Nick's LiveJournal

Subject:	punk-ass bamas
Time:	12:01 pm.
Mood:	unfeeling.
Music:	Death Cab for Cutie - Debate Exposes Doubt.

Upon returning home yesterday, after having run several experiments for which I am not responsible, Kirk and I realized that we had a number of chores to run. For one, Kirk had to drop off his check to "Cingular Wireless" for unspecified services. Then, we had to go to "Blockbuster Video" and pick up copies of Chinatown and The Maltese Falcon, due back Sunday - these are for my Detective Film midterm, and I'm planning on watching and writing a paper about them later. Finally, we stopped off at KFC (America's Kitchen for Fried Chicken Meals) for a meal - I got the Colonel's Strips, and Kirk got Blazin' Strips. It was delicious. Then we went home and hung out. Eventually a few vagabonds showed up - Kerry and Joseph and John, and eventually Chelle. We sat around Joe's vacated room and drank TGIFridays pre-made drinks. Hrm. Eventually Jeremy and Meghan showed up too, and we went downstairs to watch Chinatown. Unfortunately I underestimated a) how long the movie was, and b) how tired I was. Down I went, like a baby on chloroform.

Eventually I woke up and went to bed. I woke up and woke Joe up, and dropped Kirk off at school, and got coffee with Joe in Bowie, then dropped him off at his house, then came in to school, where I am. A lot more happened, and I could make it seem interesting if I cared, but I don't, so I won't. Fill in the blanks.

Punk-ass bamas.

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Subject:	hoobla ha
Time:	5:30 pm.
Mood:	chipper.
Music:	Trembling Blue Stars - With Every Story.

As you might have guessed, I had Milton today.

After arriving at school yesterday, post-coffee, I tooled around for a while before going home. I can't remember doing anything interesting apart from giving Chelle a #2 pencil; even that was somewhat lacking. Upon returning home, I started writing papers - no wait, I started watching Firestarter. After watching the first two episodes of that, and being startled that Dennis Hopper didn't portray a psychotic killer, I started in on my homework - first to go was the "final draft" of my paper on James Fenimore Cooper's The Last of the Mohicans, a work that I hope will one day completely vanish from the face of the Earth. I completed that sterlingly, and with time to spare, so I got to work on my second short essay on The Jew of Malta, which is of course infinitely preferable. After about fifteen minutes of typing, and a few choice quotes from Harold Bloom, I was set.

Then I tried to start writing the bibliographies. For some reason, I hate writing bibliographies; even short ones. So I went to the bathroom and shaved my face; when I returned to my room I felt invigorated, invigorated enough to type out a few short lines.

Whoever stole my MLA Handbook, can you return it to me please? I'm lost without it; I searched everywhere for it; I have reached the conclusion that it was stolen. It can't have been David - what use would he have for it? Then again, perhaps he mistook it for a tome of great power; possible, since I doubt he can read, and he's suspicious enough to seek out the source of "the white man's magic". As a certifiably white man, I can guarantee that no exsufflation exists therein; I shall seek to reassure him when I go home.

Anyway, after writing all of these things, I went to bed, a bottle of pineapple Fanta and a cigarette lulling me to sleep along with the dulcet tones of Trembling Blue Stars - quality sleeping music, I tell you.

Waking up unwillingly, I drove in to school; my classes were mediocre at best, my demeanor deathly and sullen, my outlook grim. All this was solved when I returned to Room 3111 and found that I had four fucking hours to wait before I was able to return home - fuck you, cruel hand of fate. Adding insult to injury, the person who was supposed to be running the experiments today hasn't shown up; I am forced to deal with these morons and their imbecilic questions.

Thankfully, this evening holds in store for me a wonderful time - I have some midterm-writing to day, along with some other activities, like folding all of my laundry (I did a goodly amount of it last night, in a fit of procrastination). Be still my beating heart!

I should note, despite all of this, that Milton's Paradise Lost is really fucking brilliant - so poetic, so beautiful, and the subject matter is chilling! The infernal trinity of Satan, Sin, and Death - shivers run up and down my spine like electric caterpillars.

