This is from Dialogues of the Dead:
Diogenes: “But, my handsome Mausolus, of your beauty and strength nothing more is to be seen, and if I should call in question your advantageous figure, you would not be able to give the judge a reason why your skull is more beautiful than mine. Both are peeled and bare, our teeth grin on both sides in like manner, and instead of eyes we have both empty holes and flat, apish noses. As to your monument, and the costly marble of which it is built, the inhabitants of Halicarnassus may certainly have reason to shew it to strangers, and to think much of themselves for possessing so great a work of art within their walls: but, my comely gentleman, what sort of enjoyment you should have of it, I see not; you should then only say, that you bear a heavier load than the rest of us, since you have an enormous heap of stones lying upon you.”
Monday, November 24, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The Insidious Effrontery of Ontology
Norman Young wanted
To say something new.
I matter! he cried,
But none could hear him
Over the clamor,
Clatter, bustle, and
Discord of the world.
He sat and thought, but
Grew impatient when
Thinking was painful.
He resolved to yell
As loud as he could.
I matter! he screamed.
His voice unsettled
Buildings and houses,
Cracked windows, unmoored
Ships, but returned to
Norman unheeded.
I know, he thought, I’ll
Go somewhere higher:
Surely they’ll listen
When I’m above them.
He found a soapbox,
Stood upon it, and
Addressed the masses.
Brothers! he shouted,
Hear me—I matter!
And finally, finally,
He caught the notice
Of a passerby.
That is nothing new,
The man said curtly,
And he tipped his hat
And kept on walking.
Norman stood silent
Alone on his box,
Musing for hours.
Of course, he realized,
How stupid I’ve been!
How can I think I’ll
Say something different
When I don’t know what’s
Already been said?
He strained to listen,
But could not make out
A single voice in
The roar of the world.
Disappointed, he
turned to books. All things
Worth saying, he thought,
Are set down in print.
When I have read all
There is to read, then
I’ll know what’s been said.
Norman sat for days,
Weeks, months, years, decades
In the library.
His hair grew, his skin
Stretched, his face wrinkled.
He lost himself in
Homer, Persius,
Aristophanes,
Horace, Juvenal,
And witty Lucian.
Certainly, he thought,
They’ve covered a lot.
He picked up Chaucer,
More and Erasmus.
His teeth turned yellow,
His eyes strained to see.
He skimmed through Wyatt,
Nashe, Middleton next;
He was awed by both
Shakespeare and Jonson.
Dryden bored him, but
He found Rochester,
Pope, Gay and Fielding
Simply delightful.
He laughed a filthy
Laugh, and lost his teeth.
The flesh rubbed from his
Fingers and peeled from
His face; he smelled of
Mildew and decay.
Pus oozed from his pores.
Surely now, he thought,
I can stop reading.
There’s nothing more that
Can be said. But then
He came across Swift.
One more, he thought, can’t
Possibly hurt me—
But he was poisoned
By the harsh whip of
Anger, invective,
And hatred he
Found in those pages.
He stood, dead already,
And stumbled outside,
Knowing at last how
Little he mattered.
So what? What matter?
He thought, and mounted
The soapbox again.
His arm came out of
Its socket. His legs
Crumpled. His head sagged.
He fell to his knees.
I can say nothing,
He mouthed, but nothing
Came out.
To say something new.
I matter! he cried,
But none could hear him
Over the clamor,
Clatter, bustle, and
Discord of the world.
He sat and thought, but
Grew impatient when
Thinking was painful.
He resolved to yell
As loud as he could.
I matter! he screamed.
His voice unsettled
Buildings and houses,
Cracked windows, unmoored
Ships, but returned to
Norman unheeded.
I know, he thought, I’ll
Go somewhere higher:
Surely they’ll listen
When I’m above them.
He found a soapbox,
Stood upon it, and
Addressed the masses.
Brothers! he shouted,
Hear me—I matter!
And finally, finally,
He caught the notice
Of a passerby.
That is nothing new,
The man said curtly,
And he tipped his hat
And kept on walking.
Norman stood silent
Alone on his box,
Musing for hours.
Of course, he realized,
How stupid I’ve been!
How can I think I’ll
Say something different
When I don’t know what’s
Already been said?
He strained to listen,
But could not make out
A single voice in
The roar of the world.
Disappointed, he
turned to books. All things
Worth saying, he thought,
Are set down in print.
When I have read all
There is to read, then
I’ll know what’s been said.
