We're takin' a trip to the Keystone State!
We're broke as fuck, but we can't complain.
We haven't showered in at least four days.
This shit's a bust, but we'll get stoked on it.

I think it finally got me.

Avatar

I've known since about a month ago that James Cameron "ripped off" some sci-fi novella from the fifties or something. I never brought it up because I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter when someone rips off something else. Le déjeuner sur l'herbe by Manet (a painting largely accredited for removing realism and impressionism from exclusivity) was just a "rip off" of Raphael's Judgement of Paris. The dance scene between Uma Thurman and John Travolta in Pulp Fiction is just a "rip off" of the Madison Scene in Jean-Luc Godard's Bande a Part. The Dementors in Harry Potter are just a "rip off" of the Nazgul Wraiths from Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. The Matrix itself was ripped off of the ideas of more than just a handfull of philosophers (i.e. Plato, Descartes, Zhuangzi, Dennett, etc.) These are all very, very obvious rip offs --- yet, no one criticizes any of these artists for this.

The basic truth is that, as a thinking society, we have been around for a god damn long time. As a result of this, a lot of thinking has been done. If you have a thought that someone else has not had yet, either your name is Stephen Hawking, you're under the employee of Steve Jobs or Bill Gates, or you're mistaken and need to admit to yourself that someone has probably had this idea. If you doubt me, watch the Simpsons (look at that; I just made a Southpark "rip-off").

Avatar looks fucking cool. I'm going to go to see this movie, because it looks awesome, and James Cameron is giving people realistic motion sickness with 3D glasses, and until you can do that, I suggest you leave me alone, with your dumb sci-fi novellas.

In 195something (editors note: something is actually "8". 1958) Alfred Hitchcock released the movie "Vertigo", which I watched today, upon recommendation of a friend. While watching it, I found it to be strangely familiar, and eventually recognized that I had seen it some time before.

In the movie, Hitchcock tells the story of a retired police officer (apparently afflicted with a terrible case of acrophobia) working as a private eye. This character, James Stewart, is hired by an ex-college friend to trail said friend's wife, Kim Novak, and diagnose her helplessly strange behavior. The entire story ends up being a convoluted plot for the would-be antagonist to commit a murder without consequence. Truth be told, the roundabout means taken to commit this murder were probably the least effective way to go about killing someone. In fact, it may have been more practical for the antagonist to kill literally everyone he had ever met. This is, of course, beside the point.

While all of my memories of the movie were from the second third, primarily due to the imagery and twisting of the story, I found the first third to be the most interesting. The first third of the movie was basically comprised of scenes of Stewart tailing Novak while she did inobstensibly strange things. Novak roams around town in a trance-like state preforming mundane,seemingly unrelated things like buying flowers, staring at a large portrait of a woman, and eventually throwing herself into a bay to be rescued. The fact is that, as a viewer, we see all of this from the persective of Stewart. We have no idea what is going on. Stewart becomes consumed with this woman's idiosyncracies and falls in love with her. As the audence, we too become consumed with this woman and her strange habbits. Of course, this has something to do with our not understanding what she is doing or why. All of these things are eventually revealed to us by the plot, but for the time that we do not understand, we are absolutely captivated. Why is this not knowing so exciting?

Ignorance is not bliss. The hopelessly perpetuated statement that suggests otherwise is possibly the biggest fallacy of all time. It is my firm belief that the majority of one's life should be spent persuing knowledge. Thomas Jefferson insisted that nothing should be permitted to stand between myself and the pursuit of happiness, and if we were somehow able to ask Mr. Jefferson, I'm certain he would say that the pursuit of knowledge is more unalienable than the pursuit of a lifetime of intellectual darkness and Andy Milonakis Show reruns. Even so, the ultimate fact of the matter is that there is something highly exciting about uncertanty; something absolutely romantic about simply not knowing.

A couple months ago I went out for a night with some friends. The night started with drinking a bottle of wine with a friend of mine. We arrived at a party, and another bottle of wine was consumed. Tequilla shots were had. Mixed drinks were made and consumed. Beer pong was played. The next morning, my friend and I experienced and interesting phenominon. The night before, my car was left at his dorm. We took his car to the party. Upon waking, we discovered ourselves, not at the place of the party we attended (A college apartment complex on the west side of the city of Louisville), but at my friend's dorm at a college on the eastern side of Louisville. His car was where we left it, on the west side, and my car was on the east side. With no recollection of how we got from one place to the other, a head still murkey from mixing no less than 3 types of alcohol, and a stomach that was not sure of itself, I woke up on a couch I was primarily unfamilair with. I would soon recognize where I was, but for a brief, fleeting moment, I was shrouded in uncertanty. I was truely alive.

I imagine moments like those are truely indicative of what it is like to be an animal. I imagine being a wolf is a lot like waking up in a strange place mostly hungover and partially drunk on a couch you dont recognize. I imagine the life of a wild animal is full of moments when you are intensely alert, and helplessly confused. When you have no idea what is happening or what has happened, or what may happen, everything seems much more important. Colors are brighter, sounds are louder, endorphines run wild, and adrenaline rages.

I'm not suggesting that a life is best lived one head-trauma to the next, filling the space between with a revolving door of substances and strange (hopefully) warm bodies, but I feel like the occasional overload of the senses is manditory in order to fully appreciate all the senses.

So, that having been said, I plan on waking up on someone's floor January 1st, 2010.

Its four-thirty on Friday morning, and that could only mean one thing! It means I've been watching the new Iron Man 2 trailer.

Now, if you haven't seen the trailer, let me sum it up for you. Robert Downey Jr. is Tony Stark (a fictionalized Richard Branson) and still has his super-badass Iron Man suit. He's banging Gwyneth Paltrow. The trailer itself has everything, really. Scarlett Johansen hip tosses some dude, judo stlye. Mickey Rourke is a badass shirtless Russian named "Whiplash" and cuts an Indi car in half. Cars explode. AC/DC wails on some A minor chords, and Tony Stark's cool black friend borrows Tony's War Machine suit.

I am so fucking pumped about War Machine. So.Fucking.Pumped.

other movies which I have not seen, should have seen, and want to see:

The Wrestler.
Fantastic Mr. Fox.
The Hurt Locker (Should have seen this at UofL for free, but didn't.)
Mystery Team.
No Country for Old Men.
Avatar (maybe?)
Law Abiding Citizen.
Ninja Assassin (don't you judge me, goddamnit.)

I've been feeling the early onset symptoms of a cold. Nothing too drastic. It looks like, if anything, it would be a minor upper-respiratory infection. A tingle in my ear. A tickling tightness in my throat.

I've been taking this preventative medication which allegedly will shorten the duration of the problem and reduce the symptoms. It's called Zycam or something like that. My grandparents keep referring to it accidentally as Zyklon. You know, like what the Germans used in WWII. I laugh every time my grandma says "Did you take your Zyklon?"

