My mother has told my father to "strongly discourage" me from getting a motorcycle. My dad, however, doesn't seem interested in doing that. "Mom says I should strongly discourage you from getting a motorcycle," he said, "because she's afraid you'll get hurt." Then he said, "So, do you want to go with me to the Suzuki dealer out in Riverhead?" Funny stuff.
So we went out to Riverhead and found a bunch of motorcycle dealers and checked out every brand of motorcycle one could want. Still, nobody has a freakin' SV650 built for me to look at. One guy I asked about it got this surprised look on his face and said to me, "Are you looking for a track bike?" I wasn't exactly sure what he meant by that, so I just said I'm looking for a standard or a naked bike. Another dealer kept mixing up the SV650 with the SV650S -- the second time that's happened to me. And all the dealers have pooh-poohed the SV650 and pushed me towards something more expensive (like some Kawasakis, which are very nice, but outside my price range).
It's weird, because on the Internet, tons of people post about how much they love their SV650s and Suzukis in general. And a number of magazines have given the SV650 great reviews. But walk into a showroom and the sales guys are all like, "What do you wanna buy that bike for?" I guess they're used to selling to kids who want crotch rockets. Whatever. After looking at a ton of motorcycles, I'm set on the SV650 at this point; I'd just really like to see one and sit on it before buying.
Also, many of the dealers are telling me about how other dealers hit you with all these crazy fees. The dealer out in Riverhead showed me a receipt from a dealer in Port Jeff and there were $3000(!) worth of extra fees added onto the cost of the bike. WTF? According to the receipt, the fees covered everything from opening the crate to assembling the bike and all sorts of odds and ends. I don't know if that's typical, but it would put even the cheapest bike out of my price range. I was also told to expect to pay "a few hundred dollars" every 3000 miles for regular maintenance: oil change, adjust the chain, adjust the rear wheel and the brakes, tighten stuff, etc. I was advised that some of the work I could do myself (like changing the oil), but the rest should be handled by an experienced mechanic. On the one hand, I feel like that's a lot of bull so dealers can make more money. On the other, I don't want to be riding around on a poorly maintained motorcycle and get myself killed.
On the plus side, one of the dealers offered to give me a free lesson before I bought a bike, and he and a second dealer both offered to supply a chase-car and driver when I take my road test. A third dealer has its own insurance office and DMV branch(!) right in the building with them, and they do all the associated paperwork for you for free.
Thus, the overall shopping experience has been bizarre. You start talking to the sales guys and it's like you can see the little devil on one shoulder and the little angel on the other. The devil is the stereotypical car salesman who desperately wants to make a winter commission on a bike. The angel is the genuine motorcycle enthusiast who is eager to bring another rider into the fold. It would be very helpful at this point to have an experienced rider go shopping with me, to help separate the good from the evil.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Operation: Motorcyle, part 5
Newsday has lately been full of stories about motorcyclists getting killed. Discouraging! And I've also been getting some negative vibes out of Stanford, which could impact my moving to California, which is where I really wanted to be with my motorcycle. Why does life hate me?
But screw all that. I'm planning to get to the DMV this Thursday or Friday to get my learner's permit, and then I'll have to decide if I want to take some lessons first and then buy, or buy first so I've got a bike here to practice with between lessons. (The latter is probably the better choice, but I'd really like to be able to test drive a new bike around the parking lot before buying it. Alas, that probably won't be possible.)
So, once I've got a bike, and can ride it, I'll be in the position of wondering how badly I want to force myself to move to Cali in the event I'm not accepted to a school there. It's weird how our wants push different aspects of our life into focus. I want to live in a fun in the sun place and either be at school or be able to chill and work on my writing. And I want a motorcycle and a Jeep and that big-ass 30-inch monitor for my Mac. Ideally, Scott will strike it rich and I'll move into his happening new pad and live rent free and have sex with the maid. (Of course, I'll film the sex and then post it on the Internet, which is how I'll make my own fortune, which I'll use to buy tons of political influence, eventually catapulting myself into the Presidency, and then and then I'll tell the rest of the world it needs to get its shit together, and then I'll drop a few nukes to show I'm not fucking around.
