Friday, February 27, 2015                        

That's What I'm Titlin' About 

Instead of talking.  Titling.  Look whose titling.  It's me, the titler.  Eh, ugh.  Been workin' on my music.  Been working on school.  Not too hard, though!  Wouldn't want to exert myself.  Anyway, today is February.  You know what that means.  Tomorrow, odds are, are also February.  And it is.  Unless if this is a negative leap year.  Can't discount that possibility.  I haven't wrote an entry in a dog's age.  What else is going on.  Let's get to some stories from my past, right?  Everyone loves that.  Well, I do.  Because odds are, I'll forget them eventually, but if I write it here, I'll remember forever.  My newest album is called Happy New Year.  Let's go through some New Years stories?  Right?  I remember, 09/10, I was taking a winter writing class at NYU.  The last class at NYU I actually finished.  And, I remember, I made friends with a couple of other guys in the class.  And, after the last class, the teacher was doing a reading of something she wrote like two hours later.  And we went to a bar beforehand.  Then, after the reading, we went to one of their houses in Brooklyn and smoked weed.  And I remember, the weed really just knocked me out, after smoking it, I immediately went to the basement and fell asleep.  And when I got home the next day, my parents were really angry, because they didn't know where I was.  It's a story they would bring up for years to come of how irresponsible I am.  Also, when I woke up, the guy I knew wasn't there, and there was a knock at the door, so I answered it, and it was UPS shipping like a 400 pound wrestling mat or something.  Then, when trying to bring it into the house, I got locked outside, and my phone was at 4%, and I didn't really know where I was.
    My main other New Years memory was 10/11, when, right after Midnight, I left the bar we were at to get a Vitamin Water.  That's one of my most prominent memories about anything.  Getting a vitamin water.  Energy flavored.  Take us to your daughters.  It's from a song, I don't know.  But the part about energy flavored vitamin water, that's also from my life.  Funny how things work out.  Gin and juice?  I've had gin and I've had juice!  Never together, but, still, whatta coincidence.  Why did I capitalize midnight.  No reason.  Maybe one of the reasons I remember the vitamin water was because it was one of the last times, possibly the last time, I hung out with that whole group of people.  And, if leaving the bar at midnight and getting a vitamin water is any indication, I wasn't really jellin' with the group.  So, that's New Years.  What January First into Second memories do I have.  That's a tough one.  There was a scene in Dumb and Dumber To where they're standing at someone's front door, and it brought back memories of when I used to stand at people's front door.  Possibly the stupidest sentence I've ever written.  True, though.  I've been drinking half as much alcohol lately.  I drink the same amount of drink, but each time, I only use 50% as much alcohol.  Because I'm a Responsible Randy.  That's a lie, we all know I'm a Midnight Mike.  Yoga sucks, because I wanna try to talk to a girl, but they're in Yoga, gettin' into the zone, and I don't wanna ruin that for them.  Also, crippling social anxiety.  But mostly the yoga bit.
    Anyway, what.  My pants have a split around the bottom of the crotch area, but I'm too lazy to change pants.  Even going into Yoga, where that kind of thing can be noticed, whatever.  Can't be bothered.  I remember in middle school, one girl split her pants during recess.  What did that lead to?  Crippling social anxiety.  So, we got that in common.  Also, during recess in middle school, we played spin the bottle once.  And there was only one kiss before it was broken up.  And it was me kissing the pants-split girl.  It was okay.  Whenever looking at a can of Coors Light, I can't stop reading it as Coor Slight.  Because I have a peculiar kind of OCD.  Playin' weird little games with words and letters like that.  You'd think it would make me an all star at writing, but turns out, nope.  What else.  Of the 26 songs in my last album, I have one pretty decent solo.  That's something to be proud of, as far as I'm concerned.  That's one more than most people.  Also, it's 26 songs more than most people.  That's pretty good, as far as I'm concerned.  I really wanna try ADD medication, like Ritalin or Adderall.  I really think it would help me.  But I can't convince my doctor I need it.  You want to add medication?  What kind?  You idiot.  I mean, me idiot.  New Years.  I remember next New Years, I listened to Rush all night while playing poker at an Indian Casino.  Huh?  You're the Huh.  I need to drink twice as much mixed drink.  Maybe I'll see a movie.  That horror movie looks pretty good.  Horror movies are good, because they're less scary to me than most other movies.  At least I know I'm not the Lazarus Effect.  I don't think so, at least.  I could have been Fight Clubbin' it, being the Lazarus Effect when I thought I was asleep.
    I always liked going to movies, but that window of 2006-2008 was a great time to see movies.  Seein' em in real quality theaters in Manhattan, stuff like that.  The second half of that window, usually being high.  I got a biscuit from Dunkin Donuts.  Doesn't get much better than that.  I saw on Facebook something was trending about Zelda Williams talks about her late father's suicide. And my first thought was, Harland Williams killed himself?!?  Sorry.  I really am.  The good news is there's a biscuit in my very near future.  I think I have a bug bite on my left wrist.  And my liver hurts.  And my right testicle has been aching on and off.  That's about it, though.  I wish I had a miniature voo-doo doll of someone.  I would just do nice things to it.  Hug it, then suddenly the guy is like Oh, this feels nice.  Because I'm primarily benevolent, when it comes down to it.  I guess I could see Hot Tub Time Machine II.  I never saw the first one, though, so I'd be lost.  It's a hot tub that's a time machine.  Oh I get it.  What about clocks.  The original time machines.  How the hell did they invent clocks.  It mystifies me.  I remember I used to play a game with my babysitter and brother, when I was really young, and there was a time limit, and the goal was to draw the most circles within the time.  Big, small, whatever, just the most circles.  I remember, I would just draw medium circles wily-nily, because that's easier, but the correct strategy, that my babysitter used, was to just draw really small circles orderly, one after the other.  I mean, the smaller the circle, logically, the more you can draw.  But you need to use a modicum of effort to draw standard sized circles.  Never had the discipline for it.
    I don't get how people can play hide and seek in a house.  Okay, there's like three hiding spaces.  I'll see ya in thirty seconds.  Unless you can fit yourself into a drawer, the game is gonna be over pretty quickly.  This has been an entry.  That's good.  I did seven albums in the last year.  At this rate, I'll have a million albums.  That's roughly 12 million songs.  Not bad.  Man, a year ago, I didn't have any of these songs.  What progress.  What... progress.  Also, there's been about three or four downloads of entire albums on bandcamp.  That's three people who have a The Uppers tab in their iTunes.  Awesome.  I do it all for the conquering of iTunes libraries.  I like watching horror movies in theaters. Welcome to my world.  In the land of the horror, the guy with the most amount of horror, what have you, is, like, leader of the pack, or something.  He's got the most experience.  I know what to do-- Run Away!  That's my main advice for people in sticky situations.  Also, if there's zombies, just wear protective gear, that they can't eat through.  Pretty straightforward stuff.  Werewolves?  Stay inside during a full moon, better safe than sorry.  Or, protective gear made of of silver.  Vampires?  Don't trust anyone.  They might be a vampire, you don't know.  You just don't know.  Anyway, another entry in the books.  If you haven't already, check out theuppers.bandcamp.com to listen to the new album, Happy New Year.  Hey, I could even put a fuckin' youtube video in the website!  Never thought about it.  Here ya go.  And, see ya later.



-9:45 A.M.                

