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| Monday, April 22nd, 2002 | | 6:55 pm |
Today I wrote out a little mugshot rant for Nat Roe to put in the next Mountaineer. The topic is the new popular haircuts "Jew Fro" and "Mullet", and I guess it's intended as somewhat of a joke. I said some cool shit, I can't wait for it to come out.
I also got a 7-page, two month English paper that I worked incredibly hard on back today, and it's an A- !! This completely brightened my day, but the natural buzz was killed in History later on, simply because History is the most boring subject ever taught, and having a teacher like Burroughs only makes it worse.
Smoked a couple blunts today with Joel, Mike, and Mary, breaking my fast that lasted for the entire spring break.
The sound on my computer is busted. Fuck. There is so much good music on this computer that I can't hear until it gets fixed, plus I can't hear when people IM me. I think it's the result of my dog freaking out on it while I was in Florida. | | Sunday, April 21st, 2002 | | 1:06 am |
Today at about five in the afternoon, I walked into my house after a week's vacation in sunny Florida to find that my dog had bled all over my room and fucked up my computer relentlessly. Apparently there had been a gigantic thunderstorm while we were gone, and my dog, being a dog, freaked out. This, in addition to the fact that she had been left without her family for a week, ignited what turned out to be quite a little episode, and my computer paid the price. Luckily, my dad and I were able to fix it up (which is obviously evident in the fact that I am typing this right now) and I then left for the 4/20 Serendipity.
At about 11:30, I hauled ass to Phunky Burrito with Jake Slovis and Krystal Mitchell (she's really not all that bad), where I bought what I anticipate to be an intriguing and highly enjoyable book by David Shiffman. It's called "The Cosmic Burrito", and is a document of the motivations and experiences behind the establishment of the lounge/Mexican eatery that has semi-recently become my favorite hangout spot in Montclair. The book discusses the cross-country journey of two college graduates who, for each of their own reasons, were not yet satisfied enough with their youth to set foot into the 9-5 world. They set up shop inside their van, and sold burritos all over America as a means of funding for their trip. Once I'm done with the book, I hope to find more meaning, significance, understanding, and even sentimentality (possibly) in 1 Phunky Burrito Joint. It's a true story (obviously), and David Shiffman seemed very excited and proud of it when I talked to him. He should be. It sounds like it's going to be a great book, and if he wanted, I'm sure he could make a great career out of writing. I hereby wish him the best of luck, but I don't think he's going to need it. | | Thursday, April 11th, 2002 | | 4:16 pm |
With the exception of...actually most of them, some of my friends have earned that title in their own unique, almost trademark way in my mind. They fit the definition of "friend" almost perfectly, yet slightly differently. Personally, I define a friend as someone who I can have endless, blissful fun with in an intellectual and substantial conversation. Someone who can talk to me for hours about anything that comes up, and speak about it in a thoughtful, honest way, making me depressed when the conversation finally ends. They don't even have to fit the classical personality sketch of someone who is "always there for you" or "understands what you're going through" or "provides a shoulder to cry on" or any of that bullshit; just somebody who I can have a good time communicating with, and can form a subtle bond between us through a long, multiple-topic discussion. For example, Yemi mothafuckin' Willson. Only after walking and talking with him for an entire eight period last year did I realize how smart and fun this kid can be. This past January I spent an entire Redwood School District practice with him, in which we addressed and analyzed the way pot has changed our lives and our buddies for the worse, how our previous outlook on it was so wrong and fucked up, and how we give it such a terrible role in our lives, which could be fixed if we simply chilled out with it. We made each other realize that herb had made us evolve into morons not by killing our brain cells and deteriorating our minds, but by making us conform to the immature mentalities, notions, and beliefs of generic, teenage stonerism. When Bob Gribbon came into the room after his practice, it automatically seemed to me that everything he said was incredibly simple and ignorant, just because he hadn't been present for my obtaining of this epiphany.
