So this weekend was a bit more low-key than I'd anticipated. In fact, I never wore my cobbled-together Halloween costume. Probably for the best.

Since there was no predicting how exciting Friday and Saturday would be, I'm not especially disappointed: I've decided to play up the "nice break" angle.

On Friday I drove over to the Cities and hung out with Graham and (to a lesser extent) Manney.

Both of whom made me feel like a hardcore Republican for declaring myself a Kerry-leaning "undecided" and parroting a Slate story about some suspiciously old news. Offhand, I'd credit their reaction to group polarization on the relatively liberal Hamline campus.

Though I was surprised, I wasn't offended. I'm used to debating with those two.

But I worry that I'm becoming intolerant.

Religiously intolerant, mostly. I try to be cynical about my own religion ("He believes in No-God, and he worships him"), but atheism is the know-it-all of religious views. It seems unassailable, built as it is on a foundation of skepticism. From this height, I survey the ranks of the devout with a mixture of bemusement and dismay.

I'd say that my rightness, based in reason, is better than their righteousness, based in superstition and faith, but in its effects there's little difference between my intolerance and religiously-based intolerance. Moments before mocking Manney for believing in some vague higher power, I realized I'd let my convictions go to my head.

(Images of Pierre, the lost frenchman of London, dutifully checking his convictions for intellectual deadwood. Who am I to show him Londres?)

I wonder at the fortitude with which Jubb has handled some of my harsher blasphemy — the sort of abuse I never had to deal with as a Catholic. Very christian of him, as they say.

Saturday, that's right. One odd thing about Saturday is that, when ten of us ate at Perkins that night, no one was a vegetarian. Sometimes it seems like half the U-frisbee team is crazy-vegetarians.

I probably would've flaked had I realized how far Winona is from the Cities, but since I had nothing better to do at that point (Graham was at work), I drove the two hours and kept my word.

Realizing I had no desire to watch my fellow Lawrentians play, I stopped at a rest stop halfway there and read all of my Wired, and about half of Penguin Island, to kill time.

Didn't do much there, either. Ate dinner with the team, watched bits of An American Werewolf in Paris, The Nightmare Before Christmas, and Psycho as well as the entirety of a terrible movie called Bones, and got a brief glimpse of the U-frisbee dynamic.

There was a 21+ party at some bar, but I opted out. Drove back on Sunday morning with Alan and ended up talking politics for the most part. A fun enough weekend.

Tired now, and anxious to sleep in my own bed.

Watched Bright Young Things tonight. Good movie, despite its departure from Waugh's self-proclaimed "Happy Ending."

Also, I won a battle of wills Wednesday night, breaking our soft-hearted Managing Editor. She's trying to put an end to the traditional Lawrentian all-nighter; I think I'm the only "night person" left on the layout staff, now that our editor in chief has started clocking out early.

Thought a lot about a Halloween costume for this weekend, and to be honest I haven't come up with any good ideas. I'll probably just see what's left at the thrift store tomorrow morning; it's either that or root through Jubb's costume box again.

So here's the scoop for anyone who missed it: Everyone is clearing out for the weekend, either to Madison for the annual holiday pillaging or to Winona for an Ultimate Frisbee tournament. Which means that, to fight the twin demons of boredom and productivity, I'm leaving for the weekend as well.

If all goes as planned, I'll spend Friday night in the Cities and Saturday night in Winona before heading back to Lawrence on Sunday.

Sometimes I read the news. Well, not sometimes. Probably every day, for a few hours each day.

How do those Atmosphere lyrics go?
"So his neurotic ass can act like he knows a whole lot…"

If you like the news, you should get an rss reader, which does all the work of visiting tech-savvy news sites and blogs for you, then tells you what's new. I recommend the free and aptly named "Rss Reader," which seems to be the least complicated of the bunch.

I'll stifle my desire to dissect the weekend and leave it at that.

[Update: Those few who visit my site four to fives times a day, and who've thus read this post several times already, should considering downloading that reader.]

