in medias res

For some reason, my English Prof. wants us to actually have class the day we turn in our last English paper. What? We don’t want to stay and discuss our favorite piece of writing we have accomplished. That’s no fun. It’s just about equivalent to busy work in high school. Then again… Prof. Pence did attend my high school. Perhaps she received the same dose I did, and now passes on the wealth.

Oh, well. The last English paper is now done… the pillow calls and that’s all for now. I hope this post was filled with useful information for all.

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To all non-honors, freshman attending Belmont “University”, my empathy on the matter that follows:

This morning, as you all know, we woke up bright and early to eagerly register for next semester’s classes. When 7:02 hit–the server’s timeclock is a bit off–the network was suddenly so bogged down, it took 4 solid minutes for the first page of registration (BannerWeb) to load. We all understand that the network slows down on registration morning due to the “enormous” numbers of at most 1000 people simultaneously registering, but this morning, it really did get rediculous. BannerWeb forced several people, myself included, to re-enter their login information several times before continuing. My buddy Cicada Nate didn’t even get most of the classes he needs (and I’m sure you can read more about it on his journal soon). Why did this all happen? This morning seemed to be yet another solid reminder that Belmont pretends to be a real university; for the most part, she does pretty well. But what can you expect other than your server crapping out on your “massive” freshman class when you get the server registration runs on free with Cracker Jack purchase?

Also, here’s another bit of news (since I am now primarily an informational source) for music business majors:
For classes such as Audio Engineering I and II, Sound Reinforcement, Recording Techniques, and the like, you should’ve put your name on a virtual waiting list on the white Mac during advising (you can still do it now in the MuzzBuzz office, but good luck). You can’t register for those classes on BannerWeb, but you still need to leave those slots open. In the next couple of days, they will automatically register you for the classes that you can get into, but if you can’t get in… well, I guess that just sucks. I just thought I’d pass on a little info that I received from trekking all the way up to the MuzzBuzz office. Might save you from the same trek.

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Earlier today, the thought occurred to me that our society has, through advertising, sitcoms, and movies, redefined love as some tingly feeling one gets as he sees his significant other. It’s not that I think there’s more to love than tingle, it’s that I don’t think that’s it at all! Love must be something totally different, more than what is offered by our society…

I looked it up, 1 Corinthians 13:4-8, and replaced the words that “love is” with their definitions in an effort to uncover even the slightest picture of love, and I’m really just making more of a public display of my personal inquiry than anything else.

Love is marked by or exhibiting calm endurance of pain, difficulty, provocation, or annoyance;
love is characterized by mercy, and compassion;
It does not spite and resent seeing the success of another;
it does not glorify oneself in speech or talk in a self-admiring way;
it is not in an excessively high opinion of oneself; conceited;
It is not ill-mannered; discourteous;
it is not in habit of seeking one’s own interest or happiness; selfishness;
it is not easily displeased or hostile;
it keeps no record of wrongs
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth
It always shields from danger, injury, destruction, or damage;
always is confident; is hopeful.
always looks forward to with confidence or expectation;
always persists in or remains constant to a purpose, idea, or task in the face of obstacles or discouragement.
Love never gives way or is made otherwise useless as a result of excessive strain!

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Today, I got up and took a shower. Not extraordinary, I know. But hear this: I was, for the first time, able to just stand there, letting the unending flow of hot water–thanks to my 22g’s dropped to Belmont yearly–bathe my waking body. It was wondermous.

Onto today’s topic: I was just thinking last night, lying in bed, that being called a prude might not be such a bad thing. Now, don’t think for a minute that my thoughts revolve around myself being called a prude. I doubt I have been called a prude recently, if ever. My thoughts were just that, hypothetically, if someone says, “Oh, you’re such a prude,” it might not be a terribly derogatory statement. Let’s examine my thoughts…

A prude can be defined, and not to my satisfaction, as “a person excessively concerned about propriety and decorum.” I believe that this is merely one definition. On researching the past of this word, apparently it used to have a noble past. Prude for some time meant “wise woman”, but the French (surprise?) screwed it up. They thought a woman could be too wise. Prude was a shortened form of prude femme, a word modeled after preudomme, “a man of experience and integrity.”

