Conquering the Black Panther

WARNING: The following my bore you. It is about reading books.

In my senior year of high school, I began reading for pleasure again. I did when I was younger; I used to be obsessed with the Goosebumps books by R.L. Stine. But then reading became 'really gay', and I had more important things to do, like play Sega Genesis.

But because of a video game, and because of sheer boredom in my senior year English class run by the infamous Mr. Cannon, I started reading again. 1984 was the first book I picked up from that room on the 3rd floor of Harborfields, since I had heard a lot about it and knew the term 'Big Brother' came from it, I thought I'd give it a go.

Over the past 4 years, reading has become quite a pastime for me; if I don't have a book I'm reading at any particular point, I feel like I'm missing out on something. I found the Modern Library's Top 100 list of the 20th century that senior year, deciding since I knew nothing about 'great' literature, this was as good a place to start as any. But there was a monster on that list, #1 on the list: Ulysses.

Everything I read about the book summed it up as this gargantuan undertaking of literature; most agreeing it was more or less unreadable, but all saying it was a fantastic feat in literature. In fact, most of the people who compiled the Top 100 list who voted it to the top had never actually read the book cover to cover.

But as of today, Thursday, February 18 of 2005, I can say that I have read Ulysses in its entirety.

I was originally going to read this book first, but after reading such reviews as this and this, I put it off. I got 36 of the other books on the list under my belt before I decided I was ready to take on the monster. Kristin was taking a Joyce class in which they were going to read it, and they were having public sessions with the teacher (who is a Joycean scholar, yes, such a thing exists), so I thought I'd take the advantage of having a professional walk me through it so I could understand it as much as possible.

I only made it to a few of the meetings, and had only read about 1/3 of the book by the time the semester was through. But I wasn't going to stop; I had committed too much time, and I want to read every book on the list.

Now that I am done, I agree with those other Net reviews--kind of. The book is so fucking hard. You can't even imagine. I don't see anyone ever reading it all they way through just for the pure enjoyment of it. Parts of it get so tedious that I really wanted to stop, and I did for a long time, only reading about four or five pages a week. But I AM GOING TO FINISH THAT FUCKING LIST. In the past month, I put some major speed into it, and read about half the book since late December.

I never had a book consume my life like this; it was like a tumor, always following me around. Hell, I've been reading it since September, and I only finished today.

If you want a VERY brief and inaccurate synopsis, click here. That's the bare bones skeleton of the story. But there is SO MUCH symbolism, metaphors, and whatnot in this book, that although it might be difficult, it is quite an amazing, interesting read. I still can't believe how many layers there are to this book.

I know not many of you care, so I'll finish this up. I literally just finished it 20 min. ago and needed to vent somewhere.

I know most of the people that read this site don't read for leisure. Scratch that, I know you don't read period. And no, reading The DaVinci Code doesn't count as "I read sometimes." Which is fine, I'm not judging. But if anyone out there reads, and likes to read the classics, honestly.......I don't know if you could do it. I'm not saying I'm some superhuman literary master--far from it--but I had not only a teacher who had read the book ten times to consult on certain parts, but I also had the determination to finish it to cross it off my list.

I don't care what the other people said, this was a fantastic book. But you almost have to live it to really get something out of it. If you're cocky like those guys in those reviews and tried to read it without any assistance, then you have to get over yourself--you are not smart enough to read this book without any help. The ideas and things Joyce came up with are just amazing. But how smart can he really be if he wrote a book so inaccessible to everyone? That's not smart, because no matter how good a book is, if no one wants to read it, you've failed.

Whatever. Maybe I'm a nerd. I don't care. All I know is I conquered the 800-lb. gorilla of English literature, and I understood it. I'm proud of myself.


Throwaway...

Oneonta: God's Weather Test Lab

Oneonta has, without question, the most bizarre weather patterns on the planet Earth. In the past 72 hours, it has been 60 degrees, then snowed 2 inches, then 50 degrees, then snow melted in 34 degree rain. This morning it was 50 when I woke up, mostly cloudy. I went to a class with no windows. I come out 50 min.. later, and it is pouring rain; harder than I've seen it rain in a long time. I check the school's real-time weather, the temperature had dropped to 38 in, no joke, 15 minutes. As I write this, it is snowing and 34, and the sun is coming out. It's supposed to continue to snow until Saturday, with daytime highs in the teens. Then get warm again. Then a volcano is going to erupt on Main Street. Then we're going to get a torrent of blue ice, then a desert is going to consume the town. But don't worry, a glacier is predicted to be moving in next Monday.

