Yet another repost from the Jack era.
A work in progress. Songs about unrequited love, loss, anger, pain, and general malaise. A lot of these are a bit modern for my taste, but I've just really gotten into music in the past few years. Considering the music I had around when most people get into music, you shouldn't blame me.
Lost Cause - Beck
Back in Your Head - Tegan and Sara
Bang Bang - Nancy Sinatra cover
How to Disappear Completely - Radiohead
Losing My Religion - REM
Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley cover
Jolene - Dolly Parton
True Romance - She Wants Revenge
Cat's in the Cradle - Harry Chapin
Superstar - The Carpenters
Eleanor Rigby - The Beatles
Hotel California - The Eagles
Knockin' on Heaven's Door - Bob Dylan
Danny Boy - Johnny Cash cover
Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia - Vicki Lawrence
One More Time - Joe Jackson
Hurt - Johnny Cash Cover
New content:
Creep - Radiohead
A Woman in Love (it's not me) - Tom Petty
Down in the Willow Garden - Everly Brothers cover
Hey Hey, My My (Into the Black) - Neil Young
Monday, January 25, 2010
Old repost.
Repost from an old blog I had before I ever updated my myspace page. You can tell it's old because it was during the blessedly short-lived period where people called me Jack, and I let them.
"The Friend Zone is a diabolical necessity"
"The Friend Zone is a diabolical necessity"
Women are thought to have invented it in the 1860's, during the ravages of the Civil War. Naturally, military men were everywhere, and several of them were missing limbs. Hotties of the Civil War period were in a bad situation. It would be rude to outright deny the armless, legless, and earless their love, but at the same time, ew. Thus, the friend zone. For those of you who were popular in high school and continued to melt the inhibitions of women well into your adult life, or those who generally don't speak to women, I'll explain the friend zone.
The friend zone is when a woman (or hey, man, who knows?) begins to classify a man as an absolutely platonic figure in her life, while the man in question has romantic feelings. When a woman puts a man in the Zone, she will often string him along, unintentionally or otherwise. Invariably, they will date asshole men, who are nonetheless far preferable to her cronies in the Zone. (With good reason) Women are driven by instinct to seek a superior male specimen, and if you've been on the internet for more than an hour before reading this, you clearly aren't a superior specimen. More likely, you're shy and deferential when a woman speaks to you. (I'm certainly not going to offer dating advice; I'm the least believable source on the subject I can imagine. I will only say that this behavior generally only appeals to women who have been endlessly jerked around by more attractive, interesting men and have (temporarily) grown tired of the lifestyle. But I digress.) Men who aren't labeled as possible mates are filed away into the friend zone, no matter the sincerity or intensity of romantic feelings on the part of the male. The friend zone is nigh-impossible to escape, unless you suddenly become smarter or (more effectively) better looking.
Now, the friend zone can be used as a tool for good. Some guys are just not boyfriend material. Lacking social grace and holding loyalty to a woman only because of her tits and smile, these morose bastards are best suited for duty in the friend zone. They can provide an emergency shoulder for an upset young woman, and can often be conned into doing various favors for the woman whose zone they reside in. The main problem here comes from the expectation on the part of the male that these favors mean that the female is indebted to him, in the eternal, universal currency of poontang. Obviously, this is fucking retarded.
We will call this the “Jack” tier of the friend zone.
The F-Zone holds a special place for the ex-lover. Now, this is the most morally ambiguous usage of the friend zone in my opinion. An ex-boyfriend who treated you like shit before the breakup deserves his spot in the zone. Stringing him along, encouraging him, but within moderation...it will drive a man up the walls. This vengeful usage of the friend zone gets high marks, from where I stand. This tier of the zone is highly effective because there is a higher possibility (solely in the mind of the male) of getting a relationship or (more truthfully) sex out of the association, because of the past romance. At the same time, this part of the zone can be used for unintentional evil. Some women, rare though they may be, don't understand that by stringing along an ex-boyfriend they are not sparing his feelings. They are fucking with his head, and might not even know it. If they do know it, they are either a sadistic bitch, or the man deserves the mindfuck, as previously detailed. Another weakness of this tier is that it's the second most escapable. Recidivism is always a risk after a relationship ends anyway, and maintaining a friendship may occasionally lead to feelings developing on the part of the female. The best solution for this is for the exchange of tales about each other's sexual exploits, which will escalate (because naturally each individual wishes to be the one “moving on) to the point that you'll both be disgusted with each other and the feelings will become confused with resentment. This is best, because hurt and angry are the same as happy for smart people (Dr. Who).
We will call this the “Jack” tier also, if it's all the same to you guys.
The next tier is the most boring and certainly the least known to me. This is because it is not really the friend zone. This is where women put men who they very much plan to date/sleep with/ride like a government mule/play pool with when they have a boyfriend. They're often dorky in a Paul Rudd/Zach Levi sort of way, which is to say, not dorky at all. They have social skills, they're fairly attractive, and they often only have to wait until the Biochemical Reaction We Call Love runs its course in the woman's preexisting relationship to get out of the Zone. They will complain to their loser friends about being Zoned, and some of them will smack him upside the head because he has NOT FELT THE PAIN!!!1
Privacy
Having few friends on Facebook, fewer still who talk to me, this blog is pretty much private for now, but it has that extra sexy risk of discovery. I have a counter which shows that at least a couple people have looked at it, but then, I could have just forgotten my own browsing. So until I learn otherwise, I suppose I'll continue getting a little thrill out of posting things I don't consciously want anybody to see.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Oddity
So I think that maybe there's a small chance I don't want to be her boyfriend, not as such anyway. My attraction to her hasn't really ever been on the physical side. Not to say I don't find her attractive, but unlike some women I've gone after, my primary motivation in speaking to her isn't trying to fuck her. It's like...I'd just like to hang out with her. I'd like her to be a closer friend than she is at the moment. I'd like somebody to stay up until dawn with watching movies. I guess that what I want sort of necessitates being her boyfriend, which is unfortunate for me, but I think it's a sign of maturity that I'm beginning to entertain the idea of settling. Though, to be honest, I'm switching back and forth between
A. being okay with a mere friendship
B. Wanting to go on the offensive and simply will my way into her good graces
and C. Wanting to say "fuck it" to the whole thing and be pissed at her for Zoning me and myself for letting it happen.
ETA: Holy crap, I can't believe I forgot to add a quote, much less one from one of my favorite movies which seems so very fitting.
"I wanna be with her more, I wanna be with her all the time, and I wanna tell her things I don't even tell you or mum. And I don't want her to have another boyfriend. I suppose if I could have all those things, I wouldn't really mind if I touched her or not."
A. being okay with a mere friendship
B. Wanting to go on the offensive and simply will my way into her good graces
and C. Wanting to say "fuck it" to the whole thing and be pissed at her for Zoning me and myself for letting it happen.
ETA: Holy crap, I can't believe I forgot to add a quote, much less one from one of my favorite movies which seems so very fitting.
"I wanna be with her more, I wanna be with her all the time, and I wanna tell her things I don't even tell you or mum. And I don't want her to have another boyfriend. I suppose if I could have all those things, I wouldn't really mind if I touched her or not."
