Desperate bitterness

Why the fuck am I here?
I'm sitting in a Starbucks in the god damn University Hospital at one in the morning. There are med students all around me with laptops and textbooks trying to study.
I do not approve of this adventure.

I ease the tedium of my helpless silence as the five around me chat away with embarrassing volume by sucking my coffee from the little oval hole in the lid.
Not bad: load this up with enough milk and sugar and I could drink it casually.

Videogames, sex, random inside jokes, new cell phones, videogames, more sex: there are few places in the conversation to work myself into. Bitterness laced with ennui seeps in. I content myself with my coffee, in its ridiculous little philosophical paper cup, slouched in my seat, legs crossed.

Somehow the topic of conversation comes to my major. English. The fat one looks me straight in the eye and asks me, "So what are you going to do with that?"
Her tone is mocking, derisive. An hour later while driving home I would think of a hundred frightening, unfriendly things to growl in return, but I respond with a simple "Whatever I want." The others get a laugh out of this. That was sort of my intention; I'll take my fair share of bullshit if it means I don't have to snap at someone and cause a scene. I sip my coffee, keeping eye contact, giving her the coldest hint of a glare over the rim of the cup. She quips with something about being unemployed, I give a simple shrug. Razor blades and spite start boiling in my stomach, I fall silent for the rest of the night.

Your first words to me had to be that. You assume I'm a completely incompetent, lost little boy, floundering through academia in a desperate attempt to find myself in this big, scary world.

I have never been more sure of myself than I am at this moment in my life.

Thoughts on time, age

I live right above my old elementary school. Our house is on the hill directly above it, so I can go out onto my deck and look out over the school, 33rd south, the valley, downtown, it's a great view. Makes for some stunning sunsets.
While taking a break outside to sit and think for a little, I looked down on the school. It was recess, and all the little kids were out running around and screaming, playing on the swings and various plastic playthings strung out on the grounds.
What a bunch of wusses these school administrators have become. When I was a second or third grader we had this big, nasty, splintery tower of wood and old tires that I'd play on a lot. It went about fifteen or twenty feet in the air, and the only thing to save your fall were wood chips. Gravel if you landed on the wrong side, and maybe asphalt if you jumped too far out. They tore it down one year, and now everything is metal and plastic, covered in greens and purples and yellows, with this black squishy stuff on the ground to cushion falls.

A bunch of different feelings flashed through my head when I was looking down on them as they played, but the one thought that passed through my mind was this-

"Poor bastards."

Now why did I think that?
I can be quite a cynic sometimes. Not so much nowadays, but maybe the thought was just a random misfire: the poisoned remnants from when I was a little darker. These little guys don't even know they're growing up on a melting planet; living in a floundering country; disenfranchising billions by living a lifestyle they are unaware of and have no control over. Maybe I'm mourning their future, all of the things you and I have done to it.

Perhaps it was jealousy? Of youth, lack of responsibility, or all of that romantic bullshit we assign to little kids? Although I don't think it's that either. By any reasonable measure my childhood was great, but that doesn't wash away the resentment of a few things I don't care to mention. No, if given the option, I wouldn't go back.

I don't believe that life is a curve. It doesn't reach an apex and then dwindle as you get older. My life has only gotten better as I've gotten older. Maybe I'm setting myself up for a seriously rude awakening in thirty years or so, but I think the secret is finding a way to deal with the changes and accept them, to acknowledge that you lose a lot with age but gain just as much.
Maybe I'm just stupid.

Surprised for a change

To begin, let's start with a couple of pictures-

This is Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark.

This is Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

If you'll note, Harrison Ford is fucking old as hell in the second photo. On July 13 he turns SIXTY-SIX. When he filmed Raiders, he was a spry young man of 39.

This is precisely why I dreaded Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Like Phantom Menace, Clone Wars, and Revenge of the Sith before it, I really feared that Kingdom would ruin an already incredible trilogy of movies. I watched The Empire Strikes Back so many times as a little kid that I would literally memorize huge chunks of the script, and Raiders of the Lost Ark and The Last Crusade were some of my favorite films.

