Intransigent, Celerity

Even though, I keep missing days on this project, I'm not going to let it slip by me completely. I have to make sure I do this for at least a year. I need to police myself harder to make sure I better myself in this very important area of my life. Although, lately it's been more about how busy I am and how little attention I can actually pay to the blog.

The good news is that the project I am working on right now is coming along quicker and quicker each day. There is sort of an end in sight. It seems doable at this point. Although, it's starting to give me wrist pains from all the illustrating and mouse-work.

I should be better about updates when it's over. Right now it's eating most of my free time since it is freelance. I will have more updates about it later. Especially in October when the book is due out in stores across America (and possibly the world).

Pastiche

I've spent a lot of my life watching TV and movies. I rewatch things constantly. I start off being entertained, then I become analytical and start breaking down plot moves, character decisions, directing choices, and so forth. What I love about my entertainment needs to be disected and inspected. Think of it as the idiot box version of taking a radio apart to see how it works.

One of the side effects of rewatching so many things is rediscovering your lexicon. A character says some throw-away line that has somehow floated into my subconscious and feel like I've learned some weird truth about myself. My identity comes from the things that entertain me. My speech is informed by robots in space, an incompetant office manager, or men who fight ghosts with lazer beams.

Intellectuals and boring smart people may dictate that I feel ashamed of being inundated with pop culture instead of the proper culture. Certainly, I should be studying poems, novels, or paintings to round myself out as a human being. No one does that. Those that who make the effort to be more highly minded seem only to do it to show off.

Don't get me wrong, I love art and I read sometimes (mostly comic books), but it hasn't been as big of a part of my life as television and movies have been. Sorry, prentetious art people.

Moil, Sapid

I had my 201 graduation show today at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater. It was a great pay-off to a long, hard battle of trying to learn to think on your feet. For a while, I was having my doubts about continuing on with my improvisation education. I guess i had hit a wall of some sort. Thankfully, I got my second wind and a lot of great help from a practice group that I absolutely love.

I started to get my bearings and things weren't so heartbreakingly difficult. To me, improv is like any other game. Like in basketball, when you first pick up a ball, you can barely ever make a shot, dribbling is slow-going, and you always get picked last. But, after some helpful tips and constantly doing lay-ups in the driveway, you can feel things getting easier.

Today's show felt great. I feel like I am getting better.

Redound

I'll be back to normal after I finish drawing and designing this book.

For now, though, please put up with my short, pithy, and late entries on the blog.

Thanks,
Adam

Pantheon

New York City is one of those few places that someone can know rather intimately without ever having to go for a visit. It's a place of legend that is the setting for many movies, TV shows, novels, etc. With enough savvy, you could map all these places together in your head. That excited me about moving here. I would be able to walk where my heroes had walked. I could be in the same places as men and women of fame and accomplishment.

But then when you actually get here, you see how normal everything is. Gray's Papaya is just a regular hot dog stand, CBGB's is a dive bar where the punk bands play, and NYU is like any other urban college. They are fundamentally no different than any place else in the country. The only thing that accelerates these places into the pop culture is the vast amount of people in the city. They spread these legends of greatness by word of mouth. Artists use their mediums to spread their love of a certain place to the masses. The best and the brightest come here to compete for attention at these hallowed halls.

It's just the same as it is back home.

Not to say that the city is without it's stunning attractions. The Metropolitan Museum is a massive collection of ancient history, fine art, and culture from all over the world. Central Park is one of the biggest landscaping efforts in the world and is bigger than some cities here in the US. Battery Park City was artificially created to make Manhattan even bigger and even more full of skyscrapers.

Things like that will always amaze me. However, just because something's in New York, that don't mean it's the best in the world.

Turmagant

What does a man run on? What fuels us to keep doing good work? What drives us to promote the general welfare and spread civility?

For me, it's guilt.

There is that commonly shared idea, that pervasive myth, of the Catholic Guilt. I'm here to tell you that it is very real. It's a faith system based on the shame-inducing maxim "Just look at what you've done!" Pretty much everything you do is harmful in some way. Even being born is somehow a sin. And you have to go to church and speak to God or one of his representatives and tell them you are sorry for being such a screw up. You have to actually be sorry or else it doesn't count. Oh, they'll know if you are really sorry or not.

If you don't end up saying you are sorry, then you go to Hell. Forever. You think that's a cool place to go? Google it, then you'll know that it is most cetainly not a fun place to go.

It's a hard thing to deal with rationally as a child, so these ideas of sin and punishment soak into your personality. Youstay alert to make sure you aren't having any fun or doing something that might anger God, one of his representatives, or anyone else that can hurt you with office supplies or sporting goods.

Then you get older and relax and wonder why you didn't have more fun as a child.

(In)Credulous

I guess my vow to keep consistant is not a very solemn one as I have missed yet another day.

What can I say? I am very buy. Big dog's gotta eat.

Quagmire, Ukase, Indigence, Supplant

Oh boy, I've fucked up and let 4 words lapse. Damn, now I have to do them all at the same time. Why do I feel so badly about missing something that I'm only responsible to myself for?

I guess it's because it's a goal I set for myself, but it is still a goal. I have failed to meet that goal in a satisfactory way. I'm therefore disappointed in myself both in the involvement and the mandate senses.

I've just been really stressed out about work and not making a lot of money to finance all the dumb bullshit I do. So I go out and do a bunch of dumb bullshit for a weekend and get deeper into debt and further exacerbate my situation. It's a self-destructive way to take your mind off of something. Still, it did the trick.

But now I have to figure out how to have some fun without spending money. I think I'll be back in a hibernation sort of mode again. I miss my evenings in playing video games and working on new musical stuff. I should record some more songs. I should beat Saints Row sometime. I should take down all the rest of the mob families in the Godfather game. I would do more art, but after spending a bunch of time illustrating in the office after hours, I don't really want to.

I can fill this money-spending void. Most easily by staying on top of my blog.

Argot

One of the most curious patterns of human behavior is the way we conduct ourselves in our different relationships. We all have different modes we run on. Work Mode, Family Mode, Friends Mode, Sex Mode. Like some strange awkward robot, we change ourselves to be appealing to our environment.

Everyone does this, but whenever you catch yourself doing it, it can be jarring. Is this really who I am? Is the same guy who laughs at unfunny jokes at work also the one who throws pumpkins at cars? Does the same sweet altar boy and Eagle Scout also refer to his friends affectionately as "asshats?" It can make one stop and think about who they really are, how they really feel, and what their morals might be.

One of the hardest parts about this whole identity pile mess is when you believe to have found the one person in the entire population that understands who you really are. What you thinks is your true self comes out and it makes you feel good. That seems to be what love is all about, at least to me. Not feeling like I might be wrong about what I'm doing our how I feel. But I'm nuerotic and full of Catholic guilt. Those two things are pretty much a common denominator in all my different modes.

The worst part of this psychological phenomenon is when these two different mindsets clash. Having friends over at a family function or having an office romance can make you feel really lost. You don't know how to act. You try to find common ground between these two identities and behave in a diplomatic fashion. But then something usually gives away and the more fun personality comes out. You end up cursing in front of your grandmother or trying to make out in the copier room.

I think Dexter Holland said it best: "You gotta keep 'em seperated"

Propotency

What if I have children and they all look like me? How scary is that! Little people that look just like you. That's weird.

Circumspect

I really like warning signs. I like their look and aesthetic, but I mostly love them for being so clear and concise. No ambiguity. No questions. No being pained with guilt if you disobey them. They are just signs. They do not care for you.

Stop. That's all. Stop. No, "Well, if you want to go, it's cool," or "You should know what to do here." Just stop. All that other stuff would be superfluous and wordy.

Signs care not if they hurt your feelings. They are going to say what they want, and no one will get hurt. Some people may get frustrated and disobey the signs, and they will end up hurting themselves and possibly others. "I said not to drive over the road during a flood. Now look at what has happened to your precious Celica."

Signs are honest. Signs are helpful. Signs do their duty.

Please. Be like the signs.

Gregarious

I wish I had that simple freedom of my teenage years back. When you could call anyone of your friends a any time of day to go do anything. To take the car out all night and see what kind of trouble was looking for us, as long as I called home and told my parents where I was going. To get someone older than us to buy us the cheapest beer they would pick up.

Alright, so the teenage years weren't the best. As a legal adult, I can get into bars, play my music on the jukebox, and bullshit with my friends. I can do whatever I want as long as I am in bed early so I can get enough rest before work. I can pay my own bills.

Well, it looks like being an adult sucks.

That's why college is so popular I guess. Minimal responsibility, no bills to pay, lots of sex everywhere. Still, cheap beer.

I really wish I could get those carefree day back, and maximize them to their full potential. I wish that I had no reason to work so hard. I wish that I could truly do whatever my heart desires. I wish that money would rain down only into my open window.

Do you ever have those days when you do spend most of your time awake with a good friend? Those days where you do just follow the fun wherever you hear about it. Those early afternoons that turn into daybreak. I want that. I want that a lot.

Maybe I am too intense as a friend. Maybe I take fun too seriously. Maybe I am just trying to make up for my college years where I stupidly worked instead of getting blitzed on a Thirsty Thursday.

Maybe I should get to bed. I got work tomorrow.

Prolix

The days of gray skies and bitter winds are starting to come to an end. The warmth from the sun is lifting us all up into a fervor and zest for our own existance, making us don the traditional trappings of comfort. Spring time has finally announced itself in the most grandest of ceremonies and in the most simplest of avenues.

Marvel and wonder fill my spirit as I am able to leave the breezes and drafts flow through the opened portals of my dwelling. The olfactory senses are alleviated of the dank and stale odors of stillness and occupancy. No grand majesty of nature is as pleasing as the cool breeze of a New Jersey meadow land spring.

