"Top Five"

One of my favorite books is Nick Hornby's High Fidelity (it's also a mighty fine John Cusack movie and a great soundtrack featuring Bob Dylan). I saw the movie three or four years ago for the first time and absolutely loved it, and I finally tracked down the novel this past year. I think I've read it four or five times in less than a year.

The main character, Rob, poses an interesting question--am I messed up because I listen to pop music, or do I listen to pop music because I'm messed up? Think of all the pop songs out there. Literally thousands of them are about heartache, lost love, and emotional pain. Why is that? Part of it, I think, is that musicians and artistic types are usually more attuned to emotions than the rest of society in general. They turn themselves into receivers for the whole gamut of human experience, from great joy to great sorrow to everything in between. Artists (of whatever sort) are supposed to express those feelings and ideas the rest of society harbors but cannot figure out how to express.

But so many artists seem to be focused on, obsessed with the darker side of human emotion. With the pain, the heartache, the end of love and life. Why is that? Is it because they're so hyper-sensitive to emotions, that they have to swing to an extreme themselves? Or are too many musicians just cynics and pessimists? Look at the lyrics of, say, Nirvana. Kurt Cobain tapped into a deep primal well of emotion, angst, and pain, and channeled it through very energized music (whatever else you may think of Nirvana, you have to admit that Cobain and Co. were very ernest about their music and tackled it with energy, power, and a healthy dose of emotion). But was he simply expressing himself, and thousands of kids suddenly went, "wow, that's exactly how I feel," or did he notice that the majority of teens and post-teens were very angsty, unhappy individuals? It's back to Hornby's question--do we listen to pop music because we're depressed, or are we depressed because we listen to pop music? Did folks listen to Nirvana because they were angsty, or were they angsty because they listened to Nirvana?

It's really hard to tell, and something of a "chicken or the egg" sort of dilemma. Besides, it's impossible to make some sort of blanket statement about everyone--no two people listen to the same song in the same way or for the same reason. For example: when I listen to a song, I mostly listen to lyrics. I'm a lyrics fiend, and that's why I can't stand most contemporary music (the lyrics are so blah and trite that it makes you ill). The actual music is secondary; don't get me wrong, I need a good tune to go along with the lyrics, but I can forgive a subpar tune if the lyrics are exceptional.

Clif, on the other hand, listens to the guitar. That's pretty much it, though I've convinced him to give lyrics a listen on occasion. One of his favorite musicians is Van Morrison. Van was actually Clif's motivation for learning the guitar (one too many listens to "Brown Eyed Girl" got him going, really). Summer of 2002, when Clif and I were in Yellowstone, he got me hooked on Van. I loved Morrison's work for the lyrics; they were deep, insightful, and poignant, and delivered with a sincerity not often encountered nowadays. As I became a fan, I started discussing Van's music with Clif. He knew of my obsession with lyrics, and asked me, "is Van a good lyricist? I've never really listened to the words." He owned more than a half dozen Van Morrison CDs at the time. The words just weren't important to him.

So we all listen to music in different ways. I think the way I listen to songs, with my focus on lyrics, probably colors the way I relate to the music. It makes me more susceptable to the emotional heights. There are tunes and songs that can move me regardless of the lyrics (a couple of the Cowboy Bebop tunes are like that, and some songs are just played so poignantly that it's hard not to be moved, regardless of what the words are or even if there are any), but I usually have to go for the words. And if the words are right, and delivered in the proper way, I'm lost in them. Completely. So I'm a bit of a mixed bag when it comes to Hornby's question--sometimes, I'm miserable because I listened to a particularly misery-inducing song, and sometimes I listen to sad songs because I'm already sad. All I know is that I love music, and I have no intentions of not listening anytime soon.

Now, if only a couple of bands (Moxy Fruvous, Glen Phillips, Wallflowers, Bob Dylan) would put out new albums, I'd be happy as the proverbial pig in mud, even if some of the songs induce emotional misery in me.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Bob Dylan, "Most of the Time"

"So Ya Thought Ya Might Like To Go To The Show?"

Another morning, and here I sit at work, restless. There are so many things I could be doing--working on research, finishing up that last little bit on Latin or on my grad school applications, or even looking at the evil 30 page business paper that came in last night. Instead, I'm sitting here, typing away at this thing as though it mattered, as though more than one or two people actually read it. Kinda silly, really.

I don't know why I have these bouts of self-doubt. I'm plagued with them every so often, for reasons I'll never fully understand. One moment, I'll be ambling along the path of life with no worries. The next, I'm sitting here pondering my own mortality, considering listening to the Cure, and asking myself, "What's the point, really, when you get down to it?" It's moments like those when I wish I was an alcoholic. If I was, the answers would be simple--I'd just drink. Okay, so that wouldn't answer any of the questions, but after enough alcohol, you don't really care about answers, you just care about whether or not the room will stop spinning.

But alas, I've never really been a big fan of drinking (and I'm too poor to make it much of a habit anyway, at least in the sort of quantity I'd need), so I have to deal with my brain trying to wrap itself around these damn questions. It all makes me wonder if maybe Socrates was wrong. Maybe the unexamined life is worth living, if only because you don't have the weight of self-examination crushing you. This must be how Atlas felt, only his burden seemed light in comparison sometimes.

Really it's all rather immaterial. I know I'm not going to change anything as fundamental about myself as my desire and willingness to examine my life and myself. For better or worse, I'm stuck as an examiner in perpetuity.

This probably all comes of listening to too much Pink Floyd. It'll be the death of me, I swear.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Pink Floyd, "Young Lust"

"We're Gonna Need A Bigger Boat"

I don't usually do two postings a day, but the past few minutes have been amusing, so I thought I'd share.

See, I'm the only one here at work right now. Everyone else has gone home for the day in the Writing Center. We'll get a couple more people to relieve me at 7:00, but from 4:00 until 7:00, I'm basically in charge of the place.

