Coinkydink

Minutes after my last blog post came one of those moments that makes the world seem so small you could drop it in your pocket. I have a special place in my heart for these semi-remarkable happenstances and coincidences, and I think it's because it reminds me of literature and television. These rare moments makes the world seem so uncharacteristically comprehensible and palatable that they must be scripted, artificially produced somehow. In the grand scheme of things, these events transpire unnoticed, but they feel to me like a delightfully kitschy souvenir. It's the powers of the universe coming together incongruously like those Brookfield zoo plastic molds, steaming and shaking for a few moments before spewing out a matte turquoise figurine of that person sitting next to me on the plane who happens to be the brother of the professor of my introductory philosophy class (No way!). And I, mesmerized from behind the bubble-top, nearly opaque from finger smears, waste little time in reaching in the grimy slot to claim my prize. And how fucking dope were those things? Kids in my kindergarten class wanted to grow up to be firefighters and actresses, but I wanted (past tense?) to be a Mold-A-Rama machine. 

Anyways, I had just caught my buddy Kyle's latest blog post (great stuff, check that ish out here) ten minutes after he posted it, and he was writing about how he met this really cute girl at Muldoon's, and went over and started talking to her. Now, you're probably thinking, how in the could this possibly relate to me, and, granted, the whole talking-to-a-cute-girl thing is not necessarily my forte- or even the being-in-close-proximity-to-a-cute-girl thing for that matter. But, in talking to Chin more about this girl- he referred to her comically as "Mousey", because of her delicate physiognomy- I started thinking that this girl sounds familiar. Cautiously, I started asking more about where Mousey is from and what she looks like, each question escalating with giddiness as I realized, I totally know Mousey! This girl was, in fact, my friend's ex-girlfriend. It was a bit of a moral quandary at first, because I'm close with my friend, and he's one of my all-time favorite people. But being that the breakup was- from what I hear- mutual and in the past, and, just as importantly, that Kyle's a stand-up guy, I felt like it was a safe move to try to do somethin!. 

So Chin and I met up on Friday to talk strategy. This threw me off a little bit because I was already at the library, tucked away reclusively in the record player section, plodding through Infinite Jest and listening to obscure Louisiana folk records (I usually search through the vinyl covers for the most senescent Cajun man, preferably sitting on a porch or rocking chair, with a similarly decrepit companion with a harmonica. Then I know I've got a winner.) But, with the cancelation of Wheaton North's meet the next morning, I decided to roll with it.  I walked over to Muldoon's from the 'brary and caught up with Mike and Chin, right as Fabian was heading out. As I was saying what up to Fabian, I noticed an advertisement for the 3$ Green Line special for that night, and I quickly realized the direction this night would be inevitably heading. 

After a few brews and thanks to some sage-like advice from Drabik, we decided that I would initiate a casual text to Mousey and get the ball rolling, digging deep in the arsenal of nonchalance with a statement like maybe we could all meet up next time you guys happen to be at Muldoon's. Notice the ambiguity: words like maybe, and next time make it a totally non-binding agreement, and who exactly is we and you guys? The uncertainty gives the whole thing a slight air of aloofness and apathy, which is the definition of cool. I feel it necessary here to add, once again, that I do not think I am cool; merely, my sober (I repeat, sober) texting skills I wield with tact and pride on my camera-less, tank of a cell phone. But, as apparent with my hesitance of leaving the library, in an actual social setting, I am rendered helplessly inept. 

An increase in the Green Line-intake, motivated in part by said ineptitude, soon made the night a little more interesting. The conversation was getting more and more abstract with each beer, and soon after Drabik left, Chin and I regressed to a Rudd/Segelian back-and-forth, full of bromantical bromides ("No, you're a great guy, Kyle"). Because of the significant consumption of brew, I was also making frequent trips to the bathroom, and on one of my more unsteady returns to the table, I was approached by a middle-aged woman, her arms flared outward, excitedly and expectantly. And, naturally, I responded in the worst possible manner: I froze, mid-stride, and looked over both shoulders, thinking I had oafishly wandered into the path of this woman and her friend. This notion was soon dispelled as the woman gave me an enthusiastic hug.

