Eating Indian and Smoking Fags

TodayI do not work. I plan to make nor have no plans, although, to be honest, I already have a few brewing. In the kitchen, on the stove. Last night Vin came by CVS at around 8:50 as I was trying to count drawers down. I had told him this weekend that on Tuesday night we should go to Mulaney's Harp and Fiddle in the Strip District. But I forgot about that. I kind of wanted to just go home, but had a great time anyway. Plus Em was tired and had a headache so I probably would have just laid there bored all night. I guess I could have been a 'husband' and 'been there for her'. Dustin had called earlier to hang out, so I picked him up on the way. We arrived at Mulaney's around 10:00 and to out surprise there was no where to sit and there was this strange dancing going on. And Irish Folk singing. So we left, although I could tell Vin wanted to stay. We went to India Garden instead. Dustin's first time. I told him to get Chicken Tikka Masala, because that was the first Indian entree I tried and loved it. So did he, by the way. He didn't even take any leftovers home! That's incredible for him. I had a New Castle and a Guiness; Vin had a 60 minute IPA, Dustin had a Arrogant Bastard. Vin and I smoked afterwards - Camel Lights, because the Turtle Creek Tobacco Outlet doesn't have Camel Special Lights, which are my favorite. They'll be the death of me, right? Luckily I dont smoke a lot. And not so lucky that I started to begin with.

I was talking to Jessica last night at work, as I did the family planning update, about smoking. She started smoking when she was eight, and so did I. Although I quit around 9 and didnt touch them again until highschool, then not again until January of 2004. I've been smoking since then. Her cousin got her to start and so did my cousin. What's weird is that the cousin who got her to smoke was a guy, and the cousin who I smoked with was a girl - Jen. Well maybe with Jen it was mutual, but either way its strange to share this connection.

I smoked with my friends Georgie, Aaron, and Johnnie. We smoked Lucky Strikes and Camels in between these one-level office buildings, adjacent to Georgie and Aaron's house. We use to hide the cigarettes in the building's electric meters, which, unlike most meters I have seen, had a protruding shield - they served as tiny vaults. I remember the first day I smoked. Georgie and I were getting chased by these two black kids around Wilkinsburg, zig-zagging across South Ave, through alleyways and parking lots. I lost my friend and ended up behind this senior care facility. The back of which was always very deserted and frightening. The kids ended up stopping, getting off their bikes, pulling out cigarettes and forcing me to smoke with them. Hard to believe, but that's how I had my first cigarette at age 8, maybe 9. And the rest is...smoke?

Welcome to Tennessee

I just finished James Whorton, Jr's Frankland. The first 100 pages weren't really doing it for me. However, Whorton passively drew me in to this historical mystery about an aspiring historian's (Johnsonian) quest for the real Andrew Johnson, the seventeenth president. There's more to it then that, of course, but that's the basic premise. I found myself opening the book more often as I continued. Once I was half-way in, I didn't stop reading until the end. Some funny parts: a homeless guy going to get blood drawn asks the protagonist, John Tolley, whom he doesn't know, to hold his bag. John says no. The homeless guy says, "You're just like everyone else." John responds, "Of course I am, why aren't you?" I loved it. Another funny part: this burgeoning New York reporter, Danielle McBain, calls John a skateboard. And she never gives a reason. Classic. All-in-all, an engaging read with lots of sardonic wit, as they say, plenty of jabs at small, Southern town life, and even moments of emotion, both insightful and relatable. I guess you could say Frankland is balls.

Gentleman Boxer

Jonathan Safran Foer

Carnegie Lecture Hall

Monday October 10th, 7:30 pm

For tickets, call (412) 622-8866.

Tests are cool.

Back at Family House. It's crazy how fast my weekends here go, considering that I sit at a desk for the duration. I plan to check out grad schools this weekend. That feeling of intense self-doubt is creeping back into me again. That familiar voice, with its familiar antagonistic tone. You can't do this. You will never get in. Stop kidding yourself. And then I take the GRE and do poorly and I acquiesce to that voice, agree with it and at the same time battle against it, as I attempt to throw together all of the materials that will be reviewed for admission. When I applied to the Pacific School of Religion through GTU, I wasn't nervous. I had confidence. Easy reponse: "Well there you go - you just need to have some confidence." But it really isn't that simple. GTU didn't have a strict rule on GRE scores. They are a school of religion and by rule more forgiving. Although that is being a little idealistic, I suppose. Anyway, I knew all of that when I applied and just assumed I'd get in. And I did. I didn't actually go, but that's not the point. Now I'm looking at the University of Oregon and they not only require a GRE subject test, which is going to be death and blood and hell to me, but they have a minimum score requirement. I am already at a disadvantage not having an English degree. God, if I could only do well on that test. It makes me feel so powerless and unintelligent. I have never been able to do well on those goddamned tests. No matter how smart I think I am, if I am standing next to one of those high scoring SAT/GRE assholes, I will always, no matter what, feel less intelligent.