So when I first got in, there was a paper waiting for me to read. Business/English paper of some sort, I wasn't really sure. I'm a little tired today, and I didn't get a nap this afternoon, so most things are kinda blurry right now. Anyway, I looked at the paper and did my thing, then decided to lay my head down for a minute because I'm so damn tired. Well, I happened to snap back to full wakefulness right before a girl walked in with another paper to proofread (this one's a thirty page Business paper...I'm letting someone else do that one, I already looked at a 15 page Business paper earlier today, and I still haven't recovered). So I went back to full alertfulness to help her out, just as a huge group of prospective students walked into our center, led by one of my boss's supervisors. When I say "huge," I mean like twenty people. This room wasn't designed for twenty people to be milling around. It was barely designed for a half dozen to mill around.

Needless to say, it was a good thing the other student came in right before that, or I wouldn't have been awake when this tour group came by, and I'd probably be getting fired about now.

I'm wide awake now, and kinda bored. Wish I'd thought to bring some research along with me...though knowing me, I'd have fallen asleep doing research instead. Caffine just ain't doin' it anymore, folks, I need to start getting energy the natural way--sleeping.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Electric Light Orchestra, "Easy Money"

"Sometimes The Truth Just Ain't Enough, Or It's Too Much In Times Like This"

Am I content?

That's a very loaded question. What exactly do I mean by "content?" Do I mean I like who and what I am, where I am in life and employment, relationships, and things of that nature? Or simply happy with my lot in life? I don't really know, to tell you the truth. I think I'm happy with who I am, though maybe not how I am currently. And there are certainly some aspects of my life I'd like to change.

My weight, for instance. I have little to no self control (an issue that plays a very serious and upsetting part in many areas of my life), and tend to just eat food if it's in front of me. This would be fine if there were no food in front of me ever, but I have a habit of eating. A lot. And I still run everyday, but it feels like I'm fighting a losing battle. I know I've steadily gained weight since Clif left back in July, but I don't seem capable of turning my situation around by myself. I need an external disciplinarian, I guess. That's when I usually do best--when there's someone there to watch over and give me mean looks when I'm doing things I know I shouldn't (like going to IHOP at midnight, or eating a whole pizza for dinner). Both summers I worked for my father, and the summer I spent at Yellowstone, I consistantly lost weight because there was someone there to keep me in line (first dad, then Clif). I was a good 30 pounds lighter at the beginning of last school year than I am now, I think, and that upsets and distresses me. My goal is to lose a good ten or fifteen by Christmas, and another ten or fifteen by my birthday (I have to be realistic during the winter--it gets really freakin' cold, sometimes too cold to run everyday).

I think I'm content with who I am intellectually and emotionally. I've got a pretty good handle on my mind and soul I think, and they're both completely within my control. I've got a good grasp of this sharing deep personal and emotive information with others, if they're someone I feel I can trust, and I also think I can identify those whom I can trust pretty well. I can also pretty much out-debate anyone I come across, with a couple of notable exceptions (I have never beat Wendy or Amanda E. in a discussion: Wendy because she's just that much smarter than I, and Amanda because she's that much smarter and because I become extremely flustered and start to babble whenever I'm around her. I chalk it up to pheremones or her psychic powers). I can usually defeat people with either more knowledge or better debating skills, though I haven't tried it against someone who possesses both yet.

I'm getting content with my abilities. My comic style is finally getting to a point where I'm happy with the way the comics look, though Clyde says he doesn't care for the new style because it looks like I'm half-assing the comics (even though it actually takes longer to do the sketchy style. Go figure). I like where my writing skills are right now, in terms of poetry and songs, and fiction and non-fiction prose. I have found my style, my voice, and I can usually express things exactly as I want to in an almost effortless manner.

I don't know that I'm content with my location. Then again, I haven't been since I left Ozarks in May of 2002. I don't really like OU. I like a couple of the people here--Jess and Dom are wonderful and warm, Beth is always great fun to spend time with, and Ev challenges my mind in ways that school didn't for a long time. Anyone else I know here I don't get to see often enough to really have a strong connection. I hate the school, especially the administration and the crap they keep putting me and thousands of other students through. I like the classes I took and the professors I've had (with a single notable exception, but he hated me first) well enough, I guess. It's just...being here has always seemed like it would be temporary. I think in the back of my head, I always thought I'd stay at Ozarks forever. Part of that was a product of the time in which I entered Ozarks. I mean, I was eighteen. At eighteen, we all think we're going to live forever, that we're going to always be the same person and that everything will remain eternal and unchanging. Ironically, it's at that age and for the next few years that life changes the most, I think. I know I'm a very different person from the wide-eyed, introverted whelp who entered Clarksville, AR back in August of 1998. I'm a different person than the one who entered Norman over a year ago. And yet I'm still me, and there is continuity between what has gone before and what I am currently.

So, am I content? I guess it depends on your definition, and what you place your emphasis on. There are areas of my life in which I'm definitely content, and areas in which I'm not. But I think it's that way for everyone, really. I've yet to meet someone who was completely content with everything in their life. If I ever did, I don't know whether to trust them or wonder what sort of psyhcosomatic drugs they've been taking. I do hope someday to be content, I strive for it. And that's probably a good thing--if I got complacent with who and what I was, I would never try to improve myself, right? I'd stay the same perpetually, and you can't do that. You have to grow.

Now, if I could just start growing in the metaphysical sense as opposed to the physical, I'd be set.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Cake, "Rock & Roll Lifestyle"

"All That's Left Of Me Is My Celebrity"

Amidst all the Strum und Drang of last night, I forgot to mention a couple of positive things that occurred yesterday. First, I finally picked up some new running shoes, so maybe now my legs will stop trying to kill me every time I run. The other and more important thing was my friend Sarah Rosenberg called me out of the blue. Turns out I'd given her my phone number in a random email we'd exchanged several weeks ago that I'd honestly completely forgotten about it. So when she called me yesterday evening about half an hour before I headed off for work, I was pleasantly surprised to say the least. I shot the proverbial bull with her for a bit, then headed off to work. She is one person who really has her life together and figured out. Sarah's always been a rather focused person, knowing exactly what she wants and going for it with an intensity and drive that I find myself wishing I could emulate. Instead, I usually find myself listless and aimless, cast adrift with little direction and no wind in my sails, attempting to coast over still water.