And it'll all because I went and bought that motorcycle.)
But screw all that. I'm planning to get to the DMV this Thursday or Friday to get my learner's permit, and then I'll have to decide if I want to take some lessons first and then buy, or buy first so I've got a bike here to practice with between lessons. (The latter is probably the better choice, but I'd really like to be able to test drive a new bike around the parking lot before buying it. Alas, that probably won't be possible.)
So, once I've got a bike, and can ride it, I'll be in the position of wondering how badly I want to force myself to move to Cali in the event I'm not accepted to a school there. It's weird how our wants push different aspects of our life into focus. I want to live in a fun in the sun place and either be at school or be able to chill and work on my writing. And I want a motorcycle and a Jeep and that big-ass 30-inch monitor for my Mac. Ideally, Scott will strike it rich and I'll move into his happening new pad and live rent free and have sex with the maid. (Of course, I'll film the sex and then post it on the Internet, which is how I'll make my own fortune, which I'll use to buy tons of political influence, eventually catapulting myself into the Presidency, and then and then I'll tell the rest of the world it needs to get its shit together, and then I'll drop a few nukes to show I'm not fucking around.
And it'll all because I went and bought that motorcycle.)
Sunnyside up
On a lighter note, check out Hatebeak, the death-metal band with a parrot(!) for a singer.
Sadness in America
Here's a blog someone linked me to: post secret.
It's strangely touching, yet strangely horrible. Like, do people in other countries -- countries, like, I dunno, Iraq? -- need as much therapy as we (Americans) do?
We're the wealthiest, most powerful, and (arguably) the most comfortable country in the world. Why is everybody so unhappy all the time?
This is something I've wondered about for many months now as I've struggled with my own unhappiness. When I look at where I live, the lifestyle I'm able to lead, and compare it to the rest of the world, I wonder what right I (or any of us) have to be anything but glowingly happy every second of every day. To have been born in America is to be blessed, because even America's worst is still better than the best of what 95% of the rest of the world has to offer.
Where do we get off being so lazy, and petty, and dissatisfied? How can we each not feel a little guilty on the days we get up and don't do a damn thing to help bring the rest of the world up to our level? I'm not talking about upending your life and joining the Peace Corp. Just do a little something -- donate 50 cents a day to UNICEF or something. Or something closer to home, like Meals on Wheels.
Chalk this up to solipsistic projection or whatever. But I think it's incredibly arrogant of us to think that we don't have some responsibility to our neighbors. Being born into the USA is not a virtue. We didn't do anything to earn it or deserve it and it has no inherent moral value and it doesn't give us the right to act like everybody else is either (a) inferior, or (b), just plain unlucky and so that's the breaks. We got lucky. We should be thankful. And, in recognition of our good luck, of the blessing that comes from being born here, we should take advantage of our advantages and do something a little more productive than wallow in our own narrow world view.
It's strangely touching, yet strangely horrible. Like, do people in other countries -- countries, like, I dunno, Iraq? -- need as much therapy as we (Americans) do?
We're the wealthiest, most powerful, and (arguably) the most comfortable country in the world. Why is everybody so unhappy all the time?
This is something I've wondered about for many months now as I've struggled with my own unhappiness. When I look at where I live, the lifestyle I'm able to lead, and compare it to the rest of the world, I wonder what right I (or any of us) have to be anything but glowingly happy every second of every day. To have been born in America is to be blessed, because even America's worst is still better than the best of what 95% of the rest of the world has to offer.
Where do we get off being so lazy, and petty, and dissatisfied? How can we each not feel a little guilty on the days we get up and don't do a damn thing to help bring the rest of the world up to our level? I'm not talking about upending your life and joining the Peace Corp. Just do a little something -- donate 50 cents a day to UNICEF or something. Or something closer to home, like Meals on Wheels.
