Heaping piles of miscellaneous debris
Since I started this journal, I've become more aware all the menial shit that happens in life. Part of me wants to record everything, since later I always enjoy coming across weird meaningless stuff from the past, like old emails or photos or doodles in my notes' margins. But then I sit down to do it, and I just feel tired. All that stuff doesn't feel remarkable enough to preserve and subject others to. Then I read other people's journals or I go look at my favorite essays, and I realize that's what entertaining personal writing is all about: interesting ways of viewing life's tedium. This essayist named Edward Hoagland had some entries from his journal published in Harper's not too long ago. Pretty damn impressive for farts of the brain. Then again, E.B. White writes about his daschund and for some reason I think he's the greatest thing to ever pick up a pen.
I've had a strange series of coincidences related to this online journal already. First, someone named Dax commented on here, but the only Dax I've ever heard of is a friend's ex-boyfriend. If it's him, that's cool, just unexpected. I guess it could have been a random Dax, but given that name, that would be a statistical oddity. In my April 15th post, I mentioned this girl that I randomly asked to go have a cup of cofee sometime. A few days ago, I was looking at my friend Rob's journal, and I noticed someone who looked vaguely familiar had replied to a post. I thought, Who is that? Of course it was her, and she had a live journal. Following the link, I got this weird glimpse into the girl I had attempted to know. My curiosity felt stalkerish, honestly. But I enjoyed comparing how she wrote about herself to what I would have suspected she was like based on our chance west-mall encounter. Like I thought, she's young, a freshman, and in the School of Communications. What I wouldn't have guessed was that she's a member of a UT feminist organization and is an extremely private person. Turns out she has a boyfriend (who has Hello Kitty shower curtains, go figure), and luckily I didn't appear in her journal as a creepy guy holding a mutliply phallic tripod and making unsolicited, salacious advances. Finally, I was talking to my friend Megan for the first time in months, and I mentioned that these live journal things weren't as lame as I'd always thought. In fact, I found mine to be an extremely good writing exercise, in addition to its archival benefits. To show Megan, who had been through Trimble's writing boot camp with me, I directed her to my site. Unfortunately, my site has a link to my friend Nick's site, which I hadn't gotten his permission for. I thought it was funny, so I linked it. See, Nick and Megan dated for quite a while and were going through some tough times. Turns out she didn't know about Nick's journal, and found out through my link. Then she read some stuff that pissed her off, so she told Nick she never wanted to have contact with him again. Now, don't I feel like an asshole. Fuck. Matt Wright, stalker, destroyer of relationships.
For some reason, ever since I met Nick back in middle school, when he used to hang out with older kids and wear flannels and Doc Marten 12-holes, I've always managed to do stupid shit around and in relation to him. I don't know why, but I always do stuff to make me feel like Nick's uncool younger cousin. And it has nothing to do with anything Nick has done to me; I just do goofy, ignorant shit within his sphere of influence (if that term makes any sense). Though, now that I think about it, maybe Nick owed me one. Once in high school, while sitting at the lunch picnic table, Nick made some crack about my girlfriend in the so-called girlfriend's presence (she happened to be the first girl I'd ever dated). Only problem was, we hadn't formally established where our relationship stood at that point. So a couple nights later, I got to have my first "Where is this going?" conversation, which, like all those I'd have in the future, signalled the beginning of the countdown until I got dumped. I guess this makes us even, at least once Nick gives me back my photo album.
Strangely, I didn't intend to write about any of the stuff I've just written about. Writing is like that, I guess. Here's what I meant to talk about:
1. I got so sick of wearing dirty underwear that I took about five pairs of boxers into the shower with me yesterday. I soaked them, squeezed some soap onto them, threw them at my feet and walked on 'em for a couple minutes. Then I rinsed them and hung them up to dry from my darkroom clothespins. I felt both pathetic and brilliant all at once.
