Adventures in Pre-Thanksgiving Transit

Everybody knows that Thanksgiving is one of the biggest American holidays in many respects. It encompasses everything American that could possibly be represented. Travel, company, gorging oneself with food, and then gorging oneself with leftovers, and then gorging oneself with healthy consumeristic shopping; even getting up early to do so. These things that burden us in modern times are something those pilgrims didn't have in mind when they shot that turkey and slapped it on the table for a healthy fellowship meal with the injuns. So let me set the mood for you. Keep in mind that it normally takes me about 4 and a half hours to get from Beloit to home.

I was anxious to go home after a long night of very little sleep and a harsh make-up test that I completed on Wednesday morning, so at about 2:00 in the afternoon I was all packed up and ready to go. So I was on my way. On my way to the highway, I stopped in for gas, at the Flying J which was very crowded and I noticed several cars that had piles of ice and snow on their front fenders and I thought to myself how odd that was since it was not snowing very heavily at all, it was just cold. But, when I got on the highway itself, and noticed many more cars coming from the opposite direction covered with snow and ice. That's when I decided I was going to be in for a trip that was more than I bargained for.
At about Rockford the snow really started to pick up. The traffic had already picked up as the day before Thanksgiving is, as we all know, the biggest travel day of the year in America. We were still moving quite along and a lot of the traffic died down after I passed the exit for Chicago. But the snow kept getting worse and worse. Every once in a while I would see a car that had flown off the side of the road in a ditch or on the shoulder, just waiting for someone to come to their rescue. I didn't really think much of it and continued on my way. It got to the point, though, that the cars in front of me began to slow down when approaching one of these sidelined automobiles, and this was especially the case when there were police cars about.
About 69 miles outside of Bloomington was the biggest one so far, and there was a police car taking up the left lane of traffic. It was then that my uncle called me on my cell phone and that I almost slid into the back of the van in front of me. Following that accident, traffic moved pretty slowly moving into Bloomington. The roads had about three inches of snow and slush on them and there was a car that slipped off or an accident about every ten minutes. Moving about thirty miles an hour, it took a long time to get into Bloomington.
But the best was yet to come!
A long time doesn't even begin to describe the trek through Bloomington itself. Maybe a few miles outside of Bloomington traffic stopped completely. So I put the truck in park and waited. After about twenty minutes, we started to move again. I thought, "Oh boy," they must have cleared the accident ahead and we're going to be able to move on now. Wrong! We moved about five feet and then stopped for another twenty minutes. It continued like that for the next two hours. I listened to a lot of music, including Mahler's first symphony, called some friends, and generally occupied myself while waiting for traffic to continue and watching the occasional SUV driver pass me by on the shoulder and get out of this mess.
Three hours later, I was on my way. But I was sure beat. I pulled over and got some gas and some drinks and some snacks, and got ready to combat my second wind and bring it on home. Or at least that's what I was prepared to do. Bloomington to Springfield seemed like it took an unreasonably short time, which was fun. But outside of Springfield, disaster struck again. The roads were becoming progressively more slick and icy, as opposed to the roads in Bloomington, which were just wet. More often, I was seeing cars off to the side, lights flashing, stranded in snow, and having to wait for people to show up to rescue them. I really didn't want to be one of those people. I slipped a couple of times on ice on the bridges, but nothing serious enough to throw me off. I always regained control. Then I came to the biggest accident of them all.
I saw cop cars lined up underneath an overpass ahead and out in front of them was another trooper with flares lined up on the road. I slowed down when passing them by and the officer outside stopped me and told me to pull over. So I did. After waving a few more cars on their way, he came over a talked to me. He told me I was going too fast and that I had better slow down or else I'd end up in a body bag like the guy ahead of me. Looking ahead to the overpass and the line of police cars, I noticed another car that was flipped over in the snow. Well, that just about scared the bejesus out of me and I continued on my way very slowly. My top speed was probably about 45, and that proved to be too fast when I hit a patch of ice on a bridge about 15 miles farther down, slipped off the road, and I ended up in the snow.
Thankfully, I did not flip over or even as much as hit anything. I was safe, just stuck. Looking up ahead of me, I noticed where I was, and conveniently, I was just at the exit one would take to get to my aunt and uncle's house about fifteen minutes from there. I was outside of Jacksonville, and my mom's sister and brother-in-law live on a farm in rural, Illinois, just north of Roodhouse (look that up on ePodunk.com). So I got on the phone and called them, and they heartily agreed to come rescue me from the snow. In a half hour they arrived and strapped my truck onto my uncle's 4x4 Ford F-150 and started to yank me out a little bit. Proving to be fruitless, however, they found a tow truck who was going from strandee to strandee, turning them into customers.
In the heart of pulling my truck out, however, another vehicle traveling quite fast slipped on the ice and spun off the road adjacent to me. This night was just getting scarier and scarier as it went on, and I, for one, was not taking it lightly. Thoughts continued to fill my head of past highway accidents and this was all becoming too surreal for me to deal with. The sooner we could get out of this situation the better. The fact that I was joined by my aunt and uncle helped, but it did not ease my fears at all. We agreed that I would just spend the night at their house, rather than try to continue the last hour on home in the dark on the ice. So, we paid the tow truck guys and went on our way, after the guy in the minivan had gone on his way as well.
We arrived at their house, a cold and lonely farm house on the side of the road, which at this time was powerless because of the snowstorm. It was now about 11:30 at night, more than nine hours from when I left Beloit. I wasn't home, but at least I was safe. When it comes to being on the road, there are so many situations where the outcome can be life or death. The speed and force at which things happen on the highway can make it a pretty unsafe place to be. I feared for my life a few times that night and have only a few people to thank that I came out unscathed. I was able to enjoy Thanksgiving, even though I missed watching the parade, and able to be all the more thankful for love, life, and family.

