I've Never Been This Close to Rage-Madness

There's a guy who comes into my philosophy class every day with a briefcase.  To me, it gives off a message about the way he wants to run his life.  He is a serious person, who takes his academics seriously, and wants you to know he is a serious man.  He showed up to the first class wearing a suit, and, today, he came in quickly, pissed off that he was perhaps one second late for class.  He was clearly feeling rushed.

He opened up his briefcase, and I was able to see the contents.  He had a stack of paper, I assume for his notes, legal documents, mortgage papers, things like that.  He had a notebook, I assume for this class, so he would be able to organize his thoughts on Descartes, Spinoza, Leibniz, Malebranch, and Alan Moore.  He had a copy of Descartes' Meditations on First Philosophy, the text for this section of the class, I assume full of his in-depth notes and critiques of the father of modern philosophy's doctrines.

He had all that.  And he also had a HUGE BAG OF FUCKING CANDY CORN!  Fuck you.  I can't believe that shit!

And I know some of you are like "that's awesome!"  No.  That's not awesome.  That's fucking stupid as all hell.  If he was being forced to act like such a shit for a job or something, you know, to be a professional, I would understand.  I imagine not all lawyers want to carry briefcases and wear suits, so sometimes they put a bag of candy in their briefcases, too lighten their day... and, y'know, 'cause they like candy.  But this motherfucker is in college, is probably not even old enough to drink, and he's putting in so much effort to look serious on purpose.  And then he puts a fifty pound sack of candy in his briefcase?  And candy corn?  Are you fucking joking?

Fuck you.

Awkward

You know when you get into the elevator, and you see the button to your floor already pushed, so you look in the elevator to see who else lives on your floor but there's a few other people in the elevator and you don't know who could possibly live next door to you?

That's always a pretty awkward moment, right? Well, it's not entirely as awkward as when you feel the need to strike up a conversation with that person. I live on the top floor, so every time this happens, there is going to be a moment when it's just us in the elevator, so a conversation pretty much always takes place. Today it happened with my RA, who I'm pretty sure knows I live on her floor but doesn't know my name, which is appropriate because that's really all I know about her as well.

She said she thinks she is getting sick. I am still sick, although getting better, I think. The third person on the elevator gets off on the third floor, so we've got some time until we reach the top floor. She asks how things are, and I say fine. She asks if I'm sick, and I say yes, which leads into the she thinks she's getting sick conversation.

She says tomorrow she is going to have to pick up some medicine so she can stop it before it gets bad. I say I've got some cold medicine, well, Tylenol, if she wants. I do occasionally make attempts to be friendly, and this is one of them.

She says, "No thanks, I can't swallow."

I chuckle in my mind because I'm a child, and say, "Alright."

And as the "t" is coming (pun!) out of my mouth, she says, "pills."

I thought I left enough of a break for her to finish the sentence, but apparently not. She probably realized what she had said, and needed to clarify, or just complete her thought, I suppose.

Either way, awkward.

...

Faker.

Fuck You Hospital

So my mom is in the hospital. She's fine, though, thanks for asking. She went in to have some surgery, they did it and it went well. In case you were wondering, which I'm sure you weren't, but I'm going to tel you anyway because otherwise this story won't make as much sense, she went in for a hysterectomy.

Now, I don't know much about that surgery, other than what it is, but I had an idea that it wasn't necessarily a big deal. I mean more, I wasn't exactly worried for my mom's safety, because my feeling was it's a pretty common surgery, so she'll be alright.

This led to my reaction when she told me over the phone she was getting it, which was, "So have you thought about adoption." We both laughed, and that was that.

She had the surgery yesterday, and my dad was at the hospital with her. He would text me throughout the day with updates, and then at around 10:30 he called and said the surgery was done, it went well and she was in her room now. They'd have to keep her for a day or two.

Then I went to the hospitals website and found out you could order stuff from their gift shop and have then take it to the patients room, and you didn't have to know the patient's room number. It was a perfect setup. I thought I'd be nice, so I got my mom some flowers. Then I remembered I'm also an asshole, so I ordered my mom a balloon with a stork on it that said, "Congratulations on your baby," or something along those lines.

I thought it was funny. Knowing my mom, I figured she'd find it funny as well. Today the gift shop called me four times. The first two were because I didn't write a message on the card, and they wanted to know I wanted to include one. Fine, I did forget to do that, so thanks for calling. The third call was because they only had one woman with my mom's name at the hospital, and she wasn't in the maternity ward. Did I order the wrong balloon. Nope, she's definitely not in the maternity ward. It's a joke, she'll understand. Okay, thank you sir. We'll deliver the flowers and balloon shortly.

An hour later I get another call from the gift shop. I'm sorry sir, but I just got word that it's our hospital's policy that we aren't allowed to give baby gifts to people not in the maternity ward. We could either not charge you for the balloon or you could replace it with a "Get Well" balloon. Just take off the chargers please.

I mean, what the fuck kind of policy is that? What's the purpose of it? That's all I want to know. Who is that protecting? What bitch accidentally got a baby balloon sent to her room and was offended she made the hospital change its policy. That's the only way something like that takes place, right? Like, what the fuck? It just sucks.

On a more positive note, I am happy that in my lifetime I had a worker in a hospital gift shop call and ask me if I'd like to change my balloon order from "congrats on your baby" to "get well soon." That seems like something that probably doesn't happen too often, or if it does, it's probably incredibly depressing because something awful happened. Glad to have it happen only because of stupid policy.

I talked to my dad this morning, told him about it, he laughed and couldn't believe they actually wouldn't give her the balloon. He said if he remembers, he'll buy a baby balloon when he goes to see her tonight and bring it to her room. So take that you stupid policy. And fuck you hospital.

And now, for today's Observation of the Day! Today's OotD goes to my roommate! Congrats man.

Here's the scene: It's about noon, I have no classes today, and he's just getting back from his. I'm sitting at my desk in pajama pants and a sweatshirt, attempting to eat some terrible soup I improperly cooked in the microwave. I'm also coughing a lot, mostly because I have a pretty shitty cold, and have only had it all week. In fact, the only thing that can somewhat break up my coughing is sneezing. So I'm coughing, sneezing, having some soup and wearing layers of clothes. My garbage can is also full of used tissues.

My roommate walks in the room, checks out what's going on and says, "Hey man, looks like you're getting sick."

Well thank you doc. You dumb motherfucker. Seriously, just don't speak in that situation. I don't want to you ask how I'm doing or offer to do anything for me. I just want to be quiet and not say something stupid. Congratulations on going 0-2, you stupid piece of shit. When you leave I'm going to cough on your pillow and toothbrush. Fuck. I hate people so much.

BREAKING NEWS!

So a few days ago the world was flipped on its ass. Complete hell broke loose, and it's all thanks to an announcement made by a green eyed, creamy skinned crooner known as Clay Aiken.