I got a copy of the latest Barenaked Ladies album from James over the weekend, and I've been giving it a spin the past couple of days. My verdict is that it's quite good, which is nice because I needed a decent album after the other most recent CD I picked up, the Strokes' Room on Fire, which sucked like an industrial vaccum. I was left unimpressed by the Strokes, finding their musicianship rather basic and their lyrics trite and uninspired. Everything sort of chugs along at the same pace, with no attention paid to finding real hooks or melodies, but rather relying on playing fast and loud a la 70s punk, but without the energy or real swagger. If these guys are supposed to be the saviors of rock and roll, I don't think I want to be redeemed.

But as I said, the Barenaked Ladies' newest, Everything to Everyone, is quite good. Not their best--then again, it's hard to top the genius of their debut, Gordon, or of Stunt, or even the inspired live versions found on Rock Spectacle--but still a good, solid effort with some memorable tunes, lots of hooks and the great harmonies I've come to expect from the Ladies, and a healthy dose of their trademark humor with a measure of maturity. This is a band that is comfortable with the music it's making, and that shines through on each song. The members of the band are enjoying themselves, they're enjoying the music they make, and they've found their groove. Plus, "Another Postcard" is just damn fun, and it's not even the best song on the album. Any album where I can find at least three or four songs that I enjoy is a good album, in my opinion, and this album manages to dish out at least a half dozen tunes that I'm hooked on.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Barenaked Ladies, "Maybe Katie"

"I Want A Reason For The Way Things Have To Be"

I picked the title for this particular rant earlier today, while listening to the Train song "Calling All Angels." The words appealed to me on a very intellectual level--I find myself always searching for the "Why." That's the reason I never understood math--all the math teachers I ever had only told me how. They would tell me that to get the answer, I had to apply this formula, and I would get what I needed. They never told me why that particular formula was the one I used, or why it was right, they simply told me that was the formula you used in that instance. I always hated that; as a result, I never bothered with math, and my meager abilities in the subject even today atest to that fact.

But somewhere in the past hour or so, the meaning of those words morphed into something much more emotional and deep, much darker. I still want to know why things happen, but now I have particular things in mind, and very particular people I'd like to ask "why" to, and I know I can't ask that person, because I'm not in a position where I can. I'm also not in a position to really speak plainly about the subject I'm dancing around, because it is not mine to disclose, and it is not yours to hear about. That I heard about it and now have to deal with the consequences is immaterial, really.

Mostly, I want to know why people are cruel. What drives mankind to do the stupid, senseless, and above all selfish things we do on a daily basis to one another? When did we get it in our heads that it was okay to destroy the reality of another person? Or that we could make unilateral decisions that do not only affect us? When did each individual on the whole damn planet decide that they were the only person that really mattered, and everyone else was incidental?

I remember a passage I read in a Terry Pratchett book a while back. The book is called Carpe Jugulum, and it's about vampires. But there's this marvelous subplot running through it about a young priest of the Omnian Church (a wonderful pun on Catholicism, as "omnia" means "whole," and Catholic, of course, means "universal") who goes through a crisis of faith. At one point, he gets into an argument with Granny Weatherwax, the Discworld's greatest witch, currently possibly a vampire herself, and very much an atheist. Oh, she knows gods exist, and has even met a few of them, but she doesn't believe in them. Believing in gods just gives them ideas above their station. Granny insists that all sin, at the most basic level, starts with treating people as things. Once you do that, you'll do anything, because you stop seeing people as people, and start seeing them as objects. When you treat someone as an object, you'll see no reason why killing someone is wrong, or robbing them, or taking away those they care about. You'll have no qualms about starting wars, destroying communities, eliminating ways of life, and abusing the sensibilities and bodies of those around you. It all starts with treating someone as something.

And when you think of a person as an object rather than a human being, you stop understanding that the things you can do can hurt them. You lose the ability to empathize with them, to see things from their perspective. You start thinking that whatever you do is fine, because you're the only person whose opinions in the matter are important. And therein lies the greatest sin a human can commit against another human--thinking that only you matter. And that's why I'm mad as hell right now, and that's why I really want to seriously hurt a certain person right now, even though I know it would only make the situation worse, and would only exacerbate the problem. To the person whom I'm writing this for: you know who you are, if you happen to be reading this (which I doubt), and you have my deepest sympathies, and I'm here if you need me. Always.

~chuck

Song of the Moment: Cream, "Badge"

"Born Before The Wind"

Well, the weekend at Ozarks was a wonderful vacation from reality. No obligations, no required activities, no deadlines, no heavy reading (except for when I was playing Sphinx and the Cursed Mummy on X-Box, oddly enough--the game, while exceptionally well-done and very entertaining, had no voice acting, but only text. LOTS of text). Watched several movies, including Matrix: Huge Plotholes (aka Revolutions), Matrix: Reloaded (after having watched Revolutions. Neither one made any sense because of this), and Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back (featuring the world's best Marka Hamill and Carrie Fisher cameos ever). Got to see several very close friends whom I had not seen in much too long. Basically spent the weekend in the presence of people whom I love and adore, and didn't really have too much to worry or think about. Life is good.

Now I am back in Norman, sitting at work. I spend a lot of time sitting at work. While sitting here, I'm contemplating an idea my father half-jokingly planted in my head this afternoon while we were washing the car.

I think I'm going to apply to Cambridge.

Yeah, that's Cambridge University in Cambridge, England. Yes, it's one of the most prestigious schools in the English-speaking world. Yes, I have about as much of a chance of getting accepted as I do of getting a date in the next five minutes. But by God, what's the point of living if you don't take risks and chances, right? And who knows--I might just get accepted, and how kick ass would THAT be?

