From The Riches to Rags

People (Buddha knows who reads this, mole people, I imagine), I've discovered a terrible thing. They really are right when they say you can know too much. On a random Google search for "The Riches", I found out that there will be no third season -- no more The Riches. All I was trying to do was find a picture of that snazzy and sexy Eddie Izzard and his ragtag family of gypsies. (The daughter is ridiculously pretty) As I was a shut-in for the last few days due to a near deadly combination of the flu and strep throat, I was able to amass around 15 hours of viewing pleasure. I had only four more episodes to go, and this is how FX repays me for my dedicated viewership?! Not only that, I loved the show. I really, truly loved it. I was in love with it. (I hear there's a difference between the two) My plan now is to plead with the network to bring back the show by flippin' tricks or stalking Mr. Izzard. The latter, I will do regardless.

In other ridiculous and outrageous news and steering clear of cutting down Canada, the New York Times printed today a German court decision to ban long names. At first, I was alarmed, as I did not know my precious Deutschland was suffering from a long name pandemic. Of course, I'd be pissed, too, if Karl-Theodor Maria Nikolaus Johann Jacob Philipp Franz Joseph Sylvester Freiherr von und zu Guttenberg was continuously absent in class.

R.I. is neither a road, nor island. Discuss.

*I should put a disclaimer here -- some photographs posted may be difficult to look at.

Now I really hate to learn anything from any of my classes, but it turns out I did unfortunately pick up a few things throughout the semester. Just recently, we were assigned a final paper based on the study of emotions in animals. Based off one of the required readings taken from the New York Times article, An Elephant Crackup?, Charles Siebert brought to light some strange and terrible things going on in the elephant community in Africa. Apparently, elephants have been going around not only destroying villages and killing without provokation, but have also been raping and killing rhinoceroses.

Colleen and I have both agreed to write to Mr. Colbert and alert him to this growing threat: polar bears are a thing of the past. Make way for elephants, who are normally quite docile and loving creatures. Attempts to understand this new and alarming behavior has led right back to the source: humans. After years of poaching and often ruthless methods of killing for ivory (the poachers, as Siebert explains, often leave the baby elephants tied to the mother to come back for them later), elephants are now seeking their revenge...in a way.

In biological studies, the elephants, as a result of the deterioration of the vital family structure on which the kindly beasts thrive on, have recently been discovered to possess smaller hippocampuses - the part of the brain dealing with so many complex emotions. Elephants, as well as gorillas, are known to have exceedingly developed emotions, the latter being very adept at reading emotional signals far better than humans! It is also known that elephants bury their dead (look up elephant graveyards on Google) and often lag behind the group to watch over the body and even protect it from predators.

Going on to more disturbing things I randomly found today, a python bit off a little more than it could chew. Devouring a full alligator, the python apparently couldn't hold its own and...well...just look at the picture.

On an entirely different note - and I don't mean to once more rag on Heather's beloved country - Canada has a very unusual welcome center...but its not for humans. Check it out: http://adventure.howstuffworks.com/roadside-paranormal4.htm

I apologize for stealing this from Majority of Two (Sorry, Jo!), but it was just too good. Watch and giggle with warmth:

Such A Mess

Rough wake-up this morning. Last night's after party did us in. Early Saturday morning, we headed to an artsy little cafe for breakfast, where I had the greasiest meal I've probably ever had in my life. We had started out a bit late, so we missed most of the films by the other contestants. We decided to check out a mix of experimental, comedy, documentary and drama. While we weren't very impressed by the majority of films, there was one that tickled us, with pun intended. If I can get the video, I'll be sure to post it. Puns will then be understood. Honito wants his hand back.