Friday, February 20, 2015                        

If You're Reading This, I'm Already Titled 

Most definitely.  I took off my contacts for the first time in two weeks.  Everything is such a blur.  Song #2 keeps playing.  Summer after sophomore year of college, I tried putting together a band, I had another guitarist/singer and I found a drummer.  We each picked two songs we would rehearse.  Song 2 was one of the other guys.  Mine were Territorial Pissings by Nirvana, and Wake, by Heatmiser.  I showed up to the rehearsal, confident I could play and sing all of them, through the power of self delusion.  I knew I couldn't when I practiced at home, but I just figured, that's how it always is, when you're there, it just comes to you.  And, luckily, I broke a string in the first five seconds.  Otherwise, I would have been in for a world of embarrassment.  Especially because it was me who put the whole thing together.  I don't think I've ever had a proper session with a drummer.  Who knows what I'm capable of.  Also, power of self delusion doesn't explain it completely.  Power of self delusion fueled by daily marijuana and whiskey intake, that covers it.  All I knew for sure was, I get 40%, everyone else gets 15%.  And if there's only three other people?  15% for the manager.  Gotta keep him happy, he's running the show.  Also, he didn't do it for the grade.  My therapist keeps telling me about a rapper patient she has, who's trying to be a rapper, by rapping.  And how he got financial aid to go to some rapping/audio media school.  I should do that.  Not for rapping, but for rocking.  Also, we all know the story about my sixth grade pen pal from Canada who asked if I knew any rap-ists.  That was only months before me and my friends formed The Mad Dawgs, our own rapping unit.  With the potential to eventually rap.  But the complete lack of skills, and social embarrassment to do anything in public, turned out to be crippling factors for the ensemble.
    Mad Dawgs are on the prowl!  I'm never gonna get tired of that.  I've probably talked about it six times on this website, adding nothing new each time, but I don't care.  If there's one thing people take away from this website, I want it to be The Mad Dawgs are on the prowl!  And that one song I wrote, every line rhymed with Mexico!  Every line!  I'm a visionary, a genius.  I've never heard any song where each line rhymes.  I just figured, a couplet is good, a triplet is better... what's the best?  Every line rhyming.  Also, we had no creative focus, or statement we were trying to make.  At least, not as far as I knew.  I guess that's where the Mad Dawgs motif comes in.  We weren't focused on shit, we were just mucking around, here to there.  If one line rhymed with the last line, we've done our job.  Anyway, what a complete waste of space.  I'm just killin' time till Lunch.  I capitalize Lunch, like religious people capitalize God.  Because lunch is pretty great, too.  I like it when people spell it, "G-D."  I'd like to solve the puzzle!  Is it, "God?"  Nope, Josh Gad.  Life is just one long game of wheel of fortune.  And can I make it?  Damn right.  I'll be on the next flight.  Sitting next to Vanna White.  Or something along those lines.  Anyway, what else can I talk about that I've already said 100% exactly the same here.  Hey, some readers don't read all the time, they just go in and out.  So it's not a complete waste.  Also, why was Mexico the focus of my song.  What the Hell could it have been about.  I think it's because of the movie Blue Streak, which I don't remember at all, but I believe the ending has something to do with Mexico.  And there was a song on the soundtrack, I think, that they played during it.  It's a tough line of logic to follow, but I'm reasonably certain that explains it.
    Anyway, let's make the rest of the entry count.  Maybe it's because of NAFTA.  That was only five or six years old at the time.  That's a reasonable line of logic to follow.  And the Grammy for best sixth graders goes to... The Mad Dawgs!  It feels good to be recognized.  Mad Dawgs backwards is Sgwad Dam.  How did Josh Gad work his way into this again.  What an SG-wad.  Dam.  Also, one of the band names I considered sophomore college year, was Hercules Rockefeller, M.D.  And at work, I made a bunch of copies of a drawing I drew of a short guy carrying a club or something, meant to be me, holding onto and guiding an elderly person, to help them medically, in one way or another.  I'll stand by that pseudonym until the day I day.  Or, the day I die.  The day I day, sure, I'll give it up then, too.  Maybe that's why I got fired.  Michael, can you make this excel spreadsheet.  Yeah, In a minute, gotta make copies.  The people I worked for sucked.  Like, if I had to make some excel spreadsheet, they would be like, it's not a priority, just do it when you get a chance.  And then, if I don't do it right away, they get pissed.  What assholes.  I'm never gonna get another job again, ever!  I probably will, at some point.  On account of needing to support myself, and such.  i got a three page paper assignment for next week, which isn't so bad, but it prompted a dream I had last night, where I remembered what it was like in Stuy, where I would have three or four hours of homework every night, and I would put all of it off to the last minute.  Man, the high-stakes world of high school Spanish and Mathematics.
    I also had a dream I was driving a car, without really knowing how to drive a car, which is realistic, because I don't know how to drive a car.  I think driving in your dream counts as taking a driver's test.  I should have woke up to a DMV worker hovering over my bed, giving me my license.  If you drive in a dream, you're driving in real life.  Good to know.  Another joke I've made previously here.  This is the way we write the entry, write the entry, write the entry.  What else is going... on.  My stupid  T.V. is having problems recording shows.  What's your major malfunction?  Well, it used to be Social Studies education, now it's English.  It's more of a major function, though, without the mal.  It turns out my T.V. is a bit of a smart alec.  Also, pretty big coincidence my T.V. has the same majors as I do.  I guess we were meant to be together.  Too bad John Lennon wasn't in Cream.  Then, when Yoko showed up, they could have changed their name to Whipped Cream.  Hi-yo.  Ko.  That's their new song.  I'm tired.  Let's all take a collective nap.  I remember, when I was in Stuy, I wanna say junior year, there was some controversy, because apparently people were throwing, "Cuddle Parties," after school, in the lobby.  Where everyone would just lie down next to each to each other.  And they said it wasn't sexual, but it made the news, and people thought it was inappropriate.  That's how I feel about it, at least.
    I didn't say how I felt about it.  Jokes on you, I guess.  All I know is, the next year, it made the news how one student attempted to do a Mickey Mouse voice, and failed miserably.  Some people thought it wasn't appropriate, I don't know.  I remember in Video Production, we took a class trip to some park in Chinatown.  I wanna say Chinatown Park.  I'm not exactly sure why.  I don't remember learning anything about Video Production while were there.  I should have done my video project on, "Cuddle Parties: Fact or Fiction?"  It would be ten seconds long, with some footage of the cuddle party, and a graphic that says, "Fact."  That settles that.  Still, a couple of hours work to put that together.  Gettin' all the cuddlers to sign release forms.  Anyway, what the what.  I feel like I got sidetracked, which is weird, because the whole idea of this website is me getting sidetracked.  I know I feel double-tracked.  We learned that from Robyn Hitchcock.  Anyway.  What the what the what.  I remember I met a guy in the hospital, the first time I was there, who played drums, and I went over to his house couple of times to jam.  Only he never played drums, he just showed me Hellboy and Hellboy II.  And took us to a hookah bar.  So, that's the closest I've ever been to having a band.  Anyway, see ya later.

-10:35 A.M.                     

Wednesday, February 18, 2015                        

1234567 

Most common title.  Easy to remember, duh.  Anyway, life is going by pretty good here at Kornblum Estates.  Every other walk I take, I walk by a person who looks like a famous person.  Now, logically, I know this is a symptom of my paranoia.  But, damn, that guy really looked like George R.R. Martin.  Maybe he's looking for inspiration, I don't know.  I tried flashin' him an interesting look, so he'd go, Oooh, now that's character!  So we'll see how that goes.  Pretty sure he can legally kill me, if it makes people happy in his little fictions.  Authors are above the law, we all know this.  In the hospital, one of the supervising doctors' name was Dr. Lau.  Breakin' the law, breakin' the law.  Also, every night, he'd put on a thirty minute improv show called Lau & Order, where we had to offer suggestions (or orders) for scenes for him to perform.  It was a ton of fun.  It sure made all the multiple-personalities go, there's a guy who's got it figured out!  Because they think he's one of them.  It's funny, because mentally ill people are stupid.  If you're so smart, stop hearing voices.  You got me there.  Anyway.  I have a shirt with a rocket ship on it.  I'm a 26 year old man.  And my most prominent shirt is a t-shirt with a rocket ship on it.  Something's not adding up here.  Also, not kidding, it glows in the dark.  Hey, that's just utilitarian.  If you're ever out after dark, let your shirt guide the way.  My second most prominent shirt is a Tenacious D t-shirt in the style of a jersey, and the team's name is Cleveland Steamers.  So, that's me.
    Yup.  Second paragraph time.  That's me.  Well, at this very moment, I guess.  I want to start an internet meme.  It's pronounced 'Mime.'  Well, that's over.  Let's move on.  Yoga was yesterday.  I made significant eye contact with the girl I was thinking about talking to.  But, another, cuter girl caught my eye.  And, she was bending all over the place, and I saw everything.  Well, not everything.  But three out of four things.  And, hey, I even made semi-significant eye contact with her.  This class is comin' up aces, I swear.  My English class was canceled due to the weather, but I only found out after I got there.  So I had to kill five hours before Yoga.  I mostly did it by writing the most generic, emo song lyrics I could muster.  Then, getting pizza.  Then, sitting on a chair.  Mostly sitting on the chair.  A bird flew into the gymnasium.  At first, I saw the shadow, and was like,  Well, I guess I'm seeing things now.  But then I saw it clearly, and boy, was I relieved.  I knew I saw a bird!  Take that, logical doubt!  Maybe all my voices are just a bird outside my window who has telepathic powers.  That's probably what's going on.  That would explain why I keep hearing, Fly, Come Fly With Me.  That's how that goes.  My right ear popped in Yoga yesterday, and for five seconds, I literally could not hear out of it.  And, no joke, my first thought was, Maybe this'll lessen the voices inside my head!  No such luck, though.
    That's how that goes.  Also, I started hearing things out of my right ear again.  Like a chump.  Not sure if that's applicable.  Either way, what the what.  Maybe my third eye is just my right ear, have you ever thought about that.  Why would you, it's me, not you.  You got better things to think about, I presume.  I spilled my iced coffee yesterday all over the counter.  Second time this year.  I'm so hopped up on the bullshit in my head, I keep making these little mistakes.  I've left my keys in the front door twice over the last two months.  Shit like that.  Also, before I thought it was R.R. Martin, was vaguely sure it was Santa Claus.  Anyway.  I'm running out of nails to bite.  #whitepeopleproblems.  I mean, what?  Huh?  If someone started the hash tag, "Tic Tac Toe," I would take it as a challenge.  Because I'm stupider than me.  Anyway, what else is happening.  Four Five seconds, is what, twenty five overall portions?  That's a problem for high school math teams.  I'm assuming you can't have seconds without firsts.  No, twenty four.  Right?  Gotta be.  When I was getting pizza after emo-song writing yesterday, that song was playing on the radio, and I cheered right the fuck up.  I don't need to tell you, you know.  You get it.  I don't get it.  What does it mean.  I kinda like the emo crap lyrics, though.  Pairing those kind of lyrics with upbeat music, why, that's the kind of fun The Uppers is all about.  I assume.  I never really wrote a mission statement.  In 2008, I wrote out a contract for my band, I get 40%, drummer gets 15%, and so on.  I did not have a band. 
    Anyway!  That's fun.  I remember in sixth grade, a kid in my class started wearing a rubber band over his wrist.  I thought that was the coolest thing.  I started doing it.  In fact, there's a good 20-30% chance I  started it.  I just assume it was him, because I remember him also doing it, and I don't think he'd be taking fashion tips from me.  Although, I've been known to be ahead of the curve on a few things.  Like, on bandcamp, all my album art was just black backgrounds with simple, white font saying the band name and The Uppers.  When I would browse through albums a year ago, it was all delicately crafted art and stuff.  Now, you go through it, two thirds of the album art is exactly like me.  The point is, I'm the greatest.  Also, other people can suck it.  Also, I'm wonderful.  That's pretty much it, though.  Also, now I gotta think of some new shit, to stay ahead of the curve.  Where's the justice.  Justice is on Conan next week.  I saw it in the info descriptions.  Triumph, the Insult Justice Dog.  He's a... I don't know, forget it.  I like to stay a week ahead of guests on talk shows.  Gives me time to properly prepare myself.  I hate fortune cookies.  Because they usually seem to make relevant sense.  You fucker!  You're not supposed to be that accurate!  But they are.  I like the story where, a year or two ago, like two hundred people won the lottery, because they got the numbers from the same fortune cookie fortune.  Good for them.  And, that'll learn them to use standard numbers for lottery.  Everyone knows only to use numbers from 40-50.  I've got a system.
    Last paragraph time.  I was gonna say 30-40, but that's just ridiculous.  I entertain myself. I really do.  I think they should re-name Yoga, "Stop Looking At My Ass-isthetics."  Because I'm a wild 'n crazy guy.  Anyway, another entry in the books.  That's how that goes.  Also, is Nightmare At 20,000 Feet a direct response to 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea?  And is 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea inspired from The Enchantment Under The Sea Dance?  Also, am I Marty McFly?  Also, who cares.  Another entry in the books.  Let's get a little inside-baseball here.  After I typed, Am I Marty McFly? the primary part of me was like, Yup, that's it.  That's me.  I'm no Martin McFly.  I can't ride a skateboard, I can't drive a car, I'm not smooth with the ladies.  Can't even travel through time.  Anyway, see ya later.

