Not as alone as it seems

Before school let out, or I guess more accurately, before I graduated, I used the last issue of the GuardDawg as platform to raise stuttering awareness. It was actually little more than a thousand word autobiography about some of the crap I've had to deal with and how none of the therapy/devices I've had haven't helped me. I thought it would help reduce my shame and fear of stuttering, but at the time I wasn't really seeing the pointlessness of telling a couple of thousand people that have no idea who I am that I stutter.

Aside from that, I talked about the rarity of stuttering. Depending on the definition of stuttering, there are between one and two million stutterers in the country...which means only one in between 148 and 295 people stutter. So it's not like a lightning strike...but it's pretty rare that I see anyone else stutter.

But I was flipping through the channels, and happened to stop on some local access thing in DC. Incidentally, it was this black lady talking about her experiences as a stutterer. And to be honest, I never thought I'd relate so well to a middle-aged black woman.

Listening to her tell her story, I was thinking she might as well be telling my story...from meeting in a storage closet with a school-assigned speech pathologist and feeling painfully ashamed as she read into a tape recorder, to not ordering what she actually wanted at restaurants, to avoiding the phone at all costs. I could actually feel myself getting emotional in realizing that she'd been through a lot of the same pain and frustration as I have.

However, as she started talking about how she started to confront her stuttering and overcome it...I could no longer relate. She talked about facing her fear and just stuttering as much as it took to say whatever it was she needed or wanted to say. As might be expected, there was a lot of crying and such on her part as she went through all of that. And above all, it was very brave of her.

And that's why I couldn't relate. When it comes to that, I'm more or less the antithesis of brave. I can keep my cool when I'm spinning out on a major highway at 70 miles an hour, I don't mind walking around D.C. by myself in the dark, and I don't think anything of running onto a field like an idiot in front of 90,000 people. But when it comes to anything having to do with speaking, I turn into a 4 year old boy being told to go into a basement that his older brother told him was haunted. It's admittedly pathetic.

As much as I talk about dealing with it...I'm not nearly as progressed I would like. I still felt ashamed in explaining to my boss what was going on sometimes when I talked...and the idea of having to introduce myself to people is still horrifying.

There's some part of me that can't let go of the idea that people think less of me because of it. 'Cause let's be honest...as much as chicks dig a guy that plays piano and likes painting...I don't know of any girl that's ever been like 'I need to get me a man with a speech impediment...' And no girl wants to take a guy home to her mother and proceed to have him stutter his ass off...it's just not attractive.

I know in my head that that's probably bullshit...but vanity is a powerful thing. That's why plastic surgery is such a lucrative industry. People are unhappy with themselves, and they'll pay to fix it. Believe me...if there was some surgery that eliminated stuttering, I'd be the first one on the operating table.

But unfortunately there's no such surgery. So I'm pretty much stuck with this until I decide to really suck it up and seriously deal with it. I just seem to have a problem with taking that leap.

Do NOT waste my time, I'm a very busy man

Sometimes I'm just not in the mood, you know? I'm literally the highest ranking person in the OpEd department this week, being only slightly above the unpaid intern that's only here for the summer. The other two people that are actually on the payroll are on vacation until next Tuesday and Wednesday. So needless to say, I've got stuff to do. However, this 'stuff' does not include reading smart-ass letters that don't have anything to do with anything. So imagine my surprise when I got such a letter earlier today. It rubbed me the wrong way so much that I quipped a response without even really thinking about it. The exchange went as follows:

Smartass:"Threads" says: "Do you have something to say about this? Send us a letter!" But wait - do you mean, literally, "a letter" (via the U.S. Postal Service and its "snail mail)?" To invite delay and lack of currency in feedback is antithetical to the nature of the medium you are using. It also undermines a "Threads" column, as it invites respondees suspicion that submitted comments are being screened and only selectively put in the paper -- the better to spin the story and the paper's content. That is guaranteed to undermine credibility, and repel the audience you are trying to attract.

The Examiner: In response to your submission, we would like to clarify that both forms of letters, both written and electronic, are acceptable when submitting to our newspaper. Actually, electronic mail is preferable as it is easier to transfer to the programs used to produce our paper. However, if a person takes the time and initiative to handwrite and mail a letter via the Postal Service, it is only fair that it be considered every bit as much as a threads submission via the internet.

Rest assured that each submission IS being screened and selectively put into the paper. This is due to the fact that if we simply printed every submission we received, our threads section would be inundated with poorly written, off-topic and irrelevant blather that is not entertaining, useful or informative.

Hopefully you will find this explanation useful in any future contributions you may have for our threads section.

I kinda hope he realizes I was making fun of him. But I doubt he will.

Editorials Gone Wild -- uncensored

Below you will find my first foray into the realm of full length editorials. I figured I should post it myself in its purer form before the higher-ups get their hands on it and crap all over it. It's already been highly edited/watered down in as much as that because it's an editorial, it's speaking for the whole newspaper. If it was an opinion piece, I could pretty much say whatever I wanted. All in due time, young grasshopper...all in due time.

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With nearly half of its population ‘living’ (and the term is used loosely) on less than a dollar a day, with many countries burdened with billions of dollars in external debt, and with more than 25 million people suffering from AIDS, Africa has no doubt found itself in dire need of outside assistance. Some claim fault lies in lack of education, others claim that the external debt is choking off economic opportunity — but all of these can be traced to one source — corruption.

So what is the ‘developed’ world doing to alleviate such destitution? Chiding the United States for not doing enough, of course — all while doing a fraction of the job done by the U.S.

According to the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), the United States leads the world in foreign aid donations with some $58 billion donated since 2001, followed by Japan with $37 billion. However, despite ranking at the top of total amount donated, the United States ranks near the bottom of donations as a percentage of GNP. When held to the standard of the U.N.-agreed goal of 0.7 percent of GNP (agreed to in 2000, agreed to reach by 2015), only five nations — Norway, Luxembourg, Denmark, Sweden and the Netherlands — with the rest of the world sorely lagging behind.

But regardless of methods used for measuring donations, and despite the holier-than-thou finger pointing and criticisms, one thing is clear: whatever is being done to assist Africa obviously falls short of solving the problem. Theoretically, if the top 20 nations had met the goal of 0.7 percent of GNP, worldwide aid donations would have likely surpassed the trillion-dollar mark. But would anything have changed?

The fact of the matter is that despite the tripling of aid ¬— more than a quarter of a trillion dollars total between 1975 and 2000 — there is little progress to be seen on the African continent. Actually, GNP per capita has declined from $1,770 to $1,479 over the same 25-year period.

