Bigger is(nt) always better

I’m so tired of hearing tales of coming news, telling tales of a changing sky. I was laying on my bed when I last heard the lines of my favorite poem being recited to me with the accompaniment of guitars and banjos. From the countless ticket stubs hung up by my “personalized” RainForest Cafe magnet or the framed posters, it is easy to tell how weighty my man-crush is on the Avett Brothers. “Tales of Coming News” makes a collage of life lessons of which I take most too much to heart. Self doubt. A woman’s fury. Confused friendships. “Why do you insult me and my friends? Who are my friends anyway?” is sung with a Bob Dylan influence through the earbuds on my iPhone. This is one of the the very few Avett albums I don’t have as a record. (I don’t know why I buy records. I tell myself it’s because “the sound quality truly is better” *push up glasses at the bridge* *tassel hair* but I don’t believe that bullshit. I have them just so I can show those, who are lucky enough to attend my place, how superior I am to them.) I hear this question three times a week. Minimum. It’s quite a juvenile question.

I grew up with Kolton my whole life. Same elementary. Same high school. Some of my first memories were playing The Match Game with his little sister. Back then, she was still in diapers. I freak out when I hear people talk of how smokin’ hot she is as a soon-to-be high school grad. I freak out a little more when that thought creeps into my own mind. After countless Match Game bouts and now in junior high, we adopted a game where you scored points for flicking another persons ear. We were not (are not) very creative. This game evolved from the classic, Bag-Tag (or as those across the pond call it, Sack Whack). The rules of Bag-Tag were somewhat more complicated. 

1. Never Talk About Bag-Tag
2. NEVER Talk About Bag-Tag
3. No Girls Allowed
4. One Hand-to-Penis contact = One Point
5. Have Fun!

We had to adopt Ear-Flick after our overweight and grossly hairy principal held a conference in the cafeteria for the boys. He stated that there would be no more bag-tagging, sack whacking, coin pursing, and crowbarring. I was prime cannon fodder for both games and tried to never directly participate. I was never a hulking football player. I was a band geek. I was a mean son-of-a-bitch at kickball but kicking was illegal in Bag-Tag and logistically impossible in Ear-Flick. Kolton, the boy I grew up with in the same church, took full advantage of my inferiority. My ears would be pulled constantly throughout the hallways at the hand’s of Kolton and other egomaniacs. I would ask him and others to stop but my words had about as much strength as my biceps at the time. We would wait for the bus outside of school everyday. The public scene of the entire school seemed to fuel his hunger for tugging on my ears. This time, my ear began to ring. “Kolton. Please stop.” I would plead. He laughed and continued; typical for those in his nature. Kolton came to school with a black eye the next day and I with just a sprained wrist.

We’d sit by one another all throughout high school, that is, until he moved to Carroll our senior year. We both played guitar together. Actually I taught him. To this day, we play small gigs side by side. We just went on a half cross-country trip a few months ago. We constantly talk shit about one another to other friends. They encourage the gossip. It’s mostly music related (it's like The Black Keys vs. The White Stripes); at least most conversations get steered back to that subject since we both have great passions yet different ideas about it. When asked about a “best friend,” I’m quick on the draw with Kolton’s name and the stories that come along with it.

In the summer of my freshman-sophomore year of college, Kyle, (not the one from Colorado (this side note is for those of Dr. W’s english 3630 Ohio University course)) Billy, Taylor, and myself were sitting in a nice, cool theatre in Cincinnati. We were waiting for the kinda short, dark, and oddly looking Aziz Ansari to take the stage for his third comedy tour. We were all anxious to hear how R. Kelly was doing and his usual impersonation of Raaaaaaaady. It never crossed our minds that there would be an opening act. A skinny, white, Jewish girl took the stage and I became reminiscent of a Tosh.0 episode. Was this the same girl who made the highly inappropriate banana joke during the Less is More Comedy Corner? Yes! She’s doing it. Chelsea Peretti was the name of the female comedian. She jumped into another bit where she asked the audience if we loved our friends and received shouts of yes and countless Wooo!s. “Way to keep in presh, liars. I hate my friends.” All four of us slapped our knees and gave hearty laughs. This was a sick (in the literal sense) moment for myself and the three men I was with. 
I’ve been in heated arguments with two of the boys on my left; arguments spectacular enough to have both parties outcast me for weeks on end. Cliché enough, both were over ladies. Not is the classic Days of Our Live love-triangle sense. It was a much more indirect approach. Kyle stomped from my car in a senseless rage, slamming doors, yelling curses, grabbing all of his records from my house, after I kept interrupting a call from his girlfriend. They talked for 3 hours a day. I though I was helping a brother out. 