After being a couple of fat cows and lying out on the grass for an hour, we headed to the big event. I have to say -- Jack Nicolson has a very distinguishable voice, and I've seen many of his films, but nothing could prepare me for this smokin' ace. We were pretty sure he was high when he suddenly blustered "California legalized marijuana....biggest cash crop," going on about how much money can be made off selling weed. Mind you, there was no previous question dealing with anything on the subject of marijuana. I'm assuming he was high as a kite, and we loved it.
We stopped at a classy restaurant after the conference and had some of the most delicious burgers and fries -- Rhode Island seems to have fantastic food, I've been noticing.
We then got dressed in the car like a pair of hobos and immediately began to consume some liquid courage as soon as we made it to the awards banquet. Jess was nervous, so by proxy, I was fighting back waves of anxiety. We made a few failed contacts with some other students at a table, but overall had a great time. While Jess unfortunately did not receive an award, I was very proud of her and we agreed the experience, the road trip itself, was what had counted from the beginning anyhow.
And then back to where we started - the after party. I need say nothing more than the fact that we were both HTMs and had a blast at the same time. While our host, who was apparently too busy being covered in paint (and being a pussy faggot, as I drunkenly exclaimed in front of the bar last night) to let us crash at his place, Charlotte once again was kind enough to let us stay on the couches for the night.
Like so many of our other trips, this one was worth the money spent (I feel that I'll soon be negotiating with PNC) and the time taken off from school, work and other responsibilities. Like Hawksley sings, "You can make a lot of money, but you'll never make time." I could've been sitting at home this weekend, reading and finishing my projects for class and working at my commons desk job for a decent pay -- but experiences like this are best experienced now, at a young age. I have plenty of time to work later in life, and then who knows when I'll find the time to pull myself away and get out and about? My philosophy is: Make money later, use the time you have now before it's gone completely.

On the road to Rhode Island

You could still see the moon high in the clouds this morning as we set out for our seven-hour trip to Rhode Island. Collectively running on one hour of sleep (with me getting the one hour of sleep) Jess and I hit the road at 5:00 am and arrived in the city of Providence, RI early in the afternoon. At first feel, the city had a peculiar parallel to Ashevilles, hippies abound. We met some other students at the registration/social event later in the afternoon after fruitless searches for free wifi services and parking spaces. If you ever come to Providence, be aware: Nothing is free here. (Including mall parking lots!) New England bastards. Gotta love 'em.
We wasted a couple of hours at the mall and wandered up to the cinema to see our free preview of the movie, Star Trek. I have no words to sum up the experience, but the movie played in a large IMAX theatre, and...well, I'll leave the rest for others to figure out on their own. Amazing.
Exhausted, we managed to find our faux couch-surfing host who graciously decided to put us up at the last minute when we told her our previous plans had been foiled. Charlotte gave us the keys, provided us with WiFi and the comfort of warm blankets and a new episode of 30 Rock as well as her two large couches to pass out on.
As of right now, Jess has finally collapsed - in fact, that girl might've just died. Tomorrow's a big day, Jack Nicholson and other funsies, so time to shut down.

Jacky Jormp-Jormp

A lot has happened since I've last written in this infernal blog - I was named Joseph Stalin on a Facebook quiz, Colleen told me a few bad things about cake, and I've taken up some former activities that I lost track of over some time. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed the soft, glossy white and black keys of that Steinway in the basement of the Music Building, and I hope it hasn't forgotten my sensuous touch. But before I become too mawkish, or Churchillian, if you will, I have to admit: I have a lot to catch up on. My poor violin is sitting all on its lonesome in the corner, waiting to be tuned and then inevitably fixed when I tighten the E string far too much. I wonder if I even remember how to play...or even knew how to play for that matter.

More importantly, promising things are in store for the near future. While everything else might've gone to pot, Jess and I will once again embark on another trip, this time to the small state of Rhode Island. Recently, Jess was nominated for one of her films and was invited to an event where she could possibly when an award. Sweet stuff, but aside from the possibility of a prize, which I will undoubtedly try to take claim for, the speaker is none other than Jack Nicholson. How's that to lift the damper on your week? Well, mine, but still, I'm psyched. Time to prepare some questions, which I've listed below:

"Mr. Nicholson, I would like to have sex with you."

"Jack, (assuming the first question has broken the ice a little), I can't help but notice you have the most insane eyebrows, and my 6-year-old cousin is terrified of you. I think that's hilarious."

"Jack, what're you doing after the show?"

"Jackie Boy, (assuming I haven't been thrown out yet) I saw that movie, The Departed and the Batman one where you're the joker. They were awesome."