As expected, I didn't have much to offer my mom and little brother when they came to Appleton for MEA. There was one campus event (the choir concert) which we duly attended, and my little brother sat in on a class, but otherwise we spent most of our time off-campus, eating out and walking around the Fox Valley Mall.

On a related note, I have "gym shoes" now, which means that I'm officially open for racquetball. As long as you aren't that great.

On Thursday night, I got my little brother into a poker tournament that'd been planned earlier in the week. He was a little surprised to find out about the buy-in, but he can no longer complain after taking home first place and $35 in profit.

That was an easy night. Tonight was a bit harder. We got back from the choir concert only to find that everyone was gone; I was completely out of the loop because I hadn't been around when plans were being made.

The Politician called, in a similar jam, and I called my way down the "friends" list (my suspicions notwithstanding, Jubb assures me that one's order on the list is not to be considered a "ranking") until Katy finally filled me in on the night's various activities.

None of them really sounded like something I wanted to drag my sibling to. But the Politician and I went to reconnoiter a few parties, just to be sure.

We discovered a goodsized group of Lawrentians in Ben and Freshman Matt's room, but (predictably) failed to recruit any of them for a small and somewhat antisocial game of King's Cup back at Hiett.

So we didn't do anything. My little brother filled his iPod with campus network goodies, I watched the first six episodes of the Ninja Scroll television series, and the Politician and his betrothed played The Sims 2.

Or something: evil moths were gassing a tree witch, so I wasn't really paying attention to what anyone else was doing.

Cameos by our missing roommates rounded out the evening and reminded me how annoying it is to be around drunk people when I haven't been drinking. Jonas, Freshman Matt, and Ben resurfaced and helped me up onto my high horse.

All in all though, I was much more aggravated to find that my Lawrentian editorial was missing part of the last sentence (I didn't see a galley proof of that page, so it's not entirely my fault) than I was by anyone I saw tonight.

Later Jubb wandered in, nobly showing me a line I hope never to cross. He was bleeding, dirty, and still wet from the river adventure that had made him that way. Still clad only in his trademark whitey-tighties, he asked everyone in the room for duct tape (to patch his wound) before stumbling off to bed.

During that last episode we were playing Clue. I feel like an iconoclast, and I like that, but I'd feel a lot better if I could be a more exciting iconoclast.

Meg(h)an's b-day party tonight. Wanted to go, but I was at the Lawrentian office until a few minutes ago. My mom and little brother are coming tomorrow. And there's a strange kid sleeping in our hammock. Blarg.

OK, that's long enough.

Katy and I were both chosen as trivia masters last night. Looks like my Nerds with Gynophobia days are over.

I wasn't as excited as I'd expected to be, having used up a fair amount of enthusiasm on my new (free) flikr account.

(Note the pictures on the sidebar. You can even leave comments!)

Good news for trivia fans: Since I'm fairly certain I just barely made the roster, my lingering sense of inadequacy will probably impel me to overcompensate. I'll try to be a great trivia master with every lazy lazy fiber of my being.

Like Matthew, Rock Show Girl, Katy, and a bunch of schmoes I don't care about, I auditioned to be a trivia master Tuesday night.

For the past few weeks I'd been on the fence about being a trivia master: on the one hand, I'd like to have a hand in improving Lawrence's annual trivia contest. On the other hand, the duties of a trivia master would force me to be social for an entire weekend, an onerous task in uncertain company.

Ultimately, I decided to try out, reasoning that the current masters would select the most qualified applicants and everyone stood to benefit from an enlarged applicant pool. If I don't get the job, I can look forward to another year on Nerds with Gynophobia, our plucky little team. No big loss.

More cynically, my altruistic claim to be doing this "for the good of the contest" is probably nothing more than a hard candy shell, surrounding a delicious chocolate center of selfishness.

I wanted, and still want, to be a trivia master.

The audition was somewhat boring, by the way. Anticlimactic, after two and half hours of waiting with the same Beach Boys song playing incessantly in the background.

I don't believe that (by any stretch of the imagination) I blew the trivia masters away. But here's hoping that I squeeze in, along with at least one of the other applicants I'm rooting for.

