So. I was at Key Foods, stocking up on cereal and Greek yogurt, when I saw a Man. Now, living in the city I see a lot of these, but this one was different. Subtly so, however. Perhaps it was his Gandalf-style beard, WWII combat helmet, or giant rain boots that set him apart. Yes, I am sure it had something to do with that. I saw him in the cereal isle, pushing his cart along. I could not stare for long, for that would be rude, and I am fairly confidant he had some sort of firearm. But I did see his face. I saw his old eyes, almost hidden behind his bushy white eyebrows. There was something about his gaze. It was the gaze of a man long misunderstood, a man who knew the world would not, nay, could not comprehend the complex machinations that whirled like dervishes in his mind. He passed me by, as my eyes followed in his wake, resting on his red camping backpack and army trenchcoat. Now, most men would write him off as an eccentric, weird old man, perhaps homeless. But I am not most men. My long years dwelling in fantasy realms of my own creation have endowed me with a keen sense for when something exciting is afoot. It was this feeling I had then. The feeling that there was more to the old man than met the eye. So I texted Ian.
Used to such scenarios, Ian immediately understood, and we embarked on a discussion as to the true nature of The Man with the Beard and Strange Hat. All the while, something was nagging at the corner of my brain. Only when I ceased to focus on it did it become clear.
Yes. It was so simple.
Time-Traveler.
What do time travelers do when embarking on a mission to the past? As any fool or fan of Dr. Who could tell you, the time traveler attempts to blend in with the dress and customs of the day. However, when viewed through the lens of time, such things can get slightly jumbled. Thus there is usually something off about his or her appearance. Perhaps it is the tutu worn over the buisness suit. Or perhaps the doughboy helmet worn with plaid shirt and rain boots while food shopping.
Even more bizarre, just that morning I had received an email from my brother Greg of an advertisement in the paper, "jokingly" seeking a time traveling partner. Coincidence? I think not.
Immediately I recognized the ramifications. Why else would a time traveler be visiting the year 2009 unless unless something major was about to happen? Something that would change the time stream forever! The development of true artificial intelligence, triggering a robot uprising hundreds of years hence? Invasion of hostile alien empires? Terrorists shot the professor causing me to travel back in time so I can unite my future parents with the power of rock and roll? Your guess is as good as mine. But you can be damn sure that I will be picking apart the news with a fine tooth comb in subsequent weeks. Now I must be off to replenish my apocalypse stockpile and begin construction on more tin foil hats. Also, I must learn more about this "Chuck Berry"...
-Daniel Emerson
ps- It has just occurred to me that this man could also be a poorly disguised wizard, unused to the garb of our Muggle world. Either way, I just cannot lose.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Essay Deadlines are for Squares, Part XXXIV
http://www.breitbart.tv/?p=318063
I know I already posted this on my Facebook, but holy shit you guys, I had to write about it here. So what if it is two in the morning? So what if my essay was supposed to be sent via email already? So...wait. Why did I just spend three hours on stumbleon? Oh, that's right. Because it is like cocaine for anyone with ADD! Seriously, it is like the thing was designed to distract me. Which I guess it was. Crap.
Anyway, this link. It fills me with such happiness, and I am not just be dramatic for humorous effect as I ususally am. It really does make me happy. Watch it, and you will see why. I'll wait. No seriously do it now.
RIGHT!? How good was that?! It is times like these that really make me think that there might be some justice in the world. Here is the weird old British lady who loves cats, and everyone is making fun of her, and that Simon Crowell character who picks people apart for a living is all smug. No good could come of this, it seems, but suddenly this batty lady bursts forth in gorgeous song! Why does stuff like this not happen more often? Everyone has expectations and prejudices, and we are so ready to look down on something or someone. Then something like this comes along and effectively tells that cynical son of a bitch Crowell to stick it, and everyone goes crazy! This is why everyone loves underdog stories I think. Yeah, they don't happen often, and you don't see the stories of all the underdogs who almost made it but were cruelly crushed in the end. But occasionally, the universe decides to be fair and dish out some truly epic poetic justice. Such as here. God I am so life-affirmed right now I gotta go kick some puppies or something to balance myself out.
-Daniel Emerson
ps- Keep your eye on Simon. You can see the exactly second his tiny little world collapses in around him. It is like the god damn Grinch's heart grew three sizes that day! I half expected him to lift up the judging podium and ride it down the slopes into London blowing "whowho" on his trumpet...
I know I already posted this on my Facebook, but holy shit you guys, I had to write about it here. So what if it is two in the morning? So what if my essay was supposed to be sent via email already? So...wait. Why did I just spend three hours on stumbleon? Oh, that's right. Because it is like cocaine for anyone with ADD! Seriously, it is like the thing was designed to distract me. Which I guess it was. Crap.
Anyway, this link. It fills me with such happiness, and I am not just be dramatic for humorous effect as I ususally am. It really does make me happy. Watch it, and you will see why. I'll wait. No seriously do it now.
RIGHT!? How good was that?! It is times like these that really make me think that there might be some justice in the world. Here is the weird old British lady who loves cats, and everyone is making fun of her, and that Simon Crowell character who picks people apart for a living is all smug. No good could come of this, it seems, but suddenly this batty lady bursts forth in gorgeous song! Why does stuff like this not happen more often? Everyone has expectations and prejudices, and we are so ready to look down on something or someone. Then something like this comes along and effectively tells that cynical son of a bitch Crowell to stick it, and everyone goes crazy! This is why everyone loves underdog stories I think. Yeah, they don't happen often, and you don't see the stories of all the underdogs who almost made it but were cruelly crushed in the end. But occasionally, the universe decides to be fair and dish out some truly epic poetic justice. Such as here. God I am so life-affirmed right now I gotta go kick some puppies or something to balance myself out.
