Monday, January 30, 2006

Another Monday night...

It is far to frustrating to actually write coherently these days. Mostly, it all sounds like I am verging on some kind of sucidal rage or maybe jsut ready to end it all for a band of fucks who dont know that we are quickly approcahing the edge - but that is not the case. Who really knows where the edge is, anyway?

No, I am jsut another drunk in this world and we are humping through it like everyone else.

I think my problem tonight was the fact that my favorite movie was on - Leaving Las Vegas.

Not so much becasue i think that Nicholas Cage is some wonderful method actor who does great justice to a character who drinks himself to death. No, I like it becasue it is akward and the dialog between the drunk and hooker goes from lovey dovey and happy relationshop talk, to crude comments about blow jobs and how random guys will shove her face down into a pillow while she is wearing the jewlery that Cage bought her.

All of it is very raw and in the end (stop reading if you have not seen the movie) he dies with her on top of him.

That, my sorry sack of lack luster readers, is what this world is missing. People willing to endure akward conversations, situations and crisis all in the name of being used so as not to feel so wickely alone every waking moment of your life.

Who better to pick than a drunk and a hooker - they dont have feelings, they dont matter in society. Kill one and there is anoter making his way through the ranks ready to take his stand on the battle field.

No, this is a good cinema. My roommate already mocked me as he came home and found me watching the tail end of the hour and a half drama.

"My god, you really are depressing hte shit out of me here..." he said - stoping only brifley to take in the last words of the movie.

This makes mroe sence if you understand the events that unfolded the weekend before. Broken computers, books and dreams, as a few of us got together to drink and instead found ourselves realizing the the stack of rejection letters from shit-hole news organizations are really jsut formalized forms of being turned down by the hooker at the end of hte bar.

"...It was a bad disease, but her searching was over..."

She smells nice, we buy her drinks and even compliment her shoes or ear rings or what ever the hell hookers wear, and in the end - after 50 buck of watered down liquor - we get a form letter in the mail promissing that if we keep trying someday, maybe some day, we will get lucky and someone will want to take us home for the night.

Fuck that, I'm sick of it.

I'll jsut tell my landlord that I staying and not going anywhere. God, no. Even that is too depraved for me.

There is one job prospect on the horizon. All that is left now is for me to fuck it up in the interview. I did a bang up job with the orlando job and now, I am prepared to torpedo my next job prospect.

Oh, but these are far to heavy of topics to really care anymore.

There really is only so much you want to endure while reading, and god knows I am not doing a serive to any of you prick-fucks who acutally log on to this crap.

That is your fault. Not mine.

---------------------------------------------------

I think I am prepared to annoucne that one of our roommates has fianlly caught on to what it means to live here.

After meaningless destruction of our apartment and some late night diner food, our newest recruit let lose.

"A someking section makes not sence," the waitress said about hte recent smoking ban. "its like having a peeing section in acommunity swimming pool."

"Ah," he said contemplativly looking toward the celing. "Sol, it is convenient just innapropriate."

Also, in a bizaree game of truth or dare...

"Ok, cut the crap. Are you a lesbian? I just have to know."

This he said to our roommate after we tossed papaers and poured beer all over her and the apaprtment. Really no rhyme or reason, jsut a good old fasion grilling...McCarthy would be proud.

Monday, January 16, 2006

Columbia 301, respond...

WEEKLY REPORT
To: The Department of Weird Activities and Odd Happenings.
From: Agent 2101

Columbia, Mo - Jan 15 & 16 between the hours of 11 p.m. and 2 a.m.

Begin Narrative: Much like any other night here in the Temple my attorny and I found ourselves drinking much more than we had anticipated. Originally, I had planned to have only one drink while he ate dinner at the kitchen table and we mocked the unholy rodents that have returned to our home.

But, much like the rest of my life, one drink is never enough. We managed to coax our third roommate from his room and told him he also needed to drink with us to celebrate god knows what.

Three bottles of champaign and half a bottle of vodka later, we all were to a point where we were conduting some of hte higest of intelectual debate: who was the better James Bone (see a few posts back for my arguments), who was the better Batman, does the movie make the character better or does the character make the movie better?

