Conversation Starters to use when Talking to Yourself

In the past week my celebrity status has not been enough to make the cut at two premium parties hosted by some of Notre Dame's finest. You'd think I'd be upset because I wasn't invited. You'd be wrong. You'd think I'd be bothered by the fact that people are spending a night on the town, while I, the red-headed stepchild of the Keough-Naughton Center, toil on my homework. Well, as much as I like to compare myself to Cinderfella, it doesn't bother me. What really irks me is that I haven't made a scene about how I wasn't invited and demanded a lame excuse for my exclusion. It would really mean something to me if people would think so highly of me that they went out of their way to tell me why I wasn't invited. Perhaps they "forgot." Maybe my invitation was lost in the mail. I guess they just don't realize who they're dealing with. My transcendantal aura of greatness must be so incredible that it just goes over their heads.

Now that I think about it, besides the act of a hot shot, I may know why my name has been omitted from so many guests lists. I don't think people know when I'm joking. Example: Someone said they had two friends back at school who just got engaged. My response: "Why would you throw away your life when you were so young?" I really do believe that anybody who decided to get married when they're in college is an idiot, but she didn't know that.

Recently I've realized that I'm becoming more and more like my father. Last night I attended a talk on feminism. I was about to ask a question, but it went something like this:
Me: "Wouldn't you agree –"
Interrupter #1:"Never begin a question with 'Wouldn't you agree.'"
Me: "Ok (visibly flustered and irritated), Isn't one of the causes to feminism collectivizing people into groups? When you have two groups in society, they're much more likely to be in competition –"
Interrupter #2: "That's not true!"
I wasn't really able to finish my question. Suddenly I was transported back to when I was 11 and corrected my dad about how to pronounce javelina, and he told me how rude it was to correct people. From then on, I tried, admittedly with little success, to not be such a poindexter and cut people off. And suddenly, looking around the room through the eyes of my father, I felt surrounded by versions of myself, 10 years ago. I just kind of left the question at that. I stared blankly at the person who interrupted me. "Are you serious?" I felt like leaving the room, felt like shouting, "Screw you and your whole operation!" What did I, the big man that I am do? Nothing. If I had been able to finish I would have gone on to ask if people thought a society based on two groups (i.e. men and women) was more easily polarized than a society that's built up around individuals. No, that certainly isn't true. I was an idiot to even raise the question.

I really am wondering about how all these people are such good friends, but they don't seem to like me at all. When did the path to disenchantment begin? Was it when I made fun of the video that took such hard work (we had to sign another thank you note)? Could it have been when we were supposed to donate a baby picture for some ridiculous christmas tree project, i sent in a picture of the Gerber Baby? Or my substitution of the 8 legged baby from India? Maybe because I was the only person who didn't dress up for Halloween?

The answer to the problem probably lies somewhere in that question I was asking. Groups. I hate being a part of groups, but alas, they are inevitable. I'm the Notre Dame Football of the social world: an independent status might be rewarding in the beginning, but towards the end of the year, only the Navy's of the world are willing to hang out with you.

I Sing the Body Eclectic

Stephanie says that she wants to know
Why she's given half her life, to people she hates now
Stephanie says when answering the phone
What country shall I say is calling from across the world

But she's not afraid to die, the people all call her Alaska
Between worlds so the people ask her 'cause it's all in her mind
It's all in her mind

Stephanie says that she wants to know
Why it is though she's the door She can't be the room

Stephanie says but doesn't hang up the phone
What sea shell she is calling from across the world

But she's not afraid to die, the people all cal her Alaska
Between worlds so the people ask her 'cause it's all in her mind
It's all in her mind

She asks you is it good or bad
It's such an icy feeling it's so cold in Alaska,
it's so cold in Alaska, it's so cold in Alaska

Pranxgiving

A lot of people sum up the holiday of Thanksgiving in the meal. For others, its meaning comes in the form of seeing loved ones. Another sizeable portion of the population will say their favorite memories revolve around football. For me, however, a much simpler joy epitomizes my most memorable Thanksgivings: sitting around, doing nothing, watching others slave in the kitchen. When you're in a country that doesn't celebrate the introduction of small pox to New England in late November, you don't get to reap the benefits of the four day weekend. Thus, my holiday has been spent in the concrete classrooms of University College Dublin. Save for a "formal" dinner last night.

