This is going to be one of those posts that makes sense to me and maybe 1-3 other people who understand how my brain works, but it doesn’t really matter because no one reads this anyway. Also - this is probably going to be my last post for like a week or two, so plan accordingly.
Anyway, now that I’ve gotten the requisite disclaimer out of the way, lets talk. When I was a wee freshman at Michigan, I ate roughly every meal with 10-12 of my closest friends (all dudes) who happened to live on the same floor of the dorm I lived in (aside: I am actually still close with 3-4 of these dudes). We would all assemble in the same dorm room (418 Williams?) at roughly the same three times every day except Sundays when we, like many college freshmen, were hungover as sh*t and moving quite slow. Sunday mornings were an every man for himself type affair, but we usually got the show back on track by the evening.
At some point during the first semester, someone said we should start doing weekly superlatives (although I’m sure we had a much more manly word for it, I just can’t think of what it was) to recap the weekend, like “most improved,” “most ass-getting-ist,” etc. It was a great idea, but I think we only actually did it once and we only actually got through “most improved,” which went to someone who had spent the majority first 3-4 weekends of school nursing crippling hangovers. On the weekend he won “most improved” he managed to out drink us all and wake up early every day. I don’t know how.
Anyone who has read this blog long enough knows I’m going to turn this non-sequitur into something personal now. I like the idea of looking back at where you’ve been and considering what is different. Of course, when I do this, I win all the awards, including “most improved.” A week ago today, I was panicking about silly things that I am far too cool to panic about now. A month ago, my options for summer employment were nonexistent. A year ago, I was an idiot. Two years ago, I was a lonely idiot (but can we all take a moment and look at the last line of that post and marvel at how prescient I am? I swear this was unplanned.). Four years ago, I was an even bigger idiot.
I think I had a point here, something about improvement. I guess my point is that one of the many reasons I have this blog is so that I can look back at any given time in my life and know exactly how I was feeling at that moment. AND, no matter how awesome any given moment was in the past, I’m still doing much better than I was back then. AND - even at the low points, all the lessons learned during those past low points have made the current one easier (which makes it seem like this is a low point but it is ANYTHING BUT). AND EVEN AT THE POINTS THAT SEEM OBJECTIVELY SIMILAR, I KNOW THAT I AM SO MUCH BETTER AT LIFE THAN I WAS DURING THAT OTHER TIME THAT APPEARS TO BE THE SAMMMMMMMEEEE. Is that an epiphany? Because something about life being the sum of its parts. Man, how do these posts always fall apart at the end? What is prose?
Tomorrow I’m going to wake up and remember how I wanted to end this post, but that won’t matter because my dad will (unbeknownst to him) be the only one who knows my password to this blog (no more PixieDust666, etc.). So this post will have to tide y’all over until I get it from him. If you need me, I’ll be cramming knowledge in my brain. Or coming the archives of this blog. Because Tumblr’s method of searching through pages of nostalgia is much more effective than this one.
See you in another life, tumblr.
(The other life being the post-finals one. Not the afterlife. Or some weird Island in the middle of the Pacific that’s a metaphor.)
I don’t always understand this show/the motivations of the characters in it, but I think this is one of the greatest monologues in television history so I’m going to post it here and encourage everyone to watch it and not try to find any hidden meaning in it. Kthx.
Sb eo pr s7
I know the [very, very strange] video for this is all over the place right now, but that video has far too much breast and/or nipple (Kim Kardashian or otherwise) in it for this wholesome family blog so I’m just going to post the mp3 instead. I tried to listen to Yeezus several times this past summer but never managed to make it through because it wasn’t the Kanye West I’d grown up with (College Dropout was the first CD I bought that wasn’t by blink-182). It wasn’t the whole “Kanye is talking about racism and now I’m uncomfortable listening to his music” thing that got to me, it was because I honestly thought the whole album was terrible.
So, because I could never make it through the whole disc, I never made it to “Bound 2” (the final track). This is a great song. This is classic Kanye West. The beat, the lyrics, the cadence: everything is beautiful. I can’t believe it has been missing from my life for so long. And this may sound a little bit 5th grader-y, but I swear he wrote this song about my life (except I requested sweatpants rather than a threesome for Christmas). Anyway, I hope you, loyal reader, have had the pleasure of hearing this song and if not I encourage you to do so.
Hey, you remember where we first met?
Okay I don’t remember where we first met.
But hey, admitting is the first step
And hey, you know ain’t nobody perfect
Kanye West - “Bound 2”
P.s.: I realize my posting has skyrocketed over the last couple days. Surely this correlates with something.
Spotted: Crafty, angry person used old magnetic stripe cards in Logan Square.
When I was home over this past weekend, two things were different about the CTA:
- The Red Line was fully operational which didn’t really impact me
- Ventra was fully operational which could have impacted me but then I spent like 30 minutes trying to understand how it was different from the old fare cards, dug up one of those old Transit Cards with $0.75 on it from this pile of crap on my desk and was delighted to discover I could still add value to it when I went to hop on a train.
Ventra, I don’t know what you are and I plan to put off understanding until the last possible second. Thank you.
And this time, Gardner destroyed the jumbled heap of pointy bits and gristle he calls a rib cage for a purpose.
Two years of driving automatic. Dang.
Goodbye, old friend.
I had a very good weekend.
Jay-Z (Feat. Beyonce) - “‘03 Bonnie & Clyde”