AngryGhandi's Heated Hunger Strike

I don't mean to toot my own horn or anything

2006-04-25T08:24:00.000-04:00

When the teacher of a CMU creative writing class needed someone to make a cover for the class portfolio, one man answered the call.
The theme? Social action. The tools? Red Bull and Photoshop.
The man? Artie B.

So, I think it turned out alright.

Toot toot toot.

Hey look, I have a report I should be doing

2006-03-30T06:58:00.000-05:00

Apparently I have written a long review of the Radiohead album Hail To The Thief and posted it on Amazon.com. Now I'm putting it up here, presumably to hide it from the sane half of my brain when it comes out of its stupor. Or something. Jesus. Why can't I ever write these when I'm awake? Anyway, the reviews on Amazon.com are pretty much just a bunch of like-minded individuals blowing each other over how much they love the same band, so I guess I sorta defaulted to that mode.

- - - - - - - -

Looking Back, Stepping Forward. (***** out of *****)
By Arthur Berghoff "AngryGhandi"

Being someone whose musical tastes didn't really awaken until midway through high school(2002), I've had sort of a fractured take on Radiohead. Like anyone alive during the 90s, I heard nothing but glowing reviews of the band wherever I went, but I'd never personally listened to them and neither had my friends(Uncultured I know, so sue me, I live in the middle of Michigan for crying out loud), so I ended up getting defensive toward the whole idea of accepting them. "What do the critics know?" -Lots of the teen rebellion and whatnot.

Anyway, I eventually decided that it was foolish to ignore the advice of experts, and after a somewhat limited Amazon.com research session, picked up OK Computer in the winter of my Freshman year in college. I loved it, finding it in fact to be nothing like anything else I had ever listened to - epic and deep, beautiful and paranoid, comforting and frightening - a spectacular album.

Over time I worked my way through the rest of the Radiohead discography, first back to The Bends (The soulful, angsty, accessible one), and then forward to the tripped-out, apocalyptic adventure of Kid A, which felt like being an alien in a spaceship and watching the Earth itself crumble away.

Now, a year later, I reach Hail To The Thief, the end of the line, and I find myself wondering, what does it have to say?

I'm not going to pretend to be a total expert on Radiohead, after all, I didn't get into them until a year ago, and I still don't own Amnesiac or Pablo Honey. However, in that short year they've become my favorite band, and I've come to admire the creativity and vision that they've seemed to represented peerlessly with every album.

One of the things I've admired the most is the way that each successive album, from The Bends to OK Computer and especially Kid A, has broken new ground and done something musically that no one expected. So, when I learned about Hail To The Thief, I was surprised and a little worried to learn that it seemed to lack a cohesive direction. I (ever pessimistic) was afraid that it was a simple and tragic story of a band stagnating at the end of its creative journey. Maybe it is - I suppose only time will tell.

However, more than anything else, Radiohead's newest album feels like a crossroads. It borrows elements from all their previous work, and puts them in the same context to compare and reflect on. The theme may be the confusion and contradictions arising in the "Post-911" world of today, but individual songs take on the general shapes of things past. There are sweeping, multi-part OK Computer-style pieces like "2+2=5," "Sit Down, Stand Up," and "Sail To The Moon." There are sleek, cold electronic tracks like “Backdrifts,” “The Gloaming,” and “Myxomatosis” that continue the trend set by Kid A and Amnesiac. There are stripped down, hearfelt songs like “There There,” “Scatterbrain,” and “A Wolf At The Door” that call to mind The Bends.

All in all, Hail To The Thief seems to me like a sort of spiritual “greatest hits” collection. A look back, a moment of remembrance, and a gift to all the long-time fans that have been along for the musical journey with Radiohead since the beginning. A moment taken to acknowledge that, whatever past accomplishments they represent, whatever the future may hold, Radiohead are, simply an excellent band, whether they have something to say or not.

- - - - - - - -

Heyyy, wait a minute. No one here likes Radiohead.
...
...You know what, it doesn't really matter, if you read that whole thing sarcastically it's probably pretty funny. Let's all rip on it. Don't rip on Radiohead though, I like them.