Coughing fit turns to alcoholism

It's about 5 in the morning. It's quiet. It's peaceful. It's cold out, yet warm and cozy inside. The cool air meets the warm glass and forms condensation and the slightest bit of frost on the windows as silence and serenity fills the air outside. Inside everybody is asleep. Except me. I've been tossing and turning all night due to congestion and pain, and thus, failure to find comfort in which to fall asleep. Suddenly, I break the silence by going into a mad fit of coughing. Hacking and wheezing, I spit up a mouthful of phlegm. Tissues fill my trash can to the brim. I have been blowing my nose about every twenty seconds for the past five hours. I honk into a tissue a few more times, for good measure, and lie down again in yet another attempt to fall asleep.
In five minutes, I begin to start coughing again, wondering what it is that is causing this. I pull out my Nalgene(r) bottle from the refrigerator and douse my throat with cool water. Thinking I have solved the problem, I lie back down again and begin to drift away, only to find the water proved fruitless. The next bit of coughing forces me to sit up, which eventually leads me to get up. I took a short trip to the bathroom, thinking about how I didn't have any cough syrup or any similar cold medicine. Then, an idea hit me. What I did have plenty of was whisky; smooth, pure, 10-year-aged Johnny Walker Black Label Scotch Whisky.
My relatives always told us kids stories of how my great-grandmother had had a shot of whisky before she went to bed every night, and I wondered if this was my hereditary instincts taking flight. My parents have never really been big drinkers, but I knew, coming from German descent, alcohol was in my blood. I tossed around the idea of having a shot to soothe my throat of its "frog." I wondered if having a shot at 5 in the morning by myself made me an alcoholic. With no one else around, I could not achieve a second opinion, so I decided that I was turning to the whisky purely for its medicinal purposes.
I washed out a shot glass, and poured myself not quite a full shot of Johnny Walker. I sniffed it a little bit, taking in the aroma that I hoped would clear my sinuses a little bit. Oh, it smelled so sweet, that pure, intoxicating odor that smells like it could only come straight from the uncorking of the barrel. But it was coming right there from the shot, and it smelled so good. I took the shot, straight, no chaser, and let it ride down the back of my throat until I could feel it reach the lining of my stomach with its tender warmth. The remains of the taste that were left in my mouth, I sloshed about and slid all around so I could taste that sweet loving potion everywhere, from my head down to my toes.
I crawled back into bed and covered up in my sheets and lay my head down for what would be the remainder of the morning. I could breathe nothing but the therapeutic flavor of Johnny Walker Black until I fell asleep and it felt so good. My cough was cured and I fell asleep within minutes.
Like George Thorogood said, Johnny Walker can be a very good friend. He is there when you're sick and he can be there to make you sick, but if you abuse him, you'll turn him into a pretty sour enemy. I think I took advantage of Johnny's companionship last night and we helped each other without getting too intimate. I certainly encourage others to invest in a good friend like Johnny, because you just never quite know when the time will come to appreciate a fine whisky.

