FYI

For those who don't know, I've discontinued using this blogsite. I've switched to Livejournal, however I'll still be using www.sansreality.blogspot.com for my fiction and poetry.

The Dores of HELL

Hark ye faithful and be forewarned! The End Times are upon us! The Commodores of the House that Vanderbilt haft risen victorious as the Mighty Vauls take Mighty Falls. Their ship haft sailed upon an Orange sea, and the natives haft despaired. The Apocalypse is nigh! Nigh I Say!!!

((Actually, I was rather glad Vandy won, they deserved it, especially after the disappointment of their collapse early on. It's a shame neither team will go to a bowl game. One would think that this would teach Tennessee that lots of money doesn't equal lots of success, but I know even if they did fire Fulmer they'd just pay the next guy more. Ah well.

I did try to get down to shake my fist vigorously at Sugue, but the police wouldn't let me get close enough to find him in the band. So I'll have to do it here. Damn you Sugue! Next year! Next Year!!!))

Vege-Scarian

So, apparently, I need to become a vegetarian in protest of the horrid treatment of animals on factory farms. I don't have a problem with raising animals to be killed for food, as long as the raising process isn't painful. However, it would seem that process is quite painful, so, I guess, no more meat for me! Except fish. I think. *sigh* Hooray for me?

Friends and Associates, I present to you a new policy I hope will ensure there are less discrepancies that might impose a level of serious discourse that, frankly, is just not the type of intelligent, thoughtful dialogue we want to propigate around these parts. Thus, I bring you, Metaphysics Smezamysics:

I, Dylan Meggs, will try my darndest not to discuss metaphysics again. It's all a bunch of craziness. Morality, yeah, go for it. But the universe is how it is and there ain't nothing anybody can do to change it. At least, I don't think there's anything anyone can do, and if there is I don't want to know about it! So... Bibble Bobble Shim Sham Shazam!

I want to write a book I am proud of.

I want to become a teacher who changes at least one life profoundly.

I want to fall in Love.

If I do these three things, I can die in peace.

A Defecation Gone Horribly Wrong

Horribly wrong. As a child, you're taught to clean up your messes. However, these messes generally encompass legos and the occasional decapitated disrobed barbie doll. As time progresses, you clean up more and more until you become almost completely responsible for all the filth you spew in your putrid wake. This gradual assertion of responsibility for your surroundings and personal hygiene (or lack thereof) is not really much of a burden until you're put into a situation in which you really have no idea what to do.

That situation? An uppity toilet that spits material that would make even Howard Stern pause momentarily before he defiled yet another stripper midget with his oh so curly hair.

So, in a slight panic, I go to the front desk, hoping against hope that at least a few soldiers of the massive maintenance/cleaning army for the University of Tennessee remain. To my chagrin, the response was to give me a mop, a bucket, a plunger, and some slightly mocking, slightly pitying words of encouragement. It was the equivalent of handing me a sword, pointing at the massing Mongol hordes, and saying "Well, here ya go. We're going to hide in this castle here. You're the one who called them fat, you go placate them." The door shuts behind you and you sit and stare, denial still trying to figure out some way to avoid the inevitable, oh so messy resolution to your predicament.

And to battle I went. The first order of business was to mop as the murky waters gradually subsided. It wasn't so much difficult or disgusting (I can't smell, for the most part, and it is a sense I am glad to be deprived of), but it was more of a "Really, does this actually do any good?" Apparently it sort of does. So I'd stick the mop on the floor, capture the "water", and squeeze it into the bucket. This went as well as such an activity can go until I got the bright idea to switch mopping positions. The bucket disagreed with this tactic and spilled its contents back on the floor. My reaction was less than dignified.

So it was that I fought back and forth for an hour, to no avail. Each flush only produced more to clean up. I went for reinforcements. Now, I have not spoken much of my friends at college, but they are indeed a ragtag bunch. Diverse individuals who make life, for lack of a better term, interesting. I put on the saddest puppy-dog face I could muster and practically sobbed in my efforts to discern if they knew anything about plumbing. Now, I know a bit about toilets, but nothing about the art of plunging. My grandfather is a seasoned professional of the trade, but I'm afraid none of his art rubbed off on me. At any rate, John Kelly came to my assistance.

He surveyed the scene of desolation, as I observed in a half-expectant, half-despairing way. I handed him the plunger. He sallied forth.

A flush.
The water rose, as the plunger furiously fought to keep it down in its place.
Futility.
Up, up, up, faster than I thought possible!
"ABORT! Get out of there John, it's not worth it man!"
But John fought on, and with some desperate last thrusts the foul brew sunk into the pipes as the Lord meant it.
I do believe that is the happiest I have ever been to hear a toilet flush.
Truth.

So it was left to me to clean up the remainder, but my primary foe vanquished, the rest was just culling the roving bands of defectors who refused to surrender. It's an experience I shudder to repeat.

And with the conclusion of my adventure, I feel as if I've accomplished something. Someday you, too, may have the privilege of this experience. Things to look forward to, eh?

NOW it makes sense

It runs in the family

CarrieMMMeggs: and people say cocaine highs aren't as awesome as they're cracked up to be
CarrieMMMeggs: i made a pun onaccident
IndubitablyDyl: Oh Carrie
IndubitablyDyl: That was bad
CarrieMMMeggs: :-)
IndubitablyDyl: You must really be my sister

Who needs to make out?

[00:10] I2OIENTO: here we are at midnight debating pastrys
[00:11] IndubitablyDyl: We are truly the intellectual elite.

"Hey hot stuff, I know a janitor's closet that is missing a few screws. Want to help me fix it?"

"Rosencrantz is dead
Guildenstern is too.
My quintessence of dust
Belongs to you."

Now, with such sterling original compositions like those, I absolutely can't stay single forever!

*le sigh*

I'd like to take a moment to give mad props to my stress pill(s). I'm nothing but sweat and tears without you baby!

I'd like to take this time to acknowledge a grave wrong I have committed and hopefully my apology can render remove some of the intense guilt and night-terrors I've received as a result of this grievous wrong.

In the past, I have frequently slandered the name of Gustav Mahler. I have balked at the idea of listening to his music, telling everyone how horrendous it is and that it should best be avoided by good, honest, pure-hearted people.

Well, dear readers, I was wrong. I'm not proud of my comments, but I feel it is my duty to make amends. I have listened to a number of Mahler's symphonies (5 to this point, I believe), and I must say they are quite enjoyable. Not Dvorak, or even Ralph Vaughn Williams enjoyable, but still quality pieces of music.

Hence, I retract my previous comments about Mahler and encourage all of you to at least take him into consideration. Thank you for your time.

Friends, and non-Quakers amongt you, today I must make a confession. It is something I have held back, been ashamed of, tried to keep in the hidden confines of the deepest darkest recesses of my mind, but I can no more remain silent. It must come out.

I, Dylan Fort Meggs, am an English major.

I know. I, too, have denied it. This very day, the thought practically drove me into a seething rage. But fear not, my faithful companions. I am an educator first, an english major second. I am not some lukewarm, "I like English, but not unemployment" type of fellow! That is simply not how I roll.

I want to teach. I crave it. It is my fiercest desire, to interact in a fun, but intellectual environment in which I alone am the master, like some supreme, omniscient terrorist with my Stockholm-riddled hostages clamoring for me to receive grotesque pay increases. Mmmm, tastes like brainwash!

So anyway, I decided I can beat all those other schmoes out of the good teaching jobs by being energetic, learned, and, perhaps, just a little bit sexy. I need to pad my resume, but I refuse to do things for padding alone. I mean, I may not be well endowed, but boobs aren't everything! Er... I mean credentials. Wait... ANYWAY, I want to definitely start a branch of the Card-board Club here at UT, maybe volunteer more, and apply for a position on the Issues Committee. That should help a bit. And then, of course, I'll charm them at the interview. I might not even have to take off my pants! (For better or worse : /).

So, suffice it to say, my self-esteem/confidence/energy/blood pressure spiked today. Perhaps it'll plummet back into an abysmal depression, I don't know. But for now, I'm going to enjoy it! Enjoy it... like a fox! Or a ferret. Or some sort of weasel-esque creature, sans social stigma.

So... hooray!

You Can Call Me Al

Which one, though, I'm not sure.

Paul Simon's Al has a romantic flair, but he's a copout. He's like James Bond before you get the results back from the clinic. He's your "long lost pal." But maybe he's lost for a reason? Or maybe I do need to find him again. I mean, I do need a photo-oppurtunity and to stop wondering where my wife and family are. I need to get up and find them! Then again, I hate calling anyone anything because I hate phones.

Then there's J. Alfred Prufrock. T.S. Eltiot (!) 's homeboy. Frankly, the man's a bore. I feel sorry for him. And then, I realize the parallels and feel a tad sorry for myself. And then I have a good cry, listen to NYSNC, and call up my best girlfriend to talk about boys for an hour. Then the sinking realization of my actions attacks me like a waffle iron attacks postmen, and I regret I sold my gun for a kitten and a dream. Unfortunately, the dream involved eating small, cute, fuzzy marshmallows, so the kitten didn't last long. Suffice it to say, I am neither Hamlet, Prufrock, or Richard Simmons, and I'm incredibly thankful for that.

