Hi!
Eleanor is the most beautiful girl in the world, and she's brilliant!!!!!

I've officially moved my blog over from this blogger software to wordpress's sofware at http://www.gkonz.com/blog I also have a picture page at www.gkonz.com so go look around.


Lates,

Kons

Blog

Website

So, the guy in front of me seems to be invovled in a heated debate with his girlfriend... This is what I've heard currently-

"Give me 5 Homeschoolers who wouldn't go into a club and not freak out just find me 5..."

"Jesus would have been happy in a club..." and

Peter, for crying out loud, was the word's first drama queen..."

I want to ask this person if it is posible for him to not have ANYTHING to do. It's finals week for gosh sakes!

Kons

mY HOT BROTHER!! TAKE A LOOK


http://www.hotornot.com/r/?eid=OLAYHLK&key=RVM

---

Currently Spinning:



There is something about Bob Dylan. I don't exactly know how to describe it, but every time I listen to him he seems to be able to mold around the feelings I'm having. I think one of the biggest reasons for this is that often his phrases are unintelligable (no I don't mean I can't discern what he is saying) but that it is impossible to know the ins and outs of what he's saying and so it lends itself to interpretation. It's not as if I'm sitting here interpretting what he's saying, but more because most of the songs (not counting the ballads) are not about anything in particular and so we try to instill a meaning or we just assume that the meaning is whatever specific feeling of the time. I know, it sounds like Wallace Stevens, right? But I think Stevens was on to somthing, humans do try to order or put meaning into nothingness, and while I have no idea what Highway 61 is about, it seems to perfectly fit every single one of my moods.

Recently, I was reading Henry Fielding for class, and came upon a very striking passage. "The only source of the true Ridiculous (as it apears to me) is affectation. But though it arises from one spring only, when we consider the infinite streams into which the one branches, we shall presently cease to admire at the copious fied it affords an observer." Later he goes on in the same vein to say "Now from affectation only, the misfortunes and calamities of life, or the imperfections of nature, may become the objects of ridicule. Surely he hath an ill-framed mind, who can look on ugliness, infirmity, or poverty, as ridiculous in themselves: nor do I believe any man living who meets a dirty fellow riding through the streets in a cart, is struck with the idea of the ridiculous from it..."

Basically he's saying that we don't make fun of people for cruelety's sake, but more because people do ridiculous things through affectation, which as he says stems from two major causes, hypocrisy and vanity.

I think he's really on to something here, and as I drive by the gigantic Homer Simpson Santa Clause (and when I say gigantic I mean 8 feet tall and 5 feet wide) I think it is ridiculous for those reasons. Of course there are othe things which cause us to shake our heads, but I think Fielding certainly has a good point.

My sonnets are done, btw, and if you check at the bottom of this post I'm going to include the sequence in its entirety. I know it isn't the coolest or even the funniest reading, but you might find some of them interesting.

I'm hoping that by posting these sonnets too I'll have some different ads on my page. What the heck is with Emu Oil ads? What in the world have I recently posted about that would merit such a thing?

Also, I wanted to relate two quick stories about a specific member of my house which I found terribly amusing

So, this person was writing a speech and when I asked him about it he says "oh yeah, I'm writing a speech in the Ciceronian (he pronounced the C hard) style." Sensing a true classicist (being as he pronounced the Latin way) I asked him if he knew that Cicero was a pet name affectionately bestowed upon him by his fellows meaning "little chick pea." Now, faithful blog readers, I know that you will find the next part of this story hard to believe but he looked at me and said, "No, no, it Kickero means Sicero, pronouncing the C hard is a latin thing which doesn't carry over to English." After we looked it up, and he believed me I went into my room and later when people asked him what Cicero meant he said "Little hairy chicken or something like that." I hope that word is on the final

However, the funniest thing that ever occured happened when we were all out having a late night smoke and speculating about the gigantic Peace sign constructed of Christmas lights that is in our neighbor's 40-55 foot tall tree). I speculated that our neighbor must have some sort of jet pack with which he gets to the top of the tree, and afterwards whenever anyone asks Ty about the sign, and how it got into the tree he confidently responds, "ohh, he has a motor." to get the full joke though you have to see how serious he is when he says this

ok, I'm going to take a power nap and go to class.

Lates.

Kons


I: The choosing of the lists:

We all set down with pen and paper out,
To choose the cook and assign the dirty tasks.
We fought and argued w/ our greatest deeds,
Telling the stories of our cooking wiles;
“I cooked a bowl of chicken noodle soup.�
“I basted half a field of sheep and cows.�
“I fixed a meal for several hundred girls.�
This went on till out res’dent grandpa Sean,

Stood up in all his ag`ed wiles,
And told us he would cook our Turkey bird,
As long as we would follow him in battle.
We cheered and set about preparing food,
The problem though, alas, is that he’s French.
Would he be better than the res’dent wench?