How I have pined for the return of the cherry blossom and the dogwood flower! O, how I have prayed for the slimy grit of the municipal snow clearance to be stricken from sight during a cleansing spring rain! The silent missives of prayer have finally been acknowledged and bestowed onto a grateful congregation.

The sweet music of the birdsong has returned to mine lonesome ear. All manner of beast have returned from their slumber to fill the air with the sounds of grateful existence. The most feeble of creature feels the awesome power of the season.

May Spring be praised in Mother Natures most grandest cathedral! May the Spring be exhaulted and kept most holy! May the Spring be held in our hearts all throughout our years! For Spring loves us as we love Her.

Apostasy

I did't write yesterday because I was too busy working on a paying gig and doing improv stuff. It felt great.

Impugn

I love to start fake arguements.

There's something so fun about cursing and yelling like you are angry with your friend. It's as cathartic and engaging as a real arguement, only you leave with a positive feeling from joking around with your buddy.

It's really only something you can do with a close friend. New friends are not as receptive to fake abuse. Some don't realize it's fake, others take it to far, others just have no sense of humor about it. So, with the people you are closest to, you are outwardly meaner to.

Maybe that might be might group of friends, but that's what I love. It's like when you wrestle with your siblings as a youth. It's not in any sort of anger, or to cause any harm, it's just having fun roughing your loved ones up.

Trice

Hey, don't worry about it.

Debaub

I think I might be the only one who uses the NJ Transit bus system that actually takes a shower every now and again.

Every window has a slimy smudge from some greasy Jersian's hair product. Everyone that sits down next to me either smells like a cologne party or a brisk summer jog.

In such a dense area of the country, where people are already tense and angry, is it that hard of a courtesy to try and smell nice? It makes other people feel good, and it makes you feel good.

C'mon, people.

Efficacious

I am tired of being good.

I've made myself more stressed, more tired, and more unhappy by being good at what I do. I expected the opposite. I expected that if I were to excel at what I do, be efficient, and finish early, I would make my life easier. That's what they teach us in school. Get your homework done soon so you can go out and play. Get your papers done early so you won't have to do everything the night before. Don't go to exams drunk so you can focus.

And I, stupidly assuming I was a lazy kid, tried to do that. I got projects done on time. I broke done papers into steps. I even tried to study for the first time in my life in college. I tried to metamorphasize from a Type-B caterpillar to a Type-A butterfly. I did my best.

What I have learned is that acheivement in life is not really marked as easily as a chemistry test. There are no A's in the workplace. There are no gold stars on your passions. There is only up. Up. Only Up. No way to know how you are doing, expect for paying your bills and getting a decent meal every now and then.

So, becoming a multi-tasker, fixing problems, and finishing early only show that you work at a frenetic pace. You get things done fast. You're giving your all every day to be the best. So, when it's time to step up and give more, you have very little left to give. You don't have anymore energy, just time.

I've been sleeping terribly, because I still feel the need to come home and do a lot of personal work. I stay up late trying to get as much in as I can.

You may notice this one is late. Well, there you go. I did my best.

Cavort

Today's word is pretty ironic, since there is very little to celebrate with carefree dancing and skipping.

The weather is shit, flooding people from their homes, lawyers are jumping to their deaths leaving their limbs to be found on the ground below, and now some senseless act of violence has marked a macabre milestone in American history.

Over 30 people have lost their lives to a madman with several guns, a lot of ammo, and a lot of determination to take people's lives. There are a lot of variables to this terrible event, so it opens the doors to point blame at someone, some strategum, some architect, some silent friend, or someone else that should have known better. None of this ever solves anything, or brings people back to their families, or brings anyone in any sort of pain the solace and piece of mind they need.

I don't want to co-opt these young people's pain and suffering. They need their own time to figure out how to deal with something that they don't even realize is national news. They need as much support as possible. My heart goes out to them. I wish there was something I could do. I can't, but I would.

Fucking asshole word.

Refractory

One of my pet peeves is stubborness. Not the kind of stubborness that comes with sticking to prinicple, holding convictions, or trying to just plain get your own way. The kind of stubborness that makes people act like pricks.

You know when you ask someone to go a bit out of their way to save you a ton of time? Those people who refuse to learn anything because they are lazy. People who have no other reason to make your life difficult except their own trivial exercise of power.

This can happen a lot at work.

Happy Monday.

Accede

Compromise. It's the bane of any group member's existence. We need it in order to carry on working as a group, but no one is every truly satisfied. Everyone is so absolutely singular, that human beings cannot agree on anything absolutely. There are things that we all deem as unacceptable behavior, like murder. Then someone decides that murdering is their passion in life and goes about murdering. So we all have to make an official rule saying "Don't murder. Just don't do it." Anyone who murders gets ostracized into a building full of other murderers for safe-keeping. Then those murderers can't even agree on anything. They take other people's property without permission, they intimidate each other with their scary bodies and scary voices, and they also go back to murdering. They share the same passion in life for murder and can't even agree to get along.

But there are tons of other hobbies in the world. Most of them, you don't have to go to prison for.

Spoonerism

Why is it that when we are the most nervous we lose control of what we are saying?

I wish this weren't the case, as it happens to me a lot. I get into my head and try to think about what I am saying while I am saying it and then deciding I should say what I am saying after I already say it. An awkward sentence to decribe an awkward situation.

What is the evolutionary precendent for being unable to communicate in the face of fear?

Those who can't rise to the challenge face the threat of being breed out of the human race. Those of us who think too much may end up dead and gone. Just like those who never bathe, never exercise, or never defend ourselves.

Why do we think too much?

There is too much to think about, especially trivial consequence. Life and death are consequences. Hiring and Firing are minimal consequence. Impressing and Embarassment are of trivial consequence.

I think we think too much.

Brio

Excitement is one of those renewable resources that we all run on. It can motivate us to work through the toughest of situations just to reach that goal we fix on. Having some sort of anticipation in our minds can make the days go faster, the good times seem better, and the problems seem trivial.

However, it's one of the renewable resources that seems to diminish exponentially as we get older. As a kid, you can get excited about anything. Ice cream, vacation, stuffed animals, nickels. But then we learn how lame things are. We understand that ice cream makes you fat, travelling from place to place takes forever, stuffed animals don't do tricks, and you can't buy anything with a nickel. Then there is some terrible tipping point where you don't want to get excited about anything. You feel the precious little excitement you have swishing around in your nearly empty heart. You don't want to get excited about Christmas, or your birthday, or a date. You know terrible they can be, so why bother?

I feel like that tipping point is very near for me, or possibly even passed. I should probably start jogging again. That helps.

Putsch

Let me clue you in on some facts, friend.

Did you know that the government has been putting flouride in our drinking water since the 50's? It's true. It has this strange electromagnetic effect on the nervous system. the earth's own electromagnetic feilds filter in through the carbon molecules in our bodies and then hit the extra flouride that is coursing through every tissue and organ. The reaction makes us hungry for cheap corporate foodstuffs and also makes us more gullible. It makes us buy things from commercials. It's true.

There are now more commercials on TV than there have been in the past 100 years. doesn't that frighten you, America? Or are you too busy sleepy comfortable on those memory foam mattresses that NASA designed? NASA made those beds so comfortable so we would never want to leave our beds. It keeps us fat and uneducated. It's the truth. That's the government's way of tricking you into settling for minimum wage and Fear Factor reruns.

When are we going to wake up and realize that the Tivo has been sent to watch us. It learns our habits and tastes. It records everything you see. It needs an internet connection! God damn it, people. Plugging in that box is like installing a CCTV camera overlooking your living room. And the government is the only one with a monitor, man. You might as well send them your dairy over the internet. That way the government won't have to use the Tivo to find out what you're thinking, and it will also know who you've got a crush on.

Wake up, America. Uncle Sam is being arrested by Chris Hansen. The Constitution was accidentally washed after being left in the big pockets of the corporations. The Washington Mall is where politicians are bought at retail prices.

Wake up, America. I have your answers.

Wake up.

Rivulet

One of the simplest, yet very fun, things to do as a youth is to learn to skip rocks.

I still love it. I wish I were doing it now. I love searching the shoreline for the flattest rock, holding it just right, and then letting it fly. Skipping once, twice, thrice, maybe even skimming along the top of the water for a while. Skipping rocks may be my first introduction into the wonders of physics.

My favorite place to skip rocks is on little creeks or narrow rivers. Then it becomes a challenge to skip the rock to the other shore. It's a great game you can play. Also easy enough to turn into a drinking game if you are camping.

Come to think of it, a lot of my favorite outdoor activities inolve throwing things. Skipping rocks, tossing a frisbee, throwing bottlerockets. All great lessons in science, all great fun.

I really wish it weren't still cold here.

Abecedarian

Children.

I'm not really sure how I think about children. Sometimes I think I want children, but I don't want to really raise children. I don't need to add that sort of life and death responsibility to my life any time soon.

I'm not good at teaching people things. I usually do things myself rather than tell someone how to do it. When you are trying to show you're child how to walk, you can't just sit him or her back down and say "Forget it! I'll do it!" and then walk a few paces.

Perhaps the hardest thing about raising a kid is letting them learn how to fix their own problems. After you get used to teaching them everything they need to know, you want toi step in and keep doing the job you think you've been appointed. However, you can't teach your kids how to be tough, how to rely on themselves, and how to deal with pressure by fixing everything for them. That seems to be the problem a lot of parents have now. They mollycoddle their children. They give them everything they need. In return, their children barely acknowledge their good fortune and just become huge pricks. These children think they are untouchable because they don't personally deal with reprocussions. Parents like this send their kids off to college and let them spend several years as an undeclared student. Meanwhile, the kid has no job, no outside responsibility, and no motivation to learn anything.

