Friday, August 29, 2003
You know how at the end of a movie full of colorful characters, the essential plotlines are resolved and each situation gets proper closure? Don't you think the movie that is our college education should function in the same way? Don't you think this year should give a nice ending to the storylines? Resolve problems with exes, patch things up with estranged friends, get the guy/girl/horse?
Maybe I've been brainwashed after years of John Hughes and "Dawson's Creek," but the ring structure of resolution also appears in Shakespeare, Twain and Hurston, and damnit, I think it happens in life, too.
I think every three semesters a certain cycle repeats, slowly getting better until the problems are fixed. First semester was full of nasty breaks from old situations, but also included new situations and characters. Fourth semester captured the same sense of newness and wrapped up some old problems. Here's hoping that the seventh will do the same?
Which leads me to the part where I treat this blog entry like I've treated other entries and like I treated the dorm: like a soap opera.
This past season "Columbia Hills, 65201" ended with a cliffhanger: graduation and its dark implications. We had the summer series with hijinks and capers, including the Wal-Mart endeavors and the roommates, but the questions for the coming semester still loom: What would happen to the gang as we said goodbye to Courtney, Erin, Jackie and Claire? What would become of them? What would become of us? Who would Sonderman hit on the next semester? Which editor's wife would Colleen buddy up with? Would the Missourian ever not suck? And how far will Luke take the Jesus look?
Strap yourself in, and get ready. This is post #100.
Copy copy?
It's late tonight and I just got off the sports copy desk, along with Holly Wray and Tom Wyrwich. It was the first Thursday of the semester, so it was bound to be a late night. Ray wasn't even there, but he was there earlier, and we had some fun e-mail exchanges.
From: Ray
To: Team is an IT Listserv
Subject: 306ers only
Folks: Need a Saturday night GA (yes, THIS Saturday). Try not to bang down my door.
Thanks.
---
From: Pat
To: Ray
Subject: RE: 306ers only
Watch the way you use "bang" in an e-mail, it might get Wyrwich all hot and bothered.
---
From: Ray
To: Pat
Subject: RE: 306ers only
You could say "alphabet" and get the same response.
---
But he had to go home to play husband, and thus we were left alone to type e-mails and talk about strippers. The question we posed:
Is more of a change to go from not stripping to stripping, or is it a bigger deal to go from stripping into porn? Is stripping a gateway to porn?
This came up in conversation because Tom was reading a story about how state legislators are looking to change the legal stripping age from 18 to 19, partially because they want to discourage the transition from stripping to porn. I don't see how that works out, but okay. Holly said that going from stripping into porn is not a deal because "they're already stripping in the first place." I told her that the way I see it, you can strip and not let anyone touch you, but you can't have sex with a stranger and not let he/she/it touch you.
Speaking of copy editing but not about porn...
Those of you on the 310 listserv must have been delighted to get the following e-mail from the fantabulous Erin White:
Good news! I'm employed. Tucson offered me a job, and I took. It was kind of the spur of the moment (I didn't really see it coming), but I took it anyway. I've been working in the features department for the past two weeks, and they want to keep me. I didn't have much time to think about it, so I hope I made the right decision. The pay is alright, but I do like this, and I didn't think (at this point) it would be a good idea to turn down a job from a 90,000+ daily.
Isn't that awesome?
Congratulations and a hearty "You go girl!" You deserve it and will do well out there.
Also getting a job on the copy desk front was Amy F*scus, who recently left for Connecticut. This brings us to this post's first...
Comparison of unlike things!
Oh, how I love thee, F*scus, and how I will miss thee. Good luck.
This just in! BREAKING NEWS!
Christians everywhere are mourning the innocence of University of Missouri-Columbia senior Sarah Protzm*n, recently lost to the evils of marijuana, as this photo shows.
"I can't even say 'lapa' to this," friend Luke D*ugherty said.
Daugherty said he hoped their shared passion for the Beatles didn't inspire this new path toward hemp and all things Mary Jane.
"We talked about John's inspiration, but I would have hoped it wouldn't lead to this," D*ugherty said.
Friend Megan Cr*wley said the marijuana picture will change the way that she and the rest of her friends view Protzm*n, a native of Richardson, Texas.
"We used to call her 'P-rotz,' but now we'll have to call her 'Potzman,'" Crowley said. "Hey, that's a good one. I'll have to use that next time I see her."
Protzm*n said the reaction to the infamous photo is unwarranted. While it does show her gleefully in the presence of pot plants, it does not show her smoking or consuming the marijuana, she says, and that is the distinction she wishes her friends would make.
"No pot for me," Pr*tzman said. "Besides, that stuff would interact with my pain meds! Can't have that!"
Megan R*tka said that she knew that Pr*tzman was never "on the weed."
"Come on, people!" R*tka said. "This is Sarah we're talking about! Quit your jeepin'!"
Friend Ashley Sm*th said she was relieved upon hearing the news that Pr*tzman had said "No" to pot.
"I was really proud of her for her courage," Smith said. "I even told her that it was awesome, but then I stopped myself, because only God is awesome."
"Music can be such a revelation..."
When I first came to college, I connected to people through music -- what we liked, didn't like, bands we'd seen, bands we'd kill to see, and bands we would just kill. It has become one of my most comfortable ways to get to know people and start conversations with strangers.
Thus, coming into a new house with roommates I hadn't previously known, I thought I would use music to form a bond. Turns out we didn't need music, because we could connect through shared histories and insights. Mary and I both spent time in the Ladue school district, Gillian just returned from Ireland, we're all progressive-minded and we all like to let it all hang out. We instantly connected, it seemed. It's been a great situation thus far. So we didn't need to break the ice with music.
"Dancing around you feel the sweet sensation..."
But we've talked about for a while since then, and we all agreed it would be a stellar idea to make a roommie outing to Shattered one Saturday for 80s dance night. They each went to Shattered this past Saturday and ran into each other, but not me. I was at the J-slums. Two out of three isn't bad, right?
Thing is, we've not been able to hang out too long at any one time, because, well, our schedules conflict. Mine is the main conflicting one. I've bogged it down with volunteering hours for the Missourian, TA duties, graphic shifts and work hours, though I will probably be dropping some jobs for the sake of academia. That said, it's been a busy few weeks and we just don't hook up for chilling enough.
"We might be lovers if the rhythm's right..."
I went out with my dear friend Emily C*mpton last night to Lakota, to chat while getting a head start on semester reading. Unbeknownst to either of us, we're in the same Irish history course, along with Quinn, Shawn T. McKay, Kelly Templin and someone else oddly familiar. So we dished and studied, and then I went to check my e-mail and write something for Moen.
I got home at 1:30.
Mary and Gillian soon followed. They'd been at a cocktail party.
Gillian walks in the house and Mary immediately says, "Look, time out. I know you're really tired, but we're going upstairs for a moment. Dance party."
"I hope this feeling never ends tonight..."
"Okay, I can do that," Gillian slurs.
I had set the mood with Michael Jackson's "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'," knowing that it had been played at Shattered when the girls were there this past Saturday. We sang along and got down on my part-red, part-white wood floor in my upstairs oven of a room. (We had the AC and fans on, so it was just a preheating oven, not a full-fledged broiler). We then progressed to the classic "Don't You Want Me?" by the Human League. I was very impressed that Gillian and Mary knew all the words.
It was at this point that they said, "We need some Madonna!" Ladies, I am never one to disappoint in this department. They got their Madonna.
"And you can dance
For inspiration
Come on
I'm waiting..."
We were going to call it a night after that, but then Soft Cell came on my playlist and it was just too irresistable to pass up. We had to turn it off before J. Geils Band, though.
And so we finally had the quintessential Pat-and-roommies bonding experience -- a dance party! And it was wonderful. We ended up not getting to bed until 3 a.m. I could've gone all night. Thanks, girls.
Obligatory cute nephew update
I've made it a staple of this blog to occasionally let you in on what's going on with my family, and hell, why should the 100th post be any different?
So, here is the anecdote(s) from Michael, who will be 5 in September.
....My nephew called me on my birthday to sing "Happy Birthday," but decided to substitute all the words in the last line with "poo."
You can tell he's related to me, eh?
Just a few days before, I had been on the phone with my sister while Lurch and I were moving my bed, and she put Michael on the phone for a second.
Michael: Uncle Patrick, why are you moving?
Me:Because I leave for London in January.
Michael: Ohhh.
Me: Do you know where London is?
Michael: (After thinking about it for a second)England.
You can tell he's related to me, eh?
From: Ray
To: Pat
Subject: numba
Patrick: Please give me your phone numbas so I can let all the hot chickies know.
Thanks.
---
From: Pat
To: Ray
Subject: RE: numba
Raymond --
If the hot chickies ask, here are my digits...
I'd ask for yours, but I know I can just call Tiger Columns and ask for the Gigolo.
Thanks,
Patrick
---
From: Ray
To: Pat
Subject: RE: numba
You're fired.
---
This just in! BREAKING NEWS!
The cast and crew of Bravo's "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" recently finished shooting an episode starring Columbia Missourian editor John Schneller. The show's stars -- five gay men who make over a stylistically challenged straight man -- have said that the hassle of making over Schneller caused them to consider quitting the show.
"He was just too much for this homo to handle," fashion savant Carson Kressley said. "He was thinking too much on Arlo Guthrie, and I was thinking Jean Harlow. We were coming from two totally different places."
The episode features the "Fab 5" making over Schneller the day of his concert with his band, SRE. Interior designer Thom Filicia said that there were problems from the word "go."
