Tuesday, March 30, 2004

Goat. Goat tastes good.

-- see, last weekend, I went to the local coffee roastery, and they had this rather large-ish sign up that stated "ASK ME ABOUT MY GOAT." Never one to pass up a perfect opportunity to ask about farm animals, I inquired about said goat.

It turns out that "goat" does not, in fact, refer to any animal which bleats or eats random bits of material lying about. "Goat," in this instance, refers to the fact that the coffee roastery took a lot of miscellaneous coffee beans, tossed 'em together, and roasted them. Amazingly, this hodgepodge of flavors tastes GREAT. So much, in fact, that I bought a pound of goat beans.

Saturday, I made a pot of goat. Now, the thing that I love about the weekend is that once I get up and make coffee, after I settle onto the couch, I could just fall back asleep. I can not do this on the weekdays (like I wanted to today) due to this "employment" problem I have. The sad part of this tale is that after I was all nuzzled and nestled into my big comfy couch, I was ready to just kick back and fall asleep...but there was a half-full pot of coffee still sitting there, ready to be ingested.

When inquired about why I didn't just go to sleep, my response -- without thinking -- was, "What, and sacrifice my goat?"

Heh. Goat.

Wednesday, March 24, 2004

Good God.

Now I *KNOW* this day is going to be quite maddening. Submitted as evidence -- the text of this message I received this morning:

Hi Sonny,

I was walking in b/w Sullivan Harell and Murrah and I saw a cat caught in a cage in the bushes. There was a plaque that said 'MS Animal Rescue' or something like that. I don't know if there is a movement to remove the cats from campus or provide some interesting meat in the caf, but I just thought I would let you know. I really wanted to set him free, but I decided against it b/c I don't know the circumstances surrounding his captivity. I don't know why I'm telling you--guess it's a feline res life issue. Let me know if you hear anything.

Meow-

Erin


Sunday, March 21, 2004

IF LIFE WERE A TEST, THIS WOULD HAVE TO BE ONE OF THE ESSAY QUESTIONS:

On Saturday, you manage to watch two complete movies: X2 [or, X-Men 2] and Mona Lisa Smile. That night, you drink an inordinate amount of water, causing your body to have pressure on your bladder while you sleep, causing you to have weird dreams which meld the two movies together. Write an essay detailing what your dream would be like.

Mine involved my grandparents' house, gloves, antique shopping, a yellow shirt, The Wizard of Oz trading cards, Boy scout merit badges, children, mud wrestling, alcohol, and sex. -- oh, and people trying to swipe into the residence hall I live in while school is closed.

And no, I ain't givin' details.


Saturday, March 20, 2004

Yeah, y'know how I was kvetching about not going outside, my albino look, blah blah blah?

Well.

I spent 2.5 hours out in the sunshine today, reading The Life of Pi, and watching a little Cricket puppy frolic at my feet. Top that off with the fact I did Yoga this morning -- for the first time in a LONG time -- and that I had an apple for lunch...

I am positively healthy today.

...clearly, this means something bad is going to happen soon.

Friday, March 19, 2004

In the name of all humanity -- will SOMEONE please fix the bloody AC unit in the Student Center?

Our air has been out for about three hours now. And, since when the building was constructed they conveniently forgot to incorporate WINDOWS THAT OPEN, it is fast turning into a pressure cooker in here, both from the temperature -and- the temperament of the individuals stuck in here in this stuffy humidity-laden building.

Ugh.

******

Hokay -- rant of the hour: this is the 21st century. We don't have personalized jet packs, nor do we have rocket cars to propel us to Sirius IX and back, but we do have the ability to utilize little plastic cards (debit/check cards) to pay for items now. So, why, in the name of the sacred Kenyan AA Organic coffee I got this morning, do people STILL...WRITE...CHECKS...IN...PUBLIC?!?!?!??

Case in point: yesterday, I decided to go shopping. This, in and of itself, is nothing new or noteworthy. As far as I am concerned, shopping centers exist for people like me who are clothes, shoes, books, and electronic gizmo junkies. I might not buy anything, but I will visit the same stores again and again.

Anyway, since it is now March in Mississippi [and the start of the nine-hour-long Spring season which then catapults into the 260-day-long Summer season], this means the temperatures will start to climb into the 400's during the course of the day. Those of you who know me well enough also know that my wardrobe can come across as rather monochromatic [black] with a little variation [dark/navy blue, grey, or dark/forest green]. I prefer to wear long sleeved button-down shirts, as -- in my opinion -- short-sleeved button down shirts should be reserved for accountants, used-car salespeople, or others ho happen to look better in them than *I* do.

So, I decide to go trolling for "light" or "summer" colored clothes, to supplement the three (3) non-dark colored shirts that I currently own.