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Subject:	dream a little dream of me
Time:	2:10 pm.
Mood:	quite happy, thanks.
Music:	Trembling Blue Stars - Under Lock And Key.

hoowa! What a weekend, folks. After "hanging out" at my parents' house, Kerry and I wended our way over to Adam's house yet again - this time to see Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back. I had seen this movie, or so I thought - once it started showing, after Kirk arrived, I quickly found that I remembered only scant portions of it - I'm going to attribute this amnesia to the fact that I first saw it completely stoned. Ironically enough, that's the position I found myself in this time around as well. So we finished watching the movie and started in on the deleted scenes - at this point in my memory, sleep and consciousness intermingle quite a lot. To make a long story short, Kerry and I headed back to my house at around 3 in the morning, where we quickly lapsed into unconsciousness.

Upon waking up and attempting to take a shower, I found that my Vanilla Body Wash was missing - after a few minutes of Bath Products Scavenger Hunt, I found it nestled comfortably in David's shower downstairs. Unperturbed at this point, I was in the process of trying to have a shower when we realized that we needed to head over to Adam's to go CD shopping - INDIE CD shopping. I decided to eschew the shower in the interest of time - brushing my teeth was still of course essential, so I started in on that right away, or would have if it were not for the lack of toothpaste in the bathroom. I learned my lesson the first time; the tube was located down in David's bathroom.

I left a note on our bathroom door saying, with what I think was remarkable restraint:

Hey
Don't take things from our bathroom please.
- Nick

and then I headed in to work; the boss wanted me to restart the server. All the doors were locked and I don't have a building key, so that task went unfulfilled. Then I drove over to Adam's - after a few minutes waiting for Abi, we headed down to Starbucks for a few minutes. After deciding that the cold was such that it would be unwise to take the Metro down to Adams Morgan, we headed down, piloted by the capable Adam.

First stop: DCCD. Parking by accident extremely closely, we browsed for what seemed like hours. I made three purchases:
Trembling Blue Stars - Alive To Every Smile
Hey Mercedes - Hey Mercedes EP
and a little number by Parkerson called Primal Division. Not entirely bad - it was only $1.99, which means I was practically paid to buy it.

We retired to Subway to re-energize - emerging, stuffed full, we returned to the car. Then we drove to Dupont - after a bit of confusion stemming from the unexpected closing of 12" Records, we found Melody. I bought a Tricky single - Mission Accomplished, if the memory serves. After a bit of shopping we went to Kemp Mill Records, two stores down, but I don't think anyone bought anything. Then we drove back to Adam's, flush with victory - I dropped Kerry off at her house, and then returned to smoke and watch Six Feet Under - it was my first time, but I enjoyed it quite a bit. However, soon enough Weakest Link came on - it starred WWF wrestlers and their female cohorts - I quickly intuited that it was time to leave. Bidding adieu to my host, Adam, whose hospitality over the past three days is unsurpassed in all annals, I returned home, where Kirk and I chatted and smoked the last of his stash and went to sleep.

Waking up refreshed, I dropped Kirk off at school before heading down to Bowie, where I joined Joe (somnolent when discovered; quickly awoken) for some coffee and conversation - we were joined, at various times, by the all-but-omnipotent John Judge, the quiet-yet-redoubtable Jessica, and street-smart Aaron. After a few hours of basking in the sun, sipping a Caramel Apple Cider, I decided that I was having too much fun and I needed to go to school, so here I am.

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Subject:	cold and broken Hallelujah
Time:	9:13 pm.
Mood:	cyclothymic.
Music:	Jeff Buckley - Last Goodbye.

So I headed over to Adam's house after work yesterday; even after stopping off to buy cigarettes, I arrived several minutes before him. After hanging around the house for a while, smoking, Rae arrived and we headed over to the Cactus Grill, where we met Bret and Joanie in time for "happy hour". I'm happy to say that it lived up to its name in that it was happy; it was, however, longer than an hour. I contented myself with a Coke. Everything ended and we headed back to Chez Adam. After wrangling some people (Jeremy, Meghan, Kerry, Kirk, Ari, and Abi) into agreeing to some and see this movie, I picked up Kerry - arriving back at the house, we ordered tickets, smoked, and headed out.