II: The chef at work:

The chief having been chosen by decree,
Began to lay his plans for conquering,
The nineteen pound turkey of smallish wing.
By cleaning all the kitchen on a spree,
He ordered us, his minions to be free.
While staunchly fighting grime, as when it’s spring.
The happy urge was on and we cheering,
Fought bravely till disaster struck our army.

“The cupboard is bare, cobwebs all abound.
The Store’s are closed except for world of Wal.
But enemies there have more toes than teeth,
They can stir fry grandma’s entrails all ‘round,
And send you into confusion at a call.
Dared we go in that Bermuda wreath?

III.

We geared up with the lists minutely written,
And entered our great stead the silver bullet.
We battled traffic, heading towards our goal,
The world of Wal, o horrid accursed shoal.
We got there carrying bottled damp with bear,
And placed them in a refund apparatus,
We took our “money� and advanced our troops.
Ignoring all those gadgets in the way,
The food was hidden under needless things,
The pie pans not near goodly cooking things.
We split up in attempt to quickly leave,
And yet we lost our bravest in this deed.
Fair Konrad with his Ironclad resolve,
Bought needless things for problems they would solve.

IV.

Yet even with this flummox we survived.
With few things more than we had thought to get,
The toilet paper was gargantuan,
But this we realized we could find a use.
If not for us professors’ houses then,
Would see this snow adorn their trees.
Yet, hist, my friend, this does not play a part,
I’ll save the tale of this a merry sport.

For now that we escaped the evil mart,
We headed back ingredients in hand,
Across the postage stamp we traveled fast.
Passing the Kroger and the Market house
Stopping at fair Oakley to fuel our steed,
Then going home to perfect our cooking creed.

V.

‘Ol Grandpa took the birdie out himself,
And filled him with a pound of butter,
He took a s’ringe of his down from the shelf,
And used it to inject his basting batter.
The bird had flown most gallantly in life,
The C-note still he sings the Turkey’s valor,
And with these thoughts in me arose a strife.
By sating hunger I’d regain my color,

Yet waiting would my time of life decrease.
And my creator I would see again.
Yet if I am to end my life in peace,
I must the turkey try and thus weight will gain.
Ah, well, I thought the heavens will be there,
When dinners done they will appear more fair.

VI.

As so we ate the utterly glorious feast,
Which started with some chowder and some meat.
We talked and laughed and drank some mellow wine,
And all commended Sean on fine cuisine.
And as we waited for the bird to come,
We hemmed and hawed upon the sumptuous fair,
With thought to save our bellies for the bird.
Yet I was thinking more about my strife,

And plotting other ways to heal the split.
Between the bodily pleasures and God’s life.
The answer came to me as in a flash,
I’d eat myself to my eternal nap,
Then I could eat and join God for his feast.
And yet this answer met with some dismay.
Because of the amount of food I’d put away.

VII.

And then the turkey all at once immerged,
With goodness hissing from his ev’ry pour.
With legs that looked as if he’d never surged,
And wings that proved that he had never soured.
His skin was flecked with hews of gold and brown,
His flesh was dripping with tempting appeal,
I looked up at the heavens then looked down,
I couldn’t waste this bird for religious zeal.

The garnish came in a red cranberry,
Which added to my lusting for the bird,
“This piece is mine,� I said with tone carefree,
Though I’ll be back for seconds and for thirds.
Oh, would that I could feast with Christ the king.
But Protestants take wafers and then sing.

VIII.

The dinner’s finished, all rejoicing done,
We sat outside to ease our portliness,
Then cigarettes were lit with lighters fun,
And smoked down to the core with much fines.
We stood and drank then played a game of pool,
And wished as in a song from youngish Neal,
That men would have the luxury to rule,
And maids would come and dishes do with zeal.


But then an idea hit the massive group,
The trash out back needed to be dismissed,
And so a fire we would light upon the stoop.
And sit around and watch it hiss.
The warmth would soon be out thought we and then,
The dishes wait with evil malignant grin.

IX.

As we were waiting for the maids to come,
We realized that the pies were getting done.
Thus we went in to wash and then eat some,
And so the arduous task was undertaken.
And fingers worked till they were old and wet,
We spent our time by scrubbing pots and pans.
And cleaning up our whole silverware set,
We pushed ourselves to finish in the span

Before the pies came out and were consumed.
And so we washed and shined up every glass.
Struck by a happiness we felt no gloom.
Even though dish pan hands are seen as crass.
Because dinner made our stomachs glad,
This work could not undo and make us sad.

