There are some very weird people here on campus.
Walking around outside this afternoon, chewing on a peice of "not hot" pizza after my first class, the thought ran through my mind that the university lawn care guys have a firmer grip on reality than over half of the faculty.

The academian environment is a place set apart from the reality of all that lies outside. I guess it really doesn't matter though, cause the world outside is a pretty screwed up place as well. I don't know. ..just a thought. I have odd thoughts like that all the time.

But if you were stranded out in an arctic wilderness, who would you rather be with? Dave, the landscaping guy who always has a working-man grin, even at 8:03 in the morning when you stumble by him wearing your "I just woke up and I wish I was dead" face? Or would you prefer the ever vigilant company of a Mr. Bigshot Advanced Principles of Intermediate Accounting proffessor?

I'm not just referring to survival skills though. I'm ascertaining that many individuals here at this, and many other institutional environments, are in fact here, because these places are the only places they can function; because any kind of life for them outside of academia would be a life that would kick them square in the nads. Every day. School is just a different place, and I've noticed that when people finally arrive at this understanding (sometime around six months before graduation), they seem to actually start learning.

"Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal." —Albert Camus
(Most of the people who long ago quit trying, can be found at your nearest college campus.)

Note to self: If you're going to throw these words around, at least try and use the right...one.

cyn·i·cal
1. Believing or showing the belief that people are motivated chiefly by base or selfish concerns; skeptical of the motives of others

2. Selfishly or callously calculating

3. Negative or pessimistic, as from world-weariness

4. Expressing jaded or scornful skepticism or negativity

Thesaurus: Seclusion, Contempt, Detraction, Disapprobation, Asceticism



rational (rsh-nl)
1. Having or exercising the ability to reason.

2. Of sound mind; sane.

3. Consistent with or based on reason; logical: rational behavior.

4. Mathematics. Capable of being expressed as a quotient of integers.

Thesaurus: Sanity, Intelligence, Intellect



realistic (r-lstk)
1. Tending to or expressing an awareness of things as they really are

2. Of or relating to the representation of objects, actions, or social conditions as they actually are

Thesaurus: Truth (as in: unideal, unimagined, accurate)

Words just seem to take on a whole new importance, when they're all that you have; all that you can use.
I would trade a half second glance, for a day of clattering keys or an hour of stale telephone jibber jabber.

Fred is running on adrenaline and excitement. wow. Today was the first time i'd ever noticed his portfolio. That's where I want to go. pack your bags moron.
I'm raising my game. Going into a dark-lit room for two semesters and coming out the other side carrying a bigger bat.
"Motion Graphics", "Interactive Design", "Concepts and Layout". 3 great courses with great overqualified instructors, and all the time that i'll ever need. Don't bother me. I'll be busy.

dot-com people

well spantaculous:
The dodgepolara.com site refers to the car as: "Drew's Tank".

I guess the opposite of living more and updating less would be updating more and living less.

maybe. I dunno. 5 minutes a day. who cares.

Great Memiors, From The First Day of a New Semester:

*NO Parking. Anywhere. Let's walk a couple of miles. who cares. walking is nice

*Little, enthusiastic, "Saved by the Bell" watching, flip-flop visor-hat wearing freshmen; everywhere. Half of whom won't last the first six weeks.

*Roll calls, and 2.7 lbs of syllabus handouts.

*Powerpoint. I hate Powerpoint. Screw Powerpoint.

*Biology: Article reviews are due at the first of every month. It'll be fun to write about very strange topics and scare the proffessor.

Back in the art building, a question from somewhere in back: "Is it ok if I store cans of paint thinner in a student locker?" (....silence..., everybody looks around at each other) Bob: "Sure, unless you store running blowtorches in there too."

Flying on an airplane for the first time is cool.
After the 5th or 6th layover though, things get predictable; almost monotonous. It scares me that other things in life have the possibility of taking a similar course. Things are so new and so different and so great, ....so...., it sucks when you've gotta sit down and be realistic. About. It. All.





Walk back inside to the kitchen after making an awkward phone call and staring down Fred, the new stray dog that’s tied to a rope because he viscously attacks everyone but mom.

