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January 30, 2005
A poetic, and ridiculous, rendition of something.
There once was a man of an average height
Who was forced by his job to work quite late at night.
And this man of the world by the name of John Paul
lived his life in a box at the end of a hall.
John Paul had a Master's of Chemical E.
His proudest achievement had been that degree.
He told himself it would equate with success,
and that money would show him as one of the best.
So he conjured equations to solve problems dark
like the chemical outcomes and value of Quarks.
And to solve these equations was all he could do,
for his task was to make the most perfect shampoo.
"'Tis noble," he cried, "to keep humans so clean,
to distinguish ourselves from the low and the mean!"
And with statements convincing himself of his worth
he set out to find secrets of substance and earth.
So it happened one night while John Paul was at work
that he happily deciphered the secret of dirt.
For he figured that how to remain truly clean
was to find the reverse of all substance obscene.
"I will show them my genius, I'll dazzle them all!"
cried the man in the box at the end of the hall.
And he ran to the lab to create his own dream;
the perfect shampoo for the perfect deep clean.
But he sadly forgot the first rule of Chem E.
He forgot to bring goggles and apron, you see.
So when John Paul reversed all the substance obscene,
he reversed himself too, and became truly clean.
To be truly clean is a vacuum of dirt
and a vacuum's abhorrent to old Mother Earth.
So she got a bit angry at poor young John Paul,
that man in the box at the end of the hall.
She sent all her minions of dusty intent,
and on dirtying John they were all quite hell-bent.
So the minions of dirt swarmed about poor John Paul
and they ruined his box at the end of the hall.
In the morning, when John Paul's coworkers arrived,
they startled to see him just barely alive.
For the minions of dirt had done all that they could
and had coated John Paul in a mass of brown mud.
His coworkers tried everything in their power,
but finally had to give John Paul a shower.
But when water came down with its icy resolve
John Paul in his mudball completely dissolved.
As his coworkers watched John Paul circle the drain,
they wondered at who they would next have to train.
So the workers continued, with sighs at it all,
to their own little boxes at the ends of the hall.
This story does have a moral, if you were wondering...but I'm not going to tell you what it is, because if you can't figure it out, you're either not looking hard enough, or you are yourself destined for a little box at the end of a hall. BAH!
Posted by larry at 02:01 PM | Comments (9)
January 27, 2005
This, my daily waffle
It's a strange life, being an English major...I truly think that I reside in an alternate plane that just happens to parallel the one that everyone else lives in. I look at things, and I am amused because I think of how they could be framed within odd phrases. For example, I wondered today how I would describe the perfectly horizontal mustache of my English 60 teacher, before I decided that he rather reminded me of Yoda. He's short, he has really odd syntax, and I think he has been alive since the beginning of research papers, because he has created a hybrid form of MLA that must have come from the deepest, darkest pits of hell wherein a chilly Satan lies.
At the moment, I'm listening to a trippy little techno piece that has phrases from the original "Battlestar Galactica" series in it. I remember watching that show when my dad used to be obsessed with it, and I always wondered about that gigantic robotic dog. It was kind of like Scooby Doo of the 25th century, except that its sidekick was a timid little shit of a manling who always seemed to get himself abducted or otherwise in trouble. I hated that show...I watched it post-Babylon 5, which had the supremely awesome Vorlon ships. For anyone who watched that show, you know that those ships were the coolest things EVER. EVER!
Have you ever felt like the generation gap has become a chasm of epic proportions? I have felt this way of late...because I cannot escape the eternal "mothers-that-have-become-bored-with-their-lives" enrolled in my classes. I have absolutely no idea what business these creatures have in education, especially since they still use the phrase "all growed up." Note the improper usage of the NON-EXISTENT FUCKING WORD! I absolutely loathe the woman in my Adolescent Psychology class...she makes this horrid references to her childhood (which, by my estimation, took place sometime shortly after the second Ice Age), all of which take the form of idiotic and irrelevant statements phrased in such a way so as to make all English majors wince in excruciating ear-induced pain. If I knew how to use the World of Warcraft Banish spell to eject her from this plane into an ethereal one where large W's and X's could chase her for eternity, screaming lessons about how to use her native language...
Ah, wishful thinking. Isn't it lovely?
Large Rodents in Sparkling Pants Eat Waffles.