It also occurs to me, now that I think about it, that there might actually be no one left on blogger to do said ripping. It's been, what, 3 months? Everyone's probably got a podcast by now.

A little bit of a downer by comparison

2006-01-22T05:26:00.000-05:00

I have come upon a rather sour revalation, and that revalation is that I only am really capable of living on the level I desire to live on when I am under the influence of something. I'm not saying that entails a substance, but it does entail an altered state of mind. I must always feel high, or low, or different in some way to end up creating
or desiring
or even posting
anyting of note or value. It's an odd situation, and I must admit it's little sad. I'd like to be able to do what I want to do all the time. Maybe that will come with practice, and the personal challenges that trigger a cutscene for me now I'll be able to beat in the future by the dozens, with just one hit. But the fact right now is, the only time I really feel clear to follow my own dreams is when I'm feeling so different that I'm not even sure that the dreams are my own.
I get a frequent vision of myself in ten years as a solitary novelist by a lake, toiling away on my tortured, perfect, deeply personal vision(With a beautiful girlfriend, who is into that kind of thing for some reason[My brain doesn't deal in causes so well as it does effects, but I mean it's the future so maybe she's a robot]), but the few times I have made an effort to write, or draw, or envision, or create anything meaningful and real, it comes off as halfhearted and trite. This very post, for example, will have to be heavily retrofitted at a later date to add more humor. (A pop culture reference here, a non sequitor there...) [Edit: Michael Jackson likes to molest little boys.]
So I guess the eternal question is, does it ever feel "right"? I can certainly remember my share of writers, philosophers, and assorted semi-mentors (Father John, the private school teacher who isn't afraid to be hip!) who have taught me that the best decision is never the easy one. But when you spend years and years learning logic and statistics that teach you that your dreams aren't worth chasing, is that really right? My posts seem amateurish and self indulgent, but is that just becuase I've spent too much time studying and critiquing and never made anything? My ideas seems cheap and simple, but is that the just the way it always goes?

Pray, everyone. Pray that you never find yourself happy enough to have hopes, but smart enough to know they are nothing but folly, crushing them before they begin. That's where I am, and it sucks.

Like an army without a country
Like a night without moon
Like a fire with no heat,
Here I am.

[Note: Not very funny, I know. Next time, I'll be funny. I'll make one about farts, and the idea of farting. It will be a gut buster. Or maybe not. I can't even tell what's up and what's down at this point so I'm going to bed. Shit.]

Xanga 4-1: The underwater level

2005-10-06T03:31:00.000-04:00

One bored night and 3-odd hours of effort later, I emerge, glistening, into a new world.
A world of choices. A world of freedom. A world where even the most basic aesthetic decision becomes a baffling ordeal of unlimited choices. I have only a vague idea of the various cosmic and political forces that bore this great exodus, but I have come along for the ride, dragging a shit ton of my old work behind me that most of you ungrateful SOBs will never even read.
Seriously- I don't have a clue what I'm doing. A similar pain accompanied my original move onto Xanga, but there really is no comparison between it and Blogger, Lord of Undue Complication. I mean, Xanga might have offered a thousand different choices of border colors, but at least it didn't make you program them in yourself.
Do you want to see something? I went to make a color decision in my new blog here, and this is what I found, deep in a long scroll of ancient nerdish script.

color:#8dd

I think that means blue.
That's all I've got. So, I wouldn't expect to see any heroic feats of design for quite a while. But trust me, when I finally do roll out my new look, you will be entertained! I can't say much more about it, but let me just say that if you love animated .gifs and looping music in the background, you'll-
...
-what? You don't like them? Not even if I told you that the music happened to be an 8-bit midi remix of a certain hit song by... the Baja Men?
...
Well, shit.

VIDEOGAMES: WHY YOU FUCK

2005-10-06T03:11:00.000-04:00

Friday, September 30, 2005 - 5:40 AM
I am gonna do this. I am gonna break the wall- I can! I can because I belive it like a choo-choo train. I'll just skip and jump and free-associate from one topic to the next until all the pieces fall into place like a puzzle, and the puzzle is "Where's Waldo", and I found Waldo, and Waldo is Coherency.
I blame videogames man, and do you know why? Because they fucked me!!