2. Still on a dirty clothes thread, I got what appeared to be a giant poo-stain on my shorts yesterday. The south mall was so surprisingly green I felt the compulsion to squish some of the grass with my ass. Except they had just watered it. So when I stood up, I felt all damp, so I craned my neck over my shoulder and beheld a great brown splatter approximately eight inches in diameter. Wondering if the stain would Shout out, I realized these were actually the shorts Louis gave me because I was wearing them when we had to carry Lilly's drunk, passed-out, vomit-spewing friend into her apartment. The shorts had been covered in the dude's chunder, and Louis wanted nothing to do with them, pretty boy that he is. Now I wonder if the shorts are cursed or just exremely resilient.
3. Why don't they make deodorant in two-foot-long sticks?
4. Also from my 15th of April post, I mentioned a girl that my friend Jesse wanted to set me up with. I met the girl today, and needless to say, she's not my style. Has any guy here ever been set up with a girl that's actually his type? She wasn't unattractive; she was just . . . wide in a weird, non-fat way. Like broad nose, high, wide cheekbones, somewhat large pelvic area. Yes, these are the stupid things I notice, not pretty eyes, endearing smile, or, heaven forbid, charming personality. I'm such a choad. I honestly couldn't see myself with this girl. I think we'd make a very odd couple. So I kind of wonder how Jesse, or girls in general, see me. Maybe my perception of myself is really off. Maybe I'm not as beautiful as I think. I met some of Christa's other boyfriends, and I was astounded by their across-the-board unattractiveness. I thought, are these really my dating peers? I know I'm goofy, but these dudes were pushing goofy and ugly. Then again, I don't know why I'd want to use that . . . girl (restraining myself from name-calling) as any kind of guage.
5. Not to turn this thing into a politicoblog, but this NY Times article really disturbed me. My dad watches this channel, which is the television incarnation of AM talk radio. As most of you know, it's really disturbing, infuriating stuff for anyone who leans left or just likes to hear rational, fair political debate. I'm sure this is always the case with war, but I swear the volume of the rhetorical screeching doubles every week. And for what? Religious faith in one's chosen party. With faith in your party comes the conviction that everything the opposition believes must, must be wrong. It's stupid, it's so stupid. Look at the plight of the left right now. The left never opposed this war because it wouldn't succeed. But during the conflict, the leftist commentators who squawked the loudest and got the most attention from the media were those who predicted or declared the already-cliched "quagmire." (Mr. Capps has a pretty good post on this in his April 16th post.) As a result, the right is now able to lord this victory over its opponents (see some of the horrible quotes in that NY Times aritcle), saying, "Look how wrong you were, you toad-eater." Once the war started, the left should have been concentrating on those liberal ideals that they claim are so dear, namely, watching out for the good of the Iraqi oppressed. They should have been exerting their political energies to make sure civilian casualties were kept to a minimum (which they were, I believe), that cultural disasters like the museum debacle didn't occur, and that every step was taken to get the Iraqi people food and medicine, which would include the removal of the UN sanctions the left has been arguing need to go for ages. Instead, the front page of the Houston Chronicle has Bush calling for their repeal. Look, in short, a war's effectiveness is not conditional upon its validity. Some on the left decided that since they disagreed with the war, they needed to point out every setback in the campaign. When the war ended exactly as everyone on both sides predicted it would, all those doomsday statements that codified the right behind a patriotic banner now also made the entire left look the fool. To get back to my original point, both sides are claiming the media supports the other side. It's a classic political strategy that works. And when all objectivity is assumed out the window, the only networks that are perceived as honest will be those who wear their allegiances on their shoulder. That's a fucking shame.
6. Finally, to bring all of this full circle, with all the unimportant crap that piles up in our lives--junk mail, dirty clothes, stuff you don't quite know what to do with so you chuck it in your closet--it amazes me all the important things I manage to lose. My checkbook, one spiral full of notes, and two library books, all in the past two weeks. Jesus.
