I'm neither gay nor middle aged so I feel like I shouldn't be a Celine Dion fan.
Last night was the Aqualung show. Bri and I set out on our journey around 6:45 or so. We arrived at our Kentucky destination; the air was thick with the smell of the elephant house. There were no elephants in sight and there were no zoos to speak of (not legitimate and classifiable ones anyways). The smell was so strong, so potent, that it stifled my breathing. I feel as though this may be unacceptable.
Without meaning to sound pretentious, although it is grossly unavoidable, waiting in line to enter the Mad Hatter was a significant ego booster. Those who stood in line with us were most assuredly an eclectic bunch. There were enough fashion faux pas to supply TLC's "What Not to Wear" indefinitely with the anti-fashionista. (I can only hope that I was one of them.)
Once inside, Bri and I sat atop cushioned "steps" so that we could feel powerful; all hail the high and mighty TD and Briana. The first band to play, Seabird, was excellent. They asked if anyone had any questions, and of course, the ultra-cool kids asked stupid questions, "How much do you think I weigh?" The answer: a whopping one hundred pounds. "Excuse me, waiter, could someone get this kid a slice of cake? A cookie with whole milk, maybe?" Then, me, being the asshole that I have recognized myself to be, raised my hand with a question, "How did you celebrate Earth Day?!" I could feel eyes on my back and the people surrounding me thinking to themselves, or even conversing with their show-going partners, "Man, fuck that tree hugger." I have no idea what Seabirds response was, but the long and short of it was that they got drunk off of Cheeze-its. I respect them for that.
Sara Breilles was the next to take stage. To be honest, when I saw her setting up I found myself doubting her performance. However, once her set began, I pulled a proverbial insert foot-into-mouth and retracted any previous preconceived notions that I thought to myself and aloud. The most soulful voices always come from the skinniest girls; she was amazing. Bri ended up buying her demo-- I ended up ganking it from Bri and importing it into my iTunes.
Aqualung. Oh, Aqualung. Love at first sight? Okay, maybe a little bit. Love at first sound? I have never been so confident that something exists. It is a euphoric feeling when he opens his mouth to sing. When he spoke I grew weak in the knees and my heart completed the flip turns that three years of swim team could not teach me. I must, and will, visit England and do nothing but listen. The man spoke of the gents’ room and the surprise that he found in one of the toilets; speaking of defecation has never sounded so appealing. Bri and I clung to one another trying not to fall over with every syllable laced in an English accent that left his beautiful face which was laden with pronounced features. Thankfully my camera has a video recording feature; I can now relive the moment he spoke the word "lavetrees" (naturally that is not how you would spell it, but it is how he pronounced it) every day for the rest of my life.
Bri and I made a pit stop at Taco Bell on the way home from the Mad Hatter. With a mouth full of chicken gordita I plotted my marriage proposal to Aqualung, "Wilf youf pwease jus mawy me? I will ewn mooe to Lonfudn. Wiwingwy. I peut owou." *Translation: Will you please just marry me? I will even move to London. Willingly. I put out.* Bri and I got a giggle out of it. We drove back to UC, grins overriding any default expression like we had just experienced the most satisfying sexual encounter imaginable. Entering Daniel's I gushed to Sahil about the incredibleness of English accents; Bri and I had been talking in pseudo accents since we left the venue. As I was gripping Sahil’s shoulders’, shaking him violently, trying to instill the greatness into his head, who should walk in the doors of Daniel's Hall? Andrew, of course. Leave it up to me; I would make myself look like an asshole at that moment. Idiot. I am an idiot. However, my silliness and display of awkwardness only increased ten-fold from that point out. The elevator ride up six floors could have been less awkward if I hadn't continued to use my British accent. Sometimes I hate myself. This was not one of those times. Well, okay, I half hated myself at that point, but I'm already over it.
Last night 604 was told that we have the room with the nicest breasts out of all on campus housing (collectively speaking, anyways). Don't hate..? Holler..? Uhhh..What comes next?
If I could have one type of music injected into my veins I would probably pick metal (under certain stipulations). Who doesn't love the illusion of being a bad ass?
