The Middle

If there’s one song that pretty much everyone from my generation knows, it’s Jimmy Eat World’s “The Middle.” It got a lot of radio play when it first came out, and I’ll still hear it every once in a while, but more than that, it’s one of those pick-me-p songs that I can’t help but be in a good mood after listening to it. I’ve heard that song more times than I care to count, but it never gets old. I was listening to it tonight, and I started thinking about how some really great moments of my life have had that song playing in the background. I’m not gonna launch into a greatest hits, listing off the best moments I’ve ever had in my entire life, but these are some definite moments where I sat back for a second, looked around, and consciously thought, “Huh…this is kind of cool.”

Summer 2002, I went to a summer camp in Colorado called Camp Cheley. I stayed in the Haiyaha unit, which was for guys ages 14-17. We all got to be pretty close because we knew not to step on each others’ toes – we were all living together in pretty close quarters for about a month, so making enemies wasn’t the best idea. In the last week, my cabin was assigned bathouse duty, just normal stuff, sweeping, rinsing out the showers, etc. Someone had a stereo, and he started playing DJ as we went to work. He picked out a couple of his personal favorites, stuff that a few people knew, but then “The Middle” came on. Everyone perked up – I can’t explain it. By that point, we were all in the typical summer camp “I love everyone!” mindset, so that didn’t hurt. We all started singing along (everyone knew the words, of course) and playing guitars on our brooms. In that moment, we were all united. Common task that no one really wanted to do, singing the same song, with a big circle of friends. Male bonding at its finest.

Summer 2005, again at a summer camp, this time YMCA Camp Grady Spruce in Possum Kingdom. It was the last Saturday of camp, the last batch of campers had left that morning, so it was just the counselors in the dining hall for lunch that afternoon. Same situation as with Cheley – we’d all been with each other all summer, making it a point to legitimately make friends and include everyone. I plugged my iPod into the giant stereo system and started blasting the first thing I found as loud as I could. As we ate, people would get up and select the next song. Sure enough, someone put on “The Middle.” We were done eating by that point, so we were just milling around, avoiding the last bits of work we had to do before we could go home. We were all really excited and energized already – the fucking kids were gone, our job was all but done, and we could finally just chill and all be together for the last time. There wasn’t too much of a reaction to the song beyond a general nod of approval and a couple grins, but nothing else was really needed. That lunch, in the last couple days of July, was the first time that we had been able to hang out as a group without anything to do since the first group of campers came in May. Can’t really describe the feeling that we all had, looking around at each other, satisfied knowing that our work was finally (!) done. All we had was sandwiches and chips, but that was one of the best lunches I’d had in a long time.

And then we come to tonight. This one’s a bit more subdued, a bit more random than the others. We were sitting in the Blobby (the Blanton lobby), just like every other night, doing homework but not really doing homework, just like every other night, making fun of each other, just like every other night, etc. Jackie put on “The Middle,” and again, there was that general consensus that you just can’t not like this song (think about it). I looked around at everyone sitting there, there were probably ten people in all, and I was struck with this feeling of contentment. Not happiness, which can be pretty fleeting when something else comes along to hit you in the face, but contentment. Not only did I know everyone’s name, which is rarer than I’d like to admit, but I’ve had extensive conversations with everyone that was sitting there. I was comfortable, I fit in, I belonged. Everyone in that circle, I felt like I could randomly call on a weekday afternoon to see if they wanted to grab lunch or coffee, just for the hell of it. I’ve had a lot of ups and downs in the past few weeks, long story there, so it was kind of nice to realize that I still have this group that I see, talk to, and laugh with pretty much every day. A more subdued kind of contentment than the other examples, yes, but contentment nonetheless. Every once in a while, it’s the little things that get to you.

My Economics Paper

As obvious as it sounds, economic principles are usually only used when studying the economy, past, present, and future. These principles were created for the specific purpose of describing how the economy works, both in theory and in practice, so it’s only natural that this should be their main application. However, with a wider scope, it’s possible to see that these economic goals, policies, and theories can relate to common events in everyday life. To view the average person’s daily routine through the lens of an economist might seem unusual, but a careful analysis results in a better understanding of the almost unconscious process of human interaction. In their book Freakonomics, Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner define economics as “…at root, the study of incentives: how people get what they want, or need, especially when other people want or need the same thing” (16).

The arguable cornerstone of economics is the principle of supply and demand. When the supply of a product is low and the demand for it is high, a vendor can charge whatever price he wishes for the good in question. When the supply is high and the demand is low, he doesn’t quite have this freedom. The basic principle here is that a good is worth whatever someone is willing to pay for it; this can potentially dictate a price substantially higher than the good’s retail value.

For example, I was once in a large lecture class that required its students to bring blue books for every exam. During the first exam of the semester, a student entered the room five minutes into the exam, sat next to me, and promptly realized that he had forgotten to buy a blue book. Running off to buy one would take at least ten minutes, time that he didn’t have to spare. The supply of spare blue books was extremely limited, and his demand for one was almost off the charts – the exam was worth thirty percent of the final grade. Smiling to myself, I realized that anyone who happened to have an extra blue book in his backpack could have named any price that this student would be obliged to pay.

Here, the concept of inflation comes into play. The basic gist of inflation is that the cost of a certain good fluctuates as a result of outside circumstances – it takes more or less money to acquire the same product. In the economy, the price of imported cars in dollars, for example, rises or falls based on the exchange rate of the currency between the two countries. Similarly, in real life, people often find that it suddenly requires more effort to obtain the same result. A young man trying to woo a girl finds that paying her a compliment and buying her a cup of coffee gets him a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night. One night, after the compliment and the coffee, she gives him a hug and leaves. The following night, he takes her to dinner at an expensive restaurant and takes her dancing afterward. Sure enough, at the end of the night, he gets his kiss. Based on the progression of the relationship, a kiss on the cheek costs more.

In the above example, the price of a blue book (normally just thirty-nine cents) has skyrocketed because of the unfortunate student’s immediate need for the good. Three hours before the exam, the student would be crazy to buy a blue book for any more than retail price. During crunch time, however, with forty-five minutes left in the exam and no blank blue book in sight, the value of the good begins to inflate exponentially. Again, the value of a good is whatever the person is willing to pay for it. Let’s say that the entrepreneurial merchant’s asking price for his extra blue book is twenty dollars. The (admittedly disgruntled) student wouldn’t be paying that amount of money for eight sheets of paper stapled together; he’d be paying for his only option for salvaging his grade in the class. An “A” instead of a “C” in a class is of inestimable value, but twenty dollars seems like a good start.