Where is the money going? Definite figures are hard to come by, but there are some assumptions that can be made. For example, in the former colony of Zaire (now the Republic of the Congo) the nation was the recipient of five billion dollars in aid, and President Motobu Sese Seko mysteriously became the owner of a four billion dollar fortune. A recent study by Elizabeth Blunt of the BBC also found that corruption costs the African continent some $150 billion every year.

Corruption is so central in perpetuating the dire situation in Africa, that even Bono, Irish rock star turned activist, admitted its toll on Africa in a recent interview on Meet the Press saying “[Corruption] is the number-one problem facing Africa. Corruption; not natural calamity, not the AIDS virus. This is the number-one issue and there's no way around it.” Not to mention the fact that in a 10 year period, sub-Saharan Africa experienced 92 attempted military coups in 29 countries.

So despite the good intentions from wealthy, Western nations, it doesn’t seem likely that the billions of dollars in donations are being spent on medicine and schoolbooks. The sad truth is that after the summits, photo-ops and self-gratifying love-fests of world leaders, millions of Africans remain deprived, diseased, and despondent.

Vastly increasing aid contributions with no concern for results accomplishes little, and improves nothing but the egos of Western leaders. Recognizing this, President Bush founded the Millennium Challenge Account (MCA) in which increased aid contributions are contingent on increased results — which aims to ensure that the billions of dollars received by impoverished nations are used effectively.

Aside from various economic requirements such as GNP per capita, there are 16 other indicators in the three categories of ‘governing justly,’ ‘investing in people’ and ‘promoting economic freedom.’ To qualify for funding, a nation must score above the median in half of the indicators in each category, as well as in the area of ‘control of corruption.’

The MCA is a promising prospect, to be sure, and it is certainly an improvement over the horribly inefficient and ineffective blanket donations that have been the modus operandi over the last several decades. It focuses purely on development, and does so without awarding a blank check with simply the hope that it will be used effectively.

However, the MCA could face the same destiny as other government entities before it — a fate of ineffectiveness, under-funding, and bureaucratic slothfulness. Funding for the MCA has already been reduced by congress by over a billion dollars per year, and it remains to be seen how administrators plan to ensure the actual ‘on the ground’ implementation of MCA policies. There is also evidence that current MCA requirements put the poorest countries at an exponential disadvantage. However, it seems that this can be remedied by a simple procedural change. But with all its faults, the MCA is a step in the right direction, and at the same time a step away from the discredited status quo.

The MCA is not likely to be popular among the holier-than-thou progressives of Europe who believe that dollar signs denote compassion and that intentions trump results. However, it seems that the Bush administration is of the opinion that, when faced with the decision, true compassion and nobility lie in ‘teaching men to fish,’ rather than donating billions upon billions of fish every year — fish that will likely be used for nefarious purposes.

Or, we could continue the status quo of pouring billions and billions of dollars into an irresponsible, unaccountable system and being lectured to by foreign leaders and aging Irish rock stars who, instead of actually achieving results, seem to be more interested in holding press conferences, patting each other on the back and singing impromptu versions of ‘We are the World.’

Oh my [diety removed so as to not offend the non-religious]!

So the Supreme Court has just decided that displaying the Ten Commandments in court houses is unconstitutional. Well, not ALL displays of the Ten Commandments...just the ones with a 'religious message'. What? I'm sorry...but I was under the impression that the Ten Commandments were what Moses waddled down Mount Sinai carrying after they'd been written by the finger of God. Did I miss something? I knew I should've paid more attention in Sabbath School.

What I'm trying to say is how can the Ten Commandments NOT have a religious message? That's the whole point! Aside from that, they're what every law in this country is based on. Where else do you think our founding fathers got the idea that murder, theft, and perjury should be illegal? I know there are those of you that are going to say 'well what about adultery, coveting and breaking the Sabbath? Why aren't those illegal?' Well, I'd be all for those being illegal...but figure out a way to enforce it and get back to me. The ancient Israelis would stone people to death for things like that...maybe that's a start.

If we can't display the basis of our laws in this country in the buildings in which we enforce those laws, what's next? Are we going to add a disclaimer when people swear on a Bible before testifying?

'Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, though the state respects your right not to believe in the moral authority of this book, so help you whichever diety, or lack thereof, to which you adhere?'

Or maybe we won't even use a Bible anymore...we can just use the phonebook or the Farmer's Almanac. They're thick enough.

Or we could just stop making moral judgements altogether. Sure, a man escapes from custody, bludgens a 53 year old grandmother, and proceeds to kill four people, but who are we to decide whether or not that's wrong? Who are we to impose our religious beliefs and moral standards on someone else?

Ok, I've gotta stop writing before I go apoplectic. But before I post, I'll say this...

You know who I miss? Common Sense. He was a good guy. Too bad we don't hear much from him anymore. It's to the point where, in every future election, regardless of party, I'm voting for the candiate with the most common sense. 'Cause this is getting regodamndiculous.

Debate it like you've got a pair

Being in DC for 3 weeks has given me sort of an inside look at the workings of the city. And there's one thing about it that's really been bothering me. There seems to be a 10 foot thick level or proverbial bullshit covering the entire city. People here just seem so superficial and pretentious that there's no dealing with actual people, there's just dealing with their invented facades. And I don't deal well with that. I'm no good at bullshitting.

As you might imagine, there's a ton of that going on in politics. As much as the political dialogue in this country has deteriorated over the last few years, there's still far too much feigned niceties going around, in my opinion, and I'm getting sick of it.

Don't get me wrong...I'm not saying we need to start having blatant partisan division and ad hominem attacks. There are some democrats that I actually like that aren’t wild-eyed partisans...such as Joe Lieberman. Likewise, there are some republicans that piss me off for various reasons...like John McCain, George Voinovich, and increasingly, Bill Frist (sorry Amanda...he just creeps me out sometimes).

However, I’m not a fan of all this being nice to the point that nothing gets done. Sometimes, people are just bitter and obstructionist (like Ted Kennedy and Harry Reid) and we just let them get away with it. And that’s stupid.

Like I’ve said before, I’m a political purist. I don’t mind playing a little hardball every now and then. For example, the filibuster thing with the judges and the John Bolton UN nomination. I’ve got no problem with the Democrats wanting to filibuster. That’s they’re right as the minority party. What pisses me off is that they never actually filibuster.