Finally, there's Al Sharpton. Al came to speak tonight and was absolutely incredible. Sometimes he didn't make much sense, but he was a great speaker. I loved part of his speech that basically equated to "Al Sharpton: Fighting For Your Right To Go To Hell." It, like most things, made me want to get started teaching. After seeing Maya Angelou and Mr. Sharpton, I think I've got enough evidence to counter any black kid who says "I can't succeed." Both Angelou and Sharpton were inspiring, well spoken, and intelligent. And they *gasp* communicated well! Why, it's almost as if communication skills are important! I think I've found a teaching tool ;). But anyway, Al wanted to stand for something. What do I stand for? I'm not brave enough to directly achieve social change. I can't even ask a girl out. BUT I'll do my part through years of service corr...educating the youth of the future. That ought to be enough.

So which Al am I? I don't really know. I want to be an individual. Dylan Meggs, a character who makes an impression upon you. I don't think I'm there yet. I use words in fairly witty ways, but I'm not defined. That might take a few years. I've got time to develop. Hopefully I can have fun doing it.

Oh, by the way, this morning my Physics teacher started getting angry at buoyancy. It wasn't an experiment or anything. It was as if the concept infuriated him. What did buoyancy do to him? I guess he is German, and therefore naturally prone to anger. But I still wonder what the therapy session would go like....

Prof. Spanier: And zen zee ice... zee ice floated upon zee water! And I... I ...
Therapist: It's ok, Stefan, take your time.
Prof. Spanier: But it ez how zeze thingz vurk! I cannot fight zee physics!
Therapist: We'll fight it Stefan. We'll fight it. Together.
Prof. Spanier: NOW IS ZEE TIME IN PHYZICS 101 VEN VE DANCE!!!


(I sure hope some of you caught that reference. Anyway, no new list items. Better luck tomorrow, eh?)

What Have We Learned?

New post over at Fiction. It's been awhile, but it was a fun little exercise. I hope you like it. (Post comments on this site if you don't mind. I would like to know your thoughts though. I mean know them. Yes, all of them. Well, maybe not... ok, that was just uncalled for. Why the hell would you even stick a rabbit in you-? You know what, I changed my mind. I don't want to know. About the rabbit anyway. That poor, poor little... Anyway, let me know what you think about the piece. Which is ironic, for a piece about not thinking, but hey, it's what I do. For better or worse.)

I need to start dramatizing my days. I'm tired of analysis, I'm thinking it's time to be creative again. I'm almost tempted to start my villain novel, but it's just not time. The longer I hold off, the more defined the message and story I want to convey will be. Perhaps I'll do a few more character sketches, I dunno. And this is just a passing whim, because I'm inspired.

I know what I need. I need a mantra, to remind me of lessons I've learned. So I'm going to start a list and eventually compile it into something like a daily mantra. I know, I know, I've had this very idea before. But I keep finding times when I think "I would have been better off if I'd just remembered what I've already learned." So I'll try to follow through this time. Hence, off the top of my head...

1. Be Happy. Happiness is its own reward, to you and the rest of the world. You may have to repeat this life again, if the circle holds true, so make it the best you can. You'll thank yourself later. Or you won't. But...um... you know what you mean.

2. Make Happy. Try to make others happy. You'd like them to do the same, right? So start a trend!

3. Be Positive. Even if you're wrong, no one can fault you of having a positive attitude. You can still be realistic and positive.

4. Don't Judge. If someone's not bothering you and they're happy with themselves, just be glad they're happy.

5. Don't Feel Insecure. Every person plays a role. Just because you didn't make someone laugh doesn't mean you're a failure. Just because your stomach is soft instead of hard you're not repulsive. Just because others are better than you at everything you do does not mean you are worth less than they are.

6. Improve Yourself. There's always room for self-improvement. Always.

7. Be Happy for Others. Don't feel threatened by the success of others. Be happy for them, enjoy their work.

8. Don't Worry So Much About The Future. The future is always tomorrow, never today. If you worry about something that never gets here, you'll worry forever.

9. Don't Be Afraid of Other People. Most people are at least somewhat nice, and if they're not they probably should be. Ask for their help, interact with them, be nice to them. Avoiding them doesn't help anyone.

10. Don't Stop Trying. Don't fall into complacecency. Keep things new, keep things interesting. Keep things challenging. It's the only way to keep things alive.

Hopeless no more!

I found this strangely poetic, beautiful, funny, and a wee bit disturbing. It's amazing the things humanity can think up.

Makes Sense to Me

I thought that this was a pretty interesting, and in my mind accurate, take on the different types of "love."

Also, I found this article on Limerence that seemed to be a pretty accurate summation of that tortuous feeling that's been making its rounds recently.

Thoughts?

My Mother's Great, Great, Great, Great... Great Grandfather

Summary

I think I've explored this topic to an acceptable degree. Laura made some good points last night about the validity of the logic, but stressed that logic wasn't everything. And that's where we disagree. I think one should act logically. That's the ideal. This doesn't mean you can't love someone, you don't have to be a robot. You just have to be able to defend your actions to an acceptable degree. So, when it comes to morality, I want morals logical.

Of course, I'll admit this is all theory. I think that I, personally, could handle because I value logic more than I value my individual desires. The one thing that keeps me going is obtaining a job teaching English in a school that lets me do what I want to do. Diversify education, focusing on enjoyment, personal exploration, and actually learning things of value (ie, writing, critical thinking, and debating civily). Everything else is just bonus points.

I doubt I'll ever get a chance to try the whole "polyamory" thing. I doubt that I'll even need it, although I still believe it could heighten life if done correctly. I just don't think most people in this generation could handle it. I'm not thoroughly convinced I could, although I've got a better shot than most. But you can be sure that if I have a kid, I'm going to teach him/her that other people's happiness is just as (but not more) important as their own. That love is not one thing between a man and a woman, but a bond between a person and humanity. Or select members. An exclusive orgy, if you will.

Which you won't. But they might. Oh jeez, I've already given "the talk," and I don't even want kids yet. Oy vey.

Funny... Once you get it:

A Place Where Everyone Knows Your Name

I don't want to lose the friends I've made. Kathryn van Eenam was telling me about her "Death List." No, I don't mean opponents of Roger Federer (her one true love and messiah)... (he's a famous tennis player). It's a list of people she'd like to know if they die. Kind of a weird idea, but the idea is rather endearing. Persisting friendships, despite a lack of correspondence.

I'm worried that, as I grow older, I'll lose my friends and end up more or less "alone." Friends are nice because they're people you enjoy, who you know you enjoy. Unlike coworkers, they're sort of "sure things." I don't want to lose that. I don't want to lose the people who cheer me up, even if they don't even realize they're doing it. Who make me feel like I have people out there who care, people who know me.

I've sort of surprised myself in how well I've been able to keep up with the people I knew from high school (the ones I associated with the most). For instance, I still talk to David Duncan, David Sugue, Ellen, and Cory on a pretty regular basis, in one form or another. And I like that. I mean, I've made new friends. But I don't want to sacrifice the old ones at their expenses. I know things change and people become distant. But I don't want to completely lose hold of people from my past. Instant messenging is a great asset in this department, and fortunately although much of my time is taken now, I've been able to maintain plenty of old and new relationships.

Will it continue? I don't know. I hope so. We'll see. It'd be kind of nice, though, to look back 4, 10, 20 years in the future and be able to say "You know what? I still keep in touch with people I knew from high school. More than a bi-monthly pity party, but actually keep up with them and even, heaven forbid, real life association with them."

I know most of you will fade. That's just how things happen. I just don't want it all to go. I don't want to be alone. I mean, even if I do find a wife/significant other, I still want friends to partay/loaf around with. Are the two mutually exclusive? Maybe. I hope not. So much speculation...

Just remember. Gone, but not forgotten. Not forgotten for many, many, many years...

Premonitions of Perturbitude

Drunk people drive me crazy. For instance, my father drunk just talks on and on and on, so you stand there and nod your head for 20 minutes as he tells you "writing and teaching are the most important professions a man can have" or noble or honorable or something, presumably to justify my less than fantastic career choice/college. He'll vicariously through me one way or the other, I suppose. Maybe that's overly cynical, but it's not too farfetched either.

At any rate, that's preferable to trying to leave, then he just gets angry and things rapidly go downhill. So, tonight, I wonder whether my roommate is getting intimate with some J-E-L-L-O (It's Underage!) shots. So here's my question:

Is the drinking worse after a win or after a loss?

Thoughts?

My answer to this. Reciprocity's a lovely thing...

In the beginning God created Man. And then he thought Man needed a companion, so he created Woman. But Man liked to sleep a lot and woman wanted to go out and shop or something, so God created the clitoris. Woman promptly forgot about it and kept complaining. So God created marriage so man would have to at least pretend to listen to woman until she finally shut her trap. Woman, however, never did stop talking, so God invented senility and woman finally started making sense. Then God got annoyed and created prostrate and breast cancer to kill them both off ironically. The End.

Clarifications

On women:

My pursuit of a wife might strike you as a bit of objectification, but I'd like to argue that it's quite the contrary. The reason I worry about it so is that I realize when one gets older, the amount of time spent outside of work with other adults rapidly diminishes. Your interactions are mainly limited to coworkers without children and whomever you happen to meet at some shady bar every Friday night while you're crying yourself to peanuts, getting drunk on sleep. Or... yeah. I'd like to at least have someone with me whose company I really enjoy, who'll make every day that much more interesting so my time not at work doesn't rapidly dissolve into existential anguish. I'm not saying it necessarily will, but I know myself, and I know I do better when I'm not alone. Having a partner-in-crime who matches my sense of humor, imagination, nonjudgmental ethics, and oh so sexyness would be truly wonderful.