Mary is another friend who can give me some peace of mind during a conversation. When we begin talking out of sheer boredom, we usually speak on the topic of girls/guys. Crushes, past experiences, things we look for in the opposite sex...these are just a few of the subtopics on the theme of relationships that we spend abstract time periods on. She's a girl, and therefore one would think that I would have a hard time relating to her in that field, but ironically, I don't talk to anyone else who has as corresponding feelings about "love" to me as she does. I do, however, believe that she could have the same type of conversation with anyone else about that topic, because part of the reason we have such productive, intelligent discussions about it is because she's so open about her experiences. Since she's so unashamed of her feelings and her past, she speaks about them freely, and people can relate more to her this way. It has nothing to do with some form of chemistry between her and me personally.
I think I'm kind of like Chase in the sense that I value friendship a hell of a lot, but unlike him, I value extended periods of open conversation about just about anything, instead of loyalty and understanding.
But those things help also. | | Wednesday, April 10th, 2002 | | 9:43 pm |
I'm sitting at my computer, peacefully talking to my friends and minding my own business, when an instant message pops up from AIM user "Mr Jeb2". He opened the conversation with a simple "hey", and I take a deep breath. I know where this is going.
Basically, I don't want to get into the background of our conversation for the sake of my own as well as someone else's privacy, so I'll just say that a certain someone is angry at me for doing a certain something with a certain sister. I consider this person to be an aquaintance (though I don't know if I can call him that anymore), and though he has always seemed to me to be a good-natured, peaceful guy, I now realize that he has a violent side to his personality, which in this case is being directed toward and caused by me. He is speaking to me through the screen name of his friend, Mr Jeb2, but I don't know this, and I say some pretty aggravating, anger-inducing things as a result of my ignorance of his presence. Consequently, it is most likely that he now wants my blood even more than he did before. I think that I can safely say that I made some pretty decent points, to which he usually responded by saying (in third person so as not to tip me off that he was present) either "yeah, but if he runs into you he'll be on you like white on rice, like stink on shit, like fur on a monkey" or "whatever, fuck it, I gtg".
This whole situation makes me fear two horrible possibilities:
The first fear is simply an irrational fear of the man himself. What if I do run into him? I can't fuckin' fight at all, and this kid's dad fought in Viet Nam. Not only could I never beat him, I probably couldn't even beat his sister!
The second fear comes from the fact that I have no idea how the news that ignited his flame of pissed-offedness traveled to him so fast. This news was only released by myself to several people, and within four days not only does half of my school know, but HE also knows, and of the few people that I know who even talk to him, none of them would be as inconsiderate as to open their big mouths about this whole situation. So basically, I'm scared that this widespread knowledge could fuck up the relationship that I have with this girl. She most definitely wouldn't want so many people to be in on our business, and it's almost completely because of me that the knowledge is as prevalent as it is. The first time something incredibly positive AND girl-related happens to me, I'm forced to consider the chance that I might have fucked it up, and in addition, someone wants to kick my ass. Fucking wonderful.
If I ever find the asshole who told that guy..... | | Monday, April 8th, 2002 | | 10:39 pm |
Fuckin' Condoms
All other ages of mankind got to experience the natural feeling of sexual intercourse; we're the only ones that have to put balloons on our dicks. Not only does this dull the pleasure, but it must get pretty awkward when one is in the heat of the moment:
"Oooh, baby, I'm getting' hot, let's fuck!"
*Girl starts taking her clothes off*
"Wait just one second, I have to roll a balloon on my dick so we don't give each other diseases. I don't know where you've been, you tramp!"
I was just watching a comedian that gave that bit. He was a pretty funny guy. Tom Rhodes, I think his name was. | | Sunday, April 7th, 2002 | | 9:39 pm |
Yeah, this is my second entry in a very short interval of time, but I don't care; I'm just too bored to find amusement in anything else. I know that sounds odd, because when one gets bored, they're usually amused more easily than they would be otherwise, but this isn't the case with me. Sometimes I just get so bored that almost nothing can change my cabin-feverish state of mind. Everything I think of doing to pass the time seems like the most lame, prosaic thing since the Bernie Mac show when I'm dying of frustration on a Sunday afternoon. For example:
"Mom, I'm really bored."
"Why don't you read a book?"