So. A lot of random unproductive activity today. I got waylaid on my way to the library this afternoon and ended up as a special guest on Celine's college radio show, "Blues Explosion."

And apparently I'd agreed to go see a debate in Oshkosh with the Politician. Factor in dinner beforehand, and I didn't get to the library until about nine tonight.

The debate was hilarious, incidentally. Senator Feingold against Tim Michels, the foredoomed Republican challenger.

First off, a Barnesville novice knows about as much about debating as Michels. I felt sorry for the guy, what with his stilted speeches and bizarre tangents to familiar talking points. I was probably no better back in high school, in all honesty — but I wasn't running for senator.

And (second off?) Michels seemed unintelligent. He seemed to have little understanding of national issues (American farmers are generally not big free trade advocates) or his opponent's often witty rhetoric. I suspect that I might agree with him on one or two issues (read: keeping airport security private), but I wouldn't trust the guy to get anything done in the Senate.

The Politician and I were rolling our eyes and stifling laughter throughout the debate, as it became increasingly clear that Feingold was giving his opponent a sound drubbing. Looking around, I noticed others in the same predicament.

Knowing that the race isn't tight, Feingold was able to loosen up and speak his mind. My favorite jokes: "Sometimes people forget that my first name isn't 'McCain'" and "I went together with Jesse Helms on that bill! There were very few Helms-Feingold bills."

Also, Feingold called something "terrendous."

It was a good time, and now I have fewer qualms about voting for Feingold.

Back at Lawrence, I spent the rest of the night in the library, finishing 1984. It's a good bit of satire, but I'd forgotten how soul-crushing the ending is. Should be interesting to discuss, though.

I need more side-projects like our satire tutorial, or maybe just a better work ethic. I haven't tried to write any fiction for a few months now, and I need to either read or write regularly if I'm to stay sane.

(Getting periodically pissed off at various extroverts and that one really pretentious introvert is unavoidable, but I've found that some r&w at least blunts my frustration.)

Alternately, I can just drink. The Halo drinking game I played with Ben (and failed miserably at, btw) before going to the ORC party yesterday was arguably more fun than the party itself. And relaxing, like the Mario Kart drinking game of yore.

Yes, I could be one of those drinking writers, in the proud tradition of Hemingway, Poe, and newspaper editors everywhere. Waking up hungover, with my mouth full of pity…

Or whatever. It's past my bedtime.

Senator and presidential candidate John Kerry came to Appleton tonight. To Lawrence's own Alexander Gymnasium, in fact. There was quite a crowd, and I've been told that some people were turned away.

Kerry showed up a half hour late ("if this were a job interview…" muttered a nearby liberal darkly), two hours after I'd showed up to stand in line. His lateness was doubly irritating, as it forced me to suffer through more warmed-over country from this crappy band they'd hired to psyche us up.





As an emergency crowd photographer for The Lawrentian (not to mention as a student and a blogger) I was glad to have gotten a limited-edition blue ticket from Alan, a volunteer at the event. That gave me access to the viewing area closest to Kerry's platform.





The speech itself was pretty straightforward, emphasizing the message I've been reading about for weeks and months now.

Highlights for me included Kerry's unusually detailed (and thus relatively distortion-free) description of his opposition to a Republican measure which stopped Medicare from negotiating with drug companies for bulk discounts — and the way he paused and said "of course you know this, because you're living it" when talking about middle class woes. That went over well, I think.

I gave Kerry the benefit of the doubt when he referred to "the Vikings" (that's the name of Lawrence's sports teams), but I got the impression that he thought he was at some other school, from the way he kept referring to the "University of Wisconsin."

Generalizations abounded, and the event was a meaningless base-energizing publicity stunt, but I was glad I went. He might be president in a few weeks, and if so he'll never be this easy for me to see again.

Parked in the box office spot last night, because when the box office is closed that spot is probably the best on campus. Just a short walk from all three of the dorms I've lived in.