How terrifying, then, to learn that George Lucas was making another Indiana Jones. Indiana Jones differs from Star Wars in that the movie would be a total flop without Harrison Ford playing it's eponymous character. What I feared the most from the new Indiana Jones was that George Lucas and Steven Spielberg would burden another legendary franchise with an overwrought, CGI-laden disaster. Even worse, I feared that the Nazi punching, whip wielding archaeologist that I know and love would be a feeble, impotent, doddering old geezer in this new installment, completely robbed of his power and charm.

Hell, Indy didn't even HAVE Nazis to punch in this film. It's set in 1957!

How surprised I was, then, to find myself enjoying the film as it went along. I could go on about the refreshing "minimalist" treatment Spielberg gave the film when it came to CGI (there's still a hefty amount, but it's tolerable), the two hundred well deserved "Harrison Ford is old" jokes, the old school car chases, but the deciding factor for me was the first time Indy took a punch. I take a perverse pleasure in watching Indiana Jones get beat up: it makes his victory in the end that much more satisfying. Not only did he take a lot of abuse in the film, he dished it out too, and nary a stunt man was used during the filming! Ford did all his own stunts, and put on fifteen pounds of muscle for the role, which at sixty-five is quite a feat.

And so, even though many critics were disappointed with the film, citing it's formulaic plot and predictable plot twists as weaknesses, Crystal Skull didn't fail to live up to the other three movies. After all, when have the plots for any of the other three movies been at all believable? It was total camp when the chieftain in Temple of Doom rips that guy's heart out, and it was absolutely goofy when Sean Connery took down that Nazi airplane by scaring a flock of seagulls into the propellers in Last Crusade. While Crystal Skull stretches the traditional plot elements of the first three movies to rather fantastic proportions (I won't give anything away by saying what), it was a satisfying experience in the end.

Can't let go

I was going to go on a big, sardonic rant on this little piece.
I was going to point out the incredible wealth of ironic, sometimes offensive little statements.
I was going to ridicule this into dust.
But I think everything I have to say is self-evident.

This is the description for a Facebook group created by one of the girls I went to high school with. It is entitled "Skyline Girls are hotter than Olympus Girls" (sic).

As a point of clarification, though, "the Rock" is this painted, football sized rock that gets passed around between Skyline and Olympus every year. The ownership of the Rock is determined by a football game in the fall. Apparently if was sent down by a bolt of lightning during a thunderstorm and found by the two schools' football coaches while summiting the peak of a mountain or some dumb shit like that.

Enjoy.

"This group is a tribute to feud that has gone on for years between the two neighboring/rival schools of the Skyline Eagles and Olympus Titans......beautiful girls. When it comes down to it, Skyline women are the reason the eagles have topped Mt. Olympus and beyond in every area. Obviously, the football team couldn't have taken state so many years in a row and defended/stolen the controversial ROCK from Olympus without the (leadership of Coach Dupaix and Marshall) but mainly the motivation of the gorgeous skyline girls who would only date them if they did so.... That is the reason Olympus never won, their girls just weren't cute enough so the lack of motivation and determination was at a high point...Lady Eagles are just THAT HOT and WORTH IT! Girls from Skyline can go without makeup and still look BEAUTIFUL, let alone.. play sports and totally eat alive other teams in a non-cat fight, professional fashion. Unlike Lady Titans, Skyline women don't need orange makeup, fake eyelashes, or bleached blonde hair to set herself apart from the rest. Skyline women are naturally pretty, down-to-earth (even though they have a lot of money), FUN, and every man's fantasy!!!!!! Most boys from Olympus would rather date a Skyline girl, Not only because she is smokin' but they just want to have some part in the Skyline Tradition of Excellence, AND Skyline men know they are lucky to have us. Let's face it, The Lady Eagles have got men suicidal everywhere....and that's what makes us the sexiest girls alive and therefore........ hotter than Olympus girls!"

Unfinished

Here's a bunch of stuff that I've stopped and started. Once I stop working on something that usually means that it goes uncompleted, so I figured I'd just put them out as is.

"Scraps from Childhood"

I really hate it when people whore out the figures from my past to sell me things.