"Nah."
"Why don't you watch TV?"
"Nah"
"Listen to music?"
"I do that so much that I don't even consider it to be an activity anymore."
"Play drums?"
"Nah."
"Well then, what do you expect me to do?"
My friends are awesome, and my life would be so different if I had never met any of them. Not that that would necessarily be a bad thing, but I'm glad that I've encountered the people I have, and I'm relatively happy with what my life has become because of them. Even though we have/have had countless feuds between us, make fun of each other constantly, act incredibly selfishly toward one another sometimes and are probably one of the most dysfunctional groups of kids in MHS, I wouldn't want to be a part of any other "clique". But maybe that's what makes it so great: maybe all the fighting and malice makes us grow into better people and become closer with each other. Or maybe I'm just dead wrong; maybe we're all too self-centered, stubborn and pretentious to ever learn from our mistakes and our differences, and we only continue being friends because there's nobody else in the whole school who would ever want to hang out with us. Yeah, it's probably the latter.
Courtney Graham bled all over Dave's drum set Friday night. Fuckin' hardcore to the max, man. | | 8:57 pm |
So last night was Ali's party. Mary dressed me up like a girl for it, so I was feeling pretty exposed in my short skirt and tights, but at least everybody seemed to be laughing WITH me, not AT me. The party went pretty well until Ali's parents found out that half of the people there were intoxicated, and one was throwing up in the bathroom. This got Ali pretty upset, which made me feel kind of guilty for going out about fifteen minutes into it and getting a little high myself. Eh, at least her parents didn't notice me specifically (at least I don't think they did), and she seemed to be alright with smoking, just not drinking. I guess people usually act more obviously drunk than obviously high. All in all, it was a pretty good time.
...so was Friday.
...today sucked.
...gimme gimmie gimme shock treatment. | | Thursday, April 4th, 2002 | | 6:31 pm |
I'm very surprised that it's taken me so long to realize how much of an amazing musician Jaco Pastorious was. I've had the ten-minute live song "Mercy, Mercy, Mercy" on my computer for over a year, and only just now am I taking notice to his absolute mastery of the bass guitar. Not only do his great skills in endurance and speed make him better than most bass players out there today, but he also plays incredibly melodically despite the fact that his instrument is often considered to be part of the rhythem section. When he plays with a band, he sets the tone for a song as well as leads the rest of the musicians in melody, and often adds bar after bar of mind-blowing improvisation.
Pastorious' skill differs from other great bass players such as Victor Wooten in that Wooten's skill is based on his ability to go to the incredible extremes of the instrument, moving so fast that it often seems as if he is almost inhuman. Pastorious chooses to treat bass-playing as more of an art, complementing the rest of the band and playing only what he feels goes best with each part of each song. This is a much more professional form of musicianship than the blatant flaunting of talent that Wooten completely exaggerates and overdoes. While Wooten completely hogs the focal point of every one of his songs, Pastorious leads the band and only needs to place extreme, radical bustouts where he feels neccessary. Also unlike many other bassists, he rarely plays slap-bass, which I personally believe to be a good thing, because all slap-bass sounds pretty much the same to me. | | Tuesday, April 2nd, 2002 | | 8:12 pm |
Yesterday in chemistry we watched a video about a kid named Adam who had severe learning disabilities, and was almost illiterate. We were watching it to learn about different learning "styles" and perhaps evaluate our own. Anyway, this kid Adam was, needless to say, doing terribly in school, and consequently resorted to drugs and alcohol, making his situation only worse. He eventually got busted for crashing a stolen car and spent a few years in juvie, where he got a better education than he had in the past anyway, because the public school district had turned a deaf ear to his problem and wrote it off as another case of ADD. After he got out he began working full time at a shitty register job instead of going back to school to finish his education. Basically, he failed in life, so fuck him.
Now, there were two things that I noticed about this film. The first thing is that Adam's situation was a perfect example and manifestation of what I personally believe to be wrong with our school system and its precepts. Like I've said before, the reason that kids turn to drugs and mischief and fuck up their futures is because they simply get so bored and frustrated with the repetition of school. Since the school system is too lazy to do anything to change this and doesn't take it seriously, this problem runs rampant, and many kids' positions in life never improve. This is exactly what happened to Adam according to this video.
