Currently Listening To: My Roommate Listening to Rush
I have a confession.
Prior to college, I was deathly afraid of public toilets. It's just not right; rubbing your ass all over the same piece of real estate as God-only-knows how many other people? It's different at home. I know exactly who uses a toilet there, and I know that they, you know, bathe. Same thing at other people's houses. But public toilets? Fuck that.
Weirdly enough, I'm also comfortable with hotel toilets, even though, well, everyone knows about hotels. You know what I'm talking about. Nightline or whatever and the blacklights. God only knows how many hookers have gotten fucked on that hotel toilet, but still, I'll drop a deuce on it. Or in it, rather. On it is just wrong.
SPEAKING OF WHICH, or rather, BACK TO DORM-SHITTING. Since arriving here at school, I've conquered my fear of public toilets. It was pretty simple. The second day I was here I realized I wasn't going to be able to hold it in until Christmas break. Probably should have anticipated that.
So the toilet itself is no longer an obstacle. I'm still, and likely will always be, uncomfortable with other people in the bathroom. Half the people on our hall are guys*, and that's like 30 or so people, I think? Anyways 30 guys, 4 toilets. Odds are one is in use if you're in there. So lots of times, I go in there, see a closed door and turn right back around. I just can't do it. I don't want to hear other people go to the bathroom, and I don't want someone else to hear me go to the bathroom. It's just not right. And it's weird, because I'm really not all that prudish otherwise, just, going to the bathroom is... sacred.
And this week. Someone desecrated one of those toilets. He dropped a Sloppy Joe grenade in that toilet. People were executed for lesser crimes at Nurmeburg than the atrocity that took place in stall two. It was so bad that the cleaning lady put a black trashbag over the commode, and the next day there was a hole in it. The only way I can concieve of me doing something like that involves being dead at the end.
I could go all day.
Just thought you'd like to know.
Also, I turn 18 in less than a month. Shit. Pedophiles will no longer find me appealing.
*In late elementary school/early middle school, there was a sitcom that took place in a co-ed dorm. I distinctly remember my parents telling me that co-ed dorms were a myth, and yet here I am. TAKE YER LIFE LESSONS AND STUFF 'EM, PARENTS.
Saturday, September 06, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Sunglasses
Some ballin' shades I picked up in town today, at a flea market.
How is college, you might ask? Absofuckinglutely awesome. I've spent the past week riding the metro, talking to tramps 'n vagrants, pinching every penny, stealing produce from the cafeteria, eating French Fries at every meal, staying up until at least three every night and watching Arrested Development in the lounge. I am exactly where I need to be.
Of course, classes start on Monday so... This could all change. But then I've never liked school, so anything above "thinking about driving a spike through my skull" is an upgrade.
Jokes aside, I think I will like it. I've got this theory that when it comes to teens and "young adults", there are two types of people; high school people and college people, who each thrive in that respective era. High school people feel comfortable with the cliques, structure, secret parties and drama of high school, while college people feel more comfortable surrounded by like-minded people while busying themselves not sneaking around to do shit they want to and living on their own schedule with minimal parental influence (no bias on my part, of course).
I didn't enjoy high school. I've made that abundantly clear; I enjoyed (and still enjoy, at least until October, I suppose) the age, but not the school. I count myself among the college people, and would wager that most of the college people were in a similar position as mine in high school; we didn't factor into that Mean Girls hierarchy. I didn't say popular because popularity is, well, bullshit. "Popular Kids" are popular among their friends, and no one else, and the "Unpopular Kids" are popular among their friends, and no one else. Just because we as the "Unpopular Kids" and they as the "Popular Kids" didn't care about the other doesn't negate the others existence.
...Where was I going with this?
Oh. High School people don't necessarily dislike college; in fact they tend to love it. But what they love about it is nearly identical to what they had before. They still ignore the academic aspect and still think they're the fucking elite (Frats, anyone?), except now they don't live at home. They go to college with the people they went to high school with, both in the sense that they surround themselves with the same types of people (nothing wrong with that) and that they actually go to school with many of their classmates from high school (WHY? MEET SOME NEW PEOPLE YOU PLEBEIANS) .
Rambling again.
In summation, I, along with my fellow 'like-minded' people, are elite-r that the 'elites'.
Wait, what?
How is college, you might ask? Absofuckinglutely awesome. I've spent the past week riding the metro, talking to tramps 'n vagrants, pinching every penny, stealing produce from the cafeteria, eating French Fries at every meal, staying up until at least three every night and watching Arrested Development in the lounge. I am exactly where I need to be.
Of course, classes start on Monday so... This could all change. But then I've never liked school, so anything above "thinking about driving a spike through my skull" is an upgrade.
Jokes aside, I think I will like it. I've got this theory that when it comes to teens and "young adults", there are two types of people; high school people and college people, who each thrive in that respective era. High school people feel comfortable with the cliques, structure, secret parties and drama of high school, while college people feel more comfortable surrounded by like-minded people while busying themselves not sneaking around to do shit they want to and living on their own schedule with minimal parental influence (no bias on my part, of course).
I didn't enjoy high school. I've made that abundantly clear; I enjoyed (and still enjoy, at least until October, I suppose) the age, but not the school. I count myself among the college people, and would wager that most of the college people were in a similar position as mine in high school; we didn't factor into that Mean Girls hierarchy. I didn't say popular because popularity is, well, bullshit. "Popular Kids" are popular among their friends, and no one else, and the "Unpopular Kids" are popular among their friends, and no one else. Just because we as the "Unpopular Kids" and they as the "Popular Kids" didn't care about the other doesn't negate the others existence.
...Where was I going with this?
Oh. High School people don't necessarily dislike college; in fact they tend to love it. But what they love about it is nearly identical to what they had before. They still ignore the academic aspect and still think they're the fucking elite (Frats, anyone?), except now they don't live at home. They go to college with the people they went to high school with, both in the sense that they surround themselves with the same types of people (nothing wrong with that) and that they actually go to school with many of their classmates from high school (WHY? MEET SOME NEW PEOPLE YOU PLEBEIANS) .
Rambling again.
In summation, I, along with my fellow 'like-minded' people, are elite-r that the 'elites'.
