My friend Hugo is officially - now and henceforth - my bitch.

We came into Bolton, got our food, ate. Hugo went to get ice cream, and as I passed him on my way to look at the desserts, we talked for a moment.

I told Hugo that tempting as the ice cream sandwiches were, I wouldn't get one. You see, they're cold and it's cold outside, and that's a combination I don't care to make. Besides, I was already pretty full.

Hugo wanted to see if the guy would give him a whole box of ice cream sandwiches so he could run back to Boggs and pop 'em in the freezer. I laughed, told him to go for it. Hell, it'd be entertaining either way.

I sit down, start to talk again, and here comes Hugo, panic evident on his face. He's carrying a box of ice cream sandwiches and he's followed - horrors! - by a bearded dining hall manager, grinning ear to ear.

Hugo plunks the box on the table and says quickly (and loudly), "Come on, Phillip! Sixteen sandwiches - that's eight apiece! Whoever finishes them off the quickest wins!"

I look from his face - earnest, desperate - to the manager's (grinning with the expectation of someone else's impending discomfort). Realization dawns.

"Oh you fucker," I burst out.

"Come on," Hugo pleads, "you promised. Eating contest, remember?"

"Y'all are gonna get such awful brain freeze," the manager chuckles. Two of our friends laugh along - they don't know what's going on.

"Oh you fucker - I'm not gonna - oh you fucker - fine."

We divy up the sandwiches and start eating. The ice cream hurts my teeth, but I gulp it down regardless.

"Come on," one of my friends says, "you're just nibbling it. Look, he's got half of one down already. You gotta pick up the pace."

The wife nods. "Have you ever seen eating contests? They just stuff it on down."

The manager nods. "You're losing time. Just rip the whole damn wrapper off and stuff it down."

I choke and imagine Hugo's scabby leprous death. In vain, I try to shove some of my sandwiches off on my wife. My teeth are really hurting now, and my head's starting to hurt too. I keep my eyes fixed on Hugo, staring daggers.

"You're doing it wrong," one of my friends says, "let me take over." She grabs my sandwiches and starts gulping them down. I raise a silent prayer of relief. Then pride takes over.

I can't pussy out, I reason. I started this - I have to finish it. My competitive sense won't let me concede the game once I've started. Losing, sure. Giving up - never.

(I curse my parents for giving me a work ethic)

I grab most of the sandwiches back and go on gulping. I wonder how hard it is for bulimics to purge - could I just throw all of this back up in the bathroom as soon as I'm done?

Finally the manager laughs and goes. I put down the sandwich (resist the compulsion to finish what you started, dude!) and Hugo does likewise.

"Thanks, man. I just had no idea what to do. I got up there and he asked me what I wanted the sandwich for, and I just had to lie." Hugo grins apologetically.

I settle back, burp emphatically, and laugh. "You're my bitch now, you know."

Hugo stows the sandwiches. My belly feels cold and full and sloshy.

"What are you guys doing?" my friend asks, still eating. "We're not done yet!"


[Yeah, yeah, some creative liberties because I can't remember exact events. Names changed to protect the innocent]

Laurel, Ugly, and I, following an eventful coffee session at O-house, moseyed on out to the grocery store to pick up a few items. We all learned many important lessons: Ugly especially learned that Laurel and I might not be the best combination of people to have at the grocery store.

For one, there was all the breasts.
Me: Look! Look! Look look look!
Ugly: What is it?
Me: (points to a pack of turkey cold cuts) It says "breast"!

Then in the produce section . . .
Laurel: Let's get about a pound of apples.
Ugly: k.
Laurel: Mm, that's a bit more than a pound . . .
Me: Those're some big ol' apples.
Laurel: Mmhm. Big round apples.
Me: A bit wrinkly, really.
Laurel: Heavy, too.
Me: How 'bout them apples.
Ugly: And I thought this place was rated G . . .
Me: How 'bout them apples.

