Those stupid fucks banished my blog to hell too. Look what that HTML has done to my font! I can't delete it!

I'm really starting to like this kleinforums thing. The religious board is neat- seems to house the most intelligent debate team members.

And they're all my bitches.

I seem to enjoy writing poetry recently. So, here now is a poem about my little dog.

Buddy

O, Buddy, my colorless canine companion
Dancing 'round, a victorious champion
Grasping my unfortuante sock in your feeble maw!
As I wrestle fabric from dog demanding
Ivory underbite notwithstanding!
My balance absquatulating
Sending me precipitating
Reprimanding, condemnating
Onto my unrelenting hardwood floor!
Up in a hurry,
A painful flurry
Of snaps and cracks and clicks departs my spine.

This webfiltering shit that the school has is REALLY pissing me off. Now I can't even go to kleinforums.com or vbcode.com. That means I actually have to do work! Fuck!

And now, a collection of haikus recently composed by yours truly:

Darwin meets the Lord
Man made in his own image
God's a dumb monkey

Dumbass trips on stairs
Carrying forks, loses eyes
Now he can't climb stairs

The Pope goes to hell
Looking around, sees no children
The Mormons were right

Bush bombs cities of France
Propaganda ensues, we sigh
Now it's Freedom fries

Catholics bow in church
One man is in a wheelchair
He goes to hell now

Fish eats his food
Looking through the glass at eyes
Cat eats his food

Conservative man
Votes to ban gay people, why
Is struck by lightning

Retard playing ball
Projects an orange sphere at me
Stabby death ensues

Really short girl dies
I stepped on her after lunch
It was amusing

A sandy candle
Its lifespan ended tonight
Lack of flame torments

Television kills
The mind absorbs visual crap
Reality shows suck

Chainsaws are grindy
Joe’s legs sadly comprehend
Now he walks on stubs

Ford rolls off the road
Metal objects pierce the parts
Ford’s bleeding a lot

Drain-O is poison
Joe’s dog feels the chemical wrath
Antifreeze is worse

Pocky satisfies
Pretzel stick of tasty cocoa
Sure beats heroin

Texan Fascism
Standardized test is for fools
I will firebomb now

Carl Sagan was wrong
Aliens walk among us
Look, Michael Jackson

Oh, I feel wonderful. Late arrival is nothing less than BLISSFUL. I'm taking it senior year. Three more hours of sleep than usual.

I hate my programming teacher. She's such a joyless bitch. Well, maybe not a bitch, but calling her that feels really good. Very joyless though.

Wow. I’m having a good Monday. It’s really an amazing feeling. Despite waking up at 6:35 this morning, I’m actually quite energetic. Lifting my spirits even more than memories of a great weekend was Larkin, dressed today in colors brighter than black: a pink shirt, plaid skirt, white fishnet and CAT EARS. I may date the cutest thing in existence. Can’t write about the weekend right now. It kicked so much ass, I literally forgot what happened. I think it involved a lot of Larkin. Hong Kong Food Market too. I have Pocky and tea.

Todd’s a cyborg. He composed an essay here which illustrates the reasons we believe so- and I do believe him. First of all, the guy's physically invincible. I recall a brutal episode a few years ago where Kieron beat him in the leg with a board. It broke. The board, I mean. He also doesn't seem to feel much emotion... Doesn't smile or talk that much, just groggily stares at the wall a lot. Like his batteries are never charged, or something. Of course, a little emotionlessness doesn't mean we can't hook him up with some chick. It works in anime, right? Cyborgs and humans? Perhaps an advertisement will assist my romantic crusade...

-Man (robot), 16, looking for woman of similar age
-Enjoys anime, very morbid humor, quiet walks in the park, and (dressing up as?) Batman
-Has titanium skeleton, weighs a slim 670-680 lbs, green eyes, wears glasses

His AIM screenname is TBartkowiak! Someone come and claim this helpless little victim of loneliness and, um, getting hit by boards.

Poor Todd.