They just tell the Republicans that they’re going to filibuster if they try to vote on those things, and the Republicans are just like ‘Oh, ok. We won’t try to vote on them, then.’ So lame. If Democrats want to filibuster, I say let them filibuster. But make them actually do it. Make them take the senate floor and talk for 24 hours straight, or however long they want. Get the cots out, and stay in the senate chamber for a few days. Have a slumber party.

If a senator can beat another senator to death on the senate floor with a cane, I think we can stand to have a little filibustering. It would certainly be a lot more interesting than this sanitized, kid glove stuff we’ve been seeing lately. What a bunch of sissies.

(Ironically, the guy beaten to death was an anti-slavery Republican...and he was beaten to death by a pro-slavery Democrat. Go figure.)

'Not consistent with the facts'

As I've said before, one of my major pet peeves is people that go around saying that 'George W. Bush is not my president.' It's just asinine. However, slightly under that on the pisses-me-off-o'meter, is people going around talking about how dumb he is. Yeah...a degree from Yale AND Harvard...what a dumbass. Friggin' idiot...GOSH. Anyway, during the last campaign, there seemed to be this general consensus that Bush was a moron, and Kerry was some intellectual. Well, as Donald Rumsfeld likes to say...'that's just not consistent with the facts...' So, to avoid plagarism, and pretty much because I'm too lazy to write about it myself right now, I encourage you to read this. Might shed some light on the whole thing.

Dropping the N-Bomb at work

So my paper ran something else I'd written today. It was kinda cool 'cause I didn't know they were going to do it, and I didn't find out about it til I was reading the paper.

It's also a little confusing, because I didn't think parts of it would make it into print. See, we can't make religious jokes, and we had to re-name a column we'd been calling the 'Crock Clock' becaue it was too close to 'crock of shit'...but apparently you can say 'nigger'...

At least he's honest

My managing editor, who's the poster boy of stereotypical news men, just said something that made me laugh, so I thought I'd share.

In reference to our readers in Virginia -- 'This is an old state with a bunch of old people that have no idea what's happening. You've gotta learn to accept that...'

I have no idea what the context of the quote is...but that just makes it funnier.

Small favor to ask of you

Ok here's the deal. My bedroom in DC is still pretty depressing, as I don't have much hanging on the walls except for a gigantic American flag. Otherwise, they're white and sad looking. I'm trying to get away from the college kid thing and not hang up a bunch of posters... (except for maybe the life-size Katie Frye...I might hang on to that one...) ...so my favor to ask is that, if you happen to have any pictures that I would like (I don't necessarily have to be IN them) and you could spare the time to send them to me, I'd really appreciate it. I'm trying to get one of those multi-picture frames, an a bunch of little ones.

If you want to e-mail them, you can send them to my massive gmail mailbox at: charles.repine@gmail.com

Or, if you have actual pictures you could send me (which would be even more awesomer...yes, I said more awesomer), you can send them here:

2634 15th St. NW Apt. 3D
Washington, DC 20009

I don't really care what you send, but let's try to be tasteful. You know who you are. Or not, you know...whatever.

Interesting facts and figures

Since I've been staring at data all day for a piece I'm working on, I decided to make some data of my own just to give you an idea of what's going on up here.

Days I've been at work: 12
Days it took me to realize there's a change machine in the break room so I don't have to keep saving my change: 11
Number of things I've had published: 1
Number of things I've had published that people have liked: 0
Total number of letters received: 284
Total number of letters that were printable: 72
Percentage of letters received that were printable: 25.35
Parking tickets received: 1
Bogus parking tickets received: 1 (There wasn't a damn sign!)
Times I've ridden the Metro: 0
Times my mother has called me: 2,475*
Times my mother has called me about something having to do with the computer: 2,473*
Friends from home that have visited: 0
Friends from home that plan to visit: 3 (What's your excuse?)

Ok, that's all I can think of for now. I'm sure I'll think of more later, but I suppose I should make it look like I'm at least pretending to do something productive.

*Numbers may be slightly exaggerated.

Confronting my own imperfections

There are things in my life that I feel like I want to tell everyone, but either the opportunity never presents itself, or I chicken out. But then I figured I have a blog...and despite the fact that only like 5 people read it, it's better than nothing. So here's something I've been thinking about for a while. It might be sort of unpleasant, so if you're in a good mood and want to stay in a good mood, go watch TV or something.

I'm one of those people that believes in some sort of destiny, fate, serendipity, whatever you want to call it. I don't believe the universe is based on some cosmic lottery or happenstance. There's a system, a plan, or a reason for everything. However, I don't believe that if you sit on your ass and wait that things will just come to you. As a capitalist a classic liberal (that's classic liberal, i.e. someone that believes in liberty), I believe that people make their own destiny. But ignore that second part for now...I want to focus on the first.

There's a saying that I'm probably misquoting that goes something like 'There but before the grace of God go I...' which is pretty much saying that if it weren't for that aforementioned system, plan, or reason, someone else could easily be essentially living your life. For me, that plan, reason, or more accurately that destiny...can be traced back to an e-mail address on a flyer at the Student Learning Center at UGA. But before I get into that, let me start from the beginning.

Those of you that know me well know that I stutter. Those of you that know me really well know that I can stutter pretty bad at times. And those of you that know me the best know that it's shaped my personality in ways that make me very bitter and irritated. And those of you that don't know me that well, well...now you do.

I've spent most of my life trying to hide it. It was/is something that made/makes me feel very ashamed. People tell me it isn't something I should be ashamed of, and perhaps it isn't. They certainly mean well in saying it, and I appreciate the sentiment, but these people have likely never experienced the shame of being laughed at in front of the entire school for taking a good 30 seconds to force out a 7 word line in a play being performed by the gifted program. Most people don't lay awake at night the day before the first day of school, band camp, or anything else that involves meeting several new people, being nervous to the point of physical sickness at the prospect of having to introduce yourself in front of a group. Because you just know that when it's your turn, it isn't going to go well, and that the rest of the day is going to be filled with questions that include, but not limited to 'why can't you talk?', 'what were you doing when you were trying to say your name?', 'don't you know your own name?', or, my personal favorite -- after being forced to read aloud on the first day of 6th grade -- 'why don't you know how to read?'. What a great first impression THAT made.

Maybe it's shame, maybe it's fear, but most of all it's just a pain to deal with. I know it doesn't make me stupid, but try explaining that to all the people that just heard you screw up saying your own name. If I didn't know any better, I'd probably think I was stupid too.

