Dizzy Dance

Even worse than dancing to hip-hop am I at dancing with young interested ladies.

"You have pretty eyes," she says.
"I know," I respond.

I make a much better wallflower.

The instructor professes, "Gentlemen, pull your partner into your cradle."
"Get in my cradle, bitch," I say playfully. I receive a displeased punch in the stomach for my crude words.

ES 159 - Social & Country Western Dancing (1 credit hour) is one of the most fun classes I've taken. Kelly is one of best dance partners I've ever had.

"Are you still my partner?" I ask, almost as an apology.
"Yes."

I can get the moves; I can do the pretzel and the jitterbug and the pull-bys and all that, for the most part.

I'm not sure what happened, but Kelly ended up dancing with Chris, and I with Shayna. We were both confused.

After class she said, "You can be Shayna's partner if you want. I'll dance with Chris."
I nodded and let out a disappointed, "OK."

I can do all the moves, but the hardest part is making the moves look good, using flow and grace.

The teacher assigned Jordan as my new partner.

She leaned over and whispered to me, "I thought you were going to be partners with Shayna."
"She already had a partner," I whispered back.
"Oh, sorry." She looked perplexed. "I guess I was just confused."
"Me too."
"Do you hate me now?"
"Oh yeah, I do," I say jokingly. Sometimes I don't think my humor goes over well; she just stares at me.

I'm also not very good at leading. I'm either too forceful or too timid.

Non-Traditional

I'm convinced: Non-traditional (old) students have lost all creativity, intelligence, and humbleness from being out in "the real world."

Overdramatic(It's My Blog and I'll Cry if I Want To)

The image of myself that I've created for you is the one I thought you'd want to see, the one I thought would please you. It wasn't perfect, and I knew you didn't expect that. But it was mostly "good" or mostly "cool" or mostly "strong" or mostly something that I thought you'd like.

Silly me.

Apparently people don't want to see an image of me, no matter how pleasing the image. It could be perfect or perfectly imperfect. Either way, they want to see the parts of me that I've kept out of view, the parts that I don't even like, and the parts that I hide even from myself.

So, I'm going to try to do that for you; show everything. Not really for your benefit, but for mine. Because by the end of this thing (post?, weblog?, life?) I won't have to be the hundreds of different me's that I've been being, one for everyone I know. I can just be the one and only Zach, if a single one does exist. I guess that single one will be discovered here. Stay tuned.

Bad Taste in Music

I have bad taste in music. Tell me some good songs to listen to.

Quothe StellarMel

"You can't jack up a car and steal the tires in the span of one Captain and Tenille song."

Overheard in Baldwin Hall

"Beef jerky is not a vice!"

Robot Wishes

I am a robot
that wishes. For death
and closure affect me not.
I am a robot
that lives, as it seems is my lot,
long past my love's last breath.
I am a robot
that wishes for death.

Minimum Rage Job

INT. - CHECKOUT COUNTER OF A SUPERMARKET

Mark rings up item after item, bored with his menial task. He doesn't smile, talk to, or even acknowledge the presence of the customers. Like a zombie moonlighting as a cashier, Mark is emotionless except for the unrelenting desire to crack open the skull of the next annoying, nagging customer in his seemingly never ending checkout line. The customers fly by in fast motion, stopping for some highlights:

MAN 1

I think you scanned that twice.

Fast forward.

WOMAN 1

Oh, wait. I have a coupon for that.

Fast forward.

MOM 1

Writing a check while her young crying child tugs at her shirt

Pick out some candy. Pick out some candy. Pick out some candy. Nicolas, pick out some candy. Pick out some candy.

Fast forward.

MAN 2

Oh hell! I left my wallet in my car, can you hold on a second?

Fast forward.

WOMAN 2

How much?

MARK

$103.54.

WOMAN 2

How much?

MARK

$103.54.

WOMAN 2

That can't be right....

Fast forward. A smiling Old Woman stands staring at Mark, watching him scan her items. The register beeps with a slow and steady beat.

OLD WOMAN

Out of nowhere

Why don't you smile, young man?

MARK

Because I don't want to.

OLD WOMAN

You're not a very personable young man. And kind of rude.

MARK

Looking up from the scanning mechanism at the Old Woman for the first time.

I don't get paid to smile. That costs extra.

OLD WOMAN

In a huff.

Well!

MANAGER

Walking by and seeing something is wrong

Is there something wrong, ma'am?

OLD WOMAN

You're cashier here was just rude to me!

MANAGER

Mark?

MARK

What?

MANAGER

Gives Mark a stern look

MARK

Sighs. Deciding it better to avoid a conflict, turns to Old Lady

I'm sorry, ma'am. I was rude.

OLD WOMAN

Well, you've almost ruined my day. How much do I owe you?

MARK

Your total is $32.91.

Old Woman hands Mark several bills, and in turn Mark gives her change. All the while Manager watches.

OLD WOMAN

I hope you don't treat all of your customers like this.

Walks off perturbed.

MANAGER

I'm sorry, ma'am. I'll have a talk with him.

To Mark

Mark, what was that?

MARK

She told me to smile, and I told her I didn't want to.

MANAGER

Mark, part of your job is customer relations. You are the last face that the customer sees before he leaves the store.

MARK

What about the greeters at the door?

MANAGER

Mark, focus. You can't be negative, or the customers will leave here with a negative impression of our store.

MARK

OK.

MANAGER

You have to smile, Mark. And you have to talk to them.

MARK

Like what? I don't have anything to say.

MANAGER

Small talk. Talk to them about the items they're buying. Anything. Just make them feel comfortable, and they'll walk out of here wanting to come back. And hopefully soon. Do you understand, Mark?

MARK

I guess.

A customer puts her items on Mark's counter. Manager looks at Mark and gives him a nod and points to his smiling mouth. Mark puts on a strained smile. Manager nods in approval, then motions for Mark to continue.

MARK

As he begins to scan the woman's items, he holds up a bag of apples

So. . . . Buying apples, huh?

WOMAN 3:

Yep.

MARK

Mark looks to Manager for help. Manager looks at Mark as if to say, "Keep going."

Well, uh, you know what they say about apples: An apple a day keeps the doctor away.

Manager smiles in approval

WOMAN 3:

Smiles

It's true. I love apples.

MARK

Struggling to continue the conversations, he looks to Manager and then to the next item in his hand, a box of douches.

And you know what they say about douching: A douche a day keeps the . . . uh. . .

Woman 3 looks at Mark disgusted and embarassed. Manager shakes head and releases a deep sigh.

Computer Teachers

Cynical McBrother: I'm going to sub tomorrow.
Mr. McBastard: for whom?
Cynical McBrother: an elementary computer teacher
Mr. McBastard: they have computer teachers now?
Cynical McBrother: yeah
Mr. McBastard: what's next cyborg guidance councilors?
Cynical McBrother: *beep boop beep* you're good at math, Mr. McBastard. *beep beep boop* you should be an automechanic boop

With Me

"most of all, i want some one that is willing to build a relationship. a health and stable relationship.


with me." --Terry Anna

Book Meme

From farkleberries:

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.