I have such a complex about it, I know. Why do I care? I really don't know. I feel embarassed talking about it, but it's reality, it's the truth - so I'm going to post it. But its not that I want to be smarter than those high-scorers. I guess I wish there wasn't a test to begin with; that intelligence was left the way it actually is - impossible to define. Intelligence isn't something you have or don't have. It's something that everyone has, it's a mode or a skill by which everyone functions. A utility. But with tests out there to judge your intelligence, it becomes something else - fixed. It becomes one specific thing, as opposed to no specific thing. And its defined by those who make the tests. fuck.

I need to stop all of this. It's making me upset and depressed. On another note, I had a spinach and artichoke egg souffle this morning, and I liked it.

my face is cool. 

guck and lodspeed

I bought Samba classics today. A laser burned hair off of my wound and the surrounding area. Percoset made me nautious, sleepy, and above all, able to bear the pain. Em and Beth almost came to pick me up, but I was able to drive myself home. I got 'The Brown Bunny' and am watching it right now. Even though I am supposed to watch it with Mike and James. But it is due back Saturday at noon, it cost me $4, and I am impatient. I talked with advisors in both the Philosophy and English department about graduate school. Looks like I am going to attempt a PhD in English. A Master's degree doesn't guarantee a teaching position like a PhD does. Plus it's a free ride if you can get in, while a Master's means more debt. So, the question is: How do I pull it off? I'm just going to apply to a few schools that seem interesting and that will be that. If I don't get in, I will officially forget about teaching and try something else. Wish me luck and godspeed.

Tonight I hope to talk with Joel about this movie we are going to write. I'm excited about it. I don't have any expectations just yet, but know that working with Joel will be a lot better for me than working with Dan. Joel has a good work ethic and a fast intellect. Not to say that Dan doesn't have those things, I just know that with Joel I won't have a repeat of this summer. Other news: Meth Bike may be back. That makes me happy. I wish them luck and godspeed.

Post-Graduate Drop Out, the blue period. 

Here I am, rock you like a hurricane.

I am at CCAC right now and hating it. Just absolutely hating it. If I drop out now I only get 75% back, which isn't so bad really. Especially if it relieves the stress and confusion of this semester. Really, what am I doing? The only reason I'm here is because I can't stay at my current job forever. All I want to do right now is drop these classes. But the possibility that I will regret my decision is making me hesitate. Anyone else would drop them, would have never even signed up to begin with. I have a degree. What the hell am I doing? Hey all right I might be goddamned, but if I keep these classes I am going to hate my life for the next four months. And for what? To be a social studies teacher? When the only subjects I can imagine teaching are English and Philosophy? And Philosophy is college level only; teaching English means more school, more money, more time, more aggravation. Oh yeah, and more money. Did I mention that? Money is awesome. It's just so easy to come by. I love it! If you read these posts, can I ask why? It gives me a headache writing it. I can't imagine what it does to you when you read them.

 

Let me tell you about my day and let me tell you about my manana. Today I called a place that Emily and I are interested in renting, and made an appointment. Then we went to the Carnegie Library - but first walked around schenley park, the one across from Phipps. There were these freshman doing things with hula-hoops, I assume, and kind-of hope, for orientation. I wish I could have gone to CMU. At the library, even though I told myself I would not get any books, or at most one or two, I got eight. Yeah, eight. Here's what I got: Garrison Keillor's Love Me, Christian Bok's Eunoia, Robert Bly's Silence in the Snowy Fields, Lucius Shepard's A Handbook of American Prayer, A Falcon Guide's Road Biking in Western Pennsylvania, Mark Kurlansky's Boogaloo on 2nd Avenue, Lawrence Galton's Save Your Stomach, and Letters to J.D. Salinger. And classes start tomorrow. Why would I do that? The funny part is, I just checked out three books a week ago and still have them. They are Marcel Proust's Pleasures and Days, James Whorton Jr.'s Frankland, and Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild. Most people like to surround themselves with other people; for me it's books. Then we ate at Jimbo's eatery. I had: Rachel, Lobster Bisque. Emsley had: half a turkey sandwich. Then Em and I went to see Terry K. Carskaddan. I really did not feel like being there. So I zoned out and managed to stay that way for the rest of the day; which consisted of bringing fall items out of the back room, putting them on shelves, signing it, pulling overstock out of the backroom, putting on to shelves, counting money, oh and, having a blast. Now I'm here and waiting for the wife to get home. Milkshakes.