Fortunately, this woman's exuberance was matched in her level of intoxication. Not to say that she was by any means sloppy, but rather she had that delightful twinkle in her eye that comes with skillfully managing the fine line of drunk/not drunk. That same line which I myself had utterly annihilated earlier that night, and which also makes the Cross-Country mother-son dinner such an uproarious success each year, as there are some mothers, much to Andrew and Justin's chagrin, who have a charming disregard for that line altogether. But this mystery woman, in her state of contentment, cared little about my apparent ignorance. 

In the infancy of our small talk, I managed to pare down the possible identities of this woman to a handful of my friends' moms.  And then, the gods threw me a bone, as the woman mentioned how she was at the track meet I was working a couple days prior. It then finally dawned on me that she was my friend Jackie's mom, a great lady who I've met on several occasions (it was not so much that I didn't remember her, but more the potent combination of the occurrence being so out of place, and after so many drinks). The conversation really flowed from there, and the only hiccup being when I mentioned former Iowa standout Rachel Marchand getting busted for EPO by the NCAA, and how that must've been weird for Jackie being on her team. I just meant how odd that would be, but Jackie's mom seemed to think I was insinuating that Jackie was doping, which is just a laughable allegation. The situation was cleared up, though.

After that, Chin took care of the tab (what a guy!) and we started walking back home. Sure, our paths were by no means linear, but all-in-all we were fine, certainly not disruptive (keep this in mind). Yet, after I chucked up a deuce to Chin and headed down Madison, my night became full-on Shamalanian with another unexpected turn. I'm close enough to my house that I'm visualizing crashing face-first on my bed, but then, not one, but two police cars, with sirens, pulled me over (Is it still being pulled over if you're walking?). Having only recently turned twenty-one, I still find myself irrationally nervous after a night at the bar, so I had a moment of panic before I realized I wasn't doing anything wrong. I immediately walked over to the cop and handed him my i.d., and told him that I had been drinking, and that I was on my way home, pointing to my house, which was literally thirty feet away. He was pretty cool about it, he said that somebody had called the cops saying someone was being loud and disruptive (again I emphasize, nothing about my walk back could've been possibly construed as disruptive), and that he didn't have any problems as long as I was heading home. The worst of it was definitely seeing my roommate watching the whole thing transpiring from the window of our living room, a look of judgement and incredulity so intense on his face I thought he'd never be able to pick his jaw off of the ground. And then when I went to the front door, he wouldn't unlock it! What an asshole.

More later....

Gangsta by tUnE-yArDs

One day after giving NPR an exclusive stream of her full album, Merrill released W h o k i l l of 4 AD records on tuesday in the U.S., and it is almost as cool as Garbus herself. Haven't had time for it to all really sink in yet, but most importantly she didn't lose any of her, to say the least, unique style from BiRd-BrAiNs, adding a refined and fuller sound to her wild-things-when-they're-bound howls and delicate coos. It's a nice balance of growing as an artist, but also sticking to one's roots. The song that has been absolutely irresistible to me (even more, dare i say, than when her first single Bizness caught my eye) has been "Gangsta". Seriously, when she says "What's a boy to do if he'll never be a gangsta? Fire in his heart, but he'll never be a gangsta", she has managed to sum up in two sentence the distress that has robbed me of countless hours of sleep. But then again, I did just get pulled over by two cops just strolling down the street....

I was tempted to put the whole album up for download, but I just can't do that to Merrill. I sure as hell didn't buy it, but if you want it, I'll at least make you work for it like I did. She deserves at least that.