Just sharing.

a light-hearted update.

the semester is winding down. by winding down, i mean i have one day of class, one paper, and two finals and i am finished with my third semester of college. grade-wise, im looking good. i have two A's already, and two more prospective A's. My fifth class is up in the air. I have a C as of right now, but that could change with a final worth 30 percent of my grade. My gpa should be enough to get my scholarship back, which means 2500 dollars worth of extra cash flow for every semester i manage to not fuck thaat up. this is good for me.

ive decided to not try to get an apartment with my friends next year. this is mostly because i realized that when you live with your friends, they stop being your friends and become your room mates. this is something that would be very, very bad for me as i only have about four or five consistant and reliable friends. for those who know me, i'm also very bad at making new friends. it is in my best interest to try to keep the friends i have, i think. also, i have been thinking that living alone should be pretty badass.

music is taking a lot of my time these days. i finally seem capable of getting some of the songs out of my head and moving around in the atmosphere. this is fantastic as i am currently working with 3 other very talented guys (3 of those friends i mentioned) towards recording some stuff. everything so far is turning out very well. we have four rough demos of songs scratched out, and hope to get them all recorded through tracking before next semester starts. ive never felt this creative. also, ive gotten a new interest in effects pedals for guitars, thanks to patrick.

i cant wait for christmas to get here. im hoping i get at least one badass christmas present. my grandfather should be putting up decarations in the next day or so. i love this house at christmas time.

The Royal Tenenbaums is one of my favorite movies, I think. It bums me the hell out, though.

I think it has something to deal with the fact that watching The Royal Tenenbaums involves watching Luke Wilson cut his hair, shave his beard, announce his impending suicide to his reflection, and then open his wrists in a bathroom while listening to Elliott Smith sing Needle in the Hay. Also, the subsequent sequence where he escapes from the hospital he is being held in while listening to Nick Drake play Fly on an acoustic guitar.

This is all speculation, of course.

tomorrow will have all of the appeal of eating a bowl of cyanide capsules without the benefits of milk.

i hate 85 percent of monday. the only part of monday i do not hate is the part that is not sunday.
monday itself shouldn't be too bad in all honesty. the only things awful about tomorrow will be a communications test, anthropology class, and an 11:15 start time at work.

the terrible part of tomorrow will be anticipation.
good things happening this week:

My amp is coming in the mail
My car stereo will be installed
three days vacation from school
thanksgiving
the possibility of seeing old friends
money
band practice

it should be good after all this monday garbage is through.

For eight more hours, it is Sunday. I'm not a big fan of Sunday. It always feels so stagnant. Sunday is the day I dedicate to finishing three days of homework. This is a terrible idea, as Sunday is by far my least motivated day ever. I take some solace in the fact that today I am writing my second to last speech of the semester. I am almost finished. With the semester, not the speech. I haven't started the speech. Or the outline. Or the power point. This is all short work, though.

The speech will be easy to write, as it is supposed to be a persuasive speech between six and eight minutes in length. I don't actually have to persuade anyone, which makes it worlds easier. I just have to act like I'm trying to persuade people. The speech I'm writing is about Recycling. I am going to present a speech about how recycling is bad for the environment. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Daniel Conrad, and today I am a loose cannon orator on the edge, with nothing to loose. I play by no one's rules but my own. This speech is perfect, in that no one will agree with me. Everyone will try to shut me down, but they absolutely cannot. All I have to do is refute their claims with possible doubt, and I am off scot-free. With enough pictures of gas-guzzling recycling trucks and creeks filled with bleached pulp run-off, no one will be able to submit that NOT recycling hasn't saved the lives of at least four penguins and an ice cap.

I am going to do a survey of things that make me happy within a minute's walking distance right now.

Spongebob on television
Chocolate milk
My grandparents
My guitars
Castle Crashers
Garlic bread in the oven
oatmeal raisin cookies
indoor plumbing
My car
T-rex comics
Feather Pillows
Basketball shorts
Indoor-only slippers

Life is good.
I think next weekend I'm going to try to arrange an outing. It will be fun. Hopefully there will be six people. One of them is me. Three of them read this openly and fairly regularly. One of them reads it in "secret" and the other never at all (to my knowledge). They should all know who they are. One takes naps, one plays video games, one plays guitar, one travels great distances, and one sings. We should go to that chocolate place on northern Bardstown to have chocolate with cayenne pepper in it, and then drink Heine Brothers and pretend to be cool. It would be fun. Let me know your thoughts in secret. It will be more fun that way.

P.S. Invisible ink for the internet would be so badass.

Spring

Writing About Literature
American Literature II
Music in World Cultures
Critical Thinking
Ethics

and potentially

Intro to TaeKwonDo

I am being a good student.

I have two hours before my next class, and instead of ditching said class and going home to be happy, eat bologna and cheese sandwiches, and watch Spongebob, I am waiting. I have my laptop, and I am waiting while I work on a philosophy paper.

This, of course, means that I am posting on Blogspot while I people watch through a window, and listen to Strapping Young Lad. I am also thinking about String Theory. There's an Asian girl in front of me. She's wearing four different bags and teal pants that say "Juicy" across the back where her non-existent ass should be, and "bling bling" down the left leg. According to string theory, there are an infinite number of parallel universes occupying this exact same place at this very moment. In a non-relativistically large number of these universes, I am occupying this same bench with this same laptop, looking at this same girl. Possible alternatives to this universe include:

1) One where her ass is, in fact "Juicy"

2) One where she recognizes that all of the contents of her four small bags could be put into one large bag.

3) One where the water fountain she stands infront of actually dispenses Mellow Yellow (somehow getting the carbonation right while managing not to rocket yellow syrup at her face)

4) One where I am a literate, technologically capable, blogging antellope. She, of course, is fine with this, as she is an antellope as well, dressed in misnomers, mechanically saying "Yeah," into her cell phone to her antellope friend.

I may attempt to write a song about String Theory. This could be difficult. I have ideas, but string theory seems like a pretty metal concept. Any time there are an infinite number of alternatives, at least a fair percentage of them have to involve potential murder. Metalocalypse has shown me that if there is anything truly metal in this world, it is murder (i.e. Breifcase Full of Guts, Mermaider (about mermaid-murder), Electric Ell-Chair, Scaled and Gutted and Deep Fried --- these are only the ones which pertain to aquatic life...). Would it make it less metal if I took my scope of String Theory and Relativity through the scope of Donnie Darko for lyrical purposes? I really think it would. It would also make it less intelligent, I think. And less respectable. I'm sorry I mentioned it.

