Discipline Committee. Discipline Committee is a group of a couple of elite students, Dean Staff, and Dorm Supervisors. They are all delusional. Ok.... maybe that's an overstatement. But just barely. They've been seduced, either by money or power or popularity to rise to the ruling class here at school. That or their families are being held captive by a neo-nazi underground resurgence movement. I haven't decided. I suppose it's a necessary evil. If the rules aren't enforced, then there's no reason for the rules anyways.
Discipline Committee office is located nearly in the center of campus on the ground floor of the Alumni building. If you have broken a rule, then you will be sent an email. The email will say something eloquent about how you are required to meet the august committee before a certain date.... or the charges against you will increase exponentially. The most common violations are for things like dress code violations, being up after 'lights out' or thinking about freedom. Oh there are other things you can get in trouble for too... hundreds of 'other things'.... but Discipline Committee.... (or as the general population refer to it... "DC") was a slick, more or less well lubricated machine designed to dole out punishment on a large scale. There are something like eight or ten hours per week that the office was opened. Most of those hours happened to fall precisely after Chapel. Those who had been called to explain themselves before the committee would race each other from the mandatory campus wide chapel to try and get to the front of the line at the door to DC office. This line would eventually stretch snake-like down the entire length of the building, obstructing the hallways from being used for anything remotely academic.
I had received one of these fateful emails... and managed to make it to the very center of this long long line of slate faced students waiting for their spankings. I honestly had no idea what I was guilty of, but was fully prepared to make up some wild story about being momentarily possessed of a devil, and thus un-able to take responsibility for my evil deeds. I was wedged between thug-life inspired handsome soccer player and two jane doe groupies.....
JDG: "I know! But then we were like texting later, and he told me that he still has feelings for me, but that he's worried that it just wasn't what God wanted for his life!" She complained, tossing her hair a little.
JDG2: "Whatever. That just means he's gay. Totally gay. I mean he'd have to be to not to be into you!.... You're like the prettiest girl I know!"
JDG: "I dunno. I've just been super bummed out about it. I was talking to my APC last night and she just said I needed to believe him. Like. If God is trying to tell him something, then I need to follow along with it.
I had stopped listening. I had flash cards. I did not have time for these mindless conversations about fluff. I had honestly come to believe that kids my age generally have their heads filled with pillow stuffing and sex hormones. And.... Ya know, that's absolutely correct. I decided at that moment that I would one day invent a scanner that could identify stupidity, and thus deny stupid people food and shelter. Darwin was soooooo right.
I was in the line for what seemed the better part of a decade. Before finally making my way into the smallish office. It looked something like the business area of a bank. The Committee sat down behind a tallish sort of counter and they each had computers to keep track of everyone's naughty points. I made it to the next open teller and said hello with a childlike smile.
ME: "Hi. I got some email about how I'm supposed to be here now."
TELLER: (A pert well dressed man who was clearly going to heaven based on the fact that his pin striped suit had zero wrinkles. He had bright black eyes and a pointed chin.) "What is your name?"
ME: "My name is Josh. What is your name?" I said smiling brightly.
TELLER: "Ah.... Im Nathan. What is your ID number?"
ME: "uh.... lemme see.... I can never ever remember this thing!" I started rummaging in my bag for my student ID card. I knew that it was in my wallet. But you know, if I had to wait an hour to get here... I was damn well going to enjoy it. After a moment I 'found' the card and recited the number without looking at the card.
TELLER: "Okay.... Mister Medlin. It says here that you were up after light bell?" Teller said this with the type of expression that you see on the faces of those people talking about starving children in Africa. Pained.
ME: "Oh? What says that?" Rainbow Bright interested expression.
TELLER: "Uh.... my computer says that."
ME: "Oh?.... who told your computer that?" I said... implying that it could only be a vicious rumor.
TELLER: (He was onto this routine.) "Mister Medlin..... this is not a meeting about how computers work, this is a meeting to discuss if you were in-fact up after light bell last Friday night. Apparently your hall leader took a look into your room, and saw that you still had your lamp on and were reading."
ME: "Well.... you know, honestly Nathan, since my beta fish died.... I've had a really hard time sleeping. His name was Oliver Cromwell, and he was always so happy to see me. It's been very hard without him." This seemed to have very little effect on Nathan. Nathan was not concerned with fictitious Oliver Cromwells.
TELLER: "Well. Mister Medlin, I understand that it can be hard to lose a pet.... But it's important to follow the rules. Have you considered how your having that lamp on might be an inconvenience to your room-mates?"
ME: "My room-mates?" I asked in a small voice cocking my head to the side. I reasoned that if Nathan was going to have to deal with the Jane Does behind me... he might as well be ready to deal with the mentally challenged.
TELLER: "Yes. You know, the rules in the Hand Book are there so we can live in harmony with our brothers and sisters in Christ, here at school."
Nathan could not have been fun to party with.
ME: "Oh.... Ya know... I guess that makes a sort of sense. I suppose I should be mindful that by leaving my lamp on... I could very well be escorting my room-mates to their own personal Golgotha." I said movingly.... "I feel ashamed of myself."
TELLER: "Ah.... well." (Glancing around... confused by my analogy.) "Ya know... this seems like it's your first offense of this sort. I think we could let you off this time. As long as you make an effort to comply."
ME: "Oh wow! That would be just so great!" I thought about high-fiving Nathan,... and then decided that it would be a bit more than called for. Besides.... my book sack was heavy and I was ready to end this little interview.
TELLER: "Ok. Well. Try to be more considerate next time Mister Medlin."
ME: "Thanks soooo much Nathan...." Big nurturing smile. "I will definitely do that."
Ya know.... maybe Nathan wasn't so bad after all. I sauntered out of that office with a certain sense of pride. I didn't know what the Jane Does were there for... but they most certainly would not be able to pull off something like that. And certainly not with such grace and style.
On my way to my next class I speculated about the cost of developing intelligence scanners... and which company I would sell my designs to. I would change the would. The human race would thank me.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
remember
As some of you have heard, my grandpa died a few days ago. On a Thursday. And that very day, he had an article that he had written come out in a little local paper called the 'Middle Tyger Times.'