I also noticed that the video itself, which was an episode of a show taped off TV, is an example of how low television networks will sink just to entertain the public and get good ratings. Though the documentary was said to be the story of a kid who faced conflicts because the school system's teaching was incompatible with his learning disabilities, it only spent about half of the time addressing that issue. The latter portion of the video was a detailed description of the EXACT crimes that Adam got arrested for and the EXACT drugs that pointed this kid in the wrong direction. It came complete with drama and teary eyed, sentimental quotations from Adam and his family, and soon reached the point where it was purely exploitive as opposed to decent journalism. What's a shame is that here is the story of a kid with a serious problem that sends an urgent message, and these things are being disregarded by a TV network and used as a vehicle for creating another sleazy, sex-drugs-violence Fox-style show. It's ridiculous, and I'm actually a little disgusted by it.
Show at the co-op this Friday. That should be fun. Then Ali's sweet 16 the next day. I promised Mary that she could dress me up like a girl for it (it's a costume party) and I hope she doesn't make me look too bad. Hehe. | | Monday, April 1st, 2002 | | 7:22 pm |
It's going to be a hard week what with the two tests, a quiz, and a project due and the end of the week, and I'm probably going to have to use some serious will power not to be too distracted from studying and working and all that bullshit. Chemistry is apparently supposed to get right back into the horrifying math work as of Wednesday, and I've already used up the one weekly cut that I allow myself for gym. Time to bite the bullet... | | Sunday, March 31st, 2002 | | 8:44 pm |
If there's one thing I can't stand, it's when my teacher assigns me a question on a worksheet or from a textbook that turns out to be seven consecutive questions that are all labeled as one. I can't see a single reason for any decent, considerate, honest person to trick kids into thinking that they have less homework than they really do, and any teacher (noble profession my ass) who would use this kind of pure deception and semantics is, in essence, a liar, and should not be trusted as a role model for children. I feel like screaming every time my teacher tells me to go home and do question number three on page fifty and question number three turns out to look like this: "How does the main character use violence to persuade little Jimmy to suck his cock? What would happen to the main character if little Jimmy had told his 300-pound ill-tempered father with two world champion boxing rings and a double barrel shotgun that he had been raped? What options does the main character have to save himself from little Jimmy's monster of a father?" Then it gets personal and tries to get me to use critical thinking in the SAME QUESTION: "Have you ever threatened someone into sucking your cock? Has someone ever threatened you into sucking theirs? What did you do? Will you suck my cock? Please? Fine...well then can I suck yours?"
All it does is teach us NOT to be good writers or perform to the extent of our abilities, because everybody just gives incomplete, one-word answers to the stupid questions since they weren't expecting to have to do anything of significant length. Makes me mad.
I think I'm just pissed because it's Sunday, so I feel like shit. Sunday is, by far, the worst day of the week with the least to look forward to. The sheer depression that ensues after I get home on Saturday nights lead to my brain just shutting down and becoming lazy and incapable of doing any more than a half-assed job on everything. Sadly, Sundays are also they days in which I have to face the accumulated homework of an entire weekend--a trajic coincidence that only contributes to my hatred of school and work in all forms. Eh, at least it's almost over. For now, I have to go to an eight-part question about Julious Ceaser.
Peace. | | 1:05 pm |
A lot of songs by the band Thursday have the word "in" in the title.