-5:25 P.M.                                   

Monday, February 16, 2015                        

New Entry! 

Alright!  We did it!  New entry time.  What's going on in the wide world of sports.  One of my favorite jokes from old crazysheet was, "Where in the world is Carmen San Diego, is it San Diego, because that's in her name, and if it is, I want my money back."  Only phrased 20% better.  Also, how do we know Carmen San Diego isn't on the moon.  At this point, we can't rule out any possibilities.  She could be dead.  That would make all this detective work mute.  Or, moot.  It depends on whether you want to think of me as an idiot or not.  My computer can't play DVDs.  And my X-Box is broken.  I got all these DVDs, no way to watch them.  I'm like that Twilight Zone guy I keep bringing up.  I haven't seen Non-Stop, but apparently there's a lot of twists and turns, and you don't know who the villain is.  My guess, it's the Nightmare At 20,000 Feet monster.  Somehow he got inside the plane and is causing a ruckus.  And he keeps sending Liam Neeson text messages.  I like the image of monsters sending text messages.  It makes me happy.  Also, are planes really at only 20,000 feet above the ground?  That seems kind of low.  That's like three or four hundred Yao Mings.  Not really, but you get the point.  I guess it's like 3000 Yao Mings.  That's still not that much.  Note to self-- arrange Guinness Book of World Record for most amount of people standing on each other's shoulders.  I wonder how high you can get.  Gotta be at least five, right?  Would ten do it?  I'm thinking of only average people, they can get to ten, if they worked a little bit at it.  People specifically trained for this, no reason they can't get to forty or fifty.  Maybe more.  Well, no way of knowing.  I thought of it, I discarded it, and now it's over.
    Also, no cheerleader stances, or any of that shit.  I want straight standing on top of shoulders, completely vertical.  No half assing it.  What if I don't have shoulders.  Then, sorry, you can't participate in this exercise.  Now just do whatever your equivalent of shrugging is, and go away.  Anyway, what was I talking about.  Classes tomorrow.  I wasn't talking about that.  But I am now. If only I had more to say about it.  Will I talk to Yoga lady?  Only time will tell.  Probably not, though.  That's my guess.  But I'm 26, I'm not getting any younger.  I gotta put myself out there, and stuff.  I only have twenty years until menopause.  The good news is what the what.  There should be a T'Zone where there's a monster who travels on a Segway, and it's called, Terror At One Foot.  If the monster was six feet tall, just walking, for me, would be terror at one foot.  It's funny because I'm comically short.  I think they almost called The Karate Kid, Hero On One Foot.  Spoiler alert.  He kicks someone.  There's a scene early on where he's playing soccer.  A little foreshadowing, I presume?  Perfect, perfect.  Stupid two day workweek.  Tuesday and Thursday?  I'm not Superman.  Also, superman isn't a man.  He's from Krypton.  His name is a complete lie.  I think his only friend on Krypton was the Crypt Keeper.  He's good friend material.  Got lots of stories, always leaves you crackin' up.  Well, leaves himself crackin' up, at least.  But as we all know, laughter is contagious.  This Story will leave you with a scream.  Yee-hee-hee-hee!  Ha-ha-ha... what are we laughing about?  Doesn't matter.
    Anyway.  One of my favorite Tales from the crypt is the one where there's a ventriloquist, and it turns out his puppet is actually his conjoined twin who's just like a six inch head on his hand.  And is evil.  Bobcat Ghoul-dthwait is in it.  Well, good night folks!  I made a pun, I made a pun.  Anyway, I'm hearing a lot of good things about my music.  From the voices in my head.  Doesn't make it any less valid, though.  I'll take what I can get.  As long as they're not saying, Great music, go jump in front of a train.  Then, no way.  Then again, if I do off myself, everyone would be drawn towards listening to my music.  So it would be worth it.  Well, I guess I never gave him a chance while he was here, now let's see what he's all about.  I'm lonely/So sad/Please hold me/I'm sad.  Then they jump in front of a train.  I've seen it a thousand times.  Also, that's not a cry for help.  Believe me, when I cry for help, you'll know.  Because my next album's name will be, "Cry For Help."  Not a bad idea.  I'll write that down in my imaginary note book.  Anyway.  Jeez.  I just finished this last album, and I'm already thinking, time to start the new one.  It fills up time, makes me feel productive.  Since last April, I've done six albums, of 10-16 songs each.  That's a lot of crap.  Plus, another 10-20 songs that didn't make it onto the albums.  If only there was better crap on T.V., I wouldn't have to exert myself so much.  As it is, I can only watch four or five hours of T.V. a day.  Not enough.  It's four degrees outside.  That's a Tool song.  You're a Tool song.  Hey, shut up.  It's Monday today, the eighth day of last week.  Also, someone get The Beatles a calendar.  Eight days a week?  C'mon guys, you're smarter than that.
    At least Every Day is limited to days that actually exist.  Get it together.  What'll be the focus of my new album.  Yoga girl.  I don't know anything about her, though.  All I know is, from what I observed, she seems to be doing yoga all the time. Do it about Yogi Berra.  No.  Anyway, get it together.  Lousy Smarch weather.  Simpsons.  Yup.  Anyway, what the what.  I recently figured out my importance in life.  Explain to my Mom who actors are.  Bob Odenkirk is...  Chris Hardwick is... I guess those are the main two.  Anyway, I just took a break and laid down the guitar tracks for a new song.  What a moron.  I'm outta shit to say.  Yoga girl/so pretty/yoga girl/sits near me.  Put that in the Maybe pile.  Teacher might/be the green goblin/I'd have to fight/if she becomes a problem.  I'm vaguely sure that shooting a spider web from your wrist is a yoga pose.  It's offering up your wrist for someone to slit.  That's an important pose.  Anyway, that's tomorrow.  Let's focus on today.  Write a song.  See ya later.

9:22 A.M.         

Sunday, February 15, 2015                        

No, You Shut Up!

