Holy Shit, I Forgot About the Final Blog Post

I'm undecided as to whether or not I will be continuing with this blog.  I may add to it from time to time, but I like to write on paper.  I like to scribble shit out when I don't like it.  I still think I'm pretty indifferent about the whole blog scene.  I think it's cool to have such informal medium with a massive, growing audience, but I don't really know if I enjoy it.  I won't know until I'm through being required to contribute.  I tend to focus more on fewer, more intimate interactions.  I like reading groups and smoke circles (most of the time they're the same event with my crowd).  I like to see peoples' face when they talk to me.  I hope that doesn't mean I'm a serial killer or something--I know the answer to that anyway.  I just seem to require more in an encounter.  I am an in-person kind of guy.  When lines are reasonable, I avoid the self-checkout lines.  I have never and will never "tweet."  I will always piss my friends off by not responding to an invite on Facebook, simply because I will not have seen it.  I really have nothing against the burgeoning online community.  In fact, it is my hope, that one day, this online society and global communication will replace religion.  It could happen, you can imagine.  It's easy, if you try. 

Haha, wow.  That's why I don't know about the blog thing--I feel alright saying any old thing. 

And so does everyone else.

Enneagram Make-Up Post

<div align="center"> <table style="color: black; background: #eeeeee"border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="2"> <tr> <td bgcolor="#eeeeee"> <div align="center"> Enneagram Test Results <table style="color: black; background: #dddddd" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="4" bgcolor="#dddddd"> <tr> <td>Type 1 </td> <td>Perfectionism</td> <td width="50"> ||||||||||||</td> <td width="30">46%</td> </tr> <tr> <td>Type 2</td> <td> Helpfulness</td> <td width="50">||||||||||||</td> <td width="30">50%</td> </tr> <tr> <td> Type 3</td> <td> Image Focus</td> <td width="50"> ||||||||||||||||</td> <td width="30"> 66%</td> </tr> <tr> <td>Type 4</td> <td>Hypersensitivity</td> <td width="50"> ||||||||||||||</td> <td width="30"> 58%</td> </tr> <tr> <td> Type 5</td> <td> Detachment</td> <td width="50"> ||||||||||||||||||</td> <td width="30"> 74%</td> </tr> <tr> <td>Type 6</td> <td>Anxiety</td> <td width="50"> ||||||||||||||</td> <td width="30"> 54%</td> </tr> <tr> <td> Type 7</td> <td> Adventurousness</td> <td width="50"> ||||||||||||||||</td> <td width="30"> 66%</td> </tr> <tr> <td> Type 8</td> <td>Aggressiveness</td> <td width="50"> ||||||||||||||||||</td> <td width="30"> 74%</td> </tr> <tr> <td> Type 9</td> <td>Calmness</td> <td width="50">||||||</td> <td width="30"> 26%</td> </tr> </table> </div> </td> </tr> </table> <a href="http://similarminds.com/enneagram_word.html">Take Free Enneagram Word Test</a><br><font size="1"><a href="http://similarminds.com">personality tests by similarminds.com</a></font></div>


So, 9types says I am split between 5 and 8.  I guess this makes me a "thinking leader."  I suppose this is a fairly accurate description of my personality.  I am usually pretty consumed in thought.  A Thinker is supposed to spend a lot of time trying to understand the world.  This is especially accurate for me.  I have great difficulty dealing with the unfairness that plagues most of our existence. I tremble indignation at every injustice, me and Che.  This mindset works simultaneously with my second, equally measured trait.  A Leader is supposed feel that the world is unjust and that strong people like me are supposed to "defend the weak."  I really think this is true of me.  I have lost more than one relationship because of my inability to stand aside when I could speak up to "injustice" of most any kind.  I don't like feeling guilty.  I think these descriptions are pretty accurate of my personality.  I hate to be so easily categorized, but I guess this simple little quiz was enough to suss me out.

I thought the directions for equilibrium were pretty interesting.  I guess I need to focus on myself instead of controlling others and really observe and analyze the world in order to be at peace.  Well, it sounds like good advice to me.  Here's to all the money I just saved on a therapist. 

Didn't I, my dear?

