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Tuesday, June 30, 2015

I Tell Ya, I Get No Respect

    I thought of that.  Me!  Anyway, wha the wha.  Been back home for a week.  Started a new class this week.  Uppin' my Ritalin.  I realized I need to stop drinking so much on Ritalin.  It's not a good combo.  Well, 2-3 drinks a day, it's a great combo.  More than five drinks with higher dose of Ritalin?  Not a good combo.  You could have intuated that if intuated was a word.  Sequel to Admission about Financial Aid called Intuition.  Mark it up!  Why did I capitalize Financial Aid.  Because capital.  Money.  Jinx.  That's not even remotely appropriate use of jinx.  That's what she said.  I guess I just can't win with you.  Dipset.  Anyway, wha?  Hijinx.  That's a word.  Or so I thought.  Microsoft Frontpage does not recognize it.  Will internet?  Here we go.  Here I go.  You're not going anywhere.  I gotta stop writing as if everyone's on the same frontpage as me.  Oh.  High Jinks.  It's two words.  You know, the natural definition of the words High and Jinks together?  Makes sense to me.  Pee Pee in Coke.  High Chinks.  I can say that word because my class mates from K-12 were over 50% Asian.  And my neighborhood is 80% Asian.  My relatively new neighbors were barbecuing on our front lawn.  This is notable because it's just a small patch of grass where you're not supposed to do anything on.  Also, they thought it was July Fourth.  Maybe, because of the lunar new year, carry the six, etc. etc., today is their independence day.  Makes sense to me.
    Anyway, yeesh.  What a waste.  Let's move on from all that unpleasantness.  Five plays on my bandcamp page!  Five plays on my soundcloud page!  I'm blowin' up!  We were talking about rhyme and slant rhyme in class today.  My time to shine.  What slant rhymes with Orange?  Syringe.  College.  Boom. Dropped my pen, walked out the room.  Being a song writer, I consider slant rhymes pretty much the best thing ever.  Close enough.  If that's not what my music is about, I don't know what is.  I know all sorts of things.  Rhyme, slant rhyme, etc.  Anyway.  Ate dinner, like a champ.  What else is going on.  Things and crap.  Whattado.  Last entry of The June.  Class starts at 6:30, and the projector was on with a computer screen.  6:30 on 6/30.  It took every inch of willpower I got to not exclaim my excitement to the class.  It's like time date alliteration!  Mark it down!  Then she highlighted some words with yellow background.  Good choice!  These are the real issues and crap.  Then we listened to Eminem's "Lose Yourself."  I'm better at listening to this than any of you are.  Now's my time to shine.  Then we read some Shakespeare sonnets.  And I was like, Oh, I get it.  NEXT.  Then we watched some episodes of the old MTV show Next.  And I was like, Hooray for nostalgia!  Isn't Nostalgia what they call the mob or some shit?  Keep that to yourself.  NostalgiadamusHe correctly predicted what we'd appreciate in the futurepast.  Also, it turns out, the future passed.  Next!
    I didn't think I'd get more nonsensical after the first paragraph, but paragraph two did not disappoint.  Or, did disappoint.  It depends on your point of view.  Which should be my point of view.  Get on the same frontpage, c'mon.  I found my family's old digital video camcorder from the late 90's.  At first, I was like, Great, we can watch some family movies somewhere down the line when we convert it into crap and whatever.  Then I thought, It's possible I videotaped myself masturbating on one of these tapes.  But, I don't have the heart to throw them all out.  So, there will come a day, if that video did indeed take place, my Mom and my Dad are gonna see video of my teenage-self masturbating.  I'd say there's a solid 50-60% chance it happened.  Memories that will last forever.  Now, we know there's tape of me rappin' The Real Slim Shady.  It's possible that's what my embarrassment trigger for home videos is recalling.  Who knows.  That's something I wanna see.  Probably.  I like watching myself.  That's why I'm in this whole mess in the first place!  Joel on Joel with Joel watching.  There ya go.  Where'd I go.  Damn this Crazy Train!  Just finished my jug of whiskey.  I'm staunchly in favor of spelling it "Whiskey," with an, "E."  Whisky.  Whiskey.  Whiskey.  That's just how I feel about things.
