One-Off

Much has been said about the Cult/Legend/Mythos of Anthony Guy. Special. Talented. Pompous. Ridiculous. Made for prime time television. Occasionally, selfless behind comprehension. I’m the type of person you need on your team. Shortly thereafter, you’ll realize that it’s not your team anymore, because I’ve taken over. I’m the baddest of the bad.

So, it should be of little surprise that I make a one-off appearance at the club and I upstage all five birthday guests. Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated…they were supposed to be facts about my retirement. Some things about the scene have changed, while others have stayed the same. I can hear about failed relationships, bad nightmares among other things and not be surprised. However, if there’s a tall blonde that I haven’t danced with before, then my eyes become the size of tennis balls. And my tennis balls become the size of grapefruits. And if I had another pair of grapefruits that enlarged, that probably means I have a giant tumor, which should get checked out. False alarm, kiddies. Back to dancing, which was fun. Stay away from something that you don’t want to admit a passion for, and who knows, you just might realize that it wasn’t the problem.

I could see myself coming out to Weezer’s “The Greatest Man That Ever Lived” for reasons strictly related to the rap intro. It came to my head when I was looking at apartments. I saw a couple of interesting places, and I’ve settled on the need for hardwood floors. I figure it would be proper since I do masquerade as a dancer, and the fact I’d rather mop than vacuum. Seriously, waxing and buffing floors would be much more enjoyable than steam cleaning a carpet. Other recent plans: an entertainment system for perfect sound, prominent display of the Soul Edge, and a Celtics 2008 banner. I want my place to be an accurate reflection of my greatness/personality, since I dare to be loud. Will it attract a girl? I’m praying for it, so let’s see if I’ll get that one elusive victory. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Weezer “The Great Man That Ever Lived”

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Ducks in a Row

I always supposed that money would always make me happy in the workplace. Today, I learned that money is a major component, but not always everything. Attention break: Muse is performing in Los Angeles, and I think I’d like to hear “Supermassive Black Hole” live. Meh, I’ll probably have some weird meeting that weekend. Groovy. Back to the subject, I occasionally sit on the grass and look up to ask “what’s next?” When there are stars out, I put myself back in November/December which was by far and large the happiest time of my life. I’ve been trying to keep my mind at equilibrium by focusing on school work. Yes, paperwork over Pippa…not a fair trade. I had my first meeting with Dr. Moss today to discuss our attack for the fall.

Normally, when I use the word “attack”, I do it tongue-in-cheek, since there’s no true attack on anything. Well, in a decidedly blunt change of pace, the professor and I decided that we’d like to be truly innovative with how we engage the class. Conflict Resolution is a class that allows for plenty of leeway over the year. My title is essentially “offensive coordinator” for the course, which is awesome on a few different levels. For starters, the class has about 200 people; I’m going to get the opportunity to lecture to people that could be older than me! That should not excite me as much as it should, but it does. I have to review the slideshow presentations and make them more functional. In my view, that means lace it with plenty of wrestling references. With regards to my professor, there’s a strong academic connection. The excitement is blinding, considering I’m walking into the unknown. However, I’m the chosen one, and I get that I’m supposed to succeed at any and all costs.

Also, the prospect of living alone has settled in, and I’m thrilled. There were a few thoughts I had about loyalty and pride, but meh, as a friend once said, “own fucking program.” So, that leaves me with a flat…in Long Beach…all alone. Hmmm, the possibilities are endless. First off, I want paint and lots of it. I figure that a complete Seattle Sounders FC theme for the living room would be awesome, besides a tribute to Boston athletics, of course. I want to cook. I want to potentially entertain on a fortnightly basis. I also want a place to sleep when I’m stressed out and need a couple of shots. I also want a stripper pole. Yeah, this will be an interesting two years.

Speaking of two years in Long Beach, my mother inquired about me cleaning up my act because she wants grandchildren. If I didn’t know any better, I guess the one she has doesn’t quite scream favorite. That’s one of the perks about having my own place; there goes the stigma of saying I’m a grown man living in the dorms. I may have to explain the esoteric nature of the apartment’s design, but that will be easy to understand since I’m practically a kid at heart. I do want someone else in my life to spend time with, among other things. I had a mock relationship where I didn’t ignore others, yet I spent a good amount of time with her. This time, I’d like to try ignoring people around me but my significant other. Or maybe not, but I’d like to have a significant other who might could see herself moving in and facing life with me. I just wonder if I’ll have that opportunity here. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Eminem “Cinderella Man”

Teaming with Wolves

The dirtiest work usually finds itself on my desk. Yesterday, I returned to scene of the crime to request funding for various endeavors, namely Salsa Club and Social Dance Club. I stood before the ASI Board of Control, pleaded my case, and damn near received every penny requested. I think next time, I’ll be a bit greedier, since they were so free with the purse. Either they had money to burn, or my eloquent persistence dazzled them beyond reason. Since my ego isn’t currently in my pocket, a victory is a victory.

