Hunger

I've been bad about keeping up with the blog. Times are tough. But the other day I heard from a friend that some of my articles for thought catalog are linked in important places. This inspired me anew to get back into writing. I wrote a good, long piece about my post-grad misery. I expect that should be published soon enough, if it's any good.

Yesterday I started to feel like I was going crazy because there's no one around to talk to other than my parents. Finally, I got a hold of my friend Jessie who goes to Kutztown, a nearby college. I drove out there. It was strange being there in a college town with people out and about smoking cigarettes and drinking.

When I got home I started reading Hunger by Knut Hamsun. The narrator is an unemployed guy who walks around the city trying to sell articles as he loses his mind. I wondered if this was a serendipitous choice of reading – after all, I'm unemployed and it does feel like I'm losing it half of the time, and I'm starting to write articles again that probably won't make any money. Not only that, but when I went to the library I meant to get out some detective fiction by Dashel Hammet, and Hunger was there right next to the Hammet, so I took that instead. More on this later, as I continue to read the book.

post-grad

I think I'm going to start blogging again. This is my attempt to start anew. Now I'm in the post-grad malaise phase of my life. It's good fun. My relationship with my girlfriend has been gradually ending for the past 6 weeks. I couldn't explain why because it doesn't completely make sense to me. Maybe it's because some weird psychological stuff I've been going through.

Last Tuesday at work I had a severe panic attack and went to the hospital. I canceled my plans to go to France. It was my second hospital visit this summer. During the first one I was happy and on morphine. This time I was panicked and crying and on no drugs. They gave me better sleeping pills, though.

Now I'm in Bethlehem, figuring shit out as they say. I have to go back to Northampton one more time and move out all my of stuff. It makes me uneasy to be there.

Hampshire's 40th Anniversary

When I was working at the circulation desk today at the Library, a young, elementary school-aged girl asked me where the children’s books were. It’s the 40th Anniversary Weekend at Hampshire College and lots of former students are around and some of them brought their kids. The girl was articulate, well-groomed, and polite. She made me think how at her age I never brushed my hair and acted sullen and didn’t talk very much. I wonder what that says about my parents, I thought. What is with young kids these days? They’re so cultivated, or something. Maybe my kids will be that way! There’s a thought. I was going up into the stacks, anyway, so I offered to show her the small children’s section. Later she came down and politely asked if she could take a book out just for a while. I asked her if she had any collateral, like some credit cards. I think she thought that was funny. Then, since I’m a nice guy, I checked it out on my account and told her to return it by tomorrow.

I realized that if she doesn’t return it, I’m going to be in a kind of Larry David-esque situation. I’ll have to call the girl’s mother (the former Hampshire student) and insist that her daughter has a book that I’m getting fined for. The kid might lie about it. My boss will get angry with me. It could be really awkward. I really hope she just brings it back tomorrow.

i get hospitalized/painkillers

In the past few days, I've been talking with Lilly about how it would be nice to have some painkillers again, like when I was recovering from surgery last semester. I was describing to her how there is something kind of pleasant about the first 24 hours after an operation, the drug induced haze. Maybe I was thinking about painkillers because my sister broke her foot last week, and she probably got some. Also, a girl on the frisbee team, Mia, had her appendix out, and I know that for that you get get some good ones. I was walking to mod 95 with Jamie Blair to return a dish I used for baked ziti, and sure enough we saw Mia as she was about to leave. Jamie asked about her surgery, and I inquired as to whether or not she had my surgeon, Dr. Miller. Then I asked what she was planning on doing with her pills, and whether she still had them. They're still in my room, she said, I haven't been using them. I put forward the notion that if she wasn't going to use them, she might want to get rid of them somehow. She took this as me suggesting that she sell them – to which she objected. I suggested that selling them wasn't necessary, and that a donation – to me – would be perfectly acceptable. She seemed really uncomfortable, and Jamie remarked that she found the exchange to be one of the most awkward situations she'd ever witnessed.

On another note, I've been watching some good movies. I saw this Romanian film, The Death of Mr. Lazarescu, about an older, alcoholic man with a serious medical problem who is turned away by hospital after hospital. Similarly, I saw a great Thai film by Apichatpong Weerasethakul called Symptoms and a Century, which takes place first in a rural Thai hospital and then a super modern hospital.

