What a Bunch of Hubris

Errr... I was apparently fucked by my own false logic. This isn't actually a post, just a notification that I reposted something I drafted about two weeks ago, so although I just wrote it now for the most part it's not on the top of this page. It's two posts down. Ohh, and I have some good news... apparently I'm not crazy.

Very Very Important Post, Must Read

Gotcha, Suckers...

I haven't posted in a while, and I know you've all been eagerly waiting for me to get my act together. I have to apologize; school has been pretty nuts of late and I'm a habitual slacker to begin with. To be completely honest, it's not even 7:00 in the morning yet and I can't really say that the creative juices are flowing right now. I just wanted to throw something up here so my adoring public wouldn't think I died. I'm going to scroll down some random ideas since I don't feel any brilliant ones coming.

Currently, I'm listening to Dustin Kensrue. His solo stuff is pretty good and I'd recommend him to anyone that's looking for something soothing to listen to. It's not all that similar to Thrice although he does cover a few of the same songs they're much softer. There's a couple Elvis Costello covers he does and they're awesome. I hate to admit it but I prefer Dustin's versions of "Blame it on Cain" and "Radio." Of course, this is coming from someone who just recently started listening to Elvis Costello because he liked Dustin's covers. Well, I guess that covers my entertainment section requirements.

On to sports, only one story I think we need to be talking about right now. Where will A.I. wind up? I'm sorry if you've heard this before, but here's hoping he somehow finds his way up to Minnesota. K.G. deserves him; I know this trade seems difficult but I'll be praying to the basketball gods that it somehow finds a way to get done. Garnett's got maybe five years left in the league and it'd be just about the biggest tragedy ever if he retired without a title. Same goes for Iverson, but at least he's had a shot. I say if Kevin Mchale doesn't find a way to put these two together we can pretty much forget the great things he did for the game in Boston.

Well, on that note I'm going to utilize the ESPN.com Trade Machine to fulfill my procrastination quota before I head up to the library to etudier francais.

Au Revoir,

J'ai Ecrit une Blog Poste...

Hola,

I've been... really lazy lately. Which is actually very impressive, because I'm lazy most of the time, so to say that I've been really lazy lately--you get the point. Maybe you don't, if you didn't just stop reading now. Anyways, I obviously haven't written a post in about a week. Well, I'm lazy. I'm not even writing this whole post right now; I wrote the next paragraph like two weeks ago. All I'm even doing right now is being really clever and setting that paragraph up with this one. Hmm... mision accomplished, proceed.

The point of this whole blog-thingey experiment type dealy-who was supposed to be for me to improve my writing ability. I probably read somewhere that a good way to improve your writing is to write, seems like kind of a no-brainer, huh? I think there was also something mentioned about reading too... I don't read very much though.

Wow, I wrote really well two weeks ago. I then got lazy and decided I didn't want to write anymore and hit the blue button labeled: "SAVE AS DRAFT." I want to do that now, but I won't because I know people count on reading my blog. My friend Zac told me that he hasnt' been able to brush his teeth for the last week because my laziness has thrown him completely off his daily routine.

Anyways, all I was really going to say was that I doubt I'll ever write well enough to sell a book, but I figure I will write well enough to write a movie, so being an underachiever that's the plan. I'm currently working on project entitled "Deldelka's Great Spitball Revenge Plot." Don't worry, that's a tentative title.

I've now decided that despite the fact I haven't really said anything this is good enough to post. And if I change my mind and hit the blue button, you'll never know, so how's that for paradox. Of course, you're reading this so it's not much of a paradox at all, and if you're not then I really am crazy.

I have another draft in this folder, so there's a good chance Zac will be able to brush his teeth two days in a row.

Flawed World?

First, I'd like to offer a quick apology and let you all know that I'm over the whole "shat the bed" incident. Bear with me.

I'm just now getting ready to finish up my semester so it has been a frenetic week. I'm putting the wraps on my final project for seventeenth century literature. The class title: Sex, Death, and Salvation, studies in the age of John Donne, or something like that. Anyways, I've grown to kind of enjoy this guy's poetry despite the fact that it's really depressing, and kind of confusing. He talks a lot about the world being flawed. I don't think we have it quite as bad as he did circa 1600's Great Britain(read: be thankful we have some separation between church and state, not enough, but some), but we don't have it that much better.

