Flagrant Admission of Mischief/Silliness

This never happens to me. Maybe it happens to you.

In the bigger lecture halls in which I attend class, there is one large projector and several smaller flatscreens scattered around the room that display whatever is on the desktop computer at the front of the room (prof's notes, powerpoints, etc.). Usually, the prof deactivates everything after class before he leaves, probably to prevent wiseass students from doing what I did.

I have an 11AM class and a 1PM class on MWF, leaving me an hour of noodling time in between, during which I usually just got to the empty lecture hall of my 1PM and listen to music, surf the net, whatever I want...theres usually no one there until about 20 minutes before lecture.

So I walked in there yesterday and the first thing I noticed was the lack of deactivation of the projector and its neighboring flatscreens. I walked in, gave a cursory back and forth glance to see if anyone was in the room. there wasnt.
As you might imagine, this was a situation brimming with potential. I could leave something on the projector that would remain up until the prof got there at 1 to turn it off. My immediate reaction was to go with something rebellious and seemingly profound, so in 120 size font, I typed "FIGHT THE POWER",and sat down to marvel at my awesomeness...

I did not feel the desired effect. I felt like I had shorted myself and my fellow students by hastily drafting some weak catchphrase. I might as well have typed "WHAZZZZAAAAAAAP"

So I thought for a moment, and I recalled reading Austin's pants-pissingly hilarious blog, which tells tales told through the eyes of a bro Chad from the fictitious fraternity Chi Chi Chi (Trip Chi). I thought about the idea of telling stories from the perspective of a bro, and it made me laugh, and then I thought about what it would be like to actually HAVE the perspective of a bro, and it damn near made me cry. Regardless, I jumped up from my seat, again making suring I was the only witness to this silly mischief, and proudly typed the following:

my primary intention was to entertain myself, and i most certainly did. the secondary intention was to mess with people's heads, which was somewhat evident in the puzzled looks many students gave when they entered the classroom 20 minutes later.
the tertiary intention of this whole thing was to gauge the reaction of the crowd, to see if anyone understood my hieroglyphic words, and more importantly, if they reacted to them.
I bent my ear pretty hard listening to random chatter in the room prior to class, sadly I could not hear any of the following words:
BRO
TRIP CHI
DOUCHEBAG
OBNOXIOUS
It was, however, a noble experiment, one I'd gladly replicate somewhere else, perhaps with a modified TRIP CHI BROZ 4 LIFE
only time will tell

Irony

I've had the pleasure of knowing dozens of teachers in my life. Some good, some bad, some whose classes I didn't even take, all in all a decent cross-section of people that have bestowed their knowledge and skills unto me. I am fortunate enough to say that the ratio of good to bad teachers is skewed toward the former, however I am not exempt from the latter.

I have a professor this semester, Dr. Sam Witryol, who is easily in my top 3 worst teachers. Sam is 87 years old. He is short and mumbly and smokes a pipe. Sam should've retired years ago, as he is incapable of performing certain normative functions. He has "porters" to carry his books for him from his office to his classroom and back. His shoes have velcro instead of laces.
Yet this man is still plugging away, five days a week, teaching lectures to undergrads. Death is over this man's shoulder EVERY FUCKING SECOND (and he knows it just as well as anyone else), making him go on countless digressions; perhaps he's trying to recapture old memories as much as he can before he goes, and thus is constantly spewing anecdotes

it is because of this man that i dread waking up in the morning three days a week. because of him, I now know that I NEVER want to work in Psychometrics as long as I live, lest I turn into a bitter self-loathing alcoholic (even moreso). The course's syllabus outlines 12 chapters each unit about a week long with three exams and about 12 "Test Analyses". We should have finished Chapter 10 this week. We are on Chapter 6. He has cut our Test Analysis number from 12 to 1.
I could've used these multiple grades to my advantage and bolstered my suffering final grade, an anemic 49. Now, I have three more chances to bring my grade up to a D-, a grade i'll gladly accept for a class as inefficient and useless as this one

The irony enters with the firing of Janice "Dr. J" Wilbur, my mentor (for want of a better word) for the past three years. She was the coordinator of the HEART program, a drug intervention and education program of which I was a considerable part. Her true age is unknown, as she is a healthy and youthful woman, though aged. She is an inspirational and brilliant woman, and the university fired her about a month ago after systematically widdling down her program until there was nearly nothing left.