Wait, what?
Thursday, August 14, 2008
It's Been A Month... Sorry
But holy shit, gang, I'm leaving tomorrow.
I was driving the other day and remembered last year when I posted about "Not knowing where I'd be sleeping a year from now". Haha, that shit is quaint.
But I'm leaving tomorrow.Starting Saturday night, I will be a resident of Washington, DC. And a college student. And fuck, I forgot to register for an absentee ballot. I'm going to the most politically active college campus in the nation and I'm not going to be voting? Huzzah, great planning.
But my shit is mostly packed. And at lunch tomorrow, I'm gone. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited; excited to be leaving Acworth, excited to be starting college, excited to be moving to DC. But I don't think any parting words of advice or sad goodbyes (haven't gotten any of those; rather cut off since I hit a deer with my car) could have prepared me for this.
Ryan doesn't live here any more.
Thinking back to that year-ago post, here's what's changed since then:
Everything that's occupied my mind in the past year has pretty much evaporated. Sometimes i wish I was level-headed enough to remember these little pearls of wisdom.
*In case you're worried, it was planned and mutual. Distance is... Well, it's not exactly a new obstacle, right? And we still talk, and write, and e-mail... So it's all good.
I was driving the other day and remembered last year when I posted about "Not knowing where I'd be sleeping a year from now". Haha, that shit is quaint.
But I'm leaving tomorrow.Starting Saturday night, I will be a resident of Washington, DC. And a college student. And fuck, I forgot to register for an absentee ballot. I'm going to the most politically active college campus in the nation and I'm not going to be voting? Huzzah, great planning.
But my shit is mostly packed. And at lunch tomorrow, I'm gone. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited; excited to be leaving Acworth, excited to be starting college, excited to be moving to DC. But I don't think any parting words of advice or sad goodbyes (haven't gotten any of those; rather cut off since I hit a deer with my car) could have prepared me for this.
Ryan doesn't live here any more.
Thinking back to that year-ago post, here's what's changed since then:
- I began senior year... Graduated. No longer a factor.
- Applying to college... Accepted, chose a school. No longer a factor.
- Got my license... Wrecked my car. No longer a factor.
- Got a girlfriend... We broke up.* No longer a factor.
Everything that's occupied my mind in the past year has pretty much evaporated. Sometimes i wish I was level-headed enough to remember these little pearls of wisdom.
"Everything I've had, one day,
will fall apart and fade away"
- Angelina, The Bravery
will fall apart and fade away"
- Angelina, The Bravery
*In case you're worried, it was planned and mutual. Distance is... Well, it's not exactly a new obstacle, right? And we still talk, and write, and e-mail... So it's all good.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
AP Scores
Currently Listening To: Hard to Beat by Hard-Fi
The exciting conclusion to a saga for which I'm sure people were hanging off the edge of their seats. Though I will admit that my heart was racing as I pulled the letter out of the mailbox; the envelope wasn't as I remembered it so I was expecting another "We couldn't grade it, expect your scores later", or a "We're not wasting postage on your results". That would suck.
Well, the ripple effect of some childish antics from my childhood, which has long since passed (More than two months ago!), I will be forced to take a math class, but I can count a science course or two out. Probably just one. If that. I'll have to see what this means for English... SUSPENSE!
Bee Tee Dubs, is anyone watching Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog? It is an absolute nerdgasm for so many reasons and I've got it archived on my iPod for future reference.
I fucking love NPH. I'd hit that. (Sorry, Adrienne, if you had to read that... And sorry you'll have to read the letter I'm writing in which I declare my love of Daniel Bruhl.
I am a terrible boyfriend)
The exciting conclusion to a saga for which I'm sure people were hanging off the edge of their seats. Though I will admit that my heart was racing as I pulled the letter out of the mailbox; the envelope wasn't as I remembered it so I was expecting another "We couldn't grade it, expect your scores later", or a "We're not wasting postage on your results". That would suck.
Well, the ripple effect of some childish antics from my childhood, which has long since passed (More than two months ago!), I will be forced to take a math class, but I can count a science course or two out. Probably just one. If that. I'll have to see what this means for English... SUSPENSE!
Bee Tee Dubs, is anyone watching Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog? It is an absolute nerdgasm for so many reasons and I've got it archived on my iPod for future reference.
I fucking love NPH. I'd hit that. (Sorry, Adrienne, if you had to read that... And sorry you'll have to read the letter I'm writing in which I declare my love of Daniel Bruhl.
I am a terrible boyfriend)
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Important Life Lesson?
Currently Listening To: Everyone's A VIP To Someone by the Go! Team
I generally consider myself to be a carefree guy; not in the sense that I frolic in fields of flowers while singing Julie Andrews songs, more so that often I just don't give a shit.
Generally, that may be the case, but now I really care. And not about the children. I care about me, and my future. No, not career options. I care about potentially not ever having to take a math class again, or potentially having to take Calculus.
Our story begins at Orientation, which I went to a few weeks ago. A lot of kids there were just talking ad nauseum about school and grades and shit. I suppose that's logical; we were at college orientation, and many/most of the kids there had just finished school. I, however, had already been out for a month, and even then I didn't enjoy talking about school. NEWS ALERT: It's boring. But all this talking usually wound up at talk about AP/IB scores and exempting classes. Now, I hadn't thought about that shit in ages, because I had long since come to the realization that AP was a waste of my time since schools are now so stingy about taking credits. But suddenly, without any real change except the prospect of taking Calc, that shit mattered.
Our story continues on July 1st, when I had a dream about AP scores. I woke up and got on the College Board website to see when they were available. Sure enough, July 1st. A reasonable person would say that my subconscious was just remembering date that was all over our AP shit back in May, but I know that it was actually a psychic experience. Because I'm great.
Anyways, they were available starting July 1st by phone, but I needed the packet with my student number on it. Hah! I threw that shit out once I finished my last test. But so now I have to wait until they mail it to me. Every day I eagerly sift through the mail looking for that envelope with the dopey acorn on it. That is the dumbest logo ever (pardon the hyperbole).