People almost routinely tell me that the people who genuinely care about me won't be bothered by it, or, most popularly, 'the people who matter don't care, and the people that care don't matter'. This is true. The people that truly care about me aren't going to think any less of me as a person, and the very few that do think less of me aren't worth my time anyway. But that isn't to say that the people who care about me don't 'care' that I stutter, because I know that they do. They care in as much as they pity me, or feel sorry for me, at times to the point of tears. And that's a burden I would really rather not bear. Seeing my mother cry as I struggle to read aloud is one of hundreds of memories I wish I didn't have.

Granted, stuttering isn't the worst affliction a person can have, and I cannot truly complain. Stuttering isn't going to kill me, and there's nothing physically wrong with me save for the inexplicable disconnect between my thoughts and my mouth muscles to express them. So I suppose it could be argued that my shame, or at the very least, my concern, about stuttering is based in vanity. I would be inclined to agree. But so is pretty much every other disability. In a society where the overweight starve themselves to lose a few pounds, where the poorly-endowed have bags of silicone injected into their chests, where men have hair chiseled from other parts of their head and reattached on the scalp, and where prime time television is filled with commercials for penis enlargement and erectile dysfunction, I don't think it's unreasonable to be upset that I can't speak fluently.

So there you go. I stutter, and it pisses me off. A lot. I hate it, and sometimes it makes me want to break things. It bothers me, and there's nothing wrong with that. But I think I'm done letting it run my life. I'm done feeling the shame of being a legal adult and having other people make important phone calls for me. I'm done avoiding drive through windows, and picking what I want at restaurants based on what's easiest to say.

As I sit here in my apartment, some 600 miles from where I started, I realized something. The fact that I stutter almost kept me from getting here.

That flyer in the SLC was asking for conservative writers for a new alternative newspaper. I answered the ad, and a semester later I was in charge of the whole damn thing. A year after that I'm sitting in Washington, DC getting paid far too much for doing less than what I used to do for free. But for the grace of God that flyer had an e-mail address and not a phone number. Because if it had had a phone number, I know I wouldn't have called it, and thus I wouldn't be where I am today. And quite frankly that's the stupidest reason I can think of to miss out on an opportunity like this. To think that I would've given this up for a few uncomfortable seconds on the phone is infinitely more shameful than any amount of stuttering I could do. I'm going to see that it never comes to that.

Winston Churchill stuttered, and he helped win a world war. What's my excuse?

John Mayer on 316, another musical memory

Winter never feels like winter in Georgia. Not that I've ever experienced it anywhere else...it just doesn't feel like what I think winter should feel like. Truly cold days are uncommon, and significant amounts of snow are real rarities. Tonight was no different. There was a chill in the air, but it wasn't particularly harsh or biting...just slightly crisp and even a little refreshing. However, it did merit the donning of my grandfather's old flight jacket. The leather and wool coat had become a staple of my wardrobe since I found it in the storage closet. I liked the way it looked on me, but more importantly I liked the way it made me feel. With khaki pants and brown shoes, it gave me a certain 'General MacArthur' look, and if I'd had the hat, I probably would've gotten the urge to beat the crap out of the Emperor of Japan.

My hastily packed suitcase was stuffed into the backseat, and I was halfway through my oft-traveled journey up Highway 316 back to the promised land. The sun had just slid over the horizon, and the air was filled with an almost tangible, dull lavender tint. I always found driving to Athens rather therapeutic, especially at night. I almost looked forward to it every time -- just me, my car, and my stereo. As much as I like having my radio deafeningly loud, I often found myself tuning it out, opting instead, albeit subconsciously, to spend most of the trip day dreaming, or hashing out whatever dilemma in my life at the time. I got quite a bit of thinking done between Fayetteville and Athens.

By virtue of the fact that it was late December, the route to Athens was essentially deserted. The majority of people in Athens, well, weren't. Most students were at home celebrating one holiday or another with their families. But partially due to my love of music, and mostly due to my contractual obligation to the University of Georgia athletic association, I had to make the trek back to Athens to play my mellophone -- poorly -- at a basketball game for two hours, in between snide remarks directed at Steve Newman.

My MP3 player had worked its way to the J's, and the slow strumming of a guitar brought me out of my trance, like the air conditioning switching off in the middle of the night. The songs to which I usually seem to get the most attached are the ones that I feel like I would've written myself if I had the talent, or at least had the idea first. Daughters by John Mayer falls into this category. Normally I don't care for Top 40 songs like that because I feel like there's no 'feeling' in them...they're just written because people like it and teenage girls will buy it and go to the concerts. And that bothers me on some level.

At any rate, very few of the girls I know have what they consider 'good' relationships with their father. I often wonder if it's as bad as they make it sound, but that's really neither here nor there, and it is what it is. But this one's a little different. She's a little more adamant about it than everyone else.

I read somewhere that girls are attracted to men like they're father, and with her it seems to be true -- in as much as she's attracted to guys that treat her like crap and make her cry. Naturally, this leads to her general opinion that all men are worthless, which, I suppose for her is also true. She tends to become enamored with various guys, only to have them break her heart. It's such a shame, and not in a sarcastic way. It really is unfair, mostly because she deserves better than that, but also because when someone's genuinely nice to her, she doesn't know how to handle it. She's such a fantastic person, but just can't seem to let go of the bitterness long enough to realize it.

Telling her as much certainly didn't have the desired effect. I thought it was my fault at first, but the more I think about it, maybe it isn't. I'm just pissed at her dad.

I park my car, pop the trunk and pull out my horn, and make some self-deprecating comment on its condition as I duct tape the mouthpiece into place. The temperature had dropped significantly since I left home. I can see my breath hanging in the air as I walk around to the back of the coliseum, and can hear the stray notes coming from my fellow band nerds warming up outside.

Damn I hate it when my mouthpiece is cold.

Just an old, sweet song...

I'm pretty burned out on politics, at least in my home life. I read and write enough about that stuff at work, so, at least for a while, my blog is going to be what it was supposed to be in the first place...truly random musings. I've got a few of these, so maybe I'll put together a little series...

It's really odd how, at least for me, hearing certain songs can take me back to a specific memory. Not just a general memory, but a very specific time and place, all the way down to how I felt and what the room smelled like. Maybe I'm weird, but when I hear one of these such songs, it's like I'm transported back in time and it's almost like I relive the memory.

One of these songs is 'Standing Outside a Broken Phonebooth with Money in my Hand' by Primitive Radio Gods. Most of you have either never heard that song, or don't remember it. But it was pretty big in the summer of 1996 or 97.