In other news, my old car, the Sunfire, was sold today to Jessica Bowie. I'm given to understand that selling vehicles and the like to friends is a double-edged sword of a deal--on the one hand, you can give them a good deal, you know it's going to a good home, and you know it'll be taken care of. On the other hand, if something goes wrong with it, they know who to blame.

I was thinking that I'll really miss that car, then I remembered that I'll still see it all the time, like an ex-girlfriend whom you have classes with. Only chances are, I'll still be able to ride in the Sunfire. Won't be driving it anymore, and that's a shame because I always enjoyed driving that car, but so it goes.

On a completely unrelated note, I got one of those AOL-type CDs in the mail over the weekend. Y'know, the ones for the free trial? Well, the activation code for this one is "summer-monkey." I found that amusing in ways I cannot even begin to describe. And, apropos of nothing, I can't decide whether to get the Glen Phillips "Live at Largo" album (which comes out Tuesday) or Jars of Clay's latest offering, which came out a couple of weeks ago apparently. Perhaps both? No, not enough cash for both. Probably go for the Glen Phillips and ask for the other one for Christmas. What does this have to do with anything? Absolutely nothing, but I'm just rambling and filling up space for now. Booya.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Barenaked Ladies, "Another Postcard"

"They Call Him Mr. Jellyroll"

Well, in just a few short hours, I'll be heading out to Clarksville, wind in my hair, sun in my face, the...er...crap, it's soggy and rainy and cold and nasty today. Then again, whenever I make plans to go on a trip (either to home or to Ozarks), it always decides to rain. It's getting to where that's the only sort of weather I know how to drive on the interstate in.

...I'm disturbed. I was just given a hand treatment, which isn't nearly as dirty as it sounds. Apparently it involves using several different creams on your hand to exfoliate and cleanse and make your skin silky smooth. I feel emasculated now, and I'm never letting my boss talk me in to that sort of thing again. My hands feel weird and much too soft. I think I may have exfoliated a callous or two, and that depresses me. If my drawing callous is gone, there will be hell to pay.

My boss, while directing the Writing Center, also sells Mary Kay. Which is all well and good--y'know, women apparently feel they need make up and creams and cremes and God knows what, and someone out there has to know how it all works and what all you need. But do I really need to be dragged into it? I don't think so. I'm emasculated enough anyway, what with being wrapped around the little finger of virtually every attractive woman I know (and most of the women I know are attractive, so you can imagine how interesting that is). I really don't need hand treatments and the like.

In other news, leading researchers have discovered that lots and lots of caffine will be necessary for Chuck to stay awake long enough to drive to Clarksville. Barring that, he just needs to sit there and recount the shame of having a hand treatment this morning, and the burning shame will keep me awake and wishing I wasn't.

Okay, I really don't have anything much to say. Go read Crooked Halo, where I'm making pretty boy archangels join boy bands today. It'll be even more fun Monday, when another character from the strip ends up in the band, too.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Aerosmith, "Ten Inch Record"

"And I'm Callin' Time And Temperature Just For Some Company"

In Chuck's growing List of Idiots, we've got a new entry. The story comes courtesy of my mom, and just proves how bloody moronic and naive high school students are. Well, some high school students, anyway. I don't recall being this dense when I was in high school, but that might just be a trick of memory.

Anyway, so these kids are sitting in a freshman English class, drinking something out of a Sonic cup. The "something" turns out to be rum and coke. When the students go to the classroom door to confer with a buddy of theirs who happened to drop by, the teacher (not my mother, I should note) noticed something was up. She calls out to the kids, they bolt. She chases them down, catches them, and drags them to the principal's office.

So these kids are sitting in the principal's office, and one of them keeps maintaining that he only had "one drink." In the middle of making this protest, his eyes sorta bug out, he makes a run for the garbage can, and he doesn't make it. Puddle o' vomit. Yeah, the kid may've only had one drink, but only if by one drink you mean "one cupful of the drink." Baka.

Mom and I are rolling because of this whole incident, but it also bothers me on a basic level. Maybe I just wasn't privy to it when I was in high school, but I'm pretty sure most of the students who were there when I attended high school knew better than to drink in the classroom. I mean, outside of the classroom, I make no mistakes that at least a couple of them had to be doing something stupid and illegal, but while actually sitting in class? What made these children think they could get away with that? Or that it was okay? Do kids today just have no sense of right and wrong? Or do they just think that perhaps the rules don't apply to them? Maybe it's a thrill thing--"heh, lookit me, I'm drinkin' in the classroom, hur hur hur." Where'd they even get ahold of rum, anyway? Mom and Dad apparently need to learn how to lock the ol' liquor cabinet.

I mean, I really drank until I got into college. Oh, I'd had a sip of dad's beer once or twice, and maybe a bit of champagne on New Year's, but I'd never really had a drink. And even when I was an undergraduate, I only got tipsy once, and that was under my parents' roof while they were home (admittedly, they were on the other side of the house and sound asleep, but they knew Wendy and I were drinking), and I had the good sense not to do anything stupid. I wasn't drinking during the course of the school day, and I sure as hell wasn't drinking during class. Do they just make kids stupider than they did when I was younger? My friend Ev maintains that the generation following me--the Millennials, I believe he calls them--are apathetic like the flannel-clad Gen-Xers, but cast adrift like the Baby Boomers, and ultimately don't give a damn about anything except the moment. While that's nice and Buddhist of them, living in the moment and all, they seem to forget about anything that doesn't directly apply to them. Ev says they have no understanding of vertical chronology--that is, the distant past is just as foreign to them as three years ago, and the future is just as foreign as that. Not only is the past a foreign country to these kids, but they can't even conceive of wanting to visit it or that anything really exists in that country. It's all rather depressing for a history major, someone trained to think vertically. All these kids are aware of is horizontal chronology--what is happening here and now, perhaps across a broad territory, but probably not. The fact is, they don't care unless it's directly related to them, and they probably still don't care very much then. It's bloody depressing, really.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Old '97s, "Big Brown Eyes"

"Last Train To Clarksville"

So it's official: I'm finally taking a trip to Ozarks this weekend. Needless to say, I am very happy about that. I haven't seen any of the Ozarks crew since July. July, people. It's been like 3 1/2, 4 months. That's too long, especially since I didn't get to see everyone on that trip.

