Logan's Blog

I'm back!!!!!!

    I know, I know.  I've been away from my blog for a couple of weeks and you've just about had it with checking in every day, only to be disappointed.  The sheer exasperation that you must feel, hitting the refresh button over and over and over again and still receiving no new content is an exasperation I feel painfully and with more than the usual amount of self-conscioussness.  But I'm going to be a man about my shirked duties.  There will be no nervous giggling, no asking, "you're not mad at me are you?"  I will not claim that if you really loved me then you wouldn't make such a big deal about it.  I won't say, "well, I was traveling, and since it IS summer vacation, I thought maybe I could, you know, take a vacation..."  I will only say that I never saw Palin's resignation coming. 
    She is, as many news outlets have attested, "laying all her chips on the table" in a bid to become president in 2012.  In a bold move which has impressed pundits everywhere and forced me to expel milk from my nose on more than one occasion, she has stepped away from her current position (left field) to focus. 
    It's kind of like in the second Three Ninjas Movie when Colt has trouble throwing ninja stars at some sort of dartboard and Mr. Miyagi tells him to stare at the bullseye until it's the size of a watermelon.  Then, explains the wily veteran, you can't miss, because only idiots miss watermelons.  This is essentially the strategy of Sara Palin, based on what I saw when I was taking 3 Ninjas out of the vhs player (I know!) and inserting 3 Ninjas Kick Back. 
    To summarize: Sarah Palin is a Jedi.  She knows that only chump change misses watermelons, so she got a head-start on the focusing.  And that's what I've learned (so far!) this summer vacation. 

Dorothea

    So, I'm still in Kansas.  I came down here to Kansas City to see a buddy of mine, and long story short, a two-day meet-and-greet turned into a week-long game of just hanging out and stuff.  See, we were supposed to continue on into a little place I like to call New Mexico, but car problems have us sidelined for the time being. 
    Supposedly, my friend's buddy, who was driving on our trip, is a bit of a "new age" believer.  There's a mythical part of car, a so-called "catalytic converter," which he is absolutely insistent on "fixing" before we move along.  I, of course, assured said gentleman that this "catalytic converter" is a hoax perpetrated by weak individuals whose position has outstripped their power; but he is adamant, and I (ever the gentleman) am resigned to my fate.
    Not that I am bitter; far from it.  Kansas City is a fascinating place, full of quaint little stores ranging from Target to Wal-Mart.  Last night, I attended a live music concert put on by some friends of mine, the members of Muf'NTop and This Big, and it was a rocker.  Their first stop in a summer-long tour was Kansas City, and so it was serendipitous that our Catalytic Ampersand was MIA.
    I've also stayed in a fascinating hotel by the name of Whitehaven Hotel, which still has hourly fees if you ever need to just pull off the road and get a couple hours of sleep.  It's what many in the hospitality business refer to as a "dying breed," which I hope applies to its myriad small insect population as well.  I ate at a place called Winstead's, which I highly reccomend if you're ever in the Kansas City area.  It's got great burgers at cheap prices.

    As a baseball fan, I am intent on finding kindred spirits.  My Cleveland Indians are an organization which I devote an inordinate amount of time to; and I like to find others who feel the same way about their home team.  Sadly, I have found very little of this in Kansas City.  This seems to be because they've finished in last place in the American Central for about fifteen years. Joe Posnaski (google him!) is one of my favorite journalists, and he loves espousing the futility of his team.

    Finally, I would like to be commended for my efforts in getting to a computer in order to inform my legion of fans about my whereabouts.  I am currently sitting in a dank, dark basement while my friends laugh and giggle upstairs.  I am using dial-up.  Thank me later.