Monday, January 18, 2010
Disclaimer
I'll fix up, title, and order everything on here eventually, I just want to make sure they're here. The blogs here are taken from my myspace. I have this blog linked on my facebook, but for the most part I don't really expect people to read it for a couple months, at which point the blog will be fixed up and I'll push the link on everybody I know. So this post is just for those who stumble across it while it's under construction.
reposts, vol 11
I weigh the consequences. I convince myself. I work up the will. Then I talk to her, and I lose all ambition toward digging myself out of the hole. I'm a fairly level-headed person who just fucking drops his logic when it comes to this one. Every rational part of me is screaming to get out of there, to either get used to the lack of advancement, or cut my losses and be back to where I was before I saw her again. I feel anger, and resentment, and apathy toward her...until she speaks to me, and I remember why I put myself through this. She said it best...to closely paraphrase: that she's as smart as me, that she shares the same interests as me, that she likes talking to me, that she can make me blush...I enjoy these things. It's time to move on in one way or another, and I know that on some level, but for now, I think I'm happy just being humored, sad as that is.
reposts, vol 10
(Graduation night, 2007)
This has been a most odd fucking school year.
New schedules, new friends, football, a major surgery, a half-assed romantic interest in a girl who barely knows I exist, and, the pinnacle, tonight, where I manged to dodge the shame of not graduating with my class, despite being absent for probably about half of the school year, and just plain ditching one of my classes for the last two months of school.
Tonight, I saw people I hadn't seen since I first came to Cobre High. Alternakids, Opportunikids, and the one guy who slept in his car for the vast majority of junior year. Amazingly, only one pregnant girl, and only the 4 people with kids, er, that I know of.
Some random thoughts on graduation night, where I myspace it as opposed to going out drinking like the cool kids. (doing that tomorrow)
The kids I didn't like when I first came to Cobre are now my circle of friends. But if they ask what spry is again, I'll stab them.
There are more girls in college willing to date a fat loser, or so I hope, because Western is my last shot at having sex again before I hit 20.
I look pimp in pigtails.
One of my best friends defied expectation by coming to graduation sober, and with a cap and gown, as opposed to having sold them for pot.
Eric Maez deserved his standing ovation.
I may be the only person in Cobre High history to have graduated while sporting muttonchops.
Jimmy has a really hot sister.
That's all for tonight, kids. With my sudden abundance of spare time, I'll join the loser's legion of myspacers.
reposts, vol 9
This is something I'm in the process of writing for my creative writing class. It's just the beginning, but I'd appreciate any input.
A few points:
This is not autobiographical in the least.
The narrator isn't necessarily right or wrong in what he thinks, nor are his thoughts a reflection of my own mindset.
This will evolve into a story from its current monologue form.
A few points:
This is not autobiographical in the least.
The narrator isn't necessarily right or wrong in what he thinks, nor are his thoughts a reflection of my own mindset.
This will evolve into a story from its current monologue form.
I don't believe that by selling shoes, I'm helping to enable people toward living their lives better or more confidently. People ask me what I think I can do for the world selling shoes; that's what I tell them. I'm not deluding myself. I tell them, I just don't see how going back to school is going to make the world a better place, either. This superb logic is lost on them. I left for a reason and they don't seem to understand that. They saw me as happier when I was going to school, a more active and healthy person doing something with their life. The reality that I was miserable has faded from their memory and their own academic prejudices have redrawn the truth. Shoe sales is honest work, if nothing else. There's no ambition in the shoe store; with no ambition, there is little conflict. Everybody realizes the rut they're in and they don't waste their time digging themselves out. Nobody gets hurt, there's no disappointment beyond the obvious, there's no politics. We may fight or gossip or try to kiss up to the manager, but when we look each other in the eye, we understand. All of us who are over a certain age are at the point of no return. This creates a knowing camaraderie that neither the bright-eyed kids in college or the younger employees understand. School makes people become self-centered, there's no doubt. They have no choice but to focus all of their energies into themselves so that they can live up to the unreasonable expectations piled upon them by parents, older siblings, and teachers from the age of five. The longer a person stays that way, putting themselves first by necessity, the narrower their mind becomes. The people who've lived their whole lives at a university, either learning or teaching? They don't know the human condition.
Some of my former classmates come in sometimes. Of course, if they're shopping here, they're as broke as I am, but this doesn't stop the same condescending conversations from being repeated with a changing cast. They ask me how I'm doing, they ask if I'm going to school somewhere else, they ask if I'm taking night classes. When it becomes apparent that I've dropped from their ranks, you can feel the tone change. They mostly don't notice, but they talk a bit louder. Just like an idiot tourist in a foreign country, they think that volume is directly proportional to understanding. I help them find their shoes and I have them fill out the customer comment card. We shake hands when they leave, promise to catch up sometime over drinks. Some of the worst use this moment to try and convince me to come back. It's the physical contact, I'm sure. It's the idea that if you're literally holding somebody's hand and looking them in the eye, that you can cut through the cynical bullshit and make a difference. They think that if only I had moral support, I could go back to school and make something of myself. They want to be the person to dig me out of my hole for entirely selfish reasons. It's not their fault, I always tell myself. Society expects me to be ashamed of what I do for a living; it similarly expects them to be ashamed of me as well. I'm expected to be ambitious, to want nothing more than to scurry and slave so that I can buy more impressive things than my neighbor can. I'm not ashamed of what I do. I could honestly tell my former classmates that I'm being true to myself, if I thought that they would understand that.
reposts, vol 8
I've had a bad couple of weeks, boys and girls.
Halloween is my favorite holiday, at least nominally. There's candy, which appeals to my inner (and outer) fatty. There's also a glut of horror films on television, which appeals to my geeky nature. The pale girls who cover up with black sweatshirts (featuring album art from some godawful band, of course) generally dress slutty, which is always nice. Of course, there's some bad stuff. Children knocking on my door. The History Channel only showing crap about the noble sasquatch. The 250 Joker costumes; some well done, some lazy, all miserably uncreative. (Unless you are willing to commit yourself to a self-given Glasgow smile, I will tackle you and force sleeping pills down your throat.) This Halloween, I was stuck in Bayard, visiting the family, with nary a young, pale, barely-dressed 20-something woman to be found. There were no horror films of any note on television. I somehow still managed to see a douchebag dressed like the Joker. It was pretty miserable, and that's absent the sick grandmother, flu, and possible torn ligament in my foot.
This year, on paper, has been pretty good for John L. I got my first job, later than most (but fuck you), and I was a distinguished goddamn sandwich artist. For quite possibly the first time in my adult life, I accomplished something I set out to do. That is to say, my Glorious One-Year Plan (that's a history joke, kids) to Get the Fuck Out of Bayard. I earned the money, made the move, and have thus far managed not to murder my roommate. But really, how much better off am I? I'm still a fuckup, still behind my peers, still a mostly friendless loser. It's not a matter of needing to get out there. Social anxiety aside, I'm a fairly charming and friendly guy when I want to be. The problem is this: I fucking hate people. They're loud and stupid. I'm sort of an arrogant prick, no doubt, but I defy you, my reader, to say without a hint of irony that people aren't annoying as hell. There are of course certain people I like. Odds are if you're reading this, I don't include you in my hate trip, even if you happen to be loud and/or stupid.
Halloween is my favorite holiday, at least nominally. There's candy, which appeals to my inner (and outer) fatty. There's also a glut of horror films on television, which appeals to my geeky nature. The pale girls who cover up with black sweatshirts (featuring album art from some godawful band, of course) generally dress slutty, which is always nice. Of course, there's some bad stuff. Children knocking on my door. The History Channel only showing crap about the noble sasquatch. The 250 Joker costumes; some well done, some lazy, all miserably uncreative. (Unless you are willing to commit yourself to a self-given Glasgow smile, I will tackle you and force sleeping pills down your throat.) This Halloween, I was stuck in Bayard, visiting the family, with nary a young, pale, barely-dressed 20-something woman to be found. There were no horror films of any note on television. I somehow still managed to see a douchebag dressed like the Joker. It was pretty miserable, and that's absent the sick grandmother, flu, and possible torn ligament in my foot.
