At a lack of anything to rant about from the past week or so, believe it or not, I'll just talk about some interesting things which have occurred to me within the last couple days. I will relate them in chronological order, not necessarily in order of interest.
1.) I went on a little trip with Megan on Thursday. As part of the adventure, we went to PetSmart and a puppy licked my face. I don't know what you think about this, but that's about the most disgusting thing possible. To quote Brian from Family Guy, dogs use their tongues as toilet paper. This little Scottish Terrier had probably taken a crap and "wiped" within the last half hour or something, and now it was rubbing that dirty tongue all over my nose and mouth. That is just gross, people. Gross. Pets are disgusting, and I don't understand why anyone would want one. Not only are they filthy creatures, but they are an unnecessary nuisance in the home. I'm sorry, but I have a hard enough time feeding and taking care of myself. Why would I want an annoying little animal running around, needing me to wait on it hand and foot? No thanks, lower forms of life. Find some other sucker.
2.) After we came home, I had to run up to campus and take care of a couple things. One of my pressing issues was a parking ticket which I had received the day before. I have been parking in the faculty/staff lot outside Old Main a lot this semester and had not received a ticket. But I got cocky on Wednesday and left my car parked there for like five hours. Bad idea. Anyway, I had to go down to UPD in Van Housen to pay the ticket--or so I thought. I pulled into a parking spot near the entrance and ran in to make the payment. At the parking department, though, I discovered a sign informing me I have to go to the Miller Building to pay parking tickets. Crummy. So I left again. I ran into Ray and offered to give him a ride up the hill so he wouldn't have to walk. I'm a nice guy. As we were going up the hill, though, I noticed a little piece of paper under my windshield wiper. I had another ticket! Five minutes (at most), and I'd received another ticket! Enraged, I stormed into Miller and demanded rectification.
The friendly woman at Miller told me she couldn't do anything about it, but she suggested I go down to UPD again and plead my case. Off I went. On the way back down there, though, I happened to see some douche police officer citing someone else for a parking violation. This must have been the same guy who gave me mine, so I stopped my car and rolled down the window. The very awkward conversation went a little something like this.
Me: "Hey! (holding out ticket) Are you the guy who just gave me this?"
Mr. Policeman: "Umm... yes."
Me: "Yeah, here's the deal. I had only parked there just now to pay this ticket (holding out other, legitimate ticket), because I haven't had a ticket in several years, and that's where you used to have to go to pay tickets..."
Mr. Policeman: "No, you're always had to go to Miller."
Me: "Really? Well, in any event, I was only parked for like five minutes as I ran into pay the ticket."
Mr. Policeman: "You were parked down there? (pointing toward UPD) But Miller is way up there. (pointing back toward Miller)"
Me: "Yes, yes, I know... maybe I'm not explaining myself well. Anyway, I really don't feel like I should have gotten this ticket."
Mr. Policeman: "Give it to me, I'll take care of it."
Me: "Thank you very much. (handing him the ticket) You know I wouldn't complain unless I felt, like, you know... (rolling up window, driving away)"
Awkward conversation, and I didn't know how to end it, but I saved twenty bucks. Sweet.
3.) I went out Thursday night with Ray and had a lot to drink. Like, a lot a lot. The highlight of the evening, though, came when we went down to Mobil ExpressMart to get some single drinks early in the night. Ray bought two "40's" of something called "Old English." I was not interested. Instead, I stuck with what I know: I purchased a nice, crisp, refreshing 24oz bottle of Smirnoff Ice.
Clerk: "Would you like a bag for this, or are you just going to put it in your purse?"
I'm not going to lie; that was a wicked burn. Well played, Mr. ExpressMart Clerk. Well played.
4.) 7:00 Friday morning came way too early, considering I had gotten mad drunk and didn't go to bed until 3:00. I really didn't want to go to classroom observation, but given that there are only four weeks left to get hours and I still need 25, I can't skip too many days. I was miserable; I wished I were dead. I threw up between periods, and again in the parking lot before I left to come home. I'm such a lightweght; it's very sad. I went to bed when I came home and slept until about 3:00 in the afternoon. That was nice.
