Exhausted, right now. Awfully sore in the arms too, as I was holding the gargantuous electric hedge trimmer with one arm yesterday at the places I couldn't reach on the bushes, and for some odd reason, my legs are sore. I stand in the kitchen mucking around with food too much, I suppose. Larkin's party was tonight, and it turned out to be another great success. I think that, despite showing a movie to hold it all together, the mob had a marvellous time with the party games and homemade sushi. For me, it was practically a spiritual experience. I was awfully lonely today before the festivities began, and knowing you're loved and invited is a comforting thought.
It might even be enough to get me through tomorrow--the EV1.net Houston Bowl at Reliant Stadium. Once again, I idiotically told Mr.Raddin I'd be able to come with the choir during the holidays to sing the national anthem. I always volunteer. My problem with it is that they only need two minutes of my voice, but they're taking ten hours of my time. For some reason, I guess it's expected that the kids will enjoy a nice football game in the sub-arctic temperatures and friendly, cheering atmosphere. Bastards. I can't leave. I have to ride the bus home, so I'm forced to stay and watch Team A tackle the shit out of Team B in a sport that's less amusing than American Gladiators until what, like, eight o'clock? I do not enjoy football. In fact, I do not enjoy activities of this type at all: supposedly happy gatherings where we're all supposed to feel noble and patriotic and sing for our beloved country, which I am in a constant disapproval of in the first place.
Nevertheless, I've got my duty to do. I rarely believe in the lyrics I sing, but of course, I'll sing them. Mr.Raddin can have my dedication, but he cannot have my hand over my heart, with me saying the pledge of allegiance.
You see, friends, I don't do choir to perform. I don't do it for the attention it gets me, nor for the joy it brings other people to hear me. There's no fame or recognition involved; it actually embarrasses me to sing in front of other people. I do it for myself. I know I'm good at it, damn good--I've made region choir for two years in a row now--but while I appreciate the compliments, they're not what drives me to stay in. I can't see myself in a career as some fat opera soloist. But maybe a chorister: the background that is everpresent, but unrecognized.
Tuesday, December 30, 2003
Saturday, December 20, 2003
In response to my previous post, someone responded to me on AIM:
platoismyhero: Yesterday in class this beast of a student knocked the clock off of the wall with his head. Upon remounting it to the wall, the minute and hour hands began to spin interminably. the incident made me ponder this post. The idea that time is merely a construction of our inferior human minds is fun to entertain but simply unfounded. The Mayans were perhaps the first to rationalize what humans have always known.
platoismyhero: They were able to create calenders, if you will, that infallibly predicted years, seasons, solstices, days, hours... Their ideas have been confirmed with our modern knowledge of space and orbits. EVERYTHING HAPPENS IN CYCLES! Seasons, days, mating, birth, love, life, death. Time is a mathematical measure of these very real cycles. Science. This is science, not fantasy. It didn't matter that the clock on that classroom wall was jumping days ahead! outside, our faithful Earth was still moving in its same, preditable path. science. reality.
Now, I'm not after the destruction of minutes and hours as we know it. In fact, I would tend to agree with this person here, if someone asked me what I think about the universe; the idea that time is an illusion is, well, difficult to even begin to comprehend. At this moment, I'm thinking about a lot of things, and my goal is not necessarily to believe in any of them. I don't think that truly accepting anything is wise. You know, within practical limitations, of course--I'm not going to start sleeping in until 1 PM every school day and claim that nothing matters because "time isn't real", or start trying to manifest hundred dollar bills with the power of my mind. I guess speculation into the realm of weird shit is just an unhealthy hobby of mine; I don't really mean to denounce established science with it, only remind people that just because Dr.Whatshisface from the Academy of People in White Coats says that the universe is made of matter doesn't mean we have to accept it--it just means we have to use that concept in the physical world that we deal with daily, not in whatever may lie beneath.
I actually think I just need to go to sleep.
platoismyhero: Yesterday in class this beast of a student knocked the clock off of the wall with his head. Upon remounting it to the wall, the minute and hour hands began to spin interminably. the incident made me ponder this post. The idea that time is merely a construction of our inferior human minds is fun to entertain but simply unfounded. The Mayans were perhaps the first to rationalize what humans have always known.
platoismyhero: They were able to create calenders, if you will, that infallibly predicted years, seasons, solstices, days, hours... Their ideas have been confirmed with our modern knowledge of space and orbits. EVERYTHING HAPPENS IN CYCLES! Seasons, days, mating, birth, love, life, death. Time is a mathematical measure of these very real cycles. Science. This is science, not fantasy. It didn't matter that the clock on that classroom wall was jumping days ahead! outside, our faithful Earth was still moving in its same, preditable path. science. reality.
Now, I'm not after the destruction of minutes and hours as we know it. In fact, I would tend to agree with this person here, if someone asked me what I think about the universe; the idea that time is an illusion is, well, difficult to even begin to comprehend. At this moment, I'm thinking about a lot of things, and my goal is not necessarily to believe in any of them. I don't think that truly accepting anything is wise. You know, within practical limitations, of course--I'm not going to start sleeping in until 1 PM every school day and claim that nothing matters because "time isn't real", or start trying to manifest hundred dollar bills with the power of my mind. I guess speculation into the realm of weird shit is just an unhealthy hobby of mine; I don't really mean to denounce established science with it, only remind people that just because Dr.Whatshisface from the Academy of People in White Coats says that the universe is made of matter doesn't mean we have to accept it--it just means we have to use that concept in the physical world that we deal with daily, not in whatever may lie beneath.
I actually think I just need to go to sleep.
Friday, December 19, 2003
My lack of new posts as of late isn't intentional; my parents forgot to pay the power bill, and for two days I studied by candle and propane light.
Finals week has been a subtle hell for me. The finals themselves were actually not nearly as challenging as I'd feared, but the fact that we had a full day of school on both Monday and Tuesday infuriated me. Monday, I slept through six periods, Tuesday, five and a half. The other days of the week, despite consisting of two periods per day, started at the same time as usual. I guess letting us moTHER FUCKING SLEEP IN HELL DIE JESUS for once would be too humane for the Klein Independant Suckers of Dicks. I feel so worn out, both physically and mentally, that I feel as if I'm fading into another reality, one farther back into my head, where I view the one you all are in from a distance, and interact through a series of complex controls.
But I am offered some relief. After the incredibly challenging choir final today, Larkin and I were able to spend a nice afternoon together. We went out for lunch, worked on her scholarship requirements, and watched a movie with Johnny Depp about LSD and, well, nothing. No plot; just Johnny Depp amusingly acting high all the time.
Speaking of frightening transitions from realities, an incredibly strange thing happened at Larkin's house this evening. While Larkin was boiling a pot of water to make tea, I had a strange premonition that Ari would be scalded by a spill while bending over, on the side of the counter closest to the fridge. Not two minutes later, she bent over to get a pan out of the cabinet at Larkin's feet, and Arielle let out a shriek of pain as the near-boiling liquid splashed onto her back--on the other side of the counter.
It's another "holographic model of the universe" thing; if you can think of an alternate reality, it has the chance to become one. Perhaps my subconscious mind was playing for me a holographic vision of one possible future reality, or perhaps I simply imagined the act taking place, and it coincidentially did, with a few details altered, such as the side of the counter Ari was burned on. Is time just a delicate fabric created and manipulated by our collective subconscious? God. This sort of shit is becoming noticeable to me more and more after I think about it, and believe it. The incident, of course, startled me, but I almost instantly remembered my recent vision and hypothesized the meaning of it all. The idea that the thing I'd envisioned happening later as a result (or according to a precognition, or fortune telling, whatever) didn't seem at all illogical to me.
Finals week has been a subtle hell for me. The finals themselves were actually not nearly as challenging as I'd feared, but the fact that we had a full day of school on both Monday and Tuesday infuriated me. Monday, I slept through six periods, Tuesday, five and a half. The other days of the week, despite consisting of two periods per day, started at the same time as usual. I guess letting us moTHER FUCKING SLEEP IN HELL DIE JESUS for once would be too humane for the Klein Independant Suckers of Dicks. I feel so worn out, both physically and mentally, that I feel as if I'm fading into another reality, one farther back into my head, where I view the one you all are in from a distance, and interact through a series of complex controls.
But I am offered some relief. After the incredibly challenging choir final today, Larkin and I were able to spend a nice afternoon together. We went out for lunch, worked on her scholarship requirements, and watched a movie with Johnny Depp about LSD and, well, nothing. No plot; just Johnny Depp amusingly acting high all the time.
Speaking of frightening transitions from realities, an incredibly strange thing happened at Larkin's house this evening. While Larkin was boiling a pot of water to make tea, I had a strange premonition that Ari would be scalded by a spill while bending over, on the side of the counter closest to the fridge. Not two minutes later, she bent over to get a pan out of the cabinet at Larkin's feet, and Arielle let out a shriek of pain as the near-boiling liquid splashed onto her back--on the other side of the counter.
It's another "holographic model of the universe" thing; if you can think of an alternate reality, it has the chance to become one. Perhaps my subconscious mind was playing for me a holographic vision of one possible future reality, or perhaps I simply imagined the act taking place, and it coincidentially did, with a few details altered, such as the side of the counter Ari was burned on. Is time just a delicate fabric created and manipulated by our collective subconscious? God. This sort of shit is becoming noticeable to me more and more after I think about it, and believe it. The incident, of course, startled me, but I almost instantly remembered my recent vision and hypothesized the meaning of it all. The idea that the thing I'd envisioned happening later as a result (or according to a precognition, or fortune telling, whatever) didn't seem at all illogical to me.
Sunday, December 14, 2003
I said a few posts earlier that I'd explain the idea that the world is just a construct of our minds. It's not a bad theory, when you consider that everything we experience is just a translation of our senses. I've been really philisophical and speculatory lately, due in part to my finishing Talbot's The Holographic Universe. It's actually even gotten me a little depressed, or, perhaps, it's made me go a little crazy. I think I'm feeling good enough now that I can dig the blog entry I wrote out of my coat pocket to finally put in here.
The other day, I walked up the stairs to the Fine Arts building as I usually do, but a strange thing happened to me. I noticed a girl in a wheelchair to my left who, despite otherwise normal appearance, possessed no head. I was shocked, but after a few blinks, the head reappeared, once again blocking my view of the bicks behind it.
After a reality (which I will get to later) check, I recalled from my recent studies that both eyes have a blind spot where the optic nerve connects to the eye. Since there are no light receptors in these areas, one might wonder why the hell we don't just have two spots of blackness in our range of vision. Look at this website: (I originally drew my own test, but 50megs.com suck and won't let me link to it)
Blind Spot Test!
The colored test, in which you see color where your blind spot makes the black dot disappear, is your brain's fault. It doesn't really know what's there, but it makes up what it thinks is there. Everything you see is filtered through a couple different parts of your brain before it really gets to your visual cortex. The headless girl phenomenon I witnessed was, I hypothesize, a result of this blind spot and my brain's inability to "guess" the appearance of the girl's head. I was also incredibly tired, and the low blood sugar probably limited my brain's ability to work all that well. What makes it more interesting is that I could see through the head to a detailed wall of bricks past the girl's body.
Not only this, but the reliability of all the senses leads me to ask this: what is reality? If reality to us is what we can see, touch, taste, smell, and hear, and even believe in, then what is the entire universe but a false construct of our mind, the unknown and the infinite cosmos translated by our brains into a masquerade of the tangible, of matter, space, and even time? Who's to say time isn't an illusion to keep reality to a level we can deal with? It's certainly a better explanation for the creation of the universe. The idea that a "big bang" happened or that God was just "always there" just doesn't do it for me, and shouldn't satisfy anyone, because the infinity of time is so incomprehensible. I can't accept a theory that doesn't eliminate that paradox for me.
Where did it all begin? Quit looking at electrons, big bangs, superstring theory and Jehovah. It's too linear. If Michael Talbot has taught me anything, it's that our model of the universe--of reality--is insufficient. We pathetically either try to explain it too rigidly or leave it up to our divine daddy, but both methods are just time/space/matter theories to appeal to the only thing we can truly understand, which is the physical, human ant farm we exist in today.
The other day, I walked up the stairs to the Fine Arts building as I usually do, but a strange thing happened to me. I noticed a girl in a wheelchair to my left who, despite otherwise normal appearance, possessed no head. I was shocked, but after a few blinks, the head reappeared, once again blocking my view of the bicks behind it.
After a reality (which I will get to later) check, I recalled from my recent studies that both eyes have a blind spot where the optic nerve connects to the eye. Since there are no light receptors in these areas, one might wonder why the hell we don't just have two spots of blackness in our range of vision. Look at this website: (I originally drew my own test, but 50megs.com suck and won't let me link to it)
Blind Spot Test!
The colored test, in which you see color where your blind spot makes the black dot disappear, is your brain's fault. It doesn't really know what's there, but it makes up what it thinks is there. Everything you see is filtered through a couple different parts of your brain before it really gets to your visual cortex. The headless girl phenomenon I witnessed was, I hypothesize, a result of this blind spot and my brain's inability to "guess" the appearance of the girl's head. I was also incredibly tired, and the low blood sugar probably limited my brain's ability to work all that well. What makes it more interesting is that I could see through the head to a detailed wall of bricks past the girl's body.
Not only this, but the reliability of all the senses leads me to ask this: what is reality? If reality to us is what we can see, touch, taste, smell, and hear, and even believe in, then what is the entire universe but a false construct of our mind, the unknown and the infinite cosmos translated by our brains into a masquerade of the tangible, of matter, space, and even time? Who's to say time isn't an illusion to keep reality to a level we can deal with? It's certainly a better explanation for the creation of the universe. The idea that a "big bang" happened or that God was just "always there" just doesn't do it for me, and shouldn't satisfy anyone, because the infinity of time is so incomprehensible. I can't accept a theory that doesn't eliminate that paradox for me.
Where did it all begin? Quit looking at electrons, big bangs, superstring theory and Jehovah. It's too linear. If Michael Talbot has taught me anything, it's that our model of the universe--of reality--is insufficient. We pathetically either try to explain it too rigidly or leave it up to our divine daddy, but both methods are just time/space/matter theories to appeal to the only thing we can truly understand, which is the physical, human ant farm we exist in today.
Wednesday, December 10, 2003
Ah, physics. Rappacini's Daughter was pleasant in English--there is a girl who is literally poisonous--and the incredibly challenging trivia game in History yielded another 106 for a major grade. The physics test has allowed me a respectable 79, and I've an 86 on the Egg Drop lab. I've got an 84 in there right now, which makes me quite content, though the notion of a final exam in the class is unnerving
I wonder if everyone has gone through a stage in their lives which is full of indifference and, well outright exhaustion. I feel so damn... tired. Not just physically, but mentally, too. I'm tired of thinking about shit I have to do or turn in or work on or worry about or rehearse for. Things like homework and chamber choir keep me from what I'd really like to be doing, which is one of a few things: being with Larkin, or just sitting around, playing dumb computer games while pondering the meaning of the universe, or playing with Sterling's bass guitar, and being with Larkin.
One of the few things I take pleasure in right now (or have time to) is my short writings; these blog posts help me muchly to pour out my conscious mind into a beaker to study. Sure, I had fun at chamber last night, and I'm level four or whatever in Gunbound, but it's like I'm on this incredibly new conquest for knowledge, insight, or just a conquest for finding time to speculate and think. I mean, I've been a philisophical whore in the past, but these days a hug from Lark and asking oeople their opinion on things, or rather, having it told to me, is one of the few reliefs for me. I've probably been reading The Holographic Universe too much and I likely really need this Christmas holiday, but hell, if our short time here is for anything, shouldn't it be for thinking?
Fuck being a construction worker or a politician--or if you are, and deal with petty human issues all the time, still set aside a moment or two to ponder the meaning of it all! That's why I say it's foolish to adopt an established doctrine at this age, or perhaps at any age! Age plays no role, only amount of thought given. There are too many things to think about (if you're not stupid) to live by a set of rules or ideas someone else made up. Take some of your precious time to think about it first. Don't live by a 2000 year-old translation of a holy text; live by your own holy text.
I'm working on one. Just because I don't believe in your god or any god doesn't mean I believe rigidly that I'm going to cease to exist completely when I die, or that there is no charity or goodness in the world, no soul, no spirituality. I'm still thinking about it.
I wonder if everyone has gone through a stage in their lives which is full of indifference and, well outright exhaustion. I feel so damn... tired. Not just physically, but mentally, too. I'm tired of thinking about shit I have to do or turn in or work on or worry about or rehearse for. Things like homework and chamber choir keep me from what I'd really like to be doing, which is one of a few things: being with Larkin, or just sitting around, playing dumb computer games while pondering the meaning of the universe, or playing with Sterling's bass guitar, and being with Larkin.
One of the few things I take pleasure in right now (or have time to) is my short writings; these blog posts help me muchly to pour out my conscious mind into a beaker to study. Sure, I had fun at chamber last night, and I'm level four or whatever in Gunbound, but it's like I'm on this incredibly new conquest for knowledge, insight, or just a conquest for finding time to speculate and think. I mean, I've been a philisophical whore in the past, but these days a hug from Lark and asking oeople their opinion on things, or rather, having it told to me, is one of the few reliefs for me. I've probably been reading The Holographic Universe too much and I likely really need this Christmas holiday, but hell, if our short time here is for anything, shouldn't it be for thinking?
Fuck being a construction worker or a politician--or if you are, and deal with petty human issues all the time, still set aside a moment or two to ponder the meaning of it all! That's why I say it's foolish to adopt an established doctrine at this age, or perhaps at any age! Age plays no role, only amount of thought given. There are too many things to think about (if you're not stupid) to live by a set of rules or ideas someone else made up. Take some of your precious time to think about it first. Don't live by a 2000 year-old translation of a holy text; live by your own holy text.
I'm working on one. Just because I don't believe in your god or any god doesn't mean I believe rigidly that I'm going to cease to exist completely when I die, or that there is no charity or goodness in the world, no soul, no spirituality. I'm still thinking about it.
Yet another harsh awakening. The alarm doesn't go off, but I wake up at the exact time it's supposed to anyway; a sign that I'm definitely going to way too much school. I don't know what we're doing in English today, but I'm not ready for it. The trivia game in Mr.Turks' class will be the most boring thing in existence. Mrs.Durio will give us our tests back and I will get a D. In choir, I will enjoy singing, even become enlightened by it, but never truly find comfort in being one bright and on tune voice in the very heart of raspy football players. In Algebra, I will read a book whilst Mrs.Jenkins pretends to teach people, occasionally answering questions about systems of functions without even looking up. Unless we have a test today.
