pics from anniversary weekend with panda bear

knives out

Midterm week is over and I survived – well, mostly. I bombed my PSYC 201 midterm; the score is too vulgar to display here. But that's OK. I'll easily redeem myself on the final, and I'm confident that I will ace the two written assignments. I anticipate ending the class with an A. My poor psych midterm performance can be blamed on the A&P 102 midterm, which was the obvious priority going into this crucial week. Obvious because finishing with an A in A&P 102 is an absolute must. To do this, my calculations require an 85% on the midterm and final; a 90% on exam three; a 100% on the six remaining discussion boards; and 90% on the five remaining lab quizzes. On Friday I pegged an 85% on the midterm, so goal accomplished on that end. Regarding my third class, ENGL 211, no worries there.

On Saturday Panda Bear and I saw Paranormal Activity. Going into the theater I held some high expectations for the film, thanks largely to the incessant hype churning through Twitter. The film provided a good scare (actually, quite of few); however, I was hugely disappointed that the film failed to meet my expectations, and, looking back, I'm not sure if any film could have satisfied such rabid anticipation. I'll keep the film's secrets away from this space, but I will say that, as I watched the flick, it was difficult to avoid unconsciously comparing it to The Blair Witch Project. Aside from the classic Blair Witch, here are five frightful flicks for October: Halloween; Halloween III: Season of the Witch (Season's
synth-tastic soundtrack is a personal fav as well); Poltergeist; Requiem for a Dream; and Jacob's Ladder.

Although I don't want to spend any unnecessary time or energy on "the roommate situation," I've got to get a few things off my chest. First, relations certainly haven't improved; in fact, they have deteriorated further. And that's OK, because I realized some weeks ago that any semblance of a friendship evaporated months prior. When a man realizes that the relationship with his girlfriend is progressing into something more serious, he changes, he matures. He realizes that living in a shit bachelor pad is neither cool nor attractive – especially when he is over 30 years of age. I don't expect my roommate to ever realize these things because his disgusting habits and inconsiderate behavior will prevent him from establishing a relationship with any respectable woman. And the sad thing is I don't think he realizes that his actions are objectionable. Or maybe he does and simply doesn't care. Honestly, I don't know where his head is. He is 34, 35 years old with no discernible goals, and while I utterly despise living with him now, I realize that when we part he will no longer be a figure of loathsomeness, but a figure of pity.

xx

friday’s blurb

I awoke this morning to discover that President Barack Obama had won the Nobel Peace Prize. The news shocked many, including his ardent supporters like myself. I believe this disbelief has arisen because the Right has contaminated this country's political atmosphere so badly that even the President's supporters have forgotten that the Commander In Chief is a source of admiration – and hope – the world over. Indeed, President Obama's vision has been obfuscated by the dreadfully slow machine that is Washington, D.C., but his signature is the sole source from which broad national and international change can come.

xx

is al qaeda hiring?

Lyrics for Toby Keith's "American Ride"

Winter gettin' colder, summer gettin' warmer
Tidal wave comin' 'cross the Mexican border
Why buy a gallon, when it's cheaper by the barrel
Just don't be busted singin' Christmas carols

That's us, That's right
Gotta love this American ride
Both ends of the ozone burnin'
Funny how the world keeps turnin'
Look ma, no hands
I love this American ride
Gotta love this American ride

Momma gets her rocks off watchin' Desperate Housewives
Daddy works his ass off payin' for the good life
Kids on the YouTube learnin' how to be cool
Livin' in a cruel world, pays to be a mean girl

That's us, That's right
Gotta love this American ride.
Both ends of the ozone burnin'
Funny how the world keeps turnin'
Look ma, no hands
I love this American ride
Gotta love this American ride

Poor little infamous America's town
She gained five pounds and lost her crown
Quick fix plastic surgical antidote
Got herself a record deal, can't even sing a note

Plasma gettin' bigger, Jesus gettin' smaller
Spill a cup of coffee, make a million dollars
Cousins caught a buzz with an aerosol can
If the shoe don't fit, the fit's gonna hit the shan