Understanding in a Car Crash
Paris in Flames
A Hole in the World
Dying in New Brunswick
Thursday is emo-core as opposed to the softer, more straight-ahead, constantly 4/4 emo rock and roll that Saves the Day is. The music of Thursday is a lot more tortured, raw, and sophisticated than softly distorted, up-tempo music that belongs in the CD players of sheltered little suburban boys and girls. Don't get me wrong; I like Saves the Day a lot, but their vocals are the only thing that qualifies them as emo, and their instrumentals are just plain happy. A Thursday song has distressed, helpless vocals and harder, more complex and sophisticated music and structure, and likes to fuck around with 3/4 and 6/8 time signature. Instead of adding sweetheart harmony, Thursday's guitarists blatantly scream their hearts out in pain and frustration. Instead of dancing around like a girl and shaking his head full of uncut messy, heart-throbbingly wild and handsome hair, Thursday's singer tears around stage like a REAL upset rock star. Emo-CORE. Core. | | Friday, March 29th, 2002 | | 11:07 am |
Last night was the wildest and roughest experience of my entire life. We finally get into Hammerstein, and I notice that it's such a small place that it barely qualifies as a concert as opposed to a "show". So I wait for Adam and Vinnie to buy t-shirts, and then we rush as far up to the front of the crowd as we can. Sucked down a joint, easing the pain of Hoobastank's nut-sucking excuse for a performance, and then 311 comes on. From the moment they started playing until their very last song I did not spend one second outside of physical contact with someone else. The place was so packed that I was shoulder-to-shoulder with God-knows-who for an hour and a half. I got light-headed from screaming along so loudly and getting my entire body crushed at the same time, and it took me about five minutes to move ten feet. Vinnie and I somehow got totally separated from Adam for 311's entire set, which sucks, because he told me that Nick Hexum stage dived right on him, and I wish I was there for that.
There were these girls there that somehow knew my name. One of them was like thirty five years old, and another was my age, but they were both stoned off their asses. We eventually got to about the fourth row from the stage, and the band was about ten-fifteen feet in front of us. P-nut was making faces at this little group that I was in right in front of him while he was playing. What a goofy mother fucker. He's definitely the coolest member.
One thing that made me really glad, though, was that they only played about two songs that I didn't recognize. I think that the worst thing about concerts is hearing new songs. You're supposed to hear new songs on the records so that you can sing along in concert and know when to mosh and get hyper and shit.
After about three or four of 311's songs, some kid vomited in the middle of the pit about five feet away from me. I couldn't even see it, but I hear people yelling "This kid's puking everywhere!" and seeing people back away from the middle of the pit as far as they could. I think I was able to smell it, but that may have just been the BO and perspiration of thousands of sweaty music fans.
The whole place was one, big hotbox!!!!!
In conclusion, it was by far the best concert that I've ever been to. I've never been closer to my favorite band or been able to make so many friends so easily just because we were all 311-heads. I've also never had so much physically repressed adrenalin in my life; there were times when I wanted to just flail my entire body everywhere but was so packed inbetween so many other people that all I could do was move my head and my arms from the elbow down, and that was only if I was lucky enough to get them above my shoulders before they were slammed and squeezed against my body like a straight-jacket. But, the band sounded great, Chad Sexton's drum solo was awesome, they played at least two songs from every album, they probably made Hoobastank realize how much they suck and made them cry backstage, and I got the wind knocked out of me a couple of times. All in all, I can't wait for them to come to the tri-state area again. | | Wednesday, March 27th, 2002 | | 7:14 pm |
So I'm doing worse and worse in terms of la escuela. There was a pop quiz in geometry that I think I may have fucked right in the ass, and I'm completely unprepared for tomorrow's history test. In English, which has been by far my best subject so far, I'm beginning to slip as well. It's gotten harder and harder to follow Julius Ceaser, and I don't think the test is going to be something to reminisce(sp?) about with a half smile on my face, lost in thought on my front porch at dusk when I'm sixty-four.
What's wrong with me? Wait...I shouldn't ask that, because i know goddamn well what the answer is, it's just that I'm in denial. Well, maybe this entry will help me progress to the next stage of acceptance.
I gotta stop tokin'. That's the problem right there. I've recently stopped doing it on school nights and such, but it's not really making a difference; in fact, I've only seen myself slipping into worse and worse conditions. Recently I've just been so empty-headed in every conceivable way that even the dumbest of my friends seem to be speaking intelligently. Shit, weed makes most people slow down over time, but in my case, I've stopped so suddenly it's as if I just slammed into a wall at a thousand miles per hour and haven't been the same since. I've slowed down with incredible alacrity....a paradox. I have this long term english paper that requires a lot of research, which until last night I had been too much of a stoner to realize made no sense and in no way supported my thesis statement. I'm in deep shit with this one, because it's due in less than three weeks and I have borderline oblivion to work with so far. Gotta figure something out.
