1. Thanksgiving comes and goes, while Christmas fades in and fades out. We know when Thanksgiving begins (on Wednesday, when family begins flying into town) and ends (that moment on Saturday when you refuse to make another plate of reheated turkey, casserole, and pie). It's set over a few days, giving it more of an impact by announcing "Hey, it's time for Thanksgiving!" Christmas is no longer a holiday; it's a season. Christmas arguably begins before Thanksgiving and ends differently for everyone. That's just too long to sustain the true spirit of a holiday.
2. Thanksgiving has stayed truer to its roots. Most of us don't spend the fourth Thursday in Novemeber at an outside table with Pilgrims and Native Americans, but we still sit at an extended table and express thanks for the people with which we break bread. Christmas, if true to its origins, should not be the biggest holiday for Christians (Easter is the ultimate Christian holiday) and would be a non-holiday to the thousands of non-Christians who still celebrate a day originally intended to glorify Jesus Christ.
3. Sucky 90s adult contemporary artists don't make sterile albums about Thanksgiving. Seriously, has anyone heard the four minutes of utter confusion and torture when Placido Domingo shares a performance of "Ave Maria" with... Michael Bolton?!?
4. No gift buying for Thanksgiving. Yeah, the day after Thanksgiving is the busiest shopping day of the year, but we all know what that's for, don't we? It's so you can try to hold in the embarassment when someone you have bought nothing for gives you a semi-decent Christma gift, so you have to pretend you have theirs back home while you're wondering what restaurant you can pick up a gift certificate from during lunch break so you don't look like an inconsiderate prick. Another thing: don't people with December birthdays get ripped off because all their loved ones have spent their money on Christmas gifts? I'm glad my parents conceived me nine months before summer.
5. Thanksgiving is a day of watching and playing football. Ok, so when I finally got old enough to play football, the older generation displayed their moxie over a game of monopoly (one of those moments in my childhood that made me realize we all will get old), but I still get to watch the first quarter of the second game until I fall asleep on the couch while everyone taps each other and quietly points to my closed eyes, tilted-back head, and slightly ajar mouth. That's fun for everyone. Then someone tries to stick their finger between your teeth, and your nap is over. Good times.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Time Crunch
Grad school is very much about work. You and your professors put time limits on you, the student, to complete a certain amount of tasks. You've essentially been hired (though usually you're not the one on payroll) to do research while at the same time learn the basics and the ropes to your professional field. The work piles up, and there's never a break.
Unfortunately, there is such a demand of your work that with only 24 hours in a day, some sacrifices must be made. Some of the cuts are pretty obvious: forget being a regular watcher of a primetime program, and hold on to those distant memories of weekday parties. But your life is school, and this doesn't just restrict your socal life, but also your intrapersonal life. There's not as much time to sit back and reflect, to go for a solo walk, to enjoy a sunrise. Many people in this country live to work, to make that extra buck and get one rung higher on their professional ladder, at the expense of the little things that really make life special. Grad school prepares you for such a life, but you have a choice to live a life of work and joy. It may be hard to juggle both, and you may have to lean one way or the other, but there's always a choice.
I want to always appreciate the little things.
Unfortunately, there is such a demand of your work that with only 24 hours in a day, some sacrifices must be made. Some of the cuts are pretty obvious: forget being a regular watcher of a primetime program, and hold on to those distant memories of weekday parties. But your life is school, and this doesn't just restrict your socal life, but also your intrapersonal life. There's not as much time to sit back and reflect, to go for a solo walk, to enjoy a sunrise. Many people in this country live to work, to make that extra buck and get one rung higher on their professional ladder, at the expense of the little things that really make life special. Grad school prepares you for such a life, but you have a choice to live a life of work and joy. It may be hard to juggle both, and you may have to lean one way or the other, but there's always a choice.
I want to always appreciate the little things.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
I Like...
- Scallops
- “The Cloud Prayer” by A.C. Newman
- Ass massages
- 50 degree weather
- Properly placed appreciation
- Online poker
- The smell of fruit-flavored lip gloss
- Surprise e-mails
- A store full of food
- Ego boosters
- The drone of a fan as I sleep
- Vibrating couches
- Big patios
- Terrible jokes executed perfectly
- Old men who wear ties with short sleeves
- My back
- Absolute silence
- Olive skin
- The Italian language
- Tara Reid's drunkeness
- Sincere compliments
- BBC
- Drives at sunrise
- Inside jokes
- Really dark pens
- 11 am wakeups
- Kasey Chambers's lower, middle, and upper register
- Smiles for no reason
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Weak
At my age of 22, I’d like to consider myself indestructible. I am in the best physical shape of my life, can pull an all-nighter without suffering, and drink large quantities of beer and still be ready for breakfast the next morning. Nagging aches, fatigue, and medical conditions are for the old. Their bodies are not as strong as mine. They are worn, and they are weak. I am young, and I am strong.