The anticipation is killing me. The first two years I really didn't care
but now, not only is there something hinging on the scores, but there's also reason to believe that I didn't do alright, and it's not the typical "I don't know what the fuck a Huegenot is!", it's "Why the fuck did I write that smartass answer?" and that applies to all four of my exams, not just one. Let's review:
Anyways, I done fucked myself over and will continue stressing until that letter comes. And yes, there's no sense worrying because it's pretty much set in stone now, but when have I ever learned any sort of life lesson?
I generally consider myself to be a carefree guy; not in the sense that I frolic in fields of flowers while singing Julie Andrews songs, more so that often I just don't give a shit.
Generally, that may be the case, but now I really care. And not about the children. I care about me, and my future. No, not career options. I care about potentially not ever having to take a math class again, or potentially having to take Calculus.
Our story begins at Orientation, which I went to a few weeks ago. A lot of kids there were just talking ad nauseum about school and grades and shit. I suppose that's logical; we were at college orientation, and many/most of the kids there had just finished school. I, however, had already been out for a month, and even then I didn't enjoy talking about school. NEWS ALERT: It's boring. But all this talking usually wound up at talk about AP/IB scores and exempting classes. Now, I hadn't thought about that shit in ages, because I had long since come to the realization that AP was a waste of my time since schools are now so stingy about taking credits. But suddenly, without any real change except the prospect of taking Calc, that shit mattered.
Our story continues on July 1st, when I had a dream about AP scores. I woke up and got on the College Board website to see when they were available. Sure enough, July 1st. A reasonable person would say that my subconscious was just remembering date that was all over our AP shit back in May, but I know that it was actually a psychic experience. Because I'm great.
Anyways, they were available starting July 1st by phone, but I needed the packet with my student number on it. Hah! I threw that shit out once I finished my last test. But so now I have to wait until they mail it to me. Every day I eagerly sift through the mail looking for that envelope with the dopey acorn on it. That is the dumbest logo ever (pardon the hyperbole).
The anticipation is killing me. The first two years I really didn't care
but now, not only is there something hinging on the scores, but there's also reason to believe that I didn't do alright, and it's not the typical "I don't know what the fuck a Huegenot is!", it's "Why the fuck did I write that smartass answer?" and that applies to all four of my exams, not just one. Let's review:
- Statistics: The experiment the man should try out is "Go get a girlfriend"
- English: A lengthy essay on how Nermal serves as a foil to the protagonist in Jim Davis' classic saga "Garfield"
- Environmental: Something about a kerosene lake in Portugal
- Spanish: My last essay was just a picture of a bus labelled "Spanish" running me over with various Spanish literary figures on board
Anyways, I done fucked myself over and will continue stressing until that letter comes. And yes, there's no sense worrying because it's pretty much set in stone now, but when have I ever learned any sort of life lesson?
Saturday, July 05, 2008
Fourth of July
Currently Listening To: One Pure Thought by Hot Chip
For some reason, I always seem to end up ranting about holidays for one reason or another; Independence Day is no exception.
In short, I have a problem with this holiday. And no, it has nothing to do with my attitudes toward patriotism, or the State of the Union or what have you; I just don't like how we celebrate.
Fireworks are
Well, no. I'm just not interested. Find something to liven up the shindig or kick to to the curb!!
Well, no. I love America. I just don't like fireworks.
For some reason, I always seem to end up ranting about holidays for one reason or another; Independence Day is no exception.
In short, I have a problem with this holiday. And no, it has nothing to do with my attitudes toward patriotism, or the State of the Union or what have you; I just don't like how we celebrate.
Fireworks are
- Not an American invention, nor are they strongly associated with America. Everyone shoots off fireworks.
- Fucking boring. You get like five colors and five "designs" or whatever. Thirty to forty-five minutes of alternating colors and styles? I'll pass.
- Not even exclusive to this particular holiday! Fireworks are also a New Years thing, in case you were completely oblivious.
Well, no. I'm just not interested. Find something to liven up the shindig or kick to to the curb!!
Well, no. I love America. I just don't like fireworks.
Monday, June 16, 2008
What's HAPPENING? Marky Mark and the Killer Trees
Perhaps I went against my word and saw it so I could make the "What's Happenin'?" pun. Fred Berry's rolling in his grave.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Worst
Currently Watching: LOST Finale
M. Night Shamaylan makes mystery movies, and the eventual movie chronicling his life will also contain a large mystery: why people keep allowing him to make movies. I've been hearing a lot about The Happening in these past few weeks. When they showed the trailer before Iron Man, I heard a lot of laughter. The line "There appears to be an event happening" comes to mind. Mr. M Night, have you ever had a conversation with someone before? Watched the news? Hear someone speak? No one talks like that, not even at a press conference, like the one being depicted in the scene. "There is an event happening"? We get it; your movies are hinged on a big ol' secret we can't know about until we see it. But surely there is a better way of enticing us than with a bit of dialog George Lucas would find laughable.
The plot point The Happening is hinged upon is what has caused THE HAPPENING. What has caused these people to commit suicide. That's why people will go to see it; the suspense is killing them. Well, friends? I'm about to save you some time and money, because I know what that twist is:
Disappointment.
What the twist actually is, be it terrorists or aliens or ghosts or Amish monsters or Mermaids or supervillains with glass bones, it will disappoint people on a cosmic scale. It will leave people speechless, then immobile and finally suicidal over just how big a letdown it is, because the two-hours building up, no matter how engaging the plot or amazing the special effects or whatever (not that you'll actually find either), will never be sufficiently fulfilled by the reveal. Every time one of this guy's movies comes out, people are exponentially less satisfied with his twists. Granted, no one will ever be emotionally numb to this endings, as it can never reach zero, but still, there will come a time, when his last movie is released, that the lone audience member will somehow convey less emotion than "Eh."
M. Night Shamanotgonnaworkhereanymore, I'll see you in hell.
M. Night Shamaylan makes mystery movies, and the eventual movie chronicling his life will also contain a large mystery: why people keep allowing him to make movies. I've been hearing a lot about The Happening in these past few weeks. When they showed the trailer before Iron Man, I heard a lot of laughter. The line "There appears to be an event happening" comes to mind. Mr. M Night, have you ever had a conversation with someone before? Watched the news? Hear someone speak? No one talks like that, not even at a press conference, like the one being depicted in the scene. "There is an event happening"? We get it; your movies are hinged on a big ol' secret we can't know about until we see it. But surely there is a better way of enticing us than with a bit of dialog George Lucas would find laughable.
