Heydy hodey Zack and Cody! I'm wearing basketball shorts with the pockets around my shins, stylin it up dog. I have a friend who once told me that the slumping the shorts look was invented in prison as a way to let other inmates know that you were romantically available. In fact, he tells me all kinds of weird fun fact type stuff, and then he raises his eyebrows while waiting for you to gasp or laugh or generally worship at his feet for knowing all this weird fun fact type stuff.
"Did you know that a duck's quack doesn't echo, and nobody knows why?"
EYEBROW
But he's one hell of a man, to say that he is taller and stronger and faster than me, so you can bet that the eyebrow gets the reaction it's wiggling for.
I have ISS tomorrow, which actually won't be that bad. You sit in a room with some of the worst-behaved kids in school, so of course they don't care at all about those 'DO NOT TALK' signs, and the ISS "teacher" rarely does anything to take back control from the kids. Then when she leaves to go eat lunch, a huge black guy named Mr. Polk comes in to sit at the desk and keep everyone in line. That's a fragile line, my friend. And this guy doesn't care at all, he leads the conversations in there, he cusses at us like we're all viking buddies on the way back from a good ol' village rape. It's a really stupid way to punish kids, but what else can the school do? Every other form of punishment has inevitably been illegalized. Pretty soon when you get in trouble, they'll just pat you on the back and send you to a magical place where you don't have to do any schoolwork, where you can just sleep all day, a place with the cleanest bathrooms on campus! Except for, wait, that's exactly what they do now.
I've lost some weight recently, and as a result a lot of my clothes don't fit. So if you know any 180 pound eighth graders who need to stock up on Scooby-Doo t-shirts, let me know.
I've decided not to write any more.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
Order.
Today I am sitting in English class, and I am going to sleep, and I am waking up. I thought about writing that sentence before I wrote it, I thought of different activities I did, or will do. I did not tip my head over and simply let my thoughts pour onto a page. I organized. I have ideas, like you, and what we're doing now is exchanging them. It's a fairly one-sided exchange, so far at least. The idea I was communicating, and am, and will be, is that I did all of those things, and they are all true, and the order I did them in does not matter. We put things in order because we are expected to, a major motive for almost everything we do. We are polite. We do not run red lights. We have made each other into slaves. Does this matter? Who the hell knows. What actually matters, I wonder sometimes. Not a ton. That last sentence was a palindrome.
Listen: Today I gave a woman three dollars. I threw away my napkin. I decided I wanted some ice cream. She handed me an ice cream cone and a napkin. She smiled. I got into my car and drove to an ice cream place. I ate my cone. Reflexively, I smiled back. I left. I went inside.
Did that story seem like nonsense? Of course it did. Even if it was ordered right, that would have been one dumbass story. But everything in that story was true. Even the truth can sound like nonsense if it's not organized the right way. When you read that story, your mind fights you. It tells you something's wrong, it tells you this does not make sense, it confuses you so you scramble to find a solution. You are a slave to your brain. Our minds are spoiled. They were brought up a certain way. They have been told everything needs to be in order, organized. If the brain does not get what it wants, it tries to make you fix it. Of course, you fix it by using your brain, but that's a different part of your mind. Isn't it weird to think that your brain is all these little neurons, all firing different things, allowing you to have a personality, allowing you to make up things, and choose what words you want to say? But really, you do not choose what words to say. In most situations, circumstance chooses what words you will say. There are exceptions. When you start a conversation with someone out of thin blue air, what do you choose to say, normally? If you are any kind of a decent person, you will choose something interesting to the both of you. If you are a regular person, you will choose what you want to talk about, and you will take advantage of your pal's regular etiquette. If your pal is any kind of a decent person, they won't like you very much at this point. But, they will nod and smile and laugh in the right spots, because they are expected to. Congratulations, you have a slave. If you are lucky or unlucky enough to be in a relationship, and someone tells you that they think your relationship is cute, how do they expect you to feel? Do they think they have just validated your relationship? Do they think you actually care at all? If you do actually care that someone thinks your relationship is cute, are you an idiot? People tell me they think my relationship is cute, which is bullshit. Define cute. Cute is movies. Cute is Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. People tell me they think my relationship is cute, and they are lying to me, but they are also lying to themselves. Cute is entirely based on opinion, and your opinion of cute is entirely based on what movies or TV shows or books (if you're decent) tell you cute is. If you think you know what cute is, wait fifteen years. It will change. But, if someone tells you they think you're cute somehow, they're assuming they're paying you a compliment. Society tells you relationships should be cute, so you assume I want mine to be, and therefore, by telling me my relationship is cute, you're somehow rewarding all my hard work. Why do you want to compliment me in the first place? Because you know that compliments are a way to make the other humans like you! You're gaining points in the big game we're all playing! Why is MySpace or Facebook so popular? It's a way to keep score. Especially when it's your birthday on facebook. Why am I publishing this on the internet, and not keeping it private? Because I think these are true things I'm saying, and I want you to know I'm saying them. I want points, too. I'm your slave, but you were already mine for telling me my relationship was cute, sucker.