He told People Magazine that he is indeed gay.

For us Claymates, it comes as quick a shock. At first, I was angry. I mean, he lied to us. He sang his way into my life back in 2003, when he finished second on season two of "American Idol," although he should've won!

It was truely amazing to watch his transformation from geeky guy who sings to, well geeky guy who sings. I'd name a few of my favorite songs of his, but it's just so gosh darn hard to choose.

Clay had always denied he was gay, so I believed him. But just now he feels the need to come out of the closet and rock my world? Bullshit. I have nothing against gays, but I missed out on 5 years of masturbatory fantasies because this fuck said he didn't dig dick. Do you know how embarrassing to have your penis in one hand and picture of Justin Guarini in the other? Well actually, given your recent announcement, maybe you do.

I'm just shocked, okay? I had no idea he was gay, especially since he publicly denied it for years. I mean look at him! He's like a singing Humphrey Bogart.

Anyway, Clay has inspired me. I feel as though since he did, so shall I. It's time I unveil a secret of mine, one that I've denied for years in public. This will be difficult for me, so please, try not to laugh.

I'm a blogger.

I know, I hate the term too. It's so derogatory. People ask, "Adaham, you like to write. Do you blog?" I always deny, without so much of a reason other than "just don't."

Being a blogger is embarrassing. Although there are more open bloggers in the public seemingly everyday, and we've grown to be accepted by the general public, there's still something about admitting to being a blogger I can't deal with. Maybe I want my parents to love me. If they knew what I write here every week, they'd kick me out of the house. They wouldn't be able to tell their friends I blog. It just wouldn't happen, and I don't blame them. There's something very not kosher about the whole thing.

But thanks to Clay I feel I have the strength to come out and tell the world, "I like Frogger, I'm a blogger!"

Thanks Clay. I love you.

Official SD Poll!

So, leave a comment and voice your opinion in our SD Poll.

Who's more annoying? People that come up to you on the street and...

A) are presumably homeless and/or drug addicts, and hound you for money

or

B) ask if you you're registered to vote?

Scandal!

AIM transcript received from anonymous tipster earlier tonight between Adaham Lincoln and our source:

Adaham Lincoln (10:57:31 PM): whose gonna know if you make stuff up 

Adaham Lincoln (10:57:40 PM): that german girl- comepletely made up 

Anonymous (10:58:35 PM): hahahaha really?

Adaham Lincoln (10:58:43 PM): yes really

Adaham Lincoln (10:58:49 PM): also sometimes i stick pins and needles inside my dickhole and i got tetanus inside my dickhole and i had to have a doctor look inside my dickhole

The Rock and Roll Was Excellent! The Jam Was Perfect!

I ran sound for a show this past Friday. I didn't have to set it up, which I would have been able to do (though I'm glad not to have the hassle of doing it), so all I had to do was just turn things up or down if the musicians asked me. The first two guys were great. They were both using exclusively electronic instruments, and were solo acts, so all I had to do was raise the volume of the whole output. Simple. And they were both real pleasant to be around, so that was cool too. But then the headliners (if you can call a group finishing out a college show held in a cafe "headliners") were up. And they were dickheads.

First, let me say, our PA system is garbage. It can't really handle any large input, without blowing out. Second, let me say that it blew out when we were setting up for the last act, so we knew exactly how loud it could go before it would blow. Once we got the power back on, the group started, and immediately started telling me to turn everything up. Now, I'm not an electrician or anything, but that sounded like a fucking retarded idea. But hey, when you have a million assholes coming up to you every five seconds to tell you to turn up the vocals, what do you do? You say no a couple times, and then you figure, "fuck it," and you give them what they're askin' for.

So it blew out again. And as we all rushed around, looking for another usable outlet, the band got cranky. I understand that, though. I mean, they want to play a show, that's the whole point. And they can't do it, because they don't have power.

But, on the other side of the coin, fuck them. I was trying to help them out, and they were rude as fuck. At one point, I had an extension cord, and was going to run it out the door to another outlet. I was then told by one of the facility staff that that outlet was dead, so I should try another. This required me walking back through the bands setup, behind their amps, so that the cord could reach another outlet. One of the guys from the band was in my way, so I started asking him to move. "That outlet's dead," I began. He immediately responded, with a really adorable Aussie smirk, "Yeeah, I know." The condescension coming from this guy was so thick, I could have shoved it back down his throat and choked him to death with it. But I'm not really an asshole, and I'm trying to get this guy to play a ROCK AND ROLL SHOW so I just continued on. "I'm gonna plug it into that outlet," I said, as I pointed past him to my destination. He said something like "alright," in such a manner that I could tell he was thinking "Why is this fucking moron telling me this." I was one more exchange away from just yelling "SO FUCKING MOVE!" but I figured he would get the idea if I made a gesture that said as much. I made a sweeping motion with my arms for him to get out of my way, and he finally did. I don't think he got the whole idea of why I was telling him what I was doing. Maybe he thought I was just trying to keep him updated (which would have apparently been such a dumb fucking thing to do, judging from his reaction), but other than that, I'm out of ideas.

So, other than that, it was an awesome time. I'd gladly run the board for the openers anytime, but if you're in an Australian electro-punk band, and you expect me to help you with sound again, you can get fucked.

FINAL UPDATE: She's gone

So she is no longer in our room. She hasn't been since sometime yesterday. I was out of the room for probably about 10 hours or so. I left right after I updated yesterday, and at night when I returned all her stuff was gone. I don't know where she went. I heard she was trying to reconcile with hey boyfriend over the phone while she was in our room, but that didn't appear to be going well. I don't know.

I didn't ask my roommate what happened to her, most likely because I don't care. He seemed a little depressed though. He didn't go out last night, which I'm pretty sure he's gone out every Friday night since we've been here. And not only that, but he was asleep probably by 11:15. I haven't talked to him too much today, but I offered to sleep in his bed and let him speak German to me and we could giggle if he wants. He didn't accept.

I think he might be on the phone with her right now, only because he's speaking German and giggling. The only person that he speaks German to over the phone, that I know of, is his mother. But it's either really late or really early over there, plus he's on his cell phone. He only talks to his mother on the room phone.

I'd like to say it's the girl, but she said she was going back to Germany today. Perhaps she had an early flight and is all situated. I don't know. The only reason I know her flight was today is because I asked. The night she was here I attempted to make conversation.

My roommate showers at night. So Thursday night he's in the shower, I'm sitting on my bed and she's sitting on his. We are literally staring at each other. I'd estimate a good 20 seconds go by before I muster up "So how long are you here?" She said two and a half weeks. I kept the conversation going, and learned it was her first trip to America, and she's stayed only in Pittsburgh, which I found odd until she said she was visiting "a man." Unfortunately they broke up that day. I apologized, and she extremely casually said, "Hey, that's how it goes."