X.

Our hands looked like an old and haggard sight,
Like withered raisins cooked inside the rye.
The steam imparted us with just the right
Kiss to change our hands from frogs to prince’s spry.
The pie filled up the empty stomach chinks,
Which came from dinner filled without a sweet.
It healed the bruises imparted from the sink,
And no one had to ask us twice to eat.

And so we ate with happy thoughts unveiled.
The pies causing communion with our God,
The Neoplatonic tension healed,
Our earthly eyeball saw the spiritual rod.
The work we had to do we put on hold,
We’d finish sonnets for we got too old.

Currently Spinning:




Perhaps it is a result of Sarah McLachlan's beautifully meloncholy voice, but as I sit here, reflecting on the shortness of break, I find that I really miss Jared and Seraphim. I was reading Seraphim's blog and came accross the following passage and I remembered Freshman year, and our friendship. You guys are great, and if the Beat doesn't work out for Jared's party, make sure to come to the Highlands.

SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE: Walking down into the basement of our dorm, I saw a familiar form reflected on the glass of the vending machine in the laundry room: it was Mr. Gugg, and it was 11:08 p.m.

"Is that a Mr. Gugg I see?" I asked.

"It is."

"And what is such a Gugg doing down here at this hour?"

"What does it look like he is doing?" he asked, as he folded some very Guggian-looking clothes.

"It looks to me like he is wearing far too little clothing -- that's what he's doing."

"Hmmm...Well, Mr. Gugg thought that he could sneak down here at this time without being seen by any long-haired types -- of the female variety."

In any event, I hope both of you had an excellent Thankgiving and that the rest of you out there in blogland did as well. I know we had an awesome time here, working, cleaning and cooking. I'm writing my sonnet sequence for Whalen about that and I'll post it when I'm done and also check my picture page in the next few days for a major update there which will include all of the Thanksgiving pictures (and in a very Konradian fashion lots of other random ones).

I saw Army of Darkness after Thanksgiving DInner and that was truly hysterical.

Also, I came across this link from Will Farnham's blog, which btw, shows that Emily Stack's blog is truly masculine (take that Dave Frank).

We also had a beaugtiful snow right after Thanksiving that sort of quilted everything and wasn't too cold. It was neat. Alright, I promise to post more later, but right now I'm going to go get Joy, and write some more sonnets.

Btw, the decorated Altoids tins are pretty neat, if you haven't seen them yet make it over to the grocery store to pick one up.

Yours,

Kons

Currently Spinning:





So, Joy is packing up for Thanksgiving break and I'm sitting here, listening to August and Everything After feeling happy about the coming of break, and even though I have more work to do than I think is possible, feeling that optimism which always seems to run eternal in my blood.

As I listen to this album, I'm not sure whether I have listened to it so many times that I am anticipating the next song, or whether it is the brilliance of the album that makes it hold together so well. I'm inclined to think it is a little bit of both, but thinking on albums such as Highway 61 Revisited or even Exodus , two albums that could easily be a collection of greatest hits, I find that even though they are wonderful they don't seem to hold together as well as something like XO ... Anyway....

This semester has flown by, as I've said every day now for a long time, and I was talking to a friend today about going out into the real world. It's weird, because one of my best friends from childhood, Jared, is going to get married right after Christmas and that makes me feel very grown up. I've always counted on growing more, being more sure of my profession, or maybe just having some event or some threshold over which I pass and then I am officially an adult. Yet, that hasn't yet happened, and I have a feeling that there won't be a specific event, more just the terror of having to write a paper over night and then waking up, bleary eyed and confused to have to face life.

The good thing is that I know God will be there, and my family, but I just sort of feel so immature right now, so insufficient when it comes to doing things and figuring things out (or even cooking) and here I am, learning the liberal arts. I wonder if that is one of the reasons that Hillsdale is in such a removed state of reality. Here we are, in a college where people are working on things that have no real practical impact, and we wonder that some of the students (this one included btw) are a little strange? Weird.

However, I'm really glad I didn't go to a college to get some sort of business degree, and I do feel better educated because I know about Pope. Poe, William Drummond (not the animal rights activist) but not so much better educated as, perhaps better prepared by having their experiences. I think the important thing now is to get my own experiences, make my own mistakes and be my own person, but form the literature I've been immersed in for the past few years, I do feel better versed because I've at least been able to understand what those authors have said, even if I haven't learned from them.

Anyway, faithful readers forgive my melancholy, as I write this I am depressed by the cold turn in the weather, and the quick ness of this semester has impressed upon me the very little time I have here.

I hope to have my turtle party tonight :D ask me for details later.

Your faithful blogger (even after this long dry spell)

Kons