I mean, I'm not like Hillary Clinton, who's like "Grand Theft Auto, why do you hate America" and shit. In fact, I'm waiting for the day when I can play Tony Hawk's Super World Cup Cucumber Raper TURBO in the privacy of my home without being fuckin judged. I mean, come on, a little cucumber nun rape never hurt anybody except the nun, and she had it comin, right fellas? The guys know what I'm talking about.
uhhh Videogames. I blame them because they fucked me. Fucked me!
yo know that thing in your brain that tells you "keep practicaing and you can acheive anything"? -Mine quit. quiiit. It ran away 6 years ago cause it figured it out that "30 minutes of practice every day for a year and you can gradually become a guitar master never" is pretty shit when youve been raised on levels, stages, strategy guides, and goombas, and mooblins, and maga mens, and cheat codes. the real world just can't compare to that shit! its all fucked up but its too late I can't go back!!! I'm down the fuckin rabbit hole is what it is, and you fuckin know what-- we all are man!!!! WERE IN THE RABBIT HOLE!!!! BACUAS THE MAN SAYS SO WAKE UP PEPLE!!!!!!!!!1 THAT MOTHERFUCKER FUCKINNN;ADJ . DALFL DLKSDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

In twinkies, the filler is the best part

2005-10-06T03:05:00.000-04:00

Thursday, September 22, 2005 - 3:31 AM

I promised myself - nay, I swore a RUMBLING OATH, that I would tend to my Xanga this time. I would not abandon it to be forgotten, and wander forever in the land of wind and ghosts... -No. No matter how long it takes, no matter how hard I must fight, or how far I must go, I WILL FIND YOU, XANGA! MY LOVE WILL SET YOU FREE!!!

I also swore to avenge my father's death.

...So, uhh... I'll get right on all of that stuff tomorrow.
...Actually, tomorrow's gonna be a little busy... better make that friday.
...Friday-ish.
...Maybe.

...

HEY LOOK, I GOT A PROFILE PIC!!!
(Jogs away)

Trends and curves -OR- The royal we

2005-10-06T03:00:00.000-04:00

Tuesday, September 13, 2005 3:45 AM

Well, I haven't added anything in about a week and a half. <---This is an incredibly cliched way to start a blog entry, and is definitely stating the obvious when there's a date right above, but I promise I won't use it to segue into a generic ramble about my day. There's a point - watch as I pull it out of this ordinary hat, that only moments ago was full of ordinary milk.
...Astonishment!

One thing you tend to do when you keep a record of your creative endeavors, be they musical, literary, artistic, or inventive in nature, is look at the gaps in your output, and from them, try to determine what stimulates your creative impulses.* What I've found is that I (And by unsound logical extension, everyone ever) seem to get creative when things change.

It happens in a burst, lasting a week or two at best during an exciting time of life- the first week of college, the first week that you've gotten over a breakup, the first week of summer- you know that week. That week when every little thing you do is some bold new experiment destined to revolutionize your life.
"I'm going to work out and become a new man!"
"An hour of guitar practice every day - it's time to face my rock n' roll destiny!!"
"I used to eat Captain Crunch every morning, but from now on, I eat oatmeal.
THIS IS THE DAWNING OF A GOLDEN AGE!!!"

The problem with all these temporary bursts of creativity is that they don't really infuence your life. You always go back, you get lazy, you fall back into the same ol' orbit, whether it be evidenced by the dusty stairmaster, the non-dusty cigarettes, or the lonely Xanga.
Why?
Wildly pessimistic explanations aside, I think it's because change that feels good isn't change at all. It's just a vacation. When you spend a length of time feeling wonderful for yourself when you so much as fart in the desired direction, it disconnects you from reality. Real, lasting, part-of-the-routine change is all based on doing things both when you do and when you don't want to do them, until you get to the point where you do them regardless of feeling. You become brainwashed. You know it when you see it-

You - It's 5 in the morning. The temperature is 30 degrees out, and there's driving ice rain. I think I just saw a hungry wolf pack go by the window. Why are you putting on your jogging shoes?
Motivated Person - I'm not sure I understand the question.
(Jogs away)

So, all this is just a ponderous, roundabout way of me saying that I'm going to keep posting regularly, even though I might find myself frequently having to force it. So, look for topics to get more and more obscure and strange, as I scrape the bottom of the mental barrel in a vain attempt to keep my brain on the right track. Don't worry, though- with all the turmoil and controversy in the world right now, I'm planning on having enough scintillating topics for at least another couple months.