I'm hereby declaring that I will never ever choose a movie to see ever again; sorry to all of you who had to come. The movie was a triumph, if triumph meant horrible waste of film. A few of the rowdier people in our row burst out clapping at the end - hoodlums all.

Then we went back to Adam's house and watched TV before eventually heading home. Upon arriving back at my house, Kerry in tow, I found myself locked out via deadbolt - something I had previously outlawed in my house by use of a note which read "Do Not Use The Deadbolt Again Or I Will Kill You - Nick". Someone had ignored said note - what's more, someone was ignoring all knocks, shouts, or whistles. Eventually I climbed into one of the back windows (fortunately left open, as closed windows are notoriously hard to climb into) and let Kerry in. As soon as this adventure was over, one of David's friends climbed up from downstairs and started babbling at us; weary from our trial, we were able to do nothing more than nod. It turns out that he was the only inhabitant of the house; well, him and his "girlfriend" whom I assume was nothing more than some stupid girl with low standards. Eventually he left; Kerry insisted on sleeping with the door locked after that.

Woke up early, came over to my parents' house, hung out here all day cleaning out my car, fixing it, etc. It's looking quite nice, if I say so myself. The highlight of today, by far, was a very zen conversation with Christina (the youngest Casler).. I can't actually remember specifics, just feeling a great sense of the absurd. Anyway, I'm feeling quite nice - must be one of those manic episodes, which I'm told can be a somewhat nice side-effect of cyclothymia. Score!

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Time:	2:08 pm.
Mood:	cyclothymic.
Music:	Cannibal Ox - Atom.

Here I am. I don't have much to do today, other than a little chat with Rocky Bauer and some timesheets I need to get handed in.

My day so far has been spent ordering pizza; I did a bang-up job, winding up with one large cheese and one large bacon for only $15.76. If you must know, Papa Johns. These pizzas came in handy during our pointless lab meeting - I was able to distract myself with dipping the crust in the dipping sauce. Delicious.

After the lab meeting I marched over to Susquehanna, preparing mentally for my meeting with Rocky Bauer. It would be epic, I reckoned; our discussion of my paper would quickly turn into a more intimate discussion of our lives - we would both leave with a great understanding of each other, and perhaps of mankind in general.

Alas, it was not to be; Rocky has a strict schedule and had a scant five minutes to spend simplifying the content of said paper and then criticizing. His criticisms were ill-founded and based on an ill-advised adherence to whatever he had said in class; when will I be blessed again in having a professor qualified to judge me?

I returned to work shattered, my high hopes for jump-starting my relationship with Rocky Bauer strewn about like used condoms. My high spirits of yesterday are nowhere to be seen; dark clouds loom on the horizon.

So I have about two choices now; go do something tonight or just lay around. I've made plans, it seems - I shall have to stick with them, as much as it hurts to do anything outside of the safe confines of my bed.

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Subject:	and then...
Time:	10:21 am.
Mood:	cyclothymic.

Before the Emerson, I might as well write down the rest of my day.

So after I posted that last entry from a computer lab on campus, I went to Detective Films. We saw Chinatown with Jack Nicholson and Faye Dunaway - very good movie, easily Polanski's best (that I've seen). I didn't want to stay around for the lecture, feeling as I did that I would surely die if forced to endure one more hour of school this week, so I made some excuse about how I had to go to "my mom's birthday dinner" and that I was "already late"... Professor Miller, bless his heart, believed me - after which I felt bad.

So I went home and smoked some weed - was reading Vonnegut's Hocus Pocus which is so far typical Vonnegut - John Irving without a soul and with a good deal of humor. Not bad at all.

Then Gordon came over. For some reason I was really high. We all went down to Adam's Morgan where I sat as quietly as possible doing quiet things, like drinking Coke. Eventually we came home, and I devoured an entire pack of Tic-Tacs in the back seat of Gordon's car - well, not an entire pack, as that would have been bad form.

We arrived home and I went to sleep. I had some hilarious dreams, most of which involve causing nuclear explosions by hitting small blobs of jello with a baseball bat. Then I woke up feeling like shit - decided to get a little more rest, woke up seven minutes later. Here I am. I don't have much to do today, other than a little chat with Rocky Bauer and some timesheets I need to get handed in.

Probably going to go see The Time Machine some time tonight, for lack of anything better. Anyone else want to come?

