Jon Gets All Deep
I just finished my last final a few minutes ago. The semester is officially over, for me at least. This is cause for celebration. I will probably get really fucked up within the next two days. N. tells me that there is this blonde that won't mind getting it on with me. Apparently she is interested in this cute little punk thing I've got going. I'm not exactly sure what exactly is my "cute little punk thing," because I'm as punk as Brittany Spears, but I'm going to be sure to play it up if she ever comes over to my place for a few drinks and whatnot. I must have drinking problems. As soon as things get done, my first thoughts are about the vast amount of alcohol I need to consume to feel something that appears to be lacking in my daily life.
Now, when I'm walking, I'm thinking. This is why I often bring music with me for the walk to class. This is also why if I'm not listening to music, I am apt to miss things that I shouldn't have missed. Brothers have walked right next to me, waiting for some sign of recognition. It won't come. When I am lost in my thoughts, I don't see anything but the thoughts themselves. Luckily for me, my feet don't need much in the way of thinking to get me where I'm going. After awhile, I move in instinct and my brain churns out ways to ruin a perfectly good final celebration. Really, thinking too hard at times is quite deadly. I probably shouldn't forget my music from now on. Nothing says brain-dead like pop songs.
But, the semester is over and I have one more semester left in my undergraduate colligate career. I'm really not sure what to make of that. So, I've been in college for three-and-a-half years. So the fuck what? What has transpired in the last four years? I'm told that college is supposed to be the most hedonistic time of your life. All the sitcoms show college to be one giant party. Classes are secondary. Fucking and drinking and booze and road trips come first. I'm pretty sure that I've been doing that all along, and some of my stories are quite legendary, I think, but I'm not exactly sure that I've lived college the way I should have lived college, and I'm not sure that I really want to leave the hedonistic lifestyle that I so enjoy.
Eventually, you know, we all have to give up hedonism and get something that resembles responsibility. I'm going to get responsibility, but I'm also going to drink hard, party hard, and fuck whomever I want. I know of a few people in the Phoenix area who might be willing to join me as I trudge through the desert, beer bottle in one hand and pants in the other. I suppose those are the true friends, you know, the ones who are willing to coax you down from some godforsaken lamp-pole while you swing about wildly while muttering something about how phallic symbols are oppressing the masculinity of Coors-guzzling porky pigs.
Having given my description of true friends, I am forced to pause and wonder how many I have made in college. Sure, I've hundreds of acquaintances, and I do love my fraternity brothers in a very platonic, drinking-buddy way, but I don't expect any of them to constantly keep in touch when I have fled the Midwest. For many of them, friendship is only manifest when I, or they for that matter, are present in person. I remember my disappointment when I left my old university and many of whom I though were my closest friends didn't miss a beat. I guess I didn't leave enough of a gaping void in their lives. I'm not arrogant enough to think that there should be a grieving period for a loss Jon, but an IM every so now and then would be nice. Of the very many friends I had at G.U., only R. and N, and recently T., are left.
I want to say that this happenstance is a result of the very fucked up environment at GU. GU isn't a normal college by any means. It's very much a social experiment gone awry. I don't really think that it should rightfully be called a university. It's just a gated cage filled with people whose disabilities make them educational and social rejects. Those of us who weren't either would gather in our small bands and pointedly look out for the actions of the feebs*, who in their very feeb way would make life that much more amusing for us. Many of the actions and discourses witnessed would be the military equivalent of watching a monkey fucking a football. I'm aware that collective scorn isn't quite the bond that makes strong, lasting friendships, but when you're new to college and you have all of the college promises and stories crammed into your eighteen year old head, how are you to know different?
*I am quite aware that many of the problems associated with deaf individuals who have, for whatever reason, not acquired the language abilities nor the social abilities are quite complex and are not always the fault of the individual in question, and for that reason should not be made into reasons of derision, but I cant help it. Some of the shit we saw was just outlandishly funny.
It's funny, though. I was walking across the concrete bridge that separates the quad from the library and main student center, when I was suddenly struck by the revelation that I slightly miss GU. I may not have been happy there in many ways, but for some reason, the monkey cage was a bit of a home to me. I felt enamored with the city and the land. I don't feel the same about my current university or my current surroundings. My views of Hicktown are anything but positive and those who have hung around me long enough are eventually exposed to my vitriol. In short, it's a shitty little hicktown filled with shitty bars, and people with shitty opinions on how the world ought to be. D.C., for all its flaws, had enough areas that I could escape the overwhelming smell of bullshit flowing forth from Capitol Hill.
