Wednesday, September 24, 2003


University "Education"

So I learned a very important lesson Wednesday night around midnight--don't lock yourself out of your apartment, because it's an expensive endeavor getting back in.

See, I was walking my friend Beth to her car, and I was also going to move my car to its traditional end spot (which her vehicle was currently occupying). Anyway, she leaves, I move my car, I get back up to the apartment, and I realize I've pulled the door to. What's more, I realize I forgot to grab my apartment keys so I could actually get back into the apartment. So I drive over to the main office, call up the emergency number, and get someone to come let me in. I drive back to the apartment, and I wait for half an hour. The guy shows up, lets me back into the apartment, and charges me $50 to get back in. It's ludicrous, I say! It's freakin' extortion, really. I mean, I could understand a five or even a ten dollar fee. But FIFTY?! It's sad the day you truly realize that the university cares more about your money than about your education. I mean, here I am, a poor graduate student. They already get $450 a month from me, and another about $1000 per semester. How much freakin' money do they think I have?!

On top of that, I lost my parking spot. But I've got it back now, thankfully.

Are You Insured?

So this afternoon I was awakened by a phone call from my mother (yes, I said this afternoon--I only got 2 1/2 hours of sleep Tuesday night, then woke up early and worked for almost 12 hours Wednesday, and was awake for a total of 22 hours that day. I was tired, I slept. End of story). Anyway, turns out my insurance company had dropped me from my plan at the end of August because we hadn't provided them with proof of enrollment. Mind you, they never told us when they needed proof of enrollment, or even that they needed it in the first place. They just dropped me, and let us know almost two weeks after the fact. Stupid insurance company.

Anyway, thank God it's the weekend now. I need some time to sit here and relax...oh, what's that you say? It's game day Saturday? And it's a home game? Well, slap my ass and call me Charlie, I get to deal with rabid football fans all day Saturday? That does it; I'm going to sit outside the apartment with a sign that reads:

For $5, I'll watch your car.
For $10, I'll make sure nothing happens to it.

Turnabout Redux

Dammit Monkey, you did it again! Thankfully, I still had the above rant. Seems like your plans were foiled this time. Take that, Askins!

Tuesday, September 09, 2003

The Heat is On

Hot Hot Hot!

There's just something appealing about setting people on fire. I can't really explain it. Stupid people especially need to be incinerated, preferably with a flamethrower and by me. I think I'd probably laugh gleefully while doing so, too. That being said, does anyone know where I might purchase such a thing?

I really have nothing else to talk about, so I'm going to give you some music choices for the week. Go check out Bob Dylan's album Time Out of Mind. It's a great album full of his trademark wry humor and insights into the inner workings of man's mind. Favorite songs include "Love Sick," "Dirt Road Blues," "Till I Fell in Love with You," and "Cold Irons Bound," though really the whole album is worthwhile. So yeah, go check it out if you can and really like deep, meaningful songs (so completely unlike the rest of contemporary pop-rock). Whether or not you'll be able to understand what the hell Bob's saying is another story entirely, but I never claimed his lyrics were understandable.

We now return you to your regularly-scheduled life, already in progress or something.



I like Hot Pockets. They’re cheap and easy, just like me. And all I have to do is nuke ‘em for two minutes (unlike Adam’s microwave, mine seems to be a functioning piece of machinery that does its job correctly…usually). The only time Hot Pockets aren’t a delectable delicacy is when they don’t get cooked right, which happens occasionally. Y’know, like when they’re kinda still cold and semi-frozen in the middle. Yuck.

Don’t get me wrong, I still eat them.


So yeah, Adam is, as he says, a good portion Hispanic. I guess it does explain all the frozen burritos he has at his house. Seriously, when I stayed over at his place while doing research one Christmas Break, that’s like all he had to eat. Granted, I’m really one to talk—I usually only have Hot Pockets. Perhaps the necessary ingredients for quesadillas. But I digress.

I probably have the most boring ethnic background you could ask for. I think I have a bit of Native American in me and I think some Dutch, but I’m mostly just English (explains why I’m an Anglophile, at any rate). That’s right—I’m your typical white Anglo-Saxon Protestant. Middle class white boy who grew up in the Midwest United States. I am the American Everyman. If I were any more basic or plain, I’d probably be in some sort of advertisement for American tourism or something.

That didn’t make a damn bit of sense, did it? Anyway…

I guess what I’m saying is that I am The Man. Yet somehow I don’t seem to be benefiting from this fact. How does that work? Isn’t there some vast right wing conspiracy to make sure that all white protestant males are ruling this nation for all perpetuity, ensuring our British-descended hegemony? Where’s my cut of this, hmm?

Please forward all hate mail to the email address below, or sound off in the forum.

On an unrelated note, Van Morrison still rocks my socks, as do Moxy Früvous. If you know not of these amazing musical types, you are leading a sad, sad life, and ought to download some of their music.

Thursday, September 04, 2003

Who'll Stop the Rain?

Down in the Flood

It does not often rain in Oklahoma in August/early September. It's rare. So the fact that it's spent the past two or three days doing virtually nothing but rain is rather amusing and, to an extent, kind of annoying. It makes running difficult, it cranks the humidity way up, and it makes me real disinclined towards leaving the apartment. It also makes running something of a soggy affair. And it also sets you to wondering--what really causes rain? I mean, water's heavier than air, right? So how does it get up in the air in the first place? Are we even really sure it's water and not, as the comic suggests, something else? It makes you wonder...

And as for the comic, I get the feeling it's one of those that people are either going to love, or are going to hate and think I'm some sort of blasphemer. If you fall into the latter category, just remember that God has a sense of humor, too. At least, I hope He does. It's my only chance, really.

Almost Cut My Hair

So I really, really need a haircut. At least, if you listen to my mother, you'd get that impression. I guess I must look different through her eyes than through anyone else's. I think she sees me as some sort of scraggly hippie with unkempt, unwashed hair hanging down to my waist in nasty braids or dredlocks or something, I dunno. Don't even get me started on what she thinks of my facial hair...though admittedly, that does look kinda funny. The goatee thing is starting to come in rather well, though the mustache still looks as though I've just forgotten to shave for a couple of days, or maybe I got some dirt on my upper lip and forgot to wash it off or something. So yeah, I look a little odd, but I kinda like the chin fuzz. It feels neat, and I think the chicks dig it...though they may just be saying that to make me feel better, and are all secretly laughing behind my back. Who knows.

On an unrelated note, I've been listening to a heckuva mess of Van Morrison lately, and I think the chorus to his "Wonderful Remark" is quite possibly one of the greatest choruses I've ever heard. That man is simply a brilliant songwriter, though he sometimes has issues with the chorus. Half the time, he comes up with something brilliant. The rest of the time, he doot-doot-doots it. So yeah, go listen to some of Van the Man's stuff. You'll like it, honest.