And now, the promised Emerson:

We are associated in adolescent and adult life with some friends, who, like skies and waters, are coextensive with our idea; who, answering each to a certain affection of the soul, satisfy our desire on that side; whom we lack power to put at such focal distance from us, that we can mend or even analyze them. We cannot choose but love them. When such intercourse with a friend has supplied us with a standard of excellence, and has increased our respect for the resources of God who thus sends a real person to outgo our ideal; when he has, moreover, become an object of thought, and, whilst his character retains all its unconscious effort, is converted in the mind into solid and sweet wisdom, - it is a sign to us that his office is closing, and he is commonly withdrawn from our sight in a short time.

UPDATE: looks like we'll all be meeting over at Adam's house sometime this evening to go see the movie. Phone me for details - oh, and be prepared to buy tickets online as this looks to be a blockbuster event and you wouldn't want to look like a sucka.

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Subject:	huh
Time:	6:03 pm.

Let's see.. went to Screwball Comedy last night.. the movie was Holiday with Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn, easily the best movie we've seen so far - stellar cast, excellent story, and pretty touching.

Then I came home and studied for my Milton test. Not so fun.

Then I went to bed, was woken up by Chelle trying to get my secret Lot 1 parking pass - Gordon picked it up off the ground yesterday. So I gave it to her and went up and studied some more - went in to class, was generally great in Class #1, including talking - Class #2, I pretty much ruled the midterm, and class #3 I actually managed to stay awake in. Between #2 and #3 I held court outside Susquehanna, with people coming up to me and striking up conversations as I listened intently - for some reason, people have been coming up to me a lot lately and randomly talking. Not altogether that bad.

I did however want to kill this one girl during Class #3. We were talking about Emerson - not a bad guy, if you can get past some of his stupid stuff (almost all of it) - and in one of his essays he says that "man is a dwarf of himself," referring to man's potential and how he fails to live up to it. This girl got it in her head that the natural state of mankind as Emerson saw it is "one large man" and that we need to get back to being "big" and she just kept on referring to that. I think she actually had this image in her head of one big person walking around, in touch with nature and God. I almost slaughtered her. I really hate it when people are too literal-minded - especially stupid people. In fact, I hate just about everything about them.

In other news I'm feeling especially smart today, in a way that I haven't for a long time. Everything's connecting.

Anyway, I have a massive post planned involving Emerson quotes, pictures, multimedia, and above all random punctuation and capitalization, as well as a good amount of creatively misspelled words. Hold your horses, ladies and gents.

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Time:

10:13 am.

While surfing the internet one day I stumbled across a web page containing pictures of me. Upon closer inspection I learned that the text on the page was written from my perspective, telling about my life over the last few years. It was very accurate, but it scared me. Everything significant (or even insignificant) that I had done for several years was documented here, even the less-than-savory bits. I immediately emailed the proprietor of the site to ask him to remove it. He responded that he had never even heard of me, let alone met me, and that his site wasn't at all about me. We exchanged a few more emails, each one getting significantly less civil than the one before. At last I gave up. Now I just visit the site every day, watching as new pages are added. I don't mind that much anymore. I have to say, I look downright sexy in some of those pictures.

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Subject:	in a gathering storm comes a tall handsome man in a dusty black coat with a red right hand
Time:	6:11 pm.
Music:	Nick Cave - Red Right Hand (DJ Spooky Mix).

Hoo boy. It's pretty fucking strange going back through over a year's worth of livejournal entries. Hilarious, actually; I can't imagine that I actually used to be that person. Sometime in the past, apparently, I would talk about feelings and the like - I can't even imagine that now. It's great - I almost perfectly encapsulated who I was at that point at time, and now I can go back whenever I want and remember.

You don't have no self-respect, you feel like an insect, well don't you worry buddy 'cause here he comes...

Last night I went home and ate some food, courtesy of Kirk. Before starting on my essays, I felt it essential to go to Safeway and buy a few items - once home, I drank a SlimFast shake and got to work. I was quickly finished; more than passable, I told myself. Then Kirk and I made use of his new, home-made bong - it's actually quite ingenious. I passed out in bed at around 12:15.

