The Sociopath Has Left the Building

The Sociopath is Back From The Dead (But it never really left)

2012-02-10T01:52:00.002-05:00

Hey guys, so I've been going through some rough shit. I may be crazy, I may be bipolar, I may even have ADHD despite my parent's protestations. I lost almost everything that mattered to me in 2011 and it's time for me to x out the curse of the coffin and bring The Sociopath back to my loyal readers so that they can get to know me--the real me.

Before I was born I had an uncle named Peter. Peter was a schizophrenic. I've been terrified my entire life that I may develop the disorder and not realize it, but thankfully my nurse practitioner convinced me today that that is not my issue and for that I was so happy that we couldn't help but hug each other.

Peter's body was found at the bottom of a waterfall. To this day it remains a mystery as to whether he committed suicide or thought he could fly. I don't know, my family doesnt know, but this one little question has caused a serious family rift that I can't bear. Families are blood and we have to love each other no matter what. No matter how Peter died, I'd like to dedicate this song to him:

A New Creation

2011-04-12T20:29:00.002-04:00

I don't know what to name it yet so that's up to you. Any ideas?
It's not done yet. I still have to do a net pattern across the skin... now I just need to find a way to do that. I'm thinking hot wax and a hair dryer.

A Perpetual Work In Progress

2011-04-04T18:53:00.006-04:00

So today I got a new pair of jean shorts in the mail. I'm wearing them right now. When I tried them on for the first time I admired the faux-wear work those magical people at Levi's did. The waist was a little loose, but nothing a belt couldn't fix. Examining them in the mirror I looked down and noticed an auxiliary pocket. It was a completely different color than the rest of the shorts. At first I looked at it with disgust. It was a blemish on my new shorts, sticking out like a sore thumb:

Note the unfinished artwork in the background

I then realized that it was the perfect size and in the perfect location to keep a smartphone. Ohhhhhh. After getting over the initial shock I decided I liked the shorts enough to keep them and ripped the tag off my ass. "Waist: 38". That's when it hit me. The last time I'd bought a pair of almost the exact same shorts from the exact same website, I'd ordered the size 42. I probably could have fit snugly into the 40's, but I was content in my own depression, accepting that I would proceed to get fatter and even if they were a little too big now, they would fit just right if I kept things going the way I was.

Then the summer happened. It was my first time truly living independently. I had control over every aspect of my life, and the first thing that had to change was my diet. Interning at the Weekly Dig was a big push. Because of my hours and because I never really took lunch breaks, I learned how to go the first 9 hours of my day without food. Eventually it led me to a shitload of crash dieting.

Looking over at my closet (since the landlord never reattached the door I can still see everything inside) the first thing I always notice is that save for a single thermal shirt that never used to fit me, nothing hanging in there is more than a year old. I'm not only a different person than I was in high school, but I also have completely different clothes. Back in the old days my habit was to strategically wear baggy jeans and black t-shirts as a way of drowning my shame of my body in fabric. It didn't help. If anything, it only made matters worse. Looking at my wardrobe now I can see that while I haven't totally broken the black t-shirt habit (today the t-shirt I'm wearing is neon blue so suck it), the splashes of color in my closet tell me I've come a long way.

If this post sounds to you like I'm patting myself on the back or outright bragging, then you're probably not one of the people closest to me. Those who understand how my psyche works will see this as more of a public act of catharsis. I'm airing my demons for everybody to see. Since the new semester started I've been in an on-and-off depressive slump that I've only really told around 2 or 3 people about at this point. The jean shorts were like a jolt of electricity to my sternum kicking me out of it. When I looked down at that tag, then over at my closet and eventually at my own image in the mirror, I was reminded how far I've come. I'm not the same person I was four years ago. I'm NOTHING like the person I was eight years ago. I'm a beautiful mess. A perpetual work in progress.

But I see now more than ever the light on the horizon. As much as shit may bring me down (and believe me, my life, which a select few known individuals for some stupid fucking reason are jealous of, has a lot of that shit) I'm still one of the strongest people I know. I can take the roughest sucker punches life gives me and turn myself around the next day (thanks, Dad, I'll probably never be able to tell you how much you being such an asshole when I was little helped with this).

So now you can sort of put the pieces of the puzzle together and figure out why I haven't posted in over three months. But never fear, dear readers, because this perpetual work in progress is FUCKING BACK, and he still loves you.

Peace & Love,

-Rob

2010: A Musical Retrospective

2010-12-10T22:47:00.003-05:00

2010 marked a new beginning for me. At the beginning of the summer I began interning at the Weekly Dig and ever since I have been a critical machine--reviewing movies, music, books and whatever other scraps the Dig would throw my way. The only problem: I wasn't up enough on what music was out there. So I started opening my musical horizons over the summer, developing a big taste for electronica in the process. Where most years this list covers 10 of maybe 20 albums I've heard, this year my list comes out of a pool of about 200 albums from 2010 alone. So what did I like?

10. Spoon-Transference

With Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga, Spoon got a little too up-tempo. It wasn't the same lo-fi groove I had come to love. Transference is the closest Spoon has come to recreating the greatness of Girls Can Tell. It may not be quite as good, but it's damn close.

Ass-Blowing Tracks: "Written in Reverse," "Is Love Forever"

9. Scissor Sisters-Night Work

Night Work is just about everything you would expect from the Scissor Sisters: disco, glitter and very very gay. I got a chance to see them perform a few of the songs live and they were flawless and raw. And I had turned 21 two days before... SO drunk.

Ass-Blowing Tracks: "Skin This Cat," "Any Which Way"

8. Two Door Cinema Club-Tourist History

It's not surprising that Two Door Cinema Club supported Phoenix on their latest US tour. Both bands make nonoffensive, oddly catchy pop songs that can appeal to metalheads and their Beatle fan parents alike. It may be saccharine, but if you have a lot of it it makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Ass-Blowing Tracks: "Come Back Home," "I Can Talk"

7. Crystal Castles-Crystal Castles (II)

Crystal Castles make the kind of music that you can't really appreciate unless you do drugs. They're loud, the bitch just screams things that make no sense into the microphone and if you have a migraine, they're your worst enemy. But in a way, Crystal Castles makes being obnoxious into an artform, and the album is so unlistenable as to become compulsively listenable. Sweet sweet bleeding eardrums.

Ass-Blowing Tracks: "Baptism," "Year of Silence"

.

6.) !!!-Strange Weather, Isn't It?

For me personally, Strange Weather is a bit of a letdown. It's definitely the weakest of !!!'s LPs. Of course, the only member left from the original lineup at this point is Nic Offer, so musically the shifts make sense. I almost excluded this album from the list, but after seeing most of it performed live, I now know that that's the only way to listen to !!!: with Nic Offer grinding his crotch in your face--makes the music WAY better.

Ass-Blowing Tracks: "Jamie, My Intentions Are Bass," "The Hammer"

5. Fol Chen-Part II: The New December

Not only does Fol Chen make weird, trippy, beautiful music, but their lyrics seem to directly describe my life. I actually discovered them when they opened for !!!--too bad I wasn't familiar with them at the time so that I couldn't really enjoy them to my full potential. One month after that concert, "In Ruins" was used during a sex scene on Weeds... awesome.

Ass-Blowing Tracks: "They Came To Me," "The Holograms"

4. Blood Red Shoes-Fire Like This

I discovered Blood Red Shoes the summer before moving to Boston and immediately fell in love. Not only could they rock, but they were hot as fuck. I got to meet those hotties and they're surprisingly awkward. This album has a lot to live up to and while not as good as its predecessor, there is not one weak track.

Ass-Blowing Tracks: "Keeping It Close," "Don't Ask"

3. Sleigh Bells-Treats

Sleigh Bells blew up this year. At first I wasn't really into them, but each song on this album grows on you. They're abrasive as fuck, sexual, and they rock. There's something about this album that makes you want to dry hump the closest person you can find. And to think that I discovered this band at the behest of my dental hygienist (really).

Ass-Blowing Tracks: "Infinity Guitars," "Riot Rhythm"

2. Operator Please-Gloves

Everyone has that one little band nobody knows about that they crush on. For me, that band is Operator Please. Gloves is so different from the band's debut, Yes Yes Vindictive, but it still works. Considering how young and adorable they are (albeit, they're growing up fast) it's surprising what great pop songs they can churn out. This band has never played Boston. If they never do, I will cry--a lot.

Ass-Blowing Tracks: "Volcanic," "Logic"

1. Holy Fuck-Latin

Words cannot describe what a goldmine I discovered when I downloaded Holy Fuck's 3 LPs. Their weird brand of computer-free electronica is like nothing else out there today. This is what music should sound like. This is ecstasy. This is music to take ecstasy for. Plus, I mean, KITTIES:

Ass-Blowing Tracks: "Latin America," "P.I.G.S."

Peace & Love
-Rob

My Own Personal Hell--Now With Benefits.

2010-11-24T14:55:00.003-05:00

So I'm in Florida right now. Anyone who knows me knows that Florida is where I go to wrestle with my demons, drink with my parents and drive a Mercedes around like a yuppie prick.

My bedroom has a window but no sunlight. Usually when I'm down here this means a pitch black sanctuary where I can recharge after depriving myself of sleep in Boston. Not this trip, though. This trip there are going to be jackhammers in the building from 8am-5pm. Great. Feels like Boston already.

But I just found an upside to my own personal hell. I'm 21. This is the first time I will be allowed to drink in front of my grandparents without it becoming the subject of Cuban gossip.

Also, I just went to 7-11. Living in Boston, which is a bubble, makes you forget about the real world. Down here they can sell cigarettes and booze anywhere. Down here they still have Four Loko because it never became trendy in the first place. This state is so fucking behind on the times that it's a relief. It's like taking a time machine to 1999.

So I went to 7-11 and got carded. Unthought of in Boston. They actually care here? What the fuckitty fuck? So I had to drive back to my parents' condo in the slutty Mercedes convertible and grab my paper temporary license. Oh yeah, fuck you Boston for confiscating my New Jersey license. I blame this all on you.

So when I came back to the 7-11 with my shitty paper ID, I decided to go for the gold. They still have Four Loko and this is one of my last chances to drink some. So I did. Like 10 minutes ago. I'm not even halfway done with the can. Hiding how drunk I am from my parents for the rest of the day is gonna be fun.

My sister told me last night that she's read this blog... maybe this picture is a bad idea

I expect to go loko 4 dat loko for the duration of my time in Florida. I want to appreciate this toxic sludge while I still can. So thank you, Florida. Thank you for being so stuck in the past. Maybe living in a liberal state is overrated.

On second thought, it's really not. Get me the fuck out of here. I'm drinking Four Loko at 3 in the afternoon and blogging because it's the only thing I can do to keep from dying of boredom. Florida, you fucking suck.

Early Childhood: The Sex Stuff (part 1)

2010-11-12T14:37:00.002-05:00

So Yeah, another month another single blog post. I'm an awful blogger and I understand this. But there is sunshine on the horizon! Now that I can write whatever the fuck I want on DigBoston.com, I'm going to be posting most of my stuff there in the future because it has a built-in audience. But never fear. I cannot leave the Sociopath with the leftover table scraps. No sir. So to kick off actually writing on this thing again I'm gonna write about something way too personal and just plain icky to share with all of Boston. In a new serial, I will be revealing my first glimpses at sex and its many wonders. Get your barf bags ready.

People generally think of me as a sexual creature. Not necessarily a perv, just someone who is pretty much always horny. How I got this way is anyone's guess (low self esteem in high school) but maybe it's because I saw my first vagina at 6. I mean okay, I guess technically I saw my first vagina the day I was born (eww) but this story involves a peer, so it actually counts.

Why the fuck am I writing about this?

So I don't remember this fine lady's name. It's unfortunate. Maybe this is why I keep all of this stuff written down for myself. But here's what I do remember:

1.) She was black
2.) She lived with her grandma
3.) Her grandma was white
4.) And this girl was too black to be part white
5.) All of this confused me a lot... I still don't know

Future employers are going to read this and throw my resume in the shredder.

So anyway, I'll just call her Binya Binya to clear up the confusion.

One day, Binyah Binyah and I started up a lemonade stand in her driveway where we sold urine-sample sized cups of Crystal Light to unsuspecting people. This wasn't on a very busy street so we had to get aggressive, running up to people getting into their cars in their own driveways with a cup of Crystal Light demanding sweet cash money dolla dolla bills.

We ripped people off something fierce. Our entire business model was built around giving something worthless to people and then looking cute enough to get dollars in return.

We made $13.

But when it came time to divvy up the cash, Binyah Binyah and I became resentful. Our business associates hadn't pitched in the lemonade (free from my house) or the stand (which was just a dresser waiting to be picked up by garbage men in front of Binyah Binyah's house).

Binyah Binyah and I fought with the girls. Threats to tell parents came into the picture. Money was distributed evenly.

Despondent, Binyah Binyah and I made our way back to her bedroom to think of what we could do with our $7 bounty. The next thing I knew, Binyah was talking sex things... naughty sex things.

The shock, the awe! And then came the phrase everyone hears at least once in their life "Show me yours I'll show you mine." She wasn't talking about my Power Rangers trading cards.

I was a curious child, so I agreed. She stood in front of her window. I stood by her door. The light shone intense through the window behind her.

1...2...3...

Pants down.

Remember how I mentioned that Binyah was black? And how there was a lot of light coming through that window? Well here's where it all comes into play. I looked. I looked and I saw nothing. Just the silhouette of a Barbie doll-like crotch outline...

We looked at each other's genitals perplexed. She for different reasons than I. What those reasons were, I will never know. When the pants came up, we sat down on her bed next to each other and she looked me in the eye: "So what's the big deal about those things anyway?"

No, Really, I'm Going Directly To Hell

2010-10-17T21:52:00.003-04:00

So sometimes my friends and I get fed up of being nice to everybody. The reason I am close with some of these friends is because after a long day of being far nicer than we had to be, we just wanna get mean as fuck. And while having this conversation today, I realized we can get pretty fucking mean. But in a fun way. We don't mean any of it... sort of.

For the sake of decency, we're gonna call the subject of our conversation Moppypuss.

[9:37:21 PM] Rob: sluts like Moppypuss need to start doing anal
[9:37:29 PM] Billy: HAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAH
[9:37:29 PM] Billy: EW
[9:37:36 PM] Rob: these cleaveland steamers won't apply themselves
[9:37:53 PM] Billy: her crotch is probably a breeding ground for all sorts of microbiology
[9:38:12 PM] Rob: the found the primordial ooze... in Moppypuss's vagina
[9:38:19 PM] Billy: HAHAHAH
[9:38:22 PM] Billy: yeah seriously
[9:38:40 PM] Rob: I feel like this is gonna be like that conversation yuo and erica had with the haikus
[9:38:46 PM] Rob: but just with insults
[9:38:51 PM] Billy: Rememebr those? haahahahha
[9:38:53 PM] Billy: they were funny
[9:38:56 PM] Rob : hahah yes
[9:39:03 PM] Billy: Erica holds Moppypuss poetry readings
[9:39:06 PM] Billy: everyone knows whos he is
[9:39:08 PM] Billy: who she is*
[9:39:10 PM] Rob: so I've heard
[9:39:13 PM] Billy: mhm
[9:39:53 PM] Rob: Moppypuss's poetry is so bad, her mother once tried to cut her fingers off... but she just scraped away some cheeto dust and calluses from masturbation
[9:40:40 PM] Billy: her vagina is probably like two slabs of cheap deli ham, slathered in crisco and sprinkled with pubes
[9:41:09 PM] Rob de la Teja: hahaha... after it's been microwaved and left in a public urinal
[9:41:15 PM] Billy: HAHAH HAHAHA
[9:41:18 PM] Billy: nasty
[9:41:49 PM] Rob de la Teja: her pussy is so often violated she can only feel sensation in her clitoris with a dental drill
[9:42:19 PM] Billy: HAHAHAHHHAHAH
[9:42:36 PM] Billy: yeah Tubaface nailed the shit out of that cavern
[9:43:22 PM] Rob de la Teja: literally... he's into fucking sacks of manure because he's from farm country so Moppypuss was very accomodating
[9:43:40 PM] Billy: lol yeah that must be it
[9:43:52 PM] Rob: but with her diet the consistency was never quite right
[9:43:59 PM] Billy: HAHAH
[9:45:01 PM] Rob: this would make for a really disgusting blog entry
[9:45:11 PM] Billy: yeah it would. lmao
[9:45:24 PM] Rob: come on, get in the mean spirit
[9:46:09 PM] Billy: i feel like if she gave birth the baby would suffocate before making it's way out
[9:46:22 PM] Rob: her vagina dentata never activates because her pussy just doesn't care anymore... it JUST...DOESN'T...CARE
[9:46:26 PM] Rob: haha
[9:46:29 PM] Billy: HAHAHAHAHAH
[9:47:00 PM] Rob: her snatch is like Iowa: barren, depressing and a suitable place to grow corn
[9:47:38 PM] Billy: LOL
[9:47:44 PM] Billy: omg so true
[9:47:45 PM] Billy: hahahahha
[9:48:22 PM] Rob: they could create a version of the vagina monologues based entirely around her pussy
[9:49:00 PM] Rob: "my vagina is a garbage disposal: dark, sharp, and a terrible place to lose change"
[9:49:11 PM] Billy: The Moppypuss cunt chronicles
[9:49:28 PM] Billy: DAS MOPENPUSS CUNT CHÖNICHELIN!
[9:49:42 PM] Rob: hahaha
[9:50:20 PM] Rob: follow me.... into a magical place
[9:50:26 PM] Rob: it is a land... called my vagina
[9:51:03 PM] Rob: there's some grass and trees and purple humming bees, and jiving turkey leaves... in my vagina
[9:51:05 PM] Billy: HAHAHAHAHAH
[9:51:21 PM] Rob: an example of her poetry in DAS MOPENPUSS KUNT KRONICLEN
[9:51:40 PM] Billy: YESSSS
[9:52:19 PM] Rob: I think I might have to go to hell
[9:53:14 PM] Billy: well yes.

The best content really comes from real life. All people who were offended are fags and should go die. Pussies.

The Hunger

2010-10-11T21:08:00.003-04:00

I'm supposed to be doing homework right now. Oops.

So I have been slacking off on my blogging lately. Mostly because I lack sufficient material. However, there has been one topic that over the past few weeks has been haunting me. It's been sitting in the back of my head, drilling away at some part of my brain that a brief scan of the Wikipedia page on brains left me unable to identify. Until today I thought the topic was too personal and embarrassing to talk about, but I am in dire need of content and this is certainly compelling. As many wise journalists have told me, "Don't let your own biases get in the way of telling a good story." Well maybe I don't exactly have a good story on my hands, but at least it is a story.

So I'm on a diet. Yes, "Big Gay Rob" as a frenemy once called me behind my back in high school, is trying to drop the "Big." Why, you ask? Well many things have led me to this place. I can tell you that it's for my health and that I'm really just trying to live a healthy lifestyle. This would be a fucking lie. Like 90% of people who attempt to lose weight I am on a diet for purely superficial reasons.

There is a long chain of events leading up to this decision, but I can narrow it down to two triggers. First, I saw a gay who used to be fat walking through City Place looking FIERCE. To my dismay, he'd gotten skinny. Do I feel happy for these people? I probably should but I can't. I just shoot lasers at them with my eyes that don't seem to do anything but make them look better.

So I cut my caloric intake to 1500 calories a day. At this point I am hungry.

About a week later a friend abandoned me in an apartment with two other gays that I didn't know very well. We ended up having some sort of weird gay bonding that I'd never experienced before. We talked about our first times and stuff--very high school girl sleepover conversation. At some point, both of the gays whipped out their licenses and showed how fat they used to be. I was astonished. They were fatter than I ever was. And now they both looked great. I'd started dieting 3 days prior to this, but after this I was a man on a mission. If all of these other fucking gays can do this, I can do this because I CAN FUCKING DO ANYTHING! Mommy told me so. Parents don't lie.

She was probably telling me that I could do anything here. How Utopian of her.

So I cut my caloric intake to 1000 calories a day and weigh myself every single time I'm in the bathroom. At this point I am sluggish, grouchy and perpetually famished.

Living on 1000 calories a day is easier when you have shit to do. Shit to distract you from how fucking hungry you are all the time. When I started the diet I was in a vacuum of productivity. Had little to do and even that stuff I was procrastinating on. All I could think about was not eating. It's a vicious cycle. It doesn't help that I'm the only person in the world who gets really hungry from smoking cigarettes. Does this mean that if I quit smoking, I'd lose weight? With my luck, no. Fuck.

So what does someone who's perpetually hungry do? Why I painted some sort of crazy abstract expressionist nightmare to represent my hunger. I'm gonna name it "Martha":

Can't you feel my angst?

No?

Fine, well I guess this shows that I have problems. Oh, that reminds me, I also recently became a vegetarian. I only cheated once (and by that I mean I made one purchase of meat that happened to last me 3 days because I'm all about portion control now...lame), but otherwise I've stuck to it for over a month. I don't care about the animals. The animals can go die and be eaten for all I care (oh... wait a minute) I just figured "Why the hell not? It'll probably make stupid diet shit easier." So yeah. There's that.

Maybe I should just try exercise. Maybe. I smell another blog post coming on soon.

The Best Things About Living Off Campus

2010-09-09T20:10:00.004-04:00

Note: I was drunk when I wrote this. I'm fully aware that it sucks, but I need a September entry so I'm keeping it up.

Okay. Now that I'm nice and cozy in my new apartment (I went to Bed Bath and Beyond today) I feel that it is time for this blog. I've lived off-campus since the beginning of the summer and it's certainly better, but there are so so many reasons why--some obvious, some less so. So I'm going to get all stream-of-consciousness on your ass and get this party started with a little bit of the good old back-to-school spirit. You ready? Well ensure that your rear ends are firmly planted in their respective seats, beds, carpets and bean bags (hippie) and get ready for some funky list-tastic blogging. Let me begin by saying that these are in no particular order because frankly I'm making them up as I go along:

1.) Privacy

I have a nice big room to myself that nobody is allowed into without my permission. No RAs, no inspection during break... The door in my new apartment kinda doesn't have a lock which makes it all like "Shit, dog. I don't think anybody would actually walk in while I'm masturbating, but if they knock I'll have to be 'AHHHHH DON'T COME IN!' and they'll be all 'Rob is so totally choking the chicken right now' and damn, gurl, just LET ME MASTURBATE IN SECURITY AND PEACE! Still, No RAs, which brings me to point number 2:

2.) No RAs

Now that I am an adult, who can buy booze, I don't have to fear being caught walking into my building with liquor. In fact, walking into it with an open bottle, swigging violently would be totally cool as long as the cops don't see. If I had to walk into the Little Building with an open bottle of Bacardi I would probably have to break it against the railing around the elevator to fashion a shiv and stab the cardswipers/Securitas folk and that would be a totally unnecessary waste of rum. Seriously.

3.) Food
Okay, so basically having my mother make the same thing for my lunch for years on end has made me the type of person who will eat one thing for prolonged periods of time before moving onto another singular food item. Like, lately all I eat are Bagel Bites and hummus (not together...eww)... Freshman year the only acceptable food in P-Row was the chicken fingers and waffle fries at the Max. I ate them every single day... with soda... Hello, freshman fifteen (err...okay, twenty) because this is what I do. I eat one thing. And on-campus, the only foods I could get into a habit with were not good... so I balance it out with healthy things. This is good. (Last week I was on a strict diet of Gatorade and Vicodin for about 5 days... good week)

4.) Noise

Over the summer I lived in Chinatown. It was loud. Now I live in Beacon Hill... much less loud. Emerson College? ALWAYS LOUD!

5.) I lost my train of thought. I have a migraine. I don't know anymore just take my 4 and go the fuck away... or not. I love you, readers... See you next week (or month... or semester... always keeping you on your toes)

Sometimes I Get Off Topic...

2010-08-12T20:14:00.009-04:00

Before I write this, I'd like to say that I only really intend to write 3 to 4 sentences. This is how most blogs start and then I rant. Kinda like what I'm doing right now. Already 3-4 sentences in, I'm really failing at this.

So anyway, have you ever gotten deja vu? Okay, how about when you get deja vu over something that is clearly not a memory but rather just a misfiring of nerves in the brain that makes you all "OHHHH my god, this is...

...Sorry... I got distracted by facebook... Well, actually, it started on twitter... I noticed that Silly Bandz was trending. "Why?" I asked myself, "Why would these stupid shit bracelets be trending? Did some child finally choke to death on one or commit manslaughter with one so that we can get the godforsaken things banned? (pun!)" No. Alas, the powers that be at twatter had announced that Justin Bieber was going to have his own line of Silly Bandz. Yes. This somehow sounds so right and perfect to me in every way. This is something I will stand behind.

In a moment of uber-ironic "wanting to make a bad fashion statement on purpose" hipstahtude, I immediately went to Google and searched for Silly Bandz.

Wait, these things are shaped like different things when you take them off? And there are going to be ones shaped like Bieber? I needed them. A silicone Bieber face outline that I can stick my fingers through, deform, and wear around my wrist? What reason could I possibly have for not wanting these. (At this point my ironic desire has gone to a genuine desire. This sounds like a good idea to me. A tad hipster, but at least I can acknowledge that which negates it somewhat. Or at least that's what I'd like to think.)

Cool kids do these sorts of things. It was only appropriate that this was the first result when I went on Amazon:

It's like Amazon is taunting me. It's like Amazon is saying "I know you, and I know you're not cool. Oh, and guess what, Rob. These peace and love ones rather cleverly titled 'hipster' are FAR too small to fit on your wrist. Suck it, fag."

I hate you, Amazon.

I know you track all of my purchases and know more about me than some of my friends, but seriously, STOP MAKING JUDGMENT CALLS!

I love you, don't believe what he has to say, Amazon. My relationship with eBay was an abusive one. You treat me right, I know that. Sure, you're a bit high-maintenance, but you're really there for me.

Whatever.

Well look at that. I just found what the Bieber bands are gonna look like... and none of them are of the Bieber's face! What the fuck is this shit?

Lame. Whatever. Needless to say, my need for Bieber duds was well-chronicled on facebook. I said I wanted some Silly Bandz expecting people to be all "Tres lame, Rob." No. Instead I get tales of Silly Band woe, love, fun times with Silly Bandz, where to buy them... Do I live in an alternate universe or something?

Rob de la Teja wait... the silly bands turn into different shapes when you take them off? is this why they're popular? okay, I'm sold, where can I buy some that will fit my wrists?

Stefany likes this.
- Jamie yo honestly theyre so distracting.. people gave me some and i played with them like they were action figures when i was in class and i snapped all of em
  15 hours ago ·
- Rob AND they're coming out with bieber-shaped ones? I need these... dead serious... which bone should I get removed: the ulna or radius?
  15 hours ago ·
- Sally The little girl I babysit has 150 of them. She wouldn't give me one. ONE.
  15 hours ago ·
- Rob I mean I was far more generous as a child than I am now, but I generally remember kids just being like that... "MINE!"
  15 hours ago ·
- Stefany yea!! my cousin gave me a dove, an angel, a star, a spongebob flower and a sun! they're so cool
  14 hours ago ·
- Rob I WANT A SPONGEBOB FLOWER!
  14 hours ago ·
- Stefany lmao I'll give it to you when I see you in Sept, unless you find them by then.
  14 hours ago ·
- Stefany anddd omgg we can trade sillybandzzz hahahah
  14 hours ago ·
- Rob Seriously, though, I have giant wrists. I need to find a way to alleviate this problem or else I can never be one of the cool kids
  14 hours ago ·
- Jamie i acquired mine through slutty girls who acquired theres from men.... says a lot about long island. BEIBER FEVER SILLYBANDZ how do you make a sillyband look like beiber?
  14 hours ago ·
- Stefany Awwww yea haha wow I didn't even think about that! They stretch tho and I think they come if bigger sizes cuz my star is bigger than the other bandz..
  14 hours ago ·
- James newbury comics has tons
  14 hours ago ·
- Sean I have a couple of extra dinosaurs if you don't mind waiting three weeks.

