My Bachelor's Won't Earn Half the Debt I've Incurred

The title comes from, not surprisingly, a Crime In Stereo song called the Bride. It's about that space between college and post-graduate stuff where you're trying to find work with bills to pay and it rings a lot more with me now that I have that bachelor's degree and am trying to find something that will pay me.

Now, though, this is about more.




Zach once said, half jokingly, that I'm kind of important. I'm not. I write, ask people questions and transcribe the answers elsewhere. Occasionally, I google my name and some of my interviews pop up. First is my Twitter feed. Interesting. Second is pastepunk. (What up, brothers?) Oddly enough five pages deep is the blog of a friend of mine, in her initial post that mentions me. Mostly, I like the vouyerism. What work of mine do other people link to? What do they find important? But I'm not important. I'm not sure how many people read or listen.

I ended up playing Left 4 Dead on my own over the weekend (away from home, since I don't own a next-gen console), and leaving aside that I have memories attached to that game, the game frustrated me, not the least of which being my computer controlled teamates are too goddamned stupid to throw a motherfucking pipe bomb (or motherfucking moltov cocktail) when we're being attacked by the zombie horde, meaning, I, was the sole weilder of anything that could take the zombie horde off of us for a moment and had to wait for what I hoped would be the most judicious moment to use said pipe bomb/ass saving device.

Then, another boomer would show up, vomit on someone, calling another round of zombies and we'd be back at square one, this time, without a pipe bomb.

But, when you're playing Left 4 Dead with people, you need to come up with a plan beforehand. Are you going to run through the level as fast as you can on a mad dash for the endpoint? Are you going to take it slow and stick together? Or, something more detailed in between? Then, you have to get people to agree (and stick with) this plan. People on the internet are notoriously finicky, but even when one has those people in the room, there are several different ideas of how to proceed, most of them put forward by me, one of the worst people at the title playing.

(If at this point, you're guessing this is going to relate, closely, to my own life, pat yourself on the back: You're right.)

I've written, for the last three weeks, about feeling stuck and like there were too many options, well, I've begun to narrow them down and nail down a basic framework for action for the foreseeable future in my life.

It came down to a question: Adventure or grad school? I'm relatively young, I've got a couple years to mess around and what to do with a time in my life without a business suit? My parents are perfectly willing to subsidize my housing until I find something permanent, and for that, I am extremely grateful. If the music I listen to has taught me anything, it has taught me to try for the life less ordinary, the road without all the lighting or clear end point.

I presented a quick sketch of my plan for the next couple years of my life to my father, and a good friend of mine, and they both seemed to be okay with it. This summer would be me learning how to drive, this fall/winter would be an internship, somewhere, all the while, learning Japanese, in the vain hope that I could teach English over there come 2010. In case you're wondering, none of this is nailed down. But it's what I want to do.

The opportunity is here, now, to do something real and interesting. It means giving up on a couple things: It means, likely, saying hello to almost exclusively text based communication with my friends in the States and saying goodbye to even the idea of seeing my friends in real life. Speaking through Twitter, Facebook and IM clients. It means a lot of time spent learning a language that I have never even dealt with, a written language that isn't based on letters, but drawing.

But hell. I owe more than is fashionable to my early development to Ronin Warriors, Dragonball Z and Gundam Wing. (I still have the Dragonball Z tshirt from years ago...) Trigun and Cowboy Bebop broke and rebuilt my mind in high school. I've felt closer to JRPGs than most of the people I've ever met. Yes, I know Japan is crazy town. Or at least Tokyo is. There's a saying I was reminded of that the Japanese have: The nail that sticks up is the first one to be hammered. That's what they think of individuals. That kind of a culture is going to be hard to get used to. But isn't that the point of adventures? New experiences. New ideas.

As I told a friend of mine catching up at last night's Trap Them (if you like truly aggressive music in the vein of Entombed or Napalm Death, click the link and buy their full length, Seizures in Barren Praise. $6 for the digital download.) show, what's the point of listening to the music I do if I don't take a grand, glorious chance for something different and unconventional? Live your heart and never follow, right? Be scared. Get uncomfortable.

I keep telling myself I don't want the Dilbert existence. I'm willing to take a chance if it means that I'm on my own and I'm not being measured by some ridiculous standard that I'm constantly behind on. Fuck a computer program and the only variables being in the program code being what I'm measured against. But there's a nagging feeling and it says otherwise. It says:

James, who are you kidding? You've got little to say, nothing to add to a conversation and you made one of the your largest emotional failings your major in college: You think too much and now, you've got a B.A. in it. Your attempts at journalism are middling and your years spent offering criticism in music, video games and politics (domestic and international) are second rate at best.