No wonder everyone is sick. I was regaled with a story about how my Management teacher threw up on the side of the road the other day. My Public Speaking teacher had the shits, my roommate is on the verge of death, and Silva is having mouth infections.

Going home this Friday for our first week long break of the semester, but it won't be too relaxing, because not only do I have tests galore when we come back, but I also have an appointment to get my wisdom teeth pulled next Monday. I'm not too concerned about it right now, but I know the day before, it will finally hit me how much it is going to suck, and I'll hate life for a few days. People always say, "Who cares, dude? You get a ton of drugsssssssss.." Shut up. I don't care. I'd trade in being in a medicated stupor for days to be able to snap my fingers and have them out any day. I'm sick of feeling like a teething baby.

Whatever. I have to go write a paper on a "place" for advanced composition. Thanks for not being ambiguous, jerk.

Obligatory Social Commentary on Valentine's Day

It seems like you have to hate this holiday. Maybe not have to, but its cool to. It gets so tiresome to hear people ramble on about how it was just created by card companies to boost sales, like Secretary's Day and Christmas.

Walking around campus today, I was hearing people talking about it. Surprisingly, a lot of girls were saying how they don't 'celebrate' the holiday.

Yet is it coincidence that most of these same girls don't have boyfriends? Come on. You know if they had a boyfriend and he didn't get her anything, these same chicks would be bawling their eyes out. Don't pretend you don't want flowers and dinner and all that shit, because no one believes you. I bet you don't even believe yourself. It's almost like its a second birthday for women. Why would you give up a second birthday? You wouldn't, you liar.

Now for a guy, its a little more understandable: most guys do all the buying and paying on Valentine's Day. And I'm sure you know one of these guys who says things like, "Fuck that shit. Even if I had a girlfriend I wouldn't get her nothin'." But I would put money down that if these guys had some girl they knew that if they could take her out on Feb. 14th, wine and dine her, then take her home for a little of the old in-out-in-out, that they would jump at the chance. A guy doesn't mind shelling out cash as long as it leads to pussy. Any guy reading this: you know that if it was guaranteed that some hot chick you know would bone you, and all you had to do was buy a fucking bear and some candy, you would be all over it. Yes you would.

So to sum this all up, I dislike hearing people bitch about Valentine's Day. Just accept it. Yes, it is ridiculous that we are held at gunpoint by tradition to follow go out and buy candy and cards and flowers. But how is it any different from a birthday, if you think about it? A birthday really doesn't mean a thing. But we have to do it because its tradition. So the way I look at it, go out, spend $150 on shit that will be thrown away in a week, go eat some food by candlelight, stick the pee-pee in the hole, and accept it.


This guy believes in a thing called love.
Just listen to the rhythmofhisheart.

Bachelor Day

So yesterday I woke up at like 9, got up took a shower, etc. I went with Kristin, her roommate and their friend to breakfast at the Neptune. They all had some things they were doing together; going to see their friend play basketball, get some haircuts, go to a movie, change their tampons, you know, usual girl stuff.

This left me with a rare Saturday with really nothing to do. I got some work done early, but other than that, nothing was of terrible importance that needed to be done right away. It was going to be a Bachelor Day.

A Bachelor Day can happen with anyone, significant other or otherwise. All it really entails is being a complete lazy slob and doing nothing that could even be remotely construed as productive.

I knew this was also going to be a Bachelor Day for some others. I had to go down to Silva's house to retrieve my iPod from his house, where it was left for safe keeping instead of carrying it around in my pocket when I'm drunk, almost ensuring it would be lost. Anyway, so I go to his house. Everyone had left for the weekend, so he had the entire place to himself (which is an important element in a B.D.--total isolation).

I head in, and Silva looks as if he hadn't slept for three weeks, got hit by a train, and didn't bathe afterward. Grizzled face, wrinkled, stained, damp undershirt, worn and faded flannel pajama pants. His room had no lights on and had minimal light coming in from the cloudy, snowy day outside, there were clothes and papers everywhere, and sitting on his desk was the crust of a sandwich that had probably been eaten days ago. He was staring at his computer screen with a sniper's attention, playing Counter-Strike. This was the epitome of a B.D. if I had ever seen it.