The article talked about how he knew that he was going to heaven soon. How he knew that he was sick, and had been sick for a long time. He had heart trouble that was a result of a childhood fever. It left his joints to slowly degenerate and his heart to slowly weaken. It talked about how he knew what was coming and how he was ready. He said that he was proud of his wife. My grandmother stayed a solid example of real life loving for 58 years. She's the strong quiet translator. She explained and healed and was his partner in crime all that time. The article asked lended ear to his pride in his children and grandchildren. It explained that he was happy to have lived a full honest life.
I had the chance to stay with my grandparents during my first year of graduate school. They graciously allowed me to stay rent-free in their home during a time when money was tight and i did nothing but work, and work, and go to school and try to get good grades.
During that time I was able to listen and watch my grandma and grandpa. It wasnt at all like Keeping Up With the Kardashians. There werent long hair-spray induced arguments about Chanel hand bags or photo spreads in V magazine... No one complained about the fact that their trip to Tibet was re-scheduled because of a natural disaster. Grandpa re-built John Deere tractors. Grandma vacuumed up orange cat hair left all over the house by their gargantuan cat named Marmelade. Marmy was everything that an old persons cat should be.... and he remains petulant to this day.
My grandpa said alot less than he produced and every day impressed me with his work ethic. Whenever something dramatic happened in the family would happen... of a late he would beg a sense of grace and forgiveness from the combatants. He would call us all to lay down our bloody weapons and our razor tongues, and just for Christ's sake act like grown-ups for a dang second. I hope that his influence will last in that department... as the rest of my family is comprised of hot headed magma mouthed school girls who just MUST be right. Honestly. Its enough to turn Thanksgiving into an angry lynch mob.
Grandpa saw all this. He saw that eventually his kids were going to grow up and hammer out their own path through life. They were going to fall down, and get up.... and fall down and get up again. And he understood that this was the way of things. Its one of the things that i admired so very much about him. He would so much rather be ordering five or so gallons of a specialty green paint for his latest machine project than to be party to yet another family spat. Such insight he must have had. When he was born telephones were community things... the kinds of devices that five or six housewives could listen in on during an important call. He got to see airplanes. Television. Vaccines. War.
I miss him. I didnt realize at that time during school when i was just driving and working and falling asleep during class that i was also having the most amazing exposure to a fascinating and honorable man. I was given not just the gift of housing and plumbing and in-door heat... I got to see where I came from. Who i came from. Good people. A good man.
His name was Albert Urch. People dont name their kids things like Albert anymore. They name them Trent, or Lindsay, or Chase, or Apple. Pish. Silly names for silly directionless children who are doomed to say more than they ever work and do nothing but cause trouble for other people. What a true loss for the world.
I could go on 'Salt' readers. I only intended to say why I havent been saying much. I wish more people had gotten the chance to watch my grandpa live. For them to listen as he rattled of part numbers for ancient agricultural devices, and for them to offer polite laughter as he flipped through one of his awful jokes that he had told no less then 8 times annually. Because maybe they would have seen that life is actually not all about film stars and fast cars... Its not about making your family disgusted with you at every chance you get. Its about living with purpose. Its about loving like you mean it. Its about keeping wedding vows and ploughing vegetable gardens. Its about nurturing goodness in the people that you love and praying they make good decisions.
I miss him, not just because he was my grandpa.... but because for me he represented a sort of honest living that fades away in these times. He stood for things that had validity and wholesome clever charm. He made my grandmother happy for 58 years. He is survived by people that can only dare to live with such bravery and die with such dignity.
The article talked about how he knew that he was going to heaven soon. How he knew that he was sick, and had been sick for a long time. He had heart trouble that was a result of a childhood fever. It left his joints to slowly degenerate and his heart to slowly weaken. It talked about how he knew what was coming and how he was ready. He said that he was proud of his wife. My grandmother stayed a solid example of real life loving for 58 years. She's the strong quiet translator. She explained and healed and was his partner in crime all that time. The article asked lended ear to his pride in his children and grandchildren. It explained that he was happy to have lived a full honest life.
I had the chance to stay with my grandparents during my first year of graduate school. They graciously allowed me to stay rent-free in their home during a time when money was tight and i did nothing but work, and work, and go to school and try to get good grades.
During that time I was able to listen and watch my grandma and grandpa. It wasnt at all like Keeping Up With the Kardashians. There werent long hair-spray induced arguments about Chanel hand bags or photo spreads in V magazine... No one complained about the fact that their trip to Tibet was re-scheduled because of a natural disaster. Grandpa re-built John Deere tractors. Grandma vacuumed up orange cat hair left all over the house by their gargantuan cat named Marmelade. Marmy was everything that an old persons cat should be.... and he remains petulant to this day.
My grandpa said alot less than he produced and every day impressed me with his work ethic. Whenever something dramatic happened in the family would happen... of a late he would beg a sense of grace and forgiveness from the combatants. He would call us all to lay down our bloody weapons and our razor tongues, and just for Christ's sake act like grown-ups for a dang second. I hope that his influence will last in that department... as the rest of my family is comprised of hot headed magma mouthed school girls who just MUST be right. Honestly. Its enough to turn Thanksgiving into an angry lynch mob.
Grandpa saw all this. He saw that eventually his kids were going to grow up and hammer out their own path through life. They were going to fall down, and get up.... and fall down and get up again. And he understood that this was the way of things. Its one of the things that i admired so very much about him. He would so much rather be ordering five or so gallons of a specialty green paint for his latest machine project than to be party to yet another family spat. Such insight he must have had. When he was born telephones were community things... the kinds of devices that five or six housewives could listen in on during an important call. He got to see airplanes. Television. Vaccines. War.
I miss him. I didnt realize at that time during school when i was just driving and working and falling asleep during class that i was also having the most amazing exposure to a fascinating and honorable man. I was given not just the gift of housing and plumbing and in-door heat... I got to see where I came from. Who i came from. Good people. A good man.
His name was Albert Urch. People dont name their kids things like Albert anymore. They name them Trent, or Lindsay, or Chase, or Apple. Pish. Silly names for silly directionless children who are doomed to say more than they ever work and do nothing but cause trouble for other people. What a true loss for the world.
