When I sleep, I sleep

I do not sleep to dream. I sleep to sleep. When I dance it's because I'm drunk - not because I think no one is watching. When I love it's to a degree usually in accordance to the last relationship I've had. Which in turn is dictated by the love before that, all the way back to the time I developed a concept of love based off my parents and TV.

Life is complicated and cannot be summed up with a phrase starting with 'Life is...' (thus negating what I just said). You can't find purpose in an inspirational poster and if you can you deserve to be caught under a bus. The only thing that will ever be ironic is how the next generation sees our actions.

What else am I missing? Let me check some random girl's profiles to find things that just tick me off in small, insipid little quote form. OH! Here we go. Dave Matthew's sucks. I've seen him live - guess what - he's still talentless. Watching him act in Red Fern or Because of Winn Dixie. You know what it's like watching? Cancer. Cancer that can't act.

Hmm. Bob Marley. He didn't come back from the dead to revive your stoner, college ass. Please stop applying him as such. Oh, and if you're in the loving mood and you quote Frank, you obviously didn't pay attention to that man's life. Like with Robert Frost: "I took the road less traveled". That's pretty much about suicide you dumby.

Well, that's about all the things that piss me off about profiles. I've been staring at them trying to think of a post and damned if this wasn't the most annoying thing ever. The same quote in six different places. How original.

A few notes about screen names: Princess, Queen, Girl, Grrl, Chick, Baby, Chix, Hot, Hottie, anything flower related and Big Mammer Jammers do not qualify as suitable handles. If you've got a screen name with anything like that in it, please change it. We mock you behind your back.

Reminders for the class: The best way to change the system is to sit back and wait for it to change.

Time Change

Holy crow it's late. Here's a mark of a good night - men in drag. I went to a Halloween party, which, by and large, are never good things. Usually only a couple people put some thought into their costumes, the rest just showed up. Then when people get drunk, costumes become disassembled and spread among the masses until that entire rented horse costume you put on Dad's credit card it totally in the wind. I'm not saying that's always a given, but more then likely - I'm missing my hat in this case.

I spent a good deal of the night being cornered by people I had no intention of speaking to, and found that either the extreme cold or a need for a pitcher from the keg kept leading me back to them. There is a circle of hell dedicated to the bad cocktail party from which you have no ride home. I also found that the drunker they got, the more familiar their hands did. Please, God, if you listen, do not let me ever be fondled like that again by strange, strange people. Reasons like these are why I need to wear a wedding ring as decoration. I attract crazy like a catholic priest attracts unsubstantiated child molestation claims.

Reminders for class: Monday is tomorrow. We all lose.

Seven Small Heart Attacks

My boss scares me. I'm not sure why, maybe it's the menacing pit bull glance he'll give incompetent employees, or maybe it's the way that I can't make small talk with him. Maybe I'm afraid to get a that devil look after a botched attempt at chit chat. Maybe I'm afraid he'll find out I'm a bed wetter and a Ru-Paul fan. Who knows? The point is the dude scares me shitless.

So when I left work after getting sick today, I had the feeling he was giving me the finger and planning on how to fire me. And it was some really bad ass version of the finger, the one where he shoots it behind his back and uses a special profanity he saves for the occasion. So making it through the day with no voice mail saying I was fired was a good one.

In other news, Super neutrals is coming along dandy. We should have a usable script by next week, and beyond that start filming by the 8th of November. I have no idea why the 8th, just happens to be that day that I picked. 10th seemed to far off. So good luck to me on that one.

Still feel like a heel about getting sick on my friends car.

How is it that all the girls my age make me feel like some fifty year old perv, but anybody who's over 30, taken, or married I can charm the crap out of? I maintain that my problems stem from MTV, specifically Laguna Beach, possibly the worst show ever made. I think MTV is turning the people I once knew into hot tempered, asshole, self centered people. Is there something wrong in my generation or am I ahead of my time by saying that now? My mom totally says I'm hot and a good catch, so I don't understand how other people wouldn't want me.