So somehow, when I flew over the handle bars riding my bike down South Street (my bike lock got caught in the front wheel) and broke my collar bone, it seemed like it was in the cards. Fortunately, a woman that turned out to be a doctor stopped and called an ambulance. I tried to be responsive with her, but I was in shock. I thought I made good small talk with the EMTs on the ride over, and I told them that they were very polite. In the ER, one of the nurses and I talked about movies (he was into Fassbinder, like me) and I told him about the films mentioned above. I also told him to watch the Werner Herzog Reads Where's Waldo video on youtube. The ER doctor was kind of cute, and I made small talk with her about I was very remorseful for not wearing a helmet and that my athletic career was over. She had to staple a cut on my head, and she showed me the staple gun. Cool, isn't it? She said. You doctors have lots of fun, I said. Ella came to pick me up and provided moral support. Then we got Lilly and when to the Route 9 dinner where I ordered eggs Benedict. I got a prescription for painkillers, and two does of morphine. Now I'm coming down on them, and I've got the itchies like mad.

Seinfeld: the book of life

As you might have noticed, I haven’t been so good at updating my blog. Perhaps I’m entering a new phase of my life, where blogging doesn’t figure as prominently.

A few weeks ago, I was at my friends’ place on Elizabeth Street. Paolo was saying how he was going to get up early the next day and drive to Hampshire to do work. Beryl said that she would join him, but wondered if he could leave a little later, like 10 or 11. He insisted that they leave by 9, to which Beryl agreed. I pointed out that I was very skeptical that Beryl would actually get up that early, and the rest of the people in the room seemed to concur with me. I was so confident in this that I bet Beryl a dollar that she would not get up. The following morning, I received a text message from Henry, one of her roommates, that said, ‘Beryl owes you a dollar.’ Sometime later, I ran into her on the bus, and demanded my dollar, knowing all the while that I wouldn’t get it. She explained to me that she didn’t in fact owe me a dollar because she had decided that she didn’t want to get up, because she hadn’t slept well. That was the whole point of the bet, I said. If outside circumstances, such as a snow storm or even the alarm failing to go off, had prevented you from going, then you would not owe me a dollar, I said. Of course, I didn’t get the dollar.

This Friday, we watched an early Seinfeld episode where Kramer proclaims that he is going to take out all of the furniture in his apartment and build ‘levels’ – like ancient Egyptians did. Jerry bets him a large sum that he won’t do it. When it comes out that he did never modify his apartment, Jerry confronts him. Kramer claims that he doesn’t owe Jerry any money, on the grounds that he decided that he “didn’t want to do it anymore,” or something to that effect. Jerry naturally finds this logic ridiculous. Those of us in the room – sadly Beryl was not one of us – who were there for the incident described above found this segment particularly amusing.

chat roulette, ect

I got up this morning and said to myself, among other things, that I would get a lot of work done today while I work my 4 ½ hour shift at the weightroom. When I got there and checked my email, I realized that I had told the students from intro to film studies (I’m a T.A) to email me their papers on Citizen Kane. I will read a few, I said to myself, and then move onto other things. Now it is nearing the end of my shift, and I have read several. I found it highly disagreeable. Two were good, one was quite good in fact, but the others were…wanting. I don’t even know what to say to these students. Can I tell them they should rewrite? Because that is what I did in one case…Well anyway, Hampshire has evaluation inflation…and I might as well stand up against that, knowing I will be resented.

In other news, I discovered chat roulette yesterday! Dinah at media services told me about it. Then I had the idea to do it last night while I was drinking and playing Chinese checkers at mod 6. It is a very disconcerting experience, and it involves seeing a lot of dicks. I wondered out loud when some theorist would write about it. It seems like something out of a Cronenberg movie from the eighties.

Somehow, I feel that this post is lacking…the things I wanted to say seemed more interesting than they do now. Whatever it was that compelled me to write regularly here seems to have dissipated…

Disarming the assholes

It’s been a while. Today at media services I worked a shift with Dinah for the first time. I knew her from office meetings, but I wasn’t sure what to expect. She seemed on the level. Dave came in and we all complained about the people who hang out in the library and don’t study and annoy us. There are a couple of regulars that are especially irritating, despite the fact that they never actually talk to us and we never talk to them…we just see them there, wasting time and fucking around. There was a guy sleeping on the couch right outside of the office. This we found especially irksome; it is not as if it is the end of the semester and the guy is just so stressed out that he needs a nap amidst all his studying. The motherfucker probably didn’t even have any books with him. I tried to wake him up first by throwing paper planes at him and then by coughing really loudly as I walked past, but to no avail.

Later on, some dude came in who, based on seeing him around school, seems kind of like an unsavory fucker/douche bag. Sometimes when these types come in I try to be particularly charming to catch them off guard and make them crack a smile or laugh a little bit, and give up their generally affected demeanor (for this guy I made a joke about the other guy sleeping on the couch, among other things). Dinah, in fact, remarked that that was the first time she saw that guy not being an asshole. Well, sometimes I like to disarm the assholes, I said.