A person like Janice Wilbur, whose greater energy and overall spirit was dedicated to helping people, was fired for a myriad of bullshit reasons, basically being forced to retire.
She was fired, and a person like octogenarian psychologist Sam Witryol is basically being dragged through his twilight and making things harder for everyone in the room.


Shit like this I'll never understand

Wilhelm takes Boston part 2

and we're back
first off, a picture
this was the poster for the show. You cant see from this shitty cell phone picture, but those flecks of white on top of the letters are bird doo doos from the birds at the top of the poster. They were printed on glossy poster paper. It reminds me of those mini posters I used to buy at concerts in my concert going days. Everything about BU makes UConn (and Wilhelm, by extension) look progressively more turdish.

a shot of the stage on which we performed ^. We played to a crowd of about 60, about average


So the show came and went, everyone killed, and it became time to celebrate. I anxiously awaited the time when we could all knock off and get drunk, and eventually it came, but FIRST, we had to leave our props and what not in our cars and walk mad blocks back to Ford's apartment. I always forget why I hate cities until I have to spend a significant amount of time walking around them and my legs begin screaming "WHY?!!!"
but I made it. Everyone stopped at Spike's on the corner for hotdogs and chicken sandwiches (more on Spike's in a minute), while I sat and talked to Ford on the porch. Winchell and Rose went to get mixers, and after we all rallied and they ate, we got into it.
It was a very inspiring and awesome experience to both work and play with so many people that had such a dedication and love of comedy. Truth be told, it was the first time in a long time that I felt like I had to really work to get laughs from people. But everyone had a great energy and we all had a damn good time.
There was a bodega across the street from Ford's apartment, so I left the party briefly and scooped up some food stuffs for later. This bodega was home to an orange cat named Samson, whom I drunkenly apologized to for intruding on his personal space when I tried to walk past him. The clerk was selling DVDs 10 dollars apiece. I changed my mind at the last second on Cider House Rules
The party continued into the night. We established that I have a better handshake than Sean Rose, but that he's far better than I in SNES Mario Kart. I danced to Coltrane briefly. We drank and chatted and laughed and danced until everyone sort of burned out around 4. I fell asleep listening to people in the kitchen talk about "furries"
the huge chalkboard wall. mad chalked, yo

.it may have been presumptuous to speak for everyone, but I personally do live for that shit


I awoke, once again, feeling like shit. I sort of laid on the hardwood for about an hour before I got up, and shortly after we all started to shuffle out. We said goodbyes and parted ways, Bleak heading back to NY, and Wilhelm not far behind. We would be on the road by 1, but first we had to get some grub.
So we went to Spike's, a small hotdog joint on the corner across the street from Ford's apt. The whole place had a TGI Fridays-shit-on-the-walls look mixed with a restaraunt themed after a pitbull. I ordered my meal and literally sat and looked at it for 5 minutes. Not knowing if I could handle eating all or even some of its barbecue bacony goodness. I could not. After 2 bites, I got a bag and saved it for later. We took a bus to the car, and I didnt have exact change, so the machine spat out a 75 cent bus credit. I gave it to an old lady.
We got to the car and hit the road, waving bye bye to Boston and returning to reality once again.
It was a great time by all, and it left me exhausted in a good way. Above all things, it was a reminder of why I love doing what I do, if only when I do it

In loving memory of Rich Piepho
2007-2008
Living on in our hearts....and LA

Wilhelm takes Boston Part 1

We begin Friday night. After baking cookies with Heather and a brief Wilhelm meeting, I returned home to the third round of a 25 team beer pong tournament in and around my apartment. I take to it and finish my whiskey, have a few beers, finally passing out super sloppily around 4.

I wake up the next morning feeling like seven shades of shit (as expected). The words of one of the chefs at the dining hall (a recovering alcoholic) echo in my head, "...wakin up every mornin feelin like shit..."

I throw together an overnight bag and meet Winchell downstairs. We pick up Sean at his dorm and hit the road. We stop at an ATM, Dunkin Donuts, and a liquor store to get booze for the party that night. We arrive in Boston about 2 hours later a few minor twists and turns aside.