*Disclaimer* Kyle is no longer apart of my life today. He stopped acknowledging my existence. It’s whatever. Indifference is cool. I run into him on a regular basis on campus and his eyes dare not look up from his pigeon toed feet. I look right through him, just hoping for his awkward glance towards me. I hear from third parties that he is more high than not and is chronically depressed. When I want to catch up on how he’s doing, I read the Sylvia Plath anthology he let me borrow. 

Billy ditched a mutual friend’s moving-out shin-dig for the chance of getting laid. This would somewhat be acceptable but Billy is the man who preached the “bros before hoes” mentality like scripture. (Actually I should not use the word acceptable. The female was not of age and there was a four year difference. I’ll leave it up to your imagination to decide how creepy you want to make the situation.) I have given up countless many a few two or three “opportunities” for drunk Mario Kart and bowling. I asked if he’d apologize to the kid who considered him (Billy) as a “best friend.” I was met with a “don’t tell me what to do.” Okay. I would say this is some what DOOL. I wish it was more so The Californians. 

Back to the high school lunch table where Kolton and I ate salisbury steak, rectangle pizza, mashed potatoes and argued over musical direction while friends ignored us and Zach starved himself to make weight by weeks end. Our lunch table was exclusively guys. It had been this way throughout junior high and our entire high school career. We didn’t have time for pretty girls to slow us down. Our reputation was destroyed when Zach brought Steph to our table. Zach was fairly shallow, so I assumed the fact that she was a freshman in a D cup was the reason she was now sitting next to me. They dated for over four years. Zach graduated and packed up to Ohio University along with me. The first night we had moved in to the dorms, we decided to check out the festivities for freshman. By one in the morning, I had convinced Zach to break up with the girlfriend who still had two years of high school. I took pride in the ashes of their relationship. Through four years of dating a good friend of mine, Steph and I become a sort of counter to guys-and-girls-can’t-just-be-friends. We became the best of friends. It was kinda nice to have a sensible woman to give me opinions on certain things like other girls, (bad idea) fashion, and the best place for manicures. 
My break up scheme was a mistake. Since we had a normal friendship, Steph and I would do "normal friend" things; grabbing lunch, going to concerts, the usual stuff. We made mouths whisper naughty secrets back in our hometown. Then she came to Ohio University. Zach grew distant. I hardly talked to him for over six months until we ran into each other at a volleyball game. I sat next to him. He looked uncomfortable. 

“Dude. Are you screwing Steph?” He’s quite the wordsmith.

“Dude. No way dude.” 

“I’ve just heard things”

“Come on man. You’re my main man. I would never do that to you.”

Of course, my mind, usually in an inebriated state, had pondered unflattering, or at least what Zach would see as unflattering, thoughts. When Halloween rolled around and I saw Steph sporting an all-leather CatWoman suit, I’m not going to lie, I wish I was her Bane; muscles on muscles and ready to carry her to back home. Of course I had this same thought with the other 341 Cat Women I ran into, so maybe it wasn’t so Steph specific. Zach and I have never been the same. He only comes around for drunk Mario Kart and when he’s “really, really bored” due to the fact that his new superficial girlfriend is in Pittsburgh.

Zach doesn’t seem as bad as others. Except I now remember why he belongs in my vent of shitty-friends. 