Hello, guys, and girls.  Been a while, hasn't it?  A whole week.  Oh, the stories I've accumulated.  Cute girl in Yoga class who was yoga-ing next to me.  I mad a pact with myself that I'll talk to her this upcoming week.  A pact sure to be broken.  But you can break pacts with yourself.  No one would be the wiser.  I think that's one of the Yoga moves.  Pact-Breaker.  Yoga moves.  That shows you how engulfed I am in that material.  They're not moves, they're stances.  Sure, there's movement from stance to stance.  But, still, get it right.  Get it right.  One of the main moves, a kid does it in a Mr. Show episode, I think the same kid who played the fat smelly guy on Freaks and Geeks, and he's taunting Bob Odenkirk, who's like a Buddhist monk, and he mimes one of the main yoga moves while chuckling sarcastically.  So, that's what I'm thinking about for a good 20% of the 2 hour class.  Sarcastic chubbo from a 1990's sketch comedy show.  Does that influence me as a person?  I don't know, probably.  I guess, when it comes down to it, I'm a one time supporting actor on a 1990's sketch comedy show.  So, anyway.  In my English class,  I had to use the bathroom again, but based on our previous interaction, I really tried to hold it in till class was over.  I was holding it in, and holding it in, and then when class was supposed to be over, she said, "I'll just keep you here for five more minutes," and I just got out of my seat to go, and she was like, "What do you think you're doing?"  And I was like, in almost exactly these words, "Sorry, but I really got to go."  Which is essentially the most demeaning thing an adult can do, in front of a room of his peers.  I have to pee in the toilet, lady.  Please let me go.  And she was like, Fine.  Apparently she thought I was leaving the room to make a phone call, once she knew it was bathroom related she was on board.
    I was watching The Shining a day or two ago.  I think the scariest thing in The Shining is the music.  You could just listen to that soundtrack with no stimulation to your other senses, and you'd be scared witless.  Scared witless is the PG way to say scared shitless.  I figured them out.  Also, a fart noise on T.V. is captioned as, "Blowing raspberry." What does blowing and raspberries have to do with each other.  Maybe I'm an idiot, I don't know.  I'm not even sure what exactly a raspberry is.  Some sort of berry, I've deducted.  What else is going on.  My hospital is throwing a talent show.  What morons.  My therapist wants me to do music.  I'll do it, but only if there's a bowl of red m'n'ms only, and I don't want to see the bowl, I want it to be tucked away somewhere.  Also, keep me away from the feebs.  My music would be way over their heads. Get rappin' with it, hey, get rappin' with it, ho.  Also, I want it to be a pizza party.  At least at the end, after the show.  Any situation that doesn't end in a pizza party is no good to me.  I once went to an event the hospital hosted, where they had a guest speaker of someone who heard voices.  And, afterward, I ran into him in the bathroom, and he shook my hand.  It was weird.  I wonder if his voices are like mine.  Because if they are, they shoulda told him not to shake hands with people in the bathroom.  We just swapped urine molecules.  We're no better off than we were before.  We still have voices, now we just have brand new bacteria.  I didn't like his main message, though, anyway.  He was all about embracing your voices and engaging them, and working with them, and so on.  Fuck that.  This is my head, only room for one voice.  Maybe two, if I'm high.  Or three, if I'm misunderstanding some direction in Yoga class.  But that's it.
    We do have two ears.  Therefore, we should have two voices.  That's just science.  But we have only one mouth.  That's right, and two sets of teeth, top and bottom.  Two voices, what's your problem?  I'm pretty satisfied that, to my knowledge, none of the voices I hear are named Tony and live in my mouth.  Alright!  Not The Shining kid!  Score one for the good guys.  There is Tony the Tiger, from breakfast cereal fame.  And Antonin Scalia, who puts the dope in the Supreme Court.  There's no dope in the supreme court.  That's how I feel about things.  Dope and Court almost slant-slant rhyme.  A little bit.  The vowel sounds the same, am I right?  Give it up for the vowels, they drove in from Jersey.  What the Hell.  I can't imagine how disappointed I'd be if it turned out George Carlin was a rapist.  That's probably how some people feel about Cosby.  Too bad, I guess.  And if it turned out that Tony the Tiger was a rapist?  Why, I might have to end it all, there.  Don't wanna live in a world like that.  I remember, Stephen King directed his own version of The Shining as T.V. movie, and the only thing I remember, is it ends with Danny grown up, and it turns out Tony was his future self.  Fuck off, King.  The Shining should end in a hedge maze, as God intended.  All movies should end in hedge mazes, if it were up to me.  I think the last shot of The Shining is zooming in on a black and white picture, with Nicholson somehow in the picture.  Why isn't there a porn site called Trick Photography.  Because they don't have fellas of my brilliance and wit coming up with porn sites, I guess.
    Anyway, this sure is an entry.  That's not too bad, in and of itself.  Masturbation website.  I mean, what?  Anyway.  Whazzup party people.  It's me.  Yup.  That much, I am sure of.  The voices guy who I heard speak, he told a story of how his voices told him to go jump in front of a subway, and he got all the way to the station, to the track, and finally they told him to back off.  I'm sorry, but after that kind of crap, I don't think I'd be so friendly with them voices.  Killing yourself?  That's not a positive outcome.  No one wants that.  Frankly, you can do better.  My voices mainly tell me when to use the bathroom.  And then there's a teacher voice who says, You'd be disturbing the class. Look, the class is clearly disturbed, they're voices in my head.  Snort chuckle.  What a laugh and a half that story was.  Sure did kill space, though?  That's all my voices tell me to kill.  Space.  Time.  Stuff like that.  Fun stuff.  Anyway.  Put up a new album of music online yesterday.  theuppers.bandcamp.com, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QdnbuVClnoI.  Fun stuff.  That's six albums in the past year.  And, I know I'm biased, but I think it's pretty solidly high-mediocre/low-adequate.  Either way, hello, it's crazysheet time.  I'm gonna have a cheeseburger for dinner.  I was writing this entry, just thinking, and I was like, Hey, it's within the realm of possibility I could have a cheeseburger for dinner.  I never liked cheeseburgers as a kid.  The only cheese I would eat was on pizza.  But then I grew up, things change.  One day you don't like cheese on your burgers, the next, you can't live without it.  I can live without it.  I just wanted to sound poetic, and stuff.  Leave me alone.  Now that I've talked about it, a cheese burger sounds disgusting.  Oh well, you live and you learn.  One would imagine.  So, I ended up not doing the open mic last week.  I probably should have.  Oh well.  I've already bombed at the UCB.  I should find a fresh new venue to try my crap.  Can't use my Lincoln six more weeks of slavery joke, though.  That woulda been my opener, cause it was that day.  What a wasted opportunity that was.
    Okay, okay.  Last paragraph time.  This was fun and a third.  Hey, I can go through the day, without making shit!  Crazysheet done, music done.  Just spend some good ol' quality time.  Doin'... stuff.  I wanna say watch T.V., but I don't wanna set myself up for disappointment.  I mean, sure, I'd love to watch T.V. my life away.  But is it a tangible proposition??  I don't know, maybe I should watch the new CBS show, The Proposition.  It's about people proposing things.  I've never watched a show on CBS.  And I never will.  A man's got to have principles. Channel Two?  What am I, an idiot?  Probably.  And, I can feel my spirit settling into the crazysheet-psyche, more than the The-Uppers psyche.  Good for me.  I'm like a hermit crab.  Except I have two permanent shells, and I alternate between them.  Man, that moment when the crab is changing shells, gotta be pumped up on adrenaline.  Gotta find a shell, gotta find a shell, gotta find a shell.  Now that's what I call topical humor.  Tropical humor.  I meant tropical humor.  Are crabs indigenous to the tropics?  Probably not?  I don't care.  I got beer today, over vodka.  I'm proud of myself.  I could be drinking vodka, but I'm drinking beer.  What a big boy I've become.  I miss the summer of 2008, where, I've mentioned here, I was high pretty much 95% of the time, and  every couple of weeks, I would change my bed from facing west to east, to north to south.  It's a whole different trip, boy.  And you put on some Daniel Johnston, some Meat Puppets, oh, you'll get in the mood.  The mood to smoke more marijuana.  It's a self-fulfilling prophecy.  One thing I liked about my bed facing North to South is it created a nice little nook in my room for guitar/amp stuff.  It was fun.  Huh?  Bold?  I guess he/me is trying to convey how much he misses marijuana.  What's that, Lassie?  They're out of marijuana?  Someone call Superman, this is the Twilight Zone.  Batman gets herpes.  The Riddler does a crossword puzzle. 

-1:43 P.M.

