I capitulated and finally made a facebook account. But I'm going to make it as hard as I can for those smarmy sons of sociali in the CIA to steal my kidneys. Hence I created a biography that is a tad... altered. Is it effective? You be the judge:
Dylan Meggs was born the son of a rich Albanian Ferret Harvester back in 1873. Early in his life, he discovered he had a penchant for catching tuberculosis. Seeking to make the best of a decimating situation, he exchanged his frequent diseases for fresh peanut brittle with intoxicated Peruvian Socialists.
As his peanut brittle empire continued to amass its nutty wealth, Dylan looked for avenues to express his growing ambivalence towards the letter "Q." He found such a vehicle in the form of one Mrs. Albierta Telesonatta McMingerson. Mrs. McMingerson, a widower, taught Dylan the ancient ways of the transcendental milkman. The two fell deeply in love, but in a tragic (some people believe intentional) accident involving William McKinley and a vindictive hot air balloon, Mrs. McMingerson was imploded.
Dylan was inconsolable. He continued his harvest of tuberculosis, but no amount of peanut brittle could stem the overwhelming misery that consumed him. Fortunately, WWI arrived and with it came many an opportunity to justify tap-dancing, an underground movement Dylan had been a part of since the Cleveland administration. Dylan tap-danced for Uncle Sam like no man had ever tap-danced before. They called him "The Dancin' Dylnamo", a name which would later result in legal action by a Japanese porn star of the same title. Dylan's dancing enabled an Allied victory, but the somber, insidious undertones of his performances spread a sense of disillusionment throughout America.
The Roaring 20's came and went, a period in which Dylan spent most of his time drunk in a dark alley wearing only one shoe and an incredulous expression.
The Great Depression shook Dylan from his stupor and inspired him to donate his peanut brittle to a needy country. Dylan traveled the country in a rickety old wagon pulled by a pack of three-legged grizzly bears, spreading his bountiful peanut brittle with all who dared to venture close enough to figure out where all those screams were coming from.
His supply of peanut brittle exhausted, Dylan returned to Knoxville, confident that he had changed the world. The country went to war once again, and many urged Dylan to don his tap-dancing regalia once more. However, shortly after the way began, Dylan developed an addiction to shiny objects. This obsession consumed him, and it wasn’t until 1952 that his friends and family convinced him to enter into rehab. 3583 grueling seconds later, Dylan emerged a new, albeit defeated, man. He went into hiding, and gradually faded from public memory for years.
Then, in 1984, Dylan reemerged in a fiery comeback that would have taken the nation by storm if he’d only remembered to pay his library fines. As it was, the outstanding debt was so monumental Dylan was placed into a maximum security internment facility. It was there he learned the tricks of the taffy trade and made connections that would cement his rise to power in the late 1990’s. A grateful descendant of a peanut brittle-recievee paid Dylan’s fines, thus allowing him to return to his home state and forge an empire of such fantastic proportions it seemed trivial. Starting a grass roots campaign, Dylan developed a brand of taffy that combined Italian voodoo and good ole Tennessean methamphetamines that became an overnight sensation. The money rolled in, along with various federal agents, and Dylan’s life became a whirlwind of whores, public broadcasting, and spiked apple juice.
Then, tragedy. On April 27, 2004, Dylan Meggs was shot four times in the left elbow by a crazed insurance salesman with a rubber machete and nothing to lose. He retired from the public scene and is currently living out the last of his days in an intensive care unit outside of Topeka.
Monday, September 5
Persistence is Futile
-Jack Kevorkian's motto
Last night was pretty good. I was initially wary of going to/being at a party of primarily people in my sister's grade, and I did feel rather disconnected from "the group." The differences between the "AP crowd" in her grade and mine were noticeably different. I suppose that's expected of course, but it's sort of interesting how cliques of the same sort of "set" of people can be so diverse. Further proof of why stereotyping and trying to group people is pointless. Still, each group, especially comparing the top of the class the year before me, my year, and the year behind me, has its own unique character. Kinda neat.
Anyway, I didn't mesh with them well. What I did instead was stay inside with someone else who didn't "fit in." She is in Carrie's grade, but she's quite religious and rather conservative in action, so the shenanigans of the others weren't really appealing to her. So we just sat inside and talked. I fear I was slightly didactic, but we developed a good rapport and talked for a few hours. It was nice, getting to know someone, as in know them better. There's just something really enjoyable about it for me, when I can look back on a conversation and think "Something actually happened." That feeling of having learned something deeper than the superficial pleasantries of normal conversation, of having connected to another individual really leaves you feeling fulfilled. It's the sort of thing I'd love to do when I become a teacher.
