matter.” (This detail will come up later.)
At that point I knew he didn’t care for me, but I pay for his class… And I’m going to say what I want in class discussions.
Well, there weren’t any more incidents until this final project pitch when we were going around the room telling our ideas. He was mean to a couple other people before he got to me. One girl he called “chicken” and the other girl he just told her that “no one would care” about her idea.
When it got to me I started talking about my idea. I said something like, “I’m planning on doing this story about Chicago and talking about reality vs. expectation. I’ve had a little trouble with my interviews, I don’t think they’re working, but I’ll try more people.”
At this point he looks at me and is like, “It sounds like a really boring idea. You’re pursuit of your writing dream is haphazard – why didn’t you go to New York? And your friends sound boring. That idea won’t work.”
I was just kind of like: “Uhhhh…”
He continued to talk about the only way of making it work was to make myself “emblematic of my generation” in the video. …So, all I had to do is make myself a social icon in order to make this 5 minute essay that no one would ever see for a grad school class that talks about a genre no one cares about work… …? So I fire back with, “Well, isn’t it my job to make it interesting? It’s my job to make the writing good enough for people to care.” (Uh-Oh! Referencing his own shit!) He brushed it off, however, and was just like, “Whatever. Next!”
So I’m boring and have boring friends and in order to make a good video I have to become a cultural and social icon for my generation.
…I’ll take a B in his class.
Shout-Outs
- First shout-out goes to my two friends from Notre Dame who got married a couple weeks ago. They looked awesomely happy together and had the best wedding I’ve ever been to. Highlights include a night at the Backer, a new dance created to Lady Gaga’s “Alejandro”, and a ND-Georgia Tech flashback shotgun on the top of my buddy’s car. I love my college friends.
- Second shout out goes to my STL crew has been up to visit 3 times in the past 5 weeks. They have provided much needed dance party relief from weeks mired in school, Nana and my other job. They taught me about “Bulletproof”, “Ridin’ Solo”, and the power of chugging a drink, slamming it on the table and yelling “Done! Too Easy!”
- I also have to give a shout to all my friends at the Nana. I’ve been getting 30ish hours a week, which is great for my pocketbook, but has murdered my social life. If it weren’t for the fun people there I probably would have strangled myself with an overpriced cardigan.
I think that’s it. I’ll work on Bieber Bet Updates and my roommate’s cat’s ability to construct simple and complex sentences.
Oh! If anyone wants to check out my video essay stuff you can check one of my vids out:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yh_ozS-x
The video actually sucks, but the music in it is awesome. That score is by far the highlight of my work in that class.
My Life Still Isn’t That Interesting
Just a couple of little tales this week.
Tubthumping…evidently not that popular:
So the other night I had the opportunity to go out with kind of a new group of friends. They are all pretty tight-knit, but I was kind of the 6th wheel to this thing, but one of my friends was nice enough to invite me along.
We all got drinks and were sitting down together. If you don’t know me, then it helps to explain that I am a dud in large social interactions in which I don’t know anyone. I make eye contact and smile at appropriate points, but you won’t hear me jumping in to make any jokes or add to the conversation. Even if someone does ask me a question, generally I’ll be so shocked that they asked me something that I’ll mumble a two or three word response and that will be the end of it.
Well, I should say that’s more how I used to be. I think one of the things that happens when you grow up is that you start to care less about what people think of you, and work to overcome your personality flaws (i.e. mine in this case is human social interaction). This explains why old people say what they want regardless of its philosophical or social appropriateness. For example at a recent family gathering one of the older people in my family said, “I’m rooting for Duke because they have more white people.” “Uhhhhh….”
So after those 20 digressions…
We were all sitting around and talking and my only good friend in the group got up and went to the bathroom. So it’s me and a few people that I’ve maybe hung out with twice in my life. One of them proceeds to say, “Yeah, we’re thinking about organizing random days off in the summer.” The group talked a while and decided that Thursdays would be a good random day to take off during a summer work week: Wednesday night drink specials, only have to go back to one day of work, etc. So the guy then asks, “What do you think we should call the days we take off? Party Thursdays? Trippin’ Thursdays?”
