Patriot-fest

p>White Chocolate Mocha is the best drink in the whole world. Don’t argue (don’t argue)! Don’t argue (don’t argue)!

Funny things I’ve experienced so far today:
Condolezza Rice lip syncing to a male opera singer
NBC screwing up their overlay display while listing victims of WTC 1, putting them out of order
The San Francisco Chronicle wasting their entire front page with a tattered flag
My flag almost FALLING OFF THE DAMN WALL. Duct tape is not all it’s cracked up to be.
Bush giving the same speech wherever he goes.

That’s all for now. I forgot to do my homework again.

I reached back like a pimp and I slapped the ho

Whenever you don’t feel like blogging, read someone else’s blog. I don’t care if it gets you inspired, competetive, or teaches you enough English to write a complete sentence, but if you’re ever at a loss for words, that’s what you do.

I made copies of my DDR flyer at Kinko’s. Kinko’s has a new payment method since the last time I checked – you get a card that you add value to. It may speed up service, but that means that now I actually have to PAY the 7 cents to get a single black and white copy, and I have to shame my pants with yet another corporation’s card.

Here’s what they haven’t worked out, though. I wanted 20 color copies of the flyer – that came out to around $20 – so I inserted the card into the machine, it ticked off the appropriate amount each time, and I was done. Then I asked Mr. Nice Happy Clerk Man how much a giant poster-size print would be on the machine, and he said – get ready – it’s 1 TIMES AS MUCH. 1 times, will you believe that?

What this means is that no matter what action I take with the color copier – if I print out a page the length of the Great Wall or if I want a copy of a blank piece of paper – it’s the same price. That means I could have plastered my school with giant DDR posters that couldn’t be ignored. I’ll have to see if I can abuse that little bug in the system the next time I have another flag to make…

The reception of the flyers at the school was rather good, meaning none of them were torn down, pretty much because I clobbered the sides of the paper with Scotch tape. And my classmates didn’t have much negative to say about it. But did you know that “ghey” is pronounced “ghee”?

While I was posting one of the flyers back, the Special Ed teacher strolled by with a few students and was simply gosh-gollied by the idea of my club. So me, being the nice guy I was, practically INVITED her Down’s kids to jump on the pads all lunch. Silly me. Oh well, they’ll fail the songs, and treating them like any other member of the club, we’ll kindly ask them to wait their turn.

After dropping 80’s Boy off, I stopped off at San Rafael High School to say hi to Hannah and the gang and chat it up a bit. Like I always say, ff you can’t join ’em, beat ’em. With something hard.

Then I drove one of her friends home and found out that there is an actual person my age living around my neighborhood, and God said it was good.

I didn’t get any homework done tonight, I played ball with my mom’s dogs (one of whom loses interest if I throw the ball too far because of her poor vision), drew Dr. Evil a few times on my sister’s Groupboard, and went to sleep.

Well actually, I’m predicting that I will go to sleep. I’m pretty good at precognition.

…………..MURRRRRRRDERRRRRRRRR…………….

Mind dump

Here’s my little composition for the day. It’s a small MP3 that I made with NoteWorthy Composer, MIDIG, Hammerhead, and GoldWave, as proof that Sketchee knows damn well what he’s talking about when it comes to software. You happy yet?

I feel so much pity for my real-life self.

There’s got to be a name for the emotion I’m feeling right now. One could easily say it’s sadness, but there’s no reason for my feeling it. Does there have to be? And I can’t really tell what the emotion is stemming from either. Is it sympathy for other people who are hurt or lonely? Is it simply a sugar low? Can I feel really good while also feeling this way?

I have great friends, I have a great community, I have all I ever need, I have a great life. Is what I’m feeling emptiness? I despise people who whine about their emptiness, especially those who are often in the spotlight! If I’m even better off than they are, supposedly, then why is it that I feel like there’s something missing?

Could it be that I feel compelled to write about my emotion because I don’t want to do anything else? Am I feeling insecure, like all these things I don’t need to do are putting stress on me? I feel like I need to mentally scream. I want to be fulfilled. But I don’t think there’s anything that can do it.

No, I don’t think it’s companionship either.

I’ve been recently feeling like beating up on myself. I keep scolding myself for doing new and different things. My mind and body are telling me that I am trying to boost my own ego by reaching out to people. I argue with myself.

No one else matters – no, that’s not it, everyone matters but me. I keep swaying back and forth to the two extremes of selflessness and selfishness.

The toothbrush and toothpaste are right there in front of me. I’m about to go to bed. I am not too tired to brush my teeth. I have a mental battle on whether or not to brush my teeth. Why NOT? I really should. I feel like I have my first cavity in the left side of the roof of my mouth. But what part of me is telling me to resist and not brush? I often tell me to hurt myself in that way. I bite my nails. I rip out the insides of my cuticles because they’re there. I know it’ll leave scabs and maybe scars in the long run but I just love doing it.