"He showed us this Bear's Breath place he wanted to play at and it was one of the most atrocious sites in the western world," Filicia said. "I joked with him that it looked like a place that needed a fog machine and black lights, but he thought I was serious and said he really liked that idea. That's when I just about died."
SRE has played the Bear's Breath Saloon on Business Loop 70 several times before. The band's set usually included Lynyrd Skynyrd or other vintage southern rock, and while that has amused Missourian editors and reporters, culture expert Jai Rodriguez was hoping Schneller would change his tune for this show.
"I tried to work with his whole 60s and 70s motif, but we could never see eye to eye," Rodriguez said. "I found some great Carole King songs that he could sing without coming off as a queer to this redhead named Scott, but he wanted to stick to the Flying Burrito Brothers and all that stuff. It was really disheartening."
Food and wines expert Ted Allen said he couldn't convince Schneller to play at a venue that sold elegant wine.
"He was set on Pabst Blue Ribbon, even though I told him some wine might give it a certain sense of panache," Allen said. "He said he'd compromise and get some wine, but it was Mad Dog 20/20."
Grooming guru Kyan Douglas said he was tempted to shout at Schneller after Schneller insisted on leaving his mustache and hairstyle intact.
"He's been doing a number on his face and scalp for years and it just kills me," Douglas said.
Normally, the members of the "Fab 5" try to work together and encourage each other's work, but this episode was different in that they all had differing ideas as to how to save Schneller's style.
"Most of the times we have the same vision, but this time we didn't know what to work with and I was just wanting to get him made over and then get the hell out of Boone County," Filicia said.
The guys said they will stick it out, but they have a new strategy for the future.
"Hands down, John Schneller should have been on a different show," Douglas said.
"I absolutely agree," Kressley said. "Any guy that says 'uh, uh' and 'you know, you know' like he does should go on 'The O'Reilly Factor' or something, but not our show."
In his own defense, Schneller said he went on the show as a favor to his wife, and not because he had any aspirations of being made over.
"I mean, I, uh, you know, the first time I saw that Carson guy, ya know, I, uh, you know, asked him if I had him for 306, but. uh, then I, uh, you know, looked at him again and, uh, well, I realized I was thinking of that Berman guy," Schneller said.
And there you go...
That was it, folks, post #100! Let me know what you think, eh? And know fo' sho' that this ain't the end of this blog party!!
Maybe I've been brainwashed after years of John Hughes and "Dawson's Creek," but the ring structure of resolution also appears in Shakespeare, Twain and Hurston, and damnit, I think it happens in life, too.
I think every three semesters a certain cycle repeats, slowly getting better until the problems are fixed. First semester was full of nasty breaks from old situations, but also included new situations and characters. Fourth semester captured the same sense of newness and wrapped up some old problems. Here's hoping that the seventh will do the same?
Which leads me to the part where I treat this blog entry like I've treated other entries and like I treated the dorm: like a soap opera.
This past season "Columbia Hills, 65201" ended with a cliffhanger: graduation and its dark implications. We had the summer series with hijinks and capers, including the Wal-Mart endeavors and the roommates, but the questions for the coming semester still loom: What would happen to the gang as we said goodbye to Courtney, Erin, Jackie and Claire? What would become of them? What would become of us? Who would Sonderman hit on the next semester? Which editor's wife would Colleen buddy up with? Would the Missourian ever not suck? And how far will Luke take the Jesus look?
Strap yourself in, and get ready. This is post #100.
It's late tonight and I just got off the sports copy desk, along with Holly Wray and Tom Wyrwich. It was the first Thursday of the semester, so it was bound to be a late night. Ray wasn't even there, but he was there earlier, and we had some fun e-mail exchanges.
From: Ray
To: Team is an IT Listserv
Subject: 306ers only
Folks: Need a Saturday night GA (yes, THIS Saturday). Try not to bang down my door.
Thanks.
---
From: Pat
To: Ray
Subject: RE: 306ers only
Watch the way you use "bang" in an e-mail, it might get Wyrwich all hot and bothered.
---
From: Ray
To: Pat
Subject: RE: 306ers only
You could say "alphabet" and get the same response.
---
But he had to go home to play husband, and thus we were left alone to type e-mails and talk about strippers. The question we posed:
This came up in conversation because Tom was reading a story about how state legislators are looking to change the legal stripping age from 18 to 19, partially because they want to discourage the transition from stripping to porn. I don't see how that works out, but okay. Holly said that going from stripping into porn is not a deal because "they're already stripping in the first place." I told her that the way I see it, you can strip and not let anyone touch you, but you can't have sex with a stranger and not let he/she/it touch you.
Those of you on the 310 listserv must have been delighted to get the following e-mail from the fantabulous Erin White:
Good news! I'm employed. Tucson offered me a job, and I took. It was kind of the spur of the moment (I didn't really see it coming), but I took it anyway. I've been working in the features department for the past two weeks, and they want to keep me. I didn't have much time to think about it, so I hope I made the right decision. The pay is alright, but I do like this, and I didn't think (at this point) it would be a good idea to turn down a job from a 90,000+ daily.
Isn't that awesome?
Congratulations and a hearty "You go girl!" You deserve it and will do well out there.
Also getting a job on the copy desk front was Amy F*scus, who recently left for Connecticut. This brings us to this post's first...
 |  |
Oh, how I love thee, F*scus, and how I will miss thee. Good luck.
Friends upset after Protz goes to pot
Christians everywhere are mourning the innocence of University of Missouri-Columbia senior Sarah Protzm*n, recently lost to the evils of marijuana, as this photo shows.
"I can't even say 'lapa' to this," friend Luke D*ugherty said.
Daugherty said he hoped their shared passion for the Beatles didn't inspire this new path toward hemp and all things Mary Jane.
"We talked about John's inspiration, but I would have hoped it wouldn't lead to this," D*ugherty said.
Friend Megan Cr*wley said the marijuana picture will change the way that she and the rest of her friends view Protzm*n, a native of Richardson, Texas.
"We used to call her 'P-rotz,' but now we'll have to call her 'Potzman,'" Crowley said. "Hey, that's a good one. I'll have to use that next time I see her."
Protzm*n said the reaction to the infamous photo is unwarranted. While it does show her gleefully in the presence of pot plants, it does not show her smoking or consuming the marijuana, she says, and that is the distinction she wishes her friends would make.
"No pot for me," Pr*tzman said. "Besides, that stuff would interact with my pain meds! Can't have that!"
Megan R*tka said that she knew that Pr*tzman was never "on the weed."
"Come on, people!" R*tka said. "This is Sarah we're talking about! Quit your jeepin'!"
Friend Ashley Sm*th said she was relieved upon hearing the news that Pr*tzman had said "No" to pot.
"I was really proud of her for her courage," Smith said. "I even told her that it was awesome, but then I stopped myself, because only God is awesome."
 |  |
When I first came to college, I connected to people through music -- what we liked, didn't like, bands we'd seen, bands we'd kill to see, and bands we would just kill. It has become one of my most comfortable ways to get to know people and start conversations with strangers.
Thus, coming into a new house with roommates I hadn't previously known, I thought I would use music to form a bond. Turns out we didn't need music, because we could connect through shared histories and insights. Mary and I both spent time in the Ladue school district, Gillian just returned from Ireland, we're all progressive-minded and we all like to let it all hang out. We instantly connected, it seemed. It's been a great situation thus far. So we didn't need to break the ice with music.
But we've talked about for a while since then, and we all agreed it would be a stellar idea to make a roommie outing to Shattered one Saturday for 80s dance night. They each went to Shattered this past Saturday and ran into each other, but not me. I was at the J-slums. Two out of three isn't bad, right?
Thing is, we've not been able to hang out too long at any one time, because, well, our schedules conflict. Mine is the main conflicting one. I've bogged it down with volunteering hours for the Missourian, TA duties, graphic shifts and work hours, though I will probably be dropping some jobs for the sake of academia. That said, it's been a busy few weeks and we just don't hook up for chilling enough.
I went out with my dear friend Emily C*mpton last night to Lakota, to chat while getting a head start on semester reading. Unbeknownst to either of us, we're in the same Irish history course, along with Quinn, Shawn T. McKay, Kelly Templin and someone else oddly familiar. So we dished and studied, and then I went to check my e-mail and write something for Moen.
I got home at 1:30.
Mary and Gillian soon followed. They'd been at a cocktail party.
Gillian walks in the house and Mary immediately says, "Look, time out. I know you're really tired, but we're going upstairs for a moment. Dance party."
"Okay, I can do that," Gillian slurs.
I had set the mood with Michael Jackson's "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'," knowing that it had been played at Shattered when the girls were there this past Saturday. We sang along and got down on my part-red, part-white wood floor in my upstairs oven of a room. (We had the AC and fans on, so it was just a preheating oven, not a full-fledged broiler). We then progressed to the classic "Don't You Want Me?" by the Human League. I was very impressed that Gillian and Mary knew all the words.
It was at this point that they said, "We need some Madonna!" Ladies, I am never one to disappoint in this department. They got their Madonna.
For inspiration
Come on
I'm waiting..."
We were going to call it a night after that, but then Soft Cell came on my playlist and it was just too irresistable to pass up. We had to turn it off before J. Geils Band, though.
And so we finally had the quintessential Pat-and-roommies bonding experience -- a dance party! And it was wonderful. We ended up not getting to bed until 3 a.m. I could've gone all night. Thanks, girls.
I've made it a staple of this blog to occasionally let you in on what's going on with my family, and hell, why should the 100th post be any different?
So, here is the anecdote(s) from Michael, who will be 5 in September.
....My nephew called me on my birthday to sing "Happy Birthday," but decided to substitute all the words in the last line with "poo."
You can tell he's related to me, eh?
