Murphy's Law

Murphy’s Law. Most Americans know it well. I am sure most cultures have their own version of this universal adage. No one can escape it. I am no exception. There is never an exception with Murphy’s Law, only an acceptation. Tomorrow, finals week begins and of course my immune system decided to go have a cigarette at a most inappropriate time. I managed to write up an excruciating five-page essay this weekend for the take-home portion of my English Lit II final exam, but of course I have so far neglected to commit any time studying for it. I have a final every day this week except Tuesday which I will probably reserve for sleep.

I have been nursing myself with orange juice, vitamins, some OTC nasal decongestant, and my roommate’s girlfriend’s collection of Sex and the City on DVD. MS Word just informed me that “roommate’s girlfriend’s” is a colloquialism. A colloquialism is usually considered an aspect of regional dialect. For example, many people in central Kentucky say, “quieten down” or in southern Indiana, “I need to ‘warsh’ the dishes.” I have even heard such outrageous statements as “there ain’t shit in there but nuthin’.” These sentences literally mean nothing in accordance to traditional English grammar. However, used in the appropriate geographic location, they can be quite comprehensible and even powerful. Regardless, I think “roommate’s girlfriend’s” is a perfectly legitimate phrase. The DVD collection belongs to the girlfriend of my roommate. Case closed.

Anyhow, I started with the first season and worked my way up to disc 3 of the second season. I had watched a few episodes with her before, but never took the time to really watch it intensely or with much focus. I saw the stack of Sex and the City sitting on the dresser and since I felt like shit, decided to watch them from the beginning. I didn’t really start to form a solid opinion until disc 1 of the second season. Still, I am not going to form an official opinion of the show until I have seen them all. I may further elaborate in a future post. For now, I am going to sleep and hopefully I will feel like getting up at 7am tomorrow and actually doing something. Murphy is a real bastard.

Dorm Life: 5 Years Ago

During my first semester of college (fall of 2000) I made a collage image of my dorm room. I stumbled across the image tonight and thought it might make for an interesting post. Many interesting clues to the life of my roommate and I can be found throughout the room, including but not limited to: Jones Soda labels, Jerkcity comic strips, drug paraphernalia, contraband, evidence of post-high school tech-savviness, pornography, and even a Longaberger basket courtesy of my mother.

Can you find them all?

Give Me Liberty, Give Me Cigarettes

As the year approaches its end I have recently taken the time to reflect back on the last twelve months of my life. Actually, the reflection began as I was browsing through my check register for 2005. Last New Year’s Eve I resolved to keep up with my checkbook—that is to meticulously document all my spending habits in a year’s time. After merely a few weeks of forcing myself to save receipts and further motivating myself by getting a convenient checkbook register template for MS Excel, I managed to condition myself into the habit of proper financial record keeping. Not only have I avoided overdraw fees by always knowing my account balance, but I can now look back and see how much money I have spent and on what I have spent it. This year I have spent $707.34 on cigarettes. That total is not as shocking as I expected. That’s approximately a carton every two weeks. In questioning whether or not it was necessary to spend that much on a habit that will kill me, well, I really don’t have a sensible answer to that, as I really do like smoking.

Yes, I enjoy smoking cigarettes. I have smoked for about five years but more regularly since college. I considered quitting after I graduate, however cigarettes have become such a part of my routine and my personality that I don’t know if I really want to quit. With all the recent public smoking bans being implemented in Kentucky cities I find myself becoming a very proud and narcissistic smoker. It seems un-American for a state to force its business owners into adopting a directive based on the comfort of would-be customers.

Personally I don’t feel it necessary to light up a cigarette in the courthouse, the classroom, or an elevator—in fact I think it would quite rude to do so. So as far as banning smoking outright in public places where people have no way of avoiding it, such as schools, museums, hospitals, or the work place, I see no problem at all. As a somewhat public-conscious smoker, I realize that most non-smokers don’t appreciate the smell of burning tobacco nor the unhealthy side effects. But in a restaurant or bar that supplies ashtrays, it can be assumed that the business caters to smokers; especially if said business lacks a non-smoking section. Some large franchises prohibit smoking in all their restaurants. I have heard a rumor that Waffle House will soon adopt a non-smoking policy nationwide. In the case of a non-smoking establishment, a smoker has no choice but to smoke outside or face the legal consequences. However, the smoker does have the choice to simply choose an establishment that permits smoking. This also holds true with non-smokers. If a person doesn’t like eating or lounging while exposed to cigarette smoke, it seems reasonable that those people should chose a non-smoking establishment. With a citywide smoking ban, the smoker does not have that choice, as all establishments within city limits are forced by law to prohibit public smoking. That sounds like an infringement of rights not only to the business owners but also to their smoking customers. It’s not as if smokers are incapable of waiting to go outside to smoke. It is merely the principle of the matter.