---

Untitled

First period, Graphics class, my senior year of high school:

"I've only read one book in my entire life."
"Oh yeah, which one?"
"Catcher in the Rye. I just do the same book report over and over again in different classes."

My parents had to physically take books away from me as a little kid so I'd do my homework.

---

"Well Oiled Living"

Only halfway through class. Jesus, over forty minutes left. The minute hand on the clock creeps forward with a sadistic slowness, each time I look back the interval between where it was when I last checked and where it is now diminishes. Twenty minutes here, fifteen, ten, five.
Why am I here?
One of my professors always asks us after an assigned reading, "So, was this worth your while? Was the time you spent reading, that hour or so you'll never get back, a valuable expenditure of your life?" What a poisonous question to ask; now I'm asking myself that question about everything. I'm finding that, for the most part, none of this damn work I'm doing in this particular class is worth spending my time on.

"Ok folks, I'll see you on Thursday!"
That's questionable, actually. I'm calling it a two to one shot I skip this class completely.

I walk out the door, using the same stairwell as always. A song --one of the three or four cycling through my head all day-- starts up again. I time the beats with my footsteps. Right, left, right, left, one, two, three, four. I get particularly ADD about timing my footsteps and the music when walking up and down stairs. The fourth beat must fall on the landing of a staircase when heading up stairs, on the last step of a staircase when heading down. The second beat is acceptable to finish a staircase with, although the first or third beat leaves me feeling awkward.

The timing of beats, of course, necessitates memorizing whether a staircase has an odd or even number of stairs. I take the same path every day: Williams' staircases, even; between Textor and Campus Center, odd; the circular staircase from the Handwerker to the library, even; the stairs in the library, odd.

---

Untitled

"HI! I've seen you around somewhere before."
I have no idea who this person is. Hold on, maybe I do. We had a class together once, almost two years ago now. Didn't recognize her with the glasses.
She is too close. I back up, trying to ease the nervous, clenched feeling in my stomach; she steps forward. From this distance I can smell the Keystone on her breath. It reminds me of Freshman year a little bit. Apparently we have another class this year, Jewish and Christian Interpretations of the Bible. We talk about the Documentary Hypothesis and Mosaic Authorship, midrashic exegesis, the merits and demerits of our professor.
...
"I have a question for you, Andy Frah."
She's now sprawled out on the couch. She sort of had my last name right in the beginning of the night, but after several rounds of beer pong her pronunciation got progressively sloppier.
"What?"
"Do you like girls, Andy Frah?"
Hazy thoughts collect themselves for a second,
"Yes."
"Do you have a girlfriend, Andy Frah?"
The question had been sitting on her tongue ever since she introduced herself, it was only a matter of when she was going to ask it. She is a sweaty, drunken mess. I contemplate how best to answer this.

Finding the right song

My obsession for the past ten months or so has been one thing- the Nissan Z. A year ago, in exchange for some work around his house, my uncle let me borrow his. I wasn't even a car person beforehand; I had a passing appreciation for attractive cars, but I was much more focused on other things. After driving the Z for two months, though, I was absolutely, positively hooked. It is very beat up and has about 300,000 miles on it, but even after 23 years it still kicks ass down the road.

(I'm a shitty photographer)

The most endearing thing about the car, for me at least, is the stereo. Music isn't quite the same with a set of headphones as it is at 80 miles per hour, the wind violently whipping around your hair, bass drum beats resonating in your lungs, the volume so loud you can hardly hear yourself yelling. Old, tired songs took on new life in the car, and the songs I first listened to in the car I'll always associate with wind and acceleration and the summer sun.

And so, to christen the car I need to find the right song. I've literally been thinking about this since August, and I still haven't decided on an appropriate song. Here are the finalists, listed in descending order of taste with comments-

Meatloaf- Bat out of Hell
Best lyric- "I'm gonna hit the highway like a battering ram on a silver-black Phantom bike / and when the metal is hot and the engine is hungry and we're all about to see the light / nothing ever grows in this rotten old hole and everything is stunted and lost / and nothing really rocks and nothing really rolls and nothing's ever worth the cost."