I went to a school with a lot of these kinds of pricks.

Being a parent just seems too heartbreaking. Your kids start off cute and needy, go to obnoxious, then less cute and obnoxious, then smart and obnoxious, then they sleep on your couch after graduation until things "fall into place." All the time you grow old, uncool, and out of touch. You get pains as your body deteriorates. The bills stack up since you have to pay for everything. You get fat and sedendary.

Maybe I just don't want to get old. Maybe I'm selfish. I'd like to think that it's my way of not screwing up another person's life by being their dad.

Obviate

Fuck.

I have a bit of a writer's block on this one. That may seem like I'm trying to be cute or intentionally ironic given the definition of today's word, but I am honestly stuck. I don't won't to write about traffic or people getting in my way or something contrived like that.

But I guess I have little to talk about in the ways of obviation.

I thought about writing some short fiction thing about some guy cock-blocking his friend, but I hate people that do that, and I really don't feel like stretching my brain like that today. I saw enough of that the night before, and guys like that are hard to make relatable.

I don't know.

I'll get better at this as time goes on.

Toper

I didn't write for this yesterday because I was out drinking.

Sorry.

Clarion

I sometimes wonder if I am anxiety-ridden or prone to a nervous attack. It's possible.

I'm very jumpy. Every time I heard a loud sound I'm expecting, or get a little bit startled, I perk up or even scramble into the fight or flight position. I wish I knew why. Most of my weird neuroses I can track down to some event in my life. For instance, I am uneasy on bridges because when the Memorial Bridge opened back home in Quincy, my dad looked over the side with me on his shoulders. I was probably in preschool at the time, so maybe my superego has exagerated the experience to tell me that bridges and heights are not safe. Loud noises, though, I cannot pinpoint. Maybe it goes back before memory and just being afraid of some unexplained sensation. Maybe one of the first experiences I had of pain was accompanied by a sudden auditory attack. Maybe I'm afraid that whenever I hear some loud noise, it means a werewolf is popping out to attack me and eat me alive. I would say it was thunder, but I like thunderstorms.

Whatever the reason, it is not something that will go away. Having to work on Manhattan's illustrious 8th Avenue (Which should be renamed "Ugly People Arguing Avenue"), I am often subjected to the frequent police siren, a loud truck, or some fire drill going on in a nearby building. More often than not, I have to stop what I am doing and put my head on a swivel to make sure I am not going to die. You hear that!? I am not going down like a chump!

I really hope that it doesn't lead to some sort of anxiety attack. I don't want to end up in some sound-proof room regaining my wits chemically while some nurses assure me that all the precautions are in my best interest. I really don't want to end up crazy. I don't want to be crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy.

I'm not.

Seriously.

I'm not.



What was that?

Deign

The company I work for has recently published a bound edition of someone's blog.

Blogs have never really struck me as the medium of a undiscovered writer. I don't think it is unreasonable for someone without any ins in the business to try new things. But it's mainly used by weird people like me. People that have some weird itch to put their thoughts or their daily lives out to the public. A limited public, though.

Blogs seem like a weird little art project. You can obviously put in a ton of work. You could use correct grammar and spell check. You could learn some fancy CSS codes to make it look professional. Most of us are just gonna screw around with it and make stupid little posts about our stupid little lives.

So the idea of publishing a blog seems really odd to me. It's all online, for free, to read whenever you want. You could read it on your phone these days, if you are the kind of weirdo that reads blogs on their phone. Why not give a struggling writer/blogger a chance to write something completely new?

Eh, what the hell do I know? I just design the covers.

Tenet

One of the things that they try to teach in improv is finding the "truth" in comedy. How be pretend to do things in a very real way and not trying to force anything funny.

It's so hard because we desperately all want to be good already. We copy the things we see and try to make these sorts of silly, you-had-to-be-there moments happen again. Instead of starting with others on the same blank page, you try to make the other person guess what you wrote down.

We all want to be funny immeadiately, but we have to learn that being funny is not the objective, it's the reaction.

I mean, I know all this stuff to be the right way to approach it, but I can't seem to make it work just yet. It's like knowing how to hit a home-run off of any pitch. You can know it in your mind, objectively, how to connect in the right way. But your physical memory is what needs to be informed. Your immeadiate reactions need to be shaped into the "right way" of doing things. Once it clicks, you could never imagine doing it any other way.

Errant

If there is one thing I don't like about the commute is that I am not driving.

I miss being able to take off and explore. I miss the little adventures. I miss the ability to make split-second decisions on what to do with my free-time. Go visit friends in other states, go get frozen yogurt, go to a movie that starts in 5 minutes, go look at the new houses that are being built outside of town. The bus won't let you do that.

My sense of adventure is limited, I'll admit, but it does need satifaction. I get crazy of the same old scenery. One thing that has replaced this need for road trips and wasted gas is following a party.

The city has so much hidden stuff that just following a group of people can open up venues and activities you were oblivious to. You get to meet more people. The best part is not having a long way to go to get home.

Arriviste

I wrote this awesome essay on being honest with one's self about how we each define ourselves, and how we should remember that success comes in steps, and that it's ok to pace yourself when it comes to your goals, but then Firefox crashed and I lost it.

So, a short summary of what I feel:

Don't act like you are better than you are, keep trying to get better no matter what accolades you recieve, and remember to slow down and have fun.

Also, don't use a browser that crashes.

Jocular

I got the rare treat of visiting a professional cartoonist's studio this weekend. Skip Morrow is my friend's hometown neighbor out in the Vermont wilderness. They live about 6 blocks away with only one house between them.

Skip let us explore his newly contructed gallery with framed prints of his artwork. He and I talked shop, as it were, about how we go about drawing things. Neither of us studied professional cartooning, but we both learned a lot on our own.

His gallery included a lot of his drawings from his books, corporate commissions, greeting cards, and also a few original art pieces. He has a lot of things for sale, and seems to do really well with getting customers coming out to his remote gallery.

After looking at his work, he let us take a peak at his studio. It was such a treat to see all of the samples glued to the walls, the bookshelves stacked with references, quirky picture books, and old sketchpads. Toys lined the small shelves above the door. It was like a grown-up's playhouse.

He also had some musical equipment out, since he was working on recording new music. We got to talk about playing, writing, and peforming as well. I was very impressed with what Skip had been able to make for himself. I was also really jealous that he was living an almost ideal lifestyle from my point of view. Skip has most certainly earned it, though. I really hope that I get to do what I love for a living.

Sedition

Everyone likes to think they are smarter than the people in charge. I think that is pretty common for all of us. We like to think that if we were to quit our job, the company would go out of business. We think that if we spin a believable yarn, we can get out of a speeding ticket. We think we are so smart.

Just because people are in charge, doesn't mean they are so distracted that they don't know what you are doing. They don't let you know because they are probably waiting for your weasley ass to fuck up so they can fire you. The police see you speed all the time, but figure that it's not worth pulling you over for only going about 5 over the limit.

The truly smart among us excel to positions of power, or are actively undermining us without us even noticing. Smart people don't sit around and stew about how shitty things are. Smart people get things done.

I think that's why we are afraid of smart people. They will obviously succeed more than the regular joes.

Undulant

Peace.

Quiet.

Nature.

A rented-out cabin on a bluff overlooking Lake Erie, a youth can hear the waves crashing all night. Bugs buzz and chirp in the cool air outside in the trees. The moon lights up the room in a dreamy hue. The youth cannot sleep. It's far too quiet.

He can only think about how much he would love to walk down to the beach at this late hour. Stroll along in the sand, cool and yeilding, while the waves spritz him with a light mist. She would be there, too. Walking smooth and confident over the bumpy sand like it was carpet. They would be with each other, sitting next to a fire to warm while they told each other the truth, about the real person they are, about everything they were afraid to admit to even themselves.

It would be like a movie where romance was king and the love was uncomplicated.

If only he had said something when he had the chance. He decided to just keep swimming in the disorienting waters. He dried off and walked back to his cabin. He knew what to say. Well, pretty sure he knew.

Excursus

The fact that anyone and everyone has a blog is sort of baffling. It's not too hard to understand that a person might feel they are so important and/or interesting that their life shouldn't be chronicled for the entirety of the internet to read. On the other hand, people divulge so much information in their blogs, like they would in a diary, that they would never even bring up in real-life conversation.

What is it about the honesty of the blog? Is it simply misplacing trust? Hiding behind a false sense of anonymity? It's one of those weird realizations that some people come to after it's mentioned in person-to-person contact. Hey, people actually read this.

And that's another thing that I am still not entirely sure about; why do people read other people's blogs? Most of us are boing, regular people with nothing new to say or give an opinion on. We may chat about the latest episode of our favorite show, how much trouble the cat is getting into, or maybe just some cock-eyed rant about the people who are annoying us that week. It's a practice in minutia. The truly exciting people are out doing stuff instead of writing it all down day-to-day. Then they write books about their exciting lives, because books are the more respectable form of written expression. They are also the most lucrative.

I guess that's what makes this whole exercise weird for me. I try to be honest. I try to write about interesting stuff. I try to be consistent. I don't try to advertise it, though. I'd rather it spread through word of mouth. That part is up to you, dear readers.

Presentiment

Storm's a-brewin'.

Looks to be a doozy of a storm, too. Sky's darker than it should be. Darker than it should be on a summer afternoon. Cool winds blowing in. Give ya a chill. Make your hairs prick up. Give ya goosebumps. It's a shame that these nice refreshing breezes always come in right before the weather gets terrible. Then all the sunshine comes back and puts that rain into the air. It's the humidity that'll get you this time of the year. Real shame that it's only nice before it gets all sort of terrible.