I was at my grandmother's house. It was late in the afternoon, because the sun was coming through the dining room window upstairs and casting long shadows that stretched across the entire floor so far that some inched their way back up the opposite wall. Everything in the room, but most noticeably the wall, was draped in a dull yellow-orange light. If like looked hard enough and focused my eyes just right I could see little pieces of dust and those little stringy looking things floating in the air.

I opened the door to the basement and flicked the old plastic light switch, and with a sharp clap it filled the stairway with 100 harsh watts of light. The bright white walls coupled with the abundant back light made this area ideal for shadow puppet shows. The stairs were hollow and made entirely too much noise when they were walked on. The bottom of the stairs was always an eerie place to be. The floor was cold, concrete, and uninviting. To the left of the stairs was an old fire hydrant. There were patches of bright red, but due to years of sitting in an infrequently used basement and general neglect, most of it was a dingy red and grey thanks to the impressive layer of dust.

Behind me was a semi-finished room with shag carpet...dirty, red and black flower shag carpet. An old table that no one wanted, an absolutely ancient television, a few black support poles, a weight bench, and an old pool table made up the rest of the room. The five ball was missing along with cue ball. For whatever reason there was an extra 12 ball that served as the cue ball, and we just ignored the missing 5 ball. We never kept score anyway.

There were two big closets with various old things in them -- newspapers, tax returns, and an old sign that simply said 'This is Maddox Country!'. Being the ripe old age of 12, I thought it was talking about baseball. It wasn't until a history class much later in life that I figured out who Lester Maddox was, and why I wasn't supposed to listen to my grandfather.

To my right was a substantially more-finished room that served as my uncle's bedroom before he got a place of his own. I could hear that the TV was on, no doubt tuned to MTV. I got a strange feeling in my stomach. It was a feeling of happy contentment. He was already here. I knew that the next week would consist of late nights, unhealthy food, and laughing til it hurt.

Not again...

Some people just don't know when to stop.

Illinois Senator Dick Durbin (appropriately named, it seems) recently compared the treatment of prisoners at Guantanamo Bay to that of the treatment of Jews by Nazis, the treatment of political dissidents by the Soviet Unions, and the slaughter of innocent Cambodians by Pol Pot!

What the hell?!

The evidence cited by Durbin is as follows: One night, the air conditioning was turned down so low that the barefoot detainee was shivering. Another night, the air conditioning was turned off so that the room got to over 100 degrees, and loud rap music was played through the night while the prisoner laid on the floor.

Boo-friggin-hoo. Sometimes my air conditioning makes me shiver, and I just deal with it because I'm too lazy to get out of bed to change it. I highly doubt that a PRISON CELL in CUBA is insulated well enough so that the room got any colder than that.

As far as the room being over 100 degrees and loud rap music was played through out the night...sounds a lot like my first year of college. Better call Amnesty International and have them shut down Myers Hall! Holy crap.

Comparing the mildly harsh treatment of people who want to kill us with the genocide of millions of innocent people is absolutely mind-blowing.

It's an absolute disgrace and an injustice to those people who actually died, an even bigger one to those who survived, and their families. The senator should be utterly ashamed of himself.

Once we start loading prisoners onto cattle trains, making them ride around in the snow for a few days, and using them for twisted medical experiments before we gas them to death and incinerate their bodies, THEN Senator Durbin, or DICK, as he likes to be called, can compare our military with the SS.

But until then, he's nothing but a worthless tool. May he die of AIDS and rot in hell.

Reflections on the Jacko verdict

Wow. People never cease to amaze me. First of all, let me say that I never really had anything vested in the outcome of this trial. Michael Jackson is a nutjob, and I'd never let my kids anywhere within 50 feet of him. That being said, he very well could be a child molester. However, in the American justice system, there's a thing called reasonable doubt. A jury can't (or at least shouldn't) take away a man's freedom unless there is no question, within reason, that he is guilty of the crime. In this case, there's reasonable doubt all over the place. There were no witnesses, and the accuser was not the most credible. I can't really argue the verdict. I very well might've reached the same conclusion.

What I can't believe is some people's reaction to the verdict. Fans were outside the court house hugging each other and crying, and one lady was releasing doves as each 'not guilty' count was read. What the hell? Is it really THAT big of a deal? Geez. I think it's slightly unhealthy to be that attached to an entertainer that you would cry at his criminal trial after rabidly supporting him, so much so that you spent everyday of the trial at the courthouse for the 30 total seconds that he was either arriving or leaving. That whole thing just blows my mind. What a bunch of weirdos. Then again, it IS Michael Jackson.

Finally.

You always hear about 'the office pool' on TV. The employees all get together and put money into a pot, and the one who correctly guesses the outcome gets the cash. I always thought this was more based on televisions artistic lisence than in actual fact until I saw it actually happen. My office is currently collecting for the 'Michael Jackson pool'. We're actually placing bets on whether or not he'll be guilty on all counts, guilty on the lesser counts, or not guilty on all counts. God bless America.

The whole thing will be pretty anti-climactic, I think. I mean, we've done nothing but hear about this case for the past several months. Now either he'll walk, or he'll go to jail, and we'll all be left with nothing to talk about. Kinda like Christmas, or so I've heard. I'm just excited we won't have to hear any more stupid puns with Michael Jackson song titles. What a 'thriller' that is. Too 'bad' it couldn't have gone on a little longer, we could have gone through his entire catalog, starting in his 'childhood'. But if you're sick of this trial and it just makes you want to 'scream', 'you are not alone'. :::sigh:::

Anyway...back to the TV.

Hollywood making sense?

Finally, an actor who doesn't have his head so far up his ass that he can't realize when something/someone is utterly pointless.

For my money, the Dalai Lama is right up there with the Pope, Cornell West, and anything run by the United Nations. They might not actually DO anything or have any coherent, meaningful ideas, but people will fall all over themselves trying to praise these people to make themselves look intellectual.

Saying we need religious tolerance is not brilliance. It's stating the obvious. Saying that racism is bad is not ground-breaking. It's the staus quo. Saying we need to end world hunger is not intellectual. It's common sense.

True brilliance is getting people to stop strapping bombs to themselves and blowing up followers of other religions. True brilliance is making people realize that racism is an ignorant, pointless emotion. And true brilliance comes from proposing and enacting a viable way to end world hunger.

When someone comes along and does this, THEN we can worship the ground they walk on. But in the meantime, can we please stop pretending that stating the obvious is some sort of noble, intellectual practice?