Sunday, February 8, 2015                        

C:/Run_Title_Beep-Beep_Zeroes_And_Ones

Put 'er there!  There being here.  Or, at least, some place.  Certainly a real, tangible location.  There's no questioning that.  What else is going on?  Besides all that stuff I've already talked about.  Anyway, back to Operation Dumbo Drop.  I don't really remember what happens in Operation Dumbo Drop.  I only know I thought David Allen Grier was in it, instead of the truth.  Danny Glover, whose alias, as we all know, is, "The Truth."   Who gets a script in the mail called, "Operation Dumbo Drop," and immediately thinks, "This is gonna be good."  Probably no one.  I mean, David Allen Grier turned it down, how good can it be.  Maybe The Truth thought it was gonna be a tangential to Dumb and Dumber.  Also, movies that are related to other movies, without being sequels or prequels, are called tangentials.  Now you know.  Like the biopic of Forest Gump which just documents him running across America.  Run Harder, Gump: The True Running Story of a Running American Runner.  Wait, no.  I'm thinking of Runner, Runner.  Sorry.  I was just playing poker and got beat by a runner-runner two pair!  Things, happen, that relate, tangentially, to other things, that have happened.  That's how I feel about things.  I had a dream I ran into an old friend in a supermarket, and we basically just ignored each other.  Because it's my dream to, eventually, when I can karmically afford such a excursion, to ignore as many people as possible.  You get ignored!  You get ignored!  You get ignored!  Then I'm all alone, and my glasses break, so I can't read anything.  Oh, cruel irony.
    At the end of that episode, when the guy's glasses break, there should just be thirty seconds of him going, "FUCK!  FUCKITY FUCK FUCK FUCK.  THIS FUCKING SUCKS.  MOTHER FUCKER."  Then the credits roll.  That would be fun, or something.  I'm leaning towards Or Something.  This ain't no MSNBC, son.  There's no leanin' forward, or any in direction.  Lean Forward.  Oh, now the Liberal Elite are telling me how to sit, are they?!  I'm not gonna stand for it.  Unless if Fox News has a commercial, Stand Up.  They probably won't, though, that's how I feel.  I was talking to my friend, and he was like, I watch Fox News, because they have hot news anchors.  Really?  Really??  Really???  ...  Really????  Anyway, that's how that goes.  Also, that was probably in a dream, on account of me not having any friends.  Nah, it was real life.  I do have maybe like 1.45 friends.  Well, my ashtray is on fire.  See ya in a bit.  Hi it's me again.  Remember, from before?  The guy who's writing what you're reading?  I wrote it in the past, but you're reading it currently.  It's confusing, I know.  I think we should switch the meaning of, "Whose," and, "Who's."  Everyone would be a lot happier.  Who's On First?  There's no apostrophe, in a just world.  He's on second.  I don't know how jokes go.  I'm not on trial here.
    No trialization without representation.  That's how I feel about things.  Oh, crazysheet.  You'll be the death of me.  Is someone getting The Death, The Death, The Death, The Death of You?  They play that song on repeat in the obituary department.  Obituary.  The forgotten, thirteenth month.  Why am I fourteen years old.  It doesn't make sense.  Anyway, what the what.  I think the real goal of Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing was so that they would hire black actresses to play stenographers in all the movies.  You can't prove it's not.  Mavis Beacon isn't a stenographer.  She's a stenographer's mentor.  If Dick Cheney ever played Oregon Trail, when hunting, he'd probably end up shooting the banker in the face.  Dick Cheney shot his friend in the face.  Most people forget about that, but it's probably the best story in American politics, maybe ever.  I was going to sleep last night, and the T.V. was on, and for some reason it was on the Memory Channel, or whatever it's called, where they show shows from the 50's and 60's.  And Batman was on, and I didn't watch any of the episode, but the title literally was, "The Joker Gets a Job."  Oh no!  If he has a means of supporting himself financially, who knows what he's capable of.  Like I said in a previous entry, the stakes in that Batman series are significantly low.  The Joker gets a job.  C'mon.  What's next, Two Face Makes a Speech.  Batman Gets a Cold.  Alfred Forgets Where He Put His Glasses.
    Anyway. Not a problem, Alfred.  That's why I installed a tracking device in your glasses, for conundrums such as this.  That couldn't happen, then the episode would only be three minutes long.  I was practicing my face in the mirror, and I realized I can frown a lot more easily than I can smile.  And to a greater degree.  I can frown like there's no tomorrow, but my smile is ever so slight, and decidedly creepy.  Stupid face.  Thinks it's so great.  Anyway.  I need to go to Modells to get a yoga mat.  Where is the justice.  Having to do things.  It ain't right!  It ain't right.  And if it was right, I'd have to reverse it in my mind, and make it left.  And I have to reverse the quality of that joke in my mind from terrible to adequate.  Self delusion is the greatest.  Anyway, what the huh.  Why am I twelve years old.  Maybe because I've been fourteen for twelve years now.  Makes sense, I'm not gonna argue with air tight logic like that.  I bet after smart phones came out, Mavis Beacon was like,  Fuck It, I'm Not Even Gonna Bother Anymore.  It makes sense.  Anyway, see ya later.



-9:40 A.M.

Friday, February 6, 2015                        

It's Gonna Be Good

Positive thinking!  The good kind of positive, not the HIV kind.  Anyway, hello.  I don't get the Fresh Off The Boat show.  From what I remember, FOB is basically a racial slur second or third generation Asian-Americans use against ones who just arrived, and aren't fully assimilated.  It's not a term of endearment, it's basically a racial slur.  At least that was my experience.  It's kind of like if they called The Butler... no, I can't do that joke.  But you get the idea.  Anyway, good night!  No, no.  Good morning.  I dreamt two comedy sketches last night.  And then I woke up, and after debating whether to get out of bed and write them down for two minutes, I finally did.  Only problem was, it turns out I was still dreaming when I got out of bed and wrote them down.  So, lost into the ether they were.  Also, another part of the dream, I was forming a band with my brother, and he had one hit song that was better than all of my songs.  And it sort of made me feel like, I'm the one who really wants this, but I'm not contributing anything.  Anyway, good night!  No, no, no.  No.  I held the door at Dunkin D's for a lady, allowing her to go in front of me in the line, and she was very gracious, and made small talk with me.  I did it!  Got .005% there to sex.  Gotta start somewhere, am I right?  Then, when making my order, I said, Can I have a Dunkin Combo?  You, me, and that girl?  Aaand good night!   Nope, still good morning. 
    Alright.  A joke!  Whouda thunk it.  Not me.  When I was walking to DD, my Dad drove by in a car.  I waved to him.  Hey, I know that guy!  It's the direct opposite of the story of when I walked by him without saying anything or even looking at him.  Hey, I don't know how long he's gonna be here, gotta make the most of it.  I had a dream my maternal grandfather's ghost was haunting me.  Not like in a negative way.  Not really in a positive way, either.  It was basically just hanging around, relatively neutrally.  I guess fairly positive.  Then a tree broke into my room and ate me.  I used to be scared of everything when I was a kid.  Scared of the hallway, old lady who lives in the refrigerator hangs out there.  Scared of my closet, bloody heads in there.  Scared of my ceiling, ghost there, scared of the other side of the bed, ghost there.  Scared of the bathroom mirror, Bloody Mary.  Scared of the shower, Shining lady.  Scared of outside the window, out on the street, might be some kind of ghoul out there.  Scared of the attic, homeless maniac up there.  Scared of the entire bathroom that's connected to my parents bedroom.  Scared of facing the living room when sleeping down stairs in the den.  Who knows what could be going on there after dark.
    Well, you know what they say.  Better scared than sorry.  And, lo and behold, not one ghost attack in my entire childhood.  It pays to be vigilant.  I even have a vague memory of being scared of the air conditioner/heating vents.  That might be connected to homeless man in the attic, though.  That's how he can watch me with his peepers.  Scared of the walls.  In The Gate, there's a dead guy who lives in the walls.  That explains that.  Scared of looking out the window, already covered that.  Except the first time I meant the downstairs window, this time I mean my bedroom window.  Now, I'm scared of more practical things.  Like books, and being alone.  Those are my main two fears, when it comes down to it.  And the walls, a little bit. Who knows what's going on behind that facade.  Probably plumbing and stuff.  Fear knocked at the door.  Faith answered.  Fear hit faith over the head with a shovel.  That's how that goes.  That's the worst knock-knock joke I ever heard.  Not even remotely funny.  Knock, Knock.  Who's there?  Fear.  Fear who?  I'm gonna knock you over the head with a shovel.  Fear everyone, better scared than sorry.  That's how that goes.  What else.  I told one joke this entry, that's pretty good.  At that rate, I'll have two hundred jokes a year.  That's a lot of yuk-yuks.  I guess next Thursday would be a good day to do open mic, cause school is closed for President's Day.  Plus, I can do all my President's Day material.  So, Lincoln saw his shadow this year.  Six more weeks of slavery.  I actually did have a President's Day witticism in old crazysheet.  I checked George Bush's birthday, just to make sure it wasn't in February, because if it was, then he would inevitably be lumped into President's Day.  And that just wouldn't be right.  It's not really wit.  It's more a straightforward expression of dissatisfaction with George Bush.
    Anyway.  Baseball starting up soon.  That's fun and a half.  I wonder if anyone ever went to see Baseketball and couldn't spell, and thought, "This'll be a good movie about basketball!"  Probably.  What else is going on.  Gettin' close to end of the entry, that's all fine and good.  What else is going on.  What to do with the rest of my day.  Probably things, and stuff.  What else is there to talk about.  Baseketball.  That was a movie.  I like it because they have a friend who's my height.  He sleeps in a drawer.  Good stuff.  That was the moment in life where I realized I could make friends.  As long as I exist primarily for their mocking and to get shit on.  Also, The Shining is where I realized to be scared of the bathroom.  And late night talk show hosts.  Them, the sum of all fears.  Operation Dumbo Drop is where I learned to be scared of elephants.  Anyway, what the what.  Time to close it up, once again.  Stupid brother's song, gettin' all the accolades.  Just because it's infinitely better than mine.  I oughtta hit him over the head with a shovel.  Anyway.  There's no crying in Baseketball!  There should be, that would be a good distraction.  See ya later.                                  

-10:15 A.M.