So, in a nutshell, those were my past two days. Don't you wish you had my life? I guess I'm going to go take a shower and see what adventures I can have today. Probably none. We'll see.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Cheap, Cheap, Cheap
Here's another fun fact about me: I am possibly the cheapest person you will ever meet.
-I would rather not eat than go to the store to get food. When I *do* go to the store, I always buy the cheapest brand possible and eat it, regardless of how it tastes.
-I hate Christmas and birthdays. I have no desire to buy anything for anyone, and I hate when people buy things for me, because: 1) that makes me feel obligated to buy something for him/her next time, and 2) I also feel like other people should be cheap, and any money you've spent buying things for me would have been much better spent buying something for yourself. This is also referred to as "selfishness."
-I continue to work four hours a month at the gas station, which I hate, because it earns me 10% off gas at any Kwikfill station. I almost had to cause a scene at Kwikfill in Groton one day last week, because I had no proof of Kwikfill employment on me and the cashier was hesitant to give me my discount. I wanted that $3.50 off, and I wasn't about to leave until I got it! I got it.
There are more examples of my frugality, I'm sure, but these are the main ones in my head right now. And now I've made my first post in a week--good for me.
-I would rather not eat than go to the store to get food. When I *do* go to the store, I always buy the cheapest brand possible and eat it, regardless of how it tastes.
-I hate Christmas and birthdays. I have no desire to buy anything for anyone, and I hate when people buy things for me, because: 1) that makes me feel obligated to buy something for him/her next time, and 2) I also feel like other people should be cheap, and any money you've spent buying things for me would have been much better spent buying something for yourself. This is also referred to as "selfishness."
-I continue to work four hours a month at the gas station, which I hate, because it earns me 10% off gas at any Kwikfill station. I almost had to cause a scene at Kwikfill in Groton one day last week, because I had no proof of Kwikfill employment on me and the cashier was hesitant to give me my discount. I wanted that $3.50 off, and I wasn't about to leave until I got it! I got it.
There are more examples of my frugality, I'm sure, but these are the main ones in my head right now. And now I've made my first post in a week--good for me.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Posterized
I spent a large majority of last week working on an epic post. It's saved in a draft. Long story short, it's the story of what happened to me last fall, how it resulted in my having to move out of my apartment, and what I learned from the debacle. But I couldn't come to a conclusion on it, so the post remains unfinished. I was typing and typing and typing, but my heart wasn't in it. It was pointless. I just don't care any more. I'm so over it. w00t.
So anyway, moving on. Here's a random post.
I was at a Denny's in Hamburg, NY, last Saturday night (now there's an exotic Spring Break destination!) when I overheard this interaction between a customer and the waitress:
Customer: "Me and her are gonna split the Mexican Slam."
Waitress: "That's her and I, sweetie."
Nice try, stupid waitress, but you're wrong, too. It's SHE AND I! I nearly choked on my rage. Before that causes you to lose all faith in the grammaticality of America, though, consider what I heard on my way out of the Sabres' game at HSBC Arena earlier that same night:
Random drunk guy, yelling: "Hey! Where's the bars?!?"
Random douchebag, yelling: "You mean where are the bars!"
L-O-freaking-L. It almost made up for sitting through the Sabres losing yet another game. Almost.
So anyway, moving on. Here's a random post.
I was at a Denny's in Hamburg, NY, last Saturday night (now there's an exotic Spring Break destination!) when I overheard this interaction between a customer and the waitress:
Customer: "Me and her are gonna split the Mexican Slam."
Waitress: "That's her and I, sweetie."
Nice try, stupid waitress, but you're wrong, too. It's SHE AND I! I nearly choked on my rage. Before that causes you to lose all faith in the grammaticality of America, though, consider what I heard on my way out of the Sabres' game at HSBC Arena earlier that same night:
Random drunk guy, yelling: "Hey! Where's the bars?!?"
Random douchebag, yelling: "You mean where are the bars!"