Why am I working out? Why am I bleaching my hair? Why am I waking up in the mornings to shower, brush teeth, shave, gel my hair? Why did I wear that muscle shirt last week? Am I enjoying it? Have I been programmed to enjoy it? Who am I impressing? Do I want to impress the types of people who judge by appearance? Does my bleached hair make me a poser or an outcast? Are all outcasts posers, or are all popular people posers? What’s the definition of that? I was called that in a very cruel manner by someone who I thought I was on good terms with.

Is this all angst? I enjoy feeling melodramatic and soap opera-ish. I love indulging in emotions that I really don’t need to feel. Is it because of my age? Should I feel guilty supressing and forgetting about these emotions when I’m thinking of better things?

How am I seen? Am I really the crazy silly guy? Do I never show any real emotion in real life? Can I be taken seriously? Should I feel insulted when people who aren’t as pensive as I am try to throw away my thoughts with cries of silliness? Should I feel bad jumping and hopping around the silent, quiet, depressed people?

Although I haven’t done it in a while, and although this blog has pretty much made me let go of my feelings for now, I really have to set up some time to have a nice cry or two. It may be a real-life way to deal with all these inner conflicts.

Aaahhhh.

Leave your Earth behind

No…! Must… not get artsy… with titles…! So yeah, that’s all like the second line from “Come With Us” by the Chemical Brothers, which, after much reciting of the first line by James, I have come to know and love. I played that, along with “Boards of Canada – Aquarius” (ORANGE!) for 80’s Boy and now he’s officially… uh… someone who’s heard both of those.

I put up my flag in the school library after classes today. It took 6 janitors, a ladder, and a few pieces of duct tape, but now we have it so the colossal thing blocks all sunlight into the room for a week. It’s a reminder that stuff happened or something and therefore THE SUN IS GONE!!!

Tonight’s Erev Rosh Hashanna, so that means that the whole Jewish community of the whole world packs into a giant auditorium and stands up and sits down for two hours. One cool part: Lauren was in the choir! You all remember Lauren, don’t you? No? Good!

Tomorrow it will be more Rosh Hashanna goodness, and then I have to miss Bryan‘s DDRTY for MacBeth which is about people who like smearing themselves in blood and doing other cool things.

Existentialists are not all depressed and suicidal. I mean, look at me. Although I wouldn’t mind if I crashed into a wall and died in an inferno, I’m still as happy as a meerkat (one which is usually happy and doesn’t often get eaten by birds).

Wow something tells me that it’s getting late because I can’t finish sentences anymore without YEAH THAT’S RIGHT

Really bad practice college essay

Here it is by request. It’s baaaad but I made it the morning before it was due.

Many successful people have had profound influences on my life. They have given me aspirations to become a master musician, a talented cartoonist, or a hardworking programmer. The most influential celebrity that I’ve ever met, though, is Jim Davis, the cartoonist of the popular comic strip “Garfield.” It’s not his humor or his drawing ability that has affected me the most – it’s the lesson I’ve learned from what he’s become.

Everyone knows Garfield, the fat cat with an attitude, who’s always there to make his owner Jon’s life worse, and to beat up on his canine counterpart, Odie. Garfield was my source of hours of enjoyment, reading through the old archives of the 25-year-old comic strip. I learned from the strip’s drawing style and improved my own. I knew all about the history of Garfield and bought almost every book in stores. It was time to show my Garfield craze to the one who started it all, Jim Davis.

I wrote a letter to Jim raving about how I love Garfield and his hilarious antics. The heartfelt letter was littered with my own little sketches of Garfield and stunning statistics of my Garfield craze. I dropped the letter into my mailbox, and eagerly waited for a reply.

Weeks passed, and I received nothing. I devised many theories as to what could have happened, most of them having something to do with the unreliability of the United States Postal Service. However, one day, a miracle occurred. My mom handed me an envelope complete with Garfield gracing the cover. I ran to my room, opened it up, and discovered nothing more than a Garfield merchandise catalog.

There went my dreams. Jim Davis turned from a comedian, an artist, and a friend, into a giant corporate monster with no love for his fans or his own work. Did anyone even read my letter, or was it thrown into a giant box titled “FANS” en route to a particularly large furnace? I quickly found his comics to be repetitive and dull, and later discovered that he almost has no part in the production of the comic anymore (his corporation, Paws, does most of it for him).

Although it seemed that I had lost my hero, I learned a lot from this whole account. I asked new, dynamic questions of myself. Do I want to achieve fame? Would I still be a real person if I did? Is it worth being world-renowned to break the hearts of millions?