The plot point The Happening is hinged upon is what has caused THE HAPPENING. What has caused these people to commit suicide. That's why people will go to see it; the suspense is killing them. Well, friends? I'm about to save you some time and money, because I know what that twist is:
Disappointment.
What the twist actually is, be it terrorists or aliens or ghosts or Amish monsters or Mermaids or supervillains with glass bones, it will disappoint people on a cosmic scale. It will leave people speechless, then immobile and finally suicidal over just how big a letdown it is, because the two-hours building up, no matter how engaging the plot or amazing the special effects or whatever (not that you'll actually find either), will never be sufficiently fulfilled by the reveal. Every time one of this guy's movies comes out, people are exponentially less satisfied with his twists. Granted, no one will ever be emotionally numb to this endings, as it can never reach zero, but still, there will come a time, when his last movie is released, that the lone audience member will somehow convey less emotion than "Eh."
M. Night Shamanotgonnaworkhereanymore, I'll see you in hell.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Sunscreen
Currently Listening To: Time On Your Side by Emily Jane White
Location: My bed
That's right; I am typing this from my bed. My parents got me a laptop for graduation. That's right, I graduated. In fact, I graduated three days and four-ish hours ago. It took me three days and four hours to start a graduation post. My freshman year, I would have been typing as I walked across the stage. I guess that's just one of the many ways I've changed since I started this blog and high school four years ago.
I would be lying if I saide these four years went by fast; there were times I thought I would be stuck, a la Groundhog Day, in a loop of high school until I went insane. I had my fair share of low points, both events around me and mistakes I've made. Then again, there have been good experiences. That's what high school is, and that's what life is. Good and bad times; the good to tell you what to do and give you something to hold on to, and the bad to tell you how not to do it and give you motivation to do it better next time. It's that good-and-bad dichotomy that make up who you are, and hopefully, make you a better person once it is all said and done. Freshman year and a good bit of sophomore year I was pretty much a piece of shit, and I mean that in the nicest way possible. I was just worthless. I did nothing. Wasted it. Worse yet, I tried to act like it was somehow connected to the external bad shit going down around me. And then there was the whole Chad ordeal.That definitely goes under the 'things I'd like to put behind me' category. I still can't believe Clint gave him that password! But spring of freshman year, aside from Chad, stands out as me not being slime. That was when we saw House of Wax, highlight of the year, if only because every time that story is retold, Starla bumps my age down by a year. Last I hear, Claire pushed me into the theater in a stroller.
Sophomore year, I suppose, served to show me exactly what the word 'sophomoric' meant. We fucked around a lot. Productivity was at an all time low. Countless hours spent doing nothing in either Spanish/Chemistry class, or not buying things in Barnes and Nobles. Though I get involved with drama that year, which on the whole, is definitely a highlight of high school for me.
Junior year? Oh fuck. First, physics class was a huge learning experience, and I'm not talking about shit like trajectories and electromagnetism and whatnot. It taught me how to take failure in stride, and I suppose study skills to a minor extent. And English produced ample entertainment with our replacement teacher, Dr. Durlin. "Massa Kurtz, he DEAD." Outside of class, I finally figured out who my friends were (my two gangs: the Stack, the Big Three... FOR LIFE), as well as one douchebag who wasn't. Fuck that kid. I mean, I hate to be bitter, but fuck him. We didn't need him after all, and he apparently didn't need us. I began my love affair with a man named Stephen King. And then there was the, er, saga, I suppose, that will forever haunt me. I can only pray that I never treat someone as as much of a human doormat as I did her. Note to self: a simple no would have been satisfactory. I don't doubt you're reading this; I know we already talked about it but I'm still sorry. How're things?
Senior year is how I hope to remember high school. Aside from the rough first month-and-a-half, I succeeded in getting my license, becoming Homecoming King, getting into a school I am thrilled to be going to next year AND finally getting a girlfriend. I am doing pretty well. I befriended some interesting new/old people at school and spent nearly every weekend at the movies, going on as many as six duplicate viewings. THREE CLOVERFIELDS. Holy shit. As far as lessons learned, I think my several-month-procrastination on going out with Adrienne tops the list. While procrastination is a theme that runs throughout my life, the fact that I delayed happiness for so long, rather than the typical delay of work and subsequent happiness, shows just how inept I am.
Loved some of it, hated the rest. High school. Xangas,zombie movies, Barnes & Nobles, Vitamin Water, prom, Stephen King, indie bullshit, graphic design, ratty old Hondas. I'd say it went pretty well, all things considered.
I think I've got one high school post left in me, and then I will close that chapter of my life/blog.
And so it is now that I'm announcing my plans to delete every previous post and devote my blog to my love of the ever-talented Jonas Brothers.
Location: My bed
That's right; I am typing this from my bed. My parents got me a laptop for graduation. That's right, I graduated. In fact, I graduated three days and four-ish hours ago. It took me three days and four hours to start a graduation post. My freshman year, I would have been typing as I walked across the stage. I guess that's just one of the many ways I've changed since I started this blog and high school four years ago.
I would be lying if I saide these four years went by fast; there were times I thought I would be stuck, a la Groundhog Day, in a loop of high school until I went insane. I had my fair share of low points, both events around me and mistakes I've made. Then again, there have been good experiences. That's what high school is, and that's what life is. Good and bad times; the good to tell you what to do and give you something to hold on to, and the bad to tell you how not to do it and give you motivation to do it better next time. It's that good-and-bad dichotomy that make up who you are, and hopefully, make you a better person once it is all said and done. Freshman year and a good bit of sophomore year I was pretty much a piece of shit, and I mean that in the nicest way possible. I was just worthless. I did nothing. Wasted it. Worse yet, I tried to act like it was somehow connected to the external bad shit going down around me. And then there was the whole Chad ordeal.That definitely goes under the 'things I'd like to put behind me' category. I still can't believe Clint gave him that password! But spring of freshman year, aside from Chad, stands out as me not being slime. That was when we saw House of Wax, highlight of the year, if only because every time that story is retold, Starla bumps my age down by a year. Last I hear, Claire pushed me into the theater in a stroller.