Moron: "They're 'game people' mom. I just kept trying to get the point across that we're not "game" people. We don't spend time playing cards or Backgammon. When there's nothin else to do, we just sit around and vegetate, or stare at each other while making pathetic and sometimes entertaining conversation, until some sort of other appropriate course of action is decided upon.
(pause)
And they're those kinda people who buy movies, and sit around watching'em all the time."

Mom: "Oh dear."

Moron: But yeah, i’d like to go back right now if it were in any way. Possible.


Things that are out of your reach just seem to be so much more vivid and so real that you can almost reach out and touch them, if you let them take over just one more bit of your brain. And then there are times that such thoughts fade away for maybe an hour or two. And normal breathing can take place. And it is during those times of normalcy that you might happen to read over your stupid weblog and wonder why you have wasted the time to actually write down such crazy ideas.

And tomorrow will be the first day of the fall semester of my senior year in college. And things will be different. And still the same.

"Additionally, at a rate of 10% above cost, we can remove the "bionic sound effect" associated with the use of bionic legs/arms, eyes and ears. Many of our bionic agents have found these sounds to be somewhat awkward in most personal and professional situations."

I miss EOD. I'd like to sit down with him and hear in his own words why he quit writing. It was SO nice to go to his site every day and laugh at things like this:

I walked outside to get something from the van this morning, and across the street was a neighbor, out for a walk with his toddler. I smiled and waved and noticed that they were dressed the same, his boy and him -- they were wearing shorts and t-shirts and both had baseball caps on.

And I thought about how we influence our children, how they're tiny mirrors of everything we are, conciously or not. How we dress them and teach them and show them the world will influence how they live the rest of their lives.

And I turned around to head back inside and Tom was standing in the doorway, wearing a ski cap, waving my lightsaber TV clicker and without his pants.

Which pretty much confirmed my theory.

I can see myself in seven or eight years, having the same type of life and having the same thoughts, minus of course, the superhuman wit required to compose them in such a bionic manner.

I've had alota fun with this journal/weblog/i-don't-know-what-this-is.

People who already knew me on a personal level got to see a whole new side of things that I usually didn't openly expose. Close friends, people I talk to on a daily basis, even family, have had a chance to understand more things than they could've otherwise by just casually being around me.
Am I implying that people need to know these things, or even worse, that I need them to? I hope not.
I don't feel that way. At least, I don't think I do. Would it still be the same if nobody were wasting their time reading it? No. So what's it all for anyway? Telling. Why tell?

Drew might be going away for awhile. This seems kinda childish and vain. I've gotta understand what this weblog is, before I can continue, because I hate doing things for fuzzy reasons. Some guidelines perhaps.
What does everybody think?
Let me know. (drew@thisisdrew.com)
I really wanna know.
Consider this plea as the official: "Save Drew's Weblog From Drew" campaign.

Sometimes I get interesting email: (ok, more like rarely if ever)

Dear sir,

You must be a goat lover. Yours site makes it clear.
The reason I looked on your site is that I am working on a play and one of
the caracters in the play is a goat.
The public never sees the goat, but they (should) hear him. That is why I
am looking for goat sounds.
On you site I found some sounds. However butiful the sounds are, the
quality is not good enough for my play.
My question is do you have the sounds in better quality and can I use them?
My English might be a bit of, but that is because I am Dutch.

I hope to hear (!) from you,

Thanks

Toon

Driving past two cop cars in the 6-house speed trap of Donoldson:

Me: sees the cop cars; looks down at speedometer; 13 over; sucks air in through closed teeth as gut muscles tighten and softly utters a particular word that rymes with get.
Corey: It's alright drew. ..Those cops aren't lookin to bust . Besides, this truck don't get tickets.

And he's right. Blue trucks don't EVER get tickets. Why? I have no freaking idea.
And whose the moron that just got out of a red car and into a red truck,...and whose the idiot that's already gotten one of those "driving is a privilege" letters from the state?

