lunes, marzo 31, 2003

Seemed Worth Posting

is a
Coconut-Eating Rage Monkey

...with a Battle Rating of 8.4

To see if your Food-Eating Battle Monkey can
defeat cole, enter your name:

posted at 17:07 ||

domingo, marzo 30, 2003

Oh My Gawd

This weekend has been a blast. Sort of. Apart from getting in trouble. It wasn't that much trouble, I only got my key to the car taken away because I came home about ten hours ago. I wasn't at work, and I didn't call, but if I had called, I wouldn't have gotten to do what I had done.

But, as Ms Gibson says, we won't go into that.

I have to take the SAT II Spanish Subject test in may, and I've been reviewing. I've been reading all my news in Spanish, and I've asked the Spanish teacher at school for some tests I could practice on. She gave me one on Friday but I left it in my music folder.

It's snowing. Fucking snowing. Here it is, almost April, and there's snow in the air. God dammit.

All State is Thursday! Yay!

I've got to work in about an hour.

Until then, homework.

posted at 14:44 ||

martes, marzo 25, 2003

An Exercise in Vanity

I am balding. This may not sound serious enough to write about; however, the catch is I'm still a teenager. Seventeen to be exact. I know that balding in teens isn't especially rare, but I've only ever met one other balding seventeen-year-old within a fifty-mile radius, only he was worse off than I.

It's true. I am balding. The trouble is, though, I haven't entirely figured out why. Could it be genes? It could, I guess. My father has been balding for the past twenty years, but it's only been noticeable for the past ten or so because until then he was in the military, thus forced to keep his hair cropped close to his head. I don't understand why he feels he has to keep his hair long. Apparently, the longer one's balding hair gets, the stringier it gets. Imagine, if you will, a six-foot tall man with bushy black eyebrows he refuses to trim, a bolshevik mustache, and a forehead that would have been stylish in the time of Chaucer with a tangle of hair seemingly glued to it. His forehead is broken by an extremely pronounced widow's peak, which he says runs in his mom's side of the family, and which he has passed to me.

My mother is showing no signs of balding. Her hair is as thick as it has ever been, though it is enduring a second natural color change. Her father was bald, though. Her brother, started balding early, only he has fought his balding with drugs, an appropriate reaction as he is a doctor. Mom's other brothers -- half-brothers by the same father -- are a source of my confusion. The oldest, in his mid-sixties, is completely bald, like his father. The youngest, approaching his sixties, still has his full head of hair, though.

My brother, whom because of his size and bearing we affectionately call Ursus, has a bear's pelt growing from his scalp. If my hair were as thick as his, I think my core body temperature would be somewhere around 100 degrees.

But as I am not endowed with a pelt like a great woodland creature, my chances don't look good.

I used to have long hair. It wasn't really shaggy, because my hair has never been thick enough to be considered shaggy, but it was really long. At its longest it was along my jawline. I could chew on it, though I didn't like to that because it would make the part I had chewed on crusty after a while. Everyone liked it--everyone, that is, except the obvious: my mother. Everyone would tell me I looked like a hippie, especially when I decided to don sandals that weren't birkenstocks, but cheap imitations that one can get at Wal-Mart for twelve dollars and were every bit as good as Birkenstocks. I still maintain that I was the one who revived the Birkenstock look. My mother didn't like the hair. I guess I kept it as long as I did as a sort of rebellious act in that sense.

I never really saw the point in getting my hair cut, though. Like making the bed or cleaning the room, I'd just have to do it again sometime soon.

Eventually I did get it cut, but even then it wasn't voluntary. We were about to make rounds in Indiana for my father's family during Thanksgiving, and I was informed that a lot of the people whom we were to visit had been in the military and wouldn't take kindly to a near-grown man with girly hair. So I got it cut. Right across my forehead. It looked awful, but it was an act of defiant compliance. I had gotten my hair cut, as my dad ordered, but it was still kind of long, just not long enough to where I could tuck it behind my ears, an action I was very fond of doing. And by some cruel twist of fate, the time my hair looked like that is when I had the most pictures of me taken in the past five years. I've got pictures of me ten years ago with that same haircut, only then it was cute. In the recent pictures, my hair just looks stupid. And there I am just smiling like I'm the coolest motherfucker out there.

I didn't get it cut next until sometime between All-District Band Festival, which happens at the begnning of February, and the month of March. My hair had grown back to a considerable fraction of its pre-Thanksgiving length, which is to say that it had grown down so far that it was starting to impair my vision. When I did get it cut, all I can remember thinking was how much of a contrast it had made between the old hair. It was short, and it looked fabulous. I turned a few heads in school the next day, heads that for the past year and a half had seen my various states of non-good hair. I can remember the little senior bitch with the irritatingly loud mouth just gaping.