    Anyway, yeesh.  Whattacrap.  Time to move on to more crap, though.  Damn this lazy game!  Slant rhyme, boom.  Before teacher volunteered orange as a subject to slant rhyme with, she asked us to shout out words to slant rhyme with.  Now, we all know, of course, that's my time to shine.  But the word I used would be associated with me.  It's like a Rorschach test, and everyone there will know what's goin' on in my blindmelon.  So I kept my mouth shut.  I'm no fool.  I think, if I recall correctly, my first instinct was, "Game," and, "Pain."  But I kept my mouth shut.  Thank God.  No Game No Pain.  No Game Or Pain, Major Payne.  I've discussed my strategy if I'm ever forced to Rorschach test.  Rorschach Test.  Next.  MTV game show.  Next.  Hollaback Girl.  Next.  Wait, revealed too much.  Crap.  Cause the video was on MTV a lot at the time.  The summer between high school and college.  When the world was filled with promise and wonder and the dream of future alcohol and drug abuse.  Maybe it was the year before.  I'm no pastfuture historian.  That show didn't make a bunch of sense.  Either way, who cares.  I think, following the logic of past italics, Rorschach Test is an MTV game show.  I'd watch that, watch it hardcore.  What exactly am I looking at.  Next.
    Okay.  What else and crap.  I used my new electric razor for the first time.  I did it!  Shaved myself!  In your face, those who doubted me!  And, off my face, facial hair!  They said to shave in the direction opposite what my hair grows.  I don't have the patience for that.  Back and forth.  I got things to do!  Anyway, windin' down.  Whatta joy it's been.  Whisky & Peele.  Drunk Brazilian Wax.  Godzillian Wax.  Max on Max.  For original rhyme word, I shoulda said, "Bane."  Or any super villain.  That would get everyone thinkin' about where my mind is.  It's my understanding that in the comics, Bane was a Mexican wrestler, or something.  I think that's great.  Unlike in The Dark Knight Rises, which I contend should have been called, Batman Falls Down A Well.  Bane lived in sewers.  That's where The Penguin lives.  Seems like they should have ran into a little trouble.  I don't know.  Anyway.  Gotta film myself shaving my Netherlands.  Put that on the to do list and crap.  First, though, finish this paragraph.  When I said, "College," I got a laugh.  That's what where we are now!  I'm a comedy mastermind.  Either way, this has to end.  See ya later.

-10:35 P.M.                    


Friday, June 19, 2015

Oh No!  We're All Holograms!

    Onward and upward, I guess.  Hello, it's the guy.  Me.  My nickname is the guy if pat sentences led me to believe correctly.  They probably did I could make sentences goodwise.  Let's get real, though.  And, by real, I mean observing the rules of grammar, at least.  Can't we start there?  I once told my Doctor that I was reading a book on language to better understand the voices in my brain.  He was like, "That's interesting, get back to me on that."  And I didn't, because it turned out my Doctor was just a voice in my brain.  Funny how things turn on you like that.  Let's talk about me and you, though.  To be honest, I think about it night and day.  And so on.  Anyway.  I waited fifteen minutes for an omlette.  Like a chump!  Chump change.  That's a thing.  Where else is going on.  I don't know, anymore.  It's getting dark outside; I had to turn on my lamp.  It's one of those lamps that's like Pixar's, "I."  In that it jumps around, like House of Pain.  You wouldn't expect a song so upbeat would come from a band with, "Pain," in it's name.  We're the House of Pain/But what's in a name.  Two more couplets.  I like getting toast that comes standard with butter.  I'm never gonna go out of my way to butter my toast.  Too many cholesterol.  But if that's what you feel is necessary for a standard side of bread, who am I to argue. 
    That's how I feel about things.  Where am I.  Dammit, still here.  I was kind of hoping I'd be somewhere else by now.  Oh well, you get what you pay for.  House of Pay-n.  Major Payne.  That's a thing.  I don't think I ever saw it, but I remember watching it with a childhood friend.  You'd think those two things would conflict with one another.  Oh well.  What else is there to talk about.  Hit all my key talking points.  House of Payne.  What's in a name.  Two more couplets.  Gonna stop off at home on Sunday.  Then, maybe, go back home on Tuesday for permanent.  I can't survive in this high octane world of quatrains that is Queens Collage.  Plus, I have to show my ID every time I enter the dorm.  I don't want these people to know what I look like.  Anyway.  I just watched Dope.  Which inspired me to take four Ritalin.  Just kidding.  I had decided pre-Dope.  But maybe, in the abstract, it's kismet, and karma, and other words I don't full comprehend.  Dipset.  That's the one that has to do with calling front seat, right?  Dorito.  That's the delicious crunch-time snack.  On my way to the theater, while still in dorm, I was walking down the hallway without really paying attention, and I walked straight into the wall/window at the end of the hall.  I thought it was the funniest thing ever.  I'll put it on Crazysheet, I didn't think, because I didn't really think it was that funny.  It's ok, though.  Windows are fine. 