Seth and Caleb, whom are brothers, are always by Zach's side. Partners in crime, if you will. All three seem to suffer from some form ADHD and/or depression.  We all use to hang out until I became the kid who slept with a bro’s ex; I guess rumors are enough these days. So then I became the thirsty bro trying to to get with a bros' ex. No one seems to breathe in my direction when the four of us go on runs. Caleb and Seth both had one night stands with Steph. No shit’s were given.

If you have made it this far in the reading, I apologize. I did not intended for this to be a pure rant on my miserable friendships. I’m not too sure what one is suppose to take away from such a piece and for that, I apologize again. When looking back it can be easily said that I just surround myself with horrendous people. That’s not true. Most of these men I hardly see anymore. It could be said that those closest are those who treat you worst/see you at your worst. But that is not true and a horrendous cliche. My mom is the closest person to me and she would never bag-tag me just because I was weaker than her. I wanted to show that people are just the worst things to grace the universe. I’m writing some of these last sentences on April 15, 2013 which will now be forever known as the Boston Bombings (thanks to the sweet alliteration) and I thought this would help my argument. Looking at this event and your mass-gun-shooting-of-the-week and it seems valid. I then read that those who completed the marathon then continued to run to place to donate blood. And poof goes that argument. Maybe I should hang out with marathon runners for all my O+ blood needs. Who are my friends anyway? 

This was due two, maybe three, Fridays ago.

I'd like to think myself as an adventurous/spontaneous man. I like to go on random road trips half across the country, take camping trips in the middle of nowhere, music festivals, frolf, fish, and bike. But nothing quite compares to sitting on my lazy bum in front of a television for an entire weekend.

When we were talking of media in class, I like to think I have the same outlook as Patrick does. When friends interrupt my mini-marathons of Netflix with snide comments of how ridiculous it is that I'm watching an episode of Hey Arnold!, - Christ Anthony. I didn't know you were still in fifth grade. Stop wasting our time. -  I respond with the most elegant comeback in all of language; "Shut the hell up dude."

On numerous occasions, I've tried to explain to my Paul Blart: Mall Cop* watching friends that there is much to learn from some of the great shows/movies that have graced american television.

Some things I've learned:

1. Freaks and Geeks: I was not as cool as I thought I was in high school thanks to Daniel (James Franco.) Sure I had hair past my shoulders and (attempted to) play guitar for the ladies, but I never had a fake I.D. or snuck into a bar or wore a leather jacket in high school. I'm not that cool.

2. Mad Men: As I sit and watch the season 6 premiere, I realize I never looked as sexy as Jon Hamm when I smoked American Spirits for a whole summer.

3. The Brady Bunch: If I ever want to score a babe like Carol, major in architecture

4. Say Anything: If I want said babe to love me forever, pull a Dobler**

5. Ghostbusters: When someone asks if you're a god, you say 'yes'

6. Big Fish: Even though some stories seem a little far-fetched, it's best to just suspend disbelief at all times. All great stories have some flair.

7. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers: If something as small as a potato has so many options in life*** then I should understand that my possibilities are endless

8. Rope: If I murder someone, don't throw a party while the weapon/body are still in the room.

9. The O'Reilly Factor: Wow. Politics are crazy

10. The Colbert Report: Wow. O'Reilly is crazy. (Or a genius?) Politics are crazy.

11. Blue Valentine: Even when soul mates find one another, no matter how hard they try, a relationship will make them go crazy and inevitably fail. I should never "get serious."

12. Silver Linings Playbook: Even when found in the most dire of relationship woes, we can find the most beautiful forms of affection. I need to settle down with someone.

13. Hey Arnold!: Always be kind. Play more baseball in vacant lots. Go out of your way for others in need. Act like grandpa Phil if I'm lucky enough to live past 50. No matter the struggles you face, don't be a prick.****

*I don't hate those who enjoy Paul Blart, but I have a friend who thinks it is one of the funniest movies ever created. The same friend also said The Godfather was a bad movie. He's only seen the first 10 minutes of it. He couldn't understand the Don.

