Childhood addictions, and a muse needed.

It just hit me that, for the past ten years, I've been completely uninvested in two of the largest movements of popular culture in our era: Harry Potter and the Sopranos. I suppose this is the counterpoint to the Salon article I saw here. My point is this: While my peers and colleagues have been gluing themselves to their books, TV and movie screens, I've been doing...what, exactly? I couldn't really tell you. The past ten years of my life, I've dedicated to numerous things. I have a closeted adoration of anime, something that I keep secret from most people. After all, if you tell people you're really into tales about a boy wizard who travels between this world and a world where riding around broom sticks is an acceptable sport, nobody so much as bats an eye. But mention that you're really into teenagers piloting robots loosely based on human shapes that transform and people look at you like you're some kind of psychopath. Go figure.

Also, my taste in music has grown. I've evolved from immature punk in the likes of the Ramones (legendary, still) to AC/DC to britpop and all forms of power pop (lame). I've read two separate series of books that are similar, yet completely unrelated to Harry Potter. A child wizard is cool, but dragons and sandworms are weird? Double standards are tiresome and upsetting.


In a convenient topic change, I'm convinced my productivity and creativity would sky rocket if I had a muse. A charming, beautiful lass whose eyes and scent and gossamer hair would inspire sonnets in her name, songs to woo her, plays to make her mine.

That, and lots of hot, hot sex.

Backlash

I think I've sunk into my deepest melancholy since last summer. It's not quite a depression yet, but it's certainly lingering on the outside walks of that. Nothing has lifted my spirits or really cheered my up lately. Being with my friends leaves me feeling lonelier than I did the night before. When I speak to people, I can see their eyes drifting, their focus and attention falling upon other things until the sound of my voice ends. I'm more aware than ever before about how boring and mindless I sound. I realize I'm terrible and making conversation, and even worse at functioning as a human being. I spent today hiding inside my house, gnawing on my sanity and contemplating if the world would really be so awful if I was to disappear. Morbid thoughts have started coming back into my mind. It's gotten more difficult lately to wake up in the morning. The air is warmer, but it's saturated with water moisture and feels like it's more difficult to breathe. My breath runs quick and more shallow. The sun shines brighter and longer. Spring has come, but as the flowers bloom, my hopes die.

A bit of inner reflection that accomplishes nothing

Self discovery is a complicated, shape shifting beast. Without it, we are little more than lost souls drifting from one day to the next without ever truly being aware of what lies within us, what enormous, spectacular truths we actively suppress each moment of each day. Yet, once we are faced with we realize truly how portentous it is, how much of our ugly natures we justifiably hold in check because the absence of truth isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes, there's nothing wrong with not knowing the truth. The lies we tell ourselves exist for a reason. It is not for lack of trying that the truth is buried away. We can't handle what reality actually has in store for us. And yet, the unexamined life is not worth living. What is there accomplish if we can't even conquer ourselves? How can mankind discover the ultimate secrets of the universe if we are unable to unearth the ultimate truths of human existence? Man is capable of so much, so much, but nothing has been accomplished because of fear. When fear is overcome, perhaps then the start to self discovery can truly begin.

Sorry

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

See?

Life is like a box of bullshit, don't open it.

The top doesn't match the bottom

I can't believe I have to be the one who says this, but Nelly Furtado's body proportions are simply absurd. Google up a picture of her. Look at the top half of her body, and cover up the bottom with your hand or something. She's flat chested, nice tummy, so on and so forth. Now, find another picture of her, this time, making sure her ass is showing or something. Cover up her top half, and focus on her from the waist down. Her ass is a bubble! This makes no logical sense. Her ass is bootylicious, but her top half is tight and fit?! This makes no sense to me at all.

That isn't to say I don't like it. I LOVE it. It makes for great music videos, let me say that.

Also, Nelly Furtado affirms to me that Timbaland is indeed a genius when it comes to current music. Every artist should collaborate with him. The results would be outstanding. Could you imagine what would have happened to Aaliyah if she hadn't died? Timbaland would have been blowing shit up 4 years ago, easily. Whatever, his work now is producing music that's enjoyable.