But recently I have grown very concerned about my health. It started two weeks ago, when in the middle of class my heart began racing and pounding into my chest. I tried to alleviate the feeling with deep, labored breathing, but soon my vision became glassy, my arms felt numb, and periodically I felt as though my heart had literally stopped beating. I whispered to my friend Jess that I needed to be taken home, as I had no idea how to stop my body from freaking out on me. In the middle of class, I had to stand up and leave, whispering to another friend to inform the professor for our next class that I would be absent that night.
My initial feeling was that I had taken too much caffeine during the day and experienced an “overdose” of caffeine. Over about 7 hours I had a cup of coffee, a cup of espresso, and a Red Bull-type energy drink. All this with only a biscuit in the morning, I might add. My parents confirmed my suspicions and suggested a few remedies that helped but never eliminated the symptoms.
Such an overdose is usually completely over in a few days, and I felt better with each passing day. But my body never felt completely normal. Periodically I’d feel shooting pains down my arms, awaken short of breath, or notice slight discomfort in my chest. Over two weeks these problems became less frequent and less intense, to the point where I anticipated a full recovery was near.
This morning I woke up feeling great. After completing a project for class, I felt the energy to go boxing again. I had gradually phased in the boxing to regain the peak physical condition I was previously achieving with these exhilarating workouts. An hour and an incredible workout later, I returned home to shower, eat a few slices of pizza, and go to class. I still felt great.
About five minutes into class, I suddenly felt as though my heart had stopped beating. When I regained my breath, the numbness in my arms returned, and my chest was pulsating. I quietly left to class and paced through the hallway. A prayer to God, Please make this go away, Lord, followed, as did a trip to the water fountain. I felt much better, returned to class, and hoped I could make it though the remaining 50 minutes of class.
The clock creeped as though time itself was low on battery power. After a brief period of feeling 100% fine, the chest attack returned, reoccurring periodically over the next 15 minutes. I felt completely out of control. Secretly I prayed to God to just let me make it through the rest of class. But I couldn’t. I was too scared, and I needed to do something. Two weeks to the day, in the same classroom, I had to excuse myself and escape for home.
I called home, nervous, pissed, embarrassed, and in need of a solution. Something had to be wrong, and this had to be addressed. My parents and I agreed that I would find a doctor to confirm our suspicions of the underlying problem. Most likely the caffeine thing had triggered an underlying problem. The part that humiliates me, though, is that the problem I have sounds pretty ridiculous. The cool medical term is GERD, Gastroesophageal Reflux Disease. The sad truth is, this is essentially fancy code for really bad heartburn.
There have been times when I seriously wondered whether I would pass out and die, and all of this has been caused by fucking heartburn?!? Come on, heartburn? This kind of stuff should be happening to forty-somethings whose bodies aren’t what they used to be, not to a 22-year-old who boxes and enjoys hot wings and pizza. I shouldn’t be experiencing “ailments” that plague me constantly and cause me to leave class early.
I’m very embarrassed that I left class early today. I wanted so much to gut it out and quietly leave for home at the end of class, but I felt out of control of my body to the point that I needed to escape. Now I’m the guy who has left class twice because he’s got something wrong with him. It’s not even something cool like some weird exotic disease. My esophagus can’t handle my diet of espresso, red pepper, and tomato sauce. It causes me problems that need to be addressed by a medical doctor.
Tomorrow I’ll most likely have to nod to my classmates and assure them that I’m ok. It will be a somewhat humiliating task. I appreciate people being concerned, but I don’t want to be the guy that everyone is concerned about. I don’t want to be that guy who’s had to walk out of class twice because of a physical condition. I don’t want to be that guy who everyone secretly wonders if he’ll make it through the rest of the classes. I don’t want to be that guy that gets asked, Are you okay? at the beginning of class because he’s had sudden and severe physical problems in public.
But I am that guy, and I’ll be relieved when I find out how to defeat this problem and am allowed to return to my delusions that I am a mighty specimen impervious to attack.
But recently I have grown very concerned about my health. It started two weeks ago, when in the middle of class my heart began racing and pounding into my chest. I tried to alleviate the feeling with deep, labored breathing, but soon my vision became glassy, my arms felt numb, and periodically I felt as though my heart had literally stopped beating. I whispered to my friend Jess that I needed to be taken home, as I had no idea how to stop my body from freaking out on me. In the middle of class, I had to stand up and leave, whispering to another friend to inform the professor for our next class that I would be absent that night.