Now it seems no matter how I get it cut, it looks thinner and thinner, which is direct evidence -- for me, at least -- that I am balding. But the pertinent question is Why?

Perhaps I'm being punished. Maybe if I hadn't cut it and enjoyed it so much, maybe if I hadn't been so vain, I wouldn't be balding now. I would instead have long shoulder-length hair that I could -- as gay as this sounds -- put up in a pony-tail, the kind that always looks so sexy on guys at least thirty pounds lighter than I. But if I hadn't gotten it cut, then I would still probably be the balding guy with the pony-tail, which is about the least sexy thing imaginable.

If it wasn't for vanity, then why the cut? It really wasn't bothering me, like it was after District where I had to keep my head down and look up just to see the director. It was long enough that if it got in my eyes I could just tuck it behind my ears. In fact, I rather enjoyed tucking it, liked the way it felt. At the length it was, it kept my head and the back of my neck warm during winter. I often pretended to be frustrated and put my hands in my hair for the sole purpose of keeping me warm.

I liked my hair. I'm fond of saying that if I woke up with my hair like it was, I wouldn't cut it. But I dont' want to go through that stage when it's in my eyes again, because that stage lasts too long.

My hair made me an individual, it made me stand out. I didn't look like the next guy with his pseud-crew cut, his stupid little bangs gelled upward at a ninety-degree angle, and his Aeropostale/American Eagle/Abercrombie and Fitch designer-ripped cut-off cargo shorts, which are really flare-legged capris pants, but if they were sold as capris pants, no one would buy them.

With balding inevitable, should I take action to prevent it? Rogaine? Propecia? Obviously not, as the side effects for those medicines are less sublte as punishment for vanity, what with dry mouth, sexual side effects, and rectal bleeding to contend with. Perhaps I would be better off accepting my fate that I will end up like George Costanza, though perhaps not as short. Or fat. Or I could end up like Anthony Edwards, managing to pull off the tall, thin-not-skinny, sexy doctor type. Is a career in medicine on my horizon? After all, one of my uncles is a doctor, and college is just around the next bend in the road.

Maybe I'll end up like Patrick Stewart. As far as I know, Patrick Stewart is not a sex symbol of any kind, but rather is known as the authrotiative commander-type who is always looking after his crew first, then his vessel, and then himself, Moby Dick being the obvious exception. And Conspiracy Theory.

So maybe not Patrick Stewart. Then who?

Obviously I've missed the whole point of this exercise. I should just accept my fate as the only not-so-far-off bald college senior who isn't bald for a fashion statement.

posted at 19:59 ||

Guess What?

I'm bored. So rather than sit on the computer and aimlessly poke around on the internet, I'll post something I've been working on.

Hold on.

posted at 19:49 ||

A Plethora...Or Not

  • I'm listening to the auditions for Wind Ensemble for this past year. Jeeeesus, they are bad. Not to brag or anything, but my audition took like, two minutes or less on the tape. Everyone else is doing quarter notes. And I can sooo pick out who's playing. Like, right now, it's Alex(is), a baritone. She lost to Josh, who is a fabulous baritone player, and should try out for all-district next year because he would do really well.
  • Speaking of Jesus, my friend went to Charlottesville this weekend and guess what he bought. Guess. A Jesus Action Figure, complete with poseable arms and glide action. Muahahahahaha. I want to tell you something, so new item.
  • The same friend was making pottery yesterday, and hurt his hand. He plays the piano.
  • I am in a group with him who is going to play at the 4H talent show, which we thought was this evening, but as it turns out, has been moved to Monday. Monday should be enough time.
  • I work all this weekend.
  • I think I did really well on an essay test about poetry today in English. Yay for me.
  • This past weekend, I decided I'd go running. And I did. And I hurt myself. I'm better now, but I think I hyper-extended my knee running down some pretty steep hills. Anyway, it hurt to bend it too far. And it hurt to bend it too far and put pressure on it, and it swelled up and looked funny. It's better now.
  • Dad's found work. I don't know if I mentioned it or not, but back in September dad was fired from where he worked. He got his license to be a paralegal (or something like it), though, and has found work. He's off right now, probably in transit to Grundy. He was in Marion. Grundy and Marion are like, at opposite ends of the Appalachian region place thing...right. Anyway, he's gone and mom's at work, so we don't know how long we'll be at home alone.
  • Home alone!

posted at 16:33 ||

viernes, marzo 21, 2003

So Fucking Boring

I hate Friday nights. Well, this one in particular. I fell asleep at about four, slept through supper, went upstairs and had some oatmeal. Mmmm.