It's not that I have a problem with Donnie Darko as a film (Actually, I think it was an intelligent little film with interesting characters, and an engaging concept showing through an interesting story line.). I do, however, have a problem with anything that has maintained a "cult following". I generally don't enjoy anything "cult" oriented, because that generally maintains that something is not as good as everyone thinks it is, and is cooler because people don't think it's good. And of course good is cool, and cool is good, and there are more and more layers of good v. bad and indie cred and whathaveyou, which I find frustrating. Layering is aggravating to me. This is why I cannot fully appreciate Alanis Morrisette's "Ironic".

Enough Asides. Closing statements? I have, for the first time, mentioned "Blogspot" in my blog, hosted on blogspot. This could only mean that my blog is now self-aware. I fear all hope is lost.

halloween

venture bros. costume. zombie wop. party on, wayne.

I've been dragging my tusks for miles.

Monday Rundown

Waking up:
Monday Morning Motivation is a great idea, though not one I would subscribe to. Cake for breakfast. This will work just fine.

Philosophy:
Look. Nowhere in the syllabus does it say that you are obligated to miss the point of every discussion we have. On a related note, you don't have to absolutely over-react every chance you get. Just because a philosophical writing supposes something, it does not mean that something is absolute. No one in this room is insinuating that autistic people aren't human. We do, however, believe you are not nearly skinny enough for your skinny jeans. You should probably just calm down. And have a yogurt.

Communications:
I did not realize that oral reports on books counted as speeches. At least not in college. I should hope that this comes at great cost in the "points" department. Get the red pen ready. As far as your topic: Really? Moby Dick was about "a man hunting a whale"? I suppose you're right, you know, technically. In that sense, I suppose you could say Where the Red Fern Grows is about the best way to feed a dog to a wolverine. I'm really glad you're in the Honors Program and I'm not. You're doing a fantastic job.

Anthropology:
Fucking everything anthropological happened in goddamn Papau, New Guinea, didn't it? Well, didn't it?! Also, I always thought absolute relativism was pretty dangerous. Nope. Its part of the curriculum.

Dinner: Food is good.

Nap.

1/52

Its Sunday.

I have no idea how to open this one. There. I did it.

This weekend was pretty fantastic. I turned 20. My friends threw me a party. People came, and we had a lot of fun. This coming weekend will be the same party with more people and costumes. And more alcohol. And presumably more vomiting --- but the good kind! I am in posession of the smallest pair of Levi 501's in production for a man my size. Party on, Wayne. For my birthday I got 50 dollars, some wine glasses, a free-wing dinner, a yo-yo, a book, and a "The Trouble with Tribbles is... They're Crazy DELICIOUS" kirk shirt. I should say it was a good haul. I got to see Ben (beardless though he be) and his girlfriend all spiffed up, wedding style, stolen champagne in hand (though it wasn't from Champagne --- so it was really sparkling wine, parenthetically speaking).

I suspect this week will be one of the most arduous weeks of my life, but I am leary to say so, as I am certain it will quickly be seconded by the week following it. In short, I live for the weekends. So long as the weather stays livable, I can stave off the northeast season feelings. After its all said and done, I'm not ready to be dormant yet.

I'm easing this into some vague crap. No I'm not. Let's go. Venture Bros. in 25 minutes.

I'm feeling a change. At one point you were important. At one point, you filled the frame. Anymore, I'm not so sure. Yes I am. I've never been so confident. I feel a comfort in your company. You mantle seems calming --- but its a lie when you wear it. I don't need all the frills, but that is obviously not an option. I'm not buying what you're selling. I know you would hate to break up the set, but I've already got someone for that.
I love the imagery, for sure. Very appealing. You've put it all together so nicely; a great fit. Even so, complex systems of mirrors don't quite match my taste. I'm really not interested in struggling to take what I want from this. In short, I think I hate most of you. Next time you surrender, we can hope it will be for the last time.

I used to have a Yomega firebale saber wing Yo-Yo. I wonder where I can get one.

It feels awesome outside.

In an hour or so, I'm about to eat what will easily be the most expensive meal I have ever had. It will have been alive no more than eight hours before I order it to be cooked. It will most likely have lived in the sea at one point. Hopefully, this former sea-dwelling creature would have stood a good chance of killing me, should I have pursued it in its own element. Ideally, this will be, by no short measure, the best food I ever eaten. I'm terrified that the side dishes won't be as good as they should be. Let's hope this isn't an issue.

I think I would one day like to wrestle a dolphin. I'm 100% confident the dolphin would kick my ass, and I have no doubt I would emerge from this friendly match with no less than four broken ribs. I watched a documentary when I was little about dolphins and sharks, and apparently dolphins like to headbutt the shit out of some sharks. Now, I'd wager than I'm no more than half as tough as a shark, so if a dolphin headbutt makes a shark think, "Damn, that was some headbutt," (which was what the sharks were thinking --- I'm just going from their facial expressions of course...) I'm fairly confident that a dolphin headbutt would make me see God. Even so, I would like to think that after I confessed defeat to the dolphin we could share the dolphin version of a best-inter-species-friends-forever hug and maybe a can of chunked white albacore and then I would ride along side him, holding on to his fin as he swam into the sunset.

Sounds pretty badass, right? I know.

its called seasonal depression. sometimes it gets bad.

and im holding out until after friday, come hell or high water.

Bleh. It's Saturday. Sunday now. You know.

Tonight I was going to go see Where the Wild Things Are. Everyone is really excited about it. I read the book when I was little. I liked "Are You My Mommy", "Are You My Daddy", and "Go Tell it to the Tucan" more. Still, I wanted to see Spike Jonze at work. Either way, I didn't get to see it.

I wrote a song tonight, which I am less proud of with each growing moment, and I wasn't terribly proud of it to start with. I'm no Jesse Lacey. Not on paper.

I want to start drawing again, but I don't have any good things to draw from. If anyone wants to take their clothes off, I want to draw them. If anyone has pictures, I'd like to see them.

A Grasshopper lives in my basement. I'm not sure what he subsists on, but I'm growing accustomed to his face --- If grasshoppers have faces, I mean.

Suddenly I'm in an emo band. Not like new emo, with the mascara and the black suits. Like old emo, like Rites of Spring (sort of) or Sunny Day Real Estate (I suppose). I think I'm mostly in an emo band like Jesse Lacey. Except I'm not talented. I can be just as pissed about things as well as he can, though. From now on I'm only going to listen to Daisey and Daydream Nation. Practice telling me how deep I am.

My birthday is this week. Don't tell anyone, but I'm turning 20, and I think I may be inadvertantly investing a large percentage of my emotional well-being on this upcoming weekend going well. Fingers crossed.

I miss people I don't even know. I miss people I barely even remember. Christ.

I'm going to bed. I wish I was tired.

is it me or is it me --- that can't see silver linings?



ive got great friends.

Today I ran around the entire UofL campus.
Today I practiced playing music with my friends.
Today I got some new ideas for songs.
Today I ate Qdoba.
Today I saw Joel.
Today I talked to a friend about hypothetical physics and God over a Chai tea latte.
Today I saw a good friend, and hopefully will see him again soon.
Today I drove home at two in the morning, listening to jazz hip-hop.