Reminders for class: Halloween is an important part of life. Be sure to celebrate it by pantsing a bunch of six year olds. Scars like that don't heal.

Threshold

I'm sure, loyal reader, you noticed I didn't post last night. From this we can learn two things: I am arrogant enough to believe you noticed my absence, and that I got sick. And not just sick where it's laughable. No. Not this little kid. I got sick all over my friend's car while doing forty. God pity the care behind us. What I let loose was the kind of chaos the bible talks about. Revelations 2:31 "Yeah, unto thee I release my lunch, consisting of various meats, cheeses, and other fine delectables." That's apassage that's kept me warm through the years. It's a damn good passage. I'd like to live in a world where people get drunk and quote bible passages to one another. Maybe a couple rednecks on a Saturday drinking beers and saying "That was a fucking good one" after they disperse the wisdow of the written Lord.

Well I'm off to go find a copy of FFX. It seems though over a billion copies were made and sold, and that it's used anywhere for 10 dollars, I can't find it in this podunk town.

I'll be back later kiddies. Reminders for the class: Learn you limit.

TK Static

I ate two dinners tonight. I wasn't hungry either, but God bless it the second was free. That inner poor boy inside me owns up every time free food is mentioned. Its kind of whenever a sorority chick goes "I'm so drunk" and only two or three thoughts can roll through your head. The male thought progression, ladies, works very quickly and operates how you expect:

Thought #1
That's disgusting. She is so drunk, what an embarrassment.

Thought #2
She's kind of cute when she's not yelling.

Thought #3
I'd hit that.

If she isn't drunk, skip right to step three. And that's how simple we are. It's our thoughts that make us complex, not our basic nature. Back to free food: free food is great. I ate four different types of animals today. FOUR! I can remember a time when eating one animal was a treat. Simpler times.

Speaking of simpler times, when did sending a girl flowers become not enough to even warrant a response? I used FTD.com to send someone flowers and what I got in return was the most functional voice mail ever. You people should follow my lead and note that when people only call you drunk, it's because they only call you drunk; You're probably not that appealing sober. I actually sent the flowers to gauge the reaction and goddamnit if it didn't hurt to be right.

TK Static is in town, so be sure to call him or see him sometime this weekend. The man came quite a ways to be here, the least you could do his look him up and buy him coffee.

Reminders for the class: Cantina is pretty much the only reason I get out of bed in the morning. I have Thursday nights to myself and that's it. God bless the drink.

Hot Hollywood Favorite Will Smith

You have your friends, then you have the guys you hang out with. The second group is bound to be the most flawed group of individuals you've ever met. There will be times you question why you bother meeting with them. There will be nights of drinking when you question who these people really are and why - after spending so much time with them - you still have no idea what makes them tick.

There are friends, good friends, and then the guys who you feel comfortable saying 'It's me' into the other end of a message machine. A friend won't speak up when you go to do the stupid deed because it's not his business, but a good friend will tell you to get the hell off the landmine field. Then there's the great friends, who won't speak up when you crawl from the bar to go bag the ugly chick because he plans on saving it as ammunition for the next time you call him out. But friends don't end there.

There's also bar friends, friends you only see in passing, friends who only see you between relationships, friends who call you only when they're drunk, the friends you can only when you're drunk, the friends who changed, the friends who grew up, the friend who's got a thing for you, the friends who moved away, and the friends who died. There are friends from class, the friends from work, the friends from the neighborhood, your friend's friend, friends of the family, and friends with benefits.

There is no point to me telling you all this, but it should behoove you to know it. The people who's names we bother to remember have to serve a purpose, otherwise we'd smile and nod and go on in conversation even though we can't remember their name. Ever carry on a relationship with some one who' s name you've forgot? I did that to a buddy's girlfriend for eight months until they broke up. Now I never saw a point to it, she wasn't my friend and she wouldn't be there forever. She wasn't a friend I'd joke around with, a friend I'd carpool with, or even a friend I'd share a coke can with. The only way I remembered her name was because she became an overall bad person after the event. And we always remember the names of bad people. Timothy McVay, Ted Bundy, Charles Manson, Oprah Winfrey, and Judas.