I need a holiday.
I need a holiday.
Tuesday, December 09, 2003
On Doctrines
As I lounge back after a very cruel physics test, my mind strays once again into its maddening habit of trying to contemplate the universe. What I need, as Robert Knapp said today in English, is a rainstorm to sit and think in.
The other day, Allison Scace asked me what, as an atheist, I think about death. Now, I've never been terribly prodigious at explaining things to people very well in person, whether it's the awkwardness of the topic, or Alex Pankonien interjecting an "I think John's thinking there might be something more" when I'm Goddamned trying to think, but I realize my inability to very well discuss my beliefs (or blatant lack of them, as I am known for) is because I simply have not thought about them enough yet. I'm sixteen years old. Myself, and anyone else my age lacks the wisdom and experience to set their beliefs, paths, or moral principles in stone. We are just beginning to live: to adopt a doctrine now is foolish, which is one reason I stand without any such thing except my own unwritten code of honor (which is another thing I still need time to think about, but involves not being a complete asshole, and, you know, opening doors for people).
Perhaps that is what I criticize religionists so harshly for--raising their children from toddler to teen with divine notions and commandments and judgement in their heads, seemingly exploiting childrens' young gullability just to pass on their way of life, without letting them mature and decide on their own. Six-year olds don't know who Christ or God or Allah is--they simply say they believe in him when asked, because they have no knowledge of anything else. Growing up in Chicago and around here, I always answered an indifferent "yes" to people who asked me if I believed in God, because, well, that was what everyone said. I just thought it was the norm, the default; and really, it was, and still is. It wasn't until later that I had this Godism concept explained to me a little more thoroughly (or, rather, I learned about it myself, trying to digest Genesis and the ideas of my devout buddies); and while I really did give it a chance, I never was able to believe in any of it. The only thing I'm completely sure of today is what I don't believe.
Ms.Scace, of course, asked me my views on death, which led me to write this post. I don't know what I believe; only what I don't. Reincarnation sounds nice. Even the concept of becoming nothingness according to a set of mechanical laws is more comforting to me than harsh, holy judgement. At least I'd know what I'm in for. The American Romantics had a real good thing going with simply dying and giving your energy back to the earth, return what you've taken, and so on. It's quite noble. The holographic model of the universe is the most comforting to me, since I am awfully scientific and logical, yet emotionally sensitive, as it proposes the implicate connectivity of everything, the existence of the "soul" even if it is just a mound of energy, and most importantly, as it is not quite as linear as we humans are accustomed to; rather than acknowleding the existence of "parts" of the physical world such as time, space, and matter. It beats the shit out of wondering what came before those quacks' ultimately unsatisfying Big Bang, by saying that time is simply a construct of our minds to help us understand all of this, which is, of course, what everything is. Of course, I will have more on that in tomorrow's post.
The other day, Allison Scace asked me what, as an atheist, I think about death. Now, I've never been terribly prodigious at explaining things to people very well in person, whether it's the awkwardness of the topic, or Alex Pankonien interjecting an "I think John's thinking there might be something more" when I'm Goddamned trying to think, but I realize my inability to very well discuss my beliefs (or blatant lack of them, as I am known for) is because I simply have not thought about them enough yet. I'm sixteen years old. Myself, and anyone else my age lacks the wisdom and experience to set their beliefs, paths, or moral principles in stone. We are just beginning to live: to adopt a doctrine now is foolish, which is one reason I stand without any such thing except my own unwritten code of honor (which is another thing I still need time to think about, but involves not being a complete asshole, and, you know, opening doors for people).
Perhaps that is what I criticize religionists so harshly for--raising their children from toddler to teen with divine notions and commandments and judgement in their heads, seemingly exploiting childrens' young gullability just to pass on their way of life, without letting them mature and decide on their own. Six-year olds don't know who Christ or God or Allah is--they simply say they believe in him when asked, because they have no knowledge of anything else. Growing up in Chicago and around here, I always answered an indifferent "yes" to people who asked me if I believed in God, because, well, that was what everyone said. I just thought it was the norm, the default; and really, it was, and still is. It wasn't until later that I had this Godism concept explained to me a little more thoroughly (or, rather, I learned about it myself, trying to digest Genesis and the ideas of my devout buddies); and while I really did give it a chance, I never was able to believe in any of it. The only thing I'm completely sure of today is what I don't believe.
Ms.Scace, of course, asked me my views on death, which led me to write this post. I don't know what I believe; only what I don't. Reincarnation sounds nice. Even the concept of becoming nothingness according to a set of mechanical laws is more comforting to me than harsh, holy judgement. At least I'd know what I'm in for. The American Romantics had a real good thing going with simply dying and giving your energy back to the earth, return what you've taken, and so on. It's quite noble. The holographic model of the universe is the most comforting to me, since I am awfully scientific and logical, yet emotionally sensitive, as it proposes the implicate connectivity of everything, the existence of the "soul" even if it is just a mound of energy, and most importantly, as it is not quite as linear as we humans are accustomed to; rather than acknowleding the existence of "parts" of the physical world such as time, space, and matter. It beats the shit out of wondering what came before those quacks' ultimately unsatisfying Big Bang, by saying that time is simply a construct of our minds to help us understand all of this, which is, of course, what everything is. Of course, I will have more on that in tomorrow's post.
Sunday, December 07, 2003
A Moment of Silence, Please
“We will now start the day with a moment of silence.”
An echo of loud thuds, zippers, and electric pencil sharpeners can be heard across the Klein High campus. A few thousand students simultaneously drop their heads on their desk, while a few hundred more scribble away at old homework assignments, or write test answers on their palms. I boil in my own disagreement with this school district, and ponder the meaning of this moment in which no one is silent; at least not mentally.
I know exactly what those few words were intended to mean. Something along the lines of “We will start the morning with a minute of prayer and worship”, or perhaps “thanks to God”. Whilst the ACLU clutches the bleeding stab wounds to its heart, I picture a more indiscriminant “moment of spiritual reflection” and then a more fundamentalist “moment of glory to Christ” being proposed, and a legislative body making a compromise just to get the various religious and non-religious representatives out of its sight. But it’s quite obvious what the hidden meaning of the “reflective moment” is: an unnecessary and even unconstitutional attempt to mix a little too much church with state. I can’t be the only person who’s figured this out–much less the only one offended by it.
Not that anything will ever be done about it. The moment of silence was a silly idea in the first place, and the only reason it’s here to stay is that not enough people really even care about it. I guarantee that 75% of the student body or more simply sees the minute as some time off second period, a minute to sleep, or an opportunity to finish late homework. The day I actually see people getting out their Holy Bibles, Torahs and prayer mats, then the more liberal students of the school will be able to talk about separation of church and state.
The whole issue is similar to the part in the Pledge of Allegiance about this country being a nation “under God”. The few people that bother to say the pledge don’t even consciously think about it when they do anyway. The “allegiance” we pledge is about as valuable or honest as a Middle Eastern cease-fire. The oath has simply been drilled into our brains every morning from elementary school until now. It means nothing. The point is, the only people who ever say anything about any of these matters are the aggressive, reformist types like myself, which are very rare in a high school environment–especially at 8:45 AM.
Nevertheless, I question the nature of groups like Bearkats for Christ, Klein Islamic Thought, and the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. What drives people to bring these things into school if it’s obvious they’ll cause so much controversy? Legally, I could form Bearkats for Satan if I wanted to! Congress recognizes the Church of Satan, and I’m sure the ACLU would back me up. It’d be just as “unorthodox” as creating a club, according to some, “based on sexual activity”.
Is it just an American sense of unity that inspires us to establish moments of propagandistic holy sanctity in our ignorant academia? Perhaps it’s a result of massive tragedies such as 9-11. America gained an unmatched sense of pride, unity, little flags, and bumper stickers that eventually dissolved as crime rates went back up and people stopped wearing “God Bless America” T-shirts.
I don’t think God has blessed us if the only unified equality we experience in America is a result of national crisis and the systematic destruction of the Middle East. Perhaps we need that moment of prayer more than we thought.
An echo of loud thuds, zippers, and electric pencil sharpeners can be heard across the Klein High campus. A few thousand students simultaneously drop their heads on their desk, while a few hundred more scribble away at old homework assignments, or write test answers on their palms. I boil in my own disagreement with this school district, and ponder the meaning of this moment in which no one is silent; at least not mentally.
I know exactly what those few words were intended to mean. Something along the lines of “We will start the morning with a minute of prayer and worship”, or perhaps “thanks to God”. Whilst the ACLU clutches the bleeding stab wounds to its heart, I picture a more indiscriminant “moment of spiritual reflection” and then a more fundamentalist “moment of glory to Christ” being proposed, and a legislative body making a compromise just to get the various religious and non-religious representatives out of its sight. But it’s quite obvious what the hidden meaning of the “reflective moment” is: an unnecessary and even unconstitutional attempt to mix a little too much church with state. I can’t be the only person who’s figured this out–much less the only one offended by it.
Not that anything will ever be done about it. The moment of silence was a silly idea in the first place, and the only reason it’s here to stay is that not enough people really even care about it. I guarantee that 75% of the student body or more simply sees the minute as some time off second period, a minute to sleep, or an opportunity to finish late homework. The day I actually see people getting out their Holy Bibles, Torahs and prayer mats, then the more liberal students of the school will be able to talk about separation of church and state.
The whole issue is similar to the part in the Pledge of Allegiance about this country being a nation “under God”. The few people that bother to say the pledge don’t even consciously think about it when they do anyway. The “allegiance” we pledge is about as valuable or honest as a Middle Eastern cease-fire. The oath has simply been drilled into our brains every morning from elementary school until now. It means nothing. The point is, the only people who ever say anything about any of these matters are the aggressive, reformist types like myself, which are very rare in a high school environment–especially at 8:45 AM.
Nevertheless, I question the nature of groups like Bearkats for Christ, Klein Islamic Thought, and the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. What drives people to bring these things into school if it’s obvious they’ll cause so much controversy? Legally, I could form Bearkats for Satan if I wanted to! Congress recognizes the Church of Satan, and I’m sure the ACLU would back me up. It’d be just as “unorthodox” as creating a club, according to some, “based on sexual activity”.
Is it just an American sense of unity that inspires us to establish moments of propagandistic holy sanctity in our ignorant academia? Perhaps it’s a result of massive tragedies such as 9-11. America gained an unmatched sense of pride, unity, little flags, and bumper stickers that eventually dissolved as crime rates went back up and people stopped wearing “God Bless America” T-shirts.
I don’t think God has blessed us if the only unified equality we experience in America is a result of national crisis and the systematic destruction of the Middle East. Perhaps we need that moment of prayer more than we thought.
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
While school was typically bland today, I was relieved to discover that my next year of it wouldn't have to be quite so difficult. If I take govt/econ in summer school, all I need next year to graduate is English IV, Speech, and, um, some other class that I forgot about. With the seven period day, that leaves me room for choir, and my new interest in the internship at the Marriot. If I make that, I'll be messing around with various cooking jobs for three periods a day instead of doing algebra or physics or world history. Dishwashing and watching peopld do stuff seems like a much better occupation than getting unfriendly looks from Mrs.Jenkins or listening to Mr.Turks lecture.
Although, I must admit, Mr.Turks is okay. I think he's a bit smarter than he'll let us know, after listening to opinions and lectures and learning that he actually knows what quantum physics is. He seemed interested in my book. I imagine he doesn't truly speak his mind a lot, for fear of rejection. Probably wants what anybody does-for people to understand him. Being intellectual makes that challenging, and in his community of football coach buddies, I estimate that he dumbs his vocabulary down a bit. He often uses some multisyllabic words and acts like he doesn't know the meaning. You know, either all that, or he's a dumbass who likes my papers. So I'll leave him off my hit list, and keep his droning assignments on there instead.
The most positive happening today occured after school, surprisingly enough, with Larkin. After the massive amounts of cooking I did during Thanksgiving, I'd come up with a sound idea earlier this week to cook for Larkin. So we went over to that labyrinth of a new HEB, I bought cans of artichoke hearts and whole pimentos, and a couple of portabella mushrooms, and then glided safely to a stop at my house, avoiding the large number of cops that've been lurking through my neighborhood recently.
After a bout of impressive-looking chopping moves, I sauteed the mixture of diced vegetables and fungi in a cast iron skillet with olive oil, saving the garlic for last. It's a damned innovative combination of stuff if I do say so myself-I got the idea for doing it with some rice when I realized, when I cooked the veggies the same way for the stuffing at Thanksgiving, that I would've rather eaten them by themselves. My dad came up with a sauce when he strolled by by simply watering down the remnants of the vegetables and oil in the skillet, and adding some chili garlic sauce and, intriguingly enough, honey. I think I outdid myself. In fact, I miss it now, as I pick at one of those microwavable pizzas (my father bought a hojillion of them when they were on sale at food town) that I'm eating because, well, I'm a skinny little bastard and I'm hungry, and I think I'm still trying to gain back the weight I lost when I was sick.
Probably will not type up anything in here tomorrow. I've got a chamber choir runout. I do Saturday, too. And Sunday. And next fucking Tuesday. And next Wednesday. And next Friday. God, the Christmas carols! It's like my mind is a legal document, the Christmas carols are the industrial-strength paper shredder, and in the trashcan my sanity's confetti is released into is a vat of chamber choir runouts, which are like a gallon of boric acid.
Although, I must admit, Mr.Turks is okay. I think he's a bit smarter than he'll let us know, after listening to opinions and lectures and learning that he actually knows what quantum physics is. He seemed interested in my book. I imagine he doesn't truly speak his mind a lot, for fear of rejection. Probably wants what anybody does-for people to understand him. Being intellectual makes that challenging, and in his community of football coach buddies, I estimate that he dumbs his vocabulary down a bit. He often uses some multisyllabic words and acts like he doesn't know the meaning. You know, either all that, or he's a dumbass who likes my papers. So I'll leave him off my hit list, and keep his droning assignments on there instead.
The most positive happening today occured after school, surprisingly enough, with Larkin. After the massive amounts of cooking I did during Thanksgiving, I'd come up with a sound idea earlier this week to cook for Larkin. So we went over to that labyrinth of a new HEB, I bought cans of artichoke hearts and whole pimentos, and a couple of portabella mushrooms, and then glided safely to a stop at my house, avoiding the large number of cops that've been lurking through my neighborhood recently.
After a bout of impressive-looking chopping moves, I sauteed the mixture of diced vegetables and fungi in a cast iron skillet with olive oil, saving the garlic for last. It's a damned innovative combination of stuff if I do say so myself-I got the idea for doing it with some rice when I realized, when I cooked the veggies the same way for the stuffing at Thanksgiving, that I would've rather eaten them by themselves. My dad came up with a sauce when he strolled by by simply watering down the remnants of the vegetables and oil in the skillet, and adding some chili garlic sauce and, intriguingly enough, honey. I think I outdid myself. In fact, I miss it now, as I pick at one of those microwavable pizzas (my father bought a hojillion of them when they were on sale at food town) that I'm eating because, well, I'm a skinny little bastard and I'm hungry, and I think I'm still trying to gain back the weight I lost when I was sick.
Probably will not type up anything in here tomorrow. I've got a chamber choir runout. I do Saturday, too. And Sunday. And next fucking Tuesday. And next Wednesday. And next Friday. God, the Christmas carols! It's like my mind is a legal document, the Christmas carols are the industrial-strength paper shredder, and in the trashcan my sanity's confetti is released into is a vat of chamber choir runouts, which are like a gallon of boric acid.
Monday, December 01, 2003
Hmm. I'm not doing too bad this week. I am tired as I always am, never "quite rested enough" for seven hours of plastic chairs and broken German, but I have my work done, and this week I might just have time to cook a nice meal for Larkin. That is, if I can get around annoying chamber choir runouts. Ah, Christmas. The time of Toys R' Us brawls between middle-aged mothers and four-dollar "festive" wine at randalls. Mmm. Tastes like Grape Nyquil.
Speaking of which, I'm interested in that Marriot internship they mentioned in the announcements the other day. I must see teh counselor about that- I think they're coming for course selection soon this week anyway, so that will be convenient.
IRON CHEF JOHANN
I could really go for some fresh baby octopus right now. Oh, man. I'm still ravenous, and still really weak. I don't think I realized how sick I was. I tried to do some exercise to start building my muscles back up and couldn't break 37 pushups. I feel like... like Bernie Kent. I guess pie will have to satisfy me now.
Mmm... Baby octopus pie...
Speaking of which, I'm interested in that Marriot internship they mentioned in the announcements the other day. I must see teh counselor about that- I think they're coming for course selection soon this week anyway, so that will be convenient.
IRON CHEF JOHANN
I could really go for some fresh baby octopus right now. Oh, man. I'm still ravenous, and still really weak. I don't think I realized how sick I was. I tried to do some exercise to start building my muscles back up and couldn't break 37 pushups. I feel like... like Bernie Kent. I guess pie will have to satisfy me now.
Mmm... Baby octopus pie...
This Thanksgiving holiday has been, well, rather substandard. Monday and Tuesday I still didn't feel well. I didn't do a spectacular job of taking care of myself during my long sickness. I'm still pretty tired. I lost seven pounds, and at 11:30 on Sunday night, I'm still ravenous. I ate 23 pieces of nigiri and a bunch of Norwegian rolls last night with Larkin at Pepper Chino's. I ate too much during Thanksgiving. I woke up at 3 PM this morning and ate several muffins, a bagel, a gigantic apple, and a bunch of sausage. I sort of fucked myself up, and now I'm trying to gain the weight back so I don't look like that little stick guy from the Blair Witch Project. Christ. I've been healthier.
I suppose I ought to talk about it. People will ask me why my Thanksgiving sucked, and people like Rob will ask me why I told them to "tell Larkin I'm extraordinarily sorry and that I'm an asshole" if they saw her on AIM.
I've made promises this week that I couldn't keep. I'd say I'd be free, I'd be here to be the affectionate little thing I always am with Larkin, be free to walk around and go out for coffee and all that. I usually am, I sometimes aren't. I've got obligations, of course. Everyone does. But I felt (and still do) like a royal asshole when I basically stood up Larkin Dennis for Michael Potter, DJ Malone, and the Mormon LAN boys. Fucking hell.