This year, on paper, has been pretty good for John L. I got my first job, later than most (but fuck you), and I was a distinguished goddamn sandwich artist. For quite possibly the first time in my adult life, I accomplished something I set out to do. That is to say, my Glorious One-Year Plan (that's a history joke, kids) to Get the Fuck Out of Bayard. I earned the money, made the move, and have thus far managed not to murder my roommate. But really, how much better off am I? I'm still a fuckup, still behind my peers, still a mostly friendless loser. It's not a matter of needing to get out there. Social anxiety aside, I'm a fairly charming and friendly guy when I want to be. The problem is this: I fucking hate people. They're loud and stupid. I'm sort of an arrogant prick, no doubt, but I defy you, my reader, to say without a hint of irony that people aren't annoying as hell. There are of course certain people I like. Odds are if you're reading this, I don't include you in my hate trip, even if you happen to be loud and/or stupid.
reposts, vol 7
Anybody who enjoyed high school, or who looks back on it fondly is a douchebag. That is a large generalization, but for the most part my experience has proven it so. Such a douchebag could read that sentence and say (assuming they can string together words in a coherent fashion) that I'm merely bitter because I was unpopular. There is truth in this. Indeed, the healthiest thing would be for me to not dwell on the experience at all, but that would be to ignore the fact that those four years shaped me as an adult, for better or worse.
My work habits were certainly formed by high school. As anybody who was in my graduating class and knew me can tell you, I practically never showed up for senior year. I passed by the very skin of my teeth. The absences were for a variety of reasons. Early in the year, an ill-advised venture into football ended with me tearing practically everything in one knee. Without football, and fairly miserable in my classes, I saw no reason to work through the pain to go to class. By the time I was fully recovered, the year was half over, I was thirty pounds heavier, and had a scraggly Amish beard.
I started going to my classes again, excepting ceramics because it was retarded. I was doing okay in said classes, and football had at the least gained me a friend, who in turn helped me find a circle of friends. So after two and a half years of spending lunch times reading alone in a secluded spot of campus, I was actually social. In the future, this would set a precedent for how I make friends: my social awkwardness won't allow me to make the first move but I'm fine after a while.
The reason I started going to class was the same reason I ever went to class freshman year, and the reason I passed 7th grade, even. I had a crush. It had actually been there since junior year, but only because the girl in question was a fox. When I actually started talking to her, it was less because she was a fox, though she was, and more because she was actually as smart as me. It's an arrogant thing to say, but that's fairly rare. I actually had a reason to go to history class, and since that was in the middle of the day, I thought that I might as well go to the classes afterward, too.
Unfortunately, the same thing that ended my first relationship crippled my chances with ever "getting the girl", namely, being a giant pussy. This is a trait which has continued to cripple interactions with the opposite sex. Well, not quite true. I'm kind of a jerk to women (and people and general) I don't like, but if I have an infatuation, I become a giant wimp. Out of the (admittedly few) girlfriends I've had, things have gone fine until I started feeling. Since in the senior year case I started feeling, whatever the hormone-to-emotion ratio, before I even asked her out, I was in dead from the start.
My work habits were certainly formed by high school. As anybody who was in my graduating class and knew me can tell you, I practically never showed up for senior year. I passed by the very skin of my teeth. The absences were for a variety of reasons. Early in the year, an ill-advised venture into football ended with me tearing practically everything in one knee. Without football, and fairly miserable in my classes, I saw no reason to work through the pain to go to class. By the time I was fully recovered, the year was half over, I was thirty pounds heavier, and had a scraggly Amish beard.
I started going to my classes again, excepting ceramics because it was retarded. I was doing okay in said classes, and football had at the least gained me a friend, who in turn helped me find a circle of friends. So after two and a half years of spending lunch times reading alone in a secluded spot of campus, I was actually social. In the future, this would set a precedent for how I make friends: my social awkwardness won't allow me to make the first move but I'm fine after a while.
The reason I started going to class was the same reason I ever went to class freshman year, and the reason I passed 7th grade, even. I had a crush. It had actually been there since junior year, but only because the girl in question was a fox. When I actually started talking to her, it was less because she was a fox, though she was, and more because she was actually as smart as me. It's an arrogant thing to say, but that's fairly rare. I actually had a reason to go to history class, and since that was in the middle of the day, I thought that I might as well go to the classes afterward, too.
Unfortunately, the same thing that ended my first relationship crippled my chances with ever "getting the girl", namely, being a giant pussy. This is a trait which has continued to cripple interactions with the opposite sex. Well, not quite true. I'm kind of a jerk to women (and people and general) I don't like, but if I have an infatuation, I become a giant wimp. Out of the (admittedly few) girlfriends I've had, things have gone fine until I started feeling. Since in the senior year case I started feeling, whatever the hormone-to-emotion ratio, before I even asked her out, I was in dead from the start.
Reposts, vol 6
In The Truth: Part I, we covered the greatest problem facing America's youth, all in a single sentence. This time, we're going to cover a much broader range of topics.
I've found that I'm particularly prone to limerence, when I become infatuated with somebody. Limerence is a particular type of infatuation with a few unique markers. The primary marker is intrusive thoughts of the limerent subject. That is to say, thoughts of them pop in randomly during the day. It's fine if thinking of them isn't depressing, which is rare. Another marker is an unusual emphasis in your mind on what your crush thinks of you. Now, I generally don't give a shit what people think of me, so when I have an actual connection to somebody, say, every couple of years, it's rather disconcerting to suddenly want to/need to watch my mannerisms, appearance, and words. I just think that things would be so much easier if I were able to base my relationships on a comfortable antipathy, instead of just totally falling for a woman every couple of years.
I know only 2-3 people read this, but I'm totes bored. In recognition of the name of this blog, anybody who asks me a question as a comment to this blog will get a completely honest and straightforward answer in a private message.
"I don't know, I kind of like him. He's the exact opposite of everything I really hate. In a way, he's such a clueless dork, he's almost kind of cool."
"That guy is many things, but he's definitely not cool."
-Ghost World
"What's good about sad?"
"It's happy for deep people."
-Doctor Who - "Blink"
"But I tried, didn't I? Goddamnit, at least I did that."
-Randle Patrick McMurphy - One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
"You can sleep here if you want but it would only be sleeping, Harry... if that's gonna frustrate you."
"...Let's see."
-Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang
"You hear what I said, Miss Kubelik? I absolutely adore you."
"Shut up and deal."
-The Apartment
Between 3:00 and 5:00 am, I am at my most efficient. Most of my work gets done in these hours. I only ever clean my dorm room during this period. Most of the time, that's laundry time too. I can't say that I think more clearly, because I really don't. As I type this I feel muddled and slow. If anything, I'm only still awake because I have both a blog and a ton of laundry to finish. I am far more of a realist in these active hours. Much more practical, nothing like my usual quixotic if misanthropic self. I wonder if these are the hours in which my grown-up side comes out. I do my work, I don't daydream, and I can suck up my anger/whatever. It's pretty horrific, but I guess it has to happen to all of us sometime.