Chalk this up to solipsistic projection or whatever. But I think it's incredibly arrogant of us to think that we don't have some responsibility to our neighbors. Being born into the USA is not a virtue. We didn't do anything to earn it or deserve it and it has no inherent moral value and it doesn't give us the right to act like everybody else is either (a) inferior, or (b), just plain unlucky and so that's the breaks. We got lucky. We should be thankful. And, in recognition of our good luck, of the blessing that comes from being born here, we should take advantage of our advantages and do something a little more productive than wallow in our own narrow world view.
Readings: The Phantom Tollbooth
One of my tutees recommended The Phantom Tollbooth to me the other day, so I picked it up and gave it a read. It's a tough book to get through in the sense that it's written for kids but without that little something extra that makes it work for adults. However, it is very cute and very clever. And it should be required reading for everybody today, young or old. Why? Because as I was reading it, I was struck by how the non-sense world of the Phantom Tollbooth is so very much like our world today -- specifically the world of illogic that the neo-cons have constructed around us. The book was written in '61, yet there are some amazing caricatures of everyone from Bill O'Reilly to the 101st Fighting Keyboarders. It wouldn't take much of a satirist to recast the entire book as a parable for the last six years. Hell, I might even do it myself. In any case, get yourself a copy of The Phantom Tollbooth and let me know what you think.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
From Hogwarts to Harvard
So, what I'm doing, see, is I'm pretending in my application to Harvard that as an elementary school student, I didn't attend schools out on Long Island, but instead I was whisked away every year to attend Hogwarts. This is probably not an original idea (though I don't know of anyone else who's done it), but it's an idea that only I can execute with such daring and panache. But I need (or, more precisely, would benefit from) your help.
So far, I've included a short sentence about Hogwarts in my statement of purpose -- just enough to arouse a chuckle, to show that I am a person of both intellect and wit -- and I've included Hogwarts on my list of attended schools, and I am whipping up a quick faux Hogwarts transcript to include amongst my other transcripts. What I could use from you, dear blog reader, is a letter of recommendation in the persona of a Hogwarts professor. You could pretend to be one of the professors from the books, or you could pretend to be one of the countless professors we undoubtedly haven't read about. Or, if you are feeling adventurous, you could pretend to be one of the ghosts, or Mrs. Norris the cat, or whomever. I have access to a fancy printer and a bunch of quill-like fonts, and am in the process of getting some Hogwarts letterhead. All in all, the finished product will look disturbingly authentic. Go ahead and paste your letters into the comments section, or email me directly, and I'll take care of the rest.
This will either be a feather in my cap for getting into Harvard, or it will be a black eye. Either way, it will be fun. If I get in, it will make quite the story.
So far, I've included a short sentence about Hogwarts in my statement of purpose -- just enough to arouse a chuckle, to show that I am a person of both intellect and wit -- and I've included Hogwarts on my list of attended schools, and I am whipping up a quick faux Hogwarts transcript to include amongst my other transcripts. What I could use from you, dear blog reader, is a letter of recommendation in the persona of a Hogwarts professor. You could pretend to be one of the professors from the books, or you could pretend to be one of the countless professors we undoubtedly haven't read about. Or, if you are feeling adventurous, you could pretend to be one of the ghosts, or Mrs. Norris the cat, or whomever. I have access to a fancy printer and a bunch of quill-like fonts, and am in the process of getting some Hogwarts letterhead. All in all, the finished product will look disturbingly authentic. Go ahead and paste your letters into the comments section, or email me directly, and I'll take care of the rest.