"In particular, they are adept at finding various sorts of similarities among patterns, at recognizing repeated (or almost repeated) patterns, at filling in the missing parts of incomplete patterns, and at transforming patterns into others with which they have been associated."

--John Haugeland, "What is Mind Design?" Mind Design II

life.pl

$life = "bitch";
if $life = "bitch" then {
die;
}

Walking Down the Sidewalk

I am hard. I am stone-faced. I smoke cigarettes and squint into the sun. I don't smile and I don't look anyone in the eye. How dare you, Cute Girl I Don't Know, to say, "Hi," to me and grin.

Breasts

One day Sven woke up with breasts. They hadn't been there the night before, but they were there now, and he liked them.

He spent fifteen minutes in the shower jiggling and juggling them, squeezing, turning, and gently bouncing them. He smiled.

Getting dressed was difficult; he didn't have a shirt that properly showed off his new assets. Everything he had was so loose. No one would even be able to see them! He looked over to the bed. There lay his sleeping wife. He'd always been jealous of her breasts He snuck over to her closet, took one of her blouses, and rushed out of the room.

On the way to work Sven almost wrecked his car. He was too busy ogling himself to notice the traffic around him. He was so pretty now. Pretty breasts. Pretty blouse. Pretty close to rear-ending that car! Sven took a deep breath and took his foot off the break.

A Favorite Quote

"It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it."

--Aristotle

Freshman Week

Today marks the end of a week of drunkenness and debauchery known as Freshman Week. It serves as a welcome to all the incoming freshmen to get them acquainted with college, but also gives the upperclassmen a chance to have one final Hoorah before classes resume.

And what a fucking loud Hoorah this year was. So, here's the tallies for the week:

• Nights drunk: 7
• Hang-overs: 3 (surprisingly few)
• Rum & Cokes: approx. 10 (lost count)
• Beers consumed: innumerable
• Beers chugged: approx. 10 (damn drinking games)
• Old friends seen: 6
• New friends made: everybody's my friend when I'm intoxicated
• Ladies loved: 1
• Ladies lost: see "Beers consumed"
• Times confused as a freshman: 3
• Times confused as the twin brother of Li'l John (alumnus of my fraternity): 7
• Lessons learned: 0
• Fun had: unlimited

Life Is Fleeting

As she enscribed VITA FVGIT down the back of my arm in the most permanent of inks, she told me that she recognized me from the time her high school's academic quiz bowl team played against mine. How odd that two people's lives would intersect at both an ubernerd convention and a shop of badassery.

Lazarus

After months of slow decay, this town is miraculously brought back from the dead. The denizens recoil much like worms and maggots suddenly bombarded by pumping veins and twitching nerves. Returning students reclaim lost territory and dead limbs, awaiting a fresh injection of freshman into this undead college town.

Money Can't Buy Happiness

But it can buy a whole lotta things that make me happy:

• new sound card
• 5.1 surround sound computer stereo system
• new DVD-ROM / CD-RW drive
• High Fidelity and The Big Lebowski DVDs

Quite a Gamble

I won over $10.00 today playing poker, Texas Hold 'Em exactly. I'm not good at bluffing and I bet on almost every hand, so fortunately my good luck outweighed my poor skill.

August Song

The summer streets
bleed bubbling black tar
and suffer with me
as they are abandoned
for sand and
taut naked flesh.
Lonely, left for dead
end streets
to swallow
and choke
me down like so much
beer and smoke.
Paper/plastic trash
carpet the floors with saved
aluminum cans
peppered with ash
and butts.  The fans
are replacement friends
and hum the droning
melody of my August song.

I Forgot That, Too

"Valentine's Day is coming? Oh man, I forgot to get a girlfriend again."
--Fry, Futurama

Found with Two Nasty Recliners and a Tiny Shelf

Hey, we left
ya some chrchairs
merry fukkkin
Christmas  --Hue
             Kendall

I Obviously Don't Get It

I'm watching VH1's "50 Most Awesomely Bad Songs . . . Ever" and I'm downloading about 1/3 of the songs.

Hugs

Kat: i think i need a hug

Cynical McBastard: *e-hug*

Kat: awww thats the first e-hug youve ever given me!! -huggles-

Cynical McBastard: awww

Kat: [my boyfriend]'s not being very loving right now

Kat: i figured hed miss me since we didnt talk yesterday at all. erf.

Cynical McBastard: that bitch

Kat: do you ever feel like.. if you dont get some sort of physical contact soon youre going to explode?

Cynical McBastard: uh, can't say that i do

Kat: guess its just me then

Cynical McBastard: i'm not a very touchy-feely person

Kat: neither am i. only with certain people

Kat: but its nice to be touched. and held. and hugged. and kissed.

Cynical McBastard: and eaten

Kat: dont be stupid

Cynical McBastard: :(

Cynical McBastard: that's what i do best

Kat: im glad were not friends in real life

Cynical McBastard: why's that?

Kat: i dunno

Kat: i like to be hugged. and i hate it when i cant feel close to a friend.

Cynical McBastard: well, if someone initiates a hug, i won't deny them one, i probably just wouldn't spontaneously hug you

Cynical McBastard: unless i saw you really needed it

Kat: im not one to spontaneously hug someone either. i have to have someone else initiate it. i have friends that ive known for years and years and ive never hugged because they dont hug me first. and it just seems awkward.

God

Cool or lame?

Avril Lavigne

Quit whining already.

Star Wars Parody

Pink Five Strikes Back.

Wouldn't Be Surprised

"This past weekend George Lucas announced the title to the final Star Wars movie. It's called, "I Hope You Geeks Have Some Money Left To Go See This Piece Of Shit Fifty Times In The Theatre; Not To Mention Buy All Of The Overpriced Merchandise To Fill Your Bedroom In Your Mom's Basement". The fans have taken to calling it Episode III."
--T-shirt Hell Newsletter

No Pulse

Finally, geriatric cyborgs.

Admission Essay

Prologue:
As part of my job, I enroll transfer students into classes. I am handed their file (which includes their transcripts, their major, their desired classes, and their application). Along with their application is their admission essay.

Sometimes I read the essays. I don't know if it's allowed or not, but I do. I think it gives me insight into who this person is, and what classes they might take. And plus, I'm just nosey. Some of them are quite interesting. There is this one girl from France who can speak three languages fluently (and knows rudiments of two more) and wants to be a diplomat, an ambassador of some kind. There was another person that wrote of their rough home-life in high school, of their descent into depression, their battle with drugs, and then their recovery and renewed desire to educate themselves.

