Tonight on MTV, True Life: I'm Lar.

Current music: Beethoven, Sonata in c minor, No.8 Op.13, "Pathétique." From the French for "impossible for non-asians."

Saw IU Opera Theater's La bohème this weekend. The next day, I visited a seretary at the admissions office.

"Yeah, so hi, my name's Carl. I think you guys made a mistake. You, um, admitted me to this amazing school. I think you might have mixed up my application with that of someone who could someday hope to sing like these people. Hey, no problem. Just a little clerical error. After all, we're only human, right? By the way... [looks at her nametag] Alice, that's a lovely brooch. Ha ha, well tell your husband he has good taste. You have a good day now, y'hear?"

My blogging hiatus is ended, but please, do not think that my absence was a result of laziness or being oversexed. It was neither of these things. Actually, Harry Potter came over, we played Pretty Pretty Princess, and I won. Naturally. So Potty got all pissy and placed a curse on my computer so that my internet was completely non-functional. So for whatever reason, it began to work again Sunday night, and I finally found some time to sit down with some coffee and English Toffee Temptation (made with real Heath® Bars) and blog. A new verb, perhaps?

ich bloge/ wir blogen
du blogst / ihr blogt
er blogt / sie blogen

It's no trabajábamos, but I like it.

An oversight concerning a previous blog has been brought to my attention, and I seek to remedy this problem immediately. In Non-pretentious-ish, that means I fucked up, here, let me fix it. It seems that the strange company logo references were all but lost on those of you who make your home east of the Rockies. To be freaked out in the same way that my California chums were, simply visit these websites:

http://www.best-foods.com

http://www.dreyers.com

http://www.carlsjr.com


A quick jaunt to ugly-land with my AI. I'm very much over our disagreement, but yeah today she was lookin good. An open V-neck t-shirt with a generous amount of chest-acne and hair like a Cuban.

Whole lotta nasty goin on.

But now for the real fun of the post. Lar came through for us during his presentation. While my friends and I agree that he was rather tame by Lar standards, he still was golden-tongued enough to fill up a full page on my legal pad. When you read his lines, think of a male Fran Drescher, from the midwest. Some fun samples fer ya:

[during another lecture on the same day] Professor: Ok, we're going to look at some rarely-seen chords. These are like theory porn.
Class: [lighthearted guffaws]

[beat]

Lar: [sexy whistles] Yeah baby!
Down low, too slow, Lar.


Professor: [good-naturedly] Now, everyone needs to heckle Larry during his presentation like he does to me.
Dan: I won't heckle ya, Lar.
Lar: Wow, thanks! I'd buy you a drink, but it'll have to be a smoothie 'cause I'm underage.
Make mine a Strawberries Wild, Lar!

Lar: [on Gesualdo, the composer who killed his wife] Yeah, so he killed her and the dude she was bangin'.
Eloquently done, Lar. A+.

His attire: One (1) Battle of the Bands Indiana State Fair T-shirt tucked into one (1) pair of dirty, belt-less jeans. Attached to jeans hung two (2) plumber-style key rings, neither of which had keys.

Professor: See how that note anticipates the finality of the piece?
Lar: Yeah, it's like getting to the finish line, then getting kicked in the butt.
Listener: [rubs ass] Ouch, don't you hate those cadences.

Professor: Well, you do have an assignment this evening.
Lar: [loud flatulence noise]
No need for catillion manners, Lar. It's just theory.

et le coup de grace:

Lar: Is it a six-four chord?
Prof: No.
Lar: Damnit! [sotto voce] Way to look stupid, Larry. Great job.
2nd Lar: It's ok, you'll get it on the homework.
Lar: I hate all the homework crap in this class. [mocking voice, still sotto voce] 5 days a week, homework every night, listen to this here, mark non-chord tones there.
2nd Lar: Whatever. Just finish it and you'll be fine.
Inner-voices coming out to play, Lar? Let's save the schizophrenia for after class, ok?

Ok, ok. I promise after this one there won't be any more scathing ad hominem blogs. I'm not vindictive, I just call 'em as I see 'em. I'm sure that if someone were to blog about me and use my direct quotations, I'd be beat up the next day. By the nerdy girls.

Music now: Mahler, Symphony 2 in c minor, "Resurrection." Um, I got nothin'. The guy's first name is Gustav, but other than that, not much room for comic analysis.

Peck a little, talk a little

Meine Musik jetzt: Tchaikovsky, Sleeping Beauty, Act III. You never saw this part in the Disney movie. This is when the owl from the forest and Malefocent's crow have a conversation over cigarettes.