Since I started this journal, I've become more aware all the menial shit that happens in life. Part of me wants to record everything, since later I always enjoy coming across weird meaningless stuff from the past, like old emails or photos or doodles in my notes' margins. But then I sit down to do it, and I just feel tired. All that stuff doesn't feel remarkable enough to preserve and subject others to. Then I read other people's journals or I go look at my favorite essays, and I realize that's what entertaining personal writing is all about: interesting ways of viewing life's tedium. This essayist named Edward Hoagland had some entries from his journal published in Harper's not too long ago. Pretty damn impressive for farts of the brain. Then again, E.B. White writes about his daschund and for some reason I think he's the greatest thing to ever pick up a pen.
I've had a strange series of coincidences related to this online journal already. First, someone named Dax commented on here, but the only Dax I've ever heard of is a friend's ex-boyfriend. If it's him, that's cool, just unexpected. I guess it could have been a random Dax, but given that name, that would be a statistical oddity. In my April 15th post, I mentioned this girl that I randomly asked to go have a cup of cofee sometime. A few days ago, I was looking at my friend Rob's journal, and I noticed someone who looked vaguely familiar had replied to a post. I thought, Who is that? Of course it was her, and she had a live journal. Following the link, I got this weird glimpse into the girl I had attempted to know. My curiosity felt stalkerish, honestly. But I enjoyed comparing how she wrote about herself to what I would have suspected she was like based on our chance west-mall encounter. Like I thought, she's young, a freshman, and in the School of Communications. What I wouldn't have guessed was that she's a member of a UT feminist organization and is an extremely private person. Turns out she has a boyfriend (who has Hello Kitty shower curtains, go figure), and luckily I didn't appear in her journal as a creepy guy holding a mutliply phallic tripod and making unsolicited, salacious advances. Finally, I was talking to my friend Megan for the first time in months, and I mentioned that these live journal things weren't as lame as I'd always thought. In fact, I found mine to be an extremely good writing exercise, in addition to its archival benefits. To show Megan, who had been through Trimble's writing boot camp with me, I directed her to my site. Unfortunately, my site has a link to my friend Nick's site, which I hadn't gotten his permission for. I thought it was funny, so I linked it. See, Nick and Megan dated for quite a while and were going through some tough times. Turns out she didn't know about Nick's journal, and found out through my link. Then she read some stuff that pissed her off, so she told Nick she never wanted to have contact with him again. Now, don't I feel like an asshole. Fuck. Matt Wright, stalker, destroyer of relationships.
For some reason, ever since I met Nick back in middle school, when he used to hang out with older kids and wear flannels and Doc Marten 12-holes, I've always managed to do stupid shit around and in relation to him. I don't know why, but I always do stuff to make me feel like Nick's uncool younger cousin. And it has nothing to do with anything Nick has done to me; I just do goofy, ignorant shit within his sphere of influence (if that term makes any sense). Though, now that I think about it, maybe Nick owed me one. Once in high school, while sitting at the lunch picnic table, Nick made some crack about my girlfriend in the so-called girlfriend's presence (she happened to be the first girl I'd ever dated). Only problem was, we hadn't formally established where our relationship stood at that point. So a couple nights later, I got to have my first "Where is this going?" conversation, which, like all those I'd have in the future, signalled the beginning of the countdown until I got dumped. I guess this makes us even, at least once Nick gives me back my photo album.
Strangely, I didn't intend to write about any of the stuff I've just written about. Writing is like that, I guess. Here's what I meant to talk about:
1. I got so sick of wearing dirty underwear that I took about five pairs of boxers into the shower with me yesterday. I soaked them, squeezed some soap onto them, threw them at my feet and walked on 'em for a couple minutes. Then I rinsed them and hung them up to dry from my darkroom clothespins. I felt both pathetic and brilliant all at once.