Now when they told me that I had to dress formally, they reinfoced it, very strongly, that I should wear a suit. Whenever they told the group that we should look nice, because they we're going to take a group photo, they always looked at me. The director would say something, like: "You know, this picture will be hanging up for years to come, so you might want to look your best (staring at my unkempt hair), and might I add that khaki pants are not considered formal." Since I couldn't wear my best pair of chinos and was strongly encouraged to wear a suit, I thought I would stick it to the man by wearing my Oscar Madison suit that I used during the Odd Couple. It's not every day that you can go to a fancy dinner at a 5 star hotel and say your whole outfit cost $12 and came from Goodwill. It still fits well. Funny story: I was watching the 1964 Criterion Classic The Killers the other night, and I noticed that one point in the movie, Lee Marvin wears the exact same suit.Who knows? Maybe this one came straight from the set. I remember when I bought the suit, I only had a $50 bill, and the Goodwill store only had about $15 in change in the register, so I had to wait around for someone to buy something else. When I walked out of the store, I felt like a big man. Oh, and the movie the is definitely worth a look. It features Ronald Reagan in his only role as a villain:

Before dinner, people put on an Irish Dance performance. I'm no Fred Astaire, so I can't criticize or compliment what went on, but the whole thing reminded me of the old Letterman bit, "Is This Anything?" It consisted of people holding hands and moving around in a circle. It was "something," I just didn't know if it was any good. When I think of Irish dancing, I think of heavy metal music. It doesn't really matter if you're any good at it, you just have to perform really fast and make a lot of noise (with your shoes). This way you can cover up any lack of talent. Maybe it's more like punk in that way. I once saw a documentary about the punk rock movement and in the end they pointed out that it only lasted about 6 months because everyone soon learned how to actually play a guitar.

After Riverdance, we had mass. Why is it that whenever you get more than five Notre Dame people in the same room, you have to have mass? Of course, we had to end it with the Alma Mater. I'm probably the one person who doesn't sing it, because I don't know the words. That, and I have a big hang-up about putting my arms around people and swaying back and forth. The whole thing reminds me of a cult, or worse, the opening scene of White Zombie. Well, we then went to the Merrion Hotel, which is owned by an old man who gave Notre Dame a lot of money, so we had to grease him for more money and reassure him that he isn't wasting it. I don't think we fooled him. The dinner was alright, except for two problems: No mashed potatoes and no pumpkin pie. That and the assigned seating. I guess they have to make us feel like real well-to-dos by making it seem more formal than it was, but if you ask me, I'd rather be eating the turkey roll at the Courtesy Diner than sipping cream of pumpkin soup in an "elegant" hotel. To me, it doesn't hold a candle to the Best Western in Moab, Utah, but that's not really fair, because that Best Western is pretty good.

Dinner was followed by a video presentation to these generous people. The format of the video was a fake news segment, that someone's cousin put together. It was actually pretty funny, but I don;t know if it was supposed to be. Like, "This just in Notre Dame celebrates Thanksgiving in Dublin!" During the film, I was admonished because for my commentary. One part consisted of someone reading a cue card thank you, but you couldn't really tell what he was saying and the resolution was really poor. With his head moving back and forth, reading the message, I said, "this reminds me of something you'd find on Al-Jazeera." Looks of disgust followed.

Following this award winning documentary, apparently someone thought this entrpreneur who was throwing the banquet enjoyed a "good singalong." At first, all of the females were forced to a dance they had supposedly been preparing for the entire semester, no doubt by our fearless program coordinator. Then, she said, "I'm sure the guys think they can do better!" and made us get in fron of everyone. As I was being pushed up to the fron of the room, I was saying, "no, no, i'm pretty sure no one thinks we can do better." So she puts on "Cecilia" and expects all the males to sing and dance, entertaining everyone, without any notice. Huh? It reminded me of a parent forcing their child to sing the "Oscar Meyer" song to make all the other guests gag on their food. At least the toddler expects being used. Well, no one did anything. We just stood there for the duration of the song. They made us get up there again for another song, same thing. What was the point of this? It wasn't karaoke. Karaoke would have been passable. The rest of the "performances" were stranger. The whole mix cd our coordinator made consisted of Disney Songs, to which people imitated the movements of animated characters. And when i say imitate, I really mean, move around, flailing their hands up in the air. And as for the tycoon's love of singing, for the most part his mouth was agape with confusion. So, I suppose the humiliation of everyone was all for Naught-on. (That's a pun. His last name is Naughton.)

