fresh air does wonderful things
2002-01-30 - 1:07 a.m.
�Alright, who didn�t think...?� �Creative Writing teacher (mayhaps she meant to say more, but I liked this by itself)
Sunday was beautiful. Unfortunately, she had a boyfriend. So beautiful, I decided to walk to Boston as I wanted to before. Sunday didn�t want to come, so I left her behind, and the day was downhill from there. With directions gotten along the way, Jessica and I must have been headed right for the first couple hours...and then we ended up in Roxbury. For those that don�t live in the Boston area, I�ll iterate that this is not the type of neighborhood that �one would want to be in at night�, whatever that means. I was slightly more concerned that I was walking around in a predominately black community at dusk, wearing a black trench coat. But when I got back to Sunday, she was pretty much the same, smelling like the first day of spring in the middle of winter, and winking like a leaf in the breeze. Ten smiling red blistered toes, and the two little-ist piggies went to market together.
I�ve lost my drive. My 20GB hard drive with all my work and programes...I�ve lost my digital life. And really, there�s nothing to do but start over anew. I gave �KODEC� a decent burial, taped it up in a box of static-proof foam in the hopes that the data will stay locked in until I can runn a few more tests. And even in the face of static, life goes on.
Developed a new rating system for porn, even though I find very little intrest in watching the stuff. It�s a five-star system, �cept the points are �wacks� instead of stars. Thus, if a movie is good, it is called �wacky�, qualifying it as something one can wack to. In the event that a movie is decidedly between two distinct wacks, it gains a half-wack, also known as a �slap on the ass�. Thus, one would say in the confessional, �father, I have sinned. I watched a porn.� �Tsktsk...think long and hard about this sin, my boy...long and hard. By the by, how good was it?� �Oh, it was pretty...uplifting. I gave it three wacks and a slap on the ass.�
I figured out Thursday night why soccer balls aren�t manufactured in a shape that more resembles paper cups. For whatever reason, I went through the effort to kick a cup halfway across campus and then through my dorm. When I�d kick it, it would roll in a nearly randum direction, doing circles around me if I wasn�t quick enough. So, not only would I have to content with several dozen opponents (of which I had none) but with the cup...had I been playing a full-blown game of cupball, playing for the gold cup. It was about the same time that I figured out why there aren�t up-going stairs on soccer fields.
At some point last weekend, I laughed. I laughed until I thought I was gonna explode if I didn�t puke first. I had gone over to a colleague�s house for a good old-fashioned game of AD+Ding...roleplaying...which I haven�t done in years. My character was an absent-minded half-spirit aquatic sorcerer with a pet frog and several Grease spells too many. I had the opportunity to meet a bunch of nerds, and will most likely make it a habit on Fridays, to play dumb games until late Saturday morning. One of the guys' [not really sure if that apostrophe is in the wrong place] girlfriends had told him that nerds were the best type of guy. Loyal, intelligent, and usually hilarious for one reason or the other...but mostly because they do stuff. Only a nerd would sit around and play a game based on reading and adding numbers. Only a nerd would argue the physics of how hard a spear needs to hit a brick wall to stick in. Only a nerd would spend the weekend talking about goblin anatomy and the chemical explanation of fireball spells, instead of getting trashed while watching football.
Related Revelation: Nerds don�t really even play Dungeons and Dragons for the game. They go for the conversation, the extra-game puns along the way. One can really get the same sort of thing by hanging around chatting about philosophy, but personally I like the addition of dice.
Another thing that defines my generation. I�ve noted that it has become several people�s personal tradition to collect ticket stubs from movie theatres, writing the names of the people that they had attended the with. Every once in a while, on rainy days after jumping in the mudd, one such collector will pull out a stubb and hold it close, remembering old times that really weren�t that long ago. Better than pictures. The downside of this, of course, is getting the old couple in the front row to give you their stubbs (for the sake of your memories) at the end of the production, after sneaking your way into the movies.
Monday was spent fixing computers. Later in the day, with not much else todo, I attempted to teach my bottlecap a trick. Namely, to jump back onto the neck of the bottle after it had slipped out of my hand and landed on the floor. I figured that such a stunt wouldn�t make me look so foolish in the long runn, and might even impress some passers-by, who would have otherwise thought that I was just clumsy. So there I was, in the middle of the hall in another dorm, trying to coax a cap to jump four feet in the air and accurately land on the target. Begging might be a better word. At any rate, the problem with training a bottlecap to jump (as should be inherently obvious) is that once one thinks that the cap finally figures out what it�s expected to do, the trainer has already downed the coke from the bottle whence the cap came, and there�s really no point in getting the cap back on.