"I have a screenplay for you to read, but I'm terrified to hand it to you because I think your hands are made of rubber and your gigantic receding hairline is threatening to me. What's your e-mail?"

The questions certainly need some work, but I've called Mr. Nicholson to ask some pre-questions so it's not too awkward during the banquet - I don't want everyone else to be jealous of our personal relationship. Sure, he hasn't called me back, but hopefully he'll get to one of the 10 voice mails I left him. Just hope he doesn't listen to the last one - I got a little upset when he didn't pick up and threatened to maim his wife.

On the other hand, while this week has improved by this promising event, my man Obama isn't cutting it with me lately like he should be. I have expectations, Mr. O., and one of them is not pouting and refusing to join the Geneva UN conference to address the issue of racism. I mean, I don't want to be the first to say it, B, but uh...have you looked in the mirror lately? Here, in fact, I'll post a picture for you:

Oh God! No! No! I have no idea where this came from, but that is just not the right color tie for you. In all seriousness, though, it's been quite a victory for the oppressed or once-oppressed everywhere to have elected the 44th a black president. Now, yes, we remember what happened at the last conference - pie throwing between the Israelis and the Palestinians and a nasty temper tantrum leading to a storm out by our big neighbor, Canada. Hell, I'm surprised they even went. (Sorry, low blow, Heather - I love Canada!*) But are these really legitimate reasons for not attending this year? I believe now it is more important than ever to join in on these talks - yes, in a way, to maintain the role of the United States in the global struggle for domination - but more so because it's the right thing to do. Spike Lee will tell you that. And boy, do I hate Spike Lee. I don't know though, B: I'm just a little more than upset with you. Send in Michelle. She's a tiger and she will rip through the curtain of hate and racism with her ferocious foreign policy-like claws.

*I do not love Canada

This last thing, I have no words for. Just watch:

Wonderful juxtaposition

(Source: rfi.fr)

Time to share new music! If you're on a french kick like me, you might like these artists:

Olivia Ruiz (La femme chocolat, Je traine des pieds)

Emily Loizeau (L'autre bout du monde, Voilà Pourquoi)

Jeanne Cherhal (Ma vie en l'air, Voila)

Coeur de Pirate (Comme des enfants)

Other music:

The Bird and the Bee (Preparedness, Again and Again)

Hot Chip (One Pure Thought, Over and Over)

I finally watched Saving Private Ryan. How I didn't see it when it came out, I'm unsure, but bravo, Spielberg. Tear jerker.

Also, I had the chance to watch Defiance, with Daniel Craig. Music was a little off in some of the scenes, mood-wise, but otherwise a film worth seeing. Also a tearjerker.

Destination: Philadelphia

Destination: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Duration of Excursion: March 10, 2009 - March 13, 2009

Mission: To rescue Jess from her gloomy New Jersey prison and set out for new horizons

I set out in a hurry at six in the morning, loading up on coffee with so much sugar it could've put a moose into a coma and Sheetz McMuffins so greasy it would make a chubby kid weep. Not even two hours into the trip, I noticed my iPod battery dangerously close to the red zone - Gott sei Dank for my German audio cds, which managed to keep me awake despite the awful drone of the German tutor: "Eins....good! Now try zwei....did you do it?" Yes, of course I bloody did it. "Gut! Es versuchen." Wait, what?

A quick stop at Jess's in New Milford, New Jersey and we were on our way. At this point, I was a little uncertain about the trip: Philadelphia wasn't just a lousy excuse for a Spring Break escape (I would've went to Virginia beach or Montreal in that case - and yes, those two are very different), but it was more of a try-out. After graduation, Philly might become home, so I was nervous about my first impression of the city. Please, Buddha, don't let this be another Atlanta or Knoxville.

Bad news hit us the minute we reached our Mecca of Eastern PA, our couchsurfing host calling to tell us he wouldn't be able to host us overnight due to a sudden and all-too-convenient sickness. We didn't buy it, but it didn't matter much - we had back-up plans. Charlie and Margaret, friends of my mother, had already agreed to put us up for however long we needed, so our ominous flashbacks of Asheville soon ebbed away.