TBartkowiak: its like im hitler and fun is like all the jews

Kinda neat.

Someone gave me the address to this new message board thing for the high school. Kinda sucks now, but it's growing pretty fast. Soon it'll be a big arena of forum whores. Might be fun.

Hey, it's the first article I submitted to The College Press. Maybe they'll post it or something. Might be neat.

With the challenge of the dreaded SAT vanquished, most high school students don’t think too far ahead afterwards. Having completed yet another standardized test to determine our ranks within society, we return to our apathetic and indifferent lifestyles. Awaken from a troubled slumber, wash away the morning’s teenage insomnia with a healthy amount of caffeine, and board the ancient yellow barge to a mediocre day of ignoring impending deadlines in favor of consorting with our comrades. After all, what do we fickle youngsters know of stress, much less the planning of our futures?

For some, it’s more than one might think. In my sophomore year, always groggily overhearing talk about college, careers, and success, my mind finally strayed away from the blissful insouciance of childhood to ponder the unknown ahead. Knowing nothing about obtaining a higher education save the fact that I will eventually obtain one, I did what any confused teenager would do- I browsed the internet.

Looking at schools all across the country, I eventually found a website that featured an extensive catalogue of courses. Scanning the different departments that appealed to me: English philosophy music. Then, computer science. Multimedia design, animation, and foreign languages. The list seemed to go on forever, and I was absolutely overwhelmed at the sheer amount of things to learn about.

And if that weren’t enough to put my poor brain in a state of shock, I then started thinking about careers. Just what do I want to do with my life? I always just thought I’d end up a software designer, since I’m good with computers- construction, maintenance and upgrading. But when I consider it deeply, I picture myself ten years from now, wasting away in front of a coffee-stained keyboard. Spending the best years of my life living in a cubicle, trying to meet impossible deadlines for the creation of little accounting programs! Do I want to end up a miserable, white-collar slave to the system? Does anyone?

Distressed, I thought of all the other career options I have. I consulted friends about being a writer or a musician, and what college to attend, only to be told by most that I should act my age. Upon survey, I found others like I had been, somehow sure of their futures. “I see myself going to an ok college, getting into a job afterwards for a company that nobody's ever heard of, but I'll get an average salary,” said junior Julia Matsuno. “I see myself getting a job, going to college, possibly becoming an engineer or psychologist,” declared sophomore Rob Vavra. Everyone seemed to know where they were going.

But I’m not the only one that feels this way. Contrary to popular belief, a score of genuine scholars still exists among the nation’s youth. Or, at the very least, there are people that are still immersed in thought over the subject. “I haven’t even decided what I want to do,” said sophomore Mary Underwood. “I think of several things I love and I don’t know which one is better.” It’s a tough decision to be made by students, and while sophomores may not need to worry just yet, the matter of finding a college and the funding to attend it begins to press down on juniors during the end of the year. In either case, we must all say a fond farewell to our carefree childhoods.

Hit list goes away. I don't actually want to be that mean to everyone. I guess Britney Glascock isn't that bad, sometimes. And Mary's a dear friend of mine. All the other fuckers should go somewhere where I never have to hear about them, but still. Besides, somehow I get the strange impression that some teacher will sue me if I flash it around...

In fact, my good buddy Todd helped me have a revelation this evening. You see, I'm a nice guy. Underneath my sarcastic exterior lies a pretty sensitive and compassionate guy. I love being nice to people. It makes me happy to be nice to people. But I can't be nice to everyone. And do you know why? Because everyone is an idiot. I could love people to death if they only had a little common sense, and weren't so damn retarded! If only humanity wasn't doomed to self-extinction! Look at this shit! It's hopeless! We've got war after murder after rape after suicide after war again! Every day the news is over some busload of children exploding, or some depressing event of that sort. We're pathetic as a species! We beat the shit out of each other! I can't be nice to dumbasses like that! They're still on that hit list. It's just not public. It's not like I want to give the impression that I'm some mass murderer. Seriously. Some people in my third and fourth periods think I'm an assasin or something! People take me too damn seriously...