The problem stems from the smoking section itself. Unless the smoking section of an establishment involves a separate building or a NASA-style airlock, everyone within is going to be exposed to smoke. Integrating smoking and non-smoking sections into one building gives people a justified reason to complain. In this case, segregation is not a bad idea. Since I am a civil human being, I don’t enjoy smoking around someone who despises being exposed to it. When there is a sign posted outside an establishment that says “No Smoking,” the majority of smokers (myself included) take it upon themselves to observe the sign and not smoke inside or not bother going in at all.

In 2000, 23% of Americans over 18 were smokers—30% of those being Kentuckians, the highest percentage of any other state. It makes sense that anti-smokers would attack Kentucky in their movement to abolish smoking because if they could succeed here, they could succeed anywhere. What saddens me is that they have been very successful only in infringing upon the rights of the smokers. But why should they have the right to force all business owners into a mandatory non-smoking policy? Why not let the business owners chose for themselves how to run their businesses?

If business owners had the option to be 100% in favor of smoking or 100% in favor of non-smoking, and if the customers would stick to their respective establishments allocated specifically to their smoking preference, then everyone could be happy. No one likes being told what they can’t do. As long as there is a “where” in the equation, meaning some establishments that offer smoking, I think most smokers will be satisfied. More than likely in 50 years tobacco will be phased out of this country anyway, which I agree would be in the best interests of everyone. Sure, anyone has the ability to quit, but once a person knows what it is like to be addicted; there is no going back to the pre-addicted state of mind. Addiction is an opened door that can never be closed. Most smokers who have attempted to quit or have laid down their packs for good can tell you that “cutting back” is futile and that the only way to quit is to abstain completely.

But for now, there are 68 million smokers in the US who are not going to yield overnight—who will probably not yield until death. We smokers have a shortened, unhealthy life of coughing and sore lungs ahead of us, but it’s OUR choice as ludicrous as it may seem. We are going to keep smoking. If you are a smoker or a non-smoker and someone is smoking in an area where they shouldn’t, kindly remind them to go elsewhere. If someone is smoking in a designated area and you don’t like it, don’t want to be exposed to it, or don’t want your children exposed to it, then my advice is to go somewhere else. Smokers aren’t trying to force everyone else to smoke, so why try to force us not to?

Possible Correlations in the US Economy and the Circulation of Currency

Since I was a kid I have had a deep interest in currency. Sometime in the 80’s my dad gave me a large Australian copper penny with a kangaroo on the back of it dated 1941. That was all it took to start my collection, not to mention spawning my fascination with flea markets.

When the 50 State Quarters Program began in 1999 I was a cashier at Wal-Mart with first hand observation of the circulation of the new state quarters. It is important to know that most US currency is minted in Philadelphia Pennsylvania and Denver Colorado. Coins made in Philadelphia are circulated throughout the east—that is, east of the Mississippi River—while coins made in Denver are circulated in the west. Coins minted after 1979 are stamped with a small “P” or “D” distinguishing the respective minting locations (Lincoln pennies however, are the only coins minted in Philadelphia that are not stamped with “P”)

While working as a cashier and being an avid coin collector, I began to notice that Wal-Mart’s cash office would distribute rolls of the new quarters usually within a week or two of their initial release. Since the store was located in southern Indiana the entire roll would always be Philadelphia minted quarters. Within the following month I could expect to find Denver minted quarters as I counted up my cash drawer at the end of my shift. I would then make the switch with some pocket change for the Denver quarters to add to my Official Whitman Coin Folder. Through that observation I thought it a legitimate assumption that it took about a month for the Denver mints to circulate their way across the US.

