We're Headed Up My Mom's Ass!

I rolled out of bed yesterday and was greeted with a telephone call,
"Hey Mark remember when I got kicked out of the Attic last night?"
Yeah...please...uh please...just let me get back to bed
"That was pretty funny last night huh?"
Gerry, I'm hanging up now...

Usually it's Gerry who's abrupt and abrasive with me, but in this post-Faxe world, tables have turned.

I tried to work diligently on my English paper that was due two days previous. I was having issues with writing it because I feel weird writing about ways in which "the other" resists and carves out hybrid spaces with a colonizing and stifling societal order while being a boring white guy. As William Upski Wimsatt once said "I am able, more so than 99% of the world's people, to do what I want to in life." I am able, but I probably still won't get into the Masters of Library Science program.

So I reluctantly plowed through my paper occassionally making some points that I thought were half decent, but worrying that I was arguing in circles or basically saying nothing of interest. It's hard to read texts like Digitopia Blues, Bomb the Suburbs, and The 49th Parallel Psalm that use innovative writing techniques, come off as fluid and brilliant, and really inspire you, only to have to write a paper on them that sticks to boring academic language. I hate having to write "the other". It just sounds like I'm marginalizing a group yet again. I'm trying to write about how someone overcomes the notion of "the other" and then I'm referring to them as "the other" all the way through my paper. It's just another example of the man keeping a brother down. But in all seriousness, it's hard to feel like your ways of resistance are being lauded and understood when those lauding it and "understanding it" are calling you "the other" all the time. Thanks a lot crackers.

I made it to Dal around 5 pm after stopping at the Grainery and seeing a lot of old friends. I sort of worry sometimes that it'll be hard to pick up the piece of friendships and relationships that sort of fizzled or ended abruptly due to the butting of heads, but then I realize people grow up. Well I guess I've grown up. What I'm trying to say in plain language is that I know I gave an ex-roommate of mine a hardtime and I wanted to get past that, but for whatever reason I was too stubborn to. Now that's all changed. It's the feeling you get when you just realize "Wow, that really didn't matter, what an uptight ass I was!

I hurriedly typed up my works cited page and printed off my essay. I bolted out of the library and headed over to the FASS building and checked the side door...LOCKED! I ran to the front of the building and wasn't foiled. I bounded up the stairs and ran straight to the English Department. I placed the essay in my professor's mailbox and saw him out of the corner of my eye drinking red wine with a bunch of other members of the faculty. I like the English department because though they don't drink hard, they like to drink because they think it's romantic. Fuck romanticism, it's just a good time to shit talk. As I left the English Department I could just imagine my professor grabbing my paper gleefully and calling his English buddies over to look at the pile of shit I just left in his mailbox. I could envision them shittalking me all night and then going home and then posting the highlights of my laughable paper on their blogs.

Back in the relative comfort of the library I begin chatting with Steph, Gerry, and Tim on Gerry's new chat toy. Ten minutes into the conversation everything in the library just went dark. The power went out. I laughed, everyone else groaned.

Thank god for good timing.