Edit: download link is broken, I'll try and fix it and repost

Double Edit: download here

 

Odds and Ends

So, it took me forever to crank out that last post because, believe it or not, I had a jam-packed week. Like smuckers-style, yo. Monday, I had the pleasure of kicking it with Seb Spivey for a bit, and we talked about our relationships with girls, the handling of our booze, our current, respective athletic shapes, and other aberrations. While at times it could've been construed as a pity-party, I tried to be of encouragement to my boy, and he sure was to me. If nothing else, it inspired a post about athletic disappointment that I hoping to spit tomorrow.

Tuesday, I met up with Erika for the concert, powered down a 40 that would've made my main man (above) proud, and got to catch up with the venerable Jordan Zeno, too. And also saw a turtle shell backpack that I'm definitely going to scoop. Wednesday was my own personal tribute to DFW; I'm talking a lot of hours lost in Infinite Jest. Running total right now is 12 hours, 60-odd pages read. So remember when I was contemplating the nature of my reading of Jest? I kind of immediately bypassed the "devouring" of it and kept going right through the "savoring" and now am somewhere between a "selfish hoarding" and "ineffective gumming". I couldn't care less, that book is the Merill Garbus bizness, yo.

Thursday and Friday were dedicated to Win Win, but I also snuck in a little 21st birthday celebration for Danny Vallo with Joel Peterson. 7th grade chill session, anyone? Wheaton Christian Grammar School, stand the fuck up! And tonight, the Wash-Mad house hosted a neat, little B-B-Q to welcome in the warm weather, where James Watertwin and I cemented our status as cornhole juggernauts, keeping our undefeated record alive and our celebratory swag all the way turnt up.

But most unbelievably, I attended a Super Smash Bros. tournament last night. Let me rephrase. Obviously it is not unbelievable that I attended said tournament (see 2008, 2009 tournament win), but rather, that my dead weight partner and I did not win. Or even make it out of the first round. I understand the incredulous stares warranted by the last statement, as, let's face it, I am the manifestation of every dream and hope of the creators of that game. The exact curvatures of that controller are modeled to nestle flawlessly in my very hands. I put the mother-fucking dough in Nintendo; do you hear what I'm clucking, big chicken?

Anyways, I was duped into attending by my partner telling me it started at 7:00 (My strict nocturnal regiment does not permit any post-10:30 antics; call me granny all you want, I don't give a shit). Let me just tell you, I was none too pleased by the time 10:25 ticked off my watch and we hadn't even begun our first match. Am I saying I purposely threw the match, just to escape the potential of spending a collegiately-viable saturday night? No.

I threw that goddam match because I was in the middle of a blog post. Ha. For those of you that know me, I needn't say anymore on how this is a drastic, even theological shift for myself. But for those of you that don't- three years ago I wouldn't have left a smash tournament for anything, biological urges included. I would've laid a steamy grammy in my drawers before I would forfeit a match. Obviously, I have a good amount of pride in my maturation over the recent years. So blog followers, all four of you, you should feel very honored.

Speaking of followers, I would like to sincerely thank anyone spending their time to read my pointlessly-meandering musings. As the saying goes, you could (and probably should) have been anywhere else in the world, but you're here with [me]. I feel like I'm definitely getting the better end of that deal.

Specific thanks are in order today to my friend Kim, author of excellent blog Grab the Shovel. As I've told her before, the girl's cornered the market on quaint, and a blog is the perfect media outlet for her and her expansive skill set in linguistics. I used to tell her how much she reminded me of Tina Fey's Liz Lemon, but that just doesn't do the girl justice. More appropriately, I now compare Fey to Kim, but after the abominable Date Night, I am paying those royalties to her less and less.

Thanks to Kim for the kind words and encouragement!

To Be Continued...

"When a person is lucky enough to live inside a story, to live inside an imaginary world, the pains of this world disappear. For as long as the story goes on, reality no longer exists." 

