Visigoths and Meshugas: 2003

My finals are swiftly winding down, but it occurred to me the other day, that despite people's insistence that fish is brain food, it is not the best brain food. You what is? Brains. Go figure.

I know I haven't been updating much. I found out that I have classes, and my boyish good looks and charming personality can't get me the A's I deserve. (I know! I was surprised too!) So I have to hit the books. If that doesn't work, I'll hit my friends. Usually I feel better about myself after that. Oh - I do have one thing to note: There comes a time in every man's life, where he must turn to his fellow man, and explain, calmly and patiently, that the long-john underpants he [the friend] is wearing do not count as pants. I knew that - I just didn't think that my turn to explain it would be so soon.

Why does the English language have to be so darn amibigious? When people told me college would be hard, I thought they meant "durable," as in "that's a hard rock," or "that rock is rather hard," or "the harditude of that rock simply astounds me." But nooooo. They meant "difficult," as in "that's a hard rock to lift," or "you see, it wasn't so hard to get that rock down his esophagus, was it? Now let's go out for ice cream - on me." Darn tricksters. I'll get that Webster, if it's the third-to-last thing I do. He still owes me ice cream.

A mixed bag today. Firstly: There are three types of people in this world, not two, as previously thought. Thank you. Secondly, I recently got a haircut, and I noticed an interesting social phenomenon. People say "nice haircut" as a replacement for "I want you to know that I am aware that your hair is notably shorter than it was in the recent past," because the latter sounds stupid and isn't a compliment. Not that I'm self-conscious about my looks, but I'd like someone to come up to me, peer at my now-lighter cranium, and say, quite nonchalantly, "Don't worry - it'll grow in, I'm sure." I would really believe a future compliment from that person, wouldn't you? And lastly, I had an...interesting day today. Read more about it here: http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=Evenstar08 in the posting from today (11/30) and the first comment following it.

For once, a true story. Yesterday I went outside my house to find a van with the words "Radon Mitigation" written on it. I probably ought to have just gone back to my room, assumed the fetal position and whimpered in my bed till I fell asleep, but, you see, this didn't strike me as that unusual. At lunch, I was talking to a friend, and he explained why. We always have these random guys walking around, testing, poking, prodding, fixing - who knows. It's not clear that anyone calls them or anything. They just kind of show up and do stuff. Like mitigate radon. Like a radon mitigation fairy, only you don't need to lose a tooth to get a nice, new, shiny non-life-threatening environment. I think any guy with overalls could just walk into my house and start playing with wires, power tools, rocket launchers - whatever - and no one would pay him no never mind. Definitely not if he also has a clipboard. But who calls them? Likely our housekeeper, or the house manager, right? That's what we thought. But as my friend pointed out, what would prompt them to call a radon mitigation man? Were they hanging out in the basement, chewing the fat, joking around, when all of a sudden they noticed something in the corner, and exclaimed, "Whoa, that radon looks like it needs mitigating, ASAP!" ? I guess some of life's mysteries are best left as mysteries.

So as for the riddle - Dani wins, because, well, I dunno, I thought she needed points. The scores are as follows: Dani: 10 Jeff: -10 Oilers: 17 IBM: +1¹/²

Hello world. Last year I wrote a couple of pieces for the Cornell Lunatic, the humor magazine here. I thought I might share one that I found funny.