I got back to my dorm about 12:30 and went over to Christopher Martin and John's room, just to say hi. I ended up staying there til 3:30 as they were having a conversation about the meaning of self. I don't normally enjoy philosophical conversations, but I was able to just listen to most of it and add annoying comments when the oppurtunity rose (Christopher: "So we can establish that there are real laws of logic." Me: "Heh, ' I got pulled over for mental speeding, but I think the policeman's going to let me off with a warning!' ").
Christopher also has this chair that makes one feel positively fetal. I felt a strange sense of calm inside it, but I also felt more genuinely fearful. I actually regressed to a more childlike state of mind. That might have contributed to my willingness to stay with the discussion. It ended up being pretty interesting, although I couldn't put any of it down in here in coherent form for the life of me. Suffice it to say, when I finally pulled myself away three hours later, I returned ever so briefly before going to bed so that I could have the last word.
That word? "Boobies."
Last night was pretty good. I was initially wary of going to/being at a party of primarily people in my sister's grade, and I did feel rather disconnected from "the group." The differences between the "AP crowd" in her grade and mine were noticeably different. I suppose that's expected of course, but it's sort of interesting how cliques of the same sort of "set" of people can be so diverse. Further proof of why stereotyping and trying to group people is pointless. Still, each group, especially comparing the top of the class the year before me, my year, and the year behind me, has its own unique character. Kinda neat.
Anyway, I didn't mesh with them well. What I did instead was stay inside with someone else who didn't "fit in." She is in Carrie's grade, but she's quite religious and rather conservative in action, so the shenanigans of the others weren't really appealing to her. So we just sat inside and talked. I fear I was slightly didactic, but we developed a good rapport and talked for a few hours. It was nice, getting to know someone, as in know them better. There's just something really enjoyable about it for me, when I can look back on a conversation and think "Something actually happened." That feeling of having learned something deeper than the superficial pleasantries of normal conversation, of having connected to another individual really leaves you feeling fulfilled. It's the sort of thing I'd love to do when I become a teacher.
I got back to my dorm about 12:30 and went over to Christopher Martin and John's room, just to say hi. I ended up staying there til 3:30 as they were having a conversation about the meaning of self. I don't normally enjoy philosophical conversations, but I was able to just listen to most of it and add annoying comments when the oppurtunity rose (Christopher: "So we can establish that there are real laws of logic." Me: "Heh, ' I got pulled over for mental speeding, but I think the policeman's going to let me off with a warning!' ").
Christopher also has this chair that makes one feel positively fetal. I felt a strange sense of calm inside it, but I also felt more genuinely fearful. I actually regressed to a more childlike state of mind. That might have contributed to my willingness to stay with the discussion. It ended up being pretty interesting, although I couldn't put any of it down in here in coherent form for the life of me. Suffice it to say, when I finally pulled myself away three hours later, I returned ever so briefly before going to bed so that I could have the last word.
That word? "Boobies."
Friday, September 2
Missing the Mark
I went back to my house to wash laundry and do family-related activities last night. My mission, complete, I grabbed my clothes, walked towards the door, and told my mother, "I guess I'd better head home."
She noticed it too.
I've commented on loss before, but I thought I'd go ahead and do it again. It's odd, for me at least. The actual act of losing, of changing, of taking one more step on my hike to hell is treated almost scientifically. It just "happens." It's not until a bit after the event that you realize how accustomed you'd become to "the way things were." How everything fit so well. How, now that it's gone, your sense of safety and security is merely conceptual.
The actual word itself isn't such an indication. To me, "home" is where I "should be." It's where I return and am "normalized." It's not a word of great significance to me. It was just the moment where it really hit me that I'll never go back to home again. Because it's not home anymore. I'll stay there, of course, but it's no longer my permanent residence.
It will be years until I have a "home" in the real sense of the word. If then.
---
I had a dream a few nights ago, where I tossed and turned, obsessed about people that didn't exist. It's happened with math problems too, a sort of half waking/half sleeping state where I repeat the same process over and over, always incomplete. It's like turning the key in the engine of your car, the engine revs, but it doesn't start. I just keep turning, but the car never starts. The problem, of course, is that I'm half asleep so I don't realize the car isn't starting. I just keep turning the key. It generally takes me 15 minutes to snap out of my stupor. It's almost painful, to keep trying to figure out something in your head that is literally impossible because it's an incomplete nothing.
I'm going crazy and I'm not even drinking. Go figure.
She noticed it too.
I've commented on loss before, but I thought I'd go ahead and do it again. It's odd, for me at least. The actual act of losing, of changing, of taking one more step on my hike to hell is treated almost scientifically. It just "happens." It's not until a bit after the event that you realize how accustomed you'd become to "the way things were." How everything fit so well. How, now that it's gone, your sense of safety and security is merely conceptual.