Basically, Wednesday evening, I got home from mowing a big lawn with Sterling, and as my relatives were with me, dad was busy cooking, and things were generally hectic around the house as mom couldn't respond to whether or not Uncle David was coming over, I realized Larkin and I wouldn't be able to do much. Tired, thoughtless and confused, I foolishly hitched a ride to Bret Miller's LAN party.
That kinda sucked. I got there, played Counterstrike for several hours until that game stopped working, tried to fix my computer, and eventually gave up to watch others play Korean strategy games. I basically came, got pissed, drank a bunch of cream soda, and left at midnight. I didn't tell Larkin I'd be gone, and the whole time she lingered at home waiting for a response for me. I told her I'd be free.
Thursday was allright. I had a grand time cooking with my dad, throwing artichoke hearts, chopped pimentos, and portabella mushrooms in a saute pan, making dressing, roasting turkeys, and engaging in other very interesting culinary activities. Larkin came over around five, and we had a grand feast. My parents proclaimed how fond they were of Larkin, and she was delighted, we retired to playing Scrabble on the couch, which was fun, but ultimately unsatisfying as my Southern Baptist grandparents were directly in front of us the whole time, restricting any affectionate movement whatsoever. I promised my heart out I'd be there tomorrow, so we could really spend some quality time. I was pretty tired and sore from cooking and eating so much. I sent her home at about ten, stayed up too late playing EverQuest, which is fun, but, well, fuck EverQuest.
I woke up late, showered, and told Larkin I was free. I got an IM from Michael Potter before she came over begging me to come to his LAN. I received the invitation hesitantly, but for some hellish reason, I got all noble and decided I'd "go take care of my buddies" and bring them a network hub and an extra sarcastic bastard, since I always blow them off. I didn't really want to go. I ended up fixing peoples' computers, losing at an AoE2 game, playing some dumbshit Worms:Armageddon-style Korean multiplayer game the whole time while ignoring a bunch of loudass motherfuckers obsessed with Super Smash Brothers, retreating to the kitchen a lot to collect myself so I wouldn't have to stab anyone, and trying to snooze on the floor. I mean, it would've been okay for an hour or two, but not all Goddamned night. I phoned my mother in the morning and got home at 11 or so. I looked like shit: bloodshot eyes, dirty hair, lint-ridden trenchcoat, and the incredible desire to shower and not lift my computer up a flight of stairs in three trips.
In the car, my mom mentioned that Nelda Cochrane, my neighbor, called for the hojillionth time this month and needed her printer set up. I realized that she was probably pissed, really on edge with all those damn teenagers always partying at her house, and setting up for some office party that she wouldn't enjoy. I also had the thought capacity of a Klein football player at that moment, and decided to go fix her computer. How long could it take, right? A Basque-speaking ten year-old could set those things up, and it'd be an easy ten bucks. I'd forgotten about my solemn promise to Larkin and Allah that I'd be there tomorrow for her. She was extremely irritated that I went to THAT LAN and only told her three hours before, breaking my previous promise.
I went over to the neighbors', took the thing out of the box, plugged it in, and got really frustrated when the software for the stupid plastic piece of electronic donkey shit told me it would "take 15 to 45 minutes to install these drivers" and then I'd have to restart.
I barely tolerated that. I do not like computers. Luckily, I didn't have to make much small talk or be polite with the neighbors either: they were busy. When the thing finished, Nelda wanted me to show her how to use it. Well, fine. I expected that. I showed her that everything she would ever, EVER need was centralized in one piece of software, and that there were big icons with shiny names for her to fax things to her relatives. I looked at the clock on the computer and remembered my promise pretty quick. I also realized that again, I had not told my beautiful and intellectual underwear model of a girlfriend that I'd be working on these things.
Unfortunately, Nelda wanted me to make copies of a picture to test out the scanner, have me stand there while she tried out the fax machine, email a scanned photo to her friend, print the scanned photo, and all this shit that I played no vital role in whatsoever. I looked at the clock, it said 1:30, and I declared I had to go. FIRMLY. She paid my twenty bucks and I ran to my house, forgetting my coat. I ran back to get it, and then ran to my house. I IMed Larkin, telling her I'd shower and be right with her. She wasn't there at the moment, so I doused myself and missed a call from her. She wasn't happy.
After speaking with her briefly on AIM, I began to go into cardiac arrest, and walked outside immediately to wait for her. I'd hurt the thing I love more than spicy tuna rolls. I'd betrayed my greatest friend, my greatest ally and companion in this world of people wanting only to change me or take me for a social outcast with no desire for affection. I'd hurt her feelings, and it was like she'd already just abandoned me, left me out in the cold to die, alone in my freshman year, with no one to talk to but Thunker the Conquerer or my cat. Not only all that, I'd betrayed myself. I'd broken my code of honor and walked all over what I hold closest to my heart to get to some rich guy's house for a computer party. I felt like the biggest asshole in the world. I was ready to sprint into the barbed wire fence behind my house, throw myself in front of a Mack truck, start using all my knowledge of knives to sharpen one and drain some blood from myself so my heart wouldn't beat so fast, but not before begging forgiveness on my bloody knees.
When Larkin got here, I instinctively half smiled in front of her van as it pulled up, but she looked at me with pure indifference. The expression nearly tore the remaining composure I had from my feeble body like the husk from an ear of worm-eaten corn. She still slid into my arms, however slowly, and I began pouring out apologies. She feared the same thing as I did: some horrible breakup, some tragic episode of never speaking again, except awkwardly about the weather or how "things were going" every other week or so. We began to cry into each others shoulders as I assured her I meant nothing of the sort, that I loved her with all my heart, and that I couldn't lose her. I meant it. I couldn't lose her-I'd lose myself.
I said "began". As I started that, my mother came out with the phone. "It's Nelda. Something's still wrong with her computer."
Larkin and I were still hysterical-she was asking me why I'd done all the things I had, broken my promises and all that, but for some Goddamned reason, I instinctively went over and grabbed the phone, nervously asking her what was wrong, clutching the seat of that ugly riding lawnmower in my driveway with my weakened forearm in an attempt to crush it as I looked frantically for an oppurtunity to SHUT HER THE FUCK UP so I could apologize to Larkin. This wasn't what I wanted. I knew I couldn't put my neighbor's printer or my silly little computer maintenance talents in front of what I'd spent my adolescent life trying to find. I'd sooner tear up the money the old woman had given me, and burn it atop my wretched body. I told her quickly that I had to go, something urgent had come up, and hung up in time to see Larkin backing out the driveway, fire in her eyes, flooring her van through my neighborhood and shouting in rage at me on her way out.
I threw the phone into the bushes. Mom came out and called me, and I snapped back with a "WHAT?" as I trembled with humiliation and sheer pain. I felt a physical fire in my veins, an acid seeping through me, and worry for what Larkin would do. I searched for a plan to remedy the situation, any plan, and realized I really, really had to find her. While thinking about what to do, I also realized I'd been standing in the driveway like a sculpture, eyes wet and lip trembling. I was waiting for her to come back, while Larry Morris stood staring at me, perplexed, gas-powered hedge trimmer in hands. She didn't return.
So I found the phone, took it inside, and told my parents I was going for a walk. Apparently my mom knew what I was doing and told me to call the Dennis household first, which I did, with no luck. Larkin wasn't home, and I told her mom to relay my apologies if she came back. I told my parents I'd walk around the block anyway, to collect myself.
I took off, walking at first, then jogging, then walking again because through all this, I was still tired, my eyes still bloodshot, and my heart isn't in good shape for jogging anyway-I've never been good at it. I walked as fast as humanly possible, striding down Louetta with an expression on my face that was probably pretty horrible. My mouth and lips were dried out, I was getting cold, and still feeling like sleep-deprived shit, but I didn't realize that, because I was too intent on getting to Larkin's house. She wasn't there when I arrived. I paced around her neighborhood, bottle of water from the Dennis household in my hand, waiting for her van to show up. I sat in a parking lot darting my head in both directions on Wimbledon Estates drive. I got some strange looks. She didn't show up, and after pondering how unpleasant my life would be if I lost her, I resolved to go back to her house and sit. I wouldn't give up. I was going to wait there until the same time the next day if I needed to, and the day after that. I had a seat in an armchair and changed positions a lot, sipped the water bottle several times a minute, mainly to try to keep from crying. It would've been an unpleasant ordeal in front of Ari, Liz, and Larkin's parents if they all gave me a group hug, or some shit.
To my unimaginable relief, Larkin's van showed up at the house, and I ran outside to be hugged by a beautiful little thing in a wool sweater. I really cannot express that joy in writing. My unconscious mind is an incredibly cruel device, and likes to come up with worst-case situations (i.e. Larkin driving off a cliff or getting killed in a wreck). I was so worried, and afraid of losing the thing that's changed my timid, insignificant life over the past eight months. The fact that she hugged me nearly made me die with happiness.
She took me upstairs and we exchanged kisses and forgiveness, and I nearly became a spiritual person as she once again took me in her arms and let me cry on her shoulder, and vice versa. We went out for a sushi dinner and came back to host a splendid movie night full of the usual sexual humor, gory movies, and a little more cuddling than usual.
So everything's back to normal. I'm still pretty shaken up, actually, physically (the walk over there didn't do me too well, so I slept 15 hours last night) and emotionally, but it's more of just being stirred up from the whole event than any pain. I still feel bad about what I did, and I resolve to always keep my promises, no matter how much it will suck to screw the Mormon LAN crew over. Probably not much. I will keep my priorities straight. Love is better than CounterStrike-I know that and always have, and from now on when I'd rather spend time with Larkin than go pretend to have fun clicking the mouse a lot with a virtual assault rifle, I will tell people rather than do something I don't want to, and I will expect people understand, or not give a shit. Either is good with me. Oh, and I didn't really mean to turn that into some English paper or narrative, but I wanted to tell the story, because it helps me find some closure with it, and it'll help me be a better person. I don't ever want to hurt anyone.
I love you, Larkin.
I suppose I ought to talk about it. People will ask me why my Thanksgiving sucked, and people like Rob will ask me why I told them to "tell Larkin I'm extraordinarily sorry and that I'm an asshole" if they saw her on AIM.
I've made promises this week that I couldn't keep. I'd say I'd be free, I'd be here to be the affectionate little thing I always am with Larkin, be free to walk around and go out for coffee and all that. I usually am, I sometimes aren't. I've got obligations, of course. Everyone does. But I felt (and still do) like a royal asshole when I basically stood up Larkin Dennis for Michael Potter, DJ Malone, and the Mormon LAN boys. Fucking hell.
Basically, Wednesday evening, I got home from mowing a big lawn with Sterling, and as my relatives were with me, dad was busy cooking, and things were generally hectic around the house as mom couldn't respond to whether or not Uncle David was coming over, I realized Larkin and I wouldn't be able to do much. Tired, thoughtless and confused, I foolishly hitched a ride to Bret Miller's LAN party.
That kinda sucked. I got there, played Counterstrike for several hours until that game stopped working, tried to fix my computer, and eventually gave up to watch others play Korean strategy games. I basically came, got pissed, drank a bunch of cream soda, and left at midnight. I didn't tell Larkin I'd be gone, and the whole time she lingered at home waiting for a response for me. I told her I'd be free.
Thursday was allright. I had a grand time cooking with my dad, throwing artichoke hearts, chopped pimentos, and portabella mushrooms in a saute pan, making dressing, roasting turkeys, and engaging in other very interesting culinary activities. Larkin came over around five, and we had a grand feast. My parents proclaimed how fond they were of Larkin, and she was delighted, we retired to playing Scrabble on the couch, which was fun, but ultimately unsatisfying as my Southern Baptist grandparents were directly in front of us the whole time, restricting any affectionate movement whatsoever. I promised my heart out I'd be there tomorrow, so we could really spend some quality time. I was pretty tired and sore from cooking and eating so much. I sent her home at about ten, stayed up too late playing EverQuest, which is fun, but, well, fuck EverQuest.
I woke up late, showered, and told Larkin I was free. I got an IM from Michael Potter before she came over begging me to come to his LAN. I received the invitation hesitantly, but for some hellish reason, I got all noble and decided I'd "go take care of my buddies" and bring them a network hub and an extra sarcastic bastard, since I always blow them off. I didn't really want to go. I ended up fixing peoples' computers, losing at an AoE2 game, playing some dumbshit Worms:Armageddon-style Korean multiplayer game the whole time while ignoring a bunch of loudass motherfuckers obsessed with Super Smash Brothers, retreating to the kitchen a lot to collect myself so I wouldn't have to stab anyone, and trying to snooze on the floor. I mean, it would've been okay for an hour or two, but not all Goddamned night. I phoned my mother in the morning and got home at 11 or so. I looked like shit: bloodshot eyes, dirty hair, lint-ridden trenchcoat, and the incredible desire to shower and not lift my computer up a flight of stairs in three trips.
In the car, my mom mentioned that Nelda Cochrane, my neighbor, called for the hojillionth time this month and needed her printer set up. I realized that she was probably pissed, really on edge with all those damn teenagers always partying at her house, and setting up for some office party that she wouldn't enjoy. I also had the thought capacity of a Klein football player at that moment, and decided to go fix her computer. How long could it take, right? A Basque-speaking ten year-old could set those things up, and it'd be an easy ten bucks. I'd forgotten about my solemn promise to Larkin and Allah that I'd be there tomorrow for her. She was extremely irritated that I went to THAT LAN and only told her three hours before, breaking my previous promise.
I went over to the neighbors', took the thing out of the box, plugged it in, and got really frustrated when the software for the stupid plastic piece of electronic donkey shit told me it would "take 15 to 45 minutes to install these drivers" and then I'd have to restart.
I barely tolerated that. I do not like computers. Luckily, I didn't have to make much small talk or be polite with the neighbors either: they were busy. When the thing finished, Nelda wanted me to show her how to use it. Well, fine. I expected that. I showed her that everything she would ever, EVER need was centralized in one piece of software, and that there were big icons with shiny names for her to fax things to her relatives. I looked at the clock on the computer and remembered my promise pretty quick. I also realized that again, I had not told my beautiful and intellectual underwear model of a girlfriend that I'd be working on these things.
Unfortunately, Nelda wanted me to make copies of a picture to test out the scanner, have me stand there while she tried out the fax machine, email a scanned photo to her friend, print the scanned photo, and all this shit that I played no vital role in whatsoever. I looked at the clock, it said 1:30, and I declared I had to go. FIRMLY. She paid my twenty bucks and I ran to my house, forgetting my coat. I ran back to get it, and then ran to my house. I IMed Larkin, telling her I'd shower and be right with her. She wasn't there at the moment, so I doused myself and missed a call from her. She wasn't happy.
After speaking with her briefly on AIM, I began to go into cardiac arrest, and walked outside immediately to wait for her. I'd hurt the thing I love more than spicy tuna rolls. I'd betrayed my greatest friend, my greatest ally and companion in this world of people wanting only to change me or take me for a social outcast with no desire for affection. I'd hurt her feelings, and it was like she'd already just abandoned me, left me out in the cold to die, alone in my freshman year, with no one to talk to but Thunker the Conquerer or my cat. Not only all that, I'd betrayed myself. I'd broken my code of honor and walked all over what I hold closest to my heart to get to some rich guy's house for a computer party. I felt like the biggest asshole in the world. I was ready to sprint into the barbed wire fence behind my house, throw myself in front of a Mack truck, start using all my knowledge of knives to sharpen one and drain some blood from myself so my heart wouldn't beat so fast, but not before begging forgiveness on my bloody knees.
When Larkin got here, I instinctively half smiled in front of her van as it pulled up, but she looked at me with pure indifference. The expression nearly tore the remaining composure I had from my feeble body like the husk from an ear of worm-eaten corn. She still slid into my arms, however slowly, and I began pouring out apologies. She feared the same thing as I did: some horrible breakup, some tragic episode of never speaking again, except awkwardly about the weather or how "things were going" every other week or so. We began to cry into each others shoulders as I assured her I meant nothing of the sort, that I loved her with all my heart, and that I couldn't lose her. I meant it. I couldn't lose her-I'd lose myself.
I said "began". As I started that, my mother came out with the phone. "It's Nelda. Something's still wrong with her computer."
Larkin and I were still hysterical-she was asking me why I'd done all the things I had, broken my promises and all that, but for some Goddamned reason, I instinctively went over and grabbed the phone, nervously asking her what was wrong, clutching the seat of that ugly riding lawnmower in my driveway with my weakened forearm in an attempt to crush it as I looked frantically for an oppurtunity to SHUT HER THE FUCK UP so I could apologize to Larkin. This wasn't what I wanted. I knew I couldn't put my neighbor's printer or my silly little computer maintenance talents in front of what I'd spent my adolescent life trying to find. I'd sooner tear up the money the old woman had given me, and burn it atop my wretched body. I told her quickly that I had to go, something urgent had come up, and hung up in time to see Larkin backing out the driveway, fire in her eyes, flooring her van through my neighborhood and shouting in rage at me on her way out.
I threw the phone into the bushes. Mom came out and called me, and I snapped back with a "WHAT?" as I trembled with humiliation and sheer pain. I felt a physical fire in my veins, an acid seeping through me, and worry for what Larkin would do. I searched for a plan to remedy the situation, any plan, and realized I really, really had to find her. While thinking about what to do, I also realized I'd been standing in the driveway like a sculpture, eyes wet and lip trembling. I was waiting for her to come back, while Larry Morris stood staring at me, perplexed, gas-powered hedge trimmer in hands. She didn't return.
So I found the phone, took it inside, and told my parents I was going for a walk. Apparently my mom knew what I was doing and told me to call the Dennis household first, which I did, with no luck. Larkin wasn't home, and I told her mom to relay my apologies if she came back. I told my parents I'd walk around the block anyway, to collect myself.
