I'm currently at the Duffy House, listening to the song "Over and Over" by Hot Chip, a band I could've seen live this summer, had I not decided to instead stand in front of a stage that would soon house the Strokes, pouting childishly because Brian Malone had jinxed me. It's a really cool song, but admittedly, it's very repetitive. It's not like Hot Chip would deny this, either. The chorus of the song acknowledges this perceived flaw and embraces.
"Over and over and over and over and over, like a monkey with a miniature cymbal, the joy of repetition really is in you."
"The joy of repetition," it says. The word repetition makes me think of school, or the bulk of Pokemon games, or work. It's not a positive word. It's boring, tiring. It's a family dinner you can't get away from. Hot Chip makes a case for it here. Maybe sarcastically, they deliver that line in a really monotone voice, but hey. If they're not making that case, I am.
Case in point, here I am at the duffy house where 5 of the frisbee guys live. A house 2 blocks away from campus, 15 minutes away from my dorm, and approximately 5 minutes away via my new bicycle. The front door is always unlocked. When you get here, you walk in, you do not knock. They mock you if you knock. From where I'm sitting I can see 11 frisbees, 2 wide screen tv's (both of which are currently being used), 4 speakers for their stereo system, and 2 identical Halo: Reach posters. The walls are a dirty beige color, and they have a bumpy texture. So... It's like a filthy, bumpy layer of eggnog. Over the walls and the ceiling. Ideal. I come here probably 3 or 4 times a week. Coming here means one of three things. Either A) I am sitting building my impressive-yet-utterly-futile-in-the-face of-the-godlike-Robert-Langellier Mario Kart skills, B) playing Black Out with varying degrees success, or C) picking up the tuxedo I consistently leave at their house before I go to a choir concert.
Going over to the duffy house isn't the most exciting thing in the world, but it's full of people that I like, and it's comfortable, familiar. By this point it's become a tradition for me to head over there. It's something that happens all the time, but I want it to happen. It's practically unimaginable that one could live a life devoid of repetition. How many new experiences do you have, daily? I didn't do anything completely new today, that's for sure. But I had a good time. I controlled my repetitions. I repeated the events I wanted to experience again, like going over to the duffy house, or laughing at someones misfortunes. (today: the janitors at the school of music when I put 20 empty cardboard boxes in/around the same trash can, shifting my burden to them. Yesterday: Someone not gifted with my looks, talent, or talent.)
For a week when I was 9 or 10, Peter Eck and Nick Dietrich and I watched Kung Pow: Enter The Fist! every damn day. There was a week when we did pretty much nothing but that. I would like to act like that wasn't true, but fellas you know I'm not fronting no fuckin' lie.
Starting in middle school, every half day a bunch of my friends and I would meet at D&J's cafe, a diner near my house. We would go there, overtip the waitress because we hadn't learned the value of money yet, head back to my place, and play Guitar Hero and a variation on 4 square called Cobra-Ball. I was predictably unstoppable at Cobra-ball, one of the many instances of life foreshadowing my eventual evolution into the ultimate athlete.*
Creating chaos and anarchy for several of my high school teachers with my eternal side-kick/love interest? Mada Larson. We got into a fight in which I swept the feet out from underneath her in order to get a nickel that I craved, that I needed. We chased eachother out of her room, down from her 4th floor tower to the 2nd floor when we policed ourselves, deciding we should head back up. She shrugged when we walked back in.
Improv sleepovers, and the inevitable temper tantrum I throw around 4 or 5 A.M. GET READY FOR THAT, FUTURE WIVES.
The 4 - 5 hour practice Band Practice always has before a gig because we didn't have time and we didn't have time and we didn't time until shiiiit we're playing a show tonight, guys.
Steak n' Shake. Dear god, Steak n' Shake. SOMEONE IN ILLINOIS GO EAT STEAK N' SHAKE ASAP. DO IT FOR ME.
There are traditions here, too. They have traditions in Oklahoma, I shit you not. Every Tuesday, Thursday** and Sunday I have ultimate practice. Tuesdays and Thursdays after practice upperclassmen bully me and push me into lockers until I take them to the legendary cafeteria. Every week or so we have (lowercase) band practice. After every band practice we play racquetball which is good and fun, especially when you make up rules that would, if discovered, undoubtedly get your equipment privileges taken away. This burrito place here, Freebirds, has this cute little tradition of telling me that it will soon be ending it's half-off student discount, but then it sees the fire in my eyes and walks its cute, submissive ass straight to the cash register, where they give me the half-off student discount.
All of these things I love. All of these things I value. All of these things I'm glad to see come and go, if not daily, then weekly, or monthly, or whenever we have time. Sometimes I don't have the time, or sometimes I'm just forgetful, and sortof a bad friend. Too often a tradition has died, or I've missed a regular lunch date with a friend because I just didn't put enough effort into making sure it would survive/I'd be awake. I'm sorry, I'm perpetually sorry.
This break, I will play Final Fantasy with two of my bestest friends. Mada and I will eventually return to SHS and burn it down or something unspeakably cool like that. Freebirds will continue to give me my goddamn discount. Soon, a D&J's will occur. I'll make sure of it.
Peter and Nick though, we uh probably shouldn't watch Kung Pow ever again. I'm afraid of realizing how much time we wasted.
*As determined in a recent game of Likewise
**Who gives a fuck about an Oxford Comma?