MAJOR benefits of my menial jobs

I am learning to write pretty -- and less like a drunk 1st grader.

I have an unparalleled mastery of, expertise in, and reliance on the number pad -- developed in rapid rapid time due to constant use.

I now know how to use our library system (for the record I've never taken a single book off the shelf in my 3 years here).

I'm enhancing my skillz on the typewriter -- which I just KNOW will come in handy later in life. TWSHIT, but who knows?

For the first time in, well, ever, I listen to music like normal people. Of course, I listen to weird music (Life Aquatic soundtrack, what what), so the parallel ends pretty quickly. Still, feeling like I'm a part of mainstream culture is an added bonus.

I get to work on my posture, which I've realized recently (and before) is absolutely hideous. Someday I will die of back contortion. It has been twisted in so many ways it's like a dizzy plant that doesn't know which way to grow to be straight. But now I get the chance (for up to 10 hours a day sometimes) to TRY to sit right as much as possible, though I inevitably return to the SLOUCH.

I am developing a never before thought possible tolerance for repugnant lab smells. It's not like it grows on you, and the first 2 minutes suck...but then, well, it just smells like peaches and roses.

I close the lab. So I get to fudge my numbers :-) . And no, I see nothing despicable in that. Plus, I can throw parties and write blog entries when everybody has gone home...

On the eve of great things

So here it is the night before my first, and perhaps my only, TOC.

I'm so nervous.

Claro, leave it to this year for it to completely suck. Not that I'm complaining. Well, I am, but I am still excited. It really does suck this year, though -- thank God for Wayne Ellington. And hell, Gibbons has to bring Danny Green down to better the product. I'm actually pumped about that development, though. It means I'll get to see someone other than Ellington and EWallace (who I'm sort of dissapointed that I've seen before) with SOME relevance to UNC.

Of course, who knows what could develop. There are years when people emerge from nowhere (Von Wafer, anyone?) -- and nobody knows when or where it will happen. Hell, if anything resembling James Mays last year works his way out of the woodwork this time around, UNC could/should come calling. We've got a chance at a monster class, but a better class might be the one you can count on (considering the guards we've got lined up).

So, yeah. DTM makes his return to AAU basketball, meaning his limit continues to approach Guruness as t -> infinity.

Giddy as a schoolgirl, (who I guess are giddy -- though probably about ponies or something and not 15-17 year old ballers).

Dan

(p.s. I'd write more but I'm at work, and I fear getting caught and reprimanded -- again. But the risk is worth it, considering the alternative trip to mindnumbingly boredomville.)

I work with (Davis Reference -- Federal Documents edition) ...

A pack of middle-aged women. Yes, that's it. No men.

OK, I lied. There's a dude or two. But let's just say that the male librarian type isn't exactly one that I connect with. And there is another student assistant -- but she's like 24 and not very sociable. Like most librarians.

Except among each other. (wo)Man, I tell you, the juicy gossip that flies back and forth between cubicles is quite interesting to say the least. How they come up with it (it's not like they live in soapoprahville (yes, Phipps, that's at you) is a mystery to me. Women.

Thankfully I am able to use "my" iPod to drown out the mindless banter so common among the females as I do my tasks (labeling books, mainly), but there are times when it is simply unavoidable (like when my boss goes off on one of her tangents for 15 minutes -- which I actually appreciate because it means she isn't giving me anything else to do and all I have to do is nod politely; she's about the nicest little lady I've ever met -- which seems to be a common thing among librarians...I see you Rosa). To be fair, I have been forewarned, and told to "just ignore it," -- "there's just no point in toning it down, so don't take offense" -- and I do have three sisters, so it's not a whole new world ("a dazzling place I never knew"). Gotta say, I feel a little bit too much like the "gay" guy who all women feel comfortable spilling their hearts too. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

It's just that never in my life did I picture such a scene as a reality for myself. I work among women -- exclusively among women, middle-aged women. And they've started prowling for details the way only women do, but I've remained strong and aim to increase my resolve as they circle closer. Because you know that as soon as you give them something, ANYthing, you're done. They will be on you like sharks on chum, except more ruthless. And therefore I mute it; it's the only chance I've got.

So goes the Summer of Dan.

oh the irony

yes, friends and mere perusers of dtm's humble online abode, I have been foiled, swindled, bamboozled, and fooled. Hoodwinked/bilked even (for Nick).

Well not actually, but there is definitely a ginormous twist of irony in the fact that I have one savior from psychotic tendency-inducing boredom at work...... and it comes in the form of a musical device for which I have had a particularly strong distaste for in the past. Yes, the iPod. My mortal enemy.

Of course I'm being hyperbolic -- even in my rants I admitted that I was a big fan of iPods. I just hate how they deter social interaction. BUT BUT BUT, when all you do for 8 hours a day is move books, write in books, or type data into an Excel Spreadsheet, the intimate connection between man and technological wunderkid musical device becomes......special. And wholly appropriate. And undeniably necessary.