I only note the casuality (not a word) of how she said it, because it seemed odd she didn't seem to care much about breaking up with hey boyfriend. Of course, that is how it goes (as I learned thanks to 9/11), but she came all the way to America to visit him and the break up to the point where she leaves his house and is staying in a shitty dorm room overnight and doesn't seem to care? That was odd. But we talked another minute or so, then my roommate came out of the bathroom and took over from there.

It was one of those odd nights where my roommate and I (and our new roommate) ended up getting into bed at the same time. It was probably about 2:30, which is fine for me and her, as we had nothing to do that day. He had a class at 8, so set his alarm for maybe 7:15. And since it was so late, he set his annoying alarm that wakes me up, which he normally doesn't set. The next morning, it goes off, and we all wake up. I can't go back to sleep. He gets ready and leaves. She's up now. We sit and stare for a little while.

Then comes some more bullshit conversation. I'm wondering how nice I have to be to her. She's staying with us, not that I had anything to do with the decision, and at that point I still don't know for how long. I sit and stare at her, contemplating offering her something to eat or drink. It's probably a similar feeling a black person has when contemplating holding a door open for a white person, I'd imagine.

I decide to forgo it, as I only have pretzels and granola bars, which are both awesome. He has some cereal which I feel is perfectly within my jurisdiction to offer to her, as she's his guest. I don't though. I get up and do laundry. When I come back from lading my clothes into the machine, she's back asleep. I sit and listen to music until it's time for my clothes to go in the dryer. I get up, put them in the dryer, come back to the room and listen to more music. Then after an hour or so, I get up and go to take my things out of the dryer and fold them.

When I come back to the room, she's on her phone, sitting at our table partially talking and partially crying. She shoots me look, like "Hey, you walked in on a private conversation." I'm sure it was. I'm also sure it's my room, so I don't offer an "excuse me" or "sorry." It wouldn't have hurt, I suppose, but I'm a dick.

So she continues crying on the phone about how hard it is to blah blah blah, and how he doesn't blah blah blah. And she's really crying. This makes me feel a little better, if only because it showed that she really did care about the breakup. I mean, it just seemed odd how she tossed it aside the previous night, but it was refreshing to see her with a phone in one hand and her face in the other, sobbing over the phone. I enjoy seeing people when they're vulnerable, especially if they tend to give off a somewhat cool vibe for the most part.

I decide I shouldn't really just sit on my bed and listen, though. So I go in the bathroom and shave. As soon as I exit the bathroom, which was only going to be a trip to my closet so I could get another shaving device I hoped to use, she scurries into the bathroom and closes the door. So then I sit on my bed, waiting. I still want to finish shaving, and then shower. My roommate comes back, sees the situation and laughs. "Women," he says, shaking his head. "Germans," I offer back, shaking mine. He doesn't react.

She stays in there talking for another hour or so, then I notice I had a missed call on my phone from my mom. I call her back, and while talking to her, the German girl emerges from the bathroom and says some stuff in German to my roommate. She then goes back in the bathroom and showers and does other stuff that apparently take an hour. I sit.

Eventually she's done, they leave and she tells me to "Have a nice day." That's the last I saw of her. Now it's back to just half a German in my room, which is a little more manageable.

On a somewhat related note, on Thursday night, my roommate's cousin was in our room, as he is a few times a week. After everything the girl said about Germany, he would say, "Shit, I need to go to Germany." And when one of us would ask why, he would just list off things he determined were better, like "the females," "the education" and "just the whole country." No counter arguments were made.

He doesn't know German, though. He said the best way to learn a language is to be throw into a situation where you have to speak it, which I would guess is actually a pretty good way to learn it. He also asked if German was a "romance language." He said he knew French was, but that's it. I offered up Italian and Latin, which he said he wasn't sure about, but asked if German was. I wanted to ask if he ever heard someone speak German, but didn't. He said it might be. I said no way. He's an idiot.

UPDATE #2: She's staying

So we made it through the morning. She slept, while I did laundry and listened to music. Then she woke up, called her ex-boyfriend, who I should mention lives in Pittsburgh and is the reason she came here. They broke up yesterday, and she left his house. I'm not sure when she's going back, but it's a good thing she befriended my roommate. I mean, what would happen to her if she didn't have a dorm room to crash in?

Oh wait, I don't give a shit. Anyway, I should've known the stay would be longer than a night because when she showed up she had luggage with her. She spent about an hour talking to the ex, then another hour using the bathroom. It sucked. I just wanted to shower and shave, not in that order, and leave. But I couldn't.

Anyway, she has moved in. I doubt it'll be past the weekend, but I can't be sure. She definitely made herself at home, though. If she's going to stay hopefully she'll clean the bathroom. It's getting a bit dirty. I also rubbed my balls on everything. Everything.

They left the room now, so what do you think I did? Well, besides spread my ball residue, of course. Here's a math problem for you.

I have a digital camera + them leaving the room = picture time!

What the fuck is this? Shampoo? I don't know, but it's German, and I tried to touch it to move it while I was shower, and it burnt my hand a little.



And this? Toothpaste? Do Germans even brush their teeth? Is it as creepy as I think that I took pictures of this? Probably, but I had to do it. I also have to see her naked, not because I think she's attractive (which the jury is still out on), but to make up for the Holocaust. It's the only way.



She's already taken over the microwave area, as well. Maybe it's a sign she's going to burn me in a large over, or something or other.



And last, but not least, here's what I get to see every morning when I wake up and look out my window. Not what's fucking with that? Certainly not some German chick.

UPDATE: I made it through the night... barely

So it's morning. About 9:20 to be not exact. I'm still alive, but I don't know for how much longer. The air conditioner didn't kill anyone, but we just turned it off a little while ago. Maybe it'll get mad and murder us. We'll have to see.

Our German friend stayed the night, but I still haven't really figured out her relationship to my roommate. I thought they would join together as one at some point, but apparently not. I mean, I left the room for a few hours last night in case they wanted to, but didn't. When I came back they were plotting/talking. She slept over, in his bed. I thought then might be a good time to leave, but apparently they did nothing once again. For the first few minutes in bed they talked German and giggled. It was what I imagine German porn is like, if you're blind. On the plus side, last night I unintentionally saw some great side boob, so that was cool.

Right now, though, my roommate is at class, and she's still in his bed. I could literally turn around, reach my arm back and tickle her feet, but I won't. She's terrifying. Whenever I look over at her, she's looking at me with these eyes. These eyes that say, "I can't wait to get you in the shower, undress you and then turn the shower into a gas chamber and viciously murder you."

Perhaps I'll update agagin at some point today. I don't know her plans for the day, nor do I know when my roommate gets back from class. Thus, I have no idea how long she'll be in the room. Also, she said she's going back to Germany tomorrow but I have no idea when she's leaving to go to New York so she can catch her flight. If she's staying here again tonight, I'm pretty sure I won't make it. I'm going to go shave my goatee into a Hitler mustache in hopes of buying me some time.