Let’s take the simplistic view that a prude is someone who is prudent. That is defined as…
1) careful and sensible; marked by sound judgment;
2) showing wise self-restraint in speech and behavior especially in preserving prudent silence;

So… when someone is calling another person a prude, what is he essentially saying? “You’re so careful and sensible! You make sound judgments, and show wise self-restraint in your speech and behavior!” Hardly sounds like a term of reproach to me.

What spawned my admittedly unmerited research into this word was the thought that came to me last night: I’m sure that, in a group of puppy kickers and baby eaters, anyone who refrained might be called a prude.

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Wow, I am continuously amazed by the wondrous effects of drinking a Triple Mocha Latte. Man, I hate coffee, but I can put enough sugar and milk in it to get through it and onto greater things: namely, a massive high. I’m not really an advocate of drug use, but this stuff is good. Last night I had me one at around 8pm, and that was a mistake (the timing, anyway) ’cause I was up until nearly 3am buzzin’ all around the room. It was evident to those around me cause my deep southern drawl didn’t kick in until 2:30am, whereas it usually comes steppin’ out with all its garbled glory a little after midnight. Whew! This’un I had this mornin’ll keep me going until at least 3 or 4 this afternoon.

I’d talk atcha more, but I’m fixin’ to go do a Psych journal write-up… boy those are worthless.

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Alright, we’ll see how this one goes over–apparently all the cool kids are doing it, so I am forced to use this pre-packaged survey as well. The directions are that you should leave the answers in the form of “comments.” Thanks!

(And for those of you that have yet to see my answers on your journal… which should be all of you… please be patient. My coming free time shall see you through.)

1. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it:
2. Am I lovable?
3. How long have you known me?
4. When and how did we first meet?
5. What was your first impression?
6. Do you still think that way about me now?
7. What do you think my weakness is?
8. Do you think I’ll get married?
9. What makes me happy?
10. What makes me sad?
11. What reminds you of me?
12. If you could give me anything what would it be?
13. How well do you know me?
14. When’s the last time you saw me?
15. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn’t?
16. Do you think I could kill someone?
17. Describe me in one word.
18. Do you think our friendship is getting stronger, weaker, or staying the same?
19. Do you feel that you could talk to me about anything and I would listen?
20. Are you going to put this on your journal and see what I say about you?
21. Would you make out with me?

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Don’t worry, this is a quick one. Everyone, first I must ask that you take careful note of the datestamp on this post. That’s right, I’m not lying to you: it is, in fact, April 13th. Why, then, might it be snowing–or more correctly, as I have been informed by Chun, sleeting–when I peer through my window to look at the quad? Really? This is rediculous.

Also, I should like to remind Dr. Minardi that deception, even on New Testament tests, is a sin. Thank you, that is all.

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Well, today I’ll season my journal with a somewhat “normal” post. This weekend was good to be home… good… not great. See, I’m quickly becoming tired of the back-and-forth from Nashville to lovely Knoxville. No, I’m not complaining about the length of drive; my complaints are dealing mostly with the required planning to make sure all is ready for travel for a mere two or three day break before I have to pack it all back up, hopefully not forgetting the crucial chocolate-covered strawberries next time, and get back to Nashville. I suppose that can be expected from a Freshman in college, to come to this desire to just stay put at some point, but I mostly attribute this feeling on this fine day to the fact that I had to travel last weekend, too.

I love my family, I really do. This weekend, however, I’m afraid I did not like them. There wasn’t any big explosion that caused any tension, but loads of tiny moments where we picked at each other. I’ll confess that I added to said tension, as my attitude wasn’t the most stellar this Easter weekend. Normally when I come into town, I don’t go visiting a bunch of friend, but this weekend I wanted to see some people. Just some people, not everyone. But still, when I return home, I suddenly enter back into a world of “child of my father”, where all his rules still apply, and he’ll forever have a list of chores ready for my tending. Oh, and I already knew this would happen, Daniel, so you can save your older brother wisdom for other posts.