And so the trash becomes treasure, and DTM a bigger hypocrite. (I've got to get off this hypocritical deal).

only in Chapel Hill

can you, in the matter of two weeks, have gay Shane from Real World's dog lick your foot and bump into Joseph Forte (yes, that Joseph Forte) as he exits a sushi place or shoots around on a court with you at Woollen (apparantly he's back taking classes).

oh, and btw

I said fuck ESPN.

things I do

that the rest of the world doesn't

and I don't know why.

I much prefer taking the stairs than elevators. It has nothing to do with the exercise factor or anything -- I just think I hate waiting about as much as anything. And stairs are fun. I do jumps and things, too, because I have the mind of a 5-year-old.

Along the same lines, I would rather walk 30 minutes home (or to Taylor Hall as the case may be) than wait for 10 minutes for a bus for a 5-10 minute bus ride. Moving is awesome, sitting is not. And time is not the end all be all, so enjoying a walk is life lived.

Drink milk. A LOT of it.

stand instead of sit.

eat unsafe food because I believe in testing my immune system. If you don't give it practice, how does it get better?

summer update update

crap libarary job: mornings: 6.50/hr, 15-20 hrs a week
cocaine maternal behavior job: afternoons, 15 hrs a week, ends early July
research job: work from home, flexible hours, 10/hr, weekends
carolina blue: roughly 4 articles a month, Web site, 10/12 per article, clips
Tar Heel Monthly: 1 article a month, 50 an article, clips

and

August: Europe, blitzkrieg style.

or

12 week internship in Bristol with ESPN as a production assistant, 9/hr, 40 hour weeks....Sportscenter, ESPN News, Baseball Tonight....

?

summer update

I'm sorry to have deserted you, little blogglings. Suffice it to say that now that I have friends around constantly and no hermit refuge, the frequent updates once inspired by dorm room monotony no longer seem possible -- or desireable, though you guys have the call on that. Heck, whether it was the chicken or the egg, y'all probably stopped reading/checking on me anyway. Normal life is hard to maintain when the whole hot and awesome months of summer rear their magnificent head. Or maybe my life has just gotten boringer (it has, at least in the blogworthy sense). And for certain very little cool things have happened ever since I started being lazy and most everyone flew the coop.

But yeah, today I return to online DTMville with a vengeance, as I unleashed what I believe to be the longest single entry in DTM's inglorious history. I don't know why it's so long or even what it says. I don't even remember exactly what I was trying to say, but I do know that everything got mixed up and intertwined anyways (as it always does). So I ended up just (once again) welcoming the hypocrisy as incontrovertible evidence of my willingness to shoot shit out of my ass better than anyone else alive. Enjoy.

oh, and for those getting frustrated with my inabilty to coherently explain my schedule, here's what my summer looks like. Yummy:

crap libarary job: mornings: 6.50/hr, 15-20 hrs a week
cocaine maternal behavior job: afternoons, 15 hrs a week, ends early July
research job: work from home, flexible hours, 10/hr, weekends
carolina blue: roughly 4 articles a month, Web site, 10/12 per article, clips
Tar Heel Monthly: 1 article a month, 50 an article, clips

August: Europe, blitzkrieg style.

blogging on blogs

This one comes at the behest of a "special" someone (but not "special" as in the PC way to describe a "slow" -- is it really offensive to use retard? -- person). Okay, well maybe I do mean it that way, but in another way, too.

You see, after this particular special person learned that his "special" someone (in the romantic sense, this time) apparently finds some purpose in wasting her time reading my drivel, he prompted me to explain myself and the blogging community. Which basically means I had to come up for some plausible reason for why weirdos spend time browsing other people's public personal journals/diaries.

But of course.

For posterity's sake (and just because I like to say that), let's keep in mind that this particular special person's special someone and I have met only once, and therefore the oddity of her sub rosa reading of my fucked-up blog is magnified.

So.......let us indeed delve into some psychoanalytic (I think this is the wrong word but I use it anyways) musings for why people (writers and readers both) participate in this prima facie ridiculous expose of the human experience.


Here is why blogs exist:

people are weird. Everyone is weird. Which means everyone is normal. And weird is normal. And neither weird nor normal mean anything.

people like to know how other people are weird and, therefore, how they, weird in their own right, are normal. So are fortified our insecurities.

curiosity on the Internet equates quite nicely with stalking, and people are undeniably (instinctually, at least in the sexual sense and probably very likely for other relationships as well) interested in other people. There's nothing wrong with that.

but this stalking business sees it's heyday in the anonymity afforded by the Internet. Case in point: maniacal away message checkers and facebook addicts (and we know my view on those people/losers). People care A LOT about other people -- but they care in completely immensified (not a word) amounts (we're talking gargantuan, Brobdingnagian here) when their caring isn't known to the people they are caring about. Yes, humans are fucked up creatures.