Now, the obvious objection to this situation is that no good person would corner someone into this type of deal just to make a little bit of extra cash. While it wouldn’t surprise me if something akin to this situation has happened at least once, it’s certainly not the common response. I pose the following question: why? If economics is the study of incentives, and someone has both the means and the opportunity to make a quick buck, why wouldn’t he? It’s a bit dodgy, ethically speaking, but ethics aren’t usually a major factor in strictly businesslike transactions. There must be some other reason that this person with an extra blue book is more inclined to hand it over with a wink and a smile than to make the other person reach for his wallet.

To answer this question, I apply the principle of the balance of payments – regarding trade, a country wants to export as many goods as it can while simultaneously importing as few goods as possible. Just as a countries trade goods on a massive scale, people trade goods and services with those around them on a daily basis. A man offers a soda from his refrigerator to his neighbor. A student lets a classmate copy her notes. A girl moves her friend’s car out of a no-parking zone before the car gets towed. The societal norm seems to be that money doesn’t change hands during such personal interchanges; a person will do his friend a favor with the implication that the favor will be reciprocated later.

I would therefore like to propose the theory that in a group of close friends, especially in communal living environments like dormitories, doing favors for one another acts as the “currency” of the relationship. If someone does a small favor for me, I “owe” him one small favor. If I do a big favor for someone, he “owes” me either one big favor or several small favors. This system is obviously much more flexible than the dollar system, but on the whole, it seems to consistently match the daily interactions of acquaintances. As a side note, it is theoretically possible for one to live his life in a “closed” economy, that is, a completely self-sufficient person who doesn’t rely on anyone around him for anything, but this usually doesn’t last very long. Everyone requires someone else’s help at one point or another. We will therefore work with the model of an open market.

For example, say that John and Steve go out to lunch. John has forgotten his wallet, so Steve pays for the entire meal. Instead of reimbursing Steve with the exact dollar amount as soon as possible, John will probably just pick up the check the next time he and Steve eat together. Steve did a favor for John (“exporting” his good will), and later, he received one in return (“importing” John’s good will). The transaction is complete. Just as with national trade, it is better for one’s net exports to be positive than negative. A person who constantly does favors for his friends without asking for repayment for its own sake has a trade surplus, a useful stock that he can take advantage of should the need arise. A person who constantly asks his friends for goods and services without repaying them has a trade deficit; his friends will likely see him as a “moocher” and be less inclined to do favors for him in the future.

Booms and slumps can be explained by a person’s attitude over a given period of time. A student who aces two tests and receives an acceptance letter from the graduate school of his choice in the same day is likely to be in a pretty good mood – he’d probably be willing to grab his roommate’s laundry from the dryer before it gets stolen or buy a round of drinks on a Friday night. By amassing these favors while in his positive emotional state, he’s going through a boom. Conversely, a student who has three midterms and a research paper all due in a single week will probably turn to his friends more than once in order to make it through. Borrowing notes from someone here, his roommate bringing him dinner there – the deficit builds up pretty quickly. He’s going through a slight slump. Both of these are common, and in the long run, the booms and slumps of a hectic college student’s life tend to balance each other out.

Returning to the above example, then, a student won’t charge his classmate twenty dollars for a blue book because he wants to retain his ability to receive a favor in the future. A person’s current “trade status” is not necessarily private information. What favors he does, for whom, and how often are all pretty common information just through gossip and small talk among his friends. The person who sells his classmate a blue book for twenty dollars damages his reputation considerably in the process. News of this irregularity will spread, and his friends will stop asking him for favors for fear of what he will ask in return. Since his friends aren’t asking him for any favors, in turn, they feel less obligated to do favors for him. Isolation ensues. Though this man’s actions are perfectly logical in an economic sense, they demonstrate what kind of deals he has the habit of making, lowering the chance of future interactions.

The quote from Levitt and Dubner makes it a point to distinguish wants from needs. Three hours before the test, the student wanted a blue book. Five minutes into it, he needs one. While it is certainly unjust and irregular to charge twenty dollars for something he so desperately needs, it might not be quite as unjust to overcharge for a nonessential good. For example, in college towns, fast food restaurants close their dining areas at midnight but keep the drive-through lane open all night long. However, the restaurants don’t serve food to people who walk through the lane – since many college students don’t have cars, this is a bit of a setback. A student with a car is in the position to make a little bit of money for himself. He can park his car in the parking lot with a sign in the passenger’s window that says, “I will drive you through for five dollars.” At one or two o’clock on a Friday night, he’s likely to have several (quite possibly inebriated) takers. Again, the price that someone is willing to pay for a cheeseburger has inflated because of his mental state and the lack of other options.

The difference between the two situations is the distinction between necessity and desire. Charging twenty dollars so that someone can pass an exam might as well be stealing, since the student has no other options besides paying the asking price. With the fast food example, though, the buyer makes the conscious choice to pay the five-dollar “transportation fee.” He doesn’t “need” a cheeseburger like the student needs the blue book, so there can be little comparison between the two.

Examining real life situations from an economic perspective provides an interesting view on human nature, both psychologically and sociologically. The study of the average person’s incentives, needs, and the lengths to which he will go to obtain these needs is a very practical use of time. A rational, unbiased, fresh perspective on the unconscious happenings of everyday life can be quite educational and can significantly increase the quality of one’s social life.

Nicknames

I’m taking a break (i.e. procrastinating) from my philosophy paper, but I’m still in a writing mood, so I thought I’d ramble on here for a while. For no reason at all, the topic of nicknames came to mind. Someone’s real name doesn’t matter that much beyond it being the main method of identification (if my name’s Matt or Will or John, it doesn’t change who I am at all), but a nickname can define someone as a certain personality type or even prod them to act in certain ways. I think that a nickname’s a very important part of someone’s identity – if it catches on, it sticks with you for quite a while. Most people know that you can’t give yourself a nickname. Someone has to come up with one, and it has to fit the person to be common enough for everyday use. I’ve had my fair share of nicknames, some good, some bad.

FRODO – this came about during my first few years at Cistercian. I was one of the shorter kids in the class, and I had what I like to consider an affably eccentric personality. This was before the years of tests, papers, and teenage hormones killed my spirit. A big staple of Cistercian is that sixth grade English consists pretty much solely of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. When it came to Tolkien, everyone at Cistercian knew their shit, whether they wanted to or not. A guy in the class above me (either Nick Christensen or Mason Reeves, can’t remember) nicknamed me Frodo because of my height, and for whatever reason, it stuck. Everyone at CPS, even the high schoolers who normally wouldn’t bother to look in my direction, knew me as Frodo. Between classes, at football games, whatever, I’d hear someone shout “Hey, Frodo!” and turn to see someone sprinting from the other side of the hallway to say hey. It was a term of endearment more than anything else. I eventually grew out of it as our class stopped being the low men on the totem pole, but I wonder how many CPS graduates from the classes of ’99, ’00, ’01 occasionally think, “Whatever happened to that Frodo kid?”