You don't know hell until you are riding in a car for five hours listening to nothing but your own thoughts on your way home to face the hardest thing you've ever had to face. It doesn't happen to everyone, nor should it, but it's the kind of thing that makes you a totally different person. I find it hard to cry when I'm in public unless I see other people crying. That makes it easier. I've always kind of liked crying. It's a good release, and when you are finished, it gives you strength to go about your life with a little more dignity, a little more strength. Nowadays, I can't cry until I get to a certain buildup point, where I just break down and have a night of sad music and crying. But afterwards, I feel better, I feel like a more complete person, that it was worth it.
Crying is always easier when done with somebody, but often it's more difficult to stop. I used to be a big cry baby in grade school, when I wouldn't get picked for a team in gym class, or when my lunch order was screwed up. I was pathetic. My fourth grade teacher told me, "If you use up all your tears on these little things, you won't have any left for when you get older and when you really need to cry." It was good advice, back then, even though I didn't take it. I still continued to cry a lot, and now I've got more tears than I could have ever wanted.
That's what life brings you to help cope with suffering. Sometimes your body helps you out more than you think. When you've got gas, you release it. When you're tired, you sleep it off. And when you're sad, you cry. There's no good reason for tragedy. We could all get along just fine without it. But if we didn't have suffering, life wouldn't be complete. What makes suffering worth while is what we make of it. Whether you believe it or not, we've all lost somebody close to us. Those people are never coming back, in the physical sense. What we can do, however, is make their memories live on forever. Some people think that is done with a scholarship, or a foundation, or a plaque, or the naming of a building. Others perpetuate lost souls through the relentless unwillingness to give up.

What's weak this week?

It's been a long week, let me just say that. I took two hours and tried to post a rant about being sick last night from about 1-3 in the morning, but for some reason or another it didn't go through. Well, I don't have the energy or the anger any more to go through and reiterate all of it. But in a nutshell, I've been sick all week, and I missed my music history test on Wednesday because of it, but it's ok because I was unprepared for it anyway.
The sickness culminated when my professor, DJ Allyson Fleck, asked me to get a doctor's note for missing the test. I became extremely flustered and discouraged by this request as it appeared to me, like so many things on this campus, as just a big piece of red tape. The amount of red tape that covers everything at this college is seriously inexplicable. It is everywhere and it makes me sick.
Anyway, I really wished my post last night would have gone through because I put things so eloquently and sarcastically bitter and funny.
Nevertheless, the week was filled with drama, from getting high off Zyrtec, to skipping a ton of classes (mostly music lessons that I was unprepared for), to reprimanding my grandmother for sending me an anti-Muslim email, to sitting in a "doctor's" office to find out that I have a cold; something that I've known since Monday.
I've come to several conclusions that this week's lessons have taught me. First, if you want to get anything done at Beloit College, you can expect to be covered in the adhesive glue backing from the red tape that covers EVERYTHING! Second, I've learned about life by not going to class, than I would have by going. Classes bore me, for the most part, except my Rock History class, 'cause it's about rock music. And also it's the only class that I'm sure I'm getting a decent grade in. Thirdly, I think I've discovered that there is such a thing as selective sickness. Possibly derivative from playing hooky back in the old days, the human body along with the human psyche develops sickness and immunity to sickness at selective times during the day, for instance when there is a certain class or event you wish to attend or a certain responsibility or professor you wish to avoid. The mind can play tricks on you, and convince you that you can overcome sickness at crucial points, but also fall short to sickness at the most convenient of times.

