Since man first stood upright and developed the brain to ponder the great questions of the universe one question has plagued him particularly over others. Perhaps in our brain's simian past we recalled the fear of lightning, the terror of the dark, and now as a thinking creature our own deep seated fears dare not find the answer to that single question. But an intreppid band, and helpless bystandards, will find out once and for all.

Will mankind be the same after uncovering what lurks underneath the shadows of existence?

Will mankind be the same after knowing who is the better bowler: Furries or Klingons?






We shall find out soon enough.

Dear Buffalo State,

I have given you a lot of money over the years. Why, you nearly even denied me financial aid this year because my graduate program is considered an undergraduate program. But we fixed everything and I forgave you. Then, I gave you money to use your gym. It is free to undergrads, but I am not an undergrad even though the financial aid office says I am. But, this was just a bureaucratic technicality, and I didn't begrudge you when I gave you my hard earned money. But I draw the line at human feces.

You see, the men's locker room at the gym should be a meditative space. Where one takes off the atire of the outside, academic world and transforms oneself to perform a new roll. And then again shower off the sweat of your labors and return again to the outside. But the tranquility required for that needed transformation is spoiled when the aesthetics of the locker room are spoiled by shit smeared on the walls and on the benches.

When I first noticed it I thought 'my, someone really must have been ill to launch filth so high up against the walls. I hope they are feeling better, and that this mess is cleaned up.' One month later and it is still there, hardened like cement. It isn't like it is hard to notice, or hidden in a locker. It is, allow me to say it again, shit smeared on the walls and on a bench! How can you miss it? But, I guess they aren't cleaning at all.

What do I do? Who should I talk to? Should I talk to one of dozens of full time program directors? Perhaps one of the legions of student workers? How about the faculty that is getting paid by me to sit in the rehab room just feet away from the offending stains?

College kids are gross and inconsiderate. I can understand grabbing a turd and getting all Jackson Pollock on the locker room. You are stupid and egocentric, how could I be upset at you, oh large child. But the staff that walks around there, the cleaning people who work in that building. It is implied that part of your job is to keep the cascading human crap to a minimum. How hard is that? HOW HARD IS THAT?

I hate this veil of tears of a world.

Two posts ago I mentioned an insanely boring class in which we have to write papers and present them. And my desire to liven up the class by talking about something sexy like prostitution or opium. But sadly everyone is against me.

The only requirement for the research was that it had to do with the Chinese Qing dynasty. Which should be super easy since that was from 1644-1911. A huge swath of time in which I whores should figure prominently.

But no.


No.


I now bemoan the state of whore scholarship. There is nothing written about it in this time period. Nothing. Zilch. Damn it! What the hell are you scholars working on? Oh ya, exciting crap like transforming local economies if fishing villages. Wow. Do you talk about that stuff at parties? The only thing fishy I want to hear about is whore vag!

So instead I am writing about the bubonic plague in southern China in the late 19th century.... ya, disease is kind of cool. But the only reason I picked it is because that is how I feel. I feel like I am infected with a dull malaise that will slowly drag me to an untimely death. A death I try to imagine as a great release during the waste of a class.

So come on academics of the world! Tell me about Manchu brothels!

Here is a video about an unbelievable large infestation of mice. It is creepy.

In high school, I was king dork of nerd mountain

You see, not having a social life, not touching vice, and having the social skills of a lifeless golem I could devote considerable time of the best years of my life to the accumulation of useless trivia. History was one such area where I could be especially insufferable. Ask (e:Jim) who was forced to sit through the movie 300 while I pointed historical inaccuracies both major and dully minor.

The first teacher I had who appreciated me eccentricities was Mr.Mahar. He was so much more than a social studies teacher. He attended conferences. His name was attached to research he helped conduct. He had a sense of humor. In retrospect he used a lot of teaching methods that I really admire and plan to use myself. But most importantly, he drank like a fish.

Teachers exist in a moral limbo. They are adults but are expected to be saints because they are models for kids, where as parents can fuck up as much as they choose. This bothers me. Teachers see kids for 40 minutes, five days a week. And they are busy doing a thousand things you have no idea what sort of adult they are. Mr.Mahar was different. We all smelled the whiskey on his breath. We all knew what he put in his coffee. But the man was one hell of a teacher. He got his shit done and he was much better than all the sober ones.

Though I never will drink at work, or actually have a little habit to attend to, I would like to have my insufferable personality spill over. To be an eccentric coot not afraid to curse or shave on a regular basis but do one hell of a job. Darn it! If kids don't learn about Stalin's love of musical comedies who will? WHO WILL?

happy friday

My Thursday night class sucks.


It is indescribably bad! But just as Dante described the indescribable torments of hell (and the indescribably boring followups on purgatory and heaven) then so too must I!

It is on Chinese and Japanese modern history, from the 16th century to the present. The professor is a Chinese historian, and so he spends about 15 minutes of our 3 hour long class talking about Japan. Even our textbooks are weighted. Chinese history: 876 pages + 100 images and maps. Japanese history: 600, no images. I don't know why he tacked Japan on when he doesn't care.

A graduate history class works like this, usually. We all read a book. Then during class we discuss that book. The professor might guide our discussion along, but generally just keeps us on task. It is a great way to run a class.

This class works like this, we read, we get a five question quiz to see if we read, he summarizes what we read and then we look at holiday snaps he took last time he was in China. Fine in a 50 minute class, torture in a three hour class.

Well, we were informed today that he would no longer be lecturing to us. And that we would be presenting research papers we have been working on. Well, no one has started their paper since it is only needs one journal article source and should be 5-6 pages long.

So I decided I am responsible not only for my own amusement and sanity in that class, but am responsible for everyones'!

Right now I have a dozen articles on Prostitution, Opium, Homosexuality, everything. If I don't use the term "hot chinese ass fucking" at least twice in my presentation I am giving myself an F. There will be descriptions of various specialty blow jobs. There will be little boys bent over the Emperor's bed. And it wont be all talk! Oh no! We will have graphic images. Ming wall scrolls of anal penetration will adorn my presentation like cherubs.



There wont be a dry seat in the house!