I could go on 'Salt' readers. I only intended to say why I havent been saying much. I wish more people had gotten the chance to watch my grandpa live. For them to listen as he rattled of part numbers for ancient agricultural devices, and for them to offer polite laughter as he flipped through one of his awful jokes that he had told no less then 8 times annually. Because maybe they would have seen that life is actually not all about film stars and fast cars... Its not about making your family disgusted with you at every chance you get. Its about living with purpose. Its about loving like you mean it. Its about keeping wedding vows and ploughing vegetable gardens. Its about nurturing goodness in the people that you love and praying they make good decisions.
I miss him, not just because he was my grandpa.... but because for me he represented a sort of honest living that fades away in these times. He stood for things that had validity and wholesome clever charm. He made my grandmother happy for 58 years. He is survived by people that can only dare to live with such bravery and die with such dignity.
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Friday, February 25, 2011
Collusion: Part XXII
Aren't people fascinating? They're all these complex bi-peds (most of them) with need and want and varying degrees of intellect. Some of them are content with food and shelter. Some of them have much more complex needs. Social approval... financial success... a basement full of corpses covered in lime.... Ya just never know with people.
It was a Sunday at school. Sundays were usually the most scheduled day of the week. Required Morning Service to attend, Required Society Sunday School before that... Required Vespers in the afternoon.... You could try to squeeze in some homework somewhere in the afternoon. Snatch some food from somewhere and then pick arbitrarily from one of the seven hundred options for evening churches to attend on Sunday nights in Greenville. Vespers, in case you're wondering was a planned religiously themed program that included drama and music, and usually centered on one main theme. Adultery. Lust. Forgiveness. Dedication of one's life to a higher purpose... such as becoming a missionary to Bolivia. Etc. Etc.
On this weekend I had done my best to noodle about in the city, not having a car. I thought it was important to get a feel for the people who lived outside the walls of my confines.... and perhaps the places where they spent their lives. As I was soon to discover, however, my native talents do not include walking, and so by 'exploring the city' I mean that I wandered the streets around school looking like the victim of a natural disaster. Wide eyed at the simple processes of crossing the street at a light and fascinated by homeless people.
I had managed to find my way to an Asian food store. You know the kind where you can buy bulk Asian foods for the restaurant that your Philippine family owns? I wandered into the store beset with the smells of quasi-fresh fish, Mongolian vegetables, and small pastries shaped like domesticated animals. I can't remember what the place was called, as I had spent all of my energy walking to the store, and thus was un-able to form new memories. My weariness did not however, prevent me from purchasing eight pounds of rice, a very large bag of fortune cookies and a tin can full of quail eggs. Quail eggs I reasoned would be an interesting and tasty alternative to the products of their more well known cousins... chickens. I had no needs for these food-stuffs.... but this was one of those obvious facts that like so many other things at the time, was lost on me.
So on this Sunday.... this fateful Sunday, I decided after morning service requirement that I would make a delicious stew out of rice, new onions, and quail eggs. I would cook these ingredients together in a small Crock-Pot(TM) and reveal the product to my roomates. They seemed to have a never ending need for sustenance, and it was part of my plan was to win their affection by providing them with a curious, yet delicious evening meal. I left the mixture cooking all afternoon without supervision... assuming of course that anything you cook in a Crock-Pot(TM) should require this sort of cooking method.
Five hours later when I returned from evening service.... I was greeted on the first floor by the most amazing smell of my life. It smelled like a mortuary.... and onions.... and pan fried human excrement. High jinx ensued. The roomates and I experienced much laughter as we poked and prodded at the cement like mixture in the Crock-Pot(TM).... and then we scraped together what we could of the mixture... poured it into two shopping bags.... and then threw it under my hall leaders desk.
It was a Sunday at school. Sundays were usually the most scheduled day of the week. Required Morning Service to attend, Required Society Sunday School before that... Required Vespers in the afternoon.... You could try to squeeze in some homework somewhere in the afternoon. Snatch some food from somewhere and then pick arbitrarily from one of the seven hundred options for evening churches to attend on Sunday nights in Greenville. Vespers, in case you're wondering was a planned religiously themed program that included drama and music, and usually centered on one main theme. Adultery. Lust. Forgiveness. Dedication of one's life to a higher purpose... such as becoming a missionary to Bolivia. Etc. Etc.
On this weekend I had done my best to noodle about in the city, not having a car. I thought it was important to get a feel for the people who lived outside the walls of my confines.... and perhaps the places where they spent their lives. As I was soon to discover, however, my native talents do not include walking, and so by 'exploring the city' I mean that I wandered the streets around school looking like the victim of a natural disaster. Wide eyed at the simple processes of crossing the street at a light and fascinated by homeless people.
I had managed to find my way to an Asian food store. You know the kind where you can buy bulk Asian foods for the restaurant that your Philippine family owns? I wandered into the store beset with the smells of quasi-fresh fish, Mongolian vegetables, and small pastries shaped like domesticated animals. I can't remember what the place was called, as I had spent all of my energy walking to the store, and thus was un-able to form new memories. My weariness did not however, prevent me from purchasing eight pounds of rice, a very large bag of fortune cookies and a tin can full of quail eggs. Quail eggs I reasoned would be an interesting and tasty alternative to the products of their more well known cousins... chickens. I had no needs for these food-stuffs.... but this was one of those obvious facts that like so many other things at the time, was lost on me.
So on this Sunday.... this fateful Sunday, I decided after morning service requirement that I would make a delicious stew out of rice, new onions, and quail eggs. I would cook these ingredients together in a small Crock-Pot(TM) and reveal the product to my roomates. They seemed to have a never ending need for sustenance, and it was part of my plan was to win their affection by providing them with a curious, yet delicious evening meal. I left the mixture cooking all afternoon without supervision... assuming of course that anything you cook in a Crock-Pot(TM) should require this sort of cooking method.