**Since we have mentioned him a couple times in class, I thought it would be appropriate to name drop Chuck Klosterman. He has an essay entirely dedicated to his hate of John Cusack's character, Lloyd Dobler. He talks of how Dobler has set the expectations too high for men seeking a woman and that this is the reason why he'll end up alone; it would be impossible to pull a Dobler in reality. I call bologna on Mr. Klosterman. I'd thank Dobler. Now I know the standard for swooning women.

***In LotR: The Two Towers, Sam proclaims that PO-TAE-TOES can be boiled, smashed, or stuck in a stew. The simple potato can be cooked so many different ways (he didn't even mentioned 'baked.' That's what I meant by them having "options"

****While some of the mentions on the list seem a little ridiculous, I full heartedly believe I have learned most from the tube. It has taught me more than any religion; more than my parents; certainly more than my friends. So now I quote from Patrick from class a couple weeks ago: "I see bumper stickers on cars that say 'blow up your television' and I just wanna say 'fuck you.'

Apologies to the Short Takes: Short Take #3

I've realized my last Short Takes post was in January. I suck. Surprisingly, I've been reading many of the essays whenever I see it convenient. I thought it would be a fun if I talked about an essay I despised. The victim: A Second Time by James Galvin. pg. 110

In this essay, Galvin seems to be paralleling some entity with the seasons/building of homes. I don't necessarily have beef with the content of this essay. It seems to read more as poetry than nonfiction. Then again, it doesn't quite seem like poetry either. See? He's confusing me. This seems to make the message of the essay arbitrary. If this essay was revised as a solid nonfiction or poetry piece, the message would come across stronger. At least it would for me.

No Clever Title: Goodbye to All That

"I can remember now, with a clarity that makes the nerves in the back of my neck constrict, when New York began for me, but I cannot lay my finger upon the moment it ended." Even though I felt like this was just a longwinded way of saying the cliché, "Hun, what happened to us? How'd we get here?" I enjoyed it. These lines, of course, are the entire model for movies like (500) Days of Summer*, which is now in and of itself, a cliché. I don't mind this cliché, especially in Didion's essay Goodbye to All That. Maybe it's because this essay has a little less predicability than two characters in a indie film being in love with The Smiths and talking of how Ringo is a favorite Beatle solely for the reason of him being the least loved.

I feel as if this cliché needs to be talked about more often but not through other clichés.  (Whew, cliché, cliché, cliché.) This is where Didion comes to the rescue. Throughout the essay, I felt constantly reminded that she was falling in and out of love with her city. "I never told my father that I needed money because then he would have sent it, and I would never know if I could do it by myself. At the time making a living seemed like a game to me, with arbitrary but quite inflexible rules."  After reading this, I couldn't help but wonder if this is why we fall out of interest with certain entities. As soon as we find out everything there is to know/finish the game, do we become so anxious and panic ridden that we can't be comfortable without the game? I feel like I'm stumbling through my reasonings. It seems to me that this is the heart of the essay. Once everything starts to sound the same and you no longer have interest in what something has to offer you, we feel the need to move on. That seems natural. Also exhausting. There are plenty of examples. Divorce, college students changing majors 6-8 times, miserable relationships, sufferers of commitmentphobia. It's a hard subject to write about without being scoffed at by students of an english creative writing course, but it seems to have finally been pulled off.

Also, I'd like to give a big S/O to my main lady, Diane Ackerman. There's a point in Goodbye to All That that would make her proud (at least I think it would.) "For a lot of the time I was in New York I used a perfume called Fleurs de Rocaille, and then L'air du Temps, and now the slightest trace of either can short-circuit my connections for the rest of the day." Pg. 685

*While writing this post, I was trying to think of other movies based around the cliché of "How'd we get here?" This is all I got:

1. Blue Valentine

2. The first 15 minutes of Mrs. Doubtfire. 

3. Hook 

4. Maybe Up? 

I'm struggling. I need help.

Victoria by The Kinks

The title of this post has nothing to do with Mr. Rodriguez but the title of his essay reminds me of this timeless song. I sometimes worry when my mind works like Dr. W's (e.g. American Pie).