This will either be a feather in my cap for getting into Harvard, or it will be a black eye. Either way, it will be fun. If I get in, it will make quite the story.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Poem
Here's a poem I wrote a long time ago. It isn't very good. And I say it isn't very good even though I hate when people post their creative shit and then immediately begin ducking away from it. So I'll elaborate and say that I like this poem a lot because writing it was fun and there are parts I get a kick out of every time I read it. But I am not a poet. I have never been good at poetry, and I seldom if ever try to write poems. Sometimes I wish I was a poet. There's something about a good poem that makes it, I think, a superior form of art compared to almost everything else. Which is probably why I never read poetry either. Half the time I don't get it. Or, when I do get it, it seems so simple, so obvious. Most poems are a disappointment. Most poems suck. But when they're good, they're really fucking good. So here is my poem, which, even though it sucks, for me it is really fucking good.
The 5-Day Forecast for Bullshit Land
The snow missed Manhattan,
hit Bullshit Land instead. No soft powder,
only ice, sharp in my face.
I paused, inhaled frost, tightened
my chest, nipples erect, cursed
Sam Champion for raising hopes,
And made my gentle steps down
the sidewalk. After 13 blocks I was
snotty and winded at your door.
You insisted I keep my jacket,
didn’t offer tea, only six reasons
not to untie my shoes, to tighten my scarf,
step back into the ice. The storm inside
was worse, you said, with lies and anger
followed by make-up sex as we move into
the weekend. Better if we spare ourselves
the bullshit. I paused, inhaled frost, and
made my gentle steps down the sidewalk.
The 5-Day Forecast for Bullshit Land
The snow missed Manhattan,
hit Bullshit Land instead. No soft powder,
only ice, sharp in my face.
I paused, inhaled frost, tightened
my chest, nipples erect, cursed
Sam Champion for raising hopes,
And made my gentle steps down
the sidewalk. After 13 blocks I was
snotty and winded at your door.
You insisted I keep my jacket,
didn’t offer tea, only six reasons
not to untie my shoes, to tighten my scarf,
step back into the ice. The storm inside
was worse, you said, with lies and anger
followed by make-up sex as we move into
the weekend. Better if we spare ourselves
the bullshit. I paused, inhaled frost, and
made my gentle steps down the sidewalk.
Eight "yo mama" jokes
1. Yo mama so fat were in her right now
2. Yo mama so fat she has been declared a natural habitat for Condors
3. Yo mama so stupid she called Dan Quayle for a spell check.
4. Yo mama so lazy that she came in last place in a recent snail marathon.
5. Yo mama so hairy you almost died of rugburn at birth!
6. Yo mama so nasty I called her to say hello, and she ended up giving me an ear infection.
7. Yo mama so ugly they didn't give her a costume when she tried out for Star Wars.
8. Yo mama so flat she's jealous of the wall!
*BONUS JOKE!!*: Yo mama hair so nappy she has to take Tylenol just to comb it.
2. Yo mama so fat she has been declared a natural habitat for Condors
3. Yo mama so stupid she called Dan Quayle for a spell check.
4. Yo mama so lazy that she came in last place in a recent snail marathon.
5. Yo mama so hairy you almost died of rugburn at birth!
6. Yo mama so nasty I called her to say hello, and she ended up giving me an ear infection.
7. Yo mama so ugly they didn't give her a costume when she tried out for Star Wars.
8. Yo mama so flat she's jealous of the wall!
*BONUS JOKE!!*: Yo mama hair so nappy she has to take Tylenol just to comb it.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Operation: Motorcyle, part 4
Today, I went to the DMV and got the reading material for taking the motorcycle learner's permit test. On my way back out I was completely spaced and jumped right in front of a car and I'm not sure how it didn't kill me. I then was spaced and in shock from my near-death experience and so I promptly stepped right in front of a second car, this one coming from the opposite direction(!). Now, thoroughly concerned about where my head was at, I got in my car, drove off in the wrong direction, drove back, missed my turn, missed my turn a second time, pulled over, yelled at myself in the mirror for a minute, and then got going again. (They really shouldn't let people like me on the road.)
I went to Borders and got The Idiot's Guide to Motorcycles (endorsed by Jay Leno!), and Street Strategies by David L. Hough. Street Strategies was recommend to me by some old-school cruiser guy who was hanging out in the motorcycle section. He was bald and pot-bellied and said he's been riding for over 35 years, so I will trust in his wisdom re: the book.