And now, as promised, my finished masterpiece of law:

The Seven Rules of If You Break Them I Kill You

I. Don’t be so sensitive to violent acts. Every day, at least five humans are going to be killed in extremely nasty ways. It happens all the fucking time- get over it. If you shoot some guy, blood is going to come out of him. It’s not disgusting; it’s the truth. We’re all just bags of flesh, so be more of a realist and live with it.

II. Don't be weak. Every day I see people complaining about the smallest things: having a hangnail, breaking up with a boyfriend and getting all suicidal about it, a hole in one's sock even. Grit your teeth, quit bitching and get on with your life! No matter how bad things get, you can always be eaten alive by fire ants. Or you could survive a lot of severe burns.

III. Don’t be fucking retarded. Stupid people, in general, need to stop existing right now. I beg of you- if you have not the intelligence to realize your lack thereof, at least don’t have children of your own. Killing yourself in amusing ways is fine with me too. More Darwinism, please.

IV. Don’t wear leather pants if you are a middle-aged, menopause-stricken high school teacher. It’s fucking disgusting.

V. Don’t, under any circumstance, abbreviate the words “you” or “are”. I can’t tell you how infuriated I become when some complete idiot tells me something like “u r stupid” or “omg lolz u r cool”. It sickens me that the English language can be so fucked up, and what’s more, that people my age are such fuqtards that they have to abbreviate three-letter words. In fact, just see rule #3.

VI. Don’t be bigoted. And if you do choose to pelt me with your opinions as I do to you, be smart about it. Please refer to rule #5 in order to use correct grammar when making references or a decent argument. “You views on everything are completely unreasonable, you selfish, overzealous bitch” holds a much higher intellectual standpoint than “omg jesus is so cool all u guys r stupid fucks coz jesus is cool and he luvs me”.

VII. Don’t interrupt me. Ever. Especially when I’m doing something important. As far as I’m concerned, whatever insignificant and redundant penny you dare place upon the rails of my train of thought can wait until I’m done with what I’m doing. Die.

What Neon Genesis Evangelion character are you?

I dunno about the asshole thing. Gendo kicked ass.

I've got to quit my habit of not updating this thing. It's becoming, well, habitual. Anyway, Easter holiday kicked ass. Thanks to my cute little mistress of evil, Larkin, I was able to indulge in the joys of both running amok in public places, scribbling drawings of John Lennon (Todd) on Easter eggs, and cuddling in front of the warez movie screen that is my computer. I report now on my glorious holiday. (Todd, by the way, hath crept on the bandwagon like Spiderman and gotten himself a blog. I think you'll find it morbidly tuxedo-riffic.)

Thursday, I gleefully slumped home with thoughts of a nice, relaxing four-day weekend crawling around in my head. It was a nice break from the monotony of school (which I complain of so much) to see the fishnet-clad Larkin come over. Always comforting is her presence, especially after a long week. We ended up watching movies on my computer again: The Count of Monte Cristo and A Beautiful Mind. I'd seen the latter before, and desired only to show it to the deprived eyes of Larkin, but Monte Cristo was new to me, and despite the subject (French people) and the parts where I was slightly distracted, I genuinely enjoyed the movie. French people, while being EXTREMELY French, can pull off some very nice Kung Fu swordfighting moves. And they've got those muzzleloading pistols.

Saturday, I decided to actually move outside my house and into the sunlight for a change, and accompanied Larkin and Cody to the Woodlands Mall. Our mission? To complete a photographic project entitled "How to Catch a Goth in Three Easy Steps". We of course, went to the best goth-catching place possible, Hot Topic, and proceeded to photograph Cody catching Larkin in a laundry net. Some splendid acting, if I do say so myself. After all that, we spied a bunch of freaks walking around and got pictures of them too. A grand time. Larkin came back to my place again once we had parted with Cody to watch the other DVD I came across, Signs. I really have to say, that after hating the movie the first time I watched it, then loving it the second, I really just think I hate it again. It's too damn sappy. Mel Gibson needs to quit bitching about his dead wife in there, and shoot some aliens. Have a good time! Hell, if some big green freak jumped in through my window and started marking hostile gestures at me with pointy claws, I wouldn't run downstairs and board up the windows! Where I currently sit, I have two pocket knives and one katana within my reach. I'm wearing three throwing knives on my belt, and I know the exact location of a shotgun and a box of shells in the next room. Having a good reason to kill something isn't a thing to run away from.