JONESY – not too much of a story here. My high school nickname. My last name’s Jones, so it’s only fitting. I just want to say, though, that during junior and senior year, I’d guess that a good portion of people I hung out with on a daily basis didn’t know my first name.

SHEETS – ah, yes, the fucking infamous Sheets story. It’s ubiquitous in Austin and it’s apparently even spread back to Dallas and all over the country with various high school friends of mine who’ve gone on to college. I’m not gonna tell the whole story for privacy reasons, as there may or may not have been certain illegal activities involved, but suffice it to say that this one stuck in a big way. During my freshman year of college, pretty much everyone in the Quad knew me only as Sheets, due in no small part to Mr. David Zummo and Mr. Saul Elbein. The nickname isn’t as common this year as it was last year, but it’s something that I’m pretty sure I’ll never live down completely. I compare being Sheets to being Michael Bolton from Office Space – everyone has a joke to make, and not one of them is original (or funny).

KIDDO – this one’s used exclusively by the Broccoli Project, the Plan II theater group that I’m in. My friend Brandan calls someone “kiddo” when she can’t remember his real name, so that’s how it started, but even when she finally learned it, she kept calling me Kiddo because she said it fit. Fair enough. A nickname’s a great way to know you belong to a group, and that’s what happened with Broccoli. When I meet people at auditions or shows, I don’t even bother introducing myself as Matt. I just hold out my hand and go, “Hey, I’m Kiddo, nice to meet you,” and everyone around me who knows me nods in approval. They’d correct me immediately if I said anything else. This one’s still going strong, and I don’t see it dying out in the foreseeable future, at least with this crowd.

Just something I was thinking about while I was sitting outside. Even if it’s completely pointless, it’s fun to write stuff like this for posterity. Twenty years from now, I’ll be flipping around on my computer (or whatever the equivalent is by then), find this, and think, “Holy shit, I completely forgot about the whole Frodo thing.” Good times, good times.

There's nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.

A couple of years ago, on a Saturday afternoon, I was watching an episode of Lost that I had Tivo’ed from the week before. I think it was the one where Michael killed Ana Lucia and Libby, because I remember that I was really into it – it was just getting good. I had been interrupted three or four times already, by my mom asking me to take my laundry upstairs or my dad showing me a newspaper article, stuff like that, so I was a bit perturbed already. It was in the last five minutes when my sister yelled “Hey, Matt! Come look at this!” I was so enraged that I couldn’t get forty-five minutes to myself that I finally just shut it off and said out loud, “Screw it, I’ll just watch it later, I guess. WHAT?” She meekly handed me a packet we had just gotten in the mail from Plan II, and we all know what a big packet instead of a dinky white envelope means. My only response was, “…oh.”

Whatever I do, I’ve noticed that I have the tendency to try to make it an experience instead of just another action, especially when it comes to media. I prefer watching movies in a dark room on my laptop with my headphones in – I can shut out the outside world, so the only thing that my senses can possibly perceive is the movie itself. I get into it more, I engage myself more fully when there are no distractions to pull me away. I think my roommate thinks that I’m antisocial because when I’m in the room, I usually have my headphones in playing music full blast instead of having a conversation for the sake of having a conversation. I do that a lot when I listen to music. I’ll lie in bed with my iPod, shut my eyes, crank it up, and just enjoy. I can’t keep one earbud in as background music while I’m having a conversation or whatever, because I usually end up getting caught up in a guitar solo and tuning out the person I’m talking to. Not a great conversational skill.

For the last couple years, I’ve tried to live by a maxim that I came up with – “Do what you’re doing.” If you’re talking with someone, then talk with him and pay attention, don’t wonder what’s for dinner. If you’re reading a book, don’t stop every couple of paragraphs to get a drink of water or look around. If you’re writing, don’t check Facebook every five minutes. It loses its flow, it doesn’t mean as much when you don’t just get into it and enjoy it for all it’s worth. I came up with this idea during the summer after my junior year of high school when our class went to Europe for three weeks. We went to Hungary, Slovakia, Croatia, and everywhere worth going to in Italy, among other places – not to be cliché, but it was the kind of trip you only get the chance to do once. All around me, though, all I heard was bitching about the food not being good enough, the rules were too strict, the bus was too cramped, etc, etc. I just wanted to tell everyone to chill the fuck out. Maybe listening to a song you’ve heard a million times isn’t an experience, but touring the Sistine Chapel sure as hell is. Pay attention, look at the murals and stuff, and stop complaining that you think someone stole one of your T-shirts. You’re here, you chose to be here, you can’t change it, so you’re only hurting yourself by not fully engaging in your surroundings.

I’ve found that the opposite of this is also true – if you don’t want to be somewhere, then don’t be there. Obviously, everyone is forced to deal with certain unpleasantness that pops up occasionally, but it’s easy enough to disengage mentally, if not physically. If I’m in a really boring class, for example, I’ll usually just halfheartedly scribble down whatever the professor is saying while I’m off in my own little world. Not paying attention makes the time go faster. This is obviously easier when the situation has a definite endpoint – a fifty-minute class period, for example, or the guy that lives across the hall that you absolutely hate deciding to sit across from you at dinner. Even if it seems like it’ll never end, it will, and you know when it will. Almost anything’s bearable for a predefined period of time.

I just seem to take more enjoyment out of life when I, as I said, do what it is that I’m doing. I take more away from it when I’m able to completely immerse myself in a movie or a TV show or a song or a conversation. It just seems like a waste of time, otherwise. Yeah, I spent three hours of my life reading this book, but I didn’t understand any of it because I wasn’t paying attention. I can either spend more time rereading it, or I can just call it a loss and move on. Neither of those options is really appealing. Hence, if you see me sprawled out in the Quad with my nose buried in book, don’t come up to me and ask me how I’m doing because you haven’t seen me for three hours. Unless your name is Tim. I always have time for you, sweetcheeks:)

Life barrels on like a runaway train.