On the flip side, people like to think they are important and that other people care. Call it attention or if that's not quite right, attention's twin. Whatever it is, we crave it. That's why there are so many pathetic pleas for comments at the end of blog posts. Lest we forget the everpresent (wrong word but it sort of fits and I have always been a big fan of misplaced hyperbole), ego-boosting (or deflating, as the case may be) hit counters. Worse, very rarely does the blogger actually give a shit what his/her readers think or opine about a given topic. He/she just wants to know that someone (and more specifically WHO) is reading. This is sad to me.

Wouldn't it (blogging, but life too) all be easier without the charade and the games? Would it be the same? Would it be as real? Would it be less real?

I guess the answer lies in the evolution of blogs themselves, as they obviously have arisen to fill needs/wants that normal societal interactions weren't meeting. Still, maybe if our societies were like they used to be (which in some respects was perhaps better?) or if we weren't so impersonal it begin with, the whole blog phenomenon would seem like a cheap Reno hooker version of the Diane Lane (what is my thing for older women these days?) face-to-face talking experience.

Fully embracing and loving my own hypocrisy, I will admit that I had this craving once (see Wednesday weekly meme) but thankfully, I quickly realized I was above the stupidness of all other humans and stopped caring if anyone read my ponderings. I mean, I dont' talk to people, so it wasn't a huge change.

To be fair (and objectivity is always something DTM strives for) (really, I swear) (and when I say that I mean it, but then I also recognize its inherent hypocrisy -- but still, hopefully, it's truth) it probably helped more than I'm willing to admit (though doesn't that mean I just admitted it?) that I've gotten and still get a lot of feedback outside of my blogging friends, because even though I love writing, it's not like I had a floofy diary before I had a blog. I could argue typing saves time and thus makes it all worthwhile, but somehow I don't think I can really say that's why I do it.

It's more likely because I don't talk or share feelings like regular people. As a robot, this blog is really my only valid self expression, even though it is rarely personal and often bullshit. At least to the outside observer -- whose mind I am sure I mess up more than help out (as is my didactic intent). Still, the life and times of DTM pretty obviously (I would hope, scary as it is) gives a glimpse of my personality, if not my person.

And obviously, like everyone reading this or writing their own or swimming in the Orinoco (props to Enya), it is human instinct, ingrained to our core, to attempt to validate our existence through finding SOME value of our being to others -- otherwise why the hell would we put up with the cost of living when it clearly outweighs the benefits?

Thoughts?

********

just kidding........Seriously. It was simply an attempt at further hypocrisy, which I'm not sure is possible for me. So don't comment. Please.

Unless you want to, I mean. If that's the case, "bombs away."

But I don't want you to. Honestly. I swear. I'm comfortable with who I am.

Which is why I publish myself to the world to see if you all think I'm acceptable. Because I really couldn't handle it if I wasn't. Am I acceptable?

You can tell me via your comments. If you feel comfortable, of course.

Which would reveal your identity. And let me know you cared. AND other people would know too, which would suck, wouldn't it?

you could post anonymously though....that would be cool.

But don't do it because of me. I'm not asking and don't care (be a person and do what YOU want). I swear to God. Having read through this, I feel as if I've given you the wrong conclusion (I feel like this devolved horribly into something that can be interpreted as the very plea I hate when it was started to dramatize the atrocity of just such a thing. That is the cruel, insidious nature of this blog entry I guess. I have been spited into looking like a fool crying out for attention when my whole point was to dispute such a possiblity. Because, beleive you me, DTM has taken his stance on "normal" bloggers (and I'm sorry to those who I have offended, just know you aren't the first or last -- this is how assholes work), and just as in real life he has rejected everyone else for his own supreme, personal, and hoarded nirvana.

And hypocrisy.


and round in circles we go, formless, scared, insecure beings. We are the hollow men. We are the stuffed men.

we're going to make millions

HabaneroEater1: im gonna cure AIDs
HabaneroEater1: A chemokine receptor found on some immune cells. CCR5 receptors, along with CD4 receptors, are required for macrophagetropic HIV to enter a cell. People who lack CCR5 receptors appear to have a decreased susceptibility to HIV infection, and those who are infected progress more slowly to AIDS.
HabaneroEater1: thats how
HabaneroEater1: dont tell anyone

wooops...

You're going to Europe?

me: Yup.

Why?

me: For August.

I said why, not when.

me: Well, I heard it was gonna be August over there, so I decided to go for the month. Also, the fact that I have no money to do it with played a large role in the decision.

OK......

me: Manish is coming too, but I'm not sure what his motivation is. Maybe czech beer, I hear it's really good and really cheap.

don't worry. be happened.

summer.