The filter in my head was removed and I just jumped in and was like, “You should call it Tubthumping Thursdays.” I thought it was genius… But I don’t even know if anyone else in the group knew what I was talking about. Immediately everyone looked away from me and a giant crater of an awkward pause opened up. This lasted for about 5 seconds. After the first 3 seconds I just started laughing and looked away from the group…because I didn’t know what the social etiquette was for laughing at your own joke that bombed, but not laughing at the joke so much as the awkwardness that it caused.
So after the 5 second pause the guy just goes: “We’ll think of something.”
Dreams Coming True:
If you are my Facebook friend (and I believe both of you who read this are…) then you will know that Number 23 on my “Things To Do Before I Die” list was accomplished this weekend.
I met Ryan Ross.
If you don’t know who that is, consider yourself much cooler than myself and go down about 6 entries and check out the “Sexypandadrunk” blog post from last summer.
The greatest thing about meeting Ryan Ross, however, was that he didn’t disappoint in his lameness. Remember how he use to ask the audience: “Hey guy! You like music? Yeah! Cool…well we’re going to play a song!”
Well, his new band got up on stage and Ry Ro (as my friend suggested I start calling him) got up to the mic. Inane banter followed which was the disappointment that we were all looking forward to. It was, however, about six songs in when Ry Ro topped all his previous efforts at awkward front guy greatness when he told the story of how the band wrote one song:
“Hey guys, so one time we all went to Africa and I met this girl. This girl and I banged and the next day I found out she was married! So I gave her my passport and I promised her that when her husband got out of jail, I would marry her! I wrote a song about it!”
*Ry Ro begins strumming*
One time I went to Africa
And I met a girl there.
We banged for a while
And then I gave her my passport
And said I would marry her someday!
Tears were streaming down my face at this point. Not only from the emotional depth of the lyrics, but that Ry Ro had fulfilled all our hopes for him.
They then got off stage and Foxy Shazam got up and played. They are awesome. I can’t even think of anything snarky or sarcastic to say about them. All you need to know is that the front man smashed a microphone stand over his neck and then proceeded to eat 7 lit cigarettes.
So after Foxy Shazam we discovered that Ry Ro was in the back by the merch stand. There was a line of like 5 teenage girls and then my friend and I. So after all the kids finished up I awkwardly walked over to him and was like:
“Hey, Ryan… Can I get a picture.” Picture was taken.
Then Ry Ro was like, “You’re too tall, dude.”
I said, “You want me to squat down.”
He said, “It’s too late, Man. It’s too late.”
I said: “Too bad, ‘cuz this shits going to be all over the Internet.”
That was it. Then I went to talk to my friends, but as I was walking away my other friend grabbed me to take her picture with Ry too.
So she gets next to him and I put the camera up. And I start taking video. So I’m like, “Duh! Sorry guys I took video.” Then I was panicking! to find the regular camera mode and it took me like 20 minutes. But I’m so glad I did, because it led to the awkward conversation that followed between my friend and Ry.
“Sorry about this,” my friend said.
“It’s cool, you know I could write an essay on how people can’t use their friends’ cameras. It happens all the time.” Ry Ro kept prattling, so that by the time I took the picture he looks bored and my friend has an expression on her face like, “Why is this guy still talking about writing an essay about cameras?”
Needless to say mine made the FB profile pic and hers didn’t.
I think that’s about it for me. I wish I had more fun stuff to write about, but basically all I do is work, school, work, Ry Ro, school, school, work. The Nana has been a disappointment lately too as I have been just folding and ‘processing’ in the back room. I think they finally realized I had no desire to push Nana Credit Cards on people and that I am awkward.
Tubthumping…evidently not that popular:
So the other night I had the opportunity to go out with kind of a new group of friends. They are all pretty tight-knit, but I was kind of the 6th wheel to this thing, but one of my friends was nice enough to invite me along.
We all got drinks and were sitting down together. If you don’t know me, then it helps to explain that I am a dud in large social interactions in which I don’t know anyone. I make eye contact and smile at appropriate points, but you won’t hear me jumping in to make any jokes or add to the conversation. Even if someone does ask me a question, generally I’ll be so shocked that they asked me something that I’ll mumble a two or three word response and that will be the end of it.
Well, I should say that’s more how I used to be. I think one of the things that happens when you grow up is that you start to care less about what people think of you, and work to overcome your personality flaws (i.e. mine in this case is human social interaction). This explains why old people say what they want regardless of its philosophical or social appropriateness. For example at a recent family gathering one of the older people in my family said, “I’m rooting for Duke because they have more white people.” “Uhhhhh….”