Just a few days before, I had been on the phone with my sister while Lurch and I were moving my bed, and she put Michael on the phone for a second.
Michael: Uncle Patrick, why are you moving?
Me:Because I leave for London in January.
Michael: Ohhh.
Me: Do you know where London is?
Michael: (After thinking about it for a second)England.
You can tell he's related to me, eh?
 |  |
From: Ray
To: Pat
Subject: numba
Patrick: Please give me your phone numbas so I can let all the hot chickies know.
Thanks.
---
From: Pat
To: Ray
Subject: RE: numba
Raymond --
If the hot chickies ask, here are my digits...
I'd ask for yours, but I know I can just call Tiger Columns and ask for the Gigolo.
Thanks,
Patrick
---
From: Ray
To: Pat
Subject: RE: numba
You're fired.
---
Schneller to appear on "Queer Eye"
The cast and crew of Bravo's "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" recently finished shooting an episode starring Columbia Missourian editor John Schneller. The show's stars -- five gay men who make over a stylistically challenged straight man -- have said that the hassle of making over Schneller caused them to consider quitting the show.
"He was just too much for this homo to handle," fashion savant Carson Kressley said. "He was thinking too much on Arlo Guthrie, and I was thinking Jean Harlow. We were coming from two totally different places."
The episode features the "Fab 5" making over Schneller the day of his concert with his band, SRE. Interior designer Thom Filicia said that there were problems from the word "go."
"He showed us this Bear's Breath place he wanted to play at and it was one of the most atrocious sites in the western world," Filicia said. "I joked with him that it looked like a place that needed a fog machine and black lights, but he thought I was serious and said he really liked that idea. That's when I just about died."
SRE has played the Bear's Breath Saloon on Business Loop 70 several times before. The band's set usually included Lynyrd Skynyrd or other vintage southern rock, and while that has amused Missourian editors and reporters, culture expert Jai Rodriguez was hoping Schneller would change his tune for this show.
"I tried to work with his whole 60s and 70s motif, but we could never see eye to eye," Rodriguez said. "I found some great Carole King songs that he could sing without coming off as a queer to this redhead named Scott, but he wanted to stick to the Flying Burrito Brothers and all that stuff. It was really disheartening."
Food and wines expert Ted Allen said he couldn't convince Schneller to play at a venue that sold elegant wine.
"He was set on Pabst Blue Ribbon, even though I told him some wine might give it a certain sense of panache," Allen said. "He said he'd compromise and get some wine, but it was Mad Dog 20/20."
Grooming guru Kyan Douglas said he was tempted to shout at Schneller after Schneller insisted on leaving his mustache and hairstyle intact.
"He's been doing a number on his face and scalp for years and it just kills me," Douglas said.
Normally, the members of the "Fab 5" try to work together and encourage each other's work, but this episode was different in that they all had differing ideas as to how to save Schneller's style.
"Most of the times we have the same vision, but this time we didn't know what to work with and I was just wanting to get him made over and then get the hell out of Boone County," Filicia said.
The guys said they will stick it out, but they have a new strategy for the future.
"Hands down, John Schneller should have been on a different show," Douglas said.
"I absolutely agree," Kressley said. "Any guy that says 'uh, uh' and 'you know, you know' like he does should go on 'The O'Reilly Factor' or something, but not our show."
In his own defense, Schneller said he went on the show as a favor to his wife, and not because he had any aspirations of being made over.
"I mean, I, uh, you know, the first time I saw that Carson guy, ya know, I, uh, you know, asked him if I had him for 306, but. uh, then I, uh, you know, looked at him again and, uh, well, I realized I was thinking of that Berman guy," Schneller said.
 |  |
That was it, folks, post #100! Let me know what you think, eh? And know fo' sho' that this ain't the end of this blog party!!
Sunday, August 24, 2003
It's the night before school, the end of freedom, and the beginning of, well, for most of us, the end...
But in the meantime, read the blog for good ol' summertimes memories and stuff, eh?
The best three-way I've ever had...
A few weeks ago, Hilary, Goodlovin' and I partook in a three-way chat via AIM. This post right here does not do the entire chat justice, for it was funny enough that we were all grabbing our sides in pain, from laughter. Below is an excerpt well worth the read. It involves Hilary, smart kids, and bowel movements. It's like "American Pie," except pre-pubescent and not involving Jackie's favorite activities (playing the flute, drinking beer, etc.)
Pat: have the smart kids begun to make out together yet?
Hilary: that's adorable
Hilary: no, they are 11
Hilary: they are still working on pooping in proper places
Pat: yeah, but didn't you say it was in your job description?
Hilary: we find SHIT everywhere
Pat: HAAAAAAAAAAAA
Pat: oh man
Pat: that is awesome
Hilary: seriously
Pat: and awful
Hilary: we've had 5 pooping incidents in the last 2 weeks
Pat: maybe it's not really poop
Hilary: Do I have a story for you
Pat: maybe it's Baby Ruth bars, ala Caddyshack
Pat: oh yeah?
Hilary: We have to write these student reports
Hilary: for everything that happens practically
Hilary: and I write mine like articles
Hilary: I'm thinking I'm going to go my bosses office to get this one
Hilary: hold on
Katie: ahahahahahaha
Katie: i've been laughing to loudly to post for two full minutes
Katie: ahahahaha
Katie: smart kids who can't poop
Katie: that's great!
Pat: i know
Pat: it's true though
Pat: that's why the newsroom bathrooms are so shitty, too
Pat: literally
Pat: [Some of the guys there] can't aim for toilets or urinals worth SHIT
Katie: ahahhaha1
Katie: !
Hilary: Back
Pat: When taking a leak next to you, they would lean one hand against the wall --
the other hand holding the equipment, of course -- and then would look over and say, "How
you doin', sport?"
Hilary: it took a minute to grab the right paperwork
Pat: Aha
Katie: ahahah! that's disturbing!
Hilary: I attended the evening study session of Caroline's journalism class on
Tuesday, August 5.
Hilary: During class Caroline notified me that she was feeling nauseous. I check on her
multiple times during the rest of the session. She said she was feeling no better.
Katie: she meant nauseated
Hilary: I found it strange that she was sitting in a locked stall but said nothing to her about
it. As the flass was leaving Tech Auditorium
Hilary: (YES I DID!)
Katie: I take that back. I didn't say that. I am not a dork.
Katie: not a dork
Hilary: Caroline told me that she was feeling worse and went back inside to use the
bathroom. After 15 minutes of waiting, I told her that if she was still feeling sick it would be
easier for the staff to care for her back at the dorms.
Hilary: We left Tech around 7:50 p.m.
Hilary: On the walk back Caroline told me that although she was nauseated the real
reason she was sick was that....
Hilary: since she had gotten to camp two weeks earlier
Hilary: that she had not been able to go to the bathroom.
Hilary: She said this always happens when she is away from home.
Hilary: I offered suggesions like trying to use the bathroom after lights out when she would
not be interrupted by other residents.
Hilary: As we were in front of Annenberg Hall, Caroline looked worse and said she really
needed to use the restroom.
Hilary: We ran to Lunt Hall where we spent 25 minutes.
Hilary: Once we started to walk again, she had to use the bathroom.
Hilary: 15 minutes later we left the next building and returned to the dorm.s
Hilary: I will monitor her situation for the next few days.
Hilary: So, I've got this girl who looks like a caveman
Hilary: unibrow and all
Hilary: running across the northwestern campus
Hilary: grabbing her ass because she has explosive dirrhea
Hilary: it was HORRENDOUS
Hilary: seriously it took us over an hour to walk 2 city blocks
Hilary: she had been constipated for about 14 days
Hilary: then it all had to come out
Hilary: it was easily the worst 1.5 hoursof my life
Katie: HAHAHAHAHAAHA
Katie: HAHAHAHA
Katie: too funny...
Hilary: we have this little neanderthal grabbing her dirty butt
Hilary: the imagery is haunting
Hilary: lol
Katie: lolololol
Pat: HAHAHAHA
Pat: brb
Katie: i fell ove rlaughing
Hilary: ok
Katie: literally
Pat: I have to go use the bathroom after that
Katie: the cops reporter sent me this: http://www.supdogg.com/
Katie: in it, ther'es a reference to projecticle vomiting while using a porta-potty
Katie: but having to open the door to spew the proper distance
Pat: gross
Katie: I'm thinking this would be a good project for your "smart" kids in the last few
weeks of camp, hilary
Pat: reminds me of Alpha Chi hayride last year
I honestly hurt for at least 10 minutes after all this occurred. When Hilary got back to Columbia and came to Wal-Mart with her parents, I had to forcibly compose myself, because all I could think of was "this little neanderthal grabbing her dirty butt..."
"I can see now that I'm doomed to die a long, slow, sufficating death...and I try and figure out why. Of course there's envy: why isn't my life like this? Sure I want their money and clothes and jobs and opinions. And I'd like to have advice on jet lag, but that's not it. I mean they're not bad people and I'm not a class warrior, it's something else."
-Rob Gordon, "High Fidelity"
"Not quite blonde, are we? More of a dirty blonde."
-Patrick Bateman, "American Psycho"
"If you tell me you don't like this dress, I'm sticking my head right in the oven."
-Bobbie Markowe, "The Stepford Wives"
"Oh Joanna! My new dress! How could you do a thing like that? Just when I was going to give you coffee! How could you do a thing like that? I thought we were friends! Just when I was going to... how could you do a thing like that... just when I was going to give you coffee! Oh Joanna... I thought we were friends... I thought we were friends... friends... coffee... how could you do a thing like that? Like that? Like that? Like that? Friends... friends..."