Thanksgiving just wasn't the same. No one got drunk and made a fool of themselves by telling everyone how they disappointed them in the past year. I only had three months of grudges built up on these people, so I think my tirade lacked a little.

Note: I just got an email complimenting the group for "our good behavior." I always love it when people compliment me for behaving. What did they expect? Yeah, I'm really glad I was told to behave, otherwise I wouldn't have used utensils, grunted when I met Mr. Naughton, and in the middle of Grace, stood on my chair and yelled, "Foodfight!" You have no idea how hard it was to contain myself.

Dr. Mossadegh: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Iran

For my paper in the Politics of Nationalism class I originally wanted to write about Turkmenistan, but UCD only had one book on Central Asia, so I went to plan B: Iran. Reading about the coup the C.I.A. pulled off in 1953 of a democratically elected government, only to appease the corporate interests of a British company, I wondered: did we skip this one in history class? The whole episode of Mossadegh nationalizing Iran's oil fields and the Western response pretty much sums up why the rest of the world hates the United States. Not only did it lead to the re-instatement of a brutal dictator, but it radicalized a progressive people into anti-American fundamentalist Shiism. Kind of makes you worry when you have Rudy Giuliani campaigning on the fact that there is no such thing as blowback and the only reason terrorism exists is due to people being irrational freedom haters. I guess its easier to understand something by just calling your opposition crazy, rather than thinking about a way to solve the problem.

So this weekend's been filled with research about Iran. Should I lead a discussion on Iran and US foreign policy at the O'Connell House? Probably not, I don't think it's something that could easily integrate humor, especially since I rely on my vast knowledge of poop jokes that would just be inappropriate at something like this.

Things are going pretty slow around here recently. I had a meeting yesterday to "see how I was doing." Well, aside from the fact that the term's almost over, this meeting appeared useless. Not only was it useless, it was boring. I had to meet two members of the staff at a coffee shop, and basically they just wanted to know if I was happy, so if I complained when I went back to ND, they wouldn't be held accountable for not caring. As I told them how I was doing, I realized I could be saying anything, and they would just try to put in a light so they wouldn't feel responsible. Like this: "How are you doing?" "I don't know, this is the first time I've talked to anyone in 12 days." "Good, you're being your own person. See Ireland has made you more independent." Or: "How's your dormitory?" "Actually, I was kicked out, I've been sleeping on a park bench for the past month." "Ah, so you're experiencing the real Ireland?" By the end of the interview, I started asking them questions about me. Like, "How could I improve your experience here?" Or, "If you could get rid of one person in the group, who would it be?" To say the least, they weren't amused.

I went to Greystones last weekend. It's a beach in the South of Dublin. When I'm at the beach, I look at it and say, I get it. Now what? Then I walked up the cliffs to Bray. It beat working.



And now at the risk of being crass, an even stranger sign than the one I saw in Glendalough. Please give your own suggestions as to what this means:

UCDisappoint

I've felt more and more like a waste as this week progresses. It started out with turning in a philosophy paper on monday. Sure, the whole thing was crap and it felt good to forget about it for a couple of weeks until I get that bright red C as a reward for my hard work, but writing it made me realize how much I dislike UCD. Going to school here makes me realize how poorly centralized bureaucracy works. You can't take classes in english or film if you take classes in politics. Why? No reason needed, it's just easier that way. Oh, and if you ever have to write a philosophy paper, you have to follow standardized guidelines that don't really make sense either.

While eating a box of triscuits, slouched in a chair, listening to the magnetic fields i thought to myself, "yep, this probably sums up things for me."