I really can't complain about the university. It's aight. But, at the same time, it doesn't elicit any feeling in me. I'm not a particularly proud Redbird. The sound and the texture of the word "Redbird" doesn't evoke any feeling in me. It's almost as if I were walking around going Rock Chalk Jayhawk. They may be words, and they may mean something in context, but to me they are simply empty and quickly disappear into the air as if I were exhaling smoke. So, I graduate in the spring and I'm ambivalent. Um, yay, ISU? I'm not attached to the quad. I'm not attached to my apartment. I'm not attached to the grounds. I'm not attached to the classrooms, the buildings, or the soul of the University. I could be walking through a mall, for all I care, and if I get my diploma before I walk out the door; so much the better.
Yet, there's a strange hollowness in me, like I'm going to miss something or that something is passing me by. I'm not sure exactly what it is, but on occasions when I'm walking home from whatever, I dwell on it. And, I think about how much I have to drink to forget that I feel hollow inside.
Isn't that a fucking downer?
-----------
I should cheer things up a bit. Below is an excerpt of a conversation I had with R. last night. A former professor of ours passed away yesterday. I'll write about him some time. He was quite a person. R. and another mutual friend, who I haven’t talked to in years, decided to mourn by splitting a bottle of the professor's favorite drink, Glenlivet. Well, that shit goes to the heart and mind. So:
Concrete Hipster: You vacillate and are now sobering up
R: im'a not sober
R: i odn't do vasectomies noeither
Concrete Hipster: Man. I miss getting drunk with you
Concrete Hipster: Why aren't you bullshitting with J?
R: Rsx in't good enough?
R: J gotwork at 5 am
Concrete Hipster: Puss.
R: i wanna rsx
R: noce bike
R: wako spanks his ham
Concrete Hipster: There will be no ham spanking
R: hoe don'st spank shi salty pasty no seasoned ham?
R: waspy
R: oink thesy say. teh pigs wanna coors
R: give porky coors
R: or he'll ealt yu all
Concrete Hipster: Why coors?
R: i odn't question hambo
R: hambo wants coors. he spent al ongh hard day killing north vietnames echikens with arrows and knives and now stallone wannam ake a movie about it
R: andhis contraks say must hove coors
Concrete Hipster: That's it. I'm saving this conversation
R: noooo stealing my pickup lines
Concrete Hipster: You would first have to have game
R: i have game
R: but uyou ate it
Now, when I'm walking, I'm thinking. This is why I often bring music with me for the walk to class. This is also why if I'm not listening to music, I am apt to miss things that I shouldn't have missed. Brothers have walked right next to me, waiting for some sign of recognition. It won't come. When I am lost in my thoughts, I don't see anything but the thoughts themselves. Luckily for me, my feet don't need much in the way of thinking to get me where I'm going. After awhile, I move in instinct and my brain churns out ways to ruin a perfectly good final celebration. Really, thinking too hard at times is quite deadly. I probably shouldn't forget my music from now on. Nothing says brain-dead like pop songs.
But, the semester is over and I have one more semester left in my undergraduate colligate career. I'm really not sure what to make of that. So, I've been in college for three-and-a-half years. So the fuck what? What has transpired in the last four years? I'm told that college is supposed to be the most hedonistic time of your life. All the sitcoms show college to be one giant party. Classes are secondary. Fucking and drinking and booze and road trips come first. I'm pretty sure that I've been doing that all along, and some of my stories are quite legendary, I think, but I'm not exactly sure that I've lived college the way I should have lived college, and I'm not sure that I really want to leave the hedonistic lifestyle that I so enjoy.
Eventually, you know, we all have to give up hedonism and get something that resembles responsibility. I'm going to get responsibility, but I'm also going to drink hard, party hard, and fuck whomever I want. I know of a few people in the Phoenix area who might be willing to join me as I trudge through the desert, beer bottle in one hand and pants in the other. I suppose those are the true friends, you know, the ones who are willing to coax you down from some godforsaken lamp-pole while you swing about wildly while muttering something about how phallic symbols are oppressing the masculinity of Coors-guzzling porky pigs.