I haven’t worked as a cashier for five years. But through close monitoring of all my pocket change and a cleverly constructed network of friends and relatives who are aware of my quarter collecting, I have managed to keep my folder up-to-date, but with a little trouble that I became aware of early this year.

Following its preliminary release date on January 26, 2004, 459,600,000 Michigan quarters circulated their way around the United States. It was nearly 8 months before a Denver minted Michigan quarter made its way into my possession. Keep in mind that I am a full-time college student living in the east, employed only during the summer months. Regardless of my tight spending habits and limited budget, before the Michigan quarter I never had a problem eventually obtaining Denver mints within a reasonable amount of time. With only a month remaining of 2005, I have all Philadelphia mints for this year (California, Minnesota, Oregon, Kansas, and West Virginia respectively) but am still missing Denver mints of Minnesota, Kansas, and West Virginia.

My question is this: why is it that during 2004 and 2005 it has taken such an unusual amount of time for the Denver mints to circulate their way to my pockets? Some possible explanations that I have devised are as follows:

Firstly, other than going out to eat at restaurants, all my purchases are made using my debit card. I like to pay with cash when I go out to the bar or to eat, mostly for tipping purposes. Perhaps my spending habits are to blame as I rely primarily on plastic for regular purchases such as gas, cigarettes and groceries; purchases that would otherwise produce regular pocket change. Since I have kept strict records of all transactions I make, I doubt this is the case because my routine spending habits have not changed since I started college. Granted that I rely on a stable cache of quarters with which to do my laundry every weekend, it’s safe to say I frequently handle a fair amount of quarters.

A Second but more unlikely hypothesis is that maybe collectors are hoarding an over abundance of the State quarters. Unlike the failed attempt to popularize the use of the Sacagawea dollar, I don’t feel as if collectors are to blame with the rarity of Denver mint circulation. I see ample amounts of Philadelphia mints, even plenty of Delaware quarters—the first quarter of the program to be released. If collectors were the problem, I think an early release date would directly link to the scarcity of that quarter. This has simply not been my observation as I often come across both Philadelphia and Denver mints of the older state quarters that have had a reasonable amount of time to circulate.

My third and final conjecture is that the rarity of Denver mints in the east could be a direct correlation to some kind of change in the US economy. Could such a nationwide economic change be reflected in currency circulation? I think it could, but I am no economist so I couldn’t begin to know the appropriate questions to ask or procedures to go about studying such an occurance. I think that most likely this change could be due to less travel, which in turn could be due to higher gas prices (I doubt this, in that no one I know drives any less than they ever did since gas has become more expensive). But if people aren’t traveling as much, more than likely the currency distributed to a region will remain to be circulated within that region only. This would explain why it takes so long for Denver mints to make their way across the Mississippi River. Maybe people just aren’t crossing it as much.

Then again, maybe they are crossing it as frequently as they always have but with less change in their pockets. Is it possible that people don’t rely on cash as much as they used to? I think so. Though I haven’t seen any statistics on the matter, I know I have been using my debit card for 90% of my purchases ever since I discovered its convenience.

Whatever the reason, this rarity of Denver mints in the east is simply an observation I have made. I wonder if any other statehood quarter collectors out there have experienced the same problem I have just addressed. Furthermore, is it possible that Philadelphia mints have become rare in the western United States? If so, it would be an interesting study to find out why.

Perhaps I am just impatient. At least none of my theories involve government conspiracies.

He quickly became very pale as the drug stirred his mind into revolt with reality. We didn’t know it, but his ego-death-battle had just begun.

Friday night binging on weed and caffeine—always an interesting combination of drugs for overindulgence. For me, marijuana is an intense upper that sends my heart and blood pressure through the ceiling. Because these are my commonly experienced side effects, I did some research and I suspect the condition is some sort of temporary Tachycardia which otherwise sober, I do not experience. Regardless, I see the whole experience as part of the fun of beating a drug—that is, not letting yourself be consumed by it, not letting the drug control you, not letting it get the better of you. I have recently decided I don’t like heaving consumption of alcohol because of that very fact. While insanely drunk, it is very easy to give in especially for those with a low tolerance. I consider myself at a medium tolerance for alcohol and a very low risk for alcoholism. Still though, I have really only drank a few times this semester and not to the point of corrupted drunkenness since my friend Tabitha’s wedding in May.