Then I stopped at the motorcycle dealer and inquired again about the used Z1000 and an SV650. I tell ya, I'm starting to get a little skeptical of these guys. I talked with a different sales guy today than I did last time, and it turns out that the Z1000, which I originally heard was an '05, is in fact an '03. So it is no longer the amazing deal that I thought it was (though it's still not bad, and still within my price range). They have an '05 SV650, which the sales guy said he could knock down to $5500 from $5900, making it the best deal I've seen so far for a new bike. However, today's sales guy kept saying the SV650S is the "standard" version of the bike, while the non-S is the sleeker "sport" version. This didn't sound right, so I checked the Suzuki site when I got home and sure enough it's the reverse -- the S is the slightly more expensive sport version. Not a killer mistake, and I can understand how someone would make it, but that's the second time I've walked out of their with some degree of wrong information. Regardless, at $5500, the SV650 is hard to beat.
I also saw a Kawasaki Vulcan while I was there. It's a nice bike and costs less than $5000. However, it doesn't have fuel injection or a rear disc brake, and it has a smaller engine than the Suzuki, so since I can get the SV650 for only $500 more, I think the extra niceties are more than worth the price. (The one possible down side on the SV650 is that I forgot to ask which color it was and they've only got the one '05 in stock. If it's the fugly yellow color, I'm not sure I could stomach it.)
And I got info on a good riding instructor from that guy at Borders. Allegedly there's some dude in Ronkonkoma who has a bunch of small bikes that he teaches n00bs to ride on, so I'm going to check that out. It sounds like a cool deal.
I went to Borders and got The Idiot's Guide to Motorcycles (endorsed by Jay Leno!), and Street Strategies by David L. Hough. Street Strategies was recommend to me by some old-school cruiser guy who was hanging out in the motorcycle section. He was bald and pot-bellied and said he's been riding for over 35 years, so I will trust in his wisdom re: the book.
Then I stopped at the motorcycle dealer and inquired again about the used Z1000 and an SV650. I tell ya, I'm starting to get a little skeptical of these guys. I talked with a different sales guy today than I did last time, and it turns out that the Z1000, which I originally heard was an '05, is in fact an '03. So it is no longer the amazing deal that I thought it was (though it's still not bad, and still within my price range). They have an '05 SV650, which the sales guy said he could knock down to $5500 from $5900, making it the best deal I've seen so far for a new bike. However, today's sales guy kept saying the SV650S is the "standard" version of the bike, while the non-S is the sleeker "sport" version. This didn't sound right, so I checked the Suzuki site when I got home and sure enough it's the reverse -- the S is the slightly more expensive sport version. Not a killer mistake, and I can understand how someone would make it, but that's the second time I've walked out of their with some degree of wrong information. Regardless, at $5500, the SV650 is hard to beat.
I also saw a Kawasaki Vulcan while I was there. It's a nice bike and costs less than $5000. However, it doesn't have fuel injection or a rear disc brake, and it has a smaller engine than the Suzuki, so since I can get the SV650 for only $500 more, I think the extra niceties are more than worth the price. (The one possible down side on the SV650 is that I forgot to ask which color it was and they've only got the one '05 in stock. If it's the fugly yellow color, I'm not sure I could stomach it.)
And I got info on a good riding instructor from that guy at Borders. Allegedly there's some dude in Ronkonkoma who has a bunch of small bikes that he teaches n00bs to ride on, so I'm going to check that out. It sounds like a cool deal.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
The ethics of continuing to shop at Small Dog Electronics
I try to shop at Small Dog Electronics as often as possible when I need computer stuff. I prefer to support them because I like to support smaller, mom and pop type stores instead of big chain monsters. And I like that as a business they support a number of lefty causes. But pretty much every order I've ever made through them has had something wrong with it. I've gotten the wrong stuff, I've gotten broken stuff, I've gotten broken stuff that was then replaced with the wrong stuff... on and on and on. It's maddening. They did once go above and beyond the call of duty, getting me a laptop overnight, which was great. But it's hard to let that outweigh my annoyance at so many other orders having gone wrong.
