Big news in the life of Kevin. I've been accepted to graduate school to earn my Masters in Education. After some intensive summer courses, I'll have my own classroom in the fall. If that sounds terrifying, I concur. I eat hay. I get drunk during class. I poop on roofs. In the next few months, I'm going to have to learn to be appropriate. I'm afraid that years of graduate school wouldn't be able to solve this problem, let alone a few months. Any suggestions would be appreciated.

Though I'm excited for this new journey in my life, I don't know what this position means for the future of this blog. I imagine that once I'm teaching, I won't have as many stories, at least not that I'd feel comfortable sharing. Though kids will invariably do stupid things, it'll probably be best for me to keep my commentary limited to internal monologue. We'll see as my life unfolds.

I hope to be a good teacher. I can promise you'll never see me in the papers, though - not for lack of job performance, but because of my commitment to not sleeping with my students. I would never do that. I'm more the type to install hidden cameras in the locker room. I'm kidding! And, alas, still inappropriate. Crap.



For once, I promise a post that has nothing to do with pornography.

Last night, the thirty-third (or as our Jamaican MC, Junior Francis, says "turdy-turd") annual Kohoutek music festival concluded with the 70's glam rock alien-themed band Zolar X. The band mates are now in their 50s, but still don white space wigs, pointy ears, and glittery boots, all while speaking in their own self-created language.

The performance was the ultimate case study in mob mentality. Except for Alex, the individual responsible for bringing the band here, I doubt that anyone had heard of Zolar X prior to their arrival (from the planet Plutonian, no less), but Alex insisted that we get excited for the act. Before the band even begins, my group of friends lines up in front of the stage, crossing our arms to form an "X" while loudly chanting the letter in anticipation. Seeing the commotion, others gathered around, because who wants to be left out of something so exciting? We clearly loved them, so everyone else thought they should, too.

When the set started, it seemed like most of the audience was confused. This is the headliner? These old people speaking gibberish are all the rage? Our section of intense fandom persisted, though, and soon the crowd was joining in on the moshing, squealing, and X-arm movements, because, well, sometimes it's just fun to go crazy for something this bizarre. Throughout the entire set, whenever I became conscious of what was transpiring, I burst out into uncontrollable laughter. This music is nothing I would typically listen to, yet I couldn't possibly be happier in that moment. Everyone was responding in a similar fashion, so these aging rockers must have felt like total gods in that moment. I can pretty much guarantee that there is not another campus in the country that would behave that way for a 70's glam band, and that is why Pitzer is truly amazing. Also I crowd surfed and no one dropped me. Pitzer is also amazing for that reason, too.

After the show, Zolar X invited a handful of students to help them eat the large buffet that had been provided for them. I jumped at the opportunity, because how often do you get to hang out in an intimate setting with a 70s glam rock band? I had thought the performance was surreal, but the experience of conversing with these guys was one of the most surreal moments of my life. Like our own private Behind the Music special, they dished about their background, which includes a lot of sex, addiction, and even incarceration. Later, the lead singer even previewed some new songs for us acoustically, which was weird. The entire time I kept thinking, "I am being treated to a private concert by greatness - well, not greatness, but a 70s glam rock band, which is hilarious, and thus, greatness." Then he dedicated a song, "Cosmic Ballerina," to Lacey. Oh, Lacey. She gets all of the older gentlemen with codpieces.

At the end of the night, the lead singer told us that after his experience with us, he had made up a new word for his language which meant "friend." Everyone awwed and group hugged, which Alex later pointed out, was the ending you'd expect from some sitcom finale. I was left out of all of this, however, because I thought he said he made up a word for "fence," which is not nearly as endearing. Obnoxiously, I said, "Fence? Why fence?" thus embarrassing myself for the first time in front of Zolar X. The second occasion on which I embarrassed myself for the band is when the lead singer handed a flyer to Lacey and then disappeared. Well, it's not like he actually disappeared, but somehow I lost sight of him even though he was in plain sight just a few feet away from me, and I loudly asked, "Did he just disappear?" Until that moment, I didn't realize just how drunk I was, or how much I had started to believe in his alien stories and magical powers. Some people laughed, others smacked their heads, but the lead singer just gave me a look that indicated it was probably time that I quit drinking. Before I knew it, the band disappeared, for real this time.

I will greatly miss Zolar X, wherever they are in the universe.