Clearly, I can be one of the cool kids after all! Fantastic! My urge to put these things on my wrists is so strong that I want to leave work early, buy some, and come back. What the fuck is wrong with me? I know what it is. Bieber said it was cool, and what Bieber says goes.

Considering that I've literally never even heard an entire Biebs song the entire way through, I blog about J-Beebz far too much... I suppose that merits a new tag.

UPDATE: I just looked around the office where I work. There are people here FAR more hipster than I shall ever be... I feel better.

Nuns Are Hipsters in Sarah Palin's America

2010-07-19T10:37:00.005-04:00

Well, yeah, I have kind of a bad habit of not posting anything for months on end and then going into frenzies of creativity where I'll post 3 entries a week. It's a bad habit. I'm trying to change it, but when I blog somewhere else it almost becomes impulse to focus exclusively on that one blog. Well, not today. Billy has suggested some topics for a blog... Now if you're dangerously borderline obsessive (you're probably not this obsessive) you'd be able to tell that when I am given multiple topics to write about in one Facebook wall comment, I end up putting them all into one entry because I'm a lazy shit. Here's the full suggestion:

"i've been creepily stalking your blog every day to no avail. you should make a new post... about one of the following topics: nuns, people who dress like douchebags but think they're cool anyway, what the world would be like if sarah palin was president, or how much someone would have to pay you to have sex with variou...s famous people. but those are just merely suggestions"

Go go power rangers...

Okay... this is tough... and I've got a lot of terrain to cover... Luckily, I have a weird fucking imagination on my side...

The first two topics go together quite nicely. Think about it. Who dresses weirder and douchier than a nun? Huh? Worse than that, they think that their habits are sick as shit... and they they're all like "I'm not gonna have sex like ever because to God, that's cool."

Newsflash to Sister Mary Unfuckable: having sex makes you cool. You, sister, are gloriously uncool.

Okay... this nun is cool

I mean basically, nuns are the biggest hipsters alive. The whole hipster aesthetic is about being "so uncool that you're cool"... well who could look and act less cool than a nun? They're just hipster douchebags without the Pabst, drugs and affinity for American Apparel gold lamé leggings.

The next two also go together well, but I think writing the following would be a bit of a cop-out: "I would fuck Sarah Palin for free if she were president because I could TOTALLY be the next Monica Lewinsky except less notorious because nobody will be pronouncing my name correctly on the teevee except on Univision so they'll just give me a fucking book deal about how I fucked Sarah Palin and then I'll be rich."

Instead I'll separate them because I haven't written anything in over a month and you, dear readers, deserve content. I couldn't possibly begin to describe how all of america would be with Palin, so I'm going to use immigration as an example.

Liberal bloggers are weird as shit...
and LOVE photoshopping the Palin

To begin, If Sarah Palin were president there would be no Mexicans. Don't get me wrong, because she wouldn't tax the populus (since the government shouldn't intervene in ANYTHING) there will be more Messicans in America then ever because the government will have no border patrol because there won't be any taxes that don't pay for Palin's spray tans. Instead, there will be a vigilant militia of inbred rednecks guarding the border... you know... the kind of shit that's already happening in Arizona and shit... Oh, except now they'll have landmines (SECOND AMENDMENT FTW!) Yes... Except inbred redneck hicks who graduated high school are still dumber than Mexican immigrants who've never gone to school a day in their lives so the immigrants will have no trouble sneaking in and taking over the southwest and turning it quickly from the land of "let's kill the brown people" to the land of "let's plaster Our Lady of Guadalupe everywhere... like... EVERYWHERE. (Update: I realized that I forgot to explain why I began this with "there will be no Mexicans"... this is because Sarah will have them removed from all textbooks and maps... Americans will no longer know that Mexico even exists so PRESTO! No more Messicans tooking err joobs)

All this religious imagery is going to freak out any remaining white evangelical Christian bigots in the southwest (because, you know, it's Spic Mary) so they'll all migrate nextdoor to the Inland Empire area of California (crystal meth and conservatives! yes!) and it is there that they will all be forced to convert to Scientology since that's just the shit that's gonna go down... predominant religions will be followed by all who enter the regions because as Palin will point out, the First Amendment only applies to Congress... states can establish religion to their heart's content... As long as it is not the religion of Atheism. And the Buddhist faith too... yes yes. These establishments of religion have been a scourge on our society for far to long... so Palin will make sure that they are properly eliminated. So yeah, most of Southern California will be Scientologist... because that's just how things like that will work in Palinland (oh yeah, she might change the name of the country... did I mention that?)

And now, how much would you have to pay me to prostitute myself to assorted celebrities? Honestly, I would usually do this for free because I'm the type of person that If I had big fake tits, a vagina and a reasonably attractive figure I would be a total groupie/starfucker... I would be the girl who sucked a mountain of cocks to get to the top and thought it was totally worth the damage to my self-worth and credibility... that's just how I roll.

Can't We All Just Get Along?

2010-06-01T20:03:00.005-04:00

(Note: It is a struggle to balance quality and quantity in posts every time I write these. People seem to react strongest to the ones where I openly discuss the person that I am. If I could have epiphanies about myself every day, then I would write them more. I did have one today, though... and I thought some things need to be cleared up.)

Everybody has flaws. I openly admit to almost all of my flaws--sometimes of my own volition, and other times when they are pointed out to me. There is one "flaw", however, that I refuse to admit to wholeheartedly. You see, quite a few of my friends have called me "stubborn." I don't like this word because it implies that I'm stuck in my ways and that I'm a bad listener. I don't personally believe either. If it's regarding what food I will eat, then yes, I am stuck in my ways. Otherwise I am open to try anything (of relative safety) at least once. If I was a bad listener, people would never vent to me and I would never be able to give the advice that I find myself dispensing with less frequency as of late.

So why would my friends be the ones to call me stubborn? Well, considering the readership of this blog, why do YOU PEOPLE often call me this? I have the answer.
I was raised by my mother and father, who are the polar opposites of each other when it comes to conflict. My mother is extremely docile, non-argumentative and ultimately quite stubborn. My father is a ravenous pitbull who goes for the jugular in all conflicts and almost always comes out victorious. It helps him a lot that he actually is usually right if you get into an argument with him. He's right so often that he sometimes doesn't listen, but is generally less stubborn than my mother. He can back up most of what he says, which is what makes him so damn effective.

My father's personality is clearly the dominant one in my family, and for that reason it had more of an impact on me as a person. I am very very good at arguing. It comes directly from him. I grew up having to argue on a daily basis with a man who has the debating skills of William F. Buckley. For that reason I honed my skills to the point where I could not simply ignore it if someone made an incorrect statement. If someone says something wrong, I will correct them. If someone tries to challenge my correction I will fight them tooth and nail until I have made my point clear, laid out all of my evidence and discredited any bad evidence they may have had.

I'm not always right.

I'm not always right.

I'm not always right.

I do not fucking think that I am always right. (all of this emphasis was absolutely necessary)

If someone corrects me (even when they correct a correction I have made, which is one of the highest forms of humiliation to me) then I will admit defeat quickly and move on. People don't remember when you quickly admit that you're wrong and move on. This is why I do it, because the shame of being wrong is washed away very quickly when you relent early on. I do not want to prolong an argument if I don't have proper evidence to back up my opinions. If I were to do that, it would be even more humiliating when I eventually am proved wrong.

If someone cannot tell me why I am wrong in an argument I will not relent. If someone fails to give me the evidence of why they are right, I will not relent.

So then, the question is begged: can you win in an argument with me? The answer is yes. There are two ways to do this, and both require far more effort than most people care to put into an argument.

The first way is to prove me wrong with the facts. If I say that there is sugar in Coca-Cola, and you argue that there is corn syrup, show me the ingredient list and prove me the fuck wrong. It works. It has happened before (albeit not with this particular example which I have fought on the opposite side of). I can't deny a fact. If you have the facts necessary to prove me wrong, I'm always going to relent. Feel free to do a victory dance because you probably deserve it.

The second way is for me to call a stalemate. If I encounter someone who has evidence to back up their opinion that is valid, yet contrary to my opinion, then we could basically fight all night and never reach an agreement. This happens mostly with politics. If you can argue your point competently, and I can argue my point competently, we will eventually get sick of hearing each other and call a draw.

I don't believe any of this would qualify me as stubborn. Argumentative as hell? Yes. Nit-picky? Absolutely. Loud? Undeniably. Stubborn? Not so much. Nobody is stubborn if they can back up their arguments properly. In my eyes, that just means you're well-prepared.

Looking back, I realize that this entry is basically a one-way argument. So go ahead, collect your evidence and feel free to fight back. I'll be waiting.

Rip Him To Shreds

2010-05-16T06:13:00.003-04:00

As any regular reader will know, I had a certain asshole professor last semester that completely fucked up my life and nearly ruined THIS VERY BLOG. Some people would tell me to take the moral high ground, be happy that he's out of my life and move on. I can't. I could have if it was a professor I had who was a good person, but a terrible professor. I even did it with a professor from last semester that HATES me. I almost always do take the moral high ground. I move on. I get along with my life and am happy.

Not this time.

This man was a bad person. He was genuinely one of the most despicable people I've ever met--AND I'M A JOURNALISM MAJOR! He doesn't deserve the slightest amount of forgiveness. He's below that. He is scum. For that reason, I have decided, as my FINAL attack against everything that is he, I am gong to post my instructor evaluations, in all their unedited glory, on this blog.

You see, I'm not going to trash this professor on my blog by name. I'm better than that. If you're friends with me in real life or on facebook, I'm sure you know the name already. If not, I'm sure there's a way to find out. In the instructor evaluations that follow, I uniformly referred to him as Professor [insert last name here]. For the sake of being a better person, I'll simply replace his last name with "X"...so that way it will read "Professor X"...Which not only sounds kinda cool, but also sounds like a villain from Spiderman... so it fits.

Wait... Professor X was one of the good guys from X-Men, huh? Shit... Oh well, I'm sticking with it.

And now...the moment you've all been waiting for, my sexy sexy instructor evaluations. They are completely unchanged (except for what I just clarified) from the way I submitted them to Emerson (grammatical errors and all):

11. What aspects of this instructor's teaching did you find most beneficial?
Professor X was relatively good at making sure you knew what he wanted from you.

12. Please offer any suggestions about what the instructor could do to enhance the instruction in this course.
This is not only the worst class I have had at Emerson, but the worst class I have had in my entire life. This applies from kindergarten through my sophomore year of college (15 years of school, about 60 different teachers, and literally hundreds of classes).

Professor X had no respect for his students. When we presented him with legitimate concerns, we were dismissed. The four other students and I actually became great friends over the semester because we all felt the same. Just to clarify, there was not one bad student in that class. We were the types of students who could come away from a really difficult course with a really tough professor and feel that if we learned, then the class was rewarding. During class, because Prof. X seemed to like the sound of his own voice, so he would drone on and on about nothing and then keep us over the time limit every class so that he could finish his stream-of-consciousness rants. Those rants provided fundamentally no insight whatsoever into how to be a journalist. Most of Prof. X's career was as a freelancer. If he wanted to teach us something valuable he should have taught us how to work the freelance market, because that is something severely lacking in Emerson's curriculum.

13. Please use this space for additional comments on your experiences with this instructor.
Professor X was a narcissist. Every time he wanted to give us an example of a professional story to try to teach us, he would always direct us to one of his own...even though they were often bad examples. (Let me provide an example of this: when he wanted to tell us what type of lede we should be writing, he directed us to his profile on Hunter S. Thompson. Prof. X's lede for that story: "He should be dead by now." That's the epitome of subjectiveness, something Prof. X shunned in every regard, yet instead of admitting it was a bad example he leaned back and said something to the effect of "See? Look at what a great lede I wrote.")

Professor X was disrespectful. He never took our views into account, and he treated us like children. All five of us were just about as mature as five college students can be. When we had problems he treated us like whiny little brats. We weren't. We had genuine concerns and we believed that his methods were impeding our ability to learn.

Professor X was a liar. When one student said the course requirements were fundamentally impossible to meet, Prof. X looked him straight in the eye and said "I've been teaching this course for 10 years, I know you can do this." According to his resume, which is readily available on his blog, his earliest work as an adjunct professor was in 2004. So 4 years of him teaching at all was apparently an exaggeration. Likewise, his resume says that the class he taught then was a 101 course (so I HIGHLY doubt he gave the same rigorous workload to those students) and then his resume says he has been teaching this particular course since 2007. That means he had been teaching it for three years as opposed to ten. It was this absolute, blatant lie that Prof. X told to cover his own ass in an argument with a student that made me lose absolutely all respect for him. A professor should NEVER, let me repeat, NEVER lie to a student like that. I tried to respect him before that, but I couldn't bear to after.

14. Please use the space below for additional comments about this course.
Five sources is too many for students. Professional journalists do that as a job. We, as students, have multiple other obligations. This class was supposed to teach us how to be journalists. We should have been permitted whatever type of lede was most fitting for a story rather than the lede that Prof. X liked the most. I wanted to take feature writing before this, but now I don't feel like I have to because that's all he taught.

The Sociopath is Back Online (furreals)

2010-04-29T16:27:00.005-04:00

Well, it's been a long, long semester... but now it's fucking done! Sort of... I mean, I still have 2 finals to take and 2 papers to do, but because I am done with the scourge of my existence that is Beat Reporting, I can happily say that I have completed the worst class of my life.... THANK GOD.

So now I'm back, and I will begin with a short advice blog... because I just found an old question in the comments and I figured it would be rude to just ignore it outright:

"can you create a blog about relationship/mental health advice? i think i'm depressed. or bipolar. or have undiagnosed mono? although i'm definitely leaning more towards a mental disorder.
can you be my doctor phil?"

Well let me first start off by saying that I am not a licensed doctor or psychologist, so I think it's illegal for me to try and treat you for mono or any mental disorders you may have. That being said, I'm TOTALLY gonna fucking cure you. You have nothing to worry about.

However, a new blog is totally unnecessary. Currently, I think I have four: a political blog for class (which is actually pretty good), a reporting blog that I linked to above (which sucks, but it looks pretty), a personal concert blog on my last.fm (that I haven't updated since high school), and this one. Anything more would be overkill.

The great thing about The Sociopath Has Left the Building is that we here (i.e. the voices in my head and I) are devoted to our readers in every possible way. You got questions? BRING THEM THE FUCK ON! You don't even have to be logged in to comment (although logging in is always good, because it means you can follow me, which means I would be one step closer to my goal of world domination.) So leave your questions about your relationship/love life (slut), possible bipolar disorder (you psycho), or your...undiagnosed mono? (you dirty, slutty psycho) then ask away. I am here for you... WE are here for you:

Love,
Rob

P.S. No, I will not be your personal Dr. Phil. I don't like him. He's a fat asshole who keeps telling people to lose weight. Hypocrite. He should be telling them to embrace their bodies. (See, I CAN be good at advice-giving!) I will, however, be your personal Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman if you don't mind.

Justin Bieber is Going to Cause a Lesbian Uprising

2010-04-15T12:57:00.006-04:00

So for some strange, strange reason beyond my comprehension, Justin Bieber is the new "it" kid that all the tweens are going crazy over. A few months ago it was the Jonas Brothers. Before that, Miley Cyrus. Justin Bieber, however, is far far more dangerous.

First off, I'm sure we've all been on the Lesbians Who Look Like Justin Bieber tumblr. It's silly, because what this says is not that many lesbians look like Justin Bieber, but that Justin Bieber looks like a lesbian. See that? Meta.

A lesbian... not to be confused with Justin Bieber

It gets worse, people. Not only does Justin Bieber look like a lesbian, he also acts far more like one than his tweeny-bopper counterparts. Let's look at the evidence:

He's Canadian
He sings like a raspy-voiced girl
His real speaking voice is definitely much higher than the low, raspy voice he uses in public
He wears cardigans (see below)
No purity ring
He's very good at seducing straight women
THAT HAIR!

What a fucking dyke! Thanks to Justin Bieber, thousands of little teenage straight girls who can't get any are going to switch teams for a lesbian that looks and acts just like him. And unlike Justin Bieber, those lesbians will look like Justin Bieber FOREVER! (or at least until they hit their mid-thirties) This will eventually tear the fabric of our society asunder and I cannot sit idly by as this wave of gay takes grip of America's impressionable youth. Thanks to Justin Bieber, thousands of teenage girls are going to be listening to the Indigo Girls and shopping in the boys' department at H&M. We must demand that Justin Bieber get a haircut PRONTO to prevent the gathering storm of hot, sticky lesbian action about to occur. Or maybe he could just go away... forever...

No, Really... Who Are You?

2010-04-06T11:51:00.004-04:00

So several weeks ago I got a formspring ... It's not really all that exciting and after the first week I ceased to get interesting or spiteful questions... but during that first week I got one question that I LOVED: "Kwon would like to know when you bring back salmon. Mr. Kim is very angry at Kwon."

For those of you that read this blog, you know of the magnificent story of Madame Kwon... With her leather nipples and bathtub salmon, Kwon captured all of our hearts. Well a week later I got three more questions from Kwon. It was a magnificent time. Another week later a Kwon formspring popped up... Holy shit! Now not only could Kwon ask me questions, but I could ask them back. I was so excited and asked a few questions, but then something awful happened...

I sent Kwon a question about sushi... Kwon was always so good about sushi questions in our early correspondence... Well, the response I got was shocking, to say the least: "Sushi is to be feeding the cat. Kwon's cat, Mr. Bojangles loves the week old sushi. such good tasty time for Mister Bojangles."

Bojangles? BOJANGLES!?!?!?! I call you out, formspring Kwon, as an impostor! We all know Kwon only has three cats: Ganesh, Bok Choy and Wonton... if she had any more cats she would have to double her monthly expenditure on Tidy Cats kitty litter... and we all know how Koreans feel about that...

So who is the Kwon imposter? Well I launched an investigation. No e-mails that I know belong to friends were registered with the account. The account is also not liked to the facebook of any of my facebook friends... Very tough, nevertheless I NEED to figure this out so the impostor can be brought to justice before Kwon. I have compiled a list of suspects. Everybody on the list has been directly asked if they created the formspring... one of them is probably lying... nevertheless, this is a necessary part of my job as guardian of the Kwon's reputation.

Ashley
Reasons to suspect she is imposter Kwon: Erica accused her. She reads this blog. She gets the humor. She's obsessive. She is reading this right now.

Reasons to believe otherwise: I feel that Miss Ashley would know the names of all of Kwon's cats by heart by now... Plus, she's in Spain... She has more important things she could be doing.

Billy
Reasons to believe he is faux Kwon: That innocent face doesn't fool me, you can't trust Billy as far as you could throw him (which is still relatively far, but still) Erica accused him. He reads this blog. In high school, he often had an affinity for coming up with good stories for my weird alter egos.

Reasons to suspect he is not faux Kwon: He probably would have just told me if he was.

Erica
Reasons to believe she is the IMPOSTOR!: "Kwon enjoys a nice Chablis" and "Mr. Bojangles" are signature Erica. She reads this blog. Billy accused her. I don't trust the bitch for shit. She had used formspring before, yet suspiciously said she had never seen the Madame Kwon one that posted on my wall frequently. (The evidence is against you, Erica! Clear your name!)

Reason to believe she is not the IMPOSTOR!: I feel like our first conversation since last summer was me calling her to ask if she was Kwon... And even though she reads the blog and knows about Kwon, we have never talked about Kwon (or at all... CALL ME YOU BITCH)

Matt
Reasons to suspect Matt is THE KWON: He reads this blog. He loves the Kwon. He has a history of being an internet troll. He would do shit like this.

Why it's probably not Matt: I've read enough of Matt's writing to know that it wouldn't be because to write like Kwon properly (which the formspring) Matt would need a different sense of humor like the above suspects.

So there you go. You innocent? Clear your name! Guilty? Confess! Kwon demands justice for this! Kwon demands BLOOD! KWON DEMANDS TAMPONS!

Love, Loss and Literature: The Kindle Saga

2010-03-21T15:18:00.005-04:00

About a year ago I got my Amazon Kindle in the mail. We got off to a rocky start. At first, my Kindle appeared defective. After several calls to Amazon support, they eventually fixed the problem. After that, I was in love. The thing could deliver my morning newspaper, read me any text I put on it and gave me a cheap way to get some dorky shit like the complete works of Edgar Allen Poe (for 99 cents... HELLS yeah.) Sure, me and Kindle had our issues, but they were easy enough to work through. Just an example: Kindles don't have page numbers, only a "percent complete" bar that was sometimes inaccurate if there was material after the book ends. Also, you had to take extra special care of it. I learned this on the tragic morning last summer where I tried to turn on my Kindle only to have the screen look back at me mockingly, refusing to display anything. The screen had broken, and I was devastated.

Well, sure enough I made a quick call to Amazon and they replaced my Kindle free of charge. Sales of the Kindle continued to go up and up and more books became available. Reading on my kindle was a joy. It also offered me the ability to be a total tech snob whenever I read my it in public. People couldn't even tell what I was reading. For all they knew I could be reading Tolstoy or Jackie Collins. I even got it signed by memoir god Augusten Burroughs:

Look close enough and you'll see a Kindle cameo in this picture

A few weeks ago, I ordered a book on my Kindle that was required reading for class. Five days later I came to class with my Kindle, tried to turn it on, and saw what I did not EVER want to see: that same array of horizontal and vertical bars filling the screen I had seen once before:
The Kindle was dead. Again. I tried to call Amazon to see what could be done, but alas, my warranty had expired a week earlier. I was not permitted a replacement. I'm still pretty fucking pissed about it.

So, Amazon... I'm about to explain to you the problems with your fucking product. 1.) It breaks too easily... FAR too easily. I have been taking very extra special care of this Kindle since the first one broke, and yet this still happened. That I blame on you and your shoddy construction. 2.) When a book is on Kindle, It takes 3 times longer to read... because without the ability to visually see how far along in a book you're coming, or how close you REALLY are to the end of it, it's much easier to put it down to continue reading at another time. That whole visual aspect also keeps you from remembering that you ARE reading a book sometimes and then things get sloppy when you want to start reading something else. 3.) I still had to turn this piece of shit off every single time I took off or landed during a flight. The reason I read instead of listening to my iPod on a plane is because you're SUPPOSED to be able to read at any time on a flight... talk to the fucking airlines, Amazon. Tell them your stupid product does not use ANY energy with the wireless off... 4.) Navigating the amazon store on the device is a fucking pain in the ass. You say books in 60 seconds, but if it's taking that long to load every page of every book you browse in the store, you could spend an eternity trying to download a book. 5.) Your selection sucks. I NEVER read bestsellers, but that's what the Kindle is best for. Half the books I read while I had my Kindle were used, paper books... which are WAY cheaper anyway. Looking at my Kindle purchase records, I only read 8 books on it: Fool and Fluke by Christopher Moore, Official Book Club Selection by Kathy Griffin, The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe, Losing Mum and Pup by Christopher Buckley, After Dark by Haruki Murakami, The Mystic Arts of Erasing all Signs of Death by Charlie Huston and The Serial Killers Club By Jeff Povey... That was it. Other than those books and the New York Times I read nothing else on my Kindle. I didn't even read the Times as much as I told myself I would... and that was the reason I got the thing in the first place.

So I'm glad I wrote this. It reminds me why Kindle's death is not necessarily a bad thing. Kindle, I loved you, but it's time for us to go our separate ways. I won't be needing you anymore. I WILL SURVIVE WITHOUT YOU!

A Desperate Plea For Attention

2010-03-10T17:56:00.003-05:00

I've been sick, ladies and gentlemen. Mostly in the physical variety, but also, to an extent, in the mental capacity. Rather than bother you with that shit like I do on many occasions, I am going to talk a little bit about goals.

So I set a goal at the beginning of the year to blog more... that basically failed. I also set a goal, however, to get to 20 followers by December. I have 15 (technically 14)... so now it's time to take drastic measures. It is time... to get all attention whore all up in your system.

I have some thoughts for blogs, but I'm not quite sure what to write about. I feel rusty at this whole blogging thing what with the semester off I decided to take. (This is a lie... anything you read from here on out is completely off the top of my head and you really shouldn't be trusting me when I say shit like "I've had some thoughts" because I don't have thoughts. I just write. It kind of comes out. Kind of like it is now.) So here are some off-the-cuff ideas for blogs that will no doubt be less funny than how I envision them in my head (or, quite frankly, just as unfunny)

My current illness (It's so exciting that I've had to go through THREE boxes of tissues! if that's not compelling then you're reading the wrong blog, man.)
The Marijuanablog (Because let's face it... anybody that reads this shit has at least tried it once)

Delicious Jones (I really don't know how I'd go about this. She's been gone from my life for so long that I don't know If I can make it work.)
The Millionaire Matchmaker (Cara got me into this hot mess of a TV show and I could probably fill an entire entry with Patti-isms. If you haven't seen the show, WATCH IT!)

Something involving relating real people in my life to fictional characters from film and television (I think Billy told me to do this once... I tried... and it turned out to be a steaming pile of unpublishable crap... so don't get too excited at the prospect of me pulling through on that)
A blog of entirely unpromising blog ideas (oh... wait a sec)

Think you've got a better idea? Prove it in the comments. If it's good enough I might buy you candy.

I Suck...

2010-02-15T13:45:00.002-05:00

And part of me wants to blog about it, but I know I can't. It's too personal. Fuck. My. Life.

An Explanation...

2010-02-10T14:20:00.009-05:00

Dear Readers,
So it's been almost two weeks with no posts. There are a lot of reasons and I'm basically breaking my own resolution that I would blog HERE frequently to make time to blog over at my political blog The Sociopath Has Something to Say. My entries there are still funny, I promise, but they also aren't as insane and free-wheeling as my entries here are since I'm doing it for class (but you bet your fucking ass that I still curse, commit blasphemy, say outlandish things and am still in every sense me...just no Madame Kwon and such) The professor for that class is THE SHIT! He's totally awesome, so I really wanna put as much effort into that blog to make it good for him, good for me, and good for any of you willing to read the crazy shit I say about uteruses being touched by Jesus and such.

Of course, I can't put all the blame on my awesome class. If I could manage that blog and this one, I would, but other classes are preventing me from doing so. I have my Ethics class, which isn't inherently bad, but there's a LOT of reading to do and we get quizzed on those readings so I need to read everything 5 times to make sure I know it inside-out... which is really fucking annoying and time-consuming.

And then we have Beat Reporting. May I just state that this class is the bane of my existence? I'm miserable all hours of the day because of it. It takes up any free time I have. There are four other students in the class and EVERY time I see one of them outside of class, they scream (and I mean LITERALLY scream) about how miserable they are as well. Our professor expects too much of us, and we're working our asses off, but he's a poet at heart and doesn't quite understand that we have other obligations that come before his class (even though he actually says he does.) I would absolutely drop this class and overload next semester if I could. I can't take it anymore. Unfortunately, this class is THE ONLY ONE required for me to be able to get an internship, and therefore I not only have to take it THIS semester, I also have to pass. No social life, no leisure time, totally overworked and not learning anything from the experience... Thanks to this class, I don't even have the tiniest desire to be a journalist anymore... Thanks, sir, you're just such a fantastic fucking teacher... you really INSPIRE your students... to wanna kill themselves... FUCK YOU!