The Ramblings Of A Disgruntled Freshman

by ilan

I think my roommate is a cannibal. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Some of my best acquaintances are cannibals. (They have a club and meet in my basement on alternate Wednesday nights.) It's just that he keeps looking at me funny and licking his lips. Those looks make me sort of uncomfortable and funny inside. It's like he's dissecting me with his eyes. I've tried dropping subtle hints, like “seeing as how I'm so skinny, it wouldn't really be worthwhile to kill me, even with an extra-sharp knife like the one on your wall,” and “I once tried eating my flesh, and it doesn't taste good,” and “Jeffrey, please don't eat me.” However, I don't think he's getting the hint, seeing as how he has a large, bubbling cauldron in the room. I think that's against the House Rules. I thought of talking to my RA, but he freaks me out a little as well. When my parents were helping me move in, he was really nice. One thing he said bothered me, though: “I'm sure your offspring will have minimal difficulties integrating into the larger Jameson Family Commune Unit.” Back where I come from, they call someone like him a “Canadian,” and take him out to the pillory in the town square to be pelted with rotten fruits and/or vegetables. Anyway, he got really weird only after my parents left. They walked out, and a minute later, I was on the floor, in chains. For what seemed like days, I was subjected to a horrifying series of tortures involving fire, needles, ferrets, Spam, Tae-Bo, and Kevin Costner's Waterworld. I've recovered since then, and despite the rough start, I kind of like my RA. He's got that whole Stalin-chic thing going for him. My advisor's nice, I think. I haven't seen her much, except brief glances when she was ducking behind a wall or rushing into her office. I have a hint of a notion that I should consider thinking that she might be avoiding me. Maybe I came on too strong when I asked for advice. In all fairness, she didn't specify that our questions can't be of a medical nature. After much deep contemplation, I have come to the conclusion that acapella is a crime against humanity. I'm getting used to the bureaucratic maze they’ve created for us. I wanted to drop my PE course (Intro to Telekinesis) because of a schedule conflict. I went to the University Registrar in Day Hall, who promptly sent me to the Engineering Registrar in Olin. The Engineering Registrar sent me to the PE offices in Teagle Hall, who sent me back to Day. They sent me to Wegman's, to pick up a box of cupcakes, then to Olin again. Olin sent me back to Day, who sent me to Haackenweiler Hall. A few hours later, I realized Haackenweiler doesn't exist and returned to Day, to find the secretaries snickering. They sent me to some guy named Gus in the basement of Bailey Hall. Gus and I sat down to a nice home-cooked meal (try his fish soufflé!) and he sent me to Olin. The nice folks at Olin, after much...persuasion, agreed to gracefully allow me to fill out the proper forms. So, after filling out an Add/Drop form, an insurance form, an I9 form, a W4 form, a 401(k) form, and a 5th grade spelling test, I was on my way to get my advisor's signature. I caught her easily, as she jumped down an elevator shaft. (Word to the wise - a cleverly placed bear trap can be a tremendous time-saver.) She signed my form, and I happily returned to Olin. Upon arriving there, I discovered that the secretaries had been replaced with three monkeys (two howler monkeys and one lemur). I swatted the lemur out of the way and entered my registration info into the computer myself. While I was at it, I enrolled the two howler monkeys in Advanced Particle Physics, and the lemur in Textiles and Apparel. I'll let the wonderful people at Olin sort that one out. [Score: Ilan: 1, Big Red Tape: 0] Overall, I guess my complaints aren't so bad. Beginnings are always difficult, if not life-threatening. Maybe I should try going to some classes, or at least shower once a week. So if you're in the area, stop by my room. If I'm not there, I'm sure my roommate will invite you in for dinner.

What if we lived in a world where you judged a person's worth not based on virtue, beauty, or intelligence, but simply based on the length of his or her toenails? Wouldn't that be neat?Well, it would for me, anyhow.

Two things: 1) Dani, a good friend of mine, has started a blog. I like the word blog. I could say it all day. Blog, blog, blog. And when that gets boring I can say other fun words, like "blubber," and "expeditiously," and "flesh-eating bacteria." So, um, right. Where was I? Oh, yes, the blog. Blog, blog, blog. So much fun. So check out http://chikkimunkee.blog-city.com/ for some good times. 2) I am still waiting for more answers to my riddle. Here's an incentive - anyone who gets it right gets 10 points. That's right, folks, it's anyone's game.Well, anyone except for Jeff. We hate Jeff. In fact, he gets -10 points now just for living. Yeah - how does it feel now, buddy? Not such a big man without your blue inflatable giraffe herd, now, are you? What's that I hear? Nothing? I thought so.

A Tuesday riddle: What is polka-dotted, has an unusally powerful tongue, likes walruses, and answers to the name "Twinkie?" (No, it isn't your Aunt Tillie, though I'm sure she's a very nice person.)