Auf Wiedersehen.

This might be the end of OIe Adaham

So I'm sitting here in my dorm room. It's a little before 1:30 a.m., and I might not have much time left. All I know is that there's apparently a man trapped in the air conditioner in my room, and every few minutes he's yelling for help. Either that or the AC just likes going. "Yaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh." Also, there are two German people in my room, speaking German to each other and giggling. Occasionally they break up the German talk with English, like right now. The conversation has turned to religion, and should they ask me mine, welp, looks like the site will be down to two bloggers. It's been fun, and should I make it out of this night, I'll let you know how it went, and where I dumped the bodies. I love you.

Jonathan Davis: Sonwriter, Genius, Prophet

I’ve finally done it friends. It took years of excruciating work, but my team and I finally finished it, and we’re really happy to be able to talk about it. We decided it would be most important to share the results with you fine people first.

Also, by my team and I, I mean me. sometimes I refer to myself as a team of people when I work on something because it makes me feel good. I feel like if I talk about doing work, but with a team it’s impressive. I usually talk to myself while doing the work to give it that team-feel. Sucks to be my roommate.

We call ourselves Adam and the Littmans.

But onto the exciting part. We’ve been working all these years to decipher a long lost language. One that has never been translated, but we’ve managed to do it. It’s way more impressive than translating Latin or hieroglyphics.

We’ve deciphered the language we’re calling “Kornese.” The language in question comes from, of course, “Freak on a Leash.” For years the meaning of the latter part of this song has gone unknown, but we’ve finally figured it out.

If you’re reading this you might want to take a seat. It begins at approximately 2:41 into the song, and goes:

“Boom na da mmm dum na ema
Da boom na da mmm dum na ema”

That’s repeated about 6 times. Or, if you’re in the grouping that things it’s the same line, it’s repeated about 12 times. Then he continunes.

“GO!/ So...fight! something on the... dum na ema/ Fight...some things they fight/ So...something on the... dum na ema/ Fight...some things they fight/ Fight...something of the... dum na ema/ No...some things they fight/ Fight...something of the... dum na ema/ Fight...some things they fight”

According to an interview done with Jonathan Davis cited on his Wikipedia page, or maybe somewhere else I looked, he said this song is his reaction to the inner workings of the music industry. Sounds good.

But in our efforts to translate the video we uncovered something much more frightening. I should also mention, my team is the same one that translates all the Bin Laden videos, so it’s pretty safe to say we’re not just making this stuff up.

While listening to that portion of the song makes those first two lines sound the same, they’re all different. That’s first. I know, it’s a bit difficult to believe after all those years when you were singing along and you just repeated the same thing over and over. Well, you were wrong. And a moron.

The first time he says it, we’ve interpreted it to mean, “Hey, my name is Jonathan, but you can call me John. I have daddy issues.”

So far not a shock, right? Let’s continue.

“I’m from California, but I don’t like California Pizza Kitchen. Isn’t that weird?”

Davis is known for interposing events from his life into his songs, and it’s quite possible he’s never been more open than he is here. Aren’t you glad we did this for you?

“The only reason I appeared in ‘Break Stuff’ was because Fred [Durst] said he’d tickle my balls. I didn’t know he was going to do it with his tongue. Or that DJ Lethal was going to tape it. Awkward. I still can’t help but think about it when I listen to any of the records.”

That would be awkward.

“If I could have written any song ever, it would be ‘My Neck, My Back.’”

Great choice.

“It takes me 30 minutes each morning to do my hair.”

That’s a nice little fact.

“Guess what? Our guitarist is going to become a Jesus freak. Interesting no?”

He even predicts the future.

“The 2012 presidential election will be huge. Not just historic but huge. I won’t tell you which country’s election or why it will be historic, but it will be.”

Ooo, sounds crazy.

“I once cut open a Tauntaun while stranded outside during a really cold night in Detroit and slept in it. I should also mention, I was on an insane amount of drugs when that happened.”

See how open this man is being? Is there any point in me interjecting between quotes at this point? Nope. Oh well, fuck it. I’m going to keep doing it.

“I once had sex with Martha Stewart. She’s was on an insane amount of drugs when that happened.”

Whoa. Greatest songwriter ever sleeping with the greatest homemaker ever, how ‘bout that?
“I don’t know how to type, which I blame on coming from a broken home.”

For shame.

“I sometimes wish I was born as Alicia Keys. Then I cry myself to sleep.”

I’ve got nothing.

“I hate America.”

Whoops, might’ve got that line mixed up with one of those Bin Laden videos.

“I found Pi to the 64th digit, but I’m not telling you any of the numbers.”

A genius.

So that’s it folks. We spent years coming up with this. Hope you enjoy it. Stay tuned for our next study, which chronicles Fred Durst’s run as a guidance counselor, including what not to do with a big pile of shit and where to stick cookies.

SUPER TEST

Personal Update: Fuck You

I don't think I've ever been more mad than I am right now.

I work for a non-profit organization.  Specifically, a noncommercial, student-run, public radio station.  I am a registered Democrat, and I have voted at every opportunity for liberal policies.  I'm a member of freepress.org, I own a Democracy Now! t-shirt, and I donate money to several non-profit organizations each year.  I've often considered, for much of my life, that I might simply become a recluse, denying our economic and social system control over my person, spending my time reading, playing music, and writing.  I refuse to call myself a Marxist, as I've studied the subject and found I don't accept the philosophical process of criticism preached by the relevant works, but I do consider myself a socialist, to some extent -- enough so that I proudly wear a red star pin on my bookbag.

Today, I was told that I was corporate.

The left side of my brain just ripped its dick off.

My First Lapdance

So, I’ve never been to a strip club. And if you read my last post, that should tell you about how much luck I have with the ladies.

Yet none of that stopped me from getting my first lap dance the other night.

I guess I’ll get into background, since that’s what I do. I tell a bunch of mostly unnecessary background to my stories, just making them seem long and less interesting. Anyway, here we go.

It was about 11:15 on Friday night. I had just finished up a review of a TV show for a class and e-mailed it to my teacher. It was due by midnight. I was especially pissed at how much I felt it sucked. But I sent it anyway because I had been working on for a few hours and wanted to get rid it.

When I write something I don’t like, I tend to get away from it. I usually end up taking a walk, or going somewhere to listen to music. It was kind of late, and raining, so I decided just to go for a walk.

After walking around for about 20-30 minutes, I decided it was time to go back to my room. Except I was a bit tired and like another 20 minute walk from my building, so I opted to take a shuttle. I don’t mind the shuttles, although I tend not to take them too often.