Owl: You know, Bruce...
Crow: Yes, Stanley?
Owl: Um, Stan. [drag]
Crow: Right. [nervous drag]. Stan.
Owl: Anyways, that Princess might have junk in the trunk [extends wings], but she's too much of a damn prima donna bitch. [long, righteous drag]
Crow: Omigod, I know! I told her she was completely rude and didn't need to worry about a bra. No need for you to be seen at Vickie's, hun. And her hair, ugh! I mean, am I right?

[beat]

Owl: Uh, whatever. Man, I'd so wanna see her and the witch get it on. [drag] Those fairies can make some cool shit happen, I bet.
Crow: Seriously! With all the candles and the drapery even the Ellen action would be semi-romantic. If you can get into that sort of thing. Me, I'd love a steam bath with spicy scents. [moves closer, blows smoke into OWL's face, attempting to turn him on]

[long beat. OWL takes final drag, puts out butt with talon]

Owl: Look, man. I'm not gay.
Crow: What?! Well, me neither, I mean duh! [snorts. takes drag between snorts]
Owl: Whatever man. Look, the whole cast knows. It's no big deal. The Prince and the Dragon have had a thing for a few months now. But me, I'm not into crow-jobs. Nothing personal. See ya back on the set. [Exeunt by flying]
Crow: [visibly deflated] Damn. He had a nice ass.
Horse: You called, sweetie?


I'd stop here but I have coffee left.

I only had theory classes today, and so there's no way to even try to make those interesting. HOWEVER! Tomorrow is All-Larry-All-The-Time day.

Ah, Lar. Big guy, wears a sweaty hat. Percussion major. You know the kind of guy I mean. Not in touch with society too much. Likes Save the Rainforest and Valparaiso Youth Symphony t-shirts. He's not all that special except for that fact that he cracks off jokes that would make us throw our Music Analysis texts at him if they weren't so expensive. Sample:

Professor: Well, Monteverdi didn't just wake up one morning and say, "I'm going to revolutionize music today."
Lar: Well, of course not. He did the dishes first.

Oh Lar. Lar, Lar, Lar, Lar, Lar. So we have these huge presentation projects due during the semester, and our Lar's is tomorrow. Larry picked his topic, a composer by the name of Gesualdo, because the latter killed his wife. I don't know if that's really funny "ha-ha," there, Lar. But go ahead. Anyways, I'm planning on scribbling his every word down furiously on my legal pad. Then I can bring it out on a rainy day 40 years from now and smile.

Ah, Lar. We hardly knew ye.

Musica ora: Tuba mirum, from Mozart's Requiem. Nothing funny 'bout this one. It's a masterwork. I feel exalted when I listen to it. Like I should be in a robe and have a laurel crown and jump into the phone booth with Bill & Ted.

Beethoven: Genius, Nymphomaniac, or Both?

Listening to Mozart's Don Giovanni. Thought it was fitting, seeing how this is going to be a sexy post. If the Don's sexual escapades don't cause the boys to knock lamps off the table with their erections, then nothing will.

First, an oddity!

Here in the Midwest, there are quite a few companies whose logos look incredibly familiar to those in Cali. BUT! they have different names. Quite different, in fact. See if you can guess the California equivalent to these everyday companies and products! Part of a balanced breakfast.

http://www.hellmanns.com/products_mayo.asp

http://www.edys.com/main/index.asp?b=105

http://www.hardees.com/

Très étrange, non? On TV commercials they will sing, "Bring out the Hellman's, and bring out the best," or, "Hardee's: Don't bother me, I'm eating." Then the Twilight Zone theme plays and the camera in front of me spins in really fast circles as I slap my hands to my cheeks and scream.

Sometimes.


Ok so the sex!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Except it's sex and Beethoven, so you might have to pull up some porn to keep yourself going. Sorry.

First, some background: I'm taking a class this semester called Beethoven and His Era. It's taught by a comp. lit. professor, and is totally outside the music school--so it's a nice way to escape from french augmented 6th chords when I feel the need. In class this evening, the professor [who looks a lot like the Beet himself, what with his huge hair. When he makes an interesting point, he'll nod violently and his hair will be caught in an incredible wave for a good 2 seconds.] Anyways, today we were looking at some of the art that might have influenced the angry man later in life... namely, early romantic paintings. Here are some quick examples if you're not familiar with the period:

(Just scroll to the bottom and click on the thumbs): http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/friedrich/

Ok, so now that you have that kind of tragic landscape image floating around, this was the term that Professor Hertz used to describe the period.

ahem. Kinky mysticism.