Just when the weekend couldn't get any more fun, I spent yet another day with Larkin. Best Easter I've ever had. Painted some very interesting designs on a bunch of boiled eggs, watched Strong Bad's emails, and ate a really nice artichoke/brisket/stir fry dinner. Larkin even brought a bottle of wine! I suppose I can always count on her for alcohol, or something. It was a great time. The whole holiday. The following day I even went over to her place to watch Pitch Black, a new favorite movie of mine featuring Vin Diesel, guns, aliens, and even some shiny objects.

It all kicked ass. Made me happy. I came to school today with some actual energy. It was fucking amazing. I know it won't last, but it felt great to actually have an active discussion at lunch, or at least loudly rant about modern society as I usually do, without falling asleep somewhere in between. I still feel like I could fly to Hokkaido or something and kick a hundred ninjas in the face. BAM!

I had an epiphany today. As far as I can remember, any day in which I am able to say "gimme a grande mocha latte" has been a good day. Those days always will be good. Such Starbucks days during my recent mini-hiatus have been yesterday and last Thursday.

I'll start from where I left off at. Last Thursday held yet another UIL performance for choir. Despite a crappy performance, we walked away with the usual straight ones in both catagories. Good heavens! Could the judges be slightly biased towards Klein? Impossible.

After the pointless performance, I returned to my quiet place of dwelling for a little preparation to attend Larkin's orchestra concert. I must say, at first I was a bit, well, there is no word I know of to describe bleeding of the ears, but I was given the impression that the performance would royally suck ass. Of course, how was I supposed to tell the freshman from the seniors with my damned eyesight? Even with the benefit of my seat in the second row, I'm still blind as a bat, and am generally unable to tell my friends apart. In rare cases, I mistake their gender and even hair color (I couldn't tell if Larkin's head was black or purple). A sad story, but as my mother's primary source of income comes from Ebay, a trip to the optometrist has been out of our budget for awhile, much less a subscription for some decent glasses. Sigh. I think I'll just make an assassination attempt at Todd and swipe his spectacles.

Anyway, as all high school music performances, the concert kicked a lot of ass once the freshmen got done beating and knocking and blowing at their poor. Once the symphony orchestra got on stage, the event actually reached a standpoint so high that I, even I, the sound quality Nazi, would listen to in mp3 format. Gustav Holst's The Planets suite has always been a favorite of mine. Jupiter is one of the few musical scores that can coax a tear from my eye.

Stopping at Starbucks on the way home, Larkin and I said our goodbyes, as she would be leaving for Harlingen to see a friend for the weekend. In fact, read all about that trip on her blog. I think she caught the Plague or something on her return, but nevertheless, she seemed to have a damn good time.

The weekend consisted of floating between Rob's house and mine. Hanging out with Todd and Rob just isn't the same without a female entity full of precious human warmth (a necessary asset over there). Especially because they can't seem to appreciate the crude and realist jabs at society of George Carlin. The man's a god damned genius! Fuck Mickey Mouse! Even Julia wasn't there. A sad, sad day indeed. Except for Todd. He doesn't seem to express that much emotion. Except anger, and maybe a bit of frustration. I still seriously think we need to find him a girlfriend. Or hell, a boyfriend. Somebody, please make the poor kid happy.