But finally, there's the friendships we build up in our head. Like now, I'm watching "Enemy of the State" and my best friend is Will Smith. He doesn't even know my name, but I'm fine with that. I've seen him half naked and he ain't got shit on me.

Kombat with a C

When you figure out the answers, be prepared to have the questions shift. Today was what you'd call an interesting series of events. A professor described my writing today as a "hand cannon", which I took well, then modified that thought with "being aimed at the side of a barn". I think he's suggesting a great deal of power without any purpose, or maybe he thinks shooting up barns is the bees knees. I can't tell. Lot of anti-Amish sentiments floating around here lately. Maybe he thinks I should champion their voice. What better place then on the internet, because how the hell will the Amish ever find out?

I've started on my degree audit and may have found out that I declared my English major along with the new program in the English department for incoming freshman. Their motto: "More Credits, More Freedom". The subheading? "Guess who's screwed the pooch because we didn't tell upper classman?" So I might be F'd for one class in the spring. How ungodly bad would that be? I want out of here! I'm sick of college. Not the people, not the other things. I've come to terms how bad Greek life is ruining a crop of good people. I've come to terms with pop collars. They suck, but daddy's made his peace. These are not the things I want to rid myself.

I just want to be worthless and work a job and not have to worry about readings or things like conjugations. I am too old to still be here. I'm 22. 22! I do know people who just graduated as Seniors and they're a year above me. So, is that an excuse? Yes. At this point, I'll take whatever I can get. Being a super senior is embarrassing enough, having to stick around past when my other friends graduate would be deathly. The cure sould be more alcohol, but that was the cure to being a super senior. I'd like to start a dependency problem, since most good writers have one, but I don't think I have the stomach to be unintentionally mean. Maybe I'll just take up dating (because there's an open sea of discovery) and hope for something better. I could always fill out a J-Date.com slip.

Reminders for the Class: Send in your best super hero power that would be assigned to someone totally lazy. Iceman to chill his beer, maybe controlling the weather to get out of school. I need sloth people!

Head Like A Hole

I'm never good with birthday presents. Alcohol was such a good gift back when we were minors. Now that we have ready access, it just doesn't pack the same kick. So now I'm paroozing Amazon and flipping through a catalogue for Brookstone. I don't have a clue what to get, I never do. I end up marking the things I want and coming back to them later. Birthday gifts are like condolences. 'Shit, sorry you had to exist through another year. Here - I hope this thing here gets you through this year' and then I hand them an AM radio or Hot Pockets with a couple bites taken out of them. I'd like to mandate that you only get gifts if you've had a bad year. Missing limbs - good gift. Family dead - Trinket. Still employed and not all jaundice like - squat.

I upset a small, Mexican man today to the point his spanglish blew up until full Spanish swearing. I fear that this might become a routine thing. Then again, that fear is lodged into the back of everyone's head. Maybe I'm just making too much of it.

A few friends and I came up with the idea for a short film called 'Super Neutrals' while we were watching X2. It seems logical. There are heroes and villains with powers. Why not totally apathetic slackers? It just seems like a lot of work protecting/threatening the general public. Holding down a 9-5 is work enough in my book.

I was walking today and I saw a three year old boy walking a few steps away from his parents. I smiled and waved in a small gesture, but the boy stopped in his tracks and jumped in his spot. "Hi!' and then waved his hand from one side of his body to the other. If God could guarantee me a child that cute, I'd have kids. Until then, I'm child snatching from house to house until I find one on my own.

Reminders for the class: Monday means Friday is four days away. Calm down.

... Another Dollar

So this is where I've been. Sometimes you never know what can suck you in until you're there.