L-O-freaking-L. It almost made up for sitting through the Sabres losing yet another game. Almost.
Friday, March 2, 2007
Sleep: Why I Love It
OK, time for the riveting Part Two of my two-part series on sleep. Last night I let you in on why I hate sleep. But, eventually, sleep must come. And with it comes one of the greatest wonders of the human mind: dreams.
Dreams are amazing. I love dreams. I don't really know how they work (it's probably not a movie theatre inside your head, like in Osmosis Jones), but I am very thankful they exist. They give me an escape from my real life for a few hours a night. They give me a place where I can explore the things that course through my mind daily, not only consciously, but subconsciously. They give me insight into my inner workings. I love waking up in the morning after I've had a particularly vivid dream and spending a few minutes trying to figure out what it meant. Sometimes, they lead me closer to answers I'm dying to find: what makes me tick? From where do my problems stem? How can I fix them? Dreams, the windows into the subconscious, can aid with that.
These peeks into the subconscious are all well and good, but do you know what I'm really fascinated by? Lucid dreams. If you're unfamiliar with the term, a lucid dream is a dream in which you are fully aware that you are sleeping, and therefore you can consciously act out whatever you want to do. These things are so cool. It's like, at a certain point in the dream, your brain kicks in and says "yeah, this isn't real. Go wild!" It's like a second life, an alternate universe, and you just stumble into it.
Unfortunately, I can't recall ever actually experiencing an actual fully lucid dream. They sell books on how to meditate yourself before going to sleep in order to enduce lucidity in dreams, and I'm sure there are plenty of how-tos about it on the internet. As awesome as I think lucid dreams would be, though, I don't know if I'd want to know how to do it. I'm afraid I would get so wrapped up in my virtual-reality pseudo-life that I would no longer have any desire to face my actual-reality life-life. I mean, why would I want to continue my day-to-day trudgery/misery when I know that, if I just dope myself up and sleep all day, I could remain in my fantasy world where I go anywhere I want, possess anything I want, party all the time, watch the Sabres win the Stanley Cup and the Browns win the Super Bowl, and (as if I even have to mention the obvious) have all the sex I want with whomever I want? Talk about dangerous, and you know I'd love every second of it.
So anyway, thanks for reading this two-part blog post concerning my issues with the act of sleep. Keep checking in, because you never know the next fascinating topic that's going to spring from these fingers, through this keyboard, onto this blog.
Dreams are amazing. I love dreams. I don't really know how they work (it's probably not a movie theatre inside your head, like in Osmosis Jones), but I am very thankful they exist. They give me an escape from my real life for a few hours a night. They give me a place where I can explore the things that course through my mind daily, not only consciously, but subconsciously. They give me insight into my inner workings. I love waking up in the morning after I've had a particularly vivid dream and spending a few minutes trying to figure out what it meant. Sometimes, they lead me closer to answers I'm dying to find: what makes me tick? From where do my problems stem? How can I fix them? Dreams, the windows into the subconscious, can aid with that.
These peeks into the subconscious are all well and good, but do you know what I'm really fascinated by? Lucid dreams. If you're unfamiliar with the term, a lucid dream is a dream in which you are fully aware that you are sleeping, and therefore you can consciously act out whatever you want to do. These things are so cool. It's like, at a certain point in the dream, your brain kicks in and says "yeah, this isn't real. Go wild!" It's like a second life, an alternate universe, and you just stumble into it.
Unfortunately, I can't recall ever actually experiencing an actual fully lucid dream. They sell books on how to meditate yourself before going to sleep in order to enduce lucidity in dreams, and I'm sure there are plenty of how-tos about it on the internet. As awesome as I think lucid dreams would be, though, I don't know if I'd want to know how to do it. I'm afraid I would get so wrapped up in my virtual-reality pseudo-life that I would no longer have any desire to face my actual-reality life-life. I mean, why would I want to continue my day-to-day trudgery/misery when I know that, if I just dope myself up and sleep all day, I could remain in my fantasy world where I go anywhere I want, possess anything I want, party all the time, watch the Sabres win the Stanley Cup and the Browns win the Super Bowl, and (as if I even have to mention the obvious) have all the sex I want with whomever I want? Talk about dangerous, and you know I'd love every second of it.
