if you want a million dollars

So this week has been about as busy as any week gets for me, school-wise, or, "an academic buttfuck," as Newton would refer to it. Tuesday I had a 5-page paper due and an Italian exam. I had a journalism exam this morning (wednesday), and I have a geology exam on Friday. I've taken to staying in the library for hours on end, often leaving with a severe headache and a taste for blood. On monday, I came up with an idea that, at the time, seemed to reveal my life path to me. I'll explain all here, but I ask that if you are at all concerned about tearing the fabric of the space time continuum, do not read on. Otherwise, for a life of wealth and happiness and super model girlfriends, follow these easy steps:

1.) Accept the fact that at some point in human history, scientists will discover a way to manipulate time.

(Is this so hard to believe? Barring our extinction by nuclear holocaust, global warming, or AIDS it's fair to say humans could easily have many million more years ahead.)

2.) Promise yourself that if time travel becomes possible during your life, you will travel back to tell yourself the unrevealed truths of the universe. Super Bowl winners, NBA scores, MLB scores... Basically the Sports Almanac from Back to the Future.

3.) If time travel doesn't happen in your lifetime, bind yourself by blood to the fate of time travel, establishing that your descendants must break into science labs and do whatever necessary to secure a trip back to the past.

There you go, a fucking million dollars. You're welcome.

right hand, right eye

In truth, I believe that most accidents are avoidable. For instance, sure it might be an accident if you rear-end a car at a busy traffic light, but if you had really been paying attention you probably could have avoided it. Or if you are jumping on the trampoline with an a popsicle in your mouth, don't cry to me with your "fatal trachea wound," for I will not listen to your deafened cries. That said, I also acknowledge the difference between an accident, and sheer fate. To that end, I've come to believe that my right hand is going to murder my right eye. It has already taken a few stabs at it, quite literally. A couple weeks ago in the dining hall, I was walking past the cages where the mildly retarded eat, when I reached to scratch my forehead, which was suffering from an itch. I quickly learned however, that my right hand was brandishing a fork, and I jabbed the right eye a bit off center, only to find my dreamy deep eye sockets had saved yet another life.

To be honest, I don't much care for my right hand anyways. Oh yeah, that's right. Mainly, fuck things built for right hands, such as; scissors, desks, the sign of the cross, and the metric system. Everyone knows the old adage(< that word is definitely not used properly) of the nuns who would bitchslap(< used correctly) students with rulers for using their left hands. Today, I'd like to propose that the Esteemed Left-Handed People of Catholic School Systems or ELHPSS to those who are familiar, receive reparations for years of wrong-doing. Every member of the Catholic church knows the people who have been wronged by this egregious behavior have been deeply hurt.

To anyone who would like to learn more about joining the millions who demand change now, please e-mail me now at napleton@wisc.edu

back in black

Ahhh yes, as second semester is in full swing and I am now thoroughly convinced my mom has stopped reading the site, it's time for an update. It's been a few months since my last post, and thus futile to attempt to recap on all the goings-on since. Let's say it included but is not limited to Hawaii, the Super Bowl, Marquette, a mohawk, Christmas, a nickel in Chino, gout, two exorcisms, and an unsightly cold sore (I bumped my lip on a biscuit!). Anyways what is passed is passed. Now back to inevitably blogging again, it's as the Ten Commandments say, "Be true to thyself, and to thine own self be true."

I recently developed a new plan to create the ultimate address book. Why, you ask? I'll tell you why, but I'll also tell you to stop asking so many questions. I'm in charge here. I was recently told by several reliable sources that I am awful at keeping in touch with people. To be fair, this is true, I'm bad at remembering to call people back even minutes after they call. Also, I just set up my mac Mail application, and it would be nice to just have a real collection of peoples addresses, e-mails, and phone numbers. Plus, if anyone else needed to find someones e-mail or something and couldn't reach them, they'd know I had it. Anyways, if you think you are a relatively close friend of mine, or atleast a friendly diseased hooker, you can e-mail me at napleton@wisc.edu. Alright, that's definitely enough housekeeping shit.