Just overall frustration. Basically, it’s good to be back. No, great to be back. I’m not looking forward to classes, but just being in Nashville, it’s great. The warm hug one feels when seeing the Batman building break over the horizon traveling west back into Nashville… mmmm, it’s like nothing else. Overall, this weekend simply reinforces my determination to stay here this summer. I have almost no second-thoughts now. I just need my freedom right now, some separation.

To tie my theme of freedom to the title, allow me to explain my the title. Alright, so tonight, sitting on my crewton, James Attaway, upon hearing that Chun (his current roomie) isn’t returning from Easter break until tomorrow, said, “Well, I’m sleepin’ naked!” That, my friends, is freedom.

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As promised, I shall lay out in this post my theories on the “Gay Best Friend” phenomenon. You may have just noticed that I put quotes before gay and after friend. That would be because this theory does not apply to those who truly are gay. You’ll soon find, if you haven’t already been informed, that in the English language quotes are used in two situations: one would be for the technique of quoting, and the other in the case of irony. The fact that the best friend is not gay and yet acts as though he were is clearly ironic. So for those of you who are gay and trying to figure out your place in a male/female friendship, you may stop your reading here. This is not your handbook.

Now if you have progressed to this point, I assume you are one of three things: a guy who can’t figure out why his best girl friends (note the space) won’t date him, a girl who is naive enough to believe that he just enjoys pouring his life into her without also desiring a relationship, or someone so encumbered by boredom that my words beg them to continue. I realize that we are only 205 words in and have yet to lay out the problem at hand, but let me preface the problem with a warning—no single event or situation I detail here immediately brands someone as the GBF (you’ll notice that I’m quite lazy, and so I’ll refer to the “Gay Best Friend” as the GBF from here on out). Don’t get all feisty and go calling someone the GBF if you note him involved in a single event, just take a mental note and start tallying.

To take you into the mind of the GBF, you must understand guys in general. Now, for the most part, guys want to know how to get them a lady (there are exceptions, that’s why I said for the most part). The fatal error that those who are to become GBFs make is instead of trying to attract girls with their dashing looks, athletic ability, or massive stockpile of alcohol for parties (all of which are shady attraction techniques at best), these poor, miserable saps have sunken to the ultimate low. These guys—remember that I am speaking from experience—decide that it’s best to take literally everything a girl says she wants in a guy. Gentlemen, when a girl tells you she wants a guy that is sensitive, she does not mean a guy that is the sort of feminine sensitive her girlfriends and she exhibit. So, to try and become her type of sensitive to attract her… well, that’s just fool’s gold. And over time, this guy becomes more and more like the girls that he is always with, thinking that simple proximity will surely make him a shoe-in. But what he does not see is that he is already providing for his girl(s) everything emotionally that she needs, but failing to exhibit any attractive masculine characteristics that she either knowingly or unknowingly desires. Perhaps a light bulb has just gone off in your head, answering the question (as I know it did for me), “Why don’t they ever go for the nice guys? Why does she want a jerk?” The jerk is good looking and plays basketball.

Now that was a rare glimpse into the psychology of the GBF, but it was just a glimpse. I do implore you to leave comments and questions so that we may delve further into this shadowy phenomenon. But let me now move onto the big red flags that might alert innocent bystanders of a GBF situation in progress. This will be a set of examples, but not an exhaustive list by any stretch of the imagination.

Just a lone guy in a group of girls is not, the situation isolated, a bad thing generally. When this becomes a pattern, then it becomes a problem. The guy should be accompanied by other guys most of the time, otherwise the girls begin to see the lone guy as “one of them”, and they don’t want to date one of their own. Humans seek companions that compliment themselves, not those that are identical.

Late night talks with a girl that is not yet your girlfriend is a danger-zone. The reason is that this is a conversational situation that simply begs her to lay upon the guy all her questions about men. When this occurs, an instant miscommunication has begun. It has been my experience that guys read into this, believing that she is indirectly referring to the gentleman with whom she is speaking. At the very least, she is actually referring to the male gender as a whole, but more often than not she is thinking specifically of a guy other than the one sitting before her. This should become apparent to the GBF-in-training when she begins to mention other guys, but he takes no notice, sloughing off their mention and continuing to trudge into the murky mess. Eventually he might work up the nerve to ask her out, but he will then be immediately jilted with the Friends routine (but in this case, I’m not entirely sure it is a routine).