Listen: Today I gave a woman three dollars. I threw away my napkin. I decided I wanted some ice cream. She handed me an ice cream cone and a napkin. She smiled. I got into my car and drove to an ice cream place. I ate my cone. Reflexively, I smiled back. I left. I went inside.
Did that story seem like nonsense? Of course it did. Even if it was ordered right, that would have been one dumbass story. But everything in that story was true. Even the truth can sound like nonsense if it's not organized the right way. When you read that story, your mind fights you. It tells you something's wrong, it tells you this does not make sense, it confuses you so you scramble to find a solution. You are a slave to your brain. Our minds are spoiled. They were brought up a certain way. They have been told everything needs to be in order, organized. If the brain does not get what it wants, it tries to make you fix it. Of course, you fix it by using your brain, but that's a different part of your mind. Isn't it weird to think that your brain is all these little neurons, all firing different things, allowing you to have a personality, allowing you to make up things, and choose what words you want to say? But really, you do not choose what words to say. In most situations, circumstance chooses what words you will say. There are exceptions. When you start a conversation with someone out of thin blue air, what do you choose to say, normally? If you are any kind of a decent person, you will choose something interesting to the both of you. If you are a regular person, you will choose what you want to talk about, and you will take advantage of your pal's regular etiquette. If your pal is any kind of a decent person, they won't like you very much at this point. But, they will nod and smile and laugh in the right spots, because they are expected to. Congratulations, you have a slave. If you are lucky or unlucky enough to be in a relationship, and someone tells you that they think your relationship is cute, how do they expect you to feel? Do they think they have just validated your relationship? Do they think you actually care at all? If you do actually care that someone thinks your relationship is cute, are you an idiot? People tell me they think my relationship is cute, which is bullshit. Define cute. Cute is movies. Cute is Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. People tell me they think my relationship is cute, and they are lying to me, but they are also lying to themselves. Cute is entirely based on opinion, and your opinion of cute is entirely based on what movies or TV shows or books (if you're decent) tell you cute is. If you think you know what cute is, wait fifteen years. It will change. But, if someone tells you they think you're cute somehow, they're assuming they're paying you a compliment. Society tells you relationships should be cute, so you assume I want mine to be, and therefore, by telling me my relationship is cute, you're somehow rewarding all my hard work. Why do you want to compliment me in the first place? Because you know that compliments are a way to make the other humans like you! You're gaining points in the big game we're all playing! Why is MySpace or Facebook so popular? It's a way to keep score. Especially when it's your birthday on facebook. Why am I publishing this on the internet, and not keeping it private? Because I think these are true things I'm saying, and I want you to know I'm saying them. I want points, too. I'm your slave, but you were already mine for telling me my relationship was cute, sucker.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Today, which is over.