Today was a good day.

i wanted to post a video of a song, but i dont know any good music.

Updates

I'm working on filling in my weekend. It's going alright. I think I'm going to blow some money on some Sega Genesis games at Book and Music Exchange. I think I can get a good deal, because I've been helping this guy who works there in our weight lifting class, and he alluded to hooking me up. This is pretty sweet.

Spongebob is on, which I enjoy. Even as a soon-to-be grown-ass-man, I still love watching Spongebob. This episode is the one where Mr. Krabs insists on building a wishing well, and then places Spongebob in the well to collect coins people will presumably throw into it. This is pretty sweet.

At work, I've been working on this "special project". This basically means I do work that I don't usually do, and get paid the same, and don't get any special recognition. On the up side, I get to work right next to a large refrigeration unit, which blows a nice breeze on me all night. This is pretty sweet.

I'm also listening to the new Austrian Death Machine album. It's called "Double Brutal" and is easily twice as brutal as "Total Brutal" was, which --- in case you couldn't tell, was Totally Brutal. This is also pretty sweet.

God, I fucking love fall weather.

Camping, scheduled for this weekend, has been canceled. Hopefully I can change my schedule again, and I can work Friday night. I had the night off (which wasn't easy to do) but I won't be needing it. This is all pretty lame, but maybe I can try to get my hours back Friday and not miss work for a botched camping trip (again (for the third time)).

Ah, well. These things happen.

late night. late breakfast. late nap. lazy sunday.

im just a salamander, workin' to be a big, strong dinosaur.

never rest in peace

6:03 - I have completed the descent. Safe in my hole, I will take a moment to reflect on today's trappings before opting to rest until a non-disclosed time.

Recap: Patrick was busy, so busy Patrick did not hang out with me as intended. He did go to the gym with me. We did, in fact, get "Swoh" (sp?). I saw a napping Spike. I washed my car and it is now clean. I hung out with Brian, and we played our respective racing games. Beans were eaten cold from the can. Kroger brand spaghetti-ohs were microwaved in old cool-whip tubs. I attended work. After work, Jerriy's. I had the husky supreme and water, and we then played frisbee in the parking lot for a while. Now, I'm here.

6:09 - Pre-bed reflection

I like fall weather. For more on this, see my last blog.

Today I thought about someone. I really miss this person. A whole, whole lot. About this person; They aren't who you think they are. I can almost guarentee this person is pretty much off the radar, at this point. At one time, we were great friends, though. I'm not sure what sort of friends we would be qualified as, but it was wonderful, and I have yet to find something similar. We had a bit of history, and that definately informs our (former) level of friendship. We're probably never going to be as close as we used to be. I wouldn't be surprised if we never really talked again, to be honest. And I know this person will not read this. Even so, I want to use this as a forum to say that I miss them and, if not now, at least at one point (and for a very long time, I think) loved them. Very much.

Sleeping in is the best thing for the weekends. I hope I wake up in the afternoon so that I can listen to the Postal Service and fall back asleep.

Deathcab songs are great. Sometimes I imagine my life is a Deathcab lyric. I get excited in the quietest way possible.

I'm currently looking for a super-real friendship. Apply inside.

These days, I'm either reading homework, playing guitar, looking at car parts, or watching Seseme Street or the Muppet Show.

6:19 - I sleep. Adventures tomorrow.

What's new Scooby Doo...

Is not as good as the real thing.

Saturday Night's Alright for Bloggin'.

It's two thirty in the morning, and I am not happy with how desensitized to the hour I am.

This is about to be soooooo Transient. Buckle up.

I'm looking forward to having something to look forward to. This weekend was a wash, for the most part. I keep looking ahead to my birthday. It's not any closer than a month away. I'll be twenty. I'm not sure how I feel about it. I'm sort of hoping that this is the birthday that finally makes me feel different. I doubt it.

The leaves are going to start changing soon. By the time I'm comfortable with fall again, it will be Winter. I'm looking forward to Fall. It's my favorite season, hands down. I love fall weather, and fall food, and I have a lot of fall music. I love listening to fall music. The only downside to fall is that it invariably comes with depression. It's not severe or anything. Nothing to worry about. It comes every year. It's just a part of my cycle, I think. It doesn't mean I'm never happy, or I'll become a hermit. It just means I feel things more fully. Every little thing is close to my chest during the fall, which is refreshing sometimes.

I'm listening to Come Now Sleep, somewhat ironically, I must admit.

I have church in the morning. I'm going to think about the same thing I always think about in church. I always wonder if Jesus was real. I know it doesn't make a ton of difference if he was or wasn't. Its the principle that's important. Even so, I have to wonder. If Jesus wasn't real... If the story was fabricated... What does that say about the sacrifice of the individual? Only something so publicly grandiose could matter; could save lives. If Jesus had lain down peacefully in the garden and died from a stroke... If he had passed, face down, from an over-dose... If he were killed in his sleep by a thief... Would I be any less forgiven for the things I am bound to do? Would there be anyone to listen when I try to find forgiveness?

Jessie Lacey hear 'em say, "In Heaven there's no husbands and wives." I never heard that, but I believe it. I wonder if I can have a girlfriend.

These days I listen to a lot of music without words. I think it's because when I hear someone else sing something, I think "Wow. How articulate," but when I write words to a song, I think "Wow. How cliche."

I'm looking for pictures of people to draw. I think four people read this. Maybe four. Either way.


DrivingDrivingDrivingDrivingDrivingDriving. Its 314. Im going to go Drivingdrivingdriving.

The goal: Better than Yesterday.

I am a waffle.

Last Monday Tuesday Wednesday I felt miserable. I wanted to get older faster, and not for any of the cool reasons you would want to get older, like voting, or driving, or drinking. I already do those things. Sometimes, all at once. No. I wanted to get older so I could feel alright about feeling over-worked. Spread too thin. Complacent in life. All these things are easier to deal with when you're older, aren't they? My parents always seemed fairly fine with the idea.

Either way, Thursday was good. Friday was better. Today is Saturday. There are things I want out of my Saturday. Things I hope I'm going to get. I know, with some degree of certainty, that in a couple of hours, I will be grilling burgers and other foods that are okay to eat outside. That will be awesome. I love grilling, and I think I'm starting to get pretty good at it. Also, I will then get to eat those things, almost certainly. These things will be good. I will be with my family, which should be good, but may be just average, or possibly even sub-par. Either way, I plan to make the best of it.

I am certainly certain I will be calling my friend Ryan soon. And I am cautiously certain he will answer the phone, despite the fact that he is currently at work. I will ask him if he wants to hang out after his shift, and I am optimistically certain that he will say "yes". This would certainly make me happy. Today is Saturday. For now, life has such great potential to be phenomenal. And there are certain things I want.

with my feet in the air and my head on the ground...