Having given my description of true friends, I am forced to pause and wonder how many I have made in college. Sure, I've hundreds of acquaintances, and I do love my fraternity brothers in a very platonic, drinking-buddy way, but I don't expect any of them to constantly keep in touch when I have fled the Midwest. For many of them, friendship is only manifest when I, or they for that matter, are present in person. I remember my disappointment when I left my old university and many of whom I though were my closest friends didn't miss a beat. I guess I didn't leave enough of a gaping void in their lives. I'm not arrogant enough to think that there should be a grieving period for a loss Jon, but an IM every so now and then would be nice. Of the very many friends I had at G.U., only R. and N, and recently T., are left.
I want to say that this happenstance is a result of the very fucked up environment at GU. GU isn't a normal college by any means. It's very much a social experiment gone awry. I don't really think that it should rightfully be called a university. It's just a gated cage filled with people whose disabilities make them educational and social rejects. Those of us who weren't either would gather in our small bands and pointedly look out for the actions of the feebs*, who in their very feeb way would make life that much more amusing for us. Many of the actions and discourses witnessed would be the military equivalent of watching a monkey fucking a football. I'm aware that collective scorn isn't quite the bond that makes strong, lasting friendships, but when you're new to college and you have all of the college promises and stories crammed into your eighteen year old head, how are you to know different?
*I am quite aware that many of the problems associated with deaf individuals who have, for whatever reason, not acquired the language abilities nor the social abilities are quite complex and are not always the fault of the individual in question, and for that reason should not be made into reasons of derision, but I cant help it. Some of the shit we saw was just outlandishly funny.
It's funny, though. I was walking across the concrete bridge that separates the quad from the library and main student center, when I was suddenly struck by the revelation that I slightly miss GU. I may not have been happy there in many ways, but for some reason, the monkey cage was a bit of a home to me. I felt enamored with the city and the land. I don't feel the same about my current university or my current surroundings. My views of Hicktown are anything but positive and those who have hung around me long enough are eventually exposed to my vitriol. In short, it's a shitty little hicktown filled with shitty bars, and people with shitty opinions on how the world ought to be. D.C., for all its flaws, had enough areas that I could escape the overwhelming smell of bullshit flowing forth from Capitol Hill.
I really can't complain about the university. It's aight. But, at the same time, it doesn't elicit any feeling in me. I'm not a particularly proud Redbird. The sound and the texture of the word "Redbird" doesn't evoke any feeling in me. It's almost as if I were walking around going Rock Chalk Jayhawk. They may be words, and they may mean something in context, but to me they are simply empty and quickly disappear into the air as if I were exhaling smoke. So, I graduate in the spring and I'm ambivalent. Um, yay, ISU? I'm not attached to the quad. I'm not attached to my apartment. I'm not attached to the grounds. I'm not attached to the classrooms, the buildings, or the soul of the University. I could be walking through a mall, for all I care, and if I get my diploma before I walk out the door; so much the better.
Yet, there's a strange hollowness in me, like I'm going to miss something or that something is passing me by. I'm not sure exactly what it is, but on occasions when I'm walking home from whatever, I dwell on it. And, I think about how much I have to drink to forget that I feel hollow inside.
Isn't that a fucking downer?
-----------
I should cheer things up a bit. Below is an excerpt of a conversation I had with R. last night. A former professor of ours passed away yesterday. I'll write about him some time. He was quite a person. R. and another mutual friend, who I haven’t talked to in years, decided to mourn by splitting a bottle of the professor's favorite drink, Glenlivet. Well, that shit goes to the heart and mind. So:
Concrete Hipster: You vacillate and are now sobering up
R: im'a not sober
R: i odn't do vasectomies noeither
Concrete Hipster: Man. I miss getting drunk with you
Concrete Hipster: Why aren't you bullshitting with J?
R: Rsx in't good enough?
R: J gotwork at 5 am
Concrete Hipster: Puss.
R: i wanna rsx
R: noce bike
R: wako spanks his ham
Concrete Hipster: There will be no ham spanking
R: hoe don'st spank shi salty pasty no seasoned ham?
R: waspy
R: oink thesy say. teh pigs wanna coors
R: give porky coors
R: or he'll ealt yu all
Concrete Hipster: Why coors?
R: i odn't question hambo
R: hambo wants coors. he spent al ongh hard day killing north vietnames echikens with arrows and knives and now stallone wannam ake a movie about it
R: andhis contraks say must hove coors
Concrete Hipster: That's it. I'm saving this conversation
R: noooo stealing my pickup lines
Concrete Hipster: You would first have to have game
R: i have game
R: but uyou ate it
posted by Jon at 2:25 PM
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