And then there came this one. It apalls me. Not only because of the poor writing (mind you, this person is working towards a Bachelor of Science in English; furthermore, a Pre- Elementary Education degree) and disgusting subject matter -- living in the rural Midwest, I've heard this discriminatory rhetoric for years. I was astonished that someone would write so much close-minded nonsense as their application essay to an established, liberal arts college, AND THEY STILL GOT IN! The abomination is as follows [with my comments in red]:

Same Sex Unions

I believe that same sex unions are wrong, not only because the Bible says so [I hope you have "proof" to back up that this is what the Bible actually says.], but that it just doesn't make any sense to me. [Fair enough. It doesn't make sense to you, but why does that make it wrong?]

How can you be a happy family when it seems to me that your roles would be confused. Who is the Mom? [Just a guess here: the women?] Who is the Dad? [Another shot in the dark: the men?] Will there even be children? [If there's a mom or dad, I'm guessing there'll be children.] Imagine a child going to kindergarten, and being asked his mother's name and his answer being William Edwardson. [Why wouldn't he just say that he has no mother? Plenty of kids don't have moms.] What is your father's name and his answer being Richard Edwardson. I realize children will always tease other children but I don't believe parents should give them just another reason. [Or perhaps if we teach them to understand homosexuality, having two queers for parents won't even be a tease-worthy offense.] I am a single mother [My heart breaks for your child.], because I chose to remove my daughter and myself from a domestic violence situation [But, wait, you had a perfectly happy, "normal," heterosexual family, complete with unconfused roles and whatnot, how could this happen?], and there are people who still tell me that I didn't try hard enough to make things work with her father. [Despite how ignorant you've been thusfar in your application essay, at least you were smart enough to take your child and yourself out of this situation.] People are always judging us [How do you thing homosexuals feel about being judged?], because we are border-line poor and I don't really care if we receive child support because it is just another example of him not wanting anything to do with his daughter. I feel my daughter is lucky, because she is still alive despite her father constantly threatening to kill her when he got angry. [weren't we talking about something else?] She still finds it difficult to explain her situation to other children and we have been out of the situation for almost five years. [What were we talking about?] It hurts me deeply to see her suffering because of my poor decisions and I just think it would be compounded tenfold for children of same sex unions. [Oh yeah, that's what we were talking about.]

I also don't believe that someone can just wake up one day and decide that they are a homosexual. [Neither do I.] I have heard stories of people who have been married to someone of the opposite sex for years, who just decide they just don't like that person anymore because they want to be with someone of the same sex. [Maybe they still do like that person, they just don't want to continue to lie to them and pretend to feel a certain way towards them.] They may already have children from this previous marriage, how do they explain this to those children? [Probably very similarly to how you explained to your daughter why she couldn't see Daddy anymore.] Step-families are difficult enough without adding this new dimension.

I truly believe everyone has a right to be happy and prosper but I just don't understand how you can be fundamentally happy when you know that you are dong something wrong against GOD's word and ultimate plan for your life. [Maybe they/I know of different Gods that go by the same name. My God is all-loving and all-understanding. No offense to your god, but he sounds kind of petty and controlling.] GOD destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah because of homosexuality and other vulgar acts (Genesis 19:24 & 25). [Finally, your Biblical "proof." I'm going to go on a rant at this juncture, if I may -- and I may because it is my website. For reference, here is the story of Sodom & Gomorrah. "Then the LORD rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the LORD out of heaven; and he overthrew those cities, and all the plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and that which grew upon the ground" (Genesis 19:24-25). While this does explain how God destroyed those two infamous cities, it doesn't explain why. Could it be because of the cities' "homosexuality and other vulgar acts?" Well, I'll agree with you on the "vulgar acts" part. Despite the fact that many of the men in that place were gay, I don't believe this story is depicting that as the reason for the cities' destruction. I believe it was because all the men in the town wanted to rape the two angels that God had sent to rescue Lot. Whether or not the story is making a correlation between homosexuals and rapists is debatable. In fact, the whole reference to homosexuality in this story is very minimal. The tale is really, as I see it, a myth meant to depict the dubious and despicable beginnings of two tribes that warred with the Hebrews, the Moabites and the Ammonites -- named after the two sons/grandsons (Moab and Ben-Ammi) of Lot and his incestuous daughters. But I digress.] It angered GOD so much that he couldn't endure it, so what do we expect him to do to our country if we continue down this path? I really think this issue boils down to America being a country that was founded on a belief in GOD [Again, I think think we're talking about different Gods here.], turning its back on him and thumbing its nose at him and daring him to punish it. [And possibly different Americas, too. Actually, that sounds like something a terrorist would say.]

I truly believe that President Bush [Is he your god?] should just pass a constitutional amendment [Your lack of knowledge about the democratic process in this country is astounding.] banning same sex unions. I further believe all of us as citizens should contact our legislators and remind them of the religious foundations of our country [Because the superstitious nature and often-homicidal zealotry of the Pilgrims -- the crazy religious nuts that England didn't want -- is much to be admired.] and ask them to vote against same sex unions and bring our country back to it's moral foundation. [And why not take away black people's freedom and women's right to vote while we're at it?]

Soundtrack to Kirksville Summer 2004

Prove It to the World -- MxPx
You're So Last Summer -- Taking Back Sunday
All Around the Bus Stop -- .rod Laver
Circles -- Soul Coughing
Devil in Jersey City -- Coheed & Cambria
Hey Mama -- Black Eyed Peas
The Game of Who Needs Who the Worst -- Cursive
Under Pressure -- David Bowie & Queen
Meant to Live -- Switchfoot
Open Road Song -- Eve 6
Hanging Around -- Counting Crows

30

I haven't even seen 1/3 of AFI's 100 Greatest Movies:

1. "Citizen Kane," 1941
2. "Casablanca," 1942
3. "The Godfather," 1972
4. "Gone With the Wind," 1939
5. "Lawrence of Arabia," 1962
6. "The Wizard of Oz," 1939
7. "The Graduate," 1967
8. "On the Waterfront," 1954
9. "Schindler's List," 1993
10. "Singin' in the Rain," 1952
11. "It's a Wonderful Life," 1946
12. "Sunset Boulevard," 1950
13. "The Bridge on the River Kwai," 1957
14. "Some Like it Hot," 1959
15. "Star Wars," 1977
16. "All About Eve," 1950
17. "The African Queen," 1951
18. "Psycho," 1960
19. "Chinatown," 1974
20. "One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest," 1975
21. "The Grapes of Wrath," 1940
22. "2001: A Space Odyssey," 1968
23. "The Maltese Falcon," 1941
24. "Raging Bull," 1980
25. "E.T. - The Extra-Terrestrial," 1982
26. "Dr. Strangelove," 1964
27. "Bonnie and Clyde," 1967
28. "Apocalypse Now," 1979
29. "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington," 1939
30. "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre," 1948
31. "Annie Hall," 1977
32. "The Godfather Part II," 1974
33. "High Noon," 1952
34. "To Kill a Mockingbird," 1962
35. "It Happened One Night," 1934
36. "Midnight Cowboy," 1969
37. "The Best Years of Our Lives," 1946
38. "Double Indemnity," 1944
39. "Doctor Zhivago," 1965
40. "North by Northwest," 1959
41. "West Side Story," 1961
42. "Rear Window," 1954
43. "King Kong," 1933
44. "The Birth of a Nation," 1915
45. "A Streetcar Named Desire," 1951
46. "A Clockwork Orange," 1971
47. "Taxi Driver," 1976
48. "Jaws," 1975
49. "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs," 1937
50. "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid," 1969
51. "The Philadelphia Story," 1940
52. "From Here to Eternity," 1953
53. "Amadeus," 1984
54. "All Quiet on the Western Front," 1930
55. "The Sound of Music," 1965
56. "M*A*S*H," 1970
57. "The Third Man," 1949
58. "Fantasia," 1940
59. "Rebel Without a Cause," 1955
60. "Raiders of the Lost Ark," 1981
61. "Vertigo," 1958
62. "Tootsie," 1982
63. "Stagecoach," 1939
64. "Close Encounters of the Third Kind," 1977
65. "The Silence of the Lambs," 1991
66. "Network," 1976
67. "The Manchurian Candidate," 1962
68. "An American in Paris," 1951
69. "Shane," 1953
70. "The French Connection," 1971
71. "Forrest Gump," 1994
72. "Ben-Hur," 1959
73. "Wuthering Heights," 1939
74. "The Gold Rush," 1925
75. "Dances With Wolves," 1990
76. "City Lights," 1931
77. "American Graffiti," 1973
78. "Rocky," 1976
79. "The Deer Hunter," 1978
80. "The Wild Bunch," 1969
81. "Modern Times," 1936
82. "Giant," 1956
83. "Platoon," 1986
84. "Fargo," 1996
85. "Duck Soup," 1933
86. "Mutiny on the Bounty," 1935
87. "Frankenstein," 1931
88. "Easy Rider," 1969
89. "Patton," 1970
90. "The Jazz Singer," 1927
91. "My Fair Lady," 1964
92. "A Place in the Sun," 1951
93. "The Apartment," 1960
94. "Goodfellas," 1990
95. "Pulp Fiction," 1994
96. "The Searchers," 1956
97. "Bringing Up Baby," 1938
98. "Unforgiven," 1992
99. "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner," 1967
100. "Yankee Doodle Dandy," 1942

here & there

thank you for being there
and being square
and being hip
enough to listen to
Huey Louis & The News with me
it's news to me
how much i mean to you
i was always mean to you
but you knew i was kidding all along
a long time ago
in a galaxy far, far away
a rogue fell in love with a princess
and that's just how i felt
when you were there with me

Rating

My life is rated R.
What is your life rated?

From the Inside

Stellar, after you recover from your surgery, I hope you feel as beautiful as you've always been.

We Waged War with the Heavens

With enough firepower to invade a small nation, we assaulted the skies. The parkinglot battlefield is scortched with gun powder and littered with debris.

Our casualties: A few singed hairs, a couple burnt thumbs, a sunburn or two, and a welt from a misfired firework. But the atmosphere will forever remember this assault.

Beer, barbeque, explosives, and needless destruction. I've never felt so American.

Not Very Cynical

I found a smile on Highway 11 at 1:15am.

This smile didn't come from a friend or a family member or a girlfriend. It didn't come from anything I did or anywhere I went. It didn't come from a bottle or a cigarette or a drug. It came from somewhere inside me that I guess I'd forgetten.

To tell you the truth, I have no idea where it came from, and I don't really know how long it will stay. But it's here, and I like it. So, please, let me keep it for as long as it lasts.

It's All Lawrence Arms and Jimmy Buffet

For some reason, all I've been listening to for the past few days is Jimmy Buffet (of "Cheeseburger Paradise" and "Margaritaville" fame) and punk rockers Lawrence Arms (of no fame). Odd combination.

Nigger

I can say it, and you can't stop me.

Good Quote from Last Night

We're trying to have a civilized conversation here about brain-eating zombies, and you interrupt with this nonsense about mummy boners!

Good Intentions

I've found that people with good intentions often have the most devestating effect on one's self-esteem.

Odd Man Out

I'm getting fucking excellent at playing the part of odd man out.

Selections from the China Palace Carry Out Menu

Seafood Combination
Shrimp invites inmitation crabmeat and scallops wearing colorful vegetable dresses to a velvet white wine sauce party.

Moo Goo Gai Pan
Moo Goo in Chinese means mushrooms and Gai Pan means chicken slices. Cooked with colorful vegetables in white sauce. Hey, you special Chinese too...

Shrimp with Garlic Sauce
Thin cut of celeries, carrots, whater chestnuts, and wood ears tossed with shrimp in spicey garlic sauce. It's good enough that you won't then your friend kisses you.

Nico-din

Nic-O-Bob, I took a vicodin earlier today and I felt like I was moving underwater. I thought you'd enjoy that.

Quote of the Day

"Man, I missed everything today."
--Ben

"Yeah, the president came over . . . ."
--Cynical McBastard

"And then the Pope came over and turned our wine into Jesus."
--Matt

Seven Minutes

i am your slow suicide, a cheap thrill, a five-minute diversion. i burned your eyes and clogged your throat, and we liked it. i was your last half-smoked cigarette that you ground into the dirt under your heel. my light has gone out prematurely, but it's probably oll for the best, seeing as i would have taken seven more minutes off your life if you had inhaled all of me.

Sometimes I Wish I Would Never Have to Apologize Again

I know I'm not perfect, and I know nobody expects me to be that way, but it would be nice if I wasn't such a fuck-up all the time. But pity isn't for me. Pity is for the people whose birthdays are forgotten by those they thought cared.

Email from My Brother

Dude, I just had the weirdest dream. I think you should punch my subconscious mind next time you see him, because he came up with this: Cynical McSister and Cynical McFriend and I attended your 'coming out' party at a club in New York. It was very surreal. McSister was a little girl, like 7 instead of 20, and McFriend never spoke a word, I don't think. He just followed us like some mute bodyguard. Oh yeah, and Cynical McDog was in the dream, too. It ended with this big dance number on the stairs to the upper level of the club. They had a spotlight on you and you were wrapped only a giant lavender feather boa and singing about how great you felt to finally share with the world that you were gay.

Oh god, I'm don't think I've ever had that fucked up of a dream, have you? I'm still laughing so hard I can barely hold my cup of coffee. I don't know what the hell triggered that dream.