Best get to shuttin' the windows in the house, I guess. Get all that mold in the drywall if you let that rain in. Big mess. Make my allergies act up. Good thing I got the storm door in back in April. Need to be prepared in this part of the country. If you don't like the weather, wait 10 minutes, like my dad always said. Hell, last tornado that came through town touched down about 50 feet from here. Scariest god-damn noise I ever heard in my life! Like a god-damn frieght train was trying to find a place to park out on the road. Shit.

And I hate goin' into that god-damn basement. Never gets cleaned. Full of dust and agin' furniture and a bunch of other shit we don' need any more. It's like hiding in a smelly old nightmare from your childhood. And the monster isn't under the bed, it's outside rippin' up utility poles and crushin' houses and cars.

Hell, back when I was a boy, I was woken up in the middle of the night to go down to the basement. I woke up in my dad's arms as he was rushing me down them crickety basement steps. I was wide, wide awake as I heard a gigantic crash above us. The old oak tree we had growing in our back yard had broken the roof and started to push down on the wooden floor of our living room. We could see the floor crackin' above us. Before we could get out of the way, the floor gave way. Our sofa fell right on top of my mother. I don't think I stopped crying for about 5 years.

Looks like it might be a rough one. It's too dark. It just ain't a right color for the day time. It's almost turnin' the sky green. I hate these god-damned storms.

Roborant

Holy shit, it's spring! It's like 72 degrees outside! Can we have class outside today? Can we go home early? Is it too late to call in sick?

When the weather finally turns brighter, we all feel this sigh of relief. We can put away our thermal socks, wash our huge coats and put them away. We can leave the house with our favorite jackets. No one has a favorite coat. They are too bulky to love in the same way you love a jacket.

People move faster, emboldened by the comforting breezes and the returning warmth to their faces. Politeness hits an all-time high, as not to ruin the good thing we got going. We've all woken up from a mental hibernation well-rested and ready for life to be beautiful again.

Bikes come back. Dogs take off their ridiculous sweaters. Birds start to sing.

I hope that it stays like Spring forever. I hate it when it's too hot outside.

Autochthonous

I'm a creature of habit. I like my days in.

Although I love to go out to the city or on a trip or anything adventuresome, I equally love those well-earned days of lazy. Days where you don't have to leave the house for anything, you don't have to go outside, and you don't expect any company that make you get dressed or comb your hair.

These relaxing hours always start off with one of the best things in life; a hot shower, then getting dressed in pajamas. That's such an amazing feeling, putting on the most comfortable thing you own at the beginning of the day. It's a uniform of defiance. I'm not going to do anything today that would normally call for a pair of regular pants. The pizza guy could care less.

A little relaxation could go a long way. I would love to have these sorts of days more often, but I'm more glad to be out, expending my energy, getting things done, and meeting people. Then I can reflect on how much I hate being tired in a genuine fashion.

Expunge

It's almost Spring, and that means one thing; It's almost time for Spring Cleaning.

I have a natural aversion to having a clean living space. My tendency is to throw things where I believe they should go. Some instinctual system that I could never explain without sounding like a crazy man.

Then my floor becomes messy, things get broken under foot, dust collects. Nothing gets lost though. Barely ever. So when it does become time to clean, I just have to put piles into boxes or drawers then vacuum.

It's still a pain in the ass.

Because then there is the bathroom and the kitchen to clean. Places where grime and soap scum form. Rooms that require you to use chemicals that make you tear up and gasp. And at the end of the day things don't really look cleaner, since they've been stained for so long.

Maybe cleaning more than once a year is a good idea.

Dour

It's always startling to come upon someone with no sense of humor. In times like this, when there is so much tension, it's hard not to laugh at it.

As much as good as it is to maintain a sense of reverence and sincerity in the proper settings, like board meetings or funerals, it's as importance to show some irreverence whenever possible. Making fun of what should be respected is just that, fun.

Being around a person who sets things off limits for humor puts you on a bit of an edge. A declaration of offense could make you feel like they won' understand that you are joking about anything else. "I don't really mean these things I am saying. These are just jokes." A feeling of paranoia can almost take over. What if there is something else I can't make fun of? What if there are several and I hit everyone? Are they going to be mad at me?

Not to say we need to let every gross, racist, or deragatory thing be considered a joke. The automatic restriction of one topic or another is what's the culprit. A good sense of humor is not laughing at anything that's phrased like a joke. A good sense of humor is being well-rounded in what you find funny. The occasional gross-out gag, a subversive turn of phrase, a satirical political remark, someone falling down onto a cake, and even the occasional pun. If you laugh at things that are phrased like jokes, then you end up finding Carlos Mencia funny.

All in all, It's probably better for everyone if we all just lighten up.

Animadversion

I'll be glad when irony finally dies.

My generation thinks they are funny by referencing shows like Saved By The Bell or Transformers. There's nothing really inherently funny about these old TV shows or movies. Most of them are pretty crummy.

Sarcasm is pretty rampant, mainly from amateurs. People just taking a contrary stance in a snotty voice. No well contructed arguement. No wit to speak of. Just people being mean to you.

We're mean-spirited, insincere, and without any creativity.

I know I bring up a lot of problems and never really solve them or pretend to solve them. I'm not without answers this time. I'll leave you with the New Sincerity Manifesto.

Perforce

You know what sucks about having to do this blog?

Crummy words like this.
Inspirationless days.
A lack of formal writing skill.
An easily distracted writer.

I know it was my own idea to do this and I could quit whenever I want. I really need to keep it going. That's what successful people do, they stick it out and keep on working. And I really want to succeed at blogging.

Clerisy

I'm very Midwestern.

I'm not too fancy. I'm pretty easy-going. I try to get my work done. I don't cause a fuss for anyone. I use the word "fuss." I have no sense of entitlement. I'm polite to people in food service. I'm polite to people in general.

My Midwestern identity was really formed during college. A lot of my friends went to big colleges like University of Illinois and The Ohio State University. Although my friends had the same sort of sensibilities, they allowed me to meet some people who were clearly taking the higher education experience for granted. People who prided themselve on never going to class, or not even knowing where the library is. People who tell you to drink before noon to help cure the blues. Men who treat women like shit, and women who let themselves get treated like shit. My parents didn't go to college, so I grew up with the idea that higher education was a privilege not to be squandered. Partying is definitely a part of that experience, but it should be more of a reward for a hard week of class instead of the entire cirriculum.

Another thing that really informed my personality was having a really good friend at an arts college in the city. I was able to constrast our experiences in the same field. I got a real sense that I was getting a more well-rounded education, taught by passionate instructors. The big-time New York City college sounded more like it was a lifeless cirriculum taught by people with notariety instead of any sort of instructorial skills.

I'm proud to work hard, earn my rewards, and not ruffle any feathers. Then again, New York is making me want to ruffle feathers.

Empyrean

One of the spookiest things about dying is the finality of it all. When things end in life, like school, you have another step beyond that or maybe even another path you can continue on. Dying is it, though. You're dead and you're done. You don't get to see the series finale of Heroes. You don't get another Sunday morning pancake breakfast. You've opened your last birthday present.

That's what scares me the most. Being completely finished. Being active and busy is what I know best. If I don't think I have enough to do, then I get really antsy or even despondant. I feel bad that I don't have enough to do, like I'm wasting time.

I was pretty lazy as a kid. But there really isn't much to do when you are a kid besides sports. I'm not really an athlete now, so as a youth I was practically worthless. I scored one goal in soccer, but only because the forward and the opposing goalie clobbered each other and the ball rolled right in front of me. It was like in a movie. Very rarely in competive sports are your goals handed to you in Disney-esque fashion.

Going through high school, I was able to do more activities that fit my nerdy lifestyle that I was starting to settle into, like Quiz Bowl. In college, I hit my stride. I worked at a TV station and drew cartoons for the paper, all while taking 18 semester hours. I was in art competitions and putting on my own shows, and going to Open Mic Night at the Bootlegger regularly.

But now the idea of having to end everything all at once really scares me. But I guess I won't be around to be bored.

Adage

There aren't enough hours in the day.

Limpid

Ice has turned the city into a really dangerous obstacle course.

Some lazy property owners have been lax in their upkeep duties, and the ice storm has left to collect into a sheet of crumpled slippery death. The walking aimless tourists stop and prevent you from walking in the clear. Sometimes you are not only forced onto the icy patches, but into the stacked up plowed snow that is not going to melt until June.

I slipped on some ice today. Can you tell?

Specious

I think I looked a little too cool, so I decided to go get my haircut by a stranger.

I've seen a lot of cheap place on 7th Avenue, below 23rd. It seemed like the right thing to do. Cheap haircut, no fuss, no muss. However the barber I was saddled with was an angry-looking Russian who was possibly gay. Schlubby gay. No matter his orientation, he seemed eager to do anything but cut hair. Especially mine.

He shoved around my head, guiding it with forcible shoves and a finger in my ear. Snipping with little discretion. He took off my apron and said it would be ten dollars. I looked at the finished product every now and then, wondering why it looked so weird to me.

Later that night, I was stranded in Lyndhurst, waiting on my cab. After an hour, and no word from the car I called, I hopped in another cab I saw discharging his passenger. I chatted up my driver about rescuing those in need of a ride on St. Patricks Day, my messenger bag in the seat next to me. As I got out, I tipped the driver about 7 bucks because I was so thankful to get home. He asked me if I was religious. I said no. He said "Oh, I thought you might be a Mormon or something." Then I realized that I have a Mormon's haircut.

Appurtenance

I love my new tv. I absolutely fucking love it.

The roommate and I found it on sale, and split the cost. It's 27 inches of LCD High Definition love that imbues our living room with the light glow of televisual entertainment. It makes watching TV better, it makes my video games better.