On Math:

Some of you might be a tad confused as to why I dropped Mathematics. It's really not too terribly surprising, but then you've not been in my head for...um... ever, so you might be a bit taken aback. You see, the reason I like Math is that it makes sense. Math is objective, you're either right or wrong. Not only that, but Math is generally simple in its objectivity. You have to know a few methods and formulas, but you don't have to worry about all sorts of tricks and exceptions like you might in science and language. You also don't have to know a lot, like you would in history. It's comforting, something you can always rely on. There's a sense of safety and surety when you perform a math problem and you fully understand every aspect of it to the point you're certain it is 100% correct. Math would be easy to teach, too. The curriculum is always the same, it's laid out for you, you just have to spit it back at the kids and spit in creative ways until it gets in their heads. Er... did I just use making out as a metaphor for teaching Math? You bet I did! See, it's even sexy!

However, Math just isn't that useful. Everyone has to write/communicate, no matter what they do. Realistically, though, Math just isn't needed for most people. Mr. Petko is infamous for his "Math is urrywer," and he's partially right. But, for instance, physics literally is everywhere, yet most people couldn't tell you why a ramp makes it easier to move something. Math is in a lot of places, but most people really don't need to know much past Algebra. For certain professions, sure, but for most people?

English, done right, is an amalgamation of writing/reading/philsophy/ethics/creative impetus. You've got lots of wiggle room and can justify doing just about anything in the name of education. It's just more... comprehensive. More likely to bring fulfilment.

Anyway, that's all that comes to mind at the moment. If you want a better explanation IM/email me and I'll be glad to comply.

How bout them... Rebels?

I went back to West Friday night for their Homecoming game. Kinda interesting how things can change from one year to the next. Gone were the cheerleaders semi-interesting signs about beating the other team. Instead, we get solid advertisements. The band even had to go back to play part of the third quarter instead of just being dismissed after halftime. But plenty stayed the same.

I tried to catch up with as many people as offered themselves, but I think I was a tad deficient in that particular regard. At any rate, it was nice to hear that the Cardboard Club is continuing, even if it is just a small, pitiful little thing. It was nice to see Bonnie and Meredith and Laura (who looked great in her homecoming regalia, along with 80s reject Ian), although I didn't talk to them too much. I guess they know where to find me already ;). I talked quite a bit to Katheryn, and it made me miss all the carefree days of band shenanigans that seem too long ago. Another instance of the "don't know what you miss until you remember what you had." It was nice, though, to talk to everyone. Of course Cory was there too, but Cory hardly ever talks to anyone other than me anyway.

Oh, I've also pretty much decided to drop my Math major. Numerous reasons, including the new revelation by Mrs. Jackson that if you're certified to teach Math, they'll never let you teach anything else because math teachers are so needed. I certainly don't want to only teach Math, but I could stand only teaching English, so that's the route I'm looking at. Of course, the "English major only" thing is scary in terms of employment, so if I can I'd like to double major in something else. At the moment Sociology looks like a good candidate. It appears they're doing preliminaries for AP Sociology, which should be ready around the time I graduate with my masters (ideally). That means there would be a demand for someone to teach the class, but also a demand for someone certified to teach other courses as well. Ideally, of course. It's exciting just thinking about it.

Oh, by the way, I shouldn't worry since my roommate's only had four shots. He's fine. Really.

*would cry self to sleep, but couldn't due to all the yelling*

Girl Culture

No, I don't mean yeast infections (sorry, had to do it). I mean that I went to a lecture by Lauren Greenfield about her exhibition of photography called Girl Culture. It was fascinating to me, as most personal, revealing works are (more on it later), but it also spurred my thinking on women and the way I view them. It's just a recent development that I've become noticeably superficial. As I was thinking about it, I remembered that I didn't start analyzing superficially until this summer when I was in Virginia. Partially as a result of my isolation from others my age and partially because I was bored, I began to evaluate appearances just to see if I could tell whether I found someone physically appealing or not. Since then the habit has stuck. I've been doing it fairly consistently, and I really think it needs to stop. I need to stop thinking of girls as girls in lieu of just "other people." It's like some mental segregation in mind, and after thinking on it I've decided I don't like it. Even if it may have heightened my senses in the search for a love/lust interest, I've found that sort of thing isn't too terribly important, at least to the point where I'd actively seek it out.

I also began thinking about my subconscious desire to be recognized/famous. This needs to stop. It's been sneaking up on me after I expelled it awhile ago, and it's made me start feeling rather worthless and inferior. One of the entire points of 18 was to commemorate the regular individual, and as I also learned in 18 most people aren't really going to be concerned with your activities that don't directly involve them, especially to the extent you'd desire. I don't need to be famous, I don't need to be recognized, and I certainly don't need to be better than anyone else. I need to be happy, I need to enjoy my life, I need to help others do both of those along with me, and that is absolutely it. Ok self?

So, mental checklist: Stop thinking of girls as girls and stop thinking of self as needing to assert worth/superiority.

At any rate, Mrs. Greenfield's exhibit was fairly interesting. It was sickening, to see the rampant superificiality and materialism. The pictures of the anorexic models/younger girls made me squirm in my seat in disgust. I also found it disheartening to hear about a girl on a college track team who got thrown off her team for stripping (the way she had to pay her way through college). The way they found out she was a stripper was when the school's entire football team came in as patrons and revealed her position. Pretty sick, eh?

I was fortunate enough to ask Mrs. Greenfield, who appeared to be a pretty intelligent, witty woman a question. I asked "In our society it seems like sexuality is really taboo, in terms of TV, movies, and video games, especially compared to violence, and yet in your work and our culture it seems to run rampant. How do you think it's possible that these two coexist?" She responded, laughing, "Oh, a hard one for my last question. I don't know. I guess I'd better take another question." I was rather disappointed. I thought someone who'd spent so much time investigating this culture of sexuality might have some insight into how it exists inside a society that aims to crush it. Ah well.

I went tutoring again at the elementary school today. It's a regular lesson in child psychology. It was kind of sad, too. They were all so... competitive. It seemed like they didn't really have friends, just competitors. Many of them had really bad attitudes, of course they wouldn't listen to us, and there was even a little alpha male with a tiny gang that picked fights. And these kids are like 9. *sigh*

The good news is that when they got some 1 on 1 attention they were pretty motivated to read/work. But it takes a lot of doing. I have no idea how elementary school teachers can work 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, fo 30 years. It's astonishing.

Do you ever feel truly alone, no matter how much evidence there is to the contrary? Of course you do. It's odd, isn't it? I sort of feel like this feeling and I will get well acquainted as the years go on. I look ahead, to me teaching, and see someone alone. I don't really forsee a wife, not now, not for me. Possible? Certainly. But I'd say there's at least 60-40 odds to the contrary.

But it's more than that. I see myself, and many adults, as people who go to work, come home, live truly, if not literally, alone, and then repeat ad nauseam. It's not bad, per se. It's just sort of... tragic. How part of our lives can be so full, and yet there are these periods where we can't help but be empty. It's peaceful, in a sorrowful way.

If I come to be a teacher, living alone, I see myself having this feeling. The best way to describe it is a sad smile. The smile you flash when you're trying to fake happiness, but no one's fooled. Not even yourself.

Romanticizing, certainly. And I do think I can be happy, if all goes according to plan. But things have a habit of not following plans, no matter how they're accorded. And the greater the deviation, the more the smile is feigned.

Addendum

(In response/continuation of the below post. Might want to read the other first, but I doubt you'd be missing much.)

I confuse myself. It's why I add that little disclaimer of "how I feel at the moment", because as soon as I write something I consider "definitive" down, I think back over it and figure out how wrong it is. Or how wrong it might be.

In this particular instance, I remember that I'm not too keen on some of the ideas involved in a relationship. The responsibility, the lack of freedom, the general awkwardness. My mood swings only compound the problem, and I'd wager that opening up my "emotional box" again might just cause the fluctuation to become significantly more dynamic. At the moment, I'm at a fairly constant gray/apathy. It goes up to minor carefree euphoria and down to briefly suicidal stress/depression, but they're both still innately gray emotions.

There's an interesting thing about me and caring. When I care about something, I tend to connect to it and really care about it. I suppose it's true for most people. For instance, when I watch a Tennessee football game and care if they win, I really get into it. I jump up and cheer, get anxious, and become rather depressed when things don't go "as planned."

I also really care about keeping my scholarship and getting a job as a teacher. Hence, I get really stressed over school and nervous when I think of all the ways I can lose my future, imaginary job. You can imagine how I'd react when I really cared about a volatile, unpredictable, frustrating person.

I know I've mentioned it before, but I don't handle passion well. Anger, especially. When I get really angry, I cry. I get choked up, to the point where I can't speak. I shake constantly (like I do whenever I have to perform unmedicated in front of a group). Emotion is a dangerous thing for me. It can potentially lead to a constant euphoria or an abysmal decent into crippling depression. So I guess that's what it comes down to. Do I want my constant contentment? Or do I want to take a risk?

I guess right now, I'd prefer the contentment over a risk. I look for an impossibility, a "sure thing", so that I can tell myself "Well, I don't really want/need it anyway" when I obviously can't find it. So, the further the deviance from the ideal, the greater the risk. And, right now, I'm not much of a risk taker.