I especially try to avoid them on weekend nights, as I don’t really enjoy the company of drunk people all that much. But my laziness outweighed my distaste for drunk people that night.

The shuttle goes all around campus, and one stop is pretty much right in front of my building. Also at that stop are the frat and sorority houses. So people hop on the shuttle all dressed up to go to parties, and occasionally they already have some drinking done at this point in the night.

I take a seat about halfway back on the bus, in the section of seats that face to side opposed to straight ahead. At the next stop a group of girls dressed in tiny tops and tight pants or skirts get on the bud. They opt to stand, and stand right in front of me, who is facing them because of the direction of my seat.

They’re talking and laughing and having a good time. Then, what I can only guess to be “their jam,” comes on the radio. They start dancing on the bus, but only some slight head bopping at first.

Then the girl directly in front of me starts full on dancing. She’s moving her head, swaying her hips a bit, and all that kind of stuff. A few times she hits my knee, but doesn’t really stop dancing or even acknowledge me. I’m trying not to stare, but I’m staring. I’m more successful at my attempts to no laugh, though it’s difficult.

Then the bus stops, and a bunch of people get off, opening up a lot of seats. She’s still dancing, and I’m still sitting. She’s hit me again, this time looks down and sees me, and the open seat next to me.

“Oh, I’ve been dancing right in front of you this whole time,” she says after taking a seat next to me. "I'm sorry."

“That’s alright,” I say. “I’m sorry I don’t have any singles.”

“That’s okay,” she responds. “I take big bills too.”

Well no, she didn’t say that, although it would’ve been awesome. She just kind of giggled, which was still surprising. Thinking back, she probably should’ve slapped me, which still would’ve been pretty cool. I’m guessing it was the alcohol.

Anyway, the next stop was ours. She got off with her friends. I sat there, thanking Rihanna and alcohol for a fun bus ride.

So fun in fact that I ended up staying on the bus for like another hour waiting for my boner to go down.

And Another One

Here is my reflections essay.

I talked to Adam about who the weird looking guy was from his last post, and we figured out who it was. I, also, being in the same grade and Japanese class as my two fellow bloggers, knew that guy. His name was Scott.

Once we left junior high, we split into two high schools. Adaham, hot.pork, and I, all went to the same one, and Scott went to the other. But the Japanese classes for both high schools would sometimes go on combined field trips together, where everyone would get to reunite with people they used to hang out with, and, perhaps, still did. For me, it was a chance to try to kind of ignore people that remembered me when I was going through a period in my life in which I was a dick to everyone, and was probably the least happy I'd ever been. Maybe 2nd least happy.

Anyway, on one of these trips, somehow Scott and I ended up in a conversation, and he, apparently just as unhappy to be talking to me as I was to him, said "I remember you! You made my life a living hell!" in an upset tone.

Now, I never really considered myself a bully. I always thought of bullies as more physically violent than I was, and I kind of assumed that, since I thought the mean things I said were funny, (though perhaps too incisive for junior high), I wasn't a bully, but just a social critic ahead of my time. Or something. Obviously, not everyone saw it that way, and that's probably what matters more; Adolf Hitler isn't the one who decides he was a monster, is he?

So, yeah, I probably was a bully. But not to this guy. The worst I ever did to him was throw pens and pencils at him from across the room during class, which, by the way, he threw right back at me. As far as I could tell (since we were both kind of chuckling, and using notebook shields), it was more of a game, partially for our own amusement, and partially to piss off the Japanese teacher (so, I guess, completely for our own amusement). Ironically, if I was a bully to anyone, it was the people I considered my friends. Which is really unfortunate and embarrassing, and it was really nice of them to stick around.

The point, though, of this blog, was not to apologize for being a dick, or to cry about how great my friends were/are. (I mean, really. Gay.) The point is: that Scott guy was fucking weird looking.

Like Ryan Styles.

September 11, 2001: Seven Years Later, A Blog Remembers

Happy 9/11 Day people. I’ve heard people refer to it as Patriot’s Day as well, but I much prefer 9/11 Day. What did you get for your family members? I bought them two loaves of bread, and glued them to a base on their sides, and stuck a cell phone antenna in one of them. I hope they like it.

Anyway, I’ve read a little bit this morning and watched the news a bit, and the cool thing to do seems to be to tell other people what you remember about Sept. 11, 2001. I don’t know why anyone else would care, but hey, I’ve been sort of paying attention to it so maybe you will too.

So I thought I’d share with you fine people my memories of the day. Some quick background to set the mood, if you will. I was 13, in eighth grade and didn’t really pay attention to nor care much about the world around me. Only two of things still hold true, but I’ll leave it up to you to figure out which.

Also, I had my first, what I guess you would call, girlfriend. Yeah, things were going pretty good, as I was just starting my last year of middle school, and finally had lunch in the cafeteria with the black-and-white floor and round tables. Round tables!

So anyway, I wake up and get ready for school and go to the bus stop. Once on the bus, there wasn’t too many people speaking, but it was morning and there usually weren’t. This allowed me to do one of my favorite activities: listening to Z100’s Z-Morning Zoo. They were so wacky!

All I heard from them that morning, that I remember, was them announcing that a plane had crashed into one of the Twin Towers. Alright, that sucks, someone must’ve fucked something up royally, I thought, and went back to my day.

I pretty much forgot about it until I went to Japanese class. I walked in and only one other kid was in there. He was an odd looking fellow whose name I don’t remember. But as soon as I walked in he said, in an almost giddy voice, “Hey guess what? The Twin Towers are gone. They fell down!” No way. Nu uh. Those things wouldn’t just fall. But he said they did, and that a second plane hit them.

Huh, seems odd. I guess I didn’t really understand what terrorism was then. Or I didn’t care. Either way. At lunch my friends and I probably made some jokes about the situation, if only because I remember one of my friends saying, “That’s just like us. America is in trouble and we’re sitting here making jokes.” We most likely then called him gay, which wasn’t anything that wouldn’t have happened during lunch anyway.

I’m pretty sure I saw a few people crying at lunch, but I guess I don’t know what they were crying about. Possibly that awful school lunch (POW!). No, I guess they had family members that worked in Manhattan and were worried for their safety. I remember sitting at my table and then someone coming up to me and tapping me on the shoulder. It was my “girlfriend’s” friend. She told me my better half (?) was upset and I needed to go over to her.

I did, about as unenthusiastically as one could, because you see, I was a horrible boyfriend. Well, no. Yeah I was. I can’t really lie about that. I was terrible, but only because I hate when there’s attention on me and when you’re with your “girlfriend” people kind of stare at you. Or they did in eighth grade. It sucked.

So I went over and assessed the situation. She was crying. I really hoped nobody in her family was hurt, I guess partially for her feelings and their safety and all that, but more because I might be on the least compassionate people in the world. I’m horribly suited to cheer someone up after a death of a family member, and to do so in a cafeteria full of my peers. See, I am a horrible boyfriend.