An uneventful week until last night came around; my comrades and I decided to go rustle us up some culture and attend the Global Meltdown event at the school. The slipshod performances ranged from (in order of awesome) Latin dancing to raving to some crazy woman dancing to an ABSOLUTELY FUCKING ATROCIOUS recording of some gospel song. The sound quality gave my ears cancer. CANCER! I'M FUCKING DEAF! Allright, it wasn't that bad, but caps lock is stress-relieving sometimes.

Anyway, once we had mulcted our supply of small, edible foreign objects during the intermission, Larkin and I escaped into the night to cause a little mischief. Actually, there wasn't enough time to cause a bubbly mess in the fountain in front of my subdivision, so we were forced to settle for Starbucks and a walk in the park. It should've lasted at least a little while, but alas- only a minute or two had passed before a bloodthirsty golf cart driver hunted us down and advised us to leave before we become van-dwellers. Obeying the underpaid yet dangerous man, we packed up our affection and departed for home.

Tonight I'm busy once again compiling a list of things I hate, and perhaps people too, and not just on my blog. Soon to be published here are The Seven Rules of If You Break Them I Kill You, and perhaps within a week's time, my own personal hit list. When I say I consider someone to be the 127th stupidest person in the world, I mean it. You'll see.

What Anime Stereotype Are You?

HSIOW! (Holy Shit It's Only Wednesday)

It's too damn cold outside. It's April! This arctic snow ranger shit needs to end so my body heat won't evaporate if I just wear a t-shirt and khakis in the mornings. Almost froze to death this morning, as I ran out a little late. Got spring pictures taken today too, and my thin button-up shirt didn't help the situation at all. My only comfort comes from leeching human warmth from Larkin in the commons. Such a convenient arrangement we have!

So here I am, in programming. Did the five assignments I hadn't turned in yesterday. Took me about a half an hour, as I expected. Worst computer course ever. I don't even know if I still want to take computer science, now that I see just how tremedously large the portion of ass that programming sucks really is.

Ugh. Catching up on work in programming.

Why the fuck do people touch the monitors with their grubby hands? So very smudged and unclean...

Blarg. The start of another boring week. Amazingly, I feel pretty good today- three periods of sleep will hopefully help to jumpstart this week. I have only next Friday to look forward to, as we'll have a nice, relaxing four-day weekend. Until then, it's back to slacking off in the salt mines. Oh well, can't complain. I do, after all, only have to ride the bus in the mornings these days.

What a weekend. I'm finally all rested up from the New York trip, so I feel great. I'd feel even better if the weather hadn't turned so gloomy today; my bike-riding plans ruined! Oh well.

I can't very well put what went on Saturday into words- at least nothing deeper than what happened. Being home alone for most of the weekend, I invited Larkin over for the day. Watched a cute little French movie called Amelie. Fun stuff, that. Despite their bastardly, stepping-on-Sterling's-headphones ways, the French can make some pretty good jokes. After the movie, I cooked a light dinner for the both of us, and we listened to my collected mp3s of George Carlin, the harshest comedian in the world. It was hilarious! He makes fun of everything that is human! The man hates society even more than me. And so, it was a wonderful time. One of the more memorable days of my life. Was certainly nice to catch up on things after being in New York for five days, too. Sigh. I absolutely love that girl.

Ah, tomorrow is the end of a tiresome week. I can catch up on the huge portions of sleep I lost in New York, while eagerly catching up on my social life a bit as well. I don't get to see my snuggly female companion nearly enough during the daytime; I'm sure we'll plan something fun over the weekend.

Today would've been hellishly monotonous if I hadn't the company of yet another one of Larkin's comic books: a Maakies collection by Tony Millionaire. Brilliant stuff, that. Such morbid mutilations of cute things! I enjoy having decent things to read. Deeply. I've read The Lord of the Rings three times already, Of Mice and Men sucks ass and is only a hundred pages long, and The Mists of Avalon got somewhat repetitive after page 400-something. Too much sex in the book, and if that weren't enough, too much vivid description!