I'll try to post as much as possible because I love writing this blog, and I love people's responses and support and love. Knowing just one person IS reading and enjoying what they read is really fulfilling to me.

Sorry again, I love you all,
-Rob

And Now a Letter to Madame Kwon...

2010-01-29T12:12:00.002-05:00

So I have established a communique with Patron Saint of Sociopathy, Madame Kwon. She doesn't speak any English, so China Doll has had to translate the letters I've been receiving from Ms. Kwon via carrier pigeon. Even after the translation, the letters are still kind of complicated and full of terms like "white devil," "shiny disco balls," "yeast infection cocktail" and "Sunday brunch at the soup kitchen." To save you lovely readers some valuable time, I've simplified Madame Kwon's beautiful, elegant prose into something we "white devil geisha pound taco-eat Magingas" can comprehend with our inferior IQs. The first comment to Madame Kwon arrived this morning:

Madame Kwon,

what should I do in life to be happy?

Without even having seen this comment, and no way of sending it to the Madame, I came back from my morning class to find an emaciated pigeon on my windowsill bearing a letter from the holy Kwon herself.

Dear Amnomnomynomous,
Kwon have so much to teach you about leading the life of fulfillment. Kwon's life no happy. Kwon's only friend is Jackhammer Jesus. If you want to lead happy life, follow rules mother teach me in Korea:
Do not drink out of river... you get malaria... is so bad
Wear elephant mask when praying to Ganesh... it make him soooo happy... even more than genocide
No use condoms... extra children make more company... more slaves to clean for you
Feed the week-old sushi to the cat... is such so good tasty time.
Come to Kwon apartment. I read fortune.

   I hope the Kwon able to help you, little white devil. I only follow rule 4, so Kwon no have happy fun-time sunshine life. Kwon follow 3 too, but I no know where all old babies go. Is useless to me. Mr Kim say he going to borrow to help feed salmon but never return to me. Learn from Kwon. Love Kwon. Send Kwon money for bigger salmon bathtub.
     Love,
          Madame Kwon

P.S. Pigeon not gonna make it back to New York. Make good tasty tofu dinner. Enjoy

Simply breathtaking. I don't know how she does it, but Madame Kwon, as always, has given us some real words to live by here. We should be grateful. Amen.

So I fell in love again...

2010-01-26T13:44:00.005-05:00

...With this magical woman. I don't know what her name is or anything like that, but I've decided to call her "Madame Kwon." She is...the love of my life. I look at that turban, the uneven application of lipstick, the flowered smock and the bottle of breastmilk in her hand and I say "LOVE!"

I don't know anything about Madame Kwon, but that's where the beauty in our relationship is. Her total anonymity makes her all the more appealing to me. I can imagine her returning from work at Mr. Kim's apartment, where they raise salmon in in his bathtub. It's hard work, but sometimes she steals a baby salmon or two. Her bathtub has 20. Soon enough, she will be able to break free from Mr. Kim's strict rule and start her own salmon business. As soon as she gets home, Madame Kwon whips out her breasts and pumps from them. The activity relaxes her and has provided her with something to feed her 3 cats: Ganesh, Bok Choy and Wonton.

I have serious issues... but so do my friends. I had a discussion about Madame Kwon with The Sociopath Has Left the Building's most rabid fan, Ashley:

1:50pm Rob
hahaha
i have a new blog post coming today
1:52pm Ashley
let me know when it's posted: i read it like i breathe AIR
1:52pm Rob
ahaha
mmmk
it's about madame kwon
1:52pm Ashley
=)
madame kwon?
1:52pm Rob
the lady in my profile picture
i named her madame kwon
1:53pm Ashley
oh TRUE SHES ASIAN
i thought it was that little old lady with the voice who played in teenage witch
but your right.. you just found some crazed asian chica
shit is loco.
1:54pm Rob
she's a hottie
i want her breastmilk
1:54pm Ashley
i mean - i'm pretty sure it'd come out kinda dusty and tainted with some kind of drug but hey : to each his own!
1:55pm Rob
it will taste like tofu!
tofu and deep, deep shame
1:55pm Ashley
you mean old, wrinkley, dust-covered and old-brie-tasting tofu
and saggy boob, too
1:56pm Rob
mmm... leather nipples
1:56pm Ashley
tarnished with elderly wrinkled skin
yummy
1:57pm Rob
i want her SPICY TUNA ROLL!
1:57pm Ashley
you sure you dont mean flappity labia roll?
1:58pm Rob
well... i mean... the sushi guy kinda just stuck the whole fish on the pad of rice rather than a simple slice... but it still tastes the same... there just isnt much rice
and it has skin
and eyeballs
1:59pm Ashley
im getting nauseous

Expect words of Madame Kwon's wisdom in the future. This is not her final appearance on this blog. If you have questions for Madame Kwon, post them in the comments. I'm sure "she" would be happy to answer anything you have to ask... ANYTHING.

I just got tested for the HIV

2010-01-21T16:45:00.002-05:00

...and I'm negative. So today is a day for celebration. The man who pricked my finger had the most soothing voice EVER. He spent about 20 minutes talking to me about my sexual history, vaccinations...etc. It was convenient. When you hear how an HIV test works from some guy with a crazy, gruffy goatee and a calm, soothing voice, it's nice. Makes you feel like there's no pressure in the world. When you're asked "Have you had anal sex?" by someone with a voice that soothing, however, it's really hard not to laugh. When I was done I got to choose what kind of band-aid would go on my finger: the traditional kind...or the kind with dinosaurs. Did he REALLY have to ask? DINOSAURS ON SKATEBOARDS RULE!

Robert and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Night

2010-01-15T16:34:00.013-05:00

I woke up this morning to the sound of my real estate agent knocking on my bedroom door. I was naked, in bed, and my molar was throbbing in complete pain. I looked over at my cell phone. I had set the alarm for 10am... surely I couldn't have slept through it. It was 9:30. What the fucckity fuck was this woman doing in my house? Why did my tooth hurt so bad? Did I REALLY have to get out of bed? These were the questions running through my mind as last night all came rushing back to me.

So how did I get there? It started yesterday when I went into the City to see my friend Marielle, chill at her apartment, have a few drinks and all around have a good time. I was planning on getting wasted and crashing there. As soon as I got there in the afternoon, one enormous Smirnoff Ice and two beers were consumed. Off to a good start. Soon Marielle decided to "power drink" 2 Coors Lights... this got her pretty schwasted... cheap date, huh? So we decide to go out, explore the city and get some vodka from her dad's apartment in uptown. For the full hour it took us to finally get to uptown, both of us had to pee... BAD. Yikes. Soon enough we got there. That was the most glorious piss of my life. Marielle carried out the vodka bottles with her purse and I carried a vinyl box full of stemware so that Marielle could drink the wine I'd brought more properly. On the way back to the subway station, Marielle bought a hot dog and I got some roasted almonds from one of those KICKASS Nuts 4 Nuts stands. They were cold. Shameful. As I went to bite into the first one, i noticed my molar felt really funny. "Marielle... I think my tooth is gonna break if I chew with this side of my mouth... fuck my life."

So Marielle and I hop on the subway. She saw that there was a station for Bleecker on the line we were on, so we decided to get off at that station instead of Union Square. As soon as we came out of the subway platform, we were lost. Oops. We'd made a silly... wonderful. We found some strangers who led us in the right direction and as soon as we got to Bleecker St, they pointed us where we should go. After walking 7 blocks and reaching the end of the street, it was clear we had been going in the wrong direction. DAMN. As we're turning around, my phone rings. I can tell right away from the ringtone that it's mother. I answer and here's the gist of what she said: "Patty called and I didn't answer but she left a voicemail and said that someone is coming to look at the house tomorrow." I thought back to the house. After a week of keeping the house spotless I had given up hope that my incompetent real estate agents could find anyone at all to look at it. The kitchen wasn't awful, but it needed some cleaning. The guest bedroom (where I've been sleeping), on the other hand, was a disaster area because I have been unable to procure a hamper and thusly had for 2 weeks scattered my dirty underwear on the floor. Here's the gist of my side of the conversation. "I'll make it home to clean. Wayne and Patty are fucking idiots, though. They're never gonna sell the goddamn house, mother. I am going to have a rough time getting back tonight, I've been drinking and this is such bullshit because I can 100% guarantee you that whoever the fuck looks at the house tomorrow isn't gonna buy it." Mother knows that when I start to curse at her, I mean business, so she promised to call Patty and see if she could reschedule. Two minutes later, the phone rang again. I turned to Marielle: "Just watch, this is gonna be my dad telling me that we made a deal and that it's my responsibility to get the house clean and I have to go back tonight. Gist of what my dad said. "Rob, we had a deal and if the house isn't spotless it's your ass. Do whatever it takes to get back to NJ in time to make sure the place is pristene." "I know we had a deal father. I'm going to make it back and the house will be spotless. Never fear." My phone then started to beep, letting me know that the battery was on it's slow and painful course to certain death. FUCK!

I let Marielle know that we had to rush back to her place. We did, with Marielle only getting distracted by potential purchases once or twice.Once we got there, I left my keys and cell phone on her bed to clear some clutter out of my pockets and we headed out to buy mixers for our vodka as well as some nice "glassware" if you catch my drift. We headed back to her apartment, ordered some Qdoba (they deliver in the village!) and had a few drinks and a really great conversation about money. Marielle texted ChaCha (cause her apt doesn't have internet) to find out when the last train to Mountain View left from Penn Station. ChaCha responded 11:30. Shit! I'd been under the illusion that the last train left at 12:30... there goes an hour of our time. We had a few more drinks, I got tipsy and simply could not finish my quesadilla and around 10:50 we decided to leave her apartment.

Marielle accompanied me on the train to Penn Station. I waited to find out what track the train was leaving from. Track 21? That's weird. "Track 21, boarding now, last call." came the message over the intercom. FUCK! Marielle and I ran over to track 21, parting without a goodbye hug, and I jumped on the train. As soon as I got on, I noticed something funny. This train looked far too fancy. I turned to the guy next to me: "Excuse me, where is this train headed?" "Ronkonkoma." SHIT! I ran off the train, checked the departure screen again. It said 12 (great, I'm dyslexic now, too) and I ran as fast as I could to go catch it. I made it onto the train. Everything was fine. I was gonna make it home with time to spare to clean the house. I reached into my backpack to pull out my ticket... but something was missing: THE GODDAMN CAR KEYS! SHIT! I called my mother and Marielle to let them know of this unfortunate situation. My mother told me to call a cab as soon as I got to Mountain View. I promised her that my phone battery would have died before I reached the station. She said I could just go into the bar across the street and ask them to call me a cab. I was unsure, but decided I didn't have a choice.

Once we reached Montclair, I was informed that we were at the end of the line. I asked the conductor when the train that would take me down to Mountain View would get there. He was a really big prick (not just because of this, but in general) and told me to check the schedule. There was no train to Mountain View for another hour and a half. Thanks a fucking lot ChaCha, you're so goddamn dependable.
I walked around looking for a pay phone. There were none, but I managed to barge into an office at the train station and asked the adorable and odd-accented man to call me a cab. He did. The woman on the other line rudely shouted "Hold on a minute" into the phone, leaving me on hold for 3 minutes and finally coming back in a much nicer tone of voice and let me know a cab was on the way. I waited about 8 minutes for the cab... not too shabby. When I got in, I realized that this was the sketchiest cab I'd ever been in. No meter, lit cigarette in the driver's hand, ripped seats...etc. I asked the guy how much it would be to get to Lincoln Park. He said $40. The station in Montclair was 10 minutes from my house. RIPOFF ALERT! I, however, had no choice and was forced to accept this hoodrat's services. He blasted some ghetto late night talk show on his radio. During a break, the host played that irritating Ke$ha song. The driver seemed into it. UGH.

Such a classy broad

We got to Lincoln Park. I gave the driver $40 (I have never not tipped a cab driver before, but he fucking ripped me off hardcore, so I was being spiteful) and got out. As expected, the side door was locked, and the keys were at Marielle's, so I waved the driver off and went up onto my deck to find the hide-a-key. It wasn't there. SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT! One in the morning and locked out of my own house with absolutely no way of getting in. I went to Patty and Wayne's house and rang the doorbell. All the lights were on and I could see the TV on in their bedroom. After 5 minutes of waiting, I rang again. They HAD to be awake... every goddamn light in the house was on. I rang a third time. Still no answer. I was fucked. The only other person in the neighborhood who had the key was my neighbor Linda, and unlike Patty and Wayne, she was DEFINITELY sleeping. I thought to myself. I had 2 choices: sleep on the deck chair like a bum until morning with no cell phone alarm clock to wake me up in time to clean the house... or wake Linda's ass up. I HAD to clean the house. It just had to be done, and I had to go to any extremes possible. I walked up to Linda's house and rang the doorbell. No answer. I stood there for 5 minutes, wondering if I should ring again. I decided that was unfair. It was 1 in the morning. I resolved to go down to Patty and Wayne's house again and slam REALLY FUCKING HARD on their door until they answered. They got me into this whole fucking mess and they were going to get me out of it. As I walked away from Linda's house, I heard the door open, "Robert? Sorry, I was just waiting to see who walked away from the door before I opened it. Divya's in China so I'm the only one here." She let me in, I apoligized profusely for waking her up and I recounted the night to her, leaving myself completely out of breath. She got the key for me and insisted I get home as fast as possible to start cleaning. On my way out, she offered me a ride to the train station in the afternoon. I thanked her again, walked back home and finally got inside. As I cleaned the kitchen, I came across Wayne's business card holder. His smug smile and ugly bowtie looked out at me from the picture on the card. I HATED him. I took a card, went to the garage, lit it on fire, used it to light my last cigarette of the night and watched it burn. The flames got so intense that they started to light the cigarette filters in the ashtray on fire. I finished my cigarette and snuffed out the flame as best I could with a nearby coffee can and made my way back inside.

I finished cleaning the kitchen, charged my phone, set the alarm, went upstairs and passed out. I was fucking exhausted. I woke up the next morning fatigued and with a nasty, throbbing abscess in my mouth. Wonderful. My tooth is still killing me as I write this... fucking almonds... It was also an almond that caused me to crack the same tooth in half 7 years ago... fucking irony, huh? If last night doesn't rank as the worst night of my life, it definitely ranks in the top 5. If I lived in Haiti, clearly this would be nothing, but as an upper middle class white kid from the suburbs, last night was pretty fucking miserable. Today was better. I got the keys my sister had, got that ride from Linda, caught up on my 30 Rock and mommy bought me a blackberry that she's shipping up from Florida. It should be waiting for me when I get back to Boston. Now if only I could do something about this damn tooth.

Tequila Sunrise

2010-01-10T22:15:00.004-05:00

Every single time I have consumed tequila in my life, I have vomited... regardless of the actual amount of tequila I drank. New resolution for my life: never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever everconsume tequila again. Ever. Good night.Note: this will probably be my shortest entry ever... promise. Maybe I'll even write a followup about all the shit that has happened to me the very few times I actually drank it... sound like a good idea?

An Honest Man

2010-01-08T23:10:00.005-05:00

I spent a lot of time in my childhood being someone other than myself. Some would call me a compulsive liar, but I don't think that was really the best way to describe me. I was so desperate for companionship that I would weave these fantastic tales of rich uncles who own amusement parks in Ohio, rich uncles who design video games, rich uncles with HUGE trampolines... my grandparents must have been getting it on like hamsters to birth all my highly fictional rich uncles. Around the 8th grade, I made a change to stop all the lies. My rival at the time had the initials D.W. and he was just as much of a liar as I was. It takes one to know one and I called him out on more than one occasion. One time, it turned out part of his fabricated tale was true and could be confirmed by a teacher... he used this to justify every lie that followed. Overall, though, we were the same... and I HATED him. If I hated D.W., then I must have hated myself--and I did. I look back at those miserable days in middle school and think, "Well, no wonder everybody hated me... I was a fucking weirdo with nothing to offer." I lied to everyone I knew and I lied to myself and it lead to my "downfall" if you will.

Coming out of middle school, I resolved to change. I had to. No longer could I live a huge lie. I took a long hard look at my life and realized that sometimes it got pretty pretty interesting. Why was I making up fictional uncles? One of my uncles was the first state historian in Texas history. Another uncle is a reclusive genius who invents crazy technology shit. Another was a roadie for The New York Dolls... and he didn't even know the name of the band... he was too high. He's still a staple in many a NYC bar to this day.One of my sister's brothers was schizophrenic and jumped off a building. It is a heavy matter of debate as to whether he was committing suicide or if he thought he could fly. Why make up stories about wealthy relatives when I have wealthy parents and interesting relatives? There was no need. Now that I'm an adult, I see that--and I can't really blame those who hated me for doing so... in many cases it was my own damn fault.

By high school I was on a serious honesty streak. I still lied to my parents, but when it came to everyone else, there was no need. I openly expressed my strong opinions, I came out of the closet, I started telling people the truth and the response was positive. I wasn't exactly Mr. Popularity in high school, but I had something better than popularity: respect. In high school, I would describe myself as generally respected and somewhat feared. That was a new way of feeling I had never known--and it felt good. I no longer needed to lie to impress people. I got to be myself for once and that is why I thank Morris Catholic--those uniforms definitely force people to carve out identities for themselves--otherwise you'd just be another boring Catholic school kid in a uniform... LAME.

God, I fucking hate uniforms...LABELLA!

In college, I have yet to amass a group of followers who trust what I say and understand that while I may be many things, I am not a liar. A couple people get it, but for the most part I feel like my peer evaluations would be along the lines of "Well... he posts some pretty funny shit on Facebook." This is unacceptable to me. I need to do what I did in high school and carve out a niche for myself... something not related to my internet whereabouts... wait... wouldn't that mean I'm talking down this blog? No... never... I love my blog... I respect my blog... I'm proud of my blog... OH PLEASE GOD DON'T STOP FOLLOWING MY BLOG! I may be honest, but I must admit, I am the occasional hypocrite... racist, homophobe, generally loud person, starter of inappropriate conversations in public places, militant atheist, stoner, Jersey Shore watcher and pervert... I say this out of honesty, folks.

Performance Oscar Predictions--Round 1

2010-01-07T16:22:00.004-05:00

This is gonna be a short entry, but I have seen and heard enough to decide who will win the 4 coveted performance Oscars before the nominations are even out... I don't think I'm being a maverick here--this will not be posted on facebook to boost traffic--I just want to record this for posterity as proof that academy politics make it FAR too easy to make predictions like this. If I am wrong, or if I change my mind along the way, I'll be the first to let you know. And the Oscars go to:

Best Actor-Jeff Bridges (Crazy Heart) I haven't seen it, but the buzz is impossible to ignore
Best Actress-Sandra Bullock (The Blind Side)
Best Supporting Actor-Christoph Waltz (Inglourious Basterds)
Best Supporting Actress-Mo'Nique (Precious)

I'm most positive about the supporting performances--Mo' and Waltz have very very limited competition. All Mo' has to worry about are the Up in the Air girls, and even then there's just really no comparison as to the performance quality. Waltz has tougher competition, but he gave such a strong performance that I'm not too worried for him.

Best Director is the real category to watch. It's gonna be a tight race--Kathryn Bigelow vs. James Cameron vs. Quentin Tarantino vs. Lee Daniels vs. Jason Reitman--and every last one has a chance for different reasons. Tarantino has yet to get the award, and the Academy may give it to him as a recognition of his stellar career. Daniels got the best performances out of his cast plain and simple, which gives him a shot. Cameron has directed one of the most visionary epics in the history of film--a good justification for the award. Bigelow, Cameron's ex, has directed the most acclaimed movie of the year, so there's her reason. Finally there's Jason Reitman; I don't see Reitman winning, but he has a chance simply because Up in the Air has a good chance at best picture and most of the time the awards for best director and best picture go hand in hand.

2009-The Movies

2010-01-03T17:56:00.006-05:00

As I said yesterday, 2009 was not the best year for movies. I said yesterday that I paid to see #10, which has since been pushed down to an honorable mention spot to make room for a different movie higher up in the list... so now I only paid to see my top 2 and #7 (just realized that). To be fair, if I could have seen the ones I downloaded in theaters, I would have... but all the ones I downloaded were in limited releases mostly over the summer when I wasn't going to go out to New York just to see them. Anyway, I compiled a list of the best stuff I saw this year and you're here to read that and not the shit that I'm writing now so I'll just get to it now before I bore you to tears.

10.) Adventureland

Why Adventureland failed at the box office is a simple matter of marketing. Anyone who saw the trailer would assume that this was just another stupid screwball teen comedy with the likes of Ryan Reynolds, Kristin Wiig and Bill Hader. In reality, Adventureland is more coming of age drama than it is comedy. Up in the Air, the current awards season frontrunner, which is being marketed in the opposite way that Adventureland was, is far more of a comedy than this movie. Does that mean that Miramax handled this movie the wrong way? Not necessarily. They were trying to draw in teenagers by playing down the movie's serious elements, and they failed... it was an understandable mistake. However, this movie is one of those great coming of age stories that remains honest to how recent college grads act and function. The movie's R rating is a joke. The characters WOULD be drinking, having sex and smoking pot if they were real people. What I really like about this movie though, is how much of a cookie-cutter rom-com this is not. The leads lead complex lives. They all have believable reasons for working at this amusement park: some need the money because their parents aren't supporting them anymore, some are too stupid to get a job anywhere else and some just need an escape. Each character is incredibly well-developed... even shallow ones have moments where the "true" sides of them come out. Does it make them less shallow? No. in the real world, there are shallow people and those characters are a representation of that. Kristin Stewart atones for her Twilght sins here (anyone who has seen her as Bella Swan is familiar with that nails-on-a-chalkboard bland delivery.) Here she's good, and plays by far the most complex and interesting character. Jesse Eisenberg does a good job as well--hints of Michael Cera come through, but unlike Cera, Eisebnerg can actually act. At the end of the day, Adventureland is good--no matter what the commercials made it look like

9.)The Hurt Locker

War. It is fucking hell. Diffusing bombs in Iraq for a living? That's closer to the inferno than anything. In a job that isn't very high-demand in America, over in the most tumultuous parts of Iraq, bomb diffusers are needed on an often daily basis. This is the premise for The Hurt Locker, the most honest war movie of the past decade (and possibly of all time). Kathryn Bigelo (ex wife of Avatar director James Cameron) crafts a white-knuckle thriller that needs not embellish at all to generate the tension it does. Is it a total nonstop thrill ride like my personal favorite war movie, Black Book? No. It lags at some points, and the suspense is generated more from the inherent dread than the story. Unlike Black Book, The Hurt Locker is true to life, and it depicts something we don't think about that is happening every day. The performances are all competent, especially lead Jeremy Renner who is a lot of fun to watch. There are a few notable names in here: Guy Pierce, Ralph Fiennes and David Morse... but don't expect to see any of them for too long... some die within minutes after being introduced and others just fade into the background. The real stars of the show are the unknowns and they all deliver impressive performances. For a movie to be this realistic and thrilling, yet still give a real emotional punch in the gut is something to be admired.

8.) An Education

I love Peter Sarsgaard. Knowing that An Education was about Peter Sarsgaard seducing a 16-year old got me excited because to me, Sarsgaard does the seductive thing astonishingly well. He doesn't disappoint, but the real star of the show as I said yesterday is Carey Mulligan. Mulligan's performance is An Education's biggest asset--if Mulligan had not been believable in conveying her character, the movie would have fallen flat. I would have been calling Adventureland the best coming-of-age story of the year had I not seen this a week ago. The movie is funny, smart, well-photographed, well-acted and has a fantastic cast. Out of the supporting players, Sally Hawkins really stands out. With not more than a minute of screentime, Hawkins does exactly what she needs to do, does it astonishingly well, and does it in under a minute. Hawkins won a best actress Golden Globe for Happy-Go-Lucky last year, but was snubbed by the Academy (even though she not only deserved the nomination, but also the win.) While the brevity of her role in An Education means no awards, she shows that she has the chops to get that nomination sometime in the future. Oh wait, am I supposed to be talking about the movie? Sorry, I just REALLY love Sally Hawkins. Oh, did I mention this is a true story?

7.) (500) Days of Summer

(500) Days of Summer is the perfect anti-romantic comedy. It's original, inventive, fresh, unique and about a million other synonyms that all describe how one-of-a-kind it is. What makes the movie great is its willingness to defy just about every cliche in your typical romantic comedy. It is biased. The movie is told entirely from Joseph Gordon-Levitt's point of view. We do not get any of those scenes with Zooey Deschanel sitting at a table in a cafe talking to her girlfriends about this boy she's seeing. Because we don't get these, Summer comes off as a total fucking bitch for dumping our lead... but know what? That's how relationships are: two sided. The problem is, when we're in them, we only see our own side. Deschanel and Gordon-Levitt make the perfect quirky indie hipster couple. Their chemistry isn't forced; it comes as naturally as it fades. To top it all off, the movie offers more than a few chuckles and watching Joseph Gordon-Levitt's musical number is pure movie magic.

6.) Broken Embraces (Los Abrazos Rotos)

It's no secret that Pedro Almodovar is my favorite director. I'm probably one of a very slim number of Americans not only to have seen every single Almodovar movie, but also to own them all... So, yes... I'm biased. If you are not a die-hard Almodovar fan like myself, Embraces is not a good introduction to the man, however, as I have issues with the ending. Embraces is Almodovar's third total foray into film noir after Bad Education and Live Flesh. Both are better examples of what he can do. Know what? I've done alot of shit talking about Broken Embraces this year... so why is it even in my top 10? Well, at the end of the day, while I was disappointed because I know Almodovar could have formulated a better ending, everything other than the ending works for me. This is still Almodovar, though... his influence permeates every frame and if any other director had been the one to produce this, not only would it still be in this spot, but I would be singing its praises.

5.) Up

Well... Every year Pixar manages to impress me with what they're offering and every year they make my top 10. No studio has ever had the success rate that Pixar has. Pixar has NEVER made a movie that didn't AT LEAST double the money that was invested in it. Even Cars, Pixar's worst movie to date, is still not a bad movie--and I can't stand NASCAR. Up is not as good as WALL-E, Pixar's best effort, but it ranks on par with every other Pixar movie to win the best animated feature Oscar. As is the case with pretty much everything this year, Up was a refreshing surprise with a lame marketing campaign. I saw the trailer and went "Old guy in a floating house with a boy scout? Sounds more like a disturbing drama about child molestation." Don't get me wrong, I thought Up was going to be good going in, but like WALL-E, it surpassed every expectation I could have had. The First several minutes, where we are introduced to our protagonist before he became a grouch, are more touching and beautiful than anything Pixar has ever done... in just several minutes they made viewers fall in love with a protagonist that judging from the trailer, I thought I wouldn't like. Like every Pixar movie, the supporting characters are quirky, there's a lot of action and excitement and the animation is flawless. Will it win the Oscar? Probably... but this is the first year I've had doubt... not because this isn't the finest animated offering this year (it is), but because I feel like the Academy may be tired of handing over the statuette to Pixar. With the exception of Cars (which didn't deserve it), every Pixar production since Finding Nemo has won the Oscar... hopefully the academy recognizes that this is the best animated movie of the year, but if any strong competition pops up, I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't.