Yes, boys and girls, DTM is off to frolic in the land of dandelions and lollipops, because there is no more school for him. Yippee.

As well he says his farewells to a stable and constant Internet connection -- and the need for a distraction from schoolwork. So while this is not a goodbye to the blog, who knows where her future lies for the next few months.

Ah, who am I kidding....I'll be blogging up a storm all summer. (But only because I couldn't let my readership down, wink).

I'm FREE....................

Omen

Eerie. That's what it was. A sign from whoever sends signs. One of those things that just doesn't add up, and demands thought.

Paloma, mi profesora de Español, in out-of-the-blue fashion while discussing some fucked-up facet of realismo-mágico all of a sudden (and I can't give you context because my self-diagnosed ADD had required a close inspection of the floor tiles but I know it had ABSOLUTELY no relevance to what we were talking about) says, "and if Dan wants to go to Law School." I even think she said it in English, perhaps directed by the powers that be to ensure my understanding (I did once answer a question directed at Danielle).

Needless to say, having only recently even considered such a possibility, and having told essentially nobody, and having such future-altering thoughts dominating my every thought, it seemed oddly.......ominous.

The question is, should I take this "sign" as proof that this is my destiny? That would be a lot easier than making decisions for myself.

my last night

in Grimes. Or ever in a dorm for that matter. Not really "sad" in any sense, but something close to that emotion in some aspects. I guess it's fitting that it's 3 a.m. and the place is an inferno and my roommate and his sleep apnea are in full disharmonic effect. Oh, the memories....

Of course, first the "Manish Experience" and then "The Family" awaits. So I got that going for me. And I hear the refrigerator photo lineup is pretty killer...

and boom boom boom goes the dynamite....

How sad is it that I've listened to this song on repeat multiple times over the past few days whilst (Andy shoutout) cleaning my room?

the insulting asterisk

please, I possess a modicum of intelligence. Moreover, I am not-judgemental, at least not to the extent that you ever need worry about a simple typo. Therefore, I ask: do not correct yourself should you slightly misspell a word while chatting with me. Quite honestly, and I do mean this, I find it insulting. Beileve me, it's not htat hard to undrstand. *assholes.

And if you claim to do it out of pride instead of a desire to clarify, well, that might even be sadder -- you should have enough self-confidence to never feel compelled to correct a simple typo as if it somehow reflects on your person.

Along the same lines though, I am a grammar dictator. The use of two, to, too; your, you're; ITS, IT'S; their, they're; and like words, while occasionally typos (and therefore excusable), are truly taken (by me) as signs of ignorance when used with too much frequency. So be careful -- aka not stupid.

The Man keeps on keepin' us down.....

--- The NFL declined permission to Nolan to wear a suit and tie on the sideline during games, he said.

Ram's Head

It was everything I thought it could be.

nailed

yup, she got me. And with my own game, too. But I got the ballz to admit it. Her beauty of a zinger came after our conversation turned from thefacebook to iPods, and I directed her to my rants about how elements of both are ruining socialization practices

Perkie58: so instead of normal interactions with people you just refer them to your previously written opinions?
DanTheHeel: touche

where'd all the good people go?

A few days late (and prompted by an anxious Ana), comes the Taxco reunion recap. Though it may seem like neglect, this post had been started -- and saved as a draft -- before I postponed it in order to allow for full and proper marination so as to best capture the night and all its wonderful delicacies. Okay, that's a lie (I did start it though). I had finals. And that's only sort of a lie.

The title, some of you may recognize the song, refers to my feeling about my fellow Carolina-Taxcañians (no idea if that's the word). As a misanthrope -- and one who rarely takes the time to actually get to know people or let them get to know me on any real level -- I generally have a, shall we say distaste?, for most of my fellow humans. If you're reading this, chances are you've read my life thoughts before and you know I'm not lying. However, I don't know if I just got lucky with y'all or if I'd find the same if I ever gave anyone else the chance, but I do feel blessed to have shared/and to still be sharing experiences with all of you. You aren't just good people -- you are great people.

Ok, way too much sappy shit. So the night began with my masterfully crafted plan of dis- and mis information clouding the possibility of my arrival, but somehow I think most people knew it was just a thinly-veiled attempt to fuck with them. After some small talk, we roped in the last stragglers, and then we Cosmicked.

The talk was wide and random. Of course there was the heartmelting, if laboriously prompted, tale of Matt's engagement, which of course has to be the single biggest piece of news to come to Team Walrus since our return to the land of stars and stripes and expensive shitty food. As well was revealed Elvis (aka Latin Heat), Ashley's self-proclaimed "somewhat sketchy" (and I mean this in a "I kid, I kid" from SNL sort of way) Guatemalan lover (I see this coming to pass). Shoot, and that was my one chance to use guatemalteco in real life. Other updates saw that V-rock has got UNC d-skool on lockdown; Ana, felicitaciones a ti, made it into the MAT (I hope that's right, all I remember is that you said it once to me in Spanish class and I thought you said MIT) program here and will be around for a bit still; the one and only Martin is off for the journey of a lifetime (what, Taxco wasn't enough?) to SE Asia and the world proper; and of course the kicker, applicable to today -- Rebecca is on her way to Taxco right now to visit the all-too-well-known Jose Luis, aka coach of the Aztecas/Pelones.