Reprise

The only way to make Diet Pepsi taste good is to add Amaretto.

Satin Sheets for life

Having satin sheets on your bed can be both a blessing and a curse. I have had a Queen-sized bed adorned with beautiful burgundy Satin Sheets since the beginning of the school year and have received many a compliment on them. They are 100 percent polyester and include the fitted and flat sheets, two pillowcases, two sham pillowcases, and one comforter. The reason I say that they are a blessing is because of the hoards of people (women, mostly) who become ecstatic the moment they find out I have them and find them irresistible to touch.
Furthermore, in purchasing the sheets, I have made an investment in that my future bedding experiences will always be comfortable and (hopefully) desirable by others. I also realize that if and when I get around to having sexual intercourse within my satin palace of paradise, it is going to be fabulous, if nothing else, aided to be all the more pleasurable on account of the aura the bedding emits.
Since the purchase of the sheets, I have not had the thrill of sharing that kind of experience with a partner thus far, or according to one Mike Badamo, have not, "christened them with the appropriate bodily fluids." So I divulge into why I say they are a curse. Not only do they require a great deal of constant attention, care, and maintenance, but they also absorb heat less than their cotton competition. Thus when sleeping alone in a queen-sized bed covered in satin that takes up miiiiiiles of space in my living quarters, I am constantly reminded of the bitter cold that surrounds my bed in every corner that the warmth of a human body does not touch. And with the winter months approaching, it is going to get a lot colder and less satisfying to be clinging to lifeless pillows, as opposed to a warm, lovable person (female).

Liberalness vs. sexiness

One of the problems of going to a small, liberal arts school like Beloit is the quality and outlook of my fellow students. In a school that offers sexual freedom, gay rights, violent feminism, and a major of Gender Studies, there is a certain sexual energy that really takes hold of the entire campus. I'm fine with the liberality and openness that we can express towards one another, in fact I'm glad that there is a place where there is little to no superficiality to get in the way of sexual chemistry.
The problem in an environment such as this, is that it creates a feeling among each individual student that they are in fact sexy in some way. Every student at Beloit College seems to think that he or she is sexy to some degree, when, in fact, most students at Beloit College are not. In effect, each individual Beloit College student behaves as if they are sexier than they actually are, leaving students like me, who can see right through their non-sexy facade, consequently displeased.
Granted, there do exist a few "diamond-in-the-rough" students at Beloit who are truly sexy and display/exploit themselves appropriately. Others at Beloit College, who would not be considered sexy by the general public, find people who do find them physically attractive, which can sometimes do good things for them, or can sometimes produce not-so-good results for both parties. Overall, I think that in the four years (generally) that one would attend Beloit College, the students grasp their sexual identity and their place in society.

Election Day

I got up today to vote for the Presidential Election and I registered to vote and proceeded to get in line to take part in my democracy. I waited....and waited....and waited.... I waited a long time to get to the front of that line before I was handed a ballot which I then filled out appropriately and deposited. I put in so much effort to get that vote in that I really didn't feel like doing anything else the rest of the day. Which brings me to my real point.
To be honest, I don't care about politics as much as I should. If this hadn't been such an important election, I might not have voted, just because I think the system is flawed and I think the candidate who really wants the Presidency more will get it, despite qualifications or fair play.
As I sit around waiting for the election results to turn up, I skipped my afternoon classes and came to the realization that I have a lot of freedom right now, in college, to do basically whatever I want. If I really don't want to go to a music lesson for one week, I can just not go. It is a harsh reality, though, to realize that there is going to be a time in my life when I won't have this cushy lair of freedom and exemption. I'll be responsible for my own life and keeping myself alive, and keeping myself out of debt. I might even have to take care of a family. And although, it will be a major impediment on my leisure time, it will be a blessing that will be honored with the utmost reverence and humility. I've always had a problem with deadlines, and I feel like the big one is closing in. But no matter what happens, I shall strive to be the best person I can be, while still maintaining my own individual personality.
It is somewhat of a dream of all men, I feel, to get through life and amount to something that one can look back upon and smile; a goal to lead a life that helps others, even if only a few, lead a life of their own. I hope I can be one of those men, before long.