English passed by within in a few eternities. I think the teacher liked the essay I wrote on the American dream, though we were forced to use a lot of quotes and sixth grade special education vocabulary words like "buck" and "skeptical". I may post the essay later on, just for the hell of it. I get a sense of satisfaction when large amounts of text fill the bottomless pit that is my blog archive. PE took even longer to end, as I really just sit by the stands, alone. No one dare come near me to retrieve a lost basketball, lest they face a rampage of Wobbly Headed Bob quotes. Someday I'll destroy them all. Infidels.

In programming, Mrs.Gonzalez, the droning whore of pointless anti-racism lectures (we get it- you've taught at ghetto schools, and we know that black people are okay, damnit) came up to me near the end of class and mentioned the five assignments I haven't turned in during the past week or so. It was great. A half a year of being the most silent, obedient, highest-scoring test-taker who never comes in late really accumulates a lot of credit for screwups over time. She probably doesn't realize I'm using telnet to hack into all the school's routers, but who's to blame her- she is, after all, a master of Visual BASIC, the king of all pointless, boring things you can do with a computer. I simply avoided her inquiry by stating that most of the assignments were probably on my student disk, that I'd been missing oh so much sleep over the past few days due to the sheer stress of travel, blah blah stress blah blah school is hard blah blah witty secretive deception blah. I'll just do the five assignments in the first ten minutes of class tomorrow and put them on her desk... Honestly, can't a guy get some sleep or read a book in class?

My throat is still sore from all the damn ammonium hydroxide fumes in chemistry. The shit reeks of 15 different industrial-strength cleaners mixed together. We're still doing the qualitative analysis lab, which I am, by all means, not very good at. Today I just gave up altogether and mixed up chemicals. I found that, by adding phenalphetein or whatever the fuck that stuff is called, into hydrochloric acid, I can simulate the cloudy red color of lead. By dumping that noxious, smoky mixture into the sink, I then put my blue pencil eraser into some sulfuric acid to simulate cobalt confirmation. I am good.

Choir is sucking a lot. UIL is next Thursday, and I want nothing more than to get that crap over with. I hate sightreading! It's not that I'm bad at it. Seriously. It's the easiest thing in the world, especially for bases, considering the songs' repetitive quarter notes. We serve to make low-pitched ambient noise. Nothing more. Loud, obnoxious, testosterone-poisoned men cannot do much more than yell. Unless you're actually not a complete fuqtard. Jesus.

My classes, aside from choir, are of no benefit anymore. It seems I just go to school every day because there are laws out to kick my ass if I don't. I need to summon that big, round, middle-aged, menopause-stricken bitch of a counsellor and get my classes straightened out for next year. I'm not going to take AP history. Too much damn work, even if I did tell her to screen me for it. I may stick with honors physics. Maybe. I hear it's hard as all unholy hell, and I hate mathematics. Which is why I'm going to stay in regulars algebra. Curse the district for making me take these useless courses! Curse it with a thousand pointy objects! I'm going to get the hell out of my retard-filled regulars English class, however, and get screened for honors AP. If there's anything I'd rather do than write useless mathmatical equations, make little accounting programs with the most BORING WOMAN IN THE WORLD, or study people who died a thousand years ago trying to conquer some small third-world country, I'd rather improve my writing skills. Well, wait a minute. I'd rather take over the world and create a race of robots designed to kill every human lacking the intelligence to use their turn signals while driving in subdivisions. But writing skills is a very close second!

As promised, here is my the compilation of blog entries I composed in New York.

DAY ONE

Ugh. Insomnia. Waking up at four has contributed a great erosion to my sanity. Nevertheless, I lurched around the house, gathering the last few possessions I hadn't packed yet. I know I've forgotten something important; such is the way of travel, but I dare not waste precious caffeine to fuel extra brain cells to think about it. Driving to the airport was hilarious; Sterling and I experienced the intense high that accompanies severe sleep-deprivation. I could've laughed at a stopsign for hours. A little late to the airport, but who would've cared, as it would then be two hours before we would even board the plane. I seem to recall Julia passing her hand straight through my transparent body several times as I resided in teenage wraith form.