Our first stop in Philly, not exactly the norm for tourists, was the grand Mason's Temple, situated snugly between the cluster of buildings including City Hall, or, in our minds, French Parliament. We arrived just in time for the 4 o'clock tour and explored the vast marble halls and staircases winding their way through the many ornate meeting halls. Our tour guide was a seemingly-unimpressive man, but surprised us with his quirky and sometimes suspicious details of the Masonic Lodge's history.

After fooling around on what seemed to be a life-sized Monopoly Board outside the temple, we met up with a couple of Jess's friends at a cool and cozy restaurant downtown and then decided that that was enough foreplay with the city for now. Tomorrow, Philadelphia would get it.

Not too far away over in Northern Liberties, Charlie and Margaret had been preparing for our arrival. Charlie had been how I remembered him, exceedingly generous and young at heart. Margaret, during our two days' stay at their wonderful three-story house, still had the wit and sass I remembered her for, but had also become disenchanted with the world around her. She was no longer counseling individuals in the gay community, but working with prisoners at a correctional facility. The job seemed to have sucked out all the innocence and hope from her, leaving her with a bitter view of the cruel world and its people. However, they both welcomed us into their house as warmly and trusting as ever, a "couchsurfing" experience far more exquisite than the others.

The next day, we set out early (a term which has an ever-changing definition for me, I noticed) to grab the bus and head downtown, our destination a small coffee shop allegedly owned by a fellow couchsurfer down on Bainbridge Street. While no one there claimed to know of such an owner, we took the time to check out some other attractions nearby, including the funkiest art gallery I've ever seen. The artist's work was actually all over the city, on the side of buildings and even right under your feet, embedded in the sidewalk.

For the remainder of the day, we took the city on by foot, going everywhere from Chinatown to the [in]famous steps in front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, where countless tourists felt it necessary to imitate the classic Rocky pose and inevitably looking as if though they were shitting themselves. That night, our hosts Charlie and Margaret took us to a Mexican restaurant where meat-eating was questionable, not because of the food quality but Charglot's (this is how we came to affectionately refer them for most of the trip) serious vegetarianism. Once again, Charlie, who seemed like the youngest of the group (in a good way, of course), insisted on us what alcohol he could, ordering a pitcher, yes a pitcher, of mint mohito tequila. Needless to say, I remained prudent under Margaret's sharp and unapproving eyes.

The following day, we received news that a couchsurfing host was willing to take us in for the night, so we sadly left the comfort of Charglot's home, at the same time excited to finally meet another host through the network. (Charlie kept pressing the idea on Margaret, enthusiastic to try couchsurfing - Margaret...didn't agree)

After getting lost in some shady neighborhoods and navigating our way through the bumpy, pothole-laden streets of the "Gayborhood" and its surrounding areas, we decided to do two very important things no one should miss out on when visiting Philly: cheesesteaks and South Street. Jess and I both had been craving an "authentic" Philly cheesesteak since we arrived, and we certainly got it. Them. We got several. It was fucking delicious. We wasted some time traipsing up and down South Street, inevitably stopping by Condom Kingdom. And, as Karma would have it, early that day, I had broken, not a condom, but a piece of the art taken from the gallery. Damn you, Lincoln. And Buddha. And...Scott.

Meeting a couchsurfing host for the first time can be a bit awkward, particularly if you've just come from yelling over the phone at your mother in a parked car. Or if your couchsurfer first offers you to go out to what strangely sounds like a club but is actually a grocery store. Yet our host, Seeni, was amazingly warm to us. After food shopping, he made us granola and set up the Wii for some tennis and bowling, something which I found myself either astoundingly good or retarded at. I'm not sure which.

Seeni is a grad student at the university working with robotics, animating arm or knee replacements. An intensely humble individual, he taught us some Ethiopian, played some blues on his guitar and told us some great stories, particularly on his fervid bike riding. He was, by far, one of the most interesting and deep inviduals I've come across in my lifetime.

We got up fairly early the next morning and barely looked back at the city as we crossed the Benjamin Franklin Bridge, knowing that we would soon be back.