Things I need:

More time for reading
A new winter coat
New work boots
A trip to the ocean
A new phone

Things I want:

Diablo III
A new phone
My birthday cake
New car speakers
A trip to the ocean

...And so ends my first week back to the University. Generally, I have classes on Friday, but a teacher being busy freed up my afternoon to catch up on my much-needed beauty rest.

My classes go as follows;

Philosophy: We will read a lot. The girl beside me will wear the same style dress in a different color, molest her camel cigarettes, and laugh at every "joke" the teacher or one of four (4) guys in the class "make", be they funny, or not. I will be annoyed by her Monroe and her over-sized glasses.

Communications: I will "take notes" on busy work presented in lecture form. One guy, who is a Comm major, will be very interested in what goes on. The rest of us will slack as hard as our untrained bodies will allow. Sometimes we will be forced to speak publicly.

Anthropology: White people leave the city to live with brown people. The white people take notes on the brown people, and attempt to show why these brown people are different from all the brown people we already knew about. The brown people, recognizing the white peoples' futuristic "zipper-technology" presume their visitors as gods and give said "gods"access to their endless supply of charred bananas. Sylvester Stallone comes to the camp. There are no survivors.

Weight Training: We're supposed to call the teacher "Enzo". He tells us how to lift weights. I tell him I know how. He agrees. I then lift weights.

Art History: We look at pictures on a slide show and talk about it. The teacher insists that Frida Kahlo produced appreciated works of art. I disagree with her.


I have a lot of reading that I'm supposed to do. I don't think I'll mind too much, though. It feels nice to have a reason to get out of bed before noon. This weekend there is to be a cookout, and a house-warming party directly there after. It should be nice. I might go see Ponyo tomorrow.

Summer Skin

The summer is ending. Maybe it already ended. I know it did for a few people; soon, for a few more. I feel like reflecting.

Part of me wants to believe that none of us are really cut out for college the way we think we should be. Often times, I think that the people who were meant to go to college are the people who realize that it's a scam, but a scam that is in our best interest to participate in. Granted, sometimes I learn things, and of course, I love to learn things. Even so, I feel like I'm jumping through hoops to get a piece of paper that says I know the things I know. No one wants to take my word for it.

But life is a journey, I guess.

I realized I'm a sophmore in college the other day. I'm one step closer to completing the next step, but I still have no idea what my next move should be. I don't really have ambitions. I just want to be happy, and I have no idea how to get to that point from here. Its not hard to get to happiness, but it is hard, I think, to get to happiness comfortably. I've considered law school. We'll see how well that works out in a year or two. Honestly, I don't like talking about my goals too much, because I always feel like they are lofty, but attainable, and it seems like someone usually has something to say about them. Generally something negative. Generally something mildly discouraging.

Money is becoming more and more of an issue. I think I'm safe, momentarily. Its sort of discouraging, how much of what we do is determined by money and material. Honestly, it confuses the fuck out of me. I recognize all this stuff is just junk, polished up to look nice and make me want it. The thing that bothers me is that it seems to be working. I do want nice things. Not competitively... or at least not openly competatively. I think it might be okay that I want nice things, and I want to throw my money into the pit, so long as I promise myself to keep my feet on the ground. These dead presidents will never represent me. My stature can't be measured by these leather seats.

I spend a lot of time trying to make myself invincible.

I can't help but think about how, in a couple of weeks, I'm going to start missing people. But life is so much better when those people come back for a weekend.

One of my friends wants to play music. He wants to play songs like The Desaparecidos would play, but with more breakdowns, maybe. I could get behind that. Hopefully, two more of my friends are interested in that as well. We'll see. I could justify cleaning out a garage for this. We're just waiting for junk day now.

Cross your fingers. Hold your breath. Do what you do.
Here comes the cold water.

Tuesday post-nap

We're back from the trip. Last Friday morning we up and ran for the hills, like so many Iron Maiden fans. It seemed like we had the right idea, since last week I found my Alma Mater had several buildings under some amount of water. It's built on low land, so this is no real surprise. It has yet to sink into the bog.

Back to the trip. We went to Gatlinburg. Other people went too, but we didn't see much of them. They were giving Ripley their money. We spread ours around. The food was good. That was absolute. Pancakes will never be the same to me, lest I eat them in a log cabin. Also, I found that bulls and fish make great teams for opening grills. And cheesy double beef still only costs 89 cents in Pidgeon Forge. Patrick and I make a great Beer Pong teem, so it would seem. Maybe better than Ryan and I. The two of us haven't played in so long that its almost hard to tell.

School is starting soon. I'm not thrilled about that, but I suppose it will help me to fill the hours of the day. I've gotten back into television, which isn't so hot, but it's summer, so I assume we can let it slide.

I really have nothing to write about. I just woke up from a nap.

Its Thursday, which means its my last day of work this week. I'm off tomorrow, because of a trip to Gatlinburg. It should be pretty fun, I think. Two of my best friends are going to be there. There are other people I'm familiar with as well. Less important.

Last night my supervisor stole me some pizza from a pizza party some other area was having for their lack of on-the-job injuries. It was sausage, which is probably my favorite. He keeps dumping off trainee supervisors so that he can stay with out area longer. We really like having him around, so the longer he can put it off, the happier we are.

In a minute or so, I'm about to leave to go visit my friends, Steven, Megan, and Drucilla (ranked by age, not importance (I'm finding a lot of enjoyment in methodologically listing people in my blogs these days)) at Megan's house. We will be watching Star Trek. The one with William Shatner. I hope to watch the episode "Trouble With Tribbles", as it is my favorite. Then later, back to packing. We leave in the morning.

It really is the simple things in life, isn't it? "Shit is good --- yeah, shit is good."

Weekends

I work night shift. That's not really a secret. Usually I use my weekends to recover from working until four most nights, and sleeping until noon most days, and attempting to act like a normal person. That's not really surprising, I should think. The last couple of weeks haven't been that way.

Last weekend was Burning Dan, which wasn't as great of a success as I would have hoped. Turn out was less than anticipated, but someone unexpected showed up, and I would like to think things are better for that.

This weekend we went to Kings Island. It was Brian, Jordan, Maureen, Me, Michelle, and Pat, alphabetically. I drove, mostly. Pat was awake, mostly. We rode everything, mostly. Firehawk was awesome entirely. We rode it at dusk, so I got the "You can sort've see the ground we want you to think you're about to smash into" effect without having the deal with the "We're going to hoist you up this hill while you lay on your back and stare at the sun" hassle I imagine is sometimes involved. In retrospect, It seems silly that we were at the park for almost twelve consecutive hours and probably rode rides for a total of about five minutes (and that's a generous estimate), but it was definately fun.