I look around campus and everyone is somehow fucked up. There's a terrifyingly low amount of students here who don't spend three or more days a week on some sort of drug. I begrudgingly admit (this week aside) that I probably register somewhere between three and four on this scale of seven. This is the future of our country? Most of us are drunks, half of us are stoned, a handful are coked up, shroomed, or on some form of speed. Speed is probably the worst offender. You know what I'm talking about, legal speed, adderall. Some kid you know is one of the reported 25% among us that's been diagnosed with ADD; oh wait, what I meant was he's good at faking sick and has entrepreneurial skills. Do you really need to concentrate on that paper? He's got the hook-up. Shit, I wish I was any different but $5 for a substantial edge going into my chem exam, well that's tough to pass up. Oh wait, even better if I convince myself I need this shit I can surely convince a doctor. I only have an assignment I really need to concentrate on like a couple times a month; I could sell 20 of those pills. Lets do some math; a one point boost in my gpa, plus $100 net profit, minus $15 copay equals a pretty sweet deal. I really am smart! Is this what we learn in college?

Look at the generation 5-10 years behind us; things aren't looking up. Some friends of mine just graduating and are either student teaching or subbing back home. One of my friends who was subbing in the middle school we went to told me something interesting. He's had three students that claim to have kids, two girls, and one guy. The guy is from the same suburban, working-class, predominantly white area I'm from; he's whiter than j-will (a.k.a. "white chocolate"), he's decked out like fitty (I assume this means bulletproof vest, but my friend didn't specify), he's in the seventh grade (to be fair he should be in ninth), and oh yeah, he's some one's baby-daddy.
"Mr. P., I wrote a rap!"
"Wrap your fuckin dick!"
My friend isn't allowed to say that. Someone needs to.

If this sounds like something you've heard before, keep in mind that there's a reason things become cliche; they make sense.

Maybe Donne didn't have it so bad.

This rant brought to you courtesy of, some kid that should be writing an actual paper about John Donne.

I Shat the Bed and Laid there in it

So today wasn't a very good day. I shit my bed, literally... I woke up after a short sleep-deprivation inflicted, non-voluntary coma/nap to find shit everywhere. I'm actually kind of lucky it smelt so bad, otherwise I probably wouldn't have woke up. After I cleaned up the mess, I realized this whole boxer-briefs thing isn't for me; I clearly need Huggies. I mean this was really gross; I didn't like it at all.

Okay, this is the part where I tell you that I didn't really shit my bed, literally. I merely shit the proverbial bed, figuratively. To be honest, I would have rather literally shit my bed... and laid there in it.

Your ridicule isn't really welcome, but it is well deserved.

I still need a nap; if it happens to come in the non-voluntary semi-coma variety I will still gladly accept it. I'm not even going to take my contacts out...

If you need me I'll be searching for "figurative Huggies."

I Need a Nap, Badly

So... this latest post finds me facing the cruel irony that is the world we live in, otherwise known as reality. I regret to inform you all, my faithful readers, that Hazelnut-Mocha is in fact not my bitch lover, but it rather seems my perception of our relationship has been inverted. To make a long story short, my last post was at approximately 6:47 AM, it is now 6:28 PM and although I did get my paper done, I had planned on napping soundly by 2:45 PM, however, that plan has not come to fruition. I realized early on in the AM that the English department's annual saturnalia, which I had already agreed to attend, was to be held at 3:00 PM.

Of course, not being one to break plans, I attended. This was an interesting event as it turns out, there are many professors in the department I have yet to receive instruction from. I found myself being watched very closely. I was worried some of the faculty were questioning my authenticity as an English major, so I did what felt natural and confronted the head of the department:

Me: "Ma'am you needn't worry; I am in fact proficient in this subject matter as I've been under your department's tutelage for some 2 1/2 years now, damn fine job they're doing too if you don't mind my saying so. I'm sorry we haven't made acquaintances yet, my name is Ed, I assure you I'm not here merely for the free pizza and cucumber sandwiches which by the way are quite delicious. As for these other scallywags, I don't trust them, not a single one."
(awkward silence)
The Head: "Well Ed, it's really a pleasure to meet you, your name sounds familiar. I'm glad you've been enjoying your education so much. I'm Karla. I really appreciate that you like the cucumber sandwiches; I made them myself. As for the scallywags you speak of, I wouldn't worry about them, just don't eat the olive leave wraps."