So anyway, thanks for reading this two-part blog post concerning my issues with the act of sleep. Keep checking in, because you never know the next fascinating topic that's going to spring from these fingers, through this keyboard, onto this blog.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Sleep: Why I Hate It
At risk of running out of all my good material within the first week of starting this blog, let me tell you why I hate to go to sleep. This will be the first of a two-part series, because there also is a particular reason why I love to go to sleep. But since I must hate sleep first before I can succumb to it and, eventually, enjoy it, allow me to start with that stance.
Most nights, I attempt to stay awake for as long as I possibly can. This usually is done by sitting in front of the TV or the computer, by talking on the phone to Carrie or with my friend in Hawaii, or by reading a book. I just stay awake until my eyelids can't take it any more. Normally, I do this regardless of how early I have to wake in the morning. I just don't want to go to sleep.
In addition to staying up as late as possible, I set my cell-phone alarm to go off at random times during the night/early morning. A normal grouping of alarms might be 3:30 AM, 5:00 AM, 6:00 AM, and 7:00 AM. Something like that.
Why would I put myself through this? I mean, on a normal day, I try to drag myself out of bed by 9:00 at the latest. So why wouldn't I try to go to bed at a reasonable hour, get a solid night's sleep, and be refreshed come 8:00 or 8:30?
It's because, my friends, I fear the future.
That's right; I just said I fear the future. Hear me out here. When you're awake, no matter what time it is, you're in the present. Everything is stable. The past is the past, and the future is still off on the horizon. But as soon as you go to sleep, as soon as you drop out of full consciousness and hit semiconsciousness, the next thing that happens to you is the future. You're going to wake up the next morning and it's going to be a whole new day, and you'd better be ready to face it.
I'm not ready to face it. I never want to face it. A new day brings new responsibilities, brings you closer to your deadlines, brings you more unexpected twists and turns. The new day brings uncertainty. Who wants uncertainty? I want to know that I've completed the day, I didn't die, and, at least for the moment, everything in my life is in order. Who knows if it's still going to be in order tomorrow? I don't want to be in tomorrow; I want to stay in today for as long as possible.
Getting up at random intervals during the night helps that. If I just go to sleep at, say, 1:00 AM and sleep straight through until 9:00, that's eight hours of my life gone. I had no control over it. It's just gone, and studdenly the new day is here. Bam. If I get up every couple hours or every ninety minutes, though, the night is extended. "Oh, it's OK, it's only 3:15... I don't have to face the day for another five hours or so." I can handle that. Keep postponing it, even if I'm only tricking myself into thinking I'm postponing it. That's clever, folks, and it's a ritual I've employed for quite some time now. Tomorrow is always going to come--the least I can do is make myself think it's taking its sweet time.
If that sounds messed up to you, well, you must not have figured out yet that I'm a pretty messed-up guy. Stay tuned for part two of this post, likely tomorrow: Sleep: Why I Love It. Can't wait to contradict myself!
Most nights, I attempt to stay awake for as long as I possibly can. This usually is done by sitting in front of the TV or the computer, by talking on the phone to Carrie or with my friend in Hawaii, or by reading a book. I just stay awake until my eyelids can't take it any more. Normally, I do this regardless of how early I have to wake in the morning. I just don't want to go to sleep.
In addition to staying up as late as possible, I set my cell-phone alarm to go off at random times during the night/early morning. A normal grouping of alarms might be 3:30 AM, 5:00 AM, 6:00 AM, and 7:00 AM. Something like that.
Why would I put myself through this? I mean, on a normal day, I try to drag myself out of bed by 9:00 at the latest. So why wouldn't I try to go to bed at a reasonable hour, get a solid night's sleep, and be refreshed come 8:00 or 8:30?
It's because, my friends, I fear the future.