Once the caffeine of my mother's black coffee hit me, however, I brightened up a bit, and my undead state has now nearly subsided. Airline security was actually quite nice to me, ignoring my pocket watch, belt buckle, spare change, and bomb. They win some, they lose some, I guess. Sterling's search was more an amusing ordeal. after several minutes of the obese, nocturnal security guard waving about the poor guy with silly electronic gadgets, it was discovered that his shoes contain metal plates in their soles. Most inconvenient for him, but funny as hell all the same. Once we had finished running about the moving sidewalk contraption several times, we boarded our plane, were captured on camcorder multiple times by Mr.Raddin, and attempted to refrain from making jokes regarding mass, violent hysteria and engine explosions. An extremely difficult task this was indeed. I couldn't refrain from making a few bowling ball candle jokes, but who really can? Explosions are just too awesome to be left out of most conversations.

We're landing soon. Ahead lies the Metropolitan Museum of Art and much rest in the hotel. Perhaps the left wing will snap off and no one will ever read this!

-----------------
And now, a pause from the journal, as the first day has now ended. I have put together a list of pretty fucked up private joke-quotes, and since it's in this little book, it's going on the blog.

A computer-animated tube flies across the TV screen, which is tuned to the weather channel. "There will be a 70% chance of tubes on Tuesday." -Sterling

"Operation: Iraqi Fuck You" -Me

"Starfucks" -Me

"I'll walk you through the Renaissance" -Sterling, in response to a suggestion to walk through the Renaissance exhibits of the Museum a second time

"Granite, it's Julia!" -Sterling, attempting to correct Julia in the material our bench was made of

"That's neo-black shit" -Me, describing a very large, black, gothic arched building with revolving doors (New York is so kickass!)

"My mom shot Florida." -Sterling's misinterpretation of my description of my mother's hometown

"I say a lot of things. They all involve making fun of someone with a swear word." -Me. It's true.

"Shit! That's an onion!" -Me, most distressed after hitting my head on a painting of an onion

"Will is for sucks." -Sterling, describing how much Will just sucks. Kinda like how the S is for sucks in the Trogdor flash movie.

-End of list

DAY TWO

End of the day already. This hotel room is the manifestation of pure, distilled messy shit. In the corner opposite my chairly perch lies The Table, containing the holy bible, phonebook, and Sterling's speakers/subwoofer/CD player. In my own bed resides all the clothes, film, money, and other shiny objects I've strewn about this place during the last 36 hours. On the floor is the N64, source of the entertainment we indulge in during our few spare hours in here. This, several pieces of music, paper money, and water bottles help create the setting we currently call home. This is New York City. Out our very window, down on 45th St., we have witnessed two arrests, five billion passerbys, and one car accident.

I feel as though I belong here. This city is so overwhelmingly interesting. One could go clinically insane just trying to comprehend how all this is even in existence. This people, all walking a hundred miles per hour, each one of them with some important destination, some ultimate goal in mind. And the buildings! The sheer amount of structures here blocks out natural sunlight and illuminates the streets only by reflection. There are two-story fast food chains, karate classes to be observed from windows, and all this wondrous architecture. St.Patrick's Cathedral for Christ's sake! It's amazes me. The heartbeat of the city consumes me already. I look outside now, at 1 A.M., and these crazy city-dwelling bastards are still walking around. Maybe none of them have jobs. I really could conclude that they all just walk around on the widewalk all day. But I could watch them for hours. And street performers. And hot dog stands. I can't describe it all! Today alone I swa the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, South Street Seaport, Times Square, and a Broadway musical.

Tomorrow is Grand Central Station, the Empire State Building, and a lot of grueling rehearsal.

DAY THREE

I am so tired. I feel as though my back is weighed down by some huge iron ball. Rehearsal is over, for now at least- our break, lunch at Grand Central Station, is next.

