Korea

I am no longer in the country. Please consider this blog null and void.

However I am writing a travelouge on another blog:

www.theonlydriverthatmatters.blogspot.com

Please visit this site for all your Dan stalking needs.

"And if I have brought any light than all the credit it due to Allah, lord of all the worlds, and only the mistakes have been mine."

Me vs Peace Corps

It's like having faith, something I was never particularly good at.

I remember the day I dropped the medical forms in the mail. My hands were shaking. I made the coffee shop girl look over the forms to make sure everything was in order. Then I had a friend. She held my metaphysical hand when I placed them in the mail box.

This was two months ago.

Then everything was a minor crisis. Each passing day I woke up, checked the website. Repeat for sleep. Repeat for lunch. Repeat for smoke breaks.

Today they have checked off the last of the forms. And this is another crisis. The website makes the wonderful promise of some decision. And that there is a letter with my future on the way. And I don't know what it could be.

So I wait.

The times they are a changing...

Went downtown. Saw the new crop of girls. The high school shirts, the perfume. The bewilderment. Some frat boy is going to have the time of his life tonight.

The perfume of these fresh-off-the-bus beuties is intoxicating. But it means what it always does. Things are different now.

I went to my old place on 13th and D. The last vestiges of a year hung in the air. A broom and a can of Raid are the only proof I ever lived here and soon those will be in the garbage. The freezie pops and beers and cigarettes in one short burst. This was my home for one year and now it is irrelevant. Can't help but remember a year ago.

Nostalgia is my worst vice.

That last semester of college. When I weighed less than I do now. The terror of lucid dreams. The memories of coffee inspired heartburn. The all nighters. These are now things of the past. Left to this new generation of busty young girls and their predatory frat boys and all those English major otherings.

I told my parents today how close I am to being in the Peace Corps. Mom was shocked. Dad was supportive. I'm sure she'll come around. This is the right thing to do, right? It doesn't matter. Because the this is the wrong thing to do. To be caught up in shallow memories worn and cracked under the wheel of time. This is the wrong thing to do. To work at the same pizza place for three years. This is the wrong thing to do. To become anxious around human contact and count the moments until it ends.

I am completely intent on signing my life over to the Peace Corps. I've done the math. I've done the pro's and con's. I've dissected and rearranged and analyzed this thing from a hundred different angles. This is the thing to do. This is the right thing to do. This is what will be done.

Adventures at career services or the hour of a thousand cliches

What was your major?
English.
Have you thought about teaching?
(Rolls eyes)
Oh. That's a good degree. A good broad strokes degree. It says you set a goal and achieved it.
Yeah. So can you help me at all?
What do you want to do?
If I knew that I wouldn't be here.
Have you been to a job website?
Yes.
Has it helped?
I'm here aren't I.
Have you tried our job website?
No. Is it different?
Yeah, it puts hotjob, monster, craigslist and cornhusker help wanted in one place.
So I get the same thing as but before but centralized.
Exactly.
Have you thought about marketing?
Yes.
Good, you can view available marketing jobs across the country. Have you thought about insurance?
Yes.
Good, you can view insurance jobs across the country. Have you thought about sales?
Yes.
Good, you can view insurance jobs across the country. Is there anything else I can help you with?
Is there anything you can help me with?
Have a nice day.

On Video Games

And what if, for the first time in the history of art, it was possible to become the art. Not just actively appreciate but to meld your very conciseness with the aesthetic experience before you. What if you could shoulder the burdens of a great leader or a violent anti-hero. To see with your own eyes the options before you and react.

What would happen to other art?

Is it possible for painting and sculpture to become obsolete? Replacing marble for pixels. And paint for polygons. What about story telling? Why should I pay six dollars to sit in a cramped, smokeless theater or shift awkwardly reading a book when I can by pass all these problems comfortably and simulate the adrenaline rush of normally associated with human interaction.

And can this be extrapolated?

I see no reason it can't.

Scribus

I did very much enjoy. This was two dollars well spent. But now it needs to end. The bard is tired and deserves his rest.