Next time on Art's Xanga: PUPPIES - ARE THEY, LIKE, SO CUTE OR WHAT

* The other thing you tend to do much more often is go over your old ideas and tear them to shit while displaying a near-total lack of pattern recognition.
" *Pshh*- that Old Art, so impulsive, so naive. Surely, time has made a fool of him. ...But this stuff will be great forever! Submit!! "

Warning: Construction Ahead

2005-10-06T02:54:00.000-04:00

Sunday, September 04, 2005 - 3:30 AM

Ok... I have successfully ported everthing from my Livejournal over to Xanga. Now, I just have to come up with some kind of layout scheme that will not only be pleasing to the eye, but will also
1. Fit my writing style
2. Be interesting and different
3. Work well for posting photos
4. Cure cancer
5. Show up well on most OSs, monitors, and PDAs
6. Effectively encapsulate the slant of my wit, the meaning of my life, and the essence of my very mortal soul.

...Barring that, I'll just steal the layout from Penny Arcade.

(Edit from a few hours later)

Man, I really like that bar running down the length of my old Livejournal posts... If I could find some way to keep that, it would really be the best of all worlds, and would aid in organization greatly.

(Edit from a few minutes after that)

Eurueka. Blue boxes, GO!
Orange Border, provide covering fire!!

Come on, you maggots- you want to live forever?!!

[Edit: I would like to draw attention to the fact that my Xanga might very well have been the shortest-lived Xanga ever that actually had effort put into creating a full custom color layout. One month. I want some kind of medal.]

Cure for the itch (OMG TAHTS LINKIN PARK HARDCORRRE!!1)

2005-10-06T02:46:00.000-04:00

Sunday, September 04, 2005 - 4:22 am

Well, here it is again, another late, late night and I find myself unable to sleep. It isn't that I'm not wearied, for I am. Oh, I am weary. However, it is a purely physical weariness- that horrible, disgusting feeling of itchyness, greasyness, and decay that makes you feel like your skin is a dusty, fraying burlap bag that barely fits over your bones- without any corresponding mental fatigue. So here I sit, feeling like walking death, without the mental switch having been thrown that allows my body to do whatever the FUCK it does to bring me into the next day.
If I could have one not-so-superpower, it would be the power to fall asleep on cue.
Oh, GOD HOW I WISH I COULD SLEEP.

...

I have decided that I am going to copy down my old journal entries from last year until i get sleepy. You know - the ones that I claimed would make the most embarassing sadness I had ever posted online at the time seem like "Ludacris next to a Yellowcard album."

No, you can't read them. No, no, no, absolutely not, no fucking way good sir. Not if you BLEW ME. Well, I guess that last one would depend on a lot of things, and would probably be open for bargaining on if you were a hot young woman, but I bet you aren't.

Guhhh... strrrr-onger! Fffff-faster!! ...Better!!!

2005-10-06T02:43:00.000-04:00

Thursday, September 1st, 2005 - 12:34 am

Today, I want ot the SAC and (God help me for saying this) worked out.
I hate that phrase. I don't know why, but I have a strong irrational dislike for it, bordering on phobia. Anyway, I went on over there, and it was not at all a terrible experience.
I always go to the gym feeling like it is going to turn into a scene from a high-school nerd comedy film, and I will end up getting wedgied and having sand kicked in my face(My brain mixes cliches freely).
Every time I go though, it always turns out to be a rather life-affirming experience. Technically, it's just you hurting your body until you are rewarded with a endorphine high, but if you start deconstructing everything like that, you end up in a bad place("We are nihilists! We believe in nothing!!"), so I won't bother.
Besides, it's more than that physical feeling. It's also a deeper feeling of uneasy comeraderie with my fellow man- a sort of "shared suffering" bond. Everyone is brought down to the same level at the gym, in that they are all struggling to improve, and I am reminded of all the hard work that good-looking people put into maintaining their condition. I feel like maybe I am not naturally screwed by the universe. I feel like anything is possible!
This feeling inevitably passes by the time I need to go to the gym again. Oh well - I'm tired today anyway, I'll go tomorrow instead.
"It all starts tomorrow!" - the rallying cry of a generation.