Let's not forget, your "friends" in punk music, are using you. Period. If you didn't write for pastepunk, do you honestly think they'd email you or IM you out of the blue? Starbucks is hiring. You know someone who works there. Think about it. Cut your hair, comb it and then see about getting a degree that's remotely useful. Buy some ties and white shirts.

Your parents don't even read your blog. That should speak volumes.


After hearing that for a while, the feeling of safety and a steady paycheck is very, very tempting. A man far wiser than I, Jay Smooth, called it the Little Hater, what I'm going to hopefully not butcher and call the voice of doubt and fear in every creative person's mind. It's very reasonable. It makes sense. It's what any normal person ought to do.

Then I remember six words. These six words aren't the same six simple words that comprise Bedard's hosanna in What Makes Us Strong, though they're related, intimately. (I'll explain how if you're really interested.) Those six words are out of step with the world and suddenly, it rushes back to me.

I've only got one life, one chance and getting in step with the Dilberts isn't going to make me happy. Please, understand. Some things can't be unseen and I can't forget what I know, but I'm not cut out for traditional office work. It's not wholly about satisfying that frustrated, scared teenager that first heard Minor Threat through an Archos Jukebox on the southbound train to school, but the culmination of the knowledge that, no, really, I'm different and if I follow that, it'll take me places.

It's late, and I have to get up tomorrow to actually do something. So, while I still have my eyes open, let me end this with another Crime In Stereo lyric:

Oh, Doctor Palmer, what am I to do? This choice is for life and I can't decide...

I Just Remembered Something: You Should Go On.

The title comes from a song by Face to Face singer, Trever Keith called Cross Your Heart. And now, bed.



I have wondered aloud, for a good six month span starting at the end of last year, often, occasionally in Zach's arms (there's documentation of this), Does This Make Me An Alcoholic? By that point in the evening/afternoon/12:15 p.m. I'd been drinking, though one moment stands out. I was seriously considering drinking at lunch sponsored by the Campus, in honor of the seniors on the staff, two girls and I. The editor in chief, a junior, was sitting a couple chairs down and said to us "hey, you guys can order drinks, it's after noon" and I seriously considered it for a couple minutes.

Does that make me an alcoholic? Not really.

I find myself wishing I had something alcoholic more and more often. Today, I reached for a Coke. (I always wondered when I didn't drink, which was worse, having a local beer or Coke, since ehhhh, technically, alcohol was bad, but wasn't Coke's stranglehold on Indian water as well as other "understandings" with the world I'm not aware of, worse?) Anyway. It was a Coke today. Monday, it was a Hershey bar. Just something sweet. Something to stave off that feeling of "You know what would make this better? Booze!"

And booze won't make it better. I know this. I know what booze does to my head. It just makes me think things are better and limits my inhibitors, which can be useful in some scenarios and terrible in others. I know the reason why I associate happiness with alcohol is because I drink a lot with my friends and that's fun, because we're all less inhibited and more prone to drunken singing and fun times.

I'm still using the present tense there. I should know better. That was that. I mean, I'm still thinking about plans to return to Allegheny, but it's not until next year at the earliest. But even then, it won't be the same. You can't go home, I know. Some of this is as simple as I wish I did different things over the last four years. Jesus, I wish I was more social, got out of my room senior year. I wish I had kissed more girls. Taken more chances with different girls. Said "Here's my number. Call me." Instead of just walking away after saying something nice at the bar.

Whatever. (And in the 8 minutes between writing that and coming back, I saw an image of Jade and Davey from AFI, years and years ago, playing ping-pong during a break in recording Art of Drowning and am now much happier.) Something so out of place and gloriously unprepared for a band that has historically spent a lot of time on image for their live shows just makes me smile and is a wonderful yogurt for my mental palate.

Back to the continued desire for alcohol. I know something about it. I know that I'm confusing my desire to be around people whom I already trust and love with the desire to drink. The two run together when I'm not doing anything except waiting for people to get back to me. It's been three weeks swallowed. Lord, how the time has passed me by.

Speaking of three weeks swallowed, I've been spending far too long looking at Facebook to see what Allegheny kids are up to. I miss them. But I've said that over and over again. I wake up in 6 hours, less now, to Iowa to visit family. It's my hope I can use that time to not check Facebook for a week. To fling myself into the reality of being in Chicago with no plans to come back to what I did or used to do. There's little things I can take with me, though. I'm hoping at least one gaming group at home comes through. To get me to meet new people. Start new relationships. Fire up old ones.