When first reading Late Victorians, I was lost in the direction* the essayist was trying to take. Luckily, our anthology has a Contents by Theme and Form. It was neatly labeled under "Mosaic." It was all by itself.  Poor Rick. After looking up the definition of mosaic, I still was not clear on Late Victorians.

I scribbled in my book that San Fran was being molded into a living organism. As I write this post, I'm not too sure I believe my own notes. When he talks of the city being "Land's end," I can't help but imagine some sort of giant biological specimen engulfing entire dreams of those who are unfortunate enough to travel there. Maybe this doesn't make sense due to Rick constantly reminding us of the movements taking place there? But he also seems conflicted with said movements so maybe my crazy metaphor isn't so crazy? Who knows.

I did enjoy how he talked of how AIDS being the plague of absence. This was an interesting and even more depressing look on the disease. He also talked about how homosexuals had to fill a void because society made their "unnatural activities" feel, well, not natural, thus non-existent. (I found this on pg. 760 which I tastefully labeled "An Architecture Lesson on Sodomy") They then have to take other activities and must cling to them, like something that likes to cling to things.

* Are we allowed to use the word "direction?" I just found out from Mish's comment on Friday that we are not allowed to use "flow." Is there a list?

Don't Pass Go (Pop Culture Essay)

Slowly, Seth separates the top half of the box from the bottom. I’m hit with the aroma of the old Monopoly board. It smells like old books. I’ve never played with this many people before. Eight grown men arguing over token pieces? This will be interesting. Seth doesn’t hesitate to shout dibs on the car. Kolton states that since it’s his house, he will be toting the car. I swear the car token of Monopoly has the same ego-connotation of a grown man driving a modern day Mustang; car token = small penis. The argument of “No, mine is smaller. I should get the car” is keeping me occupied while they play rock, paper, scissors to decide. Now that everyone else has a token, I get to choose between the thimble and the iron. I saw in a Monopoly documentary that the thimble is hardest to see on the board. That’s the obvious pick. It’s game time.

I pick up the small smooth dice and roll. Double six! Electric Company. I hate that I can’t buy anything first round. Stupid rule. I roll again. Look at my little thimble go! Finally my $200 bucks and Reading Railroad. Oh the historic railroad. At the time I was too young not to be excited. Looking back now, it wasn’t all that great. I can’t believe I finally get to ride the train! A snowflake falls on my eyelash as Dad and me wait to board. The heavy set man with the cool hat rips our tickets. “Welcome aboard little one. We have a special visitor stopping by.” The whistle sounds. We’re off. It’s been forever and all I’ve seen is naked trees and snow. It’s still pretty. Why is there a sudden, overwhelming amount of commotion coming from the front? Oh my god...I mean gosh. I’m not suppose to say that. Is that Santa? Holy crap. Holy crap. That is Santa! What am I going to ask for? Ohmanohmanohman.

Josh already has two magentas. Someone needs to land and buy States Avenue before Josh. Yes! Mark to the rescue. Sweetness. I can’t believe it’s fucking raining. Athens is one of the ugliest places when it rains. Oh man, she’s gonna cry. We should probably cross. Damn the streets get slick when they’re wet. The Artist is still playing at the Athena? We hardly both fit underneath this tiny black umbrella. Carpenter street. Almost there. I wish she would just bring her own. Is it not obvious that I’m in misery being this close to her? Yeah, she’s gonna cry. Taking her to dinner was probably a bad idea. Certainly it won’t be that much of a shock to her. We’re both miserable. It’s been like this for a couple weeks now. God is this what Zach was saying when he told me relationships were work? Finally. 120 State Street. 

“Hey. Maria...listen...I um. Well...”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Wait. What?”

“I’ve been thinking about how we’ve been acting the past month and I’m not happy. Are you?”

“Good god no. Sorry I didn’t mean to laugh”

“It’s okay. We are kind of a joke. Thanks for walking me back. Stay dry.”