Norman sat for days,
Weeks, months, years, decades
In the library.
His hair grew, his skin
Stretched, his face wrinkled.
He lost himself in
Homer, Persius,
Aristophanes,
Horace, Juvenal,
And witty Lucian.
Certainly, he thought,
They’ve covered a lot.
He picked up Chaucer,
More and Erasmus.
His teeth turned yellow,
His eyes strained to see.
He skimmed through Wyatt,
Nashe, Middleton next;
He was awed by both
Shakespeare and Jonson.
Dryden bored him, but
He found Rochester,
Pope, Gay and Fielding
Simply delightful.
He laughed a filthy
Laugh, and lost his teeth.
The flesh rubbed from his
Fingers and peeled from
His face; he smelled of
Mildew and decay.
Pus oozed from his pores.
Surely now, he thought,
I can stop reading.
There’s nothing more that
Can be said. But then
He came across Swift.
One more, he thought, can’t
Possibly hurt me—
But he was poisoned
By the harsh whip of
Anger, invective,
And hatred he
Found in those pages.
He stood, dead already,
And stumbled outside,
Knowing at last how
Little he mattered.
So what? What matter?
He thought, and mounted
The soapbox again.
His arm came out of
Its socket. His legs
Crumpled. His head sagged.
He fell to his knees.
I can say nothing,
He mouthed, but nothing
Came out.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
The Bills Shit on My Life
Now that the Phillies have won the World Series - quietly, when everyone's back was turned, because we were all watching campaign commentary - maybe someone, somewhere will start paying attention to the fact that Buffalo fans are the most shat upon fans in the country.
We have teams in two major sports, neither of which have ever won a championship. (The Bills did win two AFL championships, in 1964 and 1965. But they haven't won since the merger in 1970.) The Bills made it to the Super Bowl four straight years and lost all four years. They haven't been to the playoffs since the 1999-2000 season, which ties the Detroit Lions for the second longest running playoff draught (the longest is held by the Cardinals, who last went to the playoffs in 1998, but they are a sure-in this year).
The Sabres made it to the Stanley Cup in 1974 - but lost - and again in 1999 - and lost again. That year, Buffalo lost on Brett Hull's no-goal in double overtime. They have made it to the Conference Finals twice in the past three years, but they don't seemed destined for greatness this year.
It is true that our minor sports teams have fared somewhat better. The Bisons (who, I just discovered, are no longer affiliated with the Indians, but with the Mets) have won their AAA league crown 3 times since 1979, the most recent of which was in 2004. The Bandits, our professional lacrosse team, has won championships 4 times since 1992. But the Blizzard (indoor soccer) never won anything before their league collapsed, and the Destroyers (arena football) were pathetic before they moved to Columbus.
The early '90s were our glory days, when the Bills would win (and then lose). Since then, we've suffered through a Homerun throwback ('99 Titans) and a handful of solid Sabres teams (especially the '06-'07 team that won the Presidents' Cup), but we've gotten more or less complacent with our mediocrity. We know we're going to lose. We expect to lose. We're great fans: we love our teams even though we are horribly and depressingly resigned to failure.
Then why, why did I start to believe that the Bills were really coming together when they started out 4-0? Why couldn't I have just kept my hopes and my expectations to a minimum?
The worst part is that I can't say, "Fuck you, Buffalo," and move on. I just can't.
We have teams in two major sports, neither of which have ever won a championship. (The Bills did win two AFL championships, in 1964 and 1965. But they haven't won since the merger in 1970.) The Bills made it to the Super Bowl four straight years and lost all four years. They haven't been to the playoffs since the 1999-2000 season, which ties the Detroit Lions for the second longest running playoff draught (the longest is held by the Cardinals, who last went to the playoffs in 1998, but they are a sure-in this year).
The Sabres made it to the Stanley Cup in 1974 - but lost - and again in 1999 - and lost again. That year, Buffalo lost on Brett Hull's no-goal in double overtime. They have made it to the Conference Finals twice in the past three years, but they don't seemed destined for greatness this year.
It is true that our minor sports teams have fared somewhat better. The Bisons (who, I just discovered, are no longer affiliated with the Indians, but with the Mets) have won their AAA league crown 3 times since 1979, the most recent of which was in 2004. The Bandits, our professional lacrosse team, has won championships 4 times since 1992. But the Blizzard (indoor soccer) never won anything before their league collapsed, and the Destroyers (arena football) were pathetic before they moved to Columbus.
