So, after a long and well fought season my intermural softball team (Team Big Balls) was finally defeated. Though we suffered a few minor setbacks early on in the season (we lost our first game 25-5) it was largely due to a lack of a pitching staff - so I stepped in to fill the void. Under my expert leadership we soundly defeated our next opponent, rocketing us into a strong position in the playoffs (we won by forfit - the team they had us scrimmage beat us 9-5). Sadly, our destiny was cut short by I bunch of whiny jerk offs who complained about everything. Its one thing to talk trash in kind of a joking way when its a real close game...its just fucking rude to talk trash when you're winning soundly. Not only to talk trash, but to complain at every pitch - if only our umpire had been willing to cheat 'cause you could tell he hated the bastards too. The worst one was their pitcher, who must have been like 38. I wanted to say something too him, but then I just thought...he'll be dead in a few years anyway. And then I laughed. Sucker.
I think we lost because of the team name. I mean, if we're going to go with the funny then we should have gone with something slightly clever like Big Tits, or Large Genitalia, y'know, something clever. Ah well, we'll be back in the spring.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Still Writing
Well I just finished a paper break for class that was THREE FUCKING HOURS LONG...I'm finally out of the ed school and I still have to suffer through its bullshit. Not only was it 3 hours, it was 3 hours of Geography. Yes. Geography. We're reading a book that says that the reason Europe had an idustrial revolution when everyone else didn't was because Europe primarily had migrations along a latitudinal line rather than longitudinal. Of course there is some basic truth to that, but I thought historians got rid of all that easy answer crap when we kicked out progressivism and marxism. I guess the Geographers are even farther behind than historians.
Anyway, still working on a paper that is now only a catchy title (The Make-Up of Man) a fun footnote making fun of catchy titles in history papers, and something of an introduction in which I forgot to introduce my argument but only gave a page of exceptionally written background. Shit. Well, I'll be at this for another several hours, so for those of you regularly checking...haha...there'll probably be several more posts throughout the night and into the wee hours of the morning.
Peace Crackahs
Anyway, still working on a paper that is now only a catchy title (The Make-Up of Man) a fun footnote making fun of catchy titles in history papers, and something of an introduction in which I forgot to introduce my argument but only gave a page of exceptionally written background. Shit. Well, I'll be at this for another several hours, so for those of you regularly checking...haha...there'll probably be several more posts throughout the night and into the wee hours of the morning.
Peace Crackahs
Writing a Paper
There is nothing more frightening than a blank page. Someone write the first paragraph for me.
Big AND Perky
If I ever go anywhere for any length of time, I always find a favorite spot. When I lived in Gloucester I had many, but the dock jutting out into one of the brackish York River tributaries was probably my favorite. Call me a dork but certain places are just good for thinking. Here at UVA, my first was against the big tree on the Lawn. Its a great tree - one of those that seem they were made purposely for leaning against. The problem is that the Lawn is just too damn public. Those of you who know me know that I hate people - especially people that I don't know, and I really hate it when they intrude into my thoughts.
So I moved. I found a great spot, behind a certain building that I'll never reveal because I've never seen anyone else back there and I don't want to start. That is, I never saw anyone else back there until just the other day. As an only somewhat reformed goody good whenever I sneak around the corner of the building I feel just a twinge of guilt and excitment - as if I were doing something wrong. Its as if I'm always expecting some maintainence man to come around the corner, having seen me through the windows, and order me to clear off. Of course this is nonsense, there's absolutely nothing even remotely wrong with me being there, but nontheless. Public Grade School, bravo, now I can't ever sneak off the beaten path without feeling guilty. Of course this does make routine shortcuts seem all the more exciting.
The space behind the building is small, as it is situated in front of a road but up a fairly steep hill, which is more like a grassy mesa with a scrub covered cliff. The trees and the height itself work well to neatly block you from view of the road, though not really from the noise sadly.