I took off, walking at first, then jogging, then walking again because through all this, I was still tired, my eyes still bloodshot, and my heart isn't in good shape for jogging anyway-I've never been good at it. I walked as fast as humanly possible, striding down Louetta with an expression on my face that was probably pretty horrible. My mouth and lips were dried out, I was getting cold, and still feeling like sleep-deprived shit, but I didn't realize that, because I was too intent on getting to Larkin's house. She wasn't there when I arrived. I paced around her neighborhood, bottle of water from the Dennis household in my hand, waiting for her van to show up. I sat in a parking lot darting my head in both directions on Wimbledon Estates drive. I got some strange looks. She didn't show up, and after pondering how unpleasant my life would be if I lost her, I resolved to go back to her house and sit. I wouldn't give up. I was going to wait there until the same time the next day if I needed to, and the day after that. I had a seat in an armchair and changed positions a lot, sipped the water bottle several times a minute, mainly to try to keep from crying. It would've been an unpleasant ordeal in front of Ari, Liz, and Larkin's parents if they all gave me a group hug, or some shit.
To my unimaginable relief, Larkin's van showed up at the house, and I ran outside to be hugged by a beautiful little thing in a wool sweater. I really cannot express that joy in writing. My unconscious mind is an incredibly cruel device, and likes to come up with worst-case situations (i.e. Larkin driving off a cliff or getting killed in a wreck). I was so worried, and afraid of losing the thing that's changed my timid, insignificant life over the past eight months. The fact that she hugged me nearly made me die with happiness.
She took me upstairs and we exchanged kisses and forgiveness, and I nearly became a spiritual person as she once again took me in her arms and let me cry on her shoulder, and vice versa. We went out for a sushi dinner and came back to host a splendid movie night full of the usual sexual humor, gory movies, and a little more cuddling than usual.
So everything's back to normal. I'm still pretty shaken up, actually, physically (the walk over there didn't do me too well, so I slept 15 hours last night) and emotionally, but it's more of just being stirred up from the whole event than any pain. I still feel bad about what I did, and I resolve to always keep my promises, no matter how much it will suck to screw the Mormon LAN crew over. Probably not much. I will keep my priorities straight. Love is better than CounterStrike-I know that and always have, and from now on when I'd rather spend time with Larkin than go pretend to have fun clicking the mouse a lot with a virtual assault rifle, I will tell people rather than do something I don't want to, and I will expect people understand, or not give a shit. Either is good with me. Oh, and I didn't really mean to turn that into some English paper or narrative, but I wanted to tell the story, because it helps me find some closure with it, and it'll help me be a better person. I don't ever want to hurt anyone.
I love you, Larkin.
Sunday, November 23, 2003
Another three-day week of school complete, abscences and all excused, as well as a smashing weekend. With the help of my friend Zithromax, my symptoms have not fucking left me. Well, at least not completely. The whole fever deal is gone, but I'm still coughing like a maniac and as a result, my back muscles have turned to steel cables, completely restricting my otherwise rudimentary task of rotating.
Being home alone is nice. For five days, my parents left me, their fickle teenager, unattended while enjoying some hunting expedition in the middle of nowhere. What a bond of trust. I could've killed their dog, starved their cat, burned the house down or left it open for burglary, hosted my own rave complete with Jack Daniels and mentholated cigarettes, had unprotected sex, or driven their stick shift Mazda Miata around town, picking up chicks and dealing drugs!
But not this time. Unfortunately, I was still sick, and so I just hung out with Larkin a bunch, baking mahi mahi and vegetables, watching the international news channel, and getting pissed at my computer when it stopped working (I'm in Linux right now because of how much I fucking hate it when Blogger locks up in the middle of a post). Even without the raving, I had a lot of fun sitting around with techno blaring on our crappy home stereo, staring into space and sleeping. I don't get to do that enough these days, you know? Remember the time in your childhood when your life was so carefree, you could just sit around and play Rebel Assault 2 or Tie Fighter or Microsoft Motherfucking Flight Shitulator all day, stay up until five, and do it some more the next? You could just go out and play soccer, because you didn't have partial pneumonia and an assload of homework to do, and your back didn't feel like fucking fire? I'm beginning to feel like an old man.
And then again, I'm really just getting into the really good, nitty-gritty parts of life--the parts where I can feel emotion, write a poem, cook something more complicated than a grilled cheese sandwich, and, well, do anything but play Rebel Assault 2. It was a terrible game. I played things like that and EverQuest because no one loved me enough to drive me down to Montrose and take me to the fine arts museum, so I could see Starry Night and The Olive Trees or The Three Musicians. Now I'm beginning to figure this existance shit out.
Being home alone is nice. For five days, my parents left me, their fickle teenager, unattended while enjoying some hunting expedition in the middle of nowhere. What a bond of trust. I could've killed their dog, starved their cat, burned the house down or left it open for burglary, hosted my own rave complete with Jack Daniels and mentholated cigarettes, had unprotected sex, or driven their stick shift Mazda Miata around town, picking up chicks and dealing drugs!
But not this time. Unfortunately, I was still sick, and so I just hung out with Larkin a bunch, baking mahi mahi and vegetables, watching the international news channel, and getting pissed at my computer when it stopped working (I'm in Linux right now because of how much I fucking hate it when Blogger locks up in the middle of a post). Even without the raving, I had a lot of fun sitting around with techno blaring on our crappy home stereo, staring into space and sleeping. I don't get to do that enough these days, you know? Remember the time in your childhood when your life was so carefree, you could just sit around and play Rebel Assault 2 or Tie Fighter or Microsoft Motherfucking Flight Shitulator all day, stay up until five, and do it some more the next? You could just go out and play soccer, because you didn't have partial pneumonia and an assload of homework to do, and your back didn't feel like fucking fire? I'm beginning to feel like an old man.
And then again, I'm really just getting into the really good, nitty-gritty parts of life--the parts where I can feel emotion, write a poem, cook something more complicated than a grilled cheese sandwich, and, well, do anything but play Rebel Assault 2. It was a terrible game. I played things like that and EverQuest because no one loved me enough to drive me down to Montrose and take me to the fine arts museum, so I could see Starry Night and The Olive Trees or The Three Musicians. Now I'm beginning to figure this existance shit out.
Sunday, November 16, 2003
I have no earthly idea as to how I survived this weekend. Despite a slight fever I still had and a pain in the ass dry cough, I picked my sorry, plague-ridden ass up on Friday and got on the bus to region weekend.
I probably shouldn't have been there. The aftermath is that I've still got the cough worse than ever (probably from trying to surpress it so much), a horrible pain in two parts of my back, a clogged up sinus cavity, and even clogged up fucking ears that really, really hurt. This is the seventh day I've been sick. I'm beginning to wish that the lungs had an ability to just vomit out all foreign substances so I wouldn't have to cough them up over a week's period. I'm sore all over from long, standing rehearsals. I've inhaled more menthol from bags of cough drops in the past two days than a four-pack-a-day smoker has inhaled from burning green leaves in a month. I've got an ugly little cold sore on the edge of my lip, which I really hope doesn't spread to my mouth.
That was the best region weekend I've ever been to. Up there in my tuxedo, internal body temperature of 108, beads of sweat making the ink in my music run, I realized I'd never sang better in my life. The Battle of Jericho was a fortissississimo of soul. I am quite sure Moses Hogan's ghost was in my lungs the whole time, killing off little microbes. After the roar of applause, the director (a genuine hardass) even made the Aaron Copland song sound incredible. I sang the last high note I will sing for quite awhile in that song: full voiced, and without my voice cracking. I hacked my brain out once we lost the stage's passionate atmosphere. But it was glorious.
*cough cough* I don't think I can go out with Larkin today. Damnit! How I hate to ruin plans!
I probably shouldn't have been there. The aftermath is that I've still got the cough worse than ever (probably from trying to surpress it so much), a horrible pain in two parts of my back, a clogged up sinus cavity, and even clogged up fucking ears that really, really hurt. This is the seventh day I've been sick. I'm beginning to wish that the lungs had an ability to just vomit out all foreign substances so I wouldn't have to cough them up over a week's period. I'm sore all over from long, standing rehearsals. I've inhaled more menthol from bags of cough drops in the past two days than a four-pack-a-day smoker has inhaled from burning green leaves in a month. I've got an ugly little cold sore on the edge of my lip, which I really hope doesn't spread to my mouth.
That was the best region weekend I've ever been to. Up there in my tuxedo, internal body temperature of 108, beads of sweat making the ink in my music run, I realized I'd never sang better in my life. The Battle of Jericho was a fortissississimo of soul. I am quite sure Moses Hogan's ghost was in my lungs the whole time, killing off little microbes. After the roar of applause, the director (a genuine hardass) even made the Aaron Copland song sound incredible. I sang the last high note I will sing for quite awhile in that song: full voiced, and without my voice cracking. I hacked my brain out once we lost the stage's passionate atmosphere. But it was glorious.
*cough cough* I don't think I can go out with Larkin today. Damnit! How I hate to ruin plans!
Friday, October 31, 2003
Lordy, it's been eons since I've had the time to update this thing. Between homework, miscellaneous choral activities, and spending every free moment with Larkin (who is, today, 18!), I've just had no free time to jot down what I do in my free time. Or something.
Region auditions were held last weekend at Nimitz HS in Aldine. Annoying and dissonant musical arrangement of some Walt Whitman poem in hand, I waltzed into the audition room with the unfriendly hall monitors with an uncharacteristic aura of confidence about me. I did allright. 22nd place, it turns out. I didn't advance to go do pre-area auditions, but I did make the mixed choir. Some people would shoot poisoned darts at me for this position.
HA! And considering I just opened the practice cd's PACKAGE the night before, I think I kicked some ass. Region weekend will be epic.
Choirboy junk aside, my life's been going well enough. There's all that stress that comes with staying up until pretty much forever to finish those damned physics labs, and trying to remember characters in Uncle Tom's Cabin besides Uncle Fucking Tom, and trying to remember what period it is.
School's a bitch. So is trying to sleep when the neighbors are always getting arrested, making the dead end street next to your house a very unpleasant place to be.
But it's not really bad. I lean towards the negative side of things when I say my life's been going well enough. Realistically, it's grand. I've got this little blue-haired duckling who has been following me around for the past seven and a half months, and I absolutely revel in taking care of her. To have someone to cook miso soup for, someone to buy coffee for, a cute little head to scratch, silken skin to touch, and all those other things I can never comfortably do for people because they are so unlike me -- is a beautiful thing. Larkin Dennis has changed my life, but more importantly, changed me. I am a better person for her love and friendship. I will never forget it. As the French novellist Marcel Proust once said, “Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.” And I am grateful eternally.
Region auditions were held last weekend at Nimitz HS in Aldine. Annoying and dissonant musical arrangement of some Walt Whitman poem in hand, I waltzed into the audition room with the unfriendly hall monitors with an uncharacteristic aura of confidence about me. I did allright. 22nd place, it turns out. I didn't advance to go do pre-area auditions, but I did make the mixed choir. Some people would shoot poisoned darts at me for this position.
HA! And considering I just opened the practice cd's PACKAGE the night before, I think I kicked some ass. Region weekend will be epic.
Choirboy junk aside, my life's been going well enough. There's all that stress that comes with staying up until pretty much forever to finish those damned physics labs, and trying to remember characters in Uncle Tom's Cabin besides Uncle Fucking Tom, and trying to remember what period it is.
School's a bitch. So is trying to sleep when the neighbors are always getting arrested, making the dead end street next to your house a very unpleasant place to be.
But it's not really bad. I lean towards the negative side of things when I say my life's been going well enough. Realistically, it's grand. I've got this little blue-haired duckling who has been following me around for the past seven and a half months, and I absolutely revel in taking care of her. To have someone to cook miso soup for, someone to buy coffee for, a cute little head to scratch, silken skin to touch, and all those other things I can never comfortably do for people because they are so unlike me -- is a beautiful thing. Larkin Dennis has changed my life, but more importantly, changed me. I am a better person for her love and friendship. I will never forget it. As the French novellist Marcel Proust once said, “Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.” And I am grateful eternally.
Sunday, October 19, 2003
The worker raised his razor-sharp weapon to the sky, a tiny clod of dirt plummeting towards the driveway, but not before being deflected by the worker's desperado-style, wide-brimmed hat. For a heroic instant, the twin blades he displayed seemed ready to harness a bolt of lightning from the sky. The worker's victim trembled at the cool, everpresent gusts of wind. Its skin was a pale, shimmering green. The electric tension in the air stopped time, and only the defiant warrior's next move could start it again.
John then stopped fucking around, and continued trimming the hedges.
-----
So today, I took the PSAT. Easier than the practice test even, which I took at 10:00 without knowing how to do it, and got a 200. I think I'll do well.
After sitting around on Rob's EverQuest account (despite my quitting, it's still a decent way to pass time), I finally got a call from Sterling, whose father once again requested my incredible power of labor for his lawnmowing business. I guess I'm just that awesome. He even said I'm good at trimming hedges - after all, I do take an aggressive stance towards the leafy bastards.
So once I cut up all those things, I tied all the long sticks together in several bundles, which took just about forever, and left me with a cut in my thumb and a BITCH of a poke in the eye. I'd forgotten my badass amber sunglasses today, and was jabbed in my already dysfunctional ocular organ by an obnoxious stick. It still hurts.
Two lawns after that made me 25 bucks today. No fortune as the 90 dollar day of death I experienced a few weeks ago, but not bad at all for cutting shit up and pushing self-propelled machines around. Besides, I like my hat.
After I got off from work, ate a bowl of chili and took a shower, I got to hang out with Larkin at Starbucks. Stressed out beyond what most humans find physically and mentally unbearable, these days, she not only has to deal with doing well in her senior year (Durio's physics class and Mrs.Schnell's mysterious grading system included), but the never-ending torment of her tyrannical father, the general hostility of her household, and the completion of applications and essays for more than 15 colleges. I admire the poor girl. My back would've broken a long time ago in her situation, yet my brilliant, spritely author goes on.
Observing these afflictions and injustices which really plague my chick, I immediately treated her to Starbucks so she could tell me of all that troubles her. I like listening to her tell me of her troubles; even the saddest stories make me happy to have her close to me. The confessions we exchange give me a sense of trust I've never felt so strongly in my life. What would we do without each other? I'd be playing Rob's EverQuest account all the time, probably.
John then stopped fucking around, and continued trimming the hedges.
-----
So today, I took the PSAT. Easier than the practice test even, which I took at 10:00 without knowing how to do it, and got a 200. I think I'll do well.
After sitting around on Rob's EverQuest account (despite my quitting, it's still a decent way to pass time), I finally got a call from Sterling, whose father once again requested my incredible power of labor for his lawnmowing business. I guess I'm just that awesome. He even said I'm good at trimming hedges - after all, I do take an aggressive stance towards the leafy bastards.
So once I cut up all those things, I tied all the long sticks together in several bundles, which took just about forever, and left me with a cut in my thumb and a BITCH of a poke in the eye. I'd forgotten my badass amber sunglasses today, and was jabbed in my already dysfunctional ocular organ by an obnoxious stick. It still hurts.
Two lawns after that made me 25 bucks today. No fortune as the 90 dollar day of death I experienced a few weeks ago, but not bad at all for cutting shit up and pushing self-propelled machines around. Besides, I like my hat.
After I got off from work, ate a bowl of chili and took a shower, I got to hang out with Larkin at Starbucks. Stressed out beyond what most humans find physically and mentally unbearable, these days, she not only has to deal with doing well in her senior year (Durio's physics class and Mrs.Schnell's mysterious grading system included), but the never-ending torment of her tyrannical father, the general hostility of her household, and the completion of applications and essays for more than 15 colleges. I admire the poor girl. My back would've broken a long time ago in her situation, yet my brilliant, spritely author goes on.
Observing these afflictions and injustices which really plague my chick, I immediately treated her to Starbucks so she could tell me of all that troubles her. I like listening to her tell me of her troubles; even the saddest stories make me happy to have her close to me. The confessions we exchange give me a sense of trust I've never felt so strongly in my life. What would we do without each other? I'd be playing Rob's EverQuest account all the time, probably.
I am Spaceman Spiff!
Zounds! You are the intrepid Spaceman Spiff, the engaging explorer ensconsed in an unending universe of exotic and evil extraterrestrials! You're brave, but you should give that dictionary a rest.
Which Calvin are YOU?
Zounds! You are the intrepid Spaceman Spiff, the engaging explorer ensconsed in an unending universe of exotic and evil extraterrestrials! You're brave, but you should give that dictionary a rest.
Which Calvin are YOU?
Tuesday, October 14, 2003
Monday, October 13, 2003
Just this past weekend, as I lay pondering not the creation of the universe, nor the physical laws of nature (for I'm pretty sure I've got the both of those figured out), I struck an epiphany regarding an even more interesting and infinitely more subjective concept. This thing I discovered revolves around one human idea: identity.
How, exactly, do we determine who we are? Do we really grow up being intimately familiar with all our characteristics, our personality traits, our social tendencies? Our reactions to pain, pleasure, or any stimulus, for that matter?
I don't think that's the case at all. If anything, our knowledge of our individuality is formed over a long period of time through interactions with not only our environment, but other people. Aren't our opinions of ourselves really just opinions? Based on what other people have told us in the past, or how they've responded to our actions? Perhaps we test people to see their initial reaction, and choose which style of interaction we like best, over the course of our entire lives. Ever changed your conversational habits (ex. stop quoting those damn Austin Powers movies, or quit being so sarcastic) to appeal to a stunning member of the opposite sex? Change your way of life to belong to a certain subculture? There you have it. It's almost like the person doesn't determine his or her way of interacting, but the surrounding environment does. And not by any of this peer pressure stuff either- a guy can grow up choosing to belong to whatever group he wants, provided he starts off showing the right personality traits. Look at Eminem.
How, exactly, do we determine who we are? Do we really grow up being intimately familiar with all our characteristics, our personality traits, our social tendencies? Our reactions to pain, pleasure, or any stimulus, for that matter?
I don't think that's the case at all. If anything, our knowledge of our individuality is formed over a long period of time through interactions with not only our environment, but other people. Aren't our opinions of ourselves really just opinions? Based on what other people have told us in the past, or how they've responded to our actions? Perhaps we test people to see their initial reaction, and choose which style of interaction we like best, over the course of our entire lives. Ever changed your conversational habits (ex. stop quoting those damn Austin Powers movies, or quit being so sarcastic) to appeal to a stunning member of the opposite sex? Change your way of life to belong to a certain subculture? There you have it. It's almost like the person doesn't determine his or her way of interacting, but the surrounding environment does. And not by any of this peer pressure stuff either- a guy can grow up choosing to belong to whatever group he wants, provided he starts off showing the right personality traits. Look at Eminem.