Anyways, I'm at the library now procrastinating again, so I'm going to get back to it. I'm back to posting though, so remember to remember that you are not checking on it with any regularity. Thanks.

busy

I am really quite busy this week. I got back from Grand Valley State University, the pit stain of Michigan's college system, on sunday afternoon. It turns out the Mapquest directions don't account for leaving at 2 in the afternoon, and arriving northwest of Chicago at exactly 5 o'clock. Basically, it took 9 hours to get to Grand Rapids. Sweeeeet. The only thing that could cure a butt that sore was several Natty Ices and some Conan. The tournament went well considering we had no goalie (he got mono), we lost by 1 to Illinois, beat Michigan B, lost to Grand Valley A, beat Grand Valley B. It's been a while since I've played in a real game, especially since I couldn't play most of this summer because of my jaw surgery. The ride home wasn't that bad though, and six hours seemed like much less than nine.

This week is like a bear, though. A bear that was woken early from hibernation, then Danza slapped by Terrell Owens. As far as school goes, I have two exams this week and one on monday of next week. Besides, my parents are coming, possibly with my brother, Fiedler and Shelly, and theres a football game this weekend. It should be an awesome weekend though, I plan on being retarded by precisely 10 P.M. Friday night and, hopefully, under the influence until about 1 P.M. Sunday when I wake up.

*******************

I wrote that seven days prior to actually posting it, and it's funny to look at now. My brother did come, and it was really fun. We watched the game with Fiedler and his sister, which was fun, and then I got to show him Madison a little bit. What is a student union for by the way? When I was showing Matthew all I coud come up with was "This is a place where you can eat, or like sit... or something. People have meetings here..." And then I realized I don't really know what it even exists for. That got me thinking though, and I ended up going to see the library for the first time since I've been here. Creepy. The upstairs sections where the keep the books looks like the opening scene from Ghostbusters, sans card catalogs dripping with psychic goo. Plus they also have these cages where you can sit and do homework in subatomic temperatures.

This weekend the polo team has a tournament at Northwestern. The games should be fun and a little easier than the other week, so that's good. Plus, my sister katie is running a marathon this weekend. That's not a joke, weird. I've always secretly(not secretly) considered myself the most athletic if not top two, and I could never run a marathon. Normally my reaction would be something along the lines of, "So what, if I trained enough I could do that too." This time though, I really couldn't. Seriously, fuck that. I hate running. It's right up there on the list.

1.) Guys with red hair
2.) Sticky hands
3.) Running
4.) Oral and maxilliofacial surgery

Whatever, though. If Katie starts getting fresh will have a height contest. Or a knowledge of Lord of the Rings or Star Wars contest. If neither of those work, we'll settle it by getting the same job and then seeing who gets paid more. Beyond that though, she might have me.

On Saturday I ended up at the Pi Lambda Phi house to "pregame" (we never left so we straight up gamed there), and I noticed a few things. One, if your bathroom has more fruit flies than your kitchen, it's time to clean. Likewise, if the holes in the wall develop their own scents, it's time to clean. I mean, fuck. Also, I don't care what part of Wisconsin you are from, don't argue with me about the Bears "sucking". Where are the Packers? After rounds of repeating "Chicago teams choke!" your knockout punch is "when is the last time the Bears won a Super Bowl?" First off, yes, Chicago baseball has been recognized as choke artists in the past, and while the Cubs maintain that status, the White Sox won the fucking World Series last year. I'll tell you another thing too, kid with a choker and a clearly dishwashed baseball hat, the last time the Bears won the Super Bowl was 1985, and the last time the Packers won was 1993. Fourteen years ago, and you are trying to say that is much better than the Bears? On the plus side, his frat brothers pulled me aside to ask me not to beat the kid up. That was sweet.

Today feels like "Come On! Feel The Ilinoise!" by Sufjan Stevens is my anthem.

polo, online poker, tapping a keg

Water polo in Wisconsin is different from water polo in Chicago. On the plus side I don't have to practice nearly as much, I might actually get some decent play time, and the team has an amazing knack for partying. On the other side, we are going to lose games, like, a lot. I don't know how I'm going to react because last year I was spoon fed victories by my teammates. The guys on the team are really cool though, so I'm still excited to go to Grand Valley State this weekend. I predict a "You may have fucked us up in the water today, but we are going to get even more fucked up tonight!" attitude, which will be entertaining for everyone.

In general, life has been pretty sweet the past few weeks. I haven't had any serious injuries, I've been meeting a lot of good people, and I've even been eating healthier and working out regularly, which are all signs that something fucking stupid was going to happen to me.