Anyway, so I was sitting back there, leaning against another tree, one not quite so big, but just as comfortable, when, as if to confirm my worst fears, a maintainence man appears. Only he didn't come from around the corner - that is, from the building, but rather he emerged like some kind of wood sprite out of the shrubbery. My immediate reaction was to freeze, but years of trespassing with friends (despite the fear that this provoked) had trained my reflexes. In just a moments time I was waving and smiling, pretending that I had every right to be there and that he should just assume so and move on. He waved and smiled back and then walked around the building and away. As I started to sigh with relief and relax, I realized that he had been waving and smiling just the same way that I had been.
My natural fear at getting caught had kept me from asking the obvious question: What the fuck had he been doing there? How had he managed to come up the hill in the first place? And why?
Maybe he has a better spot down the hill a little ways...or maybe he thought he'd found a short cut so he could hurriedly get to his maintainence man business...or maybe he was running from the law and lept up the hill to avoid pursuit. Or maybe, just maybe, he was a changeling masquerading in maintainence man form, off to perform some bit of mischief with the President's Wife.
I think it was the latter, cause I swear I saw a smile on her face the other day, and I know for damn sure Casteen didn't put it there.
So I moved. I found a great spot, behind a certain building that I'll never reveal because I've never seen anyone else back there and I don't want to start. That is, I never saw anyone else back there until just the other day. As an only somewhat reformed goody good whenever I sneak around the corner of the building I feel just a twinge of guilt and excitment - as if I were doing something wrong. Its as if I'm always expecting some maintainence man to come around the corner, having seen me through the windows, and order me to clear off. Of course this is nonsense, there's absolutely nothing even remotely wrong with me being there, but nontheless. Public Grade School, bravo, now I can't ever sneak off the beaten path without feeling guilty. Of course this does make routine shortcuts seem all the more exciting.
The space behind the building is small, as it is situated in front of a road but up a fairly steep hill, which is more like a grassy mesa with a scrub covered cliff. The trees and the height itself work well to neatly block you from view of the road, though not really from the noise sadly.
Anyway, so I was sitting back there, leaning against another tree, one not quite so big, but just as comfortable, when, as if to confirm my worst fears, a maintainence man appears. Only he didn't come from around the corner - that is, from the building, but rather he emerged like some kind of wood sprite out of the shrubbery. My immediate reaction was to freeze, but years of trespassing with friends (despite the fear that this provoked) had trained my reflexes. In just a moments time I was waving and smiling, pretending that I had every right to be there and that he should just assume so and move on. He waved and smiled back and then walked around the building and away. As I started to sigh with relief and relax, I realized that he had been waving and smiling just the same way that I had been.
My natural fear at getting caught had kept me from asking the obvious question: What the fuck had he been doing there? How had he managed to come up the hill in the first place? And why?
Maybe he has a better spot down the hill a little ways...or maybe he thought he'd found a short cut so he could hurriedly get to his maintainence man business...or maybe he was running from the law and lept up the hill to avoid pursuit. Or maybe, just maybe, he was a changeling masquerading in maintainence man form, off to perform some bit of mischief with the President's Wife.
I think it was the latter, cause I swear I saw a smile on her face the other day, and I know for damn sure Casteen didn't put it there.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Blogging
God I hate trends. I mean I really hate trends. Trends like Blogging, whatever the hell that is. I also hate hypocrites. Unfortunately, I do really like the idea, however unrealistic it may be, that the general public reads and appreciates my pretentious self-referential drivel.
Of course I'm not following the trend here. I was the trend setting. I invented blogging, or at least I was in on the ground floor. Back then we just called them websites and you had to know how to write in html in order to make them, but they were essentially the same - just without all the flash. I started writing my own webpages when I was 12 (which was in...1996? - ok maybe not that ground floor then, but close enough).
Not that anyone, including myself, really cares: I just had to have one post so I could preview the page.
Of course I'm not following the trend here. I was the trend setting. I invented blogging, or at least I was in on the ground floor. Back then we just called them websites and you had to know how to write in html in order to make them, but they were essentially the same - just without all the flash. I started writing my own webpages when I was 12 (which was in...1996? - ok maybe not that ground floor then, but close enough).
Not that anyone, including myself, really cares: I just had to have one post so I could preview the page.
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