I must have been subconsciously inspired, because I had a similar experience later in the day. I sat and listened to music while I browsed the Internet. Then I put in an old Western movie, got hungry, didn't fee like turning the movie off, so I ate cold soup straight out of the can. I ended up with soup all over front of my shirt, as well as the sleeves. When the movie was done, instead of turning it off, I just jumped on top of my bed with my sneakers on, folded my comforter in half and covered myself, and took a nap with the static DVD menu providing the only light.

I later ordered a pizza and watched another movie. Then I masturbated. Then I played video games.

The only way a day like this could be topped is if I won the lottery.

What the Fuck is Going On?

It's almost 4am, and for some unknown and eerily bizarre reason, I am looking at pictures of people with progeria online.

What the fuck?

STOP PLAYING GAMES

I swear that girls are born masochists. They love being upset and sad. Every one of them. For example, I read a profile with this quote in it:

Sometimes people put up a walls not to keep people out, but to see

who cares enough to break them down...

Now this isn't the first time I've read this before; I've seen a few girls either have it in profiles, or away messages, or some other nonsense.

This is usually written when a girl feels like someone, could be either a guy or one of their girlfriends but is usually a guy, is not making the effort to accommodate to their every whim.

For the record, I would like to say that anyone who subscribes to this or believes this is a valid way to live life should be poisoned. It is a perfect example of how girl's just thrive on playing little fucking baby games in relationships.

More or less what this implies is that the Girl was been acting like an asshole, being very snotty and evasive. Say the Guy asked the Girl if something was wrong. "No. Nothing. I'm fine," is the icy response Guy gets. At this point, Guy has two choices to make. He can either keep asking Girl to tell him what's bothering her, which is what Girl wants, or he can just say "Fuck it." and let Girl not get any satisfaction from sending him into this inane guessing game. It takes a man with strong nerve to take Option 2 right away. Most guys at least give Option 1 a try.

Now, it doesn't matter how much Guy persists in Option 1, Girl will swear up and down nothing is wrong, when something obviously is. This is the essence of what is wrong with Girl. Why would she do this to Guy? What is she trying to do? The answer is obvious, yet so amazingly frustrating I'm surprised men haven't killed all the women in the world as retaliation. She wants everyone she knows to pour all their attention on her; she needs to feel like people care about her. Fact is, there are so many other, more rational ways to go about this. But no, ALL girls will do this. There must be instructions on how this is done in the handbook given to every woman when she has her first menstrual cycle.

Anyway, Guy gets fed up with constantly asking and pining away to solve Girl's problems. Guy thinks "Fuck this. I'm not putting up with this shit anymore. Let her go be miserable." When Guy is finally pushed to this, that is when Girl puts up a quotation like the one above. She has isolated herself because no one wants to take her shit anymore. This makes her very upset, and claims she was just doing it to see who cared enough to try and make her feel better.

Well, you deserve to be miserable if you pull this. Now, any girls who are reading this, if you are honest with yourself, you have done this. No, don't shake your head. Don't tell yourself, "I'm not like that." You are like that. Trust me. You have done this. You might have done it and not even known it. But you probably did. You are all very methodical. But let me just inform you on something about men.

Men hate this more than anything. ANYTHING. If you ask a guy would he rather get kicked in the balls once a day, or have a girlfriend who plays little fucking games, he will say, "Kick me in the nuts everyday. It's less painful." It is. You all don't know how crazy this makes us.

Or you do. That's the problem. You know what makes us insane. And if you do this, knowingly plot this out and execute it, you are one of the worst creatures on earth.

But this post isn't even meant to just rip into you. I want to help you. Cause I know when a girl executes this, she ends up believing it and truly getting upset. So a word of advice that will save you heartache for the rest of your life: Never, ever, ever, play games in a relationship. If you are upset, say so.

If you do this, things will be worked out and better so much faster, and with so much less aggravation and stress, you won't believe it. Try it out. Next time you feel like being coy to your boyfriend, just tell him what you're thinking. You may surprise yourself at how well it works.