Really, I'm not that stingy of a guy. I'm willing to spot friends for meals, pay for girls to drink, tip pizza guys well, etc. The college life, though, is expensive. Things like food, alcohol, foot massages, posters of girls making out, collector's edition Chewbacca costumes; it really adds up. My first thought was, then, "Danny you bastard, you should get a job, work 8-12 hours a week and keep yourself busy while learning valuable life lessons." By the time that sentiment reached my mouth it came out as "Hey guys, I'm going to play online poker and earn like a fucking thousand dollars a week off stupid bitches!" I have no doubt that there are lots of people making money at places like Party Poker and Poker Tree, but they are not stingy bastard college kids. Turns out I play poker like Shylock during the Great Depression. (and yes I feel fine insulting Shylock's character, not because he was a Jew but because he was such a douchebag to his daughter.) (and I also know "Merchant of Venice" didn't take place during the Great Depression, what do you think I am a fucking moron?) (asshole.)
So I lost money because apparently you have to spend money to make money. Or something like that, I wouldn't know, I'm the one who lost lots of money on online poker. Go ahead, judge me.

If I took a look at the story arch of each night out since I've been in Madison, I'd say the most reoccuring complaint each night is *learn to tap a keg*. Seriously, you spent a lot of money on that keg. It looks really cool in your hallway, and you can get a lot of sweet photo ops with all the empty kegs in your house/apartment at the end of the night, but for God's sake savor the flavor. I'm proposing a school organized demonstration, (possibly mandatory?) like job training. Sort of like how some English classes or Comm Arts class require taking an "Understanding the Library" demonstration, there should be a "Don't Fuck All Your Friends and Possible F Buddies Because You Rush the Most Important Moment of the Night" demonstration. I may submit that in writing to the Student Council, see what kind of feedback I get.

Also, completely unrelated to anything, but is it sanitary to be washing out my bowls and forks and spoons with the soap in the bathrooms? I might have to invest in some Dawn, but again, Shylock.

the man in the orange sweatsuit who plays the flute

Every day, between my 12:05 and 2:20 classes, I take the long walk from the southeast dorms to the peak of Bascom Hill. On the way back to the dorms, besides the fruit stand and imported food vendors, the men handing out bibles and the socialists, the library and the University Book Store, I see the man in the orange sweatsuit who plays the flute.

Who is this mysterious white-bearded man with the tiny lizard companion(also in an orange sweatsuit), playing the Star Wars Suite, Hey Jude, and various mid-sixties Motown hits? He is such a staple in my day, it's like a ritual seeing how far away I can hear him. Truth be told, the kid can play. The weirdest part of the whole situation is the man's apparent success. To his credit, he's wearing a bright pair of orange Crocs, has real suitcases for his clothes rather than just University Book Store bags, and his white beard is neatly braided. I've decided I consider him more of an occupational hippie rather than the standard Madison vagrant.

For that matter, there's a wide variety of homeless here at Madison. Every profession from "I sell stolen backpacks" to "I can make a rythmic can of change sound better than Keith Moon" can be seen on State Street. Then you have your grunge hippies who look so unkempt you can't tell if they work at the feminist book/pipe store or just smoke all their weed outside them. In any case, I still say that shoeless lesbian hippies are the spice of life, but I guess I'm just old-fashioned that way.

i just blogged my pants

The funny thing about a blog, you see, is that the site is based on the principal that people want to read to what you have to say. I don't really have anything to say. Avoiding Italian homework at 2 a.m. is a good enough reason for me, however, to start a website, so that, friends, is what I am doing.

First and foremost, though, who chose the word blog? Seriously, what a stupid fucking word. That has probably been my biggest challenge in my new blogging career. Coming to terms with the stupid ass word blog. Why not "e-log" or "o-log" or "masturbation machine diary thing"? I'm proposing a swift and orderly change, or coup d'etat as the French call it.

So anyways, it's fair to assume that at this point if you are reading this you already know me, but let me give you an idea of who(how awesome) I think(know) I am. I'm 6'3, 170 lbs. of unadultered hot. Too hot for tv, in fact. Just hot enough for a blog, though. I'm pretty awkward to speak with because I have a tendency to offend your ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, odor, or any combination thereof the first time I meet you. After that, though, I'll have you eating out of the palm of my unwashed hand with witty catchphrases and a "Why is he wiping his bare ass on the carpet? Genius!" feeling. You know you like the sound of that.

Honestly, I don't know what I'll write about. It's like an adventure without the excitement! As the retarded hyena from Disney's The Lion King says, be prepared...