I haven't read much this semester, but I have been on a frantic search for some new quality music for the last year or two.  I had become all too rooted in listening to only music from my ipod. Then, a couple months ago, with the addition of Pandora Internet Radio (if you haven't tried it or a site like it, make plans) into my life, I found all kinds of good stuff.  Along with being reminded of how much I used to love Citizen Cope and Gov't Mule, I was introduced to some nice young Londoners who perform under the band name Mumford & Sons.  My title is from the refrain of their hit "Little Lion Man."  I like this song, but the rest of the tracks on their "Sigh No More" album are where I really found a reason to keep listening.

I borrowed the album from a hipster friend who always has the latest music that no one has heard of. While Mumford & Sons are a little more well-known than most of her collection, they have a sound that lacks that mainstream punch or pop or whatever it is that makes Lady Gaga and T-Pain sound like they do. I added it to my iPod and proceeded to bask in 4-piece (4 band members playing 4 instruments) magnificence. They have a melancholy tone that pulls on your must intimate of emotions. Their blistering strum patterns and bittersweet melodies produce an unrivaled sound in the world of folk-grass. And then there's the vocals.  As a one-time vocal performance major, I am often let down by the vocals of folk-type groups, where singing usually takes backseat to the instrumental focus.  The voices of Mumford & Sons blend something fierce and the harmony is just plain kick-ass.  Also, there stuff is fun as hell to play.  I really think these young musicians have formed a powerful and unique ensemble that will be making beautiful music for years to come.

Hindsight's 20/20

I have now experienced the end of nine college semesters, six of which were here at the University of Montana.  For me, the trouble is knowing that you can, in fact, completely lose motivation, drop out for a semester or two, re-register and head back to classes.  This is not a good thing to know.  It's a worse thing to practice. 

I'm nine semesters in and I'm only mildly confident in my major of choice (Ecology).  The only thing I am sure of is my need for a Bachelor's degree in something, since they're being given out like fuckin french fries these days.  With all the crazy things we've dreamed up for people to do with their time on Earth, asking someone to choose at or near my age just seems cruel.

However, now that the end of the semester is upon us, I feel every part of me that has matured at least a little since high school telling me what every college student needs to hear when motivation is hard to find.  It's only another couple of weeks, suck it up and enjoy it before you miss it.  Personally, I have encountered several points in my life where I wished I had slowed down a bit and enjoyed the process for what it was.  I don't want to have to encounter this feeling again merely with hindsight.  I've made it a personal goal to really just buckle down, grind it out and have a good time doing it.  I think it's all about realizing just how you're going to look back at this time in your life and acting accordingly.

Business Trip

I knew a kid who was on The Price Is Right.  He won two bicycles, a treadmill, a queen-sized bedroom furniture set, a 42-inch TV and he won his showcase which included:   speedboat, a six-person hot tub and a trip to Turks & Caicos.  He lived in a dorm at the time, so he sold everything except the trip.  He was on his way to the airport with his girlfriend when an oncoming car (driven by a sleepy bookstore clerk) drifted into their lane just in time to kill the kid I knew.  The Price Is Right changed his life. 

I was relieved to finally pull into the long-term parking garage of the San Jose airport.  I found a reasonable spot on the third level.  I was going through my entire trip to figure if I had forgotten to pack anything I would need.  It was far too late to go back for anything, but I continued with the mental activity. 

My mother had drowned in a river two miles from my childhood home six days ago.  My younger sister died in the same river while trying to save my mother.  Their deaths made the front page of the newspaper, along with a picture of my father and older brother, both crying.  I hadn't cried on any of the six days since I heard the news.  I was sad, sure, but not that broken up about it.  I don't know why.  

I lacked the intensity that my brother and father seemed to experience.  The same intensity that my girlfriend apparently found necessary in a mate.  I packed for my trip this morning in a room with two empty dressers drawers and a note explaining my shortcomings as a normal human being.  I was sad she left me, sure, but I wasn't broken up about it.  She said she couldn't bear to be with someone who was "so emotionally dead inside."  I thought her use of the word dead was a tad insensitive, even for someone like me.  My mother and sister were the ones who were dead now.  My father and older brother were the ones who were crying.  I was the one running through a parking garage trying to catch a flight to Cincinnati.