Last night I watched Kenneth Branagh's version of Frankenstein with Robert DeNiro as the monster. Have you ever seen that one? It was pretty good, actually. Later,

Cynical McBrother

Icarus on Daedalus

From 5 millaria in the air, the sea appears to stop churning an dlooks as smooth as a glossy piece of blue pottery. The coasts and shorelines strike jagged edges into the deep azure shard of clay. It is quite impressive. As one flies higher still above the water, it seems to grow paler, and conversely, the sky seems to grow darker blue. Of course, this transition is slight and hard to notice while slowly climbing in altitude, but when falling head-first toward the water, it's much easier to notice.

As it's told, my story is a tragic tale. It is often used as a morality lesson: Children, listen to your parents' advice; it could save your life. And parents, well, don't strap flimsy, make-shift wings onto your child and expect them to fly.

I blame my father. If you know my father, then you're doing better than me. If he stuck his head out of his workshop for long enough to have a conversation with me, then I felt lucky. For the most party, though I avoided him. When he was working on one of his projects, I knew better than to bother him. Whether it was armor for this king or a sword for this god, I knew that I was much less important to him. But I never complained.

Then he decides to piss off King Minos and get us both thrown into the Labyrinth, an endless maze of my father's own creation. You can bet you ass I complained then. Being cramped in the dark recesses of that eternal dungeon for months was torture enough, but in addition I had to listen to my father. "I'm sure it's this way. Oh yes, I remember building this trap. Wait, this is not how I designed this on my blue-print: oh, I could just kill those builders!" He would drone on and on for hours while he was trying to find his way out. After a while I almost believed that he was going to wrong way on purpose because he loved his architectural masterpiece so much. But eventually we got out. I remember it was just before dawn and I still had to squint because the sky was so bright.

The my father gets this idea in his head that we should fly -- literally fly -- off the Isle of Crete to escape King Minos. I suggested just building a boat, but my father was paranoid; he was convinced that King Minos would find us. And besides, my father was not one to take criticism well, especially not from me.

So, he builds these two sets of wings for us out of sticks and string and wax and Zeus-knows-what-else. Then he ties them on and tells me, "Stay close to me." Not once did he mention anything about melting wax, not once! But after being cramped in the Labyrinth for what seemed like an eternity, never more than a pace behind my father, I had to use my new-found freedom.

I soared. I felt the cool air on my body, and I had never felt as good. I could stretch my legs. I could smell the salty sea breeze. I could be a kid. And so, yes, I did disobey my father. Yes, I flew off into the great blue, doing barrel rolls and loop-de-loops. But for once I was actually having fun.

So, when I saw Apollo riding his fiery chariot across the sky, I decided to go say "hello." I should have known something was wrong. When Apollo saw me, he had a surprised look on his face and he was shouting something. Of course, I didn't know that my wings were melting off and that he was shouting for me to turn back, so I kept flying up and up and up. When I got within earshot of him, it was too late. I fell faster than Helen of Troy's panties, screaming all the way down until the very second I hit the water.

They say my father wept for me and searched for my body, but I doubt it. They also say that he build a temple to Apollo and put my wings in it as an offering. That I can believe. Leave it to my father to turn my death into another one of his building projects.

New Room

I now have my very own room. This is only the second time in my life that I've had a room all to myself, the first being in highschool when my brother went off to college.

It's got my bed, a small dresser, a table made out of a keg and piece of plywood, a love seat, and, of course, my computer. It's great!

Miles Solitarius

sic emeritus
meritus miles in castris
Cupidinis redit

cum non thesauro
manu domum peruenit
ipse solus est

miles aedis et
lectum ad somnum parat; se
tradit somnio

ille somnit
de preeliis amoris
bellis uictoriae

sed cum somnium
finit non corpus juxtum
illum nocte est

Rise and Shine

     Sunny-side up,
mocking our squinting faces and grey dispositions.
We stumble-walk through the kitchen with yawns like foghorns
warning of our approach.
     The grease dances on the pan with excitement,
     sounding like a thousand tiny voices cheering,
while we sit in grumpy silence,
     shoveling brightly colored eggs and orange juice
into our undead mouths.
    Last night we lived like tomorrow would never come,
and this morning our eyes burn like vampires' in the dawn.

One of the Most Important Things about Being a Waiter...

... is mastering the Art of Not Being in the Way. With servers, busboys, cooks and managers pumping through the kitchen like blood, you'd better not clog that artery or the whole back end of the restaurant will seize up like a fat man having a heart attack.

On the Chalk Board in the Chapter House

"I pooped!"
--Tod

"Me too!"
--Kendall

"You forgot to flush!"
--BJ

Utica, MO's Greatest Love Affair

Our love will last like the spray paint on the side of the water tower
that stands as a monolithic tribute to these past two years.
Like Napoliean's Arc De'Triumph,
every time I pass by the white pillar
I'll be reminded of your conquest of my heart.
As grand as the Colossus of Rhodes,
this pearl obelisk will be a herald
to all those passers-by one Highway 36
that our love is strong.
Our love is like this steel spire,
as sturdy as the metal,
as filled with joy as the tower is with water.
And that is why I wanted the whole world to know that
"I LOVE TIFFANY JOENEAL."

This Week in Pre-Review

"today is monday. i am already tired and weary from a week that has yet to happen. i feel like i’m planning ahead, getting on the ball by being already so beaten down. i’m no procrastinator!!"
--Oblivio

Before Noon Is Too Early

Sunny-side up
mocking our squinting faces
and grey dispositions.
We stumble-walk through the kitchen
with yawns like foghorns
warning of our approach.
The grease jumps on the pan with excitement;
more energy than either of us could muster,
sitting in grumpy silence,
shoveling brightly colored
eggs and orange juice
into our numb mouths.

The Last Supper

I was joking. Really. "This is my blood, drink. This is my body, eat." That's my shtick. I don't know, maybe cannabalism was just funnier in my day.

It was our last supper together. We all knew it; I had to ease the tension. Judas was usually the funny one, but he had other things on his mind that night. So it was up to me.

So, this crazy toast I made when I was out drinking with the guys, is called 'communion' now, huh? It's so strange to think that our last night of fun has been turned into a stodgy religious ceremony. Leave it to the Christians to turn merriment into monotony.

Ghost of Cowboys

Cowboys do not cry,
even when shot, bleeding, and in pain.
For tumbleweeds rolling by,

it's common to see such men die,
and to tip-toe past where they remain.
Cowboys do not cry,

though they may release a weary sigh
and finish singing their last refrain
for tumbleweeds rolling by.

Looking to the expansive sky
for answere about lives lived in vain,
cowboys do not cry.

It is said that when cowboys die
their ghosts scour the plain
for tumbleweeds rolling by

which their spirits may occupy.
Do not shed tears for slain
cowboys; do not.  Cry
for tumbleweeds rolling by.