Our liason for this weekend was Andrew Ford, a friend of Winchell's and a fellow funnyman. He has his own group in Boston, The Sons of Liberty, who were headlining the show we would perform that night. We arrive about 10 minutes before a carload of people from New York showed up. Paul, Logan, Yoni, Peggy, and Mike from Bleak comedy arrive packed in a sedan. We spend some time getting ready in Ford's apartment, then we drive about 10 blocks to the BU student union, a place that puts the UConn student union to shame.

the BU union has a food court roughly thrice the size of ours, including an enormous convenience store/gift shop. They also had a huge ass ballroom that we noodled around in for a little whilst waiting for the show to start. Our venue was a little lounge-type area called BU central in the basement of the building.
The coolest thing about it was that the entire wall opposite the entrance was a giant chalkboard. It had numerous listings for guitar hero and fifa tournaments, club meetings, and shit, but when it came close to show time, someone cleared the board and we all drew the shit out of the chalkboard (I myself wrote "we live for this shit!"), because lord knows i do.

After Ford did his opening bit about craigslist, we did our set, which had one new sketch that I wrote about a series of unfortunate events between two cops, a suicidal jumper, and one finnicky CD player. All in all we did well. We had technical difficulties with our sound, but i'm starting to come to terms with the fact that it continues to happen and will probably always happen to us at least once until we can have a dedicated tech team (right now we operate on the "hey buddy" principle", as in "hey buddy, wanna do our audio cues?")

After we were done, there were three other groups, Bleak, Daystallion, and Sons of Liberty, each with their own pinache and hilarity. I thoroughly enjoyed the whole experience. When it was all over, we spent a good 20 minutes backslapping and congratulating each other, then we packed up our stuff and brought it back to the cars.

I'll leave you here for now, more on the latter part of the night and some pictures sometime either today or tomorrow

The Gallery Model, and falling in love on a daily basis

In an attempt to build a rationalization around the fact that I am incapable of pursuing any worthwhile connection with a member of the opposite sex, I devised a rather clever little model that wraps up my behavior into a neat little package.

For the purposes of this model, take every person in your life that you could potentially see as being your significant other (if you yourself have a significant other, the work's done for you). Take any and all of these people and turn them into pieces of art. For the purposes of this model, it is very important that you recognize this fundamental equation
LOVE INTERESTS = PIECES OF ART

Now for those of you with significant others, you fall into the category of art owner. You have (again, for the purposes of this model) one piece of art toward which you hold some measure of attachment. You may simply appreciate this piece for its aesthetic value or you may know the intricate and complex story behind it, in any event you OWN this piece of art. It hangs in a collection of one, and it is all yours (under ideal conditions, of course)

Now, with ownership comes numerous responsibilities, not the least of which being maintenance, protection, appreciation, and the impending risk of any number of mechanisms of loss (fire, theft, etc.). But you, as the art owner, can do very little, in the end, to prevent these things, you can only take measures to counteract them. However, with time, you will come to lose that piece of art, the ultimate end of which of course being death. It is a fundamental tenet of the Buddhist faith that all things are impermanent, and attachment to these things will only lead to suffering in the event of their loss.

This has been the perspective of the ART owner.
Now, wrap your mind around this.
I, rather than being an art owner, rather than having one piece of art that I value and appreciate and in some capacity LOVE, I own a gallery filled with pieces of art. I am able to walk through this gallery at my choosing, admire and scrutinize and appreciate each individual piece within my gallery, but I can never own any of them. Pieces come and go, some stay for your whole life, and others are in and out in a matter of days. The underlying thing to remember is that there is no OWNERSHIP in the gallery.

So, like I said, I am (under this model) a gallery owner in that I have no single piece of art that I own, but I am able to see and to value and appreciate a large number of other pieces of art within the gallery.

some argue that owning the gallery isn't worthwhile and that they would rather own one piece of art, and in some capacity, I agree with them. Being that I have owned a sample of pieces in my life I can certainly appreciate the intrinsic values of ownership. However, this leads me to another factor in play in my little rant I have going on...

I fall in love with nearly every girl I meet. Whether it's for 10 minutes or for 10 years. If you cross my path and happen to have one of any traits I find personally appealing, I melt like butter, if only mentally. And what do I do upon realization of this? what I do best.
I pick you apart. I pick us apart (whatever us could conceivably be)
based on whatever limited data you're putting forth to me, my brain begins running scenarios and filling in cracks like the goddamn WOPR. While I'm enjoying a cigarette and a casual conversation with you, I'm imagining every conceivable emotion and the facial expression I see you making in reaction to that emotion. I'm playing out the events of our first date. I'm thinking about what you're like in bed. I'm introducing you to my family. And by the time that cigarette is done and our paths part, I'm left with the same mantra repeating in my head:
IT HAPPENED AGAIN...

and guess what...
IT HAPPENED AGAIN tonight.