Today was a green day, which was joyous, and tomorrow is a white day, so we will whine. Luckily, school is almost over. Summer is approaching! Summer, what with the melting sun and the general atmosphere of The World's Biggest Steamroom. Summer! Come! Remind me I don't have anything to do all day! McGregor! Don't repave McGregor, I beg you! Holy God, how bad is that going to be? They're going to shut down McGregor? Stab me in the groin! Press me into service for the Russian Army! Just don't shut down McGregor! What is going to happen when they shut down McGregor? Many things:
1. I will have to drive about 5 miles more to get to my girlfriend's house. Not a big deal, you say? Imagine that you are in love with me and can see me shirtless whenever you'd like. The ten extra minutes of wait time would kill you! And I don't have a camera phone, people. If she wants me shirtless, it's in the flesh or it's nothing.
2. People who live in those old-timey adorable McGregor hide-away neighborhoods, (The Argyle, Whiskey Creek, Tequila Bay, Alcoholic Drink/Water Mass) are going to slowly go insane when it takes them 40 minutes to buy gas. I mean this one. That's going to suck. All my life I've heard from about 70% of the people I know how awesome it is living in these cool little neighborhoods. "Everyone lives there! There's parties all the time! You can jog in the bike paths and not get hit by cars, unless it's people driving home from those awesome parties we're always having!" Well guess what, Whiskey Creekers! Life is about to take a major crap on your lawn. You're going to go mad. You're going to get a phobia for turning left. Mark my words. Shit, meet fan!
3. Some construction guys will have jobs. Good for them, I guess.
Also, summer brings with it the reality of the fact that my friends are all going to college, and I am not. This is sort of my first adult screw up. So far, I've been committing fairly childlike, innocent screw ups. We're in the big leagues now, son! Welcome to the "Screw Ups Can Now Ruin Your Life" portion of the show. I'm not ready to screw up my life! Let me wait until my mid-twenties, like most people! I'm developing my screw up gene too early. I must say, though, I'm proud of the dedication it took me to get to this point. The person I am now is the hypothetical example person people (usually with stern looks on their faces) would try to paint a picture of, usually to threaten me.
"DO YOU WANT TO BE OUT OF HIGH SCHOOL, MAKING EIGHT BUCKS AN HOUR AT THE GOLF COURSE, PLAYING XBOX ALL DAY WHILE YOUR FRIENDS ARE IN COLLEGE RECEIVING AN EDUCATION!!??"
As it turns out, yes! Do you want to stop spitting on my face, please?
1. I will have to drive about 5 miles more to get to my girlfriend's house. Not a big deal, you say? Imagine that you are in love with me and can see me shirtless whenever you'd like. The ten extra minutes of wait time would kill you! And I don't have a camera phone, people. If she wants me shirtless, it's in the flesh or it's nothing.
2. People who live in those old-timey adorable McGregor hide-away neighborhoods, (The Argyle, Whiskey Creek, Tequila Bay, Alcoholic Drink/Water Mass) are going to slowly go insane when it takes them 40 minutes to buy gas. I mean this one. That's going to suck. All my life I've heard from about 70% of the people I know how awesome it is living in these cool little neighborhoods. "Everyone lives there! There's parties all the time! You can jog in the bike paths and not get hit by cars, unless it's people driving home from those awesome parties we're always having!" Well guess what, Whiskey Creekers! Life is about to take a major crap on your lawn. You're going to go mad. You're going to get a phobia for turning left. Mark my words. Shit, meet fan!
3. Some construction guys will have jobs. Good for them, I guess.
Also, summer brings with it the reality of the fact that my friends are all going to college, and I am not. This is sort of my first adult screw up. So far, I've been committing fairly childlike, innocent screw ups. We're in the big leagues now, son! Welcome to the "Screw Ups Can Now Ruin Your Life" portion of the show. I'm not ready to screw up my life! Let me wait until my mid-twenties, like most people! I'm developing my screw up gene too early. I must say, though, I'm proud of the dedication it took me to get to this point. The person I am now is the hypothetical example person people (usually with stern looks on their faces) would try to paint a picture of, usually to threaten me.
"DO YOU WANT TO BE OUT OF HIGH SCHOOL, MAKING EIGHT BUCKS AN HOUR AT THE GOLF COURSE, PLAYING XBOX ALL DAY WHILE YOUR FRIENDS ARE IN COLLEGE RECEIVING AN EDUCATION!!??"
As it turns out, yes! Do you want to stop spitting on my face, please?
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