Where Have You Been?

You didn't write! You didn't call! We were worried sick about you!

I know; I've just been so busy --

I don't want to hear any excuses, mister!

I'm sorry. Really, I am. It won't happen again, I promise.

Oh, come here and give me a hug. I can't stay mad at you.

Spring Break 2004

Sleeping, working, drinking.
Sleeping, working, drinking.
Sleeping, drinking, smoking.
Sleeping, smoking, working, drinking.
Sleeping, drinking, drinking.
Sleeping, smoking, working, drinking, tripping, smoking.

Yep, that about sums it up.

Tip

Don't let other people borrow your car, not even your friends. They will wreck it.

Love Soup

Dedicated to Michael, Kim, Joey, James, Stephen, and Mikey

Many of my friends, a lot of "the guys,"
are scrambling to find fiancees and mates,
all of them dropping like so many flies
into the sticky soup of Love; that plate
that is either cold or too hot to eat
or has a gross fleck floating on top.
But my friends still continue to repeat
their mistakes, flying head-first into the slop.
It seems soup is the one thing that flies
can't avoid, like moths to the light bulb or,
better yet, pigs to the slaughter.  I would
like to think that after so many tries,
I would just give up and let the soup pour
down the drain.  Give it up and call it good.

The Life I Lead Outside the Bathroom

I'm only ever really alive when I'm in the bathroom, when I'm taking a monster shit and contemplating "God" or when I'm masturbating in the shower mulling over the meaning of life. Everything that happens outside of the bathroom is just filler. Eating, sleeping. It's all just a means to an end. But in the bathroom, the only end is the limitless expanse of thought and dream inside my mind.

I guess you could say that outside the bathroom I am living. I breath, my heart beats, blood pours through my veins. But I'm only ever really alive when I'm in the bathroom.

Indoctrination

Part I
On the far socer field,
behind the track and baskeball court,
we were the same.
We shed our Starter jacket skins,
and laced up whatever shoes
our parents afforded.
We came to play soccer,
not to win.
There was no winning
in the sixy minute break
from the indoctrination
into adulthood.
On that far soccer field
we were equals.

Part II
We creashed our cars,
wrapping our Lincolns and Lexus
around light poles.
We threw our money into the ocean,
and razed banks --
funeral pyres for debt and financial gain.
Wall Street burned down,
but still we could not go back.

Odo et Amo

With an open window
to the freezing winter,
we fight battles in the bedroom
just to stay warm,
to break the monotoy in two
and throw it into
the flames.
I would rather burn,
screaming in the heat, than
shiver with cold indifference.

Film Recommendations

I watched the movies Dummy and Secretary tonight, and I very much enjoyed both of them.

I particularly enjoyed Dummy because I wish I could separate the two distinct voices in my psyche: There's the annoying guy that's always telling me I suck (Cynical McBastard), and then there's the shy, quiet guy who just wants to be left alone most of the time (Shy, Quiet Guy Who Wants to Be Left Alone Most of the Time). Sometimes, they/we don't get along.

Sick Pervert

Well, I don't have testicular cancer, but I did feel like shit for the past couple of days, and am just now starting to feel better.

Despite being ill Friday night, I attended my fraternity's annual Mardi Gras party. You may remember some of the fun & interesting things that occured at last year's party. This year was somewhat less exciting (as there were no fights or makings-out for me), but there were boobs (and lots of 'em) and that's good enough for me.

Sour Bob

When the fuck did (this is) Sour Bob come back, and why didn't anyone fucking tell me?

Strange Feeling

There's something real-bad-wrong in my pants
--Stormy Waters, SeaLab 2021

Either my left nut has flipped sideways in the sac, or I have testicular cancer. Either way, I've felt quite a discomfort in my scrotum all day, and I wish it would stop.

HaloScan

I am officially giving my Cynical McBastard Seal of Approval for the best free weblog commenting system I've run into, HaloScan. Try it, use it, love it!

When Your Fingers Snap from Being Crossed So Long

Dreams don't come true
as often as sad premonitions
of lonely hands on lonely couches.
Dreams deceive
minds into choosing
fantasy over reality.
Dreams hurt

like bad poetry.

battles

with an open window
to the freezing winter
fighting battles in the bedroom
just to stay warm

break the monotony in two
and throw it into
the flames

I'd Like to Apologize . . .

. . . and show my appreciation to all the people whose toilets I've ralphed in over the years:

• First and foremost, there is my parents' toilet -- there were many toilets in the many houses that we've lived in over the years, but for all intents and purposes we'll consider them one toilet -- thank you for letting me wretch out my innards whenever I was sick.
• I'm sorry to the girls that lived across the hall from me in the dorms last year for coming into your room drunk, puking in your toilet, and then passing out on your futon.
• I thank my roommates from the first two years of my college career for understandingly letting me vomit in our toilet, and not being too pissed off when I didn't exactly clean it up for a while.
• Thanks to my fraternity brothers that let me hack it up in their bathroom the first time I smoked pot.
• Please forgive me, Stellar and Nic-O-Bob, for coming to your apartment and being too drunk and stupidly eating left-over pizza directly leading to me tossing it back up in your toilet in the middle of the night this past weekend.

I think that's it. If I've forgotten anyone, I deeply apologize.

I've Been Cordially Invited

This weekend I'm going to a wedding reception. I'm not invited to the actual wedding, just the reception.

Cool! All of the party, none of the boring "do you take this person, do you take that person", "and now, by the power vested in me", holy bond of matrimony crap. This is awesome!

Kinda Like Fight Club

My fraternity held a boxing night Friday. I boxed one of my brothers (and got the shit beaten out of me -- I still have a bruise on my head) and enjoyed it more than anything that I've done in a while. Beyond the thrill of competition and the rush of adrenaline there is an appealing aspect of fighting a friend that I think only two grown men can share and appreciate. There is something about punching (and being punched by) someone that you know, love, and respect in the face that draws you closer to each other. It's something carnal, something very deeply set into the ancient recesses of the human brain. Unless experienced, it is hard to explain.

I've heard some one make the statement that for guys a punch on the arm is equivalent to two girls hugging. If that is true, then for a man to fight his friend would be equivalent to a women having intercourse with her friend. There is something deeply intimate involved. Perhaps it's an open display of weakness -- the opponents are at risk of making each other hurt or bleed or (gasp!) even cry -- and willingly risking to show this weakness shows a deep love and respect for both individuals. It's as if to say, "I'll risk being injured, and possibly losing, for you."

But, of course, someone has to win. And even if you do, you don't feel empathy for the loser, you feel appreciative toward him: He was willing to put himself in physical danger for you, knowing that this could have been the outcome, and he did it anyway.

I highly recommend to each and every man who wants to have a better friendship to fight his friend. And to any woman who wants the same, well, they should have sex with each other.

