It's my journal. Thing.

Andrew!
Remi!
e-mail seth

Good morning! Okay, I really gotta go BUT: a friend of mine started his job as a security guard at the local Nuclear Power Plant this week.

"I have a beUtiful man voice!"
I had just about the best damn day possible at work. If only for me a good day could coincide with NOT working hard. Anyway. Soon this page will be archived. Then: content. I'm thinking maybe some short fiction in this space. By which I mean: random ass crap that only has depth and signicance to me. Hold on to your bowlers jadies and lentlemen.

The new design of this page dosen't reflect my fashion sense. It reflects the fact that I cannot put two or more colors together in a pleasing mannner. Although, maybe there isn't a difference. Well, I'm off to a fun crazy painfull me being stupid tired stressed but people still sort of liking me anyway maybe day at work.

Monochrome Madness
"Grey would be the color, if I had a heart..."
Huh! Hit me! Jump back! Kiss myself! Ow!
An imaginary five dollars goes out to whoever gets that quote. . . except you, David.

I demand a recount. . .

melombardi: I oppose the Taliban.
thesarazin: I oppose bananas
melombardi: I propose anathmas.
thesarazin: I discuss dr. gus.
melombardi: I predate Dr. Hate.
thesarazin: I prorate my rebate
melombardi: I masturbate the incarnate.
thesarazin: I incinerate my precipitate
melombardi: I regurgatate upon a plate.
thesarazin: I concentrate on kaopectate.
melombardi: I grate your mother's fate.
thesarazin: I anticipate your dark fate
melombardi: I first class freight your big fat mate.
thesarazin: I berate your excessively high postal rate.
melombardi: I belate your need for traits.
thesarazin: (uh, I don't think belate is a verb, seth)
melombardi: (sure it is)
melombardi: (to make late? uhh....yeah that's it.)
melombardi: I congartulate your wide open gate.
thesarazin: I debate whether to extricate or penetrate, for it is my dark master I must sate
melombardi: Heh heh heh.
thesarazin: That was a tough one
melombardi: Nate proposed a date to consolodate.
thesarazin: Did you ameliorate his inferior trait?
melombardi: I surrender to your superior blender.

Well. Sir Mix-A-Lot is coming to Columbia.
I own the Sir Mix-A-Lot album "Chief Boot Knocka" and can probably sing(?) along to every song on it.
Ass Music has really made a comeback in the last year or so, mainly due to The Thong Song. Remember back during the mid-ninetys? Gangsta rap ruled, and people everywhere were too SCARED to rap about The Ass. You could turn on pop radio - you would hear crossover hardcore rap in which the ass might be mention tangentally - in passing. But only to be followed up quickly by a refrence to gun viloence or money. And then the next song would be some horrid Mariah Carey dirge.
But now things are different. You just might, when riding in the car with a relative or your significant other, be regailed by a song DEDICATED to a Big Ol Ass.
And that's the way it should be.
Not that I'm beyond being emberased from these songs. Far from it. It's just that I, like many Americans, hold a great reverence for The Butt. And it's good to know that somewhere, somehow, that's being expressed.
Thank you, and goodnight.

Hey. Sorry Andrew and Remi, that I never came back online last night. I literaly passed the fuck out. I got about nine hours of sleep or so last night - and I got up at about six this morning. That's pretty natural for me at this point. Anyway, the way I feel/felt is illustrating just how truly fucked up I must have been after this last week of work.
Anyway. This morning I've been fidling with the html of this page. I still don't have that book, so it's been pretty interesting. I've discovered some pretty horrifying colors.

Okay maybe not.
You know that whole thing about Columbia College and Columbia College Chicago down below? Ignore that. I was mistaken. Nice school, though.