Sophomore year, I suppose, served to show me exactly what the word 'sophomoric' meant. We fucked around a lot. Productivity was at an all time low. Countless hours spent doing nothing in either Spanish/Chemistry class, or not buying things in Barnes and Nobles. Though I get involved with drama that year, which on the whole, is definitely a highlight of high school for me.
Junior year? Oh fuck. First, physics class was a huge learning experience, and I'm not talking about shit like trajectories and electromagnetism and whatnot. It taught me how to take failure in stride, and I suppose study skills to a minor extent. And English produced ample entertainment with our replacement teacher, Dr. Durlin. "Massa Kurtz, he DEAD." Outside of class, I finally figured out who my friends were (my two gangs: the Stack, the Big Three... FOR LIFE), as well as one douchebag who wasn't. Fuck that kid. I mean, I hate to be bitter, but fuck him. We didn't need him after all, and he apparently didn't need us. I began my love affair with a man named Stephen King. And then there was the, er, saga, I suppose, that will forever haunt me. I can only pray that I never treat someone as as much of a human doormat as I did her. Note to self: a simple no would have been satisfactory. I don't doubt you're reading this; I know we already talked about it but I'm still sorry. How're things?
Senior year is how I hope to remember high school. Aside from the rough first month-and-a-half, I succeeded in getting my license, becoming Homecoming King, getting into a school I am thrilled to be going to next year AND finally getting a girlfriend. I am doing pretty well. I befriended some interesting new/old people at school and spent nearly every weekend at the movies, going on as many as six duplicate viewings. THREE CLOVERFIELDS. Holy shit. As far as lessons learned, I think my several-month-procrastination on going out with Adrienne tops the list. While procrastination is a theme that runs throughout my life, the fact that I delayed happiness for so long, rather than the typical delay of work and subsequent happiness, shows just how inept I am.
Loved some of it, hated the rest. High school. Xangas,zombie movies, Barnes & Nobles, Vitamin Water, prom, Stephen King, indie bullshit, graphic design, ratty old Hondas. I'd say it went pretty well, all things considered.
I think I've got one high school post left in me, and then I will close that chapter of my life/blog.
And so it is now that I'm announcing my plans to delete every previous post and devote my blog to my love of the ever-talented Jonas Brothers.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
fire!
I had a minor altercation with a QuickTrip employee yesterday, but we, er, 'worked things out'.
You see, after the 'got-no-gas' incident last year, my mom gave me her Amex so I could fill up when I was out of gas, rather than waiting until I was out of gas and with her, which was pretty much never. And with gas prices going up, she suggested I start going to QT, which tends to be cheaper. That's smart. And QT has breakfast, which is nice in the mornings, the time of day people tend to eat breakfast. Except the other day, I tried to charge my eats to the card and the woman behind the counter looked at the card, and she looked at me, and she incredulously asked, "Ellen?"
Being that I wasn't, you know, doing anything wrong, I explained that Ellen is my mom, and I'm using her card. A swift rebuttal follows: "Honey, you can't use her card. Blah blah blah, something something." She didn't actually say "Blah blah blah, something something," I just didn't really care enough about what she was saying to remember it.
Really, the incident isn't too significant, except I was fucking ornery that morning, and by calling me 'honey' (I am almost 18 for fuck's sake!) and inconveniencing my grazing (because I am almost morbidly obese for fuck's sake!), it really pissed me off. And my allergies cause my eyes to be watering all the time, and I was worried she though I was crying over a chicken biscuit. Which I wasn't. I swear.
You see, after the 'got-no-gas' incident last year, my mom gave me her Amex so I could fill up when I was out of gas, rather than waiting until I was out of gas and with her, which was pretty much never. And with gas prices going up, she suggested I start going to QT, which tends to be cheaper. That's smart. And QT has breakfast, which is nice in the mornings, the time of day people tend to eat breakfast. Except the other day, I tried to charge my eats to the card and the woman behind the counter looked at the card, and she looked at me, and she incredulously asked, "Ellen?"
Being that I wasn't, you know, doing anything wrong, I explained that Ellen is my mom, and I'm using her card. A swift rebuttal follows: "Honey, you can't use her card. Blah blah blah, something something." She didn't actually say "Blah blah blah, something something," I just didn't really care enough about what she was saying to remember it.
Really, the incident isn't too significant, except I was fucking ornery that morning, and by calling me 'honey' (I am almost 18 for fuck's sake!) and inconveniencing my grazing (because I am almost morbidly obese for fuck's sake!), it really pissed me off. And my allergies cause my eyes to be watering all the time, and I was worried she though I was crying over a chicken biscuit. Which I wasn't. I swear.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Big Announcment
Trent Reznor made a big ol' announcement this week. This was the postcard he sent his fans.
So yesterday was my last day of school, except it was just graduation rehearsal, so I suppose Thursday was my last day of school, except that was just my AP English exam, because our pissed-off administration canceled school because some kids tagged the Cove with "Class of 08 we're f'n great". I would have preferred a full "fuckin' great", but I'll settle. So Wednesday was the last day. High School is dunzo. I graduate on the 17th, and then in late August I ship off to DC for college.
I love my family dearly, but at this moment, I don't feel sad at all to be leaving. I'll be back, you know? Christmas, summer, etc.?
Senior year, however, I will not miss. Senior privileges were meager (at best), and most attempts at senior shenanigans were sabotaged. Sure, a small group of us resurrected Water Day as Water Night and made several underclassmen cry, but other than that? Not much to write home about. The fact that it wasn't our laziness so much as the actions of the administration makes me glad to be leaving. Everything is changing for the sake of change and being the Stepford School. Fuck high school. I'm above this shit.
I saw Baby Mama last night with Bob and one of his friends (Bob is back!) They were quite drunk. It sucked because Bob kept shouting and his friend kept hitting me every time something funny happened. But I enjoyed the movie aside from that.
And then, while driving out (past curfew... scandalous), we saw something... AMAZING. I picked it up, and it is now here in the basement awaiting a picture to immortalize its presence in the house. I'll get that up later.