I woke up at 8:30 to take the trash out to the curb - I'm seemingly the only member of our house capable of this act. I stayed awake after that and busied myself reading Christopher Marlowe's The Jew of Malta... after which I will reread Faustus and Tamburlaine, I've decided. Interesting that Barabas was the only one of Marlowe's triad who didn't warrant a play named after him. Probably some sort of anti-Semitism.

Then I went to class - it sucked, but I survived, and I even made up a new word: prophylacteries. The official definition will go something like:

Either of two small leather boxes, each containing strips of parchment inscribed with quotations from the Hebrew Scriptures, one of which is strapped to the forehead and the other to the left arm; traditionally worn by Jewish men during morning worship, except on the Sabbath and holidays, for the express purpose of acting to defend against or prevent something, especially pregnancy.

Then I came to work and here I am - had a few massive emails to write, which kept me busy, and now I'm just waiting for Kirk to get back from class.

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Subject:	Sonnet - Silence
Time:	4:58 pm.

THERE are some qualities -- some incorporate things,
    That have a double life, which thus is made
A type of that twin entity which springs
    From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.
There is a two-fold Silence -- sea and shore --
    Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,
    Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,
Some human memories and tearful lore,
Render him terrorless: his name's "No More."
He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!
    No power hath he of evil in himself;
But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)
    Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,
That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod
No foot of man), commend thyself to God!

- Edgar Allen Poe

Luckily for you guys, you seem to stay as far away from any sort of Silence as possible. No use, then, in commending yourself to God.

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Subject:	bling
Time:	11:58 am.

Saturday night: went over to Adam's house, blazed and watched people play Monopoly. Eventually we took back the night with several rounds of Tekken, almost all of which we (myself and Rae) lost, which is no blemish on Rae's ability as a rough-and-tumble brawler but rather a reflection of my own poor skills. Street Fighter Alpha 2, anyone?

Then I went home and went to sleep - had some crazy dreams in which you were all robots. Woke up at 10, spent the first few hours of the day sitting in my room with the lights down low, surrounded by candles and listening to ambient trance. Joe tells me that I'm acting like a raver burnout - whatever the case may be, it's pretty relaxing. Then I played some Brave Fencer Musashi before heading over to Bowie and picking up Joe. We tooled around Bowie for a bit, visiting Borders, Barnes and Noble, Staples, and Hallmark in order to assemble some items that I needed. On a completely related note, if anyone needs any "push-pins" I have 99 more of them. After a brief repast at Wendy's, we went back to Joe's house and I watched Joe play PlaneScape: Torment briefly before going back to my house. I tooled around my house angsting for a bit before settling into an evening of Brave Fencer Musashidom. Then I went to sleep - around 12.

Woke up, drove Joe to Bowie, hung around Starbucks talking to John Judge about various and sundry, and then magically I found myself on campus, at work, with a full tank of gas and clean windshields. The details that brought me here are too inane to recount, but suffice to say that it is Monday. Tonight I have to write all sorts of essays - then I'm set for about a week.

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Subject:	hey gang
Time:	1:29 pm.

hrm, let's see... starting wednesday. went home, relaxed, went to Screwball Comedy - it was Cary Grant and Irene Dunne in The Awful Truth, a pretty good divorce comedy - Cary Grant is definitely a superb actor. Then I came home and went to sleep, I'm pretty sure - if there is anyone who has conflicting evidence I urge you to come forward with it.

Thursday: went in to school, went to my classes, came home, went to Detective Films - Hitchcock's Vertigo, which was brilliant as usual. Came home and there were a rack of people there - smoked some weed and "hung out". Went to sleep.

Friday: school, lunch with Chelle, paychecks - went home, went home-home, felt strangely deliriously happy for a short period of time, had some sort of "party" for Rae, Chelle, and Joe - all with birthdays close together. It was pretty beat, I think, but it was nice to get everyone all together and see their pretty faces. There are Nerds all over my living room floor - something should be done about that. Then I stayed up late talking, and went to bed, and woke up, and cleaned house a little, and drove over to Bowie, and got coffee, and went to Aaron's house, and went to pick up some swordfish steaks, and now we're back at Joe's house in Bowie grilling swordfish steaks and eating hot potato chips. Red hot, in fact.

Go weekend!

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