Strawberry Fields

Thursday evening, you know where I'm at. Right now we're critically listening to the Fab Five. Fucking real tight if you ask me. Professor just mentioned the panning sitar. I once wrote a paper about the effect of the sitar on western music. Basically I'm a hippy. Is there such a thing as neo-hippies? Why not right? Sort of like a new wave of hippies that aren't as lame, but still border on being free spirits.

Been trying to get back into the game recently. Tickets seem to be on a limited basis, but I've got my name in the lottery. I think I realized today that I enter this bizarre cycle. I was going to explain said cycle, but A) I'm lazy B) My professor keeps looking at me and C) Strawberry Fields forever.

Also check out my twitter, I pretend I'm the best nation in the world, and I'm friends with Shaq: twitter.com/usausausa

Peak Levels

I was sparked into blogging this evening after seeing an albino man on the train. Such a curious sight that was, and it made me realize that he has to deal with the same shit Hank McCoy aka Beast does... except with all the sweet shit Beast gets. Best of luck to you my new albino friend, don't let those sentinels catch ya!

So I'm in that same torturous class aka Critical Listening... curr

ently we're listening to the Boss aka Bruce Springsteen aka American Pimp aka Barak Obama 2000. Seriously... the Boss. This is the third four hour class i've been to and I still have very little idea as to what is going on. My sights keep lowering on the goal grade. We're somewhere between C and passing right now. If I get anything higher then that, then it would be quite butter. Showed up mad blizzy today and was treated by listening to this crazy 20 minute soundscape thing. Word. I fell asleep due to its hypnosis.

Duel wielding Matt birthdays this week has led to a massive birthday bash tomorrow. 9 Fulk is throwing its first theme party, and the lucky choice is white trash... because the Matt's are mad trashy. Come and drink beers and do things you wouldn't do with your boring friends or family. Or bring those boring fuckers, I don't care.

So last night Murray and I went down to East Coast Grille to have a few beers and wish Dougal a happy on the job birthday. We downed a few brews and bought a six pack of PBR tallies for the kitchen. There was mutch rejoicing. We were then punked by the kitchen when they gave us some 'mild' wings on the house. They turned out to be hell wings, which Murray and I attempted to finish just to spite them. Beer became an even better friend, as Murray and I stayed after they closed (they literally took the handle off the door so no one else could get in, just us and the crew). It's good to be down with the crew at a local restaurant (especially a gnarly one like ECG). Happy Birthday Dougal later showed up back home completely trash-headed, apparently he was so wasted that his boss gave him a ride home stating that Dougal was 'too drunk to walk'. Haha, good looks. Hopefully young Murray will follow suit. Always good to mess with the drunk birthday lads.

I want to start reading more, but I seem to have a 3/4 completion problem. It happens with video games too. I'll get almost to the end and then I lose interest and just form my own ending. Maybe it's the writer in me wanting to create rather then to have it spelled out for me. Eh, whatever. I tried to start the Watchmen philosophy book today but I couldn't get my brain in there, too dense.

Phantom

Shit hits the fan sometimes, and sometimes that shit misses the fan completely and hits you in the face. Kind of like when your eating a banana and the peel keeps sliding down and slapping you in the grill. It sucks. It's unfair. It's frustrating. It's life. Sometimes it can be really sweet. Carpe Diem my friends. A bit cliched, but few truer words were ever spoken. Respect your fellow man. Learn. When life comes a peel slappin' just slap it right back. Don't waste your gifts.

On a lighter note, I'll be escorting Dave Hyde to the BC/Clemson game this evening. Should be sweet. According to Dave we have some pretty word seats, so I'm amped. 

Last night was Bob Marley Night at East Coast Grille. 9 Fulkersons made an appearance and got the VIP treatment thanks to our man McDoo on the grill. Bomb food. I got the whole Red Snapper. We all split some apps and crushed Red Stripe. Sweet, chill atmosphere which is really awesome for a higher scale joint. The waiter told us we could smoke weed in the bathroom... jury is still split on whether or not he was serious... Mad duckets were dropped. Worth it. 

Monitor Lizard

Once again I'm blogging from the corner of Tremont and Boylston aka Emer-gunz College. Right now I'm in the two hour purgatory I have every Monday where I don't have class but don't have enough time to run back home. So I chill with How-Nutz in the dark room. Sometimes I run errands. Whatever.

Superbowl happened yesterday. Pretty meh until the last four minutes. Then things got a bit nutty, but in the end Pittsburgh ruled the day. Questionable call with the Warner fumble? Perhaps. Would it have made a difference? Most likely not. Always next year. Some solid commercials, but I'm really amped over the trailers that were shown. G.I Joe, new Transformers, Up, Monsters vs. Aliens, etc. While some of those sound pretty lames I'm still amped to see them.

(Bryan Roy and his bevy of casino whores)

I went to Connecticut this past weekend with a bunch of Manchester heads. Friday night was gambling at Mohegan Sun. I ended up +18 after several hours of craps. Great game that gets even better when the table gets amped. "C'MON SHOOTER! C'MON SHOOTER! LET'S SEE THAT HARD TEN!". Word. I was down a good 40 bucks at one point but one of my boys rolled some fire and hooked me up, leading me to a 70 dollar gain over two rolls. Baller.

(Toad's Place: not pictured, the drunken messes inside)

Saturday we went to this club called Toad's. I had only heard myths about Toad's, and it has garnered a somewhat legendary status. Basically it is this huge, multi-storied dance club that is in the middle of Yale, Quinnipiac, and Southern Conn. campuses. Add in the fact that it is near long island, and I think you get the idea. Many new haircuts, many slutty sluts. Anyway, the idea is to get really fucked up beforehand, then just dance and be ridiculous. This may or may not have happened to me. For you see, the last thing I can recall is handing the bouncer my ID, then ordering a drink my friend had mad with the bartender called 'The Goatskin'. Apparently at one point I got stuck outside, possibly on the roof. I also flipped off a girl, who came over and started to yell at me. According to eye witnesses, I then cracked a joke as the chick yelled at me, defusing her anger. From here I guess I made moves. Drunk game FTW! Long story short, I ended up getting kicked out of the club (collectively our crew had four members get kicked out). The details still need to be ironed out, which is tough considering there were very few conscious witnesses to what happened inside Toad's. Most notably I would like to know why my left leg has been all fucked up since... good times.