The early '90s were our glory days, when the Bills would win (and then lose). Since then, we've suffered through a Homerun throwback ('99 Titans) and a handful of solid Sabres teams (especially the '06-'07 team that won the Presidents' Cup), but we've gotten more or less complacent with our mediocrity. We know we're going to lose. We expect to lose. We're great fans: we love our teams even though we are horribly and depressingly resigned to failure.
Then why, why did I start to believe that the Bills were really coming together when they started out 4-0? Why couldn't I have just kept my hopes and my expectations to a minimum?
The worst part is that I can't say, "Fuck you, Buffalo," and move on. I just can't.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Fcuk You, AT&T
There are two things that have recently come to my attention. First, I find myself in a murderous rage infrequently - perhaps even disappointingly infrequently. Secondly, the times that I am deliriously homicidal are almost always related, in some way, to either the cable company or the cell phone company.
I have spent more time arguing ridiculous charges, calling either or both companies out on neglected promises or breaches of contract, asking to speak to supervisors, and endeavoring to explain to the misguided - though frequently well-intentioned and occasionally blameless - customer service agents that what they have just told me defies reason.
The worst thing is that I don't particularly want the services that these companies offer. I need the internet; I pay for cable because it is only a few dollars more to get both cable and internet than it is to get internet service by itself. I use my cell phone, but I certainly don't need the internet on my phone. I always let myself get talked into the "you'd be stupid not to do it" argument, because, well, I'm just trying to get through life without looking stupid. (Like Brian Reagan, it's not going so well.)
So I agreed that it would be silly to get the new phone - which I needed, because the old phone was unusable - and not pay a few dollars a month for the discounted (but unlimited) internet service that went with it. I've used it occasionally, usually to check the news on the bus. Again, I paid for unlimited internet service. Why, then, was my cell phone bill last month $969?
I have spent more time arguing ridiculous charges, calling either or both companies out on neglected promises or breaches of contract, asking to speak to supervisors, and endeavoring to explain to the misguided - though frequently well-intentioned and occasionally blameless - customer service agents that what they have just told me defies reason.
The worst thing is that I don't particularly want the services that these companies offer. I need the internet; I pay for cable because it is only a few dollars more to get both cable and internet than it is to get internet service by itself. I use my cell phone, but I certainly don't need the internet on my phone. I always let myself get talked into the "you'd be stupid not to do it" argument, because, well, I'm just trying to get through life without looking stupid. (Like Brian Reagan, it's not going so well.)
So I agreed that it would be silly to get the new phone - which I needed, because the old phone was unusable - and not pay a few dollars a month for the discounted (but unlimited) internet service that went with it. I've used it occasionally, usually to check the news on the bus. Again, I paid for unlimited internet service. Why, then, was my cell phone bill last month $969?
Monday, October 20, 2008
Another Reason to Find an Alternative Source of Energy
If we can cure ourselves of our oil addiction, will that mean the end of Nascar?
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
America, Fuck Yeah
It's come to my attention that I suck at blogging.
I've also had several conversations recently about the tendency for American voters to cast their ballot for someone as much like themselves as possible. This tendency, it seems to me, is absurd.
At some point elections shifted from principles to issues. Rather than voting along the lines of whichever party one identified with - Federalists, Democrats, Whigs, Republicans, Bull Moose, Progressive, whatever - Americans began choosing their elected officials based on where they stood on the key issues. Abortion, gun control, free speech, taxes: these became the things that mattered for distinguishing between candidates, because in their constant appeal to typical Americans, the principles of government on which political candidates stood collapsed into each other.
What we have witnessed in the past ten years or so, I think, is another collapse: these issues that candidates still claim are so important have not gotten any closer to resolution, but political candidates have realized that their approaches to these issues must be safe. Instead of differences of opinion, then, we, the electorate, are presented with theme and moderation. (That's my clever play on theme and variation.)
Wonderful. In both cases, centrism is the name of the game. But if principles and issues are no longer at stake, what's left?
I'll tell you what's left: pathos. Emotional fucking appeal.
Emotional appeal, it's true, has always been present in American elections. But it's never been a matter of such urgency. A political candidates' job is now, first and foremost, connecting with the American people. Letting them know that s/he is one of them.
This is what we want. An ordinary American - a reality television loving, Nascar supporting (in the middle of an oil crisis, no less), individual first, leave me the fuck alone ordinary American - to make decisions on our behalf. Fuck the best and brightest; fuck the collective; we want someone we can identify with, who is going to protect our interests.