I went to share my news with my staff, and proceeded to mock them about being in summer school. Of course, this was preceded by me being informed that one of my former salsa teammates is pregnant. It’s a…tough case for me for a plethora of reasons. Alright, maybe that’s an overstatement, because I can’t really say that I’m emotionally invested in the situation. However, I can muse about a few interesting tidbits. For starters, this is the second consecutive year a girl got pregnant in CSULB Salsa. Second, she’s the second pregnant person I know of, including a coworker, who I have teased incessantly. Third, horrible pregnancy jokes seem to be my forte. I do not necessarily mean the jokes I say, but I’ll be damned if I don’t issue them with alarming conviction. I’ve come to spell “fail” with a couple of choice substitutions, which is always great for starting a party. This comes on the heels of me reading a study saying the more educated I am, the less likely I am to have kids. I’m going for my MA. Most likely collecting a terminal PhD. Maybe this having kids thing while still young has merits…

I’ve got smashing news: my three sections for COMM 110 are full! I’m uber-stoked about this, verily I am. Gee, that didn’t sound like me; that sounded rather forced. I looked at the roster for my final class, and it is my luck that they’re all science majors. Stiffs. I detest stiffs. I detest stiffs with the passion of a thousand burning suns. Groovy. Since I’m heading into that dangerous area known as the home stretch, an eerie calm controls the mood. Must prepare to enroll, move out, and grow up. Also, I have to figure what I’m working towards, because I haven’t a single clue. Sure, I have the big picture thing, but what about the even bigger picture? No, there’s no bigger picture? Bah, humbug. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Art of Dying “Get Thru This”

Treatise on Loyalty

My undergraduate career has come to an official close, pending the turning over of my degree. I think I’ll head back to the university in a couple of days to tell them “cut it out” with regards to some charges they’ve billed me. Biology was a blast, since it left me thinking that I should have highly considered going to class in the spring. However, no senior should face an 8am class, unless of course, that senior happens to be in the hard sciences. In that case, the punishment fits the crime. I scored a 96% on the final, which proves that I am dangerous when I choose to pick my spots. Editor’s note: I didn’t pick my spot here.

Skylar and I seemingly patched things up last week. There are fences that need to be mended, but I’m certain this will have an amicable end for both parties. Damn, that sounded sterile. We did come to a consensus that the past is the past, and whatnot. I guess loyalty accounts for something…ah, loyalty. Loyalty is a weird concept: it is inherently worthless since it is an idea, yet more valuable than weapons-grade uranium. LeBron James decided to take his talents to South Beach, trading Cleveland for Miami. I try not to get too involved with sports since athletes obviously make more than I do, and it is strictly a business. However, the ideal of a star athlete being connected to one city is something to behold. In the past, Bill Russell was the toast of Boston, John Elway presided over Denver, Cal Ripken, Jr. was Baltimore’s iron man, and so on. Modern times, Peyton Manning is synonymous with Indianapolis, Derek Jeter with New York, and Kobe Bryant with Los Angeles. Hell, you could throw Mike Modano with Dallas, despite where he signs. Hell, people refuse to acknowledge Michael Jordan as a Wizard, or Wayne Gretzky with anyone but Edmonton, for good reason. A star becomes attached to his team/city, and the marriage lasts for better and worse. James abandoned his team on national television to become someone’s sidekick. He dismissed himself from the argument for greatest of all time, letting his new hero Dwyane Wade keep hometown hero status. I wanted James to stay in Cleveland, since it would be fitting that the hometown kid helps the home team win a title for the city. If he would have left for Chicago, I would have been satisfied knowing that he really is trying to chase Jordan’s legacy. If he bolted for New York, restoring basketball to prominence is a feat worthy of canonization. You don’t leave your hometown team that nurtured you to be someone else’s sidekick. That is cowardice in the purest form, regardless of how many championships he wins, because he will win. LeBron James did the unthinkable; he made me respect Kobe Bryant to the point where I’m praying he gets seven rings. There’s a special place in hell for those who are disloyal.

Loyalty means a great deal to me, since it bends to the situation we’re in. I consider myself a loyal person, willing to lay down for a friend, or prepare for total warfare for something less than a good reason. Loyalty keeps people strong enough to deal with the choices they make ahead, some suicidal, some for the sake of choosing. Now, to formulate a plan to get Pippa back. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – TV/TV “Smoke and Mirrors”

Precipice of Caring

I know I’ve had a good day when I deliver a drop toe hold to an imaginary adversary, float over for a submission, then raise my hand in fake triumph. Damn, I could be going crazy, but no jury would ever convict me. At least, not while I have this bomb strapped to my chest.