"...and the Lord said, 'Let there be GOTCHU SUCKAAAZ'"

2005-10-06T02:41:00.000-04:00

Saturday, August 27th, 2005 - 8:42 am

I don't believe this. I don't fucking believe it.
Normally, when a person lies down for 4 hours without thinking, talking, or moving, this person tends to fall asleep. Particularly when this person has gone to great lengths to avoid drinking caffeine, and has been up for 16 hours. Normally.

BUT GUESS WHAT FUCKER IT DIDN'T HAPPEN

Strangely enough, it is at these times, when I am getting shafted hardest and most unusually by the world, that I feel my most religious. I mean, this shit is all too bizarre to just happen by chance. I feel confident at these times that God is watching over me.
Specifically, I feel that He is leaning out the window of His Cumulus Bentley with a trucker cap and a camcorder, recording every moment of the divine Punking that is my life.
Theologians the world over ponder the ancient question: why does God let bad things happen to good people? Obviously, He thinks it is hilarious. Don't get me wrong, this does not make Him a bad guy. It's just that, for an eternal being, nothing that ever ends really seems that serious. A ten year famine? To God, that's the comedic equivalent of a brisk slap to the nuts.
You've probably got endless lines of Etheopians rolling up to the Pearly Gates right now getting the whole "You should have seen the look on your face" routine from the Almighty. And who could stay angry at Him? Everyone would think you were a dick to hold a grudge over a little something like agonizing starvation after a thousand years of delicious fat-free pizza and celebrity oil massages.
So, I guess the lesson to be learned is that you only go around this world once - you laugh, you cry, you hurl - and there's just no good reason to take everything so seriously. After all, God's like, the nicest guy ever, and He invented the dead baby joke- it's called SIDS.

...
...
...
I'm going to hell.

A Rare Pointless Entry

2005-10-06T02:38:00.000-04:00

Monday, August 22nd, 2005 - 2:53 am

Usually I only write in this thing when I have a specific purpose in mind, like putting off important schoolwork, or e-bullying the fat girl. But today, I've just sort of decided to wing it and see what comes up.
I have decided I would like this "winging it" to become a more common thing- writing in my journal as a sort of wind down and intellectual release at the end of the day.
However, I am well aware that this is a slippery slope: You start out well-intentioned enough, and the next thing you know you've got an archive of 300ish rambling entries titled "My Day" that start with a survey link and end with shout outs. Shout outs to the peeps.
I will combat this at all costs. I want this journal to have some kind of productive purpose as writing practice, so I'll only mention the news and blues if I can find a way to play it into some kind of theme.
So, don't expect me to go on about how I snort coke and cry-masturbate myself to sleep every night unless I can also make it a witty observation about the war or something.

...

Y'know, the war in Iraq.