On the bright side, my three day weekend is being kicked off tomorrow by a 311 concert that I've been anticipating for months. New York City...can't slow down.
Plus, I have a girlfriend now. 'Bout goddamn time, if you ask me. Actually, if you had asked me a year ago I'd say "bout goddamn time" as well. 311!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! | | Tuesday, March 26th, 2002 | | 10:45 pm |
You've got to trust your insticts and let go of regrets. You've got to bet on yourself now, 'cause that's your best bet.
.....what bullshit. | | Monday, March 25th, 2002 | | 7:15 pm |
I was walking home from Dave's house today when it hit me: the most ingenious, most perceptive conclusion/realization to cross my mind in a long time. I'm way too proud of myself.
You know how there's always been that notion that violent movies, violent video games, and music with violent lyrics is partially responsible for violent teenage actions? Well, I can disprove that with one song.
It's a song by a band that you all may know as Green Day. Green Day has served as the "first favorite band" of thousands of kids accross the nation, many of which had come close to memorizing the words to entire albums of theirs (including myself). As a result, there are many kids out there who can recite every single word of a song by Green Day called "Having a Blast". It's a pretty damn good song; nice guitar riffs, catchy melody, all-around well-structured. But there's one thing about this song that christian mothers may not dig all that much: the song is directly about a suicide bomber. Plain and simple. A frustrated suicide bomber who finally gives into his anger, and leads "a long trail of destruction", mowing down "any bullshit that confronts" him. No song can come closer to potentially influencing violent behavior than this one without saying "HEY KIDS! KILL! NOW! NOBODY APPRECIATES YOU, YOU MIGHT AS WELL BLOW THE SHIT OUT OF THEM AND GET SOME MEDIA ATTENTION AS A RESULT!!"
"But Nick, the Columbine kids didn't listen to Green Day, they listened to Marilyn Manson and Rammstein."
Exactly.
All the Green Day fans are either little kids or harmless, teenage stoners. If Manson's lyrics lead to school shootings, then the lyrics to "Having a Blast" should lead to terrorism and unmeasurable homocide. But it doesn't. Here are some lyrics that have gone completely unprotested and silently rendered harmless, and they're ten times worse than the most controversial Manson tune. The fact that Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris listened to Marilyn Manson has nothing to do with his lyrics or the actions of the two kids, and Green Day is proof. God, what a great band. | | Sunday, March 24th, 2002 | | 5:23 pm |
I've rediscovered Hunter Thompson. The elderly, paranoid, drugged out Rolling Stone Magazine employee has sweet-talked me into opening more of his books with his exaggerations, attitude, verbal malevolance, and total shamelessness that combine with his odd mentalities to make for some damn good reading. I recently started "Songs of the Doomed" which is a collection of short stories that features him pointing a gun at his typewriter on the cover. Many of these stories are bafflingly ambiguous; I can't tell if his actions in them are supposed to be taken literally, or if they serve as some kind of a metaphor or symbol for something that is beyond my knowledge. For example, in the first story, he meets a man who is being held prisonor in a public library. After drinking a 40 oz, smoking a bowl, and doing a little speed and coke, Thompson vows to take the man to court the next morning and make sure that the judge liberates him from the library to which he was so unjustly confined. Thompson then plants drugs on the "hopeless, disgusting pervert", and the man gets arrested by the courthouse's security guard the next day. While he is handcuffed on the ground, Thompson approaches him and proceeds to kick him in the face. He then boards the next train out of town. I know almost for a fact that this couldn't have really happened because, aside from the fact that there are many holes in the story (like the fact that there was nobody patrolling the library to make sure the guy didn't escape), it also seemed somewhat surreal in the way Hunter Thompson wrote it. Yet, I have no idea what kind of a statement Thompson was trying to make in this story. He may be trying to address some concept that I'm too young to understand, or I may just not be thinking hard enough. Either way, to me it's completely ridiculous, which could be part of the reason why I enjoy his books so much; the complete ludicrosity exhibited in his writing is often intriguing and just plain entertaining, and it's sometimes difficult for me to stop reading. What a whacko. | | Saturday, March 23rd, 2002 | | 11:52 pm |