The day after Kings Island (which would be Sunday), we went to Indianapolis. It was Brian, Ryan, Me, CJ, and Patrick, in order of descending height (I think). I drove. Pat stayed awake. We saw Social Distortion. It was fun. There was some skinhead who got thrown out of the entirely non-racist punk concert, and a couple of guys wearing Minor Threat shirts, who openly boasted their love for drinking beer. I also got to dance to Ring of Fire, while a Black girl in a Jonas Brothers vest skanked infront of me.

We ate Steak and Shake twice in two days, and I drove something like 300 miles, and spent something near 10 hours in the car. It was pretty sweet, I guess.

This coming weekend is another six hours in the car, followed by three days in the mountains, followed by six hours in the car. I guess I should start packing soon.

bllleeeehhhh.

Sometimes I worry about things. I'm sure everyone does. That's pretty much a fact of life, I think; worrying. The thing that makes my worrying worse, I assume, is that when I worry about something, I convince myself that other people don't have to worry as much about it. Or that they have someone to bail them out. I convince myself that I don't.

It's what I'm good at.

Let's be melodramatic for a second.

Sometimes I feel like people don't know me. Most of the time I feel like that's by choice. No, I'm not sure who's choice it is. I'd like to think it's not mine, but maybe it is.

I'm something of a solipsist, but not seriously. It's my seventh grade teacher's fault. And it only happens when I'm just about to fall asleep.

Contracts, to me, feel like a death sentence. Every time I put my name on a contract, I feel like I give up a little bit of myself to someone else. I'm always scared I can't have it back.

I really want people important to my friends to like me. I generally like everyone, honestly.

My parents are very proud of my sister. My sister who is outstandingly average and does virtually nothing. I have a job, a car, and a college education, all of which I am responsible for, independently. This not only bothers, but confuses me.

I constantly feel like anything outside of my routine might be a mistake, and it may affect me later.

Sometimes I think I might be making these sort of feelings up, even though I know I'm not.

In college, I learned that if you see a computer monitor up to two hours before you try to sleep, you can't sleep deep enough to satisfy your body. Fuck technology, right?

this is the part where i say something to belittle my thoughts, and make myself seem less immature and petty, or some dumb shit like that. do me a favor -- pretend i was good at it.

life?

New whip, new hat, new kicks, bitches with the huge tits....

art imitates life, but life imitates shitty pop music.

Today I went to a cookout. There were burgers, and brats, and dogs, and German potato salad. It was very yummy. I talked to my (second) cousin, Davey. He said nice things about me and the way I look these days. Its nice to be complimented. Its also nice to eat burgers, brats, dogs, and German potato salad.

Today was a success.

bleh

I posted a blog earlier today, and about ten minutes later, I deleted it. Mostly because I knew it would cause a shit storm, and I'm trying to do that passive thing. Trying really, really hard. The blog was inconsequential anyway. It was all cryptic and whatever. I doubt anyone read it. No one follows me that closely, I should hope.

I'm really looking forward to some things. My grandparents leave soon. I love my grandparents. They're pretty awesome, but their leaving means some pretty cool things are going to happen. I get to use their car, which, admittedly isn't a super-amazing-ultra-awesome car, but it's better than what I'm driving now, so that's pretty sweet. Also, I get to have a pretty sweet cook-out with some pretty sweet people. I'll enjoy that.

Also, we're supposed to go to Kings Island and see Social D in the same weekend. Then, the following weekend we're going to go to Gaitlinburg for three days. I have to say it's going to be a pretty good two weeks. The weekend after that, I'm probably going camping, plus, it will be Brian's birthday.

And did I mention, Burning Dan is coming up?

I just hope this uneasy feeling I'm getting will pass soon. Man. Fingers crossed, it's just a feeling.

Renal Dialysis

So we're not going to go to Kings Island this weekend, mostly because one of my best friend's grandmother's kidneys are failing hard. She happens to have her failing kidneys stationed in North Carolina, and thinks it would be nice to go with his mom so that she can have company when she goes to see her mom. I tend to agree. I agree both sadly and reluctantly, but I agree. I can't help but feel like my disappointment is childish. I'll chalk my inability to feel otherwise to the fact that it is, in fact, childish. Okay. Problem solved.

The trip has been rescheduled for August 1st, potentially. Next weekend is the same guy's brother's birthday, so we can't say much for that weekend until plans are made for that. August 1st looks like it might be it.

I feel like I'm going to have a really, really bad day today.

Chapter 13: Sloth, Escape, and the First of the Mis-named Chapters

Quick overview...

My girlfriend is back from Greece for like, two weeks now, and I'm still struggling to remember how to do the boyfriend thing. I'm glad shes back, but when someone is gone for more than a month, you just get really used to that person being gone. I'm sure things will get easier pretty quick, though.

I've all but given up on waking up at noon. I was berated for trying to have a normal life by some people I know. Between that, and hanging out in parking lots with those people until the wee(er) hours of the morning, one, or one thirty have become far more tangible. I hate it. Sleeping in every day takes away the adventure of not getting up when you're supposed to.

This Saturday we're going to Kings Island. It should be a lot of fun. I hear they have some good rollercoasters now. Naturally, its going to be no Cedar Point, but I think last time I was at Kings Island, I liked it. Surely it will be more fun with friends replacing family.

I put in for my second and last vacation day this whole year. It will be August 7. Some of us are going to Gatlinburg. We're spending three nights up in the mountains. It cost way too much money, and I don't yet know how I feel about some of the people we're going with, but I guess sudden decisions like that are good sometimes, so I just went along with it.

Also, as for escape, tomorrow I'm going back to Hogwarts. I got advanced tickets like, a week ago. Sadly, I can't go tonight to see it because I have to work, but I will get to see it tomorrow evening. The Half-Blood Prince was by far my favorite book of the series, so this movie should be momentous. They're saying its the best movie out so far, which I can totally believe. Order of the Phoenix felt like one big montage. Lame.

I haven't seen some of my good friends in a few weeks, and it's starting to make me sad. Conflicting schedules, I guess. Who knows. Spike, Ryan, I miss you guys.

So I fell off the wagon. I'll climb back on in the morning.

footnote to a footnote

When I see the sun rise, it reminds me that there are two ends of the Earth, and I can smile.

footnote 1

I wish I had a socket set to dismantle this morning, just one pair of clean socks, and a picture of you.

Chapter 9: Relationships

I have already claimed my most functioning relationship is with a toilet (see my Senior Portfolio's "reflective" piece) so there is nowhere in this post for me to make that argument. Altering it slightly, I fully feel that my second most consistent relationship over the course of the last 20 odd years was insighted by my uncle.



