Every so often, a little gnat will fly into my peripheral vision. And reflexively, I'll lunge my hand out and try and crush it midflight. Not sure why, I can't even bring myself to squish a spider in a kleenex, but fuck if I don't automatically attempt to destroy that poor little fly. Normally, I miss horribly. My assumption is that it can sense the fast moving object coming towards it, air currents or something, and no enough to get the hell out of Dodge. So whenever I do try and catch the fly, I'll hold my fist in midair where I meant to have caught him, and I get deathly silent and scan the area, see if he's still zipping around. If not, I'll check my fist, and still usually I've caught nothing. But lately, I've been a fly killing machine. Something like the last five or six times it's happened, I've gotten that winged fucker on the first try. Once or twice, I've thought I missed, and then notice the dying bug on the floor, having been mortally wounded and then falling from my hand.

Why is this the only time I don't care about a living creature's well-being. Sure, I'll flush a spider down the toilet, but I never crush it. What I'll try and do is get a magazine or newspaper, and get the spider to climb onto it. Then I rush into the bathroom and drop it into the toilet. But here I am, cat-live reflexes killing gnats left and right.

I meant to go to the Wrestling sectionals. But I was feeling ambivalent about going at the end of the day, and decided to go home. And when I got home, I considered going back to school later to see some of the matches. But then I got roped into a shitload of Wikipedia articles for a few hours -- Link from the Legend of Zelda and left-handedness and the Golden Age of Arcade Games and Pac-Man and the mythos of Castlevania and mythical creatures of Jewish and Persian folklore and Skies of Arcadia -- and I totally forgot until about 6 PM, at which point it seemed too late to go. Sorry I didn't show up, but I bet no one was all that surprised. I'm a flake.

Non est magnitudo fluctus, est motio oceani.

Learning the Fourth Conjugation (and consequently venio, "to come") opens up whole new possibilites for useless Latin translations.

It's snowing. There is lightning. These things don't happen. It's an omen. I say it everytime there's snow, but I really need a snowday. I'm so going to fail my Calc test tomorrow.

The conversations in my homeroom have gotten progressively weirder over the last few weeks. Today, we discussed periods. Periods, as in That Time of The Month. Uncharted territory. It started innocently enough, discussing the feasibilit, the pros and cons of a male bra. One thing led to another, the pains of a bra led to the pains of menstruation, and all societial norms were damned straight to hell.

Homeroom is a good, quick, 15 minute look into how fucking crazy girls are. Conversations often gravitate towards poor body image. Those 15 minutes, they're just the right amount of time to remind me daily how lucky I am to be male. Thank god I have a penis.

Today's featured article on Wikipedia is "Economy of the Republic of Ireland."

The picture on the main page is a pint of Guinness.

Hooray for reputable sources confirming stereotypes.

Sometimes you gotta Google your name. And sometimes you have to check the Google Images results, see if your ugly mug is plastered over the internet.

It isn't. There's a picture of some dude named Nick Bestor playing golf. And that used to be it. But nope, not anymore, this has shown up:



I invented that shit, bitches. I've got something like a dozen or so tricks up on that page, I don't know why the Macaroni is the only one to show up.

This is the vaguest assignment I've ever had. I'm supposed to write about one aspect of Casablanca. But it can't be acting or plot. I've chosen to look at Rick's transformation, and specifically the scenes where Rick and Renault first converse, and when Rick helps the Bulgarian couple. But what the fuck do I write it on? How does one analyze film without analyzing acting? I have no indication of what I should be focusing on, and we've gone over so little in class, it's not like I know what I should be doing. Maybe that's the point, maybe this assignment is just designed to give us a sense of how to approach this course. But fuck all mighty, I've no clue what to write.

I guess I'll write what comes naturally, and try and hope he isn't too critical of the fact that it clearly is just talking about acting and plot.

Here's a short, incomplete list of skills I would someday like to be able to do:

• Speak Japanese fluently
• Do a handstand
• Whistle
• Crack my back
• Play the accordian
• Play the banjo
• Talk to girls
• Speak (Read? whatever) Latin fluently
• Solve a Rubik's Cube
• Do two diabolos at once
• Three diabolos
• Juggle
• Ride a unicycle
• Knit
• Origami
• Give a massage
• Make my own root beer
• Sign Language
• Speed read
• Drive a stick shift
• Play poker
• Do at least five things from the list above simulatenously
• Not need this list

I got home around 1:30; its 10 now. That's 8 and a half hours, and I have absolutely no idea what I did with my time. I played a few games of Warriors of Fate, and figured out how to perform fatalities. I wandered about a bit in Final Fantasy, having no clue where to find a scholar who can translate Lufetanian or whatever the name of the stupid language is. I read a few reviews of Sega Saturn RPGs. I downloaded a dozen or so MP3s. I read a few Wikipedia articles. I watched an episode of King of the Hill, and an episode of Friends. I designed a Valentine in Latin, and I studied Latin vocab. I read the section of the Psych book for tomorrow; I did not take Psych notes. I played a single game of rRootage that timed out perfectly with a techno remix of that Enya song that goes "Sail away, sail away, sail away." I wrote two or three LJ entries.

