David Infante

As the year winds to a close, I feel it is an appropriate time to examine what I’ve accomplished. Took some classes, drank a liqueur, watched a bafflingly large amount of “TopChef.” I also came up with some party ideas for next semester—assured home runs. Van Wilder will probably dismiss these with a “Nah, dude” when I go back to 1994 next weekend to tell him and then steal them for his own.

Desert Eagles and Loyal BeaglesRead more...

Over spring break, I skied Aspen. I had a great time. I skied, drank beer (bro), and observed one of my host’s dogs (which was recovering from some sort of leg surgery) stagger about their house like a bridge hobo crocked off street wine. Watching a crippled poodle try to stand on polished hardwood floors is surprisingly more entertaining than I initially thought it could be, so I had that going for me. Which was nice.Read more...

Being back home gave me some time to think, observe, and react on my father’s general behaviors and dispositions. I’d only been back from Virginia for about four days before it hit me. I can honestly say without reservation that I think my father Nick (“Nicky” to his mother, and also to me, when his antics become too manic and incredible to bear) is going crazy. Like, flat-out, True Life “I-have-OCD”-mixed-with-Brando-on-the-set-of-Apocalypse-Now, batshit looney.Read more...