I should note, however, that parking in the box office spot, though it's the greatest of ideas at night and on weekends, is a pretty stupid idea during the week, when the box office is open and you can easily get ticketed.

I was planning to move the Deathtrap last night, but I forgot. I woke up this morning knowing that I'd probably have a ticket. Three tickets, and you're out of the next term's student parking lottery.

I didn't count on Colin, the original Lawrence gentleman. He's been working for campus security since he graduated last year. Here's the note I found on my hood. I don't think I need to say anything more.

It occurs to me, in moments like these, that you, Mr. Holbrook, know better than to park in the box office spot on a weekday. What are you at this point? A senior? Honestly, I would have expected better judgement from touch the hair but the bus was early and its wrong either way. Such an individual. Quentin? No. Anyway, there is no ticket under here, and not because I'm playing favorites, but because I'm rocking out to Iron & Wine right now and am in a good mood, despite being on my 24th hour on 3 hour's sleep. Well Dan, don't say this wasn't a wild ride… I shure hope you read this… -Colin

Just got a call from Representative Man, who had nothing but praise for my verbal takedown yesterday. Apparently my "duck's back" theory didn't hold water; the kid was grumbling about my comment for the rest of the night.

What's more, according to Representative Man, his prospie kept expressing the wish to fight me, but decided against it on the grounds that I could probably take him.

It must be this intimidating hooded sweatshirt I'm always wearing. Or the worry that I'd shout "spring forth, burly protector, and save me!" and have Jubb give him a good thrashing.

Met, and summarily insulted, a prospie tonight. He was dressed in the most ridiculously street outfit I've ever seen outside of a music video, all white. His baseball cap was tilted at what I assume is just the right angle, and his speech patterns (down to the ingratiating click with which he ended each sentence) oozed South Bronx cool.

I think he belonged to Representative Man.

In any case, when I expressed the fervent wish this white boy was from somewhere as urban as his look (and not, say, the Midwest), he handled my cynical gracelessness with the kind of slick self-confidence you'd expect from this sort of walking stereotype.

I learned that he was from Chicago, which I suppose is acceptable, and he sauntered off to seduce some freshman girl. Jubb and I walked on to the Grill.

A few hours later, a follow-up conversation confirmed that the prospie was an ass.

I doubt that the prospie cares about my pithy attack, but that doesn't mean I should have been rude. The glorious rightness of my character assessment aside, I'd probably opt for something more subtle if I could do it again. I'm trying to be a good little deontologist, after all.

Yeah, that's it. I should have just patronized him for praising my Modest Mouse shirt; I'd wager he's one of those newly-minted "Good News" fans that Celine, Alan, and I were dismissing at dinner tonight.

(Why has no one listened to Lonesome Crowded West?)

But regardless of whether or not I voice my opinions, there's no escaping the fact that I find myself passing judgment almost constantly. I've got what psychologist Richard Petty would call a high "need to evaluate." Which, I suppose, also explains my pointless interest in politics.

I'd say I'm happy with my critical eye much of the time. It goes without saying that it's made me elitist; I only hope that it hasn't made me pompous. God.

I'm reminded of a quote from Nietzsche, but I can't find it right now. Here's something similar:

What can everyone do — praise and blame. This is human virtue, this is human madness.

Time for a cursory update.

Watched two excellent movies this week. The first, I, Robot, was much, much better than I'd anticipated; it didn't bastardize the Three Laws and even incorporated recognizable bits from a few Asimov stories. It's still in theaters, and I saw it for a dollar. You should see it at some point.

The second, Shaun of the Dead, may or may not be coming to a theater near you. It's not coming to Appleton, though. We managed to get our hands on an early DVD-rip, and it was hilarious. In fact, it's the best zombie movie I've ever seen.

That includes the B-movie classic Zombie Bloody Demon, which I watched with Flo once upon a time.

Played racquetball this week. Three games against the Politician. He's quite a bit better than me, and naturally I lost all three games, but it's nice to get some exercise that isn't as mindnumbingly boring as my usual running-on-a-treadmill.

Apparently we're organizing a tournament. News to me.