Leading the Blind, installment #2: Chimba awoke to darkness. He then opened his eyes. More darkness. He fought a valiant battle against the soggy leaves and a couple inches of snow, emerging to a rather unpleasant view of New York City’s Central Park in the dreary month of December. He stood up on shaky, uncertain legs, which swiftly became certain that they did not want to be used. Chimba was thrown back onto the ground, and after several increasingly pathetic attempts at righting himself, he decided that there was nothing up in the air that was so interesting anyway, and conceded victory to gravity. He then propped his head up with one arm and commenced a study of his surroundings. Snow covered much of the ground, though most of it was no longer white, happy snow, but gray, belligerent snow, that had been tracked in by pedestrians from the dingy streets of the City. There were the usual accoutrements of a city park – benches, scattered trees, now bare of leaves, and numerous signs telling you never to walk on the grass, or always walk on the grass, or that you can only walk on the grass “if you are this tall” – or something like that. By the position of the sun in the sky, Chimba could tell that it was pretty early in the morning, which in part explained why he was alone in a public park. Almost alone. Which brings us to the other common feature of city parks, namely, the crazy pigeon-yelling man. “Crazy Joe,” the people called him, and aside from that, they generally left him alone. (Actually, his real name was Crazy Max, but he just didn’t have the heart to correct them.)

Here is the first (admittedly short) installment of the story of Chimba, tentatively titled Leading the Blind: It was one of those days. You know, those early spring days, when the flowers are just starting to poke their sleepy little heads out of the thawed ground, when the small woodland animals scurry about doing whatever it is that woodland animals do so frantically, when the air is so crisp you can eat it as a breakfast cereal, and when the sun and breeze combine in just such a way that everyone seems happier, and even the crazy guy who lives in the park sounds just a bit nicer when he yells at the pigeons about world politics? You know those days? Well, it wasn't at all like that on this particular day. No, the flowers weren't just hiding anymore; they'd packed their flowery suitcases and moved to Miami, the woodland animals were drawing straws to figure out who was "expendable," the air was soggy, and, yes, the crazy guy was particularly belligerent when yelling at the pigeons about the corrupt government of the Republic of Mallomar. On such a day, our story starts. On such a day, Chimba awoke. ...and that's what I have so far. I have a few more things bouncing around in my head. They'll come out eventually - like splinters.

That's it. I've decided to write the story of Chimba. It's about a lovable yet misunderstood fake mute midget from Ancient Greece who oversleeps a few thousand years. Possible sub-plots include world domination, the extinction of the human race, and cheese, while mimes and other street weirdos will be sprinkled in for good measure. I will then cook it on HIGH for 30 minutes (25 minutes at higher altitudes), and let cool, while basting with, I don't know, maybe some irrelevant supporting characters. Either that or dogs. Big ones, with sharp teeth. The first installment will appear in some finite number of days.

A few thoughts: You can't always get what you want, but if you try real hard, you just might find, that you wake up in a pool of your own vomit next to a powerful one-legged woman named Edna, who is wielding a rolling pin menacingly. The road to hell may be paved with good intentions, but the policemen probably have cooler uniforms than on the road to heaven.

Ask not what you can do for your country but what you can do in a playground with a socket wrench at 3 in the morning.(You'd be surprised.)

I wrote a new song today. It's another take-off on a Billy Joel song. This one, parodying "Piano Man," is called "Blender Man." And here's the best part: I made an mp3 of it. Make sure to listen to it all the way through, to get the full effect of my genius:

In honor of my prospective major, I have written a song. I call it "My Major in C-major." (I'm so clever!) The tune you likely know, but you might have to study the words to become familiar enough with them to sing it from memory. Bear in mind that it's a work in progress, so some of it may be a bit rough around the edges: My Major in C-major by Ilan (to the tune of "We Didn't Start the Fire," by Billy Joel) Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Sci-ence Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Sci-ence (Instrumental) Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science and Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science CHORUS We didn't Computer Science It was Computer Science Since Computer Science We didn't Computer Science No Computer Science But Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science and Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Compu-ter Science CHORUS BRIDGE (this is a bit tricky) Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science (Neato Instrumental) Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Compu-ter Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science and Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science CHORUS Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Sciencemania Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, Computer Science Computer Science, Computer Science, what else do I have to say? CHORUS Computer Science, Computer Science.... ...and that's all I've written for now. I'm working on the rest. If you have any suggestions, post them. Also, I have an idea for a similar song, called "Computer Program," but it's only in its early development stages.