Walking through McMicken after English class today I made eye contact with a stranger. In turn, the scruffy boy raised both arms seeking a double high-five. With my let hand serving as a DJ, I raised my right hand to the heavens, as to second his "hallelujah," mustered a half-assed "Sup?" and waited as he took a hold of my hand in his; I think he was savoring the moment. I love that things of the sort always happen to me.
Because of that boy's courage to approach me I have decided to make Wednesdays "Meet New People Day." Monday and Tuesday's will be spent working up the courage to say "Hi" to these people, Wednesday will be spent executing my plan, and the rest of the week will consist of me saying hello to my new acquaintances if I happen to run into them. No creeping, stalking, or lurking allowed from either party. Thank you, very much.
I may go to see Antibalas with Andrew on Sunday. In order to determine whether or not I want to shell out $15 for the show I'm going to need to listen to some tunes. I may also require some convincing from Andrew and others that will be attending the show. I will also need a detailed list of those who will be making the trek up the street with us; I need to know what company I will be spending my evening with if I decide I am going. I wonder: do I work Sunday night? I should find that out.
I have a lot of writing to do. The English essay that is being neglected because of this damn post has a rough draft due on Wednesday. It's a good thing that I have no concrete obligations for the evening and there is an impending rainstorm. I am rewriting "The Yellow Wallpaper" from the point of view of the wallpaper. I will, if necessary, use force to get Melinda to help me with this paper. I will simply flick her sunburn and send her sprawling onto the ground begging, pleading that I not flick her again. I will have her right where I want her. Focus. I need to focus.
I made a promise to a girl in my French class, Girl Scouts honor implemented and everything, that I would help her study for our Topics exam that is next Monday. I should figure out her name. I feel that it may be in my best interest to at least make an effort. It's time for me to put my espionage-like skills to good use.
Tomorrow I have my one-on-one RA progress evaluation. For the first time in this whole selection process I am nervous. I wish that people didn't believe so soundly that I was a shoo in candidate. I don't have the same faith. Granted I say my peace, I participate, and I do the necessary work for class, so do the other candidates. I do not really see any one in my class that deserves the boot. I'm nervous, that's all there is to it. Perhaps I should consider what I will do if I do not get the job. I could take on a social experiment and opt to be homeless?
Wadsworth High School had a bomb threat today? That stuff never happened when I went to school there. That's not to say we didn't have our fair share of nervous events, but a bomb threat? Things are escalating. I am going to need a Wadsworthian to fill me in on this. I feel so far from home.
Without meaning to sound pretentious, although it is grossly unavoidable, waiting in line to enter the Mad Hatter was a significant ego booster. Those who stood in line with us were most assuredly an eclectic bunch. There were enough fashion faux pas to supply TLC's "What Not to Wear" indefinitely with the anti-fashionista. (I can only hope that I was one of them.)
Once inside, Bri and I sat atop cushioned "steps" so that we could feel powerful; all hail the high and mighty TD and Briana. The first band to play, Seabird, was excellent. They asked if anyone had any questions, and of course, the ultra-cool kids asked stupid questions, "How much do you think I weigh?" The answer: a whopping one hundred pounds. "Excuse me, waiter, could someone get this kid a slice of cake? A cookie with whole milk, maybe?" Then, me, being the asshole that I have recognized myself to be, raised my hand with a question, "How did you celebrate Earth Day?!" I could feel eyes on my back and the people surrounding me thinking to themselves, or even conversing with their show-going partners, "Man, fuck that tree hugger." I have no idea what Seabirds response was, but the long and short of it was that they got drunk off of Cheeze-its. I respect them for that.
Sara Breilles was the next to take stage. To be honest, when I saw her setting up I found myself doubting her performance. However, once her set began, I pulled a proverbial insert foot-into-mouth and retracted any previous preconceived notions that I thought to myself and aloud. The most soulful voices always come from the skinniest girls; she was amazing. Bri ended up buying her demo-- I ended up ganking it from Bri and importing it into my iTunes.
Aqualung. Oh, Aqualung. Love at first sight? Okay, maybe a little bit. Love at first sound? I have never been so confident that something exists. It is a euphoric feeling when he opens his mouth to sing. When he spoke I grew weak in the knees and my heart completed the flip turns that three years of swim team could not teach me. I must, and will, visit England and do nothing but listen. The man spoke of the gents’ room and the surprise that he found in one of the toilets; speaking of defecation has never sounded so appealing. Bri and I clung to one another trying not to fall over with every syllable laced in an English accent that left his beautiful face which was laden with pronounced features. Thankfully my camera has a video recording feature; I can now relive the moment he spoke the word "lavetrees" (naturally that is not how you would spell it, but it is how he pronounced it) every day for the rest of my life.