My initial feeling was that I had taken too much caffeine during the day and experienced an “overdose” of caffeine. Over about 7 hours I had a cup of coffee, a cup of espresso, and a Red Bull-type energy drink. All this with only a biscuit in the morning, I might add. My parents confirmed my suspicions and suggested a few remedies that helped but never eliminated the symptoms.
Such an overdose is usually completely over in a few days, and I felt better with each passing day. But my body never felt completely normal. Periodically I’d feel shooting pains down my arms, awaken short of breath, or notice slight discomfort in my chest. Over two weeks these problems became less frequent and less intense, to the point where I anticipated a full recovery was near.
This morning I woke up feeling great. After completing a project for class, I felt the energy to go boxing again. I had gradually phased in the boxing to regain the peak physical condition I was previously achieving with these exhilarating workouts. An hour and an incredible workout later, I returned home to shower, eat a few slices of pizza, and go to class. I still felt great.
About five minutes into class, I suddenly felt as though my heart had stopped beating. When I regained my breath, the numbness in my arms returned, and my chest was pulsating. I quietly left to class and paced through the hallway. A prayer to God, Please make this go away, Lord, followed, as did a trip to the water fountain. I felt much better, returned to class, and hoped I could make it though the remaining 50 minutes of class.
The clock creeped as though time itself was low on battery power. After a brief period of feeling 100% fine, the chest attack returned, reoccurring periodically over the next 15 minutes. I felt completely out of control. Secretly I prayed to God to just let me make it through the rest of class. But I couldn’t. I was too scared, and I needed to do something. Two weeks to the day, in the same classroom, I had to excuse myself and escape for home.
I called home, nervous, pissed, embarrassed, and in need of a solution. Something had to be wrong, and this had to be addressed. My parents and I agreed that I would find a doctor to confirm our suspicions of the underlying problem. Most likely the caffeine thing had triggered an underlying problem. The part that humiliates me, though, is that the problem I have sounds pretty ridiculous. The cool medical term is GERD, Gastroesophageal Reflux Disease. The sad truth is, this is essentially fancy code for really bad heartburn.
There have been times when I seriously wondered whether I would pass out and die, and all of this has been caused by fucking heartburn?!? Come on, heartburn? This kind of stuff should be happening to forty-somethings whose bodies aren’t what they used to be, not to a 22-year-old who boxes and enjoys hot wings and pizza. I shouldn’t be experiencing “ailments” that plague me constantly and cause me to leave class early.
I’m very embarrassed that I left class early today. I wanted so much to gut it out and quietly leave for home at the end of class, but I felt out of control of my body to the point that I needed to escape. Now I’m the guy who has left class twice because he’s got something wrong with him. It’s not even something cool like some weird exotic disease. My esophagus can’t handle my diet of espresso, red pepper, and tomato sauce. It causes me problems that need to be addressed by a medical doctor.
Tomorrow I’ll most likely have to nod to my classmates and assure them that I’m ok. It will be a somewhat humiliating task. I appreciate people being concerned, but I don’t want to be the guy that everyone is concerned about. I don’t want to be that guy who’s had to walk out of class twice because of a physical condition. I don’t want to be that guy who everyone secretly wonders if he’ll make it through the rest of the classes. I don’t want to be that guy that gets asked, Are you okay? at the beginning of class because he’s had sudden and severe physical problems in public.
But I am that guy, and I’ll be relieved when I find out how to defeat this problem and am allowed to return to my delusions that I am a mighty specimen impervious to attack.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Quotes that Have Made Me Think No Matter How this Election Turns Out, We're Screwed
"I voted for Bush because I asked myself which ads pissed me off the least."
"(I voted for Bush) because Kerry's an idiot."
"I realized that everyone I know that voted for Kerry is an idiot, and everyone I know that voted for Bush is an asshole."
"If you vote for Bush, you agree with Toby Keith. If you vote for Kerry, you agree with the fat little Dixie Chick. If you vote for Nader, you agree with Ralph Nader."
"The Pope told him not to go to war!"
"Fu-ckin Li-berals!" (Supposed taunt toward Gator fans by Bush-supporting Georgia Bulldogs)
"The funny part is that all you Bush and Kerry idolaters are the same. You just dont realize it."
Monday, November 01, 2004
Win or Lose, We Booze
I almost felt a buzz before even stepping through the revolving doors at Gainesville Regional Airport. We had been talking about this trip for weeks, my return to the old college town, and we anticipated an orgy of crazy times for my weekend stay. It had only been the old college town for a little over two months, but in that time the state had survived four hurricanes, I had begun taking grad school midterms, and the Red Sox had won the World Series. In other words, there was already a world of difference from when I had left.