Turns out she didn’t have any family members that were in the city (thankfully), but then why was she crying. Wait for it, it’s good.

She had tickets to an O-Town concert that night in Manhattan and she just heard it was canceled because of the attacks. So she was crying. And because we were “dating,” I apparently had to give a shit. So I went over, awkwardly raised my right hand and plopped on down her shoulder, growing more nervous and sweaty by the second at the thought of people watching us, and tried to tell her it would be okay. I mean, they would reschedule. It’s not like O-Town’s schedule could even be that full right?

It didn’t work very well. she was still crying. That same friend, who was watching from no more than two feet behind me, whispered I should probably hug her. Oh but I probably shouldn’t. I mean we’re in school and all. “No just do it.” Fine.

I took a step towards her, another half step and we were now extremely close. I could feel the eyes of my peers on me. If they actually were is something I have no idea about, unfortunately. Put my arms limply around her, and pulled her in lightly. And we were hugging, barely.

If anything, that hug should have probably made her cry more. I don’t really remember what happened after that. She stopped crying eventually, but I doubt it was my hug that did it. I went back to my table, and none of my friends mentioned it. I’m not sure they realized I was gone. Or they were and were shocked at just how cold I can be.

I went home and watched the news quite a bit. I don’t even remember if I was watching the news that night. I was watching TV, and every fucking channel was just replaying clips of the planes hitting and then of the Towers falling.

At some point in the next week or so I got a note from her saying she had something to tell me, which wasn’t exactly surprising. We talk a walk at lunch and she said something about wanting to remain friends but that’s it and I agreed (or more likely just nodded and didn’t say anything). And that was it.

I hate to blame terrorism for breaking up for my relationship, if you can call it that, but I think I have to. Who knows what would’ve happened if that O-Town concert was never cancelled. Chances are she would’ve taken another few months at most to realize she could do better. I’m pretty sure we didn’t remain friends, as I don’t remember speaking to her after that day. I saw her plenty though, as she went to the same high school as I did.

She moved on, and dated some older guy who could grow more facial hair than me. I won’t say better though, because mine is awesome, while his was just a lot and messy looking. I used to see them in his car while I walked home smoking cigarettes.

Dare I attempt to say each time I saw her with him it I felt as if a plane was crashing into the Tower of my heart? I won’t, but I could. But I’d also be lying. I will say that 9/11 certainly opened my eyes, and changed me for the worse though.

Because of the attacks on September 11 I, slowly but surely, grow a hatred for many of my fellow humans. Just to list, I now hate Muslims, political activists, Afghanis, conspiracy theorists, Iraqis, the government, fuck it all brown people, dumb girls who don’t see my lack my lack of enthusiasm as a throwback to days of mysterious and just all-around cool guys (like James Dean), pastors, people who do interviews with news anchors, news anchors and most of all, O-Town.

Let's Start With an Ice Breaker!

Now settle down class. You can call me Professor Lincoln, Mr. Lincoln or Dictator Lincoln, but that’s it.

Now I don’t have a syllabus for you, mostly because I still haven’t figured out what to call the course, making it extremely odd any of you even signed up for it. And even odder, that about 70 of you signed up. Word must’ve spread about my good looks, huh? Haha, good looks.

Anyway, this class is a language course. I wouldn’t say it’s Ebonics though. It’s the speech patterns of my roommate and his cousin, and what I think they mean when they say these things.

First off is a phrase that comes from my roommate. It my roughly three weeks here he’s said it a good 10 times already. It’s a fairly easy one. He says, “Uh oh, chill mode. Chill mode.”

And yes, he repeats it. The situation for this is whenever I happen to sit on my bed, sometimes to watch TV, other times to read or other times just to sit. None of that matters though, whenever I got to my bed it’s, “Uh oh, chill mode. Chill mode.”

You see, to chill is slang for relax, or hang out, I think. Therefore, chill mode to be in a relaxed state. And a bed is seen as a piece of furniture that is comfortable, thus when entering the cushy confines of my bed, I’m entering this supposed chill mode. Makes sense, right class?

The next few come from his cousin, who hangs out in our room occasionally on week nights as they sometimes do work together. He’s here more often on weekends, sometimes in the middle of the day, but always right before they get ready to go out at night. Boy, I’m telling you kids a lot about my out of class life, aren’t I? Oh well.

The first is whenever the cousin sees any type of confrontation, whether it be verbal or physical. Usually it comes from something we’re watching on TV, but if someone is telling a story involving confrontation, he’ll yell this out as well.

This is phrase is, “Oh shit, beef son. Beef. That’s beef son.”

Sometimes he doesn’t include that middle “beef,” but much like “chill mode” it is always said multiple times. I don’t know why they do this, but I assume to emphasize that I’m about to “chill” or that there is “beef” in the area.

Now, for those that may not know, beef is slang for confrontation, which you should’ve picked up from my explanation. For example, we were watching an episode of George Lopez where the daughter gets in a fight with a girl at school. First they exchanged words, and he said fairly loudly, “Oh shit, beef son. That’s beef.”

Then they started to grapple. “Beef. That is beef, son.”
Indeed it was.

Also, other times while waiting for my roommate, his cousin, to finish getting ready he gets antsy. He wants to go back to his room or get something to eat, if that’s the plan, of if it’s a weekend, he wants to “go to where the females is at.”

So when waiting for my roommate he constantly says, “Let’s go ne-gro.” He splits the word up into two very separate syllables. He becomes lyric-like. “Lets go…ne-gro.” Other times he’ll use the other n-word, but that one he doesn’t separate, he says it rather quickly.

Similarly, whenever my roommate is in a state of shock and needs to express his shock he says, also breaking into two very separated syllables, “Je-sus.” I guess if they don’t want to repeat the line over again they just break up a word into distinct syllables so it sounds like two words. Any by they, class, I mean my roommate and his cousin, of course.

Just two more about my roommate. I haven’t been able to decipher these ones yet, maybe you’ll have better luck. I have my theories.

The first one is a word I think is spelled “shaba,” or perhaps, “shabba?” I don’t know. But a few times we’ve been in the room just doing our own things and I’ll hear him say it out loud to himself. I don’t know. He says it at least twice a week so far.

Other times, also out loud to himself, he’ll say, “Ooooo,” in a high-pitched voice. And while he does it he kinds of shakes side-to-side.

I take these two things to as expressions of happiness, but I can’t be sure. I still have work to do to crack those two’s meanings.

He also is fluent in German, because his mother is German, so when he talks to her on the phone he only speaks in German. That’s going to be a bit more difficult.

So that’s it for our first class class. I wrote my e-mail and office hours on the board. Stop by if you want to go over anything, or if you think you might know what our two mystery words mean. Or, for the ladies, if you want to earn an A. See you next week.