That's right; I just said I fear the future. Hear me out here. When you're awake, no matter what time it is, you're in the present. Everything is stable. The past is the past, and the future is still off on the horizon. But as soon as you go to sleep, as soon as you drop out of full consciousness and hit semiconsciousness, the next thing that happens to you is the future. You're going to wake up the next morning and it's going to be a whole new day, and you'd better be ready to face it.
I'm not ready to face it. I never want to face it. A new day brings new responsibilities, brings you closer to your deadlines, brings you more unexpected twists and turns. The new day brings uncertainty. Who wants uncertainty? I want to know that I've completed the day, I didn't die, and, at least for the moment, everything in my life is in order. Who knows if it's still going to be in order tomorrow? I don't want to be in tomorrow; I want to stay in today for as long as possible.
Getting up at random intervals during the night helps that. If I just go to sleep at, say, 1:00 AM and sleep straight through until 9:00, that's eight hours of my life gone. I had no control over it. It's just gone, and studdenly the new day is here. Bam. If I get up every couple hours or every ninety minutes, though, the night is extended. "Oh, it's OK, it's only 3:15... I don't have to face the day for another five hours or so." I can handle that. Keep postponing it, even if I'm only tricking myself into thinking I'm postponing it. That's clever, folks, and it's a ritual I've employed for quite some time now. Tomorrow is always going to come--the least I can do is make myself think it's taking its sweet time.
If that sounds messed up to you, well, you must not have figured out yet that I'm a pretty messed-up guy. Stay tuned for part two of this post, likely tomorrow: Sleep: Why I Love It. Can't wait to contradict myself!
I Don't Like Spiders and Snakes
This is the spider I killed in my apartment last night. It is freaking huge. Gargantuan. Mammoth. And here's the deal: I hate, hate, spiders.
I also hate snakes, slugs, reptiles, amphibians, big yucky bugs, and most other creatures which are disliked by prissy women and little girls. That's right; I'm a little girl.
It's not just that I don't like spiders. I'm am, literally, a little girl about them. Last night when I saw this spider, I yelped. I grabbed my slipper and hit it, enough to kill it but not enough to leave spider residue on the sole (because that's gross too). Then I grabbed a bookmark and attempted to ever-so-gently scoop the carcass off the rug, because I didn't want to touch it. The scoop technique was not working because of the texture of the rug. On the phone with my girlfriend, she suggested I use a Kleenex to lift the spider up. I wanted nothing to do with that, because I knew I'd be able to feel the spider through the Kleenex and that would gross me out.
Eventually, using the bookmark to push the spider to the wood floor, I was then able to scoop it up and deposit it in the trash. But I wasn't ready to deposit it in the trash. Why? Because I needed to justify the girliness of my fear of seeing it and of touching it. So I placed it on a white background (a paper towel), and took a photo using a dime for scale. I e-mailed it to Carrie to show her that my response was valid.
So what we have here in this little story is an amalgamation of my poor qualities: 1) unsubstantiated fear (honestly, it's just a spider, right?), 2) immaturity (acting like a little girl), 3) helplessness (I had to ask for advice about what to do with it), 4) need for validation (taking the photo for evidence). There's probably more to this whole episode than just that, but I'll leave the rest of the symbolism up to you.
I hope you enjoyed this fresh little anecdote, this deviation from the path this blog has taken thus far. I'll try to keep the pity-wallows to a minimum from here on out, for everyone's sake.
A New Approach
OK, now that I've given the theoretical background for why I'm so miserable (thanks for reading), I'll go into some more specific things about my metacognition that bring me down. Here goes.
I'm not smart.
There. I said it. I'm not smart. I'm so sick of people commenting on how I'm so smart, coming to me with questions because they think I'm smart, and trying to boost my self-esteem by reminding me how smart I am. I'm downright not smart. Being smart implies an ability to formulate new and exciting ideas, assimilate the thoughts of others into coherent revolutionary thoughts, come up with ideas no one else would ever come up with, etc., etc. I cannot do any of these things. I might have a lot of knowledge, but I am far from smart.
