Wednesday, May 18, 2005

The sequels always blow...

As we watched the pin-headed Republicans take over every institution in this country and pervert them into a place of “family values” with a glossy overcoat, there was one place in America that stood as a big Fuck You to every conservative ideal and person who though living right meant studying and going to class; The Temple of Gonzo.

It was simple home deep in the heart of Anthony Street, and if you had the testicular fortitude to enter its hallowed halls of nudie pictures and stolen street signs, you would be changed forever.

The amount of booze that flowed from this place is too high to even begin to count (especially when it is being dumped on a woman from a 35-gallon swimming pool), but it served as our source of power as we battled dumbass skateboarders who try to pick fights and stripper handlers that are skilled bow-staff fighters.

We took crap from no one and made a few enemies along the way. None of us were perfect – except maybe for Poon who made sure we paid the bills on time - but we still lived life the fullest for nine months out of this past year.

We honored the death of our hero, Hunter S. Thompson, by getting piss drunk and attempting to burn down our own apartment. We threw our parties by preparing for them only five minutes in advance and made sure we all were already drunk as people arrived.

We provide drugs, alcohol and a damn good time to anyone who wandered down the hill from the MU campus, and we judged no one expect for those who now stand at the alter prepared to drink and become new members of the priesthood in the Temple – Fred’s sister and that kid from the College Democrats, I am talking to you.

With the end of the school year we see two of our members leaving to become missionaries in the world spreading the ideals of Gonzo and getting ridiculously drunk on a Monday (it happened more than we can remember).
Now the mantel rests on two who must carry this institution into the next year. It is no doubt that we, as the remaining members, will be able to continue our functions. My worry is that the two new individuals who will be populating the temple. They are new, young and naive – the perfect combination to inflict teachings.

But will they be willing to accept our way of life? Can they withstand the mind-altering experience of seeing a six-foot five man fall down repeatedly? If not, then we will scare every bit of sensibility out of these swine and break them down to their core only to rebuild them into the deadbeat, alcoholics that we are today.

Still, fear runs through the emptied halls of Gonzo. There is an apprehension that chills everyone who fears the Temple may never be what it once was. With 50 percent of our leadership gone, we run the risk of losing our grip and falling from the standards we have set for ourselves. The pools of alcohol might run dry; the Monday, Tuesday and Sunday night drinking may move back to the Thursday, Friday, Saturday settings. We might actually have to star attending classes if no one else is willing drink with us.

Never. This I vow to combat, if half of the house is leaving, then the two remaining members will have to be twice as Gonzo and drink twice as much. We will continue to hump along this path of life and make it interesting not just for ourselves, but those who are unfortunately sitting next to us at the Heidelberg as we begin spitting beer down a woman’s shirt and licking it up – that is after we removed her bra in public.

We have come through this year with a few bumps and bruises, we have gathered our fair share of scrapes as we drag our asses through this university, but with HST as my witness, we will return twice as strong with only half the members.

The sequel of any movie always blows. It is rare to see a movie that can be better, stronger, funnier and more outrageous than the first without sacrificing some quality. But since we at the Temple are not in the market for quality, we do not have to worry about that. We will only have to worry about when our next drinking binge will begin and from what Greek house can we steal more beer.

Coulter and myself will be able to hold down the fort while our brothers spread the word of Gonzo like an STD (although if it were a real STD they could skip Omaha, they seem to be doing fine on their own).
If we can’t hold down this sacred fort, then we both will burn it down.

Monday, May 02, 2005

Our friends in the media...

Well, I have to hand it to U.S. Rep Kenny Hulshof. He sure knows how to make a guy feel swell.

In what seemed like a campaign stop in Columbia, Hulshof made damn sure that (1) the mostlly conservative crowd in the room knew that the media was present and (2) that we simple-minded media friends did not mistake him when he said things like, "I support the president and love the work he is doing. How dare we even have such a system of taxation! Bully!"

Four different time Hulshof pointed out that he was going to "tell it straight" and who cares if the media is present.

At one point he even looked right at one of the reporters and made the comment "Even though our friends in the media are here, I want to tell you this story..."

As if somehow he was giving us a personal glimps into his life and we, the media, were now privvy to deepest darkest secret.

He also would make references to his friends in the media when he was really going to let the shit fly. At one point he stoped, looked around at each press person (the three that had gathered) and made a little huff as if he was saying "I am teflon! Whatever these media elites have to say about me - screw them. I am talking directly to the people."