It's the first real luxury item I've bought since moving. My laptop was a gift, my DVDs are by no means necessary, but also not extravagant. This marvelous TV, however, is very much in the realm of "No, you didn't need this at all."

We really did need it, though. The replaced TV was falling apart. It failed to turn on whenever you hit the actual power button. Sometimes the picture would blank out, and you would have to hit the screen to make it return to life. It took a little Fonzie finesse. Who wants to deal with that when they've got two episodes of The Office running back to back?

Taciturn

This is a very fitting description.

Descry

For those of you with poor eyesight and thinking about Lasik surgery, go for it.

When I was in 4th grade, I sat in a crowded doctor's office waiting to get my first set of glasses. I remember going right after school and not getting home until dark, having to wear a large set of spectacles. I never really had a pair that fit me very well. I broke my glasses often, repairing them with tiny screwdrivers or superglue.

When I went to high school, I got my first set of contacts. For a year, I had gas permeable lenses, hard contacts. Tiny pieces of hard plastic that you are supposed to wash with soap, rinse, and stick in your eye everyday. You never truly get used to them. You can always feel them on your eye. The first hour or two you have them in, you can't bear to open your eyes. Soon they dig a groove and settle in. You can't wear them swimming at all because they may slide out. You cannot wipe your eye too hard or they may pop off of your eyes. Make sure you rinse 'em real good, or you'll be stuck with soap in your eye all day. Also, if you only get one pair, and they are very expensive to replace.

Then for 5 years, I wore soft contacts. They were nice and comfortable, easy to replace. It's was still another chore to deal with in the morning and evening. Still needed my glasses if I took them out.

Then I had my eye surgery in 2004, and it was the best thing to ever happen to me. I now have 20/10 vision. I read all sorts of things comfortably from far away. Nothing to worry about.

I'll have to wear reading glasses at forty. Oh well!

Cogitate

I don't know if you people can tell, but I am usually distracted when I write this blog. I think it stems from the fact that I am distracted in real life.

I don't have a ton of things that make my life to ponder. There's nothing rough in my life that I need to mull over and figure out what I need to fix. I'm usually thinking about how much I want to keep playing Saint's Row but there is a super-hard mission that I can never finish. Things like that.

Daydreaming has been a huge part of my life. These private little tangents I go on often connect in the wildest patterns. Thanks to the magic of internet, I can actually substantiate my aimless brain's path by showing a browser history from surfing wikipedia for nearly 2 hours. How does a grown man start reading about Albert Camus and end at Rocky and Bullwinkle. Only Firefox knows.

Trepidation

One of the terrible ironies of my life is that I work for a man who has made his name in the Sport Fishing arena of publishing, and I suffer from a mild case of icthyophobia. I'm not sure what happened or why it happened, but fish have just made me nervous. The older I get, the more I start to dread being near a fish.

Fish are gross, slimy creatures with big dumb ugly heads and monster faces. They make no noise. They have no facial expressions. They just want to kill and eat. The bigger they are, the scarier they grow. Look at sharks. They deeper into the ocean you go, the more frightening these monsters becoming. Angler fish look like they were created by H.R. Geiger when he had to sub in for God on his day off.

Having grown up near the Mississippi River, I'm well acquainted with catfish. They are probably the spookiest fish, with their thick face tendrils, their scaleless bodies, and their sharp barbs they hide in their bodies.

I hate going into pet stores near the giant wall of aquariums. I feel like they are going to all crack at once and then all end up stuck to me. Even worse would be to fall into a hatchery trough, over-saturated with young fish. I would probably puke and hyperventilate at the same time and choke to death.

Man, I'm getting nervous just writing about fish.

Nonplus

Some one from my class decided not to participate in the class graduation show.

I'm really suprised that someone would put in the money, the time, and the effort for a class and not do the last thing you need to do to pass. That's one of my pet peeves. People who will abandon something that they work on because they don't feel that they want to meet the challenge.

And in this circumstance, it's pretty disrespectful for the other people. For us. We all felt left down that someone would abandon the team, the community, the friendship that we all built together over the past weeks.

I don't know. Maybe they missed because of traffic or death. A phone call would have been nice.

Effete

I did want to be an artist at one time. I wanted to live that romanticized poverty lifestyle, pouring all of my angst into my work, forging an oeuvre to become the touchstone of my generation.

But then I learned it's mainly decorating rich people's houses, and it's lost the appeal.

The art world is sort of a sad parody of itself now. It really has no relevance to people's lives now. It's become a sensationalist one-upsmanship contest. It alienates the public who aren't in on the joke. Although the joke is pretty old.

Art snobs deride the general public for watching television or movies that weren't produced by some Czechoslovakian crippled man. They laugh about how regular people hate Marcel Duchamp's found object work. They also don't seem to understand why anyone would want to live in Middle America.

I don't think I could stand to live in the world of hypocrisy, prentense, and rich-dude sycophancy.

Art people seem to be adverse to working for a living. Being paid for something other than the fruits of your genius is seen as selling out. But putting a shark or a vacuum cleaner in a plexiglass box is more than acceptable.

I'd much rather draw zombies for books.

Father Eugene

A quick, non-word post.

Fr. Eugene Middendorf, mentioned in the post Homily has died today. He was 88 years old.

He was a great man, and a big part of my childhood. He was kind of a nut, but I think that's what made him great with us grade school kids. We like it when grown ups behave like us.

Fr. Eugene was in a rest home for the last few years of his life. It always pains me to think about how we can get so old that we can't take care of ourselves anymore, and Fr. Eugene had no family to take care of him. I don't really want to think about what his last few years on this earth were like. He wasn't in good shape when I saw him last, about 8 years ago.

I just hope that wherever he is now, he's happy.

Coterminous

Do I have any peers? Who are my contemporaries?

Does anyone else keep as busy as I do? Where do the other designer/cartoonist/illustrator/artist/Trivial Pursuit champions hang out? Do they also have a head for insane amounts of minutia? Do we watch the same TV shows and movies? How comparable are our record collections?

Did any of them go to school in the middle of nowhere? Did they have to create their own fun? Is life rewarding them more than me? Why or why not?

Are they bothered like I am?

Malapropism

There are a lot of varying degrees of comfort in interpersonal relationships. Depending on how you feel about someone, you feel more at ease talking about certain taboo topics. Some topics might be avoided outright just to keep from complicating a simple friendship you really don't want to get too involved in. Certain good friends you may feel completely comfortable with to buy them a Christmas gift.

We all have our own little checklists for how involved you are in someone else's life. We take a weird sort of inventory every time we think about doing something that may be out of line. You wouldn't invite someone you just met on a cross-country road trip. You don't want to give a platonic friend flowers for any reason. A comic book geek like myself wouldn't want to take his new girlfriend to ComiCon.

Seinfeld popularized this whole agonization and system-building Americans deal with in their friendships and day-to-day relationships. I think it's made the country more neurotic.

The one benchmark I can tell I have, is that somehow, subconsciously, I start to talk incorrectly with the people I'm closest with. I'm very measured with my speech in day to day life. I use a lot of vocabulary words, most of which were drilled into my head in 8th grade by Ms. G. However, when I know I'm in the company of my best friends, I don't really think about what I am saying. A lot of things come out incorrect. Spoonerisms a lot of times. I've been known to say things like "This angries me" as well. I supposed my guard goes down and I don't worry about sounding like a jackass. By then, I think, my good friends already know I am.

Collegial

My last day of my first improv class was yesterday. I wish it could last a lot longer, but I guess it can't.

I got to meet a lot of cool people who all made me laugh. I made some new friends and started getting a practice group together. My confidence had grown a lot. What I love the most is the chance to perform again.

I haven't been able to do a lot of theater since high school. Grade school and high school, I did shows at the community theater and in school shows. I loved the comradarie of being in a show. Spending your off-stage time making friends, pulling pranks, creating weird inside jokes based on the play you are performing. Then aafter your last show, it's over. You go back to your regular lives, your schools, your day job. The memories of all the silly giggling moments, the great saves you made on stage if someone forgot their lines, the people you wish were in your lives more.

Those are the feelings that are going to creep back to me after my graduation show. Hopefully this isn't the last time I get to be a part of a show.

Indefatigable

I don't think I can stand the taste of energy drinks.

Before I started college, I worked overnights at the post office in Quincy. I had a lot of trouble adjusting to the schedule, even falling asleep in my car for an hour after I arrived a few minutes early. It was around the same time that Red Bull had entered into the American snack mainstream. Mountain Dew had their own version. Rockstar had just come out. I tried a lot of different nasty fruit juices to help me sort packages into the small hours.

They all taste like chemicals. It's what I imagine mad scientists in the movies taste when they are swigging a potion and grimacing. The mixture sits in your guts, corroding away your stomach lining as if to enter your bloodstream by any means necessary. It's never a pleasant experience.

However, people love to drink these things even when they don't need to pull an "all-nighter" (like the kids are saying these days). It's almost becoming a replacement for coffee. Kids are drinking it to get through their day.

Maybe if all the good shows on TV didn't air so late, we could get to sleep at a reasonable hour.

Galumph

I think one of the weirder things I've noticed about myself in recent years is how my clumsiness has helped improve my hand-eye coordination.

I have a bad habit of losing my grip on things, and it ends up in one of those bobbling juggling acts that you only see Yosemite Sam perform with a stick of lit dynamite. I've broken a lot of glass, spilled a lot of drinks, and ruined a lot of meals by letting them hit the carpet.

I always feel kind of foolish whenever I start my fumbles. No matter what you do, there is no recovering from such a spontaneous display of silliness. An intensive PowerPoint lecture of String Theory for an audience of 1000 peers could be immeadiately ruined by a slippery laser pointer. It is almost like watching someone trying to play hackey-sack with a found object.