Alright, on an unrelated note, but I just felt compelled to throw it at the end of this post because I didn’t want to make a completely separate one, I had a run-in with a girl running to become my building’s president, because apparently the building needs one.

Anyway, the other night her and another girl knocked on our door to see if they could hang signs telling people to vote for her for president and the other girl for vice president on our door. My roommate and I said sure, we don’t care. We also said we’d vote for them. Neither of us did.

So, of course, hanging something on your door in a dorm, it’s going to get ripped off. College-aged kids have a hard time seeing something hanging and not ripping it off, mostly because college-aged kids are douchebags.

Within hours of making our endorsement public knowledge, both signs had been ripped off our door. We didn’t care, except the possible future president of the building seemed to. She must’ve walked by, or been checking up on the only idiots dumb enough to initially agree to even let her hang her signs, and noticed they were no longer hanging. She knocked and I answered the door, and if you’ve been keeping up with my writings, you should probably guess I made an attempt at humor that fell very flat.

“Hey,” she said, “I see our signs aren’t hanging anymore and was just wondering what happened to them.”

“Oh right,” I said. “Well, I was going over your stance on the issues and just didn’t really feel comfortable endorsing you or your friend anymore.”

She looked confused. I should also mention when they first came to us they said they’d tell us their plans for the building, but we said they could skip it because we didn’t care.

“Well,” I said, breaking the silence, “what are you going to do about the broken elevator? I mean, the other one works, but the wait is very long. Now, I could walk up the stairs, but I’m lazy. Plus, it usually takes anywhere from 10-20 minutes to walk back to the dorm from main campus, so I usually don’t want to walk up nine flights of stairs once I get here.”

She was still dumbfounded. I decided to continue.

“And what are you going to do about our war with Pennsylvania Hall?” Which is a dorm about a 30 second walk from mine. “I mean, how much longer are we going to be in that pointless war? It’s about time we just collect our loses and end that.”

She was still dumbfounded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she managed to say. She started to walk away.

“Wait,” I said, “what about the people giving abortions on the fourth floor?”

She didn’t dignify me with a response.

The Sexman vs. Dmur

I know he's speaking to the majority of updaters to this blog, but I can't help but love this guy. Especially his character name of "Sexman."

My favorite part of this is when he says "I didn't get shoved into lockers or get my ass kicked." I didn't know people actually got shoved inside lockers in real life -- I would have been attempting this with much more frequency, had I thought it to be a real possibility -- but from the way he says this, apparently they do. But the assumption that he would get his ass kicked was probably a good one.

If you look at the comments on his videos, they almost always are made up of roughly a million people telling him how hideously ugly he is, and that makes me smile. But guys, let's not forget that he's hilariously retarded as well. These videos are unintentional genius.

Here's some intentional genius. The dog is the best actor of the bunch.

Bus Tales

Tonight I opted to take a bus back to my room. I live up a decent sized hill, and the school has a shuttle that goes around campus, a popular destination for the bus being "upper campus," which is where my dorm is. I guess I don't normally take it, as it's really only like a 15 minute walk or so, but I was feeling lazy.

I'm waiting for the bus, along with about 10 other people including three students I determined were freshmen. They were singing in very high pitched voices, then all getting stuck at the same part of the song at once because none of them knew the next line. I couldn't tell what they were singing, but it was a bit annoying.

Within a few minutes the bus showed up, already with a few people sitting. They were all sitting up front, so I took a seat towards the back (I also felt since I live with a black now it's only proper for me to sit towards the back of the bus anyway). The three of them also sat near me. They continued singing.

Then I finally realized what they were singing. It was the school alma mater song. They try to teach you that along with a few others when you first get here. And these guys were rocking out on the bus to it. Once I realized what it was, I immediately changed my mind about them, and thought it was hilarious. Just because I found them, here's the lyrics:

Alma mater, wise and glorious
Child of light and bride of truth
Over fate and foe victorious
Dowered with eternal youth.

Crowned with love of son and daughter
Thou shalt conquer as of yore.
Dear old Pittsburgh, Alma Mater
God preserve thee evermore.

They were getting stuck on that last line, somehow they memorized everything else. Impressive. Between songs they would quote lines from a Robert Goulet impression done by Will Ferrell on "Saturday Night Live," which was also hilarious. They kept singing, and then about 5 other people in the back of bus also joined in. So now about 8 people are singing the Pitt alma mater song.

A few minutes into the ride, this guy sitting towards the front of the bus turned around and yelled, "Can you guys shut the fuck up? Like seriously, just shut the fuck up. I mean, it's what, like a 15 minute ride at most? Can't you fucks just sit and be quiet?"

The freshmen laughed. The guy was pissed.

"Really, just shut the fuck up. Maybe not everybody likes listening to assholes croon acapella ballads."

Unfortunately, he didn't say that last line jokingly. That's apparently just how he talks. Then I laughed. Then one of the guys decided it was time to answer him back.

"Hey man, don't be a party pooper. I can't help it. I bleed gold and blue."

The guy was just really dejected, so he turned around and sat quietly for the rest of the ride. The guys didn't sing again on the bus, but they asked pretty much everyone else on the bus to join their acapella group, which they didn't have a name for yet.

This May be the Continuance of a Terrible Cycle

Something odd occurred yesterday when I went to take my shower.  I walked in the bathroom, towards the showers, and, of the two in the room, one was occupied.  Not strange, right?  But the guy was showering with the curtain open.

What? The. Fuck!

Honestly, I have no idea why this happened.  He wasn't trying to be seen, as far as I can tell, because as soon as I walked in, he quickly shut the curtain, and went "ah," kind of.  Not like "ahhhh," but like "Ah!"  You know?  I pretended like I was just so out of it from having just woken up, and I didn't notice, but it was too late.  I'd seen everything.

But now I'm starting to think there might be something to this.  I mean, why did he do it?  He made a conscious decision to shower with the curtain open, and I mean to find out why.  Nobody would do that for no reason, so, from now on, I'm showering only with the curtain open, until I discover it's mystique.

In Your Mind

Here’s what I imagine is going through the mind of at least one person, but usually more, in every single class I’ve ever been a part of. Here’s what I think you think you fuckers:

Alright, I’m following everything pretty well right now. It’s a good thing I did the reading, and did all of it this time. Haha. More like it’s a good thing Stumpy let me do my work by not blasting his fag music all night again. Man, Stumpy, what are we gonna do with you?

Oh shit, I’m trailing off. I need to refocus on what the teacher is saying, because I actually did the work for class today. I really want to show her that I did it, and show how much of a grasp I have on the material. Like I really need to buckle down.

The syllabus said that class participation is 10 percent of our final grade, so this is really important. I need an A, and I clearly need to involve myself with class from here on out. I mean, 10 percent! There’s no way you could conceivably just show up to class, take notes and do well on tests and just get an A. That’s not adding anything to class discussion. I need to make my presence felt.

