Short Answer Question

The Cat bites me because I am awesome and taste like ramen.

Remember that - there may be a test later.

7 Steps to Happiness

You may notice that after staring at your monitor for a few hours, your eyes begin to get sore. I'm going to show you how to avoid sore eyes in the future.

1) First, go to your desktop and right click.

2) Next, select properties from the menu.

3) This will open a window called "Display Properties", from here, click the settings tab at the top.

4) From here, press the button marked "advanced", then the "monitor" tab in the new window.

5) Once the monitor tab is opened, search for the "screen refresh rate" drop down menu, and open it.

6) Your refresh rate is probably set pretty low, to a value between 60 and 75 Herz. What you want to do is increase it as much as possible. Increasing the screen refresh value increases the number of times per second that an image is drawn on the screen. Movies use a refresh rate of about 60 Herz, you probably want a value between 85 and 100 Herz. I would suggest experimenting with different values.

7) After changing the value, press apply and the change should be instantaneous.

Argos, Bitches

People shouldn't give me keyboards. I just use them as weapons, you know? Typing shits, being sarcastic college student, insulting Zack's promiscuous mom...

And if words don't work, I just unplug the keyboard, sneak up behind you, and lay down the smack.

That's right motherfucker - you gotta be like fucking ekat-ophthalmos to avoid me.


In other news, I am delaying going to sleep, because I have this feeling it will take forever. You get that feeling sometimes, don't you - faithful reader? Just lying in bed, hoping that keeping your eyes closed will eventually equal sleep, but you know it won't and you're just wasting your time. You feel like sleep is some sort of trick you just forgot how to do right.

Eh - sometimes it's like riding a bike, sometimes it's like fucking a shelf.




Oh, note to self: figure out when to use commas. Also, learn grammar. Good grammar.

A New Year, a New Verb

Things other people hear:

MC guy: Okay everyone, I need a verb!
Girl: Crysturbate!
MC guy: Cry...what?
Girl: It's like, when you're sad and you masturbate!

Shamelessly stolen from OverheardinNewYork.

Me, I don't hear anything. I wander between school and the apartment. People say stuff, but I'm generally to busy reading/fantasizing about setting hobo's on fire to hear them.

And of course, sounds of my angry crysturbation generally drown out anything I could possibly hear at the apartment.

Fool! You've Doomed Us All! You've Overloaded the Plasma Shielding!

Streaming radio you may enjoy: Fonal, and Little Radio.

If you read this, you will have trouble sleeping.

I Stab at Thee!

Don't you hate when you post, then immediately think of something better to say?

I can see my reflection, occasionally glancing in my direction. Is it possible to be arrested 'cause I'm too damn pretty?

Anyway, I needed to show you this:



And link to these guys.

And teach you about passport whores.

And mention that Salvation is At Hand.

That is all.

My Girlfriend Dumped Me, And I'm Really Broke Up About It

Well, I've got a guitar now.

It's a Fender Telecoustic, a combination acoustic and electric guitar. More importantly, it's red, and fucking awesome. I'm not really sure how to play or anything, but I'm sure I'll pick that stuff up easily enough.

I've been fucking around with the thing for a bit, but it's pretty out of tune, and I don't have a tuning fork or anything. So, yeah, if you've got a tuning fork, or any idea how to play a guitar, let me know.

In keeping with the theme established by title:

Mood: Antisipastic?
Music: Antiflag, Emo Sucks

Trivia

Fuck. I fucking hate sitting at tables for any amount of time longer than 45 minutes. I don't understand how people manage to enjoy themselves at these fucking trivia things. I can't imagine the type of people who schedule their lives around something as boring as trivia night, or any type of weekly dinner/bar thing.

Why should I pay money to hear shitty songs and boring questions for two hours? It's like driving an hour (round trip) to be beaten with a spatula by a large, angry, fat man. Besides the horribleness of trivia night in general, why would anyone eat at these restaurants? The food is boring and overpriced.

Example:

1 bowl of "potato" soup
1 glass of water

total price: $6.00 (including tip)

I've tasted better soup from a can! Hell, I've even managed to make better soup than I just ate, with portion sizes three times greater than what I was served!

This restaurant business is the greatest fucking scam in the world.


Is this what we'll be like 15 years from now? Mindless office drones, forced to choose between the loneliness of married life and the brutal mindless stupidity of this idiotic trivia night?

I looked at the people around me tonight, and I realized that everyone of us was dying, getting closer to death as we wasted our lives in the equivalent of a fucking cave.

Why should we let ourselves die quietly? Why not change, do whatever it takes to be or do something?