And of course somehow I ended up telling the 38-year-old hottie/Mrs. M.I.L.F. story to the entire table. At which point everyone unanimously decided that, eerily familiar to Taxco nights, ice cream was desired, and Cold Stone was the answer. So we did that. I got a cone (and for once was able to verbally express a bloggable rant to another person: Gena and Ashley). At first I thought I won AGAIN. Martin even said so. But then I lost. By like 50 cents or so, probably.

Alas, as the merriment, as it always does, had to come to an end. And here we once again reencounter the title of this post. Because as the group diminished in size one-by-one (starting with noble Matt and his departure from this, the likely LAST EVER, Taxco reunion in whole) in true, tearjerking Real World fashion -- with only a brief reprieve for some building climbing and action-running pho-to-graph-ing -- I was left wondering sadly, "where'd all the good people go?"

Some photos from our last night together that I think sum up our group pretty well.

8.3 minutes saved

with Google Web Accelerator (in 3 days).

I do caution however, that you at least think before giving your life away to the Google empire as I have.

However, for those that know me, you know I had no choice but to download this timesaver. After all, I did switch writing my name from Daniel to Dan after some rough calculations proved that such a practice would save me a good 20 hours over the estimated course of my live.

And if you have IE, Jimmy says the Accelerator is really helpful, though I would just recommend you join the revolution that is Firefox.

one thing I do like, always have

is "discovering" the "history" of an English word, coupled with a foreign-language provoked interpretation of what the word means -- all by way of the word's Spanish cognate.

That is, sometimes my mind just "clicks" and makes the long-lost association between a Spanish word I have learned in the last 7 years and an English word I've known my whole life. The "clicking' is obviously prompted by the original Latin roots (which were cleverly disguised by the creators of language precisely so that I could decode a new one every few weeks). Anyways, it's really cool to see how one root can disperse into different meanings in different languages over time, with each original word spawning more words in its "family" in each language -- and how all those words from both languages share an unmistakable, elucidating tie. Words that seemed random and lacking design are suddenly given undeniable sense and order, a phenomenon of the highest order in my book.

Makes me wish I'd taken Latin -- although all these "revelations" would probably be a lot less mindblowing had that been the case.

so Adam Lucas

sent me his book, I guess as some sort of consolation prize.

It was so much easier hating him.

I finally figured it out

this pesky little itch has been gnawing painfully at my brain for 3 years now, before today I finally eradicated it with a splendiferous epiphany:

Phillips Hall Annex is the most stupid, worthless, pathetic excuse for a building in the history of mankind.

with all the ranting I do here

I've gotten a few IM's, always from girls, telling me to be a little bit more positive.

I always insist to them that I really am not this doom and gloom bloke that I may appear to be here, but it's just more fun for me to bitch and moan than it is to talk about butterflies and bunny rabbits. And it is. Even though I do really like bunny rabbits. Like Peter Cottontail. That dude rocked. Never did like that Velveteen one, that was a sucky rabbit.

See? That's my point exactly. See how I just switched immediately to the negativity? Well, that's just how my mind works. Good thoughts pop into and out of my head all the time, with way more frequency than negative ones. But the negative ones firmly plant themselves and sprout roots, as my mind thrills itself with focusing on them and building exaggerated and grandiose hatred toward them. You should try it sometime.

Anyways, I'm going to try to post a few of the better random happy thoughts that drift my way from now on. That way I can at least keep my girl readership up, which is always a plus.

see, we'll start (and end) with that. Positive thought number 1: girls, I've always liked 'em.

I shot

5/6 from 3, including 2 from stupid deep that I just chucked up in typical DTM-hates-to-lose-so-he-turns-selfish fashion. It's been a long time since I shot like that, as I'm sure my IM teammates would be quick to attest.

However, before I get too full of myself, my team only won once, and David (whom I "guarded") scored a lot of points for his team, including one game winner in DTM's earhole. So a lot of good it did.

*Speaking of which, this blog has poignently revealed to me my constant tendency to always try to balance everything, to point out both sides of the story, to minimize every statement until it all blurs together in the middle.

I wonder if that explains why I speak in monotone and never experience emotional extremes...

Is it really weird or really cool

that myself, a college aged student (granted one who has self-diagnosed ADD), finds EXTREME (we're talking more than amused here people) pleasure in picking up sticks and twirling them, or kicking small rocks repeatedly, or tearing leaves off of trees and throwing them to the wind as he walks across campus?