I went back home for my high school’s homecoming this weekend. It was an interesting experience. Three guys from our class showed up, and one of them still lives in Dallas, anyway. I didn’t talk to either of them longer than the obligatory handshake and pleasantries. It’s not that we don’t like each other, it just seems like we didn’t really have anything to say. Only a couple guys from the class of ’07, also, and nobody from ’05. Alums that I knew were few and far between. I ended up hanging out with Br. Stephen and Br. Philip the entire time. It was fun, but it made for some interesting musing once I got home.

It wasn’t that I felt out of place, exactly; after all the time I spent there, I don’t think I could ever feel like a stranger at Cistercian. I felt like an outsider. I left and went to college, I’ve been doing my own shit for the last year and a half, but things back there kept on the same way they always have. Guys that were in seventh, eighth, ninth grade while I was there are the top dogs now, and teachers treat them just like they treated us senior year – as friends more than students. It’ll eventually cycle out to where I don’t know any students at the school at all, by which point all but the most dedicated teachers will have left, too. I didn’t feel anything like this when I went to homecoming last year, but I think it’s because it was too fresh – I’d really only been gone for about a month and a half, so Cistercian still felt like home just as much as it always had. Last year, chilling in the stands and cheering for the team, I felt like I’d never really left. Not the same this year, though.

During sophomore year, it seems like I’ve been gone long enough to feel distant from everyone there, but I haven’t been gone long enough quite yet to feel nostalgic about my time there. I made a pass around campus, hit up the senior classrooms and the lunchroom and the pub, but it didn’t bring back that many memories that I don’t call up on a daily basis. That’s it – I felt distant, detached, somehow. I was watching the same shit that always happened, chatting with teachers, hitting on girls, buying popcorn, stuff that I did a million times, except it wasn’t mine anymore. I felt like there wasn’t much of a point in being there. I mean, yeah, it was good seeing everyone, but it only made me think about how much I’ve changed since I graduated and came to college. I’m a completely different person than I was in August 2006, there’s no doubt about that. It just didn’t feel like I’d had enough distance since senior year to appreciate it purely for nostalgic value. I was trying to fall back into my old role of actually being a Cistercian student, which didn’t work at all. I can’t do that anymore, and I learned that.

Before the game, I went to Ball’s Burgers to get a plate of nachos. Good shit, I can’t finish a full plate. On my way out, I ran into two kids wearing Cistercian t-shirts. I struck up a conversation, turns out they’re eighth graders this year. I told them I was a sophomore in college, pointed to my Texas sweatshirt, and their jaws dropped. I was a god, I was a friggin’ college student, and here I was, talking about E-Lab and Art tests. They were hanging on to my every word, something that hasn’t happened to me in a very long time, if ever. Somehow, thinking back on it, it only made me more depressed, though. In a few years, these kids are gonna be seniors, and after that, they’ll be the college students who happen to run into middle schoolers and shoot the shit for a few minutes. By that time, I’ll probably have left my Cistercian days far behind me. I might come back for the occasional Christmas or lunch with an old friend, but besides that, I’ll be living my own life.

It’s just weird, I guess, knowing that I had my time and finished it, and now I’m off doing my own thing, but things continue on at Cistercian like they always have and always will. I don’t have a place there anymore, there’s nothing left for me to do. I’m welcome to come visit occasionally, I’m sure, but that’s pretty much it. I’m finally at the point where, as a whole, our class of ’06 doesn’t rely on Cistercian anymore. We’re not “the class” anymore – we’re 44 independent people who may happen to drop in from time to time and remember the bond we used to share a million years ago. There’s finally enough distance between now and my time at Cistercian to realize that. I don’t belong there anymore, and to be honest, that scares the shit out of me.

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I’m what you might call a night person. A person’s in a totally different mindset at three, four in the morning than he’s in at lunch or even when the sun’s just gone down. There’s something about that time of night, when businesses are long closed and most sane people have gone to bed, that attracts me, that always has. I can’t find the right word to describe it. Most good conversations seem to happen at night – I don’t know how many nights in high school I stayed up late on AIM, chatting about nothing and everything with whoever happened to be online at the time. It might simply be attributed to tiredness, synapses not firing the way they do after a good night of sleep. That can’t be it, though.

The whole world has a different feel to it when the only lights are coming from streetlamps and the occasional headlights of a passing car. You’re more open and honest with people then, maybe because of the simple rapport you share through knowing that you’re the only ones awake. Rationale and logic go out the window, and you begin to say what you really feel instead of tiptoeing around it. I can’t really call it cathartic, unless you have something you happen to be getting off your chest at the time. Ethereal, maybe. Surreal. I’ve told people things during various late night chats that, thinking back the next day, I wonder, Did I really say that out loud? Thinking about it further, though, I’ll realize that nine times out of ten, the statement in question was completely and utterly honest. That’s the way all conversations should be.

Last week, after walking back from 7-11 and encountering a homeless man asking us with tears in his eyes if we could spare a little bit of change for some gas money, a friend of mine made the intriguing comment, “I think three a.m. is when people’s lives start to suck.” It’s easy to hide from your problems in the hustle and bustle of a crowd, sitting in a packed restaurant or surrounded by a hundred people taking the same test you are. It’s easier to fit in, or at least pretend that you do. At night, though, when you finally have time to sit down by yourself and think about your station in life, everything becomes real. You can’t hide from it, you can’t distract yourself, you can’t pretend they’re not there because they’re not affecting your life at that very moment. When it’s just you, sitting on a street corner in darkness when there’s not a waking soul anywhere in sight, you feel like the only person in the world. All of your problems, your worries and fears and concerns, envelop you because that’s all there is. It’s a scary thing to some people, some more than others.

I’ve decided to stop telling people about whatever girl I might or might not have/develop a crush on as our relationship develops. I had a big thing for a girl last semester, and instead of telling her about it, I talked to everyone but her. Everything I wanted to say to her, everything I was feeling, I instead vented to various friends at various times of day. The same thing’s happened this semester on a much smaller scale. I’m tired of telling people over and over, “This is the girl, I can feel it,” “We have this great connection going on,” only to watch it fizzle out and simply stop bringing it up. Saying it out loud makes me feel like I’m doing something about it, even though I’m obviously not. If there’s a girl I like, I’m not going to talk to her for half an hour and then spend another two hours hashing over every nuance of the conversation with friends. Things I should be saying to her, I’m saying to Danny or Sean. I think that when I finally sit down with the girl that’s caught my eye and lay everything down on the line, I’d like to be in that late-night mindset. When I’m there, I’m not exactly logical or rational, but why should I be? It’s easier to talk to her in a stream of consciousness than stammer over every word, trying to decide what to say next that’s going to freak her out the least. If you think about it, in a strictly biological sense, is there anything logical or rational about love?