-Bobbie Markowe, "The Stepford Wives"
"Math? How am I supposed to know that? I'm a beautiful popular rich kid with a promising future in a light-weight sorority at a state college. I don't need to know that stuff, I'm gonna get married!"
-"Shriek If You Know What I Did Last Friday the Thirteenth"
"If I didn't join a sorority, I don't know what I would do."
-"Whatever! It's a Wonderful Sorority Life"
"You really think I'm skinny? Wait - anorexic skinny or bulimic skinny?"
-Lara, "The Rules of Attraction"
"It's too bad we had to kill her. I really liked the outfit she had on."
-"Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama"
"You know how every sorority has the one fat chick? They do! It's sad, too, because at 3 a.m., when they're all drunk at Culver's or Taco Bell, she's the one that everyone will remember."
-Variation on a quote from my friend Madeline, on Northwestern's sorority girls
If you're cool and I have told you this at least once, then this post does not apply to you. In other words, this is not meant to offend my Greek friends, and by Greek friends, I mean kegger types, not the baklava fiends. This is directed not at my friends, but douche bags and cottonheads. Enjoy.
To show that I am not anti-Greek, but to also show that Goodlovin' is, below is a section of an IM chat with the lovely cops and courts TA.
Pat: Erica's in the midst of Rush shit and I feel for her
Katie: oh, yuck!
Katie: all those screaming sorority sluts!
Katie: how's she taking it?
Pat: well, i think
Pat: she said some of the stuff has been fun
Pat: but she takes it better than the other girls
Katie: she have stories similar to hilary's?
Pat: oh i wish
Katie: they seem like similar situations to me?
Pat: they haven't had the newbies just yet
Katie: tell erica she should abandon them if they begin shitting themselves!
Katie: run!
Pat: hahahahahaaaaaa
Pat: I hope that girls at the age of 18 or 19 know to use the toilet
Katie: you kidding me??
Katie: with the exception of erica and a few other alpha chis, I question wheher
most sorority girls are able to put that shit (literally) together
Pat: Becca keeps a clean bathroom
Pat: and Erica's was immaculate, too
Pat: My Pi Phi friends were OCD, too
Pat: but some may still need the potty training
Pat: little shits
Katie: ahhahahahahahaha
The douche bags and cottonheads are back, though, complete with scrunchies, workout pants, white caps, North Face, lip gloss, cell-phone-in-hand and the Farmhouse/Delta Tau Date Rape/Sigma Tau Delta/Kappa Kappa Spank-Me T-shirts. Yes, my friends, our beloved Greek community is back. Sit back with your best view of Field House and grab a beer, scorecard and pair of brass knuckles. Frat fighting season is beginning again.
I've gotten to see many sorority girls in my lines at Wal-Mart and my rows at the bookstore. I've honed my skills at figuring out who's in what house and what-have-you. After talking with many of them, I have said that I could be in sororities with these girls, but I would make a lousy frat boy. Frat boys won't gather 'round the TV with you to watch "Will & Grace" with you. Sorority girls, though, are a different story.
"Oh, we will make an event of it!" one Alpha Phi said.
"I know, you guys make the best hags," I told them proudly.
They really do -- they love fashion, music, TV, hair and boys. They are great at letting people offer counsel and opinions on life, love and who should have that last piece of cheese pizza. Frat boys, though, have a different set of priorities, and while there is still that last piece of pizza, they arm-wrestle over it and whoever doesn't get it has to stick his thumb in his mouth and his other in his butt. I couldn't enjoyably do that. At least not in front of a crowd, anyway.
Boys don't cry... Trying to start a conversation with your alpha male -- Greek or not -- is a task. You'll ask how his day is going, and he'll look around while getting out his checkbook and say, "Oh yeah, great, fine. Good. Uh uh." If this is how he fakes politeness, let's hope he's never put in the situation to have to fake anything else. You can't talk to them about what's in their cart, because, well, that's just kind of weird.
On one recent night at Wal-Mart, three blonde girls with tight black T-shirts and short shorts were in buying shelves and puff paint. They were definitely dormies, but potential Greeks, so I asked. They were freshman going through recruitment, looking at Tri-Delt, ADPi, and Chi Omega as their favorite options. Dear God, please protect these girls, and I'm not talking the kind of protection you can buy at Wal-Mart in the side aisles. I told them I had friends in the Greek community, and they seemed to be comforted by that. We got to chatting, and it turns out one of them was buying Pat Benatar's Greatest Hits. (For the record, Becca owned this before the sorority.) I told them about 104.1 the Mall and my music tastes, and they asked if I liked country. When I said, "no," this guy behind the three sorority-chicks-to-be tried to suavely insert himself into the discussion. "What's wrong with country?" After a good laugh, the girls were off, and the guy was staring at their asses.
"Man, you let them go without getting their numbers!" he said.
Uh, was I supposed to get their numbers?
"Yeah, dude!" he said. "If I still worked at Wal-Mart, I would so have gotten their numbers. All three of them."
You picked up chicks at Wal-Mart?
"Absolutely," he said. "Best way to meet them."
I couldn't believe I was having this conversation. Worse, I couldn't believe I was asking him for tips. None of them were good tips, and this situation showed, if nothing else, that he was a grade-A walking hormonal douche. I had no idea if this guy passed 10th grade, but he probably did, and whether he is in Kappa Alpha Confederacy or not, I can't help but think of this guy when I see half of the "Go Greek" shirts. I keep hope, though, that these guys will be fraternity brothers like my dad (Alpha Delta Gamma) or my brother-in-law (Sigma Epsilon).
The boy who works all day and then wants to play has a price to pay...
Someone once said your body is a temple. After a week of neglecting the temple, the temple cleaned itself out and sent out floods. I just wish the temple notified the cleric so that the cleric wouldn't have been busy, like say, driving, at Mass, or about to go to work.
Since early July, I've been working just about every day at least one job, whether it be Wal-Mart or the bookstore. For my birthday last week (the 17th), I requested off so that I could go home. My wish was granted, but then in turn I was scheduled every day this past week. I worked the bookstore 9 to 2 and then the Walton establishment 6 to 11. Gotta think of it as "London Calling" and not "Hoosiers Squawking." Friday I worked till midnight, and then Saturday worked 11 to 8. Sunday, I was supposed to work noon to 9. Didn't work out that way.
Each day this past week, as I would be working wearing one vest of some sort, I would see my friends trickling back into town, as they picked up textbooks or shelfs (depending on where I saw them). I don't mind the working, but a boy wants to see his friends, too. Thus, after work some nights and on the weekend, I went out with friends: Derek, Hilary, Keith, Goodloe, Jeff, Colleen, etc. We went to Boone Taverne, the J-slums and Darlene's. And I drank some ghetto beer, after days of eating only fast food and yogurt. Ah, the yogurt... I have fallen in love with Wal-Mart's generic brand yogurt- it's cheap and it tastes good. Should have remembered the cheap part.
I woke up Sunday morning (the day I write this, for I no longer have steady internet access), took a shower, took my pill and left for Mass. This was the day after the Darlene's/J-slums mixing, but I felt fine. Then in the car, I felt a lump in my chest and got the dry heaves. At Mass, it continued all over the temple. I called into work, and they thought it could be a flu, which is what I thought, because I hadn't had much beer. The manager at work let me stay home -- God bless him, and my body blesses him. On the phone w/ Dad, he says it could be that I have been busy. My sister, though, says something else:
"Sounds like you got food poisoning."
The beer I got from Doug Gillon did taste funky, but my sister thought it was the yogurt, a product that is made by increasing the aging process on milk.
The temple is feeling better, but the cleric is thinking that maybe the Sisters of Yogurt and Spoiled Dairy Mercy will not be allowed to pray at this temple for a little while. Today, it might be Brothers of the Tex-Mex Order or Monseignor Sub Shop. Hey, this is a fun game -- using religious terms to discuss food, dry heaves and intestinal heresy. Yay.
"My mother smokes crack rocks"
We lost a hero last week. Wesley Willis, the fat, black, schizophrenic street-sing from Chicago (who was also homeless for a bit), died from leukemia.
Willis wrote such tunes as "Cut the Mullet," "I Whupped Batman's Ass," "They Threw Me Out of Church," "Casper, the Friendly Homosexual Ghost," and "Suck My Dog's Dick." They were all to the same tune and beat, recorded on a cheap Casio keyboard.
Willis was not smart, talented, or even wise. And he made shitty music. But he made our shitty music, and now he's dead.
Rock over London. Rock on Chicago. Timex-- takes a licking and keeps on ticking.
99 bottles of blog on the web...?
This was it, folks -- post #99. Get ready for the big guns.....
But in the meantime, read the blog for good ol' summertimes memories and stuff, eh?
A few weeks ago, Hilary, Goodlovin' and I partook in a three-way chat via AIM. This post right here does not do the entire chat justice, for it was funny enough that we were all grabbing our sides in pain, from laughter. Below is an excerpt well worth the read. It involves Hilary, smart kids, and bowel movements. It's like "American Pie," except pre-pubescent and not involving Jackie's favorite activities (playing the flute, drinking beer, etc.)
Pat: have the smart kids begun to make out together yet?
Hilary: that's adorable
Hilary: no, they are 11
Hilary: they are still working on pooping in proper places
Pat: yeah, but didn't you say it was in your job description?
Hilary: we find SHIT everywhere
Pat: HAAAAAAAAAAAA
Pat: oh man
Pat: that is awesome
Hilary: seriously
Pat: and awful
Hilary: we've had 5 pooping incidents in the last 2 weeks
Pat: maybe it's not really poop
Hilary: Do I have a story for you
Pat: maybe it's Baby Ruth bars, ala Caddyshack
Pat: oh yeah?