I told my boyfriend I wasn't upset, but I was!Why isn't he killing himself to make mefeel better?!?!?!

Post Over the Phone When You Have Nothing to Say

Review: Sideways

I am hesitant to write a review of Sideways; I'm pretty sure that after you read what I have to say, you'll think it's a pretty boring movie. It isn't, but then again I'm not very handy with words.

The plot of Sideways reminds me of the plot of a novel: two friends go on a week long trip to the California wine country and talk about life. Usually a synopsis like this turns me off immediately. I hate movies about whiny middle-class people who are angry at life for no good reason. But this movie isn't like that at all.

Paul Giamatti's character can't get over a divorce from his wife. Tom Church (who we all know from the TV show that single-handedly changed the face of television--Ned and Stacy) is Giamatti's polar opposite, and is a guy who just wants to party all the time and bang a lot of chicks--which is what causes a lot of problems considering he is getting married when these guys get back from their trip.

Nothing in the film was really too far-fetched. I hate these movies where the audience is supposed to just accept some ridiculous thing a character does just to advance the plot. I can't stand movies that do that. But all the character's actions go along with what they do the whole movie.

It had funny moments but I wouldn't really say it was funny.

It's really hard to describe. Maybe I liked it a lot because I, unfortunately, related to Miles. I was glad that it didn't make these wine tasting people look like very bright, deep, intelligent people. It kind of showed them to be very into themselves, like the only reason they sit there and describe wine with all these adjectives is so look smart kind of thing. But it also served as a device to illustrate how different the two friends were.

Regardless of how much I liked it, I can't see it winning the Best Picture Oscar. It kinds of lacks that punch that a Best Picture should have. Gish, who I saw this movie with on a little man-date we shared, said the Aviator was better.

Whatever, it was good. Worth the cash if you're OK with something that will be a little more subdued than your average flick. Plus, some fat waitress is naked in it. Perfect for the guy who likes a little meat with his potatoes, if you know what I'm sprayin'.

Grade: B+

People Are Stupid

First, I'll give an example of how I am stupid, then the stupidity of others.

I woke up this morning to go to my 9am class. I get up, get dressed, take my bag, and off to class. I got there a bit early, since we had a quiz I wanted to review for. I'm sitting there for a few minutes, and no one else trickles in. I start to wonder what the hell is going on.

I look at my watch.

7:47 am.

I felt like such an asshole. And even as I was walking to class, I'm looking around and I only saw like 3 or 4 other people, and no cars driving. Like an asshole, I thought "Hmm. I guess nobody's showing up for their classes this morning."

But I am not the only idiot. When I got back to my room, I spent some time just browsing the Internet. As the real class time approached, I started to get ready, and put up an away message. I came up with the idea to use the infamous %n function, and put up some classic drunken IM jargon.

%n: hey
%n: helooooooooooo
%n: imn drunnnnnnnnnnnnk rihgt now
%n: and i fucknig love ti
%n: i spiled alloverr my shirt n pants ,too

Seriously, stop IMming me when you go out, its annoying
_____________________________________________

As I was doing it, I had a feeling people would fall for this. It just seemed too genuine. I had feeling people would think I was trying to be funny by putting shit up there they know they didn't say. Sure enough, when I got back to the room:

Hecubus330 (8:44:27 AM): we all know that's fake cause i don't use this screename when drunk. ass.
later, from the same person, mind you....
snail shelled (3:16:53 PM): oh you got me this time abrams

silvamania (11:29:55 AM): lol whent he fuck did i say that
notice he writes sober like he does when he's drunk.
silvamania (11:30:18 AM): ooooh u trickster
I would've loved to have been in the room to see his face when it dawned on him

I bet I fooled other people, although they were too smart to send an IM.

I Got a Basketball Jones

Daly called me on Saturday and asked if I wanted to announce the basketball game Tuesday night. With out thinking, I said yes.

Wait, hold on. Basketball?

I know nothing about bsketball. Nothing. How the fuck am I going to pull live play-by-play broadcasting live on the air out of my ass?

Luckily, Silva, who knows more about basketball than I do, was co-hosting. But neither of us had any experience in calling a sports game, especially live. The joke was the whole weekend that it was going to be the biggest fuck up in sports history; just making shit up, talking about completely different subjects, and so forth.