Oh.
And Louis Black is coming to MU on the 15th or so. I HAVE to see him. Unless I have to work. Then I HAVE to cry. He's so angry! I love that man.

fascinating
Here's something interesting. Well, for me anyway.
Gene Wolfe, my favorite author in the woild, once taught a course in Science Fiction at Collumbia College Chicago.
Which is an annex of Columbia College, where my mom got her new job and I'll be going back to school for free in December.
I just put it all together today.
I don't yet know if I can transfer there (I suspect so) or even if I want to or am able to move to Chicago. But still, wow. That is one hella strange coincidince. And it makes me feel a bit better about the school's liberal arts program, and the school in general.
Chicago sounds neet, but I just got back to Missouri. Plus, no car. And it's a whole lot easier to slack crap from my parents when they're right here.
Still, it bears looking into(!).
Anyway. I should be getting a book on HTML from Evan on Tuesday or so, so look for this page to change. I'm thinking a tribute to Marilyn Manson, with dripping blood red fonts, huge sized gif files and some sweet auto-loading midi tunes.
Can ya feel it?
Now I collapse.

must. . .reach...utility belt.
guh.
work is like this thing that pretends to like me, but really is trying to eat me.
Evan and Jeremy came by work today, but I really couldn't even talk to them. I told them to call me tonight, but I know I'll wuss out. I am freaking dead.
I have Tuesday and Wednsday off, so expect massive Content and AIM presence those days. I'll probably go to my parents house and goof off. Maybe I'll get Freespace 2 back from That Guy. I think my brain has been telling me I need video games.
This whole working both days 8-4 on the weekend has to stop. I do it next weekend too.

Why do I work all weekend?
Is it cuz they like my gangsta walk? Is it cuz they like my gangsta talk?

"What am I going to DO!?! Heroes don't get beat up by small children!!"
Well, I better get home soon if I want to catch DragonballZ/Batman Beyond. I know, I know. It's just that the current stiryline is REALLY amusing.
I swear!
Anyway. I didn't get as much done as I wanted yesterday - although I did produce a very large amount of electronic crap. But no Borges or Comic Book. Man, really I just need to sleep. But there's something wrong with my tummy, I think, that may be the root of a lot of my crazy shit. So I'm going to make a doctors apointment for tuesday. He will fix me, I think. Then perhaps I can get more done. Also, I'm sure my employers would appreciate it if I was a bit more competant instead of rapidly aproaching competant. Or something.
I go watch wacky animated violence now. Don't you wish you were?

Wouldja believe it takes about ten minutes to walk here from my work, and I came here on my half hour lunch break? (Me = Loser) Back at 4. . .

Andrew -
I didn't say I wanted larger classes - I just want tutors who are very assured of themselves and the direction of the class. Mrs. Burns's Music Tutorial was one of those, although it was the cause of disenablement because the LD (not an exageration) part of my brain couldn't handle the notation. Still, that woman was and is a badass.
DAMN good point about the academic vs. personal life thing though. Damn good.

