Thursday, November 19

Dylan Gets Saved!

When I was twelve, I was "saved" by a guy named Kendrick. He had to have been about forty, but he hung out and played tennis with teens all the time. I dunno.

Anyway, I went with my friend to his church because there was volleyball and I was a godless heathen and didn't care. At this point, I'd like to mention that I will never let my kid's friends take him or her to their church for any reason whatsoever. Nothing good ever came of it and you just left feeling hella awkward.

So I went with my friend because I mainly just wanted to hang out. I showed some other guys how to do hypnosis, but they left and I got left alone when my friend played volleyball. This cat Kendrick comes up and sits next to me. Not too close for me to be uncomfortable, though. That was coming up. He asks me if something was wrong. When I'm not doing something, I look sullen because that's just the way I am. I tell him that I'm just bored. He asks me why I didn't play volleyball. So I told him I thought it was boring. This elicited an "Ahhhhh, okay" from him.

After a few minutes of incredibly uncomfortable silence, he asks me if I got saved. I asked him, "From what?" He gave the typical adult chuckle of amusement at how dumb a kid is and asked if I had accepted Jesus.

Still not knowing what that meant, I reverted to the strategy I still use today; pretend like you know something and give short ambiguous answers. I told him that I hadn't yet. He asked me if I wanted him to help, or something like that. It doesn't matter how it came to be; the fact was that thirty seconds later, he was speaking mumbo-jumbo and rubbing my chest.

After a bit of that incredibly awkward shit, he told me to let out the word of God, to let Him speak through me.

I told him, "No thanks; I'll do it later."

He said alright, smiled, then tussled my fucking hair before returning to play volleyball.

Years later I learned that he was a complete homo. I shoulda known; pastel shorts kinda went out of style on middle-aged men.

Wednesday, November 4

Man Enjoys Fine Art

ME: "I was talking to a friend about how I wanted a gigantic painting of two girls scissoring one another. Haute couture."
HER: "Dylan, you crack me the fuck up."
ME: "You exaggerate; I'm a twat."
ANOTHER BROAD: "Oh my god. XD I need to tell one of the art teachers this. Or maybe not. Maybe I like being able to attend school here.. XP"


I Have No Outline, and I Must Scream

Right now I'm fidgeting in one of the many chairs in the auditorium devoted to the Intro to Film & Video Study. I am overwhelmed by my complete and utter inability to sit still in my chair. I've got both my legs bouncing up and down, shaking my poor laptop around and threatening to toss it onto the floor. My fingers, when not tapping against the keys, are tapping one another ceaselessly.

The reason for my jittery self is because this is probably the single worst grade I have at the moment, if only for the fact that I can't take it seriously. Yeah, I missed three of five papers, but I recognize that and know that it's my fault completely. But I cannot help the fact that this class takes a subject that I hold very near and dear to my heart and rips every shred of mysticism out of it.

The films themselves are good, and the analyses of them are also very insightful. But I don't believe that writing a paper about them will further my knowledge. So far, my experience with college, (admittedly temporally limited), has exactly reflected what I have always known; that one does not do secondary education to learn something, they do it to become certified. I could learn anything I could ever possibly want to by accessing the internet or reading even a semi-factual book. As I look around me, many other people are on their laptops, some of which are viewing that gormless fuckhead Jeff Dunham's puppet shenanigans on Youtube. Nobody's serious about this.

In regards to my actual paper and assignment, (which is a precursor to the formal paper), I found out that the paper itself is only worth twenty points. Out of a thousand. Gah. Why can't people be consistent? If you have five assignments for the entire semester, their approximate worth should be that of the Ark of the Covenant, Nazi blood and all.

Fuck it all, I'm doin' it. Life's loaded with inane bullshit and I just gotta deal with it.

I don't know quite yet what I want to be when I grow up, but I'll be damned if I end up hamstringing myself.

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