Pen and Paper?

Hallo, Leute!

Alright, so that little spell of unpleasantness appear to have run its course, which means it's time to start talking shop.

On saturday I came to a startling conclusion. This law school thing is going to require a return of the pen and paper! As far as I can tell, in order to fully begin working on all the outlines I need, I'm going to have to a lot of work in a way totally unlike anything I've done in the past two years or so.

This is truly unexpected, and I'm probably going to have to experiment with it for a while, before I can say whether it'll actually work or not. I just thought I'd let everyone know that things in the world of Nathan are changing in unexpected ways.

On that note, I figure it's probably time for another edition of HTGBWET!

#312: Don't be afraid to wear hot pants, as long as you look good doing it! For Halloween! And at no other time!

Y'all have a good one.

Mediocrity

I don't know if you can tell, but we seem to be at that part of the year in which I start feeling really exhausted and depressed all the time. This is a fairly typical phase for me and eventually goes away as finals get closer.

Douglas Adams once defined the Long, Dark, Tea Time of the Soul as the time on sunday afternoon, after you've gone to church, finished lunch, taken all the baths a reasonable person could take, and have nothing to do before getting ready for work.

The early weeks of November seem to fit that bill. But that isn't why I'm writing today.

Today I continue to persist in my doldrums. Most days like this I ask myself that one, really ugly question. Why am I so lonely now?

Pretty much, I have a different answer to that question every time. Today's answer is what I'd like to write about.

Sometimes I feel extraordinarily mediocre. I feel like I'm that kind of guy who is pretty good at a lot of things, but who has never actually excelled in any facet of my life. I'm good at racquetball, at german, at english, at psychology, at research, at research methods, at playing the baritone, at writing, at thinking thoughtful thoughts, at making friends, at dancing, at being social, at smiling, at cracking a joke, at...

I'm hoping you get the picture. I've tried my hand at many things, and I've done pretty good at all of them. The thing is, I've never excelled in any of them. I'm not fluent in german. I only got a masters in psychology. None of my writing has ever been published. I can make friends, but I'm not actually a social guy. I'm in that group of people who dances well "for a white guy." My jokes tend to crack a few grins, but certainly leave a crowd wanting.

And so I sit, languishing in mediocrity, taking vacations with the world and never committing myself to it.

That's my answer, today. The reason I'm depressed (in the not actually clinically depressed way) and alone today is, I've decided, because there is not a single thing about me that people can point to and say, "That! That is what Nathan is good at."

Instead, the world need only look at the resume that is my life and say, "Wow. What a remarkably immature fellow, who thinks he can talk so big."

I take that back. One thing I am good at is writing titles. Like, really good at it. I destroy at title writing.

What a talent...

The October Fall

It's surprising, but even I, the greatest self-aggrandizer since Lou Costello, find that I need a little privacy at times.

In this case, that means that this blog is no longer being imported into facebook. It was a difficult decision, but a fairly obvious one, when push came to shove.

...

So it turns out that I may never totally be over her.

If you don't know who she is, you haven't been paying attention.

I discovered a website tonight that shoved her back into my consciousness, and it was a little bit like a probe zapping my heart. I was - up until a little bit ago - pretty sure that all of that had gone away, but I was absolutely wrong. Instead, I had simply succeeded in forgetting. If this is how it's going to be every time, I'm seriously going to be pissed off.

But then again, I guess forgetting is one of those self-preservation things that we all do and we all have to do.

Recently (I say recently. It was nearly a whole month ago), she had a birthday. In the past I would have done something, but this year I didn't, because, I think, I forgot.

...because, I think, I had to.

And now I've unforgotten, and it's too late to do anything real, so instead I'll copy and paste this post I found that pretty much does the job for me.

Tramore is a small town. It has a population of about 7,500 and serves an outlying community of about four million Dublin scumbags and knackers. Dems de breaks, folks. About 5 miles outside Tramore is the village of Fenor, which boasts a population of about -8. It is famous for the Fenor Bog, a wetlands reclamation project that has seen the demise of many a wandering wino. For this we thank it, if for nothing else.

It is less famous for being the birthplace of my good friend, Miss Marie Connolly. You know Marie. Trust me. If you're male you've probably scored her. She's a legend. Either way, your land probably adjoins her fathers. BECAUSE (whisper it) she's a bogger. I didn't want to be the one to tell you but there you go. She lives (dramatic pause) avec fields. As in: the countryside. If you haven't, by some unfortunate occurance, gotten off with Marie then you are surely related to her. Thanks to the immense reproductive powers of the farming class, Marie is related to about 76% of the Tramore parish. Which means she can't procreate with most of the town. She tries though. Boy, does she try.