Speaking of the Politician, his betrothed is up this weekend and I made him promise that we'd play King's Cup, probably the best drinking game ever. While helping Freshman Matt and Ben pick up a couch and a table from Ye Ole Thrift Shoppe, I found the perfect three-pint stein to use as the Cup.





As it turns out, I ended up being the King, and had to down a mixture of orange juice, cranberry vodka, beer, Kool-Aid, and So-Co. I looked pretty ridiculous drinking from that huge stein (which was only about a third full, if that), but, well, look at those spectacular guns. Who's ridiculous now?

We started drinking really late and stopped really early, playing Blackjack and Presidents instead. The Politician and his intended went to meet a friend at the VR, and I stayed behind. So all told my week has had about two hours of debauchery, if that. I like that. I need a straightedge week every now and then.

And homework-wise, all is well. I have to read Brave New World for class. How sweet is that?

So apparently my van is fine. I was told yesterday by some jerk at Auto Select that I needed a new alternator, and that it would cost me $300. Since those guys wouldn't install an inexpensive used part, this morning I took the Deathtrap to what is possibly the best auto service center in Appleton.

And now it appears that — to use the mechanic's delightful greasemonkey colloquialism — the guy at Auto Select was just "pulling my dick." My alternator is fine, and my battery (which just needed a good jump after all) is good enough for now, though I should probably replace it at some point.

The mechanic at Christy's Service didn't even recommend I get it replaced at his garage, noting that Auto Zone installs batteries for free.

Total cost to find out my car doesn't yet need to be fixed: $2.

Had a dream in vivid color last night. A series of dreams, really. But all with the same goal.

I was going to Europe. In my room at home, planning my departure. Driving to the airport, to fly to Europe. And without having studied any psychoanalytic theories, I know why I never got there.

The short answer is that I'm an idiot. One of the reasons I took a reduced load this term was so I could look for fellowships, but when I finally looked at the Lawrence University Fellowships page last night, many of the deadlines had passed.

(My fellowship of choice was the Marshall Scholarship, for two years of study at a British university. So much for that.)

I'm really not sure what I want to do yet, which is why I'm glad there's still a Rotary Scholarship out there. I should know by December, I think. Or have some ideas.

God, senior year.

I'm not even sure I want to leave America. There are some big cities I'd like to see.

But, as far as Dreamland goes, why shouldn't Europe serve as a convenient symbol for my nebulous plans, my unknown destination? Twice now, I've gone there and lived a radically different life. And come back, perhaps wiser, but certainly changed.

Dim memories of another dream, a month or so ago. More thinly-veiled anxiety about the future, but this time I'm not driving down Highway 371 on a sunny day. I'm in one of those weird dream amalgamations of a building — my high school, with bits of the Freiburg university library and an airport mixed in.

This dream is also in color. Graham is in this dream, which is odd. We've all got these black-and-white booklets with pictures of university librarians, and all these librarians, from all over the world, are looking for students to do research projects.

I pick this scary-looking man from Chile, but while rushing to my plane I notice that I'm the only person heading towards that particular gate.

Graham, standing in a lengthy line outside what used to be our high school's main bathroom, explains that he's going to Denmark — and I wonder why I didn't read the whole booklet. The librarians were arranged alphabetically by country, and I seem to have stopped at the C's.

The plane to Denmark — like every plane in this building that is starting to look more and more like an airport — is leaving in five minutes. Graham suggests that I exchange my tickets, if I can. Privately, I wonder if there's a better country than Denmark.

And I'm running, flustered. I wake up then, having never left the airport.

These aren't bad dreams, necessarily. They certainly look nice, with all those unnecessarily brilliant colors.

I feel sick and sore. The "Summer Birthdays" party last night in Rock Show Girl's room was probably a bad idea, or at least drinking at it was. Though, for what it's worth, I met a few music students and talked to my neighbors from freshman year, the D.J. and Nick-From-Next-Door.