But, from all accounts, we didn't tear down the institution of broadcast announcing. In fact, most of the feedback has been pretty positive.

As I'm walking up to the Field House, I get a frantic call from Kristin. She says, and I'm quoting here:

"David, I need to borrow your car. My roommate's friend is bleeding out of her uterine lining, and I need to drive her to the hospital."

Oh yes, that's what I want; I want you shuttle some random girl I've never met around in my car WITH BLOOD POURING OUT OF HER VAGINA. Why would I have a problem with that?

Fortunately, some RA took the girl, forcing me not to have to make the decision of letting someone bleed, or having afterbirth in my backseat.

I thought this was going to set the tempo for the night. And it almost did. Once I got to the Field House, I meet up with Silva and Kodi, who helped set up the remote so we could broadcast. As they're doing this, Kodi and Mark Hine realize they don't have any batteries for the microphones, rendering them useless. (And, if you are a student at Oneonta, you know they then must be +48 phantom power mics, as this is the only thing you get out of a Mass Comm. education in Oneonta.) So we improvise with some mics that are normally attached to cameras. As we are getting settled, Silva and I ask if there is a way to play music during halftime and timeouts, so we don't have to make idle chatter; of course there is not. We notice a line in outlet on the remote, which meant we could hook up a portable CD player. Silva rushes home to get his. Doesn't find it, and get back with literally 11 seconds before we go on.

But from then on, we did well. One of the mics didn't work, so we had to share one, getting so close we were on the verge of kissing. And the fac that we knew none of the players names, meant a lot of "Shot by Number 27...........................................Kimmy Monroe."

But we actually did well with calling the action, and the color commentary/banter. Since I had no clue what was going on, I would look up stats, randomly add in a "Oh, looks like they're running a Georgetown offense," and come up with metaphors for what was going on. One of the better interactions was:

Dave: "Oh, and she really wanted that ball. She stole that thing like a loaf of bread in an old Arabian market."
John: "......Where the HELL did you get that from?"
Dave: "Aladdin, John."

And so forth. The people that listened said it was funny, and that we actually sounded legit, which was by some crazy sort of luck.

We're going to try to do more games this season. Who knows, maybe I'll get a career as a sportscaster?

Danny Manor, Albany, NY

Haven't written anything in a few days, been busy/lazy.

Went to Albany yesterday, so Kristin could put a check in the bank. Albany is where the closest Bank of America is. So we're on our way, and about an hour into the ride, she says:

"I hope I remember where the bank is."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm just making sure in my head I know where the bank is."
"Kristin, don't pull this. Do you know where it is or not."
"No, I know. I'm pretty sure."

Of course, she didn't bother to double check what road the bank is on and how you get there. I mean, she has been there ONCE; she feels that is an adequate number of times to have the entire map of a city etched in her mind.

And of course, we get into Albany, and she starts going, "Now, I think it's near the mall. Or that way. I'm not sure." This was the beginning of the downward spiral of my mood, to reach the angriest point I have been in in months. We ended up going in the wrong direction for miles, for telling me randomly to turn, then yelling "NO! Not there! Get back in the lane!" She seems to forget there are other cars on the road, and I can't just careen back into the lane. So at this point, we're at a dead end in some random spot in Albany. She has the nerve to YELL at me, "I TOLD you not to turn!" At the point I jump out of the car to show her that we are not the only drivers in the city and there were cars behind me. I refused to drive any longer on this wild goose chase that all occurred because she didn't deem it necessary to get directions.

By a stroke of luck, we end up finding the place. Now to her, since we found it, she thinks my aggravation should just melt, and everything should be happy again. This obviously doesn't happen. As we're waiting in the drive-thru ATM line, she starts to laugh at me. I said, "Oh, so it's funny? You getting me all pissed is funny? Look, at this." I picked up her purse, and began to roll down my window. Her demeanor inexplicably changed from jovial to angry and concerned. "David DON'T!", she yelled; but I was committed to the act. I take the bag and fling out the window into a snow drift. She leaps out of the car to get it, all the while I'm yelling out the car window, "HAHAHAHA. WASN'T THAT FUNNY?!?!?! WHY AREN'T YOU LAUGHING?? NOT SO FUNNY NOW, HUH?"