I was obsessed with this song as a little kid. My dad and I took a trip to Durango, Colorado once to do some kayaking, and I think we listened to this about ten or fifteen times in a row on the way down. The song's all about love and escaping from a dead end town and going fast. The guy in the song does lose control of his motorcycle and dies in a ditch on the side of the road by the end of the song, though, so this might not bode well for me.

Avantasia- Devil in the Belfry
Best lyric- "I will forget her, but I won't forgive / the curtain has fallen, behold the messiah."

I only recently discovered this one. Avantasia's earlier stuff is absolutely incredible, although it took me a long time to get into (some) of the songs on their new CD, and this is one of the best tracks. Tobias Sammet is a massively talented singer, and instead of staying with the choir on every other chorus he keeps on going higher, and the effect just kills me. At the same time, though, I'm an increasingly big believer in bad omens and real life symbolism, and the lyrics really don't fit this period in my life. As stupid as it is to admit, I'd be half afraid that I'd jinx myself if I listened to this on such an important occasion.

(These next two are a little more barbaric)

Ensiferum- Iron
Best lyric- Either "Tasted the snakes poison, I've broken every bone / felt a thousand gunshot wounds, but there's nothing that whiskey can't cure" or "Blazing fire under the moon, burning taste of lead / we'll ride forever, cause the Iron is stronger than death."

This song is absolutely intense. It's one of the ones I first started listening to the first time I had the car, and I always imagine myself behind the wheel when I listen to it. Right when the vocalist gets into "Blazing fire under the moon..." the drummer lets out with a stream of 16'th note bass drum kicks that feels like machine gun fire. Every time --every time-- I listen to that it sends chills down my spine. Another track on the CD (Iron), "Sword Chant," is what I based this post on. Ensiferum is easily one of my favorite bands, and this may very well be the song I pick.

However, we also have-

Equilibrium- Wingthors Hammer
Best lyric- Well, the whole thing is in German, but- "Fern im Jotenreich auf einem Hügel saß er / Thrym der Thursenfürst, Herr von Riesenheim."

This song completely hit me out of nowhere. I discovered these guys over winter break, and while I was almost certain then that "Iron" would be the song I choose, this is a serious contender. The song is pretty damn nerdy --it's all about Thor losing his hammer and his quest to reacquire it-- but the first minute of the song is absolutely intense. First the guitar and trumpets, then the flutes, then a drum roll, and then the vocalist busts out with a huuuuuge, mind-bendingly long scream, gives himself a few bars of rest, and then does it again. It does lose a bit of appeal for me after the second verse though, and I've listened to it so much by now that it's getting a little old, but it's still a very likely option.


I'm still really torn on which one to pick. I really love Iron, but I'm naming the car Blitzkrieg, and it seems appropriate to compliment a German name with a German song. I've never tired of Bat Out of Hell, but I love Devil in the Belfry too. I'll probably end up playing all four at some point, but I still can't decide which to play first.

Andy sees boobs.

The semester is over, and instead of heading straight back home I'm staying for senior week (the week between the end of finals and graduation). I'm living in an apartment with two gay guys and two girls. Anyway, I rolled out of bed around 10:30 this morning to find them all sunbathing in the backyard, the girls in bikinis, the guys in swim trunks. They invited me out, but I had a few other things I had to do, so I turned them down. I took a shower, shaved, brushed my teeth, and got some breakfast. I sat down on the couch in the living room, intending to eat my banana and bowl of cereal and then play a round or two of Mario Kart before attending to my rounds. I took a brief glance outside.

I expected to see two bikini clad women and two shirtless guys lying out on the grass. Instead, my eyes zoomed right in on this big, fleshy, globular thing.
Uhhhh, what? Thats not Joe's chest, but it has a nipple on it....
And then it struck me. Inside my mind the thing that controls my "HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" reaction started working on overdrive.
The girls had taken their tops off. Beforehand I couldn't even identify what I was looking at, but the pieces fell together, and I realized that I was staring at the unclothed breast of one of Joe's housemates.

I was thunderstruck.
I couldn't even think.
I stood there transfixed for a second and then tore my eyes away.
What the hell do you do in a situation like this?
I took a double take, and then a triple take. The other girl had taken her top off as well. I met her last night. I stared helplessly for a moment and then walked back into the kitchen, completely unsure of what I should do next.