Also, Nelly Furtado's videos have made me pay attention to MTV again. The choreography isn't overpowering the song, but complimenting it and making the video better. Also, having Nelly Furtado gyrate with her ass as I mentioned previously certainly helps manners.

A litany of things I should have realized by now

I'm never going to have a girlfriend.
I'll probably lose my virginity to cheap hooker in Newark.
I'll probably start abusing something soon. Drugs, alcohol, ketchup, something.
I'm obsessive and insanely jealous for no reason, with no justification. There really isn't any rational reason for why I should behave this way.
I'm still 13 years old emotionally and in terms of maturity.
I dislike cooking because of the cleanup.
I'll probably spend most of my leisure time watching porn and jerking off.
I'll never have a very sophisticated wardrobe and will probably end up wearing the same suit for 3 years, every day.
I'll probably find some way to humiliate myself when trying to impress others. I.E., crashing a car because I'm trying to show a friend how fast said car goes.
I won't have any friends in 5 years because I find new ways to piss people off on a rather regular basis.

Spinning the records

I make no apologies for my taste in music. Quite frankly, it would be pointless to do so. My primary tastes are alternative, but I am by no means restricted to simply this form of music. I thoroughly enjoy hip hop, gangsta rap, folk rock, heavy metal, power pop, electronica, trip hop, old style rock and roll, R&B, jazz, punk, and the list goes on. I find no problem in transitioning from the porn grooves of Al Green into the melodramatic warblings of Death for Cutie, seamlessly leading to the devastating riffs of Iron Maiden. It's simply natural to me.

And of course, probably pretty fucked up for everyone else. But what can I say? It's not something I can control. I simply appreciate many, many different forms of the same art.

No exit

Systematically, one by one, each person I called "friend" in my life has stopped talking to me over the last few weeks. The trend began about a four months ago, and at this point I have a cell phone that never rings, a computer with AIM that never gets an instant message, a blog with no feedback, and generally a vapid and lonely existence. If it weren't for my own personal eccentricities, I quite honestly believe I would have absolutely fucking lost it by now. Thankfully, my peculiar and quirky nature have allowed me to remain (mostly) self reliant upon my own entertainment capacities.

It's really quite interesting what you can do when the only thing you have to entertain yourself is your own mind. In my head, for instance, I've been lost in thought for hours upon hours. The thoughts range from sports, social interaction, psychological quirks, music, political debate, and attempts to write movie scripts. All of this spans the whole range of whatever crazy, nonsensical cognitions which populate my head.

Quite honestly, I don't really know I'm still sane at this point. I'm still waiting to snap and start ripping open people's chests and eating their hearts. Of course, by admitting this, I'm sure now I really do seem crazy, and now even more people will avoid me. It's a damn endless cycle, I tell you. The snake eating it's own tail. It's funny, I bitch about wanting to be surrounded by other people, yet when I finally gain what I demand and prostrate for, I immediately wish I was alone and confined to solidarity. Yet, faced with my requested solitude, I yearn and dream of the day when I will one be comforted by my multitude of loving and adoring peers.

I suppose Hell really is people.

A story spun over and over again

Am I really that much of an asshole? Is my personality so grating, are my habits so irksome, am I just such an irritating person that, infallibly, everyone whose path I cross becomes sick of me? I really don't know. I don't try to act annoying. I genuinely just try to do my best to make people laugh, to keep the good mood flowing and not try to cause any trouble. I guess that's a lie, since it appears that all I really ever do IS cause trouble. All I ever seem to do is piss people off with something I say or do.

And then here we go, I become self conscious about my actions, what I say, I spiral into a depression and melancholy. It's all such a terrificly vicious cycle, and in all of my 21 years, I've yet to solve this puzzle. Fantastic.

Did McDonald's kill American community?