4.) Avatar

In a year where I have had to use the words "surprised me" over and over again for both movies and performances, nothing was more surprising to me than Avatar. The initial buzz was tepid. Bloggers were ready to rip the movie to shreds on arrival... sure enough, they couldn't. James Cameron spent 10 years and $300,000,000 on this movie and he has crafted something spectacular. Never before has a great movie been crafted that you HAD to see in 3D... Avatar doesn't need to be seen in 3D to be appreciated, but it has 3D in its DNA. Avatar shows that 3D is not just a cool gimmick, but a legitimate medium that can be used to offer a more immersive experience. Avatar works on all levels. Environmentalism, racism, the harsh nature of the human race... they're all covered. With the exception of the villain, all the characters have a great deal of depth... even the ones that are animated. Many have criticized its simple, "Pocahontas ripoff" storyline, but I feel that that is an asset. Much like any Pixar movie, Avatar's simple plot makes it accessible to as many people as possible and helps make way for the unprecedented visuals. For a movie that is over 2 1/2 hours long, it flies right by. There are no great performances here, but not a single weak one either. What nobody can argue, though, is that the movie looks fantastic. Avatar is an epic in terms of both plot and visuals and is the second movie of 2009 that I intend to go back to theaters to see at least once more before it goes to video.

3.) Up in the Air

With Thank You For Smoking Jason Reitman crafted a decent adaptation of a novel by my favorite satirist. With Juno, he created a quirky little indie hit that while met with near-universal appraise upon release, faced heavy backlash a few months down the road. With Up in the Air, Reitman has made his best movie to date. The story is funny, involving and highly appropriate for the current economic climate. Even if we weren't in a recession, this movie would be just as good, because the whole "firing people" thing is essentially a MacGuffin... he could have a different career, and the movie could still work, but this one just makes the most sense. Clooney is suave, as always. Anna Kendrick is great and proves to Hollywood that she can act. Vera Farmiga, however, is the standout to me. With Up in the Air she finally gives the performance I've known she had in her since I saw her in Dummy back in 2002. The movie is also hysterical... Thank You For Smoking failed to deliver the bellylaughs that the novel did, and Juno's humor was subdued--not much of the ROFL variety. I think I may even go so far as to say that Up in the Air is the funniest movie I saw this year... but at the same time it has a lot of heart, and the decisions of its characters are believable, even if, as my father says, the concept of outsourcing "terminators" is not.

2.) District 9

During the first 45 minutes of District 9, I was completely overwhelmed by emotion. District 9, for me, took a subject that is completely unrealistic and made it believable. During those first 45 minutes, the movie is told from a hyperrealistic perspective with "found footage" and fake interviews and know what? I bought it. Those emotions I was feeling? Simple shock and awe at how accomplished this movie is. For a directorial debut, it is fantastic. For a movie made on a paltry (for an action movie) $30,000,000 budget, it is fantastic. I can say one negative thing about District 9--the final fight sequence was just a bit too long. That's it. Everything else about this movie works for me. The performance from total unknown Sharlto Copley is simply amazing... but hasn't gotten any recognition. The Special effects are fantastic... ESPECIALLY considering this movie's budget. The budget for Avatar alone could have made this movie 10 times. But even without the special effects and the great acting on Copley's part, this is a great story. Anyone who knows anything about South Africa knows the metaphor here... this is a movie about racism and xenophobia, and it is one of the most effective at getting the point across that I have ever seen. While the metaphor is completely obvious, though, it doesn't detract at all from the story. Instead, it enhances it. This movie is so incredibly underrated in every possible way that it sickens me. I hope the Academy shows a little more recognition than the Hollywood Foreign Press did.

1.) Inglourious Basterds

I could go on forever about Inglourious Basterds... there is just so much to say. It is the third movie I have seen twice in theaters and only the second that I paid to see both times (the other was, of course, Grindhouse.) This is not only the best movie of the year, but the best movie of Quentin Tarantino's career. Critics who acknowledge this film's greatness often say it is his best since Pulp Fiction. This movie is better than Pulp Fiction. Those critics are simply afraid to say the truth: that this topped one of the most revered movies of all time. This is the magnum opus Quentin has been waiting to unleash on us, and it is pure gold... I wrote a much much longer blog about the movie with particular detail to the performances so I don't really need to ramble more... if you wanna read it, go here. I wrote in that post that Basterds was my second favorite Tarantino movie... after my second viewing I knew It was #1.

Honorable Mentions
11.) Drag Me To Hell
12.) Coraline
13.) Precious

2009-The Performances

2010-01-02T15:29:00.005-05:00

2009 was a shitty year for movies. Rarely was I even compelled enough to go to the theater and spend $10 on a ticket because of how lame everything looked... sure enough, the only movies I did pay my own money to see on my forthcoming top 10 list were #1, #2 and #10. The rest? Downloads, movie passes and my parents' money. This list is for performances, however, and while I can say I saw some great performances this year, I had even less to chose from than I did trying to pick out my top 10 movies. I looked close and hard at the movies that I'd selected for my top 10 and 6 out of those 10 did not have a top 10-worthy performance. This year sucked, and I can only hope for a better movie season next year. Well, let's get started...

10.) Penelope Cruz-Broken Embraces
This was Cruz's first high-profile role since her Oscar win for Vicky Christina Barcelona, and she does a great job here. Does she deserve to be on this list? No. I liked her performance a lot, but at the same time Cruz's star has never shined dimmer under Pedro Almodovar's direction.

9.) Brad Renfro-The Informers
Brad Renfro died 2 years ago this month. Did you notice? Nope, neither did I. In fact, neither did the AMPAS, and they forgot to put him in the Oscars' annual "dead people montage." The Informers was awash in horrible performances given by great actors. The one single performance to really show any depth was Renfro's. His character showed intense desperation, mirroring the desperation from Renfro's own drug addiction. This performance is solid and Renfro is lucky that at least his final performance is one he would be proud of... even if it was in a terrible movie.

8.)Lluis Homar-Broken Embraces
When Broken Embraces hit Cannes, all the buzz was around Penelope Cruz, but the real star of the show was Homar. A big theme in Embraces is how people change over the course of 10 years and each actor (with the exceptions of Cruz and Jose Luis Gomez) has to play their character in the past as well as in the present and fully embody the changes to their persona that resulted from the past. None of the main players did this better than Homar. I truly believe that he is one of the most underrated actors in the Spanish film industry, and would REALLY like to see Hollywood embrace him the same way they've embraced Cruz.

7.)Sharlto Copley-District 9
From the second Copley's face appears on the screen in District 9, you can just tell this character is an idiot--and he is. That is, of course, until he starts to turn into an octopus. The evolution of this character as he is undergoing his transformation is nothing short of greatness. He perfectly conveys the frustrations, the fear and the sadness of this character. What makes this all the more exciting is that this is Copley's debut and that most of his interactions are with the CGI aliens in the movie. When Who Framed Roger Rabbit? came out in 1988, critics were astounded at Bob Hoskins' interactions with the animated characters that weren't actually there. Acting opposite a CGI character is no easier now than it was 20 years ago, but Copley makes it look easy and I bought every second of it. Copley, however, has gotten basically no credit for the quality of this performance and come awards season, don't expect to see him get any nominations.

6.) Melanie Laurent-Inglourious Basterds
There were three heavily deceptive movie marketing campaigns this year: Avatar, Adventureland and Inglourious Basterds. All three made it into my top 10. The thing that distinguishes Basterds from the other two is that it's marketing campaign didn't make it look lame. However, viewers unfamiliar with the plot before entering the theater were treated to quite a surprise when it turned out that Brad Pitt shared the spotlight equally with Laurent and Christoph Waltz. Pitt was great, but he didn't make this list. Laurent did for genuinely surprising me. The role of Shoshanna was, in essence, a double role. On the one hand, Laurent was playing Shoshanna Dreyfus: a Jew who will stop at nothing to get revenge for the brutal execution of her family by the Nazis. Shoshanna is cold, calculating, vengeful and not the best actress around. On the other hand you have Shoshanna's persona Emmanuelle Mimieux. Emmanuelle is the face Shoshanna puts on for the Nazis--and while I think people can recognize Laurent's brilliance when she is in the Shoshanna role, it is easy to see why anybody could dislike her portrayal of the Emmanuelle persona. "Emmanuelle" is pretty much Shoshanna biting her tongue. At the lunch scene, Shoshanna says almost nothing because she is terrified but also just wants to reach out and kill everybody at the table. When she tries to make small talk, she has a hard time thinking of what to say. However, Shoshanna struggles with trying to keep up her Emmanuelle persona whenever she talks to the character of Fredrick Zoller because he causes her nothing but frustration. Those are Laurent's best moments; the ones where despite trying to maintain this persona she has created for herself, sometimes instinct and her own natural reactions can't help but get the best of her.

5.) Micah Sloat and Katie Featherston-Paranormal Activity
In this movie, Sloat and Featherston have more chemistry than any other onscreen couple this year. The thing that makes that hysterical to me is the fact that this is not in any way whatsoever a romance. Regardless, these two really make you believe not only that they're being haunted by a demon, but that they're a real couple. Their interactions are true-to-life in such a way as to really create that sense of hyperrealism. The Blair Witch Project failed to do anything for me primarily because I didn't think the acting was anything special and the characters weren't in any way likeable. Sloat and Featherston manage to balance making you like and care about these characters while simultaneously making them believable--not an easy feat by any means. This movie is Sloat's debut and Featherston's second only after a piece of straight-to-video horror garbage that nobody has seen--I think that both of them, thanks to this movie, will have promising careers to look forward to.

4.) Carey Mulligan-An Education
It's not uncommon in the film industry for someone to play a character 8 years younger than themself. What is uncommon is making it this believable. In An Education, Mulligan talks like a teenager, walks like one an most importantly, looks like one. She shows a lot of that sunny optimism many teenagers have, talking about how she wants to live in Paris, read French books, watch French movies and eat French food. And then, late in the movie, Mulligan's character undergoes a transformation: she grows up... and fast. The way Mulligan handles that transformation is superb... because she doesn't suddenly transform into someone acting like a 24-year-old out of the blue, but rather as she should: like a 17-year-old who has had their heart broken, but learns from it. Playing opposite Peter Sarsgaard is no easy feat either. Sarsgaard is one of the most talented actors in Hollywood today and has in many cases outshined main characters and veteran actors. This is not the case here. While Sarsgaard is fantastic, this is Mulligan's show, and she maintains control throughout.

3.) Gabby Sidibe-Precious
The buzz surrounding Sidibe's performance in Precious was immense and it was the only reason I watched the movie. I believed before I saw this that she would win best actress at the Oscars and Sidibe did nothing but confirm my beliefs. Sidibe is so convincing that before she started to make the talk show circuit, people genuinely believed the performance of this abused, illiterate and downtrodden character couldn't just be acting. Sidibe proved them wrong in a series of late night talk show appearances where viewers saw one of the happiest, bubbliest and most down-to-earth young women in the biz. That stark comparison alone is what I think will win Sidibe the Oscar (and her acceptance speech will no doubt surpass Marion Cotillard's on the scale of adorableness.) However, even without the bubbly talk show appearances, this is a solid performance throughout. Sidibe takes this character that should be an enormous chiche and brings her to life. Like I said for many other performances this year, I bought it. Also like many of the performances above, Sidibe's character goes through a transformation--from an illiterate, abused, quiet and delusional girl into a woman who learns not only to read and write, but also a woman who is independent, empowered and ready to face any challenges she may have. While this was a lousy year for movies, it was a great year for debut performances, and Sidibe's stands out easily as the best.

2.) Mo'Nique-Precious
When I heard Mo'Nique was playing the abusive mother of the title character in Precious, I didn't think much of it. When the Oscar buzz started, and Mo'Nique was universally considered the frontrunner, I still didn't think much of it. Mo'Nique is a comedian. The last thing I saw her do was host Charm School. In my head, there was no way she could deliver a performance of this caliber. Well, 20 minutes into Precious I was a believer. While I only watched the movie for Sidibe's performance, I came away from this movie knowing that Mo'Nique's performance was the true gem in a sea of entirely competent performances from the likes of people with little experience in dramatic acting, among them: Lenny Kravitz, Mariah Carey, Sherri Shepherd and Paula Patton. Everybody in the cast is amazing, but as I said, Mo'Nique is the star. Watching her character is like looking into the heart of evil. Where Mo'Nique really goes right, though, is holding it back. Many actresses in this role would be guilty of overacting because the character is so evil and despicable that it is hard not to go too far with a performance like this. Not Mo'Nique. She knows exactly how to strike that perfect balance of being a despicable human being and remaining believable (maybe her Charm School days helped with that.) In a scene where the character reveals the genesis for her abusive nature, Mo'Nique offers up the finest 5 minutes of acting this year. If this is really what Mo'Nique can do, she belongs in much better roles than the garbage she's done in the past.

1.) Christoph Waltz-Inglourious Basterds
Much like with Mo'Nique's performance, I ignored the initial buzz around Christoph Waltz's performance in Basterds. I knew he'd won at Cannes, and that that is the single most prestigious acting award one can get, but the Cannes jury also gave a Michael Haneke movie, The White Ribbon, the Palme d'Or. I hate Haneke and everything he stands for (including, ironically, HATING fellow Palme winner Quentin Tarantino) so I shrugged off their choices this year. I didn't have doubt, just not particularly high expectations. Sure enough, the Cannes jury was right and Waltz did, in fact, gave easily the best performance of the year. Like Mo'Nique, Waltz is portraying a villain here; unlike her, however, the character of Hans Landa is not inherently evil so much as emotionless, manipulative, opportunistic and far more intelligent than any other character in the movie. It is the fact that we have a villain who isn't evil that makes this role so much fun and Waltz gets it just right. His delivery is so superb because he manages to make the audience understand that Landa is not technically "evil" in the true sense of the word. Managing to play someone responsible for killing all the Jews in France and letting the audience see something other than the "evil villain" archetype is what makes this performance so fantastic. Not only is it the best performance of the year, but it is the best performance to ever come out of a Quentin Tarantino movie.

There you have it... Some honorable mentions: The entire cast of Inglourious Basterds, Paula Patton-Precious, Blanca Portillo-Broken Embraces, Joseph Gordon-Levitt-(500) Days of Summer, Peter Sarsgaard-An Education, Joshua Leonard-Humpday

Stay tuned for the top movie list. I see Up in the Air tomorrow, so I can finally redraft my list.

New Years Blog of Bloggitude

2010-01-01T21:35:00.007-05:00

Last year, on new years, I had no resolutions. It wasn't until mid-January, the very beginning of the spring semester, that I finally came up with one that I believed I could do: update this fucking blog. I didn't place any specific restrictions on myself, I just promised that I would write. I also changed the name... this blog was originally called Unhealthy Addiction To Bacon... thus the URL. At first I didn't really think much of what I was writing, but I noticed over time that my blogging got progressively better. For this initial surge of creativity, I thank Kat Gonso who made us blog in her class and it got me excited about blogging again. She was also this blog's first follower EVER... no lie... this blog had been around for 2 years before it got a follower (and nowadays I'm a blog whore who wants nothing more than to get AS MANY FOLLOWERS AS POSSIBLE... it's like some people are with facebook, I just like seeing people in that follower box over there.) However, inspiration doesn't last and soon enough summer came. With summer came some tough times and, of course, my best friend, writer's block.

Soon enough, I got back to blogging when I fell in love with Jenny Lawson, The Bloggess, who is probably the funniest person to ever walk this planet and if you don't read her blog you're not one of the cool kids. In all seriousness, though, since she may be reading this (she's commented TWICE here) Jenny, you have made this blog what it is today and you are an inspiration. Not only has your your writing and tagging style heavily influenced this blog, but thanks to you, I now know that I was misguided wanting to be a film critic... I wanna be a sex columnist... like you! So thank you Jenny Lawson, you are my person of the year.

So now onto my real purpose for this blog: my new years resolutions... I didn't have any last night, but I'm going to come up with some off the top of my head right now... I feel like this is gonna be WAY harder than it feels.

1.) Blog more... Rob, you need to be consistent with this shit or people will lose interest...

2.) Only get intoxicated when you don't have things you need to do for school... yeah, Rob, are you an idiot?

3.) Get to 20 followers on this blog... because I'm a fucking narcissist sometimes and life is one big popularity contest

4.) Stop telling myself that I'll go to the fitness center and ACTUALLY GO to the fitness center... this one has a lot to do with how inactive #2 has made me

5.) Finish rewrites on Hexagon... It's been three years since I wrote that thing, and I'm still ashamed to share it with anybody because a few chapters need heavy reworking and I haven't even managed to sift out all the typos.

Okay... I thought this entry was gonna be funnier... so screw my original plan. Instead, I'm just gonna list my blog achievements from the past year:

1.) I tried to contact the pope begging for excommunication
2.) I correctly predicted the 6 major categories at the Oscars
3.) I found out that Steve from Blues Clues is now a kickass indie rocker
4.) I recapped the single most odd night of my life
5.) I realized that I have a thing for being friends with my teachers
6.) I took some Adderall and realized that in a different world, incest might no be so bad
7.) I determined that Perez Hilton's childish penis doodles are actually protecting him from copyright infringement
8.) I proved that I have ADD (my favorite post of the year for many reasons)
9.) I got a checking account (not a blog achievement, but probably my biggest achievement of the year)
10.) I deconstructed Bad Romance
11.) I decided I wanted to be a sex columnist, gave some sex advice, and then did it again.
12.) I named our generation... I'm not gonna link to that, the entry is right below this one.

So there you have it... I don't need to make resolutions to achieve things... I can change the world with my blog... one piece of handjob advice at a time. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

The Jaded Generation

2009-12-19T15:40:00.004-05:00

A few years back I was really into Generation X... so I was on Wikipedia, looking at the names of all the generations that preceeded and followed it... According to Wikipedia, I'm in Generation Y. I feel like that's a cop-out. Generation X is highly distinct from my generation. We adopted technology young--most of us never even cracked open an encyclopedia after elementary school. We grew up with 9/11, an event significant enough to shock us out of that 90's optimism and into the harsh light of the new millenium. It was gonna suck. So who are we? Are we iGeneration? Net Generation? Generation Next? No. We are our own breed. We are The Jaded Generation.

Why The Jaded Generation? Well I coined the term while having a conversation with my friends Billy and Ashley. This was at the peak of 2 Girls 1 Cup's populatiry, and the two were giggling uncontrollably describing a wonderful little video called Putrid Sex Object--in which a tranny makes out with a decaying, decapitated cow's head and then rubs himself in the cow's innards and proceeds to fuck the cow's eye socket.
I hope that's enough to keep you from clicking the link. The two then went on to tell me about Mr. Bojangles... a video in which a guy gets fucked in the ass by a horse... DEEP. There are others: 2 Girls 1 Finger, Anal Jar, Pain Olympics... each more vile than the last. So why would I choose to define our generation by something so insignificant? Because while generations that preceeded us may have had the same odd compulsion to watch this shit, they didn't have access to it. The internet has allowed people to teach themselves anything--especially the things books in the library wouldn't teach. With the internet, we became exposed to porn LONG before our parents would have suspected it... many of us didn't even find internet porn on purpose... popups handled that.
We, as a generation, learned the birds and the bees from the internet. We found websites where we could buy cigarettes and alcohol without ID. We realized we didn't have to buy a whole CD to get a song you want... you can get it online... FOR FREE! You could go on Erowid and learn legal ways to get high... the possibilities were endless. This caused us to grow up way too fast without giving ourselves a chance to mature. We've seen it all before and we know exactly where to go if we want to find it again. That has WAY more of a significant effect on our personalities than the technology alone. What we chose to do with the technology is what makes us stand out as distinct from generations past. That's why the historians are wrong. That's why I coined the term (which has been used before to describe hipsters.) We are The Jaded Generation, and we will not tone it down.

Saint Anouska (of the gays)

2009-12-03T13:28:00.007-05:00

The following blog was a request by Miss Anouska Olivia Swaray... she proposed I write about coming out, fat people and her... I thought the three actually tied together rather nicely, so why not? Welcome to the coming out blog.

I came out at the end of freshman year in the least dramatic way possible: I went on myspace and changed my orientation. However, when you go to a tiny pissfuck school like Morris Catholic, gossip spreads fast and pretty much everyone knew it by the end of the summer... Only about 5 people actually came up to me and asked "what's the deal with your Myspace?" when they asked, I simply replied "Because I am." Simple, easy, efficient. The funny thing was that people looked at me different sophomore year, and I don't think it had anything to do with my sexual orientation. Freshman year, I was the whiny, opinionated fuck that had to correct teachers and call them out on their bullshit... some teachers over my time at MC would either fear me going on the attack or give me a glance after a controversial statement to see if I was giving them "the face"... you know... the one where I look like I'm about to shit in your childrens' cribs. Having that power was fun. I decided I was an atheist around the same time I came out (Deacon Tony and Father George converted me... I blame those men for my loss of faith.) Being the "class atheist" at a staunch Catholic school was actually a much bigger deal than being the "class gay." The fun thing about this was watching my two best friends from MC, who were both "I believe in God, but not Jesus or the Church" people, transform into hardened, cold atheists before my very eyes.
But I digress. This blog is about coming out. Now if you're coming out of the closet, there is one friend you absolutely positively must have: ANOUSKA OLIVIA SWARAY! SING IT FROM THE MOUNTAINTOPS LIKE THE CALLS OF ANGELS! Yes. I met Anouska during a shadow day, but I didn't really MEET her until she had a 2-month-late Christmas party my freshman year. As I sat in her living room, I looked around: my gaydar was going off something FIERCE. Even when a certain boy was making out with his girlfriend behind the couch I was like "Nuh-uh... that boy is A GAY" It took 4 years for me to get news that he'd come out, but once I did it was "I told you so"s all around. Anouska, as a sassy black girl living in the suburbs, is a gay magnet. Being friends with her was like being friends with every last gay person in the school district... I met virtually every gay I knew in high school either through or indirectly through her. (Except Lindsay and Ally... and Ally doesn't count cause she's the one who introduced me in the first place) Without Anouska, being a 'mo in high school would have been lame... so I salute you, Anouska, you truly are the greatest fag hag in the history of humanity... and when you're famous, you'll have more gays doting on you than Gaga.... okay, maybe not Gaga... more gays than Kathy Griffin? No. Umm... More gays than Kristin Chenoweth! Perfect!

US, JUNIOR YEAR (CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS IS THE ONLY PICTURE OF US?)

This blog is timely as Ally recently came out to her mother. Congratulations, Ally. I came out to my mother while I was rather intoxicated. It was after our annual Christmas family reunion... I had been drinking wine and talking to my aunt about Tales of the City all night. When we went to the liquor store on the way to the hotel (cause my parents ALWAYS need more "cowbell") I convinced Mommy to buy be a bottle of Hypnotiq (I was curious.) Actually, she just said "whatcha want?" She then got me drunk and said she thought Dad was cheating on her. I tried really hard to convince her she was insane and that Daddy was not cheating. Finally, somewhere in this she asks, "so you like boys?" I replied "Yes" and then she tried to give me the Oprah speech about acceptance... gag.

So, my ads have generated $7 in revenue... pretty sweet... boosts my morale... another way to boost morale is to "follow" my blog by clicking the follow button over on that side somewhere --->

(I am becoming such a blog whore... it's very fitting, though, with the types of sex ads I'm getting.)

Scissor Me Timbers

2009-12-01T15:45:00.007-05:00

Another week, another blog chock-full-o sex advice... shall we begin?

So I'm a girl that doesn't have to use her hands too much when it comes to getting a guy off [considering I have no gag reflex, my mouth usually does the trick], but I hate the taste of semen. So, when my boyfriend is close to the end of our magical journey, I have to use my hands. And considering I have to use my whole wrist to jerk him off, my hand gets really really tired. I try to use the other, but then the other gives out. Any suggestions to make it a little easier?

And question two, my boyfriend only comes when I'm on top during vaginal/penal sex. He can be pounding into me for an hour or more but as soon as I flip over, he's done. We have tried doggy position so that he's essentially in control, but he doesn't enjoy it as much as I do. What kind of positions/suggestions do you have that might make him want to get on top? It gets boring ALWAYS being the one on top.

Okay. First tip: flavored condoms. Now many people say that giving a blowjob with a condom will not only ruin it, but reduce sensation. Well what are the sensations of oral sex? Warmth, wetness and suction. Now condoms, even flavored ones, are already lubed up on both sides... wetness down. Warmth... well it's not like you can't feel that through the latex. Finally: suction. Here's the key: make sure the condom is snugly fit on the penis and that there isn't any air trapped inside. Sometimes if air gets trapped inside and you suck the wrong way, you'll end up blowing a balloon into the back of your throat... this usually isn't too big of a deal. Now here's the advantage to flavored condoms: when wet, they reduce traction... so they help keep it easy on your lips and allow you to move your tongue much faster and more efficiently. Best part: no penis or semen flavor... you'll just taste strawberries...or bananas...or strawberry bananas if you're into that kinda thing. As always, my brand of choice is Durex.
Now while flavored condoms are all well and good, I guess that doesn't help you with your handjob conundrum... but never fear... I am here to help. Trick one, and the most obvious that I'm sure you've already figured out is alternation. Alternating hands before your arms get tired is crucial. Once one arm gets tired, it'll end up out of commission... and that is never a good thing... you're doing sexual things, you don't wanna be in pain anywhere other than your orifices (unless you're into that sort of thing, anyway.) Second suggestion: LUBE! I cannot emphasize enough how much every sexually active person alive should own at least one bottle of lube. There are a variety of lubes to choose from, so go out right now and ensure you have a bottle:
Keys to remember when purchasing lube: avoid oil-based lubricants at all costs... they can cause a yeast infection, they turn latex condoms into tissue paper and they're not a breeze to clean up. (Boys, if you still masturbate with Vaseline, give it a rest... shit smells nasty.) This leaves your options at water-based lubes and silicone-based lubes. Silicone based lubes stay wet longer than water-based, however, they don't get absorbed into the skin like water-based lubes do, so unless you plan to shower pretty soon after sex, you're not gonna wanna go this route.

The best type of lubes are water-based. Some things you should know: first off, certain experts say that sugar in lube is a bad thing... so KY, Astroglide and ID (the holy trinity of lubes) are great for many things, but not vaginal sex. Keep that in mind. Next thing: avoid "warming," "cooling" or spermicidal lubricants. The temperature-changing lubes often make things too intense for sex, and once the lube is there, you're gonna be feeling the sensation for a while. As for spermicidal lube: it can, over time, create sores on your skin that not only hurt, but make you more susceptible to STDs. Not a fun time.

For all intensive purposes and your needs, I'd go with Astroglide; when it dries out, you just spit on it and presto, it comes back to life. Now that I've gone over lubes as thoroughly as possible, let's move onto how you are gonna use it. Now that the dick is all lubed up, you're sliding your hand rather than tugging like you do on a dry dick. This alone is gonna save you a lot of hassle. Secondly, focus on the head... if you squeeze and release your hand on the head, it requires almost no wrist or arm strain. Play with the head a lot. Especially with fast circular motions using your thumb. Switch up motions of stimulation if the goal is for an intense pleasure experience and stick with the same "squeeze-jack" motion if your goal is ejaculation. (Goddamn... look at how complicated lubrication is compared to the actual answer. Go ahead and look again, I'll wait. SEE!?!?! What the hell. If only there was one universal lube that does everything.)

Now onto the second half of that question. First off, let me say that I've had one sexual partner for a few years who only wants it if I am on top and generally putting in all the work. Why? Cause my partner was a lazy fuck who blamed it on a real-but-exaggerated knee condition. Laziness during sex is intolerable unless you're really really horny and all you need is a warm body with all the equipment. As for letting you know some positions: have you considered the hetero-scissor?