To me, this describes when people who like Renaissance faires geteth it on. After a trying but invigorating game of Dungeons & Dragons, Lady Trueblood-NappyHaire and her Faire Knight Sir Gallahad the Zitty eat a huge turkey leg and then have an awkward fuck on a twin bed in his parents' house. Sometimes they invite a pixie or two (more, if you're royalty). People like this:

http://www.fairyfashion.de/ yes. those are real women. and those are real wedding gowns. you're gonna want to check it out after this.

When I think of "kinky mysticism," I think of S&M costumes like this:

whip it, maria. I've been a bad bad boy.

After sex à la Kinky Mysticism, I'd expect to look like this:

So, moral of the story! Next time you think a professor has made up a completely insane phrase, think about it. It may be exactly what he means.

Goodnight, all. And may I never want to post pictures again. Trying to figure that out made this hour and a half blog session way too taxing.

Current music, still Don Giovanni. Specifically Donna Alvira's aria Mi tradì. She got it on with the Don and now isn't getting any. In this aria, she sings, "O, how I do so miss the c*ck." But it's Mozart, so in some translations she says "penis."

Cheer up, Charlie...

Currently escuchando to Shakira, Si te vas.

Yeah, so remember when I said that most posts would be not so reflective (i.e. take simple event and expand it so that the entire world understands, and can then solve world hunger and animal-prints)? Don't think that's gonna happen...

It's just not an interesting enough day to day existence, mine. Nothing really gripping or breathtaking or even fart-inducing happens to me regularly. If I spent all my time talking about music school, pushing my glasses farther up my nose and going on about why Strauss is so not the new Mozart, you'd send me anthrax in the mail or something. So humor me. Please. Or he'll hit me again.

Oh wait EVENT! Or rather, cause to detest an Associate Instructor of mine. First, open your minds and imaginations while I describe her. Have a vomit bowl ready.

Picture, if you will, the nerdiest girl at your high school. The one who didn't have much to say, but at the same time it was obvious she would never a) kill people, or b) have a secret two-in-the-pink-one-in-the-stink sex life that wouldve schocked Sue Johansen. Your basic Magic the Gathering, Babysitter's Club kinda girl. My AI is this girl, only she is the president of the IU Tae Kwon Do club. So she kicks high school girl's ass. That's her basic personality... I shall expand.

All you really need to know is that she ends her emails with quotations from people like Blaise Pascal and Ronald Reagan. So in my case, an email which ends with "Sorry, but you'll have to take a zero on that assignment" is quickly followed by:

I decline utterly to be impartial as between the fire brigade and the fire. -Winston Churchill

Dry your eyes, Carl. Winny's comforting words will always be there for you.

Ok, appearance. She has a body worthy of Roald Dahl. This Oompa-Loompa-looking puta isn't too far off in terms of skin color or dress, either. She's not orange, but has jaundice that makes her look like a botulistic banana. Or a newborn. A really ugly newborn. The color of newborn poo. Her jeans routinely refuse to reach her ankles (but I have to give them credit, the jeans. They do their best to make it around her pubic mound. There's simply not enough material to make it to the floor.) She doesn't volunteer at a hospital, but damned if her shirts don't have little ducks on them as though she's a pediatrician's assistant. If Willy Wonka was her father, than surely a Kentucky Derby mare was mommy. When she smiles, I always get the image of an expansive red sea (her gums) out of which jut 36 or so disproportionately long piers (her teeth). Ooh, and the food that's constantly in her teeth can be the fishermen. Cute! Like a diorama! As a pretty Christmas bow to wrap it all up, she sports a Prince Rupert 'do in dire need of some shampoo and a comb. The only woman on campus with frizzy hair in the winter.

The picture of beauty.

I know what you're thinking. "Carl, why so acerbic?! I've rarely (if ever) seen you this cruel. I'm somewhat offended by such a hateful display." And for that I apologize. I must, however, have a way to immaturely displace my anger. I'd smear the good name of Queer if I didn't express my upset self in a shallow and completely unrelated way. Long story short, I made a mistake in signing up for a required one-on-one exam. When I realized my error, I immediately contacted her, apologized, and made myself readily available for a make-up opportunity. Normally, so as not to give the naughty children an easy way out, these one-on-one exams are not made-up (unless your AI happens to have a beating heart, and can recognize an honest mistake). She denied me, citing "an administrative bind," but then went on to say that "it [was] difficult to do, seeing as though I'm so responsible." It's the beginning of the semester. I'll make up for the zero-grade somehow.