So, should I stick by Small Dog no matter what? Should I tolerate these inconveniences and take comfort in the knowledge I'm helping to keep the world safe for the little guy and for businesses that give a hoot? Or is it time to move on to Mac Mall, who has not yet made a mistake on one of my orders and who also has great prices -- even though one day they might turn into the next Wal-Mart?
I suppose it's a question of values: reward the business that actually does the best job at being a business? Or reward the business that does the better job at being a socially conscious corporate citizen?
So, should I stick by Small Dog no matter what? Should I tolerate these inconveniences and take comfort in the knowledge I'm helping to keep the world safe for the little guy and for businesses that give a hoot? Or is it time to move on to Mac Mall, who has not yet made a mistake on one of my orders and who also has great prices -- even though one day they might turn into the next Wal-Mart?
I suppose it's a question of values: reward the business that actually does the best job at being a business? Or reward the business that does the better job at being a socially conscious corporate citizen?
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Braces off
Twenty-seven months later, the braces are finally off. Amazing. Everything still isn't finished, however. I have a temporary bond holding one of my teeth in place because it has suffered a lot of bone loss, and I'm getting a temporary bridge on Feb 6 to replace a missing tooth, and the final bridge goes in about a week later.
It's been a weird experience, having braces as an adult -- one I'm still reflecting on. Somewhere within it all is a commentary on American values. I'll write more about it later.
It's been a weird experience, having braces as an adult -- one I'm still reflecting on. Somewhere within it all is a commentary on American values. I'll write more about it later.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Done with white girls
As I was mentally chronicling the last week or so of my new dating experiment, it occurred to me that the top three best dates I've been on have all been with non-white girls.
The number two and three spots are held by girls who are black or half-black, half-other, and the number one spot is held by a Chinese girl who believes in UFOs, astral projections, mental telepathy, ESP, clairvoyance, spirit photography, telekinetic movement, full trance mediums, the Loch Ness monster, the theory of Atlantis, rock 'n' roll, national healthcare, sailing, fancy wines and cheeses, omelets instead of pancakes, leather-bound books, and kicking people in the face. With them I've been to all sorts of bars and clubs and scenic overlooks and other crap I might not have ever gone to otherwise, and I've had an all around great time. There's even a chance that me and the Chinese girl are going to take a one-hour "flying lesson" together (for $100, an instructor takes you up and lets you steer the plane around for a bit. Pretty cool.).
By contrast, the white girls have seldom been up for more than the standard movie-dinner-beer triple play. Not that that can't be a fun time, but you figure the singles scene is just a non-step merry-go-round of dating and you'd want to raise the bar instead of doing the same 'ol same 'ol all the time. Especially since the triple play is what you'll be doing all the time once you're an old and tired established couple. Why dive into the rut so soon?
So I'm done with white girls for a bit. Hopefully one will come along soon and show me she's got more going on than the suburban blues; but until then my eye's going to linger a little longer on the ethnic honeys.
The number two and three spots are held by girls who are black or half-black, half-other, and the number one spot is held by a Chinese girl who believes in UFOs, astral projections, mental telepathy, ESP, clairvoyance, spirit photography, telekinetic movement, full trance mediums, the Loch Ness monster, the theory of Atlantis, rock 'n' roll, national healthcare, sailing, fancy wines and cheeses, omelets instead of pancakes, leather-bound books, and kicking people in the face. With them I've been to all sorts of bars and clubs and scenic overlooks and other crap I might not have ever gone to otherwise, and I've had an all around great time. There's even a chance that me and the Chinese girl are going to take a one-hour "flying lesson" together (for $100, an instructor takes you up and lets you steer the plane around for a bit. Pretty cool.).
