A Veritable Cornucopia of Spring Delights

As I begin to type this entry, it's almost 2:00am on the early morning of Easter Sunday, almost two full weeks into spring, and already there is an energy, a fervor, and an unabashedly expressive feeling of optimism that has been otherwise lacking in my life over the last few months, as evidenced by the excessively melancholy tone of the past few entries. Fans who have been hoping for more of the same will be hopelessly disappointed by this entry, though you will be happy to know that the grandiose ambivalence of those entries has not entirely departed yet. It's just that, at the present time, I'm too imbued with the spirit of renewal to drown in the depths of depressing details.

So what has caused this seemingly 180-degree turnaround? Quite simply: it's spring time. I know what you're probably thinking: what a quaint, clichéd excuse that barely scratches the surface of the psychological complexity into which I normally delve around here. And if you're one of the ones who believes that to be the case, I must respectfully suggest that you have no clue how much the winter fucks with my delicate psyche. The truth of the matter is that I am living, breathing, walking example of what I call the inverse pathetic fallacy: rather than my mood impacting the weather and environment around me, I find that the climate of my world reflects rather strongly on me. When the winter rolls around, especially in February -- what with the departure of friends for their spring semesters, the eventual beginning of my own, and the promise of frigid cold, minimal travel, and mostly shitty sports highlights -- I begin to suffer from cabin fever in a major way. I long to be outside in warm weather, to know that amusement parks are open and that baseball season has begun and that the glorious summer is just around the corner.

This year, I was fortunate to not get too strong a case of the heebie-jeebies: having spent Intersession on the road, mostly in Florida, I was able to both not be lonely at home missing my friends and also get some much needed warmth and adrenaline. The moment I realized that on January 31 I was riding my 200th roller coaster, and that on February 1 I was in Walt Disney World, the blizzard blues melted away beneath the Florida sun and I, like a smoker on the nicotine patch, had gotten just enough of my addiction to make its two-month absence seem much more palatable. So even though I was -- and, to a degree, still am -- stressed as hell, my semester began on a relatively high note.

Now that the promise from Intersession has been realized in the turning of the season, good things have been happening at a relatively brisk pace. The first six weeks of the semester flew by, with Spring Break approaching more quickly than I'd anticipated. A lovely week interspersed with visits from my princess, who'd been on Spring Break two weeks before me, broke up the first six-week stretch nicely, and before long, I was home and somewhat relaxed.

I say somewhat because the first part of my Break fed perfectly into the aforementioned ambivalence. Two major life issues -- my thesis, and my graduate school situation -- still loomed over my head and, like cars spinning their wheels, were unable to ignore but also going nowhere. By the time Break rolled around, my chances at grad school hinged on a single institution, and during Break came the worst news my tender mental condition could have received: not a yes, not a no, but a wait listing. Granted, this did inspire a trip to the campus (which may or may not have helped my standing, stay tuned), but it also meant that I would not be able to utilize my Break to start making plans about next year. Which meant that my entire Break could, and should, be used to work on my thesis. And while I did do an awful lot of reading, the writing just didn't come to me -- much like the writing just hasn't come to me all along. It's beginning to get very frustrating and a little scary, and even though I'm sure it'll all come together, I shudder to think that the most important academic project of my career thus far will be something that just comes together spontaneously, instead of as the result of a carefully thought-out plan and a consistent, driving work ethic. The ethic has been there, no doubt, but the motivation has been somewhat lacking and the inspiration has been mostly dead. No explanations, but I'm running out of time, and I just know the month of April will fly by while I sit and struggle with getting this done.

Granted, when April is out of the way, the worst month of my life will be over and it will be a smooth, easy sail into graduation from there on out. And though my thesis -- and the wait on a final decision from Penn State, which should be coming some time next week -- are still unresolved and nipping at my heels, it's unfair to say that my entire months of March and April will be abysmal as a result. In fact, April has treated me quite well thus far, I'm happy to say, and perhaps the most visible example of this is the triumphant return of New York Yankees baseball, the trumpet that heralds the coming of the finest part of the sports calendar. Sure, the season just started, and yeah, they're 2-2, but I'm still encouraged: they've never been an April team, their pitching will warm up soon, and when any game ends like today's did (with Alex Rodriguez coming through in the clutch and launching a walk-off grand slam with two outs and two strikes in the bottom of the 9th) -- well, goddamn it, that's the stuff dreams are fucking made of.

And speaking of dreams coming true, I was able to accomplish a year-long goal on April 2, as Six Flags Great Adventure opened for the season and I was able to not only ride Kingda Ka -- finally! -- but also take not one but two laps on El Toro. The adrenaline rush of Ka was the perfect start to my spring coasting season, and the air on Toro is some of the nastiest around. I've written a lengthy trip report that is posted in other locations, so it's not quite worth rehashing here, but suffice to say that being back in my home park was just another undeniable symbol of spring prosperity and good fortune.

Also realized at last, after a very long but patient wait, was the experience of seeing the Robert Rodriguez/Quentin Tarantino double-feature homage Grindhouse. I've been chomping at the bit for this to come out, and having finally seen it, I feel complete in a very strange way. To slip from the often-sickly bonds of the somewhat formal style with which I tend to write this blog, I must make a personal confession: Robert Rodriguez is my homeboy. Planet Terror may have scared me at times, which is the one thing I hate when movies do to me, but I've also never rooted for a movie so much as I did for the 75 minutes I spent in zombie hell. Tarantino's flick, Death Proof, sadly left me even more ambivalent as to how I feel about QT and his films, but the ending almost made up the relatively lackluster middle sections. All in all, between the two films and the positively kickass fake trailers inserted at the beginning and during the intermissions, it was three and a half hours in a theatre that didn't feel at all like three and a half hours (unlike Zodiac, which was two and a half hours that almost felt like four and a half). Even though 300 was sweet, Grindhouse still takes my pick as most fun you can have at the movies this year, bar none.

And with much of that out of my system, I can slip safely back into a mode of moderate self-restraint. As I've made plainly clear, there have been individual moments of excellence during the past month that have focused my mind and allowed me to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Granted, that light won't be so obscure or blinding once my thesis is out of my hands, but the fact of the matter is that it's there. And while I'm still not ready to come to terms with the fact that my all-too-fleeting college career comes to an end in less than two months, at least I'm not sitting here on my blog bitching and moaning about where my youth went and what the hell I'm going to do. Perhaps, after next week's grad school revelation, I'll have some more room to bitch, or perhaps once my thesis is handed in, I'll have time to panic about other pressing matters of psychological significance. Or maybe I'll just freak out inexplicably beforehand, as I am wont to do from time to time.

But at this point, who fucking cares? The ride right now is smooth, steady, and enjoyable. So as the weather warms (presumably...what the fuck is up with these cold snaps?) and things continue to progress positively, I feel like I should leave myself, at least in my mind, in the place where I would be now, had I an automobile, a bottomless gas tank, and no academic obligations:

In a car, with the windows open, the radio blasting, and the pedal to the floor. Doesn't get any sweeter than that.