While the media portrays the scissor position as strictly a lesbian thing, I'm pretty sure that the first people to do it were straight. The interesting thing about this position is that it is one of the few that results in mutual control. Both of you are on top and bottom at the same time.

If it's strictly a "I need to be on bottom to come" sort of thing, and has nothing to do with the actual pleasure of sex, remember that the actual sex should be the concern, not the ejaculation... that's secondary entirely... and sex can be enjoyed as long as he likes the position. If your boyfriend is generally lazy and doesn't like to drill into you because it's too much effort, well then you're pretty much fucked. Enjoy!

-Rob

A Step Forward

2009-12-01T12:50:00.002-05:00

So... I like my blog. I am proud of my blog. Now, I need to take it to the next step. This will require some effort on my part as well as quite a bit on your part as the reader. Yes, I AM asking you to do something, dear reader. Something that will take you about 1/100 of the time it is taking me to write this blog.

Here's my proposal: you like to read, I like to write. However, to write I need encouragement. There are two forms that appeal to me: comments and followers. I like your comments on this blog, and you don't have to sign up to use them. Anybody can comment. See? Not so hard. The second thing I like are followers. To follow this blog all you need is a google account (use Gmail? great, you've already got one.) So all you need to do is click that box over there that says "Follow", sign in or sign up, and follow the shit out of my blog. Regardless of how you access the blog, seeing the number of readers over there in the follow box is encouragement. More encouragement means more entries, which means more entertainment for you, the reader.

Simple, right? This is all I ask. One other thing I've been thinking about is monetizing the blog. Google lets you use AdSense which gives you a few pennies each time an ad loads and a few more pennies each time an ad is clicked. These pennies gather up, and eventually, when I get 10,000 pennies, they pay my ass. Simple, right?

So what are your thoughts? Do you want me to do it and see what happens? Do you abhor representation of yourself? Hate ads even more? Let me know... cause I'm curious.

Today or tomorrow I've got 2 blogs coming: one sex advice blog and one "coming out/fat people/Anouska" blog as suggested by Noosh herself. Seems like a fun time all around. I apologize for the lameness of this blog, but I promise if instructions are followed, you'll get something funny. Here's a funny picture to reward you for reading this whole thing:See? I provide an entertainment service, y'all.

Lending a Helping Hand... Covered in Crisco

2009-11-24T08:19:00.004-05:00

So yesterday I proposed you send me your anonymous sex questions and the response was just overwhelming. I don't know what to do with all of them, really. Alright, total lies. I got one... and dammit I am gonna answer it with dignity and grace... and a little lubrication. The reader writes:

my love life is on the rocks. and regardless of how silly this sounds :: i feel like our relationship could potentially be saved by phenomenal sex. so now it's just a matter of getting there. However, he's not into public places and i am. he's not into asphyxiation and i am (not to the point where i'm blue in the face, but more so the sensation of his hand around my neck). We both have roommates, so privacy is minimal, and there are 'boundaries' - top 2 = no drunken sex, and no morning sex.
So as a dear friend and addicted reader, I turn to you, Roberto :: WHAT CAN I DO?

Interesting. Now you see, the most important thing to acknowledge here is whether you interpret your partner's lack of indulgence in your fantasies and preferences as a decrease in sexual interest. If you do, then you're probably feeling somewhat unwanted and therefore sexually unfulfilled. Many people left in this situation will actually have a harder time reaching a pleasurable sexual climax due to insecurity. If you do believe your partner to be losing interest, the key is not sex, but rather a rekindling of the strong emotional bond that brought you together in the first place. Go out together and do something a 10-year-old would do... something just a bit silly and ridiculous... calling on youth reminds us of young love--unrequited, intense and just a little bit creepy.

Now as for the whole "no drunken sex, no morning sex" thing... clearly your partner hates you since those are two of the most fun times to have sex. Okay, "hate" is a strong word. What I'm guessing here is that your partner somehow hasn't found the same joy in it as you and billions of other humans. The question here is: are these restrictions based on what your partner perceives to be your own best interests, or your partner's general lack of desire. If it's the latter, you're fucked. If it's the former, try to explain that most people you know are like you too--wanting to make sweet sweet love after drinking sweet sweet wine. If he calls most people you know "filthy fucking whores," punch him in the nuts. Oh... and anyone who turns down a blowjob right after they wake up is out of their mind. I know I personally don't like to kiss the morning after, though... morning breath is gross on both parties.

Now I have a playful suggestion for the asphyxiation situation that isn't really a solution so much as a substitution. If you just like the feeling of a warm hand, you're either gonna have to beg really hard or use your own. If the light asphyxiation is more your goal, go for a tight choker necklace. As sexual activity increases, blood flow and body temperature increase causing a slight expansion of your neck. If the choker is on with just the right amount of pressure, you'll be able to feel a light choking sensation without debilitating air loss. If the sensation gets too intense, it's not like you're gonna seem like a psycho for removing some jewelry.Last but not least: public sex. Now I've enjoyed my fair share... many of my first experiences were in the park behind a church (yeah yeah, I'm going to hell, I know.) The problem with this fetish is that unlike many others, this is both an acquired taste and a matter of preference. While some find the thrill of possibly getting caught to get them all hot and bothered, others find it to be a total weenie-shrinker because all they can think about is a.) "Fuck, I'm gonna get arrested." b.) "Fuck, somebody is gonna see me having sex." or c.) "This is exactly how Uncle Larry's penis got bitten off by a mountain lion." I enjoyed sex in public cause I thought the breeze felt AWESOME. If it's mostly about the thrill for you, next semester, don't find out your roommate's schedule... have sex when your roommate isn't there and maybe the thought of your roommate walking in will cause some sense of a thrill... Unless it has happened so many times that at this point, you just want to shoot her for preventing you from getting off all those times. If you have some sort of sexile signal, "forget" to put it up. Hopefully that helps.

How's that for advice, Dan Savage?

P.S. Watch out for sexual addiction... shit is fucked up... Sex Rehab with Dr Drew is my new obsession. If you check out the "Becoming Jennie" blog over in my blogroll, you'll get to read about a former pornstar who has to cope with only masturbating three times a week and each time she has to make sure her reasons for masturbating are "coming from a pure place"... explain to me when masturbation is ever pure and you can have my damn future column.

A New Path

2009-11-23T14:54:00.003-05:00

I realized something today. While browsing the hate-filled vitriol presented as a column by Andrea Peyser, I thought, "Yes... I want to be a columnist." But you see, not just any columnist... I want to be a sex columnist. How's that for dreams and aspirations. Journalism students usually hope to be the next Diane Sawyer, Peter Jennings or Edward R Murrow... Others think it would be SO COOL to work on ESPN. Me... I wanna talk about perverse subject matter in a nationally syndicated column. Stuff like FEMDOM!To be fair, of course, the only reason I chose that as an example is because I don't want to harm your delicate sensibilities, dear readers. Because I CARE!

Think about it, though... The most famous sex columnist that I can think of is Dan Savage... gay dude, total snob, not really funny but relies on his readers' senses of humor to make his column good. Now Savage's column is mostly just like Dear Abby... but with sexual questions... and you see... most of them pertain to straight sex... which Savage isn't exactly well-versed in.

Soooooo... This is the career path I have set for myself. I am GOING to be a sex columnist, goddamnit... I don't care who I have to fuck, suck, spank or swallow, I WANT IT. When I wake up one morning, get handed a fire-engine-red butt plug and my editor says "The readers want to know what this feels like in your butt" I will know I have MADE IT.
So what should a lowly journalism student do? I was thinking... I could totally get adopted by Savage... and then i will slowly feed him doses of rat poison in increasing amounts until he croaks. Then, just like Dear Abby's daughter, I'll take over the internationally syndicated column, change the name to "Nipple Clamps Are Your Friends" and voila! Well... except that I also kinda have to consider Savage's husband and son... but we'll worry about that later.

P.S. TOTALLY send me your anonymous sex questions. Send as many as possible... I want to be up to my hypothetical twat in sex questions. You can actually keep them genuinely anonymous by commenting as "anonymous" on this post... you don't need to sign up... Future sex advice/make fun of your question columns will ensue. Sound fun? Good. Do it.

Closure

2009-11-19T15:31:00.005-05:00

NOTE: If you know me and are from NJ, you should know exactly who I'm talking about. However, despite the fact that I can assure you that the things I'm about to say are true, I'd like not to be sued for libel. For all intensive purposes we are going to call the subject of this blog "Fat Dyke."

ARTIST'S RENDERING

So when the person you call your best friend decides, for no reason, to end all communication with you, it's an understatement to say you get angry. I was FURIOUS. I had steam shooting out of my ears, and the levels of rage coursing through my veins was about to make my heart burst. There were a lot of cases in the past where the dissolution of a friendship made me depressed. Not this time; this time I swore I would seek revenge. The sad part: ever since Fat Dyke severed ties with me, I haven't seen her in person, she stopped answering her phone, and I haven't had any way to tell her how I feel. I haven't had an opportunity for closure, and until I get some, I'm not gonna be able to live with a clean slate.

So here it is... my opportunity for closure. I'm going to take the low road and say all those things I NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS thought I would have ever shared with anybody. However, I never made her any promises not to say this shit to anyone else.

One more thing before I begin... okay... more than one thing. First off, this is not as juicy as I may be making it out to be... Second, please do not take this blog to mean your secrets are not safe with me. They are. However, I have been left with no other means of closure for what I at times considered the closest non-family relationship I had ever had. Even if you piss me off, even if we lose touch, your secrets will be safe. I, however, believe that if I explain myself, you'd agree that I have every right to do this.

So when Fat Dyke and I met, the first odd thing I noticed was her odor. We met at the mall, caught a movie and I drove her home afterwards. I shit you not, my car REEKED for about 20 minutes after she got out... I tried rolling the windows down, but the stench still pervaded my nostrils. Almost everybody that has met Fat Dyke has noticed the stench... including her ex, who I met her through (of course while they were dating she denied there being any odor at all.) Now that's no big secret, but I think I figured out why the stank is so bad, even after she moved out of the cesspool of a house she was living in. You see, Fat Dyke's vagina is HEAVILY abused. She once admitted to me that the reason she doesn't like other girls touching her cooter is because she masturbates 20 times a day... so she's pretty much set and doesn't need anybody else violating her. In fact, she went on to tell me that even while hanging out with friends, she just could not resist the urge to violate her rancid pussy. Sometimes she'd take a bathroom break while hanging out (and several times daily in school) just to rub herself the naughty way. No wonder she smells like wet garbage in the sun...crotch rot.

Now I was the first of my high school friends to talk to Fat Dyke other than her ex, but soon she started taking a liking to some other friends... one in particular REALLY stood out... We'll call her "Poof Hair." Here's basically the conversation me and Fat Dyke had about her.

FD: Rob... I've been talking to Poof Hair a lot and...and... I think I'm in love with her.
Me: Poof Hair is straight... and her hair is oh-so-poofy... it's not gonna happen.
FD: No... I think she really has feelings for me.
Me: I cannot emphasize enough the heterosexuality of Poof Hair. Do not try to make a move. She will freak the fuck out.

(Update: Poof Hair is not to be mistaken with Nubian Princess... an entirely different character in this saga that Fat Dyke brags about conning into a 15-minute relationship over the phone and saying "it still counts" because she begged Nubian Princess to let it count. Poof Hair, on the other hand, became friends with Fat Dyke after Poof Hair left her vibrator out and Fat Dyke took the fall with Poof Hair's mother.)

She did not make a move... she was too busy masturbating to a then-13-yr-old Miley Cyrus (oops, I say that?)... and for a while things were great. Fat Dyke even introduced me to my first boyfriend, Whiny Fag... who turned out to be just as psychotic as Fat Dyke turned out to be... no wonder the two dated before realizing they were gay.

Good times couldn't last forever, though... and soon Fat Dyke started to date her ex's ex...we'll call her Bicurious George... it's a shitshow love triangle, I tell ya. Now it wasn't much of a secret that I didn't approve of their relationship because I though Fat Dyke was manipulative, had Bicurious George pay for all her shit, treated Bicurious George like shit, complained to me behind her back all the time, telling me on more than one occasion that she was done and wanted to end it. I didn't want to see Bicurious George get hurt, so I always tried to calm Fat Dyke down.

Now some time into their relationship, I was on Fat Dyke's OkCupid page when I noticed something that struck me as odd.... a conversation somewhat like this transpired:

Me: Umm... Fat Dyke, your profile says you're single.
FD: I have commitment issues.
Me: You've been dating Bicurious George for 6 months... WHAT THE FUCK!?!?
FD: I just want to keep my options open.
Me: You don't talk to anyone, do you?
FD: Ummm...
Me: What the hell!?!?!
FD: I haven't met anyone in person, though.

Well... when one party of the relationship is that fucked, naturally it can't last forever and Fat Dyke had something to tell me about a new addition to her life... one we shall call China Doll:

FD: I'm... I'm in love with China Doll.
Me: YOU'RE DATING BICURIOUS GEORGE, CHILA DOLL HAS A FUCKING BOYFRIEND...
FD: She's said she had feelings for me too
Me: Ughhhh....

So I got to meet China Doll during my Thanksgiving break from school... the second I saw her, I knew: she is WAYYYY out of Fat Dyke's league. I liked her a lot, though. She stole Wall-E from Wal-Mart for me and I was instantly in love (I don't condone shoplifting...unless it is from Wal-Mart)

I went back to school and a few days later, Fat Dyke announced to me that she had broken up with Bicurious George. Great... shit is going down and I can't be there for everybody. At first Bicurious George was relatively good about it, but quickly collapsed and became obsessive. (She got over this and I'm very very proud of her.)

So winter break I came back and got to meet China Doll again... she came to my house with Fat Dyke for a tiny little party and it was pretty awesome. When I went back to school, I started taking Fat Dyke's side. China Doll informed me that her boyfriend had gotten violent with her and soon after that, I was convinced China Doll should be with Fat Dyke because her boyfriend was a scumbag. Then one day Fat Dyke showed me a picture of an ugly skank that worked with her at Burger King (we'll call her Ratface) and said she was interested in her. I reminded Fat Dyke that she was in love with China Doll... Fat Dyke said "Well, China Doll gave my cousin a lap dance the other day so if I were dating her, I wouldn't be able to trust her." Well, Fat Dyke hooked up with Ratface and had sex with some other weirdo a day later. China Doll, who was about to break it off with her boyfriend, was pissed. Soon Fat Dyke and Ratface were dating and China Doll stayed with her boyfriend.

Flash forward to summer vacation. As soon as I get back, I'm overjoyed to see Fat Dyke and we decide to hang out. She brings along Ratface...as well as several of her Burger King friends. All of them were so incredibly lame and/or irritating that I couldn't wait to leave the stupid bonfire they had set up.

Flashforward another month... and I haven't seen Fat Dyke at all... Despite texting and calling her, she rarely if ever gets back... and one week it was made clear... she was ignoring me. China Doll let me know that her and Fat Dyke were in a fight as well... We met up and decided to bitch about her... we spent the night driving around, doing weird NJ shit and singing along to old school Britney Spears... one of the best nights of my life.

The second time I met up with her, we had a similar plan on the roster... but at some point in the evening, I found myself starving... it was past 11 and most places were closed... what was our option? Burger King, what else? China Doll had to get some belongings out of Fat Dyke's car anyway so we decided to go... what's the worst that could happen? Well who was behind the counter but Ratface? She recognized me right away and the other staff members recognized China Doll... Afraid that they would mess with her food, China Doll didn't order anything... I got some chicken fries, all while trying to avoid eye contact with Ratface, got my food, and sat down. After our order, all the staff started gossiping up a storm and letting Fat Dyke, who was working in the back, know we were there.

As I ate, China Doll kept having a very angry text conversation with Fat Dyke about getting Fat Dyke's keys so she could grab the dresses she had left in her car. As China Doll texted away, the BK manager (who we will call Ugly because that's probably the nicest way I can describe that pond monster) came up to our table. She accused me of telling an employee to go to hell and told me to leave the restaurant. First I thought she was talking about China Doll's texting, but no... she said I told Ratface to go to hell... WHAT...THE...FUCK... I have never in my life been that angry... I denied it, and told her to bring Ratface out there and tell me to my face that I said that to her. She came out, she said it, and she was shaking the whole time cause she knew she was caught in a lie. Ugly was not convinced:

Ugly: Are you saying my employee is lying to me?
Me: Yes, that is exactly what I'm saying
Ugly: Why would she do that?
Me: Because me and her girlfriend are in a fight and they decided to start shit to get me kicked out.

Soon the bikers at the table next to ours came to my defense... I loved them. "He didn't say shit," the main biker dude said. "We were right there and I'd be laughing right now if he had actually said anything."

I had witnesses... I win... Ugly tried to write it off as a simple misunderstanding, and I decided that rather than start more shit I'd just accept that, finish my food and get the fuck out. In the car ride, while we were all fuming, China Doll got a text from Fat Dyke making fun of the fact that China Doll had brain cancer. That was the last straw... If Fat Dyke had been in the car at the moment, and I had a knife, I would have literally stabbed her... but alas, she was not, and I did not.

Me and China Doll became pretty fucking close over the summer... and she's proven to be a good friend. Fat Dyke, last I heard, started cheating on Ratface, broke up with her, and started going out with the new bitch... and after 3 weeks together, Fat Dyke decided she's going to move to Pennsylvania for her. NJ is better without her.

So why go through all this? Well China Doll told me that Fat Dyke said the reason she stopped talking to me was because I was "not a good person," and because my parents sprinkle me with everything I ever want. Now first off, she insulted my parents, who I love and who would take a bullet for me just like I would take a bullet for them. My parents gave me plenty, and I appreciate every last bit of it, but that bitch has no right bringing them up or making those claims because they don't. Just because her mother has warrants out for her arrest, her stepfather does heroin and her father... actually, her dad is kinda cool... But just because I have better fucking parents than her doesn't give her the right.

Secondly... I'M the bad person? Look in the fucking mirror, bitch... Just try not to break it this time.

BloGaga

2009-11-17T14:13:00.006-05:00

So on Saturday as Vinnie and I walked into the suite, my suitemates were all huddled around a laptop watching Lady Gaga's new video for Bad Romance. We both stopped dead in our tracks, staring quite intently at the screen as the ass-craziest video ever played. I've had harsh words for Gaga in the past. I take back about half of what I said. Bitch is crazy and I've gotta give her props: the video is like crack.

Yesterday, my friend Matt convinced me to watch the video again. I did and I noticed something new: THIS VIDEO IS SO FUCKING GAY! I don't mean that in the goddamn "that's so gay" way... I mean it as a compliment. The video is F-A-B-U-L-O-U-S. And after my second viewing, the song was like a bacterial infection in my brain... it just kept getting bigger and badder. I suddenly found myself humming "ga-ga-oooh-la-la." What the fuck is wrong with me?

Matt and I smoked out of a vape later that night... after parting ways, I went back to my room, sat down at the computer and watched the video about 12 times in a row... that is a full fucking hour of Gaga, ladies and gentlemen. Watching a video that many times you start to notice shit. I have included the video below along with a timeline of my comments.

0:10 Not only are the glasses made out of razorblades... so is the dress... exactly what a normal human wants enveloping their body: rusty razor blades.

0:13 Metal grate fingernails... Gaga, how are you supposed to paint your nails?

0:23 There's a cross on Gaga's coffin... and it says "Monster" Is Gaga implying here that when Christ rose from the dead he was a zombie monster freak? Yes, I think she is.

0:29 Bath Haus of Gaga... Yes... because as Gaga knows, if she'd been alive in the 70's, that's the only place they would have let her perform.

0:58 Welcome to BDSM Where the Wild Things Are on acid... Please check your cockrings and nipple clamps at the door

1:22 Here's where the dancing gets like Thriller... you will notice later that costume changes make it seem like there are different dance moves, but Gaga is simply dancing better because...well...she can actually see.

1:43 This is not the first time Gaga will get naked... nor is it the nakedest she gets... in fact... this is PG material

1:51 Gaga is a Def Jam girl... she only drinks Armadale... don't try to shove that Grey Goose shit down her throat!

1:55 Wait... why is she so hesitant to drink vodka? Is it poisoned? If it is poisoned, aren't they trying to sell her into prostitution... necrophilia prostitution? Explain yourself, Gaga... hrmm... maybe she's supposed to be straightxedge here

2:03 Everybody claw at the inisible spiders in front of you! That's good!

2:12 If these guys are all there to bid on her, why does she need backup dancers? and why is she clothed? This is a MUCH more opportune time for nudity, Gaga

2:15 Gaga is TOTALLY an alien... human spines don't stick out like that.

2:21 Gaga grabbing her crotch and groaning like that: CLEAR proof she has a penis...

2:42 Her elbow TOTALLY looks like sideboob the first 10 times you watch this...

2:43 Hairless pussy... enough said

2:47 1,000,000 (illegal) downloads for Gaga!

2:58 She's been wearing that outfit for more than 5 seconds straight... something must be horribly wrong in the wardrobe department

3:10 They may look like diamonds, but in reality that glass is as cheap as Gaga herself

3:22 Robot Gaga does not sing... but she DOES have (yet another) crazy outfit...shiny

3:29 Here's the part of the song that doesn't fit... BUT LOOK AT HER FUCKING HUGE SPARLY SHOES! So shiny... And we get some more Robot Gaga... not as shiny... can someone explain to me what walking and fashion have to do with the rest of this song?

3:46 Gaga wears only the finest endangered species' pelts

3:53 Gaga can't decide whether to sing in English or French... she chose Franglish

4:14 All of Gaga's ~~fuckbuddies~~ boyfriends seem to have odd facial deformities that require an eyepatch or a...uhhh...jawholder?

4:18 The outfit that proves that Gaga DEFINITELY does not have a penis

4:27 Lady Winehouse

4:29 Thriller moves again... see? New outfits do not equate to different moves.

4:33 What I would like to know is: how did that bed burst into flames? Gaga couldn't have been using her raw sexual heat, she was too sufficiently clothed (maybe those underwear were see-through in the front too... that would make sense)

4:41 There's the front... I see no nipples... The invisible spiders must be pyromaniacs or something...

5:00 This part does not need my snarky comments in any way whatsoeer. Titspark.

Proof that my Hypersexual Blogging/Facebooking are Coming Back to Bite Me in the Ass

2009-11-12T15:21:00.006-05:00

So anybody who has been on this blog or my Facebook in the past few days has noticed a sudden surge of sex toys and horny old people. I think sex toys and old people sex not only go hand in hand, but are also both hysterical. However, the shit has hit the fan... the spammers have decided I am THE pervert to target for their filth. It started 2 days ago when I noticed the most disturbing e-mail subject ever in my inbox:Now I know I'm open to perversion and stuff... but "bigtittied aged grandmothers" are not exactly what I look so desperately to masturbate to... I'd rather just go into the bathroom and shove my fingers down my throat... the same result would be yielded. This wasn't the end of the spammers' quest to piss all over my perv parade. Up next: this very blog:
I know I may like sex, but I'm 20 years old. I do not need your Viagra, Mr Random Spammer. What's more important, though, is where this comment was. Was it on my sex toy analysis? No. Of course not. It was on the blog about my grandmother.......... WHAT THE HELL?!?!?! What about my grandma, the Jesus freak, makes you think that I'm going to want your Viagra oral jelly? Why do you think I intend to mix Viagra with cocaine?

It's all coming back to me... this must have something to do with bigtittied aged grandmother. Maybe people blog about their grandmothers all the time and spam bots assume all "grandma content" on the internet is porn... I can see Ezekiel Smith from Mobile, Alabama logging onto the internet to find that his blog about Grandma Margaret has been bombarded with 50 comments from dirty perverts asking if they can get a topless picture of her.

There is something very fucking wrong with this world... and that's a good thing.

All Families are Psychotic...

2009-11-07T11:56:00.005-05:00

...Those that claim not to be are the most fucked up of them all. Those are the ones where the father calls himself "the gatekeeper" and insists that his daughters learn how to serve their future husbands because God will provide them all with husbands if they pray hard enough... they don't even have to date! My family has an especially psychotic element, however: Irish Catholicism. Yes, dear friends. My mother is Irish Catholic and therefore comes with about 10,000 siblings and two parents who hump their Bibles to sleep on a nightly basis.There my Grandmother is... holding me only minutes after I was born. Looks sweet, doesn't she? Well... to be fair, she is. She's also a whole new breed of crazy. When Grandma isn't going skinnydipping or running "dream groups," she's worrying about my wellbeing. You see, as hippie liberal atheist scum, I am going to burn in the fires of hell for all eternity if I do not repent. The other day I got a letter in the mail from grandma. It was two pages long, handwritten, and a failed effort at getting me on the right-to-life team. Attached was some article a priest wrote about Terri Schiavo and how he was at her bedside and just KNEW that she was alive! The letter began with Grandma talking about how critical the moment between sleep and awake is and how that morning her thought was "Rob was sooooo fucking wrong several months ago about Terri Schiavo." So what does grandma do? Write me a 2-page letter to warn me about the lies propagated in the mainstream media and to always keep a watchful eye... TO SEE THE TRUTH. What is Grandma's authority? Well... SHE WAS THERE!
After receiving the letter I promptly called my parents to inform them. (Okay, this is a lie. I was drunk when I got the letter, so I forgot about it for a month and THEN called my father.) My dad, after reminding me that both of my mother's parents are certifiable, told me a lovely little story about when he was dating my mom. Apparently my parents were watching some movie called The Sentinel... which has DEMONIC SUBJECT MATTER. As my mother and father sat on the couch watching the movie, my grandmother came in and started spraying them with holy water. "I shoulda known to run back then," he said.

One of my biggest problems with this letter is the fact that my grandmother does not know how to get me to agree with her. Here's how she ended the letter:

PS Sunday we participated in a Pro-Life demonstration. It was about three miles long on both sides of the "Golden Strip" in Williamsport. Very moving, we all held signs "Abortion kills kids," "Jesus forgives and heals," "Abortion Hurts Women" etc. The organizer is Howard Langdon, our attourney. Your mother is our health proxy.

Grandma, do you know anything about me? Are you aware that telling me that just made you lose all credibility? Reminding me that you are one of those Glenn Beck-watching, Planned Parenthood-bombing, Bible-humping Jesus freaks is NOT going to get me to change my views that Terri Schiavo was a vegetable. I love you grandma, but goddamn.

It Always Comes Back To Sex Toys...

2009-11-05T16:10:00.003-05:00

So today I was in print class (you know... the one that caused me to have a total emotional freakout yesterday) and since I don't have anything to cover 'til Saturday, I had nothing to do. No, I was not ignoring my professor, he just doesn't teach... so I need to find something to do while I'm keeping my seat warm. Today, after my usual "let's see what's on Gawker" provided me with some supreme entertainment, I headed over to see if the Bloggess had sent us any updates from Japan... and lo and behold, she had!
So I started cracking up looking at this thing. You can't blame me... I mean come on... vampire pad... called "menstrual goddess?" That is gold. So Larissa comes on over and sees what I'm looking at, notices that all the links I'm viewing are from a sex toy website, and insists we take a visit to the dildo section. I was happy to oblige.