Up the Dubs

While watching an updated version of The Playboy of the Western World, set in modern day Dublin with a Nigerian immigrant playing the the title character, something struck me about the Irish demographic for ages 18-24: they are walking billboards for clothing companies. Now the last time I ever remember my peers wearing Abercrombie and Fitch clothes without reservations was in 8th grade (I don't want to point any fingers for the decline in popularity, but 9/11 didn't help), but if they're popular here, is it I who is behind the trend? To be honest, I wouldn't be caught dead in a shirt that proudly read A&F (I've never worn Abercrombie. In fact the only Abercrombie clothing in my house is a ratty old man sweater my father wears when he feels like doing his Fred Rogers impersonation.), or American Eagle (The only time I ever wore an AE shirt was when my mom bought one for me, during my solid color polo shirt days. Not knowing that those types of shirts were designed for meathead jocks who could bench more than my max of 70 pounds, I wore the shirt twice until the foot and half between my bicep and the fabric became too embarrasing), Aeropostale (When I first saw an Aeropostale shirt I thought it was the German form of Abercrombie), H&M (Once again, until about two years ago I thought this was a discount pharmacy), or Wal-Mart. Instead of extolling the glories of capitalism by serving as an unpaid, walking billboard for the corporation, I prefer to do it in more subtle ways: wearing cheap, sweatshop produced Fruit-of-the-Loom t-shirts that are either blank, somehow attached to credit card schemes, or ballgame giveaways (In fact, the only time I ever lied about being 21 was to get an XL t-shirt at a cardinals game). But seriously, why do these good, free trade, hipster Dubs insistent on wearing the most main stream, over priced, trite American clothing? Do they secretly love the culture they so quickly denigrate in philosophy and politics courses for its greed? Could it be that Europe, the beacon of light for authenticity and culture, is no better than the fast food, strip mall, Kevin Federline United States?

It's not just the Dubs' clothing that makes me think I'm in 8th grade standing outside room 1, waiting for Doc's Latin Class to start. Yesterday I saw people playing Magic Cards. Magic. I never started, understood, or could look at a card withoout thinking of David Bowie as the Goblin King in Labyrinth. I should probably feel some kind of bond with college students who play Magic in public; we'll probably both end up relying on the same mail order bride service. Still, I could never partake in a game that is associated with wiccans. Maybe it's because I'm terrible at card games. I like to tell people I refuse to play poker because I have a gambling problem. The real reason I don't play poker is because I am terrible at shuffling cards and dealing. Only I would lie about having a serious addiction to cover up for the fact that I couldn't shuffle cards.

So Notre Dame plays Air Force this weekend. I would like to remind everyone that there is still a war going on and to root for Notre Dame would be demoralizing to our troops. Support our troops. Is there any more pointless phrase in the American political lexicon? Maybe Secure our borders. Or The middle class. But whenever I hear "I support our troops" I'm reminded of an article by Larry David where he said he didn't support our troops. If they were an army of sex offenders, then he would support them.

Questions to ponder while procrastinating

Will Charlie Weis be fired? Probably not. I think he'd like it though, because, you know, by their nature fat people like to get paid to do nothing. Will Notre Dame fans ever realize that the program hasn't been consistently good and clean at the same time since the early 70s? Once again, no. So long as the arrogant sense of entitlement resides in the heart South Bend, Notre Dame will delude itself into thinking that it is relevant for its athletic or even academic prowess. Notre Dame, much like the rest of the world, will soon have to come to grips with its ever apparent mediocrity one of these days, and maybe, just maybe it took overpaying a beluga whale for the school to wake up. (Writing something like that makes me miss my radio show. There's something about not being able to see the people you criticize that's empowering.)

Why is the library here so sub par? The UCD library has the worst periodicals section I have ever seen at any library of any level. I won't criticize them for only having Irish newspapers, but they don't even carry the national Irish Times. They only carry things like the Galway Tribune or Clare Examiner. The worst about it is they carry the previous week's editions. It's always about a day late. The guy from that now defunct CBS show Early Edition would be screwed if he lived here. There isn't even a place to read them. Oh, and they don't carry any books written about Asian politics published after 1960. I guess they figured the world stopped changing about then.

It's tough to motivate myself here. I guess it's always hard to do work, especially when it's long and tedious like this Philosophy paper I have to write. It's even tougher when you have to come up with your own paper topic. 2000 words. What is that, 6 pages? Something around there. I have 217, about 10%. Ugh.

Last night at the coffee hour, it happened again. The vultures took over. They get there about half an hour before it starts and just hover around the food, staking out their spots. Then, they all make a wall in front of the food and don't move, the iron curtain, if you will. It's like these people depend upon the courtesy of other people so they can eat more and more. They make a dinner out of carrots, scones, and fruit. I wonder if they know anything about the tragedy of the commons. Last night they had popcorn for us and as soon as it was poured into a bowl, this girl just picks up the bowl and eats the whole thing. That's like going to Old Country Buffet, and taking the sterno and casserole dish of bacon back to your table.