That's us, That's right
Gotta love this American ride
Both ends of the ozone burnin'
Funny how the world keeps turnin'
Hot dog, Hot damn
I love this American ride
Gotta love this American ride

short: death

Eleven days after I asked my psychiatrist about the dead animals I found myself staring at my mother, silent in her casket. Those eleven days prior, Dr Furrow asked me if I had had any personal encounters with death, such as losing a close friend or relative. No, I told her, I've never lost a relative or good friend to death. Dr Furrow proceeded to tell me that adults who lived a youth free of death usually develop a strange curiosity about death, which is why my highway eyes seem glued to road kill.

Gazing at her frozen face I chewed my lips until they bled, and as I heard all those stories and saw all those sad people and accepted the realization that my mother was gone forever, I realized I was no longer curious about death. I still catch myself staring at mangled road kill, however.

xx

a perfect song

Granted, Richard Ashcroft basically ripped off the instrumental version of The Rolling Stones' "The Last Time," but The Verve's "Bittersweet Symphony" is one of the great rock/pop songs of all time. And this performance from Glastonbury Festival 2008 is pure magic.

see the leaves

I just caught wind of "See the Leaves" from the upcoming double album Embryonic by The Flaming Lips. The song is very good, which is definitely a good thing because I was disappointed with 2006's At War with the Mystics. "See the Leaves" is vintage Lips -- eerily affecting, bombastic psychedelia.

admonished by a box of dayquil

I found this strangely-worded sentence on the box of DayQuil Cold and Flu medication that I purchased earlier today.

persuasion

I have a mercurial personality. As soon as I meet someone new or hang with friends I immediately make unconscious comprises with my personality. Like the chameleon I adapt to my surroundings. My mannerisms change; my vocabulary – even my speaking style – changes; the topics I mention for conversation differ; I'll even fabricate lies about myself. The shifts in personality are not subtle; they are vast and contrasting. For example, upon noticing my school textbooks, some coworkers have asked what it is I'm studying. Fearing that word will spread and I will be mocked by some of my male-chauvinist associates, I lie and tell them radiology. (I'm most naked and true to myself when I'm around my girlfriend, which is why I love her so much, but I do find myself occasionally hiding thoughts and desires from her.)

Have I developed this personality because of my private nature? Or is it a fear of rejection? Perhaps I never developed a strong sense of self, which is why I've struggled to belong to, or identify with, a group or scene. I was mocked and ridiculed early in my elementary school years because I wore generic jeans with elastic waists (OK, they weren't real jeans), I had big feet and wore Etonic shoes over those feet. I also constantly made the honor roll. During those years I had no desire to belong to a group. I was perfectly content with wearing dorky clothes and getting good grades. But not caring about those things came with a price, and I eventually focused more on integrating myself and less on school work.

Of course, I never fit in. Still don't. But the mechanisms of my mercurial personality won't be persuaded from trying.

xx

little

… I've little confidence in practically anything I say or do. I'm confident in my thoughts, however, because I am the sole inhabitant of my head space, and being the lone occupant I don't have to obscure my shortcomings from the presence of others. People have expressed to me that they enjoy some of my writings, and they enjoy hearing\reading my thoughts and opinions. When exposed to the light of company, however, it becomes painfully clear that my thoughts, ideas, opinions are shit and completely unoriginal. A true thinker or intellectual can substantiate his or her ideologies with a backdrop of history and its recorders. I wish I could casually inject into my writings and conversations splices of storied thought, or openly discuss the writings and philosophies of Sartre, Nietzsche, Camus, Kierkegaard and Dostoyevsky, but I can't. At best I possess a passing knowledge of these men and their works. I've read Nausea and The Stranger. I own Notes from Underground but yet to crack its spine. My knowledge is akin to the man who reads headlines and claims to know every crevice, every detail of current events. He's full of shit. The dunce is king when he reigns over the ignorant.

