I’m completely moved out of the apartment and now am officially residing back in Papillion with my parents.  This move seemed to be more emotional than moves of the past, but it was also a lot more significant.  This apartment was my last ever bachelor pad.  Never again will I live with a group of guys and break out in random games of quarters for “Ladle Ball” (A game in which a ping pong ball is wailed out of a ladle and you try to catch it).  No more Christmas trees decorated with Victoria’s Secret models.  No more underwear lamp.  I was struck with particular nostalgia as I retired that lamp last week.  I’ll leave out the details, but it involves the game “ring of fire”…  That lamp will never have skanky women’s underwear draped over it again.  Unless I can talk Tara into haning her delicates over it to dry…

I’ve been thinking about the various posting styles of the xangas I typically read.  I’d say mine definitely fall more on the narative, this-is-what-I-did-yesterday, sort of style.  I have also analyzed a few others:

Amanda:  Typically a complaint is raised followed by a rant about such.   A solution is then usually presented and is usually in the form of pop culture or reading.  A LaVar Burton-esque critique of suggested material then ensues.  Expect at least one exhibition of a new word that she picked up in each post.

Rachel:  Almost always a vague expression of hardship usually involving relationships, but could also address job stress and life stress in general.  Often written in bubbly, Rachel style pros, regardless of the weightiness of the content.

Jake:  A combination of Amanda and Rachel sans the vagueness.  Expect an “I need sex!” rant about once a week.

Laura:  Her posts have become few and far between.  They are often quite narrative and recap the noteworthy events in married/work life since her last post.  Look for subliminal “We had sex” messages throughout.

Lynne:  Mostly just a reader, but occasionally posts a fairly lengthy narrative.  It seems she’s abandoned xanga for facebook.

Annie: The occasional post expressing hardship.  Expect mention of excessive studying in each post.

It was a pretty good weekend–sans the cold I came down with last thursday.  Tara came back for her spring break on friday.  We went out for a few drinks that evening.  Pretty low key, pretty fun.  Saturday I attempted to run with the cold with Tara, and although I made it the 5 or 6 miles that we went, it was not fun.  That night was Rain the Beatles Tribute band at the Orpheum with Tara, Rachel, and her sister.  They were really good and put on a great show.  It was a lot of fun.  It really puts in perspective just how good the Beatles where having seen two tribute bands now, and the Paul impersonator in each struggled with the range at times.  Afterwards we went to the Dubliner, the basement Irish pub in down town Omaha.  I love the Omaha bar scene for it’s basement pubs, and the Dubliner is definitely my favorite.  Granted, if it’s conversation you desire, this bar is not for you, as loud, live Irish music is commonplace.  Now that I sound like Frommer, I’m going to close.

So I just now noticed that Xanga tells you how many times a post has been viewed.  For instance, the poem in my previous post was view 16 times.  2 comments.  What a bunch of dicks.  Lol, I’m kidding, but I am intrigued.  I can count the subscriptions I actively read on one hand.  This is three times that–and that’s actually below average (nobody likes poems). My other postings have been viewed more like 25 times.  Is there a way to see who has looked at an entry? or do you need premium for that?  Maybe I have a stalker that just keeps repeatley viewing each post.  Rachel?  Lol.

I was thinking I’d like to chat with good ‘ol Dr. K sometime.  Anybody have his email?

Chicago Slums

The sun falls out of sight

leaving in its wake a lingering red

which paints February trees and

rotting 20’s era bungalows

against the horizon.

Muffled fighting

and fucking creep out

poorly sealed windows

skirting amongst frozen swimming pools

and littered lawns before finally

being overcome by 747’s flying low overhead

in final descents.

Many passengers sit

with faces stuck to the windows

thanking God for four-year degrees

and general well-being. Others

impatiently watch the seatbelt sign while

slapping cell phones open, closed and open again

anxious to turn them back on

cursing a moment’s discomfort.