By contrast, the white girls have seldom been up for more than the standard movie-dinner-beer triple play. Not that that can't be a fun time, but you figure the singles scene is just a non-step merry-go-round of dating and you'd want to raise the bar instead of doing the same 'ol same 'ol all the time. Especially since the triple play is what you'll be doing all the time once you're an old and tired established couple. Why dive into the rut so soon?
So I'm done with white girls for a bit. Hopefully one will come along soon and show me she's got more going on than the suburban blues; but until then my eye's going to linger a little longer on the ethnic honeys.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Operation: Motorcyle, part 3
After another day of 'cycle browsing, the Suzuki SV650 has emerged at the top of the running for my first bike. It's such a deal, in fact, that I'm wondering what the catch is. Going to go check it out more thoroughly this weekend, I think. Plus there's a motorcycle show at the Javitz center that my dad and I might go to. If only the weather were nicer I'd be inches away from owning a bike any day now. Alas.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Operation: Motorcyle, part 2
Went to the Honda motorcycle dealer today. Turns out the Honda Rebel, at less than 250 ccs, is going to be way too underpowered. I'm not sure who that bike is for -- wafer thin 16 year olds or something -- but regular-sized adults need something in the 650+ cc range. So now I'm looking at spending a minimum of $6000. Which isn't horrible, just more than I was thinking. But insurance is dirt cheap, and gas for it will also be very cheap, and lessons won't be too expensive either.
And, since I'm now mentally preparing myself to spend a minimum of $6000, I get to take a serious look at the BMW 650 CS, which is about $8000. It's quite a cool bike, and my first choice if I can get the money together.
It's a shame the weather is all shitty right now, because now that I've gone and looked at some bikes up close, touched, got a sense of how physically big they are, how much they weigh, I'm eager to start learning to ride one. But I need time to sock away some cash, so it's for the best.
And, since I'm now mentally preparing myself to spend a minimum of $6000, I get to take a serious look at the BMW 650 CS, which is about $8000. It's quite a cool bike, and my first choice if I can get the money together.
It's a shame the weather is all shitty right now, because now that I've gone and looked at some bikes up close, touched, got a sense of how physically big they are, how much they weigh, I'm eager to start learning to ride one. But I need time to sock away some cash, so it's for the best.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Speaking of my casual sex quota...
I decided that since I've been bored, and have my evenings free, I should start dating people again. To facilitate this, I've revived my Match.com profile. I've been on a handful of dates the past week or two and have had a good time and met some cool girls. I don't think any of them are going to become long termers. I'm not emotionally ready for that at the moment, I think. And because of that, I realized that in a sense I'm lying to my dates about my intentions, which I guess makes me a dick. Well, I don't enjoy being a dick (even if it is convenient, and even if I suspect most girls secretly prefer to date dicks who treat them like shit), so to assuage my conscience I took out an ad on Craig's List that basically said "Who wants to meet tonight for some sex?"
Ads like that glut the casual encounters section of CL, and I always suspected they were posted by desperate people who knew the ad was going to go unanswered. Oh how wrong I was. It turns out there are lots of girls who are willing to meet you on a moment's notice for a good romp. They don't care who you are or what you look like, as long as you're clean, disease free, and can supply a solid pounding. Amazing. However, I have not yet taken advantage of any of these girls. I was too shocked that they even exist to respond to the first few emails I got. But I've emailed a few just to chat, and went on a "date" with one to see how we clicked and if we might start up a "friends with benefits" relationship. (So far it's looking promising.)
Turns out there is a world of rampant casual fucking that one only needs the courage to enter. Money, looks, age, personality -- none of the usual factors apply. Balls are everything. And I am tempted. Oh, so tempted. I want to dive right in. Hump every girl on Long Island. And I've got some big balls, but I'm not sure they're quite that big just yet.