Anyway, the very prospect of the Ozarks trip excites me, and I can hardly wait until Friday. But, alas, I have to--there is much to be done between now and then. It does mean I have to start thinking about what CDs I'm going to take. This is a more important task than you can imagine, for the CDs I pack are my only form of entertainment for a good eight hours while I'm on the road. I usually use a case that holds 24, so that gives me a decent variety to choose from. It's just a matter of determining my mood. Do I want to listen to contemporary stuff? Or am I in a strictly classic rock mood? Perhaps a mixture of both? Do I want to listen to polished, carefully and exactingly produced music, or am I in the mood for something with more rough edges? What about lyrical and musical themes? Am I in the mood for slow, sad stuff, or uptempo, energetic stuff?

What'll end up happening is a mixture of all of the above, with a liberal dose of complete randomness thrown in. So far, I've come up with the following obvious choices:

The Beatles, "Hard Day's Night"
Yoko Kanno & the Seatbelts, "Cowboy Bebop" Mix
Van Morrison, "What's Wrong with this Picture?" (or maybe "Moondance," can't decide)
The Wallflowers, "The Wallflowers"
Bob Dylan, "Live 1966"
Gorillaz, "Gorillaz"
Counting Crows, "Hard Candy"
Toad the Wet Sprocket, "Coil"
George Harrison, "All Things Must Pass"
Dire Straits, "Sultans of Swing: The Best of Dire Straits"
Mark Knopfler, "Ragpicker's Dream"

There will be many others, I assure you, but those are the ones I've determined so far.

Anyway, I'm really looking forward to the weekend. I'll get to see some friends, take my mind off the hook for a couple of days, and just sit back and groove. And probably get fed. If nothing else, a stop will be made at the infamous Dodge's, and Pizza Stix will be had. Mmm, Pizza Stix. I don't know who came up with those artery-clogging darlings, but they are the epitome of mankind's culinary arts. I mean, c'mon--a flakey pastry shell containing meat, cheese, and all of it deep-fried to a golden brown perfection. It's the perfect food, the solid equivalent of ambrosia. I've been going through withdrawals since July, and I think it's why I've had the shakes the past few days...though that could be related to sticking my finger in the light socket as well, but I have my doubts.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Yoko Kanno & the Seatbelts, "Call Me, Call Me"

"I Don't Do Sketches From Memory"

So yesterday was a day for the comics. First, I had a comic featured over at Stripper's Corner (which sounds dirtier than it actually is). Then I had a comic featured in the Oklahoma Daily, and someone actually sent me an email in regards to said comic (and the email contained words of praise, no less!). Also, the girl I submit comics to at the paper sent me an email about some College Cartoonist Award thing I'm going to try for. So there was a lot of comical love goin' down for the ol' Chuck yesterday.

And now I have another comic in the newspaper again today. I actually rule that paper now, they just don't realize it yet. I keep wondering if the other "cartoonists" (having seen their work, I use that term loosely) are going to just quit. I wish they would; it would mean I didn't have to share my space with hacks.

That's all sounding a lot more conceited than I originally planned, but the fact of the matter is, the rest of the people who do comics here just...aren't really that good. Either their art is crappy (one guy in particular has a style that's way too jagged and has too many corners, while another has characters who always look like this even when they haven't beaten their heads against a filing cabinet) or the comic's just aren't funny, or they're so specific to a certain time, place, and group, that only about five people are even going to chuckle at the damn thing. Then again, I've been trying to draw comics since I was in high school, and I also have existing characters with clearly-defined personalities to work with already. I'm just sort of advantaged in the comiking, I guess.

Anyway, these are all just small steps in my plan to take over the world with humor. The next step is to convince people to pay me to draw funny pictures. Once that's going, then all will be well. Or something.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: The Wallflowers, "Into the Mystic"

"What Planet Is This?"

Well, I'm starting to finally get in a better mood, though I'm still not entirely sure why I was so depressed/moody all of last week. Perhaps it was the change in the weather, or the fact that I was only able to run like twice (legs were killing me, and weather was not permitting), or maybe just a bunch of crap happened right at the beginning of the week that colored the rest of the week in shades of gray, black, and other murky neutral tones.

Anyway, in the finest tradition of my rants, I'm gonna make fun of stupid people, because they're so damn plentiful and make it too damn easy.

The first person I want to attack/berate/make fun of is this guy who writes for the school paper. I won't mention his name, because it's not really pertinent, but suffice to say he's got high ideas of himself and a low opinion of anyone who disagrees with him. He's also an English major, so I think that might have something to do with his basic pompous nature.

Well, on Friday last, this guy wrote an article for the paper advocating paying the student athletes for all the hard work they do. Because the full scholarships, room and board, and special perks (like having someone like me available to proofread their papers for them) aren't enough. Because having their books provided, laptops loaned to them by the school, and receiving a free education isn't enough compensation. No, since this guy maintains that student athletes have to work twice as hard as regular students to maintain decent grades, and since he believes most student athletes think they'll go on to play professionally (even though [1] he admits that only about 1% of them will and [2] most of them don't actually think that, except for a lot of the football players), we ought to give them monetary compensation. Basically, he wants to pay them for having delusions of grandeur.

If the school's gonna do that, I want them to start paying me because I think I might be able to become a syndicated cartoonist someday, or at least be able to live off my comic (and hey, if I can convince them to pay me, I will be able to, just as the student athletes would be professional ones if they were paid. That's sorta how "professional" is defined: you get paid to do it). The idea is actually rather perverse, I thought, and I was offended down to my very soul by the idea.