I don't think it's any secret that people will idealize those they're infatuated with. Bad habits, personality flaws, and such become endearing. Positive attributes are enhanced in the mind of the pursuer. Often, too, attributes are added which simply aren't there. Example: a girl once compared me to Mr. Darcy, from Pride and Prejudice. I'm manly, so I didn't know what the hell she meant. My contacts in the gay community told me that Mr. Darcy is the "intellectual's wet dream". Darcy is a guy who is commonly thought to be an arrogant prick, but who is in fact like, so totally perfect. The Edward Cullen of Victorian chick-lit. Naturally, it's the same woman who later told me I reminded her of a Byronic hero (she was well read, which is hot, but seriously). This is maybe closer, but still pretty far off. A Byronic hero is, essentially, a guy who actually is a prick, but is so interesting that he makes up for it. She had the first part right. A Byronic hero is something all smart, arrogant, but socially awkward men wish they were. I'm sure men like that exist, but I'm sure not one of them. One way or another, we all find ways to date our perfect person, even if it's a self-delusion. For my part, I tend to think women are so very much smarter than they are, as justification for wanting to have sex with them. I can only think of one, maybe two women I've been attracted to who actually were as smart as I told myself they were at the time of attraction. This whole self-delusion thing has worked to continue the species, and as the bottom of the barrel, I can't complain too much. It's just something to think about.
Here's what bothers me. Here's what keeps me up. Just how long do I have?
I've found that I'm particularly prone to limerence, when I become infatuated with somebody. Limerence is a particular type of infatuation with a few unique markers. The primary marker is intrusive thoughts of the limerent subject. That is to say, thoughts of them pop in randomly during the day. It's fine if thinking of them isn't depressing, which is rare. Another marker is an unusual emphasis in your mind on what your crush thinks of you. Now, I generally don't give a shit what people think of me, so when I have an actual connection to somebody, say, every couple of years, it's rather disconcerting to suddenly want to/need to watch my mannerisms, appearance, and words. I just think that things would be so much easier if I were able to base my relationships on a comfortable antipathy, instead of just totally falling for a woman every couple of years.
I know only 2-3 people read this, but I'm totes bored. In recognition of the name of this blog, anybody who asks me a question as a comment to this blog will get a completely honest and straightforward answer in a private message.
"I don't know, I kind of like him. He's the exact opposite of everything I really hate. In a way, he's such a clueless dork, he's almost kind of cool."
"That guy is many things, but he's definitely not cool."
-Ghost World
"What's good about sad?"
"It's happy for deep people."
-Doctor Who - "Blink"
"But I tried, didn't I? Goddamnit, at least I did that."
-Randle Patrick McMurphy - One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
"You can sleep here if you want but it would only be sleeping, Harry... if that's gonna frustrate you."
"...Let's see."
-Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang
"You hear what I said, Miss Kubelik? I absolutely adore you."
"Shut up and deal."
-The Apartment
Between 3:00 and 5:00 am, I am at my most efficient. Most of my work gets done in these hours. I only ever clean my dorm room during this period. Most of the time, that's laundry time too. I can't say that I think more clearly, because I really don't. As I type this I feel muddled and slow. If anything, I'm only still awake because I have both a blog and a ton of laundry to finish. I am far more of a realist in these active hours. Much more practical, nothing like my usual quixotic if misanthropic self. I wonder if these are the hours in which my grown-up side comes out. I do my work, I don't daydream, and I can suck up my anger/whatever. It's pretty horrific, but I guess it has to happen to all of us sometime.
I don't think it's any secret that people will idealize those they're infatuated with. Bad habits, personality flaws, and such become endearing. Positive attributes are enhanced in the mind of the pursuer. Often, too, attributes are added which simply aren't there. Example: a girl once compared me to Mr. Darcy, from Pride and Prejudice. I'm manly, so I didn't know what the hell she meant. My contacts in the gay community told me that Mr. Darcy is the "intellectual's wet dream". Darcy is a guy who is commonly thought to be an arrogant prick, but who is in fact like, so totally perfect. The Edward Cullen of Victorian chick-lit. Naturally, it's the same woman who later told me I reminded her of a Byronic hero (she was well read, which is hot, but seriously). This is maybe closer, but still pretty far off. A Byronic hero is, essentially, a guy who actually is a prick, but is so interesting that he makes up for it. She had the first part right. A Byronic hero is something all smart, arrogant, but socially awkward men wish they were. I'm sure men like that exist, but I'm sure not one of them. One way or another, we all find ways to date our perfect person, even if it's a self-delusion. For my part, I tend to think women are so very much smarter than they are, as justification for wanting to have sex with them. I can only think of one, maybe two women I've been attracted to who actually were as smart as I told myself they were at the time of attraction. This whole self-delusion thing has worked to continue the species, and as the bottom of the barrel, I can't complain too much. It's just something to think about.
Here's what bothers me. Here's what keeps me up. Just how long do I have?
Reposts, vol 5
When I do quotes in these blogs, which I do constantly, I don't just choose them out of the blue. All of them are from works or people I find enjoyable, and give insight to what I'm trying to put down. It is so much easier for me to speak through the words of others, especially since I'm an awful writer.
I'm a pack rat. I assign sentimental value to things which in no way deserve it. Sometimes, though, this works to my advantage. On my phone I have three text messages saved, which I can't imagine getting rid of in the near future. One is a "happy birthday...negro" from my dad, which he remembered even though he was traveling for most of that day. I keep it because I'm kind of a sap. I will fuck you up if you make fun of me for it. The other two I keep are much more recent. They're from a woman. Each text serves an opposite purpose to the other. One is good for a quick burst of joy. It makes me grin like an idiot, if only for a moment. The other serves to temper me. I've always operated under the idea that each good day is balanced out in your life by at least one bad day. It doesn't do to be happy for any lengthy period of time, because when things balance, as they eventually do, you might as well contain the damage. So when I'm feeling particularly pie in the sky, I take a look at that little message and I'm back to neutral, which is where we should all be anyway. It's healthier.
"A pain stabbed my heart, as it did every time I saw a girl I loved who was going the opposite direction in this too-big world."
-On the Road
"A lot of schools were home for vacation already, and there were about a million girls sitting and standing around waiting for their dates to show up. Girls with their legs crossed, girls with their legs not crossed, girls with terrific legs, girls with lousy legs, girls that looked like swell girls, girls that looked like they'd be bitches if you knew them. It was really nice sightseeing, if you know what I mean. In a way, it was sort of depressing, too, because you kept wondering what the hell would happen to all of them. When they got out of school and college, I mean. You figured most of them would probably marry dopey guys. Guys that always talk about how many miles they get to a gallon in their goddam cars. Guys that get sore and childish as hell if you beat them at golf, or even just some stupid game like ping-pong. Guys that are very mean. Guys that never read books. Guys that are very boring."
-The Catcher in the Rye
(Note: People who quote On the Road and The Catcher in the Rye are usually douchebags of the highest order. I am no exception.)
"He had passed visibly through two states and was entering upon a third. After his embarrassment and his unreasoning joy he was consumed with wonder at her presence. He had been full of the idea so long, dreamed it right through to the end, waited with his teeth set, so to speak, at an inconceivable pitch of intensity. Now, in the reaction, he was running down like an over wound clock."
-The Great Gatsby
(The Great Gatsby is a book I have never read but which I know quite well. I'd even say it's my favorite book that I haven't read. It also has really awesome cover art.)
-Anthony Powell
Every religion is true one way or another. It is true when understood metaphorically. But when it gets stuck in its own metaphors, interpreting them as facts, then you are in trouble.
-Joseph Campbell
"Then somehow the country slid into worship of the idiot. Television is filled with stupid people being rewarded and praised for acting as dumb as possible. If you knocked an angry monkey in the head and gave it a job tending bar in South Beach, VH1 would devote hours of programming to watching it shreik and bone skanks. Even nerds aren’t nerds anymore. “Nerds” now are just hipsters that kept their Star Wars action figures."