Five hours later when I returned from evening service.... I was greeted on the first floor by the most amazing smell of my life. It smelled like a mortuary.... and onions.... and pan fried human excrement. High jinx ensued. The roomates and I experienced much laughter as we poked and prodded at the cement like mixture in the Crock-Pot(TM).... and then we scraped together what we could of the mixture... poured it into two shopping bags.... and then threw it under my hall leaders desk.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Collusion: Part XXI
Christine and I had a conversation later that evening about just how little she liked the amount of time that I had been spending with Melodie Cappoccia. We were walking back towards her room after dinner. About as much practice that was going to be done that day, was already done, and I could tell she was in a bad mood.
CD:"I just don't understand why you like hanging out with her.... She's fat... and obnoxious and she smells like cherry blossom rape." She said flatly.
ME: "I mean.... It's not like I'm trying to make her into a best friend or anything... She just always seems to show up whenever I'm practicing."
CD: " Well.... why don't you practice somewhere where you don't usually practice.... like the basement of the dorms."
ME: "I would, but those pianos are complete crap.... I mean, some of them are missing legs!"
CD: "Well, I just think that you probably like the attention...."
ME: (sighs) "Ya know, she just seems like a nice person...."
CD: "She seems like a skank. Just a nasty big breasted skank."
ME: "I'm not even remotely attracted to her! Her boobs are bigger than my head!.... It's a public nuisance..."
CD: "And another thing! Every time I have a conversation with her, she's always going on about how fantastic you are! It's friggin' annoying! YOU ARE SPOKEN FOR! And she needs to keep her hands off you..."
ME: "She hasn't had her hands on me.... ewe. She's just got a crush... it's no big deal!"
CD: "Well. I don't like it. And I don't like her. She's repugnant. And I think you should stop hanging out with her."
ME: "I mean... if it really makes you that unhappy.... (eye roll) Ill make sure to to instigate anything with her.... ya know. Disengage."
We were quite for a while after that, and just walked without speaking, in the half light back to Christine's room.
CD: "Well.... I dunno. Maybe Im just being a total bitch about all this. We just don't get to hang out as much as we used to."
She started to tear up a little bit, and I leaned in to hug her. Just a quick one though. Ya never know who might be watching from a window in the dorms and find the need to punish you for a harmless gesture of affection. Christine, by comparison to Melodie... did not smell like bathroom cleaning liquid. She smelled like a normal girl. Like skin, and shampoo.
ME: "I'm sorry. I didn't realize it bothered you all that much. She's starting to get on my nerves too.... And you're right.... She smells awful."
She was right about us not hanging out as much anymore... I'd transferred out of the Dining Common work force and begged a job from the people at the Museum & Gallery. Which is honestly the quietest easiest job anyone could ask for. I spent afternoons dressed in a simple black suit, and blue button downs and usually my own choice of an hideous tie. My tie choice was never ever calculated.... and most of them were yard sale purchases. All refugees from the seventies who had managed to not be thrown away or burned due to kitsch. I would study note cards and write poetry whilst wandering around in the thickly carpeted dimly lit rooms. Rooms filled with archaic and post Renaissance paintings. Huge... wall encompassing works in which the Virgin Mary would look down peacefully at her christ child son. All works on thick topics like sin, or death.... or the devil. The whole place couldn't have gotten more than 12 visitors a day. And that was fine by me... I loved the luxury of the quiet Bach string quartets on repeat on the PA system.... and the dusty emotionless atmosphere. It was nice. It seemed like a place between places.... Peace and quiet, only occasionally interrupted by the occasional group of antique humans there to look at the antique art.
Because of the new work schedule though... whatever free time I had to spend with Christine had been ganked around so that our schedules no longer coincided.
After our sad little fight, I trudged back to my room, planted myself in my bed, and stealthily put in my ear-buds. Like so many other convenient personal items, earphones were considered contraband. Being discovered with them could land you an easy 50 demerits. Presumably because you could be listening to any of the many types of music forbidden from student consumption... Such as rock, r&b, rap, jazz, soul, and polka. Whatever. Id had a bad day, and I'll be darned if I was going to chill out in my room listening to negro spirituals. No sir. All the other roomies were busy about the lords work.... So I cranked up some tunes and did a little homework reading.
::Knock Knock::
Who now? Uhn. I ditched the ear-buds and my ipod.... tossed them way back onto my bunk and jumped/slid into the chair at the desk. Just in time.... In walks Danny Callahan. Danny is a tallish troll-like creature. With rudimentary spacial perception and infantile logic skills. He's 6'1'' with a blond crew cut and a face like an Irish potato. Also, his accent was something like 'The Real White Trash of Boston Mass." Also, he was this years hall leader. So in addition to being obtuse, it was his job to make sure that everyone was living or dying by the Almighty Handbook.
DC: "Hey."
ME: (I look up from my text book and slowly blink at him.) "Hello Daniel."
DC: "So.... what are ya doin?"
ME: "I'm trying to decided if you got your polo out of an egg machine."
DC: "uh..... ok." He said wondering about the room. He was delighted to discover Roland's soccer ball in the corner and began punting it around. Callahan was, of course, a soccer player.
DC: "So... they've got you rooming with Roland. I wonder why that is...."
ME: "I haven't the slightest. I can only assume it's because Roland is so very fond of me..."
DC: "Ha..... funny. You should be nice to people. They'd like you better."
ME: "I have no intention of being in-genuine with people to win their affection. Besides, soccer players are all the same... Once you've met one, you've met them all." I finished dismissively returning to my reading.
Callahan continued to mill about the room until spotting the ipod, tossed aside.
DC: "So.... who's ipod is that?"
ME: "Oh that old thing!? It belongs to me.
DC: "Well you need to turn it in.... You could get in trouble for having it."
ME: "Yes, thank you Daniel.... I am aware of regulations. And.... Ill turn it in.... I'm just waiting for Hell to freeze over."
DC: "Hey!" He said, pointing at me with mock anger. "Not funny."
ME: "You're right its not funny! How am I supposed to get anything done listening to the air conditioner run. My tunes help me concentrate!"