Señor Butts

The Man (pass it to him) and his list of "top" drunken moments of the year, which I include in part because of their unparalleled comedic value, and also because I was there for most of them:

The Year's Drunkin Events:
1. Getting kicked out of Top of the Hill for eating a cracker
2. 3 Kegger @ 40H
3. 21st birthday: called the bouncer at East End a pussy, puked red throwup the size of my body on Franklin
4. Cut my head on futon and went to the ER the next day
5. Championship night: fucked up my face, not by jumping through a fire or getting in a fight but by falling on my face which left a scar between my eyes
6. Drunked dialed my mom while giving her a quiz if it was actually her.
7. Went to the family diner of Bob Evans for breakfast while still drunk from night before and running up $16 tabs each
8. The remarkable "double pass-out" on bathroom floor
9. Dressed as Mr. Peppermint for Halloween while escorting Princess Lollypop and Queen Frostine
10. Crisco wrestling on the beach

damn hostesses

so I went to the Outback last Saturday and ate with friends and the food was good and the merriment plentiful.

And then, as tends to happen in the life of DTM, I started ranting.

Hostesses, fuck them. I mean, hell yeah, I'm all for being sexist and putting a couple hot bitches -- and I will use that word in this post purely because I believe it fits the sentiment I am trying to express -- up front, but if you've ever worked in a restaurant in ANY capacity (waiter, busboy, cook, bartender), then you will understand the true source of my properly directed rage.

Hostesses -- by the way why do we never complain about gender equality here?............oh shit, just when you start to talk shit you realize all the maitre d's at ACTUAL class restaurants are dudes, and it always goes back to: male power!!!......but wait, what's this? hmmm, interesting, I had to do a google for the spelling of that, apparantly it's french for "headwaiter," so my original argument about bitches monopolizing hostessing seems to hold. Regardless, the point is hostesses don't do ANYTHING. And, worse, there's at least two, usually three to FIVE of them to do all that nothing. They hold doors open, say hello, walk you to your table, and that's it. And don't give me shit about having to "keep the sections equal" -- that's 1st grade math. If there are more people in one area start sending new arrivals someplace else. That's it. One rule to follow. And they get $8-10 per hour. Meanwhile everyone ELSE in the place is working their asses off without a second to stop to breathe or think, and as you rush in a gust past the dumb bitches up front you find them chatting, making jokes and worried about "looking pretty." And generally they find YOU rude for actually working your ass off and not having time to socialize or file your nails.

I mean, granted I'm completely without culture, but let's fuck the whole tradition of hostesses. I for one would not be offended if there were only one of them, even if, god forbid, I walked in the door to find her leading another party to their table and had to wait a whole 30 seconds until she could make it back to her haughty little podium to talk with me.

Or hell, I'll seat myself (cue sirens signaling the pure chaos that would surely ensue). Just end the madness, that's all I ask.

warning

in the interest of full disclosure, I owe it to my future roommates and everyone else to share a little look into exactly what and who is DTM before he descends on them like a coordinated pterodactyl attack next year.

During finals, we all get to see the madness the week induces in fellow students, most of it completely false and for show (why? who knows, but people do it and all the sheep are more than happy to follow). Phipps summed it up hilariously, so there is no need for I. I only hope that the vast majority of that writeup is pure fiction (and that Jimmy, who is a Davis frequenter, doesn't fit the profile) and that the reason Alex is so attune to the reality of the situation is because he has the mind and eye of a writer (which I claim to have, thus my ability to perceive final week's truth without actually experiencing it personally) and not because he has the mind and eye of one of the pathetics.

So, to begin, this week is the time that I laugh. I laugh at people as they pretend to worry and pretend to study hard and pretend to stay up all night and pretend that by doing all that crap and bitching they actually help their cause. I laugh because I know I will never study for a final until the day before I have it (and when it comes down to it, they probably don't either) -- I can't, I need the pressure . I laugh because I have never in my life spent more than 4 hours studying for a test, even a dreaded FINAL. Nor will I ever (oh shit, nevermind, forgot about the LSAT). But even then, in drunken hubris, I told Alex I wouldn't study for that. At all.

But behind all my laughter is the truth: I am the ultimate nerd. The reason I laugh is because I never have any work to "catch up" on, I never have multiple chapters to read, no last-minute papers to write. I have never pulled an all-nighter (al-nachter for all you Daily Show watchers -- that is, the ones who watched the show BEFORE it became popular........btw, I wonder why I seem to get such an inordinate and sad amount of pride about being ahead of the sheep. It's like what I define myself by.). I have never "bombed" a test or even done "average" in a course (I better crank this post out before I get my reporting grade back...speaking of which, $50, Ryan, hand it over).