The Brooklyn Follies by Paul Auster

I found this quote earlier today and thought it would easily prompt a post. I then looked further into the context of the quote and saw that it was a maxim concluding a delightful anecdote about Austrian writer Franz Kafka. In the story, Kafka is consoling a young girl in the park who had just lost her doll. I will get more in-depth with this later, but anyways, he tells her a story about the doll to distract the girl from her loss. This description doesn't really justify the aforementioned delightful-ness , but I promise it will seem a lot more charming when I delve into it later. 

My first reaction after hearing this story in a work of fiction was to check on the accuracy of the story. It was in my search immediately after that I found the written account of Dora Diamant. Diamant was not only the last romantic interest of Kafka, but more importantly, a first-hand witness of this uncharacteristically tender moment  for Kafka. Reading through her portrayal of the event, it was nearly identical to Auster's interpretation in Follies; if anything, his version is just watered-down in terms of detail. My personal favorite is his line, "He immediately starts inventing a story to explain what happened" replacing Diamant's "At once he invented a sufficiently plausible story to explain the disappearance of the doll...". I mean, seriously? Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Paul, and especially not this poorly. That's the thing about plagiarism: if you're going to plagiarize effectively, it can be more work than just making you're own opinion. Below are the links, you can judge for yourself on the severity of Auster's crime. FYI, the copyright for Kafka's Last Love: The Mystery of Dora Diamant is 2003, while Auster's Follies is 2006.

The Brooklyn Follies- middle of page 138, starting at "All right. The story of the doll..."

Kafka's Last Love: The Mystery of Dora Diamant- middle of page 51, starting at "One day, as they were walking..."

So that put a hold on my post, and I also have to wait a couple days to get one of the Kafka biographies. The specific one I wanted was by the initial interviewer of Diamant, Marthe Robert, and neither the Wheaton College nor the Wheaton Public library had it in stock. But that library Inter-loan program is pretty badass; I'll get that book in a couple days. Honestly, this will  probably turn out to be more research than I did my two years at Wheaton combined. I'm just such a stubborn son of a bitch that when I am told I have to research, and of what I have to research about, I don't do it. Like at all. 

Really busy week at Shane's, but my hours will be back to normal this week. Unless, of course, Dustin gets that job at the Museum of Science and Industry, which I hope he does. Dustin's a sincerely good dude with that sense of moral reciprocity that makes him the ideal co-worker. He's old-school like that.

In other news, I started Infinite Jest by the inspiration for this particular blog's name, David Foster Wallace. I can already tell that I am going to love that book. However, it is so dense, literally and linguistically, that it's going to be more of a savoring than devouring, meaning that posts might be a tad fewer and far between. I know, I know, try to contain the wailing and gnashing of teeth, countless followers. Just understand that I am cheating on you with someone that really knows a thing or two about style. 

Sleigh Bells- Crown on the Ground

A truly epic cut by Brooklyn duo Sleigh Bells. The distorted guitars are unrelenting throughout the entire song, ranging shrilly enough to match the notes of vocalist Alexis Krauss. I like thinking of "set that crown on the ground" as Krauss calling out the prom queen of her high school, and it seems to make sense with the album art and the other lyrics. The opening lines, "you never doubted it, you're so proud of it, you straight shouted it, there's no doubt of it, you couldn't care less," specifically remind me of those high school cheerleaders- you know the type. I probably would call my prom queen out too if I could recollect who won the award. I was pretty busy trying to not embarrass myself by dancing, yet also to avoid any attention being drawn to the fact that I was avoiding dancing. Let's just say the that thin line between the two was the only thing I was incompetently straddling that night.

I absolutely love the pedigree of this band: Derek E. Miller, former shredder for Poison the Well, and Krauss, former teenybopper for short-lived Rubyblue, met while Miller waited on Krauss and her mother's table, and the rest is history. Have you seen these two? They are just too fucking adorable. Anyways, this is off their debut album, Treats, check the download below.

download here