That is not 8 and a half hours. That is barely 4 hours. Where did my time go? What did I do with it? How am I this miserable at time management? Although I am surprised how much I did, once I began to really think about how I spent this afternoon, I'm still shocked at how little I got down with so much free time on my hands.

This really catchy snatch of a song was featured in one of the many random techno remix medley songs I constantly end up downloading. Usually, I have no trouble finding the original song, often I even know what it is right off the bat. This time, the song is fucking obscure as all get-out. It may or may not be called "Open Your Eyes" and it may or may not be an artist known only as Ivan. Google produces only one single result, a page of lyrics for this Ivan chap that seems to be run though Geocities. LimeWire produced a single result for the song, and it was only 50 seconds long and was cut off at the beginning of the second verse.

This is gonna be like that episode of Pete and Pete where Little Pete sees Polaris perform Summerbaby and the song lodges itself in his mind and he dedicates his life to re-discovering the song as it begins to fade from his memory. Of course, I have two MP3s containing bits and pieces of the song, and the internet -- which would've helped Little Pete so much back then -- but still, this song will bug me forever. I can already see myself walking down the halls, mumbling to myself, "Tears have fallen, years gone by, and I am left to wonder why..." in my psuedo-singing chanting. I already do it with Doo Wop Diddy and the Brady Bunch theme.

And occasionally the chorus to Thank You by Dido. That shit is fucking hypnotic, I think I knew all the words by the second time I'd heard it, it just burrowed into my subconscious. Another thing I just downloaded in techno remix form.

(Pssst, here's one of my dark little secrets: I love pop music.)

Today was pretty outstanding, as the day of the Patriots parade generally is.

On a lownote, this sleep deprivation experiment is totally not working. I was dead tired this morning. Although honestly, throughout the day, I felt fine. But I'll try and go to bed early tonight, cut my losses now.

15 minutes of Calc class, and then he wouldn't let us leave early. I got in a good game of dots with Omri, which I unfortunately lost by two squares.

We watched Run Lola Run in Film Studies, as something of a reward for actually showing up. We got in the first two iterations of the movie's events, and I suppose we'll never watch the last part, because everyone else was absent. Bonus: our paper isn't due until Thursday. At least ... I hope it is, that's what I heard, but I have my doubts.

Then I played 20 Questions with D-rog and Match. I felt stupid when I established that one person was from Victorian England, and then all my questions pertained to Elizabethan times. Oh well, D-rog spent half a game asking questions about modern times even after I had told him the person was a historical figure, so it all leveled out.

Psych was pretty good, talking about suicide and psychics.

And then I went home, and I just finished some lame-ass Latin Valentine project. Stole some heart graphic from online, slapped "Nec amor nec tussis celatur" on it, bam, I'm done.

I love my AIM icon. It pisses everyone off and they start engaging me in political discussion. And sooner or later, they admit that Kerry had no position. And hooray for liberal circular logic. No one has yet offered a sufficient explanation as to why one of the worst Democratic candidates from the primaries would have made a better president than Bush. And no, I don't think Kerry would've been better than Bush. Fuck 'em all to hell. Bush will destroy America, and maybe that's for the best. I'd rather have that than have to see Kerry's ugly mug everywhere. He's a scary mother fucker. Fucking middle-of-the-road douchecunt.

Taking psychologically notes has the distinct affect of making me evaluate my life and try and figure out when, how, and why I got so screwed up. Right now the book's talking about differences in boys and girls, gender-segragation, how boys and girls organize themselves as social groups, gender identities, et cetera, et cetera. Three main thoughts are going through my head:

• With the exception of Nick Bunce-Herring, Izumi, and a few people in high school, my friends have all been my own age.

• With the exception of two or three friends I had in pre-school, none of whom I can even remember very well, I didn't have a single female friend until 8th grade.

• My male friends suck.

Have you ever gone the whole day without realizing your underwear were on backwards? It seems like the kind of thing I would've noticed eventually.

I'm going to try an experiment this week. I've noticed, and perhaps I've even commented on it in this forum, that going to bed early doesn't seem to help me be anymore alert during the day. If anything, I'm most alert on the days I get less than 5 hours sleep the night before. And so, this week, I won't try to stop wasting time online, and I won't get pissed off if I discover that suddenly it's one thirty. We'll see, either I'll be exhausted at the end of the week, or I'll be able to finally prove that I function better on 4 than 6 hours of sleep.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Jeff Albertson?! JEFF ALBERTSON?! Jeff fucking Albertson? You have to be fucking kidding me. You can't name Comic Booky Guy. And you can't name Comic Book Guy Jeff Albertson. God, The Simpsons sucks lately, what an awful episode.

American Dad was pretty good. Not as good as Family Guy. More of a focused, sitcom-type show, more plot driven, less of the insane, non sequitor cuts that are the hallmark of Family Guy. Still some funny moments though, the part where Francine was explaining her school girl crush on her algebra teacher, hilarious. It's a pity though, I figured there'd be new episodes of American Dad to hold us over until Family Guy returns, but from the looks of it, there won't be new episodes of either until May.