Friday, October 10, 2003
I am lonely, and bored. I need to get out of here. Someone come over here and get me. I'll buy ya a latte or something.
Meh. It's not that bad. Todd'll be around. Right now imma post this unorganized piece of stuff I'd been scribbling in school today:
A SATIRE ON EXISTENCE
I'd like to say that up until now, I've had a very easy life. I'm one of the luckiest people in the world -- I live in a country with a GNP of more than 300 pesos, I was born into a relatively wealthy and stable family, and, sadly, adding to the ease at which I can gain status in the world, I'm a white male.
Because you see, I may complain that I don't have a car, that high school is stressful beyond what I know, or that I think our country's reputation (and level of power) in the world is slowly descending into the seventh circle of hell (I'll get to that later, but it has a lot to do with the incompetence of my fellow white males), but what's it matter?
I could just as easily be a starving little Ethiopian wraith, eating clay to make my stomach pains subside. Or a 16 year-old heroin addict, sleeping in the least mildewed cardboard boxes I can find. Or my parents could be raging drunks, physically abusing me every day after school. Considering my alternatives, I think my current situation is extremely positive.
So you'll understand that if I'm ever feeling a little depressed, I might feel silly, or even guilty, when looking at the big picture -- because no matter how bad things get, they can always get a lot worse. Instead of doing my difficult physics homework, I could be taking an acid bath in Saddam Hussein's lakehouse.
Now, on humans.
I find humans hilarious. We rise up from single-celled globs of carbon to little spiny lobsters to monkeys to apes to tribes of smarter apes, and before you know it, we've conquered it all. We've made up these incredibly elaborate theologies and philosophies that say we're definitely too good for all of that; that it must've been an old, omnipotent man in the sky that started this whole shindig rather than the simple arrangement of particles. After all, we're too special to be protons and neutrons, right? We've got souls!
Not.
We're chemical reactions, and nothing more. There's nothing holy or spiritual or divine about us, or the way we came into existance. Nothing special -- just material driven around by energy. We're as alive and insignificant as a dandelion; and made out of the same stuff. Our eternally pure "souls" are nothing more than electromagnetic fields created by all those little neurons we've got between our ears.
And I don't find that hard to understand, or even accept. The fact that I'm just an insignificant result of a collection of physical laws is actually much more comforting to me than any deity. One can choose to live a happy life on this ball of cosmic dirt, die, and decompose, releasing everything you are back into the environment you drew it from...
...or would you rather live on faith? Shadowed all the time by an invisible dictator who wants you to meet some divine quota - just so he won't have to sear your flesh off your bones for all eternity. I'll take my carbon molecules and electromagnetic fields, thank you very much.
Common sense, right?
Apparently not, according to most of the world's biased populace. I did say I find humanity hilarious.
Not only are we just chemical reactions, we're the most volatile ones on the planet! Nothing is more acidic to nature than acid rain. It's a terrible predicament the Earth has gotten herself into these past hundred thousand years.
She feeds us food and water, grows us our crops, lets us drill holes in her very bosom and extract her blood, and what do we give in return? Nuclear waste! Landfills! Oil spills! Veritable mountains of indispensible toxic goo to pollute the atmosphere, kill the wildlife (and occasionally ourselves; was Chernobyl a bad thing?), and gradually heat up the whole place like an oven, which may, in the end, cleanse the poor planet by bringing about our destruction.
But enough about that. It's a terrible tragedy, this destruction of our only air, water, and living quarters, but I find it to be hopeless. I agree with most environmentalists completely -- sure there's need for change -- but it's not going to happen.
We're way too concerned with our petty diplomatic affairs, our wars, our businesses, our money, and our lives in general to really do much about it. So I still eat my meat, drive my SUVs (thought I do want my hydrogen-powered cars, because gas costs an arm and a leg ever since we started shooting up the Middle East), and tune into CNN every night, in my unnecessarily gigantic two-story suburban home with the big backyard, to watch for more signs of that utterly inevitable and apocolyptic nuclear war.
So what? Just the incineration of some more carbon molecules -- it's been happening forever.
Meh. It's not that bad. Todd'll be around. Right now imma post this unorganized piece of stuff I'd been scribbling in school today:
A SATIRE ON EXISTENCE
I'd like to say that up until now, I've had a very easy life. I'm one of the luckiest people in the world -- I live in a country with a GNP of more than 300 pesos, I was born into a relatively wealthy and stable family, and, sadly, adding to the ease at which I can gain status in the world, I'm a white male.
Because you see, I may complain that I don't have a car, that high school is stressful beyond what I know, or that I think our country's reputation (and level of power) in the world is slowly descending into the seventh circle of hell (I'll get to that later, but it has a lot to do with the incompetence of my fellow white males), but what's it matter?
I could just as easily be a starving little Ethiopian wraith, eating clay to make my stomach pains subside. Or a 16 year-old heroin addict, sleeping in the least mildewed cardboard boxes I can find. Or my parents could be raging drunks, physically abusing me every day after school. Considering my alternatives, I think my current situation is extremely positive.
So you'll understand that if I'm ever feeling a little depressed, I might feel silly, or even guilty, when looking at the big picture -- because no matter how bad things get, they can always get a lot worse. Instead of doing my difficult physics homework, I could be taking an acid bath in Saddam Hussein's lakehouse.
Now, on humans.
I find humans hilarious. We rise up from single-celled globs of carbon to little spiny lobsters to monkeys to apes to tribes of smarter apes, and before you know it, we've conquered it all. We've made up these incredibly elaborate theologies and philosophies that say we're definitely too good for all of that; that it must've been an old, omnipotent man in the sky that started this whole shindig rather than the simple arrangement of particles. After all, we're too special to be protons and neutrons, right? We've got souls!
Not.
We're chemical reactions, and nothing more. There's nothing holy or spiritual or divine about us, or the way we came into existance. Nothing special -- just material driven around by energy. We're as alive and insignificant as a dandelion; and made out of the same stuff. Our eternally pure "souls" are nothing more than electromagnetic fields created by all those little neurons we've got between our ears.
And I don't find that hard to understand, or even accept. The fact that I'm just an insignificant result of a collection of physical laws is actually much more comforting to me than any deity. One can choose to live a happy life on this ball of cosmic dirt, die, and decompose, releasing everything you are back into the environment you drew it from...
...or would you rather live on faith? Shadowed all the time by an invisible dictator who wants you to meet some divine quota - just so he won't have to sear your flesh off your bones for all eternity. I'll take my carbon molecules and electromagnetic fields, thank you very much.
Common sense, right?
Apparently not, according to most of the world's biased populace. I did say I find humanity hilarious.
Not only are we just chemical reactions, we're the most volatile ones on the planet! Nothing is more acidic to nature than acid rain. It's a terrible predicament the Earth has gotten herself into these past hundred thousand years.
She feeds us food and water, grows us our crops, lets us drill holes in her very bosom and extract her blood, and what do we give in return? Nuclear waste! Landfills! Oil spills! Veritable mountains of indispensible toxic goo to pollute the atmosphere, kill the wildlife (and occasionally ourselves; was Chernobyl a bad thing?), and gradually heat up the whole place like an oven, which may, in the end, cleanse the poor planet by bringing about our destruction.
But enough about that. It's a terrible tragedy, this destruction of our only air, water, and living quarters, but I find it to be hopeless. I agree with most environmentalists completely -- sure there's need for change -- but it's not going to happen.
We're way too concerned with our petty diplomatic affairs, our wars, our businesses, our money, and our lives in general to really do much about it. So I still eat my meat, drive my SUVs (thought I do want my hydrogen-powered cars, because gas costs an arm and a leg ever since we started shooting up the Middle East), and tune into CNN every night, in my unnecessarily gigantic two-story suburban home with the big backyard, to watch for more signs of that utterly inevitable and apocolyptic nuclear war.
So what? Just the incineration of some more carbon molecules -- it's been happening forever.
Thursday, October 09, 2003
So, I just got done bitching at this guy on KleinForums. Am I hopeless, or what?
Then again, shouldn't it be expected of me to turn into an absolutely searing son of a bitch when someone denounces that which I love (namely Larkin)? And I do, too. I mean, talk to me when walking from History to Physics, two shitty classes in which I socially interact about as much as a blind and deaf Zen monk, and I'll be the most tender, loving guy you'll ever meet. Real self-conscious and embarrassed about little minor things, like tripping on something or dropping a book. I will be as docile as a damn kitten.
But take me at any moment, and tell me that Larkin's writing is an awkward combination of huge and useless archaic words, and I will instill the fear of God into you, no matter WHAT your mother fucking religionists have to say about it. I will do everything in my power to humiliate you in the most vulgar and crude way, while maintaining a constant witty and sarcastic demeanor that is SO caustic, it will, in the case of the KleinForums ass, dissolve your RETINAS and sear the eyelashes off your worthless, white trash face when you read it- and in person, I'm not going to beat you up (though don't fuck with me anyway, especially after denoting my love), but I will do far more than type a paragraph in your general direction - oh, be assured, my rage will lose none of its potency in the transition from the digital to the more humiliating physical reality. I wish to show no mercy whatsoever to the utterly tactless asshats of this world.
Heh. And said asshats will weep when they announce who the homecoming queen is.
Then again, shouldn't it be expected of me to turn into an absolutely searing son of a bitch when someone denounces that which I love (namely Larkin)? And I do, too. I mean, talk to me when walking from History to Physics, two shitty classes in which I socially interact about as much as a blind and deaf Zen monk, and I'll be the most tender, loving guy you'll ever meet. Real self-conscious and embarrassed about little minor things, like tripping on something or dropping a book. I will be as docile as a damn kitten.
But take me at any moment, and tell me that Larkin's writing is an awkward combination of huge and useless archaic words, and I will instill the fear of God into you, no matter WHAT your mother fucking religionists have to say about it. I will do everything in my power to humiliate you in the most vulgar and crude way, while maintaining a constant witty and sarcastic demeanor that is SO caustic, it will, in the case of the KleinForums ass, dissolve your RETINAS and sear the eyelashes off your worthless, white trash face when you read it- and in person, I'm not going to beat you up (though don't fuck with me anyway, especially after denoting my love), but I will do far more than type a paragraph in your general direction - oh, be assured, my rage will lose none of its potency in the transition from the digital to the more humiliating physical reality. I wish to show no mercy whatsoever to the utterly tactless asshats of this world.
Heh. And said asshats will weep when they announce who the homecoming queen is.
Tuesday, October 07, 2003
And now, a few things I've scribbled in my little notebook over the past few days.
So this mosquito- he bit my eyelid.
Ha. Mrs.Jenkins is cool. Cool in that she finds ways to retort to her students that don't make her seem like an old woman. I think she longs to be extremely caustic and verbally abusive with her students as I often am with, well, pretty much everyone. I bet she has a very profane blog.
I guess I'm sick, or something. I hope it's not too hot outside when I mow. Heat exhaustion right before chamber rehearsal is no good. But hey! That'll cheer me up! Jazz and Starbucks! Sick and deliriously giddy, maybe. Stressed out and tense, even a little neurotic and unpleasant to other people, sure. But all of that becomes a silly annoyance - a mere mosquito on the prize elephant - when I realize I'm in love with the future homecoming queen.
...which I wrote the other day. Speaking of which, tomorrow is the voting for that. VOTE FOR HER!
Oh hey, I wrote this in the same notebook today to put on here:
Why the hell do people want kids? WHY? Not only do we have an exceedingly large population of little toddlers EVERYWHERE in the world, they're more annoyance than anything else! They use up all your income, get into trouble, and fuck up your social life. What money you don't spend on the happy little family you'll create will be spent on a babysitter, so you and the other person you've gotten ridiculously involved with this human breeding instinct, can get away from your own private hell for a night! You and your lover will no longer have fun when you're too busy cleaning up your infant's vomit. You'll become as many parents do - overstressed, overworked middle class American drones, supporting the nuclear family you'vealways wanted and taking all your troubles out on your spouse by bickering over dirty dishes and other trivial tasks.
So this mosquito- he bit my eyelid.
Ha. Mrs.Jenkins is cool. Cool in that she finds ways to retort to her students that don't make her seem like an old woman. I think she longs to be extremely caustic and verbally abusive with her students as I often am with, well, pretty much everyone. I bet she has a very profane blog.
I guess I'm sick, or something. I hope it's not too hot outside when I mow. Heat exhaustion right before chamber rehearsal is no good. But hey! That'll cheer me up! Jazz and Starbucks! Sick and deliriously giddy, maybe. Stressed out and tense, even a little neurotic and unpleasant to other people, sure. But all of that becomes a silly annoyance - a mere mosquito on the prize elephant - when I realize I'm in love with the future homecoming queen.
...which I wrote the other day. Speaking of which, tomorrow is the voting for that. VOTE FOR HER!
Oh hey, I wrote this in the same notebook today to put on here:
Why the hell do people want kids? WHY? Not only do we have an exceedingly large population of little toddlers EVERYWHERE in the world, they're more annoyance than anything else! They use up all your income, get into trouble, and fuck up your social life. What money you don't spend on the happy little family you'll create will be spent on a babysitter, so you and the other person you've gotten ridiculously involved with this human breeding instinct, can get away from your own private hell for a night! You and your lover will no longer have fun when you're too busy cleaning up your infant's vomit. You'll become as many parents do - overstressed, overworked middle class American drones, supporting the nuclear family you'vealways wanted and taking all your troubles out on your spouse by bickering over dirty dishes and other trivial tasks.
Monday, October 06, 2003
Sunday, October 05, 2003
This, my dear friends, is what I think about bitches.
JohnH778: JohnH778: stupid GOD DAMN people have to scream everywhere! it pisses me off
Givlmrak: seriously
JohnH778: I hate that so much
Givlmrak: annoys me a lot that they do it at a play
JohnH778: JohnH778: you'll be walking around in that brick hallway that has those bitch echo acoustics in it
JohnH778: and of course, right behind the fuckers, because they walk at about a foot per hour
Givlmrak: seriously
JohnH778: and one of the guys will, like, poke some girl
JohnH778: JohnH778: and one of the guys will, like, poke some girl
JohnH778: and she'll be like AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA MOTHER FUCKER and scream and run around and flail her arms and hit you in the face, because you're right fucking behind her wanting to kick her in the knees for walking so slow
JohnH778: Givlmrak: you should do it someday
JohnH778: yes
JohnH778: just be like
JohnH778: WALK BITCHES BAM
JohnH778: right in the back of the knees
JohnH778: JohnH778: and when she falls down, I'll step on her
JohnH778: I'll step on the back of her fucking neck, and break it!
Givlmrak: hahaha
JohnH778: and that's what I think about bitches
JohnH778: you agree todd?
TBartkowiak: yes
TBartkowiak: grind her skull into the ground
JohnH778: yes]
I am physically fucked up, but emotionally, I'm more content than Sterling with a can of gasoline. Today, I mowed a couple lawns with Sterling and his dad, and made about 35 bucks. I would've done more, but they had some church shindig to be on time for, and I wasn't feeling too hot. Despite the huge amount of sleep I got last night, I was damn well near exhaustion, and not up for any more activities involving grass, huge dust clouds, and blowing one's nose with big leaves. I conclude that I may very well have had (and still do have) some stomach virus, because my intestines have been most disagreeable with me tonight. I mean, fucking ow. Perhaps it's unwise to eat two big beef tacos after eating about a pound of homemade sushi. Not that my pink dorado fishy wasn't all clean and shit.
Which draws me away from going to bed to tell about yesterday's adventures. Larkin picked me up from region rehearsal (I've got that shit every day except Monday now), and we went grocery shopping. Our goal was to buy some supplies, including a nice fresh fishy from the new seafood market on Louetta, and do what I've mused over for ages- make our own sushi.
And boy, did it kick ass. No one got botulism, and after only one failed batch of sushi rice (maybe the vent on the gas range isn't so good- you can't smell it when something's smoking), we had a beautiful collection of little nigiris, smoked salmon rolls, and veggie hand rolls, which we devoured by candelight whilst my mother ate her grilled cheese sandwich. You know it's fresh when you're picking fish scales out of your teeth.
Wow. I'm tired now. The allergy medicine will do that to you. So basically, today I mowed, inhaling thick clouds of dust making my kleenex black later on, and hung out with Larkin, having a wonderful time despite stomach pain.
JohnH778: JohnH778: stupid GOD DAMN people have to scream everywhere! it pisses me off
Givlmrak: seriously
JohnH778: I hate that so much
Givlmrak: annoys me a lot that they do it at a play
JohnH778: JohnH778: you'll be walking around in that brick hallway that has those bitch echo acoustics in it
JohnH778: and of course, right behind the fuckers, because they walk at about a foot per hour
Givlmrak: seriously
JohnH778: and one of the guys will, like, poke some girl
JohnH778: JohnH778: and one of the guys will, like, poke some girl
JohnH778: and she'll be like AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA MOTHER FUCKER and scream and run around and flail her arms and hit you in the face, because you're right fucking behind her wanting to kick her in the knees for walking so slow
JohnH778: Givlmrak: you should do it someday
JohnH778: yes
JohnH778: just be like
JohnH778: WALK BITCHES BAM
JohnH778: right in the back of the knees
JohnH778: JohnH778: and when she falls down, I'll step on her
JohnH778: I'll step on the back of her fucking neck, and break it!
Givlmrak: hahaha
JohnH778: and that's what I think about bitches
JohnH778: you agree todd?
TBartkowiak: yes
TBartkowiak: grind her skull into the ground
JohnH778: yes]
I am physically fucked up, but emotionally, I'm more content than Sterling with a can of gasoline. Today, I mowed a couple lawns with Sterling and his dad, and made about 35 bucks. I would've done more, but they had some church shindig to be on time for, and I wasn't feeling too hot. Despite the huge amount of sleep I got last night, I was damn well near exhaustion, and not up for any more activities involving grass, huge dust clouds, and blowing one's nose with big leaves. I conclude that I may very well have had (and still do have) some stomach virus, because my intestines have been most disagreeable with me tonight. I mean, fucking ow. Perhaps it's unwise to eat two big beef tacos after eating about a pound of homemade sushi. Not that my pink dorado fishy wasn't all clean and shit.
Which draws me away from going to bed to tell about yesterday's adventures. Larkin picked me up from region rehearsal (I've got that shit every day except Monday now), and we went grocery shopping. Our goal was to buy some supplies, including a nice fresh fishy from the new seafood market on Louetta, and do what I've mused over for ages- make our own sushi.