-Daniel Emerson
ps- Keep your eye on Simon. You can see the exactly second his tiny little world collapses in around him. It is like the god damn Grinch's heart grew three sizes that day! I half expected him to lift up the judging podium and ride it down the slopes into London blowing "whowho" on his trumpet...
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Wherein I return from Spring Broke
Hello!
Man it is going on 1:30 in the morning and I have class to get to tomorrow, and I really should get a restful sleep to start off the week, but I have really felt compelled to jot my thoughts down in this thing. Ah well, it will give the sleeping pills a little while to kick in, so before I drift off into unconsciousness I will BLOG for a bit (I always felt that verb merits capitalization).
So here is the story. This is not anything profound, exciting, or creative. This is more for my own benefit as I am feeling rather blue. I just got back off of spring break, which was relaxing and uneventful, in my book both good things. At the beginning I was feeling my usual antipathy towards the inevitable return to school. I thought about why it was, and I came to the conclusion that life back at home was slightly unreal. There are no real responsibilities, no deadlines. As per my custom I discard of my cell phone/wallet/keys as soon as I return home. They are the tools of the oppressor. They represent my independence and all the stress that follows it, I came to realize, so I try to distance myself from them. The city stands for the same thing; it is not anything about the school or the people or the classes that causes my mixed feelings. It is the forced responsibility, which would occur no matter where I am, that causes my anxiety. Home is an escape from it. But as mother pointed out, if I were to hypothetically drop college and return home for some other path through life, there would be anxieties of a different nature. No escape, I gloomily thought.
However, as break progressed, I found my black mood lifting. I think I came to enjoy my time home for what it was: a temporary escape from reality. As the return to school loomed, I felt better than I usually do about such things. But now as I write, some of the usual dreading feeling returns. What is the cause?
It is, I think, my love for the familiar. Even if I have begin to accept that life as it currently is back home is not very realistic, it is still the life I am most familiar with. The simplest ties to it make me feel better. For instance, when I was brushing my teeth a few minutes ago, I noticed Pete had bought a new kind of toothpaste, the same kind we use at home. Something so trival made me happy. It is odd, for most of my life I thought I was a adventuresome, bold individual who thrived in unfamiliar circumstances and sought change and vitality. But I am not, really. I like comforting things, quiet things, familiar things. Maybe I should not be this way, what with being a carefree youth in the city. But, as the saying goes, "My life may suck, but it sucks exactly the way I like it!" (self-deprecating remark is mostly humorous).
What bothers me now is the question whether I am stuck like some kind of cicada, emerging from my comfortable retreats to run around in a stressful world until I am so burnt out I need another flight from it. I wish there was something that felt less routine. Maybe I will get more independent as time goes on. Of course, worries ensue that I won't, ohgodohgodohgod, what am I going to do with my life, etc. etc. etc.
Aw heck I will probably feel better in the morning. Just had to get this out of my systems. Man, using my blog to mope about my feelings. What a 13-year-old girl I am becoming.
-Daniel Emerson
Man it is going on 1:30 in the morning and I have class to get to tomorrow, and I really should get a restful sleep to start off the week, but I have really felt compelled to jot my thoughts down in this thing. Ah well, it will give the sleeping pills a little while to kick in, so before I drift off into unconsciousness I will BLOG for a bit (I always felt that verb merits capitalization).
So here is the story. This is not anything profound, exciting, or creative. This is more for my own benefit as I am feeling rather blue. I just got back off of spring break, which was relaxing and uneventful, in my book both good things. At the beginning I was feeling my usual antipathy towards the inevitable return to school. I thought about why it was, and I came to the conclusion that life back at home was slightly unreal. There are no real responsibilities, no deadlines. As per my custom I discard of my cell phone/wallet/keys as soon as I return home. They are the tools of the oppressor. They represent my independence and all the stress that follows it, I came to realize, so I try to distance myself from them. The city stands for the same thing; it is not anything about the school or the people or the classes that causes my mixed feelings. It is the forced responsibility, which would occur no matter where I am, that causes my anxiety. Home is an escape from it. But as mother pointed out, if I were to hypothetically drop college and return home for some other path through life, there would be anxieties of a different nature. No escape, I gloomily thought.
However, as break progressed, I found my black mood lifting. I think I came to enjoy my time home for what it was: a temporary escape from reality. As the return to school loomed, I felt better than I usually do about such things. But now as I write, some of the usual dreading feeling returns. What is the cause?
It is, I think, my love for the familiar. Even if I have begin to accept that life as it currently is back home is not very realistic, it is still the life I am most familiar with. The simplest ties to it make me feel better. For instance, when I was brushing my teeth a few minutes ago, I noticed Pete had bought a new kind of toothpaste, the same kind we use at home. Something so trival made me happy. It is odd, for most of my life I thought I was a adventuresome, bold individual who thrived in unfamiliar circumstances and sought change and vitality. But I am not, really. I like comforting things, quiet things, familiar things. Maybe I should not be this way, what with being a carefree youth in the city. But, as the saying goes, "My life may suck, but it sucks exactly the way I like it!" (self-deprecating remark is mostly humorous).
What bothers me now is the question whether I am stuck like some kind of cicada, emerging from my comfortable retreats to run around in a stressful world until I am so burnt out I need another flight from it. I wish there was something that felt less routine. Maybe I will get more independent as time goes on. Of course, worries ensue that I won't, ohgodohgodohgod, what am I going to do with my life, etc. etc. etc.
Aw heck I will probably feel better in the morning. Just had to get this out of my systems. Man, using my blog to mope about my feelings. What a 13-year-old girl I am becoming.
-Daniel Emerson
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