This weekend sucked, and it still passed frighteningly quickly. I guess that just goes to show that time doesn't neccesarily fly by just because one may be having fun. The weather (especially yesterday) was terrible all weekend, we couldn't find that many people to chill with, and we found out that the whole town of Montclair may soon be suspects of a window-smashing at Cafe Eclectic that happened last night.Apparently, somebody shattered a really thick window down there and caused $250 thousand worth of damage. Witnesses say that they saw that the "perpetrators" were a bunch of kids on skateboards, and somebody even said that one of them was really short, so I was at first thinking that it could have been my little brother and his friends (the short kid being Gabe Tennan), but then realized that they wouldn't do that kind of fucked up shit, and that they had gone home that night before it happened. Anyway, the point is that if the guilty parties don't, by some miraculous longshot, come forward then the cops are going to start cracking down on any kid they happen to see riding a skateboard. That's what Rocco at the burrito place told us, and that's fucked up if it happens.
Yeah, so this weekend wasn't too great, but next weekend should be. I first go to a concert on Thursday night, which is immediately followed by three days off from school. THAT is going to kick some anus.
Why do I get so many emails and instant messages advertising porn sites?? I think it's because my screen name has the prefix "Mr" in it, so they know for a fact that I'm a male, and therefore target me.
Ok, it's technically spring now, so I'm going to be expecting some warm weather soon. No more of this alternating temperature-extremes bullshit; it's getting old, and it has to be something environment-related, which isn't too comforting to hear.
I'm probably moving my drums down to the basement tomorrow. The electrician came this week and put outlets in down there, so now my band can have practices there, and eventually have a show....possibly. | | Thursday, March 21st, 2002 | | 4:50 pm |
Once upon a time i had a brother named Tom who was so poorly influenced by his two older brothers that the first word he ever said was penis. | | Wednesday, March 20th, 2002 | | 3:12 pm |
I was reading the last few responses I've gotten in this journal, and I realize that Sankho made the most sense and the best point out of anyone else: Yeah, I need to stop writing about so much whiny negativity and quit being paranoid. And in direct response to Sankho: Yeah, I'm almost definatey joining journalism next year. I like reviewing music and movies and such.
In other news, aren't capri pants the stupidest things to come out of the clothing industry since shirts with nothing on them except for a huge brand logo? I hate capris very much. People wearing capris look like they outgrew their pants when they were four and have just been too poor to buy new ones. Just stick with either shorts or pants....or skirts, if you're a woman....or Scottish.
Today Ben Slovis pointed something out to me that took away all my trust on every theory or equation about everything in existance. He said that the numerals 1 and .9999999--> are the same number. Observe:
1/9=.111111111-->, 2/9=.22222222-->, [skip a few numbers because it's all the same], 8/9=.888888888-->, BUT 9/9=1. According to the previous pattern, 9/9 should equal .999999-->.
After explaining this to me, Ben Slovis said that not only is .999999-> the same number as 1, but that this is a counterexample that will mess up every system of mathematics and numbers. I then responded by saying that .9999999--> is not the same number as 1, because one would get an answer of .9999999--> by dividing 8.99978576 (the decimals are hypothetical) by 9, because 9 would go into it .999999--> times. Therefore, the numbers 1 and 9 are not equal, and the point Slovis made is nothing more than an abberation in the pattern, and the theory of chaos comes into play. However, this proves that every scientific theory about anything is unreliable. Theories are justified by patterns that is seen after many trials and experiments, but who's to say that any theory cannot be disproved by a counterexample, and scientists just haven't done enough experimenting? For all we know, anything, even things as simple as the equation for the area of a rectangle, can be invalid in certain cases. Think of the chaos and destruction this could potentially cause if we ever need one to apply one of these theories or equations to save the world for some reason. |
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