Winner!

I'ts pretty weird writing from a different place. I'm sitting at MSU's Main Library right now, trying to make some headway on a big research paper I have to write for Monday. I think I'll grow a second row of teeth before I start working on this thing, though. The most I can do is narrow my topic down to three candidates, which I've already sent to the English Professor, who will probably hate all of them. School is like that. We don't really learn from being graded, making the cut, towing the line, obeying the curriculum. Curiosity, our only real instructor, and boredom force us to act on our own, to yank our bootstraps, which is really the only meaningful thing someone can do when trying to learn. For instance, I couldn't find a topic to write about tonight, but, while rifling through the textbook to review all the things we read as a class, I noticed a bunch of poems and authors I'd never heard of. So I learned.

Halloween was eventful, to say the least. One of my best friends from Fraser, who I've known since I was in grade school (he was one of my coaches; there's a ten year difference between us), came up to East Lansing to take me to a hockey game. Monster fun. Then, I played Virgil and showed them around MSU, guiding them through a land filled with all kinds of skankily clad sinners-devils, referees, and nurses. They loved every minute of it.

Also on Halloween, I received a phone call. It was from my friend Shane. Calls from Shane at three in the morning are usually best left unanswered. That way, you can enjoy a six-minute voice mail for as long as you like. So, I let it go. It wasn't until two days or so later that I found out what the call was about. Signing on to facebook, I noticed one of my friends had written a note. "Obituary" was the title. Oh shit. One of my friends had died. We weren't the closest of friends, our circles just didn't overlap, but Shane, my very good friend, was this kid's best friend in the world. After reading the note, I immediately called Shane. He told me that he was in Fraser, so he could help out with family and friends as well as attend the funeral. I told him, "If you need anything, call me," and he said, "Thanks." Justin was 19-years-old. He had cystic fibrosis. I remember how often and how violently he coughed. One time, in photography class, he succumbed to a particularly nasty fit in the dark room. I remember how ominous the darkness seemed, how it complimented the hoarse heaves from my small, frail friend. "Why are you coughing all the time?" asked some kid who, through no fault of his own, knew nothing about Justin or his condition. I remember envisioning the look on Justin's face, something like the look Jesus, from under his enormous cross, might have shot to Simon on his way to the hill. Graciously muffling his anger, Justin replied, "I have cystic fibrosis." "Oh, sorry." He was in the hospital all the time. In seventh grade advanced math, Justin didn't show up until the semester was almost over. I remember thinking that it was the teacher's fault for never marking off his name, you know, like how some teachers keep that kid who transferred, went to jail, or moved during the summer on the class list for the entire year, to everyone's chagrin. But no, Justin was there all along, probably doing his homework in the hospital. He was one of the toughest opponents I'd ever faced in Super Smash Brothers. Usually, I wipe people of the screen like bugs from a wind shield. Justin held on, though, and fought with ferocity. He had some of the best friends I've ever seen, gushing support and cheerfulness when everything seemed grim, visiting him during his long stays, gathering his stuff from school, keeping track of his health. If there was a mutual sense of guilt between the two parties, it never showed. They loved him, and he loved them. It's as simple as that. They never had to make Justin feel like "everybody else" or treat him differently, and Justin, at least I don't think, never felt embarrassed by their compassion and kindness. It's just another tale of friendship and how miraculous and mysterious it is. When people have that bond, their lives are connected. Their lives vibrated in harmony, with every subtle dissonance affecting them all. The friends Justin had, more than anything else, must have made his life meaningful. They were his family. They were the ones he fought for. I've never lost a very close friend, and I hope I never do. Shane must feel like his torso is missing, or his legs are gone. He must be crippled with grief. God bless, Justin. Your friends loved you dearly; anyone would be jealous of you.

As much as I hate to slight my somber epitaph with some abrupt transition, I have to announce that "Our Rivers" won the Red Cedar Review's writing contest! It got third place (better than second place, I always say!), which means it will get published in this year's volume! They asked me for a 250 word bio and everything! It's legit. I'd love to write something like that every day, and I'd REALLY love to find someone who'd pay me to do it.

Barack Obama, no. 44. How do I feel about him? Well, at first, I wasn't sure if he was a torch for America or perhaps the most insidious and exploitative political force I'd ever seen. His promises seemed empty, and his calls to American ideals and pride I found dubious. They were the very things a nation mired in recession, debt, and tragedy would turn to like a dumped girl to chocolate. As I watched his speeches rake in youtube hits and his T-shirts spread like wildfire, I grew more and more nervous. Popularity is a false god. I remember reading about a study done that showed actors have average IQ's and explained people's trust in their endorsments, opinions, quotes, and religions as nothing but a response to their celebrity. McCain shared the same fear, I remember, when he called Barack the "biggest celebrity in the world," implying that there was nothing more behind the pop culture phenomenon than simply that. More and more, though, I started to wonder if perhaps more important than his lack of experience IS his appeal. Having a president you love can sometimes do more for a people than an astute signature on some bill. Unity through a shared adoration is an exceptional bond, one that can protect a nation's future far better than bullets. Also, his speeches couldn't be overlooked. They really reach people. If he couldn't grab the rational part in everyone's mind, what's wrong with grabbing the emotional part? Do we not make decisions with both? Is an order to cut back on carbon emissions based on the deleterious effects that result from its interference with release of solar radiation via the atmosphere necessarily more effective than one based on Barack's serious tone or one found in his interview with Entertainment Weekly? This line of reasoning took me down a pretty dark road, where I began to question the very nature of truth, weighing and considering instrumentalism and its role in politics. So Barack lacks the traditional credentials. He never saved a company of soldiers, and his senate chair hasn't adopted the contours of his body yet. However, His other assets, ones that might, on the surface, seem like they have little to do with a good Commander in Chief, might make up for this. With unconventional means, he may achieve unprecedented ends. Incidentally, I voted for Nader. Nevertheless, I'm optimistic about an Obama presidency. Yes we can? More like, "Yes, we like you!" for now. But it could be a fantastic start.

I finished the Sopranos a little while ago. It is the best series ever. I won't brook any arguments from anyone. It is the best. I'd love to write a whole book about how wonderful it is, but I'd feel like an asshole, especially knowing that I'm not the only person who loves the show and therefore that it's not my job to explain its wonders. Still, it's the best. The last episode... Shit, I liked it. I mean, have some sympathy for the poor writers. How the hell do you END a show like The Sopranos? Some might say they took the easy route, but I, on the other hand, thought it was thoughtful and meaningful. Ending the show with a scene of the dysfunctional Soprano family at one of their notorious shared dinners captured the essence of the show quite nicely. The show was, first and foremost, a look at the American Family. It just happened to feature an unnaturally large family that had an uncommonly dangerous family business. So, now I'm in search of a new show to tear me away from my quotidian existence. I already watch a slew of comedies, but nothing really satisfying in the way a rant from Tony Soprano was. I'm thinking about fixing on Mad Men. I watched the first episode of the first season today. Not bad. Not awesome. But six Emmies says something, at least it does to my pretentious ass. Lost is good, but I treat that more like a science fiction novel, not a drama to watch all the passions and problems of humanity play out.

This should have been my research paper. Aw, fuck it. It's Friday.