In Grand Central Station, I just ate some sushi at Masa Japanese. I haven't had that oppurtunity in years, and now that I have tasted eel, tuna, and avocado out of a little box once again, I do believe I could live on the stuff. Especially here. The seafood in New England tastes even better now than the lobster I sampled in Maine. The awesomeness of the meals we have eaten is comparable to, I don't know, something really awesome. Like chopsticks. And I've got some chopsticks.

Second half of this six-hour rehearsal now. Pretty soon it shall begin, and our hyperactive, bouncy, enthusiastic conductor will emerge from some important conference and coax from us what little cellular energy we still retain. Soon we may not have enough to keep our hearts beating. I'm doing a little better now, but there's really just something about this room that makes me incredibly sleepy. I stagger in my cushiony chair. And that's just one of the things. We have chairs with cushions. In a choir rehearsal. Usually we don't sit much at all in a serious pre-concert rehearsal, much less have decent chairs. It is a pretty nice hotel.

Back from dinner at some dumb Chuck E. Cheeseish restaurant. Did the Empire State Building too. A busy day. I'm tired. I'm dizzy with having so much fun, DIZZY I TELL YOU! I am numb with this giddy feeling.

I called Larkin and she's not home! Alas, loneliness! And that DAMNABLE JULIA RUINING MY STOICISM! I was doing fine until she taunted me with my sweetheart's name.

DAY FOUR

Concert day. Today's the day we do this shit- sing in Lincoln Center, with the whole feature choir thing and all. This day may drain the last reserves of energy I have, but I don't give a damn. I fully intend to sing better than I ever have. I shall bombard the choir with my powers of deep-voiced, cultivated yelling. Fortissississimo.

Dear sweet Jesus Christos. Figuratively. I haven't had a spare second to write in here today. Six hours of rehearsal, lunch, soundcheck in the concert hall, listening to Mr.Raddin's speeches; it's been insane. I called Larkin tiwce today- once in the hotel, and once half an hour before the beginning of the concert. No luck. Oh, how I miss her! The smell of the Lincoln Center gift shop is that of her hair! It will be blissful to return home.

Despite my lack of contact with the less awesome city I live in, today has been the most amazing experience for me ever, at least from a choral standpoint. To sing that great music in that world-class concert hall, to be led by that madman of a conductor eradicated my insomnia and motivated me beyond all earthly measure. Singing is the closest thing of a spiritual awakening I will ever have. I just can't describe it. I may as well have been preaching to that little crowd of 200 people, next to the worst tenor in the choir. I become filled with such passion that I just block out all other sound and... I give up. This trip has been indescribably awesome.

DAY FIVE

I'm on the plane now, in my damned seat right by the wing of the plane. The mighty roar of the engines takes away a small percentage of my hearing as the flight attendants show us how to use seatbelts (in case you haven't been in a CAR since 1965). All the tiredness I suppressed in the magnificence of yesterday's performance has slumped itself on my shoulders, but who the hell cares, as I always rant about sleeplessness. I can't wait to get home. I just can't wait. But I shall lay down my longing for the warmth of a human embrace, wrap it in a straight-jacket of straight-faced, emotionless masculinity in the hopes of writing about today. It's my last resort.

Chinatown. That was where I was this morning. Chinatown! In New York City! It was grand! I stepped out of our coach bus and found myself in a newfound dimension of small Asians in leather jackets and baseball caps, 25 cent stores where one must bargin with his soul for a cheap wristwatch. The smell of seafood and exotic teas was around me, as I had long ago become accustomed to all the ambient air pollution of the city. I came, I shopped, I left armed and even more dangerous than usual. My souveniers, in sequential order of awesomeness, are two set of teacups (one for Larkin), some throwing knives, and some wonderfully aromatic green tea I bought for 95 cents. I've still got 80 dollars left over in spending money. I am a giddy choirboy-tourist. All I need to be a complete individual is REM sleep and human warmth.

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Thus ends my report. Damn that was awesome.

I am home!

I have green tea from New York.

I have Larkin.

I am happy.

Perhaps the best quote from New York-

"I like men!"
- Mr.Oldham, conductor of the massed choir