Working Out

    One of the nicest changes I've had in perception at MUM is my outlook on exercise.  Prior to coming here, I took the Jerry Seinfeld view on working out:  Why go to the gym?  I mean, what's the deal with working out, with running in circles or pushing around heavy things?  So you can go back to the gym and run faster in circles or push heavier things?
    And there were always vague admonitions to the effect that it was "healthier," but that was never really qualified.  "You'll thank me when you're sixty," people would say, inadvertently revealing a tendency toward foolishness.  How am I supposed to have any idea about what'll happen forty years from now?  That always irritated me. (That, along with people telling me that I'd "understand when I'm older."  I don't, and I won't.  Or rather, I'm beginning to understand all too well that being old is no excuse for a person to have lazy ideas, especially if they choose to express them).
    There were always magazines and health books, too, of course; but my lungs/heart/legs/whatever always responded well after eating junk food/not exercising/whatever.  And since I stopped being a serious athlete around sophomore year in high school, there was no reason to try competing at a high level.
    Sure, there were times that I didn't feel great, but I couldn't perceive that the difference between walking for half an hour and not doing so was that great.  Sure, "pheromones" were supposed to combat depression and generally make me "feel good;" but this was a difficult thing to notice in myself.  Also, straw supposedly can be spun into gold; what did I really know about the chemical interactions in my own brain, anyway?
    But since I've been here, I've gradually shifted my paradigm to the idea that exercise relieves stress.  This is such a simple thing, but it's changed my perception on my entire lifestyle.  I notice that I feel stressed out if I don't exercise for a while; and my mood gradually falls.  And I don't have to do intense exercise, either, or really lame ones; my only options aren't SIX PACK ABS or GERIATRIC YOGA or PLAYING TAG EVERY TUESDAY BECAUSE I MISS MY YOUTH.
    Now, I can take a half-hour walk just because it relieves stress.  Or tag; I just wouldn't play it as a planned sort of thing. 

Win

Fathers' Day

    Fathers' Day is today.  Hey, it's Fathers' Day.  Hey, Fathers' Day is today, guys.  Fathers' Day.  Yo, it's Fathers' Day.  Just so you guys know, in case you weren't aware, it's, you know, Fathers' Day.
    According to Hallmart or whatever those guys are called, Fathers' Day is about grilling steaks, and about books with titles like 1000 Things A Man Should Spit Before He Dies.  This is a nice approach, I suppose.
    But despite the media's blatant liberal and conservative bias, and despite 20 million fafillion bulillion dollars being spent advertising this holiday every year (citation needed), Fathers' Day isn't as big as Mothers' Day.  I know that if I was dad, and my kid wrapped up a tie with 5 dogs playing poker on it, or presented a six month subscription to Field and Stream to me,  I'd be heavily tempted to have a heart-to-heart with him.
    Here's how I imagine it'd go:

Me:  You know, Steggy, you don't let anybody tell you what kind of person you are.  You're you.

Steg:  Who else could I be, daddy?

Me:  Just you, kiddo.  Just Stegasaurus Lasagna Repko.  But I'm just saying, I'd rather you spent your money on something YOU want- I don't really need any gifts, and especially not something that somebody just TOLD you I'm supposed to want.  I'd rather you use your money for something that YOU want.

Steg:  Oh daddy, Mommy gave me money for this!

Me:  You spent your mother's money on a TIE??  Go to your room!

Steg:  Can I play with Mommy's makeup first?

Me: Just don't spill anything on your books or you're IN BIG TROUBLE!

Steg (exeunt)

Me:  I've gotta stop pampering these kids or they'll grow up and be boring.

    Now, I'd prepared something clever for little Stegasaurus for the next Mothers' Day.  It's all about how he doesn't get her anything and I send him to his room, and then ponder whether I'm enforcing a double standard or simply living in flow with life as it actually is, prioritizing and saving my energy and Steggy's seven-year-old impressionability and mental capacity for something more fundamental.  But then I realized that I really don't know, and find that scenario difficult to even portray impartially.

    So I guess what I'm trying to say is, Happy Fathers' Day*!  Have a great time kicking back and playing a round of golf with the old man.  Watch some baseball on TV, eat something with your hands, and do manly things like bond over a game of catch or watch a Rocky marathon on Spike TV!  Enjoy your day!

*For the record, I love golf, baseball, pizza/wings/burgers/fries, catch, Rocky, AND Spike TV, even though I'm "poking fun" at whatever they're supposed to be representing here.

Lists

    I've been spending way too much time lately at this site, which is basically just a forum for "to-do" type lists to be posted, without all the "inspirational" (or, alternately, "confining") implications of a bucket list.  I don't know why it's so addicting to me; I can only read so many "top ten postmodern movies you've never heard of" lists before I know every unheard-of postmodern film, ever. 
    My results are, to be sure, mixed.  I've seen a full 52% of all Edward Norton movies ever produced; but I've only read 2% of "50 Self-Help Classics."  I've seen most of "The Greatest Cartoons of all Time;" but remain woefully unversed in the area of "Top 100 Crime Novels of All Time," having read a paltry three percent.
    Whether the open-endedness of the website is appealing; or the hyperbole appeals to my ironic nature, I can't be sure.  All I know is I've spent many hours in the last couple of weeks, trolling for new and exciting lists about books I haven't read, movies I haven't seen, genres I'm not familiar with, places I'm less for not having visited, music I'm woefully ignorant of, and experiences that will expand my mind in ways that simply cannot be comprehended by the unitiate.