So yesterday was my last day of school, except it was just graduation rehearsal, so I suppose Thursday was my last day of school, except that was just my AP English exam, because our pissed-off administration canceled school because some kids tagged the Cove with "Class of 08 we're f'n great". I would have preferred a full "fuckin' great", but I'll settle. So Wednesday was the last day. High School is dunzo. I graduate on the 17th, and then in late August I ship off to DC for college.
I love my family dearly, but at this moment, I don't feel sad at all to be leaving. I'll be back, you know? Christmas, summer, etc.?
Senior year, however, I will not miss. Senior privileges were meager (at best), and most attempts at senior shenanigans were sabotaged. Sure, a small group of us resurrected Water Day as Water Night and made several underclassmen cry, but other than that? Not much to write home about. The fact that it wasn't our laziness so much as the actions of the administration makes me glad to be leaving. Everything is changing for the sake of change and being the Stepford School. Fuck high school. I'm above this shit.
I saw Baby Mama last night with Bob and one of his friends (Bob is back!) They were quite drunk. It sucked because Bob kept shouting and his friend kept hitting me every time something funny happened. But I enjoyed the movie aside from that.
And then, while driving out (past curfew... scandalous), we saw something... AMAZING. I picked it up, and it is now here in the basement awaiting a picture to immortalize its presence in the house. I'll get that up later.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
What's Going On In Your Life?
Currently Watching: The Ten
Well, okay, I was really only asking so that I could inversely tell you how I am doing.
First, I've just finished the play. It sucked up all my time during those last few weeks, leaving me bitchy and tired all the time. Driving home after midnight isn't so fun when it's raining really hard and you're sleepy.
One time I fell asleep while driving and was like an inch away from t-boning this flower van. Comical, to be sure.
So yeah, the play left me whiny and disgruntled. Which really wasn't much of a change I guess... But that big ol' time suck left me very little time for...
My girlfriend.
Yes, you read that correctly. The little nerd you've been following intently like your favorite VH1 reality show for the past four years has a real girlfriend. And she has a name. It is Adrienne.
That is her. If you're feeling excessively voyeuristic, you can check out all the fun pictures on flickr
Well, okay, I was really only asking so that I could inversely tell you how I am doing.
First, I've just finished the play. It sucked up all my time during those last few weeks, leaving me bitchy and tired all the time. Driving home after midnight isn't so fun when it's raining really hard and you're sleepy.
One time I fell asleep while driving and was like an inch away from t-boning this flower van. Comical, to be sure.
So yeah, the play left me whiny and disgruntled. Which really wasn't much of a change I guess... But that big ol' time suck left me very little time for...
My girlfriend.
Yes, you read that correctly. The little nerd you've been following intently like your favorite VH1 reality show for the past four years has a real girlfriend. And she has a name. It is Adrienne.
That is her. If you're feeling excessively voyeuristic, you can check out all the fun pictures on flickr
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Names
Currently Listening To: I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You by Black Kids
Both of my parents, when signing e-mails, simply put their respective first initial.
When did my house become MI6?
I guess I'll be 002, since I'm il secondo.
Yes, Ispeak Italian have access to google translator.
Both of my parents, when signing e-mails, simply put their respective first initial.
When did my house become MI6?
I guess I'll be 002, since I'm il secondo.
Yes, I
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
My Special Place
Currently Listening To: Waiting by Shiny Toy Guns
Last week in assembly, a girl I haven't spoken to in the three years she's gone to our school of less-than-500 students gave a speech about all the shit that's gone down in her life (serious shit), and that our school has made her feel confident and what not. So, a brief recap of that briefness: her special place is school because it makes her feel safe.
Now, what about my special place?
Oh, I've got a great one. But it's not a place that makes me feel safe. Quite the opposite, in fact. My special place is the way I've recently started driving home from school. Basically, you go the same way as usual, but halfway down the highway you take a right straight into the bowels of hell. You pass by various ranch houses on large lots, followed by THE COMPOUND. What the fuck is THE COMPOUND, you may be asking? THE COMPOUND is this seriously sketchy grouping of houses and American-made cars on blocks surrounded by a sloppily-put-up retaining wall fence with some cryptic message I don't care to remember spray painted on the side. Who lives in THE COMPOUND? Trustworthy sources (some kid I talked to in middle school) claim Neo-Nazis, though a charismatic cult, Communists or the KKK are not out of the question.
Needless to say, driving by is uncomfortable. Breaking down on the side of the road is bad. Breaking down within half a mile of THE COMPOUND is bullet-in-the-brainpan worthy. Imagine House of Wax, Texas Chainsaw and Wrong Turn rolled into a thin flour tortilla and grilled to perfection.
After THE COMPOUND, there is the little town of Macedonia. I'll be damned if the name of every town in Georgia wasn't taken from my Ancient World History book from Freshman year. Macedonia, of course, is where my radio is hijacked from the audio-orgasm that is SIRIUS 26 Left of Center and switches to some rinky-dink station coming from someone's basement, which plays various essays and rants about the New World Order and how uncivilized people in Africa are (I shit you not... and this isn't THE COMPOUND). This happens a lot, of course; the frequency I listen to SIRIUS on is pretty popular for people's car-iPod things, so I'm frequently subjected to other people's crappy music. That's what I get for using a (paradoxically) Vacant Frequency (which is the name I plan to use for my Dan Brown/Robert Ludlum novel).
Following Fred Phelps Radio is the power plant, which was deemed one of the ten worst in the country (though I'm inclined to say it was #1 on the list). I don't know what to say about it other than that I close the vents on my car when I'm in sight of it.
From here on out, there's a lot of unremarkable minutia. Rinky-dink airport. Windy roads. Broken roads. One-lane bridge. I like to blast M.I.A.'s Kala and pretend I'm driving in the jungle of a third-world country. It helps that my car is a beat up, outdated Honda SUV. Third-world, to be sure. My life is like the ghetto. I grew up on the streets.
What's most exhilarating is that (SHH!) I'm not supposed to drive that way. Not because of the possible cannibals, bigot radio or power plant. It's the one lane bridge. Dad, I love you and how you always look out for me.