After 23 years of practice, I've started to catch soap that slips out of my hand in the shower, or safely grab a falling off of a shelf. I'd much rather just be able to hold on to things.

Sagacious

One of my pet peeves are people who feel like they need to constantly speak when they are in a conversation with you. People who never really make a point, but feel the need to keep going and going until they think they have. I try to listen to everyone, but then I just start to space out and forget whatever is being said to me once I discern that they are spinning their wheels. Life's too short to talk through it.

I think that seems like a weird thing to say on a blog where I ramble on about nothing in particular, but there it is.

Entreat

I'm writing from work. Work on a Saturday.

I come in on Saturdays a lot. I'm the only full-time person in the graphics department, so I've got a lot of extra work to do.

That's just the way it is, though. It used to really bother me that I've got to bear the brunt of the workload. Then I have to think about it properly.

At 23, I'm designing a bulk of a good publishing company's catalog. I get to do illustrations for certain books. I have two interns working under me. I have a larger portfolio than most people my age. Other people in this neighborhood are working in sweatshops or porno stores.

If I can work hard to make my life easier later, I can take a few days out of my free time. As long as it ends someday.

Conflagration

The weather has always held a certain fascination for me. I get it from my dad. He used to videotape lightning storms off in the distance when he first got a VHS camcorder. He's always watching the Weather Channel. He can talk about fronts and pressure centers as if you knew what he's talking about.

You also get to see a lot of different kinds of weather growing up in Illinois. I've been in some tornado scares, blinding rain, and town-crippling snow. Power outages are normal in the spring seasons.

It's a fun kind of scare. You hole up for safety, but you are usually certain you will be ok. It's like a horror movie. It's all not real somehow. Well, until shit goes down. In 1993, a levee broke across the river from my hometown, effectively wiping out 1000's of acres of farmland, businesses, and major highways. Thankfully, we were safe at home.

I'm still kind of curious to see what happens in a major event. I was actually hoping for a blizzard this winter. New York is notorious for them, and yet we've only gotten two or three days of snowfall. I really wanted to see what it was like when the city needs to shut down.

I could have used the day off, too.

Profligate

I hate Entertainment News.

I hate what it stands for. I hate the way it invades people's privacy. I hate the way it disrespects the sensibilities of the viewing public. I even hate the way it's shot.

These incredibly smarmy hosts like Billy Bush, Ryan Seacrest, and even Mark McGrath throwing out buzzwords while the background goes all sorts of crazy. Their overly made-up faces talking about other peoples problems through a bleached, shit-eating grin.

I don't see how any of this information is pertinent to anyone. Britney's rehab, Anna Nicole's funeral, Marcia Cross's nursery? Is anyone at all asking for information about these topics? And if they are, do they really need to know? I don't see why we need to get into these people's lives. We have so much to with our own lives. The way their stories are presented, it makes you feel like you aren't good enough because you aren't living celebrity lifestyles. You don't have all the things the incredibly rich have. It's insulting to the happiness you can feel from getting a hard day's work under your belt.

I wish there were more things to watch at 7:30.

Surreptitious

I'm sure a lot of you have these moments, but I just have to talk about why I love them so much:

Imagine, you are in a meeting, a subway, church, or just someplace you have to sit and listen. You have to be patient and listen to one person. The speaker goes on and on, and you start to space out. You doodle if doodling is an option, you braid the frayed threads on your jeans cuff, or maybe you start to count how many times the speaker says the same word.

Then the speaker says something completely silly. Something people should laugh at. Something you want to laugh at immeadiately, but you hear no one laughing. Then you look around the room and catch the eye of someone else that wants to laugh. Someone mouths "what the fuck?" and you both start to giggle.

I love endearing moments like that. It's a simple little gesture that let you know you aren't the only one bored.

Ambit

As gross as I find 8th Avenue, I find myself walking up and down it quite often. Last Saturday, I made about 2 complete circuits between the Port Authority and the UCB theater. Hell's Kitchen and Chelsea are becoming my new college campus. The apartments are as big as dorm rooms. I have class. I have a job. I know where the cheap places to eat are. I try to get laid in the bars. It's almost a perfect substitute.

I'm not wild about the area. It's constantly dirty, no matter how much the 34th Street Alliance men in their green jumpsuits try to sweep. The gutters have pools of off-color liquid stewing near discolored refuse that you wouldn't pick up on a dare. Melting snow and rainfall knock dirt and debris off of the aged office buildings. Every block has a porn shop, bedazzled in neon flashes and misspelled signs. One shop has "condons", another sells "lubs" and a particularly racy one sells "S.M" porn. Scandalous.

The people are a special breed of disappointed. The faces are greasy and wrinkled, the voices are smoke-stained, and the health is fleeting. Young men walk down the streets with bats, and try to rough up shoe store emplyees. Family fights occur in the middle of the avenue and traffic rolls right past them. A man will scream on his cellphone about STD's as a man tries to sell you "NEWPORTS! FI' DOLLAHS!" I'm pretty sure those aren't Newports.

It's a weird sociological obstacle course for a floppy-haired white boy in his tattered barn coat.

The iPod helps.

Sycophant

I'm not a very good liar. I've tried, but it doesn't work.

I'm too afraid that people are going to find out that I'm bending the truth, and then I'll have to explain myself. Guilt sets it pretty quickly, and presents me from entertaining the thought of bearing false witness against my neighbor. Thanks, Catholicism.

So, in turn, I don't like liars in any form. Salesmen, players, con-men, and the illustrious Kevin Treudaeu. But then I also don't like people who fall for obvious scams. I can't expect people to always know what's happening to them, but a little education goes a long way.

Remember, knowing is half the battle.

Enjoin

I have interns at my job now. I'm in charge of people. That's pretty weird.

I never really thought I would be managing anyone. Every job I've had before offered no chance of upward momentum. Well, the grocery store did, but I hated it so much that I would rather drink bleach than be invested career-wise at County fucking Market.

Being the boss never really appealed to me, either. Most of the bosses I had were dicks. Absolute assholes. I didn't want people to hate me the way I hated these condescending, mean-spirited people that took too much pride in what they were doing. There's no way I ever wanted to be that kind of person.

In school, however, I took charge in group projects. By "took charge" I mean "did the all the difficult work". I was sure if I didn't do it, it would never get done. I knew it from experience. No one seemed to pay attention to due dates, especially in college.

And now I'm in New York and I have two people under my direction. I don't think they dislike me, though.

Hardscrabble

I used to never understand how people could let themselves get into so much debt that they need to call spending counselors and consolidate debts. It seems easy enough to not buy things you can't afford, or especially don't need. And now I'm here, and I can say that spending money makes you feel better about being broke.

That's hard sentence to logically think about, since there seems to be none in it. I'l try to explain what I mean.

Watching how you spend is a hard task. You are aware of your account balance at all times. The budget you set for yourself is automatically calculated on seeing any price on anything. Exhaustion sets in from setting limits and buying generic. Then something gives out. You stop caring for a night, you make a miscalculation, or you get a little extra money that you grossly underestimate. You go on a wild bender of spending. A "spree" if you will. You're not writing down debits, you aren't saving receipts, and you buy anything and anything you want. You stop thinking about all these mathematical accountancy chores you've had to do. it's spending with confidence. "I can afford it. I can afford it! I CAN AFFORD IT!".

Then you get your statements and you realize you can't. Then you spend the next few days eating mac and cheese in the dark.

Lapidary

One of the defining features of my new home in North Arlington is the necropolis across the street from my apartment. Holy Cross Cemetery is about the size of NArlington, and about as lively.

It's really weird to see forest filled with tombstones and populated with the occasional mausoleum. Nights, while looking out of the bus window, I keep expecting to see an occasional spirit or phantasm. I never do. Most people never see a ghost.

I would love to meet a ghost. The experience would probably just get freaked out and run away, but at least I would have an awesome story. Probably more awesome if I didn't run away.

I have this weird fascination with the paranormal. I don't believe in it, but I think it's a fun set of ideas to play with. I liken it to being fascinated with ancient mythologies or urban myths. We all agree it's false, but it is fun to pretend it is and let your imagination run wild. There's no way to predict the future with the stars, no one turns into a wolf-beast during full moons, and voodoo just plain doesn't work.

However I still hope there are ghosts. As much as I try to debunk whatever weird thing may happen to me, as much as I explain away every strange noise or sensation, I still want to be proved wrong someday. That would mean something is going on after we're gone.

Maybe it's better if nothing happened to us after we die. Then you have to think about how much you fucked up until the end of time.

Malodorous

I moved to Jersey to be safe.

Turns out the North Arlington police department busted a child molester and a theif that targets the elderly.

Good thing I'm in my 20's.

Hoi Polloi

I've got a brain for useless trivia. I absorb anything if it has to do with something I am interested in. I like to find out every single piece of information about what I like. I watch DVD special features and director's commentaries constantly. I read Wikipedia for fun. It's almost as if I need to fully immerse myself in my interests to fully appreciate them.

So, for my latest obsession, my improv classes, I've dived right in. I read Truth in Comedy immeadiately after buying it, cover to cover. I am always looking for more to read. Whenever there is a chance to practice, I take it. I am constantly going to shows at the UCB. Analyses of the performers strengths and weaknesses are all I think about on my way home. Then, I think, "If I work hard, I could be a part of this one day."

Now that I've started my class, I'm recognized by a few performers just from being around or having them as a coach. It's struck me that improvisers, from the constant listening training, remember nearly everything as well. Things they don't have to remember just get left in their brain.

Finally, this sponge quality my brain's been cursed with, my voracious curiousity, is finally useful for something. Oddly enough, it's not just for winning Trivial Pursuit.

Apogee

Every now and again, I think about moving back to Quincy. Not immeadiately, but later in life.

