taking joy in human unreason

On Bizkits, A Guy Named Mit, and Apartment Living

Note to self: Do your best to remember that Limp Bizkit’s “Three Dollar Bills Y’all” CD doesn’t have that perfect volume that Disturbed’s “The Sickness” does, at which the music can be heard quite well over the rattling of all six speakers in your mother’s poor Camero. With the LB, more volume means more rattle. Stick with Disturbed.

Way early Friday, my buddy Hannah left for MIT. I miss her already, despite the fact that I probably wouldn’t have gotten to see her before I went off to college myself. It’s because I know she’s too many miles away. And because she always makes me laugh. Although I do now have the pleasure of soiling her website with my silly-ass comments. Bru-ha-ha!

Yesterday I helped Michael move into his dorm at Chapel Hill. Three things marred this beautiful and bittersweet day: the sun was out (which causes me to have headaches), Michael’s dorm was on the 8th floor (and the elevators were quite busy, so stairs were the best option), and Michael had brought enough stuff to over halfway fill a 4 foot by 4 foot by 8 foot U-Haul trailer (not counting refrigerator, carpet, and microwave). The trailer’s a little thing, really, but that’s a lot of stuff. Because I took my anger out on Michael quite amply over the fact that I was left alone to commandeer some of the Christian Fellowship guys (Chi Omega, I think; my eternal thanks to those guys) to help me get the stuff up to his room while he fought to get his huge-ass refrigerator allowed and his family amazingly just disappeared, I shan’t recount details here. Nope. Nary a word about that.

(Although I shall say that nothing made me more pissed than to get back to his room after lunch and hear him say, “Okay, now we’ll unpack all this and I’ll see what I don’t need and can send back.” Whoo.)

When I got home much later, I promised my parents that, when we loaded up the rental car, that if I couldn’t get all my “stuff” in one trip (with the three adults all carrying stuff), with a second trip for my rather large suitcase and maybe another bag (or three) of books, then shit would definitely be left behind. It’s a 12 foot by 13 foot dorm room, folks, not a fucking apartment. Even if my room is “only” on the third floor, that’s quite enough stair-stepping, thank you. And I’d like to have room in the dorm to, you know, walk around a little. Pace in a circle if I want to. Not that Michael didn’t find places for all his stuff. I’m just saying.

Things remaining to do: take pictures of the wasteland my room is now (so I shall always remember how it’s supposed to be), clean room and repeat picture-taking (to remember where I put things so I can do an inventory when I come back), clean out and off the desk for the Old Man (who shall be taking my room when I leave), pick the books I want to take and find places to stash them, and have a good cry over the fact that it will be quite a while (if ever) before I see my friends again.

[Listening to: Korn – Follow the Leader – Pretty]