No movies. Nobody to go out with.


posted at 19:52 ||

jueves, marzo 20, 2003

The Sky is Blue and the Grass is Green

The mountains look dead right now, but not so dead as before.
The grass has definitely gotten greener.
The ornamental pear trees that line roads and sidewalks are blooming.
Daffodils are are sprouting.
The forsythia is so vibrantly yellow it's nearly blinding.
It won't be long.

posted at 20:03 ||

miércoles, marzo 19, 2003

All I Have To Say Right Now Is...

It's time to break out the black armbands.

posted at 22:45 ||

martes, marzo 18, 2003

For Fuck's Sake!

People, I'm going to lay it down for you, plain and simple: I do not believe in a supreme deity. Of any kind.

And, perchance, if this strikes you as something needing mending, stop right now and think. Think, "Maybe this guy's happy this way."

Of course, this will be a contradiction for you. On the one hand, you've been programmed to think crazy shit like some invisible father figure who lives in the sky controls the whole universe and to take as absolute truth the words of any self-proclaimed messenger moron of said father figure, who, perhaps for his benefit or others', has got you thinking that somehow God, who invented the concept of money, needs ten percent of your earnings. Being told what to think hasn't been something to which you are not accustomed.

But on the other hand, you're being told to think that I am denying the principle upon which you base your whole manner of thinking, i.e. being told what to think rather than coming to a conclusion yourself, that principle being that there is a god who dictates your thoughts to you through some self-benefiting messenger.

There are many things fundamentally wrong with Christianity which have led me to my atheism. But before I get into those, let me explain the word athiesm itself and what it means to me. Let me begin with something simple, to me at least, which I can relate easier, and that is music. Let's begin with the word tonal. The word tonal, to me, means something like Bach chorales: precisely metered and the tuning needs to be exact. Stravinsky, however, is widely considered atonal. If you don't know who Stravinsky is, go find a copy of The Rights of Spring and listen to it. Tell me that isn't the most horrible music you've ever heard, and I'll call you a liar, because it has to be. This atonal music is just noise; having played music for some time, I know there has to be a meter, and a pitch written down, or something that tells you what to play. The point is it doesn't matter.

Now, the difference between the words tonal and atonal is not in the mechanisms used to result in describing the music, but in the quality of the music itself. Tonal music might be called pretty. Atonal music won't be called anything.

Theism, then, is the belief in a supreme being, whether it be the Judea-Christian Yahweh, or Brahmin, or George W. Bush, or whomever. Atheism is the belief in none; in other words, not believing in anything.

I do not believe in a supreme being. I do not believe in an eternity of afterlife in any form or fashoin. I do not believe in heaven, hell, or limbo.

More later.

posted at 23:17 ||

lunes, marzo 17, 2003

I Had Something to Put Here

I've got two "stories" in the works. One is actually written down, the other in my head.

I hate Paul McCartney. He's old, and acts like he's about eighteen. Bastard.

I think I threw away all the work I did on my Chemistry problem set. Goddammit. I think I threw it away in the library, then when I realised it was gone, I went back to the library to check, and the trash can was empty.


My last post is amost a poem.

Movies on USA suck.

posted at 22:00 ||

domingo, marzo 16, 2003

Things That Please Me to No End:

  • green grass
  • the fact that cars can go upwards of 70 miles per hour
  • wind whipping through the cab of my car
  • narrowly missing being ticketed
  • getting off work

posted at 19:18 ||

viernes, marzo 14, 2003

This is Too Much

Okay, when the proxy servers at school don't show me the contents of my junk mail folder, that's too much.

New email address in order?

posted at 16:24 ||


I don't think I tanked my government test. In fact, I think they were the best essays I've written in that class to date. And I read zilch of that chapter.

Well, okay. I got on the website and looked at the proposed essay questions then read what was in my government book about that shit. So...Virtually nothing.


posted at 16:21 ||

jueves, marzo 13, 2003

So Today in Chemistry...

I have learned that all those baby boomers were right: today's kids are tomorrow's dumbasses. In Chemistry today, our teacher wasn't there, so she left instructions with the substitute for us to watch a video and answer questions on worksheets that were related to the video. I could hardly get the answers myself what with having to keep up with three different people asking me what such and such question was.


So it is my conclusion that most of today's high school teenagers will be completely screwed when they get to college, because they do not know how to pick out important information from a barrage of words, i.e. in a lecture.

