Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Like Clockwork

Today I was taken to task by readers (and, of therefore, friends of mine) Westie and Allison. They asked me why I had not written on the blog in a while, and I said that I put up Ask Manton. Westie said she does not like Ask Manton, and I won't lie, it hurt a bit. I explained to them that usually this is my place to vent, but with a screen writing class which demands three scripts, a production class which demands three films, and a radio show along with nothing really to vent about, I was left with little for the blog. Allison asked about all the random little thoughts I jot down, and I said I didn't have any.

I lied.

My mind is constantly going, especially in times where I want to turn it off and sleep. It's been this way for as long as I could remember, and with more time the thoughts become more complex (and elegent). What used to be "oh my god is that someone coming in the house to kill me?" has become, "what if I never fully articulate my feelings to others, and all of these events occur: (insert events for 30 minutes)." I decided that today I would try and give you guys a peek into my mind. All of these thoughts happened on the walk to my 6:30 film class, during my watching of the Jean Renoir film The Human Beast (1938) and the walk home two hours later.

These are my complete and unadulterated thoughts and ideas, and nothing was change to soothe anyone's feelings or to make myself look better. You'll know when I see a girl, and that is how I react (some people think I'm perverted....) genuinely. This might be a terrible read, I really don't know. Here we go anyway....

Why do people put on bumper stickers of governmental candidates? You better have complete faith that they win, or have complete faith in your ability to peel the sticker off without harm to your car.
Not many attractive females go running on Com. Ave. Maybe that's why they'll be in shape and attractive at 30 while genetics finally let down the lazy, current attractive girls.
Why do overweight guys wear incredibly baggy clothes? You can be wearing a carnival tent cover and we'll all still know.
Who would use free wi-fi in a bar?
I hereby declare the death of Uggs. Next we have purple leggings. Congrats Jackie O glasses, you get a free pass...for now.
One of my film professors sounds like Jimmy Stewart while another looks and sounds like the Colnol from KFC.
Monster Energy Drinks are way overpriced, and I got it for free. It's taking out taxes, too - on my stomach.
Did every old movie get put out by Janus Films? Whatever happened to them? Flipped a coin and lost the company?
Colored bras rule, but nothing (Nothing!) beats classic black.
Am I the only one a bit putt off that "boy" shorts (a type of female undergarment) are hot? The emphasis is on the boy. Does that make me a pedo?
Why would you buy a hat with a label's name on it? I'd rather you support the Sox than Hollister. STITCH THOSE PANTS! STITCH THOSE PANTS!
Could one seating arrangement at Boston University accommodate my legs? Just one, not asking for a total revamp here.
Trains are the cassette tapes of mass transportation. Steam ships are Beta Max.
The Fantastic Four's Reed Richards has to have the biggest penis ever (for those not in the know, his special power is to be rubber like and grow and he can stretch himself out).
I hate bad subtitles in movies, especially when the character is clearly talking for much longer than the short, cumbersome, bastardized cluster of English that is digitally stamped on the bottom of every frame.
Je n'aime pas.
Why don't women wear hats anymore?
The high five will never replace the handshake and the pound will never replace the high five. The ass slap, however, has no ceiling.
There would be more cannibals if blood tasted better.
White boards will never erase chalk boards.
Other items never to be improved upon: the bench, the stool, the rake, the trashcan. The fork was on that list until the surprising development of the spork.
I need new shoes, but hate shoe shopping. I have no idea why this is.
Grey's Anatomy has been entered into the hallowed halls of shows which have, according to girls, "great writing," and they are clearly wrong. Other members include Will & Grace and Sex and the City. Yes, I have watched full episodes of all three shows.
What ever happened to the Thermos?
The Swiss Army Knife - do the Swiss even have an army to necessitate naming a knife after them? If they do exist, do they use the knife which derived its name from its very ranks?
Grape Bubblicious
Oh, oh.
Grape Bubblicious gum was the worst out of the four-pack of gum I would regularly buy. Why do companies insist of always throwing in a shitty 3rd or 4th food product in the pack that absolutely no one wants? I'm looking at you Starbursts.
Friend's nice.
Eye contact, bonus.
Listening to Radiohead's "There, There" while I walk the streets of Boston at night really makes me want to turn into an animal and bite someone to pieces. I think the rythmic drums unleash the theoretical beast in me.
How hard is it to hold open a door?
How hard is it to say thank you when I hold open the door for you?
I love it when the people say machines are broken. "Machine ate MY ATM CARD!" Not that it's broken, just that it's a bastard. Thanks.
I don't know her right? No, no I don't...wish I did, but....
Sweet, new locks that actually function.
Man, I don't want to type all of this shit up, cause no one's gonna find it funny or interesting, and they'll probably think I'm just a creep.
Ok, I'm just probably too lazy to type it all up. It has nothing to do with feelings.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Ask Manton (Again)