 I saw the reverse lights for just a split second.  In that time, I managed only to consider changing my path to avoid a conflict with the much heavier SUV.  I knew they (the driver of the SUV) couldn't have seen me at all.  Maybe I didn't know they would pull out of the spot so quickly.  Well, they did.  I felt the cold of the pavement on my cheek just before it became dark.  The last thing I thought was that I didn't move out of the way.  I was sad that I didn't move, sure, but I don't know if I was broken up about it.   

Blink

I fucked with the radio knobs some more.  Good music is hard to find.  It is harder to find in Nowhere, MT.  Grain fields on the other hand... I turned the radio off.  The purr of the car’s motor remained. 

            “Good music is hard to find.” I said.

            “Yes it is,” she offered, “if you’re a music snob.”  She didn’t look at me.  I could see the better half of her left breast in that dress.  She looked inviting.  Her hair on her exposed shoulders.  Her thighs, what I could see of them.  What I couldn’t.

“How much should I spend?” she asked.

“If it’s good shit, get as much as you can.  If it isn’t, don’t.”  Her gaze remained straight ahead.  In the three years we’d been “us,” I had come to know her profile the best.  I could draw her profile perfectly from memory. 

She slowed to a stop and shifted into park.  She looked at me.  I blinked and regretted it.  She was meant to be admired.  I handed her all the cash I had.  She added it to her own modest stack and threw the wad into her purse.

“I’ll be right back,” she said without much thought, “I love you.”  She was out of the car before I could respond.  I watched her walk half a block.  She stepped up to the door and paused for a brief second.  I thought she might turn to the car and smile.  I wanted her to.  She opened the door and was gone.  I settled in and rolled a fat solo to pass the time.  I looked outside the car for witnesses, lit ‘er up and took a hit.  Switched hands.  Took another.

“I smoke two joints in the mornin...” I sang quietly to the smoke swirling inside the car.  We’d be okay, I thought.  We just need this little score to get through the weekend.  We aren’t dumb.  We’ve discussed how much of our lives our habit had claimed.  Not to mention the money.  We’ve agreed to stop after this weekend.  We’ll get our shit together then.  It’ll be like it was. Happy. I looked down to find a roach in my hand.  It could’ve been five minutes or fifty.  I looked up and saw her walking towards the car.  How long had it been?  I sat up straight in my seat.  She got in and started the car.  Her gaze straight ahead.  She pulled a corner bag of crystal from her purse.  She handed it to me.  It was more than I was expecting. 
"How much?" I asked.
"It was a good deal," We were only a few blocks away when she pulled into the gas station.  “I need to use the bathroom.” she explained.

“We’re gonna be okay, right?”

“Yeah.” she said without looking.  She left.  I sat there, roach in one hand and a sack of crystal in the other.  I opened her purse to deposit our cache.  I noticed a wad of bills inside.

           

What not to do.

Well, please let me start by explaining that there has never been a more ironic event in all of history than me giving writing tips to someone else. I don't think I have ever written more than two sentences of a paper before midnight, ever. So, what better way to utilize my knowledge than to give tips on what not to do when you write a paper:

1. Do not procrastinate. I know this isn't really a tip--it's something we should be masters of by now (the point where we are paying for our education). However, if you are like me, you are quick to figure how late you can wait to start the paper the minute you receive the assignment. This is bad. The more often you write (five one-hour sessions are much more beneficial than one five hour session), the easier your paper will be to write.

2. When you're writing, do not stop! Just keep writing. Even if it is total shit. So much time can be spent staring at your heading and the blank document that lay below it. Use this time to edit whatever nonsense you've mananaged to get down. This will prove a much more efficient use of whatever time you dedicate to writing

3. Don't be completely rigid when it comes to your topic. Upon research, you may find that it would be easier to change your thesis statement a little. Reward yourself for this observation and give the change a try. It could be that break you need to wrap the thing up or meet the length requirement.

4. Do not copy and paste, then edit in word. This will just end up exposing your lack of mastery of word formattting and make you paper awfully choppy.

5. Do not write your paper while under the influence. As enticing it may sound, there is a devastatingly low success rate when it comes to drunk writing. On top of a broken computer, you'll end up with a paper that is made up of 50% quotes from whatever songs you were listening to Anne maybe some lines from Rocky.