Calm to my Chaos |
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Thursday, May 29, 2003
This is not meant to be an affront to frat boys anywhere, nor to the author himself, but I found the article from this month's Detailsmagazine, "I Was A Frat Boy" by Brian Farnham to have the most hilarious descriptions. "We all know what a frab boy is: the testosterone-oozing, id-driven boor who exhibits all the worst qualities of the male sex. He takes unabashed pleasure in bodily functions, uses fag as a multifarious saltuation, and has never gone a day in his adult life without thinking or saying the phrase nice tits. Likes porn, drinks beer. Refers often to the mythical dimensions of his penis. He is the guy who moons you on the highway, the co-worker who frequently alludes to the sexual favors he's enjoyed from your mother, the voice on the golf broadcast that can be heard bellowing "YOU DA MAN!" every time Tiger Woods tees off. Like you, I hate that guy. And yet I am a frat boy. ... I loved the frat speak, nine-tenths of it either alcohol- or sex-related, like "pulling the trigger" (inducing vomiting), "getting the Heisman" (having your sexual advance rejected; picture the post of the football trophy it's named for), or invoking the "bonds" of brotherhood to get the truth out of someone, as in "Bonds -- you fucked her?" I loved the marathon foosball games, our fall pig roast, drunken shout-alongs to NWA's "Fuck tha Police" (yes, we were all white), and hosing down the backyard in winter to make a hockey rink. ... We played quarters the way people smoke cigarettes. On many a Maine winter day I could be found bundled up at a table outside, squinting through the falling snow as I tried to bounce a quarter into a cup while wearing ski gloves. The crowning achievement of my presidency came during my senior year, when I talked two cops out of shutting down our overcrowded annual toga party while dressed in Snoopy sheets with 'Chug If You're Fun' written in blue Sharpie on my forehead. And the coup de disgrace was Chug Night, at which we all took turns pairing off over a trash can, trying to down half a gallon of beer in one go (after warming up with 100 shots of the stuff). Just before competing, you'd ingest food coloring, so that when the inevitable mid-chug vomiting commenced you could Jackson Pollock your opponent with a large spray of fancifully colored beer. ... I feel I shoudl mention at this point that I have a master's degree. I'm pro-choice. I coo to my dog in baby talk. I like to think I'm an intelligent, liberal, sensitive guy. ... Women can laugh off a collegiate youth spent actively exercising one's gag reflex, but I've discovered that the phrase I was in a fraternity, no matter how dismissively or ruefully you say it, can be a deal-breaker, akin to I once voted for David Dude or I had gonorrhea." Holy shit. Terri, didn't you date this guy? People-watching being something I thoroughly enjoy and can spend just hours doing (my favorite place being LAX), I thought the following from Details magazine was interesting. It is Douglas Coupland, author of Generation X and Microserfs speaking on his new book, Hey Nostradamus!... "I used to like to ride around on buses and try to figure out how everyone got burned. Did they get dumped one too many times, or are they gambling addicts? Are they stealing from the petty cash at the office? You have to step back and think, 'How much of this is fixable with Wellbutrin and how much is what's going on inside their souls?' " Tuesday, May 27, 2003
jessie and i always seem to have an understanding. thank god someone understands me. brianmathena: and, i'm gonna' need dr. pepper #2 brianmathena: and a halcyon. Jessie Day: i'm gonna need a shotgun She also helped me decide on the first sentence of my new book, "I Wanna' Live on Normal Ave." It reads, "So, I have a fire-engine red Cavalier rental with bird shit all down the passenger side." Monday, May 26, 2003
Koo and I caught a sneak preview of The Italian Job this weekend. I could deal with the fact that it was, for the most part, pretty slow. But, what was completely unacceptable was that a movie can contain four hot-ass people like Mark Wahlberg, Charlize Theron, Jason Statham, and Mos Def and yet have not a SINGLE sex scene. Lions and tigers and mexican drag queens, oh my! Nothing says Memorial Day weekend like happening upon the neighborhood Mexican gay bar. Colin, Andrea, Hooch and I will never be the same. 
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