Tonight, the instant Tina informed me that she had never seen Vanilla Sky the possibility of smoking marijuana became real. I was uncertain of the size of my stash as I have been really busy this semester and haven’t had much time to chill except usually every other weekend or so. I quickly produced my dope box and low and behold there was a dried up roach still clamped in the roach clips. “It’ll have to do,” I said.

Tina and I proceeded to retreat to the bathroom to smoke it since my roommate decided to stay behind tonight—his girl friend having gone home with a friend for the weekend (but honestly, before tonight I don’t know that he actually knows that I smoke somewhat regularly or at least that I am always ready to. He stays at his girl friends house on weekends or goes home to Virginia, so he really would have no way of knowing unless I mentioned it which I haven’t. We don’t talk a lot about it, and all I know is that he tried it once and didn’t like it). So I de-papered the roach and smushed the resiny mass into the pipe, a little glass pipe I bought in Colorado in August of 2002 for $28. It has survived almost three and half years through two universities, four roommates, and countless passes around the kitchen table, having never been dropped. Because it is so small, the pipe has the functionality of a one-hitter, and is not that practical for two or more smokers unless refilled several times. When lids are scarce however, it helps me to ration.

When the pipe was cashed we emerged from the bathroom and into the chaos and sobriety of the living room. Because it is campus housing, it is really a living room, bedroom, and kitchen all rolled into one—a nightmare for those of us who are extremely claustrophobic. I put on the movie, got comfortable on my bed (cigarettes and tea close by) and anticipated that awareness that always comes within few minutes preceding a good smoke. It’s when your mind begins demanding, “What was that? What is this? What have you done to me?” It suddenly becomes aware of its reliability on organs and all their functions. It wants to squirm around and make sure the precious biological sacs aren’t pressing against each other for too long at a time, possibly preventing the efficient transfer of whatever fluids essential to life need transferring. The lungs feel absent of any kind of temperature. The air doesn’t feel hot or cold but only through the nose. The mind notices the beating of its heart but tries not to focus on it. Is it really beating as fast as it feels? Should we be alarmed? What if by suddenly becoming aware of the heart’s autonomy cancels out its automation or the lungs as well? Existing at all becomes a forced effort and concentration becomes frantic. The mind is gripped by that panic that it just might suddenly realize its true existence at any moment. It reaches out to anything real, any kind of distraction from such deliciously horrible enlightenment. A cigarette will fix you, yes indeed, good idea, smoke a cigarette.

The advice that always comes to mind for this scenario is a statement I heard from a friend, probably about six years ago, given to my friend Chad who at the time was totally consumed by the Fear. We were at this graduation party in an endless Kentucky field in early June. My friends and I all had copies of Wuthering Heights stolen from our English teacher who had forced us to read such Victorian garbage at an age when we couldn’t possibly have grasped its relevance (I am now an English major, and I still can’t). We intended to drink a lot of beer and smoke some weed and have a ceremonial burning of the evil that was Emily Brontë. Only three of us at the time (including myself) had had any familiarity with getting high. Chad in particular had never smoked but was very anxious to try it. After lighting two joints and smoking them simultaneously we all were really stoned and looked forward to a night of inebriation. We were listening to Mr. Bungle when suddenly Chad began to panic. He quickly became very pale as the drug worked his mind into revolt with reality. We didn’t know it, but his ego-death-battle had just begun. “I don’t like this, I want it to stop.” was about all he could say for about an hour as he rocked back and forth doubled over on the floor. None of us had ever seen someone flip-out. One of my other friends reassured him, “Don’t fight it man. Let go. Just remember, you are on drugs. It’s just in your mind. Enjoy the ride.” To this day that logic continues to keep me safe from succumbing to the Fear. All smokers come close at times, but from my experience I think most people have some similar philosophy to keep themselves grounded in their drug experiences.

But tonight the Fear was far from my mind as I focused on Vanilla Sky. It was probably about the fifth time I have seen the film. I have seen it under many influences and each time I notice something that had eluded me during previous viewings. Tonight however, I experienced the movie through someone who had never seen it, not to mention blazed, so I was answering several questions. I don’t like to talk at all during complicated films that deserve undivided attention. I especially despise people who give away the plot or try to add some sort of extra intensity to a scene by saying things like “Oh, oh, this is that one part” or “Pay attention to what this guy says”. To avoid being a spoiler I usually only make subtle indications to the importance of a scene such as discreetly turning up the volume a few notches, or adjusting my posture to narrow my focus a little more, or climbing out to the edge of my seat to concentrate intently.