As you can probably tell, I haven't updated in a while. It isn't like I don't have ideas (in fact, I post-it noted one full blog out), it's just that I don't have the time to write out all the words. I have therefore come up with a compromise. It's time to put the onus on you, my dear readers, to provide me with something quick to talk about. Welcome to Ask Manton (Again), where you can send in questions or topics that you might like for me to discuss. I am well aware that this could be an abominable failure, but I'm used to embarrassment (for example, instead of saying "I want to beat the fucking shit out of [boy's name]" I said "I want to fuck the shit out of [boy's name]"). You can either leave me a comment in this post or you can im me if you know my screen name (no way am I putting that sucker on here to be searched out) or email me here. Thanks in advance.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Fuckem Up Fuckem Up BC Sucks

First and foremost, I want it known that I do not speak for any fan group, formal or informal, specifically the apparently resurrected Dog Pound. I have a sports pass upgrade for this year as well as the previous two. I live and die by BU hockey, and will always remember Bourque’s goal in the Beanpot and the freshmen line sliding a goal between Schneider’s legs to win Hockey East last year. However, the recent events that have occurred between the fans and the administration have left me to rethink my position on supporting this sport.

Last year’s poor display from the fans during the final minutes of the NCAA regional final was disgusting for a variety of reasons. It smacked of unoriginality, was incredibly classless, and was done not just in poor taste, but also in front of Boston College fans. We gave them more ammunition, people. The “F You Boyle” chants and the like were repulsive, and should be stopped immediately, as well as the rarely appropriate “BS” and “A-Hole” chants (some of you really need to learn that players do fall down on their own). That is where I stop agreeing with our administration.

I find some of the quotes from the administration to be laughable. Mr. Lynch, our Athletic Director, really has some gems, including, “I think they can come up with something more clever than, ‘f you’.” Have you not heard of “Wheels On Your House,” “If You Can’t Get Into College,” or my personal favorite, chanting “Belarus” to Schneider? Maybe they are not completely politically correct, but you can’t say they aren’t witty.

Another point that I cannot wrap my head around is that Coach Parker and Mr. Lynch believe that 118 is holding back a unified crowd, as if all we do is swear and disparage players. Coach Parker said, “It’s defeating the purpose of having an intimidating arena. Three-quarters of the place goes mute because they don’t want to participate.” Since when was “Go BU,” a frequent chant, vulgar?

Mr. Lynch defended this new ban against seemingly any offensive chant or exclamation to anyone—in any way—by saying, “It’s meant to encourage all 6,300 people in the building to come together and cheer for our team. If we had a good, solid cheer that the students come up with that involved everybody in the building, that would rock.” I didn’t know that the other frequent chant of “Let’s Go Terriers,” was inherently racist or demeaning to a player on the other team.

There has been an extreme lack of respect from the administration towards the student body ever since we have moved to Agganis Arena. This recent doctrine is focused almost solely at students, with Dean Elmore and Mr. Lynch sitting around the student section, reinforced with more ushers and security. I would surely hope that if a Premium Seat Holder at Agganis Arena © was calling the ref a naughty word, they would be held to the same standard. I fear that this will not happen.