In 1948, the McDonald brothers reopened their immensely popular roadside restaurant, dramatically altering the format of the previous incarnation of their business. Gone were the parking lot waitresses, the large selection of items from the menus, and generally relaxed pace of serving featured prior. Now the Speedee Service System churned out simple cheeseburgers and fries at a quick, efficient pace. On this day almost sixty years ago, the long march to the decline and death of American society began.

Since the earliest days of civilization, a key component of developed life has been the common eating ground, the cafeteria, the agora, the bar, where members of the community went to indulge in good food, good drink, and perhaps most importantly, good talk. Trade and barter deals, philosophical debate, local gossip, all were discussed over meals at restaurants. Food was served as it was prepared, not rushed or hurried, allowing for the most time to speak and allow bridges to be built. Communities and civilizations have been fostered and built upon the rapport built during dinner.

In 1948, McDonald's changed all that. The high demand for food at a rapid pace induced the McDonald brothers to develop their rapid transit food delivery system, effectively inventing the fast food industry. The need for meals to churned out at rapid pace eliminated any possibility for anything other than shoveling food into your face in order to get out of the way for the guy who wanted your seat. McDonald's created the first schematic within the American psyche of rushing, of doing every task as quickly and efficiently as possible. After all, time is money. You had to be able to eat and finish your lunch in fifteen minutes, because you needed to be back at the office or factory within 5 minutes, because you needed to devote the other seven hours and forty minutes to working. If you spent any more time indulging in a leisurely meal, the guy behind you might finish eating quicker and steal your job and paycheck.

The multiplicative effect carried out through the entire culture, and what resulted were broken homes, parents obsessed with latching onto the brass ring, ever inflating demands from employers, and less time to sit down and talk and forge relationships and grow to understand about our neighbors. At this point in time, Americans trust their neighbors less than any other time previously in American history. When we hardly get the opportunity to speak to them, is this fact really so shocking?

Things I dislike: Armani Exchange

Now don't get me wrong. I think some of the stuff from Armani Exchange isn't too bad looking. I would wear some of it. There are just a couple reasons why I dislike seeing Armani Exchange stuff. First and foremost being, every god damn scum bag between the ages of 17 and 25 who wears anything from Armani Exchange immediately proclaims themselves as the hottest shit to walk the face of the planet earth. "I paid $35 for my t-shirt which has bawdy and crass logos splashed on it, and you should bow down to me because of it." It infuriates me to no end. You aren't hot shit because you paid $35 for a t-shirt, you're a moron who thinks that walking around using your chest as free advertising space makes you attractive, when it doesn't. Clearly. Don't get me wrong, I have paid up to $20 for a t-shirt, but that's it. And if at all possible, I try to keep any logos or annoying statements on my shirts to a minimum.

Second reason why I dislike Armani Exchange: The people who wear Armani Exchange act as thought they're wearing actual Giorgio Armani runway styles. Um, excuse me, you're wearing a label that Armani designed specifically for idiots like you, who use their parent's credit cards to pay for their wardrobe. It's sad and pathetic. Had I not seen every other douche bag at Rutgers wearing an Armani Exchange t-shirt in the last two years, I might be doing the same thing myself. Thankfully, my eyes saved me. I hate to think what would happen if I had fallen into that trap.

Thirdly, and finally, why I dislike Armani Exchange: Everything you can get there, you can get at H&M, and more than likely, at better prices. Blazers that cost $225 at Armani Exchange? Half that price at H&M. Whatever, that's fine, if those guys go to shop at Armani Exchange, then I'll just go to H&M and get whatever shit I want for cheap. Works for me!

Dear god, I've been up for 20 straight hours and I feel dead on my feet.

Aging and dying

I'm terrified of aging. Confronting the fact that I'm turning another year older sends me into a tail spin. Since I was about 15, I think I've felt this way. I always tend to start having morbid dreams in December, finding creative new ways to die. When I was turning 18, I had a dream that I fell from a building. When I was turning 19, I dreamt a steel spike was drive through my chest. When I turned 20, I saw my head exploding.

