Guys: here’s a link to a really handy PDF that explains a bunch of the propositions. There are ones that aren’t as sexy as 19 or 23 (green makes my pink shoot white!) but are nevertheless as important. We can FIX our bullshit budget problems (getting rid of the 2/3 majority) and close bullshit corporate tax loopholes. HOORAY FOR UN-BULLSHITING!
I just received this e-mail, which is clearly intended for another Eric Gosselin.
I walked into the general chemistry lab tonight, and found the entire lab to be a complete disaster. The remnants of the day’s fractional crystallization lab were literally scattered around the room. This is…
(1) Goodnight Ladies (2) Am I High Or… (LET’S GET ALL RILED UP ABOUT politics) (3) Douchebag Thought of the Week (4) Conglomunet Industries presents “Devotion” by Weezer (5) Listener Mail (SPORTS EDITION) (6) Listener Mail (SOCIOLOGY EDITION) (7) HOT GUYS
I’m not going to politicize this. That would be so fucking narcissistic of me. This isn’t about what people should feel or how you want them to react. This is just a thing that happens. It’s probably the first thing that ever happened (second, I guess, if you think “getting in there” is man’s top priority.) However you digest it, Ian’s not coming back home. Not alive, anyway.
Six years ago, I decided to quit high school. The whole idea of going to a normal university, getting a regular job, and living a quiet, respectable life has always mortified me. I can’t imagine how people do it. I mean that quite literally— I cannot comprehend how one is content with that lifestyle. I dashed away from home, moved to Hollywood, and was accepted into an over-expensive underwhelming theater school. There I made the friends that would be around for a myriad of firsts. And unlike schoolyard chums, these firsts were my choice… not something we all had to endure.
My first apartment is quite possibly still the best apartment I’ve ever lived in. It was a two bedroom condo with a living room that’s bigger than most apartments I’ve lived in since. Jake was a no-brainer for my first real roommate. No matter what we did to our brains to ensure we wouldn’t remember everything, I’ll never be able to forget our times there. We swam in a cavalcade of debauchery, but nothing was more fun than when the Marines came to town. Jake’s little brother, Ian, and his motley band of jarheads took the train up from Pendelton whenever they could, and we refused to let them board that train down without at least a hangover and a story… possibly some souvenirs, too, after Ian’s bachelor party, (itchy souvenirs, but souvenirs nonetheless.)
I guess what I’m getting at is that even though I didn’t see eye to eye with these guys on everything, and sure I drew a swastika in sharpie on one of the lug’s foreheads, we could always relate on one thing: Not leading a “regular” life. That’s what it always came back to. Anyone in comedy, or any creative pursuit, can relate to the feeling of dread that comes with the prospect of being trapped in normalcy. The Marine has that same gut instinct. It’s just not for us. I have terrible hand-eye coordination. Ian wasn’t exactly the most articulate. Sure, there’re plenty more differences, but do they matter?
The artist and the soldier are both confronted with the horror of mundane reality, and both reject it.