But who knows? I'm likely to change any minute. This may lead you to wonder why, given the admittedly temporary quality of my mindsets, do I bother writing about them? Well, that's what this blog is partially for, a record of my psyche. I could care less what I did today, especially if it was trivial (as most things are). But being able to come back and look at my frame of mind/past viewpoints and observe how I've changed, that's valuable. It might even help me to understand my students, assuming I keep my job long enough to forget what being a teenager is like.

At this point I'm tempted to make self-deprecatory comments to lessen the risk of exposing my real thoughts. But honestly, I don't judge any of you, so I'd like to think that the "people who matter don't mind," as it were. I'd also like more perspective, to know how others feel and view me and themselves, in this regard and in all others. I might be offended/indignant, but I'll get over it and be better off for it. After all, this whole tirade started because my sister said something I thought was completely preposterous.

In the words of that saint among saints Ryan North, "I guess there is a lesson here FOR US ALL!"

Female Imagination

A few weeks ago, my sister and I went to see Macbeth. It was rather odd because my sister and I don't really do things with each other. I'm very... guarded around my family, whereas with anyone else I'm at least marginally comfortable with I'll tell them practically anything about myself. I don't really know them, and I don't really think they know me. I guess it's just easier.

Anyway, we walking back from the play and for some reason my sister said that I'm one of the most superificial people she knows. I was rather indignant. She said I have "impossible standards", wanting someone who's pretty and has a good personality. Of course, what person doesn't? Not to mention that, from what I've gathered, my definition of "pretty" is a fair bit below the "norm." For me, someone's personality has a very significant effect on the way I perceive them, and thus see their physical form.

But lately I've begun to doubt this. I'm beginning to wonder if maybe my standards are too high. I've consoled myself by saying that I haven't met anyone with the right personality, but honestly does such a thing exist? I've thought about what I'd want, and, as egotistical as it sounds, I sort of want a female clone of myself.

I guess that's to be expected, since I'm pretty much the person I want to be, so my "ideal" is around myself. I could tolerate neglible deviations, such as taste in music, hobbies, political/spiritual views (as long as she didn't think I was going to Hell). But I sort of want a... complement. Someone who not only goes along with my errant madness, but adds to it and builds upon it in a way that makes us both laugh. Someone who's not concerned with who's doing whom how often, unless one of the parties involved wants/needs to talk about it. Someone who doesn't judge other people as long as they don't harm others. Someone passionate, but patient.

She wouldn't have to be very "feminine", as long as she didn't mind my lack of "masculinity." She wouldn't have to be very thin, as long as she wasn't noticeably obese. Height and breast size don't matter. She'd just need to have nice hair, preferably longer (although as long as it's not boy short I could probably stand it), and a pretty face. That's the worst part, the face. That's where the worst superficiality comes in. It's something that a person can't help. Something I can't define. Something one either passes or fails with no warning and no explanation other than "that's the way things are."

All and all, that seems to be where I stand. At the moment. I don't know my mind well enough to know if that's really how I feel. But it's how I think I feel. Is it impossible? No. Improbable? It seems like it. And I guess, at this point, most people would lower their standards. Most people would "make do." But I don't want to make do. I don't need to make do. I can go my entire life not dating once and still be happy. I could be happier, I could be more adequately "fulfilled", but I can do with solitude. So I keep my unrealistic, superifical standards, knowing that even if I found someone to meet them, I would self-destruct the realtionship in due time.

What's a poor, egotistical jerk to do?

Sacrihilarity

The crazies were out in force this morning. No, I don't mean libertarians. I mean the missionaries. Except this time they cam bearing signs. Really, really big signs.

It was kind of funny. They stood there with signs like "OBEY JESUS OR PERISH" and "EMBRACE JESUS LEST YE BE JUDGED" with lightning bolts or something like that and pretty much damned us all to Hell. One said, "God loved us so much he gave his only son to us!" I promptly thought of Elvis's "Return to Sender", broke up laughing, and felt all sinful-like.

I was inspired to create a giant sign that simply read "I DISAGREE." Then I'd put on a silly hat, take out a lawnchair and a shadeumbrella, and sit there all relaxed like. Or, perhaps, a sign reading "SATAN IS MY HOMEBOY."

Another idea was to haveone person come out with a sign saying "I LIKE KITTENS." He/She would yell things like "Forsake the dogs of the damned and embrace the felinic faith!" Then, a week later, someone with a sign saying "I LIKE PUPPIES." would come out and do a reverse performance. The two would eventually meet and an epic confrontation would ensue.

Just, you know, ideas for a rainy day. Raining hellfire and brimstone, that is.

And now for something completely different.

Mission Uncomplished

Last night, as I walking back to my dorm with two of my new, fancy college friends, I was approached by, for lack of a better term, missionaries. I declined to take one of their little books, but Christopher decided he'd actually talk to them. It was rather distressing, because while I loathe the concept of Hell and am annoyed by all the contradictions of Christianity, I also really dislike deception. And Christopher just stood there, leading this woman on, toying with her for his own amusement. I saw him try to repress a smirk after a few of her comments, which was rather amusing, but the entire situation was uncomfortable. Elise, the other friend there, called him a "Sky Masteron" which I found rather apt.

I don't really know what to do about missionaries. I generally just try to avoid them. I could try to debate with them, but with mentalities like this, I rather doubt I'd have much success. Of course I don't believe that's a viewpoint indicative of a very significant portion of Christians, but it's still rather disturbing. Actually, it's kind of funny too. You ought to read "No Fear", "The Last Generation", and "The Missing Day" for some further reading on that site (listed under tracts). We agnostics are bbaaadddd people.

Facebooking the Music

After I got invited to be a friend of someone I've never met, I decided facebook is quite silly, so I further attacked my profile. I believe the proposterity is aboot complete, though further revisions may be necessary. Take that CIA soulstealers!

The CIA has my soul!

I capitulated and finally made a facebook account. But I'm going to make it as hard as I can for those smarmy sons of sociali in the CIA to steal my kidneys. Hence I created a biography that is a tad... altered. Is it effective? You be the judge:

Dylan Meggs was born the son of a rich Albanian Ferret Harvester back in 1873. Early in his life, he discovered he had a penchant for catching tuberculosis. Seeking to make the best of a decimating situation, he exchanged his frequent diseases for fresh peanut brittle with intoxicated Peruvian Socialists.

As his peanut brittle empire continued to amass its nutty wealth, Dylan looked for avenues to express his growing ambivalence towards the letter "Q." He found such a vehicle in the form of one Mrs. Albierta Telesonatta McMingerson. Mrs. McMingerson, a widower, taught Dylan the ancient ways of the transcendental milkman. The two fell deeply in love, but in a tragic (some people believe intentional) accident involving William McKinley and a vindictive hot air balloon, Mrs. McMingerson was imploded.

Dylan was inconsolable. He continued his harvest of tuberculosis, but no amount of peanut brittle could stem the overwhelming misery that consumed him. Fortunately, WWI arrived and with it came many an opportunity to justify tap-dancing, an underground movement Dylan had been a part of since the Cleveland administration. Dylan tap-danced for Uncle Sam like no man had ever tap-danced before. They called him "The Dancin' Dylnamo", a name which would later result in legal action by a Japanese porn star of the same title. Dylan's dancing enabled an Allied victory, but the somber, insidious undertones of his performances spread a sense of disillusionment throughout America.

The Roaring 20's came and went, a period in which Dylan spent most of his time drunk in a dark alley wearing only one shoe and an incredulous expression.

The Great Depression shook Dylan from his stupor and inspired him to donate his peanut brittle to a needy country. Dylan traveled the country in a rickety old wagon pulled by a pack of three-legged grizzly bears, spreading his bountiful peanut brittle with all who dared to venture close enough to figure out where all those screams were coming from.

His supply of peanut brittle exhausted, Dylan returned to Knoxville, confident that he had changed the world. The country went to war once again, and many urged Dylan to don his tap-dancing regalia once more. However, shortly after the way began, Dylan developed an addiction to shiny objects. This obsession consumed him, and it wasn’t until 1952 that his friends and family convinced him to enter into rehab. 3583 grueling seconds later, Dylan emerged a new, albeit defeated, man. He went into hiding, and gradually faded from public memory for years.

Then, in 1984, Dylan reemerged in a fiery comeback that would have taken the nation by storm if he’d only remembered to pay his library fines. As it was, the outstanding debt was so monumental Dylan was placed into a maximum security internment facility. It was there he learned the tricks of the taffy trade and made connections that would cement his rise to power in the late 1990’s. A grateful descendant of a peanut brittle-recievee paid Dylan’s fines, thus allowing him to return to his home state and forge an empire of such fantastic proportions it seemed trivial. Starting a grass roots campaign, Dylan developed a brand of taffy that combined Italian voodoo and good ole Tennessean methamphetamines that became an overnight sensation. The money rolled in, along with various federal agents, and Dylan’s life became a whirlwind of whores, public broadcasting, and spiked apple juice.

Then, tragedy. On April 27, 2004, Dylan Meggs was shot four times in the left elbow by a crazed insurance salesman with a rubber machete and nothing to lose. He retired from the public scene and is currently living out the last of his days in an intensive care unit outside of Topeka.