I'm terrified.
I've also had several conversations recently about the tendency for American voters to cast their ballot for someone as much like themselves as possible. This tendency, it seems to me, is absurd.
At some point elections shifted from principles to issues. Rather than voting along the lines of whichever party one identified with - Federalists, Democrats, Whigs, Republicans, Bull Moose, Progressive, whatever - Americans began choosing their elected officials based on where they stood on the key issues. Abortion, gun control, free speech, taxes: these became the things that mattered for distinguishing between candidates, because in their constant appeal to typical Americans, the principles of government on which political candidates stood collapsed into each other.
What we have witnessed in the past ten years or so, I think, is another collapse: these issues that candidates still claim are so important have not gotten any closer to resolution, but political candidates have realized that their approaches to these issues must be safe. Instead of differences of opinion, then, we, the electorate, are presented with theme and moderation. (That's my clever play on theme and variation.)
Wonderful. In both cases, centrism is the name of the game. But if principles and issues are no longer at stake, what's left?
I'll tell you what's left: pathos. Emotional fucking appeal.
Emotional appeal, it's true, has always been present in American elections. But it's never been a matter of such urgency. A political candidates' job is now, first and foremost, connecting with the American people. Letting them know that s/he is one of them.
This is what we want. An ordinary American - a reality television loving, Nascar supporting (in the middle of an oil crisis, no less), individual first, leave me the fuck alone ordinary American - to make decisions on our behalf. Fuck the best and brightest; fuck the collective; we want someone we can identify with, who is going to protect our interests.
I'm terrified.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
It's Because I Hate You
Here are the top ten things that I hate right now, in (as far as I can tell) descending order.
10. Billy Packer. This prick bastard son of Satan doesn't ever seem to die, as much as I wish evil upon him. If I prayed, I would ask the omniscient, omnipotent, anthropomorphic, Anglocentric, American-loving God to smite that chicken fucker. Whose brilliant idea was it to give him the microphone, and who listens to him talk and nods their head in agreement? Who offers him contract extensions? How many angry "kill that asshole, please" emails and letters does CBS have to dismiss before they finally pull the plug from his back?
9. Winter. I may have spent my childhood in a snowy region, but I hated snow in March back then just as much as I do now. Now that I no longer ski, I have no need for snow, or for the ice that caused my car to slide into the house on the side of the too-narrow driveway that leads back to the parking spot I pay too much for so that I don't have to pay for the inevitable parking tickets my landlord guaranteed me I would not get on the street in front of my apartment. Whose brilliant fucking idea was it to build a civilization in these states, even if there were plenty of trees to cut down a century ago? They could have left much more easily than sticking around and dying in the cold. And why is it that we let the backwards, deep-frying, superficial, intolerant conservative Jesus freaks dominate those areas of the country that have reasonable weather conditions? Why do I have to move to either Madison, WI or Boulder, CO to live in a liberal community? New York isn't bad. Maybe I'll follow the academic exodus, just because the weather is better.
8. People I don't know. They're always going to be pricks before you introduce yourself, which is why they're all more or less intolerable. Take those shitheads at the bar the other night, rooting for Belmont over Duke. Sure, I was nearly rooting for Belmont as well, just so that I didn't have to suffer through the travesty that I knew all too well would happen this afternoon, but these guys couldn't be louder or more aggressively sophomoric. Perhaps if I had introduced myself and gotten to know them, I might have changed my mind and thought, huh, they're not intentionally moronic assholes; they're just having a bad day. But refusing to do that - standing my ground and letting them eat away at the very nerve center of my brain one precious fellow-human-loving cell at a time - allows me to hate them with more earnest.
7. People who walk directly behind me. I'm never going to get over this. People walk at different speeds, and I accept that, but if we are going to continue to live together in society - actual, not virtual - then you might as well learn a few ground rules, the first of which seems to be DO NOT FUCKING WALK DIRECTLY BEHIND ME, especially when I'm trying to carry on a conversation. I simply fall apart; I can't think; I can't talk; I can't do anything except activity despise the person behind me until they have either wised up and moved beyond me or walked directly into my back when I stop abruptly.