Hey, I bet if we could get it to rain more, there wouldn't be any more draughts on the planet. Ooh! I figured out a problem! Worship me!

If we could just figure out a way to kill a virus, we could cure AIDS! I'm the smartest man alive! Give me a Nobel Prize!

If Muslims didn't hate non-Muslims, there'd be less terrorism! Why hasn't anyone thought of this before?!

I think you get the point. It's stupid.

Minor details

As part of my job, I'm supposed to read newspapers, blogs, etc. and essentially take the good ideas, and ridicule the bad ones. Well, in one of my blog perusals, I came across something rather interesting. It was from a democrat (or liberal, whatever you wanna say), talking about being a moderate. He gave a list of things that moderate-liberals should stand for, and it went like this:

"Forget wild-eyed leftwingery, let's say you want to stick with a reputably centrist brand of progressive politics. That means you want to see Social Security and Medicare preserved in something like their current form. You're not looking for any big cuts in defense spending. You aspire to spend a bit more on trade adjustment assistance, job training, and education. You'd like to see refundable tax credits for low income families made a bit more generous. You'd like to get health care for all America's kids. And you want the budget to be in something resembling balance."

Fair enough. At least it's not the 'wild-eyed leftwingery' he mentions. But there are just a few logistical problems in his desires. First of all, Social Security is NOT salvagable in its current state. Working at a newspaper, I'm fully aware that the average American doesn't give three and a half lumps of crap about the issue right now, but it IS going to be a problem in the future, and it CAN'T be saved the way it is. It's just economically impossible.

Secondly, 'trade adjustment assistance' is just another word for 'protectionism', which is just another word for 'socialism'. If you wanna sit here and buy goods that are of poorer quality and more expensive, be my guest. However, I thought the whole idea of free trade was to encourage people to produce better products at a lower price. If Americans can't do that, that's our own fault. Government subsidies encourage inefficiency. Think of any government subsudized industry, and then compare it to any private industry, and see which one produces the better product with the lower price.

Third, aren't 'job training' and 'education' supposed to be the same thing? What's the point of 'education' if you're going to need 'job training'? Plus, giving more money to these institutions will solve nothing. Trust me. I've had a front row seat for the public school system for as long as I can remember, and money isn't the problem. It's the spending of the money. When a school gets more funding, and decides to increase its office staff rather than hire another teacher, it does nothing to make our kids smarter, but does wonders for making administrators lazier. If we want better schools, we need to spend our money more wisely and dispense on this whole 'No Child Left Behind' crap. As one of my brother's teachers once said, 'no child is ever left behind because the train never leaves the station.' Because the bar is lowered so much to make sure all the dumb kids pass, the kids that end up getting left behind are the smart ones, because teachers have to focus so much attention on the dumb kids, otherwise they'll get fired. What a brilliant plan that is. If you can't tell, I have utter disdain for our public education system. More on that some other time.

Forth, 'tax credits for low income families' is another word for welfare. I've talked about this before. Poor people in America d NOT pay income taxes. So, giving them a 'tax credit' for a tax they never paid, is giving them money for no reason, which is also known as welfare, but without the line. Again, socialism. Boo socialism.

Fifth, healthcare for all America's kids. Aw, how sweet. Hmm...I smell socialism. Again? Geez. Since when is healthcare a right? I've read the constitution quite a number of times, and no where in there does it say citizens have a right to nationally funded medicine. Again, that would only make the industry more inefficient. When there's no incentive to improve quality, research will stop, new treatments will not be discovered, and we'll all die of something that could've been cured with just a little more research and development. Don't think that people will just do that stuff out of the good of their hearts, because they won't. They gotta eat too.

Finally, and perhaps the most humorous part of the whole thing...'the budget to be in something resembling balance'. Since when is that a liberal idea? Don't get me wrong...I'm all in favor of balancing the budget. In case this guy doesn't know, which he doesn't seem to, our government is already running a massive deficit, and all without his flower-power policies. How in the hell does this guy expect to fund all of those lovely programs he just mentioned AND balance the budget? Oh, that's right...liberal policy #1 -- raise taxes...a LOT. Good luck running on THAT platform.

Fan-frigging-tastic

For those of you wondering why in the hell I haven't been on AIM in like a week, here's why. The internet in my apartment hasn't been working. Everything was plugged in and functional, but for some reason I wasn't connecting. I asked the desk what the problem was, and they told me to call the ISP. Well, today was the first day I'd been able to call the ISP when they were open, and everything was fine on their end. The only possible problem left is that the cable that runs to my room has been unplugged in the basement on my building. No big deal, I just have to get Rasheed (the only one with a key) to go down and plug it back in. Only problem with is, Rasheed is out of town until Monday.

Glorious.

Does this mean I get a promotion?

So it's my first week on the job, and all of a sudden we've had a bombshell in the newsroom. My boss was here Monday, but not on Tuesday. On Tuesday, our managing editor said he was 'off chasing a lead'. I thought it was rather odd for an Editorial Page editor to be chasing a lead, as we don't really 'report' news. We just say why it sucks. At any rate...we come to find out that afternoon that he won't be in for the rest of the week. Again, I found that slightly odd, as he left no explanation as to why.

Fast forward to today. After a pleasant trip in the morning to the DMV (nothing really worth mentioning, just exceedingly boring and ultimately pointless), I come into work to 'We have some news for you...' Thinking maybe they want me to write more, give me more money, or something else I'd be happy about (always the optimist), the following sentence was '[your boss] has decided to pursue other opportunities.'

Well then.

I really have no details as to why he just up and left, but I'm assuming he got some sweet job offer that he just couldn't turn down. Later in the day, I noticed a one-line memo in the breakroom that said something along the lines of '[My boss] has decided to resign. We want to thank him for his service.'

The people that have been here for a while (well, longer than a day, anyway) and had actually worked with him seemed understandably shocked and kind of in a 'holy-crap-what-are-we-going-to-do-now' mentality. However, having only met the man twice and talking with him on the phone as many times, I have no emotional attachment nor understanding of what his departure means. So I suppose it's all the same to me. Plus I get more responsibility in order to help take up the slack. I'm just curious as to who's going to take his place, and in the meantime, who's going to answer my questions.

He seemed like a decent guy though. I hope they don't hire some tool to fill in.

The new guy no more

We got a new intern yesterday, so I guess I'm not really 'the new guy' anymore. Actually, I probably could be, so long as she was referred to as 'the new girl'. But I digress.