All eight of us are all over the place. With so many opponents, it’s near impossible to get a monopoly. I need to pick a partner. With only Boardwalk and Reading, I’m just a sitting duck. I need Park Place from Josh. After much due diligence, I get States for Reading from Mark, then Park Place for States. Josh and I own the board. Two houses on each please. After I roll a ten, I land on the corner and go directly to jail. Damn. Could he put these handcuffs on any tighter! I’ve been compliant with everything he’s asked. Yeah yeah, I’m watching my head. Don’t worry. What is he looking for in my car? What did I do to make him want to check? Alright Anthony lets go through this again. We were just driving around and wanted to check out the old park we use to play peewee baseball. All three of us were heading to different schools when the summer was over and we were feeling reminiscent. That’s the truth. Did he truly think I was about to make a deal? What was he asking Billy and Seth? Oh great, he’s coming back.

“Come on bud. You’re okay to go.”

“That’s it?”

“ Have a good night son.”

That was weird. Good thing Seth has a cop for a dad. Small town politics aren’t all that bad. 

An hour and a half in and we’ve dropped half the players. Derek was the first to go. He’s still pissed. Actually it’s probably because of the BCS game. Why did he put a hundred bucks on Notre Dame? Kolton won’t stop bitching about Josh giving me his properties so he could sleep. Seth lands on Chance. “Advance Token to Boardwalk.” I’ve had four houses on it for half the game. He shows us the card. The Monopoly Man is on it. He’s pushing a baby carriage and is carrying his dog. It reminds me of Ben Robey. Old junior high basketball coach turned father. 

“Hey Ben.” He’s got Luke. He’s getting huge.

“Anthony! How ya been? You going to the festival?”

“Yep.”

“And the Avett show tomorrow? You’re a busy man. I’ll pick ya up around 2? I think we’re grabbing BD’s for lunch.”

“Good deal.” I see him everywhere! It’s a bummer he’s not coming in. After all it was him who recommended I go to the Nelsonville Music Festival. So many good artists. Iron & Wine, Dawes, Old Hundred, M. Ward. And I can’t believe I’m seeing the Avetts for what, the fourth time? Third time with Ben. No wonder I’m always broke.

Seth can’t pay up. He’s gone. Of course the other two would forfeit. We hardly ever finish a game. Since he was the first to go, Derek has to pack up the game. We all gather around the television to watch Derek lose money. I’m still in the mood to reminisce but I know I’ll just bore the guys with my Monopoly stories. Hopefully States Avenue and “Go to Jail” have a more colorful story to tell next time I win Monopoly.

It's an Eggers thing.

I'm comfortable in saying that I am enjoying Eggers work a little more than I am Ackerman. I was a upset to see on the syllabus Wednesday that we are soon going back and talking more about Ackerman's hyperbolic experiences. However, Eggers is the bee's knees. I enjoy how he can undercut any subject about himself. We all suffer from this when talking about oneself. When he is not sarcastically talking about his parents death or some master escape plan he has conjured up in his head for him and Toph, Eggers can convey a rather serious tone to show the reader just how much he struggles with his internal thoughts.

One of my favorite writing styles Eggers uses to convey tone is on page 103 when he actually uses a music bar to show us exactly how a woman uttered the sentence "What a good brother you are!" (I would try to insert some form of musical bar in here but I would shame myself.) I can not think of a better way to convey tone than to actually insert musical notes of how the person was talking. Someone should do this for an entire essay. I volunteer Patrick.

Also, on page 117-120, I enjoy how Eggers used Toph to play out an imaginary conversation between them. At first I thought Toph had become some badass philosophical genius but I like to think Eggers took this opportunity to show the reader how he want to express himself with Toph. 

pp. 119

"All this energy from you! Were you drinking soda before bed?"

"And poor Dad. Why not just leave him alone? I mean --"

"God. Please. So I'm not allowed to talk about --"

"I don't know. I guess so. If you feel you have to."

"I do."

"Fine."

"I can't see past it."

"Fine. So you're going to stay up tonight, most of the night, like every night, staring at your screen..."

This, in my opinion, was such a powerful method Eggers uses to convey just how serious this subject is for him. Personally, I do this all the time. I constantly daydream of conversations I wish I would have with certain people. Usually blown opportunities on dates.