28 Oct 4702 - Night of the Spectacle
In between bouts of finishing a hasty
project and project report for FEM, I made the trek across campus to the
basement television station to perform on Chicken Video, and to continue my
cataloging efforts with our racks of videos. The production staff tried to spice
things up by throwing us in front of a green screen, which drove the switcher
nuts and gave us marginally seasonal backdrops. Halfway through the show we had
to can the green screen in favor of the stage, and from there finished the show.
To make matters worse, the show has now been made the official venue of the OLT
fraternity on campus, whose membership largely coincides with the gaming
populace, and thus, largely coincides with my acquaintance. I like the gamers
and dislike all frats, so I am left at a curious impasse many times when I deal
with people, especially now half of the Chicken Video staff. Specifically, they
signed on a pledge tonight to act as co-host. Ordinarily, I am fine with having
anyone at all as another co-host, I think it gives me a wonderful opportunity to
deeper my sense of humanity and promote its cause with my fellows, however, Ryan
himself had no desire to be on stage, he was doing it to get signatures in
his pledgebook for the bloody frat. These "fraternities" are the merest husk
of their namesake, and I for one am sick of the false promotion of humanity.
Fraternities prevent real fellowship from taking place around here, and the
cliquish nature runs deep into the heart of the land, ending somewhere around
Lake Sasquekulsseslonee, right outside of Kill Nowhere, NY.
Outside of my show was the lunar eclipse, and the World Series. Both were
beautiful. The eclipse is predictable, but the Sox weren't supposed to win until
the Fall before the end of the world, which is somewhere around 4710. Maybe
4711, I forget where the year trips over. The Sox are every inch my parent's
team. They were my Dad's team because he called Mass. home for a long time, and
they were my Mom's team because she wanted to get along with my Dad, and why
send a schism down a perfectly good relationship over something like team
affiliation? I may hate Yankees fans, but if one were my sweetheart, I wouldn't
hate her. I may be bias in my judgment of their relationship as "perfectly
good," as I exist. Onward:
The week in review will feel like a month, and at the end I know I will have
nothing to show for it. Progress is forever in the mind, and only sometimes
found in the work of your hands.