Danny apparently had lost interest in the conversation, or had rediscovered how fun soccer balls really are... because he was back to his punting. I have always been fascinated by obtuse people. Much as Pavlov was fascinated by dog saliva. It's not that Danny wasn't friendly, or that he was doing his job too well. It was just that I had serious doubts about his being a Counseling major. How could he possibly be good at that? Weren't most of his people lobster fishermen anyways?
DC: "Don't you ever get tired of playing the system?" He asked in a sparkling moment of clarity and relevance.
ME: "Well.... yeah sometimes." I said with earnestness, and then with a passionate intensity.... "But if I do not play this "system".... I ask you.... How then shall it be played!?"
Danny was not impressed with my theatrics. And decided to leave without ceremony....
DC:" You're weird." He said popping his head back in the door before leaving....
ME: "Thank you!" I sang merrily back at him.
CD:"I just don't understand why you like hanging out with her.... She's fat... and obnoxious and she smells like cherry blossom rape." She said flatly.
ME: "I mean.... It's not like I'm trying to make her into a best friend or anything... She just always seems to show up whenever I'm practicing."
CD: " Well.... why don't you practice somewhere where you don't usually practice.... like the basement of the dorms."
ME: "I would, but those pianos are complete crap.... I mean, some of them are missing legs!"
CD: "Well, I just think that you probably like the attention...."
ME: (sighs) "Ya know, she just seems like a nice person...."
CD: "She seems like a skank. Just a nasty big breasted skank."
ME: "I'm not even remotely attracted to her! Her boobs are bigger than my head!.... It's a public nuisance..."
CD: "And another thing! Every time I have a conversation with her, she's always going on about how fantastic you are! It's friggin' annoying! YOU ARE SPOKEN FOR! And she needs to keep her hands off you..."
ME: "She hasn't had her hands on me.... ewe. She's just got a crush... it's no big deal!"
CD: "Well. I don't like it. And I don't like her. She's repugnant. And I think you should stop hanging out with her."
ME: "I mean... if it really makes you that unhappy.... (eye roll) Ill make sure to to instigate anything with her.... ya know. Disengage."
We were quite for a while after that, and just walked without speaking, in the half light back to Christine's room.
CD: "Well.... I dunno. Maybe Im just being a total bitch about all this. We just don't get to hang out as much as we used to."
She started to tear up a little bit, and I leaned in to hug her. Just a quick one though. Ya never know who might be watching from a window in the dorms and find the need to punish you for a harmless gesture of affection. Christine, by comparison to Melodie... did not smell like bathroom cleaning liquid. She smelled like a normal girl. Like skin, and shampoo.
ME: "I'm sorry. I didn't realize it bothered you all that much. She's starting to get on my nerves too.... And you're right.... She smells awful."
She was right about us not hanging out as much anymore... I'd transferred out of the Dining Common work force and begged a job from the people at the Museum & Gallery. Which is honestly the quietest easiest job anyone could ask for. I spent afternoons dressed in a simple black suit, and blue button downs and usually my own choice of an hideous tie. My tie choice was never ever calculated.... and most of them were yard sale purchases. All refugees from the seventies who had managed to not be thrown away or burned due to kitsch. I would study note cards and write poetry whilst wandering around in the thickly carpeted dimly lit rooms. Rooms filled with archaic and post Renaissance paintings. Huge... wall encompassing works in which the Virgin Mary would look down peacefully at her christ child son. All works on thick topics like sin, or death.... or the devil. The whole place couldn't have gotten more than 12 visitors a day. And that was fine by me... I loved the luxury of the quiet Bach string quartets on repeat on the PA system.... and the dusty emotionless atmosphere. It was nice. It seemed like a place between places.... Peace and quiet, only occasionally interrupted by the occasional group of antique humans there to look at the antique art.
Because of the new work schedule though... whatever free time I had to spend with Christine had been ganked around so that our schedules no longer coincided.
After our sad little fight, I trudged back to my room, planted myself in my bed, and stealthily put in my ear-buds. Like so many other convenient personal items, earphones were considered contraband. Being discovered with them could land you an easy 50 demerits. Presumably because you could be listening to any of the many types of music forbidden from student consumption... Such as rock, r&b, rap, jazz, soul, and polka. Whatever. Id had a bad day, and I'll be darned if I was going to chill out in my room listening to negro spirituals. No sir. All the other roomies were busy about the lords work.... So I cranked up some tunes and did a little homework reading.
::Knock Knock::
Who now? Uhn. I ditched the ear-buds and my ipod.... tossed them way back onto my bunk and jumped/slid into the chair at the desk. Just in time.... In walks Danny Callahan. Danny is a tallish troll-like creature. With rudimentary spacial perception and infantile logic skills. He's 6'1'' with a blond crew cut and a face like an Irish potato. Also, his accent was something like 'The Real White Trash of Boston Mass." Also, he was this years hall leader. So in addition to being obtuse, it was his job to make sure that everyone was living or dying by the Almighty Handbook.
DC: "Hey."
ME: (I look up from my text book and slowly blink at him.) "Hello Daniel."
DC: "So.... what are ya doin?"
ME: "I'm trying to decided if you got your polo out of an egg machine."
DC: "uh..... ok." He said wondering about the room. He was delighted to discover Roland's soccer ball in the corner and began punting it around. Callahan was, of course, a soccer player.
DC: "So... they've got you rooming with Roland. I wonder why that is...."
ME: "I haven't the slightest. I can only assume it's because Roland is so very fond of me..."
DC: "Ha..... funny. You should be nice to people. They'd like you better."
ME: "I have no intention of being in-genuine with people to win their affection. Besides, soccer players are all the same... Once you've met one, you've met them all." I finished dismissively returning to my reading.
Callahan continued to mill about the room until spotting the ipod, tossed aside.
DC: "So.... who's ipod is that?"
ME: "Oh that old thing!? It belongs to me.
DC: "Well you need to turn it in.... You could get in trouble for having it."
ME: "Yes, thank you Daniel.... I am aware of regulations. And.... Ill turn it in.... I'm just waiting for Hell to freeze over."
DC: "Hey!" He said, pointing at me with mock anger. "Not funny."
ME: "You're right its not funny! How am I supposed to get anything done listening to the air conditioner run. My tunes help me concentrate!"
