Here is How Thanksgiving Went

If you’re wondering where I’ve been in the two plus weeks it’s been since I last transmitted Information I can finally tell you: I was on hiatus. This hiatus was special because it was a secret hiatus, and only I knew about it, and only I will ever know the reasons behind its existence. You should not trouble yourself with curiosities regarding those reasons and My Situations in general because such endeavors are pointless and boring.

This Thursday last saw another occurrence of the holiday known to most as Thanksgiving (and known to certain characters from films from true stories as Pranksgiving*), and as is the Donovan Family Tradition we did all we could to not make much of it. The holiday was notable this year for being (I think) the first time all 4 members of the immediate family were not present. My brother (of whose existence I must once again remind and assure you) allegedly spent the holiday in Maine with Some Lady, whose existence I am willing to put up for debate (see what I did there?). Despite this, my parents (whose love for one another becomes less detectable every day) and I did all we could to spend the hallowed day watching things and eating things. The curious reader will ask “what did you watch?” and the reader who is unfamiliar with me and my Ways will ask “what did you eat?” I can answer both of these questions succinctly: “No Country for Old Men,” and “turkey and some biscuits and that’s about it,” respectively. Had I the energy to regale you with reviews of No Country… as well as the other films I’ve seen in the past two weeks I would, but instead I will tell you, in the unlikely event that you didn’t already know, that the Coen brother’s new movie is the best thing you’ll see this year and deserves to win Best Everything. I know how prone I am to superlatives and hyperbole (superbole? get it? Is this pun good or awful?), but this time I am not exaggerating. Honestly. On the opposite end of things, if you’re interested in reading about the worst movie of 2007 you can go here to read a review written mostly by me and credited entirely to someone else for reasons that are not worth going into.

I am almost certain that other things happened, but as far as their worth in terms of being shared as Information is concerned the opportunity cost of writing it all out is less than the returns you or I would get from being able to read it at any given time. What was most important about Thanksgiving break was my return to a state of childlike wonder and adolescent sedentariness in the puffy white-gloved hands of Super Mario Galaxy. If you want to know how many hours over the course of 3 days I spent in front of the television with that remote in my hand I will not lie: more than twelve. Now, upon a successful return to the frigid reality of a semester at its close, and all the work and terror inherent within, the decision to guide a rotund plumber through space in lieu of making headway on a number of assignments might seem like a mistake. It wasn’t, though. I do not make those, and it was worth it, maybe.




*this joke not worth explaining if you aren’t already in on its subtle punch-lines

Here is How the Situation has Improved

I guess I owe the world some kind of apology, or at least a retraction. Maybe not the world, as it had very little to do with what’s happened, but you get the idea. You see, the Problem I informed you about on Wednesday has seen a kind of resolution. Thanks to the dutiful efforts of one AK, The Place is now thoroughly pumpkin’d. I plan on butchering sometime in the evening, but we all know how plans go. I know I should take occurrences like this one as evidence that the world is not a looming, terrible, monstrous place that is dead-set to ruin everything, so I will. This is called [some kind of] irony, and was all anybody wanted to write about in the nineties.

Information on my success or failure to craft a view-worthy jack o’lantern will be shared as it becomes available, though this coming weekend will be a time of little respite as zombie movies and this endeavor* devour the better part of my time. Also, like so much of the Mac-having, glasses-wearing, obesity-afflicted Internet I am excited for This in a way that poses substantial danger to my heart and capillaries.

*for more fun Information about this go Here.

What Troubles has the Season Brought?

What kind of world is it where a reasonable human being (me) is unable to get a decent (symmetrical, medium-sized, mold-free) pumpkin in the month of October? I will have you know that I am extremely upset by the situation I find myself in (what else is new, right?) and I’m at a bit of a loss. On Sunday I went into Davis Square with designs to obtain one of the season’s standard orange gourd-like objects. My co-agent on this important mission directed me to a small grocery alcove where I found for purchase a couple of sub-ideal pumpkins. I opted to forgo this purchase, my thoughts being that a better product could be obtained at a different store some distance away, I was convinced that I was absolutely right about this information - this is called (I think) hubris and was the most popular thing to write about 2400 years ago. Passing up good opportunities for perceived greater fulfillment down the line and at some unreasonable geographic expense is one of those unshakeable recurring themes, it would seem. I know I don’t have to tell you how this mission ended (disaster), but I will anyway.