These were the pressing issues that we faced and we battled them out and then settled our differences like men - by daring eachother to piss off the balcony or into a trashcan set up in the middle of the living room.

We opted to toss poker chips into the trash can.

Still, with that much vile liquor corsing through your body, you do not end the night so early - as I had planned to do originallu so both my attorney and I could get up early and prepare for another stellar semester of academic success.

Instead It was time to play with my new toy, the police scanner, and see what this horrid little town was up too on a Sunday night in the wee hours of the morning.

"Columbia 331, report of 51-year-old woman with shortness of breath requesting assistance..."

"Columbia 344, we have a report of a woman stranded at the intersection of Stadium and Broadway going north. Can you respond."

The simple banter and cold words between the county joint communications and the street police was enough entertainment that we would have been content. But that is not how we roll here.

"Columbia 301, report of a noise compliant at 1614 Anthony with possible minors drinking on the premiss, can you respond?"

A shock ran through all four of us sitting in the living fixed on the scanner as we realized that our building had just been identified. My attoenry and I were, in fact, sitting with two minors - drinking.

"Oh crap, we are so screwed..." some one yelled.

My first thought was to grab the scanner and run outside scanning hte streets and the skies. I could see it, helicopters droping comando units onto the roof, swat vans storming the parking lot with cops in riot gear preparing to storm our humble home. Snipers taking aim at our heads rom the roof of the building across the way.

We all had now gathered outside on the front deck looking up and down the building hoping there was a wild party of some sort going on that might have actually gotten the cops attention, but everything was dark and no one was out on the deck at all.

Listening intensly to the scanner outside, we waited. Armed with my attorney we were going to head off the pig bastard and launch a preemptive strike. They thought they could get hte jump on us, but I had the upperhand.

Our own short attention span took us back inside where we continued to laugh and go nuts about the night's turn of events.

"Maybe the cops don't always respond when stuff like that gets called in," one of hte roommates said.

"301 to Columbia, I am outside 1614 Anthony and noone is answering the door, anyway we could contact a landlord or get the exact apartment number?"

"Oh shit, they are right outside."

The cop shines a flashlight into the front windows of our apartment. At this point we had already turned off all the lights and had prepared for an all out assault.

"Take no prisoners! We will not go quietly!"

The cop did not come to our door. My attorney was prepared to play a much more diplomatic role and slowly went out to the front, with my close behind. He was going to take the first bullet - not me, fuck no.

The police officer shines us with the masssive mag light he and begins his verbal assaul.

"What are you guys doing?" he asks.

"Just hanging out. Not really doing anything."

You can hear the scanner in the background as it is stereoed from the cops own radio.

"You know who lives up in that apartment," he says pointing to the corner on the opposite side of the building.

"Um, well, some dudes,"

"What?"

"We don't know their names..." my attorney then trailed off.

"Ok, well get inside and be quiet," the cop says with no inclination of remose for his crap attitude to fine tax payers like ourselves.

The cop was some young punk who did not sign on to the Columbia Police department to bust up sunday night parties. He was pissed, but was not going to do anything. And didn't as we later heard on the scanner

"301 to Columbia, possible liquor law violations, but no report."

We dodged a bullet. Maybe this thing will provide us with some valuable insight when we once again throw some of the ragers we have been known for in the past. Now with this scanner, we can monitor when the hammer is about to come down and abandon out persuits in the Temple and let the young, idiots who remin behind get squished by the man.

This was a great Christmas Gift and it will have some great uses.

Agent 2101, 10-14 and out.

-END-

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

The next great American novel.

It was savage burn on what could be considered their own home turf. Thousands turned out to see Texas battle it out with USC.

While I have always considered College Basketball the sport to watch, there was no denying the enomity of the 10 yard run by VInce Young that put his Longhorns over the top of the Trojans to take home the the most ugly and revered trophy in college football.

It was a game accented by twisted runs and hits that literally made players' helmet jar off their heads. How oelse could you reaaly describe the pure hell-bent Texas Team's desire to whip USC.

It was a bit of respite from the foul head trip that God laid on the otherside ofthe country where 12 miners were killed for doing htier jobs in a small backwater town on West Virgina.