Fear of change isn't even a factor in this question. When the consequences for failure are so great, I would rather silence all inner or outer objections than live another minute like those poor bastards stuck in that eternal trivia night.

Foolproof Method of Getting to Know Strangers

1) Walking!!!
2) "Your aura is yellow - wanna go make out?"
3) "Have you ever thought of juggling toasters?"
4) Hand them whiskey.
5) Repel a robot invasion with their help.
6) "How long do you think a hobo would burn for?"
7) "So, how many twelve year olds could you beat up at a time?"

These methods may not give the stranger a good impression, but they will cause some sort of interesting reaction.

(Or get you severely beaten)

Oog 2

[Note: I changed the second half]

I am sitting in a black chair which perches on the unsteady ground like a faux Victorian iron spider which has been inexplicably painted black, hiding the beautiful not quite ready to rust yet form which I admire so much in those complicated, hulking, coal eating engines. I am perched on this perch-ed thing, rocking as I type both physically and mentally, fingers idly dancing like those of an android in a movie made several years ago and subsequently remade but never recaptured. The beasties' hands unfold like origami in reverse - extend and lightly dance over the keys - I imagine my hands doing the same thing, except they only dance, they cannot unfold and contemplating my hands doing anything related to origami makes me cringe slightly inside.

I hate that idea of something forced against its will and perhaps against its nature and believe that all true crimes have some element of this seed which is so repellent to my mind. But now I am forcing myself to write which may be a crime but fuck it this shit isn't going to write itself and sometimes you've got to take a few slaps, even if you're the one giving and receiving them.

I am like Santa Claus, except with "tough love".

But this love is stuck inside right now and this inside is surrounded by bones then flesh then freckles (not cancer!) and after these fleshy bits you find a sleek otter of a jacket, water resistant and light weight and prone to doing tricks the majority of which are somehow related to water resistance - but I like to think that this thing which has captured me and my heat has more tricks carefully hidden behind the façade which all inanimate objects share.

As I reach out to unsuccessfully remove a fly (which glories in the deep and unrequited love which it holds for my monitor), my hands emulate the hovering fly, almost imperceptibly stroking this monitor which holds so many memories while the humming faceless box below seems to hold nothing. I slide my hand along the monitor’s jaw, over each cryptic button, and sink back to my sunken keyboard, remembering typewriters which always intrigued me but were never as transparent as the array of molded plastic assembled before me.

This plastic is more intriguing then the rusted imperfect junk left over from those mythical Victorians who managed to destroy our hands and replace them with sleek iron lattice-worked puzzles, powered by artfully hidden pistons and locomotives fed by brownies pulled from picture books drawn by Edison. This plastic is human and ugly and easily molded and fallible (except the amazing and airborne black box). And because it breaks we can pick up the pieces and shake our heads and worry about obsolescence and fix it because we all need to be mothers and fathers and those machines of old left no place for fixing – no place for struggle only perfection and beauty and everything we hate.

Ooog.

I am sitting in a black chair which perches on the unsteady ground like a faux Victorian iron spider which has been inexplicably painted black, hiding the beautiful not quite ready to rust yet form which I admire so much in those complicated, hulking, coal eating engines. I am perched on this perch-ed thing, rocking as I type both physically and mentally, fingers idly dancing like those of an android in a movie made several years ago and subsequently remade but never recaptured. The beasties' hands unfold like origami in reverse - extend and lightly dance over the keys - I imagine my hands doing the same thing, except they only dance, they cannot unfold and contemplating my hands doing anything related to origami makes me cringe slightly inside.

I hate that idea of something forced against its will and perhaps against its nature and believe that all true crimes have some element of this seed which is so repellent to my mind. But now I am forcing myself to write which may be a crime but fuck it this shit isn't going to write itself and sometimes you've got to take a few slaps, even if you're the one giving and receiving them.

I am like Santa Claus, except with "tough love".

But this love is stuck inside right now and this inside is surrounded by bones then flesh then freckles (not cancer!) and after these fleshy bits you find a sleek otter of a jacket, water resistant and light weight and prone to doing tricks. A few fleshy bits protrude from the open top of my amphibious jacket and these are the parts that always get wet, which is a shame because Woody Allen tells me that the corresponding bits on his own body are his second favorite parts.

I have glasses now. I am secretly Clark Kent, except without the superpowers or small town upbringing.