Danny apparently had lost interest in the conversation, or had rediscovered how fun soccer balls really are... because he was back to his punting. I have always been fascinated by obtuse people. Much as Pavlov was fascinated by dog saliva. It's not that Danny wasn't friendly, or that he was doing his job too well. It was just that I had serious doubts about his being a Counseling major. How could he possibly be good at that? Weren't most of his people lobster fishermen anyways?
DC: "Don't you ever get tired of playing the system?" He asked in a sparkling moment of clarity and relevance.
ME: "Well.... yeah sometimes." I said with earnestness, and then with a passionate intensity.... "But if I do not play this "system".... I ask you.... How then shall it be played!?"
Danny was not impressed with my theatrics. And decided to leave without ceremony....
DC:" You're weird." He said popping his head back in the door before leaving....
ME: "Thank you!" I sang merrily back at him.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
:Butch Theory:
Today we take a break from the Collusion narrative to express and explain an on-going project from the folks at PlanetCupcake. Seems like most everyone these days is looking for an LTR. (Long Term Relationship) And if they aren't they're lying. Everyone wants a 'someone.' Someone to buy them flowers, or go out for a long drive on a warm breezy Sunday, and/or have passionate make-out sessions with during sloppy romantic movies. Humans for better or for worse are communal creatures of obvious patterns. Those that establish these long term romantic relationships live healthier, happier lives... Gain financial stability more quickly and statistically foster suitable social conditions to raise off-spring, thus promoting the genetic stability of the species.
These claims however reasoned and insightful have no direct link to scientific study (such should be stated...) but are the firm and rational beliefs of PlanetCupcake, and as such can be accepted as fact.
PlanetCupcake has organized a set of observations and principles recognized as common in healthy romantic relationships, and entitled these observations 'Butch Theory.' The theory can be summarized by these three factual statements.
>1. Each human personality is a combination of feminine and masculine traits. (That is to say, traits that are typically associated with one gender or another regardless of the actual sex of the individual.)
>2. Depending on the ratio of feminine/masculine traits that are incorporated in a single personality each person can be represented on a scale running from the number '0' through the number '10'. ( The number '0' representing the absence of feminine traits, and the number '10' representing the absence of masculine traits.)
>3. Long term romantic relationships are most often successful when the addition of each partners representative number equals the number '10'. (i.e. sixes should mate with fours... or sevens with threes... etc. etc.)
'Butch Theory' is not only useful when planning your next romantic acquisition... but you can create a fun game with your friends, where you assign numbers to un-suspecting acquaintances and then giggle like catholic school girls at their befuddlement. Also, you could offer un-solicited advice to your friends about why their relationship is so disappointing by saying something like... "oh, well... you know it's probably going to end in domestic violence... because he's a zero. You should be looking for a three baby.... (pouts knowingly with a sad nod)"
Another option would be to re-name all of your co-workers using numbers from the scale, and then make spiteful commentary about how poorly they fit their gender role. I have already employed this third option, and have only once had to run away as a '0' tried to stab me.
PlanetCupcake would like to wish all of you the best Wednesday you've yet experienced. Our next episode returns to the Collusion saga, and we learn that some of Josh's friends shouldn't be trusted... and that there's danger afoot. haha! Goodbye for now my little '10's (you know who you are....) and as always.... Make someone's day. Give them a Cupcake.
These claims however reasoned and insightful have no direct link to scientific study (such should be stated...) but are the firm and rational beliefs of PlanetCupcake, and as such can be accepted as fact.
PlanetCupcake has organized a set of observations and principles recognized as common in healthy romantic relationships, and entitled these observations 'Butch Theory.' The theory can be summarized by these three factual statements.
>1. Each human personality is a combination of feminine and masculine traits. (That is to say, traits that are typically associated with one gender or another regardless of the actual sex of the individual.)
>2. Depending on the ratio of feminine/masculine traits that are incorporated in a single personality each person can be represented on a scale running from the number '0' through the number '10'. ( The number '0' representing the absence of feminine traits, and the number '10' representing the absence of masculine traits.)
>3. Long term romantic relationships are most often successful when the addition of each partners representative number equals the number '10'. (i.e. sixes should mate with fours... or sevens with threes... etc. etc.)
'Butch Theory' is not only useful when planning your next romantic acquisition... but you can create a fun game with your friends, where you assign numbers to un-suspecting acquaintances and then giggle like catholic school girls at their befuddlement. Also, you could offer un-solicited advice to your friends about why their relationship is so disappointing by saying something like... "oh, well... you know it's probably going to end in domestic violence... because he's a zero. You should be looking for a three baby.... (pouts knowingly with a sad nod)"
Another option would be to re-name all of your co-workers using numbers from the scale, and then make spiteful commentary about how poorly they fit their gender role. I have already employed this third option, and have only once had to run away as a '0' tried to stab me.
PlanetCupcake would like to wish all of you the best Wednesday you've yet experienced. Our next episode returns to the Collusion saga, and we learn that some of Josh's friends shouldn't be trusted... and that there's danger afoot. haha! Goodbye for now my little '10's (you know who you are....) and as always.... Make someone's day. Give them a Cupcake.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Collusion: Part XX
Saturdays would come around at school and I couldn't be more relieved. It was the one day during the week when it almost didn't matter what I did that day. I would end up having dinner with the clan and then spending the rest of the night practicing in the big gray fine arts building either way... getting there early so that i could commandeer whichever piano I had taken a liking to. Every piano has a different personality. A different way of talking. Some of them have been played for half a century and had their keys worn until there are almost imperceptible concave depressions along the center of each one. You might not be about to feel these depressions unless you were blind or perhaps a shade visually impaired, and you could almost certainly not see them, but they were there. Some had complicated etched patters in front of the key bed where over the years a nail would catch on the shiny wood and chip away a little of the veneer. Microscopic evidence of human interaction. No piano has a life apart from human interaction... and if they do, they fall short of their purpose. Pianos are not so different from us. Some come from wealthy families and never have to work for a living. Some of them get handed off from one slip-shod attempt at a young child's musical education to another. Some are even relics of a time before itunes changed music from a participatory pass time that knitted together a culture, to an alienating insulation to pad our interior worlds. Earbuds. Skull candy. Independent listeners. Loners, stoners, and dancers. But most importantly... alone. Some pianos, but rarely mind you, develop an affinity to a particular performer. Through hours and hours that they spend together they learned about one another. Pianists are a different kind of musician. They're not like violinist, or cellists, or even wind players. They can't develop monogamous relationships with their instruments. Sadly a piano you've developed a friendship with just can't be carried around with you. No matter how much you've enjoyed the amber-rose colored resonance that you could coax from the rich velvety keys south of C3, and no matter how much you get goose bumps from the quick and flawless Japanese action... unless you're touring in concert and have money to burn, you have to move on. Maybe to have a few short hours to get to understand a few of the subtleties of a new partner before displaying your work together. Its sad. And I speculate that it's why pianists hold romantic commitment in high regard.