The rest of the affair went fairly well. I successfully avoided the olive leave wraps and managed to escape with my gastric health intact. Some of my professors arrived and I engaged them in some pleasant conversations. My Irish fiction professor was particularly insightful, "It's a damn shame they lowered the drinking age; a subtle social lubricant is exactly what this kind of affair needs. When I was an undergrad the professor's used to each bring a jug of wine on the last day of classes. If you had five classes or so that day you would not be walking home. I think someone said missing out on this is the price we pay to live in a safe country." I told him that I agreed with all but the last part, and informed him that I was actually 22 and would be happy to join him at the bar for multiple rounds of Guinness. He politely declined, citing an obligation to remain impartial because my thesis is due on Thursday. I told him that I understood his quandary and excused myself to pursue other networking opportunities.

This was when I met perhaps the quirkiest professor I never knew existed at SUNY Cortland. Along with a former department chair who reminded me of Homer Simpson's father, she told us the story of a protest in the 60's in which students overtook the administration building. They said that the students managed to get the last week of school canceled. Intrigued by this idea, I requested they join me in a similar movement. They declined, we agreed that our agendas were conflicting.

The elder statesman excused himself leaving me alone with Professor Quirky. My friend Jess came to help me out because it takes three to tango. The good professor noted that there was some sort of chemistry between Jess and I. Seeing an opportunity, I faked a blush and pretended to feel awkward. We made a bit more small talk and eventually decided to head back to our respective apartments.

I continued to hit on Jess for the remainder of the ride home, suggesting that perhaps we should engage in casual sex to ease some of the tension finals week creates. Surprisingly, she was able to resist my charm. I may have went a bit too far when I mentioned that she'd have to blow me first because otherwise I'd have trouble coming and could likely kill her from the intensity of too many orgasms. I mentioned two such instances in the past. I fibbed. A little.

I got home not too long ago and realized that somehow, I was still not tired. In fact, I'm still not tired. I've been perusing fantasy basketball and writing this post for a few hours and am now acknowledging that Hazelnut-Mocha runs my life. I'm helpless against her cunning power to create a state of artificial consciousness.

Peace out to my niggas pookie-bear and ray-ray...

Hazelnut-Mocha?

Something you may want to know about me if you're to become a regular reader: I talk to myself, frequently. Right now it's 6:47 AM, and about 10 minutes ago I had a conversation with myself. I said to... "Hazelnut-Mocha, you're my bitch lover this morning." This would be a much better story if Hazelnut-Mocha was some hot black stripper chick that I'd brought back from some city's seedy underbelly, or if I'd made up such a hot black stripper chick to appease my own boredom. But no, I was talking to a pot of coffee as I brewed it. I told (her?) how I was going to make love to her and a bottle of adderall until 10:00 AM and how she was going to help me write a paper that's due at such a time. The conversation got rather violent; I threatened a serious beating in the event she wouldn't help me, and I think a baseball bat may have been mentioned.

She forgave me. I haven't met her warm embrace yet (I'm a pussy and don't like my coffee too hot), but we'll be making sweet love in no time.

Mind you, I don't think I'm crazy, but I'll let you draw your own conclusions. I'm a little bit tired as I haven't slept, and something's telling me that my grade on the aforementioned paper is more important than this-- my newest addiction-- but have no fear; I feel a two-post day is eminent.

Peace out to my niggas pookie-bear and ray-ray. (yada.yada.yada)

Random Sunday Night Thoughts

So... I'm typing. I don't really have anything to say, but my fingers are moving to these letters so I'm going to ride it out and see where they take me. Backspace, ellipses, what was I saying?

This girl Alissa just messaged me and I say, "what's up." How'd this phrase come to be? Why do we associate a person's general feelings, or daily encounters with a direction? And why is that direction up, why not what's down or what's left or right? She responds, "not much," which makes sense since we don't live in an urban environment and the sky's relatively clear today.

I'm going to go with a different idea now:

First, something I thought of earlier in my head that rhymes... I wouldn't call it a poem, just something that rhymes. I might make a rap song out of it some day, and a video, definitely a video. Just because I've always wanted to star in a rap video, and rent something really expensive to pretend I own it, maybe a jet, or a really expensive piece of jewelry. Actually, on second thought I hate being unoriginal, so I think I'll see if it's possible to rent a polar bear or a llama or something. How phat would that be, a polar bear in a rap video? My rhyme: (...yo)

about me
where I'll be
in thee
library
until three

(...yo) Interesting how I never went to the library though; I planned on going. I'll probably never have a rap video either. Damn self-doubt! Must suppress! Must suppress! I will have a rap video, with a polar bear.