I could describe what you see when we look at each other across the space between two seats or over a table or across a classroom or even dimly through the fog which never drifts over Oglethorpe's quad except at night. But you already know your view and even if you didn't I wouldn't trust it. Trust me instead - I know all about my face and I could describe it in minute detail but these details always change and I find the best description is the one I wake up to each morning, fumbling around the bathroom for glasses and coffee and sometimes catching sight of a nervous and grim pink blob which also catches sight of it's brother through the mirror, but always looks away when I do.

That's me. I am the pink blob.

I have nothing of the elegance of these molded bits of Brooks Stevens style planned obsolescence like soldiers and spies ready to seek out and perhaps destroy across this electric chasm. I am timeless every morning until I find my glasses.

This is me, the pink blob, grinning without moving my mouth as you watch me from behind this transparent glass screen or that slightly unsteady sheet of freshly printed paper you hold in one hand or even from behind your own pink blob as I finish reading this and avoid meeting your gaze and finally pause for breath.

Smokey the Nanobot Says

Bastard construction workers with their stupid fucking hammers. Always waking me up. I needs my fucking beauty sleep!

What we need is some nanobots, programmed to compile the new house from matter blocks and recycled elements from the old house.


Then I'll get the nanobots to fix my bike.

Do Not Try at Home

A transcript from an old journal, written while inebriated.

I smell like whisky (to quote the Irish)
The wiper bites but I feel life.
Julia Roberts is a better actor
I catch 3/10 throws
Child actors are cuter
Commercials are shorter
Everything is a headrest
Cancer is hilarious
The human jaw muscle can exert between 200 and 1000 pound of force
I feel candid but cannont find words as I watch a bald girl watch me.
Hotly Shit! Let's talk about memoirs; writing about our experiences! Have I felt/learned anything? Maybee. I sit here writing, my paper lit by tubes dwelling within my TV box, And I realize my experience is a bloated self importance and marginal self control.
[drawing of rocket ship] wooosh!
The glass is empty except for ice, the hollow placeholder.

Note

listen

Remember This

Officer: Ok, so let's run through this description one more time.
Injured Man: Sure.
Officer: You left the bar at about 1:30, and started down Glenn Street towards your car. That's the first time you saw the man who attacked you.
Injured Man: It.
Officer: I'm sorry?
Injured Man: I'm not sure if the attacker was a man or a woman, so I call the attacker 'It'.
Officer: But you said that 'it' was... uhhmm... molesting... a cat?
Injured Man: That's correct, but I believe it was fucking the cat with some sort of proboscis.
Officer: proboscis.
Injured Man: You know, those sucking beaky things on mosquitoes - proboscis. P - R - O - B - O - S - C - I - S.
Officer: Right. So after seeing you, the thing dropped the cat, and turned towards you, saying 'I will stab you in your eyes'.
Injured Man: That's exactly what it said.

Dreams

There is a bird trapped in the shrubbery behind my apartment. The bird's wing is broken, and every few minutes it forgets this fact and tries to fly away with only one wing.

I like to taunt the bird's mother and throw stones when it fails.

I Am Teh Win

I beat my bro in a whiskey drinking contest! Hurray!

Now I shall enjoy the fruits of my victory.

[Drunkenness!!!!!]

How to Make Enemies

I was thinking about fighting last night, and I figured the average reader might like to know a bit about how to avoid being hurt in a fight. Here goes:

Your main objective when fighting someone is to make them fall down. The useful thing about knocking an opponent down is that they almost immediately loose their will to fight.

How do you knock someone down? It's surprisingly easy, especially if you're fighting a boxer.

So the two of you are squaring off, he's got his fists raised in the air, ready to punch you in the jaw. Don't throw any punches, just mimic the guy's movements until he throws a punch. When a boxer throws a punch, they immediately become vulnerable, because they shift most of their weight forward, trying to hit you as hard as they can.

When you see that fist coming at you, you have a few choices.

1) Duck punch and give the guy a punch of your own. This method is considered fair, and I don't recommend it.

2) Pull the guy's fist past your body while moving in, and trip him by sliding a foot either to the side opposite where the punch came from or behind him. This method takes advantage of the guy's lack of balance, and leads to a hilarious fall.

3) Kick the guy. Doesn't really matter where, as your kick will probably reach the guy before he manages to punch you. Kicks hurt a lot, and if you're lucky will lead to him falling down.

Things get a bit more difficult if you're fighting a wrestler, but the danger to your health is much less than when fighting a boxer. The cool thing about wrestlers is that they're just fighting to "pin" you, while you're fighting to "make them cry". Do shit the wrestler doesn't expect, like punching or elbowing him just below the ribs, kneeing the crotch, or taking their head and slamming it against the ground until they stop fighting.