The rest of the weekend was less regrettable. Lawrence grad and would-be author Elizabeth K. Bates was up this weekend, and I defied expectations yesterday afternoon by accepting a casual invitation to watch the football game with her and Representative Man. It's a long walk from here to the Banta Bowl, and we had some decent conversation.

(I probably should have broken off then and there, but I met them — after an awkward car ride with two trivia masters I barely know — at some restaurant which that set is always making a big deal about. The Politician showed up soon enough and things were less strange. But I was done, after that.)

On Friday night, once we got around to entertaining ourselves, the Politician and I took Freshman Matt to the Viking Room, our campus bar. They played darts, and I made a scene by leaving through the fire door before joining them for a round of cutthroat on the free pool table. Lax enforcement be praised.

New rule: No drinking more than two nights in a row.

Went a little overboard last night in a discussion about vocabulary. I'd used the phrase "gonzo journalism" (while bashing the movie Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas) only to be met with blank stares and, soon enough, mockery.

It does bug me a little when people don't know fairly common words and phrases ("black squirrel" being the most recent groan-inducer), because a limited vocabulary is usually a sign that someone has read few (or very similar) books. And I like books.

Really, though, I have no problem with people who don't know words. Almost everyone I know has a good story about my occasionally spotty vocabulary (although the Lawrentians have, by far, the most embarrassing story to tell) and I'm not so proud as to not ask for a definition when I need one. Anyone who's willing to similarly admit his own ignorance has my respect.

But on Friday I found myself taking an increasingly elitist stance, mostly because I'd decided that it was easier to have my views dismissed as pretentious or elitist than to waste time arguing with Jonas, whose debating style can be irritating.

Like (almost) every member of the Lawrentian ed board, I'm an elitist when it comes to academic standards. But the elitist claims I made Friday (most odious in my mind: that vocabulary gaps bother me because I thought I was going to a better school, an unjustifiable slur) don't have much to do with the frustration I was feeling.

More than the momentary annoyance of not being understood, what bothered me — and will continue to bother me, every time it happens — is the anti-intellectual response I received.

You can make fun of me for using big words pretentiously (some words, like solipsism and opprobrium, belong only in academic writing). You can make fun of me for using big words incorrectly (just because a word like yonder is fun to say doesn't mean you can disregard its meaning). You can make fun of me for glaring mispronunciations of words it's obvious I've only read in books.

But, unless you actually think I'm using a word just to make you feel stupid (something I rarely have the malice or the guts to do), you've no right to make fun of me because you don't understand what I'm saying.

I'm not ashamed of my vocabulary, and I won't tolerate that sort of anti-intellectualism. I want you to understand, and I'll gladly elaborate if there's any confusion.

I may have thought it was fun that a certain anonymous Lawrentian didn't know what a black squirrel was, but since (as I well know) the whims of fate can result in some very embarrassing vocabulary gaps, I'm not about to hold it against him/her.

The Lawrentian asked, we explained, and words once again became a medium for communication instead of an obstacle. If only it could always be that easy.

And the winner of the debate drinking game is: Representative Man. His prize? A bottle of champagne.





"Iraq" was indeed the word of the day (81 instances). Second place went to "America" and its variants (55), with "troops" (40) pulling a relatively distance third. If these numbers don't agree with yours, blame our intermittent t.v. reception.





There's the list. We didn't allow anyone who came 10 minutes late to participate, which seemed fair to me, but there were still plenty of eager participants. I drew an early pick, and foolishly chose "attack" (6). The Politician had more luck with "plan" (22).

As a wishy-washy moderate, I was mildly frustrated by the often knee-jerk reactions of my (predictably liberal) fellow students. They was much hooting at Bush's misteps.

Though it's clear to me, as an avowedly impartial observer, that Kerry won this debate handily. I don't agree with some of his points (e.g. his allusion to Kyoto, his far-fetched belief that Germany and France would ever go in on an invasion…) but he made them clearly and well.

Bush looked confused. He stuttered.

Words that weren't picked and should have been: "world," "president," and the out-of-nowhere buzzword of the night: "bilateral." One of Jubb's buddies had just as much luck with "unilateral" as Freshman Matt had with a racial slur.