So after those 20 digressions…
We were all sitting around and talking and my only good friend in the group got up and went to the bathroom. So it’s me and a few people that I’ve maybe hung out with twice in my life. One of them proceeds to say, “Yeah, we’re thinking about organizing random days off in the summer.” The group talked a while and decided that Thursdays would be a good random day to take off during a summer work week: Wednesday night drink specials, only have to go back to one day of work, etc. So the guy then asks, “What do you think we should call the days we take off? Party Thursdays? Trippin’ Thursdays?”
The filter in my head was removed and I just jumped in and was like, “You should call it Tubthumping Thursdays.” I thought it was genius… But I don’t even know if anyone else in the group knew what I was talking about. Immediately everyone looked away from me and a giant crater of an awkward pause opened up. This lasted for about 5 seconds. After the first 3 seconds I just started laughing and looked away from the group…because I didn’t know what the social etiquette was for laughing at your own joke that bombed, but not laughing at the joke so much as the awkwardness that it caused.
So after the 5 second pause the guy just goes: “We’ll think of something.”
Dreams Coming True:
If you are my Facebook friend (and I believe both of you who read this are…) then you will know that Number 23 on my “Things To Do Before I Die” list was accomplished this weekend.
I met Ryan Ross.
If you don’t know who that is, consider yourself much cooler than myself and go down about 6 entries and check out the “Sexypandadrunk” blog post from last summer.
The greatest thing about meeting Ryan Ross, however, was that he didn’t disappoint in his lameness. Remember how he use to ask the audience: “Hey guy! You like music? Yeah! Cool…well we’re going to play a song!”
Well, his new band got up on stage and Ry Ro (as my friend suggested I start calling him) got up to the mic. Inane banter followed which was the disappointment that we were all looking forward to. It was, however, about six songs in when Ry Ro topped all his previous efforts at awkward front guy greatness when he told the story of how the band wrote one song:
“Hey guys, so one time we all went to Africa and I met this girl. This girl and I banged and the next day I found out she was married! So I gave her my passport and I promised her that when her husband got out of jail, I would marry her! I wrote a song about it!”
*Ry Ro begins strumming*
One time I went to Africa
And I met a girl there.
We banged for a while
And then I gave her my passport
And said I would marry her someday!
Tears were streaming down my face at this point. Not only from the emotional depth of the lyrics, but that Ry Ro had fulfilled all our hopes for him.
They then got off stage and Foxy Shazam got up and played. They are awesome. I can’t even think of anything snarky or sarcastic to say about them. All you need to know is that the front man smashed a microphone stand over his neck and then proceeded to eat 7 lit cigarettes.
So after Foxy Shazam we discovered that Ry Ro was in the back by the merch stand. There was a line of like 5 teenage girls and then my friend and I. So after all the kids finished up I awkwardly walked over to him and was like:
“Hey, Ryan… Can I get a picture.” Picture was taken.
Then Ry Ro was like, “You’re too tall, dude.”
I said, “You want me to squat down.”
He said, “It’s too late, Man. It’s too late.”
I said: “Too bad, ‘cuz this shits going to be all over the Internet.”
That was it. Then I went to talk to my friends, but as I was walking away my other friend grabbed me to take her picture with Ry too.
So she gets next to him and I put the camera up. And I start taking video. So I’m like, “Duh! Sorry guys I took video.” Then I was panicking! to find the regular camera mode and it took me like 20 minutes. But I’m so glad I did, because it led to the awkward conversation that followed between my friend and Ry.
“Sorry about this,” my friend said.
“It’s cool, you know I could write an essay on how people can’t use their friends’ cameras. It happens all the time.” Ry Ro kept prattling, so that by the time I took the picture he looks bored and my friend has an expression on her face like, “Why is this guy still talking about writing an essay about cameras?”
Needless to say mine made the FB profile pic and hers didn’t.
I think that’s about it for me. I wish I had more fun stuff to write about, but basically all I do is work, school, work, Ry Ro, school, school, work. The Nana has been a disappointment lately too as I have been just folding and ‘processing’ in the back room. I think they finally realized I had no desire to push Nana Credit Cards on people and that I am awkward.
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