I don't do research.
The following is an excerpt from a letter I sent to one Mm. Jones. It is an incredibly one sided rant sorta about St. John's but also about the tochy feely nature of modern education. Mm. Jones attends Bryn Mawr, where the tuition is more that at SJC. PLEASE KEEP IN MIND WHILE READING THIS THAT I WAS A LAZY FUCKING BASTARD WHO NEVER DID ANY WORK. You have been warned.
"You know how you were freaked out about the power/responsiblity being fliped in one of your classes? That the prof was turning to the students to define the direction of the ciriculum? Well. Once a year juniors and seniors at St. John's get to pick classes from a list that the older tutors wish to teach. . . in lui of regular seminar. They are usually much smaller and more intense than seminar. Mine was on Othello and Merchant of Venice, although we never got to Merchant of Venice. There were about eight of us in the class. Mostly wemon. Very few type A personalities - they were all in Aristotle classes or some such crap. So, anyway, we just kinda went along talking about the play. Somehow, I think at the tutors discretion, we ended up laboring over very small portions or passages each class - I think we were supposed to use the OED to extract some sort of mystical academic meaning from two or three pages at a time. Well, at one point the tutor (a tall older man with scragely massive facial hair who wasn't as senior a tutor as his age would seem to imply) started ranting at us that we hadn't picked a direction for the class. That we hadn't decided as a group how we were going to aproach the play and study it. He practically yelled at us. Why were we even at St. John's, he said, if not to direct our own academic growth?
Well, eventually he setled down and we continued to study the play the same way as before. I think he was feeling insecure because our classes took such a miniscule amount of preperation. But that was my last semester at St. John's.
If you're a college proffeser and you don't have the confidince, dare I say conciet, to think that you know what you want a bunch of college kids to do, then you're a fucking moron. I want my teachers to be charasmatic and larger than life - to hand DOWN a little wisdom over here. It's what I'm paying for, right? I had a couple of teachers with that kind of power at St. John's - but not enough. Not $32,000 worth, anyway. It's goddam important in a discussion based class with so much potential for rampant bullshit that the teacher A) be in controll and B) have the skill to at the very least be able to trick me into thinking that they are a badass I want to emulate, that they have the pulse of academic truth. Becuase I don't do fucking research unless I think I'm going to impress someone like that. Color me lazy. But yeah, I feel your pain."
In other words - Mrs. Burns made me feel bad about not doing work, but Mr. Drucker just made me feel bad about life. Man, if only all our classes had been taught by Mrs. Burns or Mr. Burke. I probably still would have droped out! And my parents wouldn't have been able to afford it anyway. But I I'd feel a whole lot worse about it! :) I guess my brain is a riotus bunch of hooligans who need to be united by a charasmantic egomaniac. Is that so wrong?

question. . .
What would you choose between the following: unlimited monatary funds to spend exclusively on yourself, or the supernatural ability to fly?
I'm not sure, myself.

you frenchy bastard!
Hey Remi!
I was in the used bookstore today. Looking through the philosophy(?) section I saw a copy of: Over the Edge(!). Which I had never heard of untill you mentioned it. I thought about buying but I ain't gots the cash. And it wasn't on the same shelf as Machiavelli - but it was VERY CLOSE INDEED.

maybe
Last night I had a few disturbing dreams. The only one I really remember clearly was about Chase Stone. I walked through the doors - passed through them like a ghost - on the way up to Liz and Andrew's. Everything was spectral and like walking through foggy water, very slowly. Basically it was about missing the past and regret, I suppose. The dream was about being in that place, still in St. John's, and all the potential it represented. Being here in Columbia I haven't had much of a social life - although it hasn't been non-existant - and this has made confront things - or perhaps dwell on things I shouldn't. Part of me obviously wishes I had stayed at SJC - gone the distance academically and just as importantly, picked up a girl to be rediculously serious about and follow around. Those of you who know me from that time will know what girls I'm talking about. :) Just to have a future, or something. I know my envy sounds pretty funny to most of you SJC grads and otherwise.
But I think It's just that it felt like those times would never end, you know? That I would always have infinite time to get on top of my schoolwork, infinite time to ingratiate myself to Blanka Blankblanka, infinite time to be in that next play, infinite time to play Dreamcast games with Andrew and be goofy. But now I'm living in a shitty apartment by myself and working for a living with no degree.
So that means all I got going for me is me.
I think that's going to make me better in the long run. It's just last night in the dark I wasn't so sure.
Guess that mean I gotta get off my ass, huh?

sheeya
Woo.
Man. I'm tired. But perhaps, for those of you who know me, that should be a givin. Maybe I should just think that you're all assuming I'm tired. Or I could come up with some fancy acronym for it.
Wow. I had, like, half a cup of a latte I made today and man, I'm always taken aback by how much caffine affects me. I was flyin high for an hour or two - but once lunch rolled around and I had to make about a zillion salads I was Fuck-ed. So let's not do that again.
Well, I have tommorow off. That means - content. Write five or six e-mails, read some more Borges, and myabe take a wack at that comic book thing. I really haven't been struck by anything funny to do with these guys yet - maybe if I sit down with a pencil and paper and start writing SOMETHING I can come up with, well, something. I'm not sure if it works ike that, comedy writing, but maybe. We'll see if I can pull anything off.

hmmm
I have succesfully archived the last page. Or the next page. Or whatever.