I don't know what terrifying dream I have this year. I don't know if this is some sick way of my subconscious telling me I should probably find a girlfriend and have sex, because I might be headed to some really fucked up shit soon. I don't know.

Maybe I should invest in antidepressants or something. Maybe a stress ball. That'd be a good place for you to start for buying me a birthday present.

Scurry

I'm having those same problems with people again. People not wanting to talk to me, people avoiding me, and generally feeling unwanted and despised. It's really heart wrenching, actually. I feel like I'm drowning alone in the middle of a crowd. I could scream and scream and I don't know if anyone could hear me. It's not depression. It's anxiety. I don't know who to rely on or who to trust or anything. I can't sit in a room and talk to anyone or give my troubles to someone else or anything.

I'm scared. I wish I wasn't.

Baker-Hamilton Report

When I listened to the Baker-Hamilton press conference, I really didn't hear anything different from what President Bush has been saying for the last couple of years. It was "Stay the course in Iraq" without using the words "stay the course". A slow withdrawal, Iraq is in shambles, we need to rebuild it. These are things the Bush Administration has been spouting for months.

And you know what? I don't disagree with it. What I've seen, what I've learned, what I've observed, I don't think we can simply drop everything and pull out of Iraq right now. It's suicide. We'd be begging for an assault of terrorist attacks in 20 years. It's simply not a good idea.

My politics aren't either liberal or conservative. And as much as it might bother some to read this, I happen to agree with the President on our current policies in Iraq.

Clarification: I agree with the rhetoric, not the actual policies. I think we need to stay in Iraq so as to avoid a huge tragedy in 20 years.

Things I need help with

I need someone to explain to me, first of all, how to meet women. And not just meet women, but meet them and not have them be either repelled by me or think of me on platonic terms. And I'm dead serious about this. When it comes to flirting and interpersonal relationships, I think I'm about as successful as a 13 year old with a stuttering problem. To date, I haven't had a girlfriend, and at my current pace, we're looking at me getting a girl to come to bed with me at age 58. Not a very good pace, so someone, please, help me the fuck out.

Secondly, I would appreciate help in figuring out where to learn about new music. Everyone always seems to find out about new bands about 8 months quicker than I do. I need to learn sources and shit. It would be extremely helpful, and keep me from feeling retarded.

Finally, I would like someone to donate money to me so that I could finally go to H&M/Urban/Abercrombie and buy the clothes I like, which would finally let me dress they I've always wanted. I want to be sexy back that my first request can fulfilled. Jack asses.

Stars in the sky

As far back as I can remember, when I stand outside and look up into the sky at night, the first thing I see is Orion's Belt. Those three stars in a line, endlessly twinkling in the night sky. Immutable, everlasting, for all of eternity.

Pulling back on the focus, my vision encapsulates the entire constellation. Following the path of the stars, I can make out Taurus, Monoceros, Lepus and countless more groupings of stars hanging like jewels in the night.

Drifting in a circle, I can see the moon cascading silver brilliance over the hills and rooftops. Planes soaring high above my head criss cross the sky, rushing points of light. I remember when I used to think that the airplanes were actually stars moving across the skies, imaging how fast they must be flying by in space if they seem to skipping down here.

There isn't anything I love more then watching the night sky.

At the movies

Today I went to the movies, alone. That's not very unusual for me. It's very clear that I possess a very anti social, avoidant personality. While I outwardly am desperate for attention, innately, subconsciously, I want nothing to do with other people. I'd much rather sit by myself at a meal than try to stumble through awkward conversation with a person who is perhaps a step removed from being a total stranger to me. I'm sure you can tell I'm an absolute joy to sit down and talk to.