Last week in assembly, a girl I haven't spoken to in the three years she's gone to our school of less-than-500 students gave a speech about all the shit that's gone down in her life (serious shit), and that our school has made her feel confident and what not. So, a brief recap of that briefness: her special place is school because it makes her feel safe.
Now, what about my special place?
Oh, I've got a great one. But it's not a place that makes me feel safe. Quite the opposite, in fact. My special place is the way I've recently started driving home from school. Basically, you go the same way as usual, but halfway down the highway you take a right straight into the bowels of hell. You pass by various ranch houses on large lots, followed by THE COMPOUND. What the fuck is THE COMPOUND, you may be asking? THE COMPOUND is this seriously sketchy grouping of houses and American-made cars on blocks surrounded by a sloppily-put-up retaining wall fence with some cryptic message I don't care to remember spray painted on the side. Who lives in THE COMPOUND? Trustworthy sources (some kid I talked to in middle school) claim Neo-Nazis, though a charismatic cult, Communists or the KKK are not out of the question.
Needless to say, driving by is uncomfortable. Breaking down on the side of the road is bad. Breaking down within half a mile of THE COMPOUND is bullet-in-the-brainpan worthy. Imagine House of Wax, Texas Chainsaw and Wrong Turn rolled into a thin flour tortilla and grilled to perfection.
After THE COMPOUND, there is the little town of Macedonia. I'll be damned if the name of every town in Georgia wasn't taken from my Ancient World History book from Freshman year. Macedonia, of course, is where my radio is hijacked from the audio-orgasm that is SIRIUS 26 Left of Center and switches to some rinky-dink station coming from someone's basement, which plays various essays and rants about the New World Order and how uncivilized people in Africa are (I shit you not... and this isn't THE COMPOUND). This happens a lot, of course; the frequency I listen to SIRIUS on is pretty popular for people's car-iPod things, so I'm frequently subjected to other people's crappy music. That's what I get for using a (paradoxically) Vacant Frequency (which is the name I plan to use for my Dan Brown/Robert Ludlum novel).
Following Fred Phelps Radio is the power plant, which was deemed one of the ten worst in the country (though I'm inclined to say it was #1 on the list). I don't know what to say about it other than that I close the vents on my car when I'm in sight of it.
From here on out, there's a lot of unremarkable minutia. Rinky-dink airport. Windy roads. Broken roads. One-lane bridge. I like to blast M.I.A.'s Kala and pretend I'm driving in the jungle of a third-world country. It helps that my car is a beat up, outdated Honda SUV. Third-world, to be sure. My life is like the ghetto. I grew up on the streets.
What's most exhilarating is that (SHH!) I'm not supposed to drive that way. Not because of the possible cannibals, bigot radio or power plant. It's the one lane bridge. Dad, I love you and how you always look out for me.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Fantastic
Currently Listening To: Great DJ by the Ting Tings
"Either way, all the talk about dead people milling about has given me my idea for a zombie flick. It's called Zombie of the Zombies. The protagonist is a young man that happens to be a zombie. He wakes up one day (hungry for flesh and feeling a bit rigor-mortis-y, naturally) and notices that some of the zombies around him have started turning...zombier. This obviously freaks his 5-cell mind out. He's panicked, in a constant state of terror (and hunger). He couldn't stand (or comprehend) the thought of his zombie girlfriend and their adopted zombie children turning zombier, as he would then have to kill them. He does everything he can think of - namely, killing and eating the few remaining humans left and walking around a lot - to prevent this from happening. Hey, at least he's trying something. In the end, he makes a valiant effort to stop the zombiers from getting his clan, and succeeds in saving their zombie lives, only to be turned zombier himself."
- Blog Cabins
"Either way, all the talk about dead people milling about has given me my idea for a zombie flick. It's called Zombie of the Zombies. The protagonist is a young man that happens to be a zombie. He wakes up one day (hungry for flesh and feeling a bit rigor-mortis-y, naturally) and notices that some of the zombies around him have started turning...zombier. This obviously freaks his 5-cell mind out. He's panicked, in a constant state of terror (and hunger). He couldn't stand (or comprehend) the thought of his zombie girlfriend and their adopted zombie children turning zombier, as he would then have to kill them. He does everything he can think of - namely, killing and eating the few remaining humans left and walking around a lot - to prevent this from happening. Hey, at least he's trying something. In the end, he makes a valiant effort to stop the zombiers from getting his clan, and succeeds in saving their zombie lives, only to be turned zombier himself."
- Blog Cabins
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Drugs
Currently Watching: Reno 911! Miami
Has it really been a month? A month since I last made you laugh, made you cry, made you love again?
I really am great.
I'm here today to talk about drugs. First off, to clear up any sort of misconceptions about me and my non-drug addiction. As in, I ain't no drug addict. Normally I wouldn't need to say something like that, but I was recently accused of being such. For you see, once again, ALLERGIES. Damn those guys. Allergies require medication, because this is America, and if you're uncomfortable, you medicate that shit. Well, last time I was struggling with allergies, my mom gave me a magical little pill that made me feel like I was walking on air, and driving on air and sleeping on air and being on air. I could fall asleep and awaken without any effort, and nothing could hurt me. So after my recent allergy uprising, I tried desperately to find that pill again at the nurse's station at school, to no avail. It ain't Claritin. And so I told some fellow students about this during environmental, at which point, TADA, "Ryan, you're a drug addict."
NO.
If I were a drug addict, would I be able to do a hand stand? NO. Never mind the fact that I can't do a hand stand. But my inability to do a handstand and a crackhead's identical inability do not, by the transitive property, spell Ryan=crackhead. That would be a logical fallacy. Fucko.
My perma-bloodshot eyes (a result of allergies and eye-rubbing) don't help the drug-addict image.
Have I learned nothing from all those PSAs about stealing your parents' medicine?
Prom/the play: less than two weeks... At which point I should have a lengthy complaint. I promise. But I'm actually looking forward to prom (HINT HINT).
Has it really been a month? A month since I last made you laugh, made you cry, made you love again?
I really am great.