As we passed through the store, Laurel and I had the following conversation:
Me: I kinda wanna go on a rampage through here.
Laurel: Yeah! Just attack the place!
Me: I could get siege weapons, and, and, and . ..
Laurel: Look at all the eggs. Imagine what we could do with those.
Me: If we brought in a potato cannon . . .
Laurel: Just egg the whole damn store!

And finally, buying Saltines!
Ugly: Ok, do we get low fat, low salt, or wheat? Or Breast Cancer awareness . . . or original . . .
Me: Let's get the breast crackers!
Ugly: Are you su--
Laurel: They're probably round.
Ugly: Fine, breast crackers.
Laurel: With little nipples in the middle.

Also, we found a trashy romance novel with nipples on the cover, and naturally we had to purchase it.

Disclaimer: I don't remember conversations well enough to transcribe them properly, so don't take my word that this is exactly what was said. I have the niggling feeling that Laurel managed to produce far more sexual innuendo than what I attributed her above.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++

You know what's fun? If I tell people about my weekends without going into a long explanation--just the bare facts of the weekend--it's fun to watch their faces!

Me: So then we all slept together, and in the morning I couldn't find my clothes.
Everyone else: . . .
Me: Wild thang, I make my heart sang!

+_+

So Nietzsche talks about something called the "will to power", which he considers a high human virtue and natural instinct. It is a natural and inherent desire to dominate and gain power. He regards this rather highly, as the distinction between what he calls the Slave and Master classes in society.

I think it's crap. I think it sounds like weakness, not strength.

If you are a Master in the Nietzschean sense, then your identity is entirely dependent on your forcing others into subjugation. Nietzsche detests the division of good and evil, because he says good is just everything that's not evil: the positive is defined simply as the abscence of the negative, not by itself. The Master class, in Nietzsche, is defined by others. They are dependent on others, while the Slave class's identity is entirely independent.

I see three other wills as greater than Nietzsche's will to power--two of which are some of the driving forces behind my life, and the third which I doubt I will ever achieve.

The first is the will to greatness. This is the will to become great in one's field: to become a great writer, a great poet, a great scientist or a great lover. It is the will to rise and excel, to reach the very heights. Note that I do not say it is the will to be the greatest or to rise the highest, because that means nothing. If I surround myself with fools, I may be the smartest but that does not mean I am smart. The will to greatness exists independently: we seek simply to be great in our own eyes, regardless of the standards of greatness we may regard ourselves by. We seek to rise as high as we possibly can, no matter what.

I know there is quite a ways for me still to rise, and so I am fighting, always, for improvement in every aspect of myself. I will be smarter, more talented, more honest--I will always struggle to rise.

The second is the will to bigness--best word I could find for it, gents. This is the desire to become larger than life, to almost become a symbol of that which you do. It is simply to become a presence, in and of yourself, of considerable weight on the world. This is often unconscious: people come to symbolize something without putting an effort to that purpose, but to some other end. Think of Frank Sinatra as a symbol of an entire era or Martin Luther King, Jr. as a symbol of the entire civil rights movement. It's about being as large as possible (no, not physically).

Another thing I, melodramatic though it may be, usually seek.

The third is the will to gravity. This is . . . this is not even a conscious thing. It's just part of some people. I think we've all met them: people who we meet briefly and we become swept up in their wake. We become caught in their orbit, through belief in them or fascination or love. It is distinct from Nietzsche's will to power because the man with gravity does not seek to dominate or gain subjects; they simply accumulate to him by forces unknown. It is also an independent will--because though it affects others, it does not require them. Gravity exists without anything to gravitate.

I don't think I'll ever gain any great gravity. But I have met a few people in my life with true gravity, and they do fascinate me deeply.

I know there are other sorts of forces in life people will address: love, compassion, charity, et cetera. I am sure they have their place in my life, as any other. But in this I focus only on the self-contained wills, those that define the individual independent of anything else, those that characterize the giants in our world. Can you think of someone you truly admire who doesn't have one of these: a will to always better themself, a will to become something great, or an unconscious charisma that draws people to them like satellites?