Hell, here's an idea--why don't we get rid of all the student athletes and just hire professional athletes? We wouldn't have to give them room and board, or provide them with the academic center, or pretend we're interested in educating them like we do the student athletes (because I'm fairly certain most of the coaches and administration at this school are only paying lip service to the idea of "they're here for education." They're really here to bring the university lots of money). It's the perfect set up; all it lacks is common sense and a healthy dose of reality.

That was rather therapeutic.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Yoko Kanno & the Seatbelts, "Space Lion"

"What's Up Sweetcakes"

Do you ever wonder why people sometimes feel melancholy? Why sometimes we're depressed for no reason? Why does the weather affect our moods? If it's sunny outside, we tend to smile more, or if it's dreary and gray, we feel blah and under the weather (no pun intended...I don't think). There's something about late fall and into winter that makes you want to stay in bed all day, not move, not face the outside world. It makes me not want to jog, or leave the apartment until at least my birthday. By the same token, nasty weather (such as rain or snow) always makes me want to move. When I'm restricted to the apartment because of the precipitation, it makes me want to defy that, to go out and go somewhere. I always want to take a road trip when the weather's at its worst, because logic and common sense dictate that I ought to bunker down and wait for everything to blow over.

I was flipping through my photo album this afternoon, looking at the pictures of my friends from these recent years. Looking at all the smiles, all the good times, the moments captured in 3" x 5". It's funny, but most of the pictures are from the last few weeks of school my senior year and graduation, both mine and the one from 2003 (when several of my friends graduated). There aren't many pictures from the four years I actually spent at the school, just from the last few moments I was there. I think that's a part of human nature--while we're in the middle of something, we don't ever think of it ending. In a way, I thought I'd always be with that group of people at Ozarks, that nothing would ever change, that we'd always be there. When it dawned on me that this wasn't going to be the case (I tried to deny it up until about two or three weeks before graduating), I attempted to hurriedly collect evidence that I'd been there for four years, tangible memories and memorabilia to commemorate my time at that place with those people.

I graduate from OU in about seven months. In the almost year and a half that I've been here so far, I've made some rather close friends, people whom I don't want to let go of. And I have nothing tangible to show that I've known them so far, no physical evidence that they've been a part of my life except the occasional faint smile I wear on my face when thinking about them. I need to find my camera. I need to correct this inequity.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Yoko Kanno & the Seatbelts, "Ask DNA"

Friends And Family, Kitch And Kin

On a whim, I decided to go visit my maternal grandparents yesterday afternoon. I knew Scott, my youngest sibling, was going to be there as well; in fact, we'd discussed me visiting over the phone late Thursday night, and decided it'd be a pleasant surprise for my grandmother, who's been feeling low the past few weeks.

Anyway, to make a long story short, our little plan was a success. Scott told Grandma that there was a surprise coming for her. When she opened the door and saw me, her face lit up in a genuine smile, and that alone made the whole trip worth it. On top of that, I got to sit and chat with my grandparents for the afternoon, got a free meal out of the deal, and it occupied most of my otherwise empty Friday.

The trip, though short, was thus probably one of the more worthwhile trips I've taken since I went to Ozarks for Chris and JP's going away party back at the end of July. Come to think of it, that was actually the last trip I made to Ozarks. That's something I plan on rectifying next weekend, though. I need to make another trip to 'Zarks before Thanksgiving, because after Thanksgiving will just be too hectic.

Beyond that, there's not much to say here. I wrote another song while jogging last night. I guess I'll leave you with it. It's rather tongue in cheek, but fun nonetheless. And kinda country-ish, oddly enough. But I still like it. Enjoy the first verse and the chorus.

"Gospel Truth"
Got a posterboard picture of Jesus in my pocket
Got the words of the Holy Father on my lips
Got two blind eyes in my sockets
I'm devout, forgiven, and oh-so hip
Gonna rock and roll all night to the Gospel station
Gonna pray real hard for my salvation
And I know when I take my eternal rest
I'm gonna to the place that's the best.

Amen, brothers and sisters, amen.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Ben Folds, "Rockin' the Suburbs"

"Last Night I Danced With A Stranger"

I find myself listening to a lot of Bob Dylan of late. By "of late" I mean "the past few years." Ever since I saw him in concert back in August of 2001, I've been somewhat obsessed, to be honest.

Dylan is an acquired taste, to be certain. I know lots of folks can't stand his stuff, either because of his voice, his cryptic lyrics, or his penchant for songs that have ten or eleven verses and no bridge. But I'm fascinated by his work, whether it's his early solo acoustic folk, or the electrified folk rock of 1965-66, the biblical parablism of the late '60s, the emotive acoustic full band of the '70s, or the world-weary, full-circle Americana of the '90s and '00s. I try to forget that the '80s existed, mostly because most of his stuff that decade was subpar (except for a few isolated tunes and his work with the Traveling Wilburys).

Anyway, one of my favorite albums is the latter-day masterpiece Time Out of Mind. It's a very heavy, emotive album, and Dylan sounds weary, exhausted, and defeated throughout most of it. Its an album populated with drifters, lovesick men and women, old men sitting in diners smoking cheap cigars and wondering when the hell the world they fought so hard for became this one. The whole CD is great, but the song I've been stuck on the past few days is "Standing in the Doorway."