When I was eight, my uncle Lee babysat me for one afternoon. Lee was 19. He worked in a machine shop, and went to Community College (mostly to hit on girls and play frisbee). He had long(ish) hair, and wore very tight, very black jeans most of the time. He lived in my grandparents' basement, and he had a lot of records that I had never heard of. He knew how to play Led Zeppelin songs on guitar, and when I would ask him what he was playing, he would always say "What's wrong, little man? You don't like Zep?" in this way that was totally intimidating, but totally friendly at the same time. Lee was the coolest person I had ever met in all of my eight, worldly years. Lee had a Probe, and he liked to drive his Probe fast. It had an after-market stereo system in it that would make my ears bleed. One day, Lee took me out in that Probe, to meet some of his friends. On the way, we listened to music that he called "Metallica". When we met his friends, at least sixty percent of the population in the room were wearing shirts that said "Metallica". When he hung out at his friend's house, we listened to "Metallica", and these guys talked about what I imagined every cool person ever would want to talk about. Girls. Money. Cars. How to make cars faster. Drinking. Lifting Weights. And how songs about being burned alive were equally as cool as songs about drowning under ice. The testosterone was palpable, and I had no idea what testosterone was at that time.

When we left that afternoon, all I could talk about was how cool everyone in there was. Naturally, my uncle protested, so I decided to talk about other stuff. Girls. Money. Cars. Faster cars. Drinking (what, I wasn't sure). Lifting Weights. And most importantly, how Metallica was probably the best band in the history of music forever and ever. He let me borrow his copy of Metallica's Self-Titled albumb (more commonly referred to as "The Black Album"), and informed me that when I learned all the words to all the songs, I could borrow another album. It was perfect. Just the way it should have been.

Now, I will remind you, I was eight. This was 1997. From that moment until (roughly) 2007, Metallica was my absolute favorite band. These days, I don't really listen to them that often, and if you ask me who my favorite bands are, Metallica is likely to be off the list completely --- but the truth is, I love Metallica. They played harder, and faster than anyone else before them. They lived out every page of Hammer of the Gods every night on every tour. They have more money that I can begin to understand. Its absurd. They are, in short, metal legends, and relgiously, every three or four weeks, I cannot help but throw in an old Metallica album just for the love of thrash and marvel at how good they once were, or still are, or might be sometime. One of my friends once told me he listened to Ride the Lightning at least once a day, every day during his Sophmore year of highschool. This does not, in any way at all, seem unreasonable to me.

Now, who wants to go see Metallica with me?

Chapter Eight: Wandering

Recently, there has been a lot of discussions among the troops about going places, and doing things. This excited me greatly, mostly because for the past three years, I've wanted to go places and do things.

"I need to leave. I'm sick of this town" --- Let's get the hell out of this town so we can get a better feel for each other.

I couldn't agree more, ma'am.

"We need to go somewhere. Bad... You've been saying it. I just think it." Well, I'm glad you finally said something, sir.

It was brought to my attention that I've never seen the ocean. Or the Beach. Or the desert. Or a real mountain. This all makes me very sad. But on the upside! My friends tell me that next year we can go to the beach.

One of my friends says that running on the water line at sunrise is totally going to happen. The phrase "no responsibilities" was used at least three times, and I have to say, I've never smiled more. The thought of beach-bound twilights excites me more than anything else I can think of, really.

I really hope this can happen. My friends have a habbit of telling me things I really want to hear, and then not coming through. Nothing personal to anyone. Just generally. My parents do it too. Its just that this time, I think I'm investing a large portion of my emotional and psycological wellbeing on being able to toss my obligations into the tide for a few days this time next year.

Since midnight on a beach in the Mediterranean is sort of out of the question, I'm open for suggestions. I wonder where that beach Incubus told me about is.

Chapter 7: chapter seven

My favorite part about getting up at twelve thirty is sleeping in until one thirty.

Chapter Six: The Sunday After

So, the Fourth of July has always been one of my favorite holidays. Outside of celebrating with loud, illegal explosives, you can really celebrate any way you please. The most common way is cooking out, I think, and since all my favorite food involves open flame and once-living tissue, you can't really go wrong!

Excellent, right? Except last night I spent my time in bed. From one thirty in the afternoon until one o'clock today, I slept in forty minute increments, rolling, aching, and all-around hating myself. Apparently, while my girlfriend was in Greece, she managed to contract some strange, European sickness. For upwards of five days she was queezy, and vomiting. It was a terrible sight. Upon her return, she gave me my souveniers, among which was the remainder of her sickness.

The good news? I believe I have managed to best the illness in only one day as opposed to four or five. For breakfast I have eaten eggs, and milk, and toast, and though my stomache does not feel like stone, I am not, in fact, throwing up.

Take that, Greece. Your Atenian disease is no match for my body.

Chapter 5: Or Chapter Two If Names Count

Today is Friday, and clearly I'm getting better at keeping up with this thing.

No work tonight. Still paid. It's tight. We're going out for Shogun, which is pretty bad-ass if for no other reason than that I will get to watch a man spin an egg on a spatula, then crack it without using his hands. And hopefully there will be an Onion Volcano.

We're also going to see Public Enemies, the new Johnny Depp flick. I don't know if Johnny Depp is over-rated, or if he catches too much flack, but either way, the dude can act (even if he seems to be playing roles that are primarily to piss off Gene Wilder).

We might even get ice cream. It's fun being twelve.

I got another haircut today. It's my second one this summer. It's also my second one in the past five years.

My flow is Retarted --- Call me Rainman 'CAUSE I MAKE IT RAIN, MAN!!!

Chapter 4: the first of the named chapters.

Today I'm going to see my girlfriend for the first time since May. For those of you without calenders, it is now July. She's at the dentist right now, which I guess is important. Dental hygiene is sort of a big deal in America, which is why I plan to brush my teeth as soon as I put pants on.

The prospect of double-dating, for the first time in my life, has been brought up and, I have to admit, I'm pretty pumped for tomorrow. These two things are not entirely exclusive. Friday should be a pretty awesome day. And Saturday. And hopefully Sunday too. Who knows.

This weekend will be the Forth of July. As a young American, I am more than willing to help my country celebrate is official birth by eating a ton of red meat and cheering on loud, illegal explosions with some good friends.

On days when I elect not to go to the gym (a decision I can generally only accept by forcing myself to adhere to a schedule), a large part of my mid-afternoon is spent watching Spongebob reruns. I do enjoy it.

Chapter 3

I'm trying to stay motivated to write in this. I never understood when people had toys they didn't play with, or records they didn't listen to. I don't have anything cool or observational to use to build up to an anti-climax. No one died, I guess. Today is a journal day.

I'm listening to a lot of music lately. My girlfriend is still out of the country, if only technically at this point. I've been making up for that by doing a ton of sit-ups, and focusing more on listening to good music. I listened to Crack the Skye, this time with more intent, as per a good friend of mine's request. There totally is some merit in an entire Prog-metal album about Rasputin followers in space and time travel. The newest Darkest Hour came out recently. It's called The Eternal Return, and I had high hopes for it. Sadly, it chose to go work at the mall and thwarted all my hopes for it going to an Ivy League school. I supposed the die-hard fan base will appreciate it. I still have Deliver us.