Hilary: We have to write these student reports
Hilary: for everything that happens practically
Hilary: and I write mine like articles
Hilary: I'm thinking I'm going to go my bosses office to get this one
Hilary: hold on
Katie: ahahahahahaha
Katie: i've been laughing to loudly to post for two full minutes
Katie: ahahahaha
Katie: smart kids who can't poop
Katie: that's great!
Pat: i know
Pat: it's true though
Pat: that's why the newsroom bathrooms are so shitty, too
Pat: literally
Pat: [Some of the guys there] can't aim for toilets or urinals worth SHIT
Katie: ahahhaha1
Katie: !
Hilary: Back
Pat: When taking a leak next to you, they would lean one hand against the wall --
the other hand holding the equipment, of course -- and then would look over and say, "How
you doin', sport?"
Hilary: it took a minute to grab the right paperwork
Pat: Aha
Katie: ahahah! that's disturbing!
Hilary: I attended the evening study session of Caroline's journalism class on
Tuesday, August 5.
Hilary: During class Caroline notified me that she was feeling nauseous. I check on her
multiple times during the rest of the session. She said she was feeling no better.
Katie: she meant nauseated
Hilary: I found it strange that she was sitting in a locked stall but said nothing to her about
it. As the flass was leaving Tech Auditorium
Hilary: (YES I DID!)
Katie: I take that back. I didn't say that. I am not a dork.
Katie: not a dork
Hilary: Caroline told me that she was feeling worse and went back inside to use the
bathroom. After 15 minutes of waiting, I told her that if she was still feeling sick it would be
easier for the staff to care for her back at the dorms.
Hilary: We left Tech around 7:50 p.m.
Hilary: On the walk back Caroline told me that although she was nauseated the real
reason she was sick was that....
Hilary: since she had gotten to camp two weeks earlier
Hilary: that she had not been able to go to the bathroom.
Hilary: She said this always happens when she is away from home.
Hilary: I offered suggesions like trying to use the bathroom after lights out when she would
not be interrupted by other residents.
Hilary: As we were in front of Annenberg Hall, Caroline looked worse and said she really
needed to use the restroom.
Hilary: We ran to Lunt Hall where we spent 25 minutes.
Hilary: Once we started to walk again, she had to use the bathroom.
Hilary: 15 minutes later we left the next building and returned to the dorm.s
Hilary: I will monitor her situation for the next few days.
Hilary: So, I've got this girl who looks like a caveman
Hilary: unibrow and all
Hilary: running across the northwestern campus
Hilary: grabbing her ass because she has explosive dirrhea
Hilary: it was HORRENDOUS
Hilary: seriously it took us over an hour to walk 2 city blocks
Hilary: she had been constipated for about 14 days
Hilary: then it all had to come out
Hilary: it was easily the worst 1.5 hoursof my life
Katie: HAHAHAHAHAAHA
Katie: HAHAHAHA
Katie: too funny...
Hilary: we have this little neanderthal grabbing her dirty butt
Hilary: the imagery is haunting
Hilary: lol
Katie: lolololol
Pat: HAHAHAHA
Pat: brb
Katie: i fell ove rlaughing
Hilary: ok
Katie: literally
Pat: I have to go use the bathroom after that
Katie: the cops reporter sent me this: http://www.supdogg.com/
Katie: in it, ther'es a reference to projecticle vomiting while using a porta-potty
Katie: but having to open the door to spew the proper distance
Pat: gross
Katie: I'm thinking this would be a good project for your "smart" kids in the last few
weeks of camp, hilary
Pat: reminds me of Alpha Chi hayride last year
I honestly hurt for at least 10 minutes after all this occurred. When Hilary got back to Columbia and came to Wal-Mart with her parents, I had to forcibly compose myself, because all I could think of was "this little neanderthal grabbing her dirty butt..."
-Rob Gordon, "High Fidelity"
"Not quite blonde, are we? More of a dirty blonde."
-Patrick Bateman, "American Psycho"
"If you tell me you don't like this dress, I'm sticking my head right in the oven."
-Bobbie Markowe, "The Stepford Wives"
"Oh Joanna! My new dress! How could you do a thing like that? Just when I was going to give you coffee! How could you do a thing like that? I thought we were friends! Just when I was going to... how could you do a thing like that... just when I was going to give you coffee! Oh Joanna... I thought we were friends... I thought we were friends... friends... coffee... how could you do a thing like that? Like that? Like that? Like that? Friends... friends..."
-Bobbie Markowe, "The Stepford Wives"
"Math? How am I supposed to know that? I'm a beautiful popular rich kid with a promising future in a light-weight sorority at a state college. I don't need to know that stuff, I'm gonna get married!"
-"Shriek If You Know What I Did Last Friday the Thirteenth"
"If I didn't join a sorority, I don't know what I would do."
-"Whatever! It's a Wonderful Sorority Life"
"You really think I'm skinny? Wait - anorexic skinny or bulimic skinny?"
-Lara, "The Rules of Attraction"
"It's too bad we had to kill her. I really liked the outfit she had on."
-"Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama"
"You know how every sorority has the one fat chick? They do! It's sad, too, because at 3 a.m., when they're all drunk at Culver's or Taco Bell, she's the one that everyone will remember."
-Variation on a quote from my friend Madeline, on Northwestern's sorority girls
If you're cool and I have told you this at least once, then this post does not apply to you. In other words, this is not meant to offend my Greek friends, and by Greek friends, I mean kegger types, not the baklava fiends. This is directed not at my friends, but douche bags and cottonheads. Enjoy.
To show that I am not anti-Greek, but to also show that Goodlovin' is, below is a section of an IM chat with the lovely cops and courts TA.
Pat: Erica's in the midst of Rush shit and I feel for her
Katie: oh, yuck!
Katie: all those screaming sorority sluts!
Katie: how's she taking it?
Pat: well, i think
Pat: she said some of the stuff has been fun
Pat: but she takes it better than the other girls
Katie: she have stories similar to hilary's?
Pat: oh i wish
Katie: they seem like similar situations to me?
Pat: they haven't had the newbies just yet
Katie: tell erica she should abandon them if they begin shitting themselves!
Katie: run!
Pat: hahahahahaaaaaa
Pat: I hope that girls at the age of 18 or 19 know to use the toilet
Katie: you kidding me??
Katie: with the exception of erica and a few other alpha chis, I question wheher
most sorority girls are able to put that shit (literally) together
Pat: Becca keeps a clean bathroom
Pat: and Erica's was immaculate, too
Pat: My Pi Phi friends were OCD, too
Pat: but some may still need the potty training
Pat: little shits
Katie: ahhahahahahahaha
The douche bags and cottonheads are back, though, complete with scrunchies, workout pants, white caps, North Face, lip gloss, cell-phone-in-hand and the Farmhouse/Delta Tau Date Rape/Sigma Tau Delta/Kappa Kappa Spank-Me T-shirts. Yes, my friends, our beloved Greek community is back. Sit back with your best view of Field House and grab a beer, scorecard and pair of brass knuckles. Frat fighting season is beginning again.
I've gotten to see many sorority girls in my lines at Wal-Mart and my rows at the bookstore. I've honed my skills at figuring out who's in what house and what-have-you. After talking with many of them, I have said that I could be in sororities with these girls, but I would make a lousy frat boy. Frat boys won't gather 'round the TV with you to watch "Will & Grace" with you. Sorority girls, though, are a different story.
"Oh, we will make an event of it!" one Alpha Phi said.
"I know, you guys make the best hags," I told them proudly.
They really do -- they love fashion, music, TV, hair and boys. They are great at letting people offer counsel and opinions on life, love and who should have that last piece of cheese pizza. Frat boys, though, have a different set of priorities, and while there is still that last piece of pizza, they arm-wrestle over it and whoever doesn't get it has to stick his thumb in his mouth and his other in his butt. I couldn't enjoyably do that. At least not in front of a crowd, anyway.
Boys don't cry... Trying to start a conversation with your alpha male -- Greek or not -- is a task. You'll ask how his day is going, and he'll look around while getting out his checkbook and say, "Oh yeah, great, fine. Good. Uh uh." If this is how he fakes politeness, let's hope he's never put in the situation to have to fake anything else. You can't talk to them about what's in their cart, because, well, that's just kind of weird.
On one recent night at Wal-Mart, three blonde girls with tight black T-shirts and short shorts were in buying shelves and puff paint. They were definitely dormies, but potential Greeks, so I asked. They were freshman going through recruitment, looking at Tri-Delt, ADPi, and Chi Omega as their favorite options. Dear God, please protect these girls, and I'm not talking the kind of protection you can buy at Wal-Mart in the side aisles. I told them I had friends in the Greek community, and they seemed to be comforted by that. We got to chatting, and it turns out one of them was buying Pat Benatar's Greatest Hits. (For the record, Becca owned this before the sorority.) I told them about 104.1 the Mall and my music tastes, and they asked if I liked country. When I said, "no," this guy behind the three sorority-chicks-to-be tried to suavely insert himself into the discussion. "What's wrong with country?" After a good laugh, the girls were off, and the guy was staring at their asses.
"Man, you let them go without getting their numbers!" he said.
Uh, was I supposed to get their numbers?
"Yeah, dude!" he said. "If I still worked at Wal-Mart, I would so have gotten their numbers. All three of them."
You picked up chicks at Wal-Mart?
"Absolutely," he said. "Best way to meet them."