To steal an anology from my friend Luke, I want to end up back at The Shire. I'm certainly in my trek across Middle Earth. Always fighting ring wraiths, or giant spiders, or Balrogs.

Unlike my friends Sam and Frodo, I have not ultimate goal. I have no event that's going to make me say "That's it. I'm done. Time to go home." There is no ring to destroy, only lands to traverse and people to meet. That makes me an uncommon Hobbit. I guess I'm more like Bilbo.

The reason I think about living in my hometown is because I love the easy-going pace. I like the familiarity. I love the mix of aborial and urban. I love knowing where everything is. Everything I don't like about the big city.

Who knows what will happen, it's just something I've always been thinking about.

Turbid

This weekend has been the first time in a long while that I've got out to bars on a weekend. The last time I did, I'm pretty sure it was back home during Christmas. I realized now tha I love the bar scene in New York City a lot more than anywhere else. The cheif reason: The Smoking Ban.

I have a lot of friends who smoke, and it doesn't bother me at all if they do it around me or in my car. However, in a small crowded room with poor ventilation, the habit becomes more of an annoyance. At the end of the night you have to make sure you shower and spray your jacket with febreeze so you won't make your house smell bad for the rest of the week. And taking a shower drunk is a very dangerous activity.

The first few times I went out to bars and clubs here in the city, I didn't really notice the absence of the second-hand haze I'm used to seeing in Quincy. That's because the lights are always very dim in these clubs for some reason. The biggest buyer of candles outside the Catholic churches must be all these trendy bars. But, I digress...

After a few outings, I realize that my jacket smells clean, my sheets smell clean, and my laundry smells . . . well . . . not like smoke. It was nice, but I think I took it for granted. That was until I went home for Christmas. I went out with some old friends to a bar we've been to ever since most of us were of age. My eyes watered, my throat closed up, and I was having trouble concentrating. It was like some sort of gas grenade had gone off. I couldn't understand it. Is it at all possible that New York City's air was cleaner than this bar? New York has millions of smokers, thousands of cars, hundreds of busses, miles of subways, and a few factories and power plants. How can I live in that environment, but still get taken down by a moderately smoky pub in the midwest?

It's a great feeling to not have to worry about smoke when you are going out. I know the smokers are pretty pissed about it, but it is pretty gross. Come on. Your fingers turn yellow and your hair smells gross.

Sonorous

Of all the things to resent in the world, my alarm clock is the top of my shit list.

It's the sudden realization that I have to be clean, dressed, on a bus, at work on time.

Thankfully, it's been silent these past few days. I've earned myself a four-day weekend. It's only half-over but it's been marvelous. I've gotten to play silly make-em-up games, went on a pub crawl, and slept in for 2 days in a row for the first time in a month.

Getting time off is an incredible feeling. Anyone who reads this blog knows how much I value free time.

I'm sorry that this isn't a longer entry, but I have some SCTV Network 90 to watch.

Doyen

I've been getting really into my improv classes. I went to a practice session on Saturday, and had an incredible time. Gavin Speiller was our coach for the day, and he seemed to have a lot of fun. It was encouraging to have him point out what he loved about scenes and what to mind in the future.

It's starting to become my goal to get as involved as possible in the UCB Theater. I love performing and being able to make people laugh. I hope I can keep ahead of the game.

It's also nice to see that professionally funny people think I'm funny as well.

Impregnable

My hometown is getting slammed with snow. My college closed after being slammed with snow. Upstate New York is getting slammed with snow. North Arlington hasn't seen much of anything.

It's been a while since I've been in a huge snow storm, where things close down, doors are snowed shut, and you get to stay home.

I love it when it snows hard. It's nice and quiet. It can be like watching fish in an aquarium as long as you watching from inside where it's warm and safe. The way things look fresh as a new coat of white paint is applied to the world. Nobody's walked in it, nobody's plowed it away, there are no snowmen. It's some weird sort of feeling, like seeing what the world would be like if humans ceased to be.

The feeling doesn't last that long. The black ice forms on the sidewalk and curbs, pooling in the street. Mounds of plowed snow hang out for about 7 months. The snowmen slowly melt away, wearing contorted, tortured look that only melting snowmen can express.

I can't understand why it won't snow here of all placed. There was a blizzard for the past two years before I move. Now that I'm here, it's one of the warmest winters on record.

I wish I could have my one little day of being held captive by the weather.

Raffish

I really wish I could stop watching the news. It's like picking a scab or pushing on a sore tooth. It keeps hurting me and I forget about it. I space out while doing it. It's something harmful and ephemeral.

I think I reasched my point when Anna Nicole Smith died, and the cable news networks decided to kick her when she was as down as she could be. She was no saint, but none of us are. It's appalling how much disrespect was shown to her and her family on a 24 hour news cycle. They would compare her to Marilyn Monroe, only adding that she was far less famous and far more tragic. They had people who had met her professionally discuss how incoherent she was at one particular point or another. The point they made the most is that she never acheived the kind of fame she wanted. Take that, Anna Nicole Smith.

She was what she was. Who are these journalism school flunkies to make judgement calls? She lost her son the same day her daughter was born. And they now don't know who the father is. I really hope her daughter is with a sympathetic party who will love her and raise her in a good way, and not just keep her around for whatever money she may have coming to her.

I never expected this to happen. I figured it would be a blip in the entertainment radar when I heard she had died. I did not expect the media to take off the gloves and let her have it, like a bunch of gossiping 3rd grade girls. It was like watching a snake eat a mouse that was already dead.

Some may say she didn't deserve any respect for whatever uptight reason, but that's just throwing the first stone in a very large glass house. She committed no crime, unless some of you hipsters think "reality television" is a crime.

Beau ideal

Is there a right way to celebrate Valentine's Day?

I'm not sure there is, since we as American's have complicated love so much that we actually have relationship advice in the newspaper.

We mix-up signals, we misconstrue perception, we go to seminars to figure out how to attract our soulmates, we take tests on the internet to match us on 9 dimensions of compatiblity.

We're fucked up.

I only bring this up because I am watching Mythbusters with my visiting friend John. The only thing remotely resembling Valentine's day is the bowl of candy on the coffee table. Most people would begrudge this situation, but I really don't care. I love science-based reality programming.

I don't have much of a card budget either.

Slaver

I'm having trouble sleeping lately. I feel like I can't get enough done to fall asleep on time. Hell, it's even late right now as I type up this essay.

My bed for some reason isn't comfy on odd nights, or maybe I feel like I should start a new project. I feel like I don't do enough for myself.

The college life is what I miss. Being able to call your shots, and make-up work on your own schedule is incredibly convenient, but not a luxury one is afforded in business.

It's nights like this that make me wish I would have gone to grad school instead of trying to start my life early. I probably would have slept better on an old oversize twin in a dorm somewhere, knowing i could call a snow day of my own to relax and get back my energy.

Maybe it's because I didn't have a weekend. Or maybe I'm subconsciously aware of Valentine's Day. Or maybe I drink too much diet cola.

Maybe.

Vivify

I fear that I'm not that good of a writer to keep this project going.

I haven't studied writing that much, except for maybe that short stories class I took in college. Even then, I got an A only because I shot a short film for my final project.

I like reading a lot. I can see the way that author's paint their pictures and make their cases. It just doesn't translate to me being a good writer. I love playing Wolfenstein: Enemy Territory, but I'm pretty sure I'm a terrible shot with a Luger.

The only thing I can really bring to this project is my tenacity. My promise to write something every day and attempt to make it interesting is all I can give to you honestly, my dear reader. Maybe the constant thinking and typing will make me better at expressing myself.

As the saying goes, if you want to be a writer, write a 1000 pages. After that, you're a writer.

only 983 more definitions to go.

Satiety

Fancy restaurants make me feel uncomfortable.

I never know what to do, or how to act. There's a lot of ceremony involved that I'm not privy to, since I did not attend a boarding school at any point, nor did I ever take viola lessons. The whole thing reminds me of when I started going to Catholic mass and had no idea how to follow along to all the moves I needed to do.

There's so much money going into something as simple as dinner, it throws me out of my right mind. I don't know how you go about ordering courses. I'm even afraid to order a soda because I think that makes me look low-brow.

New York has an abundance of these fancy-dancery places. And all sorts of different cuisines. Afro-carribean, Tibetan, Japanese Fusion, Brazilian Steakhouses.

I just want a shitball burger most of the time.

Another thing I am not interested in when it comes to fine dining is being surrounded by pricks. Guys trying to impress their dates with stories about skiing in Switzerland or their critical analysis of an article they read in The Believer. And there's women talking about the fall collections at Dolce and Gabana or talking about homeopathic medications for their dogs. I'd much rather be in a bar and grill with friends of mine busting each others balls and getting to laugh loudly and enjoy our meal together.

I don't know why someone took the crappy parts of eating out and inflated them. No talking, little choice, and expensive prices.

I guess the architecture might be better than the "Mounted Garage Sale" motif found in most chain places, but the music sure sucks more.

Crux

If there is one thing I am suspicious of the most, it's handwritten letters.

E-mail has done away with the tradition of correspondence, and has made the simplest conversations easy to have with a person thousands of miles away. There's no real need for pen pals as long as they have AIM. Long distance calls are practically free from charges now, even on cell phones. You could just call them on Skype if you were really technologically inclined.

So, on the rare occasion that a letter arrives, it's usually a bill you can't pay with online checking, or a greeting card. When it's an actual letter, it's almost a drag. You have to read the other person's handwriting, and you haven't read anyone's handwriting since grade school, not even your own. And of course it's sloppy because the other person has been typing everything for nearly 10 years at the very least. There you are deciphering a letter from someone who is probably in your Blackberry address book. You almost want to call them and ask for a summary of what they wrote so you can get back to handwriting a check for that refrigerator invoice.