Ideas for Games - #1

2005-10-06T02:35:00.000-04:00

Thursday, March 31st, 2005 - 1:37 am

I think it would really be an incredible thing if I could somehow find a way to make a living off of writing. I mean, that would just be fucking great.
I know at this point you must be thinking, "Off to a bad start," but what you have to realize is that sometimes the stuff I write is downright brilliant. You get enough caffeine in me and I become not only creative and witty, but eloquent and insightful, as well. (At first I am frightened of the prospect of a creative career motivated by a mind-altering substance, but then I am comforted because that's how they all do it.)The problem is, I don't know what kind of writing I would be good at. I have some good ideas for a novel or two, but that's nothing special. I have one or two good ideas in nearly every field.
Uh-oh, you know what that means... it's time to sidetrack myself with examples!
SUCH AS...
A video game where you play a character who can become extremely large or extremely small in the course of play.
I think, in order to keep things balanced, and to prevent having to design all the levels from huge to small scale, that you would only be able to change size in certain designated areas, and only to preform a certain task.
The small level theme: the mundane turned dangerous. The regular level theme: piloting vehicles, moving about, discovering the mystery, assorted gunfights. The large level theme: awesome power, destructible terrain, and the consequenses of fighting gargantuan mutants in the middle of a crowded city.
---(Example of "small" level: You would get small on one side of the highway in order to collect some doodad/doodads scattered on the road, and on the other side, that would only be visible to collect when you are small. [Due to the shrinking device's design, you could only become small/big near deposits of the substance.] You would have to dodge traffic and fight bugs with sticks, pebbles, and miniature versions of any weapons you had while big to stay alive. Cracks in the road would be chasms. Kids with magnifying glasses would be the destroyers of worlds.
---(Example of "big" level: Someone/something has become superhuge through some sort of meddling with the substance/device. Take him out, along with anything else you feel like destroying. Keep in mind that doing more harm than you prevent will cause the police and military to try and kill you instead of/in addition to the monster, affecting both the gameplay and the story as you become either a mighty legend, or a scourge of the land. Also, damage you cause while big can carry over to the real world, so wrecking the highway might make it harder to get around once you are normal-sized again, while crushing the police station may lead to widespread looting and rioting to engulf the city, making the situation all the more dangerous. Feel free to heft that tanker truck at your enemy, but it would be nice to let the driver get out first. (And make sure you don't miss. The apartment you anhilliate could be your own...)

There you go. I should have been working on my paper, but instead I spent an hour on this. Now, I'm doomed to miserable failure.
Well, if you're ever in the Florida area, feel free to stop by my surf shop- that's where I'll be once my attempt at getting along in society falls apart.

Current Mood: Procrastinative? Thats no mood
Current Music: The soothing hum of 90 computer fans

Caffeine, sweet mistress of the night

2005-10-06T02:26:00.000-04:00

Thursday, February 24th, 2005 - 7:47 am

When you run down the list of highly addictive and dangerous drugs in your mind (as I'm sure you often do, for fun), generally you tend to focus on the illegal stuff. I like to think of it as "The Big Three."
Marijuana
Speed/Crystal Meth
The Crack Cocaine
-Those'll have you trippin' balls, I guess. (Mix all three together for bonus fun!) But, few people realize or aknowledge the power and wonder of a natural, over-the-counter substance that you can get almost anywhere that can BLOW your friggin' MIND.
I am, of course, talking about caffeine.
Now, I know what you must be thinking- "Art, I have tried all the drugs you listed, and several others I created myself in my dormroom closet. Caffeine doesn't come close to the psychadelic rush of a 4 hour acid trip! -Your bitter lies sting me to the core."
Obviously, I need to make something clear. -You have no idea how much caffeine I am talking about here. You want to get an idea? Ok. Picture the biggest cup you've ever seen. Alright? The absolute biggest. NO, BIGGER. I want warning signs around that thing. I want boys and girls to have summer camp on opposite sides of it. I want grainy photographs of the Mug Ness Monster.
Ok, got the picture? THAT's my mug. It's full of thick black coffee. -Now drink it.

Glug, glug, glug.

Several things will happen at this point. The first thing you might notice is that time slows down. Take a look at a clock and see. What's that? You can't read it? Well, that's too bad, because if those numbers would just stop moving, you could see that the second hand is actually moving up to 40% slower. That's like getting 24 extra minutes every hour! Enjoy your extra time by staring at the computer and slowly swaying back and forth. To your mortal, normal-speed friends, this motion will seem much faster, almost like an involuntary twitch. -But we know better!Try looking at your hands and wiggling your fingers. Wiggle wiggle woo. -Isn't that interesting? It is now! That is because you are freaking out. Jesus Christ, Lord and Savior to many, is waving at you from the corner of the room. Sometimes, he will be riding a motorcycle. This is normal.
Other times, he will be standing amid a crowd of your dead relatives, beckoning you home... This is not as normal. You should ignore him, and pound your chest repeatedly until your heart starts beating again.
...
...
...
...

*Lub-Dub.*
Ahh. That's better!

