I've just looked at my recent google searches, and they are as follows: Sformato, Hans Reichenbach, google translate, Willem de Kooning Light in August, Hercules Garden of the Hesperides, FAFSA, California voter registration, Antioch College application, hedge funds, and Dylan Thomas. Lovely, no? It makes me look so cultured. Or something. I don't know. Anyway, I just felt that it was imperative to share the information with you. It gives the world a bit of insight into who I am as a person, and that is of the utmost importance on this internet soapbox I have made for myself. I also wanted to record my searches for posterity, so just in case someone comes along to browse the Red Tube in my login, I can bring up this entry and point out my innocence with righteous indignation and furor (though why anyone would get in trouble for looking at the pretty pictures is anyone's guess, and why they would choose to do it in my login is even more of a rank mystery, but let us be prepared for all the possibilities, since the world has still much good, but much less good than ill, and we should face it as wise men, and whatnot). I could be a true lawyer, no?
I had the misfortune to go to a choir festival today. It was truly terrible, unaided by the fact that is the second one in two days. I'm really getting quite tired of these people, and we haven't even gotten to our other four festivals yet, not to mention tour. Anyway, we all got gussied up in our gowns and suits and sallied off to the local university to hobnob with all the USC and UCLA rejects who try to soothe their pride with fake (and rather alarming) school spirit. Most of them were rather strange looking individuals, I must say. Maybe they wanted to stay local so they wouldn't be judged abroad for their venomous visages. We went to all these workshops in the morning (the festival was in the afternoon), and it was incredibly awkward, because we were supposed to walk around together and sit down randomly wherever we liked once we got to the rooms. Do you know how hard it is for an Alfonso Durpenhogen doppelganger to find a seat? I had to sort of furtively slip into a half empty row, near the end, so someone could sit next to me if they liked, but they wouldn't feel obligated to out of politeness. Then I had to busy myself texting so that I wouldn't look like the loneliest loner of the land (though I'm pretty sure I did anyway). Man, what in the name of John Quincy Adams's silk underwear is wrong with me? I am like an unholy mixture of Heathcliff and Cady Heron (after everyone found out about the Burn Book). Maybe I have a chemical imbalance. That could be it. I've heard that can mess you up real good. Or maybe I'm allergic to choir people. What a quandary. I need to resolve this, man. Cuz I don't like being That Guy in the group. Ugh, That Guy. He is awkward and dorky and chronically funny-looking. He has horrible skin and wears glasses (or should, at least, because he has a terrible squint). Sometimes he tries to get in on people's conversations, which is incredibly awkward, because he has the social skills of a refrigerator. He is fairly smart, but that no one notices, because he fairly exudes awkwardness from his pores (along with another, almost more objectionable substance, but that is another matter). Usually, his name is Kevin. He's in every part of the globe, in every country, in every group. There is probably a penguin one in Antarctica. And in the Chamber Singers, it is me! Why must this be? Oh, cruel fate. Maybe I will write a meaningful poem about it.
Why is life so vastly harsh?
Why all these curséd stings?
The world beleaguers my poor soul
For naught but strife it brings.
The rain falls on my windowpane
The pain falls on my heart
My awkwardness has pierced my soul
Like Dohvakiin's dread dart.
Alas, I am a Kevin!
This world is not my home
Alone upon the darkling moors
Forever I must roam.
There. That's so meaningful I could cry. Someone must set it to music someday, and choirs can sing about it. I'm sure it will have special meaning for one person in the group at least.
I think I should go take a shower. I really should. My hair looks like a tapeworm. Well, at least figuratively speaking, it does (actually, not even that). But it's all cold upstairs, and then I'd have to get up from my cozy repose of sedentariness and get something of value done. And that's, you know, just so frowned upon in the upper echelons of society. It's not proper to exercise except to work the pedal on the golf cart, or maybe drift languidly from party to cocktail party if you're feeling particularly daring. I mean, what if you fell down dead from exertion? That wouldn't be very polite, now would it? We have to think of our surroundings as well as ourselves.
I think I might be lazy.
Well-p, you know, I have to do what needs to be done, so that everything will happen that can't be done (or something of the sort). It makes me feel noble whenever I get up off the computer, and that's a gratifying feeling. Almost on par with changing the world, baby. (Tangent: Can we have something be above par? There's on par, and there's subpar, but in this gloomy world of cynicism and bad golf games, can we ever admit to something being good?) (That sounded really philosophical, and it wasn't supposed to. Also, is it golf where you have par? Or am I thinking of rugby or something? I don't even. I'm just not hitting any home runs today.) Anyway, off I go, so bold and brave! I wish all the children could hear my story and learn of courage. Goodnight now!
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