Facebook makes it easy to get caught up in old relationships and to go awwww. (Woah. My world just did a bit of a rotation and I wasn't in control of my head.) I have hit the iChat button three times out of habit within the last two minutes. I think that says something. I'm addicted to the constant pulse of the buddy list. Knowing people are there, just by look at that list on the right or lefthand corner of my screen.

At Allegheny, I had something like that buddy list. Call up Zach or James head over to their rooms to chill when I was confused or depressed or needed to talk. I had that mental safety net. Chicago, I'm just waiting for my good, good friends to come back. Now, Iowa offers me an opportunity to spend a weekend without that safety net.

It's my hope that the time this goes up that I'm asleep, but also, that while I'm away, I won't get on the internet or check shit. Detox, whether it's alcohol or constant communication. Reconnect with me. To prove to me that I can do that. To interact with people without Twitter, Facebook, IM clients and Gmail. Just me and my family. Maybe even turn off my phone and be disconnected and in this moment, fully, without any external stimuli.

And if I can do that for three days, then I can do that for a week. And if I can do it for a week, what about two? It's that kind of growth that I think would make my friends (and myself) most proud, that if I do come back to Allegheny, for a weekend or something next year, it won't be as a grad limping back to the school for "the old days" but as part of a positively evolving person, moving forward.

To really get the most out of the Allegheny experience, looking back, I must recognize that it wasn't just a dream and that these experiences are things I can take with me as I walk further on the path of life and return to these experiences at different points in my life to gleam different lessons from them.

This blog, in as much as it is a statement, it isn't a road that will take me to the stars, but it's hopefully, a road that will see me through. Now, to decipher what the signs mean.

Demos: I Smashed Their Theiving, Greedy Blackened Halos

The title, as should not surprise you, comes from a Crime In Stereo song called XXXX (The First Thousand Years of Solitude). A writer in an upstart campus magazine Overkill who had also written occasionally for the school newspaper called the Campus (unimaginative, I know) and called the Campus a bunch of names and suggesting that the newspaper wasn't doing its job.

I took umbrage and this was my response.

Hello, Penelope. About your Overkill piece. It brings up a couple points I think have been brought up by a lot of other people, so I'm responding to this publicly. A newspaper ought to speak to its audience directly in one place, the editorial, which I presume you understand, is written by the editorial board. I don't pretend to speak for them.

That out of the way, let me take a critical eye to your piece. "In a nutshell, our college newspaper could be accomplished by high school students: current events, opinions, videogames, movies and sports. The thing with high school newspapers is that we expect that same repetitive quality."

My first question is a simple one: Do you know what a newspaper does? That the Campus responds to events and publishes the opinions of the media that surrounds the students is one of the definitions of a newspaper. So does every other paper, ever. Look at the New York Times, which is the standard for this medium. They report on current events and sports and they solicit informed opinions on things like videogames and movies.

There isn't anything left for the Campus (or any other newspaper) to write about if we didn't look at current events and opinions on media. What you want appears to be a magazine (like Harper's or Mother Jones, but let me know if I'm wrong or putting words in your mouth), which you published in (Might I suggest buying a subscription?) and currently needs money to continue publishing. If your question is why the Campus' writing isn't up to a standard you'd prefer, there's a lot to publish by a small amount of people.

"I have personally lowered myself to contributing to The Campus on a number of occasions. The last thing I expected to see was the editors had changed my title, edited my content and deleted my intent. How can taking someone else's words and tampering with their material and length be justified?"

How are an editing process and space constraints on a title draconian? I think It's perfectly reasonable for us to look over what we publish under their banner and look out for things that could get us or Allegheny sued. Speaking of which:

"The Campus is completely against vocalizing what students really want to say...They edit out the most opinionated, in some cases, the most important parts of articles, attributing their reasons to space. If space is the issue why don't they ask the writers what they want to edit?"

We have an open office during deadline night (5 p.m.-past 9 p.m. Wednesday) in which the authors are welcome to come in and look over their piece before it goes to the printer. If you want to be in the room when the editor goes over your piece, then show up in the room. As for the "most opinionated, most important" parts, since this is a hell of a charge to level against the paper (and I don't know which pieces you're referring to specifically), I am going to guess because we can't publish libel or slander. The libel of being "against vocalizing what the students want to say" that's intriguing, given that you cite absolutely nothing in defense of the defamation.

"But just think: a literary work where students could look to voice opinions and view aesthetically pleasing pictures - that would be OK."

There is a place where literary work and aesthetically pleasing pictures can be viewed and it's called Overkill (and hopefully Golem!) If I haven't mentioned this before, newswriting and literary writing are very, very different. Pictures too. The reason why there is a journalism track is an offshoot of the English track is because the two kinds of writing are incredibly different and require two different uses of the same tool, the written word to achieve different aims.