The announcement of the pre-sale of sports pass upgrades to students had to be passed by word of mouth, since an e-mail was sent two days after the pre-sale started. You don’t have to search for reasons to see how the administration values the support from the students. Is it really a good idea to anger the most fervent fans, already smarting from the new “Hockey Mania Brunch and Naptime” season kick off?

The administration, especially Mr. Lynch, is doing a great job alienating the BU hockey fans. He tries to divide and conquer, saying that he views this as a “small group of problematic students.” Mr. Lynch follows that up with, “I really think the Supreme Court has more interesting topics to cover than whether or not BU throws a kid out of a game for using profanity.” Very professional, Mr. Lynch.

Furthermore, I find it offensive how you belittle our intelligence. This is not about unifying anyone, or the image of the school. It comes down to money. Newer arena means more seats that can be filled by families. Coach Parker said it himself, “it’s becoming a bad place for people to bring their kids.” I was under the impression that BU hockey was for BU students. Pardon me for such an assumption while attending a hockey game on my own campus. If television contracts are being threatened, why does CSTV continually mic us? Why did ESPNU point their microphone more towards the student section during the first period in our first-round NCAA game against UNO? Just tell us the truth.

Mr. Lynch drives home the view of the administration when he says, “If I’m alienating somebody who’s going to stand up and continually chant the ‘f word’ during a hockey game or a basketball game, I would just as soon not have that person in the stands.” Will you throw us all out, Mr. Lynch? Will you have five sections in the Garden tossed out for singing “The Song?” Would you rather have an arena filled with—save some exceptions to the rule—adults who sit on their hands? Do you really want us to be UNH fans?

The greatest irony comes from President Brown, who believes that our cursing is “…rebelling against the administration.” Sir, I do not believe you have seen rebelling yet. I for one will completely comply with what the administration wants so dearly. I will sit in a studious manner and intently watch the Boston Terriers open up against the University of New Brunswick, Saturday October 7th and not say a word for the entire game. If anyone else feels the same way I do, there are tons of seats to voice your opinion, by not saying a word.

Go BU.

Friday, September 01, 2006

Last Call

Here it is.

Finally. The day has finally arrived. It's not even the eve; it's the actual day I have longed for since May 6th. Salvation. Moving day. In a few short hours (who needs sleep when you have coffee?) I shall return to Boston for the third September in a row. Once again, I'm up at 3 AM, surrounded by boxes containing only my life, typing up my blog. It's so very routine.

Except, well...as corny as I must be, it's not.

This just feels different. I have never packed this much stuff before (the couch and the 32" LCD plasma HDTV really don't help matters). I have never had my dog react the way she did when I started packing up boxes. I never thought about leaving here. Well, no, I've always thought about leaving here, but it's so much different now on the cusp. Hell, beyond the cusp. I'm in the transition right now.

Something about this one feels permanent. It wasn't the usual summer, either. For the last two summers I've had the arduous task of spending as much time with my girlfriend as humanly possible before I had to leave her again. You try to compensate for about eight months away - it's time consuming, to say the least. I remember dropping her off at her house the first time, and I was surprisingly the first to cry (I think because I was the first to talk...please, just let me have that people). Now, there is nothing but anxiousness to leave. I've experienced the Stalin-like nature at the end of relationships, when the other is stricken from the record. I even found a picture she has framed:

Can't compete with those baby blues

It was the first summer that the group (affectionately known as "The Table" since we all sat at the lunch table and we needed to shorten the text in our yearbooks) simply wasn't there. We were all fractioned off into different jobs, activities, locations, drugs, and spiritual missions. You read that last part correctly. There was a very clear disconnect between everyone. Now, the problems of the past started to show. Now, conduct and morality took place of blunts and laughs. Well, not all the time. We are still in college. But it felt like the end of an era. The past just sort of felt more distant than ever before. Our stories from 8th grade weren't just throwbacks brought up in conversation; they were stories about us all the way back in 8th grade.