Persistence is Futile

-Jack Kevorkian's motto

Last night was pretty good. I was initially wary of going to/being at a party of primarily people in my sister's grade, and I did feel rather disconnected from "the group." The differences between the "AP crowd" in her grade and mine were noticeably different. I suppose that's expected of course, but it's sort of interesting how cliques of the same sort of "set" of people can be so diverse. Further proof of why stereotyping and trying to group people is pointless. Still, each group, especially comparing the top of the class the year before me, my year, and the year behind me, has its own unique character. Kinda neat.

Anyway, I didn't mesh with them well. What I did instead was stay inside with someone else who didn't "fit in." She is in Carrie's grade, but she's quite religious and rather conservative in action, so the shenanigans of the others weren't really appealing to her. So we just sat inside and talked. I fear I was slightly didactic, but we developed a good rapport and talked for a few hours. It was nice, getting to know someone, as in know them better. There's just something really enjoyable about it for me, when I can look back on a conversation and think "Something actually happened." That feeling of having learned something deeper than the superficial pleasantries of normal conversation, of having connected to another individual really leaves you feeling fulfilled. It's the sort of thing I'd love to do when I become a teacher.

I got back to my dorm about 12:30 and went over to Christopher Martin and John's room, just to say hi. I ended up staying there til 3:30 as they were having a conversation about the meaning of self. I don't normally enjoy philosophical conversations, but I was able to just listen to most of it and add annoying comments when the oppurtunity rose (Christopher: "So we can establish that there are real laws of logic." Me: "Heh, ' I got pulled over for mental speeding, but I think the policeman's going to let me off with a warning!' ").

Christopher also has this chair that makes one feel positively fetal. I felt a strange sense of calm inside it, but I also felt more genuinely fearful. I actually regressed to a more childlike state of mind. That might have contributed to my willingness to stay with the discussion. It ended up being pretty interesting, although I couldn't put any of it down in here in coherent form for the life of me. Suffice it to say, when I finally pulled myself away three hours later, I returned ever so briefly before going to bed so that I could have the last word.

That word? "Boobies."

Missing the Mark

I went back to my house to wash laundry and do family-related activities last night. My mission, complete, I grabbed my clothes, walked towards the door, and told my mother, "I guess I'd better head home."

She noticed it too.

I've commented on loss before, but I thought I'd go ahead and do it again. It's odd, for me at least. The actual act of losing, of changing, of taking one more step on my hike to hell is treated almost scientifically. It just "happens." It's not until a bit after the event that you realize how accustomed you'd become to "the way things were." How everything fit so well. How, now that it's gone, your sense of safety and security is merely conceptual.

The actual word itself isn't such an indication. To me, "home" is where I "should be." It's where I return and am "normalized." It's not a word of great significance to me. It was just the moment where it really hit me that I'll never go back to home again. Because it's not home anymore. I'll stay there, of course, but it's no longer my permanent residence.

It will be years until I have a "home" in the real sense of the word. If then.

---

I had a dream a few nights ago, where I tossed and turned, obsessed about people that didn't exist. It's happened with math problems too, a sort of half waking/half sleeping state where I repeat the same process over and over, always incomplete. It's like turning the key in the engine of your car, the engine revs, but it doesn't start. I just keep turning, but the car never starts. The problem, of course, is that I'm half asleep so I don't realize the car isn't starting. I just keep turning the key. It generally takes me 15 minutes to snap out of my stupor. It's almost painful, to keep trying to figure out something in your head that is literally impossible because it's an incomplete nothing.

I'm going crazy and I'm not even drinking. Go figure.

Uninomercity

College is an interesting animal. I've had homework/studying everynight, more than I've had since Junior year. Strangely enough, I'm not even graded on the work I do. It's merely "preparation" for my actual classes. For those who don't know, and I don't know who you'd be, in college you generally don't get graded on homework. You take three or four tests in class, do a paper or two outside of class, and that's it. Seriously, my Philosophy, English, and Sociology classes only have 5-6 grades. That makes them all the more frightening.

One of the, dare I say, "positive" aspects of this is that the homework I do receive is rather interesting. I actually enjoyed reading my Physics textbook. The philosophy and english works aren't bad either. The work is no longer "busy"; it's what education should be. It just cements my idea of making homework optional for Math in highschool.

However, that still leaves Spanish. Spanish is a really scary class. There's just so much to memorize. And even when you memorize it, you're not completely sure of how to use it. Fortunately the more you learn, the more tools you have for communication, but it's still a very painful process. All the worse, I have to take it for two semesters. Como se dice "DDDOOOOOMMMEEEDDD?"

I had a guilt/stress nightmare last night. These usually equate themselves with me wrecking a car. I've been on rampages through campuses, over steep cliffs, lacerated by metal siding, all to escape unscathed with the car being in tatters. It's really stressful, because I feel incredibly guilty about the complications/monetary damage done by and to said vehicle. Notice my own personal welfare is never harmed. Just the car. Says something, eh?

I'll probably have quite a few of these dreams, because of that blasted 3.5. Of course, I don't have to keep a 3.85 like Ellen (Thank...existence?), but it's still rather steep. That means 2 A's, 1 B+, 2 B's. Or 3A's, 1 B+, 1 C+. Or 4 A's, 1 C. Which, compared to high school, it doesn't seem too bad. It just doesn't leave all that much room for error. And, in Spanish, I'll need a lot of room for error. That makes all my other classes all the worse.

Ah well. I guess I'll just have to study. A lot. Which I've been doing. I just hope I'm doing it right.

Politicians

Today, just because I wanted to do some interesting things, I went to go see Congressman Harold Ford, Jr. (Democratic Congressman from Memphis who's running for Senate) and, later on, Republican Congressman Zach Wamp speak. It was interesting in some ways, but annoying in others. For instance, the subject matter of Wamp's speech was Energy Policy. He basically said that energy is very important and that we need to be more efficient/think towards nuclear power and renewable sources. Well Duh. I mean, that's just plain common sense. Why don't you lay out the changes you want to make and how you're going to go about implementing them? Because that's what politicians do.

Congressman Ford wasn't much better. I thought he was pretty moderate and seemed like the type of guy who didn't get caught up in partisan rancor, but he didn't say much of anything either. He completely dodged a question about clearcutting mountains to mine coal, to a really blatant extent. But at least he took questions.

Ford also had a habit of saying a lot that didn't need to be said. It's a politician thing, I know, but it makes listening to him like listening to a foreign language, you have to pay close attention to everything he says to figure out where he stands. He would rarely just come out and give a short, succint answer. I'll probably still vote for him, but it's just something I noticed.

I also got tickets to see Maya Angelou. That'll be... something. So much to do, so many things to worry about... I can't wait to leave college already.

Well.

It's odd, how one night can be incredibly active and the next can be completely dull. I mean, I could certainly make my own excitement if I so desired, but the distinctions between yesterday (meaning Friday) and today (meaning Saturday) are quite marked. Yesterday, I did more in one night than I was used to doing in one week. Including, but not limited to, going bowling, seeing a movie, yelling at moving vehicles for no particular reason, starting a board game at midnight, and not killing a hooker. I know, I know, but I can only do so much in one night!

However, today, I've barely left my dorm room. I've been at my computer 12 hours, almost, doing nothing. I mean, even my game hasn't been that interesting. I kind of wonder what everyone else is doing. Not because I feel slighted, but because I'm wondering if this is disproportionate. You know, because that might...um... inform me. And information is the devil's toothbrush. Or something.

At any rate, I guess I'll try and go to bed. I mean, maybe today will hold something more exciting. At least my cold improved over the course of the day. Or did it?! Find out next time on "I Really Need to Start Drinking Better Alcohol."

And by "Better", I mean "any." Or do I? No, 'fraid not. Bummer, eh?

I didn't remember it was my birthday (yesterday) until 11:30 tuesday night. After 18, it's just not exciting anymore.

I remembered why I don't like philosophy today. It's because it makes me remember all the horrible, logical things I've struggled so hard to repress and escape from. Couple that with intense stress about having to do Spanish, and you've got nightmares until winter break. Oh well. Bummer, eh?

On a side note, have you ever had a dream where you knew a person was someone, but it looked nothing like them? For instance, I could be in a dream and I see Catherine, but she's a mime. Or I can be in a dream and I can see Sugue, and I know it's Sugue, as in, it has his identity, but it looks like a nun. Or I could see Lauren, but she looks like a can opener. Blows my mind.

I'd like to que YOUR sera!

Today I was offered a "book about Jesus" which I politely declined. In retrospect, I decided I should have said "No thanks, I write my own fiction." At first I thought this would be rather rude, but then I remembered that he's the one who thinks I ought to suffer eternally for something as arbitrary as a theory about existence. So I figure such a comment would be deserved.

I dunno, I'm rather frightened about a potential backlash over announcing my agnosticism. I guess it all stems from the time in Seventh grade where this kid started punching me in the arm and wouldn't stop just because he found out I didn't believe in God. Most Christians who find out seem to be alright with it, although I'm still perturbed they believe I'm going to Hell.

At any rate, things are going alright. I've made a few male friends, met one or two females. I guess I'll meet more as time passes. Or not. Que sera, sera?

Ugh, that reminds me that I'm taking Spanish. Ugh, indeed!

Don't you hate it when you think of good things to write about but you're either too tired/distracted/inebriated to write about them? Then, when you have a chance, the topic just doesn't seem worth discussing. So you end up posting a silly little "summary of le dia" and that's aboot it. Probably not.