While standing on line, alone, at the movies, I saw some people I knew from high school. I caught them coming out of the corner of my eye, and I quickly turned my head down and away from them. I silently thanked that I hadn't shaved in several days, and took out my phone in a self absorbed attempt to look like I was in touch with people already in the movie theater. By some stupid chance, they got in line right behind me. I hear them whisper and giggle to each other, enjoying some private joke. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed that I wasn't the butt of some high school anecdote. I shuffled up to the ticket window, purchased my ticket, and hauled ass right out of the lobby.

Walking into the theater, I scanned for a place to sit, with at least one empty seat on either side of where I wanted to sit. Such is the awkward part of going to the movies alone. You don't want to sit directly next to someone, as doing so invades upon the atmosphere of intimacy that movies create. In this world of text messaging in iPods, it has become a social faux pas to speak to a total stranger, to interject yourself into someone's little world. This has seeped into every facet of life to the point where it's impossible to meet new people.

As I tried to find a seat, my eyes latched upon a group of people. This was a group of people who graduated high school with me. I cursed myself under my breath. Of course these people would be here, home for Thanksgiving, bored to tears until they could catch flights back to whatever school they found themselves attending. I quickly found a seat on the end of a row, ducked my head down and tried to make myself as invisible as I possibly could.

I hated high school with every fiber of my being. Every moment I spent in that building was a smothering, suffocating experience. I can hardly recall a handful of pleasant moments I experienced within those four years. And yet, the entire world treats those years with such reverence that I can't help but feel an enormous amount of cognitive dissonance when remembering high school, and actually convincing myself that I in fact loved high school, and missed the same people who made my life miserable, and shaped the bitterness I still feel to this day.

Next time I want to see a movie, I'm going to another state.

Homewrecker

I seem to have developed a fatal flaw. I only find myself interested in women I know to be in the middle of relationships. Not just flings, but full on relationships. I'm sure if I ever met a married woman, I'd attempt to move the stars in an effort to peel her away from her man. I'm not sure why I've developed such a fruitless and destructive taste. Perhaps it has something to do with longing and jealousy. After all, if these two people can be engaged in such a meaningful, fulfilled relationship, then why can I have that? And like the jealous bully on the playground, I try to wedge myself in the middle of perfectly healthy, happy relationships and try to steal the girl away.

Well, perhaps nothing that dramatic. I'm far too timid to actually take things that far, I think. But I am pretty certain I have ruined some lives. Or maybe not. Maybe I'm giving myself too much credit, and creating illusions in my mind in an effort to quell the dissonance I feel within myself.

Regardless, I'm a bad person.

Speech patterns

The differences between people and regions are interesting to me. Living in New Jersey, there's such a diverse difference between accents and pronunciations it's stunning. Someone from North Jersey, close to Staten Island, say, sounds nothing like someone from South Jersey, from, say, Millville. It's really just amazing listening to a conversation between people and picking up on the subtle intonations people have as they speak.

But with the television and internet generation, I've been hearing less of these accent differentiations. As more people turn on MTV and CNN, more flat accents with less unique inflections are becoming the norm across the country. I feel it's kind of sad. In such a huge country as ours, it was interesting to hear the unique ways people would say things. Now, everyone is starting to sound and look the same.

I guess that's the price we pay for globalization.

Under developed

I'm not really sure how I can listen to all of these depressing songs about relationships and whining about life when I really haven't done much of either to qualify as an expert on them. Really, what have I done? I've been in relationships? Um, no, not really. Hell, I haven't even been a victim of a fuck and run. My experience with relationships lies within televised dramas and movie scripts. My knowledge of people and love and life has been taught to me through 15 and 32 inch screens 20 minutes at a time. I really don't know anything about life or love.

Which is pathetic, really. It's yet another area in which my life, my growth, is severely stunted. How can I possibly expect to exist in this world if I'm 5 years behind everybody else? I'm just learning how to flirt and be comfortable in my own skin, something most people learn by the time they're 15. I'm sitting here in awe of abilities most people don't give second thought to. It's tragically debilitating. I'm not sure how to handle it, or how to react to it. Hell, even putting pen to paper stuns me. I can barely comprehend the gibberish I'm putting forth at this moment.