My other idea involves the Sunday Night Football game that just ended. It starts like this:

Psych!!! Maybe if you're lucky I'll write it tomorrow. People are in my room now, and they clearly don't want me to type. I'll do this tomorrow-- the procrastinator's slogan.

However, I will end this post on a positive note. Maria is taking my head shots, and I'll be starring in a full-feature student film in February. This is the beginning; I'm going to be the next Vinny Chase. The position of Eric is already taken, but I still need a chef/older brother type and a driver. You may apply within.

In the future, I may or may not be less random and sporadic than I was in this post. Peace out to my niggas pookie-bear and ray-ray. Just bless. [...]

Post script, Ray thought I should mention the fact that my room has wood paneling, and also that we have a new roommate. Our roommate is Dave; he's creepy and was forced to live with us because he philandered with an older woman.

An Asshole's Honest Opinion

So, I was thinking about how lying might be kind of dumb. My observations have led me to believe that people fall in to two schools of thought on the subject of lying. Some say, of course lying is dumb; honesty is always the best policy. These people deny that they lie, ever. Of course they do lie. Once they got a purple sweater with gold and blue stripes for Christmas and they told their mom how much they loved it. They probably even went as far as to wear it out and absorb some harsh ridicule at their local watering hole, all so they could prove to their mother that they really did love the sweater. Of course they hated the sweater. So these people lie too, right? They would tell you that it’s not really lying. The second group knows that this is lying; they recognize that lying isn’t dumb, and submit it’s necessary for survival. You can’t tell your mother that she picked out an ugly sweater; you can’t tell that really nice girl that you don’t want to go to the movies with her because she has a gap the size of Montezuma in between her teeth and no gap in between her eyebrows to speak of.

I submit a third school of thought. I’ll be spearheading this movement personally. Our philosophy (just me so far) will be that lying is dumb, period. Lying is dumb and we don’t do it. If my mother gets me an ugly sweater for Christmas I’ll tell her. If some busted chick tries to “check up on me” I’ll tell her why she shouldn’t. I think in the long run a lot of awkward scenarios will be avoided by those who submit to this school of thought. My mom will call me an asshole, but she’ll still love me. That girl, she’ll be pretty mad, but she would have been downright enraged if I got drunk enough to convince myself to fuck her, did so, then never called her back.

A lot of people say they hate liars. Some probably do, but I can recall plenty of times an attempt at honestly has gotten me labeled an asshole. Here’s hoping enough people will follow me in this new school of thought to erase that label, for alone; I am an asshole, but together we will simply be known as the truth. Or maybe we’ll just be assholes together, but who wants to be an asshole by himself, right? Not me.

Something Borderline Creative

Well, don't get to used to this, as I said in my first post motivation can be a bit of an issue for me, but with the inspiration that brought about this blog there was also a previous idea I got onto paper, or rather Microsoft Word. It's a bit of a rant, and it's only the beginning of whatever it might some day become, but that's why I'm putting it up. Any suggestions for where to go with this, or just any improvements I could make in general are welcome. It starts off as a bit of a rant, but I've been encouraged to put it up here so I will. If I'm going to be a blogger I might as well take advantage of it fully. Any criticism is welcome, be it positive or negative. Even if you're some girl who just wants to tell me I'm an asshole, that's cool, but I'm sorry about your being born dumb. I also need to apologize for my repetition of the alliterative phrase I was so pleased with myself for coming up with yesterday, but I actually wrote it out for this document first. I'll try not to use it again. Document... I don't know what to call this piece-- I'm hoping to get it into story form at some point. Also, in this case I did underline the title of our not so proud school paper.

Evolution, Slowly Finding a Dream

(tentative)

