Paul (pauliver) wrote,

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Kevin Shelly is a Pussy

Ahh, hot showers, a bed, non-Mexican music. Just a few things I've been appreciating since getting back from Tijuana on Sunday, though I'm quickly becoming reaccustomed to everything I have here. I'm considering this week my detox and relaxation time, but after that I'm going to write in detail about the trip. And that's something each and every one of you should kick my ass about if start putting it off, because everyone should go down there themselves, but that's not going to happen. So I guess a glimpse of a glimpse of the situation is the best most can do. I've only had a chance to tell a handful of people any real details about my time there, and I doubt most would be prepared for much more than an answer of a few words when they ask me how my trip was. Good. Interesting. Eye-opening. Not quite covering it.

Tomorrow I leave for Tahoe to finally catch up with Cara after two weeks, and I'll be tubing, paintballing, and making up for lost time until Sunday. Aside from the traditional Santa Cruz trip with Ted, Colin, and Variable Man*, that's the last place I'm going this summer. Then it's just the last weeks of enjoyment in the face of summer reading. I'd be pretty scared about the fact that senior year begins less than a month if I wasn't so creeped out about the fact that I turn eighteen next Tuesday. Eight-freakin'-teen. It's ridiculous. I can have a big lotto playing, cigar smoking, voting birthday bash at a strip club, except I'll be absolutely only one of my friends in attendance. I could just run by a liquor store and go around taunting everyone by throwing packs of cigarettes, Playboys and scratchers at them, but they'd probably just file false statuatory rape charges against me for revenge. I don't know. Seventeen was just such a nice age to tell people. It was just old enough to feel old enough to have all the fun I wanted, but young enough to take absolutely no responsibility for the consequences. This is definitely going to be an adjustment.

Speaking of getting to vote, I got my registration form in the mail from Secretary of State Kevin Shelley, who obviously fufills his political duties inbetween producing rap hits and kickin' with his fresh homies, seeing as the "Rock the Vote" logo is printed right under his name. Plus on the back there's a totally hip art piece with lettering than could have only been created by someone who is down with what kids are down which includes the text: "You don't care much you earn at your job...whether or not you have air 2 breathe...being allowed to be who you want 2 be." Because every cool kid on the block puts the number "2" in place of "to" and is politically motivated by the fear of running out of oxygen. But Kevin Shelly is way behind on the times. "Rock the Vote" and "Choose or Lose" are so yesterday. The MTV audience is too busy either worshipping whiny, skinny punk rock boy bands or trying to dress and act like a certified, card-carrying G-Unit members in the pursuit of champage hot tub parties to be swayed by tepid catchlines. See, if I'd gotten a letter from P. Piddy, Secretary of Fuckin' Up Yo Business, with his new slogan "Vote or Die"** and a drawing of a chalk outline on the back, I might have already got to filling that out.

So, with genuine social accountability looming and Crips n' Bloods for Democracy*** on my tail, it's probably a good time to get away for the weekend.

*The rotating spot once reserved for Hal Jakle before we realized he was a jerk who could never make it after the first time. Previously filled by Matt and Jamie.
**I am not making this up.
***Motto: Puttin' the Red and Blue in the Flag and Takin' the White Out.
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