So I Drive...

At this late hour in this freezing city, I drive.

To see this town as it was while it is. To see myself in streets where I was. To see the past is to ignore the future. These chemicals propel me through the days. I still remember my first day of class. Was it worth the ulcer? So I drive,

Down Sheridan and Old Cheney. 9th, 10th, 16th, 17th, 27th, 33rd. She lived there once. And on and on and on. To give thanks is to admit inferiority. To recount is to confirm. Who are these people I call family? Why are these people called friend?

How does a college graduate live in a college town? Does one take up a career as a substitute? Seperate from this town, while you can, Dan. There's not much else to do?

So I drive?

Reaching for 200

I have distanced myself from the Taxi days. They seem like a blur, but sitting here, waiting for my laundry, I remembered something I hadn't thought about for a long time. I think this kid was the worst thing I saw on the job.

The setting was typical cab driver schtick. Three a.m., call in the severe south, yuppie shit, blah blah blah.

He was the hipster hippy. The hemp necklace and curly, dirty blonde hair. Shorter than me, khaki shorts and backwards hat. Swaying the whole time in the cab during the standardized chit-chat.

"So what's your story?"
"I just graduated."
"What are you doing next?"
Rambling slurred speech about college somewhere, somehow.
"Are you excited?"
"I'm on prozac."
Mild shock silence.
"it's awesome," he said "you don't feel anything."

let me rewrite that for you, highlighting the important parts:

IT'S AWESOME, YOU DON'T FEEL ANYTHING.

That bothered me more than I thought.

We Aren't Supposed to Live this Long

Why do people visit graveyards?
To remember the dead.
Why do people go to nursing homes?
To remember the dead
while they're still here.

History is to pathology
as tradition is to cancer.
If you have no hope
you're nostalgic.

Are you still alive
if you can't remember breakfast?

Be nice to your grandma,
compliment her broach,
ignore the tea stain
covering her blouse.

And respect your aunts,
after all
we came from the same,
obsolete womb.

It's always cold in Iowa,
but summer is the worst.

I Love Halloween

Happy November, fellow readers. This is the beginning of the end for my beloved fall. Things just aren't the same for autumn from now on. The excitment is gone. Replaced by essays, projects, tests, etc. on the countdown to graduation. In this moment though, still buzzed, I'd like to reflect on my last Halloween as an undergrad.

As of right now it is thirty degrees outside according to google. It's been three hours since I left the bars so I'll be exceedingly generous and say it was forty degrees out. The point I;m trying to get across is it was cold.

Yet multiple girls felt it neccessary not to wear, well, anything. A large chunk of women tonight on the strip wore lingerie. I'm not complaining, mind you, but I think this says a lot about society. When you would rather look like a slut than reject pants. I wish I could understand, then again I'm a guy so I would be wasting my time trying to.

And women do have it harder when it comes to socilization than men. When a guy choses an offbeat lifestyle such as mine it's "a phase" when a woman does it she's "a slut." So I'll try to be fair.

Now we all know Halloween means you can dress like an idiot/slut/postman/unicorn/Larry Craig/whatever. But is being excused of social judgement so important that freezing from bar-to-bar is worth it. I think it's interesting.

AndI'm drunk so I'm going to leave it at that.