Now one thing I've noticed lately is that I have spent far too much time perusing sex toy sites and stores in the past... To the point where I can point out what brand many of the toys are just by looking at them. If it is produced by Fun Factory, Doc Johnson, Rocks Off Ltd, California Exotic Novelties, Interactive Life Forms...etc., I will be able to identify the majority of the company's products. If it's something like this, on the other hand, I can assure you I'm not perverted enough to know the manufacturer:So Larissa and I looked at all sorts of dildos, butt plugs and "realistic blow job imitators." Not satisfied with the "normal" sex toy site, I took her over to Divine Interventions, a site dedicated to the most sacrilegious sex toys imaginable. After looking at the Baby Jesus Butt Plug and the Jackhammer Jesus, I was a man on a mission. There were more perverted sex toys out there and I had to find them... so I came across this website, which is dedicated to only the freakiest sex toys. The sad thing about the site is that not only had I seen the majority of the toys, but I also have seen far freakier toys elsewhere (for reference, scroll back up.)

This is what I did in class today. This is how irrelevant that class is. My friend Sean said that 50% of the links I post on Facebook are sex toy-related... If this is true, it's about to increase, because I'm posting it there now... EVERYTHING comes back to sex toys.

Misery Business

2009-11-04T14:08:00.003-05:00

(Note: I realized about halfway through this entry that it was gonna end up being some pretty heavy stuff. You're better off not reading this. Just a warning.)
Yes, the title of this entry is a reference to Paramore. I wanted for so long not to like them... It didn't work out so well... So now I'm listening to Paramore and bitching on my superuberemo blog. Well, to be fair the only reason it's SUPERuberemo is because it's black... let's leave that whole matter for another entry, shall we?

So... I've spent about 3 weeks in constant states of nightly intoxication... It didn't affect my work at all and that scares me a bit. Sophomore year of high school I managed to make principal's honors (for the first and only time) while simultaneously huffing on a semi-daily basis (to give some perspective, I found a can of Axe in the boy's locker room and I was all "SWEET! I could do this now, I suppose.") My work wasn't affected at all... I finally hit rock bottom right after midterms, when I huffed what may have very well been an entire can of Dust Off. I looked in shock at my blood-covered fingers. Why was all this blood gushing out of my nose? (Getting straight A's and still a fucking idiot) I keeled over and onto the floor where my fall was (not at all) broken by my the review sheets, old tests and study guides that I had littered about the floor in anticipation for midterms. I woke up to find all those papers drenched in blood and traces of vomit. Hot, right?

Hint: Huffing Dust Off is actually nothing like this. Sorry, Evan Rachel Wood

I started smoking after this, and one addiction was replaced with another (not totally, the inevitable relapses were...well... inevitable) In fact, they happen every Christmas when a family friend gives me Axe gift boxes as a present. (I always wondered if this was a hint that I smelled bad... she's gotten it for me 3 years in a row now)

So now I'm using an intoxicating agent that is not addictive as a means of escape... just like before, just without the danger. Escaping from what, though? I'm guessing the future. I don't like it. I want it to not happen, but every second, the future continues to come. I don't want to spend 5 months in Florida. I don't want Chris Christie to be Governor of New Jersey and hey, I don't even wanna be a journalist anymore...

Let's just hope that when the future comes I know how to suck it up and be an adult... otherwise this will be in my immediate future:

Blogging About Blogs... bloggyblogblogessbloggerbloggy

2009-10-29T13:35:00.007-04:00

So my little pissfuck blog kind of pales in comparison to many. Let's face it, my traffic is lower than the number of fanny packs you'd see in the Village during gay pride. So why do I keep this shit up? Frankly, because it's the most compelling thing I have to offer on the internet. If you go over to JSONS you'll find several godawful articles I've written. On second thought, please do not go over there. My professor edits them and he converts my words into this weird baby-simple English that just gets downright irritating.

So... what say I today? Well, I finally realized that I am now "approved" to comment on Gawker, making it the third Gawker Media site I've gotten approved on (the one I first got approved on, and therefore have the most comments on, is Jezebel, Gawker's ladyblog... joke all you want, when I comment on some of that shit I feel like such a hardcore feminist.) How do I celebrate my newfound Gawker Media power? I have a comment discussion with Brian Moylan about Levi Johnston's penis. Yes, my dears, even in my first official comment I cannot get away from talking about cock. (This sounds like a segue into a totally different topic but I am NOT going to go there today... maybe tomorrow)

So back to blogging... errr... let's break down my blog cycle... my posts are all made of the following: Weird little rants about completely inconsequential things and happen to be the only thing I post worth reading, weird depressive rants with sad pictures of myself where I get all emo and tell myself "why haven't you deleted that yet? nobody wants to read it and you're bumming people out"... and then there are those sad sad posts where I put up a youtube video and lie to myself about it amounting to an actual post when in reality I just stole it off another, more well-established blog.

I'd like to make this blog more compelling. To my two followers (wait... I got a second follower?) and one actual reader: how can I make this shit more compelling? Should I indeed talk about Levi Johnston's penis? Should I make the posts shorter (a la OMGBlog) so that your ADHD doesn't kick in before you even get to this part where I suggest you tell me to make it shorter? Perhaps I should send it to Ask The Bloggess (if you don't get this, clearly you're lost, confused or high...because you wouldn't be here otherwise) of course Jenny's last suggestion may not have resolved my situation. (To those still paying attention, I DID just hyperlink to the blog post directly below this one. I can do that.) Maybe I should give up and get a Tumblr. NO! What? NEVER! I will not get one of those unless I'm REALLY desparate for people to care. All my blogger friends moved over to tumblr, but goddamnit I will stick with this dinosaur! I WILL keep fucking that chicken, Ernie Anastos! BECAUSE I AM A GODDAMN AMERICAN!

How sad is it that I'm sober right now?

BITCHFACE IS THE NEW EVIL EYE... pass it on

2009-10-19T15:57:00.006-04:00

Okay, so today was a gold star day as Barbara Covett would so put it. It started off with me totally killing my speech (in a good way) this morning. It was supposed to last 5-10 minutes, but the class got so into it that it went on for 30 and I had to wrap so our professor could actually... teach us. Good good.

Then in my next class, I once again became the spokesboy for saying shit that makes people go "I can't believe he just said that." I passionately argued that they should show the mutilated hands of kids who play with fireworks on TV around the 4th of July. The professor agreed. Fuck yes!

Now, I was all excited because I finally had shit to blog about thanks to two awesome classes where I stirred the pot, but wait... things can't get better, you say? Oh HELL YES THEY CAN!

Remember a while back when I commented all about my new-found love for Jenny the Bloggess and her new brand of crazy and how that blog proved I had ADHD? And she found the blog entry and COMMENTED ON IT?!?!?! And then I pretty much declared her the new Christ on facebook and stuff and made all my friends go out and read her blog (so really that comment she did was like a payment for advertising.)

Anyway, Jenny's latest PNN advice column not only features my question, but my question was the one used for the title! That is pretty much nirvana to me. I don't need money, drugs, booze and Borders gift cards when I can interact with much more influential and awesome internet celebrities. Jenny Lawson and Amandah Wilkinson commenting and tweeting me are all I truly need. Well that and a new cell phone... but I digress. Here is the segment of the column that Jenny wrote especially for me:

Dear Jenny the Bloggess, So at my school there's this guy I see around campus all the time who gives me the nastiest stares all the time. Like, his bitchface is so frightening that it could turn you to stone. He started giving me the bitchface a year ago when he assumed I wanted his dick for no reason. Now I see him all the time and I'm terrified. His evil, gay glare haunts me every time I walk by, but I'm too scared to make eye contact, say anything or just all-around cause conflict for fear that he will use his eyes to melt my face like that guy who picked the wrong Holy Grail at the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade... I've contemplated getting my (much cuter) boyfriend to just push him in front of a car, but that's not exactly...well... legal. Help a homo out. –Roberto

Next time he gives you the bitchface just huff with frustration and scream “FOR THE LAST FUCKING TIME, KEN: I DON’T DATE MEN WITH AIRBORNE GONNORHEA”. Then walk away like you can’t even believe you’re still having to explain this to him. He’ll never bother you again. Or he’ll punch you. But if he does he’s kind of an asshole because you shouldn’t get mad about getting lumped in with people who have gonnorhea. Especially because I think that’s treatable. Or not. I should look this shit up. My point is that he’ll probably have to go to the doctor just to prove to everyone that he doesn’t actually have gonnorhea and everyone needs to be tested occasionally so technically it’s like you’re doing him a favor. He’ll probably thank you later. Unless during his check up they find out he has testicular cancer. No ever thanks you for that.

Jenny, if you're reading this, I love you and am curious to know how you found the last blog. Was it on facebook? Was it because I used a picture that was hosted on your website? (I'm totally doing this again just to test that theory out.) And lastly, would you be willing to follow this blog? I have one follower... my writing professor from last semester who is awesome but her cat icon wants company. It told me so.

PS I can even trade you for this info. I found out about YOU when Gawker called you a psycho. So I was all like "I wanna hop on the crazy train" and then I read about Nancy W. Kappes and let's just say I couldn't stop reading after that.

I Saw the Face of Jesus That Day

2009-09-30T18:21:00.003-04:00

So I wrote this VERY brief memoir last year, and since life is kinda lame, and I have nothing else to post, this is the best I can do for now:

Ally and I walked along the track during gym class, generally avoiding getting an actual workout and isolating ourselves to have the most candid discussion of our lives at this point.

“I… I’m a little gay,” she said to me as we each occupied a lane of black foam.

I smiled and looked over at her, “I’m more than a little gay.”

By the time freshman year ended, I was officially bisexual. Out of the closet. Myspace and all… and I have never looked back.

Flashforward four years. We’re in Mr. Ward’s theology class. I can honestly say that never in my life have I ever met a person with as much inner-beauty as John Ward. If this were Shallow Hal and his inner beauty were to show on the outside, he would be Helen of Troy, Cleopatra and Angelina Jolie combined.

“Well, I think that if you were gay… like… at this school, you’d have a really hard time making friends. Like you’d probably have like one friend. Two if you’re lucky.” This came from Anthony. Croatian and with a head full of nothing, Anthony was the epitome of everything I loathe.

“I definitely have more than that,” Ally said, incredibly offended.

That bitch had to do it; she had to bring up her gayness in class. Fine. Fine, I will too, I guess…

I started counting heads in the room, “One, two, three, four, five, six. I count six good friends I have in this room alone, now shut up!”

I had never done that before. I had never openly said anything about my sexual orientation within the confines of a classroom. It felt good.

Mr. Ward, always calm and angelic, lost his temper for the first time I had ever seen, “Quiet!” He reached over to his desk and picked up a Bible, holding it up for the room to see, “The most disgusting thing a human being can do is use this as a weapon. This should only be used to encourage love.”

Mr. Ward put his Bible down. And what was more courageous? For me and Ally to be truly open for the first time, or for Mr. Ward to take a stand against the hate? It doesn’t matter to me. To this day, this remains one of the briefest yet most vindicating moments of my entire life. And I saw the face of Jesus that day behind the warm and loving eyes of Mr. Ward. And for one brief moment, I believed. Not in God, per se, but love. I saw for the first time that God is in the heart of every loving human being. God… is love.

I Am The Worst Blogger Ever

2009-09-23T18:54:00.006-04:00

So yeah... I suck at blogging... Because I for some reason like to write in spurts and then avoid my blog for weeks at a time... this is an awful habit, especially since "blog more" was my new year's resolution... I'm kinda failing. So instead here's what I will say about what's gone down:

1.) I moved back to the dorms Boston, started classes and have determined that this semester is gonna be kinda sucky. I still haven't gotten a textbook for one of my classes, so I didn't do the reading (expedited shipping my ass)... I somehow managed to save myself by commenting on one thing (three times) and playing a Garfunkel and Oates video for the class and tying it to the material:

This got big laughs... the professor was all like "where do you find these things?" and someone tried to imitate me by playing a youtube video that didn't really fit with what he was trying to say because he only decided to add the video to the text he brought after I did it. Lesson: don't copy me... I don't know what I'm doing half the time and I played that video because I knew it would be memorable and bolster my participation grade.

2.) I got a cold... the symptoms showed up my third day here and I'm just barely in recovery at this point... all the symptoms are gone except for an awful cough:

Me: mid-cough

But despite my nasty cough I managed to go on a date Saturday which went very well... and my date had no problem making out with me... and hasn't gotten sick yet... score!

3.)Hrmmmm... there is no 3... my life is bland, folks...

"I'm definitely not mature enough for a checking account."

2009-09-08T22:41:00.006-04:00

3With the passing of time comes age. It is inevitable, intangible outside of the physical realm and most importantly, it's a bitch. An uber-bitch. An uber-bitch that wants to strangle your mother and drown puppies. But we all (should) love our mothers and puppies, so we want to stay young forever. Today was one of those "fuck, I'm growing up, huh?" days. I finally opened a checking account, closed my savings account and opened up a new one... oh, and I may or may not have been approved for a credit card. I don't want the credit card dammit, but I need to have some semblance of a credit score if I ever plan on living on my own. So I grabbed my best ~~former lesbian/current bisexual~~ friend Lindsay and we were off to Bank of America to go get me a checking account.

We're really ~~not having sex~~ very mature

So Lindsay and I are waiting for a bank whore to come try and convince me to sign up for all sorts of shit I don't need... There are two people ahead of us in the waiting lobby: a total guido in silver basketball shorts, and a sketchy Indian man... the dot forehead/curry/cow-loving kind of Indian... He was very dark. I turn to Lindsay: "Let's tell him we're a young married couple and that you're pregnant... quick! Accentuate your gut!" The Indian man looks over, mildly frightened. "Ooooo... better yet, we can tell him I'M the pregnant one... He would be so confused... thinking he was dealing with ANOTHER pregnant man... not that he helped the first pregnant man find a bank account, but you never know." Lindsay then added some info that was new to me: "Oh... by the way... I'm going to Brooklyn to see Allie on Saturday." "You're back together? I thought you said the sex was lame." "Maybe for her cause she's preorgasmic, but I have an awesome time. She likes it too. Gets to go along for the rideeeee." This should have gotten Guidoboy's attention, but it didn't.
The Indian man continued to stare as Guidoboy got up for his turn and Lindsay sat in his seat. "HOLY CRAP! Did I tell you about the keyboardist for Operator Please?" "No." "Her name is Sarah Gardiner... and she quit the band... and NOW SHE DOES PORN."

THEN...

AND NOW...

The Indian man went from befuddled to mortified, I'm sure. "Yeah... and like, there's just these pictures of her I saw last night of her shoving this huge pink jelly vibrator into her weird-looking pussy... they're forever burned into my retinas. I mean she seemed so quiet and innocent. It's always the quiet ones."

Guidoboy finished very quickly and Indian man was up... I missed him..."Lindsay... I'm definitely not mature enough to have a checking account."
Indian man only took two minutes and soon I was up. My bank whore was named John and he was the shit... totally got my Bank of America on.
"So I'm gonna go grab your sample checks which you will never use because online billpay is so cool. Can't wait to show you how to use it, you're gonna love it. While you're waiting, try and decide what charity you want your Keep the Change money from the debit card to go to." Then John left us alone in the office... time for mayhem.
"I'm getting the HRC one. GAY PEOPLE!" Lindsay also decided to change up her debit card, "Well I don't know... I want HRC... but I also want the WWF one." She was referring to the World Wildlife Fund... just an FYI... "Fuck the animals... help the gays... they can have sex with you... so can the animals but that's illegal..." "I dunno."
John returned. "So have you guys decided which Debit Cards you want?" "Yeah... HRC... Now when the HRC people stand outside my building I can flash them my card rather than lying and being all 'I have no money!" John giggled... oh, John... you are one cool cat. "And how about you?" he asked Lindsay. "HRC too." I got excited, "That's right, fuck the animals, save the gays! Our blue and gold debit cards are gonna look so sexy with their equals signs!" John giggled again, "I like you guys!" "We're pretty entertaining," I said, thinking about the Indian man I had freaked out beforehand...
"Well, we're done," John said after helping me activate my account. He shook my hand, and went to shake it again cause he was so excited. We were the highlight of his day... I could tell... Oh, did I mention that I'm also getting the HRC credit card? Yeah...

The Vent Blog

2009-09-07T00:09:00.005-04:00

<----EMO

So last semester I was going through a SERIOUS rough patch... When my professor told me she was going through a rough patch too, I jumped at the opportunity to empathize and shot her an e-mail:

Dear Kat,
I decided since at this point I too feel like my life is in shambles, so I decided to respond with a letter... because you fucking love letters. So let's see here... my best friend is angry at me because she's really just channeling her frustrations with the girl she's infatuated with onto me. My best Boston friend was supposed to go with me to this thing on Friday that I've really been looking forward to since September, but she just ditched me to go to Wisconsin instead. I have lots of homework (joy!) I have 8 am classes 4 days a week next semester and my assigned roommate for next year is not gay-friendly. Well... he just downright hates my people. And my parents are selling my childhood home. Tonight it all culminated in this big crazy tearfest where I hugged my Snoopy for the first time in years. So let us hang our heads high and fight through the misery that is life.
-Rob
P.S. I've developed sudden insomnia that occurs only on Mondays and Wednesdays...

Instead of the reaction I was expecting (you know... the empathy stuff) she took the e-mail as a cry for help, thought I was all suicidal and shit and recommended I go to the counseling center... this is the danger with opening up to your teachers, folks.

But sure enough, you know that expression "well it can't get any worse than this"? Well... err... it can... let me explain my summer and how it has pretty much paralleled that past e-mail in so many ways:

1.)So... the best friend who was infatuated with that girl... well we made up... and then she stopped talking to me altogether because she's got a new girlfriend and a new batch of retarded fucks that work at Burger King who she thinks are her new soulmates... I'm still bitter... since she never responded to my texts and calls I never got to bitch her fucking scumbag ass out (oh... on the bright side, me and that girl she was infatuated with... we're totally tight now)

2.)My house did go on the market... our real estate agents are bible-humping worshippers of the republican party. The husband is a total tool (who yelled at me) and the wife is moderately insane and drinks all day, every day (she once came to the house with a plastic cup full of vodka...at 10AM) So anyhow, my childhood home going bye bye isn't quite the true kicker... the kicker is I have to either move to Florida at the end of the schoolyear, or buy a house for myself to live in in Boston cause daddy won't help with the rent even though my sister got to live with him rent-free, in NJ, until this week (she's 24)... So I've spent the past week in a funk, cleaning out my bedroom of any and everything I do not plan to keep and just throwing out mounds of shit... including 2/3 of my jeans... awesome... I'm not fucking moving to Florida... I won't have it...

3.) Friend that ditched me to go to Wisconsin is ditching me yet-a-fucking -gain... this time she's not coming back to Emerson for the year... possibly ever (which is super likely)... so great... my best friend from school isn't even gonna be at the damn school when I get back... I have no idea why I'm so looking forward to going back.

4.) Good news: I got out of 1 8AM class and got moved into a different suite... in the LB (eww)... but I'll take it...

5.) Some friends seem to forget I exist... others can't find the time... sometimes I feel like the two are combined...

6.) I got mono... one month of my life, gone... greeeeeat

7.)I didn't lose any weight when I got mono... actually, the steroids I got put on made me GAIN weight... greeeeeeat

I haven't had a good hug in a while... I need one of those... It's just been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day....

The Spaghetti-Fried War Movie

2009-08-21T22:18:00.004-04:00

Inglourious Basterds. Everyone knows about it, but will everyone see it? Well hopefully the awesome ad campaign has helped spur some fanboy/gorehound/war-buff excitement... and all of the above will be satisfied by the final result. However, I have not seen film advertising quite this deceptive in a while, and I must make one thing abundantly clear: THIS MOVIE IS NOT ABOUT BRAD PITT JUST GOING AROUND AND KILLING NAZIS! Brad Pitt, in fact, may not even have the most screentime. That honor would go to relatively unknown French actress Melanie Laurent, playing Shoshanna, a jew tortured by the brutal execution of her family who is pissed off (to say the least) and hell-bent on revenge. Out of all of the well-developed characters in the movie (of which there are 3) she by far has the most depth. As she applies her war paint to David Bowie's "Cat People" theme during the climax, it is clear that her revenge plot is by far the most exciting and (dare I say) delicious.Also notable is Christoph Waltz as Nazi "Jew Hunter" Hans Landa. The winner of the Best Actor award at Cannes, it is very clear why Waltz would be the standout to the critics. His portrayal of Landa is impeccable. He is fiercely intelligent, charming, heartless and brutal. He has no feelings for anyone but himself and that is that. Waltz brings a certain charisma to the character that very few actors have done in Nazi roles. Rather than having him be a brutal Nazi hell-bent on finding every last jew and sending them to the gas chambers, Landa is a bit smarter than that. He knows there's no difference between the jews and the rest of the human race (as hinted at in his speech about rats vs. squirrels in the opening act.) Landa is merely a heartless opportunist... wealth and power are far more important to him than anything else and with the Nazis in power, he merely found an outlet to put his cunning to good use (so to speak)

And then of course there's the fanboy-pleasing performance of Brad Pitt as Aldo Raine. The funny thing about the role is that unlike all the other basterds, Raine isn't Jew-y... in fact, there's no specification of him being a Jew at all... He's a southern boy from Tennesee with a British surname... probably not a Jew at all... Now while he's certainly entertaining here, this is not Brad Pitt in top form, but it comes slightly close (nothing can really compare to his role in 12 Monkeys, though.) If wou want badassitude, Aldo is just what you're looking for (although I personally find all 3 leads to be equally badass in their own special ways.) Pitt, while excellent here, has some great one-liners and is definitely the comic relief, but overall his character lacks the depth and complexity of the other two. Perhaps it is because the character was intentionally written as a half-wit... a half-wit that is very good at two things: intimidation and killing. Other than that though, the character, while easily likeable and fun as all hell to watch, is just not as interesting as the other two leads.

I've tried very hard not to spoil any plot elements, and I don't intend to, which is why there's one last thing I can really praise: this is not an English-language motion picture. More than half of the movie is in German or French with a tiny tiny bit of Italian (if you've seen it, you probably laughed at that) I must say though that I cannot heap enough praise on Tarantino for not anglicizing the dialogue. These characters are speaking the languages the would be speaking in those actual situations. I once wrote a screenplay called Paradise which was primarily in English, French and Spanish with moderate Japanese and very light German and Italian. For the movie to get made, it would probably have to be filmed all in one language even though the characters all come from different cultural backgrounds. When two French people are in their hotel room together, they're going to be speaking French... the same goes for the characters that speak Japanese, English and Spanish. In this movie, Tarantino defied the "marketability factor" of making an entirely English-language movie and did something shocking: made a movie where English is not the most commonly-spoken language. Sure, all the characters speak English (except perhaps Shoshanna) but the movie takes place in France during the Nazi occupation... the languages that are going to be spoken in public are German and French. Period. Tarantino even adds a little joke about his decision to do this in a line from Diane Kruger asking: "Don't you Americans speak anything other than English?" Anyone with half a brain can see that the line is poking fun at members of the audience who may have been...err...disappointed to find how much of the movie was NOT in English.

So that's what I can say without ruining anything... The movie was INCREDIBLE... and proves yet again that Quentin Tarantino cannot direct a bad movie. He's 7 for 7 now... any director would kill for that impressive of a ratio.

My honest ranking of Quentin's movies thus far (and I'm being honest here... I'm not a Pulp Fiction cultist. It is an amazing movie, but I think he has made better movies as he's matured as a filmmaker... also, Basterds may take the #1 spot... I have to see it again)

1.) Kill Bill vol. 1
2.)Inglourious Basterds
3.)Jackie Brown
4.)Pulp Fiction
5.)Kill Bill vol. 2
6.)Death Proof
7.)Reservoir Dogs

Proof that I have ADD

2009-08-18T21:37:00.004-04:00

So I know most people say "oh, well I'm a little ADD" (I think we're supposed to say ADHD now, but I don't like the word "hyperactivity" because it implies being physically hyper even if it actually means that your brain is hyper and running all over the place) I, however, am going to confirm how ADD I am through this post. Today, I went onto a friend's Netflix account to see if they had some movie available to watch instantly (I don't remember what movie suffice to say they didn't have it) and so since they didn't have it I looked at the Gay and Lesbian selection but it's piss poor since Hollywood doesn't make enough decent movies about gay people (and if they do, theyre always awfully depressing and tragic... Brokeback? Milk? Hollywood is not happy unless it brutally kills it's gay protagonist... no gay death=no oscar) and then I'm all like "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil has gays and a tranny! The Bloggess was recommending it the other day but not the movie(she said it sucked), the book... oh... but it's not supposed to be bad and CLINT EASTWOOD! and Berardinelli said it was okay so I'll give it a shot." So I put on the movie and I'm all like "Wait, this is based off of a true story, right?" and then I go on wikipedia and I look up the movie and the book and holy shit it is, but wait... that statue "bird girl" on the movie poster and book cover is interesting... so i read the entire article on this statue... and i find out it was sculpted at some strange mansion/poetry school so I read about that and Hey! Alice Sebold went there... I kinda wanna see The Lucky Bones but I don't wanna read the book cause the cover makes it look like a children's book which I think it actually is since some schools require it and that's kinda surprising cause it's all about rape and murder and pedofilia but whatever? Wait... I'm watching a movie... oh, I'll unpause it after a cigarette. Hey, look! I still have some birthday cake left... yum... there's something on HGTV this is kinda boring but I give it 5 minutes before realizing my cigarettes are upstairs, but it's raining and I need to go to the garage.

Back to the movie... paused it after 5 more minutes.

Hrmmm... that tranny still hasn't showed up, I wonder if she's as important as the synopses seem to imply... better look it up... Hrmm... wikipedia says she's important. Hey! She plays herself in the movie... I wonder if she was REALLY the dead guy's landlord because wouldn't this movie bring up bad memories for her? Well, she never saw the dead body so you wouldn't know. Hrmm... wikipedia calls her a transvestite, but she seems to be more of a transsexual to me (ugh... Rob, you have got to learn to start saying "transgender" in your mind. But Self, it is an adjective... not sound right when used as a noun. Rob, fuck you. Know what self? I don't really care what you think cause I'm just gonna say "tranny." Rob, that's offensive. Oh yeah, Self? Well Alexis Arquette says it, and as a member of the LGBTQI community, I have every right to as well. Sorry, Rob, but you are neither Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans, Questioning or Intersex... you are some fucked up version of queer. Fuck it, Self... I'm saying TRANNY!)

That random stream of conscious thing there makes total sense because you see, since wikipedia told me Lady Chablis was a transvestite, I clicked the link for "transvestite" and ended up seeing this picture of Eddie Izzard (famous for the stream of conscious comedy) so I went on youtube and watched about half an hour of Eddie Izzard's "Sexie" routine in drag and that reminds me about the fact that The Bloggess talked about wanting to bone Eddie Izzard in a dress (and hey! I'm watching this movie because The Bloggess mentioned the book... oh shit, the movie) So I unpause the movie and take about 3 cigarette breaks, 2 meal breaks, 15 internet breaks and 2 beer breaks... so that's about give or take 19 pauses in the movie because my mind wandered elsewhere. So you tell me... do I have ADHD? I think this blog actually answered the question in the way it was written without even needing the argument about my constant distraction.

Note: While writing this I had no less than 1 cigarette break (where I had some more cake), 7 internet breaks where I watched 20 more minutes of Eddie Izzard, looked for more depressing gay movies and posted 2 links of cool shit I saw on Facebook (oh... The Birdcage... that was pretty big and had a happy ending!) Know what? I'm gonna stop now... but there you go... SUCK IT! I'm back!

Homo Power to the n'th degree!