-- now, at this time, I feel the need to add a comment. I am an albino. That guy from POWDER has seen more sun than I have. This is not only the unfortunate side-effect of being in an office an awful lot, but also because it's just now starting to get sunny [ha] outside. Additionally, I feel a little bit...uncomfortable...sitting outside in the sun, clearly for the sole purpose of getting some pigmentation, while my students are frolicking, tanning, and/or making out in the same grass. Part of this can be contributed to body image issues, and part of it can be contributed to the fact that these kids just REALLY don't need to see their AD in a seemingly partially disrobed state.

But I digress [TM 2004 Peter David].

So, I'm in Old Navy, looking for bright, cheery clothing that won't make me look like I'm trying to come across as younger than my already-way-too-freakin'-close-to-mid-thirties self is, or that I'm jaundiced. I decide upon a few bright-ish colored "polo" shirts, and a pair of khaki shorts to match [I can see your eyes getting bigger and that grimace settling across your face. P*ss off -- even *I* have to wear shorts when it's THAT hot outside]. I also grab myself a nice little long-sleeved button-down shirt (on sale at some insane price that I'd be a fool to pass up), and I head to the check-out lane.

And then, I remember why I HATE shopping here.

First, there are the ADHD children running about the line like they just ate a three-foot tall Pixie Stix, stepping on my toes, and bouncing off my legs like we're in some twisted pinball experiment. Then, there are the 67-person-long lines, and it always feels like I'm in line with the in-bred mongoloid manager's cousin trainee running the cash register. EVERY time. Then, there's the fact that the people who shop at said establishment [at least, here in J-town] ARE -- in some ways -- the one trying to recapture their youth by ignoring the fact that they've had 4.3 kids [and all of them are currently engaged in p*ss*ng me off -- see above] and that there is NO WAY they will fit into those capri pants.

And then, on top of it all, JUST to spite me PERSONALLY...they all write checks. All of them. -- okay, there was the one "grand-mamma" in front of me who paid in the change she took out of a plastic Zipoloc bag in her purse, but I forgive her. She's old. She'll die soon. She should get her kicks where she can, and if she pays for $60 worth of clothes for the kids with pennies that smell like Juicy Fruit, well then -- more power to her!

But these people who WRITE CHECKS...and then the check has to be approved...and they NEVER partially pre-fill the amount out...and then they ask to whom the check should be made out to -- as if they've forgotten where it is they're shopping!!!...and then the manager, the associate manager, the Pope, and Mothra all have to come and authorize the check...AND...they have a bloody debit card sitting IN THE PURSE, in the checkbook they just wrote the check out of!!!!!!

Look, I can sort of understand the paranoia of some people who think the guv'mint's gonna track them down through every swipe of the stripe [I was a big X-Files fan, after all], but for the love of all that is sacred and holy...WHY! WHY! WHY!!!!! must you, Soccer Mom, write checks when a perfectly acceptable and FASTER method of payment is staring you in your Mary-Kay-OD'd face? Why?!?!?!?

Save those checks for when they'll be needed -- like, paying for your kid's therapy bills. Or Jenny Craig.

Sheesh...

THE THIRD OF THREE REALLY-KINDA-BIG-ISH OBSERVATIONS:

Life sucks. And sometimes, despite our best efforts, the bad guys win.

-- what? You expect something deep and meaningful every time you look here? Feh.

Thursday, March 04, 2004

THE SECOND OF THREE REALLY-KINDA-BIG-ISH OBSERVATIONS:

That silly little band with that "Closing Time" song may have just gotten it right.


Submitted as evidence:

Cerebus.
Mystery Science Theater 3000.
Sex and the City.
Angel.
Buffy
-- even on DVD.
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (on DVD).
The Lord of the Rings trilogy -- even on DVD.
My grandfather.

2004 is shaping up very fast to be a year involving a series of endings. If I were to sit down and map out the past twelve month, making note of the vast, vast number of things in my life...important, valuable [to me] things which have shaped and direct me and my personality...these things which have helped to make me the Sonny that I am...and how most of them have ended, running their full course...

Serialized, sequential television will hold no longer hold interest for me, save for 24.

My reading habits will take a nose-dive [thereby making me read a buncha nerd texts, things that deal with issues in higher education -- and I'll be reading these for pleasure, God help me].

My grandfather, one of the single most influential people in my life, has gone on to finally rest, leaving me with a lot of memories...and helping to sever any strong ties I hold to this region.

...okay, so all of this has made me a tad melancholy. I look behind me, and I see nothing but a series of closed doors. And yes, heathens, I am well aware of that whole "door close/window open" dichotomy that so many well-intended people espouse. It might upset me more if I did not know that these doors close (for the most part) of their own free will. Some things -- like Jay -- have run a natural course, and there comes a time when such things DO end.

I do not find myself diminished due to these closings. They are helping, in some ways, to propel me forward. I draw strength from their memories and their lasting lessons [even in the case of BUFFY, which has made me quite quick with quips], and there is a quiet smile hidden behind the lines surrounding my eyes of late.

There are people in my life who are important to me and who give me strength to carry on and keep going [hi, Katie], and these people...they help me to see the endings for what they are: opportunities for growth.

The endings are, thankfully, ending.

The beginnings will start soon enough.