I’m pulling an all-nighter tonight because I can’t fall asleep. I slept for eleven hours two nights in a row, so when I laid down a few hours ago, sleep just didn’t come. I’m still not tired. Around me, I hear alarms going off, people waking up and showering and heading to their eight a.m. classes. The Quad’s not deserted anymore – some people are getting back from their morning jogs, others are ambling around, half awake, with a recently-purchased cup of coffee. The “real world” has returned in full force. I don’t think I’ll be in the same mindset I’m in now in a couple hours, once I’ve fallen back into my daily routine. Like I said earlier, that particular mindset can’t just come from a lack of sleep. It won’t be like normal, though, either. I’m not refreshed enough after a night spent chatting and reading to fall back into that pattern. I think I’m okay with that.

Postscript: I carried this poem around with me in my wallet until my mom ran it through the washer. I found it during a poetry research project junior year. Seems to reflect my thoughts on the matter exactly. Enjoy it, for what it's worth.


Acquainted with the Night
Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
O luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

Holding your cards close to your chest.

College is a very social environment – people meet each other for the first time on a daily basis. Some of these new relationships flicker and die as quickly as they’re born. The only interaction two people may have in their entire lifetime might be, “Hey, do you have the time?” “Yeah, it’s 3:30.” “Cool, thanks.” The two then go their separate ways, completely unaware that they each vote Democrat, have the same favorite movie, attended the same concert the weekend before, or maybe even have a mutual friend. Continuing a conversation beyond this bare minimum for no particular reason is pretty out of the ordinary, if not “weird.” How often do you start up a conversation with the person in front of you at the bank just for the hell of it? If you’re standing by yourself and he’s standing by himself, what’s to stop you from alleviating your boredom with a little bit of chitchat?

I bring this up because I eat alone at the dining hall occasionally. It’s not that I’m antisocial (most of the time, anyway), but if I need to grab a bite to eat before rehearsal or between classes, I won’t make it a point to call somebody just to have someone to eat with. Lots of people eat alone for this reason, the dining hall’s full of them. When I have a full tray, though, I’m more likely to plop down by myself than across the table from some random stranger. The occasional person can pull it off with an air of extroversion and nonchalance, but most of the time, a gesture like this comes off as desperate, forced, and a little bit sad. People often assume intentions that may or not be there. Guys don’t force conversation with other guys because it seems unspoken that guys “just don’t do that.” A guy who sits next to a random girl is obviously hitting on her. A girl usually won’t sit next to a random guy for the same reason. A dining hall full of solitary eaters, each one just as willing as the next to chat a little bit, but don’t initiate it for fear of sending out the wrong signal.

The first couple weeks of any new relationship are pretty treacherous territory. Neither person wants to come on too strong for fear of becoming “that guy who won’t stop calling me,” but he still has to convey enough interest to let the other person know that he wants to pursue some sort of relationship, whether friendship or otherwise. During this building stage, people reveal carefully selected facets of their personalities to one another to give off just the right impression. If the other person responds positively to these facets, then we progressively begin to let our guard down. Often times, a person may figure something out about his new friend that clearly isn’t up for discussion yet. For example, a friend of mine was telling me about a girl he met in some parking lot. She had a huge rainbow bumper sticker on the back of her car, leading him to the logical conclusion that she was gay. He didn’t feel comfortable breaching that subject with her without her consent. A couple weeks into the relationship, she “came out” to him – he faked surprise, but later revealed that he had kind of figured it out. She asked him why he hadn’t said anything. He told her that that part of her personality clearly hadn’t been on the table up to that point.

That seems to happen a lot – we know something about someone that we’re not supposed to know quite yet. Facebook, the greatest revolution to hit college since Jell-o wrestling (I’ve already used that metaphor in a newspaper article, but I love it, so chill), usually plays a big part in that. I meet a girl in the Quad, Facebook her, and I immediately know her phone number, her room number, etc. I can’t immediately use this information, though – way too creepy. I have to coincidentally run into her again, maybe a couple times, before the right opportunity arises to ask for her number. This opportunity usually comes in the form of a specific event – “Hey, want me to let you know if I’m going to that movie later?” “Yeah, gimme a call. My number’s…” You get the idea. Even if I’ve talked to someone several times and get along with them fine, it always seems awkward to just randomly throw out there, “Hey, I don’t think I have your number.” I could call them any time I wanted, I could drop by their room to pick up that CD we’d been talking about, I could mention that my hobbies also include waterskiing and playing guitar, but I can’t – it hasn’t naturally come up. All that information, though readily available, just isn’t on the table yet.

I guess my vague, roundabout point is that we limit potential relationships because of how we fear we’re being perceived. I don’t strike up a conversation with the marginally attractive girl a couple seats down from me because she’ll think I’m just trying to sleep with her. I don’t drop by someone’s room and ask if they want to grab coffee on a lazy Saturday because I’m not supposed to know that they live in room 212. I don’t call someone and let them know, “Holy shit, our favorite movie that we talked about is playing in the Union in half an hour” because they haven’t technically given me their number yet. We’re constantly backtracking, needling someone to tell us something we already know so that we can discuss it freely. I understand that these borders exist for a reason, but it’s a shame that a little bit of common sense (and maybe some Internet savvy) comes off as nothing but creepiness.

My Top Five Albums

I listen to a lot of music – in that regard, I guess I fit into the mold of a typical college student. I think it’s impossible to have a favorite song and borderline impossible to have a favorite artist. There’s no doubt that some musicians are just plain better than others, whether in the writing phase or the performance phase, but overall, the market is too saturated to be able to name a single four-minute song as the epitome of music.

What I do believe in, though, is albums. The album as an art form seems like it’s been falling by the wayside in our iTunes-driven society – why buy the whole album when there are only one or two songs that you really like? An album should be an experience, a logical thought or musical progression from start to finish. It should represent a substantial (if not total) range of the artist’s talents, but it should also stay consistent within itself. I’m not a big fan of albums that try out a different genre for every track. An album should be a serialized collection of songs, not a mishmash of different stuff that the artist has recorded here and there.