I had appeased myself; she was now as pissed as I was. After depositing her money, we pulled into the parking lot, and I calmly asked her not to do this ever again, for she was giving me a recurrent ulcer.

After my anger had subsided a few degrees, we went to the mall. The mall. On a Saturday. Not a good idea when you want to get over being furious. The Crossgates was completely packed solid. Finding a spot took about 15 minutes. Upon entering the mall, we went right into Best Buy, as Kristin wanted to buy me the third season of Curb Your Enthusiasm as a sort of peace offering. I didn't complain.

That is until we had to wait 20 min. on line. You wouldn't believe the number of people in this mall. Everywhere was full of people. We walked a bit longer. I had to do the traditional Boyfriend Wait outside some clothing store as she bought stuff she didn't need. Other boyfriends were around me. We all shared quick glances of understanding and sympathy.

As a footnote, does Albany have a big black community? There were thousands of groups of 3 wannabe gangsters roaming all over. I actually saw this black lady slapping the shit out of her little son. I laughed.

Kristin was hungry. There is a Johnny Rocket's at Crossgates. Which means there was a line. Luckily, we were able to cut it because we sat at the counter. We had chili fries and burgers. It was good.

These poor kids at Johnny Rockets. Never have I seen such efficiency out of people in their teens and twenties in my life. There were like 15 people working, all of them constantly doing something, and with a vigor I have not seen in quite a while. None of them looked happy, but none looked particularly pissed, as I would be if I had to work there. The guy making burgers had sweat dripping off the tip of his nose, probably into the burgers. I had a burger. I didn't care. I think the sweat added a little something.

We then took a trip to my brother's apartment. I wish I had never gone. His place is a palace compared to my shitty dorm room. He has a huge bedroom, huge living room, full kitchen with dishwasher, and oh yes, a private porch. It was just a fresh reminder of how pamperd a life he leads.

I have been racking my brain trying to think of a good topic for a paper about 'reminiscence' for Advanced composition. I hate assignments like this. Give me some direction. Reminiscence is way too broad.

Whatever. That's okay. I'll sit here and struggle with my schoolwork. As long as Danny can pull his Jet-Ski right up to his boathouse, everything will be ok.

By the way, Jackobel is getting a brand new Mustang for graduation. I'm not talking to him anymore.




"Dave, come in, I'm just playing some Halo 2. You want something
to drink? JEFFREY! Get Dave something to drink!"

The Team to Beat in the NL East

AWWWWW YEAH!

Take THAT, Mets fans!

That means you, Jackobel/Joe Gibbs/Joe D./Madman/Danny, etc.!

Married to the Covenant

This article is LITERALLY the story of the last 3 months for Jackobel and his girlfriend. Now probably the story of Joe Gibbs and HIS girlfriend, too.

Women Battle Men's Videogame Obsessions

I have to admit, I can get like this sometimes, especially if I am trying to collect oysters and horseshoes, or if I am sneaking into a Soviet base during the Cold War.

Bowna face.

Where's the Waterloo For This Napoleon?

I watched Napoleon Dynamite about two weeks ago, and the bitter, caustic taste still hangs fresh in my mouth.

For those of you not hip enough to know already, Napoleon Dynamite is about a character of the same name. Who is a nerd.

That's it. Seriously.

The movie, and the people who love it, don't even try to argue this fact. But the supposed allure of the movie is.......

That's right. There is none. I know many people who loved this film, and none of them were able to tell me what made it so great other than:

"Come on, man. It's funny!"
"Why do you say that? It's repetitive. It's just the same jokes over and over."
"Yeah, but I mean.....whatever. I thought it was funny."

Now I am a fan of subtle, repetitious humor; I still laugh every time a watch the Family Guy episode where Peter falls down and hurts his leg.

"Ssss....aaaahhhh....ssss....aaaahhhh....ssss....aaaahhhh..
..ssss....aaaahhhh....ssss....aaaahhhh....ssss....aaaahhhh....ssss....aaaahhhh."

Funny, right? But imagine that joke going on for 90 minutes. That's kind of what Napoleon Dynamite is. A joke that is funny the first time, but is told over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again, ad nauseum, so that it becomes horrendous.

And the joke isn't even that funny the first time you hear it. From what I could tell, the whole 'joke' of the movie is that this guy is a dork, and the whole town lives 17 years in the past. Yuk yuk yuk. Maybe I didn't get it. But I think I did. I think I just get tired of something like that fast.