Thursday, February 5, 2015                        

We Underline Titles In This House

Hi friends.  First full week of class, knocked out of the park!  Except for how I didn't really do the reading for one class.  But that one class is only 66.7 percent of the week, you can't judge an entire week based on a simple majority of it.  Well, you can.  You can do what you like.  I'm not here to tell you what you can and cannot judge.  I had to share my book with the guy sitting next to me, because he didn't have his book.  So I whispered, this is still illegal in thirteen states.  Sharing a book with a same sex student.  Then he knocked my block off.  Oh yeah, it turns out he was a rock-em-sock-em robot.  I should have mentioned that before.  It doesn't get much more intimate than sharing a book with someone.  These words are now our words.  Maybe that's because there's things wrong with me, though.  When teacher was taking attendance, there was a girl whose last name was Papa.  So, I asked her if she knew any Italian people.  Making last name puns is the most intimate you can get with a person.  Because it's their name.  C'min out of your mouth.  Hey, I made up an abbreviation.  That's not the word.  Condensation.  There we go.  I made up a condensation.  Hello, friends.  Then I knock your block off.  Sorry, I thought this was a choose your own adventure.  Where the writer gets to choose his own adventure.  In other words, something being written.
    Anyway, hello.  To turn to page 69, turn to page 69.  To stop reading, close the book.  I live on 69th Avenue.  I feel like a pervert every time I order a delivery.  That's probably where most my problems stem from.  Apartment or private house?  Private House... very private.  Private House was the unsuccessful sequel to House, where he becomes a detective.  Because it's a pun, that's why.  Aren't doctors the original private eyes?  I detect you have... lung cancer.  Damn, I knew it!  That's how that might go.  What else.  When I was sharing the book, I rested it on my notebook without thinking, and halfway through, realized he could probably read what I had written.  So, most likely, he was thinking, "Man, this guy likes writing sentences with, 'Title,' in them."  How do you get the Carnage Hall?  Practce, practce, practce.  Google maps, google maps, google maps.  Anyway.  That's the kind of thing that goes on in my brainium.  I got vitamin water today.  So at least I accomplished something.  I have a clothes hanger from a place called, "Jiffy Jeff's Cleaners."  Isn't that copyright infringement on Jazzy Jeff, Will Smith's friend?  I'm gonna take a shot in the dark and guess they're not paying no royalties.  I guess if your name is Jeff, and you wanna use an adjective to describe you with alliteration, I guess it's okay.
    Probably not, though.  It's probably not okay.  Magic Mi-- oh, can't do that.  In UCB class, you had to make up a superhero name for yourself, with alliteration, so people would remember it.  I said I was Midnight Mike, and mimed going to sleep.  Possibly the only positive thing I did all semester.  And it's not far off from the truth.  My main power is being able to go to sleep.  Or something.  Probably.  I don't know.  Anyway, measles.  Am I right?  Yup, yup.  Misshapen Mike.  Mangled Mike.  Maroon Five Mike.  Jazzy Jeff.  One Moment Mike.  Then I mime being on my cell phone, making the other wrestlers furious.  I've been having Exorcist-infused dreams a lot lately.  Probably 60% of my dreams the last couple of weeks have at least a small moment of Exorcist girl.  Well, guess I'm possessed now.  Fuck, I knew I shouldn't have Netflixed Jeepers Creepers.  Netflix is the root of all evil.  Also, can't stop whistling the theme from Poltergeist.  It's a nice tune.  Similar to Gremlins, which I also whistle.  But even better.  I remember learning somewhere that a Poltergeist is actually when a kid or something unknowingly summons supernatural powers, and that's the cause of whatever crap is going on.  In Poltergeist, the movie, though, it was implied it was because they built the house over graves.  Something's not adding up here, and I'm gonna get to the bottom of it.  Unless the bottom of it is filled with rotting corpses whose souls just need the littlest bit of prodding towards becoming harmful to me and my family.
    It coulda been the kid with the tree.  You never know.  If I Did It, This Is How I Woulda Done it.  By The Kid With The Tree.  That little lady who helps them in Poltergeist, that's a good marriage candidate for me.  Except that she's sixty years too old, and most likely dead.  She is shorter than me, though.  That counts very much in the algorithm I've devised.  This house is unclean.  Well, then clean it up then, lady!  I'm hearing a lot of negatives, why don't you go make yourself useful??  And then she just becomes their maid.  Anyway.  What else is going on.  It woulda been a good surprise ending if, they think everything is fine, then the little lady shows up, and is like, "Tricked Ya!" and then her head starts spinning around rapidly and throwing up everywhere.  And then they hit her over the head with a shovel, and she's dead for good.  It's pretty easy to defeat short villains.  One hit upside the head with a shovel, and they're down for the count.  I knew I never should have HBO-GO'd Creepshow II.  Also, damn, I just revealed my biggest weakness.  My one Achilles' Heel.  Gettin' hit over the head with a shovel.
    Also, pretty sure that's one of the circles of Hell.  Where you just get hit over the head with a shovel for all eternity.  It's a lot worse than it sounds, one would imagine.  I can tell my teacher is pretty with it.  And hip.  And groovy.  Last class, she made a Key & Peele reference. ... ... That's pretty much it.  But isn't that enough, when it come down to it?  She's sixty something years old, that's enough in my book.  My Yoga teacher's name is Sharon Osborne.  It took all of my strength and willpower to not ask her if she was related to The Green Goblin.  The good news is, the entry is almost over.  Good news for you, good news for me, good news for the tree.  Pretty much good news all around.  Anyway, time to close it up.  A solid D+/C--.  I've heard of C++, but C--?! C'mon!!!  Aaand that knocks it down to an even D+.  Alright, see ya.

-2:50 P.M.                        

Wednesday, February 4, 2015                        

This Is The Way We Title The Entry

I don't wanna ride no bus.  I wanna ride the bus.  Anyway, hello.  I figured since I've written an entry every February day so far, might as well keep it up.  Couldn't hurt.  Unless if the entry sucks.  Then it would hurt slightly, but not too bad.  Because no one really cares, when it comes down to it.  Also, nothin' else to do.  I watched all the late night comedy talk show possible.  And that only took up half my day.  My head is buzzin'.  I don't know what it's about.  My horoscope today told me to hit on someone.  I thought that's oddly specific, and potentially disastrous.  But, either way, guess I gotta hit on someone.  Anyone out there?  You.  Yeah, you.  No, not you, the other one.  Hi.  And that's how that goes.  I got frozen White Castle hamburgers today.  Because God smiled on me.  And, I did all the leg work.  I mean, God put them in the supermarket, but it was all human spirit and willpower which moved them from the store freezer into my home freezer.  That's right, I'm the greatest.  No yoga tomorrow.  What will my third eye do?  Take the elevator.  Up and down my head, all day.  I had to use the bathroom in the gymnasium yesterday, and there was no lights.  It's possible the bathroom was deserted sixty years ago, and they just never put up a sign.  I hate when you use vending machines and they give you silver dollars for change.  You fucking asshole.  Then I use that to pay at the gas station, and they go, you fucking asshole.  Silver dollars are essentially there just to make people feel like assholes. 
    The Beastie Boys have a lyric, "So put a quarter in your ass, cause you played yourself."  I always liked that.  It's clever, that's all.  I have two CDs of rap songs on my iPod from the turn of the century that I made with napster'd songs way back when.  Still surprisingly relevant even today, fifteen years later.  That's how I feel about things.  And, me in fifteen years, reading this entry, thinking?  That's how I felt about things.  I lost 95% of my play money chips when I had pocket queens as an over pair, the other guy had mid pair, and hit two pair on the river.  Where is the justice?  Captain Justice?  That's what Antonin Scalia calls himself in his self-published comic books.  I feel awkward around girls in Yoga.  Sittin' next to them for thirty fuckin' minutes.  I finally just exploded, Why aren't we having sex by now?  Because I'm an inpatient pervert.  Impatient pervert.  When I was in the hospital, I was an inpatient pervert.  So, that's how that goes.  My laptop is heating up.  Maybe that's who I was supposed to hit on, my laptop.  All that inpatient pervert talk is gettin' it hot.  I gotta say, though, unless if I was really drunk, I don't think I'd have sex with my laptop.  I'd have to be pretty wasted.  Also, I'm not sure if my penis fits in the USB slot.  Sorry.  Mostly to myself.  Because that joke is the pits.  I liked eating pizza yesterday.  Whereas, ten years ago, eating in a public place by myself, I'd be self conscious, "Everyone's looking at me with pity and disrespect," now, I'm over it.  Instead, I'm thinking, "Everyone's probably looking at me, but I don't care!  Keep on lookin, everyone!"  Funny how people grow over time.
    One would imagine.  I'm the same height I was when I was eight.  As God intended.  I like coughing up phlegm.  I may have talked about that here before.  It's one of my favorite things to do.  Not only is it fun, but it's a good way to lose weight.  I'm always paranoid, using public bathrooms, that I'm in the wrong bathroom.  Even if I see urinal stalls, if I go into the regular toilet, I start thinking, What if I was mistaken?  I can't see anything from in here.  I could be in the wrong.  Also, putting my iced coffee down.  What if other people see that, and are like, Man, he put his iced coffee down, somewhere in the bathroom!  What a nogoodnik.  That's a noun that's almost appropriate.  Slob.  That's a little bit closer.  I'm not drinking from the bottom of the cup.  I remember, I once was eating an ice cream cone, when I was about 8-10, and the top was falling off, so I wiped it against the top of a outside garbage can, and was about to continue eating it, from where I wiped it off.  Cause I wasn't really thinking.  And my Dad was like, No!  Don't Do It!  And I stopped just in time.  The reason I remember is because he tells me about it every week.
    Anyway, what the what.  Another memory just popped into my head.  I was about eleven or twelve, and there was an all girl sleep-over, one was having a birthday.  And boys were there, but obviously not for sleeping over.  But I was the last one to leave, and I was really trying to stay there.  Because of the possibility they'd gang rape me.  And they were open to it.  Me staying there, not necessarily the gang-raping part.  But isn't that implied?  Anyway, my Dad picked me up before anything could happen.  Also, I had forgotten to get her a birthday present, so, in a moment of panic, I just took one of my old stuffed animals from my room, and gave that to her.  And she was IMing me a week later, Oh, I was playing with your gift with my sister, and the head came off.  And I'm pretty sure then she knew it was an old piece of shit.  So, that's how that goes.  Oh well, you win some, you lose some.  Anyway, time to finish up the entry.  Still got aways to go.  What else is going on.  I'm literally getting hot resting my palms on my laptop.  I guess I picked a winner there.
    Alright, last paragraph time.  Okay.  I gotta get a yoga mat.  That sounds like a lot of work.  First, there's going to Modells.  Then, there's getting the mat.  Then, going home.  That's three things!  Who has the ability to do three concurrent things.  Not I.  What else is going on.  I guess I can do the open mic tomorrow.  It's possible.  Probably not, though.  Anyway, see ya later.