I shake my fist at ye, o black- and stony-hearted one!



But bearing what we cannot change and going on with what God has given us, confident there is a destiny, somehow seems to bring a reward we wouldn't exchange for any other. It takes a lot of fire and heat to make a piece of steel. -Ronald Reagan







Current music: Elton John--This Train Don't Stop There Anymore. Elt, we knew you were gay and a druggie before. We still loved you.

Not by the hairs of my chesty-chest-chest

Listening to Edith Piaf, Comme moi. Yeah, I guess no one's surprised that I like boys.

My days as the Polish Hairless are at an end. Well, that's not really accurate, as I've had a little chin sumpin-sumpin for a while. But this evening, after brushing my teeth, I noticed some seriously unsightly haar doing it's thing above and around my areole.

I had to act.

It hurts, plucking your chest. It's not like the eyebrows, where one pluck will be rewarded with 5-6 hairs. Chest plucking is a tedious, arduous exericse. But a colorful one. Chest hairs range in color and tone from February Morning to Espresso Oscuro and everything in between. A particularly painful Beyoncé-colored one was plucked and lo! there was a mole I hadn't yet noticed. Which caused me pause... if I never noticed this mole, this means this hair must have been here for a long time, preventing me from seeing the mole [aka beauty mark]. And sober, clean men removed their shirts and allowed me to do the same. BODY HAIR IS NOT ATTRACTIVE, AND I'VE HAD IT FOR AN INDEFINITE AMOUNT OF TIME! I feel cheated. Had I known that lil' Hairy had been there, I woulda plucked him away with an unbelievable swiftness. But alack and alas, 'twas there all the time--as if saying to me, "you are a phony twink. my friends and i will make short order of your frivolous youth. welcome to bear country." I plucked the bastard away, and I won't deny that I took a small amount of time to admire his remains before getting rid of him.

This war is far from over. They will return. But my tweezers are prepared to launch the biggest shock and awe campaign ever seen by a human body.

Oh well. All gone! I am once again as smooth as silk and can, at a moment's notice, be ready for a shirtless white party at Bullwinkle's. [The local deviant bar]. Today was a Saturday. I'm thinking that most of my future posts won't be this reflective, once I have actual events to report.

Music now is Edith Piaf, La vie en rose. She's like Judy Garland, only French. Well fuck, say I. Why just be gay when you can be pretentious and gay?

Hoping this doesn't become my Eeyore outlet

"Uproarious" - New York Times
"I felt 94 again" - AARP Magazine
"Forget squirrel hunting, Take off your daisy dukes is the new it-leisure activity" - Kid I met, from Columbus, IN

These are just some of the rave reviews I thinked of whilst plopped here on the couch in the Jared apartment. That's right. Jared. As in the Subway guy with the I'm-gon-rock-yo'-world lips and the heart that won't easily forget 2 metric tons. I live in his old apartment. Well, I should say "we," Stephen J. Meyer [hailing from the Land of Cleves], Kate L. Talbert [a St. Lunatic if there ever was one], and myself. I'll use the word "loft," as I'm about to say that I live over a Subway, and "loft" sounds Trumpish and kühl. Anywhat, Jared was kind enough to bequeath us this loft, and we thank him whenever he's on tv with a hearty, "Thanks, Jar!" That is pronounced, of course, in a manner that rhymes with chair, scare, and Susie's ass kinda flares out there and prevents her from entering doors easily. I'd include the IPA transcription, since as a music major that's one of the few ways I can shamelessly flaunt some kind of non-Musik skill, but alas blog hast nicht the big E symbol which indicates an open and long vowel. Please don't hit the back button now. I AM VINDICATED BY MY REVIEWS!

I'll admit here that I'm spurned on to create/write/poo via computer by two of my most incredibly articulate and sexually active friends back home, Ms. B. Lipschitz and Ms. C. Karpanski. Those of you from Chicago should be ok with the Polack's name. Anywhy, they have some really komische (funny, auf Deutsch) blogs, and I was inspired by them (the blogs, not the Jewish girls). It gives me something to do at night besides downing highballs and random hook-ups at gay.com kids' houses at which I am busy thinking, "Wow, 'Spiro Agnew' really is a crazy name," while making out with... shit, sorry I'm awful with names.

I may not always be consistent with my postings. Please forgive me for making you boil with antici













[almost]










pation.