Even if you are not a relative of Marie's or have never gotten off with her, then you have surely come into contact with her somehow. Do you remember that time you were soooooo sick and you couldn't remember your own name? Yeah, the girl that was holding back your hair? That was Marie. She's like that. Perhaps you got talking to a random blonde girl waiting for a taxi, and she kept fucking singing and nothing would shut her up, or you fell over in a pub and someone picked you up and told you were grand and not to worry about it. Yeah, Marie.

Last night (Friday) I decided that I would buy Aly a half-dozen birthday drinks. Unfortunately I couldn't remember where I left my money so Marie had to pay. It was pure, unadulterated, whorish gold: 'Marie, money over here, now!' Marie gave me a pat down to check for my dough but fortunately (for her) it was not found. I found all my money two hours later in my bra. For all future muggers, that's where I keep it. No one's gonna look there are they?

Old joke.

We won't talk about it.

Point is Marie, legend that she is, covered me for all my silliness.

Marie has been surrogate mammy to me for quite some years now: lending me fags, robbing mine back; buying me packets of crisps when I don’t want them and claim to be too hungover to eat; telling me that people were asking after me when they clearly weren’t because she knows how this feeds my vile, narcissitic side [note: fairly large 'side']; laughing at all my extremely bad jokes; telling me I’m lovely when I’m clearly dishevelled and horrible; smiling good-naturedly when I take the piss out of her and generally putting up with all my shit.

Today is her twenty-third birthday and she deserves all the terribly out-of-character solemnity I can possibly heap on her ever-kind and disarmingly-genuine person. Partly because she’s pretty fucking deadly but mainly because she will read this, and everything rude and disrespectful I ever write about her, and she will throw her head back and laugh her ridiculous, loud, infectious laugh.

Marie: dude, you are the shit.

And, yes, I was drunk writing this. Fuckit. I love me some Marie.

So there you go. This isn't how I think of Her. It's just kind of how I wish I could think of her.

Marie? It's a good name. It's not her name, but it'll do in a pinch.

Anymore, I know she's not a real person. Oh, there is a girl out there whose name isn't Marie. She really is just as beautiful as you think she is, and she really can take your whole soul and wrap it around her finger. The trick is, she also happens to be a regular human with regular foibles and regular thoughts and wishes and dreams.

Tonight I forgot the foibles. I only remember the smell of this perfume she wore. I forget her regular thoughts and remember her struggles and triumphs and wishes and dreams that pushed her from being one in a crowd to being one in a million crowds.

It's October, I think. It's her birthday, and the leaves turn brown and the sunshine wanes, because how can they compete with that?

Or maybe it's just coincidence. I'm not sure. The only thing I'm sure about is that next year, around October, I'll find myself a little melancholy again, and I'll remember that it's her birthday. And again the year after that.

And then, one October, when I'm very old and the world is a little hazy, the leaves will fall, and I won't know why I suddenly got sad. I won't remember the box of chocolates; I won't remember the girlie drink; I won't remember the cough that pushed my heart into my throat. I'll only know that I'm blue, and I'll probably sigh and attribute it to that chilly October fall.

So here is to you my blonde and beautiful, my unattainable goddess, my unicorn. Though you will never read this, tonight, I say happy birthday.

Because when else could I say it?

self-doubt? Me?

Firstly, I'd like to apologize for not having updated in a while. This is just one of those things. You find yourself involved in too many things at once, and then the whole world goes to crap.

Or something along those lines.

Anyway, not much to say tonight. I just thought I'd float something out there. Have you ever had a night of inexplicable self-doubt?

I have. Tonight, in fact. I'm getting ready to go to sleep at this very moment specifically so this night can be over. My theory is that the quicker the night is over, the quicker my unpleasant burst of self-doubt will go away.

In lighter news, the Jetlag is a pretty nifty bar and Amanda is totally going down on Wednesday.

O, where have I been?

I found a nifty website that allows you to map all of the places you've visited. I've actually BEEN to a few more states, but it would not be accurate to say that I visited them.

Anyway, here's my list...














Edit (10/3 9AM): For those of you who would like to map your own journeys, simply visit the following website.

http://www.world66.com/myworld66/visitedStates