My life was filled with drama, mostly stemming from the Summertime Players. Two shows, 6 weeks, no life. I can't truly explain to you what a head-trip being a show is without being in it. The closest I can think of as a comparison is being in a foxhole. You see these people every day, you go through a grueling process, and the only people you can turn to are right around you. Relationships get wacky. People become edgy. The seemingly impossible becomes pretty real. I spent more time with this group of people than my friends (by choice or otherwise). It is a learning experience, and I came out with a lot of lessons, most of which apply to the stage. The rest fall in to examining the effect you have on people. You ever know what a phrase, a touch, a smile can do, both positive and negative, especially in the drama-heightened world of...theater. I also learned I could be a grade-A douchebag, but can still pass on Drinkball like the good ambassador I am.

Stemming from my recent experiences with girls, I was in quite a rut. I knew that eventually I would fall for someone again. I knew that at some point I would be with a great girl. I knew that in time these things would happen. Mostly because I had nothing else to really hold on to, and I would like to hope for something good. Then, out of nowhere (meaning the past) came a girl I didn't really expect. And, for the last three days of my time in Jersey, really made me feel like I should hope and I should know that the girls I want are out there. Also, they would spend time with my stank ass. It was a wonderful combination. For that, I thank her. You have given me faith in womankind. Also thanks to Pablo for the roofies in case my faith falls asunder.

This isn't a usual blog, either. It's quiet in the house. The only acoustics are my mom turning in bed, my fingers on the keyboard, and the Sam Adams Summer Ale bottle hitting the dining room table. The common practice would involve playing some music to get me in the mindset, but that won't happen tonight. I can't be bothered. I didn't even use the ole' Sharpie-on-Post-it pre-planning--I hope it doesn't show--with this post. Fair readers, remember how I said I would post the...-its on the wall above my laptop? Here are the results:

And here is by far the best one among them:

Transcribed from the genius words of Brett Russell: I have no life and need to have sex with a "moose like" woman and then get a manicure from a Korean lady with webbed feet. P.S. Jean Claude Van Damme will destroy super-jacked Asian dude in Bloodsport.

What is so strange about this night is the finality behind it all. In high school, there were a handful of people who could not wait to leave the suburban bubble. Day in and day out, all they would talk about is how much they hate it and how they were already one foot out the door. Now, when people have an opportunity to escape, they are home. All the time. It baffles the mind. Some do escape, such as a classmate who now lives in California, and to her I say "good job." She did what she wanted and said she would do. At this point, roughly, she's alone.

For months I have bitched and complained about being back here, for everything from bad endings, no beginnings, no prospects, and no life. The days dragged on, seemingly like an eternity. But now, looking back, it feels like no time at all. Compressed within me are four months of experiences, good and bad, worthless and meaningful, boring and slightly-better-than-exciting. What has happened, almost out of nowhere, is that I grew up. The process is by no means complete, but is really hitting the overdrive right now. Here is the moment I have longed for, and I'm scared.

This could have possibly been the last summer I have in Park Ridge. That is a twenty year tradition that could very well never occur again. My house, my house, might not be my permanent residency for a long time, or ever again. I say goodbye to my dog who is getting up there in age or possibly the last time. I say goodbye to my parents who are becoming less my guardians and more like Grandma, always there, but some distance away. I leave behind the place that molded me, shaped my being. Here I am, being ushered off to Boston, ready to start my life again. This time I don't just pack up my life, I pack up someone else. I know I'm not ready, but no one ever is.

Today I take the plunge into something I have longed for. I've been walking up those giant steps to that diving board for ages. Finally, I have reached that point where you move up and down a little bit and the board bows and bounces against you. I'm looking down at the water below. I hold my breath. Then