We knew it would be absurd to think we could exceed the adventures of Florida-Georgia 2003 (when without us saying a word, a friend merely looked at my friends and I standing over him at 5:30 am and remarked, You guys are fucking crazy), but that didn't mean we couldn't have fun trying. This is what was professed the eve before Florida-Georgia 2004. My declaration that I was "going to explode" when I escaped the stresses of grad school life for the weekend. McSuck (my best friend back in Gainesville) annoiting an "Anthony gets a Georgia girl" night. Actually considering a post-exam night at a pub as a "warm up" for the weekend.
But no matter how much hype you put into a weekend, you can't force the good times to achieve a predetermined level. It doesn't work like that; saying this year will be as crazy as last year doesn't make it so. You need a little luck, some open opportunities, and positioning to react to those opportunities. That's how most of college's greatest moments come about: a combination of right place, right time, alcohol, and a mystery variable.
In our first 15 minutes at The Jacksonville Landing, I sensed that I was being put in the position of being personally responsible for making the good times happen. If I hadn't found a girl to talk to within 10 seconds, my friends would direct me to a group of girls and stare at me awaiting a verdict. I'm very rarely (can we actually say never?) in active girl-hunting mode. This is not how I work. It's not me. I had come to Jacksonville to do more than meet girls. My idea of a crazy weekend was combining the effects of 32 ounce beers with bumping into old friends, coming back to Harrisburg with a few long-term stories, not finding a place to sleep until 3 am, and yeah, meeting a Georgia girl.
And once I shut out the urgings of my friends and went about things in my own way, I found my good times. My alcohol tolerance was rebuilt in 2 days. I bumped into old friends (one time, literally) , ramming chests, screaming inaudibles, and playing catch-up in 5 seconds. For stories, among the long-term contenders are the I've been here since Thursday! guy; my normally calm friend belting out a ridiculously long Irish folk song in the middle of the Landing; the drunken Thursday! guy driving a golf cart with a half pitcher of beer in his hand, proclaiming I drink from a big cu-cup!; finding shelter in a rich, gated neighborhood (I didn't know her nor her parents) and being treated to an eggshell mattress, breakfast, and lunch; the Marilyn Monroe dress; and drinking Miller Lites, eating a hot dog, and watching the Patriots-Steelers game as Air Force One flew by. They were good times that were only missing a Gator victory and a cute Georgia girl.
But there's always next year.
We knew it would be absurd to think we could exceed the adventures of Florida-Georgia 2003 (when without us saying a word, a friend merely looked at my friends and I standing over him at 5:30 am and remarked, You guys are fucking crazy), but that didn't mean we couldn't have fun trying. This is what was professed the eve before Florida-Georgia 2004. My declaration that I was "going to explode" when I escaped the stresses of grad school life for the weekend. McSuck (my best friend back in Gainesville) annoiting an "Anthony gets a Georgia girl" night. Actually considering a post-exam night at a pub as a "warm up" for the weekend.
But no matter how much hype you put into a weekend, you can't force the good times to achieve a predetermined level. It doesn't work like that; saying this year will be as crazy as last year doesn't make it so. You need a little luck, some open opportunities, and positioning to react to those opportunities. That's how most of college's greatest moments come about: a combination of right place, right time, alcohol, and a mystery variable.
In our first 15 minutes at The Jacksonville Landing, I sensed that I was being put in the position of being personally responsible for making the good times happen. If I hadn't found a girl to talk to within 10 seconds, my friends would direct me to a group of girls and stare at me awaiting a verdict. I'm very rarely (can we actually say never?) in active girl-hunting mode. This is not how I work. It's not me. I had come to Jacksonville to do more than meet girls. My idea of a crazy weekend was combining the effects of 32 ounce beers with bumping into old friends, coming back to Harrisburg with a few long-term stories, not finding a place to sleep until 3 am, and yeah, meeting a Georgia girl.
And once I shut out the urgings of my friends and went about things in my own way, I found my good times. My alcohol tolerance was rebuilt in 2 days. I bumped into old friends (one time, literally) , ramming chests, screaming inaudibles, and playing catch-up in 5 seconds. For stories, among the long-term contenders are the I've been here since Thursday! guy; my normally calm friend belting out a ridiculously long Irish folk song in the middle of the Landing; the drunken Thursday! guy driving a golf cart with a half pitcher of beer in his hand, proclaiming I drink from a big cu-cup!; finding shelter in a rich, gated neighborhood (I didn't know her nor her parents) and being treated to an eggshell mattress, breakfast, and lunch; the Marilyn Monroe dress; and drinking Miller Lites, eating a hot dog, and watching the Patriots-Steelers game as Air Force One flew by. They were good times that were only missing a Gator victory and a cute Georgia girl.
But there's always next year.
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