The actual word itself isn't such an indication. To me, "home" is where I "should be." It's where I return and am "normalized." It's not a word of great significance to me. It was just the moment where it really hit me that I'll never go back to home again. Because it's not home anymore. I'll stay there, of course, but it's no longer my permanent residence.
It will be years until I have a "home" in the real sense of the word. If then.
---
I had a dream a few nights ago, where I tossed and turned, obsessed about people that didn't exist. It's happened with math problems too, a sort of half waking/half sleeping state where I repeat the same process over and over, always incomplete. It's like turning the key in the engine of your car, the engine revs, but it doesn't start. I just keep turning, but the car never starts. The problem, of course, is that I'm half asleep so I don't realize the car isn't starting. I just keep turning the key. It generally takes me 15 minutes to snap out of my stupor. It's almost painful, to keep trying to figure out something in your head that is literally impossible because it's an incomplete nothing.
I'm going crazy and I'm not even drinking. Go figure.
Monday, August 29
Uninomercity
College is an interesting animal. I've had homework/studying everynight, more than I've had since Junior year. Strangely enough, I'm not even graded on the work I do. It's merely "preparation" for my actual classes. For those who don't know, and I don't know who you'd be, in college you generally don't get graded on homework. You take three or four tests in class, do a paper or two outside of class, and that's it. Seriously, my Philosophy, English, and Sociology classes only have 5-6 grades. That makes them all the more frightening.
One of the, dare I say, "positive" aspects of this is that the homework I do receive is rather interesting. I actually enjoyed reading my Physics textbook. The philosophy and english works aren't bad either. The work is no longer "busy"; it's what education should be. It just cements my idea of making homework optional for Math in highschool.
However, that still leaves Spanish. Spanish is a really scary class. There's just so much to memorize. And even when you memorize it, you're not completely sure of how to use it. Fortunately the more you learn, the more tools you have for communication, but it's still a very painful process. All the worse, I have to take it for two semesters. Como se dice "DDDOOOOOMMMEEEDDD?"
I had a guilt/stress nightmare last night. These usually equate themselves with me wrecking a car. I've been on rampages through campuses, over steep cliffs, lacerated by metal siding, all to escape unscathed with the car being in tatters. It's really stressful, because I feel incredibly guilty about the complications/monetary damage done by and to said vehicle. Notice my own personal welfare is never harmed. Just the car. Says something, eh?
I'll probably have quite a few of these dreams, because of that blasted 3.5. Of course, I don't have to keep a 3.85 like Ellen (Thank...existence?), but it's still rather steep. That means 2 A's, 1 B+, 2 B's. Or 3A's, 1 B+, 1 C+. Or 4 A's, 1 C. Which, compared to high school, it doesn't seem too bad. It just doesn't leave all that much room for error. And, in Spanish, I'll need a lot of room for error. That makes all my other classes all the worse.
Ah well. I guess I'll just have to study. A lot. Which I've been doing. I just hope I'm doing it right.
One of the, dare I say, "positive" aspects of this is that the homework I do receive is rather interesting. I actually enjoyed reading my Physics textbook. The philosophy and english works aren't bad either. The work is no longer "busy"; it's what education should be. It just cements my idea of making homework optional for Math in highschool.
However, that still leaves Spanish. Spanish is a really scary class. There's just so much to memorize. And even when you memorize it, you're not completely sure of how to use it. Fortunately the more you learn, the more tools you have for communication, but it's still a very painful process. All the worse, I have to take it for two semesters. Como se dice "DDDOOOOOMMMEEEDDD?"
I had a guilt/stress nightmare last night. These usually equate themselves with me wrecking a car. I've been on rampages through campuses, over steep cliffs, lacerated by metal siding, all to escape unscathed with the car being in tatters. It's really stressful, because I feel incredibly guilty about the complications/monetary damage done by and to said vehicle. Notice my own personal welfare is never harmed. Just the car. Says something, eh?
I'll probably have quite a few of these dreams, because of that blasted 3.5. Of course, I don't have to keep a 3.85 like Ellen (Thank...existence?), but it's still rather steep. That means 2 A's, 1 B+, 2 B's. Or 3A's, 1 B+, 1 C+. Or 4 A's, 1 C. Which, compared to high school, it doesn't seem too bad. It just doesn't leave all that much room for error. And, in Spanish, I'll need a lot of room for error. That makes all my other classes all the worse.
Ah well. I guess I'll just have to study. A lot. Which I've been doing. I just hope I'm doing it right.