-Eliza Skinner
"If I have a son, it’s likely I’ll be confronted with a spitting image of myself at the most awkward, miserable time of my life."
-Drew Magary
(If I actually put the Chasing Amy quote I was originally going to put here, I'd have to make the blog private. Instead, this not-at-all deep quote will suffice:)
"Archie is not fucking Mr. Weatherbee!"
-Chasing Amy
"I've got a really great compliment for you, and it's true."
"I'm so afraid you're about to say something awful.
"Don't be pessimistic, it's not your style. Okay, here I go: Clearly, a mistake. I've got this, what - ailment? My doctor, a shrink that I used to go to all the time, he says that in fifty or sixty percent of the cases, a pill really helps. I *hate* pills, very dangerous thing, pills. Hate. I'm using the word "hate" here, about pills. Hate. My compliment is, that night when you came over and told me that you would never... well, you were there, you know what you said. Well, my compliment to you is, the next morning, I started taking the pills. "
"I don't quite get how that's a compliment for me."
"You make me want to be a better man."
"...That's maybe the best compliment of my life."
"Well, maybe I overshot a little, because I was aiming at just enough to keep you from walking out."
-As Good As It Gets
I rode my bicycle out in the snow today for half an hour or so, and it was pretty awesome. I've always been a fan of the cold, and snow so rarely came to anywhere I've lived. I thought it was pretty interesting that all of these college students who live here, most of whom are away from home for the first time, and try so hard to give an impression of worldliness and sophistication, went out and played in the snow like they were 8 years old. I still hate all of them, understand, I just thought it was interesting. I go and exercise in bad weather because of the usual fat-person self-consciousness, but in this case, it was kind of novel to have all the people out there, even if I got a lot of weird looks.
Though, as usual, one thing bothered me. A big eff you to couples frolicking happily in the snow. See, cold is the natural ally of the fat loser. We feel comfortable in it, because nobody else is. Snow, though...it brings out people. We hate people. Especially happy people. And, as the prototypical fat loser with no reasonable romantic prospects, it sticks in my craw that these happy so-called couples have the audacity to display affection in weather which rightfully belongs to the socially awkward and obese.
I'm a pack rat. I assign sentimental value to things which in no way deserve it. Sometimes, though, this works to my advantage. On my phone I have three text messages saved, which I can't imagine getting rid of in the near future. One is a "happy birthday...negro" from my dad, which he remembered even though he was traveling for most of that day. I keep it because I'm kind of a sap. I will fuck you up if you make fun of me for it. The other two I keep are much more recent. They're from a woman. Each text serves an opposite purpose to the other. One is good for a quick burst of joy. It makes me grin like an idiot, if only for a moment. The other serves to temper me. I've always operated under the idea that each good day is balanced out in your life by at least one bad day. It doesn't do to be happy for any lengthy period of time, because when things balance, as they eventually do, you might as well contain the damage. So when I'm feeling particularly pie in the sky, I take a look at that little message and I'm back to neutral, which is where we should all be anyway. It's healthier.
"A pain stabbed my heart, as it did every time I saw a girl I loved who was going the opposite direction in this too-big world."
-On the Road
"A lot of schools were home for vacation already, and there were about a million girls sitting and standing around waiting for their dates to show up. Girls with their legs crossed, girls with their legs not crossed, girls with terrific legs, girls with lousy legs, girls that looked like swell girls, girls that looked like they'd be bitches if you knew them. It was really nice sightseeing, if you know what I mean. In a way, it was sort of depressing, too, because you kept wondering what the hell would happen to all of them. When they got out of school and college, I mean. You figured most of them would probably marry dopey guys. Guys that always talk about how many miles they get to a gallon in their goddam cars. Guys that get sore and childish as hell if you beat them at golf, or even just some stupid game like ping-pong. Guys that are very mean. Guys that never read books. Guys that are very boring."
-The Catcher in the Rye
(Note: People who quote On the Road and The Catcher in the Rye are usually douchebags of the highest order. I am no exception.)
"He had passed visibly through two states and was entering upon a third. After his embarrassment and his unreasoning joy he was consumed with wonder at her presence. He had been full of the idea so long, dreamed it right through to the end, waited with his teeth set, so to speak, at an inconceivable pitch of intensity. Now, in the reaction, he was running down like an over wound clock."
-The Great Gatsby
(The Great Gatsby is a book I have never read but which I know quite well. I'd even say it's my favorite book that I haven't read. It also has really awesome cover art.)
Self-love seems so often unrequited.
-Anthony Powell
Every religion is true one way or another. It is true when understood metaphorically. But when it gets stuck in its own metaphors, interpreting them as facts, then you are in trouble.
-Joseph Campbell
"Then somehow the country slid into worship of the idiot. Television is filled with stupid people being rewarded and praised for acting as dumb as possible. If you knocked an angry monkey in the head and gave it a job tending bar in South Beach, VH1 would devote hours of programming to watching it shreik and bone skanks. Even nerds aren’t nerds anymore. “Nerds” now are just hipsters that kept their Star Wars action figures."
-Eliza Skinner
"If I have a son, it’s likely I’ll be confronted with a spitting image of myself at the most awkward, miserable time of my life."
-Drew Magary
(If I actually put the Chasing Amy quote I was originally going to put here, I'd have to make the blog private. Instead, this not-at-all deep quote will suffice:)
"Archie is not fucking Mr. Weatherbee!"
-Chasing Amy
"I've got a really great compliment for you, and it's true."
"I'm so afraid you're about to say something awful.
"Don't be pessimistic, it's not your style. Okay, here I go: Clearly, a mistake. I've got this, what - ailment? My doctor, a shrink that I used to go to all the time, he says that in fifty or sixty percent of the cases, a pill really helps. I *hate* pills, very dangerous thing, pills. Hate. I'm using the word "hate" here, about pills. Hate. My compliment is, that night when you came over and told me that you would never... well, you were there, you know what you said. Well, my compliment to you is, the next morning, I started taking the pills. "
"I don't quite get how that's a compliment for me."
"You make me want to be a better man."
"...That's maybe the best compliment of my life."
"Well, maybe I overshot a little, because I was aiming at just enough to keep you from walking out."
-As Good As It Gets
I rode my bicycle out in the snow today for half an hour or so, and it was pretty awesome. I've always been a fan of the cold, and snow so rarely came to anywhere I've lived. I thought it was pretty interesting that all of these college students who live here, most of whom are away from home for the first time, and try so hard to give an impression of worldliness and sophistication, went out and played in the snow like they were 8 years old. I still hate all of them, understand, I just thought it was interesting. I go and exercise in bad weather because of the usual fat-person self-consciousness, but in this case, it was kind of novel to have all the people out there, even if I got a lot of weird looks.
Though, as usual, one thing bothered me. A big eff you to couples frolicking happily in the snow. See, cold is the natural ally of the fat loser. We feel comfortable in it, because nobody else is. Snow, though...it brings out people. We hate people. Especially happy people. And, as the prototypical fat loser with no reasonable romantic prospects, it sticks in my craw that these happy so-called couples have the audacity to display affection in weather which rightfully belongs to the socially awkward and obese.
Reposts, vol 4
I'm not usually someone given to displays of emotion, so it pretty much bugs me when my rational response is shunted aside in favor of some sort of self-hating quixotic kick. For instance: I know something to be true that I really wish wasn't. My rational mind tells me that any smidgen of hope otherwise is foolish. Yet...I can't help but hold out. It sucks.