I couldn't believe I was having this conversation. Worse, I couldn't believe I was asking him for tips. None of them were good tips, and this situation showed, if nothing else, that he was a grade-A walking hormonal douche. I had no idea if this guy passed 10th grade, but he probably did, and whether he is in Kappa Alpha Confederacy or not, I can't help but think of this guy when I see half of the "Go Greek" shirts. I keep hope, though, that these guys will be fraternity brothers like my dad (Alpha Delta Gamma) or my brother-in-law (Sigma Epsilon).
Someone once said your body is a temple. After a week of neglecting the temple, the temple cleaned itself out and sent out floods. I just wish the temple notified the cleric so that the cleric wouldn't have been busy, like say, driving, at Mass, or about to go to work.
Since early July, I've been working just about every day at least one job, whether it be Wal-Mart or the bookstore. For my birthday last week (the 17th), I requested off so that I could go home. My wish was granted, but then in turn I was scheduled every day this past week. I worked the bookstore 9 to 2 and then the Walton establishment 6 to 11. Gotta think of it as "London Calling" and not "Hoosiers Squawking." Friday I worked till midnight, and then Saturday worked 11 to 8. Sunday, I was supposed to work noon to 9. Didn't work out that way.
Each day this past week, as I would be working wearing one vest of some sort, I would see my friends trickling back into town, as they picked up textbooks or shelfs (depending on where I saw them). I don't mind the working, but a boy wants to see his friends, too. Thus, after work some nights and on the weekend, I went out with friends: Derek, Hilary, Keith, Goodloe, Jeff, Colleen, etc. We went to Boone Taverne, the J-slums and Darlene's. And I drank some ghetto beer, after days of eating only fast food and yogurt. Ah, the yogurt... I have fallen in love with Wal-Mart's generic brand yogurt- it's cheap and it tastes good. Should have remembered the cheap part.
I woke up Sunday morning (the day I write this, for I no longer have steady internet access), took a shower, took my pill and left for Mass. This was the day after the Darlene's/J-slums mixing, but I felt fine. Then in the car, I felt a lump in my chest and got the dry heaves. At Mass, it continued all over the temple. I called into work, and they thought it could be a flu, which is what I thought, because I hadn't had much beer. The manager at work let me stay home -- God bless him, and my body blesses him. On the phone w/ Dad, he says it could be that I have been busy. My sister, though, says something else:
"Sounds like you got food poisoning."
The beer I got from Doug Gillon did taste funky, but my sister thought it was the yogurt, a product that is made by increasing the aging process on milk.
The temple is feeling better, but the cleric is thinking that maybe the Sisters of Yogurt and Spoiled Dairy Mercy will not be allowed to pray at this temple for a little while. Today, it might be Brothers of the Tex-Mex Order or Monseignor Sub Shop. Hey, this is a fun game -- using religious terms to discuss food, dry heaves and intestinal heresy. Yay.
We lost a hero last week. Wesley Willis, the fat, black, schizophrenic street-sing from Chicago (who was also homeless for a bit), died from leukemia.
Willis wrote such tunes as "Cut the Mullet," "I Whupped Batman's Ass," "They Threw Me Out of Church," "Casper, the Friendly Homosexual Ghost," and "Suck My Dog's Dick." They were all to the same tune and beat, recorded on a cheap Casio keyboard.
Willis was not smart, talented, or even wise. And he made shitty music. But he made our shitty music, and now he's dead.
Rock over London. Rock on Chicago. Timex-- takes a licking and keeps on ticking.
This was it, folks -- post #99. Get ready for the big guns.....
Tuesday, August 19, 2003
" I left the woods for as good a reason as I went there. Perhaps it seemed to me that I had several more lives to live, and could not spare any more time for that one. It is remarkable how easily and insensibly we fall into a particular route, and make a beaten track for ourselves. I had not lived there a week before my feet wore a path from my door to the pond-side; and though it is five or six years since I trod it, it is still quite distinct. It is true, I fear, that others may have fallen into it, and so helped to keep it open."
-Henry David Thoreau, "Walden"
There's very little I can add to the discussions about the burning of the 'Berg that others have not already said via blog, e-mail, article or voice-mail. It's the most talked about thing in this town since I've been here. No joke.
But there is one thing I can say that no one else has said or will probably be able to say. The 'Berg opened in 1963, the same year my parents met. When my dad was in MU's law school, he wrote love letters to my mom from the 'Berg. That's my two cents, my misty memory.
Of course we all are going to miss it, that was a given. But the memories are still with us, and even if the new building is different from the way we had remembered the 'Berg, the memories will not change. Those won't burn.
It's sad that many of us are going into our senior years without the 'Berg, feeling deprived of the hangout that our elders had as seniors, but we got to have it and that's the positive thing. We used it to the fullest and did about as much as we could there, except for some things. Those things were saved for the J-slums, Goodloe's couch, Jeff's back seat, or places near Reynolds Alumni Center.
We'll hold a ceremony for our version of "Cheers." We'll bring a pitcher and some Boulevard, and hold up a boombox ala "Say Anything" and play Billy Joel's "Piano Man." It would be only right. After that, we'll pack up our shit and go into a different bar.
I'm going to miss that place. I have tons of memories, but you know them because you've heard me tell them, you were there, or you heard the incriminating stories or saw the pictures. Oy vey.
The Missourian web site has a message board for people to vent and mourn the 'Berg, and one anonymous user, under the monniker "Space Mountain," posted this:
"The members of the Duplex would like to wish a fond farewell to the place we nearly drank a entire keg one night. We were one pitcher away when we were kicked out on accout of me throwing up two Burger King Whoppers in the bathroom. Here's to hoping the Berg comes back stronger than ever and with a cleaner bathroom."
That wasn't me or Keith, I'll promise you, but it is fitting nonetheless. I'll leave you with one more quote, because someone else has already said, so why try to say it again?
-Thoreau
Thanks to the 'Berg, the best of dirty institutions, and the people who helped make it a great locale for the J-school, the most desperate of oddfellow societies.
Friday, August 15, 2003
The move has been occurring in small shifts, and I still have shit around the Du. However, I no longer live on Telluride, and the only times I'll sleep there are when I'm over there and passed out or what-have-you. From now, till December, I am a Ripley man, believe it or not. And I don't mean Will Ripley, either.
But all this moving, while working for London and such, has meant, uh, my time has been kinda taken. So, Ms. Thang, your "lazy shit" posts can S-T-O-P.
Below is a Holla written by Ms. Dishdoggy herself during her semester of J390, explaining why she didn't have time to read the fabulous blog or post hollas as much:
"I can barely keep up with my assigned readings ... MY dear Pat, you are a poet ... but I have a capstone project due shortly and something has to give. Unfortunatley, graduating on time wins this one. How 'bout a fun picture of some goob with big ears? That's always fun.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo"
Well apparently the goober on top that I added this morning hasn't quelled your blog love, so here, have a delicious post of the P-A-T.
NOTE: The following post was written in pieces throughout the morning of August 15, 2003. We start at 7:24 a.m.
-Karen, "Will & Grace"
"Come to think of it, why should I give you a vitamin shot? I'm the one with the hangover. B-12, B-Complex, Crude Liver, and a generous jolt of adrenal cortex. Chased by a Bloody Mary. L'chaim! Now Lila, in order to inject this properly I have to expose my gluteus maximus."
-"S.O.B."
Arrrrrrrgh, me head. Jackie wants a post, and I feel like com-post. And as I'm writing this first part, it's just 7:30 a.m. Not even. More like 7:28, or something not too far away from that. Arrrrrrrgh. My head.
Of course, you'll probably be seeing this post around noon, and not 7:31, because I will probably go back to sleep and/or pass out so I can wake up again. I'm on Crank's computer right now at my old place. I know it sounds weird, because it sounds weird for me to say it, but --- I don't live here anymore. Already, as I was pulling up this morning, I could feel/sense that this is someone else's house.
I like my new roommates, though, which brings me to my next point...
Why are you up at 7:30 a.m. on a Friday, Pat? On a day that you don't have to work at the bookstore? And if you are up at such an ungodly hour, then why are you at the Husker Du-plex, and not your own house on Ripley? (Believe it or not, that is our talented Mr. street name).
Yes, yes, why am I up now?
Oh yes.
I remember.
It was Mary. And Gillian. And that darn Nina Wester.... velt? Yes, yes, yes, it was, bloody right, I do believe it was! Fabulous, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I do believe we are getting somewhere.
I have been moving lots o' stuff from the Du over to Ripley in the last few days, and yesterday was the grand-daddy of days in that it was the day that Lurch and I moved over my bed, dresser and desk. Now, those of you in Columbia or anywhere else with air yesterday (except for, uh, say, Alaska) will note that yesterday was almost as hot as Christian Bale in the workout scenes in "American Psycho." Almost as hot, but still darn tootin' hot. (Man, I'd think that "darn-tootin" should mean that I've become Luke, if not for the fact that I just said Christian Bale was, shall we say, uh, H-O-T-T.)
Well, when moving the stuff over around 1ish or 2ish, Gillian and Mary (my roommies) said that I should come out with them last night to celebrate the fact that we are now all in the house. It's been a "Real World" experience in that we didn't know each other when we started out but we have been bonding nicely. So we were going out to El Maguey.
At this point of the post, just after 7:34, Pat's head was throbbing horribly, so he went to Crank's bed and fell asleep on top of the covers. Now, at 10 a.m., the Pat has awaken such that his head is no longer throbbing and he can continue to tell this story.
So I had a roommie bonding adventure ahead of me for the evening! We would eat chips and salsa and drink margaritas! Woohoo!
In between moving things, Lurch and I stopped at his G-O-R-G-E-O-U-S new place just a hop, skip and a jump from me (by Stephens) and he decided it was time for some lunch. I went with him to Subway, and well, let me tell you, I should have gotten something, too. I thought I would be fine on the Artisan sandwich I had earlier, but I should have gotten Subway. I tell you this only because, well, Subway would have been great absorption food.