Well, things are going alright. Not great, but alright. I'm still pushing myself to get away from the computer whenever the oppurtunity arrises, much to the annoyance of my online associates. It's probably a good policy though. I mean, I don't want to be known as that guy who sits in his dorm room all day doing nothing but computer games. I mean, that guy and the ladies would never get along. There's only room for one italicized phrase in that sort of relationship!

Speaking of ladies, I'm in strong "I don't care" mode. It's akin to sour grapes, but with a more fatalistic tone combined with a dash of contentment. Essentially, I'm damned if I don't and damned if I do (Get it? It's original sin! Unlike puns, which are just downright painful). So, when faced with two paths leading to eternal suffering and fiery hells (see: loneliness and gonorrhea. On second though, you probably don't want to see those. Although that is probably the cleanest page about gonorrhea you're going to find on the web.) you take it as it comes. Thus, my current state is neither worrisome or binding. Unlike S&M which consists of varying amounts of both. Not that I'd know. Or anything.

But I've got a paper to write. So... take care.

Good News!

Well, I've started a semi-campaign of "Every chance I get to leave the dorm, I do." So if I jump away from you abruptly online, it's not because I'm afraid you've got the tuberculosis. It's because I'm forcing myself out of this silly hole. So just keep that in mind.

Anyway, I met some more interesting people last night in the common room and one of them, another Chris, loaned me a Dylan Thomas book. I figure I'd better learn about my namesakes somehow, and I've already checked out 3 or 4 Bob Dylan CDs.

That's about all for now. Believe it or not, my room here is actually colder than my house. Or maybe I'm the cold one, and it follows me. I am sort of wraith-ish... Take care!

And I'm Off!

Well, the move-in is just aboot complete. I've got almost everything I need in my dorm room. The process itself was a tad stressful, but it really went pretty well. My room mate, Chris, seems like a pretty good guy. He's a fan of the Daily Show, how bad can he be? He has a New York accent, which is nice for diversity, and just like me his parents annoy him terribly. They're nice folks though, I think I made out pretty well.

I am a bit concerned about meeting people though. I don't really have any new friends, although I've met a few people. It's sort of hard to keep in touch, because it's so awkward going into someone else's room and just staying there. There really isn't a good way to get out and make friends. I guess I've sort of adjusted into an almost sour grapes mentality of "Friends are overrated, don't worry about it", but it worries me that I might be missing out on a good oppurtunity. I guess either way I sorta win, eh?

You know the type of people that just seem out of touch with reality, real wooden and impassive? I'm afraid I might be like that. Timid, scared, on my guard. Then I probably try too hard, go overboard, then worry I'm scaring people away so I sort of abandon them. I can't win, ya know? Maybe if I get some AIM screennames... Oy. Ah well. It's the first few days, I can't judge the entire collegiac experience on such a tiny sample. I mean, I haven't even gotten drunk off my rocker yet. Thank goodness there's still time!

Exercises in Appropriateness 1

So, like, today i like watched these fantastic episodes of six feet under. That series is, like, so deep, ya know? It's like... whoa. People die all the time. I mean, whoa. That's some messed up shit.

Our toilet is clogged. It's driving me crazy. Well it's not exactly clogged, it's like broken. Now i can't go to the bathroom. Life is a bitch.

I had a bit of a romantic crisis (as opposed to an existential one) earlier, but it may be nearing its completion. I may even have a resolution. One of the reasons I got over it was another entry of Fiction. You know, venting. Or whatever.

In other news, this coming week I need to start making "cool" entries to make all the people I meet in college who read my blog think I'm superficial and shallow! So... just warning you. I may get crazy!

Harry, Harry, quite contrary

No, silly, I don't mean our 33rd president. I am, of course, referring to young master Harry Potter. I just finished reading Harry IV, which was preceded by Harry V, so I figured now would be a good time to give a quasi-review. Suffice it to say there will be spoilers, although I read both books knowing who died in each beforehand, and I still enjoyed them.

I started reading Harry Potter around the time the third book came out. I can't remember why, but I know I was hooked at the time. I eagerly awaited the arrival of the Fourth book (bought in an airport by someone, I think), and I read it as rapidly as I could. Then, as the mania swept the country, and I read better, more adult material, I sort of let the series drift away. Finally, around the time the sixth book came out, I decided I'd better read them both just to keep up with the times.

I must say, I was impressed. I didn't really expect the books to be bad, but I certainly didn't expect them to be as gripping. After having written a fair bit of creative writing myself, I think I've obtained a better understanding of how novels work. So, when reading, I tried to keep my eye out for aspects I enjoyed and aspects I didn't so I could make use of them in my own writing endeavors.

JK Rowling has a formula that just works. The world she creates is well within our spectrum of suspended belief, intricate enough to keep us enraptured, but explained succintly, but sufficiently to the point where we aren't confused or overloaded. Of course, there are gaping holes in the premise that a wizarding community exists within modern day society. I mean, I know it's fiction, but it seems proposterous that the wizards not only don't understand "Muggles", but also make no use of any of their modern technology except toilets, trains, and flying cars. Even still, this isn't really annoying to the point that it seems just a technicality.

The world isn't the only thing that makes the books compelling. The pattern the books follow is regular and familiar, but it allows for complications and differences each year that don't lend themselves to monotony. School itself is something everyone can relate to, especially children, the target audience. And then, of course, there's the "epic struggle of good versus evil" that always manages to ensnare me, at least.

The books become increasingly dark as the series progresses, but not dark in the same sense of most of the literature you read in high school. He always had Ron and Hermione to count upon, and Dumbledore, who was practically omniscent and omnipotent. Killing Dumbledore was great for two reasons: Dumbledore knew entirely too much, to the point where the danger never seemed very real, and it was a great tool to use for Harry's continued development (which is done remarkably well). Dumbledore's death, above all others, was the point where Harry matured closer to a real adult. He alone was responsible for his life and future. He couldn't rely on adults to lead him now.

Of course, Harry had to overcome a lot of obstacles throughout the series without help. But it seemed like he could always go to Dumbledore, who could explain most of it away. Dumbledore just knew too much, he sort of spoiled the effect.

You can also tell that it's a children's book, not an adult's book, just because so few people die. It's almost infuriating how practically everyone survives, on both sides. They're in a war, they're wizards, and yet they still can't manage or won't kill each other. I guess I've no taste for magic duels that consist of "Harry hurls a spell, an adult wizard with years more experience gets caught, Harry runs a bit, Harry hurls a spell, Snape counters, Harry hurls a spell, Snape counters, Harry hurls a spell, ad nauseam." And even when someone's hit, they hardly ever die. But they're kids' books, so I don't honestly expect more. For kids, they're great. I'll still take George RR Martin over Harry Potter anyday.

But, for what they are, the Harry Potter series really does deserve all the attention it's getting. They're great books. I hope they encourages many young minds to read more, like Redwall did for me (Redwall, by the way, killed off quite a few characters and still managed to be appropriate for 10 year olds). I probably won't be standing in line for the next book, but I'll read it pretty soon after it's out. It's good escapist literature with a well done "coming of age" theme. Not as intellectually stimulating as 1984, but a good way to kill a few hours.

(Perhaps more later, we'll see. Toodle loo!)

Why do I keep doing this?

I was reading more David DeAngelo (the dating guru for getting hot chicks or whatever), and I once again encountered the "cocky and funny" suggestion. Basically, the idea is that you act confident, arrogant, and "on top." However, you've got a humorous slant to your jibes, so you're perceived as witty and "a challenge" instead of just a jerk. It's crazy, that this man suggests that if you make fun of a woman in a slightly comical way, she'll be more attracted to you. And yet, the scariest part is, it probably works.

Go figure, eh?

Just when I thought there was no hope...

I find this little gem! Ah, sometimes the daily comics surprise you.

A Legend is Born

I took one of those stupid online quizzes, and I expected junk. Thus, I wrote random, stupid things (My city in Europe was Detroit). But! I did find this truly spectacular gem:

Your punk rock band name is The Confused Toaster Oven.

Let hilarity ensue!

In other news, I'm planning on going to Macbeth tomorrow. Anyone want me to pick them up/bring an extra lawn chair?

So?

I just watched "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind", and I must say it was fantastic. I really urge everyone to see it. Unless you're on the verge of a breakup, and even then I'd strongly encourage it!

It really was thought-provoking. It's the whole "live for the moment" mentality that one would think I could try and follow sometime. We focus so often on the present, the negative, but we forget the happiness we've had and could very well have again. And if that happiness is short lived, we'll cherish it and find more. Just because we're all destined to die doesn't mean we should live as though we can find a way to live forever. Meaning, just because a relationship may fail, enjoy it while it lasts and, if it falls apart, cry a bit, get angry a moment, and then remember the good over the bad. There is no such thing as the "right guy or girl." You can't always look for better when you can love what you have.

And by "you", I mean "me." Or "I". Stupid grammar.

The Dogs of Market Square

Anyone interested in seeing Macbeth?

I'd be willing to pick anyone up and take anyone home who wanted to. I'd like to go Thursday night, but if anyone wants to go Saturday I'd be glad to wait.

In Ages Past

I sort of neglected to update my adventures in Virginia, but there are a few memories I'd rather like to record that I thought of today.

