194 Days and Counting

Waiting for the Other Shoe to Fall

First day of Spring Semester starts tomorrow. I'm enrolled but only because I have yet to receive a letter from St. Mary's notifying me that because my GPA is below a 2.0 I have been "academically excluded" (guess this means I can still show up and do other stuff).

The reason that letter is pending is because my grades from last semester are still pending.

Yes, friends, this semester will begin before the grades from last semester are out.

I am waiting for two more grades. One of the grades--Constitutional Law--has been posted. It's not good. It's rhymes with B but it's not a B. It's two letter grades down from that.

I am also waiting for my financial aid to come through. I don't work, and so my student loan money is my only money. I need it to live and stuff.

Since it's likely that I won't be officially excluded academically until my loans are processed, I have no idea whether or not I'll be able to actually spend that money. I don't know whether I should buy books, or show up to class, or do homework...

I don't know anything about anything, and it fucking sucks.

Still, I've got my pride. And my blue steel 45. I'm just waiting for the other shoe to fall.

Meet the New Year, Same as the Old Year

I CANNOT believe I have not updated this blog since APRIL 2010. Can't say the title didn't warn you.

Today is the first day of the new year and, as always, I have resolved, resoluted, resolutioned, whatever to pursue a healthy lifestyle. I have been on hot pursuit of said lifestyle for nearly a decade now. Maybe this will be the year I finally reach it. There is one significant difference between 2011 and all prior years I have resolved to lose weight and quit eating like an eighth grader whose parents are going through a divorce--this year I turn 40.

Holy shit. Oh Em Gee. WTF. 40. Seems like just yesterday I was 39.

Anycrowsfeet, the year I turn 40 will be chronicled right here, on my very own lame blog. Like any good self-indulgent asshole who thinks too highly of themselves, I want to preserve and memorialize the experience so I can look back on how witty and under-appreciated I am. I had a similar idea regarding my first year of law school but as it looks as though I'm about to flunk out, it ended up being a good thing I flaked out on that plan. The only way to fail at turning 40 is to die, and if I'm dead I won't kick myself for abandoning my blog b/c, well, I'll be dead.

In the meantime, continue to peruse the internet at your leisure b/c before long this vast and open road cleverly referred to as the internet hwy will shut down. The exits that provide us with vital and constitutionally guaranteed information about the inner-workings of our government, along with those loops that allow us to see what's going on in the rest of the world without leaving our own zip code, will be closed altogether. While the rest of the exits that lead to the useless bullshit We The People salivate over learning (and then immediately unlearning) will be accessible for a premium.

Christ, maybe Prince was right. Remember when MTV played videos? Way back when being 16 and pregnant was something you didn't aspire to?

So let's ring in this New Year right and raise a glass to Uncle Sam: For he's the jolly good fellow, for he's the jolly good fellow, for he's the jolly good FELLLLLOOOOWW...which nobody can deny.

Which nobody can deny
Which nobody can deny

Elvis Has Left the Building

I hope, anyway.

I heard this ex-skinhead interviewed on NPR the other day about his book that's out right now, Autobiography of a Recovering Skinhead. My first thought was how it's such bullshit that assholes get to become former or recovering assholes and then write books about themselves in order for the rest of us to understand where they were coming from and forget about the fucked up shit they did and feel sorry for them. All to their financial benefit. I mean, I can't stand these drug counselor types that feel as though because they've "been through it" they're the only ones who can help people dealing with addiction now. I don't know why it bothers me so much. I believe they have worked hard to get to where they are, and that they've been through a lot of shit. I guess it's just the notion that they should be applauded for finally doing the right thing. It's like that old Chris Rock joke about single Dads: "Oh I PAY my child support! Yeah, that's what you're supposed to fucking do."
Anyway, I'm getting off on a tangent, suffice it to say I have no sympathy for this guy--not that he's asked for it.
My next thought was how much I fucking hate skinheads. As a teenager I gravitated to the whole punk/skate scene. Mostly I just had a thing for skateboarders, who weren't always super hardcore. Especially in the 80s. Just boys in torn up jeans wearing Vans with highlights in their hair. Still as harmless as that whole scene was it was connected via music and I guess just general rebelliousness and this idea of Anarchy that few 14--18 year olds even understand, to two groups that scared the shit out of my 15 year old self: hardcore punks and skinheads.
Hardcore punk rockers looked scary and intimidated the shit out of me, but I soon realized they were not a group to be afraid of. Skinheads, on the other hand, were always looking for trouble. Me and my friends would go downtown to see a show or god knows what (What the hell was I thinking at 15?) and we'd have to be on the lookout for skin-chicks. Or at least hook up with someone who was a friend to them so they'd leave us alone. Once I wasn't so lucky, and this dummy with her bangs and shaved head and lame tattoos pushed me from behind as I was walking down the street asking me "why I was talking shit?" My heart started pounding. I told her I didn't know who she was or what the fuck she was talking about. I look a lot tougher than I am. I mean, I'm the opposite of tough! But she wasn't sure so she took off.
Briefly, at 15, I dated this guy I met downtown named Charlie. He was 18 and I thought that was sofa king cool. Plus he was real hot. One night we went over to his place so he could show me his tools he used to tattoo. Turned out, he lived with a couple of skin-chicks! WTF? They just stared me down as I sat on his couch. Talk about a buzzkill!
I'll wrap up my skinheads suck rant now, but in closing I'd like to mention that despite the fact that my parents split up when I was four, and my mom turned to alcohol and in my teenage years we fought relentlessly--even physically sometimes. And despite the fact that I hung out in a scene with attachments to extremely negative elements, and despite the fact that I grew up in the South with grandparents who used the 'N' word and openly discussed their distaste for Mexicans, never for one second did I think that Nazism would be a good idea. Or that somehow, because my life at home sucked, I should align myself with people who sought to lay all the world's problems (including their own) in the laps of another: The Other. "Hey you! Check me out with my fucking combat boots, suspenders, shaved head and swastika tattoo! I'm gonna kick your ass!" "Huh? WTF? What for? WTF did I do?" "Uh, well, I'm angry because my childhood sucked and you look like somebody I could take. I mean, I fucking hate blacks and Jews but I'm not dumb enough to actually threaten one of them, so you'll do." "What? OMG. Dumbass."