My classes next semester, and why I'll fail them.
1. Writing in the Humanities and Social Sciences: American Political Film
-Unless we're watching Star Wars at some point in the class, I can see this as being one of those classes which I'm kinda hepped for during break, but which quickly becomes boring as shit. This is also a 9:30 class. I showed up for my 9:30 class this semester maybe 1/3rd of the time. It's way the fuck on the other side of campus, and I'll have to ride all the way back for...
2. Interpretation of Historic Places
-I'm really much more a fan of military history than personal history, but the military history class is at 8:55, which means I would never show up. Plus, the instructor for this class is pretty cool. Alas, he believes in utilizing my most stalwart antagonist: the weekly assignment.
3. Political Parties and Interest Groups
-I'm not even entirely sure that this will fulfill a degree requirement (maybe), but it sounds interesting. By interesting, I mean that it's going to devolve into the same idiocy every single political science class does. IE, Glenn Beck followers arguing with smug liberal Maher clones, not to mention the people who claim to be libertarians because they smoke pot. Ideally, the professor isn't going to encourage discussion.
4. 20th Century Europe
-I can't really think of anything that would trip me up in the class, but the professor's name is Dietmar Schneider-Hector. The fuck? That doesn't even make sense. I hate whenever my professors have hyphenated names. I sound goofy trying to talk to them.
5. Creative Writing: Prose
-I've taken one creative writing class, and it was pretty much a disaster. As usual I was tardy or close-to-it in turning in writing assignments. A great deal of my work was done on the due date. Most of the time, in composition classes and history, I'm able to make up for this by having better content than my more organized classmates. I was a goddamn C+ student in that class. I can knock out a dry research paper with little effort and get a B+ minimum. If I'm just given free reign, and have to (God forbid) use my shriveled, movie-and-tv-rotted imagination, I freeze up. So why am I taking this class, when I'm sure to embarrass myself further? Simply, I don't have to get up any earlier to go to it, it's only two days a week, and I already have a lot of junk on my hard drive I can throw out there in a true emergency.
Songs I've been listening to (because the space at the bottom is not large enough):
Southern Man by Neil Young - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJwS38YH1iw
A Woman in Love (It's Not Me) by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sm2JWykYZmE
Hey Hey, My My (Into the Black) by Neil Young - Like, no passable versions on YouTube.
Refugee by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fFnOfpIJL0M
M4 Part II by Faunts (combo breaker!) - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gISlB1IdUjI
My classes next semester, and why I'll fail them.
1. Writing in the Humanities and Social Sciences: American Political Film
-Unless we're watching Star Wars at some point in the class, I can see this as being one of those classes which I'm kinda hepped for during break, but which quickly becomes boring as shit. This is also a 9:30 class. I showed up for my 9:30 class this semester maybe 1/3rd of the time. It's way the fuck on the other side of campus, and I'll have to ride all the way back for...
2. Interpretation of Historic Places
-I'm really much more a fan of military history than personal history, but the military history class is at 8:55, which means I would never show up. Plus, the instructor for this class is pretty cool. Alas, he believes in utilizing my most stalwart antagonist: the weekly assignment.
3. Political Parties and Interest Groups
-I'm not even entirely sure that this will fulfill a degree requirement (maybe), but it sounds interesting. By interesting, I mean that it's going to devolve into the same idiocy every single political science class does. IE, Glenn Beck followers arguing with smug liberal Maher clones, not to mention the people who claim to be libertarians because they smoke pot. Ideally, the professor isn't going to encourage discussion.
4. 20th Century Europe
-I can't really think of anything that would trip me up in the class, but the professor's name is Dietmar Schneider-Hector. The fuck? That doesn't even make sense. I hate whenever my professors have hyphenated names. I sound goofy trying to talk to them.
5. Creative Writing: Prose
-I've taken one creative writing class, and it was pretty much a disaster. As usual I was tardy or close-to-it in turning in writing assignments. A great deal of my work was done on the due date. Most of the time, in composition classes and history, I'm able to make up for this by having better content than my more organized classmates. I was a goddamn C+ student in that class. I can knock out a dry research paper with little effort and get a B+ minimum. If I'm just given free reign, and have to (God forbid) use my shriveled, movie-and-tv-rotted imagination, I freeze up. So why am I taking this class, when I'm sure to embarrass myself further? Simply, I don't have to get up any earlier to go to it, it's only two days a week, and I already have a lot of junk on my hard drive I can throw out there in a true emergency.
Songs I've been listening to (because the space at the bottom is not large enough):
Southern Man by Neil Young - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJwS38YH1iw
A Woman in Love (It's Not Me) by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sm2JWykYZmE
Hey Hey, My My (Into the Black) by Neil Young - Like, no passable versions on YouTube.
Refugee by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fFnOfpIJL0M
M4 Part II by Faunts (combo breaker!) - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gISlB1IdUjI
Reposts, vol 3
"Fuck it, I'm not a knight."
-Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang
Since the advent of the internet, men who have no luck with women have actually been documented to have higher standards than the ugly and fat men of times past. Why is this? Men who have no luck with women tend to be more likely to find their mental image of women from the media, be it through film, television, or Google image search. Since women who are found in these outlets tend to be in at least the 80th percentile of attractiveness, and they never talk to women in their real lives, their standards become impossible to meet, which in turn makes them less likely to ever interact with somebody of the female persuasion. Hypocrisy at its finest.
Myself, I'm subject to this, in that I generally don't have interest in women anywhere near my league. But then, given that my "league" consists of burn ward residents, octogenarians, and women who will need cranes to remove them from their homes after their inevitable, cheese-flavored death (like me!), I don't think I can be blamed. For the most part though, my standards are only really unrealistically high for intelligence. I won't seriously consider trying to woo a woman who isn't at least nearly as smart as I am. I'll flirt, or in the case of my first real girlfriend, fake my way through a relationship for physical gratification, but I probably won't actually give a shit if they aren't smart. Naturally, most smart and pretty women are taken by males superior to me in nearly every way. So in a sense, I'm sort of Zoidbergian.
The smart and pretty women left over generally are a bit fucked up. They're paranoid, or extra neurotic, or have an ex they've never gotten over, or they like to fuck anything that moves which isn't shaped like me. I'm okay with this, because who isn't fucked up? I'm certainly fucked up. My friends are all fucked up. Even among this group, though, I'm usually relegated to the evil and abhorrent Friend Zone (I wrote a blog about rules every homely man should follow to avoid this, but it came out way bitter so I deleted it), which is followed by me splitting and cutting off contact (gradually or suddenly, depending on how likely I am to be murdered for denying a woman of her free compliments-and-sympathy pet), because that sucks. The extremely small pool left over after this, those are my bread and butter. Unfortunately, I'm pretty awkward at the best of times. It's much, much worse if I actually like a girl, because then I get flustered and somehow manage to simultaneously over- and underthink my words. Since my words (and maybe my very pretty eyes) are the only real card(s) I have to play, you can see how this would mess things up. So yeah. I'm just bored.
-Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang
Since the advent of the internet, men who have no luck with women have actually been documented to have higher standards than the ugly and fat men of times past. Why is this? Men who have no luck with women tend to be more likely to find their mental image of women from the media, be it through film, television, or Google image search. Since women who are found in these outlets tend to be in at least the 80th percentile of attractiveness, and they never talk to women in their real lives, their standards become impossible to meet, which in turn makes them less likely to ever interact with somebody of the female persuasion. Hypocrisy at its finest.