I am by no means enlightened or any better then my the other members of my generation, but I am aware of how idiotic everything I do must seem. I do know that my clothes will make me look faggily retarded in ten years and that any music I listen to now will be mocked by my kids in our Minivan while I'm driving them to soccer practice. Well I say screw them, I'll hit every pot hole and speed bump in the road just to make sure their juice boxes get all over their shirts. Then I'll drop them off and yell out the window "All the cool kids don't have crap on their shirts!" See how they take that until I'm back at six with Arby's.

I wonder where all this is leading. Not in some larger, cosmic purpose; I'm talking in a more smaller, self centered, shallow direction. College has prepared me for nothing in the real world. I got my education from drinking with Alex Stauffer and seeing movies every Sunday for five dollars at West End. I doubt it would have been the same learning the experience without the classes, but I think most of you will admit to learning more from one place then where you were supposed to. Elementary school: classroom or playground? If you said classroom, you were alone on the playgrounds because you still had velcro on your shoes. Man up and get shoe laces, fool!

So how's my ass going to find the real world? Might uncomfortable. The idea is to do what you love, then find a way to get paid for it. I'll settle for doing something that doesn't make my ulcer worse, then find a way to get minimum wage. I've said it before, a college degree isn't a step ladder - it's a tool. A stupid, useless tool. Like Carson Daly minus everything he was superficially awarded. That's about where I hold my education at this point.

Reminders for the class: spend your college loan money in Vegas. Ride a 40-1 shot.

Black Spring Break 2: The Sequel

Tell me how it is people get money. Is there a line I need to stand in or maybe a form I haven't filled out? I can't wrap my brain around how people who have to work in order to earn their money would willingly part with it, especially to a fool with a camera. Even if Steven Spielberg came to me with a full crew, camera in hand, asking for a measly ten bucks I'd be pretty damn uncooperative in giving him my cash. My reluctance shouldn't stop you from ever giving me money if I need it for film, I'm just saying it's stopping me.

I watched about three fourths the film, missing the beginning - where I'm sure all plot, character formation, and all other essential film stuff was located. For that, I forgive the efforts found in the latter half of the film. Let's see, how could I break this film down to you. Two black guys work their way down to Daytona. One is an unmarried football star, the other a virgin. This is how I know it's a good film right off the bat? Did you see that? I told you one thing about each of them, but already you know what's going to happen to them. See how well this is crafted? They decide to fix their problems (assuming a football star's millions and cocaine connections couldn't t fix problems) by pledging a black frat.

I want to take a break here to remind you that our own black frat at Elon recently had a thingy. This thingy was about tolerating indifference, or peace with fellow man, or some random bullshit about how people have the wrong perceptions of blacks. This thingy ended with the black frat rioting. This event should not be lost on you.

Back to the film. The black fraternity says that the virgin needs to lose it "on tape" (please, nigga don't have DVD?) in order to join the frat. Well... he does. But how? Ooooh, I wouldn't want to give away too much, you might want to find out for yourself. I will give you a hint: vagina. There's also some crap about a western union office and a football agent dating a porn star or licking pubic hair off a slurpee cup lid found in the back of an Exxon - I can't be pestered with details at this hour. The point remains, we should not be giving these people money. And you know what I mean by 'these people'.

Jesus. I'm talking about bad film makers. Not blacks. God, I'm not that much of a heartless, jackass, racist. (reminders for class: doom is out this weekend. Support the men in your life, go see it with him)

Working

You probaly thinking: Hey, how'd you get so lucky? Working a double on a friday? I'll tell you how. I worship Satan. Satan and all his minions. Man, all praise that crazy guy. He sure is swell.

See you when you're 40

Nyquil is the devil. I felt drunk all day. Loose and - more importantly - without purpose.

So I bought a PS2. Then I played it. It's close to the PS3 launch (year or so), so it may seem fruitless to get it now, but it doesn't matter. Something needed to happen today and video games are something. Disagree all you want, you won't hear me arguing the flip side and saying that buying makeup or clothes shopping isn't the same trite, self-indulgent crap.