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Tomorrow at Demosthenian I will attempt to present either "Be it resolved: people should sleep around more (and reproduce) to eliminate racism" or "Be it resolved: religion as a socio-political institution is the greatest evil the world faces today". Or maybe "Be it resolved: prostitution should be legalized". Any opinions on which I oughtta do?

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Something interesting about being gay I thought about. I think part of what adds to the enjoyment of being with a guy to me is the mild sense of danger. If I kiss a guy in public, it feels just a bit dangerous--and that's kinda exciting. Being in a very libertine group of friends eliminates a lot of the fear and mystery that have traditionally been a part of romance, and I like to get that back.

Sometimes I think a bit more melodramatically on the subject. I think the likeliest model for any sort of coup on America's government or sudden change in the political shape of the nation would be more like The Handmaid's Tale than 1984. We are moving towards a nation of mysticism and values propagated not on reason but shaky religious grounds. True religious fundamentalism is making a comeback, and it rather scares me. If I've seen anything from history, it is that only a small committed minority is needed for the sort of drastic reactionary change I fear. And I worry.

And I hate to say this, but first clue I get that something like that is going down in the U.S.--really happening--I'm leaving the country. I'll leave everything behind, if need be. Change comes in small steps. Each infringes a bit more, but people say, "Well, it's only a little bit. And that's all. Nothing to get alarmed about." And it progresses, and progresses, and . . . the world changes. The nation changes. Pogroms happen.

I think about McCarthyism and--melodrama again, I know--I wonder if an American theocracy would get the rolls from LGBT political institutions and organizations for evidence in trials.

I think about how fierce hatred has become of LGBT people in some circles, and I don't understand why it is so much greater than hatred of everything else that the conservative percieve a societal ills. I don't get it.

And I realize that the sexual nature of the percieved transgressions means that any societal reaction against LGBT people will be graphic and painful.

And when I get in one of these turns of mind, that really scares me.

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

Big Brother is watching you, and you're boring the hell out of him.

##################

If I get my NaNoWriMo novel published and make any proper money out of it, screw it, I'm dropping out of college. It's a small chance I will get it published, but if so . . .

-------------------------

I wish to disdain reality.

------------------------

My Christian faith is something I wrestle with lately. It is hard to hold onto, but something I fear losing. Some will say I fear losing a crutch. But the imagery is powerful to me, and I've always been of a fantastic turn of mind.

And besides, I think I'd enjoy holding onto some of the wonders that come with it--the multitudinous angels of Hebrew folklore, the lovely virtues, the rich symbols--enough that even if a large part of me doesn't believe in it, I'd still follow it.

I love kosher laws, by the way. Something appeals out of ritual and devotion that has no real purpose but itself. It is devotion for devotion's sake, and I can appreciate this.

Then sometimes I wonder if it's just a fear of Hell I've never been able to shake, and if I'm lying to myself. If so, what I am doing is cowardice.

But I've yet to be rid of it.

For those who don't know, NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month. The goal is to write a 50,000 word novel in the space of one month (Nov 1 to Nov 30). The emphasis is not on quality initially, but simply on meeting the word goal (the slogan is "No Plot? No problem!"). This comes to an average of 1667 words daily--about two pages, single-spaced.

I intend to do it this year. Will anyone here join me? You see, I'd like to bring a lot of people--at UGA especially--together to work on this; the idea is that if we're all working on this, we can encourage each other, stop each other from dropping out.

By the way, December is editing month. November is writing month. We're just writing ALL we possibly can, not even going back to clean up until later. It's largely for those of us who've always intended to write a longer work but procrastinate on it. This forces you to write and gives you a rough draft, so if nothing else you have experience in long works of fiction.

To sign up, go to http://www.nanowrimo.org/

If you plan to do it, please comment here (and if possible give contact info). I'd like us who do this to all stay in touch, possibly get together to write, et cetera.