The situation has clearly worsened when he begins buying things for her. Ladies, he’s not simply doing that out of the kindness of his heart, he actually does desire something. It is that desire that causes him to be so generous. When the relationship gets to the point where he accompanies her while shopping, we must stop. There is no going back, that’s for sure. But at this point, the guy is so far gone that he shall never be able to call her his girlfriend. She will forever stay his girl friend, the space always to be included.

One last thing, before my unquenchable desire for the pillow beckons my departure. I have been asked if this phenomenon occurs with girls as well. Can they also become GBFs? Perhaps on some remote island somewhere south of Nowheresville this may have a slight occurrence, but my contention is that it is extremely rare. Think about it for a moment. When a lone girl is put in a room with, say, five guys, what happens? She doesn’t suddenly morph into a masculine character in a subliminal attempt to attract the guys. Even if she’s a Tom Boy, she’s still got those sexy little feminine characteristics that make most of the guys in the room take notice. I think it’s because they do training at the Girls Only meetings—frankly, they know how to work it. It also has to do with the male approach to getting’ a lady. When they ask her things about girls and dating, they are almost certainly referring to her in some form or fashion. This explains the confusion when girls are asking the guys questions; guys assume the ladies have the same intentions as they do. I’ve told you these things because I’ve had personal experience with it. For all my four years of high school, I was some girl’s GBF (if not more than one). It never dawned on me that I wasn’t at all what a girl wanted because I was her “Gay Best Friend.” The lucky realization came in time for me to formulate my thoughts and make a solid attempt to not be a GBF in college.

I know I have left things out; the reason they are left out is that I do not remember what they are. Perhaps one of you will remind me, or I may make an addition later. I’ll read back over this tomorrow, and revise it, I’m sure. It is late. Forgive me. Please leave your comments; I want to know what you think about it.

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Here’s a lovely little story I received, and I just think it’s funny… just a little something to hold you all over until I write more. By the way, I think my next topic may just be on the “Gay Best Friend” phenomenon of which men and women alike seem to be ignorant.

The ant works hard in the withering heat all summer long, building his house and laying up supplies for the winter.

The grasshopper thinks he’s a fool and laughs and dances and plays the summer away.

Come winter, the shivering grasshopper calls a press conference and demands to know why the ant should be allowed to be warm and well fed while others are cold and starving.

CBS, NBC, and ABC show up to provide pictures of the shivering grasshopper next to a video of the ant in his comfortable home with a table filled with food.

America is stunned by the sharp contrast. How can this be, that in a country of such wealth, this poor grasshopper is allowed to suffer so?

Kermit the Frog appears on Oprah with the grasshopper, and everybody cries when they sing, “It’s Not Easy Being Green.”

Jesse Jackson stages a demonstration in front of the ant’s house where the news stations film the group singing, “We shall overcome.”

Jesse then has the group kneel down to pray to God for the grasshopper’s sake.

Tom Daschle & John Kerry exclaim in an interview with Peter Jennings that the ant has gotten rich off the back of the grasshopper, and both call for an immediate tax hike on the ant to make him pay his “fair share.”

Finally, the EEOC drafts the “Economic Equity and Anti-Grasshopper Act”—retroactive to the beginning of the summer. The ant is fined for failing to hire a proportionate number of green bugs and, having nothing left to pay his retroactive taxes, his home is confiscated by the government.

Hillary gets her old law firm to represent the grasshopper in a defamation suit against the ant, and the case is tried before a panel of federal judges that Bill appointed from a list of single-parent welfare recipients.

The ant loses the case.

The story ends as we see the grasshopper finishing up the last bits of the ant’s food while his government-owned house, which just happens to be the ant’s old house, crumbles around him because he doesn’t maintain it.

The ant has disappeared in the snow.

The grasshopper is found dead in a drug related incident and the house, now abandoned, is taken over by a gang of spiders who terrorize the once peaceful neighborhood.

Moral of the Story: Don’t work too hard. The Man will take it all away from you.

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