No Joke

In Blogger, there's a link up in the in-browser menu bar called "next blog" that takes you to a random blogger page. I just started clicking it, and for five consecutive clicks, it took me to blogs about people's babies or kids. It probably would have gone on longer had I not closed the browser tab.
Please let me not be a parent who documents my child to the internet. I mean, it's wonderful to include photos/anecdotes about your kids because you love them or whatever. But to have a blog devoted only to your three month old baby? Cummon now.


P.S. I hate the word "blog." I do not hate the word "cartography." Henceforth, I will refer to blogs as "cartographies." The science or practice of drawing maps, however, will retain its original title. So "blog" no longer means anything, and can just fade from the collective vernacular. The end.

Dale From Yale

     Last week I received a phone call.
     Muting my iTunes, I glanced down to the cell phone buzzing angrily on my desk. The number was unavailable.
     "Hello?" I said.
     A deep, sombre voice greeted me. I immediately thought of New England; the long vowels and refined tone conjured images of cobblestone and hallowed halls. "Hi, my name is Dale and I'm with the Yale Office of Administrations. Is this a good time to talk to Mr. Allen?" That's weird, I thought, I applied to the Office of Admissions... what's the Office of Administrations?
     That should have been my first clue.
     I replied eagerly, "Yeah, that's me. Can I help you?"
     "I'm calling to inform you that you've moved up in the rankings. Are you available for a short phone interview right now?"
     My heart leapt into my throat. There is a strange heady rush when I come across a moment that will decide my future. My narrow scope of day-to-day concentration momentarily gives way to a broad lens through which I can see all of my days, decisions, and opportunities laid out next to each other on a giant timeline. Just for an instant, I felt that rush, and then it was gone and I was nervously stammering.
     "Uh, yeah. Yes. Interview?" Hang on--I moved up in the rankings? Yale Admissions doesn't have "rankings." I mean, they do, they just would never tell an applicant. And this was an unavailable number, so is this a prank call? Shit if I ask if it's a prank and then it's not, I'll never get in. Quick, say something intelligent, something that makes you look like you know what's going on and you're in control. "Is this other--different from my other interview? I mean, how is this going to be different from my interview with the alumni--alumnus?"
     Silence.
     Stupid. You just humiliated yourself. It's not a prank. JESUS FUCK what have I done?
     He replied: "Uh, yes. This will be similar to that other interview."
     Ok, maybe it is a prank. But what if it's not? Aaah fuckfuckfuck--ok. Pull yourself together; ask a few standard questions and see if you can back him into a corner. "I'm sorry, what did you say your name was again?
     "Dale."
     "Uh huh. And where can I get in touch with you if I have further questions or...comments?" Stupid. "Comments" isn't the word. Information! Why didn't you say "information?!"
     "Actually, at Yale we try to conduct all our admissions anonymously."
     There it is. This poor bastard picked the wrong person to prank. "Oh, ok." I said, "So you have some questions? Shoot."
     "Yeah, we're trying to get all of our applicants to take a survey. You don't have to if you don't want to."
     "No, I don't mind. Is it long?"
     "No, just-- what are your two favorite colors?"
     What are the two funniest colors? "Uh, I like... purple and brown." Stupid. Those are not funny at all. Now you just look like an idiot. "Sorry, I have your name, but if I can get an email that would be great."
     "Yeah, you can reach me at 'big hard AT four two one DOT e-d-u.' Four two one is our school code."
     "Oh yeah? Thanks, Big Hard Dale. Why do they call you that? Is it because you're big and hard?"
     "Yeah, that's me. Big, and... hard." From the other end, I could hear the line muting and un-muting, and muffled laughter.
     "Thanks! So, if I want to get a good cocaine hookup on the East Coast, would you be the person to talk to?"
     He paused. "Actually, all our students are discouraged from taking drugs and alcohol."
     "Oh, I see. But heroin is cool, right?"
     Another pause. "Yeah, heroin, or this new thing - I don't know if you've heard about it - meth?"
     I saw my opportunity and struck like lightening. "I'm sorry, what?"
     "Meth."
     "Sorry, still not getting it. Can you say it slower?"
     "METH."
     "Oh. Yeah, I think there's something wrong with the line, I can barely hear you. Can you repeat that?"
     "Meth. Short for methamphetamine."
     "Um, can you spell that?"
     A long silence. "Actually, I said sand."
     "Said what?"
     "SAND."
     "Ok Big Hard Dale, thanks for calling. I'll get back to you if I have any questions."
     "Uh, goodbye."
Click.