I continued moving out of the Du and into Ripley, and Derek moved into the Du. Again, very weird, but that is okay. I showered and went over to Ripley around 7. We played around there until Gillian, Mary and I left for Nina's place. Nina is a photo-J student who is leaving for New York on Saturday, so last night was sort of her bon voyage. She wanted margaritas. Lots of them.
After a while at El Maguey, we were the only non-employees, and we were the only non-Spanish speakers. It was okay, though, because we were getting along well, Mary and I were bonding nicely, and Gillian would not let our glasses be anything but full to the brim. Mary and I were on our way to Three Sheets to the Wind. Or, Mary was -- I had been there for 45 minutes.
We left El Maguey and Jillian dropped Mary and me off at Ripley, where we continued to bond while talking about Ladue, John Hughes, sex and religion. Added to the mix was a nice screwdriver (vodka courtesy of my mother!) and a vodka-Diet-Cherry-Coke.
Let me tell you, I was bumping into shit. If I called you on my cell, you heard it, and I am terribly sorry. But don't worry, I got mine. Oh, did I get mine.
Because I had been drunk, I hadn't been able to put my bed together, so I just slept on a mattress by the window. When the sun came out, it was quite the coming out, worthy of Diana Ross tunes, Prada and some spiked hair. So the queen sun made quite the entrance and woke my ass up at 6:20 a.m. My head felt like Soco had rented out my head for a special "Dance all you want to Thump-Thump-Bump-Bump music" and everyone came. It was pounding.
I went downstairs for water and Mary was getting ready for work at 7. "Whoa, you're up!" she said. We were both hungover. We tried the purple Gatorades. Helped. Didn't work.
I drove her to work, which is right by Darlene's Hide-Away. Normally she bikes it, but today, she's hung like Dirk and well, she didn't need the uphill peddling with the SoCo party in her head. I managed to drive her there and drive myself back here, and then, well, pass out.
So did that post calm your asses down?
I think another reason that I haven't posted much is because I've been so worn out from the jobs that I haven't felt like I had anything to say. It's boring. I do have some fun Wal-Mart stories, but that comes for the next post, when I can access my own computer, because I have a great IM conversation between Goodlovin, Hilary and me.
In the meantime, eat your Wheaties, say your prayers, take your vitamins and be a good little Hulkamaniac! I'm off for a shower and some good ol' fashion coffee and then Assumption Holy Day Mass!
Cracka asses.
Friday, August 08, 2003
From: Josh
Subject: Funny news...
Hey gang,
I found a couple of real gems while reading the news tonight... first I read this article
http://www.wnd.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=33896
about how more hurricanes need to be named after black people. It started out as just being silly, but then Rush Limbaugh got involved and made it less fun. So I stopped reading that one and instead read this article about formerly monkeypox-stricken giant rats that have been trained to sniff out land mines in Africa:
http://www.cnn.com/2003/WORLD/africa/08/03/offbeat.tanzania.rats.ap/index.html
Enjoy!
-----
From: Josh
Subject: Headlines
It's another one of those great news days. These stories are worth looking at:
A mother scares the bajeezus out of her daughter with a gift from beyond the grave:
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,93878,00.html
eBay joins the fight against the evils of free speech:
http://north.cbc.ca/regional/servlet/View?filename=aug5steins-cards08052003
The third frontman in recent history has been announced for Queen:
http://www.heraldsun.news.com.au/common/story_page/0,5478,6848227^661,00.html
And lastly, Larry Flynt, god love im', organizes a gathering to pray for the death of Bill O'Reilly:
http://www.larryflynt.com/national_prayer_day.html
Enjoy!
-----
From: Josh
Subject: Wow! More fun news from the hood!
This has been the best day of not doing work and reading the news at my desk ever! Check out this recent article from our very own stltoday.com!
http://www.stltoday.com/stltoday/news/stories.nsf/News/1D82ED5B4E2B292D86256D7A0017231A?OpenDocument&Headline=School+board+member+tells+Slay+he+is+cursed
The link kinda gives away the punchline, so I'll say this now:
"Cursed With A Curse." Excellent name for the band.
-----
I clicked on the link for the Bill O'Reilly one and I nearly peed my pants when I read the actual prayer. It's awful and terribly morbid. That being said, if you just think of it as a sick joke that you'd see in the Farrelly brothers' films, then it is absolutely hilarious. Of course, I don't pray for the death of Mr. O'Reilly. We Irish assholes have to stick together.
And by typing that sentence, I think I have just assured that the list of search engine entries to get to this site will forever be twisted.
I typed a post the size of Jeff's little black book last night and what do you know, my computer froze like Jackie's mom in the police lights. So, I am typing anew, from scratch, yet again.
"Up, down, turn around
Please don't let me hit the ground
Tonight I think I'll walk alone
I'll find my soul as I go home..."
-New Order, "Temptation"
The important part of the post that was lost was about home. I have felt sentimental about St. Louis lately, but I am not sure if it is homesick. I am sort of a ronin or a nomad these days, considering home equal parts Columbia and St. Louis while in many ways neither of those places is quite "home" anymore. I think the main catalyst for all this emotion has been the droll day-in, day-out monotony of working 2.5 jobs and the way how things never change (and yet nothing seems the same these days...)
And in a close Kodak-photo-finish second for this recent wave of emotion has been my reconnection with some of my good friends from back home. Mainly Jill, JJ and Bo, though my connection to home is not limited to them. We'll reconnect every few months or so and not miss a beat, and will have so much to catch up on. I never get bored with them.
I've been talking to Jill a lot these past few weeks and we are eerily having some similar thoughts as our lives are overlapping in some strange ways. It's this connection that makes me want nothing more than to have a night where she and I and maybe some of our other cronies plop down in the back booth of the Denny's on Olive (in Creve Coeur, a suburb of STL, for those of you not in the loop). We could re-hash old memories (the time a hand went somewhere unexpected on Lurch, or how a certain Blowa Schlongzo used to have a skater-cut and a goatee that could repulse a blind woman). We could analyze the changes in our lives, what they mean, and what further changes could come. And we could count mullets and weave extensions.
But with her in Milwaukee and me in St. Louis, it's probably not going to happen until a holiday delegated to relatives around a dead bird. Which is kinda unfortunate, because we both need the security blanket of a trip to Denny's with a familiar ally before returning to the new worlds we forged for ourselves. We are brave, responsible and competent people, but sometimes it feels good to go back in kid mode for a few hours. We're good at that together, as we order the Denny's sampler and get fries instead of onion rings. This has been called the "Pat special." And Lurch always gets a full order of chicken fingers, mozzarella sticks and fries, because, "Hey, I haven't eaten all day! I'm hungry!" Alas, now he's in New York and is going to be getting a full order of somethin' else.
From the blog of Jeff
Mr. & Mrs. Blog have been boinking like rabbits recently, and they're proud to announce the latest addition to their family -- the dollhouse, an unaptly named home to a little Wray of Sunshine that I think most of you know. She's an all-star intern in Denver this summer, author of at least 80 Maneater stories and returning to CoMo soon to change the face of 307 as we know it. Happy reading.
I would have called it "Wray of Light," but we can forgive Jeff. He's certainly made out like a bandit in terms of getting away with hairy capers. In any case, I would like to take this opportunity to welcome Holly to the blog family. Jill also has a blog now. Patronize her blog, too.
Hang the DJ
In the back room of the textbooks floor of the MU Bookstore is a section called "the Annex." No, this is not where Delta Tau Delta's perform date-rapes, they have their own annex. This annex has most of its surface area (walls, floors, shelves) taken up by textbooks. It's the overstock location for the classes with 300 people but space on the main floor for 30 books. We are in there a lot, then, fetching books to fill up the shelves as we continue through Early Bird orders. The annex has the feel of a dungeon, or a basement room of a surly teenager. It's not dank and it's not overwhelmingly dark, but it is concrete, and the available light is blocked by piles of books for English 20 and History 251. The main source of light, then, is the annex's computer, which is used for inventory, but more importantly, Internet radio.
We had been listening to our supervisor's CD player in the receiving area, but he stopped playing Bowie, the Beach Boys and Seger, and just rotated Sheryl Crow and Sade. That shit got old real fast.
So we moved onto the computer and perused the stations on LAUNCH. We bounced between classic rock and alternative stuff, but someone put it on "Awesome 80s" and that was the end of it -- or so we thought. The station played some good stuff (INXS, Soft Cell, Tears for Fears, and Rick Astley) but also played long-ass radio ads and lots of CRAP (Howard Jones, the Scorpions, Lisa Stansfield, Foreigner, Thompson Twins, etc.) I like music from the 80s, but I am also a man of standards and I will not - WILL NOT - tolerate a station throwing crap on and connecting it to such a glorious decade. It's shit like this that taints the perception of people like Luke, who could find great tunage out of the me-decade if not for the fact that they are inundated by cheesy hits. Thus, he ignores it and listens to white boy blues.
To respond to the bullshit of LAUNCH, I uploaded a lot of my mp3s to my Bengal space. It works well with our daily game -- "Pick a cheesy song to get stuck in our heads so we can make the time go by faster." Most of the people in textbooks are fun -- I particularly like the Brazilian woman who talks about good make-out songs and too many fat people swim in her pool at the apartment complex -- but let's face it: shelving books is shelving books. You'll want to die within three minutes. But if you have Taylor Dayne, Whitney Houston or the Baha Men stuck in your head, hell, you'll STILL want to kill yourself, but at least to a certain beat.