2. Still on a dirty clothes thread, I got what appeared to be a giant poo-stain on my shorts yesterday. The south mall was so surprisingly green I felt the compulsion to squish some of the grass with my ass. Except they had just watered it. So when I stood up, I felt all damp, so I craned my neck over my shoulder and beheld a great brown splatter approximately eight inches in diameter. Wondering if the stain would Shout out, I realized these were actually the shorts Louis gave me because I was wearing them when we had to carry Lilly's drunk, passed-out, vomit-spewing friend into her apartment. The shorts had been covered in the dude's chunder, and Louis wanted nothing to do with them, pretty boy that he is. Now I wonder if the shorts are cursed or just exremely resilient.
3. Why don't they make deodorant in two-foot-long sticks?
4. Also from my 15th of April post, I mentioned a girl that my friend Jesse wanted to set me up with. I met the girl today, and needless to say, she's not my style. Has any guy here ever been set up with a girl that's actually his type? She wasn't unattractive; she was just . . . wide in a weird, non-fat way. Like broad nose, high, wide cheekbones, somewhat large pelvic area. Yes, these are the stupid things I notice, not pretty eyes, endearing smile, or, heaven forbid, charming personality. I'm such a choad. I honestly couldn't see myself with this girl. I think we'd make a very odd couple. So I kind of wonder how Jesse, or girls in general, see me. Maybe my perception of myself is really off. Maybe I'm not as beautiful as I think. I met some of Christa's other boyfriends, and I was astounded by their across-the-board unattractiveness. I thought, are these really my dating peers? I know I'm goofy, but these dudes were pushing goofy and ugly. Then again, I don't know why I'd want to use that . . . girl (restraining myself from name-calling) as any kind of guage.
5. Not to turn this thing into a politicoblog, but this NY Times article really disturbed me. My dad watches this channel, which is the television incarnation of AM talk radio. As most of you know, it's really disturbing, infuriating stuff for anyone who leans left or just likes to hear rational, fair political debate. I'm sure this is always the case with war, but I swear the volume of the rhetorical screeching doubles every week. And for what? Religious faith in one's chosen party. With faith in your party comes the conviction that everything the opposition believes must, must be wrong. It's stupid, it's so stupid. Look at the plight of the left right now. The left never opposed this war because it wouldn't succeed. But during the conflict, the leftist commentators who squawked the loudest and got the most attention from the media were those who predicted or declared the already-cliched "quagmire." (Mr. Capps has a pretty good post on this in his April 16th post.) As a result, the right is now able to lord this victory over its opponents (see some of the horrible quotes in that NY Times aritcle), saying, "Look how wrong you were, you toad-eater." Once the war started, the left should have been concentrating on those liberal ideals that they claim are so dear, namely, watching out for the good of the Iraqi oppressed. They should have been exerting their political energies to make sure civilian casualties were kept to a minimum (which they were, I believe), that cultural disasters like the museum debacle didn't occur, and that every step was taken to get the Iraqi people food and medicine, which would include the removal of the UN sanctions the left has been arguing need to go for ages. Instead, the front page of the Houston Chronicle has Bush calling for their repeal. Look, in short, a war's effectiveness is not conditional upon its validity. Some on the left decided that since they disagreed with the war, they needed to point out every setback in the campaign. When the war ended exactly as everyone on both sides predicted it would, all those doomsday statements that codified the right behind a patriotic banner now also made the entire left look the fool. To get back to my original point, both sides are claiming the media supports the other side. It's a classic political strategy that works. And when all objectivity is assumed out the window, the only networks that are perceived as honest will be those who wear their allegiances on their shoulder. That's a fucking shame.
6. Finally, to bring all of this full circle, with all the unimportant crap that piles up in our lives--junk mail, dirty clothes, stuff you don't quite know what to do with so you chuck it in your closet--it amazes me all the important things I manage to lose. My checkbook, one spiral full of notes, and two library books, all in the past two weeks. Jesus.
posted by Matt at 11:08 PM
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