3:44 P.M.                             

Tuesday, February 3, 2015                        

T Is For Title

Hi!  I came from class!  Two classes.  And a break in-between.  One break!  And pizza was eaten.  Pi..z.. eh, forget it.  Nobody cares, they're here to read about misunderstanding sports teams names and terribly drawn stick figures with irreverent and irreverently irrelevant things to say.  The yoga class was mind blowing.  Third eye?  I'll be happy once I get my fifth, sixth, and seventh eyes under control.  But, any progress is good progress.  That's why people love Rush so much.  It's weird, trying to reach a natural, peaceful state, while having girls asses right in front of you.  I can't stare, that's ainnaprprorriate.  And I don't really want to, because I have some action that I have to focus on, like clasping my hands or tightening my hips, or whatever bullshit.  But, am I just supposed to 100% ignore it?  That's not natural.  I'm drinking Natural Light.  If anything, that's not natural.  I turned it into a topical humor joke!  Good for me.  I made sure to pick the one spot in the room that had the mirror in the front blocked out.  I don't wanna see me do stuff.  I don't even like doin' stuff, having to see it unfold would just be doubly bad.  Also, English class?  I went to use the bathroom, and she was like, "Please don't do that in the future, it distracts the class."  So I was like, yeah, okay.  When I came back, my phone rang, and she got slightly more pissed.  Please turn off your phone.  So, I meant to, but after trying and putting it into my pocket, I realized it was still on.  But I didn't wanna take it out again, and distract the class more.  So I made a leveled decision to just hope it didn't ring again.  And, lo and behold, it did.  And she went, "In the future, don't even bother coming to class."  I kid you not.  I tried to make up for it twenty minutes later by making some relevant comment, and she did say, "That's a good point..." and went on, so hopefully we're cool now.  But, especially after that second phone ring, I felt like, everyone thinks I'm trying to be an asshole troublemaker, most of all, her.  And I was like, "No, I'm Sorry, Really, No, Please, Forgive Me!"  Coincidently, that's how my sex-talk goes.  I haven't had sex in a while, but I imagine my sex talk would probably be along the lines of, "Mmm, I like sex.  Keep doin' it.  Alright."
    So, I had a seven hour day.  That's actually close to normal.  Not bad, not bad. DUHHHHHHHh and my mind is out of things to talk about.  I did a two paragraphs, that's pretty good.  The worst part was the break in-between.  I was actually forced to read the assignment for Thursday's English class.  Me Read Book?  That's Annoyable.  Look, if I'm not in it, what do I care.  If it was a book about me, sure, I'll read it.  That's pertinent information.  Gotta know what happens.  But if it's not about me, I'll just be like, When does it get to the part about me?  I don't understand.  That line of joke is brought to you by referential thinking.  Referential Thinking: When Paranoia and Delusions of Grandeur Combine.  At least my third eye knows what's up.  Pretty much all my third eye was thinking about was Hey, remember the band Third Eye Blind.  Eyes don't think, but you get the idea.  And then when that thought was thunk out, I started thinking, Hey, remember Weezer?  I bet he likes Yoga.  I think he's a yoga-ist.  And then when that thought run out, a little bit of Lisa Simpson.  I didn't get to Lisa Simpson until a sentence ago.  That's the third third eye reference.  I think the concept of the third eye lends itself well to comedy, since comedy comes in threes.  One for each eye.  Fair and square.  There's a pretty good chance I don't understand comedy, or third eyes, or numbers, or squares.
    Anyway, what the what.  The first thing I thought to say about Third Eyes, was to quote Little Nicky, which I re-saw a couple of days ago, when he says, "Popeye's Chicken Is Fuckin' Awesome!"  And it turned out extra appropriate because of the use of the noun, "Eyes."  Funny how the universe works, ain't it.  That's third eyes, for ya.  No it isn't.  It might be, you don't know.  I remember I used to get Popeye's chicken sometimes when I lived on Water St.  That's relevant because that's what the thing what I was talking about what.  That had good biscuits, or fries, or something.  I might be thinking of chicken.  Relatively certain they served chicken.  It's weird, for some reason, that's the period of my life I've been thinking about in memories the last week or so.  Like, sometimes, when I'm goin' to sleep, especially, I'll just start goin' through memories.  And that, second semester sophomore year, living in Water St, trying in earnest to pursue music in my childish view of what that meant.  Which basically entailed writing 3-6 crappy songs I thought were gold, drinking whiskey and smoking herb every night, eating pizza or fast food or empanadas, listening to podcasts, writing in a journal (a real, paper journal, where I talked more about ideas and crap, not really meant to be funny for the most part).  In many ways, it was the renaissance of my life.  In many other ways, it was a complete waste of time which set me off on the wrong path in life, possibly irreversibly. Sure was fun, though.
    That's fun, and crap.  I wonder what phase of my life I'll mull over next.  I hope it's elementary school birthday parties.  Just think about all that Cruisin' USA, and air hockey, and cupcakes.  I remember I used to love QZAR, well, the idea of it.  In practice, people always would just hit you with their guns, and shoot you that way.  There's no fun in that.  You gotta shoot from a distance.  That's the fun part.  Hitting your gun into someone and shooting from a distance of 0.0 feet, that's just unsportsmanlike.  Also, it hurts.  Those guns are heavy.  I remember, I once went with a friend, because we were pumped up for some laser tag, but because there wasn't a birthday, it was just a 2x2 game.  That's not so much fun.  90% of the time, you're just walking around, lookin' for the other team.  Anyway.  I wish I could have Yoga every day.  Except not tomorrow, I need a break.  And the next day, probably want another break.  Oh well.  Man, is it great to be doin' stuff though.  You guys who always do stuff don't know what you've got.
    Alright, gettin' close to the end.  See how quickly it goes when I do stuff to talk about?  Life lesson there.  Do stuff, so you can talk about stuff.  I like going through the yoga motions for the first time, because it's sort of accepted that you don't know what you're doing, so I was just like, "I'm gonna go for it, don't matter if it's right or not, I'm movin' shit around!"  And that's acceptable in that beginners atmosphere.  And I don't know if it's right or not, but it feels right, that's all I know.  One thing I don't like, is that it's confusing for the teacher to be facing the students.  Cause I have to reverse everything.  I mean, there's a mirror in the front.  She should just face the mirror like the rest of us, and we can see through the mirror.  That's how I would run a yoga class.  Anyway.  Wrappin' it up time.  Smoking isn't allowed on the Queens College Campus, but when I am faced with the decision of walking fifteen minutes both ways to smoke a cigarette, I figure, II should just smoke it outside the building.  There's no campus security there, there's no one to reprimand me.  But I play by the rules.  That's something important to know about me.  You make up some rules, I'll play by them.  I'm no troublemaker, despite what my bladder or inability to turn off phones may say about me.  See ya later.

-5:25 P.M.               