    I like to imagine that I will throw a tremendous party when I finish reading "Boxalls' 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die."  But it will be an ironic party, a direct reaction to the breathless tone of the title and the general pretension in putting Expression in a box like that.  It'll be a postmodern celebration of a gargantuan feat; or whatever.
    There will be a cake, but instead of "Congratulations!" it will say, "Hope This Makes You Happy...  Was It Worth It, Poindexter?"  People will bring presents, but at the last moment, they'll decide not to give them to me, since I already know everything anyway.  There will be a snarky undertone, and people will question my motives for having actually read all 1001 of those books.  Of course, we'll bring in some attractive, vacant people and have them say things like, "Wow!  That's great!" and smile the smile they smile when they're thinking of a slinky slowly making its way down a staircase.  I'll vacillate between overblown pomposity and intellectual disattachment.  Then, when the time is right, Crystal Waters' "Gypsy Woman" will come on the loudspeaker, everybody will laugh the laugh of the sane, we'll all throw off our fetters, and everyone will dance the night away.  Then I'll forget about lists, until the next time I'm bored and need something to do.

Whoah! pt. 2

    As WC Fields once said, "There comes a time in the affairs of man that he accidentally disconnects his laptop from his power source, erasing an hour's worth of work but somehow still accidentally posting the first half of his blog entry to teh interwebz."  History has smiled favorably on this commentary; and last week provided another example of its efficacy.
    As thousands of my fans have commented in the forums, via email, on twitter, and through 4chan, I did indeed leave an entry unfinished.  Being a man of action- and one who likes to see the right thing done no matter what- I offer no mitigation for this state, but merely hope to amend matters with the greatest efficiency possible.  So without further ado, I will pick up where the last Whoah! left off:

    Having just observed a dozen or so tutu-clad young men and women emerge from a room blindfolded, I simply had to know what "the haps" was.  "So, what's 'the haps,'" I asked the group at large, in my "big" voice, since they hadn't heard me the last time I'd asked.
    "Logan, you don't have to shout," one of them responded.
    "Sorry.  So what's going on here, anyway?"
    "Logan, get out of the way," another put in,  "we've got to go."
    "Nice shoes," I responded, "...NOT!"
    Nobody laughed, and I thought that the pink tutus were bound to be forever a mystery, like carburetors and the meaning of the word "nonplussed."  But later that week, at a soiree in Cairo, I happened to run into one of the participants!

    "Treasure hunt," he explained over a light nosh, a guy named Sam playing sad, sweet music in the background. 
    "Treasure hunt?" I asked, skeptically.  "Like the great Doubloon-hunt of '87?  Or an excavation?  How does a tutu help one fight off pirates, angry militant nihilists, or secret organizations with cool tattoos on their faces?"
    "Oh, don't be such a bother," he exclaimed boringly, while Sam tickled the ivories with particular relish.  "It wasn't for Glory, or Country, or Extreme, Scrooge-McDuck-Swimming-In-His-Vault-Of-Money-Wealth.  It was for a Sense of Community, and put on by Our Parents."

    "That's so cool," I told him, mind wandering to a shady-looking individual with an extremely poor french accent.  Earlier, he'd asked me to "hold onto" an extremely large wad of money, and I was beginning to wonder if he'd be coming back to claim it; or whether I might not just "bop off" and forget about the matter.
    The young man's lips kept moving for a while, so I nodded sympathetically every time Aerosmith screamed the words "dream on," in the song playing in my head.  Eventually, one of the most attractive women in the history of everything wandered in on the arm of a famous WW2 war hero; and everybody dropped their pretense and watched the drama unfold as she asked Sam to play a song that simply wasn't meant to heard ever again.

    So here's what I found out about the group of tutu-clad collegiate men and women:
-They're basically a gaggle of fun-loving kids with fun-loving parents or mentors who decided that Easter was too long to wait for a treasure hunt of sorts
-The pink tutus were neccesary, and I was not to question this.
-"The Angry La's" is such a good name for a band that it was already taken.  Check them out here.  Or don't; honestly, their name is the best thing they've got going for them right now.  They sound sort of like The Clash mixed with Stone Temple Pilots, fed through a ceiling fan.
-If you ever want to alienate yourself: walk up to anybody, grasp their chin between your index finger and thumb -forcing them to look in your eyes- and say, "Here's looking at you, kid."  If they don't narrow their eyes menacingly, then it's true love forever.