"A newspaper should be a loudspeaker to the student, a pulpit to the crowd."

We disagree. The purpose of a newspaper, in my estimation, is to be the voice of truthfulness, accuracy and avoid distortion. The Campus ought to be the person in the crowd telling you what you can reasonably believe from the person speaking at the pulpit. There's enough loudspeakers and pulpits that I particularly enjoy when an Allegheny outlet speaks softly.

I hope this answers the questions you have. If not, my email is at the bottom of this piece or find me in the office during deadline night.

Demos: And I Begin the Longest Year Ever

A couple things: 

First: Yes, I'm still doing this in the new year.

Second: I was asked to submit a column of advice for freshmen. This is what I wrote.

Third: I don't know when Tom, Zach or Jack is going to update.

Fourth: I still have big plans regarding guest columnists.

Fifth: The title is a Distance song that has always intrigued me since I heard it. I like the way it rolls off the tongue, and the weight that goes with the phrase. You know what's coming, but you don't know how or from where.

My advice for freshmen is fairly simple: the best way to figure out what to do is to make mistakes. So, get them all out of the way quickly.

I suggest the following:
+Start drinking Tuesday night so that you go to your Wednesday 8 a.m. class with a brutal hangover as soon as possible, without even the glimmer of Friday to look forward to. Why? So you know how terrible it is and how little you want that feeling in the future.

+The very next night, buy three cans of Red Bull and mix it with Ritalin. If you don't die, you'll learn the important lessons of a) not taking everything you read in this paper seriously and b) doing your work ahead of schedule.

+Take the money you'd spend on a fake ID ($150 in my neck of the woods) and cover at any local bar and put the bills slowly in the toilet over the course of 10 minutes while weeping softly. Congratulations, you've just gotten the feeling of getting that fake ID confiscated by the police and kicked out of the bar without having anything on your record or spending a night in holding.

+Get drunk the night before a test and fail it. (In this case, the sooner, the better.) You've just learned not to do that again.

My real bitty-bites of advice are as follows. Most of these are details in a college life. The major ideas (go to class, don't accept drinks from strangers at parties, do work in advance, explore Meadville) the school, teachers and random upperclassmen will tell you. You don't need me to reinforce that. So, in an effort to be useful, I solicited advice from carefully chosen members of the community who had different experiences than I did. Their suggestions are marked with an asterisk, because it's easier than acquiring the ability to use their full names here.

1) Make silly mistakes. Often. (You won't be able to avoid the big mistakes.)

2) Don't take yourself too seriously.

3) Listen more often you speak.

*4) Get to know upperclassmen.

5) Participate in campus life.

6) Take chances.

7) The Pittsburgh Bagel Company is worth getting up before 9 a.m. and walking down the hill for.

8) Buy tooth whitening gum. Lots of it.

9) Get a flash drive.

*10) Talk to your friends when you're in an academic or emotional rut.

11) Your raid group will understand if you have a paper due the next day. Your professor will not understand the reverse.

*12) There is no shame in recognizing your limits, academic, alcoholic or otherwise.

13) Give the benefit of the doubt.

*14) It's not worth a piece of your soul. In other words, remember to have fun, too.

15) Overloading on coursework and activities does not make you special or awesome.

16) If it's not on campus, start it.

17) Go to at least one fraternity or sorority event and use that experience, along with conversations from people involved with those groups to make a decision on whether it's for you.

*18) Julian's is a fantastic restaurant for almost any occasion.

*19) College is a small place, so word gets around about Saturday night by Sunday morning.

*20) Have an idea of the person you want to be when you graduate, and try to act accordingly.

*21) Building secretaries can be more helpful than you realize. Get to know them.

Finally, hardest of all, and perhaps most important: Get uncomfortable. One learns nothing staying in their bubble. I certainly learned quite a bit by being dead wrong and on this crucial point, I am willing to universalize my experience. To steal a line from Fugazi: Do it. Now. Do it. You have four years, and it's already ticking away. Welcome to college. Start leaving your mark.

Why Does Thomas Get All The Good Posts?

The simple answer is that the rest of us are busy leading very interesting, influential lives. Lives in which we make choices that impact the world and you know, change stuff.

The real excuse: probably laziness.

I, however, had food poisoning this past weekend. I dare any of you people out there to blog when you can't leave the bathroom for more than 45 minutes, and therefore didn't sleep for chronic fear that you would wake up covered in your own vomit. I am sure Thomas with his super frequent updating would have provided a blow by blow account of each heave and each rediscovery his body provided. Sadly I am just not as dedicated to the readers as he is.