My boss called Tuesday morning and said he wouldn't be in for the rest of the week. Didn't say why. Then today I get an e-mail from the guy who's showing me how to do this job saying that he's not coming in either. Then the guy directly above me (I think) isn't going to be here on Friday, so in the line of succession, I could very well be running the Op-Ed page by the end of the week. That's an interesting prospect.

I could also be published in this paper inside of a week of starting. That'd be cool. There are these things we do called 'One Word Editorials' where we pretty much take a story, usually something weird or stupid, write one word describing it, and proceed to ridicule it for a couple of paragraphs. I thought 'Ridicule? I can do that...' So I scribbled out half a dozen and showed it to the higher-ups. A couple of them garnered a chuckle or two and a nice little check mark, which was rather satisfying. I'm such a praise whore.

I can't decide if I'm going to like going from writing thousands of words that hundreds of people read to writing hundreds of words that thousands of people read (well, hundreds of thousands, but you get the point). Personally, I'd rather be writing thousands of words that millions of people read, but 'all in due time, young grasshopper', I suppose. I'm just stoked about getting paid for once. It's a pretty sweet gig.

I'm sure I'll come up with some more philosophical, insightful blog topics once I get internet at my apartment (hopefully tomorrow), but until then, you're stuck with rambling babble about work. I still get a kick out of referring to where I go everyday as 'the office', and I'm glad the people I work with aren't pretentious douchebags. That's always a plus.

I still don't have any bedroom furniture or a parking permit, so I have to sleep on my futon and live in constant fear of my car being towed. Hopefully that'll be resolved by the end of the week as well, and by next week I can actually start feeling like I live in DC, instead of feeling like a squatter that routinely parks illegally.

Yay...they finally got the text uploaded so I can post the articles to the internet. Then I can go home.

By far the most interesting letter of the day

I have nothing to say, but its just the fact thay your movies, creation, and reality has inspired my life. I wished I had been born into a world such as yours. The only fact interesting about me is that I want my world when I start to be just like the movies that the producers create. That helps me the best. Their movies are what I most treasured. I mostly cherished one of their actress, Preity Zinta, my number one favorite actress, I am a fan of yours forever. I am also a fan of Shah Rukh khan and Salman Kha. There are lots more, but not as much as it is interesting about Preity. She has inspired my heart and fell in love with her smile. That's all

--I think this guy mistook me for someone else.

So when do I get to go home?

I've come to the conclusion that I'm going to be doing a lot of blogging while I'm up here. Apparently there are 'two phases' to my day. One phase is reading all the mail and editing the letters and getting them ready to print, the other is getting the Op-Ed stuff up on the website. That's all well and good, but it seems there's a lot of downtime between the two. It's a weird sensation because my work ethic tells me that I should always be working on something, so when I don't have anything to do I feel like I'm doing something wrong by, well, sitting here blogging. But I suppose I'm not.

It kinda pisses me off though 'cause I had stuff to do between 'normal business hours' like get my internet at my apartment fixed and see why it is that I don't have hot water. But I guess that'll all have to wait til tomorrow. I'm also cranky because I don't have any food. I didn't eat breakfast because I was nervous, and I didn't bring any food 'cause I figured I'd be out of here by 5, so I'm starving. But oh well. Tomorrow will be better. I'm not getting up early, I'll bring food, and I'll have some idea of what the hell I'm doing. I just hope I don't have to park a nautical mile from my apartment when I finally get to go home.

Being the new guy

While I'm sitting around waiting for the guy who's job I'm getting to show up to teach me how to do his job, I thought I'd make a few observations of my first few days in DC.

Today was my first day of work. Everyone talks about how awful the traffic in DC is, so I thought I'd wake up at 7, leave my apartment by 8 and get to work by 9. Well, the ended up being -- waking up at 6:45 to the sounds of the garbage men emptying out the dumpsters outside, still managing to leave at 8, and getting to work at 8:30. Apparently, all that talk about the traffic applies to the people who actually work IN DC, as I was pretty much the only person on my side of the highway, flying past a 30 mile long parking lot on the other side. That's good to know.

So like I said, I roll into the paper at 8:30 thinking that I'm going to make a good impression on the boss for being early. Well, I suppose I would have had he been here. I was so early that pretty much no one had gotten in yet, so it was pretty much just me and the secretary for about 30 minutes.

Come to find out that in the news business, apparently people don't show up til like 9 or 10, sometimes even 11. But being on the Editorial Page, we don't have to be as 'current' as the other people working on the daily news. That's also good to know. No more waking up at 7 for me.

So far I've gotten two letters in. One was more or less an extended ramble about some law in Maryland that I hadn't heard of nor care about, and the other was a rant about how awful George W. Bush is. Neither of these letters were actually responding to any articles in our paper, so I'm not really sure what to do with them.

The rant about George W. Bush was actually a little entertaining. The author is obviously so extreme nutjob that lives for hating the President. The entire letter is rather long and redundant, but here's my favorite exceprt:

"All arguments that Saddam was a bad man, that he tortured and killed his own people, that he cheated the U.N Oil for Food Program, or that he possessed or had weapons of mass destruction programs, have now been proven irrelevant by the “Downing Street Memo.”"

Yes, I completely agree. The fact that George W. Bush WANTED to remove Saddam Hussein from power renders all of Hussein's crimes against humanity irrelevant. He gassed his own citizens, had political opponents tortured and killed, and invaded his neighbor, but because the president wanted to remove him from power, none of that actually happened. What brilliant reasoning!

So I guess that means that since FDR wanted to remove Hitler from power that the Holocaust and Hitler's conquest never happened, either. Someone get Mel Gibson's dad on the phone. I owe him an apology.

And I suppose that also means that because I want to take out the trash, that it's not really stinking, growing bacteria, and taking up space in my apartment.

Sometimes I'm amazed that these people have enough intelligence to use a computer, much less write an irrititating e-mail.

Mr. Bill goes to Washington, T-Minus 14 hours, 43 minutes

Ok, so my name's not Mr. Bill. I suppose it could be if I went by my middle name, but I don't, and if I did, it'd be William -- maybe Will. But I digress.

Yeah, I'm leaving tomorrow. I know I should be feeling something, but I'm just kinda numb. I'm sure it'll hit me sometime Sunday night when my mom flies back to Atlanta and I'll truly be on my own for the first time ever, but until then, I'm not much of a 'feelings' kinda guy, so I'm just gonna pretend everything is cool.