The premise would have been funny if it was a recurring SNL skit, or if Napoleon was a character on a TV show.

How does this pass for a film? How did this script past so many levels of people that they actually gave someone money to make it? The way I imagined it was that there were three guys sitting in a room, just bullshitting.

Mark: "Imagine a movie about, like, the dorkiest kid you can, and then put him in some middle of nowhere place still stuck in '81, and he like has one of those old Trapper Keepers with the ugly 1992 3D geometric shapes on it."
Steve: "Holy shit, remember those! And then, like, he has one of those old retro shirts on, that says, like, Sullivan County Track and Field Meet 1978."
Mark: "Ha ha ha! Dude, and he lives in a house with, like, that old wooden paneling, and shag carpet."
Steve: "Pppppphhhh! And then, then the kid......."

(2 hours later)

Mark: "...and like, you set him up with the blackest girl ever, with the earrings with her name in 'em and shit!"
Steve: "HAHAHAHA! Oh fuck.....oh man....this will be the funniest movie!"
Ben: "Guys, come on. This isn't a movie. I mean, what the hell is going to happen in it? You can't have a movie with just nerdy jokes for an hour and a half."

(uncomfortable silence)

Steve: "Like, seriously, don't bring this kid to my house anymore."
Mark: "Fuck, Ben. You are such a fag."

I honestly think that if you found this funny, then your imagination has been so brutalized by TV that you can sit and watch a flock of geese waddle around, eat grass, and shit, and would be perfectly content with your day.

I, on the other hand, want my 90 minutes back.

Best Away Message Ever

Auto response from Arrow1564 (10:18:35 AM): work at 3 tomorrow, wish me luck...Bye bye. Good night. IJ*LO) guk 67f,9lf78o568lo... Good truck, im onna fuck

Dr. Zaius, Dr. Zaius

The Daily Show last night stole my idea to do a Freedom/Liberty count from the Inaugural speech yestersay (which, by the way, was 27 Freedoms and 15 Liberty's). Read the text of the speech here.

One selection from the speech took me off guard:

"I ask our youngest citizens to believe the evidence of your eyes. You have seen duty and allegiance in the determined faces of our soldiers. You have seen that life is fragile, and evil is real, and courage triumphs. Make the choice to serve in a cause larger than your wants, larger than yourself - and in your days you will add not just to the wealth of our country, but to its character."

If this doesn't sound like a precursor to a possible draft, I don't know what would.

As I write this, it is -5 degrees here. Which isn't bad, considering this morning walking to class, it was -29 with the wind chill.

I get the feeling this semester is going to be the Semester of the Written Word. So far, every single one of my teachers has given a reading assignment. I've got like 4 chapters to read by Tuesday, and a 100+ essay by George Orwell I have to start.

I watched the movie Amadeus today. Not bad. Weird, but not bad. The guy who played Mozart was pretty fucking funny with that laugh.

Play my favorite board game online.

I'm already sick of school.

Inaugura-shoan

Well, I wrote an entire post while I was watching the inauguration, but Firefox doesn't play well with Blogger, and I lost the whole thing.

Basicially, Bush is an idiot, Cheney looks like the baby from that show Dinosaurs:


















They put Kerry in the worst seat in the house, behind the guy with the huge hat:

And Bush gave some of the most idiotic and ambiguous words I've heard from him: "Self-governance relies on the governing of the self." I'm going to do a Liberty and Freedom count on his speech. He said those words so many times, all without any real meaning behind them. People just hear those words, shrug and say, "Eh. Sounds good."

Besdies, you can't take something like this seriously when they hold a ceremony like this at the same place where this has happened.

Pull your heads out of your asses.

Salt Stains on My Pants

I really don't have days that work out any better than this. Not only did I have my first class of the semester cancelled, thanks to my teacher being in India (?), but Silva and I also secured a domicile for next year. Although it will not have the camaraderie that the house would have had, it comes with a price tag cheaper by $1400. Plus, the landlord seems like the guy could be your father or a librarian, so you're pretty sure no funny business is going to go down. The landlord for the house on Elm is like 25, supposedly some big doofus, and like smokes weed with the guys and like spends all the money from the house on drugs and stereo equipment.

