Moe, and Muffet and Me, Oh My!

My Room
Having a Nightcap
Overseeing the Gnome Colbat Mining Operation in My Back
Jammin' to Rift (the Album)
Oh the Manna Bryan has Amazed in Heaven for Sending Me Tasty Phish
NOT Freaking Out
Damn Close
Going to Sleep Soon
12:40 am
Monday, February 21, 2005

Moe, and Muffet and Me, Oh My!

And we'll go in exactly that order, okay?

Moe. was amazing. I took Karl with me and he survived well. I had an realization of sort -- a sociological realization to the degree that I had to ask someone for their pen to write it on my wrist. I'll basically outline it here, but I want to think about it more, which I will have perfect oportunity for at Keller in two weeks. I realized that this could be what I study: Modern Hippie Culture.

The words I wrote on my wrist were:
Group
Culture
Norms
Groove
Vibe
Collective Effervesence
Ceremony

Let me turn them into a sentence or two to faintly illustrate what I mean -- I haven't the energy for much more.

I want to look at MHC in terms of Durkheimian Group Theory, which will see it as an open, inclusive culture, with many beautiful moral and societal norms. These together create the groove -- insert many "Emporer's New Groove" references here, you llama -- which gives the entire construct a vibe. I love it becasue everyone is so damn happy there, me too. There's such a sense of Collective Effervesence which leads to this giant release -- our own Ceremony of belonging.

More will be forthcoming on this, but at some other time.

Moe. was fucking brillant, and I jammed my self retarded. Only, by retarded, I mean I blacked out. And not from drugs, or anything stupid -- it was my back. It was one of those horrible times where I felt like I was dying again. Slowly losing the ability to see, yet unable to move, or think really, plus screaming back pain the finally hit your head and, and, and . . . Yea, it's the lamest shit ever. I swear to mother fucking God the doctors need to do something. It's not carpral tunnels, so can we do the goddamn MRI already? No, it's not like getting like lightheaded; it's like everything quites working, everything goes haywire, and painful -- yellow, black pain.

Karl helped. And when I gained the ability to form coheret thoughts and breathe properly, the first this he said was that he liked me, and kissed my hand, or some other sweet, yet not overbearing physicality. I think i'll let him stay around for a while. I like him too.

To Muffetonia shall we?

I got drafted into a play. I started yesterday, and we go up on Thursday. I originally said I'd help with logistics -- it's a show that happens mostly outdoors, all over campus. I'd help costume, etc. That changed into dramatruge, which again morphed into announcing scenes, which became a role, a character, and a giant time consuming event.

I also don't have the energy to go through Muffet -- fully entitled "Muffet's Leap" -- right now either, but if, or more aptly, when it comes together, it has the potential to be effective, funny, strange, risky, and ultimately moving. Of course, it's the most absurdist thing ever -- that's what you get when Jeremy and Ben Shepard direct a concept show, with a pretty free form script, written between the two, with the creative and directing talents of Ben Fink thrown in for good measure.

Whew!

This means, I'm feeling the strain. I have to arise early, strudy for French, go to classes, meet Ben, Ben and Jeremy for lunch and dramtrugery (Oh has my life become one giant walk between Maclean and BJ. And how!) then to work. I'll work until 7:15 ish -- taking the break with no one around to start the physics. At 7:15 ish I'll to Cobb for a Muffet run through. Then home to meet Grant at 10:30 latest for Physics Lab of Dhoom.

Tuesday I go and observe a classroom, so at some point I really should reread my data on reading groups, nested layer theory, and many, many more.

I feel as if I'm surfing a lava flow on a square of city sidewalk pavement -- sturdy, and well balanced, yet fundamentally unstable and dangerous -- disasterous consequences on either side.

Three Weeks Till Portland. Three Weeks Till Portland. Three Weeks Till Portland.

I will fill my backpack with a life journey, set forth each day, meet it head on with force, armed with New Phabulous Phish ( i love you b-man) and I will return victorious.

Sleep. Sleep is for the weak.