Ads like that glut the casual encounters section of CL, and I always suspected they were posted by desperate people who knew the ad was going to go unanswered. Oh how wrong I was. It turns out there are lots of girls who are willing to meet you on a moment's notice for a good romp. They don't care who you are or what you look like, as long as you're clean, disease free, and can supply a solid pounding. Amazing. However, I have not yet taken advantage of any of these girls. I was too shocked that they even exist to respond to the first few emails I got. But I've emailed a few just to chat, and went on a "date" with one to see how we clicked and if we might start up a "friends with benefits" relationship. (So far it's looking promising.)
Turns out there is a world of rampant casual fucking that one only needs the courage to enter. Money, looks, age, personality -- none of the usual factors apply. Balls are everything. And I am tempted. Oh, so tempted. I want to dive right in. Hump every girl on Long Island. And I've got some big balls, but I'm not sure they're quite that big just yet.
Operation: Motorcycle
I've decided to buy a motorcycle. I have to save up, first. And then I'll have to learn to ride it. But I want one, and they're cheap enough, so I'll get one. At $3,100, the Honda Rebel is my current favorite. (I'd put a link to it here, but I forget how.)
Every time I tell people that I want a motorcycle, they invariably tell me that motorcycles are fun but super dangerous. This is probably true, but it seems like a weird thing to keep coming up. Aren't most things fun but dangerous? Casual sex, even casual safe sex, is fun but dangerous, but you don't hear people saying "I'd like to go have casual safe sex, except it's fun but dangerous." No, people go around fucking each other's brains out willy-nilly with nary a second thought. Well, I'm well behind in my casual sex quota, so I'm going to make up for it by buying a motorcycle.
Every time I tell people that I want a motorcycle, they invariably tell me that motorcycles are fun but super dangerous. This is probably true, but it seems like a weird thing to keep coming up. Aren't most things fun but dangerous? Casual sex, even casual safe sex, is fun but dangerous, but you don't hear people saying "I'd like to go have casual safe sex, except it's fun but dangerous." No, people go around fucking each other's brains out willy-nilly with nary a second thought. Well, I'm well behind in my casual sex quota, so I'm going to make up for it by buying a motorcycle.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Lower Education
As I work on my statements of purpose for my grad school applications, I've come to the conclusion that academic writing is a crime against humanity.
I've hired an "admissions consultant" to look over my stuff before I apply. She's got like 30 years of experience doing this, works at Harvard, and, from what I can see, knows more than most about putting together a solid college application.
She just returned the first draft of my statement of purpose for Stanford. And she made very few comments on the essay's substance, but has strongly advised me to change the tone from casual (and humorous) to formal. Which, to me, means boring. I don't doubt that that's good advice, either. Anyone who's ever written or read an A+ college essay, knows that they're written in a suicidally dull tone. Not that students should be encouraged to distract from their paper topic by goofing around on the page, but at what point did dead and oblique jumbles of sentences become the signature of "intelligent writing"?
From my experience with students, it seems this style of writing hasn't accomplished anything except to turn people off from learning. Which, obviously, is the opposite of what academia is trying to achieve. Of course, it's typical American to put tradition and formality over quality and effectiveness.
I've hired an "admissions consultant" to look over my stuff before I apply. She's got like 30 years of experience doing this, works at Harvard, and, from what I can see, knows more than most about putting together a solid college application.
She just returned the first draft of my statement of purpose for Stanford. And she made very few comments on the essay's substance, but has strongly advised me to change the tone from casual (and humorous) to formal. Which, to me, means boring. I don't doubt that that's good advice, either. Anyone who's ever written or read an A+ college essay, knows that they're written in a suicidally dull tone. Not that students should be encouraged to distract from their paper topic by goofing around on the page, but at what point did dead and oblique jumbles of sentences become the signature of "intelligent writing"?
From my experience with students, it seems this style of writing hasn't accomplished anything except to turn people off from learning. Which, obviously, is the opposite of what academia is trying to achieve. Of course, it's typical American to put tradition and formality over quality and effectiveness.
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