It`s that time of year again...email time. yes, it happens this time of year.
My second week back in Buenos Aires can best be summarized as a fly on a sled of a tongue depresser on a 60 degree slope covered with melted butter. Yes, that`s right, I just made an analogy including an insect, winter sports, medical devices, mathematics, physics, and good ol` melted butter.
In reality, I guess that jump into the future the past week affected me more than I admitted in my last email. For seven days, my mornings got shorter, disappeared, became early afternoons, and yesterday started at 6pm. On the flip side, my nights went from college levels to opening night of Star Wars levels to the "Hey that moon sure looks a lot like the sun" to the "Well, sir I guess I slept on Thursday at one point, wait what day is it? Is Carter still president? (That`s a Flight of the Navigator allusion for all you fans of what I watched over 30 times before I got to kindergarten)"
More to the point, I had trouble maintaining a good sleep schedule given that my classes start around 6pm, I bought a 30 movies in 30 nights package from Blockbuster, and my family not cooking dinner until 10pm or later. I think I`ve mentioned it before, namely in September, but this was a little how September was when I had no cashflow and was stuck in the city. When you only see a couple hours of daylight a day, you start becoming emotionally numb. I think. However, I figured out a remedy for that, guaranteed.
Helpful advice of the week: If at any point you feel emotionally dulled all you have to do is sit down on a rowing machine (erg) and row a 10k. I did that today (twice) and I cycled through every emotion you could possibly feel. Anticipation, Hope, Despair, Love, Hate, Vengeful, Anxious, Exhaustion, Resignation, Energetic, Trepidation, Fear, Courage, Taciturn, Pride, Loathing, Worry, Joy, Giddy, Friendly, Competitive, Nostalgic, Analyze, Contemplation, Religious, Anarchistic, Calorific, Malnourished, Cramped, Dizzy, Bored, Excited, Musical, and melted butter. I realize that half of those aren`t emotions, and one isn`t even an adjective. But, it does make you realize that getting mired in emotions is not good, all you need is 200m and you`re in a completely different emotion. And if you do it again (row a 2nd 10k), then you`re either a rower or crazy.
I saw two of the most amazing climbing scenes in my life yesterday (well, really today because to break my slide on melted butter I added that palative (I don`t even know what that means) of salt called the all-nighter. The second most amazing was performed by Peter Garrett (the character) in Vertical Limit when he, with a backpack full of nitroglycerine, after climbing allday at 26000+ft after 3 years of not climbing, runs and jumps from one rocky outcropping over a seeming abyss, to another ledge, with two icepicks in his hands, swinging them and planting them as he hurtles into the ice and rock. Ridiculous. Or so I thought...
The most amazing was in The Cave by Christie (-ina?) who speed free-climbs a thousand foot vertical, slimy wet wall in the darkness, a mile under the surface. She hooks herself on a ledge, falls 50 ft or so, then runs sideways and perpendicular to the wall until she gains enough momentum to reach the edge going full speed cutting the rope and flying through the darkness to another wall which she hits and catches herself. I couldn`t believe it. Unfortunately she made the mistake of doing it in a sports bra, thus exposing her abdomen which, in a scary movie such as the Cave, necessitates the immediate attack of a winged creature who eats her alive less than 3 seconds after she safely lands. But it was a sweet move.
To end this email of the second week of November, let me say a few closing remarks. First, I am confident the salt has congealed the butter so there`s no need to write worrisome emails about the hypothetical consequences of a fly sliding down a 60 degree slope covered in melted butter if and only if it is done in the southern hemisphere with a 500m split of 1 min 54.9sec. Two, don`t try the climbing stunts. They are only for actors who can climb K2 to save their little sister who hasn`t forgiven him since three years early under extreme duress he had to cut their father`s rope in order to save their lives in a rockclimbing accident in arizona or if you`re stuck in the largest cave man has ever known being chased by romanian explorers who thirty years ago fell into the cave, were infected by parasites, and become savage winged creatures accustomed to the dark and with a fierce desire to remain on the top of the foodchain. Third, I did do homework. I wrote a paper (singlespaced?) on how Bush has or has not implemented the (in)famous Washington Consensus in the US in the past five years. And yes that is how I learned the tactic of the extra line between paragraphs to enhance page coverage. Fourth, I saw Biodome the other day and felt nostalgia for Pauly Shore, the early 1990s, having friends named Squirrel and Bud, and drinking halfgallon sodas/Slurpees from 7-11 in addition to the 5 Cs. All this even though I wasn`t in the states in the early 90s, I`ve never had friends named Squirrel or Bud, nor having a diet consisting solely of foodstuffs purchased from 7-11. I guess Pauly Shore is all that`s left.
And so that is how I shall end,
Pauly Shore movies to all,
Josh Bull
ps I also had my first dream in Spanish. and it was about you. not really, it was about class which is sad because if these spanish dreams don`t start improving, I`m gonna have to dump them for the vastly superior english ones that I`ve been having the past four months.
pps If you were on a roadtrip to a university about 240 miles away from yours and told someone on this list that you wanted in, please write me back to let me know that all your wildest dreams have come true and you have been mentioned obliquely in a mass email. it`s a great feeling, I know. it happened to me last week in a letter addressed to all the faithful in Ireland who await only a word from the sender before they rise up against their English overlords and restore the Irish to their rightful place in the world. and although this Irish William Wallace did mention me obliquely in the email, the word was not spoken and so my joy is muted, to say the least.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment