how we do (did) camping

it really wasn't entirely our fault that we got locked out of the campground, necessitating a late-night trek to our campsite by foot (beverages concealed).

food so good

good spot for a leak


maybe two good

Granite Ball (see the raquetball?) cannot be explained, only lived

niveles como una cebolla

pensar en él.

Siempre quise a la chica más que a grande o mayor;
¡escapar de un mal grande nunca ha sido un error!
Del mal tomar lo menos, dícelo el sabidor,
por ello, entre mujeres, ¡la menor es mejor!

del Libro de Buen Amor del arcipreste de Hita, Juan Ruiz

mad

does anyone else get sick of how our football team seemingly always EXPECTS something bad to happen, and then promptly GIVES UP when it does?

also, I know they were stacking the box, but fucking give Ronnie McGill the ball -- MORE than Barrington -- because Matt Baker does not make reads more than 5 yards downfield and has the poise of a flighty rabbit in the pocket (which, admittedly, was virtually nonexistant).

Phipps sums it up:

"This town has got some GOOD pizza, which is going to be a problem in deciding if I want to leave for law school."

this blog

used to be better.

I truly cherish living with Christopher Michael Butts

Chris: When I was little, man, I used to read this magazine (National Geographic -- he is a geographer, after all) front to cover.

Phipps: Front to cover, huh?

Chris: Yeah, I mean, cover to back.

drug dealin' just to get by

my fucker friend is straight cash money.


he wins money in poker without even caring or trying. Like 7.5 k, as you seen here. (now you better come visit, you B.A.M.F.'er)

Real pain

is simply the reminder of having something so amazing that it is worth all the hurt when it's gone.

I truly cherish living with Christopher Michael Butts

Chris: Hey, can I use your CPU for a second?

me: Do you know what CPU means?

Chris: No.

if you think you can't cut yourself with a plastic knife

you are wrong.

I went to the state fair yesterday

with Missi and Manish, and we ate lots of strange and unique and tremendously unhealthy and delicious foods.

Stone Mountain

Fall Break. Mountains. Fire. Sparta. Camping. Hiking. Friends. Grilling. Granite Ball.

what a fucking awesome trip.

I don't believe in:

(these are all possible rant topics that I thought I'd condense, but I reserve the right to rant away in the future should I feel so inspired or compelled.)

sugary breakfast foods (unless consumed after the morning hours have terminated)
smoking
coffee
shaving
medical drugs (at least not to the extent most people do)
excuses
dirtying glasses by drinking water from them
paying for drinks at bars
lying
depression
Jackie Onassis sunglasses
buses
pens
Justin Gray getting hurt every game only to miraculously keep on playing (but props for broken jaw performances)
my chosen future
heavy metal
webmail (it sucks, and you should have quit using it long ago)
Bunting
vegetables
Texas
naps
cursive
salad

I'm sure you've seen it before

so don't click on it.

Seriously.

crapped my pants

(must have, to be typing this at 9:45, when the only reason I'm awake so early (and I do mean that) is because I woke up fretting about a midterm -- but yet am not studying for it)

Here's a prime example of "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus," offered by an English professor from the University of Phoenix: The professor told his class one day: "Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. As homework tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. You will e-mail your partner that paragraph and send another copy to me. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story and send it back, also sending another copy to me. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back-and-forth. Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. There is to be absolutely NO talking outside of the e-mails and anything you wish to say must be written in the e-mail. The story is ov er when both agree a conclusion has been reached."

The following was actually turned in by two of his English students: Rebecca and Gary.

THE STORY:

(first paragraph by Rebecca)

At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.

(second paragraph by Gary)

Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than "the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..."; But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.

(Rebecca) He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel," Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspaper to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.

(Gary) Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mother ship launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through the Congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized poor, stupid, Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. "We can't allow this! I'm going to veto that treaty! Let's blow 'em out of the sky!"

(Rebecca) This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic semi-literate adolescent.

(Gary) Yeah? Well, you're a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. "Oh, shall I have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of FUCKING TEA? Oh no, I'm such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steele novels!"

(Rebecca) Asshole.