And boy, did it kick ass. No one got botulism, and after only one failed batch of sushi rice (maybe the vent on the gas range isn't so good- you can't smell it when something's smoking), we had a beautiful collection of little nigiris, smoked salmon rolls, and veggie hand rolls, which we devoured by candelight whilst my mother ate her grilled cheese sandwich. You know it's fresh when you're picking fish scales out of your teeth.
Wow. I'm tired now. The allergy medicine will do that to you. So basically, today I mowed, inhaling thick clouds of dust making my kleenex black later on, and hung out with Larkin, having a wonderful time despite stomach pain.
Monday, September 29, 2003
Sunday, September 28, 2003
Ha. Eight in my room for district.
Which was, this year, an interesting event. I've been doing this shit for so long that, in the midst of the simple cuts and the long wait before my actual audition, I sort of forgot it was the thing that would move me on to region auditions. I mean, district is so fucking easy to make. I just enjoyed sitting around with people, then moved where people told me, did what I've been doing after school for the past couple weeks, and left. Actually singing is only a minor part in the whole experience.
Highlights of the day:
1. Random people complimenting me on trenchcoat and silver nails
2. Playing soccer with a crushed water bottle
3. Being snuck up on by Mary and Julia while I stood singing Ave Maria alone
4. Being hit on by some random chick who wore a bandanna in her hair named Callie Somethingwhatever, who, despite the evil scheming of my table to smite her (and even a little Satanic provocation by myself), seemed like an allright person. Or rather, she seemed like a mindless drone, proclaiming to me after being shown my blasphemous doodlings her Christian faith. Who cares- it's the concept that matters to me. I don't ever get hit on by anonymous little choir members. The attention I get these days is really making me feel good about myself.
And besides that, I'm already taken by a wittier, doctrine-free goth chick who has much more interesting hair. Too bad for Callie.
5. Being smothered by hall monitors' hugs (FUCK THE FUCK OFF, FUCKERS). No, I'm not nervous. Yes, I'm in touch with my Chi- if it'll make you go away. I've done this district shit for what now, like, three fucking years? I'm trying to sleep, you spastic, caffeinated bitches! The only thing I like about you two is the money I could make selling videotapes of your ditzy, everyday actions!
So that went well. Mary brought me home in that car with the black leather seats and the standard shifting, and I tried to put the seat back and ended up reclining enough to easily look through the sun roof. Fun stuff.
After district, I wandered over to Mr.Morris looking for work, but he seemed preoccupied with putting in windows to his newly remodeled house, leaving me with no profits (but no exhaust-pipe burns, blisters, sore muscles, or total exhaustion either). Meh. It allowed me to clean myself up and spend some time with the creature that's allowed to come up without notice and run fingers through my head of silver-blue hair. We tromped around in the backwoods, poking slime molds and fending off mosquitoes. We went in search of new nail polish colors, and vegetables for a homemade pizza. We lay side by side until almost midnight, when that damned curfew whisked her gentle caress away from me. What a crime that is.
Which was, this year, an interesting event. I've been doing this shit for so long that, in the midst of the simple cuts and the long wait before my actual audition, I sort of forgot it was the thing that would move me on to region auditions. I mean, district is so fucking easy to make. I just enjoyed sitting around with people, then moved where people told me, did what I've been doing after school for the past couple weeks, and left. Actually singing is only a minor part in the whole experience.
Highlights of the day:
1. Random people complimenting me on trenchcoat and silver nails
2. Playing soccer with a crushed water bottle
3. Being snuck up on by Mary and Julia while I stood singing Ave Maria alone
4. Being hit on by some random chick who wore a bandanna in her hair named Callie Somethingwhatever, who, despite the evil scheming of my table to smite her (and even a little Satanic provocation by myself), seemed like an allright person. Or rather, she seemed like a mindless drone, proclaiming to me after being shown my blasphemous doodlings her Christian faith. Who cares- it's the concept that matters to me. I don't ever get hit on by anonymous little choir members. The attention I get these days is really making me feel good about myself.
And besides that, I'm already taken by a wittier, doctrine-free goth chick who has much more interesting hair. Too bad for Callie.
5. Being smothered by hall monitors' hugs (FUCK THE FUCK OFF, FUCKERS). No, I'm not nervous. Yes, I'm in touch with my Chi- if it'll make you go away. I've done this district shit for what now, like, three fucking years? I'm trying to sleep, you spastic, caffeinated bitches! The only thing I like about you two is the money I could make selling videotapes of your ditzy, everyday actions!
So that went well. Mary brought me home in that car with the black leather seats and the standard shifting, and I tried to put the seat back and ended up reclining enough to easily look through the sun roof. Fun stuff.
After district, I wandered over to Mr.Morris looking for work, but he seemed preoccupied with putting in windows to his newly remodeled house, leaving me with no profits (but no exhaust-pipe burns, blisters, sore muscles, or total exhaustion either). Meh. It allowed me to clean myself up and spend some time with the creature that's allowed to come up without notice and run fingers through my head of silver-blue hair. We tromped around in the backwoods, poking slime molds and fending off mosquitoes. We went in search of new nail polish colors, and vegetables for a homemade pizza. We lay side by side until almost midnight, when that damned curfew whisked her gentle caress away from me. What a crime that is.
Saturday, September 27, 2003
Shit. I really ought to be in bed, resting up for district auditions, which are tomorrow morning. I've got to be there by 8:00ish, and I'm riding with Sterling, which means I'll probably be there by noon.
But damn, am I in a good mood. District will be easy. I could walk in there with a harmonica and a triangle and get a higher rank than some of the people that try out. People tell me I've got a great voice. It really, really makes me happy to hear that. I rarely get compliments on my achievements. Thanks, Mary, and Julia. And Natalie Ball. Just don't let me get conceited. Let me save being a bastard for after I make Allstate.
And Larkin left me in a great mood tonight. Poor thing was positively drained of all energy, so after coming home from Once Upon a Time in Mexico, we took a nap, and I sent her home at 11:30. Such a comfy thing she is. Her company elates me more than hamachi with spicy mayonnaise and the most beautiful, shimmering saba put together. No matter what state she's in. She could be suicidal and on the brink of nervous breakdown, swaying around from exhaustion, hyperactive after a venti cup of Tazo Cocaine, or infuriated at the human race's incompetence and all doctrines considered to be good in this world, and I'd be right along side her, crying or grinning or worshipping Satan.
So yeah. The only thing Kleinforums is good for anymore is replying to stupid posts about ramen noodles.
"Yes- Ichiban is the best brand. However, I wouldn't recommend making a full diet out of the little packaged, pre-cooked bastards. They're tasty with some oregano, togarashi, chopped vegetables, an egg, and maybe some fish, but they've got enough sodium to make a man's circulatory system dissolve ceramic toilets. Go learn to read a cookbook, then go buy yourself some weirdass Asian stuff, muster up all your courage and sense of adventure, and throw it into a pot."
--Me
But damn, am I in a good mood. District will be easy. I could walk in there with a harmonica and a triangle and get a higher rank than some of the people that try out. People tell me I've got a great voice. It really, really makes me happy to hear that. I rarely get compliments on my achievements. Thanks, Mary, and Julia. And Natalie Ball. Just don't let me get conceited. Let me save being a bastard for after I make Allstate.
And Larkin left me in a great mood tonight. Poor thing was positively drained of all energy, so after coming home from Once Upon a Time in Mexico, we took a nap, and I sent her home at 11:30. Such a comfy thing she is. Her company elates me more than hamachi with spicy mayonnaise and the most beautiful, shimmering saba put together. No matter what state she's in. She could be suicidal and on the brink of nervous breakdown, swaying around from exhaustion, hyperactive after a venti cup of Tazo Cocaine, or infuriated at the human race's incompetence and all doctrines considered to be good in this world, and I'd be right along side her, crying or grinning or worshipping Satan.
So yeah. The only thing Kleinforums is good for anymore is replying to stupid posts about ramen noodles.
"Yes- Ichiban is the best brand. However, I wouldn't recommend making a full diet out of the little packaged, pre-cooked bastards. They're tasty with some oregano, togarashi, chopped vegetables, an egg, and maybe some fish, but they've got enough sodium to make a man's circulatory system dissolve ceramic toilets. Go learn to read a cookbook, then go buy yourself some weirdass Asian stuff, muster up all your courage and sense of adventure, and throw it into a pot."
--Me
Friday, September 26, 2003
Sunday, September 21, 2003
Another evening spent constrained to barren loneliness in my room, yet filled with an unequivocable contentment. She turns my blood to sweet rice wine. It pulsates through me, dissolving my fear, doubt, and angst, and replaces it with an indefatigable confidence and love for life.
I listen to Seven Nation Army, and all those memories of the summer I spent with Larkin lash themselves to my brain. What times we've had! I can't believe I've been in love with such a wonderful creature for six months. I have nothing else to say. It doesn't get much better than this. Only when Mrs.Durio dies will it be a utopia.
I listen to Seven Nation Army, and all those memories of the summer I spent with Larkin lash themselves to my brain. What times we've had! I can't believe I've been in love with such a wonderful creature for six months. I have nothing else to say. It doesn't get much better than this. Only when Mrs.Durio dies will it be a utopia.
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
The vile monotony of school snags the wrinkles in my brain with its dull talons. Like an expensive rug in a small food processor, the well-lit hallways slowly unravel what reasonable thoughts (and mathematics skills) I have, and burn them in an industrial incinerator for fuel. The spidery Mr.Turks' voice pounds through my ears hours and hours after I leave his prescence. A speech from Mr.Raddin, repeated for the fourth time this day, bounces around inside my ribcage and makes my legs weary of sitting risers. Mrs.Durio's ultimately pointless lectures corrode the ivory walls of logic in my mind, making them dank, algae-infested concrete prisons. Mrs.Jenkins asks me what we're trying to find for a system of equations over and over. I open my mouth, and a shriek longs to take the oppurtunity and escape.
Finally, at district rehearsal, despair turns into hysteria. I draw little stick figures with pointy Chinese hats on them, lunging at each dotted quarter note in Frolocket ihr Völker auf Erder with great pointy teeth and maniacal grins. I eat part of page eleven. My soft, witty psycho-altering drug is absent, thus being unavailable to maintain my stability. The choir room goes black, and fades into a frozen frame like a detective story drawn in ink by Bill Waterson. This is the distilled form of what madness is for me.
Which, I suppose, isn't half bad compared to what some poor saps go through.
Finally, at district rehearsal, despair turns into hysteria. I draw little stick figures with pointy Chinese hats on them, lunging at each dotted quarter note in Frolocket ihr Völker auf Erder with great pointy teeth and maniacal grins. I eat part of page eleven. My soft, witty psycho-altering drug is absent, thus being unavailable to maintain my stability. The choir room goes black, and fades into a frozen frame like a detective story drawn in ink by Bill Waterson. This is the distilled form of what madness is for me.
Which, I suppose, isn't half bad compared to what some poor saps go through.
Thursday, September 11, 2003
Ah, I don't update enough anymore. But here's what things are looking like these days:
English: Nice class, people in it aren't mentally retarded, but all the literature we're reading is this Puritan go-to-hell-for-eating-my-sandwich crap. Religion is so silly...
History: Sucks. I'm doing allright in it, of course, but Mr.Turks still sucks. The only thing he seems to like doing is discussing things, and he's not going to find much intelligent debate amidst that KleinForumsy crowd. I mention the GSA issue from last year and the entire class is all like OMG HHAAHAHA FAG CLUB
Physics: AUGAHGHAGH. I'm failing. 61. Though I got a 78 on yesterday's quiz, I don't think it's going to be worth 9 points on my average. And there's a test tomorrow. My mother wants me to consider dropping out of honors, but how that would SUCK! No one to share the work of the class with, and next semester, I won't be in the class with Larky! I must, fucking must pass that class this year. Every six weeks. If I don't, my faith in myself will be utterly DESTROYED, and I will declare myself a fowl, unintelligent artichoke.
German: Herr Kidd is awesome. Deutschclub's first outing was a few days ago, to Mountasia. Had some fun there jumping on all the rocks and saying DER BLEISTIFT a lot. Ah, der bleistift. Wo ist du?
Choir: I'm never patriotic. Ever. I don't stand up and say the pledge of allegiance or bother observing our moment of silence during this "Patriot Day" that's been declared due to 9-11. In fact, until 5th period yesterday, I didn't know today was 9-11. So call me an incompassionate bastard. I call the whole thing a ridiculous human clusterfuck anyway. And now we want to keep troops over there for another six months. I betcha we've killed a lot more of them than they have us. Sickening. It's just a mindless ping pong game of vengeance- except the ping pong ball is travelling at several hundred miles per hour, and is made of lead.
But back to choir. I'm no person to get into singing the Star Spangled Banner, but I'll do a good job of it chorally if that's what's required of me. I mean, I do go in there every day and praise god through those hymns. So it hasn't put me in the best of singing spirits. Neither has district rehearsal and its Aaron Copland crap. There are no blessings of harvest. Maybe grain, and, like, a sandwich. I'd eat a sandwich if I harvested several fields of corn.
But chamber choir kicks ASS. I wish it were more than one day a week. Such fun! The basses don't suck so badly! Not even the tenors suck! It's a good thing to look forward to on a Monday.
And finally, in Algebra: Mrs.Jenkins is kinda funny. She treats all her students as complete fuqtards. And I don't blame her. The first six weeks seems to be a review of 8th grade pre-algebra, and some people are failing.
So all is relatively well. Ah, but my time with Larkin is so restricted these days, by school, choir, the need for sleep, and other committments that I'm, well, committed to. Didn't get to see her much at all today, so I long to be touched- a hand on my cheek, a hug, hell, a glass shattered on my head! As long as it's done by her! She gets me through all this. I think that, without her, I'd be failing even Algebra right now. There's just no motivation if I have no one to look forward to getting the fuck out of that cinder-block deathcamp for.
I guess I'm doing allright regarding my grades. Physics is the only thing I'm worried about, really. If I don't pass, I know I'll be ineligable for something really really fun in choir. That's never happened to me. And it's my junior year. I really need to do well. The future will start looming in my face too- just today, I was considering who I can get to nominate me for scholarships and colleges and awards and all that. I think the only teacher who knows me is Mr.Raddin. Maybe, in a pinch, I'd go to Mrs.Schnell. I just don't make friends with my teachers unless they're cool, and that's a rare thing when you've completed two years of high school in almost all regulars classes.
Have you ever stared at your monitor while touch typing long enough that your vision sort of zoomed out and made the monitor seem really small?
I think I need to go to bed.
English: Nice class, people in it aren't mentally retarded, but all the literature we're reading is this Puritan go-to-hell-for-eating-my-sandwich crap. Religion is so silly...
History: Sucks. I'm doing allright in it, of course, but Mr.Turks still sucks. The only thing he seems to like doing is discussing things, and he's not going to find much intelligent debate amidst that KleinForumsy crowd. I mention the GSA issue from last year and the entire class is all like OMG HHAAHAHA FAG CLUB
Physics: AUGAHGHAGH. I'm failing. 61. Though I got a 78 on yesterday's quiz, I don't think it's going to be worth 9 points on my average. And there's a test tomorrow. My mother wants me to consider dropping out of honors, but how that would SUCK! No one to share the work of the class with, and next semester, I won't be in the class with Larky! I must, fucking must pass that class this year. Every six weeks. If I don't, my faith in myself will be utterly DESTROYED, and I will declare myself a fowl, unintelligent artichoke.
German: Herr Kidd is awesome. Deutschclub's first outing was a few days ago, to Mountasia. Had some fun there jumping on all the rocks and saying DER BLEISTIFT a lot. Ah, der bleistift. Wo ist du?
Choir: I'm never patriotic. Ever. I don't stand up and say the pledge of allegiance or bother observing our moment of silence during this "Patriot Day" that's been declared due to 9-11. In fact, until 5th period yesterday, I didn't know today was 9-11. So call me an incompassionate bastard. I call the whole thing a ridiculous human clusterfuck anyway. And now we want to keep troops over there for another six months. I betcha we've killed a lot more of them than they have us. Sickening. It's just a mindless ping pong game of vengeance- except the ping pong ball is travelling at several hundred miles per hour, and is made of lead.
But back to choir. I'm no person to get into singing the Star Spangled Banner, but I'll do a good job of it chorally if that's what's required of me. I mean, I do go in there every day and praise god through those hymns. So it hasn't put me in the best of singing spirits. Neither has district rehearsal and its Aaron Copland crap. There are no blessings of harvest. Maybe grain, and, like, a sandwich. I'd eat a sandwich if I harvested several fields of corn.
But chamber choir kicks ASS. I wish it were more than one day a week. Such fun! The basses don't suck so badly! Not even the tenors suck! It's a good thing to look forward to on a Monday.
And finally, in Algebra: Mrs.Jenkins is kinda funny. She treats all her students as complete fuqtards. And I don't blame her. The first six weeks seems to be a review of 8th grade pre-algebra, and some people are failing.
So all is relatively well. Ah, but my time with Larkin is so restricted these days, by school, choir, the need for sleep, and other committments that I'm, well, committed to. Didn't get to see her much at all today, so I long to be touched- a hand on my cheek, a hug, hell, a glass shattered on my head! As long as it's done by her! She gets me through all this. I think that, without her, I'd be failing even Algebra right now. There's just no motivation if I have no one to look forward to getting the fuck out of that cinder-block deathcamp for.
I guess I'm doing allright regarding my grades. Physics is the only thing I'm worried about, really. If I don't pass, I know I'll be ineligable for something really really fun in choir. That's never happened to me. And it's my junior year. I really need to do well. The future will start looming in my face too- just today, I was considering who I can get to nominate me for scholarships and colleges and awards and all that. I think the only teacher who knows me is Mr.Raddin. Maybe, in a pinch, I'd go to Mrs.Schnell. I just don't make friends with my teachers unless they're cool, and that's a rare thing when you've completed two years of high school in almost all regulars classes.
Have you ever stared at your monitor while touch typing long enough that your vision sort of zoomed out and made the monitor seem really small?
I think I need to go to bed.
Wednesday, September 10, 2003
A long, long time ago, I can still remember how that music used to make me smile...