We had to pay Mr. William Q. Youngs $540 this morning to secure the apartment, so I'm low on funds at the present time. Hopefully this won't cut into the possible trip to Canada with Bowna next weekend.

I hung up a few WONY flyers around campus, but since we got like 2 1/2 inches of snow this afternoon, I opted to give that up early and instead kill some North Koreans in Mercenaries.

I have this sinking feeling that there was something important I had to do today that I didn't do, and that I fucked myself royally by just hanging out in the room. Oh well.

My gay ass RA roommate said there is a mandatory floor meeting we have to go to in about 45 min. Ppppppppphhhhh. Never ever.

Play this game. My score was 90. I bet it's better than what you'll get.

Def Comedy Jam

So apparently, some people think that I am some sort of laugh factory, that whatever I write here is completely to crack you up time and time again, right?

WRONG.

I am not your court jester. I'm not writing these things so that I can amuse you. I write something if it's on my mind. I'm not out to do a little soft shoe for you to illicit a little chuckle.

You know what? I guess you're right--this page hasn't been funny enough lately. Here, here's something I think is pretty funny:

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

Or this! This one is SO funny!

A regular Rodney Dangerfield

Oh man, hold on let me catch my breath...........there. Now wasn't that so much more funny than usual? I should do this more often.

Once again another terrible post. I find it unamusing. Kill him.

Road Rules

Back in Oneonta. How the hell is that break over already? I've got one more day until I have to deal with the bullshit of advanced composition and public speaking.

The drive took less than four hours, which is good, since it usually takes five, and really good compared to the seven and a half hour torture that was the return trip over Thanksgiving break.

I've noticed that I become some sort of strange creature when driving these long distances. If someone isn't following the unwritten but all too real Rules of Interstate Etiquette, I fly off the handle and become obsessed with reaping vengeance upon them. For example, if I see some asshole constantly changing lanes and weaving in and out of traffic, going too fast and driving like a dick, I try to punish them. If it's a two-lane highway and they are behind me, I will drive side-by-side with the next closest car, cutting off any outlet for this prick to keep on flying down the road. One of the sweetest rewards is when you have some guy driving recklessly in and out of the lanes, you spot him and curse his name, he drives off, and just as you are about to forget about him, you come to some traffic and see Mr. Yuppie Audi or Fake Hoodlum Mazda sitting behind a line of cars, thus rendering his tough guy driving techniques useless.

I also find myself obsessed with trying to spot the warning signs of a slow lane, trying not to commit until the last second as to not get stuck behind some foreign guy who won't go above 40. Sometimes this is hard to do. It might seem like your lane isn't moving, but you always have to remember that the forces of the universe usually balance, and one lane will inevitably be going the same speed as another. But to be sure, pick out a Traffic Buddy, some car that you will keep an eye on in another lane to gauge how fast your lane is moving in relation to yours.

You can usually tell what kind of person is driving the car by what lane they stick to.

The left lane is commonly referred to as the fast lane, and this is generally true. Except if you are in the fast lane, you WILL have an asshole come and ride your bumper within six seconds of entering the lane, because many people think fast lane means "Go faster than everyone else, making me cool" lane. You have two options at your discretion: you can either a) size the driver up, figure they aren't truly an asshole, and switch into the other lane to let them by, or you can b) go intentionally slower to piss them off and show them what riding your bumper will get them, and wait until they either ease off or change lanes and go around you.

The middle lane is the pussy lane, and for people who are too scared to go anything over the speed limit. They believe that since the speed limit is 65, you better make it 60 just to be on the safe side. Do your best not to get stuck behind one of these people, because they go slow and tend to drift in their lane, making it difficult to get near or around them.

The right lane is for skittish grandmas, non-English speaking citizens who haven't a clue as to what is going on, or women (for the most part). Don't even venture into this lane unless you are looking for the exit ramp. Next time you are driving, look over there and see. You will either see an old guy so small it just looks like hands are steering the wheel, or an '89 Honda with 14 Mexicans in it.

Is this just me who sees this stuff going on? Sometimes I feel like I imagine all this, like I am driving in a soap opera where people where be kind and courteous to you, or stab you in the back and be complete cuntburgers. Does anyone else experience this? I hope it isn't just me, because it'll just be another sign of my oncoming schizophrenia.