I'm here today to talk about drugs. First off, to clear up any sort of misconceptions about me and my non-drug addiction. As in, I ain't no drug addict. Normally I wouldn't need to say something like that, but I was recently accused of being such. For you see, once again, ALLERGIES. Damn those guys. Allergies require medication, because this is America, and if you're uncomfortable, you medicate that shit. Well, last time I was struggling with allergies, my mom gave me a magical little pill that made me feel like I was walking on air, and driving on air and sleeping on air and being on air. I could fall asleep and awaken without any effort, and nothing could hurt me. So after my recent allergy uprising, I tried desperately to find that pill again at the nurse's station at school, to no avail. It ain't Claritin. And so I told some fellow students about this during environmental, at which point, TADA, "Ryan, you're a drug addict."
NO.
If I were a drug addict, would I be able to do a hand stand? NO. Never mind the fact that I can't do a hand stand. But my inability to do a handstand and a crackhead's identical inability do not, by the transitive property, spell Ryan=crackhead. That would be a logical fallacy. Fucko.
My perma-bloodshot eyes (a result of allergies and eye-rubbing) don't help the drug-addict image.
Have I learned nothing from all those PSAs about stealing your parents' medicine?
Prom/the play: less than two weeks... At which point I should have a lengthy complaint. I promise. But I'm actually looking forward to prom (HINT HINT).
Friday, March 14, 2008
Cool Things
Currently Watching: Aqua Teen Hunger Force
Forgive the hyperbole, but BEST MOVIE EVER.
Back to cool things:
- Doomsday--How can I describe this movie? Truth is, I can't.
Forgive the hyperbole, but BEST MOVIE EVER.
Back to cool things:
- Weather--As we left the theater, the calm weather was disrupted by a bolt of lightning, immediately after which shit fell out. I mean, seriously: no transition from dry to drizzle to damp; one second it was dry and with no warning but the bolt of lightning, it was monsoon weather. And lightning continued throughout. It was, well, a cool thing.
- This e-mail from my Government teacher: You have outdone yourself this time. Not only was your exam the funniest thing I have read in a long time (I fell off the couch laughing) and your essay excellent, but you also just blew the curve for your classmates. Nothing like an ego boost.
- The other two exams I got A's on, as well as the one I got a B on. The last two exams? Let me tell you where they can shove it.
- Becoming a famous TV star on Sunday at 7 a.m., when my episode of High Q comes on. WATCH IT!
- Going to bed!!1!
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Lovely Ladies
Currently Listening To: Blackout by Muse
So I'm watching last night's Colbert Report; he was showing a montage mourning the death of conservative McCain-bashing, and I saw a shot of McCain's wife. His hot wife. Then I thought of a soundbyte I dropped in Government class, to the effect of: "George W. Bush and I have two things in common: we're white males and we think Laura Bush is really hot."
Then i thought of the best idea ever: First Ladies' Calendar. We'd have them all: Laura Bush, McCain's arm candy, Michelle Obama, Dirty Denny Kucinich's model/giant (because he is a goblin), Maria Schriver, Gov. Spritzer's loyal lady, Bill Clinton... All the greats. I'm sure Georgia governor Sonny Perude has a hot wife; throw her ol' bones in there too.
Don't get hung up on the 'First Ladies' thing; sure, Sras. McCain, Obama, Kucinich, etc., aren't First Ladies yet/won't ever be (Sorry Sra. Kucinich), but people will get the point.
And don't say I'm the only one who would buy it, because that's bullshit and you know it; you'd get one for your office and one for your den.
And Doomsday, aside from looking awesome, has a banging song in the trailer, as well as a banging trailer and a banging lead.
Ooh, Laura Bush... You've helped me out of countless lonely nights. Where's that copy of Newsweek?
So I'm watching last night's Colbert Report; he was showing a montage mourning the death of conservative McCain-bashing, and I saw a shot of McCain's wife. His hot wife. Then I thought of a soundbyte I dropped in Government class, to the effect of: "George W. Bush and I have two things in common: we're white males and we think Laura Bush is really hot."
Then i thought of the best idea ever: First Ladies' Calendar. We'd have them all: Laura Bush, McCain's arm candy, Michelle Obama, Dirty Denny Kucinich's model/giant (because he is a goblin), Maria Schriver, Gov. Spritzer's loyal lady, Bill Clinton... All the greats. I'm sure Georgia governor Sonny Perude has a hot wife; throw her ol' bones in there too.
Don't get hung up on the 'First Ladies' thing; sure, Sras. McCain, Obama, Kucinich, etc., aren't First Ladies yet/won't ever be (Sorry Sra. Kucinich), but people will get the point.
And don't say I'm the only one who would buy it, because that's bullshit and you know it; you'd get one for your office and one for your den.
And Doomsday, aside from looking awesome, has a banging song in the trailer, as well as a banging trailer and a banging lead.
Ooh, Laura Bush... You've helped me out of countless lonely nights. Where's that copy of Newsweek?
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Alphabeat--Fascination
So this is my favorite video ever. I showed it to Adrienne, and she said it was gay. It is not gay. It is awesome.
I am currently at school. Had I not auditioned for the play, I would be at home, because it is exam week, and I was done at 9 a.m. today. Instead, I must wait until 4:30. That is a bigger gap than the gap in my awake time I have every day, you know, sleep. I really should have slept. Instead, I spent countless hours in the pub at school, just kind of tooling around, graphically designing and watching the Daily Show on their website.
I am pathetic.
Music Man Poster Description Page
For our exam, we have to make a folder with all of our projects and description pages for them. This one was for my Music Man poster, which is so unremarkable I shall not post it.
Comic Strip Description Page
For our exam, we have to make a folder with all of our projects and description pages for them. This one is for my comic strip. It had Fidel Castro (I made it before he stepped down, that bastard joke-killer) going into... Space.
Coke Logo Description Page
For our exam, we have to make a folder with all of our projects and description pages for them. This one is for the logo we had to design for some CocaCola jet-thing. MEH.
Google Logos Description Page
For our exam, we have to make a folder with all of our projects and description pages for them. This was for my google logos (http://www.flickr.com/photos/48274860@N00/2298423956/). The other two were just okay.
Amputee Cowboy Description Page
For our exam, we have to make a folder with all of our projects and description pages for them. This one was for my Hanukkah card, which featured an amputee cowboy wishing his goyems a prosperous festival of lights.
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