Current Music: I don't need music, I can HEAR COLORS

Perpetual Pathetic Plea for Purpose

2005-10-06T02:18:00.000-04:00

Monday, February 7th, 2005 - 4:16 am

I know that sounds like a line from a Yellowcard rap album(Optional next lines: "I dyed my hair black/ 'Cause I'm feeling the worstest"), but I think we can all agree that God would not let that happen. No, what it is is a clever little title supporting and condensing the core sentiment of this post.
Please note, the following are all true thoughts running through my head, but they are so cheesy and lame that I would suggest that you read them aloud in your mind with the voice of someone severely handicapped. Severely mentally handicapped.

"I wonder if I write good... I am writing plenties here on the internets, laws yes, but are they good? Daaaaawww, I hope so...". . .
Yeah, that's pretty damn horrible. In fact, this is a useless post. I should be finishing my paper and getting to sleep! What the hell am I doing?!

...And on that note, we submit.

Current Mood: Janitor is looking at me funny
Current Music: I finally bought some Radiohead

[Edit 09-04-05: I STILL DO NOT KNOW WHAT THIS POST MEANS. Also, if I ever were to make a comedy CD, it would be entitled "What the Hell Am I Doing?"
The cover would be a picture of me looking confused and disheveled, with the title above and below, in all caps.]

What Happened after Grand Theft Auto, Halo 2, and Half Life 2 all came out

2005-10-06T02:16:00.000-04:00

Sunday, December 12th, 2004 - 5:52 am

(FOOTAGE NOT FOUND)

Message boards are a pile of shit

2005-10-06T02:14:00.000-04:00

Sunday, October 17th, 2004 - 9:06 pm

I just got back from checking my e-mail. There were about a dozen responses to my well-thought out and factually accurate political opinions that I posted on IMDB.com. They were all nothing but generalizations and campaign slogans being shouted at me. One guy rattles off a list of about twenty "facts" that proved Saddam Hussein had substantial terrorist ties, and he said "just google them if you don't believe me." I looked up about 3, finding nothing to support them, before I realized the ugly truth about argument - you can't win. If you try to argue with facts, people respond with lies that look just as credible, and they take you twice as long to disprove as it took the other guy to make them up.
I am just so frustrated. These bastards have got me questioning facts. FACTS. I'm going crazy, and message boards are to blame. They're just a big quagmire of shit. No one listens, no one's opinions change - they're just desperate pleas for attention. You could argue that about my journal here, except that I don't expect anyone to really read this, and I don't care if they do. Half my entries are private anyway. This whole journal just exists for me to yell at things and distract myself from important schoolwork. So - *pssh* - like, whatever.
Homegirl.
Skizzle-Slice.
Wack Dog.
...Newman.

This Is a Plea for Help

2005-10-06T02:11:00.000-04:00

Friday, October 15th, 2004 - 3:01 am

It' s 3:00 in the morning and I have yet to type a single actual word in my 6-8 page Ancient Masterpieces paper. This is OK, though, because I just ran down to the pop machines and came back up with two bottles of Mountain Dew. I hate Mountain Dew, but now I find myself unable to find any alternative. I must join forces with my greatest enemy to save the academic world from an even greater evil power, just like in the movie version of an animated children's TV program.
The fact that I sit here typing this while the essay remains undone is yet another disturbing harbringer of doom. Off I charge now, to death and glory...

FOR ROHAAAAAAAAAN!!!!!!!!!!

"I'm so busy", "Too many games", and a bizarre simile

2005-10-06T02:08:00.000-04:00

Thursday, October 14th, 2004 - 5:51 pm

Well, I enjoy the universe kicking me in the nuts as well as the next guy, but this is just too much. Yesterday I had a 4 page essay exam. Today I have a two page essay on the Illiad. I have to sort carnations from the fund raiser at 8 tonight. Tomorrow, I deliver them from 2-4. Then I go home for the Bullock Creek Homecoming game (They're actually doing pretty well this year), with likely late night festivities to follow. Same with Saturday. Boys are back in town and all that, party party woo hoo. Then on Monday, I have to turn in a Calculus assignment, and an academic planning document I haven't started yet. Then... well, then I'm done! And the "Arrested Development" season 1 DVD comes out the next day!! Sweet!!! Then a week after that the new Grand Theft Auto comes out, and then I've only got two weeks to get an X-Box and reserve my copy of Halo 2 before my perception of the future ends with its release. Anything after this, including the possible and eventual release of Half-Life 2, is certainly possible, but... it's just so hard to think of life after Halo 2. It's like if Jesus came on TV and announced the second coming would be on Tuesday - You probably wouldn't be worrying much about your Wednesday plans, even if you were Jewish. Same with me and Half-Life 2. I'd like to think the true greatness still lies ahead, but it's just gonna be hard to say that when I've got that controller in my hands come November 9th at midnight.