"Standing in the Doorway" is Dylan at his most emotive. Say what you will for his raspy, throaty vocals, he lends a tone and effect in this song that tugs at the heartstrings. The music is slow, mournful, a dirge of a waltz to a love who walked away. Over the course of seven minutes and five verses, Dylan sketches the image of a man worn out, exhausted by the effort of surviving the day to day grind. On top of all that, the narrator has lost his woman, and has "nothin' to go back to now." He is haunted by this woman, tormented by her memory. It colors his world in a very dark and very murky way. I think the line that really does it for me is when he sings, "Last night I danced with a stranger, but she just reminded me you were the one." His voice quavering, cracking, rasping, the sheer emotional intensity of the phrases...Dylan's voice may be shot, but one starts to think that's possibly the best thing that could have happened. He is no longer the social crusader of the early '60s, nor the cryptic poet laureate of the new music revolution of the mid '60s. He's not the troubadour of the '70s, or the religious convert of the '80s. He is a weary, lonesome man, one who has dragged his body down the road for too long, seen the revolution fail, seen the world he fought hard against come into being anyway, and has yet survived. That's exactly what Dylan and his characters are--survivors of the counter-revolution, those who saw everything fall apart, and yet still find a reason to go on. Whether that's wisdom or stupidity is yet to be seen.

Somewhere out there on the road is a man, perpetually traveling, never arriving. The eternal drifter, the man who knows only the journey, walks the same road for his whole existence, seeing nothing else and never finding a resting place to call "home." Dylan has tapped into that primal traveler, exposed his core and soul and channeled it through music. And we're lucky enough to hear it.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Bob Dylan, "Standing in the Doorway"

"Lyrics Jam #1"

Random lyrics I'm making up off the top of my head...enjoy.

Everything's fine, we're all alright, we'll survive
We're probably all just in denial
Can't accept the truth of our reality
We don't cry 'cause we can't stop the smile
The whisper of an endless dream
An echo of a thought
Striving for things we don't understand
Trying to be what we're not
Swallow your empty, meaningless words
Swallow foolish pride and vanity
Face the facts of your inevitable demise
And look towards the coming calamity
My mind is stretched broader than the horizon
It can accomodate all of existence
Wave a magic wand at my life
Erase the pain and resistance.

That ought to be enough of that for one day.

I find myself worn out lately, like I've been stretched too thin across too many fronts. Maybe I should take my lesson from the Germans and not fight wars on two fronts, metaphorically speaking. I feel almost transparent, as though someone could look through me and see out the other side if I weren't wearing clothes (don't worry, I don't plan on running around naked anytime soon...not as cold as it suddenly is). I'm trying to do too much, I guess, but that's where it's odd--I'm not really getting anything accomplished, it seems. Quite the predicament, really.

I guess you could classify this as some sort of psychological cry for help. I tend to think of it more as a cry for alcohol and a good night's rest.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Electric Light Orchestra, "Easy Money"

"You've Got A Lot Of Nerve"

I feel like a fake sometimes. Like I have to continue smiling and joking while things fall apart. Like I have to fiddle while Rome burns. "Outside the dawn is waking, my makeup may be flaking but my smile still stays on," as Freddie Mercury croons. I'm stressed by a dozen little things at once, but I feel almost obligated to continue laughing and cracking jokes and being the clown of the world, sans stupid wig and custard pie. But why? Who gave me this job, this role? No one but myself, though now I feel as though it's expected of me. It's like once people accepted me in the role of humorist and fool, they couldn't accept me in any other role. I got typecast by reality. Admittedly, it's a role I feel very natural in, and I enjoy making people laugh. But it also kinda limits me. Whenever I feel down or upset, it's almost like I can't express that, because it doesn't meet everyone's expectations.

So I force the humor, even when I don't feel like being funny. I do it for the benefit of others mostly, but I guess it's also for my own benefit. I've always used humor and laughter as a defense mechanism, and years of being picked on in elementary and junior high school helped me form a wit and sense of humor that's quick and occasionally very barbed. Admittedly, I didn't express most of my thoughts or comments when I was in those formative years; rather, they remained unspoken. But in those years, I developed the sense of humor I have now--a little sarcastic, a little wry, a little odd. When I got into high school and actually started speaking up, it surprised many of my old schoolmates. Which I enjoyed--taking them on in a battle of wits became enjoyable, because most of them entered the contest unarmed in comparison.

In a way, the humorist part of me is self-created, self-imposed. I want to be the funny one, the guy everyone thinks is humorous and entertaining and a proverbial hoot to talk to. I want to have energy and wit and exuberance. But I don't want to be so two-dimensional, so flat. There are other aspects of my personality. And hell, sometimes I just feel depressed and shouldn't have to keep making with the funny, right? Admittedly, I don't want to be depressed as often as I was (for ridiculous reasons, it seems in hindsight) as an undergraduate. But I don't think I can maintain some sort of manic energy and always be upbeat and funny. It just doesn't work that way.

There was a reason for this rant, a very good reason, and now it all seems pointless.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Bob Dylan, "Positively 4th Street"

"Idiot Wind"

Today's rant is going to be a hodge-podge of the idiots I've had to deal with lately, because I think we'll all find it amusing and because if I don't blow off some steam, I may kill someone. The overwhelming idocy I seem to have to deal with on almost a daily basis startles me, especially since it doesn't all come from student-athletes.

The first idiot was here in the Writing Center, about two or three weeks ago, and was a student-athlete. I think I might have mentioned him--a tour came through, and this moron kept telling said tour that we wrote papers for him. As a result of his stupidity, we are limited in what we can and cannot do to a student's paper. One of the big things I'd do is help with word choice. Students, whether athletes or not, often use the wrong word. Either they don't have the vocabulary for what they're trying to say, or they just misuse a word. Whatever, it happens, even to me. So I'd suggest other words. Or I'd rework a sentence so it flowed better. Well, no more. Now all I can do is circle where the mistake is and tell there's a mistake. I can't offer suggestions on how to fix it. Stupid.

The next group of idiots were encountered this past Saturday during the OU/OSU game. I went for my jog during the third quarter, and as I was walking back, I saw a group of OU students (well, college-age guys wearing OU shirts) heckling a ten year old wearing OSU stuff. A ten year old. Am I alone in thinking that if they have to pick on a ten year old to win an argument, they really have no business being in college? Mind you, OSU fans were no better--as I continued walking, I came even with an older couple in orange. As we all walked past a house near the stadium, someone started up a call and answer "OSU" "Sucks." Well, this set the old guy off, and he starts complaining loudly about how asinine OU fans are. Which they are, but OSU fans are not innocent themselves. I mean, come on, people, it's a freakin' game you're getting worked up over here. How or why is this so damn important?