    Anyway, still here.  Apparently.  Dope was a good movie.  It just kept progressing and progressing.  I would have liked it better backwards.  That's just how I feel about things, that's me.  Anyway.  I keep seeing families go to The Hooters.  I guess if you live in the area, you just don't give a fuck.  Good for them.  Except both today and yesterday, I heard, "Rolling In The Deep," playing on Hooters Radio outside.  Groundhog's Day reference.  I realized, if I want to get in good with young ladies my age, the best genre of music to replicate would be late 90's Pop Punk.  I thought of it when Hooters Radio was playing a pop punk song from the late 1990's.  Because it reminds them of before their relatives touched them.  God knows that's why I listen to it.  Also, because people respect you more if you listen to Everclear.  Also, Outkast.  That's a different story for a different time, though.  Anyway, whatever.  Crap and shit.    Bullshit crap.  Motherfuckers tellin' me I can't rap.  Two more couplets.  I like that song, "What Would You Do," about the girl who strips to support her child.  I liked it at the time, and then, a few years ago, one of the rappers from that group was on an Addicted-type show about his struggles with alcohol addiction.  And I have great interest in other's people's problems.
    You know, that kind of crap.  I like songs with a message.  Strippers are... well... gotta do something.   Yeesh.  Where was I.  Sometimes I tap on my noggin' with my finger as if it was my arm and I was trying to find a vein.  Just a nervous tick, that's all it is.  Anyway.  What else is going on.  I was worried I was gonna be the only white guy in the theater for Dope.  Turns out one of the cast members was Indian, though.  That solves that problem.  Also, when I turned off my cell phone during the previews, I stood up and said, "You could all learn a lesson from me."  Beh.  Wheh.  Then when the movie ended I turned my cell phone on and jumped in fright when the jingle alerted me I got an e-mail in my Google account.  The moral of the story is that technology is scary.  Both of that joke and the movie.  I find the Resolution of most movies is the credits.  Could be wrong about that one, but that's how I feel and crap.  Bleh.  Weh.  DeGrom is killin' it for the Mets.  I believe his name means of the groom in Espa
ñol.  I once learned, I forget where, Never call Irish language Gaelic, that's their word.  Not in an n-word fashion, but in a we-don't-call-Spanish-español fashion.  But if it was in the n-word fashion, a witticism might have gone a little something like this... Where am I?  Right, right. 
    Anyway, hi.  Well, this was worth while.  Worth while what?  Worth while nothing else would have been going on.  If I do go home next week, I'd consider my time dorming a wash.  Not so good, not so bad.  Except for the fact I never did my laundry.  That negates the whole premise!  I remember, back in NYU, I would sometimes go through my cycle of shirts after a wash, then go through them again before laundrying them.  It's called being eco-friendly you idiots.  I remembered it when I did the same thing this month.  Anyway, Ritalin wearing off.  This is the worst crash since that window debacle.  You know the tech-bubble bursting in the late 90's?  When everyone was listening to Blink-182?  I can't tell you how many hours I've spent trying to figure out what 182 means, and why it happens after blinking.  Lonely life for I.  I know 187 on a mother fuckin' cop.  I learned that in the Straight Outta Compton trailer.  So, I guess, five less than that.  Cracked the code.  Sum 41.  The QC dorm is called the Summit.  Adderall up.  Finally, it's all starting to make sense.  And I saw an old lady while waiting for the bus with a bag of Hooters' leftovers.  I guess who cares. 
    Last paragraph time, I guess.  I was listening to Classic Rock radio, as I'm wont to do, and they were playin' Won't Get Fooled Again, but at the start, I mistakenly thought it was Baba O'Reilly.  Oh well, I won't get fooled again, I thought, then laughed to myself.  Hah!  Remember walking into window!   Why didn't someone wipe this window.  I thought it was a wall, you errant vindow viper made me look foolish!  Anyway.  Whatever.  What else is there to talk about.  Anyway, I made up some of the play money I lost yesterday in poker today.  These are the real issues.  And The Mets blew their lead.  I blame myself.  That's the logical way to react.  I hope no one ever blows their Led Zeppelin.  It'll float around here and there and fall/glide softly to the Earth.  I hope whatever who cares.  When I was going back into theater after smoking a cigarette, I showed them my ticket stub from last night.  And they let me pass through!  It was a story that I would cherish for years to come.  The one area where the theater near my house is better is they have real slightly-cardboard ticket stubs.  Here it's just paper.  Paper's no good for memorabilia!  Fuggedaboutit!  Is it called memorabilia if it's only memorable to yourself, or is that a term for the marketplace of items that are memorable to a whole group of people.  Some things are better left unanswered.  Not that, though.  I want an answer eventually before I die.
