This, friends, is a good post.

The kind you won't find here tonight, so don't bother looking.

I stayed up all last night finishing a short story for Creative Writing and I'm just wrote out and my bed is calling my name and interspersing it with colorful imaginary swears like "fendoozlefuck." So read that post. And think about it.

I think if I were really honest, it would kill me. And you, too, if you're one of those people who are clinically allergic to honesty, like that weird guy on Extra that one time. Honesty makes me break out.

I keep teasing you with it. One of these days, I'm going to say what I really think. First I have to figure out what that is, though.

Last night I got fucked up on the Recommended Adult Dose of Nyquil and passed out and the hour hand went around the clock once, twice, ten times. It was only supposed to go around eight, because by the time it had gone around nine-and-a-quarter I was supposed to be in an uncomfortable desk a mile or so away. But I figured, I'm sick, I've earned it. So I called my stepmom, got her to call me in sick, then closed my eyes and let that clock spin, baby. I ended up getting out of bed around two, and showed up at school around three-thirty, to see if there was any last-minute crew stuff to do. There wasn't, but I hung out 'till six anyway.

I was sitting in the boy's makeup room bathroom, shooting the shit (the rhetorical kind, not the literal) while people were getting ready for dress rehearsal. Matt asked if I wanted some makeup to put on just 'cause. Smartass. He was right though. I guess my presence smacked of desperation...I'm used to looking in the mirror, ceding my masculinity, and slathering on some foundation, then tromping off beneath the lights for a couple hours and going home late. Am I bitter that I don't get to do that this time? No, not really. Let other people have the chance, I say. But just because you don't begrudge someone the opportunity to do something doesn't mean you don't miss doing it yourself.

This has been humbling, not being in a show. Building the set for once instead of just taking it for granted. Cleaning paint rollers 'till my fingers are black and not being able to think of something I'd rather be doing. The phrase what it's all about comes to mind. I know I have a tendency to over-romanticize this whole high-school-theatre thing, but when something's so romantic to begin with, paint-rollers and all, it's not hard to push it over that line.

Musical auditions are at the end of this month. Graduation is in May. Then I get to go do this shit for real. Sometimes I think that hour hand goes around too fast.

You owe it to yourself to read everything Dan the Goose has written in the past week

I didn't get that stomach thing that was going around because I was too busy catching a raging syphlitic whore of a cold. My head feels like something you'd have to claw your way out of to breathe.

Nyquil now. Bed soon.

I am tired of having nasal allergies and putting things off. One is not related to the other, but they're both things I could get rid of if I could.

Wait, no, I don't not like putting things off. I love it. It's pretty much all I do. Eighty percent of my day is time when I actually should be doing one thing but I've deferred it to a later date. So I guess I oughta say I don't like the consequences of putting things off. Will I keep doing it? Do the Japanese do hilarious English subtitle translations of some of my favorite films? (The answer is a resounding "yes" on both accounts)


Went to Nicole's game night last night. It was nice to see their house and cat and everything else I've previously just had to imagine. My team lost at Trivial Pursuit, proving once and for all that if there is justice in the universe, it was bleeding and broken in the gutter somewhere when the clearly superior blue team had victory stolen away by the otherwise less-than-stellar greens. But all was not lost: surprisingly literate candy hearts were eaten (one exhorted its consumer in the trademark pink letters: "Let's Read," a really good mix CD was given to me by Nicole, and people who I haven't seen in a long time I...well...saw. All in all, a night more fun than the one I had planned (doing homework, watching Futurama, falling asleep.)


Ever see someone walk into a room, get a weird feeling, then chalk it up to the fact that you made out with them in a dream last night?

No. Me neither.




I need to see this movie again. I had almost completely forgotten about the lovely big golden noise-ships. But I could never forget this part:



If I had a nickel for every time a dwarf said that to me, I'd have no need for student loans.

Thanks to Ben for bringing this to everyone's attention

"If there were no children on this Earth, if someone announced all kids were dead, I would jump off the balcony immediately."

- Michael Jackson