The following, then, are my five favorite albums – notice how I say my personal favorites, not “the best.” When I was thinking about this last night (couldn’t fall asleep), I came up with two basic ground rules. Firstly, I wanted this list to consist of music I discovered on my own. “Abbey Road,” for example, is much more highly accredited than any album on this list, and I legitimately enjoyed it, but I only listened to it because of the ubiquity of the Beatles in our modern culture. The music on this list is stuff that I discovered on the radio, at friends’ houses, through my dad, etc, stuff I’d never heard of before I listened to it. I also limited this list to original studio albums – this eliminates CDs like best-of compilations, live albums, and (unfortunately) soundtracks. In chronological order of release:

Counting Crows – August and Everything After (1993)
My dad listed to this album all the time when I was a kid. At that age, I really only paid attention to “Mr. Jones” because I liked that it had my name in it. In early high school, though, I found the CD in my dad’s office and put it on as I was doing some homework. It’s amazing how much soul and emotion is in the lyrics of songs like “Round Here” and “Anna Begins” (one of my all-time favorite songs). These slower songs are almost haunting in how they stick with you long after you’re done listening to them. It’s rainy-day music, the stuff I would put on when I was at my most philosophic – driving home from play rehearsal at 1 a.m., for example. I’m also going to go out on a limb and say that “Raining in Baltimore” is the Crows’ most underrated song.

Weezer – The Blue Album (1994)
I waffled back and forth for a long time between “Blue” and “Pinkerton,” but in the end, I went with this one because it has more sentimental value. I bought it at the beginning of the summer after seventh grade, and it’s the first album that I became obsessed with. I listened to it over and over for days on end, and as such, I have it memorized – every lyric, every guitar lick, every idiosyncrasy, down pat. “Buddy Holly” is catchy, “In the Garage” is quirky and full of pop-culture references, and “My Name is Jonas” is just badass. “Only in Dreams,” the final track, is a seven-minute instrumental ballad that perfectly captures that feeling of adolescent longing. Listening to this album is forty-one minutes (and no, I didn’t have to look that up) of pure nostalgia and bliss.

Third Eye Blind – Third Eye Blind (1997)
Most people know this album for its biggest singles, “Semi-Charmed Life” and “Jumper,” but I usually skip over these songs when I’m listening in my car or on my iPod. It’s not that I don’t like them, but they’re way too overplayed – if I’m making it a point to listen to Third Eye Blind, I don’t want to listen to something I heard on the radio two days ago. Most of the songs are fast-paced and poppy, but not overly so. The subtleties of the lyrics and instrumentation make it so that you can hear a song several times and notice something new every time. If someone put a gun to my head and forced me to pick a favorite song, I’d probably say “Motorcycle Drive By.” That’s one of those songs where if I’m listening to it while I’m driving and I get to where I’m going before the songs over, I’ll sit in the car and let it finish.

Nickel Creek – Nickel Creek (2000)
I was in Shakespeare’s “Love’s Labours Lost” during my sophomore year of high school, and a couple songs from this album served as background music. The whole album is very chill, very laid back, but it’s earnest. If you’ve never heard a mandolin solo before, you might want to check out “The Fox.” As I’ve said before, great vocals are important to me, which makes “Out of the Woods” and “Reasons Why” just that much better. The latter, in particular, has tight harmony that blows me away every time. Instrumental pieces like “Ode to a Butterfly” are equally awe-inspiring. “The Lighthouse’s Tale” is just a great story put to an appropriately simple yet elegant melody. This one’s probably the most obscure on my list.

Ben Folds – Rockin’ the Suburbs (2001)
With a few exceptions mentioned in the booklet, Ben Folds plays every instrument and sings every vocal on the entire CD. This ranges from the mind-numbing piano lick that begins “Zak and Sara” to the crazy high note at the end of “Fired” to the kick-ass bass solo in the title song. Even if you don’t like his particular genre, you have to respect the guy as a musician. That’s talent. Most of his lyrics especially on this album, are very personal and specific, so much so that I only found out what several of them were about when I heard him explain them live. “Fred Jones, Part Two” and “Ascent of Stan” are perfect examples. I also hold “The Luckiest” to be one of the best love songs ever written, but hey, that’s just me.

"Ah, music, a magic beyond all we do here."

I’d say that throughout my high school career, the phrase that I heard most often was “Jonesy, dammit, stop singing!”

Again, if you don’t know me very well (and you’d really have to not know me well at all to not notice this), I sing a lot. Not at choir, not at karaoke, not at talent shows, not even when someone has a guitar out; just to myself. It’s not particularly rare to see me walking across the quad singing Ben Folds or Avenue Q or something for no reason whatsoever. I’ve done it as long as I can remember, it’s not a habit that I just picked up one day. I distinctly remember that in first grade, I was singing “A Whole New World” to myself during a spelling test, and the teacher had to ask me to be quiet. That wouldn’t be so bad if the exact same thing hadn’t happened during a government quiz senior year.

I get songs stuck in my head (my dad calls them “ear worms”), and more often than not, I just can’t stop myself. It’s not like I make a conscious decision to spontaneously burst into song. Once I start, I’m usually aware I’m doing it within the first couple notes or so, unless I’m concentrating really hard on something else. I’ve tried quitting (believe me, I’ve tried), but again, the first couple notes usually eke their way out before I quite know what’s happening. By that point, I really think that it’d be more embarrassing to stop suddenly and turn red than to just follow through. Following though makes it look voluntary, even if it’s not. I’ve mostly just accepted that it’s a habit I’ll always have, for better or worse, and that people can just deal with it.

I’ve started to embrace it – again, it’s the follow through and commitment to the bit that helps pull it off. The guy wandering around mouthing something under his breath looks a little bit creepy; the guy who struts down the street belting “Hey Jude,” complete with contorted facial expressions, is just a badass. He’s got confidence. People watching him may think he’s a little out there, but it’s the good kind of out there. I might be way off base on this one, but I think if I pull it off right, it gives off the vibe of an easygoing, chill, relatively confident guy who’s just plain enjoying himself. It’s even been a conversation starter at times. I was ambling across the Quad last year, humming Everyone’s a Little Bit Racist from Avenue Q, and sure enough, some girl passing by yelled out “Dude, I love that musical.” We talked for ten or fifteen minutes after that. The same thing’s happened with everything from Coldplay to Ben Folds to Newsies (way underrated, you should check it out).

I think it’s fair to say that people who get really into music fall into it themselves. If you like Eric Clapton, you might try to pick up the guitar. If you listen for sick drum solos in every song you hear, you might try your hand at drums. People who are really into classical music try to learn piano. My favorite instrument (and I do believe it’s an instrument, just as important as all the others) is the human voice. That’s why I enjoy Broadway musicals so much – musicals are the one genre of music where an amazing voice is almost a prerequisite to enjoy any kind of success. Just like a normal person listens to the same guitar solo from a certain song over and over, I poo a little when I listen to John Tartaglia sing Purpose or, as cliché as it is, Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth kick ass in For Good.