Hmm. The Scarlet letter is crappy-ass-bullshit. There is no better way to put it. Maybe if I had an appreciation for extremely depressing literature that bases itself on a way of life that restricts anything which makes you feel good, I'd love it. Fuck religion and its sins. I think Hester and the town need to get over the whole damn thing. Or she needs to move. Creeping Christ, those Puritans were stupid.
And Hawthorne needs to read this.
Hmm. The Scarlet letter is crappy-ass-bullshit. There is no better way to put it. Maybe if I had an appreciation for extremely depressing literature that bases itself on a way of life that restricts anything which makes you feel good, I'd love it. Fuck religion and its sins. I think Hester and the town need to get over the whole damn thing. Or she needs to move. Creeping Christ, those Puritans were stupid.
And Hawthorne needs to read this.
Saturday, September 06, 2003
So yeah, it's been awhile. Fuck you. I've been busy!
I'm relatively happy with my classes. Relatively. AP English continues to be awesome, as does German and Choir, but History, Physics, and Algebra still suck. And I'm not doing well with physics.
Though thanks to Larkin's help, I'm confident I can pass. Everything besides physics isn't hard- just an inconvenience with homework, such as the paper I have to write for History describing prejudice, my "views" on it, and if I've ever seen any at Klein. Heh. I must restrain myself on this one...
These past few weeks haven't been too bad at all. Slipping in little slots of time spent with Larkin in between my work and all has made everything more than tolerable. We've been going out for sushi a lot. Just tonight, she took me out to Olive Garden. Nice place, that.
My life is beautiful. And I'm really tired.
Oh, and I made chamber choir, because, well, I'm awesome.
Trenchcoat.
I'm relatively happy with my classes. Relatively. AP English continues to be awesome, as does German and Choir, but History, Physics, and Algebra still suck. And I'm not doing well with physics.
Though thanks to Larkin's help, I'm confident I can pass. Everything besides physics isn't hard- just an inconvenience with homework, such as the paper I have to write for History describing prejudice, my "views" on it, and if I've ever seen any at Klein. Heh. I must restrain myself on this one...
These past few weeks haven't been too bad at all. Slipping in little slots of time spent with Larkin in between my work and all has made everything more than tolerable. We've been going out for sushi a lot. Just tonight, she took me out to Olive Garden. Nice place, that.
My life is beautiful. And I'm really tired.
Oh, and I made chamber choir, because, well, I'm awesome.
Trenchcoat.
Saturday, August 30, 2003
Thursday, August 28, 2003
I certainly have been neglecting this thing. Which is bad. Because it symbolizes two things: both the fact that I don't have any time anymore, and that, well, I'm neglecting this thing. And this thing is really fucking cool.
So, following are a bunch of updates I've scribbled into my little notebook over the past two or three days. This one's from Tuesday:
Tired today. But not depressed. Just a tiredness, didn't get enough sleep, that sort of thing. Working on my poem for English in Algebra now.
(doodle of a sleepy-eyed, ponytailed stick figure with glasses and messenger bag)
Got an 81 on the test. Flaming FRAULEINS, Mrs.Jenkins is loud. She'll start out talking about due dates, or test grades, or something, and lead up to her main point with this very agitating crescendo of beefwoman* screeching. RAR. But of course, x=duck. And x squared is a lot of ducks. Or a duck in a box. A square box. JABUS I'm tired. It's hot in here. So hot I'm sweating Bastards! Stop talking, you MEDDLING MATHEMATICAL MERETRIX! I want to write my POEM.
And from yesterday, being less delirious since I got eight hours of sleep:
Beautiful day. Especially as far as school days go. I finally got to bed on time last night, so my composure today is far above wraith status. Ich bin sehr munter. Ich bin auch glücklich und zufrieden. What a silly sentence that is in German. But it does, after all, get the point across.
Pictures were today, in English; bullshit in history; lab in physics. All worthwhile, considering that Larkin was in my lunch period today. Ah, how she gets me through the day! So nice to have mein schatz to suffer through all of this with. Labor day weekend soon. We'll go to the zoo and eat sushi and have a gay olde time. Because I already need a holiday. School has been dragging me down the past couple days.
But I recover, slowly. I don't really have anything to be sad about, now that I think about it. Sure, I've got homework and chores to do. Big fucking deal. I'm loved by a brilliant young maiden, and I can sing. Which reminds me, I need to learn the chamber song.
So we're in German now. Doing this whole German thing. This and my next period are the nicest of the day. Nice. Nett. Ist nett. Das is nett. Deutsch und choir ist nett. I've also got region rehearsal today, which I am looking forward to. I want to speed this year up and make region faster. I know I can. And will. And I'll make chamber too.
(and then, with little music notes etched around everything)
Lullaby of Birdland, that's what I always hear... when you sigh
Never in my wordland, could I reveal... in a phrase how I feel!
----
...He marched with spear in hand!
Go blow that ramhorn, Joshua cried!
Cause the battle am in my hand!
So yeah, I write a lot of shit in that little notebook. Today was an allright day as well. Not quite beautiful as the other one, as I often say, since Larkin was gone for a Rice interview, and encountered some family problems, but classes were allright. Tolerable, besides the useless garbage we're forced to swallow in history, physics, and algebra. I'm in a decent mood. Making techno music with Dance eJay 5. It's fucking AWESOME. I'll post my latest song up on my 50megs site for download later.
I must repaint my nails black. It's really grown on me, and now, looking at my nails after nail polish remover is applied, I'm quite bored with my hands. Alas, I'm never satisfied. Cracking the bones in them, accumulating bone spurs over time, and staring at old scars, attempting to remember how they came into existence just isn't enough for me anymore. Now I need nail polish. We're all so sickeningly... human.
And speaking of being human, this guy in choir was somehow freaked out at the idea of me being a Satanist. I think I'll start wearing black robes and upside-down crosses around him. Muahhahaaha...
So, following are a bunch of updates I've scribbled into my little notebook over the past two or three days. This one's from Tuesday:
Tired today. But not depressed. Just a tiredness, didn't get enough sleep, that sort of thing. Working on my poem for English in Algebra now.
(doodle of a sleepy-eyed, ponytailed stick figure with glasses and messenger bag)
Got an 81 on the test. Flaming FRAULEINS, Mrs.Jenkins is loud. She'll start out talking about due dates, or test grades, or something, and lead up to her main point with this very agitating crescendo of beefwoman* screeching. RAR. But of course, x=duck. And x squared is a lot of ducks. Or a duck in a box. A square box. JABUS I'm tired. It's hot in here. So hot I'm sweating Bastards! Stop talking, you MEDDLING MATHEMATICAL MERETRIX! I want to write my POEM.
And from yesterday, being less delirious since I got eight hours of sleep:
Beautiful day. Especially as far as school days go. I finally got to bed on time last night, so my composure today is far above wraith status. Ich bin sehr munter. Ich bin auch glücklich und zufrieden. What a silly sentence that is in German. But it does, after all, get the point across.
Pictures were today, in English; bullshit in history; lab in physics. All worthwhile, considering that Larkin was in my lunch period today. Ah, how she gets me through the day! So nice to have mein schatz to suffer through all of this with. Labor day weekend soon. We'll go to the zoo and eat sushi and have a gay olde time. Because I already need a holiday. School has been dragging me down the past couple days.
But I recover, slowly. I don't really have anything to be sad about, now that I think about it. Sure, I've got homework and chores to do. Big fucking deal. I'm loved by a brilliant young maiden, and I can sing. Which reminds me, I need to learn the chamber song.
So we're in German now. Doing this whole German thing. This and my next period are the nicest of the day. Nice. Nett. Ist nett. Das is nett. Deutsch und choir ist nett. I've also got region rehearsal today, which I am looking forward to. I want to speed this year up and make region faster. I know I can. And will. And I'll make chamber too.
(and then, with little music notes etched around everything)
Lullaby of Birdland, that's what I always hear... when you sigh
Never in my wordland, could I reveal... in a phrase how I feel!
----
...He marched with spear in hand!
Go blow that ramhorn, Joshua cried!
Cause the battle am in my hand!
So yeah, I write a lot of shit in that little notebook. Today was an allright day as well. Not quite beautiful as the other one, as I often say, since Larkin was gone for a Rice interview, and encountered some family problems, but classes were allright. Tolerable, besides the useless garbage we're forced to swallow in history, physics, and algebra. I'm in a decent mood. Making techno music with Dance eJay 5. It's fucking AWESOME. I'll post my latest song up on my 50megs site for download later.
I must repaint my nails black. It's really grown on me, and now, looking at my nails after nail polish remover is applied, I'm quite bored with my hands. Alas, I'm never satisfied. Cracking the bones in them, accumulating bone spurs over time, and staring at old scars, attempting to remember how they came into existence just isn't enough for me anymore. Now I need nail polish. We're all so sickeningly... human.
And speaking of being human, this guy in choir was somehow freaked out at the idea of me being a Satanist. I think I'll start wearing black robes and upside-down crosses around him. Muahhahaaha...
Wednesday, August 20, 2003
Hello, everyone. My school year is kicking ass so far. I'm happy. I've actually got hellish loads of work to do, but I'm happy. I've got someone to motivate me, and moreover, do some work with. German and choir are good. My favorite classes so far, I believe. Even US History with Mr.Turks isn't too bad, it seems, since the guy likes me a lot, and he at least makes the class somewhat interesting- as far as US history goes.
I don't have much time for a huge essay on my day tonight. Basically, school, was nice, shitty dentist appointment, but saw Larkin and became hysterically happy by hanging out with her. I will, however, put a few things I've noticed people at school saying about me:
Mrs.Jenkins: You will be CRUCIFIED if you do not study.
Mrs.Ishee: What's wrong with his hair?
Mr.Denmark: Use Just for Men~
Mrs.Pasche: I had a tree that turned brown once. I just spraypainted it green. That's all dye's made out of.
Naschelle Taylor: What's with the hair, buddy? Swim in a pool of Kool-Aid or something?
Random fucker: What the fuck is up with that kid? (note: wearing an EAT SLEEP BREATH* KLEIN FOOTBALL shirt from last year- I find that typo fucking hilarious)
I don't have much time for a huge essay on my day tonight. Basically, school, was nice, shitty dentist appointment, but saw Larkin and became hysterically happy by hanging out with her. I will, however, put a few things I've noticed people at school saying about me:
Mrs.Jenkins: You will be CRUCIFIED if you do not study.
Mrs.Ishee: What's wrong with his hair?
Mr.Denmark: Use Just for Men~
Mrs.Pasche: I had a tree that turned brown once. I just spraypainted it green. That's all dye's made out of.
Naschelle Taylor: What's with the hair, buddy? Swim in a pool of Kool-Aid or something?
Random fucker: What the fuck is up with that kid? (note: wearing an EAT SLEEP BREATH* KLEIN FOOTBALL shirt from last year- I find that typo fucking hilarious)
Monday, August 18, 2003
FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL! Man, that damn counselors' lotto that determines our schedules sucks. A lot. Well, I got a mediocre situation. First period is English with Rob and Sterling. Second I've got US History with a bunch of fucking idiots and a bastard of a coach teaching us. Third, I've got physics, and I can at least talk to Celeste in there. The teacher's okay.
But fuckdoodles! 4a lunch! I don't get to sit with Larkin... yet. She's dropping psychology, so once her schedule's completely rearranged, she should be in my lunch period. It will make the day tolerable. Most tolerable indeed.
So fourth, I've got German. The teacher, Mr.Kidd, kicks some ass. He's that guy that owns the big Volkswagen van with the graffiti on it. He's so cool! All with the German speaking and the no paperwork and no first day homework, and all that good shit. He just talked to us today, and gave us our German names. JOHANN GRAY HEIDELMEIER!
Fifth is choir. And damn, is it nice. It's not nearly as loud and obnoxious as it used to be, mainly because my junior class fucking pwnz it, and it's not composed of 115 people. Mary and Julia and Sterling and Kathy and peeeeeeeeople! Adam Santley's back though. Fucker.
And lastly, I've got a nice, shitty Algebra 2 with Mrs.Whatsherface, who's got big arms and is really loud. I don't know anyone in there- wait- I know Adam Pope and Nicole FuckToddoverberg.
Ah, sigh. What a huge amount of work I have ahead of me. But, meh. I want to do it. I'm not going to be some slacker anymore. If I fail something, it's going to be of my own sheer stupidity, not my laziness. And I've got 75 dollars from mowing lawns. I'm buying Larkin some sushi.
But fuckdoodles! 4a lunch! I don't get to sit with Larkin... yet. She's dropping psychology, so once her schedule's completely rearranged, she should be in my lunch period. It will make the day tolerable. Most tolerable indeed.
So fourth, I've got German. The teacher, Mr.Kidd, kicks some ass. He's that guy that owns the big Volkswagen van with the graffiti on it. He's so cool! All with the German speaking and the no paperwork and no first day homework, and all that good shit. He just talked to us today, and gave us our German names. JOHANN GRAY HEIDELMEIER!
Fifth is choir. And damn, is it nice. It's not nearly as loud and obnoxious as it used to be, mainly because my junior class fucking pwnz it, and it's not composed of 115 people. Mary and Julia and Sterling and Kathy and peeeeeeeeople! Adam Santley's back though. Fucker.
And lastly, I've got a nice, shitty Algebra 2 with Mrs.Whatsherface, who's got big arms and is really loud. I don't know anyone in there- wait- I know Adam Pope and Nicole FuckToddoverberg.
Ah, sigh. What a huge amount of work I have ahead of me. But, meh. I want to do it. I'm not going to be some slacker anymore. If I fail something, it's going to be of my own sheer stupidity, not my laziness. And I've got 75 dollars from mowing lawns. I'm buying Larkin some sushi.
Sunday, August 17, 2003
Back to school, looks like. I can't fucking wait to find out what my schedule is. If they don't put Larkin and I in at least the same lunch period, I'm going to set one, no, two people on fire. I hope we've got physics together too. This year is going to kick ASS. Going to learn German, going to be in classes with smart people, going to get some work done for once, going to hang out with Larkin and go to all the school dances- fucking YES! I'm 16, officially, in six days too. Maybe I should finally read over that driver's ed packet and get my license.
Holy shit! Larkin planned a surprise birthday party for me. Yesterday, it turns out, all my friends had showed up a bit earlier, awaiting Larkin and I. A birthday party. For me. I haven't had one of those in years! Since Kevin Young lived here! No one's ever done something so nice for me. I can't believe it. I've got friends. I'm loved! This is all I ever wanted. Someone to cuddle with and friendly people to celebrate my birthday with. Thank you, everyone!
And today, I made 55 bucks mowing eight lawns. With plenty of energy to spare. I actually feel pretty good. I even feel like staying up a bit later, and it's like, 1:30 or some shit. Amazing. If I've got time on Monday, I can do the Mallory's yard too, and get 20 bucks more. Kickass!
And today, I made 55 bucks mowing eight lawns. With plenty of energy to spare. I actually feel pretty good. I even feel like staying up a bit later, and it's like, 1:30 or some shit. Amazing. If I've got time on Monday, I can do the Mallory's yard too, and get 20 bucks more. Kickass!
Friday, August 15, 2003
Thursday, August 14, 2003
Glorious day! Today consisted of the first step in Friday's party preparation, and a nice shopping trip. First, we ran off to Kohls to use some soon-to-expire gift certificates. Turns out we had about $70 worth of them, so Larkin generously bought me two nice pairs of pants that were on sale, and a new outfit for herself. Nice. Next, at the dollar store, we stocked up on glowsticks, and I purchased myself an "imported" TOPO CHICO carbonated strawberry beverage for, well, you guessed it- a dollar. Sort of a bitch to open though, me not having a bottle opener.
Despite harsh lectures from my mother on money-saving and how all shampoos are the same, I finally managed to swindle the amount of money usually spent on hair care products in our grocery shopping away, so the CVS/pharmacy was our next stop. Meh. I just want to take decent care of my hair, because it's like, fucking cool, and stuff. It's all long, and sort of blue still, and I mustn't let all the dye turn it to crackly wire. It would be quite a shame. So I bought some decent herbal shampoo and conditioner, and some hair gel so it won't flap around in the wind and get blue dye in my pupils anymore. Glee!
AZN MARKET! My favorite store. I was low on spendable cash by this point in time, so I was unable to buy the cooked, salted duck eggs, but I purchased several packages of snack food, such as: squid chips (positively delectable), rice candy (the wrapper is edible!), some ginger candy (spiiicy, and it's supposed to dissolve to make tea, but that's not a good idea), and some Japanese bubblegum. All for, like, three bucks! Great place. Next time, I'm getting those god damned duck eggs. And some instant jellyfish. If it's good enough to mass produce...
And so, after some quick grocery shopping at a market designed for normal, fat, white people (Kroger), Larkin and I headed to her place, and she cooked me a nice red snapper dinner. God damn! I'm lucky. I date a girl who can do a kickass job of preparing a meal more complex than a grilled cheese sandwich.
Back at my place, we ate some cookies, made some techno music, exchanged back rubs, etc. etc. At 11:30 or so, Sterling strolled over to my place and rung the doorbell, waking Larkin and I up from our nap. We followed him over to his anti-zoning ordinance-style driveway to watch a small bonfire containing some worship music and Disney movies. Huzzah! Of course, the resulting miasma of magnetic tape smoke eminating from this white-hot blaze began to give Larkin an asthma attack, and it was getting late anyway, so I sent her home with her shoes and an albuterol inhaler. Hey, it makes you jittery as hell, but it beats choking in a turn lane with your lights off.
Pants and food and new shampoo!
Despite harsh lectures from my mother on money-saving and how all shampoos are the same, I finally managed to swindle the amount of money usually spent on hair care products in our grocery shopping away, so the CVS/pharmacy was our next stop. Meh. I just want to take decent care of my hair, because it's like, fucking cool, and stuff. It's all long, and sort of blue still, and I mustn't let all the dye turn it to crackly wire. It would be quite a shame. So I bought some decent herbal shampoo and conditioner, and some hair gel so it won't flap around in the wind and get blue dye in my pupils anymore. Glee!
AZN MARKET! My favorite store. I was low on spendable cash by this point in time, so I was unable to buy the cooked, salted duck eggs, but I purchased several packages of snack food, such as: squid chips (positively delectable), rice candy (the wrapper is edible!), some ginger candy (spiiicy, and it's supposed to dissolve to make tea, but that's not a good idea), and some Japanese bubblegum. All for, like, three bucks! Great place. Next time, I'm getting those god damned duck eggs. And some instant jellyfish. If it's good enough to mass produce...