Again I find myself one-up on most of the rest of my class.

posted at 23:01 ||

miércoles, marzo 12, 2003

I Feel Like Shit

I do. It all started on Friday, when I noticed one of those polyps (I use the word "polyp" for lack of a better word) that precedes those monstrous viral blister motherfuckers I get on my lip, which is currently the size of Alaska. Goddammit.

So on Saturday, with my lymph nodes already swollen to the point that I can feel them when I turn my head only slightly, I had a horrible time at work (which actually makes work go faster; little known fact), and my sinuses (sini?) started burning like they do when they're infected.

Monday, I had to go get vaccinated for tetanus and hepatits b, and the TB skin test, so not only do I have a viral infection in my lip and a sinus infection, I have to contend with my body also fighting off the dead hepatits and tetanus vaccine.

And to top it all, I've got a government test (two essays) on some a copulation-ton of useless trivia about how the American bureaucracy works. Suffice it to say, I will tank.

So, at the culmination of this, I am giving serious thought to malingering. The only problem is I will miss new stuff in calculus. Would it be that hard to make up? Maybe I can wheedle my way out of going after first block from my parents?

We shall see.

posted at 20:44 ||

lunes, marzo 10, 2003

Too Late

I've been out and about tonight. A school night, too.

Good times.

In other news, after feeling shitty all weekend, I got two vaccines today and a tuberculosis skin test, so I'm going to be feeling even more shitty. And, as I was out so late, I probably couldn't get out of going to school tomorrow without pulling off anything short of dying.

So I think I'll hit the sack.

posted at 23:28 ||

domingo, marzo 09, 2003

Fuckin' Laundry

Why is it that when you wash a load of pants, the only pair you don't check is the one with the pen in it?

posted at 18:15 ||

miércoles, marzo 05, 2003

Freeeeaked Me Out

I went to add the little Lent box to my template a while ago, and it wasn't there. Like, not at all. No tags or anything.

So I'll write about an author I've heard on This American Life. His name is David Sedaris. Here is a website with links to articles and shit like that about David Sedaris. It's unofficial, but it's got a lot of least, it looked like it had a lot of information. I only looked at it for about three seconds, scrolling up and down...blah blah blah.

Here is a link to the first essay in his book I am currently reading, Me Talk Pretty One Day. It's not as funny as some of the other stuff in there, but it's the first one. It's supposed to catch your attention, and the good stuff is in the middle and the end, naturally.

Check it out. It's totally worth it.

posted at 22:17 ||

lunes, marzo 03, 2003

An Exercise in Will Power

I have decided this year to participate in the tradition of Lent. Now, this may seem a stark contrast between my usual fervently anti-religious self, so much so that when I made this announcemnet at lunch my compatriots exclaimed with surprise. But you're not Christian, let alone Methodist, says my good friend beside me, ignoring the fact that another good friend sitting across from us participates in Lent, but is Episcopailan. That's right, I say, but I feel that deprivation is good. It's like a purge, in a sense.

So, I've given some serious thought as to what I'm going to give up for forty-six days. I can honestly tell you I've come up with jack shit. I'm not going to engage in some imbecillic quest to better myself by giving up a basic human funcion such as sex drive and all that accompanies it.

I know for sure I want to give up Pal's food, which is going to be a challenge as I work there, and this undertaking will likely cost me more money than I make in food during breaks, lest I take a meal from home. Come to think of it, that seems the more plausible way to go about this.

I think I am definitely going to give up television. But not movies. If I rent a movie over the next month or so, I'm gonna fucking watch it. I'm going to give up all drink but water, I believe.

That's about all I'm willing to give up.

So, as a means of easier access, I shall list them here:

  • Pal's food.
  • Cable television.
  • All drink but water.

I've still got a day and a half, so I may decide to give up more yet. I'll post these items in a box of their own on the right Wednesday.

posted at 19:37 ||

domingo, marzo 02, 2003

The Rules of Attraction Are as Follows:

  1. Straight Bohemian Chicks: To save embarrassment, make sure your crush knows your name before going to his room and hanging on him. Stay away from film students. Also, books with pictures of venerial diseases don't help.
  2. Gay Guys: Make sure the guys you're cruising are gay. Or at least willing. Always maintain composure.
  3. Straight Guys: Don't fuck up your chances of sleeping with Straight Bohemian Chicks by sleeping with their roommates, then telling them that you only did it with the roommate because you're in love with the Straight Bohemian Chicks. Don't lead on gay guys.
  4. Freaky Obsessed-to-the-point-of-stalking Straight Girls: Instead of leaving anonymous notes in Straight Guy's mailbox and watching from afar, hoping against hope that somehow he knows who you are, it might help to introduce yourself. Beats the shit out of depression and suicide.

posted at 22:36 ||

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