But all this laughter does have it's price, and it comes in at a pretty immense cost.

I stay in on Thursday nights. I do my homework the day I get it -- which is part of my generally enforced policy to never do homework during the period stretching from 7 p.m. Friday until I wake up Monday, whenever humanly possible. I not only read the textbook, sometimes, get this, I read ahead. I write papers weeks in advance. I am meticulous in my work ethic. I am the epitome of a perfectionist. I may have the gift of intelligence, but I work harder than darn near everyone -- and I honestly hate the people who work harder than me. As in, the ones who do all this work just like me every semester AND perform the unnecessary finals rites as well. As in, Ryan (jk......sort of). You see, I am the ultimate nerd.

I don't hide it. But I far from advertise it as well (see recluse status). I am not ashamed, but peer pressure is a hell of a drug, and it's hard to continually tell people who cannot understand my disease how much of the ultimate nerd I am. And they don't understand how they can't change me, even after they adopt me as their personal reclamation project. But try as they might, they cannot alter DTM's nature. Yes, I will always be the ultimate nerd, it is who I am and no matter the logic (and I even SEE the logic, that's the thing), no matter the reasoning (reasoning, a nerd's best friend!), no matter the alternative (i.e. fun), my school work absolutely CONSUMES me.

But during finals, O glorious week, it all switches. The socially-competent students run helter-skelter for the shelter (wow, rhyming) of the libraries and for one brief week, I can relax. At least on the days that don't see an exam on the morrow ; -)

I hope that enlightens The Family and Friends as to the true being of DTM. Somehow, though my ultimate nerdiness has never been fully out in the open, I doubt it comes as much of a surprise to any of you or my other friends. In fact, that's kind of why I think we're friends. My ultimate nerdiness is impossible to hide, and you all are just nice enough, have just enough pity, or in some cases have just enough nerdiness yourselves, to still tolerate me and my antics.

Rick Reilly

OMG, what a riot!!!

I don't know exactly what I was expecting from his talk tonight, but it sure wasn't an hour plus of pure comedic stand-up. That's what we got, though -- and to top it off, it was all about sports! The guy is hilarious. And he's seen every great sporting event on the planet. We all knew that. But the icing on the cake: the dude hates dook. Seriously, a lot of people say that when they come to talk here because it means the audience will actually listen, but he honestly HATES them. And thus, he has reemerged as my hero without ever having disemerged as my hero.

A few highlights:

"I hate friggen' dook. If dook was playing Iraq, I'd be there, holding up a huge sign saying, "GO IRAQ!!!"

"Seriously, what's with these American Express commercials....I mean, why don't they just fellate the guy? It's ridiculous."

"I'm not really scared of anything. Not death.....not anything. I saw Marge Schott in a lime-green teddy, and that was it for me."

"And honest to God, he's got his manhood in his hands, pissing in a Big Gulp! And he says, THIS is why they call me long John Daly. Listen, have you ever seen one of those Italian sausages that hang in the meat shops? Let me put it this way, if Barry Bonds could put some cork in it..."

"How do you stay cool on a hot day?" "Well, I just imagine an icicle in my rectum." "Ahhh, no wonder they call you Deep-pack (Chopra)."

home run calls:

"no más pelota!"
"close the shutters, granny, 'cause it's hailing horse hide!"

notes:

Reilly had total respect for Charles Barkley (me too) as an honest, INTELLIGENT person. I hate republicans, but I'd welcome Barkley in Congress (and one day, he'll be there, I promise). He knows his shit. For real.

I love his stance on 1.) Columbine. It shook our state. And it shook him. Forever. 2.) CU football. I'm not sure that Barnett is TOTALLY at fault, but you can't fire the president, chancellor, AD, and NOT fire the guy who actually should be responsible.

UPDATE: saw him drunk at He's Not, and he wasn't the nicest, but of course we had the obligatory Colorado talk. He knew GJ, and we went through some CO shit. No doubt he's a great writer (the best sportswriter of our generation?) -- I just wish I could be him. Alas, perhaps never shall we know. (i.e. let me know what you think about that in regards to my future).

flashing update on the DTM 2005 spring finals ticker:

two down, two to go

I wore Beckham, and he was good to me. (I think and hope and pray.)

A collection of good links stolen from other people's blogs because I'm cheap and lazy like that

To start the randamonium off, the first credits go to Chris and his mysterious next blog man (kind of like Monkey, y'all remember him? except way cooler and with better staying power).

For those of you interested in this whale of a tale, here's the initial incident, gotta give mad respect for the uniqueness of the Schiavo love and the next-blogging (we all do it), which Schiavo-man continues to expertly/fascinatingly develop in his version of events and his blog as a whole. Then comes the violation response from Chris and follow-up comments and all is right with the world again -- especially since the front lines are clearly being established in the underworld by all those sworn to the faithful upholding of TWSHIT and its derivative TWMHIT. I do have to say, after reading it all, I still have NO IDEA what the hell went down. But it's awesome -- in the dart-in-the-jugular sort of way.