Someone like me wasn't meant for the art ownership racket. If I acted on even half of these 5 minute romances, art would be coming and going through a revolving door. Thats not to say I don't inevitably want to reenter the ownership game. for now, until one piece jumps out at me, i'll have to settle for the gallery

...and the clouds parted...

I've spent the better part of the last 3 years sifting through mud.
metaphorically speaking.
I've mired myself in a pool of self-loathing and rumination
pawing through thick, syrupy mud
searching for a key.
3 years i've been doing this
and TODAY my fingers touched brass

I had coffee with my ex girlfriend earlier today, and in doing so purged years of curiosity, fear, and misunderstanding. I learned, within the time span of a grande vanilla latte, everything I'd been wanting to learn in the 3 years of silence between us. I found myself...okay with her for the first time in God knows how long. And I walked away from it feeling content, calm, and above all else, free

Free from that mud. Free from digging through it all trying to make it make sense.
And I gotta tell ya, it feels pretty freaking amazing.

To not hate someone I was convinced hated me.
To finally have resolution on everything
And to find out (to my surprise) I wasn't as bad of a person to her as I had made myself out to be (surprise!)

I used to equate the whole experience to being haunted. Having the sensation of someone else following you around in your head all day. Unable to forgive or forget, and unable to communicate with the passive specter that followed me.
So today, I've been celebrating the exorcism of a ghost from my life. We--the ghost and I-- can finally find some measure of peace knowing that I don't have to live my life in fear of turning an eventual blind corner and immersing myself in the misery of negative dwelling when our eyes inevitably meet
not anymore.
at least not for now

Hypersomnia

Heres a rundown of the last day or so

3/13 1:30PM wake up
(8 hours later)
9:30PM briefly visit TJ. Play CoD4, shoot the shit, return home 11PM
530AM first attempt to drive parents to the airport. half a mile from home the realization that they may have forgotten something hits. we double back and I listen to the radio in the car while they sort it out
6AM departure from norwalk southbound to JFK
715AM arrive at Delta departure terminal at JFK. unload parents luggage, have a safe trip. peace.
716AM immersed in the deplorable clusterfuck that is the JFK expressway. felt like I'd fallen into hell for about 10 minutes
730AM not paying attention to navigation system en route home. miss turn. have to take modified route
740AM en route for home.
845AM arrive at exit 16 -- Norwalk
853AM arrive at home too wired to sleep, too tired to do anything of consequence
910AM start watching The Prestige
1130AM still watching The Prestige
1215PM manage to fall asleep for about an hour, I wake up and the credits to The Mummy are rolling
230PM decide to go shoe shopping. I begin driving north, not realizing that Bob's sports store is west.
2:35PM correct course toward Bob's I receive a series of phone calls from Heather. She got into another law school. we talk until I arrive at Bob's
245PM shopping. bought a pair of white and purple DC shoes for 30 bucks, some insoles, and a collared shirt. used a buncha coupons, saved about 30 bucks.
310PM received a call from Kyle, extending an invitation to play Super Smash Brothers. explained that I was shoe shopping, would meet up with him later.
350PM arrive at Walmart to pick up Nana's prescriptions. I wander around the store for a few minutes, disgusted at the fact that every employee i see is either ignoring me or conversing with their friends. I start to look for backpacks, and find nothing at first. on my way to the pharmacy it clicks that I need deoderant, so i buy some Axe.
415PM self checked out my Axe body spray. Drive immediately to Kyle's
425PM play Smash Bros. with Kyle and his neighbor friend. I lose about 9 rounds, win about 4.
Nana calls in the middle of it to see if I want to go to dinner with her and Aunt Ellen. I say I'll think about it
6PM arrive at home. explain to Nana that I'm on very little sleep and would rather not go out to eat. Nuke two turkey burgers. consume. Pass out for 2 hours
8PM I awake to Aunt Ellen (presumably) saying hello and proceed to explain about how goddamn tired I am. I dont remember it that well, I had just woken up.
840PM contact Knox
910 PM quick run to Rowayton
930PM return from Rowayton. Greet TJ and Long. proceed to consume drinks
1215AM 5-6 beers later, Hall arrives. we drink and share stories.
130AM 3-4 more beers later, make a decision to switch to vodka and rum. consume one stiff double screwdriver and one stiff Harvey Wallbanger.
230AM 3 beers later, the guys decide to head to mcdonalds. I stay here and they take off into the night. I continue to drink.
345AM present. I'm drinking my last rolling rock, thinking about the 6 or 7 shots still left in the bacardi bottle and debating whether or not I should drink it now or save it for tomorrow.
I'm also thinking about how I have work sunday at noon, and how mich that sucks.
I'm thinking about how one of the simplest joys in my life is spending time with my dog. chilling on the couche with him, petting him, casually toossing him baby carrots.
I'm not even that tired. i could easily continue this pattern for a few more hours until I forcefully burn myself out.