My true goals have been realized. I want to stop trying to achieve stardom in exchange for my own integrity. No matter what position I achieve in life, I will care for the people who have helped me through, and the people who look up to me. I will know that I’m not just doing work for my own benefit – I realize that I, like Jim Davis, will serve as a role model for future generations to come.

Sigh… or not

My dad brought me to Yoga today at Gold’s Gym. I tried it. I probably got a bad first impression of it, but I don’t think it’s for me. Although it’s probably just that my muscles aren’t experienced and I haven’t practiced my breathing much, I don’t find it at all relaxing and my bones are aching from all the awkward positions.

Although Hannah and I *probably* still have that mutual affection stuff happening or whatever, it doesn’t seem very realistic to “go out” since we don’t go to the same school, and we don’t see each other enough. Although I of course would like to spend a lot of time with her after school and during weekends and stuff, it still isn’t the same. Gah, maybe that inkling of an idea of combining schools would have been a good thing.

(Correction: WHAT IN THE SCHFIFTY FIVE LAYERS OF CHELL DID I JUST SAY, EEDIOT)

I still have a college essay example to write before 2nd period tomorrow, and, hey, it’s 10:00. Bloggin’ will just get me into that flowing writing mood. My essay is about Jim Davis and how he ruined my life (in a positive way).

It was all for Hannah.

No more being mysteriously poetic anymore. Every topic of this blog for a while has been subtly replying to Hannah. Simply put, we’ve expressed mutual feelings for one another, and it seems that these feelings have existed for a while.

I don’t know if there’s much else to say. I don’t really think that it changes that much in our relationship with one another, but we’ll probably be spending more time together, and I won’t break as much a sweat when she announces “MARRY ME JEFFREY.”

I’m very shy at heart and although risks are almost never high, I don’t like doing anything that could have any negative repercussions at all. So I feel a bit bad that Hannah had to go and tell that she lieks me first, because I’ve been pining over her for a long while now. Eeehh.

That’s all. We’re all going to be open about it, so get ready for the mushiness of your life.

[email protected]!

Wait a tick, he doesn't WHAT?

MILES.

VID.

HAIR.

Today was a good day. I spent four freaking hours at deLoux Cosmetology, a beauty college in which people go to college to learn about beauty. And they do really cheap hair-related stuff, because if they screw up there’s no liability, and their grade depends on it.

I came in asking for white hair. Well, as some may know, that’s not exactly possible for most people. So I settled for what really is “platinum”: really, really light blond. The operation started off the way it usually did. They thoroughly paint my hair with blue stuff, leave it in under a heat dryer for half an hour, then wash it out. I was F3WL enough to say that the result wasn’t light enough.

So there went another hour of hair painting, drying, and washing. Near the very end, my scalp sorta started to tingle. It’s the bleach… by this point, any normal person would be in a lot of pain. I decided not to push my luck, and was about to say that my hair was bright enough, when…

HMM, says miss instructor lady. NOT LIGHT ENOUGH. YOU GET AN F. So they apply another coat. I’m put in the dryer for ANOTHER 30 minutes… and this time it hurts.

Oh, how it hurts.

Imagine my scalp. Ripped from my skull and sewn back on. Vegetables have been quickly minced on it by a master chef with a big knife. It has been rinsed with gasoline and ignited with a blow torch. It has then been placed under a falling truck filled with blue ice packs.

I beared it for 30 minutes under that dryer, squirming, wincing, groping myself, trying to find any method possible of not screaming like I did at the

CONCERT YESTERDAY!! At the Oasis, otherwise known as the MIYO Teen Center, where Digiquest is, where Bryan worked. It’s a bi-weekly thing, and I wrote about it before, and I’ll be going to it much more after this, but I might as well mention the highlights.

Or start off with the BAD PARTS like James coming. Damn, he ruined the whole party. And 80’s and Jeff and Felix and Steve and Nessa and Simeon and Hannah and Bryan and Adam and that guy who looks like Jay, oh my.

I slept with Hannah. Seriously. She told me to say that but oh is it true. Yeah.

And I also tried Pepsi Blue and my life is complete. It shouldn’t be called Pepsi, but it tastes good. A little more like Mountain Dew, come to think of it. Maybe it should have been called “Mountain Dew Deep Blue,” or even better, “Mountain Dew: Blue One.” (If anyone understands that joke, including James who forgot it by now, I will send you a really big smiley face through email.)

I lost Xanadu and Have You Never Been Mellow. Damn you, Olivia. Your songs are so hard. (I’m freaking serious, I lost those two.)

Oh, and tonight I went to the weekly Meeting of Old People at my temple. My mom and I went there to greet the Jewish high holidays. They’re nice guys. We waved. And sang stuff.

Well, that’s that. I guess I’ll be seeing you around, if you’re there later. Bye.