I've never been good enough. And when I tried I always fell short.

xx

three things

Yesterday was a bad day, and today, while not as bad, was coated with a self-imposed melancholy. Sitting behind a steering wheel for twelve hours a day gives the mind plenty of time to ponder life's mysteries – and examine the self. I perform the latter with an unflinching eye; I dissect the thinnest strands of my personality until I have reduced myself to a low, loathsome, disgusting human being. Once I have obliterated the psychological, I turn to the physical – and I am a horrifying freak. When a stranger and I make eye contact I look for her to flinch in horror, the type of recoil that occurs when the eyes have identified something so repulsive an intrinsic reflex is touched, grabbed and shaken.

When I fall into these downward spirals I wonder if the experience affords me the opportunity to see life as it actually is. For example, yesterday I reached the conclusion/delusion that I'm simply waiting for a catalyst for suicide – all I need is that window of tragedy to open, jump, and goodbye. Perhaps a family member unexpectedly dies, or maybe I'm involved in some tragic accident. A catalyst is all I need.

Earlier tonight I had to pick up a few things at the grocery store. As I scanned the aisles I happened upon an older man, in his late 40s, balding and slightly overweight. In his grocery cart were two items: a large canister of Foldgers instant coffee and a box of Little Debbie Zebra Cakes. The man looked exasperated and I felt an immense sadness for him. And for us. Seeing no wedding band on his hand I assumed he was single, and I pictured him at home alone watching the Wheel of Fortune, slowly and softly removing a Zebra Cake from its transparent plastic wrapper and savoring each bite. On the television Pat Sajak tells a contestant that no vowels remain, and this man, Zebra Cake man, is cradled by a worn recliner and wonders how things got to be like this. Yes, I felt great heartache for him, for us, all of us. Because Zebra Cake man personified the sad, lonely existence so many of us will not only encounter, but crawl inside of and never escape.

xx

hi

The blog has grown stagnant as of late, which can mean only one thing: I've little free time. I'm about to begin my third week of classes for the semester. Fortunately, my work schedule allows me four free days for course work. My weekly hours are crammed into three days – Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Thus far my work schedule has allowed me ample time for completing my class work. English 211 (Technical Writing), Psychology 201 (Lifespan Development) and Anatomy & Physiology 102 comprise my nine credit hours this semester. English 211 shouldn't pose much of a challenge aside from the tedious work, and Psych 201 won't present any foreign concepts; finishing with a C minimum in these two classes won't be difficult (of course, I'll be aiming far above the minimum). A&P 102, as with A&P 101, pretty much requires me to land an A. I'll be biting my nails over this class during the following 13 weeks.

As for music, I'm still in the midst of a Phish frenzy, which means among indie-music snobs I've lost any shred of credibility. I've been feeding off their live shows from their '96-'97 funk period. In between tasty jams I find myself enamored with the Cameo EP from Zaza, Elegi's dark ambient Sistereis and the delectable debut from The xx, xx. xx stopped me cold when I heard it the first time – very impressive indeed.

xx

all i want for xmas

The term "collector's item" does not suffice:

eBay - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea LP signed by Jeff Mangum

lem?

Is that you, Lem? Where have you been? Comment or e-mail me at TheSkyIsATelevisionSignal@gmail.com.

various

• Fall semester begins tomorrow. I wish I could have written more over the last few weeks but inspiration was lacking. Over these many years I have learned one thing: creative writing requires a spark. Staring at a blank screen and begging the writing gods for their mystical push accomplishes nothing but wasted time.
  
• Last week I reached the following conclusion: XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
  
• James Cameron's Avatar looks spectacular.
  
• Last week I watched the HBO documentary White Light, Black Rain: The Destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Has any single country committed more atrocities than the United States of America?
  
• I'm looking forward to next weekend's trip with Panda Bear. Leaving everything for a few days is always refreshing.
  

xx

EDIT: Panda Bear convinced me that point two was a little too harsh, hence its removal.