Myself, I'm subject to this, in that I generally don't have interest in women anywhere near my league. But then, given that my "league" consists of burn ward residents, octogenarians, and women who will need cranes to remove them from their homes after their inevitable, cheese-flavored death (like me!), I don't think I can be blamed. For the most part though, my standards are only really unrealistically high for intelligence. I won't seriously consider trying to woo a woman who isn't at least nearly as smart as I am. I'll flirt, or in the case of my first real girlfriend, fake my way through a relationship for physical gratification, but I probably won't actually give a shit if they aren't smart. Naturally, most smart and pretty women are taken by males superior to me in nearly every way. So in a sense, I'm sort of Zoidbergian.
The smart and pretty women left over generally are a bit fucked up. They're paranoid, or extra neurotic, or have an ex they've never gotten over, or they like to fuck anything that moves which isn't shaped like me. I'm okay with this, because who isn't fucked up? I'm certainly fucked up. My friends are all fucked up. Even among this group, though, I'm usually relegated to the evil and abhorrent Friend Zone (I wrote a blog about rules every homely man should follow to avoid this, but it came out way bitter so I deleted it), which is followed by me splitting and cutting off contact (gradually or suddenly, depending on how likely I am to be murdered for denying a woman of her free compliments-and-sympathy pet), because that sucks. The extremely small pool left over after this, those are my bread and butter. Unfortunately, I'm pretty awkward at the best of times. It's much, much worse if I actually like a girl, because then I get flustered and somehow manage to simultaneously over- and underthink my words. Since my words (and maybe my very pretty eyes) are the only real card(s) I have to play, you can see how this would mess things up. So yeah. I'm just bored.
Reposts, vol 2
"That's all I've ever been.
Cause you don't know me."
-Ray Charles
I loathe:
People in college who still can't quite grasp the intricacies of your/you're and there/their/they're.
Being the king of 2nd place.
The lack of control inherent in strong emotion.
All of the shitty early 2000's songs that Generation Kill got stuck in my head. (Curse you, Wheatus!)
Bayard
Christmas
The happy
Picking out gifts (to be elaborated upon)
The piano coda in "Layla"
This goddamn broken pixel on my laptop monitor.
"There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams--not through her own fault but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion."
-The Great Gatsby
I dread going back home. I love my family and all, even the ones on my dad's side who make me feel like a fuckup, but I'm already pretty close to raging out. More importantly, my grandmother now needs more care than ever, what with the hip replacement. There are three scenarios I can see happening here. The first and most desirable is that my family adapts well to this and my grandmother has real progress. The second is that my family asks me to take a semester off to help, which I really don't want to do but would. The third is that my residual guilt takes things to the point where I volunteer to stay, which is not altogether unlikely. So I dunno.
"...but the point is probably moot."
-Rick Springfield
I'm retarded at picking out gifts. Part of this is that, being a useless bum, I rarely if ever have the funds or inclination to buy gifts on Christmas, and I'm a pretty awful son and brother and so tend to forget the birthdays of even direct relatives. This year I've allocated funds specially for this purpose, which means I'll probably need to get a job next semester to help pay off tuition and housing, but I've grown tired of bum-itude. Still, I have no idea what would work for most of my family. I have a rough idea of what to get my mother, but chances are she'll buy it for herself before Christmas, and I can't be like, "Don't buy this", because I'm old fashioned and like surprise gifts. Since my dad is basically me but with a work ethic, I have a pretty good idea of what to get him, but no way to get to the mall. My brother, ehh, I dunno. The rest of the family give each other actual awesome gifts, so whatever I get will look crappier still in comparison. So far as friends, there are only three I'd consider getting stuff. One is decided, and it's a totally shitty and lazy gift on my part but sadly probably better than what I'd get her otherwise, since, as the opening sentence says, I'm retarded at picking gifts out. My BFF will get something cool but cheap, because he understands. The last, I have a vague idea of something she'd like, but is it not a total creep move to buy a gift for a girl who shot you down? I'm pretty sure it is.
"I want you to notice
when I'm not around
You're so fuckin' special
I wish I was special
But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?"
-Radiohead
I'm 20 years old, and frankly, I'm not sure what I want to be when I grow up. This is a pretty dire situation, since I am a grown up, sorta. My plan is to go to law school. After all, I'm getting a degree in history. My options? Pretty fucking limited. I can go to law school with a history, presuming my grades are high enough, so that's the plan. I'm not even sure I want to be a lawyer, but a JD can get you more than just a history degree can, so it seems like as good an idea as any. I've always had light political aspirations , but I'm not sure I have enough ass-kisser cred to do it. In Barack Obama's political memoir (regardless of politics, dude's a good writer, and he actually wrote his), he talks about having to lose the self-consciousness somebody naturally feels when they ask for money, because a lot of a campaign is doing just that. I can't even get over my self-consciousness about asking for help in a store. Not to mention that most politicians actually, you know, did stuff in college. Model UN, internships, etc. I'm content to stay in my dorm bitching on MySpace. So I don't think that dog will hunt. At this point, it's almost worth throwing all of my effort into becoming a space-faring bounty hunter.
"In my midnight confessions
When I say all the things that I want to..."
-The Grass Roots
Cause you don't know me."
-Ray Charles
I loathe:
People in college who still can't quite grasp the intricacies of your/you're and there/their/they're.
Being the king of 2nd place.
The lack of control inherent in strong emotion.
All of the shitty early 2000's songs that Generation Kill got stuck in my head. (Curse you, Wheatus!)
Bayard
Christmas
The happy
Picking out gifts (to be elaborated upon)
The piano coda in "Layla"
This goddamn broken pixel on my laptop monitor.
"There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams--not through her own fault but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion."
-The Great Gatsby
I dread going back home. I love my family and all, even the ones on my dad's side who make me feel like a fuckup, but I'm already pretty close to raging out. More importantly, my grandmother now needs more care than ever, what with the hip replacement. There are three scenarios I can see happening here. The first and most desirable is that my family adapts well to this and my grandmother has real progress. The second is that my family asks me to take a semester off to help, which I really don't want to do but would. The third is that my residual guilt takes things to the point where I volunteer to stay, which is not altogether unlikely. So I dunno.
"...but the point is probably moot."
-Rick Springfield
I'm retarded at picking out gifts. Part of this is that, being a useless bum, I rarely if ever have the funds or inclination to buy gifts on Christmas, and I'm a pretty awful son and brother and so tend to forget the birthdays of even direct relatives. This year I've allocated funds specially for this purpose, which means I'll probably need to get a job next semester to help pay off tuition and housing, but I've grown tired of bum-itude. Still, I have no idea what would work for most of my family. I have a rough idea of what to get my mother, but chances are she'll buy it for herself before Christmas, and I can't be like, "Don't buy this", because I'm old fashioned and like surprise gifts. Since my dad is basically me but with a work ethic, I have a pretty good idea of what to get him, but no way to get to the mall. My brother, ehh, I dunno. The rest of the family give each other actual awesome gifts, so whatever I get will look crappier still in comparison. So far as friends, there are only three I'd consider getting stuff. One is decided, and it's a totally shitty and lazy gift on my part but sadly probably better than what I'd get her otherwise, since, as the opening sentence says, I'm retarded at picking gifts out. My BFF will get something cool but cheap, because he understands. The last, I have a vague idea of something she'd like, but is it not a total creep move to buy a gift for a girl who shot you down? I'm pretty sure it is.
"I want you to notice
when I'm not around
You're so fuckin' special
I wish I was special
But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?"