We went all the way down to That Main Grocery store (the one that decided to be open 24 hours a day sometime about a year and a half ago, a decision I remain thankful for), to find large empty boxes in front of the store’s main door, boxes that at one time held pumpkins. Scattered around the entryway were pumpkins with ideal proportions and reasonable symmetry, but they all had a serious problem: they had faces painted on them. Listen, I don’t pretend to know every Halloween tradition that exists on this stupid planet, but it seems to me that buying a pumpkin that has been pre-painted (or pre-carved, had that been the case) is a lot like buying food that someone else has already chewed up. Sure, you’ll get the same physical benefits (pumpkin ownership), but you will miss out on the most important part of said benefit: the process of transforming something that is large, heavy, perishable and entirely useless into something into which fire can be placed, a process that requires at least one large knife and a number of much, much smaller ones.

So what happened? I refused to buy one of the pre-painted pumpkins, because I am a man of deep, stubborn, illogical principles. Pumpkins should not be painted, that is an opinion I hold onto pretty tightly. I should not have to buy a 16 pound piece of produce that someone has already fucked up on a cosmetic level in order to accomplish a simple goal I set for myself (the goal being in this case to carve a 5-year-old-otter into a pumpkin). I know there are those out there who would disagree with me, but I also know that where they come from the ground smokes and what few pumpkins there are that can find purchase in the scattered plots of soil between expanses of concrete grow to be withered and anemic.

What is the Weather doing Right Now #5

Things have changed - October is now settled in fully, and with it comes its signature sense of trouble. The weather of late has adjusted itself accordingly: after what seemed like an entire week of half-hearted rain things have cleared slightly, though the temperature remains subdued. It is currently 53 degrees, cloudy, and quiet.
It's a strange time of year I guess.

Here are 657 Words About Who Knows What

You might find that this information deviates from the fare normally found here in this needless and needlessly vague and scattered blog. That is because this is a season finale, and as is typical for such affairs all the stops have been summarily pulled out and set aside for later use. Tomorrow I am expected to be conscious and appropriately dressed in a stuffy room at no later than 9 a.m. so that the finer points (and likely most other points) of socialization can be explained to me over the course of two-and-a-half hours every week, in a format that remains – this point – undisclosed. All the beach balls and sparkling cold drinks are being packed away to make room for the thick sweaters and bottles of antidepressants whose respective warmths are sure to be imminently necessary. So.

Here is that reflection on this year’s summer you requested.

Maybe this will not be the information you want at all. Nevertheless, I will present it to you in the form of paragraphs with diction and sentence structure the likes of which nobody ever needs expose themselves to. We here at The Place started the summer sleeping on bare mattresses in hatefully stifling rooms, living like ghosts, occasionally waking up with stomachs full of blood. When we were finally admitted to our proper residence it was unclear whether or not things actually planned on improving. Boxes and garbage bags heavy with personal effects sat on bare floors waiting for furniture and organization to take their rightful places in the Place. There was nowhere to sit, to sleep, to eat, to launder clothes. I spent time in a computer lab being re-taught the basic to intermediate-basics of the monster named statistics. I woke up with ants on me sometimes. I went swimming just once, and indoors. I failed to visit the most proximal ocean. Then that was over with, time passed, I started offering information here, and the days continued.

There were times of progress: the addition and immediate failure of laundry facilities, the possession of a bed, a desk, two typewriters (that I promise to give you information about someday, honest), new shoes, carbonated beverages and at least one airplane safety card. As near as I can tell personal growth was slim to none, and financial growth was of an inverted nature. At some point it seems like everyone got much quieter, and there was talk of serious matters in strained voices heard through walls and satellites. No easily pegged or overarching theme of the season made itself apparent, and despite living like some kind of almost-grown-up for the first time in Ever, very little about my information has changed, making this the summer of the status quo. I did not make any new lasting friends, but no bridges were incinerated throughout the season’s course. Things weren’t stagnant, their pace was simply glacial, their net gains and dividends as yet invisible from such a short distance.

Now it seems like things are happening every day. The reappearance of people I missed more than I was probably even aware of, the disappearance of people whose absences were unforeseen and more unsettling than expected. A conversation that did a little new good to a lot of vintage bad, and the annexation of necessary furniture and an unnecessary but hopefully functional fog machine. I promise to let you know about the fog machine. Looks like we made it.
Now though, it is time to go to sleep in preparation for the rude awakening of academic responsibilities the complete disappearance of the nauseating sentimentality with which this information you’ve just read is so uncharacteristically imbued. Everyone should write down a goal they hope to accomplish in the coming season. Write it down on notebook paper, fold it into quarters, and label it like this:



Don’t sign or date it. Leave it somewhere that it will be found by someone who couldn’t possibly know you.

What is the Weather Doing Now?

It's sunny outside, and the temperature is a perfect 72 degrees. It is unclear whether or not summer is actually over as far as the environment's concerned, as it could easily warm up without cause or warning.

So that's what the weather's up to just now.