While I was there, my aunt or uncle (I don't know which) told me one of the more tragic stories I'd heard. Apparently, a teenage girl had been killed in a car accident close to the place where one turned from the main road to my relative's neighborhood. What's worse is that a year later, her brother was killed in another car accident not a mile away from where his sister had died. I can't imagine how terrible it was for their parents. To have one child killed is bad enough. But then, after a year of grieving, when small steps are made towards adjustment and you try, desperately, to cling to the future, once again tragedy strikes, leaving you with next to nothing.

Such repeated devastation seems unfathomable to me. Admittedly, my views on death are quite fatalistic, but I can still try to empathize. I know there have been worse stories, but still...

I try to think of how I'd react, with my unorthodox views on death. I try to think how I'd feel if my mother or father or sister died. How I'd feel if one of my friends died. And each time, I just don't see me getting too upset. It scares me. I fear I'm too detached from my emotions, so intent on controlling them and maintaining a level of apathy putting me above emotional pain that I can't really love anyone. It's all lipservice.

Honestly, I think me wrecking my car 1.5 years ago was more tramatic and painful than my own mother's death would be today. Why? Because the car wreck was my fault. Not only do I seek detachment, but I've come to the point where the only person who can cause me emotional distress is myself. At least, that's who I blame. I don't hold a grudge or point a finger at anyone else for my state of mind except myself.

It's very confusing. Surely I can't just be a self-centered individualist with an affection for altruism. I mean, I love to make people laugh. But is that truly because I like the joy of others, or am I seeking to fight my own insecurity and prove myself to have some worth in the eyes of others? I want to help people, I want to be there for them and aid them in their endeavors if I'm able and agree that I really am needed. But isn't that just another ploy to make my life seem somehow worthwhile?

I'm so afraid of overstepping my boundaries. It's a primary reason I try and limit my physical contact, because I'm worried I'll be considered forward or make someone (observer or "victim") uncomfortable. But this isn't a concern for the other person so much as an issue of convenience for me. I don't have to risk confrontation.

Then again, this is quintessential cynicism. I could just as easily apply this line of thought to most other people. However, I do often wonder if I really "love" as others "love." One of the cons of being forced into one perspective, I suppose. A quandry I'll never be able to solve. Ah well.

Next Virginia entry: My Voyages to Church

Back for the Long Haul

Well, I'm back. And this time, I'm here to stay. In Knoxville, that is. Wednesday will be the official "three weeks til class starts" day. I'm still quintessentially ambivalent about the entire affair. I'm looking forward to getting out of the house, meeting new people, and taking challenging classes that will lead me further into my chosen career path. However, I'm also terrified of getting out of the house, meeting new people, and taking challenging classes that will lead me further into my chosen career path. You can see my problem.

Leaving home is a new level of freedom, and I won't have to feel like I'm going to be accosted at any moment to do something. Not that I am now, which makes it all the more peculiar that I feel this way. But, despite this counter-intuitive anxiety, this is still my "comfort zone." I'm safe, secure, and not threatened (for the most part) in my cold little corner. And when I leave I'll perpetually reside right in the middle of the action. Oy.

Then there's meeting new people. That's always a roll of the dice, now isn't it? I suppose I'm fairly amiable to everyone, and there's a moderate number with whom I can get along quite well. I really shouldn't be scared. I just have to act nice and not feel inferior.

And then, of course, I'm worried about my classes. Grades are pretty integral now that they're worth $12,300 a year. I also sort of look forward to them. At least, the ones other than Spanish. And Math. But the others look good!

Anyway, I meant to write more, but I got distracted. More... eventually!

Away

Well, it's off to grandmother's house I go. No internet access for about 3 days. I think I'll survive, I'm not sure though... There's not much for me here but books, I'm afraid. I'm actually ready for college to start so I can get it over with. What a funny concept... Heh, take care guys. I'll be back online Monday!

Cheers!

Too Sexy For My Society

(THIS, now THIS is some entry right here. It goes places, believe you me. So if you have questions or comments, please make them after the trip. I'd hate for you to get misconceptions about my beliefs because I didn't properly express myself [a very probable possibility]. But, at any rate, here it is.)

Well, I watched the movie “Kinsey” tonight, and it got me thinking about a particular subject area that’s been prevalent in my musings recently. For those who don’t know, Kinsey was a professor who surveyed thousands of people about their sexual histories and helped to dispel numerous myths about sexuality and what is “normal.” One of the matters brought up in the movie was how love and sex tied together and whether a loving relationship could endure when sexual relations weren’t “exclusive.”

When I first learned about the concept, it startled me. I’d always assumed people either partnered for the intent of long term relationships or had “one night stands” with different frequencies. It really hadn’t occurred to me that a person could continuously have sexual relations with multiple, limited partners for extended durations.

At first I chalked it up to “Well, it wouldn’t work for me, but if you can deal with it and all parties agree, I certainly don’t mind” (that’s a fairly accurate summation of many of my views). However, I began thinking about it, and I wondered if I could survive under such circumstances. It’s really a complex area. Assuming my girlfriend/wife consented, would I be able to have an at least satisfactory relationship with another girl in addition? And, more importantly, would I be able to tolerate my wife having relations with other men?

The first psychological response in my imaginings is about as expected. I would feel quite jealous if my wife pursued other “interests”, but if she consented, I would be able to maintain multiple relationships myself without guilt. I’m not quite sure if it classifies as hypocritical, as these are feelings and not actions, nor are they necessarily endorsements.

That was where I stopped, until tonight when I watched the movie. Once again, it brought up my past internal debate. However, I imagined that my hypothetical lover was fornicating not for pleasure or with another lover, but as part of some sort of scientific experiment. I don’t feel any feelings of jealousy at all. And that’s when I see that the act itself isn’t important, just the implication. If my wife had intercourse with another man, I’d feel threatened that she’d leave me for him or that I would be proved inadequate. Even if that wasn’t her original intent, her main purpose being exploration and hedonism, the possibility is still there.

But then, I reason with myself. If she really enjoys the company of another man above mine, wouldn’t it be better that she gets the best? And of course, even if he is “better in bed”, I may still have enduring qualities that brings her back to me. Of course, the idea of sharing one’s wife is quite detached from society’s norm, but honestly I think I could adjust to it.

And as I adjust to the idea, my thought expands. Brie has a comment in Bonnie’s profile that reads something like “I don’t want to get married, I’d rather just have casual sex with my male friends.” It’s a concept that’s rather intrigued me, even if the thought itself may have been uttered facetiously. What if sex wasn’t treated as taboo or possessive at all? What if kissing, stimulation, even the actual act of fornication were commonplace between friends? What if one could detach themselves from the idea that sex is something private and special, instead integrating it into one’s social life? It’s almost disturbing. And yet, I’d imagine I could do it. I’ve got the right amount of logic to be able to handle my emotions, but the right amount of emotions to heighten the experience from just hedonism to something more fulfilling.

Of course, this is all speculation from someone who’s only been kissed. But really, breaking down the physical barriers and making physical contact become as acceptable as emotional connection, even raising the stakes to sensuality? It certainly has potential benefits. By making sex and physical relations more commonplace, you take away its power. It’s not as frightening, not as dramatic or damaging. It already creates closer bonds between individuals, why make those bonds be exclusive only to two people? Imagine the improved personal connections. Not to mention the hedonism itself.

Obviously there are drawbacks and risks aplenty. Pregnancy and disease, sexually transmitted or not, are both huge factors. Sexually transmitted diseases are an easier issue to discuss, because one either has one or one does not. In fact, in this state of heightened sexuality, the fear of STDs would be even more intense because if/when the presence of an STD is known, the afflicted individual would be ostracized to a greater extent than today. Sex would be a demonstration of trust between two individuals. Or the practice of sharing test results would increase, for the more skeptical. Either way, there are safeguards and precautions to be taken to prevent the threat.

But STDs are not the main problem of such a liberal society. Pregnancy is. As much as I hate to admit it, abstinence really is the only sure way. Even “The Pill” isn’t certain. So what would be done with the inevitable increase in pregnancy? Obviously one option is abortion. I’m tempted to argue that this would cause emotional damage to the patient, but then if we assume the sort of adjustments that have already been made to allow such a liberal environment in the first place, the idea that abortion should not be a source of guilt or regret isn’t too farfetched. *(see my below entry for clarification).*

What about the pregnancies that are delivered though? Obviously both parents would ideally have a say in the child’s growth, but it would seem a more “communal” take would be applied. The child would be exposed to more people and ideas, creating a more well rounded individual. It’d be interesting to see the results of such environments, at least.

Oy, I went from idle musings to a dramatic shift in society. What a ramble! I wonder if anyone can actually read that entire thing… Suffice it to say, I’m not advocating having sex with anything that moves. I'm not even saying this is my own ideal. I’m just saying that it’d be interesting to have sex play a more casual role in typical social structures. A lot of trust, precautions, and mental adjustments would have to be made, but it could morally work (everything would, of course, be between consenting adults or age-appropriate teenagers).

I’m turning into quite the hedonist. However, I suppose when I advocate sex, I’m assuming an emotional connection. Relationships would just be… heightened. And complicated. And simplified. The imagination runs wild.
Just some thoughts that lead in a myriad of directions. And to think, I wrote this entire thing without becoming physically arroused. Must be the diction…

Controversial Clarifications

A clarification on abortion: One of my problems with the idea that abortion is destroying possible children is that it’s a dangerous line of thinking. Every sperm is potential. Every time a woman menstrates, potential is lost. In fact, all fertile women who could physically endure childbirth should be pregnant so as to ensure that as many potential children are created as possible. Think of all the Mozarts and Leonardo da Vinci’s that could have been created if women just had more babies. Think of all the children who could have existed, but don’t, because they decided not to have unprotected sex. They ought to be ashamed of themselves.

