SPRING BREAK CLEVELAND 2006 has come to its inevitable end with narry a titty seen or parole requirement. Lousy imagination-led expectations.
I am back in Savannah, and it feels more like a home than the last time I returned here.
My classes start again tomorrow, and this quarter I am taking:
- Television Comedy Writing
- Intro to Film Production
- Graduate Postproduction
…no Art History this quarter — a welcome respite, despite the fact that I enjoy it.
I have too much to do to justify the continuation of this post.
"Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable."
Yesterday afternoon, an employee at the Barnes & Noble in Westlake offered to "de-activate" my pants. I politely declined, and this seemed to upset the employee. It is impossible to make everyone happy.
Last night I tried to start a fire in my parent’s fireplace, but I ended up filling the basement and laundry room with smoke. I frantically tried to extinguish the fire with beer, however the abundance of fire-starters I had ignited made this an impossibility. Eventually some panicked running with buckets of water killed the fire, and I left a note of apology and explanation for my parents.
SPRING BREAK CLEVELAND 2006!
The holiday here was mostly an annoying affair of too many tourists and too much beer, but the inclusion of three of my best friends from out of town made this weekend wholly worthwhile. We played as we used to play, we drank as we used to drink, and we laughed as we used to laugh — I’m not sure they understood how much having them here meant to me, how it made for one of the most memorable Savannah weekends I have had since I arrived.
Tomorrow morning I am flying north for SPRING BREAK CLEVELAND 2006. I don’t care if it snows, I’mna be slamming beer bongs in my bathing suit on the shores of Lake Erie for the next seven days. Sho ’nuff. Fo’ shizzle. Show us your tits. So forth. I plan on getting arrested for sexual harassment, and I’m thinking of having tee-shirts made — or a tee-shirt… I just need to come up with a catchy phrase.
Remind me to post some of the photographs from yesterday, and from the three months prior. I’mna forget because I’mna be shitfaced on the beach pickin’ up some fly northern bitches.
I haven’t slept much over the past four days.
Saint Patrick’s Day is a big deal in Savannah — parade, beer tents, turkey legs for sale, America Gladiator-esque jousting events, black hawk helicopters landing in Forsythe Park, drunken tourists, and many (many (many)) port-a-johns. Truth be told, I’d be in Cleveland right now, but then Kirsten & Ryan announced their impending visit, so I’m still here. Sarah is coming now, too, so what was once looking to be a weekend of debauchery is now destined to be a weekend of madness to end all weekends of madness. God willing.
Videotaped some weirdness down on River Street last night, including a debate between me and a guy who handed me a flier which indicated I was going to hell. He insisted that saying the word "shit" was of equal nastiness as raping someone, and I told him that he was being silly. He concluded the conversation by reiterating my imminent arrival in hell.