(Gary) Bitch

(Rebecca) FUCK YOU -- YOU NEANDERTHAL!

(Gary) Go drink some tea - whore.

(TEACHER) A+ - I really liked this one

so it turns out

I ate my first Indian food a few weeks ago (loved it, LOVED it). It'd been a dream for awhile, but it took the persistence of some friends and the expertise of one miss Seema to make it all come together. Now, on the heels of the Mediterranean experience, I am fast travelling the world via my stomach and tongue.

Now that's culture.

(and I seen a play with Gena last week, too. DTM is growing up, people.)

I truly cherish living with Christopher Michael Butts

the away message he puts up before leaving for an entire weekend:

mrytle beach!

this is how we interact

manish13nc: you are so gay

Auto response from DanTheHeel:
me: day, you are gorgeous
day: aww......You are sweet and cute.
me: Hey thanks! Wanna go out sometime?
day: How bout now?
me: How bout it?

manish13nc: and by gay i mean complete fucking idiot
manish13nc: no offense
DanTheHeel: just cause day wouldn't go out with you
manish13nc: i dont know how to respond to that
DanTheHeel: not with tears like last time
manish13nc: hyena
DanTheHeel: touche
DanTheHeel: wedding crashers or discovery channel reference?
manish13nc: Not as much as I do with your attire, or just your general point of view toward everybody here. But hey, lets go kill some birds. I'm psyched.
DanTheHeel: do you want to run to woollen with me
DanTheHeel: i love running
DanTheHeel: and i want to share
manish13nc: i thought day was giving you a blowjob
manish13nc: or thats what i thought because yesterday was humpday
manish13nc: so i doubt you are doing that
DanTheHeel: i don't see how the two activities can't be combined
manish13nc: can you hump on nonhump day?
manish13nc: wait is today opposite day?
manish13nc: be careful how you answer
DanTheHeel: if i say yes, what will it mean
manish13nc: i dont know, because if i say i dont understand, does it mean i do
manish13nc: shit this conversation is fucked
DanTheHeel: so you do know
manish13nc: or is it

I truly cherish living with Christopher Michael Butts

me (immediately after an Avs goal): Chris, you're going to become an Avs fan.

Chris: I already am. That's the only team I like.

me (and the rest of the house): Really?

Chris: Hell yeah. I've always liked them. Back when they had Forte, and........and fucking Raw.

me: (dying of laughter)

So, remember the questionable attire

of my Spanish teacher?

Well, today it rose to unthinkable new heights.

We're talking sitting on her stool, legs crossed (thankfully), but with a mini-skirt riding up enough to expose not only the top of her stockings (I think that's what they are called -- like pantyhose, but each leg separate?) AND quite a bit of leg beyond that. Very close to the danger zone, very close indeed. Needless to say, not what you expect or want to be looking at in class.

Lions and Tigers and Sorority Girls, oh my!!!

Boys and Girls. It happened. I never thought it would. After years of going to the utmost extents to avoid it, I at last found it unavoidably in front of me, with no escape in sight.

So I did the only thing I could. That's right, I ate Mediterranean food. Spinacopada? Couscous. Some potato-ish creation. Pita bread. Baklava. I downed them all. (Loved them all, by the way).

Monumental as that may be when it comes to landmark moments in the life of DTM, it pales sadly in comparison to the kicker: I did it at a..........................wait for it.........................sorority house (Zeta). (GASP!!!)

Holy shit is right.

They were everywhere. (Of course, I had to pick Chapter night (=95% of the sisters), as well as the night of the chef's specialty -- which is one of the key factors that drew me into the lion's den (gotta rep the name) -- and with my luck, the night not a single daring male appeared to help alleviate my uniqueness.

While I hesitate to label sorority girls my mortal enemies (and I certainly know plenty who make silly the stereotype that perpetuates my "hatred"), it would be safe to say I'm not the biggest fan. Maybe I got my fill of estrogen in my three-sister-dominated childhood, but I'm a pretty harsh critic of pretty much anything sorority. So this was like venturing into enemy territory, and I'm not even sure I had on the most concealing camouflage.

