Regarding the Mystery Behind our Protagonist's Strange Disappearance

After months of absence, word began to travel that our Beloved Knight of Diligence had once and for all fallen captive to the crafty spells of Dionysian enchantment with their endless torment and guile. Speculation arose that once the Knight of Diligence had mercilessly ransacked the Giant of Prometria, he made his way to the Mountains of Wreckroomia to receive penance for past indiscretions and attempt to make new indiscretions that are wont to take place following victory in a standardized joust and other success in other chivalrous endeavors.

Not much is known about the goings on that happened hither-to, however the story goes that during his journey home, our protagonist stumbled across another knight who happened to be nodding off under a tree. This Knight, known as the Knight of Infinite Resignation, was said to have lured him into his castle, without mercy or shame, vanquished our hero with the aid of pharmacological agents and a little rhetoric.

Cheers to Brevity

My life can be summed up in one quick sentence.

The Fall of the Last Emperor of Russia

It's official: Life as I've known it has been turned upside down. For years, I've watched Fedor Emilianenko run through his opponents with such ease and precision that it has hither-to been impossible to ever envision him swallowed by the agony of defeat. Fedor Emilianenko's successive victories have always reminded me that all is right in the world and that with each and every conquest, harmony and balance permeate life brilliantly. Tapped out in the 68th second of the first round, I am in just as stunned as the last emperor of Russia, thoroughly shocked and tragically awed. I have very little to say about this bitter defeat other than things no longer seem to be following the same harmony that they once did. Chaos has restored its rightful place in the world, but despite all, everything is still perfect and just as it should be.

Experimental Psychopharm Semi-Phail

Mid-nocturnal insomnia has been frustrating me with its frequency as of the last few weeks. Having a rather abundant medicine cabinet, I decided to fight off this nuisance with an adequate dose of Zolpidem. In past trials, hypnogogic and hypnopompic hallucinations caused me to shy away from taking this medication, however last night, I finally overcame my fear of the unreal. Disoriented, I dove right into the hallucinatory abyss and figured, for old time's sake, it would be a good opportunity to see if I could write something quasi-interesting and pharmacologically induced. My experimental bust exposed itself vividly on my computer screen despite that I could not really open my eyes one hour post dose. My laptop sat on my stomach and the befuddling gallimaufry of incomplete, tangential sentences and poor diction elucidated my failure in an all-too-familiar hypnopompic state. The bright side is that I finally enjoyed a peaceful night's sleep. I'll count that as a victory any day of the week. Now for my spoils.

Adventures in LOLOLand

Not since this rendition of Nietzsche's moustache have I ever LOL'd so hard in my EFFING LIFE.

Analysis of (Gray) V(ar)i(ea)nce

The frequency of these posts seems few and far between and often times, I offer the excuse, "I'm busy." I look back at however many days since my last entry and I think to myself, "what have I honestly been busy with?" It seems as if most of my days are spent dumbing myself down in order to get some satisfaction out of life as opposed to the academic undertakings I really desire to immerse myself in.

People often talk about balance; these faith-healers and dullards. I have yet to discover the pleasure in the hackneyed gray line between black and white, and most enjoyable moments reveal themselves only in the far-removed points lying on opposing ends of the social spectrum. It is safe to say that my apex teeters on the fine line that separates either extreme from the abyss and that only in moderation do I stagnate and achieve nothing.

Woe is Wednesdays

Woe is he whose day's highlight comes from a random encounter on the elevator with a resident in child psychiatry concerning activation of the amygdala during cued and uncued pain. I don't know if it has been the failed deadlifts this morning, the crappy weather or the vexing commute where cramped subways and buses with people way too big for a single seat to suffice took their toll on an already battered morale. May wings, beer and a Fred Perry sample sale provide salvation.

And then I proceeded to EFFING MURDER a PR.

So the story behind this post is this:

I herniated my L5 in 2002 at a globogym going buckwild on one of those weighted rowing machines. It was one of the worst injuries ever and every bit as painful as having to sit through the Tyra Banks show. For years after, I had problems with my sciatica and things never really healed the right way. Being as how I always seem to ride the fine line between hypochondriasis and being neurotic about my health, I never really worked out again and settled for other past times, like alcoholism, substance abuse and video games. About 2 years ago, I started working out again and fell in love with the deadlift, except I always decorated the barbell with a "proceed with caution" sign lest I reinjure myself. I first joined Crossfit in Nov 2009 and my max deadlift was an uninspiring 225lbs, but I was pretty damn excited. In December, my deadlift 1RM went up to another uninspiring 245#, but again, I was pretty stoked. Just recently, March 18th, our WOD was 7x1 deadlifts. This time I was able to max out at 275#, which was incredible! If you had asked me before I started CF what I would be deadlifting at this point, I'd probably say something like "Dunno... I'll be happy if I break 200."

