If I Could Dance I'd Walk Away from You

As my faithful followers can tell from the title, today's entry will not be on the life of the Druce. Instead, it will be all about your humble hero (or perhaps, more accurately, antihero) me.

I've decided that I'm obviously fucked in the head. I don't like being part of clubs that would take me as a member. I just want to be despised, but only because I want to be loved. But not really. I'm just confused, like everyone else. Or perhaps not everyone else. I'm confused like all those damn confused people you see, sitting around confused all the time. It really sucks, but because I don't give a shit about it, it doesn't suck so bad. And there you have my philosophy. I just want to think less, because it's less taxing. The idiot culture is alive and well, and I'm proud to be a part of it.

To assuage those of you who think I'm underutilising my meagre brain, I'd like to say that I have one thing figured out, and that's the fact that all generalisations are false. They're always useful though, as thought saving devices, and I believe some can be made. I make them all the time, and then forget about them. But I don't want to explain my philosophy because it gives me too much of a headache. Just trust me that it's (for the most part) all there. Most of the time, anyway

So the question is, what have I said, in all this thoughtlessly formulated prose? The answer? Nothing. We all say a whole lot of nothing a whole lot of the time, I think. We just think it's important, but what it really is, perhaps, is important to us. Or not. Most of the time, I think, people don't feel what they say is important. I don't, anyway, and I like to apply myself on the faceless masses, because what other frame of reference do I have? Admittedly, these generalisations probably never hold true all the time, but I'm confident enough that I think the way other people do, in relation to some things, to make these generalisations. And I think that's ok. I think that if we all really thought about everything, we'd end up with no conclusions and a lot of headaches. And I really hate headaches. What's the point of those things? They seem to make the people around me feel better, having them. Not directly, of course, but because of the fact that they've thought enough to give themselves them. This, I feel, is fairly silly. [Generalisation alert!] People are silly. Or at least, I am.

I suddenly feel the need to explain myself, though, however briefly, so this is as good as everyone is going to get. Everything else I'll answer with a slight grin and a chirpy 'fuck off'.

Remember, though, calliing you a bitch is just another way of saying I love you.

Return of the Druce

Evan's return wasn't a big event. The roommate was mucking around in front of his computer (as is now customary) when Evan sauntered through the door.

'So you're back.'

'Yeah, it was awesome.'

'Yeah, I pretty much slept all frickin weekend.'

'I had a power hour with my family.'

'That sounds pretty awesome. I'm gonna go pass out now.'

There was still time to watch the Simpsons, though, followed by an episode of the Family Guy, which the roommate passed out half way through. Evan pulled down the shutters next to his window. If there's one thing that got to Evan, it was the shutters being up. How the hell was he supposed to fall asleep with those fucking shutters open? Still, though, there was a certain familiarity to 423A that the Druce found himself missing, even in the thick of his memorial day celebrations. Evan glanced at the roommate, unconscious as usual, and tucked himself in. It was good to be back.

Evan's still not back, so everybody gets to read about my life. Judging from the uber low response rates, nobody is interested in my life, but that's ok, because I'm not really interested in everybody else's. I just spent hours and hours looking through peoples' blogs and I realised that nobody ever writes about me. This is obviously proof that the whole world doesn't give a flying fuck about me, so everyone should be lined up against the wall and shot.

Going home is such a mission. I hate having to book plane tickets and finalize travel arrangements and all that stuff, because I'm incredibly lazy. Yes, I'm so lazy that if my room were burning down, I'd...actually, I'd probably get the hell out, but you see where I was going with that.

I have more to say about my interminably boring life, but I'm deeply convinced nobody is interested. OK, that's all for now then. Somebody please come hang out with me before I put my eye out. I'm so bored, and daylight is far too overrated.

Life without the Druce

The room seems strangely empty today. The Druce is off in Memphis visiting family. The roommate still sits in front of his computer, pining like an idiot when he should be up and about. This promises to be a slow day, but that's what days without the Druce are like. The phone rings. It's Evan.

'You know how I said I'd have a dry weekend? Well, I was WRONG!'

The roommate almost detects a whoop in the background.

Have fun, Evan, wherever you are. In the meantime, I suppose we'll all have to make do.

Dorm Disco Druce

Every now and then, the Druce needs to cut loose. The roommate will play the Normal's one major hit, and they'll just groove to the music with thundersticks, the roommate doing his Asian groove thing, and the Druce doing the Druce. Nights like those happen all the time in 423A. Two guys with the doors closed, in a totally hetero-sexual fashion, having their crazy wild nights with their music and their goofiness. Sometimes the Druce wonders what things will be like next year, with a new roommate and a new room, away from the crazy nights in Palevsky Central. He wonders what life will be like without Warm Leatherette, or the Divine Comedy, or screaming OK Go because it's just so much fun. Some nights the Druce wishes they'd never have to move, that these nights would go on forever.

For now though, there's the beat, the beer and the bawling. The Druce throws his head back to the chorus of Don't Ask Me and takes in the moment. Days don't get much better than this.

Ask Doctor Druce

Some days it's clear that the roommate has learnt nothing from a year with the Druce. Evan watches his roommate, staring blankly at his computer, clicking on the same soccer site with a blank stare on his face, and Evan knows - his roommate has that wasting sickness. Evan knows from experience that pining is one of the least enjoyable activities in the world, but try as he might, he can never quite seem to get his roommate to buy that idea. Instead, he has to watch while his roommate waits for the least of signals; an email, a message, a phone call. Evan feels sorry for the stupid boy, but the wasting illness is often fatal, and Evan doubts as to whether his roommate will survive.

Evan himself will attest to having fallen victim, from time to time, of the wasting illness, but the Druce abides. A couple frat parties, a bit of alcohol and some heavy grinding always seemed the right medication for any of Evan's worse symptoms. The roommate, however, with his strange disdain for the fraternities and their drunken, Dionysian parties does not have the same recourse. Instead, he is doomed to bouts of melancholy as he languishes, thinking about the same girl every night, speaking of her incessantly, playing sappy love songs and writing lengthy, rambling entries on his blog.

The Druce knows his roommate is, at heart, a good kid. Sometimes when the Druce is getting mad action at frat parties, he thinks of his roommate, back in their room, doubtless inebriated in his misery, and feels a little twitch of sympathy. Evan's sure everything will turn out right in the end, however. After all, no roommate of Evan Druce, sex machine, could possibly be left languishing in the doldrums of inaction for long.

Druce. Party Animal Druce.

It's been a week since the last epic beer run, and surprisingly enough, there's still beer in the fridge. Evan suspects that this may have been a slow week for his roommate, who listlessly stares at his computer. Evan's roommate sometimes has problems, and gets a little grumpy. Today the roommate found out that Arsenal no longer has any chance of winning the premiership this season. This left him incredibly depressed and nearly suicidal. Evan knows when to leave his roommate to mope. After all, the man was in the Singapore army, and an army's an army, no matter how shitty it may have been.

Some days Evan looks at all the parties he goes to and thinks about how they've all been falling into the same monotonous pattern. Parties, parties, parties. What is there to do after parties? Only more parties. Some times it all seems futile. Other times, Evan gets really drunk and doesn't give a shit.

This week there were parties. There will probably be parties next week. Arsenal has lost the premiership. Everyone should die.