A Cold, Stinky Metaphor

2005-10-06T02:06:00.000-04:00

Sunday, September 26th, 2004 - 3:40 PM

This is getting out of hand.
I've got a banana in my freezer. A pair of bananas, actually. I don't know what I was thinking, putting them in there, but now they're in just the same. They smell terrible. I open the fridge for three seconds to get a can of pop, and the rotten funk of insanely overripe fruit floats around the room for over a minute. I know I should throw them away. I know that, eventually, I'll NEED to throw them away. I also know that the longer I wait to take care of this problem, the worse they will stink. But, I just don't want to do what I have to do - take them out of the freezer, put them in a little plastic bag, and run them down to the dumpster, suffering all the way. So, basically, I would rather procrastinate, therefore amplifying and compressing my future pain, then take care of the problem now and save myself a lot of trouble.
I also have the Illiad on my desk.

The Band

2005-10-06T02:01:00.000-04:00

Saturday, September 25th, 2004 - 9:58 pm

Yesterday I got together with Nick and Annie over at Eric's place - we played Texas Hold 'Em, while watching Ocean's 11 and Office Space, until 4 AM, whereupon everyone just kind of crashed. Today I woke up at about noon, just in time to say goodbye to Annie and Nick,and by the time I decided I was hungry, the cafeteria was already closed until dinner. So, Eric and I decided to walk down to Arby's. Along the way we changed our minds and ended up going to some place called Joe's, where we had trouble figuring out how the ordering system worked.
Anyway, during the walk, we had an interesting conversation about the band we had talked about making back in High School. Originally, the idea was to make a Ska band, partially because we were all on a Reel Big Fish craze at the time, but mainly because most of my friends play brass instruments, and were unwilling to commit to the idea of learning a new instrument, even in fantasy.
Well, we got to talking more about what kind of things we would have to do if we wanted the band to be a reality, and I think Eric and I had somewhat different ideas for the direction of the band. I was leaning more away from ska, and more toward a pioneering new musical style, where rock guitar supplemented with brass instruments would bring a breath of fresh air to the industry, while at the same time leading a sort of idealistic comeback for the principles of the classic rock era - those being musicianship, innovation, and excitement.Eric, on the other hand, felt that classic rock, having been replaced in the passage of time, was therefore an inferior musical style, and he pointed out that if the goal of the band was to get a single on the radio, it would be best to distance ourselves as much as possible from such things, and to aim the band in more of a pop rock direction.
I was saddened by this announcement, as it seemed to me like Eric had already become jaded to the idea of musical innovation.[-In a nonexistent band, at that. -Ed.] Another damper on the evening was the realization that we had no drummer, no drums, and no real way to gain access to either of these things.However, the main problem at hand is that I fear, were we ever to attempt such a band, I would prove to be a bit of a control freak to the whole thing, and would clash with the others quite frequently. Maybe it would be best to just let the dream die like 'fantasy band lead singer me' - passed out on the floor of the dressing room covered in coke and groupies.

Service

2005-10-06T01:49:00.000-04:00

I have to admit, I am not a native Livejournal user.
I offer, as proof, approximately one year of backdated Opendiary entries.

Actually, no, I don't. Those were shit.

Fault

2005-10-06T01:39:00.000-04:00

I have to admit, I am not a native Xanga user.
I offer, as proof, approximately one year of archived LiveJournal entries.

Double Fault

2005-10-06T01:31:00.000-04:00

I have to admit, I am not a native blogger user.
I offer, as proof, appoximately a year and a half of backdated Xanga entries.