6. Exclamation points. This is self-explanatory.
5. Scales. I'm tired to listening to people who are thin and fit and healthy worry incessantly about their weight, to the point where it dominates conversations, decisions, and thought processes. I am especially annoyed when these people are way too intelligent to buy into the way body image is constructed in our society. It seems that many of the same people who are able to both recognize and denounce the array of advertising phenomena that go into creating these unattainable, unrealistic, and frankly unattractive ideals are the most susceptible to them. Stop worrying about your weight unless you are a) on a high school wrestling team, b) overweight enough to worry about your health, or c) concerned about having a heart attack before the age of 30.
4. Money. It's easy to hate what you don't have.
3. Food Shopping. It takes so much time out of my schedule, and every trip to the grocery store is a reminder that I never learned how to cook. (Laugh at me all you want, but in my defense nobody has ever bothered to teach me; to give you an idea of my mother's culinary skills, most trips back home involve me chipping in for takeout (see #4). She can cook when she feels like it, but she just never feels like it.) This, in turn, is a reminder of all the other things I should know how to do but don't: any kind of handiwork, simple arithmetic, play videogames, take apart a computer, relax. It's an overwhelming experience of ineptitude, hunger, and despair. I inevitably leave disappointed in myself. What's worse is that I buy only enough food to last four days, which means that for two full weeks after the bananas, milk, cereal, frozen pizza, mac and cheese, and bread are gone, I have to spend too much money (again, see #4) eating out.
2. Graduate School. Nothing makes me feel dumber than spending all of my time working for negative reinforcement. Never in my life have I worked so hard to feel so stupid, and the worst part is that the overwhelming evidence indicates that I was stupid to even come to graduate school in the first place. Professors are leaving, the degree means about as a stalk of moldy broccoli does to a starving lion in terms of finding gainful employment, and I could have been doing other things in other places. Once I do finally finish classes, take prelims, and write a dissertation, the odds are fairly good that I'll end up at a no-name school in a no-name town in nowhere, Texas, teaching freshman composition to kids whose idea of an academic essay means a more formal, stylized, and detailed summary of their personal life to age 18.
1. Duke Basketball. If you're going to root for the most hated team in all of American sports (a phenomenon which has never been entirely clear to me; is it just envy? Am I missing something? Is it the elitism of Duke? Because I've been there, and, with the exception of a privileged few, the students at Duke are every bit as insecure about themselves as college students anywhere else in the country), they might as well fucking win. Otherwise it's just a matter of getting shat on while everyone you know consoles you by rubbing the shit further up your nostrils. The entire country is not celebrating that UConn lost in the first round, but they are for Duke. (This is something I would like to explore further. I'd like to know why it is that Duke students taunt opposing fans by sticking their arms out and wiggling their hands, but when I wore a Duke shirt in the Comcast Center in Maryland the security guard warned me that I might get killed.) I know it's me; I know that the Buffalo curse just extends to Duke and that I will never see a team I love win at anything. I know that I will continue to devote entirely too much of my time to a group of over-hyped athletes that will continue to let me down. It might be time to join one of those "I hate Duke" or "Duke sucks" websites. I'll buy the fucking t-shirt, I'll put the fucking bumper sticker on my car, I'll pay the fucking yearly dues. I'll root for Georgia Tech. Just make everything else go away.
10. Billy Packer. This prick bastard son of Satan doesn't ever seem to die, as much as I wish evil upon him. If I prayed, I would ask the omniscient, omnipotent, anthropomorphic, Anglocentric, American-loving God to smite that chicken fucker. Whose brilliant idea was it to give him the microphone, and who listens to him talk and nods their head in agreement? Who offers him contract extensions? How many angry "kill that asshole, please" emails and letters does CBS have to dismiss before they finally pull the plug from his back?
9. Winter. I may have spent my childhood in a snowy region, but I hated snow in March back then just as much as I do now. Now that I no longer ski, I have no need for snow, or for the ice that caused my car to slide into the house on the side of the too-narrow driveway that leads back to the parking spot I pay too much for so that I don't have to pay for the inevitable parking tickets my landlord guaranteed me I would not get on the street in front of my apartment. Whose brilliant fucking idea was it to build a civilization in these states, even if there were plenty of trees to cut down a century ago? They could have left much more easily than sticking around and dying in the cold. And why is it that we let the backwards, deep-frying, superficial, intolerant conservative Jesus freaks dominate those areas of the country that have reasonable weather conditions? Why do I have to move to either Madison, WI or Boulder, CO to live in a liberal community? New York isn't bad. Maybe I'll follow the academic exodus, just because the weather is better.