I've done a really half-assed job of packing. But I suppose that's ok. I'm not really taking much with me -- mostly just clothes, my books, TV, and things of sentimental value. Everything else I'm buying up there. I'm not really one to brag about cool stuff that I buy because 1. I'm not so shallow that I feel the need to display everything I own as some sort of status symbol, and 2. I'm not self-centered enough to think that anyone would give a rat's ass what I buy, but I will say that I kinda splurged on myself and got one of those NASA memory foam beds. Should be quite cool. I've been having problems with my back lately, and I'm hoping that'll help. Plus I hear they're comfortable as all get-out. Not to mention the fact that I got it on sale for like 65% off. That's what I'm mostly proud of. Getting a $1600 bed for $600. No ethnic jokes please.

Other than that, I'm pretty much winging it. I'm starting to find that it's a real pain in the ass to move somewhere by yourself where friends and family aren't readily available to help you. Doing everything yourself blows.

I made my final trek to Athens (at least for a good long while) earlier today. It was incredibly depressing. I was there for all of 15 minutes, paid my last two months rent (which incidentally is roughly half of a month's rent in DC...yeah...), and got some stuff out of the cabinets that I'd forgotten. Empty apartments always depress me...especially when they're mine. This was the first apartment in Athens that I'd actually liked. (On a side note, John, if you're reading this...when I got there Matt Day was apparently in the process of moving in. He wasn't there, but his stuff was everywhere. I moved some stuff around in the kitchen just to screw with him. I thought it'd be funny. I toyed with the idea of writing a threatening message on the bathroom mirror, but I was too lazy.)

I think it's time for some fun room mate stories...

My first year I lived on campus -- first semester in Myers Hall, second semester in Russell. Myers is/was like the oldest dorm on campus. It was the dorm everyone avoided. Due to the housing crunch, I was on the waiting list for whatever I could get on campus. Up until the week before band camp, I thought I was going to have to live off campus -- not exactly an appealing thought to a 17 year old without a car. At any rate, I ended up in Myers. There was no AC (which is great in August!), the entire building was concrete, save for the purely superficial layer of carpet in the halls and rooms -- which incidentally seemed to have been there since the Carter administration. My room mate was a pot-smoking hippie (so you know we got along), and two guys on my hall got expelled for getting drunk and spraying a fire extinguisher in some other guy's room (that ruined pretty much everything in his room and set off the fire alarm at 2 in the morning). So you can imagine all the fun I had that semester. Eventually they kicked us all out at the end of the semester so they could renovate. That figures. Now Myers is the most kickass dorm on campus (except for maybe ECV), and it's where everyone wants to live. My class will be the last one to remember it for the craphole it really is.


Next semester I moved to Russell, which is weird enough in itself 'cause that's where my dad lived when he went to Georgia in the 70's. I got a different room mate. He was a decent guy. Neither of us talked much, and we were ok with that. We were only in the dorm for like 3 and a half months before the year was over, so we didn't get to know each other that well, and then we went our separate ways.

My second year, I got an apartment. It was my first experience living with girls. Bad idea. My thought process was 'Girls don't like gross things, so they'll be pretty neat, pick up after themselves, etc.' Ohhhh no. The only person to ever do dishes was me, the only person to ever vacuum was me. The only person not comfortable living in their own filth, was me. My one room mate had a pet rabbit, which was already against the lease agreement. Second problem - the rabbit was not house trained. Third problem - after the rabbit crapped in the floor, my room mate wouldn't bother to clean it up. Which I suppose isn't surprising when she wouldn't clean it up after it crapped in her bed.

Aside from that, she spent most of the time at her boyfriend's place, which means getting money from her for bills was a lost cause. Eventually she just stopped paying them, and after that, she stopped paying rent all together. The phone got cut off, and she got evicted. Whatever...it's her credit.

The only other guy in the apartment was an absolute nut case. He was a hardcore Catholic, and a few clicks to the right of me on the political spectrum (I know! Can you believe it?!) He and my other room mate (before she got evicted) would get into rather heated arguments about various things. It was funny because they were both usually wrong. But I digress.

Not only was he totally batty, but he had some of the most disgusting habits I've ever seen a human being exhibit. Bathing was apparently not a priority for this one. Nor did it seem to occur to him that digging in his pants (yes, IN his pants...both sides) might be revolting to anyone in the room trying to eat. Speaking of eating...I know there are people out there that bite their fingernails and pick their nose. I accept that. However, picking dandruff and popping zits and proceeding to eat the remnants is where I draw the frigging line. Excuse me while I have a full body shiver and a few dry heaves. And here's the best part -- after all the butt and nut scratching, nose picking, zit popping and head scratching, he would routinely go and get ice out of the freezer to chew on. I drank a lot of warm soda that year.

Much like my other sane, clean, considerate room mate, I spent most of that year in my room.

The next year, I rented a townhouse with my sane, clean, and considerate room mate, two of her female friends, and the daughter of one of my mom's co-workers. Pretty sweet gig, right? Me and 4 girls? Not at all. Again, I seemed to be the only one concerned with any semblance of cleanliness -- and that's saying a lot. Not only that, girls get flatout bitchy to each other. One of them moved out within 2 months to live with her boyfriend, sticking us with the responsibility of finding another room mate, or covering her part of the rent. The daughter of my mom's co-worker felt like she was getting screwed with the smallest room (which she was), so eventually she breaks her lease and moves somewhere else, just to screw us. The room mate that moved in to take the place of the first girl had a cat. I don't like cats, but I can deal with them. However, this cat had digestive problems, and its favorite plays to exhibit them was right beside my bedroom door. Again, I spent most of that year in my room. But I had the whole basement as my bedroom, so that almost made it worth it. But it still wasn't.

This year I lived in a much nicer place. I was technically sub-letting from a friend of mine, but she was a girl (I really need more male friends), so I got a new apartment and all new room mates. Judging by my past luck of living with people I didn't know, I was less than thrilled with the idea. But I must say, it turned out rather well. None of them had any disgusting habits (that I know of), they weren't dirty hippies (although John did buy Bill Clinton's autobiography), and actually liked some of the same things I do -- such as music, sports, video games, and looking at attractive girls. Not only that, but they were cleaner than me. By the time I felt like it was time to do dishes, they'd already done them. The trash never got too piled up, and the people they brought over weren't shady or painfully annoying. They introduced me to the glory that is Halo and XBox Live, and from that came many hours of entertainment and procrastination.

Anyway...enough bullshitting like some old man on a porch all like 'Well back in my day...' I've got a long day of driving ahead of me. The next time you hear from me, I'll either be in Washington, or somewhere between here and there in a hotel.