For those of you who have not seen this film, I will refrain from going on anymore about it. The point is—if there is one—is that after Tina left and my roommate went to sleep, I returned to the bathroom and refreshed my buzz. It is now 5:28 A.M. and I am quite numb and bedraggled with fatigue. One conclusion I made tonight is that I must get a hold of that soundtrack as well as some coffee beans and another bag because I am now sans coffee and sans cannabis.

Coffee Enlightenment

I just returned from the campus library. I checked out the Dhammapada of which they had three copies. I also looked at several books on Buddhist meditation but was disappointed at their selection.

Allow me to digress: On the way to the library I stopped off at the coffee bar at the food court twenty minutes before closing time. The coffee guy had his angst-ridden punk music turned up and seemed bothered at my presence. I said “Is the coffee still hot?” and he replied apathetically “What size” and I said medium. I paid the $1.69 and got my cup. There was only one dispenser on the counter, but it was Java City’s House Blend (medium roast) so I didn’t mind. As soon as I began dispensing, the coffee came to a trickling halt so I tilted the thing and got about half a cup. I huffed and turned around to get my money back. Of course the fucker had vanished along with his music. I realize people who actually have jobs want to get out of there as soon as possible. However, we still had 20 minutes to go. Customers or no, if a person is going to work at a place they should accept the responsibilities of the job and face the fact that they can’t leave until it is time to close. I lingered for a moment, but he never returned so I walked off a little angry with my half-a-cup of coffee. When I got to the library about three minutes later, it dawned on me that their coffee bar would still be open. I still had about fifteen minutes until nine o’clock. I figured I would just explain what had happened at the food court and they would be happy to donate half a cup of coffee. Of course, those fuckers were closed too. To calm myself, I took a drink of what little coffee I had and nearly spat it out all over the place. Yes, it was ice cold. Disgusted, I threw it away and found the book I had came for. I thumbed straight to “Anger” and read “He who curbs his rising anger like a chariot gone astray (over the plan), him I call a real charioteer, others but hold the reins (and do not deserve to be called charioteers).” I supposed then that I was glad the rude coffee guy had vanished and I was enlightened.

overdosing on the caffeine while simultaneously expelling his toxic spider venom into the coffee below

It is 2:15 a.m. Why am I still up? My thoughts keep drifting back to that spider in my coffee grounds. I usually grind my own beans in the morning. Since my roommate and his girlfriend moved back in, I now have to take the GE coffee grinder in the bathroom at 7 a.m. to grind my coffee so I do not wake them up. Tomorrow I will post something about coffee, possibly my daily coffee procedure—as I said earlier, this morning I made some Millstone Kona. I saw some single serving (perhaps 2 ounce) packets of different varieties of Millstone on sale at Wal-Mart for like a dollar each, so I got a few to expand my tastes. Now, I am wondering if the spider had been sealed up inside the little single serving packet before it was even in my apartment.

Anyhow, I fished him out of the grounds and spread him out for a picture as if it wasn't obvious. He is currently in storage in an Altoids tin. I think I will take him into the biology department tomorrow and see if anyone there can identify it. I just noticed I switched pronouns and started referring to it as “him”. That little bastard. The BrewStation seems somehow tainted now; knowing he was swimming around in my grounds, boiled alive, probably soaking up and overdosing on the caffeine while simultaneously expelling his toxic spider venom into the coffee below.

A friend showed me a psychology textbook once. It contained pictures of different spiders injected with high doses of various drugs and the results of their affected web structures. The spider that was administered LSD spun a very patterned web (more so than usual, somewhat psychedelic), while the spider given THC spun a very lazy looking web—as if it crafted one corner and decided to give up and go lay down for awhile. The caffeinated spider however spun the most bizarre web of all, a completely random stroke of web with no pattern at all. At times when I am heavily caffeinated myself, I think back to that picture and imagine my mind zooming around in such a pattern. Sort of like now. Speaking of which, I just Googled “spider LSD web” and found exactly what I wanted in the first link result…

Proof positive that the Internet is awesome.