-Radiohead
I'm 20 years old, and frankly, I'm not sure what I want to be when I grow up. This is a pretty dire situation, since I am a grown up, sorta. My plan is to go to law school. After all, I'm getting a degree in history. My options? Pretty fucking limited. I can go to law school with a history, presuming my grades are high enough, so that's the plan. I'm not even sure I want to be a lawyer, but a JD can get you more than just a history degree can, so it seems like as good an idea as any. I've always had light political aspirations , but I'm not sure I have enough ass-kisser cred to do it. In Barack Obama's political memoir (regardless of politics, dude's a good writer, and he actually wrote his), he talks about having to lose the self-consciousness somebody naturally feels when they ask for money, because a lot of a campaign is doing just that. I can't even get over my self-consciousness about asking for help in a store. Not to mention that most politicians actually, you know, did stuff in college. Model UN, internships, etc. I'm content to stay in my dorm bitching on MySpace. So I don't think that dog will hunt. At this point, it's almost worth throwing all of my effort into becoming a space-faring bounty hunter.
"In my midnight confessions
When I say all the things that I want to..."
-The Grass Roots
Reposts, vol 1
People will invariably abandon the reliable in favor of the novel. The easiest example to use is that of somebody who cheats on their romantic partner. New people are exciting. They might be smarter, or sexier, or more worldly. If it's about sex, they may be especially hung or stacked or freaky. Overall, though, I think it's merely that utterly indefinable newness which causes us to stray, with a hint of "must have the forbidden fruit", with the rest as window dressing. This line of thought entered my mind in a conversation last night. As usual, I was talking about myself. I mentioned the odd fact that, in one extent or another, each woman I've seriously pursued has been involved by the time I showed up. First real girl #1 went out casually with me for a while, before cheating on me with some big orc-looking motherfucker. Once she started going out with him, though, I was suddenly once again the cat's pajamas, the eel's hip, bee's knees, etc. That is to say, things only got serious with her once she was cheating on somebody else. Real girl #2, I merely charmed her into dumping her boyfriend before going out with me, so that we were both technically clean, despite some emotional infidelity occurring well beforehand. So in a way, it was refreshing, if mind-bendingly depressing, to recently get rejected straight up due to boyfriend. The moral decay of society isn't complete.
"With every word she was drawing further and further into herself, so he gave that up, and only the dead dream fought on as the afternoon slipped away, trying to touch what was no longer tangible, struggling unhappily, undespairingly, toward that lost voice across the room."
-obligatory Gatsby quote.
There's not much to do here at home. Even if I didn't lack a vehicle, there wouldn't be. Sit with my grandmother, try to get her to eat, try to stop her from unlatching herself from her wheelchair, carry her to her toilet, try to help her sleep, make sure she doesn't try to walk on her mending hip. As usual, it's depressing but necessary, and I rather like my primary family even if we annoy each other. Last night my great aunt died. She was 95, given three months to live several years ago, yet we were surprised. We were sort of prepared, since she'd been declining, but she was tough. Quite a few of my family members weren't particularly fond of her, or at least, had an issue with her. I only met her twice, she was nice enough, but then, I only met her twice. Given the intensity of the troubles with my grandmother and my family, I can't help but feel somewhat numb, which I'm pretty sure is fucked up. Having gotten used to the idea of two people I'm incredibly close to being incurably ill at present, I'm if anything sort of relieved that somebody in my family got to live almost 100 years with full lucidity and physical faculty. I hope that if I live that long, I have half that luck. Given the Alzheimer's and multiple sclerosis in the family, though, I think I'd be pretty okay dying at 60, 65 tops. Assuming I marry and start reproducing at 25-30, and don't space my kids out to a ridiculous degree, the youngest will be an adult. Ideally, they'll have even graduated college by the time I kick that bucket. I won't live to lose my mind, or my physical faculties, or burden my kids. Whatever poor fool of a woman I convince to marry me will still be virile enough to enjoy the rest of her life, given the miraculous state of modern medicine.
"What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?"
-High Fidelity (totally appropriate given that for the past couple of days I've been listening to "Jessie's Girl", "Creep", and other assorted sad bastard music nonstop)
I love movies, I love music, I love books, but unlike some people, I realize that the people in them are not cool just because they're sympathetic. Some of my favorite characters are utter twats. Jay Gatsby invests his entire life toward wooing a woman. His entire motivation for pulling himsebecoming a wealthy elite is to make Daisy his. When he's rejected, he has nothing left. The dream is dead and he follows soon after. Both main characters from Lost in Translation are arrogant and aloof. Seymour from Ghost World has let his social awkwardness rule his life, Enid Coleslaw from the same is selfish, somewhat manipulative, and cowardly. Are we seeing a pattern? Do I act like that because I sympathize with those characters, or do I sympathize with those characters because I act like them?
(I thought of putting a quote here from a shitty movie I've never seen before but which had the perfect sentiment. Alas, I have standards. If you can guess the quote or even just the movie, you will win a genuine imitation Marvel no-prize.)
"With every word she was drawing further and further into herself, so he gave that up, and only the dead dream fought on as the afternoon slipped away, trying to touch what was no longer tangible, struggling unhappily, undespairingly, toward that lost voice across the room."
-obligatory Gatsby quote.
There's not much to do here at home. Even if I didn't lack a vehicle, there wouldn't be. Sit with my grandmother, try to get her to eat, try to stop her from unlatching herself from her wheelchair, carry her to her toilet, try to help her sleep, make sure she doesn't try to walk on her mending hip. As usual, it's depressing but necessary, and I rather like my primary family even if we annoy each other. Last night my great aunt died. She was 95, given three months to live several years ago, yet we were surprised. We were sort of prepared, since she'd been declining, but she was tough. Quite a few of my family members weren't particularly fond of her, or at least, had an issue with her. I only met her twice, she was nice enough, but then, I only met her twice. Given the intensity of the troubles with my grandmother and my family, I can't help but feel somewhat numb, which I'm pretty sure is fucked up. Having gotten used to the idea of two people I'm incredibly close to being incurably ill at present, I'm if anything sort of relieved that somebody in my family got to live almost 100 years with full lucidity and physical faculty. I hope that if I live that long, I have half that luck. Given the Alzheimer's and multiple sclerosis in the family, though, I think I'd be pretty okay dying at 60, 65 tops. Assuming I marry and start reproducing at 25-30, and don't space my kids out to a ridiculous degree, the youngest will be an adult. Ideally, they'll have even graduated college by the time I kick that bucket. I won't live to lose my mind, or my physical faculties, or burden my kids. Whatever poor fool of a woman I convince to marry me will still be virile enough to enjoy the rest of her life, given the miraculous state of modern medicine.
"What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?"
-High Fidelity (totally appropriate given that for the past couple of days I've been listening to "Jessie's Girl", "Creep", and other assorted sad bastard music nonstop)
I love movies, I love music, I love books, but unlike some people, I realize that the people in them are not cool just because they're sympathetic. Some of my favorite characters are utter twats. Jay Gatsby invests his entire life toward wooing a woman. His entire motivation for pulling himsebecoming a wealthy elite is to make Daisy his. When he's rejected, he has nothing left. The dream is dead and he follows soon after. Both main characters from Lost in Translation are arrogant and aloof. Seymour from Ghost World has let his social awkwardness rule his life, Enid Coleslaw from the same is selfish, somewhat manipulative, and cowardly. Are we seeing a pattern? Do I act like that because I sympathize with those characters, or do I sympathize with those characters because I act like them?
(I thought of putting a quote here from a shitty movie I've never seen before but which had the perfect sentiment. Alas, I have standards. If you can guess the quote or even just the movie, you will win a genuine imitation Marvel no-prize.)
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