But you can't judge what you don't know, and you can't know what you don't experience first-hand, so when a wonderful friend offered me this opportunity at self-betterment, I hesitantly leapt at it. You know how DTM rocks culture.

And to tell the truth, I was pleasantly surprised. Well, I wouldn't say surprised -- I was well aware of the embarrassingly false level I had built the evil empire up to (it's easy to do when you never let yourself get close to it. Hell, to go introspective for a moment, maybe it's even a defense mechanism stemming from many a sorority-girl rejection over the years........................OR NOT, but you get the point) .

So, aided by my friend from the other side (who shall remain nameless since you all know who she is anyways), I thoroughly enjoyed my glimpse into this "foreign world." And it wasn't half-bad. Sure, I recognized the things I hate about it, but as you all well know, I find things to hate in everything. That's what I do. So now I've seen rush, and I've been to a sorority house. I've talked to real, human sorority girls who I think are great, and I've witnessed the superficial she-devils I've come to despise. I've seen the natural habitat of the creatures, and I've observed some of their instinctive, and magnificently unique, behaviors.

And for it, I am a better man, and they have a (better) chance.

this is funny

confession: I stole it from here again. There are funnier people over there than I. Woe.

Is this funny?

(didn't work in firefox for me)

Manish thinks it is the epitome of humor.

I didn't laugh once.

You be the judge (did I use that phrase in my last entry, too?).

Crash

It is rare that I impose my viewpoint on people. Well, actually, that's all I do here. But I do hope you've been able to discern, at least with the benefit of multiple visits, that when I say dogmatic things, I say them in jest and with toungue firmly in cheek. Then, there are times when I do not.

Like now.

Crash. It's an incredible film people. (trailer)

Prejudices. Racism. Judgment. What's good? What's bad? Who's good? Who's bad?

You figure it out. If you can. If that's even possible.

another one?

I mean I hate the guy, but I'm on on any crusade to crack on him or anything...

A girl who rides a bike to class

= immediately hotter.

My "slutty" Spanish professor

Yeah, that got your attention.

It ain't quite that bad. Sorry for being over-sensational. But needless to say, some of the outfit choices of my mid-forties, smallish Italian Spanish teacher (by that I mean she's Italian, she teaches Spanish) have raised some questions in my mind. NOT those kind of questions.

Granted, I'm a pretty free-spirited individual, and not much offends me. Even a slightly risque ensemble in a place of higher-learning is tolerated without second thought, and sometimes appreciated. But when the body enclosed in that real low-cut dress and/or top (or in one case, that see through blouse with bra well-visible) is the same one you are sort of required to stare at for an hour plus, certain dificulties arise. NOT those kind of difficulties.

Namely, a typical male, who is in no means attracted to this bastion of Spanish knowledge, cannot help but let his focus drift toward certain things from time to time -- despite constant attempts not to (and at some point it honestly becomes easier and even logical to just let it happen). Call me perverted or disgusting or whatever. I'm not. But my eyes are drawn to certain attributes -- the same ones y'all ladies know you do your best to accentuate -- even when there is no objective beyond learning some linguistic history of the Spanish language.

To the point: during one of my recent "mindslides," I found myself pondering whether I was a fan of this interesting development or if it was an annoyance I would rather do without. Never before could I even have considered making the argument that my professor's clothes were inappropriate for learning. And hell, outside of class, I'd view her as on top of her Euro fashion and think nothing of it. But I honestly struggle to focus in class, and at this point, with its progression into an internal debate, it's become even more of a problem.

In the end, I think I am a fan. After all, I have self-diagnosed ADD, and this is one of the better outlets I've ever encountered -- and it was just thrust upon me. It certainly beats drawing weird geometric shapes or staring at the ceiling. And it makes class interesting and fun, and who knows if I actually listen to more or less of what she says as a result of her wardrobe choices. (After all, I'm always terrified I'll be caught staring, so I'm constantly on my toes -- so maybe it's just a well-concealed and geniusly conceived teaching method).

Plus, it reminds me slightly (in age only, not in looks) of my long-lost 39-year-old hottie (she's probably a ripe 40 now -- just to further shock you prudes)