I could do one of those "The More You Know" public service commercials on NBC:

Script
Drew, sitting on gay wooden stool, in front of stupid painted backdrop sheet, is slowly illuminated by soft light from above.
"Have you ever had one of those teachers that changed your life? Well, this isn't about that. Do you like speeding tickets?" (pauses; turns head; switch to left camera;) "Speeding tickets suck. So don't ever drive anything red." (fade in cheesy "the more you know" music. (screen fades to black, ..returns to special highly anticipated episode of Blossom

When it gets dark at the lake, there's really not much to do,....except look at the stars.
...,until the clouds roll in.
It was nice to sit around and just shoot the bull.
*Four brothers (ok, and the cook);
*One cooler;
*4,750,000 mosquitos;
*and 3 racoons, working together to tip over a trash can.
This is oldschool. I'm reminded that we don't do this near as often as we used to.

Two cavities filled, 30 mintues ago.
Glancing at the wall and seeing the glass display case containing 16 antique hunting knives would've been a greater cause for concern if it weren't for the assurance of novocain.

Home to change, and off to the lake to see Jason and Ginger. It would be wrong. To do anything else.
For them to be camped out there for a whole week, and not to go, even for an afternoon, ...would've grinded on my concience for an extended period of time.

Besides, there is a chance that this'll be the last time that I go to the lake as a totally free man.
All good things eventually come to an end, ..but sometimes, good things are simply replaced by much much better things.

If my vocabulary were properly equipped, I might be able to describe the feeling, ..of knowing that its out there, and that you're headed straight for it. Similar to driving on a high-plains highway out west, seeing a huge fuzzy mountain in the distance, and mulling over the perception that your road might be headed straight for it. hmm.

And this weblog thing is gonna change to include thoughts of a less personal nature. It just feels like some things are cheapened when you turn them into anecdotes.

People at work make some funny cartoons. The storylines behind the cartoons are even better, and I'm just now coming to an understanding of what they mean.
There is a rule against getting food delivered to the plant. A new forman was hired a couple of months ago, and as a joke, somebody ordered a pizza in his name. He had to pay for it, even though he doesn't like pizza.

And then there is this guy, nicknamed mule, who most people talk pretty bad about.

You just gotta hang around for a couple of months to draw any conclusions about the symbolic language in this one.

Everybody should have one. This of course, is the only way that I'll allow anybody to drink around my computer.
Collin: "What the heck do I gotta wear this thing for? I was even using the coaster." Drew: "No, those are called mousepads, ...why don't you go... "work out" or something.."

I've been sitting here staring at a blank screen for the past few minutes, thinking about thoughts and events from a day spent self-occupied in various locations…. that I'd intended to write about. None of them seem halfway as relevant as they used to. I don't know what this means, but one thing is for sure: it's nice. Splendid in fact.

In short, the afternoon involved:


A) Going to Hot Springs and picking up great photos that've been sitting at the store for a month.
B) Sitting alone at a Quiznos eating a rad sub sandwich (let me say fine cuisine one more time) while scanning a boring newspaper
C) Reading through three or four magazines at Books A Million before spending $2 on Jack London's "Tales of the North".
D) Grabbing three great old albums from a used cd store. This one is great, and so is this one, and then of course this one.
E) Sitting at my grandmother's house after mowing her grass, and listening to her go on and on about the events surrounding her life. I didn't know before today that her father came home to East Texas with a German bullet in his leg, and that twenty years later her husband, my grandfather, had to leave for WW2 when my dad's oldest brother was only 6 months old, and so she went back home with her baby to live with her parents, who at the time had come out of semi-retirement to work in a munitions factory in Dallas. I know I'm a history buff, but I haven't always been this intrigued with my family's past, to the point that I'll actually keep her talking until she doesn't want to talk anymore.
F) Coming home and eating dad's enchiladas.
G) Spending five minutes writing about all this stuff, all the while trying to get over the fact that the events of my days aren't nearly as interesting as they seemed to be a week ago. They used to be the whole substance of my day. Now they all feel like, ..afterthoughts.

There are other things.
Its nice. Splendid in fact.

"Pete was so enamored with the squishing machine that he had to borrow money for the subway trip back to the hotel, having squished every last cent he had."

I could see myself collecting flat pennies, but once I started it would probably get out of hand. Going into any given tourist trap gas station, and walking around exitedly looking for squished pennies sounds like something I would do. Collecting cheap sunglasses is a more honorable hobby though. We'll stick with that.

On a similar line of thought, This place is where I go for morning worship. Flat pennies with milk don't sound very good when you wake up at 11:07 and want some cereal to start out a day of nothing.