And so, after some quick grocery shopping at a market designed for normal, fat, white people (Kroger), Larkin and I headed to her place, and she cooked me a nice red snapper dinner. God damn! I'm lucky. I date a girl who can do a kickass job of preparing a meal more complex than a grilled cheese sandwich.
Back at my place, we ate some cookies, made some techno music, exchanged back rubs, etc. etc. At 11:30 or so, Sterling strolled over to my place and rung the doorbell, waking Larkin and I up from our nap. We followed him over to his anti-zoning ordinance-style driveway to watch a small bonfire containing some worship music and Disney movies. Huzzah! Of course, the resulting miasma of magnetic tape smoke eminating from this white-hot blaze began to give Larkin an asthma attack, and it was getting late anyway, so I sent her home with her shoes and an albuterol inhaler. Hey, it makes you jittery as hell, but it beats choking in a turn lane with your lights off.
Pants and food and new shampoo!
Monday, August 11, 2003
Dallas!
The community of old Baptists hath taken a bite of my sleeping habits, chewed it up, and subjected it to an acidic sermon and wedding anniversary reception. I'm pretty fucking tired. Larkin and I got back just yesterday at midnight or so (we had to drive at night so I wouldn't miss the region workshop today). So, here's what happened.
Friday morning, I woke up too early for the first time, threw some shit into my spiffy messenger bag, waited for mom to correspond with several family members, and picked up Larkin. We were off like a herd of constipated turtles. That truck is as old as me, and pulled a big brown trailer full of watermelons and a barbecue grill. Despite a nasty infection which troubled Larkin on the way excrutiatingly, she clenched her jaw, determined not to drag us down, and rode the entire way with my parents and I to DeSoto, Texas, the town in which my grandparents' tiny, one-story house exists. Tough chick, she is, waiting for her medication to kick in during a five-hour drive. Ah, it wasn't too bad. Some LETRES and origami lessons on the way distracted her from the pain and me from my worrying. All is well now, of course.
During the remainder of Friday, and Saturday, we entertained ourselves mostly by sketching strange landscapes (BANANA KING OVERTHROWN!), reading, or hiking around the newly-developed suburbia in the area. That was a hell of a lot of fun. We stepped around waste from construction, picking up pieces of slate and limestone to examine color and composition, and saw some neat scenery that would've made some kickass artsy photography, had we our cameras with us. About five hours of walking around, total, on Saturday. Joining us after our water break was Josh, a distant cousin of mine. Despite his general lack of, well, intelligence (and good jokes), he served as nice quiet company for the both of us during our expedition. We all found some ducklings and tossed bread at them. A Muscovy chomped my finger. Quack.
Arg. Sunday morning brought the church service. Most of you realize I'm not one for church services. Of any kind. At all. FUCK JESUS. But anyhow, it at least served as a nice reinforcement to all my philosophies and systems of, well, nonbelief. I didn't really grasp a single thing out of it. Granted, the pastor was a great orator, but preaching is like the special olympics- even if your the best at it, you're still retarded. "David fell to his knees and prayed, 'O God, teach me to take this thorn out of my flesh!'" Mother fucking reliance on divine authority. Take the thorn out of your own fucking foot, Sherlock. If you have a crisis, you can get a lot more done by, well, fucking DOING SOMETHING than dropping to your knees, lazily asking your divine daddy. Ah well. If I talked about all the concepts discussed in that sermon here, I'd get one of those big post errors. The point is, I hate ridiculous, strife-causing doctrines that make you feel guilty for having fun, and I hate hymns sung off an overhead. Heh. DivorceCare, Thursday night! Martial arts classes, Friday night!
It was an allright trip. Larkin's presence made the entire thing so much more than tolerable. I thank her endlessly for joining me. My grandparents were really stressed out from all the relatives bugging them. At least they got some attention at their reception. What a mess.
Ah, scratch that shit. It was a great trip. Anything I do with Larkin is really nice. I wasn't away for her for more than half an hour for three days. My parents even put us in the same hotel room! Thank Jesus H. Monkeymeat! Not only is she a very good roommate, but my parents snore like lawnmowers, and we had the dog with us, so he probably would've thrown up on my bedsheets.
Friday morning, I woke up too early for the first time, threw some shit into my spiffy messenger bag, waited for mom to correspond with several family members, and picked up Larkin. We were off like a herd of constipated turtles. That truck is as old as me, and pulled a big brown trailer full of watermelons and a barbecue grill. Despite a nasty infection which troubled Larkin on the way excrutiatingly, she clenched her jaw, determined not to drag us down, and rode the entire way with my parents and I to DeSoto, Texas, the town in which my grandparents' tiny, one-story house exists. Tough chick, she is, waiting for her medication to kick in during a five-hour drive. Ah, it wasn't too bad. Some LETRES and origami lessons on the way distracted her from the pain and me from my worrying. All is well now, of course.
During the remainder of Friday, and Saturday, we entertained ourselves mostly by sketching strange landscapes (BANANA KING OVERTHROWN!), reading, or hiking around the newly-developed suburbia in the area. That was a hell of a lot of fun. We stepped around waste from construction, picking up pieces of slate and limestone to examine color and composition, and saw some neat scenery that would've made some kickass artsy photography, had we our cameras with us. About five hours of walking around, total, on Saturday. Joining us after our water break was Josh, a distant cousin of mine. Despite his general lack of, well, intelligence (and good jokes), he served as nice quiet company for the both of us during our expedition. We all found some ducklings and tossed bread at them. A Muscovy chomped my finger. Quack.
Arg. Sunday morning brought the church service. Most of you realize I'm not one for church services. Of any kind. At all. FUCK JESUS. But anyhow, it at least served as a nice reinforcement to all my philosophies and systems of, well, nonbelief. I didn't really grasp a single thing out of it. Granted, the pastor was a great orator, but preaching is like the special olympics- even if your the best at it, you're still retarded. "David fell to his knees and prayed, 'O God, teach me to take this thorn out of my flesh!'" Mother fucking reliance on divine authority. Take the thorn out of your own fucking foot, Sherlock. If you have a crisis, you can get a lot more done by, well, fucking DOING SOMETHING than dropping to your knees, lazily asking your divine daddy. Ah well. If I talked about all the concepts discussed in that sermon here, I'd get one of those big post errors. The point is, I hate ridiculous, strife-causing doctrines that make you feel guilty for having fun, and I hate hymns sung off an overhead. Heh. DivorceCare, Thursday night! Martial arts classes, Friday night!
It was an allright trip. Larkin's presence made the entire thing so much more than tolerable. I thank her endlessly for joining me. My grandparents were really stressed out from all the relatives bugging them. At least they got some attention at their reception. What a mess.
Ah, scratch that shit. It was a great trip. Anything I do with Larkin is really nice. I wasn't away for her for more than half an hour for three days. My parents even put us in the same hotel room! Thank Jesus H. Monkeymeat! Not only is she a very good roommate, but my parents snore like lawnmowers, and we had the dog with us, so he probably would've thrown up on my bedsheets.
Friday, August 08, 2003
Off to Dallas. Off to Dallas with Larky and mein parents. Back Monday.
TECHNO MUZAK
bom bom bom bombombombombombomBOM tikatikatikatika wheeoooooookashaaaaa baBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUM baquawbawquawbow dee dee, deediddeetdeedeedeedeediddeetdedepweeeeoooooooooooooaaaaaaawwwwwwwnnnnnniiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeyoooooooo BUM BUM BUM BUM
TECHNO MUZAK
bom bom bom bombombombombombomBOM tikatikatikatika wheeoooooookashaaaaa baBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUM baquawbawquawbow dee dee, deediddeetdeedeedeedeediddeetdedepweeeeoooooooooooooaaaaaaawwwwwwwnnnnnniiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeyoooooooo BUM BUM BUM BUM
Thursday, August 07, 2003
I saw a newspaper article a minute ago that showed a U.S. soldier in Iraq. He was holding an M16 in one hand, and talking to his family with a cell phone in the other.
"It's one of the signs of modern war."
Modern war. What nonsensical human cockfighting bullshit. Oh, cute. We've revolutionized throwing rocks and clubbing each other. Now the rocks explode, and some of them are made of lead. The clubs are combat knives and ten-inch bayonets. We've been beating the shit out of each other out of greed, lust for power, and RELIGIOUS DISPUTES for millenia. There's nothing modern about war! The only thing modern are the toys used to kill people. Sometimes we drop big, ten megaton toys on Arabs' apartments by accident. Whoops, there goes 45 years of an individual's life. I guess I pushed the wrong button.
War is retarded in that it is so damn human. And you'll say, reading my blog, that I'm supposed to acknowledge the fact that I'm a human animal. But Satanism doesn't condone war. Why the hell can't we just shut the fuck up with our petty human issues and look at the bigger picture? If we don't stop polluting our own atmosphere by making bombs and ignorantly using them, we'll all just suffocate or contract horrible lung diseases anyway, and then there won't be a need for war. Shit, people won't be able to catch their breath to run into some firefight. If we don't quit fighting this "struggle of good and evil" (mother fucking George Bush), it's going to highten into some big nuclear war, and the extinction of mankind will be imminent. I'm fucking serious. I hate America. I hate it so damn much, and I hate the fact that I'm technically a legal citizen of this place, and its schools make me respect its flag. Bastards. Larkin, let's go to Iceland.
"It's one of the signs of modern war."
Modern war. What nonsensical human cockfighting bullshit. Oh, cute. We've revolutionized throwing rocks and clubbing each other. Now the rocks explode, and some of them are made of lead. The clubs are combat knives and ten-inch bayonets. We've been beating the shit out of each other out of greed, lust for power, and RELIGIOUS DISPUTES for millenia. There's nothing modern about war! The only thing modern are the toys used to kill people. Sometimes we drop big, ten megaton toys on Arabs' apartments by accident. Whoops, there goes 45 years of an individual's life. I guess I pushed the wrong button.
War is retarded in that it is so damn human. And you'll say, reading my blog, that I'm supposed to acknowledge the fact that I'm a human animal. But Satanism doesn't condone war. Why the hell can't we just shut the fuck up with our petty human issues and look at the bigger picture? If we don't stop polluting our own atmosphere by making bombs and ignorantly using them, we'll all just suffocate or contract horrible lung diseases anyway, and then there won't be a need for war. Shit, people won't be able to catch their breath to run into some firefight. If we don't quit fighting this "struggle of good and evil" (mother fucking George Bush), it's going to highten into some big nuclear war, and the extinction of mankind will be imminent. I'm fucking serious. I hate America. I hate it so damn much, and I hate the fact that I'm technically a legal citizen of this place, and its schools make me respect its flag. Bastards. Larkin, let's go to Iceland.
Whoops, I forgot to update. But it must be quick; my mother desires my prescence downstairs for cookie-making.
Yesterday, despite an unfortunate bout of heat exhaustion Larkin had, we went out in search of Phil's house, in that hellish construction yard that is Memorial Northwest. About an hour and a half and we finally got around all the one-way streets, bulldozers, and giant tiger traps to Phil's place, for a quick swim and visit with, well, almost nobody I've ever met before. But Phil and Julia were there. I had a nice time, but as previous updates show, I am no fan of the ever popular Halo, and had seen two out of three movies being shown, so Larkin and I made a graceful exit before I had to see another Capture the Flag match. Thank you dear, for chauffering me around in the Houston sun.
After a rest at my place (Larkin had become a little dizzy and still wasn't sweating), the two of us decided to go back to her house to teach me to play DDR. Despite the good idea, I'm not terribly coordinated, and upon Larkin's request on the location of the dance pads, a somewhat ridiculous sisterly brawl took place. I would've sat it out in the kitchen (I was having fun cleaning the stove and whatnot), but when one hears his girlfriend getting hit, he really can't sit around. I could've extracted the hostility from the air and cooked with it. Ah, hellfires. I was up late thinking about it. I don't get mad at anyone from this sort of thing, but I can't take sides in silly arguments like this. Stupid technicalities are just flung back and forth. "Open palm is not a punch, love." I'm terribly sorry, but a person who's just struck her own sister should NOT BE FUCKING TECHNICAL. Anyhow, it's not worth brooding over. I'd prefer to forget the whole thing, and besides, when I consider what a wonderful creature Larkin is, if all I have to deal with to be with her is a silly family feud once in awhile, I'll never meet a more low-maintenance girl.
So, right! I need to go make cookies!
Yesterday, despite an unfortunate bout of heat exhaustion Larkin had, we went out in search of Phil's house, in that hellish construction yard that is Memorial Northwest. About an hour and a half and we finally got around all the one-way streets, bulldozers, and giant tiger traps to Phil's place, for a quick swim and visit with, well, almost nobody I've ever met before. But Phil and Julia were there. I had a nice time, but as previous updates show, I am no fan of the ever popular Halo, and had seen two out of three movies being shown, so Larkin and I made a graceful exit before I had to see another Capture the Flag match. Thank you dear, for chauffering me around in the Houston sun.
After a rest at my place (Larkin had become a little dizzy and still wasn't sweating), the two of us decided to go back to her house to teach me to play DDR. Despite the good idea, I'm not terribly coordinated, and upon Larkin's request on the location of the dance pads, a somewhat ridiculous sisterly brawl took place. I would've sat it out in the kitchen (I was having fun cleaning the stove and whatnot), but when one hears his girlfriend getting hit, he really can't sit around. I could've extracted the hostility from the air and cooked with it. Ah, hellfires. I was up late thinking about it. I don't get mad at anyone from this sort of thing, but I can't take sides in silly arguments like this. Stupid technicalities are just flung back and forth. "Open palm is not a punch, love." I'm terribly sorry, but a person who's just struck her own sister should NOT BE FUCKING TECHNICAL. Anyhow, it's not worth brooding over. I'd prefer to forget the whole thing, and besides, when I consider what a wonderful creature Larkin is, if all I have to deal with to be with her is a silly family feud once in awhile, I'll never meet a more low-maintenance girl.
So, right! I need to go make cookies!
Tuesday, August 05, 2003
Bashing Mechanics With Freon Canisters
Ahoy! The air conditioning in Larkin's van hasn't worked for years. In Texas, it's a bit of a bitch- stuck in the middle of an intersection (or a train track) on 1960 with the windows open and no cool air blowing at you is certainly an agitating experience. Until now, the subject of repair has been undiscussed- Larkin's father, not wanting to spend money to save a few passengers from heat stroke, claims that such a surgery under the hood of the flaming van will cost a small fortune. Well, my Just For Men-treated, mustached parental friend, a word from one with regulated blood sugar- mechanics like fucking with people. Imagine yourself an employee in an air conditioning shop. A cute little teenager with cat ears, a miniskirt, and a troublesome '93 Ford Aerostar van drives into your shop, asking for an estimate. Upon inspection, you find a tiny crack in a valve and a jammed switch; an operation anyone's housecat could repair. Are you going to replace a rubber O-ring and pop out a plastic knob with a screwdriver for 30 dollars, or try to rip the poor, unaware highschooler off for 1200 smackers for a completely new system? If auto repair were an honest business, it wouldn't make enough money to exist. My dear old dad, who's been relatively involved in the practice for the majority of his LIFETIME, reckons a new valve will fix the thing for five or six hundred. I trust the gray-haired gun enthusiast to steer Larkin in the right direction with the work on that thing.
And so, yesterday was a day of sushi and that movie Dumb & Dumberer. It was actually funny as hell... Upon viewing the previews, I thought it would suck ass. Superb imitation of Jim Carrey, by whoever the hell that was.
And today, Larkin took me out to Left-Handed Monkey and I bought some nylon skater pants. I really like the clothes I'm beginning to collect. I can be whatever subculture I want to be, really. Larkin and I are going to go out on more theme dates. I must say, we looked pretty kickass in all our gothiness yesterday. We got our picture taken at the mall! I cannot wait to see them.
Waiting now for Larkin to get online, so she can come over and show me yoga trickses. Ah, what fun I'm having! This is probably the last summer I'll be both out of summer school and unemployed, and I'm enjoying it so! I wake up at 1 PM every day, go out with Larkin, get lots of exercise, go to parties. It's amazing how she's changed my life, really. I get out every day now, very contrary to my previous lifestyle, that of, well, sitting around with computer games and chatrooms to occupy me! I'm addicted to doing stuff. Especially with her.
School will kick ass this year. I'm going to have so much work, and I'll actually be stressed out with homework for once, but I don't give a shit! I welcome something to be dedicated to! I've slacked off far too long, nearly ruined my grades due to stupid laziness and lack of any initiative whatsoever! I want to be like Larkin, and get some fucking things done. I've got something to work for now. I'll be motivated for once. And I've got something to relax me on the side.
Not only all that, I'll look AWESOME, what with the style Larkin's given me. I'm actually quite addicted to clothing and dressing up...
And so, yesterday was a day of sushi and that movie Dumb & Dumberer. It was actually funny as hell... Upon viewing the previews, I thought it would suck ass. Superb imitation of Jim Carrey, by whoever the hell that was.
And today, Larkin took me out to Left-Handed Monkey and I bought some nylon skater pants. I really like the clothes I'm beginning to collect. I can be whatever subculture I want to be, really. Larkin and I are going to go out on more theme dates. I must say, we looked pretty kickass in all our gothiness yesterday. We got our picture taken at the mall! I cannot wait to see them.
Waiting now for Larkin to get online, so she can come over and show me yoga trickses. Ah, what fun I'm having! This is probably the last summer I'll be both out of summer school and unemployed, and I'm enjoying it so! I wake up at 1 PM every day, go out with Larkin, get lots of exercise, go to parties. It's amazing how she's changed my life, really. I get out every day now, very contrary to my previous lifestyle, that of, well, sitting around with computer games and chatrooms to occupy me! I'm addicted to doing stuff. Especially with her.
School will kick ass this year. I'm going to have so much work, and I'll actually be stressed out with homework for once, but I don't give a shit! I welcome something to be dedicated to! I've slacked off far too long, nearly ruined my grades due to stupid laziness and lack of any initiative whatsoever! I want to be like Larkin, and get some fucking things done. I've got something to work for now. I'll be motivated for once. And I've got something to relax me on the side.
Not only all that, I'll look AWESOME, what with the style Larkin's given me. I'm actually quite addicted to clothing and dressing up...