2009-05-13T11:18:00.006-04:00

I'm so tired of hearing about Miss California USA... I want her to just fucking go away, but she won't. I actually like that she's out there being a bigot... it's giving gay marriage a lot of publicity, and usually, someone who is for gay marriage will not be swayed, whereas with those against it, we can make sway them. She is not a threat.
However, I'm tired of having to hear all the garbage from the National Organization for Marriage (hahahaha... NOM NOM NOM)... so I went to the first Google result to offer arguments against gay marriage (which had James Dobson's 10 favorites) and now I'm gonna bitch and shoot down everything they say. Sound good? Good! (Their text is in red)
[oh... and I'm fully aware that my blog readership is more liberal than I am, but this is just a venting method... I've been having these imaginary arguments with James Dobson and rick Warren in my head and I just needed to get it all out... KAT! THIS IS THE RHETORICAL RESPONSE!]

Argument #1. The implications for children in a world of decaying families are profound. A recent article in the Weekly Standard described how the advent of legally sanctioned gay unions in Scandinavian countries has already destroyed the institution of marriage, where half of today's children are born out of wedlock. It is predicted now, based on demographic trends in this country, that more than half of the babies born in the 1990s will spend at least part of their childhood in single-parent homes. Social scientists have been surprisingly consistent in warning against this fractured family. If it continues, almost every child will have several "moms" and "dads," perhaps six or eight "grandparents," and dozens of half-siblings. It will be a world where little boys and girls are shuffled from pillar to post in an ever-changing pattern of living arrangements-where huge numbers of them will be raised in foster-care homes or living on the street (as millions do in other countries all over the world today). Imagine an environment where nothing is stable and where people think primarily about themselves and their own self-preservation. It appears likely now that the demise of families will accelerate this type of decline dramatically, resulting in a chaotic culture that will be devastating to children.

Okay. I agree with you here. I totally do. But this has nothing to do with gay marriage. This is an argument against divorce. You want the "fractured family" to come to an end, ban heterosexual divorce. Go for it. I won't fight you. Divorce is the biggest threat to "traditional marriage," not gays. If you think gays are going to destroy heterosexual marriage, look at Denmark, the first country to offer rights similar to marriage to gay couples. Fifteen years after they legalized same-sex unions, the Heterosexual divorce rate in Denmark had gone down, while the heterosexual marriage rate had gone up. Go figure. NEXT!

Argument #2 The introduction of legalized gay marriages will lead inexorably to polygamy and other alternatives to one-man, one-woman unions. In Utah, polygamist Tom Green, who claims five wives, is citing Lawrence v. Texas as the legal authority for his appeal. This past January, a Salt Lake City civil rights attorney filed a federal lawsuit on behalf of another couple wanting to engage in legal polygamy. Their justification? Lawrence v. Texas. The ACLU of Utah has actually suggested that the state will "have to step up to prove that a polygamous relationship is detrimental to society"-as opposed to the polygamists having to prove that plural marriage is not harmful to the culture. Do you see how the game is played? Despite 5,000 years of history, the burden now rests on you and me to prove that polygamy is unhealthy. The ACLU went on to say that the nuclear family "may not be necessarily the best model." Indeed, Justice Antonin Scalia warned of this likelihood in his statement for the minority in the Lawrence case.10 It took less than six months for his prediction to become reality. Why will gay marriage set the table for polygamy? Because there is no place to stop once that Rubicon has been crossed. Historically, the definition of marriage has rested on a bedrock of tradition, legal precedent, theology and the overwhelming support of the people.

Ok... before I get into the polygamy thing here, I just wanna say that marriage has changed tremendously from what it was 2000 years ago. Originally, the incentive for marriage was not love, but a dowry... and there was no divorce.

After the introduction of marriage between homosexuals, however, it will be supported by nothing more substantial than the opinion of a single judge or by a black-robed panel of justices. After they have done their wretched work, the family will consist of little more than someone's interpretation of "rights." Given that unstable legal climate, it is certain that some self-possessed judge, somewhere, will soon rule that three men and one woman can marry. Or five and two, or four and four. Who will be able to deny them that right? The guarantee is implied, we will be told, by the Constitution. Those who disagree will continue to be seen as hate-mongers and bigots. (Indeed, those charges are already being leveled against those of us who espouse biblical values!) How about group marriage, or marriage between relatives, or marriage between adults and children? How about marriage between a man and his donkey? Anything allegedly linked to "civil rights" will be doable. The legal underpinnings for marriage will have been destroyed.

There is a fundamental difference between gay marriage and polygamy from a legal standpoint. Do I think polygamists and polyandrists have every right to enter a spiritual marriage with as many people as they choose? Yes. However, here's where that gets legally iffy. Under a marriage contract, if someone is insured through their employer, their spouse gets the benefits of that insurance. This is indistinguishable between a normal straight couple and a normal gay couple. However, if, let's say, a man were to have three wives, if there was a marriage contract uniting them, this would put an unfair burden on the insurance company (am I really defending an insurance company... eww) thereby causing them to altogether drop the ability for people to become insured through their spouses.
As for beastiality, I can't believe I'm justifying this with a response, but here we go. 1.) They're not even the same species. 2.) A donkey cannot consent into a marriage contract, thereby making it virtually impossible to allow legislation permitting human-animal unions.

Argument #3 An even greater objective of the homosexual movement is to end the state's compelling interest in marital relationships altogether. After marriages have been redefined, divorces will be obtained instantly, will not involve a court, and will take on the status of a driver's license or a hunting permit. With the family out of the way, all rights and privileges of marriage will accrue to gay and lesbian partners without the legal entanglements and commitments heretofore associated with it.
This is not a cornerstone of the gay marriage movement, but rather the libertarian, socialist and communist movements. Gays are mostly Democrats (HRC endorsed Obama)... like half the country... If half the country had these feelings, it would have happened by now. Like I said, you want the sanctity of marriage salvaged, ban divorce.

Argument #4 With the legalization of homosexual marriage, every public school in the nation will be required to teach that this perversion is the moral equivalent of traditional marriage between a man and a woman. Textbooks, even in conservative states, will have to depict man/man and woman/woman relationships, and stories written for children as young as elementary school, or even kindergarten, will have to give equal space to homosexuals.

Um... no? It's not like the law legalizing gay marriage would also say "Oh, and every high school in America will HAVE to perform Love! Valour! Compassion! Those decisions are still up to school boards.
Argument #5 From that point forward, courts will not be able to favor a traditional family involving one man and one woman over a homosexual couple in matters of adoption. Children will be placed in homes with parents representing only one sex on an equal basis with those having a mom and a dad. The prospect of fatherless and motherless children will not be considered in the evaluation of eligibility. It will be the law.

There's nothing wrong with that. No respectable study has shown that straight people are better at raising children. Actually, studies show quite the contrary. And that's exactly it. The judge would have to be blind... they would have to decide which couple could raise the children better. Would you rather give your children to two upstanding gay people or a straight couple living in a crackhouse and offering to sell their kids to the highest bidder?

Argument #6 Foster-care parents will be required to undergo "sensitivity training" to rid themselves of bias in favor of traditional marriage, and will have to affirm homosexuality in children and teens.

Once again, no. Once they have those kids, theyre gonna be telling them what they want. The laws regarding same-sex unions will, as of yet, only cover actual marriage rights. This kind of legislation is still up to the states and they can choose whether or not to pass it.

Argument #7 How about the impact on Social Security if there are millions of new dependents that will be entitled to survivor benefits? It will amount to billions of dollars on an already overburdened system. And how about the cost to American businesses? Unproductive costs mean fewer jobs for those who need them. Are state and municipal governments to be required to raise taxes substantially to provide health insurance and other benefits to millions of new "spouses and other dependents"?

How about the fact that having endless, copious amounts of children provides the same burden and the fact that it's harder for a gay couple to have children, therefore making 8 children a near-impossibility. As for social security, gays aren't going to be a threat to that like medicine is. The longer lifespan of the human is the real threat to Social Security. Should we start euthanizing people once they reach a certain age, though? No.

Argument #8 Marriage among homosexuals will spread throughout the world, just as pornography did after the Nixon Commission declared obscene material "beneficial" to mankind.11 Almost instantly, the English-speaking countries liberalized their laws against smut. America continues to be the fountainhead of filth and immorality, and its influence is global.

(this is outdated, clearly) The point is that numerous leaders in other nations are watching to see how we will handle the issue of homosexuality and marriage. Only two countries in the world have authorized gay marriage to date-the Netherlands and Belgium. Canada is leaning in that direction, as are numerous European countries. Dr. Darrell Reid, president of Focus on the Family Canada, told me two weeks ago that his country is carefully monitoring the United States to see where it is going. If we take this step off a cliff, the family on every continent will splinter at an accelerated rate. Conversely, our U.S. Supreme Court has made it clear that it looks to European and Canadian law in the interpretation of our Constitution.13 What an outrage! That should have been grounds for impeachment, but the Congress, as usual, remained passive and silent.

Uhh... We're far behind the world on this. The Netherlands, Spain, Belgium, Sweden, Norway, Canada and SOUTH AFRICA are all way ahead of us. Other countries aren't waiting for us, theyre looking down on us for being so close-minded.

Argument #9 Perhaps most important, the spread of the Gospel of Jesus Christ will be severely curtailed. The family has been God's primary vehicle for evangelism since the beginning. Its most important assignment has been the propagation of the human race and the handing down of the faith to our children. Malachi 2:15 reads, referring to husbands and wives, "Has not the Lord made them one? In flesh and spirit they are His. And why one? Because He was seeking godly offspring. So guard yourself in your spirit, and do not break faith with the wife of your youth" (NIV). That responsibility to teach the next generation will never recover from the loss of committed, God-fearing families. The younger generation and those yet to come will be deprived of the Good News, as has already occurred in France, Germany and other European countries. Instead of providing for a father and mother, the advent of homosexual marriage will create millions of motherless children and fatherless kids. This is morally wrong, and is condemned in Scripture. Are we now going to join the Netherlands and Belgium to become the third country in the history of the world to "normalize" and legalize behavior that has been prohibited by God himself? Heaven help us if we do!

The First Amendment clearly states that the law and the church are divided. "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof..." Now since this is America, what that means is that just because God says he doesn't like the gays, doesn't mean we're allowed to make laws based around that. And then in reference to free excercise, thousands of churches across the country DO support gay marriage, so by promoting the interests of your own churches, you're also preventing the religious freedom of...dun dun dun... fellow Christians.
Argument #10 The culture war will be over, and I fear, the world may soon become "as it was in the days of Noah" (Matthew 24:37, NIV). This is the climactic moment in the battle to preserve the family, and future generations hang in the balance. This apocalyptic and pessimistic view of the institution of the family and its future will sound alarmist to many, but I think it will prove accurate unless-unless-God's people awaken and begin an even greater vigil of prayer for our nation. That's why Shirley and I are urgently seeking the Lord's favor and asking Him to hear the petitions of His people and heal our land. As of this time, however, large segments of the church appear to be unaware of the danger; its leaders are surprisingly silent about our peril (although we are tremendously thankful for the efforts of those who have spoken out on this issue). The lawless abandon occurring recently in California, New Mexico, New York, Oregon, Washington and elsewhere should have shocked us out of our lethargy. So far, I'm alarmed to say, the concern and outrage of the American people have not translated into action. This reticence on behalf of Christians is deeply troubling. Marriage is a sacrament designed by God that serves as a metaphor for the relationship between Christ and His Church. Tampering with His plan for the family is immoral and wrong. To violate the Lord's expressed will for humankind, especially in regard to behavior that He has prohibited, is to court disaster.

Yes... gay marriage will mean the End of Days. I can't even argue this... but if people buy that, WOW! In fact, if people believe that... if there is a sound majority of people who think God gives THAT MUCH of a shit, then by all means, let the End of Days come because there is no salvation for the human race.

Incest, Bisexuality and Monkeys: Sociological Gold

2009-05-03T20:41:00.003-04:00

This morning when I woke up I took an Adderall and cranked out one of the best papers I've ever written. All I knew at the beginning of the paper was that it was going to be about bisexuality. I had literally nothing else, but over the course of the day I managed to complete it and it makes me happy. I had three really good sources to base my paper off of: Sigmund Freud's theory of innate bisexuality, an article about the Bonobo, a bisexual breed of ape, and a study conducted that proved that most men who identify as bisexuals are only aroused by naked men. From that, I delved deep into bisexual theory and for once in my life I came away from a paper feeling like I had really LEARNED something.
Those are Bonobos. If you do a Google image search for them, half of the pictures will be of them having sex because their mating habits are fascinating. The Bonobo is an exclusively bisexual creature. They have sex all the time and for all sorts of reasons. Rather than get into physical fights like many other species, including humans, they just fuck and all is forgiven. (This was actually brought up during my favorite movie, Before Sunrise, and after my research it's surprising how accurate the character's description of the Bonobo was.)They have huge orgies before eating to make them all happy with each other so that they'll share, and they have sex for pleasure because they just can't get enough. There isn't even rape among Bonobos because they're always down to throw down with whomever. Here's what really threw me for a loop: Bonobos frequently practice gay incest. Daddies sleep with their sons and mommies sleep with their daughters, but when it comes to straight incest, it almost never happens. It's like nature told the Bonobo that if you make a baby with mommy, it WILL be deformed.
This got me thinking: the stigmatization of gay incest is entirely a social construct created through years of religion and sexual repression. Do I think we should all go around fucking our parents? No. It's still gross because that's how our species understands it to be. But still, it's interesting... there isn't any actual physiological or psychological detriment to homosexual incest. In fact, if we weren't so grossed out by it, it would probably help to increase intimacy with your parents, siblings, cousins... I swear though, I'm not saying that in the context of our society I endorse it in any way.
Now back to the Bonobo's sexual habits. Think about it. Their hypersexual lifestyle actually leads them to be an entirely peaceful, non-violent species. Imagine if humans were that way: if everyone were bi and constantly having sex. There would be no war... just constant orgies. World peace would be a piece of cake, the Saudis would be giving away oil in exchange for handjobs and there would be no rape or violent crime. It's pretty damn appealing if you ask me

The Congenital Burden of Being Cuban-American

2009-04-26T16:19:00.003-04:00

I was born half-Cuban and half-Irish. This has led to many things, but mostly to the question: "How did that happen?" when I bring up my heritage. To answer, I have no clue. Sometimes, when a man and a woman love each other very very much, they have sex and make a baby and thus, I am here. Anyway, at a young age, when I brought back an Irish flag from Ellis Island, my father pounced, accusing me of not being proud of my Cuban heritage. I was only eight years old, but ever since, I have constantly put my Irish side on the backburner and focused most of my ethnic pride on the fact that I am a Cuban-American.

There are a lot of great things about being Cuban. First off, the food is AMAZING. If I had to eat "Irish" food to get in touch with my ethnicity I would probably have jumped off a bridge. Another great thing about being Cuban is that we are seen by many as the classiest, hardest-working group to come out of Latin America. As a Cuban, I totally buy into this. We are a very affluent and hard-working bunch. Being Cuban also gives you the ability to call yourself a minority while being totally white! Finally, being Cuban gives you the ability to be racist towards other Cubans. You see, Cubans love some pretty bad things too... like racism and gossip. Cubans are, in my opinion, one of the most racist nationalities. They not only hate almost all other Latin American heritages, but if you're FROM Cuba, then you also hate every other province in Cuba, along with just about anyone in the world that isn't like you. It's sad, yes, but I find it hysterical.

However, being Cuban, while mostly a great privilege to me, comes with one enormous burden: Che Guevara. He's on millions of T-shirts, he's got glamorous Hollywood movies being made about him, his diaries are a bestseller throughout the Western world and I cannot stand it. You see, Che Guevara was Fidel Castro's right-hand man during the Cuban Revolution. He is the reason that one of the only countries in the world that I am not allowed to visit is also my father's homeland. He was in charge of the human slaughterhouses in Cuba, where those who were against Castro's regime were executed like cattle. I have no doubt that distant relatives perished under the hand of Ernesto "Che" Guevara. If that isn't so, then the fact that he planned to have any open gays executed is just another kick in the gut. To me, wearing a Che T-Shirt is about as offensive as someone wearing a T-Shirt with a picture of Heinrich Himmler.

So why do people wear them? I have no fucking idea. That's what I would like people to help me with. Why on earth would someone proudly brandish the image of a right-wing wannabe communist murderer? Is it because someone told you he was a "revolutionary?" If that's the case, wear a fucking George Washington shirt. Know what your fashion statement means before you make it.
I have had my moments where my rage over this ridiculous fashion trend has boiled over. I was once kicked out of a Hot Topic for criticizing a customer who was wearing one of the shirts. I also may have a tendency to yank such shirts off the shelves at stores and scatter them around. One day I saw one of my best friends wearing a Che shirt and I had to sit across from him for an hour at TGI Friday's. I did not speak to him for most of the meal's duration and offered him money to let me burn the shirt. If I were to ever see a professor wearing one (and I fear I might one day) I would immediately call them out. If they were a big Che fan, I would drop the class.

My final point here is going to be my personal favorite: the irony of the "Che" shirt. Che Guevara, while secretly far more right-wing than he would admit, was a communist. He opposed capitalism in every way. So then isn't it funny that commercializing Guevara's image and mass-producing t-shirts with his likeness for profit is a fundamental move of the capitalist world. In a communist world, people would be handing out pamphlets with his words, not selling t-shirts with his picture. This is so incredibly ironic that it shines a bright little light on the whole grizzly image of Che that I have to see on a daily basis. While it doesn't make the wearing of such a shirt acceptable, it does give me the ability to call every last person wearing one a "hypocrite." That, I suppose, is a reward on its own.

Something I Wanted To Point Out

2009-04-25T15:05:00.003-04:00

Perez Hilton. He's fucking annoying, yes, but I would like to point out something I don't think people realize. Whenever Perez is on a talk show dishing out gossip on how Celebrity A is fucking Celebrity B, the host always mentions how he draws penises on celebrity faces.
People consider this to be stupid and juvenile, however, it's actually rather brilliant. You see, 90% of the pictures on PerezHilton.com are owned by somebody else. Now, Perez is not going to fork over the dough to pay for these pictures, so what he does instead is alter them by adding penises, cokenoses and drool marks which thereby makes the images a parody, and allows Perez free use of the photographs... the photographer doesn't make a dime. I think this is sort of unfair. So are the exorbitant prices to use someone else's picture. I am not a threat. I use copyrighted pictures in a technically illegal manner all over my blog, but it's no biggie, because I'm not making money off it.
Perez Hilton, on the other hand, has done something more serious. He downloads videos from tv and posts them though his own player on his site. This lets him collect the advertising revenue on these videos rather than paying the creators. Funny. Perez supported the writer's strike, didn't he? Well those writers fought hard to get royalties from sites like Hulu, and now Perez is preventing such royalties from ever being received. That, to me, is bullshit.
Now here's what photographers and media outlets need to do to combat this. If such outlets were to place watermarks with trademarked logos on all of their pictures and videos, even if he manipulated the images with penises, Perez would still be be violating copyright laws by reproducing said watermark. Photographers need to stop bitching and filing lawsuits when this kind of solution could solve all their problems.

A Rant From the Child of Two Happily-Married Individuals

2009-04-20T18:27:00.005-04:00

I thought long and hard about this, and I realized that since freshman year of high school I have had almost no friends whose parents were still together. Divorced parents must be some sort of subconscious necessity in my friendships. Just look at my closest friends in high school: Ally, Alyssa, Billy, Lindsay and Noosh. How about college? Less friends here, but the only two people I hang out with on a regular basis are Sean and Marielle: both products of messy divorces.
My parents have been together for over a quarter of a century and they still love each other. (Okay, that's stretching it. They love each other, but get on each other's nerves on a daily basis.) Let's just say they're not getting divorced... ever. Period.This, oddly enough, has made me an abnormality among my friends. I am not the product of a broken home. I have great parents who give me enough space to learn my own mistakes, but once I make those mistakes I'll get an "I told you so." That's all I need and I'm fine with it. It's just odd. I feel like, when I talk to my friends about their parents, they love them, but most of them are bitter. Even my father is bitter about his childhood, although it is, in my opinion, rather justified. Well guess what? I can't be. My parents are going to be the kind of couple that holds hands in the nursing home while fighting over who gets to eat the pudding.
So here's what I have to ask myself: as the product of a caring family, am I capable of fully understanding my closest friends? Does their home situation negate my authority in advice-giving and other assorted things they need me for? For some strange reason I have to say no.
Until high school, the whole concept of divorce was so alien to me and now it is a stark reality. It's the norm. With half of all marriages ending in divorce (and many of the "lasting" marriages ending with infidelity) I have to pose the question: where did my family go right?

Cancer: From Concentrate

2009-04-19T21:18:00.004-04:00

Today was one of those "oh yes, this is why I haven't quit smoking" kind of days. On top of the stress, I had a very interesting encounter with a bottle of lemon juice. Confused? Let's go back...
So I was watching Brideshead Revisited and I felt the sudden urge to pop a miracle berry tablet... so I go down to downtown cenvenience and buy a bottle of ReaLemon lemon juice. I come back, pop the tablet, and sure enough, the tablet makes the lemon juice taste sweet. Awesome! So I go to the sink, get some water, arrange myself a sugarless lemonade and gulp away. It tastes like normal lemonade... cool!
Now, I am not usually one to read the ingredients of a package, but i was curious: what exactly is in this bottle? So I take a look, and right away I see something that looks oddly suspicious: Sodium Benzoate. Isn't that the preservative in cigarettes that truth.org keeps warning me about? I look it up, and sure enough, it is. However, what my research told me is that this stuff only turns into benzene when added to vitamin c.
WAITWAITWAITAMINUTE! Vitamin C is what causes this preservative to turn into a harmful carcinogen and you're using it to preserve LEMON JUICE!?!?! The juice of lemons, which because of their high levels of Vitamin C were used to prevent scurvy?
Actually, a little more research will show that ALL the preservatives in this lemon juice, when combined with some good old vitamin c, will eventually give you cancer. Fantastic!
What I would like to know is: who is the dumbass who decided "Let's preserve citrus with carcinogens!"? More importantly, to the people who sell this stuff even use it, or are they too afraid that it will kill them?
So why stop smoking? The government has been doing everything in their power to increase the price of cigarettes because... well... they cause cancer. But is the government doing anything about the lemon juice? How about the high fructose corn syrup? Trans fats, yes... that only took 50 years. So what the fuck, government? Pick a side: protect me, or let the big scary corporations kill me. Frankly, I'd prefer the latter... at least that way I wouldn't be leaking money.

Taking Inspiration to a Whole New Level

2009-04-17T16:12:00.003-04:00

My life is currently in shambles. It sucks, but in a way, it's fantastic. I have isolated myself, and this has brought back my former #1 hobby: writing. I spent a good two hours last night giving personalities and relationships to the names I spend an hour coming up with for my next novel, and that makes me VERY satisfied. This summer, writing will begin, and I couldn't be more thrilled.

So, for my next book I've decided to take the naming process to a whole new level. In Hexagon, among the main characters were Ian Albarn (named after Damon Albarn), Rachel Day (Patricia Day) and Brian James (Alex James). The book was littered with references to Blur (my favorite band at the time... and "Boys and Girls" was basically the basis for the entire novel. There was a character in a story within the story named Lisa Coxon (after Graham Coxon) and the bookstore was Rowntree Books (after Dave Rowntree, Blur's drummer.)

So what does this all mean? Well, I think it shows an odd amount of tribute within my writing. Coming up with a good name for a character is just as important as coming up with a personality. As a writer, I can't just throw in a name, it has to represent something greater. Thus, with this novel, I have gone REALLY into the concept of inspiration and influence when it came to nomenclature.

There were two rules I set for myself. The first name had to be of a hero of mine. The last name had to be of one of my favorite writers. Now, one problem is making the tribute too obvious, so right off the bat, people like David Sedaris, Armistead Maupin and Marjane Satrapi had to be eliminated. To me, their names are far too recognizable as last names. Here's the names I came up with: Amanda Geisel (Amanda Palmer+Dr. Seuss... his real last name is Geisel), Keith Buckley (Keith Olbermann+Christopher Buckley), Maddie Moore (Madelyn Murray O'Hair+Christopher Moore... fun fact, there was a minor character in Hexagon named Marissa Moore, so Maddie is going to be her neice), Harvey Miller (Harvey Milk+Henry Miller), Laura Cain (Laura-Mary Carter+James M. Cain) and Mike Burroughs (Mike Gravel+Augusten Burroughs). Tina Matthews is also a character, however, she existed during VERY early stages of this project, so her first name is representative of a girl I knew in high school and her last name is a tribute to Chris Matthews... not a writer, but she's not one of the core 6 because I'm going to be killing her off in the first chapter.

The process of tribute is oddly theraputic. It's almost a form of flattery... as if I'm thanking these people for being a constant source of inspiration to me. While the characters may not be, in any way, representative of these people, I'd like to think that having a character in a book named after you would be flattering. In Hexagon I named Ian, my favorite character, off a guy I had a crush on back when I started writing it. I sent him the book and he read it. His response: "You made me a sexually-confused, atheist, goth-wannabe who gets laid within the first 30 pages? I love it!" See? Flattery.

While I don't think there's much substance here and it seems like I'm just using this as a vessel to rant about my new story (I am to an extent) I would just like to think that there's something greater going on here. That I am giving an in-depth view into the brain of a writer (note I cannot speak for all writers, because I don't think most writers name all their characters after their heroes. I do. Suck it.) No pictures here. I did it for a reason. I want you to absorb the (confusing and rant-like) words.

Sex Toy Mania

2009-04-13T21:20:00.004-04:00

So I went to the Sex Toy Workshop tonight. That alone lets you know that things are about to get really dirty really fast. Just a warning.
Now... we were taught about all sorts of various sexual pleasure objects by Megan Andelloux, this lady:She didn't waste any time and got our hands dirty (literally) right away with a lube called Stroke 29, which after 29 strokes on your hand, makes it feel like a vagina. Freaky. It was oily and impressive and she said she used to give it as a gift to her nephew because his mother hates her profession. This made me immediately go: "Yes, I love you."
Now after I went through 3 napkins trying to get the Stroke 29 off, I had to put god knows how many more types of lube on my hand... things were messy.
We also passed around nipple-stimulating cream. It made my boobies tingle... But I only put it on one nipple at first so I was very lopsided until a second jar came around. (By the way... it tasted like delicious strawberry. Just to let you know.
After several lube taste tests (she insisted we taste every type of lube so that we don't buy something without tasting it first) we were on to the sex toys. You name it, we played with it. There were all sorts of vibrators, cockrings, strap-ons, butt plugs. I'm pretty jaded, so I'd seen most of it... and then there was the thigh-cock:Hers was neon green and it looked like a not-so-ripe banana. I don't know why you would prefer to fuck somebody with your leg... especially with those clit-stimulating strap-ons that she threw on an unsuspecting victim.
There was also spanking involved. Did I mention the spanking?