I’m evolving. I only just realized this today. I’ve been confused about my status for some time now, facing a sort of crisis in self realization. Today, it seems like I’ve put it all together. I saw this girl walking up to the library with a shit-eating grin on her face. We used to be acquaintances. To be a bit more specific, I used to want to fuck her—for some strange reason which I don’t now recollect. Anyhow, this particular girl, whom I do not speak to any longer, helped me realize what’s wrong with me. First off, this girl has got to be one of the dumbest people I’ve ever met.  I never listened to her long enough to experience her stupidity first hand, but I know ignorance when I see it. The bliss she displays walking to the library is a dead giveaway. If it weren’t for that bliss, I’d look no further than SUNY Cortland’s own Dragon Chronicle, in which she writes incredibly insightful articles about things such as the hardships of being a waitress, her love of being unsophisticated (complete with a string cheese cameo), and why her male friends don’t see her as “hookup material.” I must admit, I did read one article in which she attempted to cover a topical journalistic debate, the war in Iraq. Of course, she offered only her personal opinion—minus any facts to back it up. I don’t mean to pick on this particular girl, for most are like her. She just seems to represent so well the portrait of ignorance being bliss. I mean, how fucking dumb can you be? The worst part, she’s completely ignorant of her own intellectual ineptitude. I can’t say whether or not I’d want to be there; but I can assure you it will be quite a scene when the real world blasts her in the face with a shovel. No, SUNY Cortland does not have a good communications program; no, I would never in a million years let you write for my paper; no, not even if you let me fuck you. Does anyone else see this inevitable conversation in this girl’s future? I’m sure she’s so proud to write for the Dragon Chronicle; one word, defuse, as in, diffuse the bombers. Witty, I know. In short, this girl helped me realize why I’m having trouble finding myself. I’m not happy all the time because I’m not that fucking dumb. I now have a plan, and yes, I will be taking over the world in due time.

Well I’ve got ambition, sort of. I’m setting my mind on a goal; you may say it’s just a pipe dream, but I believe anything’s possible. I was reading Playboy the other day, yes, READING. I put emphasis on that fact because you know what, it was a damn good article: well written, articulate, interesting. Anyways, I’m not there yet, but I believe the potential is there for me to write those types of articles. So I figure, whomever is writing these articles (and it could be me) has got to be getting one hell of a perks package. I mean I’m sure it’s not as good as being a photographer, but you must at the very least get the occasional invite to the mansion, maybe Hef would even throw you a second helping or two. But fuck that, I wouldn’t need any man’s seconds, not even Hef. I’d write articles so witty and insightful all the bunnies would want a piece of my action. The critics would say I’d brought a new kind of humor to a once-considered low brow magazine. Forgive me for being Chandleresque (obscure literary reference inserted), but it could happen. And like my articles, I’d be the life of any party at the mansion; I’d be cracking jokes and grabbing cottontails like someone who truly belongs. I’d be that guy with the life everyone envies, slaying bunnies left and right. I’d eventually grow tired of the silicone and collagen and find myself a woman worth spending the rest of my life with, a Natalie Portman type: sophisticated, intelligent, still beautiful. We’d take over the world together, all in due time.

The Moment You've All Been Waiting For!

It would appear this is my very first post. I'm elated. The first thing I'd like to discuss is motivation. I haven't had much lately, to rather loosely use the term lately. This blog is an attempt to keep me writing more often. I usually have something to say, but I can't always find the words. I'm hoping after a few months of blogging those words will find their way into my fingers at a more frequent rate.

In class today, I was thinking up all these great ideas; stories, poems, novelettes, etc. The point is: This was not the first time I've thought up tons of great ideas in class. While people watch me daydream and the professor calls attention to my lack of focus, I'm hatching brilliant ideas. Perhaps, I have the idea for the next great work in literature, or maybe I have an idea at least good enough to be published in the literary magazine on campus, or maybe my ideas are not even worthy of the half-baked, borderline asinine, intellectually inept piece of crap we at SUNY Cortland refer to as the Dragon Chronicle. I won't even underline that. The point is, I don't write these ideas down and they never come to fruition. With the exception of 'intellectually inept,' which I find to be brilliant alliteration. Yes, I quoted myself in my first post; and yes, I'm gloating about it. I regress.

Bottom line, any ideas I have will now be posted here; regardless of whether they are good or bad. If I don't have any ideas, then I will talk about whatever random nonsense comes to my head while I'm posting; for reference, I'm still going to call this nonsense ideas. At the moment, I'm thinking fantasy basketball.

I had a decent night, considering I only had two guys playing. I continue to pat myself on the back for picking up Deron Williams. How about the season this guys is having, huh? Unfortunately, despite Deron my team is terribly unbalanced. I dominate assists, usually dominate points and rebounds, but fall terribly short in percentages, blocks, steals, turnovers, and threes. I'll figure it out; I'm pretty much a fantasy sports guru. If Deron Williams is available in your league, pick him up.

Anyhow, I consider this a successful first posting. Let me know if you agree or disagree. Peace out to my niggas pookie-bear and ray-ray. Just bless. (tag subject to change every single day until I find one I like)