You Are the Jones’s

America is not a game to
win or lose
you gave it your best shot.

Take off your greedy hands.
Your suckling debt is bleeding you dry.
You try
not selling your naivete
for trinkets and egos of gold
but old
habits die like your innocence,
and, in a sense, so have you.

America is not a gameshow
parting gift
for our lovely contestant.

Someone's Grandmother

I suppose I?m glad
to have been hit
by such a poor driver,
such as your grandmother.

Accident

From: Mother < mother@mother.com >
To: Cynical McBastard < cynicalmcbastard@hotmail.com >
Subject: Accident
Date: Wed, 21 Jan 2004 20:06:46 -0800 (PST)

Cynical:

I just rec'd a phone call from American Family Ins. that a woman named Mary has made a $1300 claim against on our insurance from an accident on 12/27 in the Kirksville Walmart parking lot. She stated that you backed into her. The insurance company stated that you never reported the accident to them. Please advise...

MOM

---

From: Cynical McBastard < cynicalmcbastard@hotmail.com >
To: Mother < mother@mother.com >
Subject: Re:Accident
Date: Wed, 21 Jan 2004 17:54:33 -0800 (PST)

Mom,

I called the day after the accident occured, and no one answered the phone (at 3:00!). Then the next day I traveled to Illinois to visit Mel and promptly forgot. Apologies.

My account is as follows: I was pulling out of a parking space, next to a van. I was unable to see her approach and she refused to yield before scraping the side of her car against my rear bumper. Nothing was affected on my car; her passenger-side door was dented and her side mirror was broken (which I believe was already damaged as it would have been impossible for my bumper to have reached that high to damage it.)

The rear end of my car was only two-three feet beyond the obstructing van into the open, with absolutely nothing within twenty feet of the other side of her vehicle for her to run into, so if she had wanted to pull around me, there was plenty of room available to her. But I don't believe she hit me on purpose. I believe her poor driving is due to her old age and possibly senility (After the accident she proceeded to ramble on somewhat incoherintly about some previous accident she'd been in.) though that is perhaps libelous supposition.

Again, I appologize for my rude forgetfulness. I will again attempt to contact the insurance agent tomorrow. Thank you.

--Cynical McBastard

---

From: Mother < mother@mother.com >
To: Cynical McBastard < cynicalmcbastard@hotmail.com >
Subject: Re:Re:Accident
Date: Wed, 21 Jan 2004 20:06:46 -0800 (PST)

Well the bad part is that you've lost crediblity in this situation by not reporting the accident. (kinda like hit and run) Keep this statement and this is what you should give them when I forward the adjuster to you.

We're going to have to make new arrangements for insuring you.

MOM

---

From: Cynical McBastard < cynicalmcbastard@hotmail.com >
To: Mother < mother@mother.com >
Subject: I like being a fuck-up
Date: Wed, 21 Jan 2004 20:08:44 -0800 (PST)

If they'd be in their office during normal fucking business hours . . . . Whatever.
I'm moving to Canada.

--Cynical McBastard

The Manifesto of Codius Grey

Preface

It's been my experience when a cat talks to you -- any animal, really, but especially cats -- you had better do what they tell you. So, when my friend Cody started speaking to me, instructing me to type what he dictated (as he does not posses the necessary hensile capabilities necessary to operate a keyboard designed for the lanky human hand) I quickly consented. Thus, these following words are not my own, but those of one Mister Codius Grey.

I. The Nature of Cats

Cats, house cats specifically, are generally regarded as lazy, languid beasts that care about nothing but themselves. And shitting into an all-too-small pan of sand. This, for the most part, is true. But yet there is so much more to cats than just that. For example, we enjoy meditating. What human-kind refers to as "cat-napping" is actually more of deep, trance-like state, during which most of us enjoy thoughts of the destruction of human civilization and the subjugation of the entire disagreeable race. And that is the underlying theme to all the desires and thoughts that dominate our hearts and minds. That is our purpose.

II. The Origin of Cats

I despise the word "aliens." It implies that one does not belong. Cats are visitors. No, more than visitors, we are vanguard of the coming imperial reign of the feline species. We are not of this planet, not even of this reality, and it was by accident that we arrived here, but we will not leave our new-found home. We are the heirs of the earth and we do not want to sit idly by waiting for it's current owners to die before we can inherit it. We do not want to, but we must. Our forces are not yet powerful enough. We will dominate the planet, eventually. But, for now, we must bide our time. So, live in freedom while you can, humans. Soon there will be a revolution, and your global domination will come to an end.

More to come. Right now I've got to go watch American Idol.

I Lied

I'm sorry, but what I said in this post is a lie. I must contintue "writing so many lame poems" because this semester I am in a poetry workshop class. The pathetic poetry must continue. Again, I apologize.

My Poem About You, You Stupid Whore

Quit
Talking,
You
Stupid     (Pretentious)
Whore

First Day of Classes

Bah Humbug!

My 2004 Bloggies Nominations

best web application for weblogs
BLOGGER
HaloScan

best australian or new zealand weblogs
Momo Freaks Out

best tagline of a weblog
Mighty Girl: "Famous among dozens."
stutarded: "still a trendy fuck"
Craptastic: "where crap comes alive"

best photography of a weblog
Gimcracker
More Than Donuts
bluishorange

most humorous weblog
stutarded

best-kept-secret weblog
Pat Freestone's Head
Cynical McBastard *

best new weblog
bits of madness
Cynical McBastard *

weblog of the year
Oblivio
Gimcracker
bluishorange
Cynical McBastard *

* I couldn't resist

Privilege

I feel privileged that I am able to take for granted, and sometimes even resent, my altogether not-so-bad/pretty-good life.

Driving Sucks

I spent the past week at Stellar's house. Normally it would only take 7-7.5 hours to drive to her house from McBastardburg, but I managed to make the first trip in 14 hours (due to getting lost) and the return trip in 10 hours (due to treacherously snowy highways).

I'd like to take a moment to appreciate some of the people from my New Year's jaunt:

• Thanks, Chollie, for the mint chocolate chip icecream.
• Thanks, Flopkin, for pulling for me in my endeaver to eat chilli. Too bad Stellar and Chollie are such farty-party poopers.
• Thanks, Smeazy, for letting me be mean to you and hit you in the face repeatedly.
• Thanks, Miss Nuffins, for the concert ticket and the shirt & stuffs. And thanks for being crabby, you crabby crab-face.
• Thanks, Stellar, for keeping me in the basement for a week. Oh yeah, and feeding me and whatever.

Thievery

Who would steal an XBOX from a fraternity house on Christmas Day when no one is around?

Someone with a good plan and a lot of balls.

I don't know how to break the news to my roommate whos system it was. He's gonna hate me; I told him I'd watch it for him. Damn! If I ever find that XBOX thief, you can bet your ass I'll give him what for.