Here's the link to the NPR interview that got this whole hardly coherent rant started: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=125514655

I'm actually thinking of reading the book. Who knows, I might learn something from the dude.

How Have You Never Seen ET?!

Earlier today while driving to Old Navy to look for some cheap jeans (didn't get any, their jeans suck), I was daydreaming in the car about how sometimes people (friends usually) will start telling you about such and such a movie, or celebrity, or band or whatever and if it's some sort of phenomenon that you haven't caught up to or are just plain not interested in and you say "Never heard of him," "Never seen it," or whatever, they don't believe you. Now I know in my youth peer pressure was an issue and I was hesitant to admit I wasn't familiar with something that every other cool 12 year old was familiar with. And then as I got older I was hesitant to admit that I had heard of something every 12 year old was familiar with.

Regardless-- if I had heard of ______, I would say so.

I never watched 90210, and no one ever believed me. I wasn't saying "What's that? I don't own a TV." I simply had no desire to ever watch that show. Meanwhile, I was devastated when Melrose Place was cancelled. See? I'm not trying to be cool.

The other side of that is there's a lot of cool, edgy, underground shit that I've heard of, but have no familiarity with. So when I say "Yeah, I know who GG Allin is," that's the extent of it. I've seen his picture on the internet. I heard he shits on stage. The End.

Same with Justin Bieber (except for the shitting on stage part, obviously).

I really don't know where I'm going with this except that for a moment in my car as I was thinking "Why lie about this shit?" it suddenly occurred to me that I know who both GG Allin and Justin Bieber are. That blew my mind. And it made me love the world I live in. And I wanted to share that with you all.

Turn and Face the Strain

With less than three weeks to go in the semester and a test next week, I've been wondering all day why I didn't just go for my masters in English. I could be reading fiction right now! Instead I'm knee deep in Fee Simples and Contingent Remainders Subject to Reverter, or something.
Before I started my first year of law school last September, I attended the "mandatory" (I skipped out at the lunch break) orientation session where one of the Deans explained that many of us who were used to being at the top of the class would soon find ourselves at the bottom. I thought two things: one, I've never been "used" to being at the top of any class. And two, but I definitely won't end up on the bottom! Famous. Last. Words.
Womp, womp.
I knew before this semester started that I had to get my shit together. I also knew the first year (or cut) is the hardest (or deepest) and so if I could just persevere it'd all be downhill soon. Those first two weeks I was gun-ho. Then reality set back in. I remembered how boring most of this shit is to read. I mean, fuck, I'm 38 years old. I've been in the workforce a long time. You know how you learn how to do something? You DO it. Nike's right.
Alas, this is the road I chose and fuck if I'm not going to bloody my feet up taking every last step to reach the end of it! Which reminds me, did I mention I got a pedicure today? I went with a bold blue. I'm a faker like that. "Hey, look at me with my short hair and bright blue toes and fingernails! I'm so much edgier and braver than you. I've got confidence you WISH you had. Now, outta my way so I can get back to my computer and watch last night's The Daily Show."

In my quest to motivate myself and turn this sinking ship that is my apathy and laziness around I found an inspiring quote and wrote it on my chalkboard wall: "Work spares us from three evils: boredom, vice and need." It's perfect isn't it? So beautiful and succinct. It's Voltaire, whoever that is. Just kidding, I've heard of him. I think about that quote often. I read it often. I look over at it, then back to Reddit, then back to it again, then over to Goodreads.

I'm a mess. Thanks for listening.