Tomorrow I have class. It's just weird. It really is. I can't even think of school right now, but it starts tomorrow. How does that work? Here's what I have tomorrow: At 11 am, History of Western Civilization part 1, it's a cliff-hanger folks, we'll have to wait and see. And American Government at 12:30, then its off to work. I also have Principles of Macroeconomics and U.S. History 2 on the world wide web.

Something else is on my mind which has filled up three pages of my journal. Myron Cope's retirement. Yoi. Actually it's Meth Bike. I miss him. I guess he never really existed, especially not now, but for awhile you could count on Meth Bike two or three nights a week. He wasn't a person so much as a union, the connection of two lives, an ampersand. But ultimately Meth Bike was an illusion. The 'disappearance' of Meth Bike has made me realize that maybe he was not as ideal as I had thought. And my sadness over Meth Bike's demies is really a mystery when seen in this light. If the two solely responsible for bringing about Meth Bike are doing fine now, if not better, then what is there to be sad about? That's what I've been trying to figure out. I'm guessing that Meth Bike symbolized something, something akin to hope or love. I didn't know I had put so much faith in Meth Bike, but I guess I did. I took it for granted and fed off of it. What a weird thing to do. Terribly weird. It justs makes me sad all over. But I've no reason. Sadness knows no bounds.

 

Beth is in it for the long haul. 

Chest Rockwell. The badass.

Seriously, someone explain this to me, because I'm baffled: why is John C. Reilly such a badass? I've asked Em and she can't give a good enough reason. I mean I need a sound answer. Sound and Logical. [Sound and Vision] Some things he's said that are bafflingly badass: "What do you squat?"; "Be cool, stay in school," "That was good. Let me show you what you did wrong," "But the magic that is on these tapes - that is ours," "Watch the lip!" Just picture Reed Rothchild dancing in the studio in support of his porn/cocaine-buddy Dirk Diggler as Dirk belts out, "You're a winner!" And then he agrees that the bass is taking away from Dirk's vocals. Genius. John C. Reilly is a treasure chest. Overflowing with gold medallions and yellow shinys.

Dr. Cheppa. The badass.

Speaking of which, my dentist used to have this fish tank with a teasure chest at the bottom, a small one. And there was this underwater guy, with the scuba head-gear and spear in hand. And then after I had my teeth cleaned, he'd let me pick through his own personal treasure chest and take something for keeps. FOR KEEPS! They were similiar to the toys you get at an arcade, when you play skee-ball a few times. Minus the airheads.

I have to make a decision by Saturday whether I am going to school in the fall or not. Classes start Monday and I'm in no way prepared or excited to do the school thing. I was waiting all summer for the two scholarships I applied for to come through. If they did, then I was going - kicking and screaming - but I was going. I didn't have a plan if I didn't get the scholarships. I didn't think it would take this long; thought I'd have time to make a decision in the event I did not get the scholarships. Here I am, four days before I am to start classes, I didn't get any scholarship awarded to me, and I have no plan. It's pretty awesome. If I decide to not go this fall, the earliest I could be a teacher, as opposed to 2007, is 2008. So I'd get pushed back a year - math is cool - which isn't the end of the world. And if it was, it wouldn't matter anyway.

I almost wish I didn't have a degree. I'm not using it. I don't know how I ever will use it. I'm certainly not using it now. My point is, I more-or-less regret going to school so soon. I really should have gone against my parents wishes and waited. I could have gone to school when I was ready; majored in something that was worthwhile - both to me personally and financially. But instead I went straight out of high school. The only subject I could bear was Philosophy. Now, its the opposite. The thought of tackling Kant's Critique of Pure Reason or deciphering Wittgenstein's Blue or Brown books makes me depressed and suicidal. So what do I do now? That's where I've been for the past two, going on three +, years. Teaching is all I can come up with. But its the least undesirable choice and that's not the same as a desirable choice. And I can't afford any more debt. If I go this fall I will have an incredibly hard time finding motivation and focus. If I end up not becoming a teacher, it will all have been for shit. And I will be left with the ever increasing gulf between my debt and income. Things are awesome. Like I never say, 'Life's a die and then you bitch.' harharhar

Tessa flies a kite

I can't wait to start trashing my co-workers and country. This is going to be great, truly great. I'm actually not sure what my intent is here. I will try to be sincere, hopefully not just try to come across as sincere. Although, I must admit, the temptation to pose as an amalgam of all the funny, as in awkward, people I've ever met is very strong. I'll keep you posted on what this blog is all about. 'You' here is singular, as in addressed to myself.