I sometimes wonder if all these morons are placed in my path simply to test my patience. Or maybe it's just indicative of football and its fans (the student-athlete who caused trouble a few weeks ago was a football player). This state's morbid fascination with all things college football is ridiculous and probably some sort of social disease. I keep wondering if it's airborne and whether or not I should wear a mask when I come to work.

In non-football-related stupidity, I think folks need to learn how to use their damn turn signals. Lemme explain--the little switch thing on the left side of your steering column? Yeah, that's the turn signal. If you push it up, the right turn signal flashes. Push it down, the left turn signal flashes. These are designed to be used before you turn. Not in the middle of the turn. Not after you've started the turn. Before. In case you're curious, it's to warn other people on the road what it is you're doing so they don't run into you. I swear, if I come across one more dipshit who doesn't know how to use these things, I'm going to go librarian poo.

Tune in next time, when I'll discuss merging onto the interstate and why that doesn't mean "driving 35 MPH" or "coming to a complete stop when no one's coming."

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, "In the Dark of the Sun"

"Some Are Dead And Some Are Living"

I heard from a third party last night that an acquaintance of mine, Linda Carcamo, died on Friday. I'm not sure of the details or specifics, other than she apparently drowned, but the news still comes as a shock.

Linda was a year older than me to the day. We always joked about having the same birthday. She was in my graduating class at Ozarks, and she was a bright student. I know she was from Central or South America, but I'm ashamed to admit I don't remember what country exactly.

But that was immaterial. She was a warm, caring individual who never got mad or angry. I never heard her say anything mean or negative to anyone in the four years I knew her. I'm quite sad to say I never got to know her as well as I should have, but you don't really think about that sort of thing when you're college-age, do you? I mean, at eighteen, nineteen, you're pretty certain that you'll live forever, regardless of the evidence. But that's not the case; we're mortal, we're temporary. It just makes me feel almost sick to know that good people like Linda die for stupid, stupid reasons, and evil, cruel people go on living long, comfortable lives. Where's the cosmic, karmic justice? I guess Billy Joel was right when he said "only the good die young," but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with.

To those who knew Linda, my heart is with you. Though I only knew her briefly, and never as well as I wanted, she touched my life in a very positive, reaffirming way, and she will be greatly missed. Others will be able to describe her life more eloquently than I, and in greater detail, but I hope that my words can be of comfort to someone, even if it's only to me.

~chuck

Song of the Moment: The Beatles, "In My Life"

"On Certain Sundays In November"

I find it hard to believe it's already November. Thanksgiving is only a few weeks away. Christmas and the New Year are just around the corner. My final semester here at OU is only two and half months away from beginning. It's hard to imagine I've already been here almost a year and a half.

Each day marks the longest I've remained in one place since I started college. Oh, sure, I kept the same dorm room for three years at Ozarks. Even had the same roommate(s), Chris and JP. But we always had to move out for Christmas (though we could leave our stuff there) and completely in the Summer, stuff and all, only to haul it all back up three flights of stairs in August again (and that was always hell, let me tell you). When I started attending OU, I lived at home because I hadn't had time to look for an apartment in Norman. I'd been in Yellowstone all summer and only found out I was attending OU my last day in the park; when would I have had time to apartment hunt? But the last week of September, I found the apartment at Parkview. They let me move in, and I started living there full time the first week of October. I'm still there, having lived in the same place through the summer for once. That's a little odd to me, but comforting, too. It's nice having a single place to always come back to, someplace a bit more permanent than a dormroom.

Don't get me wrong--after three years, that room in McLean Hall was starting to feel like home. We always had the same room, I always had the same bedroom in our room (it was a little modified suite--a common room and two little bedrooms). There was continuity there. We'd hang up the same posters again, though each year there were new additions (I still remember when Chris got the Army of Darkness movie poster. That was one of my favorites). When I left Ozarks, it felt like I was leaving home. Especially since the home I was returning to never did feel like a real home. See, my parents moved over Christmas my Junior year at Ozarks, and the house we moved in to lacked a bedroom for yours truly. I sleep in the study when I go back to Shawnee. It's called my room, but there's always a part of me that feels it's not home anymore. Instead, it's where my parents live. Not to mention the fact that the longest I've actually stayed there since we moved has been about a month. The summer between Junior and Senior year was spent on the road with my dad every week, so I was only home for the weekends. The next summer was spent at Yellowstone, and we left only a week after school got out. So the longest I ever stayed at home was when I came back from Yellowstone and lived there for part of August and September.

So I guess I'm developing an attachment to my apartment, despite its rather ghetto-esque appearance and general feel. The toilet doesn't work well, there's no central air, the heater sounds arthritic, the floors are ancient linoleum that I can't keep clean unless I'm willing to sweep and mop every other day (which I'm not), and I can hear the train every time it goes by or the football game whenever we're having one. Despite all these things, the place kinda feels like home. It fits around me like a second, clunky skin of mortar and concrete and aging building materials. It's not the prettiest or most comfortable place in the world, but it's a place to call my own, a space for me, and I'm content with that.

All of which means I really do not want to move come May. But I'll kinda have to, or in late July/early August at the latest. Why? Because it's on to the next school. May seems like the most likely time to move because that's when my lease ends, and I don't want to have to sign a new one just to stay there a couple of months. But at the same time, I have nowhere to store all the stuff I've accumulated there, no place to put it at home. I'm a bit torn as to what to do, to be honest. But I guess that'll all be taken care of as it comes up. No point trying to burn bridges I haven't crossed yet. No, that sort of behavior is only suitable for bridges that've been crossed, because that means then I can't go backwards.

~chaos cricket

Song of the Moment: Rhett Miller, "This is what I do"