A new addition to my Lexicon:
pre fon taine (PREE-fawn-TAIN). verb. 1. to go "balls out" in all possible situations, valuing guts, effort and pain tolerance over traditional "success." 2. to give oneself an ulcer at age 29 from fretting and studying to much (ex: "I got an ulcer." "Really? Jesus, how?" "Oh, no big deal, I just prefontained it a little this quarter."
Franz Kafka may be my hero literarily, but as a person he was–let’s face it–a grade-A pussy. A self-proclained coward. A slacker, a dork, a Whiney McWhinerson.
Steve Prefontaine, on the other hand–he’s my personal hero, one hundred percent And not just because they would revoke my Eugene, OR passport if I said anything else (I have actually disowned Oregon and become an official Californian due to my matriculation at a California state school, and also because Oregon passed a gay marriage ban last year and I refuse to call any place with codified bigotry that kowtows to the alarmist fundie minority "home"). Because he was made of 99 percent guts and one percent moustache (I seek to be made of 99 percent guts and one precent super-cool head hair). This quarter, I worked pretty hard, but now that it’s all over I think I could have done more, could have been even gutsier, could have spent less time watching "Law & Order" and more time reading other people’s articles about German types. This quarter I may have prefontained it a little, but that’s not good enough, not by a frickin’ longshot. Next quarter I will prefontaine it one hundred fucking percent, because that, my friends, is what Pre would do (after he groomed his sweet ‘stache).