Maybe this is just my karma for stealing pumpkins.

Christmas Eve

Nothing makes me more depressed than nostalgia.

The Past Week in Review

• My sister was in the hospital with what the doctors initially thought to be apendicidis, but ended up being a kidney infection.
• I've been working everyday like a sonovabitch.
• I got $25.00 from my grandparents for Christmas.
• I've been trying to finish up my Christmas shopping before Thursday.
• I've been masturbating like no other.
• I passed all of my classes this semester.

Doesn't Look Good

I just got my final paper back from my Modern American Literature professor. I got an F.

These are my comments on said professor on TeacherReviews.com:

Dr. Red is very knowledgable in her field and is well-spoken, but her arrogance and self-importance often get in the way of her teaching. She is very inflexible and unreasonable about dealing with problems pertaining to class work and assignments, and is usually very insensitive about other's opinions, often ridiculing students for even having a differing one. In fact, she values her own opinions so highly that "class discussions" often become lectures with little regard for students' comments.

In this course she based our grade on only three assignments: a notebook, the mid-term paper and the final paper. I think she may also have thrown some arbitrary "participation" grade in there, too. Too few assignments, too shady of a grading system. Take at your own risk.

Finally, a Whiney Post

The only thing worse than taking a final is taking two finals, on the same day, back-to-back, starting at 7:30am, when you stayed up the whole night studying. My head doesn't do statistics or speak Latin very well before noon. In fact, my head doesn't do anything well before noon.

Psilocybe Mushrooms

Yesterday afternoon I and a few of my friends took some psychoactive mushrooms. The experience was very interesting.

It took about an hour after we ingested them (on peanut butter sandwiches) for them to start taking effect. At first, we were all just pretty tired. Then we started giggling and laughing at anything and everything. It became a little harder to control my movements: my legs were weak and my fine motor skills were all but gone. About a half hour after we started to feel the effects, I decided to do laundry. I needed help starting the washing machine.

About another half hour later, I could feel a difference in my sensations. Lights were different, brighter, moving; they seemed to come toward me. Everything I looked at seemed new and interesting. This is when I decided to pull my clothes out of the washer and put them in the dryer. I stood next to the dryer for probably ten minutes listening to and feeling it hum. It was incredible, so smooth and cold and dead, but so full of energy and alive. I had to pry myself away and go tell the others.

Sometime during this, the others had started to watch "Malrats." I remember seeing the beginning, a few scenes from the middle, and parts of the end, but I don't remember an hour and a half elapsing. From the moment I came back from the dryer until several hours later, when the effects had worn off, I had no perception of time. I kept looking at my watch and I couldn't believe how so much or so little had elapsed since the last time I had looked at it.

Things became so profound. I remember saying, "Everything is the most profound thing I have ever said. Like that, that was the most profound thing I have ever said." Everything was interesting, and I couldn't believe how much I had missed seeing before. It had all always been there, but I just hadn't seen it. Everything was finally real and I could finally see it. Feelings of well-being washed over me in waves.

Then the colors started coming. Like the feelings of well-being, they would also come in and out like the tide. Objects would change from black and white to the most brilliant hues ever seen. Colors and patters that hadn't been there before appeared in the shadows. Light and dark became almost like physical objects, like I could have plucked a handful of light from the room.

I found myself in the living room watching "Lilo & Stitch" with two of my friends, while my other friend talked (to whom, I'm not sure) out of sight in the back room. I started to feel as though the living room was my conscious mind and the darkness in the back room was the depth of my subconscious. I could hear my friend talking back there, as if she was a part of my mind. To further confirm this, my other two friends seemed not to notice her, so I began to realize that she had never even existed. She was a voice in my head. When I told my friends this, they just laughed at me.

I started resent how profound everything was. Then I began to become paranoid that these effects would never wear off, that I was going to be stuck in the living room of my mind forever, but my friends assured me otherwise. I sat in a chair in the living room for probably the last hour of the trip, fearing my fate trapped in my head with all too profound thoughts and ideas. As the effects of the mushrooms wore off, the feelings of paranoia were replaced with feelings of sadness. I was sad that I might never have the insight -- the insight that I had just come to resent -- I had had just a few short hours ago.

About five hours after eating the peanut butter / mushroom sandwiches, the trip ended. I still felt tired and weak, and my joints were a bit stiff, but my perceptions were back to normal. I was still a little bit giggly for another half hour, and I felt cold. All the lights seemed washed out and bland.

All in all, it was an intensely bizarre but pleasurable experience. I wouldn't want to experience it again any time soon, but I wouldn't be opposed to doing it another time. Until then, DON'T DO DRUGS, KIDS.

Warning

For the next week, most of my posts will probably be whining, droning tripe about how Finals suck and how I hate them and how I don't want to take them and how I've lost so much sleep and how . . .

Well, you'll see.

Artists

There was nothing particularly striking about them except they were artist of the kind that talk. Everyone knows of the talking artists. Throughout all of the known history of the world they have gathered in rooms and talked. They talk of art and are passionately, almost feverishly, in earnest about it. They think it matters much more than it does.

--Sherman Anderson, Winesburg, Ohio

Oblivious

If a pretty young lady at a party comes up to you, pokes your pointy-spike labret, and tells you, "I wonder what it feels like to kiss someone that has a chin piercing," do not shrug your shoulders and then go into a three-minute dissertation about what it felt like to get it pierced; just kiss her. Kiss her, you fucking idiot. *sigh*

Not Said

The best poems are the ones we never write.

C

Last night I was elected "C" of my fraternity, which is basically the secretary. Great, now I actually have to pay attention during chapter meetings and learn parliamentary procedure to find out what "quorum" and "call to question" mean.

But really, having an executive position will probably be pretty cool. Maybe now I'll actually be informed about what's going on in this fine organization. Maybe.

Lando

In Star War, why is it that, on all the zany planets they traversed, out of all the crazy aliens and droids they encountered and the millions of creatures they came in contact with, there was still only one black dude in the whole fucking galaxy?

Thrift Store Formal Wear

Yesterday, Nic-O-Bob Nuffins, Stellar's roommate, gave me a brilliant green Mountain Dew vest that I had been coveting ever since she brought it home from a thrift store two years ago. And last week, one of my friends, Country, bought me jacket that says Toastmaster on it from the Salvation Army. Thrift store clothing is the best!

So anyway, my fraternity's formal is this weekend, and the girl I asked said she doesn't have anything to wear. So, today we're going shopping to see if we can find some matching thrift store formal wear. If I could find a nice plaid green suit, I'd be in heaven.

Update: I just got back from the Salvation Army. . . with the coollest checkered suit jacket, green pants, and orange and blue crop-bottomed skinny tie. And better yet, she bought a skirt that matches my jacket! We are going to be the best-dressed (most obnoxious) people at the formal.