Recent comments about how smart I am have stemmed from my ability to solve multiple crossword puzzles in mere minutes, properly pronounce/define words, correct the grammar of others, spot misspellings in the newspaper, and other trivial matters such as that. That's not intelligence. Those attributes come from a vast storage of useless facts, an attention to detail, and a knowledge of when one should utilize the word whom in lieu of the word who. Nothing groundbreaking there. Just frivality.
I was at my classroom observation yesterday morning when I noticed this phrase tacked to the wall above the chalkboard: "Education means developing the mind, not stuffing the memory." You see? I could never come up with a phrase like that to so adequately describe that my mental capacity is not a result of level of education (intelligence), but rather a biproduct of jamming my brain full of useless facts (knowledge).
So, often, when people tell me "you're so smart," I chafe and respond with a "shut up" or "whatever." This results in people telling me that I can't take a compliment, and probably in people refusing to make compliments to me about other things--some of which I might actually deserve. But I'm not upset about the fact I'm being complimented. I'm upset about the fact that the complimenter is not using proper terminology. I'm not at all smart. If I were smart, I could read this stupid book about Shakespeare's Roman plays for my class tonight and be able to give a lucid presentation about how the author feels about Shakespeare as a whole, and whether or not I agree or disagree with her based on my own readings of the plays. Instead, I find myself going through it, a page at a time, not grasping most of it, taking notes on the few things I find which do seem interesting, and preparing to read through my notes, one at a time, in class and call that a presentation. That's not intelligence at all; that's a rehashing of facts. That's where I excel.
The next time I say or write or do something which makes you think "wow, he's smart," take a moment and think about it before you make that comment. Am I really smart? Or is it all just a facade? Define the word intelligence. Does the thing I said/wrote/did actually fit under that definition? The answer, most likely, is "no." Don't let me fool you anymore.
I'm not smart.
There. I said it. I'm not smart. I'm so sick of people commenting on how I'm so smart, coming to me with questions because they think I'm smart, and trying to boost my self-esteem by reminding me how smart I am. I'm downright not smart. Being smart implies an ability to formulate new and exciting ideas, assimilate the thoughts of others into coherent revolutionary thoughts, come up with ideas no one else would ever come up with, etc., etc. I cannot do any of these things. I might have a lot of knowledge, but I am far from smart.
Recent comments about how smart I am have stemmed from my ability to solve multiple crossword puzzles in mere minutes, properly pronounce/define words, correct the grammar of others, spot misspellings in the newspaper, and other trivial matters such as that. That's not intelligence. Those attributes come from a vast storage of useless facts, an attention to detail, and a knowledge of when one should utilize the word whom in lieu of the word who. Nothing groundbreaking there. Just frivality.
I was at my classroom observation yesterday morning when I noticed this phrase tacked to the wall above the chalkboard: "Education means developing the mind, not stuffing the memory." You see? I could never come up with a phrase like that to so adequately describe that my mental capacity is not a result of level of education (intelligence), but rather a biproduct of jamming my brain full of useless facts (knowledge).
So, often, when people tell me "you're so smart," I chafe and respond with a "shut up" or "whatever." This results in people telling me that I can't take a compliment, and probably in people refusing to make compliments to me about other things--some of which I might actually deserve. But I'm not upset about the fact I'm being complimented. I'm upset about the fact that the complimenter is not using proper terminology. I'm not at all smart. If I were smart, I could read this stupid book about Shakespeare's Roman plays for my class tonight and be able to give a lucid presentation about how the author feels about Shakespeare as a whole, and whether or not I agree or disagree with her based on my own readings of the plays. Instead, I find myself going through it, a page at a time, not grasping most of it, taking notes on the few things I find which do seem interesting, and preparing to read through my notes, one at a time, in class and call that a presentation. That's not intelligence at all; that's a rehashing of facts. That's where I excel.
The next time I say or write or do something which makes you think "wow, he's smart," take a moment and think about it before you make that comment. Am I really smart? Or is it all just a facade? Define the word intelligence. Does the thing I said/wrote/did actually fit under that definition? The answer, most likely, is "no." Don't let me fool you anymore.
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