The other links, in must less spectacular, though equally interesting fashion, come from David, some random people, and Ken.

Two "games" that impress me more because someone has the ability to think and code them up than their actual relation to my fiance, Google:

guess-the-google (the more "fun" of the two)

montage-a-google (always fade out in a montage...if you fade out, it seems like more time has passed in a montage......)

and, moving right along

I honestly would love to do a studybreak like this (anybody down?),

the one remaining shred of hope I have left

another one of these, but longer and still funny

and to cap it all off in true porno orgy climax fashion, an awesome post by a mathematical genius for nerds like me who care about the historical trends of basketball -- call it hyperbole, but check out his other stuff and you won't count genius out...

today is a true banshee day

banshee. banshee. banshee. banshee.

mushroom. mushroom.


actually, today will receive no mushroom, the banshee is too critical.

and the dream goes down in flames

Now, I truly despise people with away messages and the like meant to arouse sorrow and compassion from others while he or she wallows in misery and despair. Making personal pain public for exhibitionist reasons or whatever the motivation -- that is something I will never understand. On the other hand, I only do this because people I'm close to like to know about the life and times of DTM, and heck, most of them know all the shit before it gets written up here anyways, so I'm not wowing the world here or anything. But still, fuck people who post things for sympathy. So this post is not meant to do that. Instead, it is meant to mark today, May 1, 2005 as the shittiest day in my life in a long time (even though I didn't quite realize how important it had become to me), and I hope that when I look back and see this in a year or two, I will indeed laugh (as the email said) as the power of DTM will have taken me far beyond the narrow view of desolation for my life that I have right now.

habotalk

I don't know if you guys care to see just how weird and awesome my relationship is with Ryan -- or if you are sick of me posting IM conversations in my blog -- but this is a sampling of how the two of us interact on a daily (in this case, the same day) basis. Draw conclusions as you will (keep in mind, all of these are completely out of the blue and from start to finish):

CONVO 1:
me: fuck
HabaneroEater1: yes to fuck
me: or
HabaneroEater1: or not
me: nyet
HabaneroEater1: yet not
me: three
HabaneroEater1: we are weird

CONVO 2:
HabaneroEater1: eres Guapa entre las guapas
HabaneroEater1: guapa sin comparacion
HabaneroEater1: guapo es tu padre y tu madre
HabaneroEater1: y toda tu generacion
me: gracias
me: guapo, en mi caso
HabaneroEater1: al cielo estoy subiendo.
HabaneroEater1: Las estrellas te estoy bajando
HabaneroEater1: La luna a tus pies estoy poniendo
HabaneroEater1: y con el sol te estoy coronando
me: es muy simpatico que hagas esto, gracias
HabaneroEater1: agua quiero beber
HabaneroEater1: y ester en tu compania
HabaneroEater1: beber de un baso de cristal
HabaneroEater1: de tu boca a la mia
me: pues, podemos hacerlo en cualquier momento tu quieres
HabaneroEater1: hhaha
HabaneroEater1: twshit
HabaneroEater1: "de las estrella del cielo, estoy bajando dos: una para saludarte, y otra para decirte adios"
me: lo bueno y lo malo
me: a la vez
HabaneroEater1: ojos negros
HabaneroEater1: de color cafe
HabaneroEater1: dame un beso
HabaneroEater1: de buena fe
me: los ojos no son negros, lo siento
me: !Ay!, la pobre princesa de la boca de rosa quiere ser golondrina, quiere ser mariposa
HabaneroEater1: a swallow
HabaneroEater1: a butterfly
me: hola hola coca cola
HabaneroEater1: Te estas haciendo pequeno
HabaneroEater1: te estas haciendo grande
HabaneroEater1: ya te estas pareciendo
HabaneroEater1: al guajolote
me: en que manera hace esto un guajolote?
HabaneroEater1: me pides, "que es un guajolote?"
me: yo se que es
HabaneroEater1: ok
HabaneroEater1: porque
HabaneroEater1: en todas maneras
me: esta bien, aparentemente me faltan los conocimientos extendidos de los guajolotes

and if that's not enough...he brings the humor (and is one of the very, very few who can actually induce a legit lol):

HabaneroEater1: do you say "el le gusta"

(2 seconds later)

HabaneroEater1: yes
HabaneroEater1: you do
me: le gusta works as well
me: le gusta mucho
HabaneroEater1: but i was debating se gusta
HabaneroEater1: he pleases himself
me: lol

(5 seconds later)

HabaneroEater1: im going to a muslim mosque alone tonight

GOT TO LOVE IT. we are so weird, so random. But it's good to know there's someone else out there who at the very least pretends to be like me.