Posted by larry at 10:09 PM | Comments (0)
January 17, 2005
I have returned.
Rejoice, oh happy subscribers to my insanity, for I have returned from my out-of-blog experience to spread ever so much more joy to the world (or at least that small part which is willing to revere me as some form of deity, even demi).
I suppose I should begin by relating some of the more memorable experiences from my winter break. Firstly, I shall mention in semi-passing that a 10-day break is simply not long enough to enjoy properly, and having to swim through the whole thing doesn’t much help one’s chlorine dependency. Secondly, I will be obvious in stating that family vacations do not, under ANY circumstances, count as relaxation. But nevertheless, my family outing resulted in an interesting story to tell!
While I was out “celebrating” Russ’s recent graduation from college, I ended up at one of his friends’ apartments, where I was rapidly introduced to a fascinating ritual of White culture. There, in the ridiculously luminescent artificial lighting, I encountered “Donkey Konga.” Now, for those of you unfamiliar with this particular religious exercise, it is more or less a hand-intensive version of Dance Dance Revolution. You receive an electric set of bongos that allow you to hit either with your right hand, your left hand, both at once, or clap. Then, little symbols on the screen flash across and let you know when in the song you should be whacking which part of your sacred relic. It actually seems kind of like a class…”How to have Rhythm: a special in-depth study of rhythm for the hopelessly melanin-deficient (which, for you non-English majors, translates roughly as the “very white”). Do not underestimate this game, however, for if you do, your hands will be tingling for well over a week. Tapping is infinitely preferable to Clapping.
Well, now that my interesting Winter Break memories are out of the way…(just kidding…there were actually a few of them, but most of them involved relatives and such, which isn’t exactly appropriate subject matter. They get touchy when I mock them too often). Seriously though, my first few days of classes here have been nothing short of hilarious.
Monday was relatively uneventful, but Tuesday was amusing. I was informed by my English 60 teacher that I’m the first English major he has had in class for the last four years, since he has been stuck with engineers and computer science enthusiasts. Four years! Truly, that has to be about as close to Hell on Earth as any English type can come. Spending four years surrounded by people who think that “language” is a type of Italian pasta and “literature” is something that gets done to your teeth…*shudder*…I can only imagine.
Today I was in the weirdest class of my entire life. It was American Gothic Literature, and the teacher is an 80 year old with no capacity for holding sentences in his head. In 50 minutes, he didn’t finish a single sentence. The girl in front of me was being driven absolutely batty by this, and she started supplying him with words when he couldn’t think of them on his own. Sadly, this did not have the desired effect, and when he heard her words, he would get a very blank look on his face, and then start up on a completely different topic. Poor girl…I don’t think she’s going to make it.
That’s not the worst of it, though. The old coot decided sometime during class that Gothic literature can be compared directly to pornography. He started expounding on the way that pornography can be arousing in real life, and that horror literature can have effects on life as well. Then he proceeded to inflict a story upon us about a time he went to a drive-in movie that turned out to be a porno with all the sex scenes cut out. What diabolical fiend would DO such a thing? More to the point, what 80-year-old man thought it would be a good idea to TELL us about it? The answers to these questions and more after these messages.
Caitlin Keirney, the author of “Low Red Moon”, has a blog. And in this blog, she uses the word “Frelling” at least twice. Farscape reference!
Going back to the topic of the evils related to being an English major at an engineering school, I have finally had enough of the crap some of my teammates give me for being passionate about something creative. To them I say this: Yes, you will make more money than I will. Yes, you will have a large house, and yes, you will have a nice car. I truly hope those thoughts comfort you when you are trapped in that efficiently made, structurally sound, perfect set of ninety-degree angles that constitute your entire waking life. In the meantime, I will be munching buffet style in the teacher’s lounge discussing fine poetry with people who actually ENJOY their jobs. Now, if that wasn’t quite clear enough because I used too many syllables, try this: “Fuck off, and get off my back”.
So, in conclusion, I can only hope that my once reverent audience of humanoids across the Midwest has not completely dissipated due to my long lack of original input into my blog. And if it did, then this is kind of like talking to myself, making me more or less certifiably insane. So please, save the men in white coats from making a long and boring trip down to the “Middle of Everywhere”, and read my blog!
Posted by larry at 07:29 PM | Comments (1605)