Tomorrow is my last active day in Long Beach as an undergraduate, and I could not be more excited or underwhelmed for the culmination of…something special, I reckon. I check my course roster fanatically, and I’m happy to say that I am currently at 80% enrollment, with two classes at capacity. I wonder if I could do something nerdy before my first day of teaching, like come to the school at night, like take a seat in my classroom in the dark, watching illusions of my students sitting intently. Then, a friend or a girl (preferably the latter) would come in and ask “are you ready for this?” I’d curtly respond, “sure. This is only the first day of the rest of my life.” After a few minutes more of idling, we’d leave as the camera fades to black. Scene.

I’ve made it a point to not get too emotionally invested in insults levied my way, because I’ve made a career of such behavior. In fact, I’ve embraced my heeldom to an extent that makes people nervous, especially the term “asshole.” There’s nothing like stretching, getting loose, while hearing the chant “asshole” rain down upon me. However, certain people saying it can annoy me. My sister is one of those people. I get offended by people who I’ve come in direct contact with who aren’t nearly as talented as me. When a few people at school claim to be better dancers and they can’t keep the beat, I draw a scowl. When people say I can’t lead and they stay in charge with my blessing, I draw a scowl. When an absolute failure at life judges me, I draw a scowl. Bottom line is this: I’m better than you for a reason. You judge, I crush…fairly simple. Hell, even my lovelife is off limits if I’ve seen you hook up with someone twice despite there being blatant signs of parasitism. Yes, I went there.

Take a risk. Drink to all we’ve lost. Maybe in the end, it’ll all mean something. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Gavin Rossdale “Love Remains the Same”

Welcome Freshmen

Hey, that’s a subtle reference to the fact that I’m an old man now. At least I’m not harping about Stoop Kid being afraid to leave his stoop…damn, I must stop dating myself with these references. Oh look, a box of pogs!

So, I returned to scene of the crime, otherwise known as Student Orientation, Advising & Registration, commonly known as SOAR. Last year, I taught the lesson for Salsa Club, met Pippa, and well, yeah. This year, I was asked to return for a one-night engagement. Among the advice I received was “if anyone says anything to you, run.” Nice words, but there were other concerns that occupied my mind, such as the overheated room. Rooms need ventilation; that is not opinion, but fact. However, the dutiful soldier I am, I sleeved up, booted up, and greeted my adoring legion of Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters. Yep, that sounds about right.

I began my lesson sometime later than I planned, but salsa people are notoriously late. There are certain aspects of the culture that I respect and embrace, like the occasional (often) tardiness. However, there are other aspects I’m not a fan of, such as greed and stupidity, especially the variety that is derived from hero worship. The situation that irked me was that I was brought in to teach. Why was I brought in to teach? Simple, I’m in-house instant entertainment, and my style caters to any audience. Also, my degree of intelligence leaves me amenable to change on a minute’s notice. However, some people fall into hero worship while wearing rose-tinted glasses; they see what isn’t there. Case in point: Diego. Now, I usually don’t hold people in high regard because I’m sure they suffer from questionable intellect, among other things. Diego is a particularly special case for all the wrong reasons. Our coach came by to lend support, and that led my teammate to publicly ask me to resign from teaching for the coach. Talent-wise, I understand the importance of having a professional teach; it adds credibility. However, when it comes to tact, therein lies my contempt. Publicly, you don’t embarrass someone, especially the person who’s in charge. Strategically, his hero worship failed because 1) he pissed me off, and 2) he alienated all of the guys in there. It was a room full of freshmen, majority being girls. If you teach a feminine style, the guys are going to consider dancing gay and leave. Sure enough, that’s what happened. Another colleague told me to switch the agenda to partner work because, well, we were running short on guys. Hell, girls left too because it was out of their comfort zone. I cannot guarantee I would have kept the maximum attendance, but I can say that both sexes would have been less freaked out.

Aside from that, another curious thing happened: it hit me that I’m now a teacher. I introduced myself firstly as faculty, not Salsa Club director. Second, when I was talking to the girls and looking their way, I thought “these could all be my students one day.” Immediately, the libido went to the abyss, never to return that night. A girl approached me about university life, and we had a heart-to-heart for a good half hour. Nothing kinky about it all, just me giving her advice on what roads to consider when she enrolls. Scary thought: A.T. Guy may have matured along the way. In contrast to a couple of colleagues there who were older than me, yet not faculty, it was creepy for me being in that room. Ironic as hell to say the least. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Fit For Rivals “Crash”