Suffice to say, the past few days have not been full of fun carefree times. Therefor I bring you no lighthearted antidotes about my weekend, only tales of warning about eating anything with "fantastica!" in the name, no matter how good everyone says it is. Just reading that word now causes my stomach to lurch in fear.

Or maybe that is the hamburger helper I subjected myself to for dinner tonight . . . .

One thing I did manage to do was see Cloverfield this weekend. Now see is a relative term, since the whole movie is done in shaky-cam and my already addled stomach was having none of that. I had to cover my eyes more than a few times, not out of fear, but simply to not throw up on the person sitting next to me.

But motion sickness aside, it was a really good movie. And what is even cooler is the amount of internet hype that is out there about it. All of the characters have myspace pages, which of course show everything up until when the monster attacks New York. It almost makes me want to resurrect my myspace account and check it out. And if you are a huge internet junky there is a whole other level to the movie, because there is a movie somewhere online that shows an oil rig off the cost of Japan being attacked by the same monster as in the movie. It is times like these that I am impressed at how into this fictional tale some people really are.

This is one we need to keep an eye on since I have heard rumors of a follow up video that will be released either in theaters or on the internet that shows the whole things from a US Army solder's "perspective". This is totally one of those movies that I saw and thought was good, but now can't get out of my head.

Ok, well, my astronomy book has been looking at me in an abandoned manner ever since I started typing, so I guess I must go.

I'm In Ur Fambly, Judgin' ur Vayoos

Oh, hello there. Didn't see you come in.

Love what you've done with your hair.

City living is, as the song goes*, demanding. All of my adventures revolve around homeless people, though. I made friends with one on the subway last week, when I let him onto the aforementioned subways with an extra swipe of my metro card. He then proceeded to tell me much of the awfulness that was his life. While smoking! His name is Gabriel, and it is tough being him. His wife of eighteen years was leaving him, and his eleven year old daughter hates him. He also has no home, and has been to Jail, where he informed me that they can take everything from you.

*Hurray for the Marcy Stop!

He then gave me a lottery ticket and one of the cross necklaces he was wearing, and gave me a hug when we had to split paths. It was kinda intense - at least a lot more intense than I'm used to.

Homeless guy encounter #2 occurred when I was on a walk with a good ladyfriend (right before we saw The Ten, which was pretty good), and it was considerably more distressing than Gabriel. Nameless homeless fella was trying to scale a wrought-iron fence as we walked by, and right as we passed him, he fell backwards onto the bricks, and was, I guess, knocked out in the same way that can only be accomplished by falling backwards five feet, right onto the back of the head.

He was twitching a little.

Anyway, it turns out that it wasn't anything, er, ah, kinda maybe permanent? Another friendly samaritan stopped by us panicky white folks, and was speaking the Spaniash at him, but to about as much avail as my "Are you okay?". Blinking at us, and having soiled hisself, homeless guy stumbled off into the streets. So what are people to do? We want to be responsible citizens, not to mention, just good people. In other words, we had no idea how to proceed. Ladyfriend calls the nine one one, and gives a description of what happens, and then proceeds to agonize over if this was the right thing to do.

Then we went to Whole Foods, and looked at the models and investment bankers as they bought strawberries and sushi for at least 40% markup! Hurray Whole Foods!

The only other thing I have approaching a new friend in the city is Mr. Woo, who is the superintendent of the building I'm living in for another, oh, week or so. Then I, too, will be homeless. But until that happens, the apartment I reside in is being shown to prospective and profitable renters, who are willing to pay $500 more dollars per month than I am. From about 10 am in the morning to about a little after 6 in the evening, a whole gaggle of people awkwardly walk in, and check my place out. Most of them seem decent folk, though a handful of them are more or less in some kind of paralysis. Mr. Woo, for his part, is probably sick of this nonsense already, and just slumps down on my couch, and we talk about the weather, while the realtor (which sounds like a supervillain name. I mean, I can't be the first person to think this) talks about how much light the place gets. They often neglect to leave out how it's basically a bustling avenue until after the bars close, but that's why I always like to pipe in about how hard it is to sleep on the weekends.

I also don't tell them about my roachy friend, Clarence.
Moowa ha haaa.

One of the worst parts about living in New York is that the whole place functions alot like one big damn college campus, and is concerned solely with New York. I turned on headline news today to discover that the rest of the world seems to be very literally collapsing - earthquakes, mines, and Roberto Gonzales's's's's respectability. I suppose some things are inevitable.