I've been awake about 33 of the last 36 hours. part of me feels like I'm losing my mind, part of me digs it.

see ya in willington
+s

Patapon has consumed my life

I don't often buy video games on a whim, but this one jumped out at me...
Patapon is a simplistic little gem of a rhythm game for PSP that, in less than a week, has managed to burrow into my brain and lay its eggs.
First, this is my computer desktop nowThe little one-eyed dudes are the Patapons, a tribal race of beings that aren't far removed from Vikings. They battle during the day and they party at night. That huge worm and robot combo bearing down on them are two of several bosses you can repeatedly fight throughout the game.

The basic premise of the game is that you control a batallion of these guys, ordering them to move along a 2d battlefield through a series of simple commands issued through a four-note series of drum beats (Pon, Pata, Chaka, and Don, utilized through the circle, square, triangle, and X buttons respectively). This means that in order to effectively wage war against your foes, you have to keep a rhythm throughout battles. This all seems very simplistic, and at first, I wasn't impressed, but after seeing a trailer and reading a few stellar reviews my mind was made up. I pre ordered it at GameStop two days from release and bought it four days later at the end of a grueling week.

And my life has since been consumed.

First and foremost, the art is a gorgeous albeit simplistic echo of it's predecessor Loco Roco (same production team). The small 2d characters can show noticeable emotion and perform various fluid actions like run, jump, swing from a tree branch and so forth, and the attention to detail in every nuance of depth and dimension is just awesome. When your team is going toe-to-toe with a horned dragon that stands 15 patapons high, you can really get a feel for the adversity these little guys are up against.

Theres also a pretty neat little customization aspect that I enjoy. each individual soldier can have his own helmet, shield, and weapon, some of which are pretty badass (horned helmets and spiked weapons and shit). Also, creating a new soldier requires the combination of two items looted in battle and an amount of money (called Ka-Ching). Combinations of rare items produce interesting, stronger, pretty-colored Patapons.

the game itself is refreshingly addictive, like cigarettes, but less carcinogenic. once you get into a rhythm and start mowing down enemies, its hard to stop. I've been playing between classes, at the bus stop, and I even snuck away from work one day to get a quick battle in. It's a kind of game play that I feverishly anticipate picking up, and if uninterrupted, will wade through for hours. The bitch of this, however, is that there's no pause button. since the game plays on a continuous rhythm, you're in it to win it from start to finish. If you get distracted mid-fight or have to press the home button to turn the game off, your rhythmic progress drops back to zero. Because of that, I can't just scoop in a quick 5 minutes here or there. I have to know that i can both start and finish a battle in what time i have.

As i said, this game has started to have mildly deleterious effects on my productivity of late. I have 2 exams this week, and its safe to say that patapon has eaten a good quarter of my study time. Even now, I opt to write a blog piece ABOUT the game rather than work on note cards for an exam i have in a few hours.
Also, the music and drum patterns are engraved in my skull. If im not careful, I'll recite one or two of them aloud, potentially in response to an action im doing at the moment (saying pata pata pata pon to myself when i'm walking down the street). I find that I'm breaking my movements and behaviors into four beat, repeatable increments, the game's constant beat echoing in my head long after i finish playing it.
A moment ago, I closed my eyes for a brief instant, and in my head flashed a battle scene.
The game Lumines had a similar effect on me. I'd close my eyes when I wasnt playing and i would see colored blocks.

even now as i know i have to knuckle up and study, I can feel the drumbeat calling me from my coat pocket, beckoning me like the One Ring

Pon Pon Pata Pon
Pon Pata Pon Pata....