An X is a Y with one more I and four L's

*sigh* I've been goofing on, because that is what one does when reading books puts them to sleep. Even interesting books, like 1984, that intrigue you but still make you want to take a nice, peaceful nap.

At any rate, part of my goofing off has been to look at relationship sites/guides. Not because I have any particular interest in that regard (I'm still ambivalent about the concept), but because it intrigues me. The two premier sites (if you want in, just use fake email addresses) seem to be David DeAngelo's "Double your Dating" for the men and "The Rules" by someone else, for the ladies.

I've looked over both, and at first glance they seem to be written by the same person. At the very least they're quite similiar. However, they diverge sharply in their message. The male's tells them how to get multiple females, and the female's tells them how to snag and keep one male. Now, this certainly isn't indicative of the majority of either sex, nor do I know how effective either is. The forum I found the link to DeAngelo's site on had an incredible amount of positive feedback though, and seeing as it's a forum for a web comic (ctrlaltdel), I'd imagine they could use the help.

The differences and similarities practically speak for themselves. The targeted woman sees a man as a long-term asset, whereas the targeted man sees a woman as a temporary vessel for satisfaction. Both seem rather mechanical and impersonal. Then there are these guides that break down how to manipulate the opposite sex into getting what you want, which it appears is conflicting. It's so... forced and unromantic. Of course, it could also be argued that these are more self-help books than anything, providing confidence and a better sense of direction. In that respect, I guess I can't be too critical. It's just... interesting.

For instance, the male guides and sites (and there are a fair number), mostly focus on the acquisition of sexual partners, often multiple at a time. There's an entire science, as it were, of seduction and attraction. And, it would seem, it's not all snake-oil. What they say makes sense, and that might be the eeriest part. Confidence is very important, as well as making the other person want you, not the other way around. It just oozes of manipulation though. It works, but it's... dirty. Not necessarily morally right or wrong, just somehow corrupt.

Blasted romanticism. You'll be my ruin yet! You or your bastard cousin existentialism. I write rants with little to no point involving each of you, you dirty little monsters. Ah well.

In other, more important news, I researched contraceptives today on wikipedia. You know, just so I'm prepared for hypothetical situations. Apparently "The Pill" has a .3 to 1.25 method effectiveness rating, meaning of 100 couples properly using the Pill over the course of a year, .3-1.25 will get pregnant. Yes, male and female. It's a freaky drug. However, it does sound more reassuring than a condom that can slip, tear, and steal your kidney all in the blink of an eye. The Pill doesn't protect against STDs, though.

Just thought I'd let you all know, cause, you know, I care. (Being with those kids up in Virginia really scared me about having children. I'm not even close to having sex and I'm already paranoid!)

In summary, Cheers!

American Why

Everytime I listen to American Pie, I get that "epic" urge. Because it is an "epic" song, in a grandiose way. It's full of nostalgia and tragedy, and it also has a sort of combative nature. Even if it's just football v. marching band. It's inspiring and humbling at the same time.

And then I think of the Don McLean tape I bought in Nashville, full of absolutely pathetic songs that are so ridiculous, you wonder if he knows how silly they. That might be a bit harsh, but it's really not unwarranted. So you have this one man capable of something truly awesome and something just plain pitiful. That's the real inspiration. It says that everything you do doesn't have to be a hit. You'll fail and fail and fail, but maybe once, just once, you'll make something beautiful. That's reason enough to try, right?

For Bonnie

I don't normally get angry, but I did tonight. Various, small reasons. But without anyone else to vent to, I guess Microsoft Word will have to do. You can read it if you want, it's just a punching bag to me. I guess that blog's gotta be good for something, eh?

The Times They Are A Changin'

Which is good, because I've only got 20's. (Get it! Changin'? As in "loose change?" Eh? Eehhhhh?"

Anyway. It's odd. It's not the "traditions" that really make you feel your reality is shifting. It's not graduation, the last day of school, orientation, any of those things. It creeps up on you, change. At least it does for me. People come, people leave, and I take it as it comes. It's not until a few weeks of months later when you wonder what exactly that tiny sad feeling is at the end of the day, the notion that something is just... missing. That's when it gets you.

It's not just people leaving either. Within the past few weeks, I've learned of sexual relationships of three of my friends. And it's not that I assumed they weren't or never would engage in it, it's just sort of an "oh" thing. I suppose it's because I don't speculate about people's private lives, I just believe what they tell me. I don't condemn it or anything, certainly not. I just haven't been exposed to it... ever. I know these things go on, but from my perch behind the keyboard, I don't really give them much thought.

But then, gradually, more and more happens. I suppose I'm not shocked at these people, I'm shocked at myself. It finally strikes me that I really am growing up. And in a month or two I'll be at UT, watching people get drunk, high, and "fornicated" left and right. It's really kind of funny. I picture it like the "Forbidden City" chapter in Catch-22. For some reason it's post-apocalyptic, there's fires burning and people are running around screaming, all sorts of chaos is occurring. And I'm just wading through it. An overdramatization, but for someone like me, who has never even seen marijuana not in the hands of some sort of federal agent or alcohol in the mouth of a minor, it's quite a step.

I don't fear it, exactly, I just don't look forward to being "immersed" in it. I like the position of observer or confidante, hearing about the adventures and misadventures of others but never experiencing them myself. It's a position of power, but I can also empathize to the point where if you go into detail, the pictures and actions come alive. I don't need the real thing. But I guess I'm going to get it whether I want it or not, eh?

I could say things like "I'll never drink, I'll never get high", but I don't really know. At this moment, I would adamantly refuse just because I don't want to lose control. But in a year? Who knows? I could say I'll refuse any girl who asks me out, but I don't really know.

At this moment I'd rather live my life out alone, being a part of many lives but not a main part. But I also know I've got those stupid, stupid desires. Not sexual ones that I've recently learned can be "taken care of", but the kind you get when you watch a movie by yourself and want someone to hold/be held by. I'm tempted to go Puritan and just outright deny it. But then I wonder if it's something I'll regret years later. I won't regret skipping Prom. I might regret never being in a real relationship. Waiting for the "right girl", eh?

Ah well. It's sort of... powerful, living life. I've got this desire to be a real influence on people, my students particularly. I want to be memorable, not necessarily remembered. Que sera, sera.

Another dinosaur comic

It died so young...

It Could Be YOU!

(From "Brevity")

Not Meant to Be.

Oh my.

Your Mom is Considerably Obese

Ah, Dinosaur Comics (where I got the above quote), you fill my heart with a form of quaint joy unparalled by any other comic.

I'm going to have read the Harry Potter books for the sole purpose of being able to say, "This ain't nothin' compared to George RR Martin's 'A Song of Ice and Fire' series, jerk!" You know, cause they're just better books, ya know? Maybe? No? Well read em already, sheesh!

In other news: Pie! What's up with that?

Well That's That

Kinda anti-climatic, eh?

I got bored, so I did this:

Making up Bob Dole Quotes
From Uncyclopedia

"Bob Dole enjoys kittens on a stick." -Bob Dole

"Bob Dole firmly believes Calvin Coolidge could kick your ass." -Bob Dole

"At least Bob Dole's not gay." -Bob Dole (commenting on the more popular "Making Up Oscar Wilde Quotes")

"Never say I."-Bob Dole

"Bob Dole." -Bob Dole

Ugh

Well, I was right. Don't you hate it when that happens? It turns out when I've no good video games and no summer reading, I'm lost. Unmotivated to the extreme! So to combat said quandry, I believe I'll try to make myself start reading. 1984 is first, followed by Harry Potters 5 and 6 (yes, I'll read them, but only because I vaguely remember the first 4 being good). After that, who knows? I don't know if I'll be able to read successfully. My attention always wanders, and I get overcome with this sense of insecurity. Why oh why couldn't I have inherited my mother's gift for painting/drawing instead of trying to pave my way into writing? Ah well. I keep wanting to write something, to build a real story with real characters and subsequently destroy them. However, I'm forcing myself to delay my next writing project until I'm firmly cemented into college, if not out of it. I may write the villain novel as my senior project at UT, then write my spiritual atheist when/if the country recedes even further into Puritannical nonsense. I just keep having this feeling that I need to hurry before someone else beats me to the punch... I guess there are always other ideas if those fall through.

In other news, I've invested in Netflicks so I can at least finish Six Feet Under before UT. I figure with that, coupled with my hopefully revived interest in reading and the imminent arrival of "Grim Fandango" (an older adventure game for the PC), I should be adequately entertained until school starts. I'd be tempted to have multiple parties/get-to-get-hers, but my home is severely lacking in appropriate facilities and is an all around stressful place to be. Maybe when I acquire a swinging bachelor pad of my own I can have all sorts of wild boardgame related escapades. Or maybe just lots of sex. Oh Fate, which path will you pick? I guess you could surprise me and do both, possibly simultaneously. *shudder* You really are a wily son of an anarchist...

And on that note, I bid you all cheers, adieu, and/or cancer. (I can only afford two of the three. Take your pick.)

I made a new blog for when I feel the urge to write weird-like. The posts may or may not be connected, and I won't edit them, but when you want to write, you write. So... here it is.