   

A letter to my buddy in ohio

Dear Zach,

    I know that you're leaving for Germany in a couple of days, so I thought it'd be a good time to let you know about the special "Sinatra/ War of the Worlds" party we've all been planning for you.
    Several of your favorite people will be there, including the lead singer from the Offspring; Shel Silverstein; Hank Williams III; Greg Maddux; 3 of the Harlem Globetrotters' starting five; Katie Perry; and Dmitri Martin. Conan O'Brien, of course, will be flying in via helicopter with myself, Bob Barker, Leighton Meister, Dave Barry, and that guy from Man versus Nature.  It promises to be an enjoyable night: since the Cavs are out of the playoffs, nobody's using their gymnasium, and, well, I got a deal on a one-night rental...
    You did say that you wanted a new hybrid, right?  I put that on "Zach's *Secret* Party Wish-list," on the Amazon.com website we set up for you.  I also put down "George Orwell's complete works, first edition;" "life-sized narwal statue;" "spinning rims ['22s];" "complete set of ultra-light camping gear;" "executive assistant;" "lump of gold;" and a special deal I found, "live with Bret Easton Ellis for a year."  I know it's somewhat lacking in prolificacy, but I'm hoping you'll find the gifts amusing anyway.
    Just so you know, everybody there will be dressed up like a member of the rat pack but the general decorating motif will be War of the Worlds, as per what I believe your wishes would be.  I hope you won't be too disappointed if everybody's expecting you to dress up as Bukowski, though, will you?  Don't bother changing out of your juice-stained pants or your old slippers; I know several cheerleaders would be very disappointed if you chose to "put on airs," on your big night.   
    Menu will be vegan, except for yours.  Yours will feature chicken topped with prime rib, 5 baconator cheeseburgers, and a meat-lovers pizza with extra ham.  Because it's your big day and I know that's what you'd want.
    Umm, I think that covers everything.  This party promises to be the biggest thing you've ever seen, so definitely come prepared!  There's talk that Dave Barry might be interested in introducing you to some of his writer friends, but that's all speculation at this point. 
    I guess what I'm saying, bro, is definitely don't leave early like you were thinking; stay until Sunday.  I'll be flying in tomorrow, and then it's non-stop fun for a couple of days.
    Hope this reaches you in time.

Sincerely,

Logan

Moving off campus vs. staying on

    I'm considering a move off-campus next year, but I'm not sure.  Being on campus is a great way to be close to the hub of things; to be near the meditation halls; to continually reaffirm friendships with others living on campus; and to be near class and the cafeteria. 
    Plus, I really enjoy having a room to myself, having just one room that I need to take care of.  I have my own sink, no monthly bills, and no responsibility to prepare my own food.  It's nice for a person like me.
    On the other hand, I would enjoy preparing some of my own food some of the time.  Also, since I walk everywhere anyway, I really don't think I'd mind walking to the school every day.  My trips to the public library would be correspondingly shorter, as my trips to school got a little bit longer.  Furthermore, I've pretty much moved all of my stuff out here to Iowa, and I have random stuff in my room: a printer in its box, acting as a table; all of my backpacking gear just lying in a corner; bookshelves crammed full of books; and several loads of baseball cards, DVDs, gems, and small furniture coming with my aunt when she drives up to visit me.  I don't have room for all my stuff.
    Now, I've talked to some of my friends; and they always say very existential things:  "Dude, you have too much stuff.  Just sell it."  That sounds cool, but I've done that before; and I think I'd regret, say, selling my printer for twenty bucks.
    But, I could make it work if it was just about the stuff.  I think it mostly boils down to the fact that I'm torn between not having that much responsiblity and the idea that I could have the fruits of responsibility without suffering that much.  Either way, though, I really dig this town; and I think it's a choice between two desirable options.

Pizza Day

    Today was pizza day in the cafeteria, and I was just as enthusiastic for it as I would have been in fifth grade.  We have pizza every Tuesday, and I never fail to look forward to it.  Further, today was an extra-special food day, as the sandwich bar made its debut.  All the muenster cheese, pepper stuff, lettuce, tomato, hummus, and other stuff that you can fit between two pitas or two slices of bread.  It was fantastic, and I don't know that it will get old.