Three influxes of rambunctious relatives have left me reeling. I feel like that guy who gets flattened by the giant snowball in the Capital One No Hassle Card ads.
Though Christmas dinner went swimmingly. We feasted upon mutton, turkey, green bean casserole and homemade mashed taters chased with copious quantities of wine. In all we plowed through a box of white and two jugs of red.
Enter the traditional foozball tournament. You know that lackadaisical brand played by Joey and Chandler on the 20th century relic Friends? Well, this isn't that. We play a fast and furious, highly competitive brand. My nephews prevailed over the formidable pairing of my son and I for the first time.
Next came the gift exchange by a crackling log fire. I gave my siblings sweatshirts emblazoned with their respective college logos. Which got me to reflecting on my own desultory collegiate stint. A little background: I barely graduated high school with an anemic 1.0 GPA. This, coupled with having aced the SATs, limited my options drastically. Low motivation, don't you know. So I enrolled in a junior college with lax admissions standards. And by lax I mean: Do you reside somewhere other than death row? Two years later I transferred to a bona fide university teeming with 20,000 students. It seemed my college career was poised to take off, albeit belatedly. Alas, it never did. It fizzled like Madonna's film career.
Granted, I did okay academically. I soon learned that missed lectures could be made up @ one's leisure via videotape. Just as I learned that research data could be doctored to support any outlandish hypotheses one might dream up while high. And yes there were the occasional romantic flings of that I've-got-a-swetheart-back-home-but-you'll-do-in-a-pinch variety. No lasting friendships were forged. Frat parties were attended, but always I felt the outsider. I'm convinced those two years exiled in the boondocks doomed my social life. Freshman were thrown together in dorms, where alliances were formed. Thus a newcomer didn't stand a chance.
Fundraisers have been hounding me ever since. They might as well have saved their breath as I maintain few fond memories of college and thus I'd sooner contribute to Hamas.
On a less morose note, I've assembled my wish list for 2003. 1) No further saber-rattling about this Iraq business. If we're going to square off with Saddam again, then get on with it already. 2) Loudmouth Jesse Jackson is branded an enemy combatant. 3) Everybody Loves Raymond and The Osbornes lose their inexplicable grip on ratings. What with all the familial strife most folks cope with, why do we need more on TV? 4) Hotty Catherine Zeta Jones fails to shed those excess pounds from her second pregnancy. Michael Douglas dumps her. She takes up with his ailing dad. 5) The chronic shortage of suitable transplant organs is solved by the advent of human cloning. No longer will celebs like David Crosby and Mickey Mantle waltz off with the best replacement livers. 6) Songwriters resolve to craft uplifting love songs instead of the brooding likes of Counting Crows' A Long December or Creed/Pearl Jam's One. ("I feel angry, I feel helpless. I want to change the world yeah.")
Yeah, right. I'm more inclined to side with Cracker and their kiss-off chorus to Get Off This: "If you want to change the world, shut your mouth and start to spin it."
Your college career sounds eerily familiar to mine, except I started "on time." As far as supporting outlandish theories with doctored data; my professors (most anyway) were busy doing that, ignoring the context of six-hundred-year old works and imposing their bullshit, post-modern, revisionist ideas instead. I'm sure Christopher Marlowe is sorry for his exclusion of female protagonists.
I was the King of high school and the *serf* of college. It really is an eye-opener to discover you're not special.
Anna's "wish list" was good, too.
by douchenation at December 28, 2002 5:24 PM
Yes, the sooner you learn the infinity of impermanence, and feel comfortable with your own expendability, the stronger you'll be. So what you're saying ANNA, is that if you sucked it up as a teen and in your 20's, sucked it up as in(played the mainstream roles, however tedious and amoral they may be: forcing yourself to 'live' for frat parties, to 'root' and 'paint' your body during the 'ol Homecoming game, etc.), just for a span of 10 yrs, shut off all of your idealistic motives, and just be a pawn, a straightjacket for the machine, well, then, then it's possible that you could have gone to Harvard, and then perhaps became a journalist for CNN or something of that nature? I don't know. Something about not having the full package, or choosing not to have the full package, because that means sacrificing things dear to you, and being content as an Unsung Hero. I love foozball, and would love to wager money against any team you put together against me. I play front line, and got a super goalie, who can score at will with the goalie when I set him up.
by at December 28, 2002 5:57 PM
Obviously the above post was his, forgot to leave his name. sorry
by LOCKHEED at December 28, 2002 6:04 PM
Douchenation and Lockheed:The foozball could be arranged but I must warn you that my son has rarely been scored upon. As for the rest of it, I think you're both on target. But the funny thing is, I am most satisfied with the way things turned out for me later on. In fact, I've been blessed every step of the way since, including the opportunity to voice my opinions here. Karma, maybe. Happy New Year.
by Anna at December 28, 2002 7:00 PM
So they said I would score, so they wrote that I would score, So it shall be done. tis written. I am Foozball Incarnate. Now, to add to Anna's wishlist 2003 C.E. Christian Calendar/linear time/earth/milkywaygalaxy: I wish for peace. Yep, it's trite, but if we keep wishing for peace every linear year, it's a simple matter of Attrition, and the Warpigs will simply vanish to p
by Lockheed at December 28, 2002 7:41 PM
334am est: Upperwestside, Manna-hatta
Cheers to ANNA for keeping the BadSam lifeline flowing in these spatial rifts of cultural hogwash. Her posts are like a comforting friend who doesn't withdraw when the ladyfriend calls. The mother who's love is unconditional. The Posts that make the Cold Indifference of Sentient Existence...Warm. I thank you. If I make it to the waterside, I will write you...
If Nature is sweet to me, I shall find sleep before the blunt white dawn creeps in through my curtains, and the noise of this concrete jungle, the horror, embrace the irritation, the loneliness, don't run, understand its heart.
by LOCKHEED at December 29, 2002 3:43 AM
I dunno about all that but out of boredom I did test my link to the classic Cracker number where they tell some a-hole to call their accountant to find out whether or not they've sold their soul. If you want to be similarly uplifted, check out the top five songs/artists that accompany it. Ugh.
by Anna at December 29, 2002 8:04 AM