8. People I don't know. They're always going to be pricks before you introduce yourself, which is why they're all more or less intolerable. Take those shitheads at the bar the other night, rooting for Belmont over Duke. Sure, I was nearly rooting for Belmont as well, just so that I didn't have to suffer through the travesty that I knew all too well would happen this afternoon, but these guys couldn't be louder or more aggressively sophomoric. Perhaps if I had introduced myself and gotten to know them, I might have changed my mind and thought, huh, they're not intentionally moronic assholes; they're just having a bad day. But refusing to do that - standing my ground and letting them eat away at the very nerve center of my brain one precious fellow-human-loving cell at a time - allows me to hate them with more earnest.
7. People who walk directly behind me. I'm never going to get over this. People walk at different speeds, and I accept that, but if we are going to continue to live together in society - actual, not virtual - then you might as well learn a few ground rules, the first of which seems to be DO NOT FUCKING WALK DIRECTLY BEHIND ME, especially when I'm trying to carry on a conversation. I simply fall apart; I can't think; I can't talk; I can't do anything except activity despise the person behind me until they have either wised up and moved beyond me or walked directly into my back when I stop abruptly.
6. Exclamation points. This is self-explanatory.
5. Scales. I'm tired to listening to people who are thin and fit and healthy worry incessantly about their weight, to the point where it dominates conversations, decisions, and thought processes. I am especially annoyed when these people are way too intelligent to buy into the way body image is constructed in our society. It seems that many of the same people who are able to both recognize and denounce the array of advertising phenomena that go into creating these unattainable, unrealistic, and frankly unattractive ideals are the most susceptible to them. Stop worrying about your weight unless you are a) on a high school wrestling team, b) overweight enough to worry about your health, or c) concerned about having a heart attack before the age of 30.
4. Money. It's easy to hate what you don't have.
3. Food Shopping. It takes so much time out of my schedule, and every trip to the grocery store is a reminder that I never learned how to cook. (Laugh at me all you want, but in my defense nobody has ever bothered to teach me; to give you an idea of my mother's culinary skills, most trips back home involve me chipping in for takeout (see #4). She can cook when she feels like it, but she just never feels like it.) This, in turn, is a reminder of all the other things I should know how to do but don't: any kind of handiwork, simple arithmetic, play videogames, take apart a computer, relax. It's an overwhelming experience of ineptitude, hunger, and despair. I inevitably leave disappointed in myself. What's worse is that I buy only enough food to last four days, which means that for two full weeks after the bananas, milk, cereal, frozen pizza, mac and cheese, and bread are gone, I have to spend too much money (again, see #4) eating out.
2. Graduate School. Nothing makes me feel dumber than spending all of my time working for negative reinforcement. Never in my life have I worked so hard to feel so stupid, and the worst part is that the overwhelming evidence indicates that I was stupid to even come to graduate school in the first place. Professors are leaving, the degree means about as a stalk of moldy broccoli does to a starving lion in terms of finding gainful employment, and I could have been doing other things in other places. Once I do finally finish classes, take prelims, and write a dissertation, the odds are fairly good that I'll end up at a no-name school in a no-name town in nowhere, Texas, teaching freshman composition to kids whose idea of an academic essay means a more formal, stylized, and detailed summary of their personal life to age 18.
1. Duke Basketball. If you're going to root for the most hated team in all of American sports (a phenomenon which has never been entirely clear to me; is it just envy? Am I missing something? Is it the elitism of Duke? Because I've been there, and, with the exception of a privileged few, the students at Duke are every bit as insecure about themselves as college students anywhere else in the country), they might as well fucking win. Otherwise it's just a matter of getting shat on while everyone you know consoles you by rubbing the shit further up your nostrils. The entire country is not celebrating that UConn lost in the first round, but they are for Duke. (This is something I would like to explore further. I'd like to know why it is that Duke students taunt opposing fans by sticking their arms out and wiggling their hands, but when I wore a Duke shirt in the Comcast Center in Maryland the security guard warned me that I might get killed.) I know it's me; I know that the Buffalo curse just extends to Duke and that I will never see a team I love win at anything. I know that I will continue to devote entirely too much of my time to a group of over-hyped athletes that will continue to let me down. It might be time to join one of those "I hate Duke" or "Duke sucks" websites. I'll buy the fucking t-shirt, I'll put the fucking bumper sticker on my car, I'll pay the fucking yearly dues. I'll root for Georgia Tech. Just make everything else go away.
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