My Life Is Over.

Annie's has stopped making White Cheddar Instant Mac n' Cheese -- or so the Whole Foods employee told my dad when he inquired.

I say that my life is over not out of pubescent angst, but as an objective assessment of my chances.

At least a third of my meals consist of a double serving of Annie's Microwavable Delicacy, so the discontinuing of my usual sustenance will probably result in my death by starvation.

I have, of course, done absolutely no research on this travesty. I'm just huddling in my cave, waiting to die.

Goodbye.

The Sixth Man

Another gem retrieved from an old draft. This has been the subject of many stories since last summer, but as far as I can tell I wrote this only a few days after the night in question (although I'm not sure exactly which night this occurred on) so it should be fairly accurate.

 Me: Did we lose somebody?

Cole: Um, me, you, Gabe, and there's Cameron and Lukie up there.

Gabe: Wait, where's the sixth guy? Isn't he behind us?

Cole: That's what Gordon said last night! Ohhhhh...

Me: Good one. What fifth guy, Gabe? Lucas and Cameron are ahead of us. You, Cole and I are here. Two plus three makes five.

Gabe: Oh.

Cole: Gabe, who did you think was with us? What other guy did we take?

Gabe: ...Ed.

[Cole and I look at each other. Neither of us knows anyone named Ed.]

Cole: Who the hell is Ed?

Gabe: He's...[trails off into a blank stare]

Owlblink.

I think I spent the night on the floor of Cameron's van, and I vaguely remember listening to Chromeo's "Bonafied Lovin" at least six times before drifting off...I was pretty high though. Also: vans are cold to wake up in.

From the Archives

I found this in an old draft that I had never posted. This occurred last summer, some time when we were all wandering around a suburb in the wee hours.

Cole: Can I tell you guys the best joke ever? 

Me: Go ahead.

Cameron: I want to hear!

Cole: Ok, so there are three guys in a helicopter. A Chinese guy, a Japanese guy, and an American guy.

Me: Why?

Cole: What? Uh ... It doesn't matter. So they're flying over China, and the Chinese guy takes an apple out of his pocket, says "I hate my country!" and chucks it out the door.

Me: That's just ridiculous.

Cole: Gordon, it's a joke. So then they're flying over Japan, and -

Gordon: Wait, I thought they were in a helicopter. They crossed China and the Sea of Japan in a helicopter?

Cole: Yeah, they had to fly over Japan on their way to South Korea.

Gordon: That's not even remotely on the way. What part of China did they fly over? And why are they flying together anyway?

Cameron: Gordon, don't worry about it.

Cole: Anyway, the Japanese guy takes an orange out of his pocket, says "I hate my country!" and chucks it out the window.

Gordon: Hold on. If they're traveling on an international flight, the customs officials would have confiscated any food items they had with them. Secondly, why is the pilot allowing the helicopter door to open and close this much? That's a serious safety hazard.

Cole: It's a military helicopter. They were in the army together.

Gordon: A Japanese guy, a Chinese guy, and an American guy were in the military together? Which military is this? That's ridiculous. And why are three guys from what is presumably a western military power flying over eastern Asia?

Cole: They're prisoners. They got out of the army but they're being taken to their trial. Why are you doing this?

Gordon: Look Cole, I just want the characters in my jokes to make plausible choices, ok? Why are you telling me an unrealistic joke? That's the real question.

Cameron: Gordon, shut up. I wanna hear the joke!

Cole: Never mind. Fuck it.

I wonder if I'm funny to anyone but myself.

Import Trivial, Export Mood.

I have extremely volatile days.
Last week my friend found a hat of mine that I had long since given up as lost. The return of my beanie prompted an immediate rush of glee which turned into a heady satisfaction that lasted the rest of the day.
A few nights later, I stayed up late and went through the next day in a dull haze. The headache behind my eyes made the world gray and drab; everyone in it, irritating. Neither event was particularly dramatic, but it seems that trivialities make or break my days.
Saying that I exist in a delicate balance of emotion sounds effete and pretentious. Might my life at least be determined by fortuity? I pride myself on being rational and pragmatic, but it feels like my days are largely defined by their most insignificant elements.
Today was not a good day, until I got home and made quesadillas with a friend as I burned her a CD. Why should that 30 minute event outweigh a six-hour school day of drudgery and boredom? It did, though...
rational owl blink.