Anyway, that’s my rant for the day. I always enjoy providing a little insight into the riddle wrapped in a puzzle wrapped in an enigma that is Matt Jones.

Philosophical Musings on God

So, I’m going to get a bit more philosophical than usual, and I hope it’s a trend that continues over the coming posts. The purpose of a blog is to share your thoughts and opinions with the world, not to bitch about your crappy day and expect people to care. I’m not saying that venting like that isn’t healthy, but as I’ve learned the hard way, grudges are best expressed in that secret Microsoft Word document on your computer, not on the Internet.

Quick background on those who don’t know me very well – I went to a private, Catholic school for eight years before coming to UT. Talk about a reality slap. I took religion/theology classes for sixteen consecutive semesters, so I like to consider myself pretty well steeped in Catholic dogma. All of this knowledge is a blessing and a curse. On one hand, I’ve been seeing the world through this lens for so long that I almost forgot that not everyone agrees with it. For example, in a biology discussion section last year, we were flogging around the creationism/evolution debate. Our TA mentioned how evolution contradicts the book of Genesis, and I promptly raised my hand and talked about how “pretty much everyone with a brain” sees all that as nothing but an allegory. About five hands went up, and the TA just goes, “Well, that’s one opinion…”

On the other hand, I have a pretty firm set of beliefs and the facts to back them up. This comes in handy during late-night philosophical discussions with whoever happens to be studying in the Carothers lobby. Last week, some friends and I were chilling on the front porch talking about Catholicism, and for whatever reason, the seven sacraments came up. I rattled them off in under ten seconds, something that surprised even me – I haven’t consciously thought about that stuff since sixth or seventh grade. We talked about various historical developments like the Inquisition and the Crusades, and I was able to hold my own. If nothing else, then, I can thank Cistercian for giving me the ability to sound intelligent every once in a while.

Anyway, on that same night, we started talking about what exactly “God” is. I remember all of those qualifications that Fathers Roch and Paul pounded into us, qualifications like omniscience, transcendence, immanence, “homoousious,” etc, but those are just descriptions. What is the essence, the fundamental nature, of God? My friend Libby introduced an idea by saying that it would forever change the way we thought about God. I was a bit skeptical at first, but since I’ve been thinking on it, she was kind of right. The gist of the conversation was this – I don’t think many people believe that God is a physical being. The idea of some corporeal figure lounging around on a planet somewhere, watching Earth through a giant pair of binoculars, doesn’t inspire much respect. Everywhere we go, we hear “God is perfect, God is everywhere, God’s spirit is within us.” Most people (well, at least me) just nod along and accept it without really thinking about what that might mean. The idea that completely blew my mind is this – what if, instead of saying, “God is perfect because He’s God,” you say, “God is God because he’s perfect?”

According to this thought, God is an idea. He’s an ideal. He’s THE ideal. He’s perfect truth, perfect love, perfect justice, all of that. These are the things that make Him God, though, not the other way around. He’s the embodiment and compilation of all of these “good” ideals rolled into one. God is a measuring stick. If you believe that there’s such a thing as perfect justice (not that mankind has already attained it, mind you, but that it’s possible to reach), then hey, guess what – you believe in God. If you believe that there’s such a thing as perfect love, whether it’s fraternal, romantic, whatever, then you believe in God, whether you know it or not. If you believe in the concept of total and complete fairness, an idea admittedly more socialist than Machiavellian, then you’re on the same wavelength as God. Anyone who believes that these ideals exist and are worth achieving believes in God, basically.

My senior year government teacher defined politics as “The struggle for the good life for man.” If by this “good life” we mean a system of perfect justice, perfect fraternity, a perfect economy, and an agreed-upon morality, then, by using these definitions, the purpose of politics is to attempt to achieve union with God. Once you throw out all of those technicalities and restrictions that various faiths and governments have piled up since the dawn of man, religion and politics are really the same thing.

That’s just something I’ve been thinking about over the weekend, thought I’d write it down before the concept gets pushed out by an Art History test or an Econ reading. I’m not saying I buy into it wholeheartedly, but it’s definitely an intriguing theory.

Status

For anyone who knows who David Novinski is, he gives his "status" talk once every couple years during one play rehearsal or another. The basic premise is that all human interaction revolves around a battle of who has the higher and lower status. Superiority and inferiority. Generosity and supplication. Etcetera. Sometimes the assertion of status is overt, like a boss telling his employee to get him a cup of coffee, just because he can. Other times, you have to read between the lines to figure it out. Compare the following two conversations:

Phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's so-and-so. Can you do me a quick favor?"
"Sure, what's up?"
"Can you open the front door for me? I'm locked out."
"Yeah, I'll be there in a sec."
Click.

Phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's so-and-so. Want to open the front door for me?"
"Uh...sure, I guess. I'll be there in a sec."
Click.

Most people know that I have a tendency to overanalyze pretty much anything anyone says, so you might want to take everything I'm saying with a grain of salt. First of all, there's the obvious difference of "Can you do me a favor?" vs. "Hey, do this for me," but there's not too much to say about it that's not right there on the surface. I'm more interested in the word choice when the guy that's locked out gets to the point. "Can you..." vs. "Want to..." is a world of difference. "Can you do this for me?" is a polite request from a guy with lower status to a guy with higher status. He's admitting, however subtly, that he screwed up and that he needs help. It's not exactly the prime example of humility or politeness, but it doesn't come off as overbearing.

The use of the word "want," though, implies an invitation. "Hey, want to come to my party?" "Hey, want some of my pizza?" "Hey, want to come open this door for me?" More often than not, a lower status person receives an invitation from a higher status person. Saying "Want to..." instead of "Can you...", then, is an attempt to exert one's superiority over someone else while requesting a favor from them. He can't just ask someone for a favor; he has to insinuate that doing this favor benefits both of them.

I'm only bringing this up because it seems like this has become the most common way to ask for a favor. No self-respecting student, for example, wants to admit he's bad at a certain subject. When he asks for help, instead of saying, "Hey, I don't get this, can you give me a hand?", he'll probably say instead, "Hey, wanna come help me study for math later?" Of course he doesn't "want to" - he'd probably rather be playing Guitar Hero or Facebooking or something other than explaining calculus. But, if it's posed as a request instead of an invitation (a bit of ego-stroking, perhaps?), then yeah, sure, he's free for an hour or so. People that ask for favors like that, as a whole, just bug me. Instead of calling me "buddy" and inviting me to run your wallet to you halfway across campus, just ask. Seriously. You come off as much less of a douche that way.