Alright, she appears to be coming closer to asking a question. Get ready. My arm feels good, like I can lift it really high. Higher than all these other losers in here. Not only am I going to impress her with how well I understand the material, but how high I can raise my arm. This is going to be awesome.

Yes, question! Oh, wow. It’s a good one too. Let me think for a second. Hopefully nobody else has the answer yet, so I can have some time to think. I remember reading that in the text last night. It was on the page with the picture of the kind of hot queen chick lady. Wait a minute, almost got it.

Shit. She called on someone. But he looks like an idiot. He won’t know it. No way. I’ve still got this.

Wow, hell of an answer.

Fuck it, my arm is raised. I’ve got this. Call on me teach! Do it! I know exactly what I want to say!

Yes!

“Uh, I agree with what he said. He summed it up really well.”

Score.

We're Like A Partially Eaten Oreo

I believe I mentioned my roommate in this blog spot (see what I did there?) a few weeks ago. Now that I’m about two weeks into my school journey, I felt it was time to update. Just to catch you all up, the day before I was moving into my dorm, I got an e-mail from someone claiming to be my roommate’s cousin. He wrote he was transferring from the Sudan, which I learned is in Africa, and said he would really like to room with his cousin, Phil. He wanted to know if we could switch rooms. I was pissed.

Not cause I for one second entertained the idea of switching rooms. He said he was in a single, and the single rooms are in shitty dorms. I am in a nice dorm. But cause I was turning him I down I felt there’d be a tension already between myself and my roommate, and his cousin whenever he was in the room. I said fuck it, declined and moved in.

And, if you hadn’t picked up on at least the cousin, they’re both black. I’m white. Should be a year of learning both in and out of the classroom for both of us. We’re going to use that in the commercial, and then have me holding up an afro pick with a really inquisitive look on my face. Then cut to him holding up my Friends DVDs and mouthing “what the fuck?”

Oh, the commercial is going to be for the show about us, called Who Be Trippin? You see, when he does something “ethnic,” in my whitest voice possible, I’m going to say “Homie be trippin’.” Maybe I’ll throw a “yo” in at the end, I don’t know. Then every now and then, when I do something hilariously white, he’s going to say “Honkey be trippin’.”

I smell a hit.

So anyway, our first encounter with the black elephant in the room came a few days into the semester. He said he was going into our bathroom to give himself a “shape up,” which I understood to be some sort of hair cutting process. He took a few steps towards the bathroom, stopped, turned and said “Wait, you know what a shape up is, right?”

I said I was pretty sure I did, and he laughed. “I guess you’ll learn a little something about living with black people this year, won’t you?”

I said, “More like half-white.” He turned and said “What?” I said, “Well, your mom is white, thus you are only half-black, or half-white if you’re a bit more pessimistic I suppose. Or really, optimistic, cause I mean, being white is pretty fantastic.”

That last paragraph didn’t happen, but his mom is white. But you wouldn’t know it by looking at him. It sucks because now I have to watch myself to make sure I don’t say the n-word or the m-word. Should be tough, considering they’re both like saying “hello” to me.

At first, I wanted him to think I was cool. I just want acceptance into the culture, that’s all. So I acted black like the people on TV, mainly Flava Flav.

Haha, yeah boi. Wow.




That didn’t work out so well. Then I just started only talking to him about Barack Obama. He’s not that into politics it seems. But that doesn’t mean I’m still not amped about voting for Obama. I mean, I don’t really care about politics all that much, but this is going to be great.

From now on I’ll be able to make sort-of racist comments, and defend myself by saying that I voted for Obama. It’s going to be the new “I’m not racist. I have a black friend.” It’s great!

So once that didn’t go over well, I decided I didn’t need his acceptance. I was just going to white it up until he cracked and had to give it up to me cause I stray true to my whiteness. Or at least that’s what I was hoping for. You see, I do need his acceptance.

I studied classic works of whiteness. Pretty much Friends and “Pretty Fly for a White Guy.” I’ve also revisited Eminem’s catalog, heavily. I think it’s working. We don’t speak anymore. When we see each other we just say “uhuh uhuh.” So we’ve got that going for us, which is nice.

But it’s not just his acceptance I’m pinning for; it’s his cousin’s also. I mean, he’s an authentic African! I thought I lost him the second or third time we met.
My roommate mentioned that he had a TV from last year at a friend’s house that he needed to pick up. I brought a TV and hooked it up. He said he doesn’t really watch TV, so he didn’t plan on hooking his up. I told him we could easily find room for it, or to use the one I brought, which is set up so he can see it from his side of the room if he so pleases, which he normally doesn’t but it’s there.

So he says he’s going to pick it up soon, but just leave it in the corner of the room or in his closet. I say, “Hey, just hook it up. We could turn both TVs on the same channel, mute one and watch that, while covering the other one’s screen and listening to it.”

They looked at me like I suggested we all get naked and play Wild Things. No exaggeration, there was a good 8 seconds of pure silence, before they just went on with the conversation and ignored my comment.

I think I won them back with my next attempt at humor. They were watching a History Channel show about the Bloods. I sat down and started watching, after all, I like clubs that make you rape someone as initiation.

After a while the cousin asks, “Hey Adaham, you know about the Bloods?” Now, I had been watching at least 15 minutes, so I clearly knew a good deal about the Bloods, but I answered anyway.

“I know of them, but I never tried to join them or anything.”

They both seemed to find that hilarious. “Imagine Adaham in the Bloods,” the cousin said. I claimed that I look better in blue, so the Crips might be a better option. That one worked too, and I’m now seen as a white D.L. Hughly/ Mike Epps by them, and I intend to keep it that way.

If anything, these first two weeks haven’t taught me much about living with someone of the black race. We get along well, I guess. We speak, but just bullshit small talk mostly. We both keep the room and bathroom clean, so things are going well on that front.

But I don’t think I necessarily feel the need for his acceptance as much as I did earlier in the year, i.e. last week. I mean, if he wants to tell me I’m the coolest white person he knows, will I just smile and then go and text my mom and cry tears of joy? Of course.

If he doesn’t tell me that before the year is over, I’ll be just as fine though. I’m not going to set out to impress him. I mean, I am whatever you say I am. If I wasn’t, why would I say I am? Or something like that.

I am a Political Genius

The beginning of the year is rough.  It's difficult to stave off the boredom before classes start, while also trying to avoid all strangers, especially when one's dorm room is small and stuffy.  In an effort to entertain myself, I've actually resorted to reading the news, and watching political speeches.  Expect my blogs from now on to be mostly political in nature.

On that note, I think Barack Obama, after the election, should grow out an afro.  Why?  Because he wouldn't get elected if he grew it out first, duh.  Fuck you, whitey.

Ballin'.