"I really want to play Mario Kart." I thought, "But.... but they're just... out there!"
"They must have known that I'd see them. How the hell not? The backyard is right there, and I have to go through the living room to leave the house."
"But can they even see me? They're lying on their backs, and it's dark inside the house."
"Jesus H. Christ! Now they're taking photos of each other!"
It was like I was an extra in a badly written porn movie.

A million different thoughts ran through my head as I alternated between gawking in dumbstruck wonder and looking away out of shame. Joe had invited me to have a beer earlier, I turned him down initially, but I now reached into the fridge, grabbed a Magic Hat, and popped the cap off.

After a few minutes and a few desperate gulps from my beer I decided that it was impossible that they wouldn't expect me to see them. It made no damn sense that they'd get naked around someone they'd only known for a few days, but apparently they didn't mind. I sat down on the couch and fired up the Gamecube.

Many, many times throughout the first round I went back and forth between thinking this was ridiculous and thinking this was completely awesome. There I was, sitting on the couch, playing video games with two nude sunbathers in plain view. How many times in your life do you get the opportunity to say that? Eventually I decided it was just too much, and went to close the shades. I paced around in front of the screen door for a minute, looking for the string to draw the blinds, and saw that there was none. I slid them left to right by hand, and then looked for the string to rotate them shut. There was none.

The four lying outside were all staring at me in silence, the awkward tension was building by the moment. Trying to justify myself, I muttered something along the lines of "Somehow I don't think I should be looking at this." They all laughed. I tried twisting the blinds by hand, but they wouldn't budge. I never got them closed. I sat around on the couch for another fifteen minutes or so before leaving.

I often reflect on the absurd coincidences that have brought me to where I am, on the ridiculous things I've done and experienced here, but I think this little experience has been the height of ridiculous things I've experienced in Ithaca. You grow up in Salt Lake City, and then find yourself in upstate New York a few years later, playing Mario Kart and eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch with two naked girls 15 feet away in the sun. It's now 7:30 and we have yet to discuss the incident.

Ridiculous indeed...

Assorted Memories

I get reminded of a lot of stuff all the time, just walking around doing normal things.

One time when I was ten or eleven I was playing outside at my grandma's house. There was an old guy riding around on a bicycle, and he called something out to me that I couldn't hear. After a couple seconds he tossed me some Jolly Ranchers and pedaled away, giving me a big smile as he went. Of course, all I thought at the time was, "Sweet! Jolly Ranchers!" I picked them up off the lawn and ate them, marveling at my wonderful luck.
I told my aunt of the good news a half hour later. After one really freaked out aunt, a call to poison control, and a frantic trip to the grocery store for some Ipecac I learned that you shouldn't take candy from random people. Or if you do don't tell anyone.

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One time I was filming a skit for German class in junior high. It was set at a doctor's office, and I was one of the patients. We were very mature little thirteen year olds, with highly developed senses of humor and class, and we decided my ailment would be explosive diarrhea. To achieve this we smeared chocolate pudding on the seat of my pants. While in the hallway some girls walked by and saw my pants.
"Ew, what is that?!" They asked, with very prim, greater-than-thou looks on their faces.
"Well, uh, it's pudding." I said.
"Ok. We'll just call you poopey pants from now on." They said, mustering up the most demeaning, superior stares they could.
"Um. Ok."
And they did. I never really minded, but when I remembered this a few days ago I thought how nice it would be to go back and say, "You know what? You're nasty bitches and I don't like you."
I think that about a lot of people, actually.

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For my senior year in high school I took a class in the humanities for my last English credit. Our teacher was fresh out of the University of Utah. She had a couple years of experience, so she could lead an effective class, but hadn't quite been dried out on the stove of public education just yet. At the end of the year she read us her undergraduate thesis. It was on thongs. No, not the southeastern hamlet in England, not the sandal, but the underwear. It was admittedly well written, but I wonder what it says about the U's Humanities program when a senior can finish off her undergraduate education with an essay on underwear.

(By the way, check this out. "They are not only sexy and stylish but differentiate the younger men from the underwear of their forefathers." Go Wikipedia go.)