This also goes for the people who write letters on greeting cards. It almost looks like the act of a crazy person, trying to fill all the space possible with words.

What's the point? Just e-mail me. That's easier to not read.

Bucolic

The summer before I could drive, I spent a lot of weekends at the hunting camp my uncle owned.

The family was all pitching in to build a cabin and cultivating the acres surrounding. There were big feilds of corn, rolling hills of tress, and giant cliffs of clay. The kids would spend most of the time sitting on the treshold of a tall clay incline. Every so often we would roll down the soft, jagged hill to the bottom. It was like falling on rubber bricks; it hurt, but not that much. Nobody ever broke anything, but we did get some cuts and bruises.

Nights were spent out by the fire in front of the cabin trying to tell ghost stories or making jokes that only kids laugh at. The jokes where the punchline is basically a curse word. We would sleep in tents, or the RV, until the cabin was hospitable enough for our sleeping bags. One morning, I remember waking up, taking a deep breath through my nose, and feeling something vibrate. I did a farmer's blow and out flew a housefly. It buzzed around very perplexed.

The reason we were out there so much was because of my grandfather. He had bought the land before he died. In December of 1998, he died of pancreatic cancer. It was the first big death in my family that I was aware of. My Dad's father passed on when I was 2, and his mom 3 years before I was born.

The family really started to pitch in and come together after my grandpa's death. The cabin became everyone's project. Since I was still kind of young, I had no real use to the building process. I was still very close with my brothers and cousins at the time because of constantly staying over at grandma's after grandpa died. We were stuck together to support her.

I really wanted to grow up, and go to high school, and be cool. I wanted to stay indoors, away from the heat and bugs. Family is more important, even if it's as silly as falling down a rocky hill.

Pyrrhic victory

I think I work too hard.

There are days I really want to live a Bohemian lifestyle, doing whatever work comes my way, travelling from town to town, and calling a small comfortable house my home. I like luxuries too much, though. There's nothing like forgetting about the world around you and playing "Gangster Killing and Robbery" or "Zombie Mall" for the X-Box 360. Travelling is far better in a mid-size luxury sedan than through mass transit. Odd jobs and side projects are finished a lot faster with a tool set than with a broken Leatherman you stole from your work's Lost and Found.

So, I find myself in a regular job that has regular hours and regular pay and a regular desk with a regular set of co-workers who do everything by regulation.

It pays my electricity bills, and my internet bills, and my video game bills. I should be thankful I have a job at all. I should be. But like every other whiner in his or her 20's, I can't be satisfied until things are completely perfect for me. Besides, if I got everything for free, I couldn't truly appreciate what I have done. The fruits of my labor are enriching, like the new album by The Shins.

At the end of the day, I feel tired. I wake up tired. I yawn all day. Does my love of luxury come at a cost to my own personal well-being? Yeah, probably. Especially on drinking nights.

Maybe I should start taking some vitamins.

Idee fixe

Today on the bus, I sat next to an incredibly fat man. Like orca fat. I didn't want to, but i couldn't find another seat fast enough. I just stared at the empty half of a seat and realized I'd look like too much of an asshole if I went "No thanks, rather stand."

But that guy doesn't want me to sit next to him.

It was basically me squashed against a giant beanbag chair with arms. Constant, hot, uncomfortable pressure. The pretty much sums up the rest of my day. The only thing that kept my attention was my congested head. When you are sick you just want everything else to work smoothly. It's just insult to injury. "I'm sick and i can't get the printer to work! My life is a living nightmare!"

The only thing you are aware of is how miserable you are and how much you want to sleep. I guess this is why we have sick days at our jobs, but when you make that call, nobody seems to ever believe you.

I can't believe I'm not asleep by now. I just want to sleep until I'm well.

Genial

Since I am very old, I have my 5 year high school reunion coming up.

It doesn't seem like much has changed for my friends or I since leaving high school, other than going to college and getting jobs. Nobody's personality has changed that much. However, some people that I know have made the decision to get married in the years past.

People have made the decision in their early 20's to stay with their boyfriend or girlfriend FOR-EV-ER! I went to Catholic school, so there should be no divorce.

It might just be my warderlust, or just my weird aversion to people, but I cannot see getting married at my age. There's so much to go do in the world. A lot of it you should do on your own or with friends who can take care of themselves. It's way too much of a responsibility to be tied to one person for the rest of your life. There's already enough you have to care for when you start living away from your parents. Why make it more difficult?

I also have no real desire to take care of children at my age. Having a kid would be neat, but I don't really want to take care of another human being. Even though I think I would do a good job as a parent, I know I will screw my kid up somehow. That's just what happens. Kids end up as all of us neurotic, socially-affected adults who are still wondering what went wrong to make us feel bad every day.

But I guess, having someone with you, on your team versus the rest of the world, is a great feeling.

Missive

Dear Port Authority,

You are a very scary place. You are scarier than a haunted house because the creatures that live in you are real. I would rather you be filled with werewolves and Draculas than the desperate hobos and angry commuters. If you were to shoot a hobo in the heart with a silver bullet, the police will get all pissed.

No matter what time of the day it is, you are no fun to be in. Several hours a day, you are host to a yuppie stampede. Thousands of rat racers trying to get some minute piece of recognition in their crummy desk jobs. At night, people sleep next to your soda machines, having no place else to go in the world.

You should change your name to The Desperation Terminal.

Yours at rush hour,
Adam


Dear Americas Funniest Home Videos,

Can you make a whole show of people getting hit in the face with balls in a rapid-fire presentation? It would make me the happiest boy in the world.

Yours in Schadenfreude,
Adam


Dear Readers,

I realize you have a lot of time to devote to other things. There's a lot of porn you could be watching, not to mention the countless Middle-Eastern music videos on YouTube. I appreciate whatever time you spend reading about what I think. I promise not to fill up this blog with a bunch of surveys about my high school years or the results of my "Which character from Studio 60 are you?" quiz. I'll try and keep it worthwhile.

Blogfully yours,
Adam

Conspectus

I have been very lucky. My college of choice gave me a lot of opportunities to excel and prove myself. I have also been to build experience. I was also very prepared for the job market with a large portfolio and a very good resume. Finding a job was tough, but I got a position that's worked out for me.

Resumes are a very tricky beast. Experts write books and weekly articles about what you need to do to write the perfect resume and to make yourself appear as hireable as possible. I'm baffled by how much of this material is out there. It seems like a very common sense project.

However, some sort of roseate attitude goes into writing the synopsis of a person's work experience. They include any job they've had to show the employer "Hey, at least I've had a job." Working as a fry cook at 16 might not really seal the deal on that sales job.

I have seen other people in graphic design classes send out pencil drawings to employers as samples of their work. It certainly shows their mastery of the copy machine. I hope they include that in the skills list.

Speaking of the skills list. Either ignorance or desperation sets in to fill out that crucial bullet point. I've heard of people including "x-acto knife" proficiency on their skills set. i don't think I could make up anything better than that. I mean, I could say something like "very entertaining/skilled impersonator" but then you'd all know I am bullshitting you. I am not here to bullshit you.

Also, don't use Comic Sans font. Ever. Just don't ever use it. Delete it off of your computer.

There is so much money and time being poured into a one page document. Something that will ultimately be thrown away by the majority of people you send it to, like junk mail. Junk mail that holds a person's future in the balance. Like the Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes.

Speaking of which, cross your fingers for me. I need to be visited by the Prize Patrol this Super Bowl Sunday.

Bear down, Chicago Bears.

Roseate

I miss autumn in the Midwest.

Winter in New England is pretty harsh and bleary. The urban setting makes for giant wind tunnels that pick up garbage and debris to pelt you with. That wind-blown bag from American Beauty becomes a little more territorial, dive-bombing commuters and dumping reciepts on their heads. There's no trees. No windbreak. No seasonal gauge.

One of my favorite things to do is to go on road trips in Autumn. The weather is nice enough that all you need is a jacket. You don't need to blast the heat or the A/C. And the view is incredibly beautiful as your drive takes you to the open spaces and wooded by-ways of the flyover states. It's a wonderful exploratory time.

I love the way trees look in Autumn. It's more interesting than just thick green woods. The different species of tree make a lovely patchwork of new colors. Then you get to pass through miles and miles of it as you play your favorite Modest Mouse album. It reminds me of college, Halloween, and many good times I've had with some friends I am close to.

I was born to ramble...

Moribund

Windows Vista OS came out this past Tuesday. That means it's finally time to get rid of my old desktop jalopy.

My first personal computer was bought after a summer spent working overnight at the Quincy post office so I would have one for college. I loved my Dell. I would upgrade it's RAM and storage space. We killed thousands of Nazi's in hundreds of WWII shooter games. We stole lots music. We went to LAN parties together. We were the best of friends.

One winter break, I took my Dell home and it somehow died. The power buttons wouldn't work anymore. My dad bought a new case and motherboard to extend the life on my machine. It was a weird Frankenstein almagamation of Dell periphals and 3rd party product. We were still able to have the same fun as we used to.

In my last semester of college, my PC has started to give out. The blowers started to grind and whirr, wheezing for breath. Applications slowed down. Firefox would crash. The speakers pop and fade out. It was in it's PC winter years.

I moved away, and my PC came along. It sits on my desk, hacking and whirring every so often during the night. It's once comforting white noise giving away to the cranky sounds of a dying man. I have a laptop I use more often. I keep the PC turned off most days. He's earned the rest. His time has almost come.

I really wish it didn't have to be like this. I wish I could buy an electronic device and not have to think about how it will one day stop working. It will stop being useful. It will one day leave me. I wish whoever made these things would make them last forever. I wish it weren't like this. I wish I didn't have to say goodbye.

I can't afford to replace my PC.