Introduction I

Finding an unused userid or domain name a big pain in the ass. I had to think more than I wanted to about which one I wanted, then find out that they were all taken by schmucks who didn't even fit them. But I found one and off we go.

I'm a doctoral candidate in the humanities, at a university in the Midwest. I love it here. The seasons are beautiful. The weather makes you feel alive. The rent and food are cheap. The people are earthy. The girls are simply a notch above.

However, I do hate my program. It's a bureaucracy like any other, with bureaucrats like any other. And like most bureaucracies, meritocracy has little place here. At a fundamental level, I also hate what I do. Don't get me wrong, I love my discipline. I like discovering, developing ideas, and sharing them with students. But this isn't brain surgery by any means, and all graduate students are deeply insecure about this fact. A successful academic will publish consistently for an interested audience that is too small to sustain self-esteem. I admit readily that I suffer from this. I wanted "Self Loathing" as my domain name, but guess what? It was taken. More on all of this later.

For now however, I should explain the domain name that I did choose. My paternal grandfather, a great guy whom I never met, was known for three things. Every anecdote from anyne who's ever described him to me, mentions one of his following hobbies: Weights, billiards and Guinness. The pictures I have of old Thomas were of a strapping young man - with an earnest, unassuming, honest day's work for an honest day's pay kind of of look on his face. My dad told me that he apparently constructed a homemade bench and worked out on it all the time. He was a sailor too, which meant that he had the skin tone to really show himself off. In his spare time, he shot pool at the local parlor, and while he did so, he drank the Guinness.

Boy did he love that Guinness. I've only recently learned to appreciate it. It's a meal. A perfectly poured glass of Guinness is a thing of real beauty. And most drinkers find themselves in a fairly close-knit cult. People who drink piss beer think that one shouldn't have to eat their beer with a spoon. Or that it's too robust. They miss the point. These same people?... drink Bud Lite. Look at it this way, if you were to take drugs, would you rather take the good stuff or some degenerate's basement chemistry experiment? Anyway, back to gramps. When he hit 50, the big C hit him, and ate away his muscles. On his hospital deathbed, as legend has it, Thomas apparently whispered to those who would listen that he'd really like a Guinness. This is a family of decent human beings, so the guy he had a glass in his hand not too long after, and according to everyone who was there, he held the glass, took a sip, closed his eyes, rocked his head back, and let out the biggest, longest sigh. You get the picture.

So you see, I have a genetic obligation to love Guinness, which I do. I also work out like a semi-fiend and can play a decent game of pool if I play it consistently. Go figure. But somehow, I'm proudest of that Guinness story by a mile.