A Trip to Starbucks

I went to Starbucks today. The purpose of my trip was twofold: firstly, I needed some caffeine in my blood. Sure, we have a coffeemaker, but the only coffee we have in the house is a gallon tub of that Folgers Half-Caff shit. My mom thinks that my dad and I drink too much coffee, so she bought that to keep our bodies from shutting down or something. With coffee, I enjoy the taste, but I mainly drink it to stay awake through the day. Instead of cutting back, then, I end up drinking twice as much just to get my usual jolt. Also, when I make coffee, I get open-bottle syndrome - as long as there's still coffee in that pot, I'm gonna drink it. And since making a single cup's worth of coffee seems pointless, I end up all jittery.

Secondly, and more importantly, I needed to get out of the house. I've been home alone all day, and I got a mild case of cabin fever. I usually only go to Starbucks before or after going to Blockbuster, just a quick in-and-out that seems more habitual than necessary (that's what she said). Today, however, in typical college fashion, I decided to bring a book and sit outside for a while.

A store clerk, in general, exists to check you out as efficiently and unscrupulously as possible, no more, no less. Any conversation he might start with a customer is mandated either by company policy ("Did you find everything okay this evening?") or to simply avoid awkward silence ("Man, it's hot out, huh?"). Anything other than that, and a cranky customer with a Bluetooth in his ear asks him to hurry it up, please. With this in mind, I approached the barista, smiled, and asked, "I'm getting kinda tired of my usual - can you recommend anything cold with a lot of caffeine?" She looked up and seemed a bit excited - acknowledgments of being a person instead of a nametag come few and far between. After some preliminary questions about my preferences, she decided to make me what she usually gets during breaks, with my permission, of course. When I pulled out my gift card to pay, she winked and said, "Don't worry about it this time." Score. The drink was pretty damn good, too, I must say.

Anyway, I sat in the sun and read for half an hour or so (I'm reading PD James' Children of Men, it's incredible so far). Sitting in a cafe is great for peoplewatching, which I enjoy - it's always interesting to listen in on conversations, especially extended ones. One guy was talking about how his son had been busted for possession a couple years ago, but his lawyer got him off on a technicality. A Hispanic guy with a perfect American accent told a story about how, last week, he had just finished mowing his lawn when a blonde chick in a truck pulled into the driveway next door and said, "Hey, the lawn looks great, would you mind doing mine soon?" He responded that he had a business presentation in a couple days, his wife was out of town, and his kids had the flu, so he probably wouldn't be able to squeeze her in. He finished up and went in the house through the front door, in plain view of his (new?) neighbor. He couldn't help peeking through the window to see her reaction - she was mortified.

I went back inside and ordered another drink, iced tea this time. I hadn't paid for the first one, so a second one didn't seem like splurging or anything. I struck up a conversation with another guy that works there, Tim, whom I kind of know. He came into Blockbuster almost every day last summer, just like I went to Starbucks, so we're pretty familiar with each other if nothing else. He's a couple of years older than I am, probably early twenties. Last summer, he mentioned how he lived at home and that movies were usually his only form of entertainment. I thought it was kind of sad at the time, but now I realize that it's not that different from what I'm doing this summer. We're both college students living at home for the summer, making some cash and trying not to let our parents crush our spirits. He's a little older than I am; so what?

I'm writing out of boredom more than anything else. I'm hoping that if I type long enough, something amazing and insightful might eventually eek its way out. Not today, I guess.

In the Beginning...

Well, now that the inherent boredom of summer has lost its novelty and become, well...boring, I thought I'd create something that'll help me use my time more productively than Minesweeper or Facebook. I like to think I'm a fairly decent writer, but my output as of late has been limited to research papers, essays, and the like. Thought this might help change that.

I had a Xanga back in high school (that makes me sound older than I really am), and it was a disaster. I'm realizing in hindsight that the majority of my social problems during junior and senior year were directly related to things I posted up there. It was too personal, way too personal - I said exactly what I was thinking, I named names, I passed judgments, and worst of all, I was blissfully ignorant about doing it. I wasn't treating it like a publicly-advertised online journal, which is what it was; I was treating it like a diary that most people wouldn't let anyone read in a million years. I should start this one off, then, by promising that my entries aren't going to consist of "Today I did this, this, this, and this" or "I've been feeling lost and alone lately, why won't anyone call me?" I'm not quite that emo anymore.

Instead, I'm hoping that most of my topics will be relatively abstract. I'm kind of a quiet guy, a lot of times I just sit and think. I notice things about society, about people around me, about life in general. Some of them I flog around and then dismiss, but occasionally, I get this idea that deserves more than that. I usually scribble down a rough outline on a post-it or in the back of a class notebook, figuring I'll come back to it later. You wouldn't believe how many crumpled up pieces of paper I came across when I was moving out of my dorm room a couple weeks ago. I'm not saying the ideas I come up with are earthshattering or even particularly interesting, but if you didn't want to read them, you wouldn't have come to this website in the first place.

I really want to go on a road trip. I almost did last summer, with some friends from the summer camp that I used to work at, but my parents nipped that in the bud pretty quick. After about a week of pleading, they allowed me to fly out of Dallas, meet my friends in Arizona, stay for two nights, and then fly back home. I tried to argue that flying defeats the entire point of a road trip, but they just told me not to push my luck. I've been reading a lot of travelling novels lately, everything from Kerouac's On the Road to Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath, and I get more and more pumped after every one I finish. It wouldn't be about the people I went with - hopefully, it'll be about the people I meet along the way. I want to stop at a mom-and-pop's diner in Shithole, Texas and make small talk with the waitress. I want to pull into a gas station at 5 a.m. after a full night of driving, buy a cup of crappy coffee and maybe a donut, and keep going. I want to hit 100 mph on deserted highways that continue on as far as I can see with trees and bushes being the only scenery on both sides. I don't care where I go; in fact, I don't really want to know. It'd be cool to head west, I want to see the ocean. I haven't seen the ocean in a long time. But, if I see a sign that says "Springfield 24," for example, I want to think, "That sounds like as good a place as any to spend the night" instead of, "Crap, I'm an hour behind schedule."

At home, I have relatively little responsibilities, but no freedom. At college, I have almost unlimited freedom, but lots of responsibilities to bog it down. On a road trip like that, though, even if only for that week, or two weeks, or whatever, it seems like I'd have complete freedom with zero responsibility. Everyone's dream, am I right?

Well, that's it for the night. I need to start jobhunting tomorrow. I thought I'd found a great job, but turns out that it's gonna be an unpaid internship. I'm still gonna do it because it sounds interesting, but I guess I should find something that pads my bank account a little bit, too. Take it easy, everybody.