The bar was fun. Everyone kept touching where my beard used to be and saying nice things, like I was a widow. Am I really defined so much by facial hair? Has it come to that? I remember when it used to be the candid nut shots and crank at 3 am. I'd like to be remembered as the first person you'd expect to be on a bus to hell, but a beard will do fine.

But that's all legacy stuff and it's something we have little control over. Although, I guess you could argue that my legacy existed today because I got a ps2. So.... Testicles. I guess you can control it a little. The smaller stuff at least. I doubt I'll be remembered for things I want to be remembered for, that's for sure. I got recognition in high school for charity, but I doubt anyone in college would even think of me as meritorious. Bah. It's for the better. If I set the bar low enough, whenever I achieve something of moderate success,\ they'll be cheering in the bleachers. Getting a D+ on a test will equate to a girly-boy hitting a grand slam in Tee Ball.

And as I peer over my shoulder, I must note : Adam Corrola needs to give up on TV.

Reminders before I let the class go: Weekend is upon us, remember to be good. Don't make me call you to check up on you.

Nyquil makes for sleepy

There's a point at the end of the evening - maybe after you brushed your teeth, maybe after you've rubbed the easy one out - but there comes a point when you measure up the day you've just had. If you drink a lot, like I do, that moment may come the next day, at some point when you realized you passed out and your beer soaked clothes and crusty face are a continuation of the night prior. Regardless, there is a moment when you find out what a day in your life was worth. So how do you rate that? Do you stack it against better days or just measure it on its own? I suggest a table, maybe a sliding scale. Three factors in conjunction will help realize how much your day rocked. For example:

Good Day:
I fought off six monsters, ate a whole subway 12", and drank a case of yueng ling. (Day would rate 8/10)
Bad Day:
Had to listen to someone talk about their sorority, got shot in the face permanently scaring, and woke up next to another dude without his shirt on. (Day would rate -3/10)

Now my own personal three factors to judge my day include not waking up gay, how much awesome I packed into a twenty four hour period, and playing the clarinet. These are the factors that work for me. You might have other ones. You chose. It's not my call. But good luck. And remember. Ken took a lot of nyquil before this post.

Reminders before I let the class out: Cantina tomorrow and I work all weekend. Someone try to find a way for me to have fun.

Breathe if you're horny

What the hell. If you're going to read this, I seriously question your ability to handle free time. Seriously invest in a book or a hobby. That said, I think I should write more. Not just about the crap I pretend to write about when I put up an away message saying 'writing' when I'm really just scratching my junk and watching BET, wondering how they get women to degrade themselves like that. That stuff is gay. No, this'll be more high class stuff. Like a dump truck filled with sweet smelling pork salts, or maybe a couple copies of this month's Redbook.

Went to burger king today. A woman named Precious took my order. This is the conversation that took place in order to get my food:

Precious: Whadya want?
Me: Large. Number Seven.
Precious: Which is that?
Me: The number seven. Chicken fries.
Manager: Number Seven, Precious.
Precious: Three, Six, or Nine Piece.
Manager: It's a nine piece.
Precious: Nine piece large?

There's more story there, but you get the jist of it.

My first girlfriend IM'd me tonight drunk, saying it was her birthday and she was depressed. I don't think she had anyone else to talk to. Or maybe she felt like being random. On an unrelated note, I discovered today that women who need things and don't have the means to get them will often lean into you and place their breasts on your arm, back, hands, or whatever exposed regions of flesh you have. Does this method work? Couldn't tell you. It's my job to get them that stuff anyway, so I guess I would've no matter what. But let's bring this around to a larger discussion point: Will women use men? Yes. Will men use women? Never.

Reminders for the class before I let you go: Batman Begins on DVD today, Cantina on Thursday, and Charlie is growing back. Ok. Dismissed. Catch you all later.