Politicians
Today, just because I wanted to do some interesting things, I went to go see Congressman Harold Ford, Jr. (Democratic Congressman from Memphis who's running for Senate) and, later on, Republican Congressman Zach Wamp speak. It was interesting in some ways, but annoying in others. For instance, the subject matter of Wamp's speech was Energy Policy. He basically said that energy is very important and that we need to be more efficient/think towards nuclear power and renewable sources. Well Duh. I mean, that's just plain common sense. Why don't you lay out the changes you want to make and how you're going to go about implementing them? Because that's what politicians do.
Congressman Ford wasn't much better. I thought he was pretty moderate and seemed like the type of guy who didn't get caught up in partisan rancor, but he didn't say much of anything either. He completely dodged a question about clearcutting mountains to mine coal, to a really blatant extent. But at least he took questions.
Ford also had a habit of saying a lot that didn't need to be said. It's a politician thing, I know, but it makes listening to him like listening to a foreign language, you have to pay close attention to everything he says to figure out where he stands. He would rarely just come out and give a short, succint answer. I'll probably still vote for him, but it's just something I noticed.
I also got tickets to see Maya Angelou. That'll be... something. So much to do, so many things to worry about... I can't wait to leave college already.
Congressman Ford wasn't much better. I thought he was pretty moderate and seemed like the type of guy who didn't get caught up in partisan rancor, but he didn't say much of anything either. He completely dodged a question about clearcutting mountains to mine coal, to a really blatant extent. But at least he took questions.
Ford also had a habit of saying a lot that didn't need to be said. It's a politician thing, I know, but it makes listening to him like listening to a foreign language, you have to pay close attention to everything he says to figure out where he stands. He would rarely just come out and give a short, succint answer. I'll probably still vote for him, but it's just something I noticed.
I also got tickets to see Maya Angelou. That'll be... something. So much to do, so many things to worry about... I can't wait to leave college already.
Sunday, August 28
Well.
It's odd, how one night can be incredibly active and the next can be completely dull. I mean, I could certainly make my own excitement if I so desired, but the distinctions between yesterday (meaning Friday) and today (meaning Saturday) are quite marked. Yesterday, I did more in one night than I was used to doing in one week. Including, but not limited to, going bowling, seeing a movie, yelling at moving vehicles for no particular reason, starting a board game at midnight, and not killing a hooker. I know, I know, but I can only do so much in one night!
However, today, I've barely left my dorm room. I've been at my computer 12 hours, almost, doing nothing. I mean, even my game hasn't been that interesting. I kind of wonder what everyone else is doing. Not because I feel slighted, but because I'm wondering if this is disproportionate. You know, because that might...um... inform me. And information is the devil's toothbrush. Or something.
At any rate, I guess I'll try and go to bed. I mean, maybe today will hold something more exciting. At least my cold improved over the course of the day. Or did it?! Find out next time on "I Really Need to Start Drinking Better Alcohol."
And by "Better", I mean "any." Or do I? No, 'fraid not. Bummer, eh?
However, today, I've barely left my dorm room. I've been at my computer 12 hours, almost, doing nothing. I mean, even my game hasn't been that interesting. I kind of wonder what everyone else is doing. Not because I feel slighted, but because I'm wondering if this is disproportionate. You know, because that might...um... inform me. And information is the devil's toothbrush. Or something.
At any rate, I guess I'll try and go to bed. I mean, maybe today will hold something more exciting. At least my cold improved over the course of the day. Or did it?! Find out next time on "I Really Need to Start Drinking Better Alcohol."
And by "Better", I mean "any." Or do I? No, 'fraid not. Bummer, eh?
Thursday, August 25
I didn't remember it was my birthday (yesterday) until 11:30 tuesday night. After 18, it's just not exciting anymore.
I remembered why I don't like philosophy today. It's because it makes me remember all the horrible, logical things I've struggled so hard to repress and escape from. Couple that with intense stress about having to do Spanish, and you've got nightmares until winter break. Oh well. Bummer, eh?
On a side note, have you ever had a dream where you knew a person was someone, but it looked nothing like them? For instance, I could be in a dream and I see Catherine, but she's a mime. Or I can be in a dream and I can see Sugue, and I know it's Sugue, as in, it has his identity, but it looks like a nun. Or I could see Lauren, but she looks like a can opener. Blows my mind.
I remembered why I don't like philosophy today. It's because it makes me remember all the horrible, logical things I've struggled so hard to repress and escape from. Couple that with intense stress about having to do Spanish, and you've got nightmares until winter break. Oh well. Bummer, eh?
On a side note, have you ever had a dream where you knew a person was someone, but it looked nothing like them? For instance, I could be in a dream and I see Catherine, but she's a mime. Or I can be in a dream and I can see Sugue, and I know it's Sugue, as in, it has his identity, but it looks like a nun. Or I could see Lauren, but she looks like a can opener. Blows my mind.