It was only after news outlets and stray onlookers began shouting praise to this foul god that the miners had beene rescued were we told my the President of hte company that it was all a lie.

Only one had survived.

When the broadcast news began saying all were alive and flashed joyus photos of family memebers hugging and relieved that their loved ones were still were clinging to life i thought it was odd that no one was asking mine officials or anyone who was actully with the rescue team what was going on.

No one, aside from beligured family memebers, was saying for sure who was alive and who was dead. It is a real mind fuck at 3 in the morning to watch the whole situation pan out. It's enough to make even crulest of minds wonder who was behind this kind of pure evil - leading on a family in a time where their husband, son, father was trapped beneath 2 miles of rock and earth. No this was ana act of something more menacing that what some dying governor or CEO looking for profits could do alone - it was an act of desperation.

But this is not what we were going to talk about tonight; I needed an out. I was up allnight watching, reading the news and trying not ot curse at Anderson Cooper - you fucking hack.

I was tired of watching the news.

"What sorority girls don't do: watch television news - it is too depressing and boring to ever bring up in conversation. Read a newspaper - same reason...Do extra-credit project. Do the Laundry - it goes to the cleaners."
- Rush: A girl's guide to soroity success.

So I escaped to the book store. I needed something to do aside from sitting around my house alone with nothing to do. After the surgery the days started to drag on. With no job - or any job to plan for (Thanks, MSA, for that one) - I had nothing to do except for read.

In my time at home - just a little more than three weeks - I have read: The DaVinci Code and David McCollugh's 1776 (at the insistance of my HS english teacher), In Cold Blood, Feet to the Fire (a book about journalists who covered 9-11 and how they wished they had done better afterward) and now have moved on to Pledged: The Secret Life of Sororities.

I'll let that last book sink in for a second.

The whole premiss of the book is not new - a journalist (female) poses as a sorority girl for a year and then writes a book about it.

It is actually really interesting - it is nothing really new that I have not already picked up from the mind-fuck that is induced on hundreds of girls at my college, but it is interesting that she picks out four girls to really follow all year.

Two of them are people she admits in the beginning of the book seem like they would never join a sorority - she also admits that she thought following htese girls would make for a little more damning of a book. I think this is what got me into the book in the first place; the pure honesty that the author brings to the introduction of the book itself.

She admits, for example, that she knew nothing of greeks or how they worked. She originally was doing a story on the TExas greek system and found it facinating how much of an emphasis there was and wanted to expand it to a whole social study on the subject. The amount of sociological background and support she puts in here also makes me think she was trying for a kind of research book, more than a story book.

Sure, there are bitches and stereotypical sorority girls weaved through the entire book, but the book it actually quite interesting about how greeks from the natioanl office to the lowest pledge use this twisted form of mental manupliation to seperate out the "weak from the strong." The idea that they groom leaders, but at the same time demoralize girls to train them to be followers. Rampet promotion of sex and sexual acts given and traded between frats and sororities, but the idea of being a slut or labled a slut is still applicable.

It does make a few references to my own college and its greek institution and a whole host of others in the area. I kind of want to make the limited number of greek students i know read this book. Get a better handle on how they might swallow it.

Well, we have strayed far off topic again. Anyway, this resurgence in my reading has made me once again want to write my own book. I am not sure what itiwll be about by my mom, of all people, thinks i should make it about my junior year of college.

The whole idea of living in a place we calledthe Temple of Gonzo and the crashing of a funeral simply becasue we could.

However, she said that while I should write this book in the next few months, I should not show it to anyone unless I trusted them. Instead, I should put it away for about 10 years. Then in the year 2016 - when I am riding around in my hover-car - I will bring it out, re-write it and hopefully, she said, be able to add a little wisdom inbetween the tales of late night binges and drug addled study sessions.

Make it something like Stand By Me, but the standing might be a little harder with as much alcohol invovled. I could see it being a cross between Stand by me and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - with a little dash of Breakfast of Champions mixed in.

Techinally, I wrote the ending to a book I wanted to write last summer. My idea was to look at how things ended and make it a book of, in weird sence, how things ended and how those endings really make up one big narrative about how I had lived.

Lame, I know. This is why i never finished it - my endings always suck.

Like this one.