Ode to Alice Lloyd ------------------ My freshman year, they stuck two other psychotic women in _my_ room which was already the size of a broom closet. Karen tried to smother Robyn with a pillow when she hit the snooze button six times in a row at 6am on the sixth consecutive day. I cultivated off-campus friends so that I could pretend I was too drunk to leave and snore peacefully on their furniture. The only edible thing in the cafeteria was Captain Crunch which luckily was accessible 24x7 by those in the know. When Mom visited for the first time & used the can, she remarked that there was a dude standing there wearing "half a towel" brushing his teeth. He was good looking and friendly enough she said, but the true impact of my young, innocent, naive self living on a co-ed floor hadn't really hit her until just then. I pointed out that he was in fact probably wearing a complete towel, but it only seemed like half a towel since it was only covering the lower half of his body. That was obvious, but I of course never told her about the Incident. One day, there was a big wad of jizz in the shower. With a plastic knife, I scooped it onto a plastic lid & confronted every man on the hall including the RA. Various demurring responses were received: It wasn't me, man. I don't know, I was pretty drunk at the time. No, I only ejaculate into attractive women ALL THE TIME You know, women have vaginal secretions; that could be from a chick... Nobody fessed up, so it was decided that someone from a rival floor had done it as a prank. It never happened again, but for some unknown reason, this foray had earned me the reputation of a ballsy spoken word poet, so I was recruited to do vocals for Dollhouse by Erick, an ostracized punk Canadian engineer with homemade guitar featuring a broil, bake, and fry knob. Our most popular offering was a mosh-pit song re: drunken revelry called 'Bedspins'. It was slow and ethereal during the dizzy, spinning part, and sped up like a crack monkey during the gut-wrenching, puking part: I woke up with that still-drunk sensation Of being perfectly still But with everything else falling away Time suspended in space Sliding wider and wider Until my mind hits my body again Impact! Slammed into the bed I reach for my head Straight from the grave A gut-wrenching wave Arcs into the trashcan I'll not do this again slower> Never never never oh oh slowest> never never never never Oh God help me where are my underwear where where where We were allowed to perform in the TV lounge. Everyone agreed that we stank, but that our lyrics were good, so we should stick with the poetry as an outlet for our vast freshman angst and _not_ drop out of school and go on the road. In spite of my insatiable ego, I listened, thank god, since people actually pay me cash these days to do computer work. Over the years, my freshman angst has morphed into corporate angst, constantly needing the creative outlet which has always been there. It adds another dimension to your life no matter what else you are doing. So if you want to write, write, and if you want to paint, do it. And thank the open-minded people who encourage you, even when you openly suck.