Giving It My (C)Best

This morning I woke up at 7:30 after just a few hours of sleep, semi-hungover, ate a couple handfuls of jelly beans for breakfast, then proceeded to take the CBEST, a test to get teacher accreditation. Though I saw people in the parking lot studying for the exam, I had only prepared by buying some #2 pencils. My understanding was that it was a general proficiency test; if I need to cram in order to function at a ninth-grade level, I do not feel worthy of the esteemed distinction of being "generally proficient." I raced through the test as quickly as possible, unwilling to give any single question much thought. Today is also the second day of Kohoutek, Pitzer's hippie music festival, so I needed to get back and inebriated by noon for the first band. I look to be well on my way to being a fantastic teacher.


Done with Feces

Two days ago, I had every intention of skipping out on my three hour class in order to keep working on the thesis. On my way to my bike, however, I passed my professor having a conversation with someone. Doing my best to avoid eye contact, I walked briskly by, so as not to get caught. A moment later, though, Prof. Enid stuck her head out of the door to say, "Hey, Kevin!" Upset, I turned my head and weakly replied, "I'll be there in a bit." There was no way to pretend that incident didn't happen, so of course I had to show up for class now. Snakes on a plane.

Before class even starts, a group of photographers enter the classroom and ask if we'll pose for the school's PR material. Professor Enid was embarrassed because she looked particularly scholarly in her t-shirt, jeans, and candy necklace. I was even more embarrassed because this one photographer practically put the camera in my face as I had to behave as though I didn't realize I was being photographed, all while looking positively gross with my unshowered body, I'm-not-shaving-until-I-finish-my-thesis patchy facial hair, and fuck-it pants.

Once class started, Enid admitted that she was surprised to see any seniors in class since our theses were due the next day. When asking about our progress, I felt comfortable enough to confess that I had no intention of showing up today until she caught me. She explains that she didn't want to snub me by not acknowledging my presence earlier, and that she felt horrible for accidentally forcing me to come to class. Then she insisted that I leave. I love Enid. Especially her candy necklace.

But let's get to the good news: my thesis is done. Whew. If you're a patron of this blog, you should be excited because that means I will have more time to share my life with y'all again. Although since most of my friends have their theses (or as we like to call them around here - "feces") due this week, I can't promise that much exciting will happen anytime soon. Except for being impregnated by a dinosaur -- that I can pretty much guarantee.



And now, another conversation between my roommate and me, paraphrased for you.

K: But they don't call them tag sales in California. It's all garage sales. And some yard sales and estate sales.
M: Estate sales are the best.
K: I went to a couple, and they were crappy. It's sad, because it's like, that's the best you owned?
M: Do you think people who do estate sales get made at people in real estate? As if only type of business deals with real estate? That's elitist.
K: Ha ha, that's not that funny.
M: Oh come on. Real estate?
K: Yeah, I get it, it's just not that good.
M: But why is it called real estate?
K: I bet if we looked in an entomology dictionary, we'd find out that real has another meaning.
M: You don't even need an etymology dictionary, you could find that in a regular one.
K: Yeah, but you'd need an entomology dictionary to get to the root of the problem.
M: Meh.
K: Oh come on, that's way better than your real estate joke. The root of the problem!
M: Yeah, but it's too obvious. If etymology dictionaries were to have a catch phrase, it'd be that, you know.
K: But they don't! And that's why it's funny.
M: Oh, I guess I see how that's clever. Yeah, it might be funny.
K: Oh whatever. I really only went that route because you love entomology so much lately.
M: Just so you know, it's etymology, not entomology.
K: Hmm, I didn't realize that. Getting the prefix to etymology wrong is kind of funny in itself, especially for an English major.
M: Entomology is the study of bugs or something.
K: Oh, it really means something? I thought I was maybe just confusing it with Entenmann's cakes.

As much as we fail to amuse each other sometimes, our conversations have definitely got to entertain someone.


A Thesis Statement If I've Ever Heard One

Sorry for being so irregular lately. (That's in terms of my postings, not menstruation. Though come to think of it, I still haven't gotten a period!) (That sentence concluded with a exclamation point because I couldn't end a sentence about not having a period with a period.) Anyway, I'm still in the thick of my thesis, but my life still includes some hilarity. While meeting with one of my readers, we discussed the intricacies of Paris Hilton's celebrity, because, yes, I devote a page of my thesis to Hilton, as you'd expect of any scholarly paper. My reader insisted Hilton is famous because she's rich, but I countered that while plenty of people are rich, Hilton achieves a larger amount of press because of the vile things she does. My professor agreed, providing that I acknowledge the advantages of being born wealthy. "Okay," my professor said. "Just don't forget to mention that she has several legs up... That didn't come out right."