I had favorites. I can't lie. I was more than partial to the flawless action of a Yamaha, and I couldn't have cared less that it was a fat little studio model. It responded to me. None of that messy worn out soft-hammered Kawai nonsense. I wanted crisp responsiveness. I was a demanding little prick, and couldn't just work with any old keyboard. As it was, my favorite was different from all of the other pianos in the fine arts building. I didn't have permission to practice on it because it was intended only for performances. More than once though I was chased out of the room, offering excuses to the pudgy female hall monitor. It was an inky black 9 foot Steinway. Worn and tuned to a certain kind of perfect. You could feel how much work it had done by running your finger along the simple curves of its body. It was kept elevated off of the white laminated floors on a low wheeled steel frame, so it could be easily moved about the building. The room was large and diamond shaped. The same room we'd had Introduction to Music Literature in. The place had a much different feeling after dark though. Devoid of all the students and the shifting white noise that they make. Papers shuffling and the scuff of bags and purses on the floor. None of that after eight pm. It was empty. Soulless. Begging to be filled with sound. The most perfect acoustics... when you stood in the room with its white white walls and empty chairs all around you could feel something that was a rare delight at school here. Absolute quiet.
I would slip in some nights when the room wasn't being used for rehearsals. I would just flip on one row of lights. A simple dance with a silent partner. It was delicious... to fill up that empty lonely room with Mozart. With Beethoven. With Bach. And listen for the ever so slight reverberation at the pitches of that perfect tuning rolled off the reflective surfaces in the room. I was my own little secret Mecca. I offered up romance and ancient glamor and heart rending stories to a blank room; I loved it all the same.... even more so because there was no one to listen but me.
This particular Saturday I had decided to go to the mall by myself. Christine and I weren't getting along. It seemed like all she wanted to do was tell me how much she hated he dad, and how much she was afraid of failing platform, and sometimes she liked to talk about the slut bucket girls that lived on her hall. I would sit across from her and listen and poke at my salad during a meal, waiting for the endless complaining to stop. But apparently she would not be ebbed. She didn't like Melodie. She hated having to tell people that I wasn't a fag. She wasn't even hungry. She was thinking about dying her hair. She didn't like what she had picked out to wear to the next Artist Series. It was enough to make me research pipe bombs on the internet.
So to the mall I went. I realized how slightly antisocial I might have seemed to climb on the white bus that ran too and from the mall all day and sit by myself and watch the buildings and roads pass as the buss creaked and moaned its way to the stores. But it was nice. To wander into a sea of people that saw you but didn't notice or care who you were or what you looked like. It was soothing. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I wanted to be invisible.
I found the nearest Hot Topic and bought black and white checkered shoe laces. A pin for the school bag that said something ironic, and then headed back to my room.
Roland was there getting ready for soccer practice. You know, putting on those awful looking knee socks.
JR: "Hey man! What's up? How's your day going."
ME: "Its fine I guess, Ill get to get a lot of practice done tonight." Roland had a knack for making conversation about nothing... and then making it drag on.
JR: "Yeah, I'm super pumped about our game tonight! Ya coming to the game?"
ME: "I don't usually go to the games. It's loud and I don't like soccer."
JR: "It could be good for ya! You should come! You can't just practice all the time!"
ME: "Yes. Yes... I can. And I don't think it's necessary for me to fake entertainment in a communal activity to achieve diversion. I have sufficient supply of diversion."
JR: (Shakes his head lacing up a shoe.) "Dude. You gotta relax some time."
I disagreed with him, but decided not to labor the point. I pulled out a pair of my chucks and started to replace the laces with the ones that I had gotten at the mall, tossing the black shiny bag from Hot Topic onto the floor.
Roland gave a hawk-like glance to the bag. Then sniffed the air, as if expecting a stench.
JR: "Those are some pretty interesting shoe laces ya have there.... " He started in. What now. Christ.
ME: "Yeah.... they help keep my shoes on my feet. That's incredibly interesting."
JR: "Where did you get them?" He prodded, ignoring my attempt at humor.
ME: "Oh... It's a novelty store called Hot Topic..." I said gesturing to the bag on the floor. "Have you heard of it?" (Polite smile.)
JR: "Yeah.... " His voice thickened with concern. "Are you sure that's the best place for you to be shopping?"
ME: "Well I think there are places that are certainly less likely to fill my specific needs. Such as, Catherine's Plus Sizes."
JR: (Un-amused) "Isn't Hot Topic black listed?"
ME: "What is 'black listed'?"
JR: "I thought Hot Topic was on the list of unapproved places to shop?" Wholesome concern showing on his face.
ME: "Have you ever even been in a Hot Topic?"
JR: "Yeah. I went in one, one time. They sell pornography."
I controlled my amusement. Even though I wanted to double over with laughter. The idea that pornography could be legally vended in a public mall was about as likely as milking butterflies for profit.
ME: "Well I looked all over the store and couldn't find any pornography...." Smirking.
JR: "I'm just concerned. As your rooms spiritual leader I want to help you move in healthy directions."
I could hardly believe the gall of this creature...
ME: "Well thankyou, Roland dear.... but I promise not to start killing hookers and abusing heroine on the weekends if that makes you feel any better."
JR: "Ha...." (un convinced.) "Well we can talk about it some more tonight...."