Zombie Day=Fitness Center Closed=Rage

2009-04-12T14:00:00.003-04:00

So today is Easter (Sam calls it Zombie Day and I find that to be the most amazing joke at the expense of Catholics since God knows when.) I've finally started working out again so naturally, on Easter, with all of the candy floating around, I need to get on that elliptical and work up a sweat. However, the goddamn Fitness Center is closed, therefore I'm stuck here in my gym shorts and compression undies looking like a dumbass. (Why is the gym closed for Easter? Aren't Catholics a minority at Emerson?) Going to the gym and the subsequent shower leaves me feeling great. I hate doing it. It is a masochistic artform that I personally find totally unnatural, but with all the trans fats and high fructose corn syrup that have leaked their way into the American diet, it has become a necessity to many.
Now I refuse to be a perfect little gym bunny. I just want to go, do my 20 minutes on the elliptical while listening to some thumpin' tunes and then get the fuck out of there. No, I am not going to go use the weights when I am done. No, I do not plan to do some crunches on the floor just to show off. No, I am not going to show off my body in the locker room by walking around half-naked. I have noticed all of these things. In fact, sometimes I see people wandering around for an hour in the fitness center doing 5 quick reps on a machine, stretching for 5 minutes and moving on to do the same thing everwhere without actually getting a real workout. These people are also already naturally endowed with perfect bodies and they could be at The Cheesecake Factory chowing down on the 2000-calorie fried mac n cheese (which, by the way, is worth every last calorie) and they would still look exactly the same. Unlike most, my goal at the gym is less superficial. I just want to go down a T-Shirt size. That's it. Yes, I want to improve my health, but I would much rather just be able to fit into an awesome band T. I could care less if I look good in a fitted shirt. I think fitted shirts look stupid.
That's really all. I found I needed to vent before I got changes ot of my gym clothes. Bring on the Easter candy, I guess I'll just have to try again tomorrow.

The Complexities of the Student-Teacher Relationship (academic titles RULE!)

2009-04-10T16:51:00.009-04:00

So I have a problem. I seem to become wayyy too close to my teachers. It has gotten to the point where I am a moderator of a facebook fan page for my high school Spanish teacher, I have created a fan group for Cynthia Miller, my favoritest professor ever, and now I have a fan page for Kat Gonso, my research writing professor. The latter is the one that sparked my interest in actually updating this blog, so she gets lots of credit. Here is a picture of her rocking out:So why is it that I am always the cult leader, worshiping these idols of education. I have no clue. Maybe it's because when we were in elementary school our teachers were never cool. Sure, we had good teachers, fun teachers, teachers who were smoking hot... but never teachers that were genuinely cool. They hid that part of their lives from us back then. Now that we're adults, our teachers can treat us like adults... as peers. This allows us to see the real them for the first time and it's just so cool and so refreshing that I start online followings for them. To the right is Cindy Miller, who I just think is the coolest person I have met in my entire life. Sure, she was my teacher, but when we grinded our crotches into the floor, groped outselves and shook our asses side-by-side, it was as if we became equals. We were sharing that embarassment, and we were no longer student and teacher, but simply friends. We could (and have) talked about everything... from zombie movies to our sex lives. Finally, I can feel like an adult.

There are several reasons I thought it was important to post this. One is because I just created the Kat Gonso fan page. It's pretty awesome, join it.
Secondly, during my senior year I found my CWI teacher's online dating profile on OkCupid (which, to me is the most amazing, fun site ever.) I didn't want to embarrass him by letting him know a student had found it (and that it said he was into all sorts of kink) so I waited. Now it is a year and a half later. I'm in college and I finally found the balls last night to shoot him a message and thank (and complain to) him about sparking my love of the news. Before his class, the only news I got was from World News Tonight with Peter Jennings. Now, I'm a fucking journalism major. He got the message today, looked at my profile, and did not respond. This has me thinking all sorts of thoughts. Is he worried that I told a bunch of people I found his profile? (I sorta did... but I only told my closest friends and they wouldn't spread that stuff.) Is he weirded out because before seeing my profile he was not aware that I liked boys? (or so I'm assuming.) Or is he just not comfortable enough to cross that student-teacher barrier and even thogh I'm an adult, I'm still viewed as a subordinate and not a peer. I don't know, but I sure as hell can't wait to see the look on his face the next time I visit Morris Catholic.
Speaking of Morris Catholic, there's one more story I have to share. It's about the first time I felt that amazing feeling of a teacher viewing you as a peer. It was a warm day in August, and me and my friends had convinced Senora Hinds (the greatest Spanish teacher EVER) to come bowling with us. As we walked up the stairs into the bowling alley, Sra. Hinds, out of nowhere, grabs my ass. "We're not in school now! I can do that!" It was amazing, not the ass-grabbing (frankly, I like a nice full-palm grab but she gave more of a pinch) but rather the fact that for once, a teacher was doing something she wasn't supposed to, because she wasn't a teacher anymore. This gave me an incredible sense of comfort. Later on in the day I got to crack jokes at her expense while her and Billy rampantly chowed down on super-spicy salsa, tears rushing from their eyes. I also showed her my tiny extra nipple that my friend Erica named "Milky." (don't be freaked out, the thing is smaller than a dime) I've hung out with Hinds plenty of times since then; just gone into her room after school got out and talked politics, gossiped about teachers and students, it was all fair game. We were peers, and there's something magical about that. Once you can finally start to experience that companionship with people like your high school teachers and college professors it really does make you feel like you are an ADULT. You may be a student, but you've grown up and the bubble around you has shattered for good.

Kindergarten Screening

2009-04-09T11:39:00.002-04:00

I sat watching Nick Jr., education for the younger mind, as Gullah, Gullah Island taught me primarily that all black people liked to randomly burst into song and that giant yellow frogs can come to your house and spin wire-supported basketballs on their fingers. I learned a lot of things from Nick Jr. I learned that a giant face can interrupt programs to laugh and tell a simple joke, all the while seeming eerily like Big Brother. I also learned that puppets and humans really could live in harmony. In the days before Blue’s Clues became the biggest phenomena in children’s entertainment since “peek-a-boo,” Nick Jr. actually tried to teach you something. None of these lessons stuck with me more than the lesson it gave me on abstract art.

“What’s that, Mandy?”

“Why, it’s abstract art!”

Mandy stood in front of her canvas, her paint-stained overalls showing that she had clearly spent several rigorous hours working on her latest masterpiece: a painting of several colorful splotches on a white background. It was pretty, and it made me feel like I could be an artist. My abstract aspirations only became more intense when I went to The Museum of Modern Art with my mother. As I walked past several of Jackson Pollock’s smaller pieces, I told myself, “You can do this!”

“But Mandy, that isn’t art. It’s just a bunch of splotches!”

“No, Brian, it’s an elephant!”

Brian was perplexed, carefully examining the canvas. “I don’t see an elephant!”

“You can see whatever you want! It’s abstract art! There’s an elephant over here, and a boat over there, and that’s a lighthouse! Abstract art doesn’t have to look like what you’re painting.”

“But Mandy, I can’t see it!”

“See what you want. It’s abstract art! And all of you out there at home can make your own abstract art too!”

I love the way children’s television attempts to ingrain new vocabulary words into your personal lexicon by repeating them as many times and with as much emphasis as humanly possible. The great thing is, this method can be quite effective. Unlike telling your mother to “go fuck herself”, information that doesn’t border on the profane needs to be pounded into your head harder than a pimp needs to knock sense into the ho that doesn’t bring back enough cash. Children’s television just doesn’t do that anymore, and I’m not sure if that is a good thing. Is it better to learn that some whistles can only be heard by dogs, or is it better to dance along to The Wiggles as they sing mind-numbing things like “Mush banana, mush banana!” and “Cold spaghetti, cold spaghetti!”? I don’t know, but I do know that the educational side of children’s television can have its detrimental effects.

I sat on the edge of my seat as the only black people I knew, Ron and Natalie of Gullah, Gullah Island, taught me that lying is wrong. (Where would I learn morals like these without television?) My mother walked in and sighed, telling me that we had to go and register for school. I had been in Busy Beehive Preschool for the past year where I had only learned two things: first, that “black isn’t technically a color”; second, that if you wet yourself, your pants are put away in a plastic bag and you are given a tacky bathing suit to wear. I was ready to learn new things, to meet new people. Maybe I could meet one of those nice black people I had seen on TV. It would be a new experience, so we were off.

Before you enter kindergarten, they put you through what is referred to as “Kindergarten Screening.” The name alone is ominous. Screening? Are they checking to see which of us have blonde hair and blue eyes so that they can set up a new Third Reich? I didn’t know, but before we entered kindergarten, we had to be “screened.”
On the line for screening I was behind a short, Sikh kid in an orange turban and his sari-wearing mother. I was raised in the town of Lincoln Park, a town so white that by the time I entered middle school a few of my former friends had gotten a white power movement going. I was entranced. Was this some new creature I had never seen before? What was that orange thing on his head? Does it hold his brain? As I pondered these things, my mother told me to stop staring, and after a slight hesitation, I did. A few minutes later it was my turn to go into screening.

There were two women in charge of Kindergarten Screening, one in a gray blazer and the other in a blue dress. Neither of them were teachers, and apparently I was far off from learning that yes, the school does have administration beyond the principal and vice principal.

“The first thing we want you to do,” the blue dress lady began, “is for you to jump over this little stick on the floor.”

I shrugged and did what she asked. After jumping over the stick I was sat in a chair and handed a piece of paper and some crayons.

“Now I want you to go ahead and draw a smiley face for us.”

This was it. This was my moment to shine and show them how good I was at abstract art!

My inner-monologue went wild as I drew. “Let’s put some blue splotches there. Yeah, that’s it! And some red over here, and maybe a little green over here. And I’ll top it all off by scribbling all over it in purple! Perfect!”

I handed the woman my color-splotched page with pride. I was Picasso! I was Warhol! I was GG Allin! Sure, I may not have known who these people were at the time, but I felt like a visionary. My art would hang on the walls of kings proclaiming, “Look at how those purple scribbles are looped! Nobody could do that like Robert de la Teja!”

“I’m afraid your son is on the borderline,” the blue dress woman told my mother.

This was the new, politically correct way of saying, “Your son is borderline retarded.”

In the end, I spent another year in preschool. This time, I attended a Christian school run by Jacksonville Chapel. It was there that I learned to pray for the bluebirds, play “house” and have my illusions shattered. Ironically, in the second grade, the same people who had declared me to be “on the borderline” decided to put me into the High Enrichment Program, our school’s version of the Gifted and Talented Program. This time, I tried a bit harder to emulate Einstein instead of Pollock, but it always stuck with me how you can be judged when you haven’t even had a chance to explain yourself; ever since, I have desired nothing more than to be heard.

Sickness Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

2009-03-25T20:52:00.003-04:00

So I'm sick... Ass-blowingly sick. It's bad, and I will probably remain incoherent for much of this entry, but I am trying my hardest to let you comprehend me.

So I went to Clark U over the weekend to visit Ally and her peeps. It was amazing, and I was thoroughly intoxicated throughout my stay. However, in my multiple states of inebriation, when the very sick ally asked for drags of my cigarette, I thought nothing of it. This has come back severely to bite me in the ass as I have now contracted whatever demonic virus she has.

So what does Rob do when he's sick? In high school, this would merit 2-3 sick days. However, now that I'm in college, I've decided to suck it up, overmedicate, and try to get my work done. I have A LOT of work to do, BTW.

Yesterday morning was my first wellness trip. I went to CVS and picked up Tylenol Cold: Multi-Symptom and that which is the messiah for all sick people: NyQuil. Both are magical. However, this was not enough for me. Since I have way too much shit to do, I decided to make a second wellness trip to Whole Foods, where I picked up a butt-load of vitamins. You see, I am not content with masking my symptoms with the Tylenol (which, by the way, is heavenly, I highly reccommend it.) I also must legitimately get over the virus faster so I purchased: Wellness Formula, Whole Foods Immune System Defense with IP-6, 5 bottles of kombucha and echinacea.

So first off, IP-6 sounds like some sort of evil amazing chemical from the future that kills off all your problems. Sadly, it's natural. Whatever. Likewise, Wellness Formula, which is touted by wealthy hippies as the miracle cure to every disease consists of 3 ENORMOUS horse pills that you take three of every three hours. It smells like rotten garlic and piss, but let's hope it works. I demand wellness.

New New Facebook... FML

2009-03-13T16:12:00.004-04:00

I haven't posted in a while. This is primarily because I've been feeling incredibly emotionally numb for the past few weeks. However, now I finally have been shocked out of my emotionally numb state by something as stupid as facebook.
So I've been dreading the moment where my facebook would finally change. People's statuses have been lamenting the death of "new facebook" for the past week and are now getting pissy about "new new facebook." I was rather angry myself when the original new facebook came along, but after living with it for a few months, I've grown to realize that it is, in fact, better than old facebook in many ways.New new facebook however, is so godawful, so damn repugnant that I have yet to find more than one redeemable quality to it (the ability to filter your feed.) I mean filtering is cool and all, but if I wanted to see every little fucking thing my friends do, I could have just gone on the live feed on old new facebook. The news feed now looks like one big fucking chain of status updates. There was a reason old new facebook only showed you three: BECAUSE WE REALLY DON'T FUCKING CARE! This is bullshit. This is outrageous! This is WORSE THAN VISTA!

Do You Believe in Voodoo?

2009-03-02T15:21:00.004-05:00

PART ONE
So when I wasn't busy fondling my Kindle, reading Douglas Coupland and eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch, I managed to have a pretty eventful weekend. I would call it THE MOST eventful, but that would mean I was sounding like Jenn Barry and that just isn't a good way to be.

It started on Friday night. This is when mostly everything went down. Basically I called up Marielle and told that ho we were hanging out. She obliged. I then went to her place where I molested my Kindle a bit while she spend 2 hours getting ready. Soon her friend Yasmine arrived andd then the party really got started. First we ate at Tantric:The food is obscenely expensive, and I can't afford it (If I go to Tantric, it's for the hookah... and there's no hookah in winter) So I just order nann (4 bucks! for some pita bread!) and hope I won't be starving later. At Tantric we had very sexually explicit, loud discussions which provoked stares from those around us. Of course. So we eat. We leave. We get on the T, and we head to the North End. Since it was raining we were hesitant to walk and we decided to hop a train from Gov't Center to North Station. Unfortunately, due to high traffic because of a breakdown, service to North Station was suspended. We didn't realize that so we spent a half-hour entertaining ourselves on the subway platform by taking pictures in front of the "NO SMOKING" sign:
So when it was realized the arrival of a train was futile, we headed to the North End in a cab. We went to Mike's Pastry and got some cannoli. As we waited Yasmine said "Cannolies are on me! Wouldn't it be funny if we took topless pictures of me with cannolies on my nipples?" I thought nothing of it. Next we went to the cigar bar nextdoor to smoke a hookah. After waiting half an hour for someone to come to our table and give us some damn service, the waitress asked for our IDs. We said we were underaged for liquor but we just wanted to smoke a hookah. Apparently that's not how it works at Stanza dei Sigari and since it's an alcoholic bar we had to be 21 even if we weren't drinking. Great. So we bitched and moaned and stepped outside, now reeking of the cigar fumes of the place. It was raining even harder and the pastry boxes were falling apart in our hands as we got onto the T. While on the T, Mariella, ever the social butterfly, struck up conversation with two guys, one which had just gotten married. As the newlywed stepped off the train he shouted "I think I'm gonna be sick" and proceeded to vomit on the subway platform. Fun!

We got off one stop later and walked to the Doubletree. The second we were in Marielle's room, Yasmine took off her shirt. "Yasmine, I still have to charge my battery," Marielle said, throwing her battery into the charger. "Oh, okay." Yasmine remained topless. Soon enough, the battery was charged and Yasmine had "The cannolies are on me!" written on her chest in red lipstick. "I'm ready for my closeup." Yasmine held the cannoli up to her nipples and many, many pictures were taken... including one of me licking a cannoli while it was still on Yasmine's breast. Soon Marielle wanted in on the action and she was topless with cannoli as well. This is somewhat surreal.

PART TWO

After the clothes went back on, I decided it was way too late and had to get back to the dorm. So I left and walked a few blocks up Tremont before turning onto Boylston. Sure enough, right as I'm in front of Piano Row, getting ready to step inside, Sarah, a girl I know from Research Writing, runs up to me. "YOU! Look what happened!" I look over and see that an SUV has skidded in the rain, slamming into a crosswalk semaphor. "It fell down onto the car and rolled off. I'm pretty sure no one got hurt."

I like Sarah, but I've never seen her outside of class, so I decide to take this opportunity to chat her up. We stand in front of P-Row talking about our mutual love of Callum Blue, Joss Whedon's new TV show and my crazy HS algebra teacher until a man comes up to us. He doesn't speak to us, he just stands there next to us, staring at us. We stand there silent and awkward. The man looks completely insane, he must have been on some heavy drugs. "Let's walk," Sarah says, running east on Boylston. We stop in front of Commonwealth Books. "Oh my god, that was insane!" "I wonder what he was on." Our conversation begins where it left off. Sarah starts to talk about her hometown. Somehow her neighboring town, Wellesley, comes up. "I fucking hate Wellesley!" A drunk guy coming out of the Gypsy Bar stops by us, "You suck! Wellesley rocks!" The two argue for a bit and the man walks away. "Aww," Sarah says, "He was cute. Cute and drunk. Good combination." We talk a bit more and out of nowhere, a car drives past us with a very drunk black man hanging out the window, "GIVE HER THE RING! YOU LOVE HER! I SEE IT! MARRY HER! GIVE HER THE RING!" Sarah and I giggle and she screams back, "TOO BAD WE'RE NOT DATING!"

After spending a half-hour in front of Commonwealth Books, we head back over to the front of P-Row, deciding that it must be safe. As we talk, two of Sarah's friends come up and we recount the whole sordid tale to them. They then recount the tale of a very drunk latin man flirting with them at a party. As they discuss this, the guy from before, the one that made us run over to Commonwealth Books in the first place, magically reappears: "Does anybody have a cigarette?" "Sorry, we've been smoking all night. We're out." "I have an offer for you," the man says, pulling out a pocketwatch. "It wouldn't matter, we don't have any cigarettes." The man continues to play with his pocketwatch, "But you haven't even heard my offer!" "It doesn't matter! We're dry!" "Just listen...do you believe in voodoo?"

"Run!" Sarah screamed. She didn't have to, we were already running inside. "GOOD ANSWER! GOOD ANSWER!" the man screamed behind us. Frightened, we ran into a place in P-Row where we couldn't be seen. We spent another hour talking together before we decided to give in for the night.

That was my Friday. Saturday was eventful, but it pales in comparison, so I just won't even go there.

Kindle Love, LML

2009-02-27T12:00:00.003-05:00

So yesterday I got impatient and called the Kindle people again to tell them that the last bit of advice was bullshit. Sure enough, the guy actually managed to help me. He told me how to do a "soft reset" and sure enough, the thing magically worked. So far I have purchased: The New York Times, The Onion, The Complete Short Stories of Edgar Allen Poe and Fool by Christopher Moore. I read the Times on it this morning, and it was pretty awesome. I also read a Poe story last night... The Premature Burial. I forgot how much I love Edgar Allen Poe. I also forgot how much Poe I've already read. I have read at least a quarter of the stories in the book (which, by the way, only cost $0.99. Cool.) Surprisingly, the Onion stories on my Kindle aren't particularly wonderful.
One other fun thing is the text-to-speech feature. It reads to me, and doesn't sound TOO robotic. It sounds like shit if you want it to read a novel (I'm fine with that) but it works really well if I wanna have the Times read to me while I eat a sandwich. Fun stuff. I love it. Buy one.

Kindle Woes, FML

2009-02-26T14:05:00.003-05:00

Fuck my life. That's all I can say. I ordered my Amazon Kindle three months ago. I waited patiently and it arrived today. However, the second i tried to turn the thing on, nothing happened. Yeah, the screen works, there are screensavers on the screen, but they don't come off when the Kindle starts. This is bullshit, the device cost $360 and I get a fucking defective one. I am so angry right now that I already wanna give up on the piece of shit and throw it out the window.
I just got off the phone with the Amazon people. They said I should charge it for 8 hours and try again. The thing doesn't work when it's plugged in. How's it supposed to work just because I charge it more? Also, according to the manual, that green light means my Kindle is fully charged. This is bullshit. I thought the day of my Kindle's arrival would be a happy one: I could sit back, read The New York Times before class... no. *growl*

Ain't No Party Like An S Club Party!

2009-02-18T20:47:00.004-05:00

Nostalgia is a filthy bastard. It can make you absolutely adore the most obnoxious shit. Take S Club 7 for example... When I used to love them, I liked this music:

If you actually sat through all of that, it's likely you have problems. Anyway, after I grew up a little and stopped being a fan, the music got significantly better:

But I swear this isn't a blog where I'm using videos as filler (I'm totally guilty of this, but I'm cutting back.) This entry is about the power of nostalgia. If you liked N'Sync, The Spice Girls and S Club 7 when you were little, you will still like them today. It doesn't matter if you think they suck now. You can say openly as much as you want that you hate it and that it's just plain bad. You are lying. Nostalgia is more powerful than taste. Recently I became addicted to Steely Dan. Not a bad band, but that doesn't change the fact that I like them more for nostalgic reasons than the fact that they're a good band. The songs my parents used to play in the car on the way to Florida, those are the songs I like. If I didn't hear the song when I was little, I usually don't care.

So go on YouTube! Look up all those bands you're ashamed to admit you liked when you were 7. Fuck taste, it inhibits nostalgia. Go listen to those godawful songs and admit that not only do you still like them, but you even remember all the lyrics. We have to stop lying to ourselves people.

To make you more comfortable looking up these bands, I have included the crap I listened to as a child: The Spice Girls (my first CD!), Los Del Rio, The Backstreet Boys, NSync, Britney Spears, Aqua, Mandy Moore, Ricky Martin, Eve 6... Hell, I can't even remember them there's so many. But know what? Be shameless! Let your musical skeletons fly out of your closet and do a little dance routine.

Epiphany

2009-02-18T01:38:00.004-05:00

I took some NyQuil, a Benadryl and some Zyrtec about 15 minutes ago to help me sleep, but while I was lying in bed, my mind was still racing. One thing in particular had me so bothered that I wouldn't be able to sleep until I vented: Michael Cera is a terrible actor. He basically plays himself in every role. George Michael Bluth, Nick and Paulie Bleeker are all very different characters, but he plays them exactly the same. He has no range whatsoever.
Some people will totally come to Michael Cera's defense and say "No, he's so good!" He's not! You just think he's cute, and therefore equate his loveable dorkiness with talent. Being cute and being talented are two different things. I'm not saying I dislike Michael Cera. I don't. In fact, I generally enjoy the movies (and that awesome TV show) that he is in. I'm just saying that as an actor, he lacks range and is just generally godawful. He is not a victim of typecasting either... like I said, he has every opportunity to approach each role differently because the characters are very different. Nope. He does the same thing. Sorry, now I can sleep. Tomorrow I think I might blog about S Club 7.

The Comedown

2009-02-17T13:21:00.003-05:00

Theodor Geisel, better known as Dr. Seuss, is perhaps one of the most prolific authors of the twentieth century. I read many, many books as a child, and while reading them now sparks nostaliga in me, I don't feel "impressed" by the literature. Dr. Seuss is different. Not only am I often impressed by the quality of his writing, I can read something by him that I never read as a child and still appreciate it. If you read the previous post, you will see that I was depressed yesterday, but while I was on the phone with my best friend trying to get her to snap me out of my depressive state, she said, "Today you are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is youer than you." The quote was Dr. Seuss, from Happy Birthday to You! It struck a chord with me. She wasn't even trying to cheer me up... she just blurted out a random quote, but it made me feel so much better. Go figure.

After I realized how good that made me feel, I immediately went on Amazon and bought a Dr. Seuss collection with 13 of his books. I cannot wait for it to get here. I also bought Do You Know How Lucky You Are because it sounded inspirational.

Back to my childhood for a second, I remember my first Dr. Seuss book: One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish. The book is so insanely subversive that I didn't even get it's real purpose. I learned how to read at 3 and was proficient enough to read easy material on my own at 4. The first book I learned to read was Up Goes The Goat (a book specifically designed with lots of rhyme to help the reader learn: there was a goat, the goat wore a coat and he had to get into a boat to cross the moat. My mother never read that book to me. She did, however, always read One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish to me before bed. It is only now that I realize just how much I learned to read from motherfucking Dr. Seuss. The seed that was planted in me to love reading: Dr Seuss. My mom read me Green Eggs and Ham (my favorite), Hop On Pop, The Fox in Socks and Dr. Seuss' ABC. I loved it all. Ironically, we never owned The Cat In The Hat. I read it at some point at the library, but I'm surprised we never owned it.

So thank you to Dr. Seuss for helping me learn how to read in the most fun way possible. Thanks to my mother for reading One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish to me every night before bed, and thanks to you. Because today you are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is youer than you!

Fuck 2009... I want it over... Already

2009-02-16T17:53:00.004-05:00

This year is one big bag of shit. I can not wait for it to be over because I am about to jump off something if it gets any worse.

First off, having my grandparents being sick sucks. Pain in the A! It's got me depressed, and resorting to whatever illicit substances I can get my hands on.

School sucks. This semester has less homework, but way more pressure. I haven't been doing any work in two of my classes so I know that will come back to bite me in the ass in the end.

I have nobody to room with next year, and that makes me feel like shit. Great, I have no friends. Fan-fucking-tastic!

I'm trying to eat healthy. However, I continue to fail. I can't live on kombucha, sliced pineapple and babybel cheese forever... So I've still been eating shit for dinner.

I miss the Jersey crew, those random nights in Anouska's house and my bedroom (as well as the privacy that came with it.)

I'm depressed, I'm angry, I'm bored, I'm lonely and I want the year to fucking end.

People Who Would Make For An Interesting Lay

2009-02-12T14:25:00.005-05:00

I'm listening to Steve Burns... It's good. So, I just read an article on fleshbot about Buck Angel getting a gay porn contract. I thought this was pretty interesting, seeing as Buck Angel has a pussy... literally. This got me to thinking: I would love to sleep with Buck Angel. He would make a really interesting lay... he's a man with a pussy... that's unique...
So basically, I was just like, "Okay, who else would make an interesting lay?" and I came up with a list of 5 people who would be really interesting to sleep with. This list is not based on desirability of the people, but rather how weird/awesome it would be to sleep with them.

5.Jenna Jameson

Jenna Jameson is pretty much the biggest porn star of all time. She has knocked John Holmes straight out of that spot with her crazy female ejaculation and earth-shattering orgasms. She's slept with more people than you have in your entire life. She has had more sex annually than you will in your entire life. She is, no doubt, better in bed than you. This is why I think she would make one fascinating lay.

4. Yourself

It's the epitome of narcissism. It would also give a whole new meaning to the term "go fuck yourself." But think about it. Despite what some may say, nobody understands your body like you. You know all the things that turn yourself on, you know the best way to get yourself off, you are not uncomfortable with any fetishes you might have. If you were to clone yourself, you'd probably be the best lay of your life.

3. The President
He is the most powerful man in the world. Who wouldn't wanna sleep with him. I don't care if it's George Bush or Barack Obama... Passing up an opportunity to sleep with the President is like passing up the opportunity to fuck any famous person... except if you fuck the President, you will become famous and have a book deal overnight... unless the CIA kills you. Think about it.

2. Buck Angel

The man with a pussy... I see no downside. If you like boys, he sure does look like one. If you like girls, you can take solace in the fact that he still has a vagina and was once a "woman." In a world saturated with shemale porn, Buck Angel is a breath of fresh air. He's a hefemale. See? There isn't even a good word for it. That's because of how odd it is. But I think the funniest thing about Buck Angel is the fact that he may have modified his body, but he talks and acts like more of a gay man than either a straight man or woman. Gotta love it.

1. Dr Ruth

This tiny little Israeli woman was once very publicly the foremost authority on sex in America. This chick! She's tiny, has a squeaky little voice and says really dirty things... and adores the word "penis." If she knows this much about sex, she must be good in bed.