Well thanks for that, Kenny. I am glad we can make you feel free to talk about the prepacked talking points.

(These quotes are not exact...go figure...on a blog that follows my stories of drunken nights and concert events)

Mosh-pit 101: Beat the living hell out of anyone and everyone in sight

There is no way to honestly describe the jubliation, the pure adreneline rush and the joy of being in the middle of a mosh pit. The flailing and total loss of control all timed to the beat and the rythm of music puts you in an utter state of euphoria. A real, honest to god sense of letting go and just screaming at the top of your lungs.

This is exactly how it felt as I was being knocked around, pushed and generally man-handled Saturday night at a concert here at the university. The band: a ska band who I have never heard before. That part was unimportant. The music was not angry or giving off any negative vibes - it was just music - loud, upbeat and catchy. The kind you can dance to rather violently. The kind of dancing that makes you sore, but only after you have finally sobered up the next morning and have had enough time to recount what exaclty you have done in the last 24 hours of your life.

I was near the back of the mosh pit to begin with the concert. It was not until the end when my roommate and another friend pulled me in and I began to let lose. Let me tell you, someone with my height and coordination should not be "letting lose" around 50 other people who are attmepting the same thing. It just looks weird and leads to me being punched in the nose and knocked over a number of times.

Still, last night was a great way to throw off everything crappy thing in this past year. When I was in high school I used to be a part of a program where I could pretend to play judge in a juevenile court system. There I could yell and scream at juevenile deadbeats and criminals until I was blue in the face. If they crossed me once, I could bring down a fury that was never really warrented, but to the adults in the room it seemed like just the kind of thing these kids needed. Something to put them on the straigh and narrow. All the frustrations from the week could be let out here in the form of assigning community service or degrading a shoplifter

The same was true for my debate. It was a place I could release and yell and be angry.

Here, at my college, there is nothing like that for me. There is no competition or place where I can release all the tention that has built up and become bottled inside. There is no Youth Court or Final Round of debate on the weekends.

This build up, this muck that collected in me for the past three years sat there in the pit of my stomach and made me depressed and bitter - if not nearly alcoholic (it was the closest thing to a release I thought I found).

This year, I think it finally got to me.

It had built up so much I could literally feel the muck and hate in me. It was now a tangible thing that I could see and feel corsing through me. Becasue of it, Iwas becoming self-destructive. Doing things, making decisions and hurting those around me when this muck would spew out.

But in the heat of the mosh pit, pushing and throwing my roommate and unknonwn strangers gave me an opportunity to spew this kind of hate and depression. It was a sweaty orgy of pure movement and aggression all timed to the music and ending for a break to recap the session every three of four minutes. Each time I ran into a stranger I could feel myself becoming calmer, bit by bit for nearly an hour I just ran and twisted and bounced off every person. Each time I came close to the edge of the pit, I was thrust back into the center of the mass only to continue venting this muck I had collected over the months.

It was my court room, my debate round, my place to be angry and have others acknowledge it by throwing and elbow or two into my jaw.

By the end, it was better. Three years of muck expelled. All through the insantiy I had lost my hat, a magazine and an extra t-shirt that I stuck in my back pocket.

But, sitting on the edge of this feast, watching me and collecting the things I happened to lose while I was temporarly going crazy was the same person I had begged to come to this concert. Shannon, someone who has been putting up with me through all this, was standing, watching me. She has been the traget of some of this muck in the past, but still she was there watching and holding my things as I went along. She could only laugh at the fact that I would do such a crazy thing.

Last night was my ending to a semester that did nothing but mosh pit me around and knock me on my ass a few times.

But rather than dwel on the things that I was trying to scream and shout about , I like to think of last night as a reaffirmation of what is comming. The new roommates, friends and people in my life. All of it clearer and more in focus after a simple mosh pit that I was not even suppose to be in.

My past is not something I am going to fear anymore, but I sure as hell am not going to continue to think about in my fatalistic way that I seem to have become so prone to doing.

On Saturday there was someone there to hold my things as I dropped them while going through the motions of being angry at the world and more so myself. I missed that. I will not always have that. I got lucky that night. If nothing else, Saturday's mosh pit not only knocked some sense into me, it gave me a new appreciation and respect for those things and people comming in the future.

If this post taught us nothing, it did tell us once again that all of life's lessons can be learned through a good hard-rock mosh pit.