Let's spin this thing up for once. Hi. I'm Chris. I hope it's been noticed by now that I'm a bit of a screwball. I'm in graduate school right now, working on my Master's degree. Just aced my first semester. When that's done, I hope I get the hell out of Pittsburg and into a teaching job or off to a doctoral program. But that's three semesters away. (The previous sentence was written June 2015, FYI. There's no timestamp with this stuff. Thought it would help) In the meantime, dear viewer, I'm stuck here. For better or worse, sickness or health, stupid frat people, or not. Oh. That's important. I am in no way shape or form a frat boy. And I don't bite. I'm up on immunizations and regularly scheduled maintenance. My whole point in being in Pittsburg is to become a history teacher. Or professor. I like the word teacher more. One can profess something without teaching it, which defeats the entire purpose. In any case.
I've got a few hobbies that eat away at my mind. I am a gearhead. The correct term might be petrolhead, but gearhead works. I'm obsessed with cars, and I am also an amateur horologist. (I don't study streetwalkers. That's the job of the clinic) I was a clockmaker's apprentice for a while. I still dabble from time to time, though my toolset is incomplete and the apartment in Pittsburg is poorly lit with many nonfunctional outlets. So much for lamps. I've got a mind for the mechanical, so if you want to know just how a thing works, I'm probably the guy. I will do my best to keep such mechanical and automotive nonsense to a minimum. (Unless you're the sort that brandishes that kind of talk) I enjoy reading. I read quite a bit. Books are an addiction, and for once I have more shelves than books. It's rather frightening, and it will not last. I write stuff from time to time, though most of it is likely garbage and purely for me, or to get the brain rolling. The assignments very well could be garbage also. I love to cook. food is to be communal. It is to be enjoyed. And I enjoy making it. Perhaps 'assembling' might be the better term. I doubt I grew the wheat. If I have been doing so, that would be trippy. You won't find a better Vodka sauce than mine. It's pork fat deglazed with an alcohol fire. And other stuff.
I bet this is the part where you wonder whether or not that religion bit was a typo or whether or not I was paying attention. Given the previous part about the pork fat. I don't keep kashrut. Sooner or later, every attempt has been defeated by properly made meatballs. Which then get covered in cheese. If I'm going to break the rules, might as well roll hard in the, erm, sauce. In other words, attempt to convert me back at your own risk. It ain't happening. I'm not the tall, strong christian southern cowboy man. I don't have a truck. I'm no farmer. But I'm no city slicker either. Let's be honest, thank God the south lost, and there is no way it will ever rise again. I'm a Yankee. If you want to show me a rebel flag, the stars had better be in a circle in the top corner. Okay. Still here? My, you are indeed persistent. New York city makes my skin crawl. Too crowded, and I can't see the sky. I can't stand Philly. My favorite season is not Autumn. It's a depressing time. I love winter, though. Maybe a year in Fargo froze all my good sense. I get overly excited when there's a bunch of snow. Driving is involved.
I do not tolerate screamo music. It's got to have a funky bassline. But it can't be dubstep. Or EDM. This is a field where I'll lay out the no's. Other than those things, it's hard to do wrong. I may love funk, but I really like a variety. I love the B-52's. We should Karaoke sometime. I can do Kate, Cindy, or Fred. Yes, that's right. My Kate's better than my Fred.
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