"How will I know if he really loves me..."
I don't know, but I know that come two weeks from now, all the crackers getting books will have to wait a long-ass time. And I'll be there for all of it. Thus, if you hear Rick Astley pumping from the back, bear with us. It's what's keeping us from wringing your neck because you can't remember which section of Poli Sci 11 you're taking. And hell, Rick Astley sings some good stuff. He sounds like he's black, but he's white and no bigger than me. What a glorious thing.
Subject: Funny news...
Hey gang,
I found a couple of real gems while reading the news tonight... first I read this article
http://www.wnd.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=33896
about how more hurricanes need to be named after black people. It started out as just being silly, but then Rush Limbaugh got involved and made it less fun. So I stopped reading that one and instead read this article about formerly monkeypox-stricken giant rats that have been trained to sniff out land mines in Africa:
http://www.cnn.com/2003/WORLD/africa/08/03/offbeat.tanzania.rats.ap/index.html
Enjoy!
-----
From: Josh
Subject: Headlines
It's another one of those great news days. These stories are worth looking at:
A mother scares the bajeezus out of her daughter with a gift from beyond the grave:
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,93878,00.html
eBay joins the fight against the evils of free speech:
http://north.cbc.ca/regional/servlet/View?filename=aug5steins-cards08052003
The third frontman in recent history has been announced for Queen:
http://www.heraldsun.news.com.au/common/story_page/0,5478,6848227^661,00.html
And lastly, Larry Flynt, god love im', organizes a gathering to pray for the death of Bill O'Reilly:
http://www.larryflynt.com/national_prayer_day.html
Enjoy!
-----
From: Josh
Subject: Wow! More fun news from the hood!
This has been the best day of not doing work and reading the news at my desk ever! Check out this recent article from our very own stltoday.com!
http://www.stltoday.com/stltoday/news/stories.nsf/News/1D82ED5B4E2B292D86256D7A0017231A?OpenDocument&Headline=School+board+member+tells+Slay+he+is+cursed
The link kinda gives away the punchline, so I'll say this now:
"Cursed With A Curse." Excellent name for the band.
-----
I clicked on the link for the Bill O'Reilly one and I nearly peed my pants when I read the actual prayer. It's awful and terribly morbid. That being said, if you just think of it as a sick joke that you'd see in the Farrelly brothers' films, then it is absolutely hilarious. Of course, I don't pray for the death of Mr. O'Reilly. We Irish assholes have to stick together.
And by typing that sentence, I think I have just assured that the list of search engine entries to get to this site will forever be twisted.
I typed a post the size of Jeff's little black book last night and what do you know, my computer froze like Jackie's mom in the police lights. So, I am typing anew, from scratch, yet again.
Please don't let me hit the ground
Tonight I think I'll walk alone
I'll find my soul as I go home..."
-New Order, "Temptation"
The important part of the post that was lost was about home. I have felt sentimental about St. Louis lately, but I am not sure if it is homesick. I am sort of a ronin or a nomad these days, considering home equal parts Columbia and St. Louis while in many ways neither of those places is quite "home" anymore. I think the main catalyst for all this emotion has been the droll day-in, day-out monotony of working 2.5 jobs and the way how things never change (and yet nothing seems the same these days...)
And in a close Kodak-photo-finish second for this recent wave of emotion has been my reconnection with some of my good friends from back home. Mainly Jill, JJ and Bo, though my connection to home is not limited to them. We'll reconnect every few months or so and not miss a beat, and will have so much to catch up on. I never get bored with them.
I've been talking to Jill a lot these past few weeks and we are eerily having some similar thoughts as our lives are overlapping in some strange ways. It's this connection that makes me want nothing more than to have a night where she and I and maybe some of our other cronies plop down in the back booth of the Denny's on Olive (in Creve Coeur, a suburb of STL, for those of you not in the loop). We could re-hash old memories (the time a hand went somewhere unexpected on Lurch, or how a certain Blowa Schlongzo used to have a skater-cut and a goatee that could repulse a blind woman). We could analyze the changes in our lives, what they mean, and what further changes could come. And we could count mullets and weave extensions.
But with her in Milwaukee and me in St. Louis, it's probably not going to happen until a holiday delegated to relatives around a dead bird. Which is kinda unfortunate, because we both need the security blanket of a trip to Denny's with a familiar ally before returning to the new worlds we forged for ourselves. We are brave, responsible and competent people, but sometimes it feels good to go back in kid mode for a few hours. We're good at that together, as we order the Denny's sampler and get fries instead of onion rings. This has been called the "Pat special." And Lurch always gets a full order of chicken fingers, mozzarella sticks and fries, because, "Hey, I haven't eaten all day! I'm hungry!" Alas, now he's in New York and is going to be getting a full order of somethin' else.
From the blog of Jeff
Mr. & Mrs. Blog have been boinking like rabbits recently, and they're proud to announce the latest addition to their family -- the dollhouse, an unaptly named home to a little Wray of Sunshine that I think most of you know. She's an all-star intern in Denver this summer, author of at least 80 Maneater stories and returning to CoMo soon to change the face of 307 as we know it. Happy reading.
I would have called it "Wray of Light," but we can forgive Jeff. He's certainly made out like a bandit in terms of getting away with hairy capers. In any case, I would like to take this opportunity to welcome Holly to the blog family. Jill also has a blog now. Patronize her blog, too.
In the back room of the textbooks floor of the MU Bookstore is a section called "the Annex." No, this is not where Delta Tau Delta's perform date-rapes, they have their own annex. This annex has most of its surface area (walls, floors, shelves) taken up by textbooks. It's the overstock location for the classes with 300 people but space on the main floor for 30 books. We are in there a lot, then, fetching books to fill up the shelves as we continue through Early Bird orders. The annex has the feel of a dungeon, or a basement room of a surly teenager. It's not dank and it's not overwhelmingly dark, but it is concrete, and the available light is blocked by piles of books for English 20 and History 251. The main source of light, then, is the annex's computer, which is used for inventory, but more importantly, Internet radio.
We had been listening to our supervisor's CD player in the receiving area, but he stopped playing Bowie, the Beach Boys and Seger, and just rotated Sheryl Crow and Sade. That shit got old real fast.
So we moved onto the computer and perused the stations on LAUNCH. We bounced between classic rock and alternative stuff, but someone put it on "Awesome 80s" and that was the end of it -- or so we thought. The station played some good stuff (INXS, Soft Cell, Tears for Fears, and Rick Astley) but also played long-ass radio ads and lots of CRAP (Howard Jones, the Scorpions, Lisa Stansfield, Foreigner, Thompson Twins, etc.) I like music from the 80s, but I am also a man of standards and I will not - WILL NOT - tolerate a station throwing crap on and connecting it to such a glorious decade. It's shit like this that taints the perception of people like Luke, who could find great tunage out of the me-decade if not for the fact that they are inundated by cheesy hits. Thus, he ignores it and listens to white boy blues.
To respond to the bullshit of LAUNCH, I uploaded a lot of my mp3s to my Bengal space. It works well with our daily game -- "Pick a cheesy song to get stuck in our heads so we can make the time go by faster." Most of the people in textbooks are fun -- I particularly like the Brazilian woman who talks about good make-out songs and too many fat people swim in her pool at the apartment complex -- but let's face it: shelving books is shelving books. You'll want to die within three minutes. But if you have Taylor Dayne, Whitney Houston or the Baha Men stuck in your head, hell, you'll STILL want to kill yourself, but at least to a certain beat.
I don't know, but I know that come two weeks from now, all the crackers getting books will have to wait a long-ass time. And I'll be there for all of it. Thus, if you hear Rick Astley pumping from the back, bear with us. It's what's keeping us from wringing your neck because you can't remember which section of Poli Sci 11 you're taking. And hell, Rick Astley sings some good stuff. He sounds like he's black, but he's white and no bigger than me. What a glorious thing.
Friday, August 01, 2003
ever since honeys was wearin sassoons
Now it's '95 and they clock me and watch me
Diamonds shinin' lookin like I robbed Liberace..."
-Dr. Dre, as featured in 2Pac's "California Love"
Post #95 is upon us, and well, I have another set of antics... That's right... more comparisons.
So, put on your white glove, stroke your beard and tie one on...
 |  |
Liam and Jessie have been staying with us here at the Husker Du-plex this past week as they have been waiting for their lease to begin. It begins today, and so as I type this (and still as you write this), Jessie is loading up her hot red car with stuff she's been keeping in the garage, and is preparing to move yonder. Yee-haw.
A few weeks ago, we had a picture of me, Jake and Liam taking shots of vodka and/or tequila. I don't quite remember. Anywho, all three of us had our shirts tucked in and our pants hiked up, and while Jackie thought it was to create the effect of "camel toe," she was sadly mistaken. No, instead we were trying to hike our pants up like Liam's brother, Reilly. Reilly is about 9 or so and is very wise and brilliant, supposedly, albeit neurotic and old-mannish. Well, he also has a speech impediment of sorts, such that he used to say "Wally" when trying to say "Reilly," and thus he has been dubbed "Wally." Part of Wally's trademark is his hiked pants and tucked in shirt.
Why were we doing this for Jake's birthday, then?
Well, Liam told me as soon as he met me that I am the spitting image of Wally, and so he had me tuck in my shirt and hike up my pants. Sure, I'll do anything once. I did, and I became known as the surrogate Wally.
So I decided to use this picture, taken before the shot, as today's moment of zen. It's us hiking up Jake's pants, but well, it looks like anything but (and anything but that might lead to butt). Enjoy the photo of pseudo-fondling.
I especially like the look on Jake's face. What a perv. A total pre-vert.