In late March, I started Rippetoe's program, Starting Strength. The program calls for a biweekly 1x5 deadlift. This past week, it called for 275# x 5. I was super nervous and a little scared, mostly because I didn't want to hurt my back again but also because I didn't want to fail in front of the camera. None the less, I sucked it up, ran up to the bar and without even thinking proceeded to lift it... five... times...



I must say, I'm still basking in the euphoria from having quintuply lifted 275lbs worth of apprehension and I know I have a long way to go until I'm lifting 2x my body weight, but I'm off to a fairly good start, I think. Hopefully by the end of this program (late June), I'll 1RM and see where I'm at and that'll be close to 375#. I feel like I've been reacquainted with a long lost love, except this one is 3 times as heavy and won't talk back.

Empirical Wisdom Pt 2: A Reevaluation of Stagnation in the Face of Something Chemically Tangible

Upon further review, it seems as if this idleness cannot be attenuated with more focused and empirically reliable pharmacological agents. I will have to revise my hypothesis in lieu of a failed experiment in which the NAcc was successfully stimulated, yet repetition failed, one still lacked his muse and one still remained stagnant. In future studies, it may be important for researchers to possibly place the subject in environments that provide more stimulation than one's living room.

Medical Opinion < Empirical Wisdom

I have been lacking my muse. Someone once asked me what it was like to have writers' block. I replied with "It feels like drunk." Only, come to think of it, it doesn't feel like drunk. It feels like melancholic stagnation. Anterior motion will shake this illness and repetition will once again be mine save for my poetic short-comings --these are often compensated for by a trip to the ol' medicine cabinet, but I digress. I blame this idleness on a failed psychopharmacological experiment in which I acquiesced with a charming young nurse to take benzonatate as a cough suppressant for a respiratory infection rather than the tried and true, promethazine/codeine combination. I should have made a case that mu- and kappa- opioid receptor agonism will not only treat my cough and improve my current sleep dysfunction, but also keep me out of a depressed state, which this ill-bred and base benzonatate has successfully induced. Woe is me for I wish to do absolutely nothing but languish over the misfortune of neglecting my poor Nucleus Accumbens.

Repartee of the Day ending with a big Touche!

Diogenes of Sinope: The Real Hero of Greece

It is easy to overlook the greatness of a homeless man who spent his life in a bathtub carrying around a lamp in search of an honest man when you have three of the biggest jerks running around Greece spreading their philosophical filth like a venereal disease at a sorority party. Yes, I'm talking about that unholy triumvirate of assholes, Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. While the mainstream posits that Socrates's contributions to philosophy are deeper than the Nietzschean abyss, I argue that the best thing he ever did was drink the kool-aid at his own going away party. Let's face it, Socrates is the walking, babbling personification of an inquisitive migraine whose craft is finding a million different ways to say absolutely nothing. He should have written his Apology on being so inconsiderate and having to make me write countless papers on his work throughout college, when surely I would have rather been writing it on how one could disprove a Platonic theory by simply plucking a chicken.
Diogenes of Sinope, though similar in many aspects to Socrates, differed substantially in his overall badassedness. While Socrates was put on trial and sentenced to death for "corrupting the youth", Diogenes the dog devoted his life to defacing the currency of Athens, putting suckers in their places and warning the children of prostitutes not to throw rocks in crowds lest they hit their fathers. Diogenes feared no man (though he would argue that those who crossed his paths were not men, but rather, just bathers), urinated on scoundrels, defecated in the streets and masturbated as he pleased, wishing it were only possible to alleviate his hunger by merely rubbing his stomach. Let's also remember that Diogenes was never the cause of tedious papers.

Übermustache

If it is so that an organism lives solely to exert its dominance over another living organism, then it must be true that Nietzsche's mustache is the hairy embodiment of Der Wille zur Macht. From the below, one can certainly deduce that man has indeed been overcome.

100 Beers of Hebetude

It seems like 100 years since I've suffered the lethargy of an intellectual swoon. Now that it is certain that I will not be attending graduate school this year, I say it's high time to get back on the ol' horse, ascend from the bottomless pit of stupor, make war against the mindless and overcome them with my cerebral prowess, thus getting the academic party started right.