ME: "oh kay!" I replied with mock interest and headed off to practice. Chuckling.
I had favorites. I can't lie. I was more than partial to the flawless action of a Yamaha, and I couldn't have cared less that it was a fat little studio model. It responded to me. None of that messy worn out soft-hammered Kawai nonsense. I wanted crisp responsiveness. I was a demanding little prick, and couldn't just work with any old keyboard. As it was, my favorite was different from all of the other pianos in the fine arts building. I didn't have permission to practice on it because it was intended only for performances. More than once though I was chased out of the room, offering excuses to the pudgy female hall monitor. It was an inky black 9 foot Steinway. Worn and tuned to a certain kind of perfect. You could feel how much work it had done by running your finger along the simple curves of its body. It was kept elevated off of the white laminated floors on a low wheeled steel frame, so it could be easily moved about the building. The room was large and diamond shaped. The same room we'd had Introduction to Music Literature in. The place had a much different feeling after dark though. Devoid of all the students and the shifting white noise that they make. Papers shuffling and the scuff of bags and purses on the floor. None of that after eight pm. It was empty. Soulless. Begging to be filled with sound. The most perfect acoustics... when you stood in the room with its white white walls and empty chairs all around you could feel something that was a rare delight at school here. Absolute quiet.
I would slip in some nights when the room wasn't being used for rehearsals. I would just flip on one row of lights. A simple dance with a silent partner. It was delicious... to fill up that empty lonely room with Mozart. With Beethoven. With Bach. And listen for the ever so slight reverberation at the pitches of that perfect tuning rolled off the reflective surfaces in the room. I was my own little secret Mecca. I offered up romance and ancient glamor and heart rending stories to a blank room; I loved it all the same.... even more so because there was no one to listen but me.
This particular Saturday I had decided to go to the mall by myself. Christine and I weren't getting along. It seemed like all she wanted to do was tell me how much she hated he dad, and how much she was afraid of failing platform, and sometimes she liked to talk about the slut bucket girls that lived on her hall. I would sit across from her and listen and poke at my salad during a meal, waiting for the endless complaining to stop. But apparently she would not be ebbed. She didn't like Melodie. She hated having to tell people that I wasn't a fag. She wasn't even hungry. She was thinking about dying her hair. She didn't like what she had picked out to wear to the next Artist Series. It was enough to make me research pipe bombs on the internet.
So to the mall I went. I realized how slightly antisocial I might have seemed to climb on the white bus that ran too and from the mall all day and sit by myself and watch the buildings and roads pass as the buss creaked and moaned its way to the stores. But it was nice. To wander into a sea of people that saw you but didn't notice or care who you were or what you looked like. It was soothing. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I wanted to be invisible.
I found the nearest Hot Topic and bought black and white checkered shoe laces. A pin for the school bag that said something ironic, and then headed back to my room.
Roland was there getting ready for soccer practice. You know, putting on those awful looking knee socks.
JR: "Hey man! What's up? How's your day going."
ME: "Its fine I guess, Ill get to get a lot of practice done tonight." Roland had a knack for making conversation about nothing... and then making it drag on.
JR: "Yeah, I'm super pumped about our game tonight! Ya coming to the game?"
ME: "I don't usually go to the games. It's loud and I don't like soccer."
JR: "It could be good for ya! You should come! You can't just practice all the time!"
ME: "Yes. Yes... I can. And I don't think it's necessary for me to fake entertainment in a communal activity to achieve diversion. I have sufficient supply of diversion."
JR: (Shakes his head lacing up a shoe.) "Dude. You gotta relax some time."
I disagreed with him, but decided not to labor the point. I pulled out a pair of my chucks and started to replace the laces with the ones that I had gotten at the mall, tossing the black shiny bag from Hot Topic onto the floor.
Roland gave a hawk-like glance to the bag. Then sniffed the air, as if expecting a stench.
JR: "Those are some pretty interesting shoe laces ya have there.... " He started in. What now. Christ.
ME: "Yeah.... they help keep my shoes on my feet. That's incredibly interesting."
JR: "Where did you get them?" He prodded, ignoring my attempt at humor.
ME: "Oh... It's a novelty store called Hot Topic..." I said gesturing to the bag on the floor. "Have you heard of it?" (Polite smile.)
JR: "Yeah.... " His voice thickened with concern. "Are you sure that's the best place for you to be shopping?"
ME: "Well I think there are places that are certainly less likely to fill my specific needs. Such as, Catherine's Plus Sizes."
JR: (Un-amused) "Isn't Hot Topic black listed?"
ME: "What is 'black listed'?"
JR: "I thought Hot Topic was on the list of unapproved places to shop?" Wholesome concern showing on his face.
ME: "Have you ever even been in a Hot Topic?"
JR: "Yeah. I went in one, one time. They sell pornography."
I controlled my amusement. Even though I wanted to double over with laughter. The idea that pornography could be legally vended in a public mall was about as likely as milking butterflies for profit.
ME: "Well I looked all over the store and couldn't find any pornography...." Smirking.
JR: "I'm just concerned. As your rooms spiritual leader I want to help you move in healthy directions."
I could hardly believe the gall of this creature...
ME: "Well thankyou, Roland dear.... but I promise not to start killing hookers and abusing heroine on the weekends if that makes you feel any better."
JR: "Ha...." (un convinced.) "Well we can talk about it some more tonight...."
ME: "oh kay!" I replied with mock interest and headed off to practice. Chuckling.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Addendum
I have a tiger in my chest,
It's cage was spun from silk.
Woven daily, and precise,
It purrs, I feed it milk.
The cage that I am weaving,
Keeps the tiger hidden deep.
But at night his playground- jungle,
Is my mind while I sleep.
This monster of my keeping,
Is strong and swift and white,
He was not meant for taming,
but for murder in the night.
With new rope I hide em daily,
sew him out of sight and thought,
The isolation keeps me living,
but the peace is labor bought.
I found him just a kitten,
I took him to my house to play,
But now, he's grown to prowl and hunt,
And break and kill his prey.
I have a tiger in my chest,
containment, lust and lies.
So mend the fence, and lock the cage,
and if he's loose, we die.
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