I love the German goldfish. Klaus, I believe his name was.

I'm not watching the Super Bowl. I've given up on the Super Bowl, now I do homework like any other Sunday. It's because of the Patriots.

I used to watch the Super Bowl. I used to get excited about the Super Bowl. But I didn't watch football, and I didn't identify with any team. So I would just randomly pick one of the two teams and decide that was who I would cheer for. I can remember cheering for the Packers and the Steelers. That's it, I probably picked sides other times too.

But now, the Patriots are in the Super Bowl most of the time, and I'm obligated to watch. And I don't appreciate obligations, I don't like having to plan around watching TV. That's why the only thing I watch regularly are Seinfeld and Simpsons reruns. I've seen them all, I won't miss anything.

So I'll finish my Physics lab, and then I'll do my Physics homework. And maybe then I'll study a bit for Latin. I will watch American Dad. That's the only way I care about the Super Bowl, I need to know when it ends, so I know when American Dad is coming on.

I do hope the Patriots win, however. If they win, there'll be another huge parade. And everyone will skip school. And I'll go to all my classes and no one else will be there and my whole day will be cancelled. Yippee.

City of God was good. Perhaps it even bordered on greatness. It isn't the 22nd greatest movie of all time. IMDb, you gotta take these things with a major grain of salt. It's a criticism that gets thrown around a lot, but I would say that the City of God was definitely from that recent music video influenced camp. Maybe he even was an ex-music video director; that's where everyone starts these days. Lots of super fast cuts, way too many whip pans for it's own good.

Which is a pity, because the cinematography was actually fairly great, it just would've been nice to be able to appreciate it. The movie uses lots of camera tricks and split screens and other silly stuff that isn't required, and it's often difficult to follow the subtitles and all that's happening on screen at once. I would've hoped that a movie with such a big focus on photography would've allowed us to appreciate the film's beauty.

It also broke one of the big movie rules, the rules in my book anyway. No strobe lights. Strobe lights aren't allowed in film. They're just seizure inducing nonsense that detracts from the scene at hand. To the director's credit, it was probably the bets handled strobe light I'd seen in a film, but it still shouldn't have been there.

I need to watch A Bullet in the Head and 21 Grams this weekend, and then return them to Netflix. And I need to watch Casablanca, which we already own on DVD.

Hurray for cheese wax. Rostic was nice enough to give me the left over yellow wax from his little wheel of cheese. I molded it into a tiny little man in Physics, instead of listening to a lecture on momentum. On my way home, I found the red piece of wax that had been in my car for a few weeks. I realized I had to return to school, and during that time crafted the red wax into a heart shape, and made myself a Limited Edition Valentine's Day Cheese Wax Figurine®. Maybe I'll give it to someone, but probably not; cheese wax is kinda creepy.

When I got home, I found the giant ball of cheese wax and began molding it. It was difficult, that shit had hardened up real good. And oddly, on the inside it had gotten to be a weird rusty orange-brown color. I kneaded it for about twenty minute before deciding to get to work.

I started by breaking it up into smaller, more manageable pieces. And then I took a chunk and sculpted the torso of my Hisham figure. I had made one months ago, but it was only about half the size of this iteration, which is actually my third Hisham figure. The old one had a gun, but it didn't turn out very well, so I gave him a sword this time. It was supposed to be a katana, but molding the blade was difficult, so it ended up being more of a Western sword.

Before I had begun, I had thought about what I wanted to make, and I decided I would either make Hisham or a bunny. As luck would have it, Hisham took less wax than I expected, so I made a bunny too. I think from now on, my stick figure caricatures of Hisham will have to feature his new sidekick, a bunny.

When I get enough wax, I'll make a mini-Tokyo to recreate my favorite Hisham drawing, "Hisham Destroys Tokyo."

This was all going on while I watched Being There. Fucking fantastic movie, Peter Sellers is amazing. The best part about it was how elegantly they handled Chance's mental handicap -- if you even can call it a handicap, maybe he really was as brilliant as everyone thought he was -- he was never the butt of a joke, the joke was always on the people around him who read more into his simplicity than was there. The ending was pretty random though. Now I have to take it off my queue.

I need a weekend. I need a break. I need a vacation. I need a hug. I need a slow dance. I need a blowjob. I need a swift kick to the nuts. I need a moment to myself. I need company. I need to study integrals. I need a college. I need a future. I need a clue. I need confidence. I need satisfaction. I need closure. I need love. I need a cause. I need to care. I need to stop.

I wish my life could be summarized in the form of Castlevania subtitle. Some cryptic combination of pseudo-obscure musical term and a reference to some Goth concept, like darkness or sorrow or chaos. Dirge of Solemnity. Leitmotiv of the Equinox. Jig of Entropy. Something like that, it'd be so much fun. I'll rack my brain, come up with the perfect Castlevania title for my life.