I've also gone back to drawing to fill time. I used to draw things that meant something, but that began feeling contrived. I just do portraits now. But I don't have models. So I just draw people's facebook pictures. I've already drawn my friend Ryan, and my friend Ben. I don't know who else to draw, really. I'll keep looking. Maybe I'll draw Rasputin --- if he has a Facebook.

Right now, I'm waiting on Brian to wake up so we can go to the gym. I'm always waiting on someone; or at least that's what my grandma says. Apparently, most of my life is spent waiting on people. I don't mind it I guess.

I'm very excited about something. There's a new person in my life --- and its a girl. Don't worry. Its not what you're thinking, I promise. I've got this girlfriend, see? I don't rightly know where she's at right now, but she's definately somewhere. This new person though... Man am I ever excited to see her. I'm trying not to jinx it though.

Chapter 2

Everyone I know is doing summer reading. By everyone, I mean one person. Sort of. I have this competitive nature, I think, and as a result, I decided to start reading books too. That and I was bored. So very, very bored. The only problem with my doing summer reading is I used to read a lot. Like --- a whole lot. I used to carry around four or five books at a time in school. This being the case, I've manage to read most of the books I've ever wanted to read, and I'm a pretty lazy guy, so I don't really look for new books. I tend to rely on the phenomenon of recommendations, but those seem to come few and far between these days. Also, I'm pretty poor, and the only book I want (The Mad Ones) just came out, and hardback is upwards of 30 dollars.

So, I found my old books, and started reading one. I picked the one I had read the fewest amount of times (twice --- three times now). It was Lolita, by V-dog Nobakizzy, or Vladamir Nobokov, for those of you who can't understand my steezy translations. The story is probably the most honest depiction of a love story I have ever read, which (to some people) is troubling, because the narrative is pretty much entirely about the main character (Humbert Humbert) and his reluctant and remorsful lust for a young girl (the "Lolita", if you will... the book does, so why shouldn't you?) and her eventual manipulation of him as a weak individual.

The whole point of this is, Humbert is absolutely in love with this girl who is twenty years his junior, and makes it very apparant throughout, and I absolutely love the story. Mostly because it was the exact opposite of everything I had ever seen before that.

When I was a kid, my parents didn't have a lot of time to raise me, so they let Walt Disney do it. I could work a VCR before I could get myself food, and I spent days on end watching, rewinding, and, in some cases, memorizing Disney movies. Alladdin, Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid, and others like them because my model for what adulthood would be, and ultimately what love would look like. So, I'm kind of curious what sort of effect that had on me. I tried, obviously, to treat my first relationship like those movies. I emulated behavior, adopted policies, and went about things in a similar fashion as all the characters in every movie I had ever seen.

Needless to say, that relationship failed miserably.

In retrospect, I wonder if my glossed up image of what life could be like is the result that I often find myself searching for dysfunction in the things around me. Growing up, I was subjected to Disney depictions of romance and love, characitures of family life (like Full House, and Family Matters), and images of over-sexed teens, pretending they had completely pure intentions (Yes, I listened to boy bands, and girl pop singers.). Don't get me wrong.

I'm not saying life is a mud puddle, and God is dead, and the Machine is trying to eat me, and the Man is keeping me down, and all that good stuff. I am saying that the life I'm living now (albeit pretty satisfying as of late --- good food, good friends, good health) is pretty lackluster compared to what the propaganda machine that was the '90's had me set up for.

But maybe I'm just angsty because I realized that I will not, in fact, be 18 forever. I won't always be young and in love. I AM, apparently, a touch over-rated. I DO feel left out even though I'm NOT in the middle.

And maybe I'm pissed because I can't work the modifier "faux" into conversation more often.

Chapter 1

Farrah Fawcett died today at the age of 62.

For those people who (some how or another) don't know who Farrah Fawcett was, she was a television actress in the seventies. Her most public role was in the original Charlie's Angels series as Jill Munroe. More importantly, she spent about twenty five years as a masturbatory aid, hanging, in poster form, on the bedroom walls of our preceding generation. Mrs. Fawcett, being such a large part of so many young men's lives, will surely be missed.

This calls to mind a strange phenominon. We are all guilty, myselft included, of growing attached to people we have never ever met. I, for instance, have developed a liking for Brad Pitt. I can say that I enjoy him as an actor, but that would mostly just be covering my tracks. Really, the way I feel about Brad Pitt mirrors the way I feel about some of the people I went to highschool with. I see Brad Pitt as an old friend, who, if I were to be reunited with, we could share all sorts of inside jokes and tell stories about that time we did that thing at that place with those people, and the subsequent stuff happened.

The obvious reality is that I have never ever met Brad Pitt in my life. I doubt I've even walked on the same ground that Brad Pitt once walked on. I know Brad Pitt so little that the only reason I feel so comfortably referring to him as "Brad Pitt" is because Wikipedia tells me that he is most commonly referred to as such rather than "William," or "Will," or even "Bill". I know nothing about Brad Pitt as a person. All my best representations of who Brad Pitt is come from his movies, and I feel it entirely safe to say that Brad Pitt is not at all who he is represented to be when he is playing Tyler Durden (of Fight Club), or Mr. Smith (of Mr. and Mrs. Smith), or Rusty (of Oceans 11, 12, 13, and (I'm certain) eventually 14). So why do I have such an attachment to Brad Pitt, and as a result, his films?

Yeah. So what's the deal with that?

Preface

At some point in my life (Probably midway through a documented account of a failed attempt to find the American Dream --- there is no way to be certain, though) I came to the conclusion that someday I wanted to write. Being a writer never seemed to me as much of a respectable profession, which, to be wholly honest, made it all the more appealing to me. It is my passive desire to end my life as a Journalist.

Now, when I say I want to be a journalist, the majority of those hearing me assume they know what I'm driving at. For the sake of clarification, I have no interest in being the next Walter Cronkite, or Wolf Blitzer, or, God help me, a young Glenn Beck. I don't care to discuss the turnings of the gears to the political machine, or debate (outside of living rooms, at least) the value of a full-scale land invasion in the Twenty-first century. I am far more interested in writing about things that don't matter now, will not matter in the future, and barely mattered when they happened.

To put it bluntly, I want to do what Klosterman does.

This (we)b-log is mostly a stretching excercise. It's something to fill time between work, and sleep, and to expediate the process of my waiting for my phone to ring. It's something to keep me from taking too seriously Freudian analysis of old Family Matters re-runs at two in the morning. This is bound to be a mixed bag. Some days it will be quasi-intellectual, cryptic and inevitably childish. Some days it will be lazy and --- whatever.

If you read it, tell me. Tell me what you think. Help me out. If not, I'll probably lie and say I'm just doing it for myself. I'm very gullable sometimes.