In the spirit of the New Year, I've decided to do some things I ought to have done a while ago, like my homework, studying, learning, showering, and staring at trees until they back down. You know, the usual. I figured I'd show you some less well-known emoticons: ¿('o')¿ = A person who's sad, 'cause her earrings are larger than her head. _<('-')_> = A person doing pushups, to work off steam, 'cause his girlfriend just dumped him, and it really wasn't fair, since he didn't forget her birthday, but for personal reasons, he doesn't recognize the birthdays of people with an "x" in their names, and she should respect that, but noooooo, she has to walk out yelling something about not using her cat for batting practice and storing his toenails in the glove compartment. Women. Ah, well, more pushups. (%5$)\/ = a doggy. (Squint a little, and you'll see it. Maybe have a stiff drink first, THEN you'll see it.) And I'm spent.

I'm a little tired today. I've noticed that when you don't sleep for a while, you start seeing things - like beds, and pillows, and beds with pillows in them. Then you see your clock telling you it's the wrong time (sometimes you can really HEAR it telling you, if you stay up long enough!), then you see the clock on the floor broken. It serves it right for telling you the wrong time. That's right, go back to bed, little one, the mean clock doesn't REALLY have psychokinetic powers. Then you see people yelling at you that you slept on their floor and left a big puddle of drool on the floor. You try to blame the pink squirrels that are swooping down from the ceiling, but they just keep hitting you with their fists and potato peelers. They hurt. You see more things. You see blood, blood everywhere, and so many people have papercuts, and you see a pice of paper in your hand. You see it has "Don't forget to pick up canned peaches" written on it. And now more people are yelling at you, but you tell them it was Horace or Chimba (yeah - we'll get to Chimba later, I promise) but to no avail. You see gravity reverse itself, and you end up on the ceiling. You see a bed on the ceiling. You see pillows. You see an unusually hairy Keanu Reeves near the bed, but you don't care. Chimba will take care of him. You see the insides of your eyelids again, and then more darkness, then maybe some crocodiles in tutus, then darkness again. That's what you see when you stay up too late. That and toasters. Yummy, yummy toasters.

Yes, once again, I stayed up till an ungodly hour - or at least one less godly than when I should've gone to sleep - for no justifiable reason. Viscious cycles are like that: they start off fine - enjoyable even - then there's the whole downward spiral thing, and that's a real bummer. Kinda like hangnails. So I'm not so happy with myself right now. Then again, maybe I ought not to blame myself. It WAS partially due to the advice of this little talking wombat that's running around my room, who sometimes tells me to do things. His name is Horace. He smells funny.

P.S. Also, he says he can do backflips, but I've never seen him do it. I think he's lying. Wombats always lie. Stupid wombats.

Ok, so I think I'm supposed to start this way:

Hi! My name's Ilan, and I started this blog to show you just how truly awesome I am. In fact I am so awesome, I sometimes forget to breathe from the sheer exilhirating joy of being just so cool. Wow, I'm great. So now you can read about my life, which is, of course better than yours. After all, I am better looking than you - yeah, I know about that unsightly mole. You should really get that removed. Also, I have SO much more money than you - I own three cars, a yacht, and Paraguay. Also, I am WAY smarter than you - you can even see the "smart waves" (that's a laymen's term for you simpletons) coming out of my head. They look like this: ~~~. Did I mention that the laws of physics don't always apply to me? Yeah, I'm that great. So, basically, in addition to being an all-around amazingly wonderful and swell guy, I am also generous. Therefore, I have chosen to share some miniscule iotas of my vast knowledge and wisdom with lesser mortals like yourself. But first, take care of that mole. Really.

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