Monday, February 2, 2015                        

Ain't No Title Like a Crazysheet Title

Hi jerks.  It's me, captain jerk.  I'm Captain Jerk Sparrow.  That's from a commercial for something.  I wanna say pirate college.  Possibly Long John Silvers.  In pirate college, if you lead a mutiny and take over the college, you get an A, right?  That's what you're supposed to be learning.  Also, Long John Silvers is a porn star, right?  The first robot porn star, if I'm not mistaken.  I guess he could just be an elderly, his hair is silver.  Either way, no way am I watching that shit.  Well, maybe once.  But then, never again. Well, maybe one more time.  Okay, that's it.  Alright, once more, oh yeah.  And then on to something else.  Such is the life of the jerk-off junkie.  Anyway, what else is going on.  Back to original format, black background, white font!  It's just like seeing an old friend.  And writing crap all over his face.  I bet, at some point, maybe not soon, but eventually, a company, probably Taco Bell, will advertise a system where they pay you to get a tattoo of their logo on your face.  It's only a matter of time.  That's sorta like what happened in Idiocracy.  But, when you think about it, I thought of it first.  Keep thinking about it until you reach that conclusion.  Or don't.  I'm not here to force you to do anything you don't want to.  I'm here to suggest you find amusement in things I've written.  My doctor's a real pervert.  I was talking to him about smoking, and he was like, why do you smoke?  And I was like, well, I'm addicted.  It's chemically addictive.  And he was like, No, no, that's not it.  You crave it.  Right?  You crave cigarettes.  And I was like, no, I don't.  And he was like, yeah, yeah, you do.  And I wanted to punch him in the face.  Look, Doc, the only thing I crave is White Castle Hamburgers, and that's because the commercial told me to.  I can't punch him in the face, though, can I?  If I did that, it's a month in the hospital.
    Anyway, new paragraph.  I also crave those crazy squares.  Again, because commercials told me to.  Anyway.  My third string back-up joke that I wrote, literally, the least likely one I'd say, was, "Remember The Titans?  I do.  The movie told me to."  I don't even know why I wrote it, I know it's terrible.  I guess I figured, the more, the merrier.  Writing it down couldn't hurt.  And also, I do have another joke about titles, one that's worth saying, so it would fit.  Now that I think about it, about 60% of my jokes are about titles, in one way or another.  That's a bald faced lie.  It's probably only like 25%.  So, I heard the pay try outs won the Superbowl.  Not bad for a team of paid try-outs.  That's right, a title joke.  What else is going on in the wide world of sports.  Football's over.  Now, it's time for whatever comes next.  Groundhog's Day?  I find it kind of insulting that we celebrate Martin Luther King Jr. the same amount as we celebrate a groundhog.  Hey, Martin Luther King never predicted how long winter will last.  I, Have a Dream, That Winter Will Last Six More Weeks.  Because he saw his shadow, that's why.  I, Have a Dream, That One Day, There Will Be a Children's Cartoon, Where The Main Character's Best Friend Is Green, But We All Know He's Black.  Man, he nailed that one.  I remember, I used to think the Doug theme song, the doo-doo-doo-doo-doo thing, If you've heard it, they were saying, Ju-dith, Judith, Judith...  Cause his sister's name was Judith.  And the doo-doo's sounded like Ju-dith's.
    Anyway.  What else is going on.  Got classes tomorrow.  That's how that goes.  I find it odd that the entire country celebrates Groundhog's Day.  That's like something a small region in Eastern Europe would celebrate in the 1300's.  The fact that it's caught on in 20th-21st century America is kind of ridiculous.  Anyway.  That's pretty much how I feel about things.  Indeed.  I don't like Bud Light.  Bud already means marijuana.  Get your own name.  What else is going on.  February, huh.  I can handle that.  Next is March, that much I know.  After that, April.  I can do this.  I've gone through the months of the year 26 times, I think I can handle it at least once more.  Man, I'm 26.  I feel like a cross between nineteen and seven.  It's been seven years since I was 19.  Maybe that's relevant.  Probably not, though.  Stupid second grader mind.  I, Have a Dream, That One Day, People Will Age Backwards.  Then the crowd kind of looks around at each other, and go, "Huh?"  He dropped the Benjamin Button bomb before people were ready for it.  I remember when I got out of the hospital for the first time, the first two movies I saw were Benjamin Button and Yes Man.  Which was the start of a long stream of seeing movies over the past six years.  I think I also went to see Australia, but got bored and left.  I'm not sure.  I might just be remembering seeing a commercial for Australia, and getting bored and changing the channel.
    Anyway.  Third paragraph with, "Anyway," to open it.  That's something worth celebrating.  One would imagine.  I think the only reason I went to see Australia was because there was a song called Australia by The Shins at the time, and I liked the song.  I thought the movie would be more related to the song, or something.  I don't know.  This was a long time ago.  I'm not on trial here.  Yeah.  The only thing I crave is sanity.  It's been so long, I can hardly remember it.  But I remember it being a mostly positive experience.  Oh, yeah, and cigarettes.  I crave cigarettes.  Honestly, I smoke because I'm bored.  I never feel, I need to have a cigarette.  I just smoke cigarettes throughout the day without really thinking about it.
    Last paragraph time.  This went well.  Not really.  It sure went, though.  Now that it's over, what to do.  Write another entry?  Go to sleep?  Eat lunch?  A combination of the three?  Go another lunch it is, then.  Lunch is great.  I like lunch.  Lunch, lunch, lunch.  I mean, just imagine someone saying, Hey, we're getting lunch, you in?  Hell yes!  I love lunch.  That's how I feel about things.  Anyway, see ya later.

-10:56 A.M.                 

Sunday, February 1, 2015                        

I'm As Serious As Herpes

More or less, I guess.  For one of my possible open mic jokes, I need to pick a disease that sounds funny.  I've already narrowed it down to venereal diseases.  I'm feelin' pretty good about herpes, but something tells me there's a better one out there.  Gonorrhea?  That's a little too thinky.  Anything the audience can't spell on their first attempt, that's a sign it's too thinky.  I should know, I've done six minutes of stage time.  AIDS is depressing.  Anyway, there's like a 50% chance I won't even use this joke.  I've mapped out about 15 jokes, five or six definites, and the rest I'm not sure of yet.  Some of my jokes are sort of dated.  I've got twenty minutes on the Nagano Olympics.  Another twenty on Lake Placid.  (Twenty on the Lake Placid Olympics, twenty on Lake Placid the movie)  What's bobsledding?  I don't know what that is!  That's how that one goes.  iTunes changed it's format.  The font is different.  They essentially changed all music.  Different font for title and artist information, totally different song.  Where do they get off, that's what I want to know.  Hey, you ever notice how iTunes changed it's format?  Make that an even 16 possible jokes!  That's not a terrible silly joke to make.  You ever notice how... and then it's a joke about something that happened once, preferably a current thing.  That's the kind of joke I would use if I were still 14.  Now, I realize it's pretty stupid.  You ever notice how the Superbowl is tonight?  It has it's charm, I suppose. 
    There's a pretty good chance I won't do an open mic anytime soon.  Whatever.  What else is going on as we speak.  I know what you're thinking.  Did Tom Petty and George Stephanopoulos have a baby?  I don't know who Tom Petty is, really.  And I forget who George Stephanopoulos is.  I think he worked for Clinton.  I know what you're thinking.  This guy is about to tell jokes of varying quality, with possible success or misfortune.  Yeah.  I know what you're thinking... That's right, I'm a psychic.  Ok.  I know what you're thinking. ... ... Alright, now tell me what I'm thinking! I wanna do the Maury, "I Am The Father!" joke, but I don't think I could sell it.  I guess we'll see.  Speaking of seeing, last open mic, I did the Dracula, "I never thought I'd see the day," joke, because someone previously had mentioned Dracula.  Gotta tell you, didn't go over well.  Like, two seconds of silence, then literally one person just said, "Oh, I get it."  Oh well, live and learn.  Now I know, for the future, use Gremlins as the set-up for the joke.  People love gremlins, they'll laugh at anything to do with gremlins.  This I learned from my five minutes of stage time.  Mentioning gremlins kills. If I cant sell a Mickey Mouse voice, how am I supposed to sell original jokes.  That was nine years ago.  Yeah, but if anything, you're ability to joke out loud has decreased.  You've decreased!  Shut up!
    Anyway, what.  When I was putting jokes together yesterday, I had the feeling, this might actually go adequately.  The jokes are decent.  I'd say, "Oh, I get it," to most of them.  This morning, I was in and out of sleep to some church service that they were showing on T.V.  So, now I feel the Lord is in me!  All sunshine and daffodils.  If you were allowed to lay down and go in and out of sleep in church, I might consider going.  That sounds pretty fun.  Oh, I get it.  You liar, there's nothing there to get!  I trapped you in your own web of lies!  Oh, I see.  Aannnnd I'm going crazy.  What else is up.  Hey, it's a new month.  That's exciting.  That's how that goes.  What else is going on.  Today's the Superbowl.  I'm rooting for the balls, and the referees.  Everything else, I couldn't care less about.  I guess I should root for the GoDaddy commercials, because without them, there would be no crazysheet.  I mean, I could always have registered the domain and pay for the web hosting with another company.  But I've been with these guys for over a decade, gotta have some brand loyalty, do you not?  Although, their commercials are notoriously stupid.  Oh well.  At least their name is appropriate, because, fourteen years ago, I had to go through my Dad to register this stuff.  So, Go Daddy?  Yes, indeed, I can relate to that.
    Okay, yup.  Daddy, Can I Have Website?  Peez.  Peez, Daddy?  That's how I sounded when I was a twelve year old girl.  I'm out of cigarettes.  Just kidding.  I found a pack.  I sure had you going there for a minute, huh.  That's what Chris Christie said earlier this week.  I Found a Pac.  Good for him.  Gotta work on his grammar a little bit, but his heart is in the right place.  It's just clogged with pork fat and cheese.  Let's move on.  I guess.  I can't watch the Superbowl, it's past my bed time.  I am just realizing this.  Now I feel bad for Chris Christie.  Poor guy.  He never did nothin' to nobody.  I'm looking forward to that upcoming movie where Batman and Superman form a Super Pact.  Not really.  It just seemed like the appropriate thing to say.  What else is going on.  Let's see.  I talked about Superbowl.  I talked about potential comedy performance.  I think I had a dream where Hey Ya was playing.  I forget the context. That's a quotable notable.  Except not really quotable.  Or notable.  So, I guess throw out that idea.  Anyway, see ya later.



-10:06 A.M.