Bri and I made a pit stop at Taco Bell on the way home from the Mad Hatter. With a mouth full of chicken gordita I plotted my marriage proposal to Aqualung, "Wilf youf pwease jus mawy me? I will ewn mooe to Lonfudn. Wiwingwy. I peut owou." *Translation: Will you please just marry me? I will even move to London. Willingly. I put out.* Bri and I got a giggle out of it. We drove back to UC, grins overriding any default expression like we had just experienced the most satisfying sexual encounter imaginable. Entering Daniel's I gushed to Sahil about the incredibleness of English accents; Bri and I had been talking in pseudo accents since we left the venue. As I was gripping Sahil’s shoulders’, shaking him violently, trying to instill the greatness into his head, who should walk in the doors of Daniel's Hall? Andrew, of course. Leave it up to me; I would make myself look like an asshole at that moment. Idiot. I am an idiot. However, my silliness and display of awkwardness only increased ten-fold from that point out. The elevator ride up six floors could have been less awkward if I hadn't continued to use my British accent. Sometimes I hate myself. This was not one of those times. Well, okay, I half hated myself at that point, but I'm already over it.
Last night 604 was told that we have the room with the nicest breasts out of all on campus housing (collectively speaking, anyways). Don't hate..? Holler..? Uhhh..What comes next?
If I could have one type of music injected into my veins I would probably pick metal (under certain stipulations). Who doesn't love the illusion of being a bad ass?
Walking through McMicken after English class today I made eye contact with a stranger. In turn, the scruffy boy raised both arms seeking a double high-five. With my let hand serving as a DJ, I raised my right hand to the heavens, as to second his "hallelujah," mustered a half-assed "Sup?" and waited as he took a hold of my hand in his; I think he was savoring the moment. I love that things of the sort always happen to me.
Because of that boy's courage to approach me I have decided to make Wednesdays "Meet New People Day." Monday and Tuesday's will be spent working up the courage to say "Hi" to these people, Wednesday will be spent executing my plan, and the rest of the week will consist of me saying hello to my new acquaintances if I happen to run into them. No creeping, stalking, or lurking allowed from either party. Thank you, very much.
I may go to see Antibalas with Andrew on Sunday. In order to determine whether or not I want to shell out $15 for the show I'm going to need to listen to some tunes. I may also require some convincing from Andrew and others that will be attending the show. I will also need a detailed list of those who will be making the trek up the street with us; I need to know what company I will be spending my evening with if I decide I am going. I wonder: do I work Sunday night? I should find that out.
I have a lot of writing to do. The English essay that is being neglected because of this damn post has a rough draft due on Wednesday. It's a good thing that I have no concrete obligations for the evening and there is an impending rainstorm. I am rewriting "The Yellow Wallpaper" from the point of view of the wallpaper. I will, if necessary, use force to get Melinda to help me with this paper. I will simply flick her sunburn and send her sprawling onto the ground begging, pleading that I not flick her again. I will have her right where I want her. Focus. I need to focus.
I made a promise to a girl in my French class, Girl Scouts honor implemented and everything, that I would help her study for our Topics exam that is next Monday. I should figure out her name. I feel that it may be in my best interest to at least make an effort. It's time for me to put my espionage-like skills to good use.
Tomorrow I have my one-on-one RA progress evaluation. For the first time in this whole selection process I am nervous. I wish that people didn't believe so soundly that I was a shoo in candidate. I don't have the same faith. Granted I say my peace, I participate, and I do the necessary work for class, so do the other candidates. I do not really see any one in my class that deserves the boot. I'm nervous, that's all there is to it. Perhaps I should consider what I will do if I do not get the job. I could take on a social experiment and opt to be homeless?
Wadsworth High School had a bomb threat today? That stuff never happened when I went to school there. That's not to say we didn't have our fair share of nervous events, but a bomb threat? Things are escalating. I am going to need a Wadsworthian to fill me in on this. I feel so far from home.