Anyway, the fight is basically over once you get someone to the ground and start hitting them. An elbow to the kidneys hurts a fuck of a lot, and the head slamming thing pretty much ends a fight.

Things not to do:

1) Fight anyone with a knife.

2) Fight anyone who is calm before or during the fight.

3) Insult the person you're fighting after you win. [This gives them a sort of moral imperative to do sneaky shit to you later, like beat the shit out of you with a few friends, or damage your property]

4) Start a fight. [The moral imperative thing. Never-ever appear to be the bad guy. People boo when the bad guy gut punches the good guy. They cheer when the good guy beats the shit out of the big bully]

There you have it. Remember, if all else fails, hit them in the back of their head with a big fucking rock.

Grrrr... Arrrgh...

"So I was snorting coke off this hookers back, and my Cyrix Services Cooking Zombie wandered into the room. The hooker was so surprised that she jumped like three feet into the air, and spilled the rest of the fucking coke! After the confusion was sorted out and I had stuffed the Co-Zo back in the utility closet, the hooker calmed down a bit. Still, that goddamn Zombie really ruined the mood. The next day, I went right out to the local Lab and bought myself the upgraded Cyrex Zombie, that one with boundry memorization routines. Best 1500 I ever spent."

Inspired by Zack's Zombie idea.

Various (pt 2)

Damn. I just realized that school starts next week. Though actually, I'm looking forward to going to class again. I'm just dreading sitting down to write that first paper.

I've been working on that book a bit over the break, and I've been having a hard time writing dialogue. I might just do it Bourroughs style and mash everything together.

Concerts I'm looking forward to:

BLACK REBEL
MOTORCYCLE CLUB
COCA-COLA ROXY THEATRE
MON FEB 27 2006 8:00PM
$15


MATISYAHU
THE TABERNACLE
THU FEB 16 2006 8:00PM
$23

Any other good concerts coming up?

Grades

Core C+
18th and 19th Century Lit B
Intro to Japanese Lit B+
Asian Politics B+

I'm a bit disapointed by my grade in Core. I can explain in detail, but it requires shouting and walking in angry circles.

What's all this about quality points?

Movies

Memoirs of a Geisha - 5
Syriana - 6
Dukes of Hazard - 4
Corpse Bride - 7
Munich - 9
Wedding Crashers - 6
Saw 2 - 6

END

Emo Sucks

Zack, watch this.

I Can Not Find My Shirt. Or Pants.

I got a new haircut!



And booze!

Hitchiking

Something I meant to post yesterday:

I tried hitchiking for the first time on Monday at 1:45 on Peachtree road. My goal was to get to Georgia State's downtown campus by 3:00 that afternoon.

My sign read: "Need a Ride Downtown", with a little picture of me standing by the state capitol and a smiley face.

I ended up walking the 4 miles downtown, arriving at Woodruff park 5 minutes before 3:00.

The Underground

In Notes from the Underground, Dostoevsky wrote:

"I could not become anything: neither bad nor good, neither a scoundrel nor an honest man, neither a hero nor an insect. And now I am eking out my days in my corner, taunting myself with the bitter and entirely useless consolation that an intelligent man cannot seriously become anything; that only a fool can become something"

It echoes certain ideas that have been tumbling around in my brain lately. I wonder if this conflict is something I have in common with those around me.

On the subject of "The Underground", I've been reading a lot about criminals and conmen lately. They all seem to feel mistreated by society.

It is possible to argue that their bad treatment is an aberration or consequence of their own misbehaver. However, these rationales do not accurately address the commonality of feeling between all those on the fringes of society. The fact that so many people feel alienated and wronged by society points to a problem within society at large.

I'll walk, and ponder.

Help!

Where is my cellphone?

I feel so cold.

It's not that I dislike talking to people, I just hate the standing still part. I speak so much better while walking.

Also, I don't really like speaking towards a group. It seems a bit impolite, and I feel like I should be focusing my speaking on one person.

To Read:

Nabokov's lectures about Dostoevsky
Fforde
Naked Lunch
The Uncanny Valley

Feliz 2006

I had an awkward night.

My choices for New Years:

1) Wander downtown for the peachdrop.
2) Play Civilization 4, go to sleep around 2.
3) Go to a massive houseparty, hangover the next day.
4) Chill with acquaintances from high school.

I chose option 4.

Something more interesting: People tend to develop a circle of friends they feel comfortable with. At a certain point, we feel a desire to move beyond our inner circle, transcend the self created by the groups' perception of our personality.

I'll develop this later, when the champagne is gone.

Oh, and fellow bloggers, please post the address of your blog in the comments section.