    Anyway, who cares.  This is progressing backwards, just like I wanted the movie to be.  That's Dipset for ya.  What does Dipset mean.  To leave?  That doesn't sound right.  A Rap group?  I'll go with that definition.  I know Dippin Dots, the astronaut ice cream.  Shouldn't astronauts have better things to do than eating ice cream?  Get to work, gentlemen.  In other news, who cares.  The one thing in the movie I took umbrage with was that people just kept throwing themselves at the main character to have sex with.  He's supposed to be a nerd.  Something doesn't Adderall up.  However, I did appreciate the gratuitous nudity.  If it's appreciated, is it really gratuitous?  Something to tap your noggin' about.  I've been here for eighty minutes.  Time flies by when you're a-regular.  Cause I really do need this Ritalin, and this is just how I'm supposed to be, probably.  Who a-knows.  Anyway.  I'm gonna miss my double bed.  Or, as adults would call it, a bed.  I gotta take my other pills.  Whatta joke.  Just because I want to control my symptoms.  Such is life.  Guess it's time to wrap it up soon.  I brought a blue rubber ball with me here for some reason, and on the first night, I lost it.  Behind the desk, or bed.  I don't have all the details.  All I know is the next tenant is going to have a happy little surprise for him.  That what hotel should do.  Instead of pillow mint.  Ball.  Joke.  Feh.  The fictional band they have in Dope is actually pretty good.  Listening to it, my thought process was like, I'm a real musician, is this real music?  ... ... ... Yup, it checks out.  I was trying to wonder if it was in character for each of them to do the music the way what they did.  Close enough.  Also, it's a movie.  Such is life.  I was approaching the movie, for the first fifteen minutes, like, When I was in high school, day dreaming about a movie about my life, this is more or less what'd it be like. Then things took some unexpected turns.  Still, pretty close.  I still have some notes from notepads from high school for movie ideas.  Like kiss girl at end, roll credits.  I'm a fuckin' genius.
    Anyway.  Shot of me on train.  My toilet seat here isn't really connected to the toilet.  I should have mentioned it when I first moved in, because now, they can blame it on me when I leave.  I just figured, make doo with what I got!  Hah!  Window!  I should be the scatological version of Crypt Keeper.  That'll make my parents proud.  I got a six second youtube view from The Netherlands.  The netherlands is what I call my genitals.  There was a moment near the end of the movie where I honestly thought it would end with it all just being a dream.  You know, like in Gremlins?  I'm taking a leap of faith in hoping that remotely makes sense as a joke.  At Home Movie Theater, once while getting my ticket, they had a dog with them.  And I wondered if I should make a Gremlins reference.  And I didn't.  It was a story I'll remember for years to come since then, so only about one more year left.  I saw what happened to the lady who complained about the dog in the bank.  She got shot up her staircase.  That's scary, I don't want that to happen to me.  I guess I could stop taking the wheelchair up the stairs, and walk.  But what am I, a chump?  Probably not.  One thing I intuitively noticed in this movie theater, if you're sitting next to a girl, with no arm rest in between, and she's reclining back in her seat, you gotta keep your seat at level.  If you recline back with her you're a perv.
    Alright, last paragraph time.  Well, probably.  I wonder how much calories you burn when you jiggle your fat.  Gotta be something.  Plus, you're embracing your reality at the same time, so it's double good.  Adele.  Psh.  That's no fun.  Put on Fall Out Boy, you idiots.  I never listened to Fall Out Boy when I should have, but now, I guess I have to associate it with music I did listen to it.  It's part of the rules of music, somehow.  I don't have all the details.  Same thing with Fall Out Boy.  I'm runnin' on fumes here.  My cigarette got burned-stuck to the plastic bottle cap.  That'll happen.  Where was I.  Trying to think of a similar situation to Fall Out Boy.  Death Cab For Cutie.  But I'm pretty sure I can still remain being indifferent to that situation.  Another paragraph to go for a complete double-entry.  Ever since the McDouble I've been a fan of doublings.  That's the Scots' word, I can't say that.  Also, boobs.  That's a thing.  Alright, you're going to see Inside Out last night?  Alright, you can come in.  Such is life.  Instead of showing him my ticket stub, I should have riddled him, "This is what you can say about what's goin' on right now, with me, and you, and the ticket stub... also reverse it."  Everyone loves a riddler.  That was part of the promotion for Batman Forever.
    Alright.  Great.  Ooh, the Netherlands view was on a mobile phone.  How wonderful.  Sorry, Won't Get Fooled Again phone.  Alright, anyway.  I heard something great from someone coming out of Jurassic World.  Better than Godzilla.  Right on.  One thing good about this theater over Home Movie Theater is they have Mr. Pibb.  I love 3rd-string colas.  Makes me feel like I'm livin' on the edge.  I don't like how they have you pick out your seat when you order the ticket, though.  I like going into a theater and being surprised by where I end up.  If Godzilla was real, and attacking America, it really would just be a case of justice.  That's some historical fiction for ya.  A case of justice.  I'm goin' to sleep soon.  I liked the Matthew Broderick Godzilla.  Its recorded VHS was relatively heavy in the rotation.  Anyway.  What else.  Probably nothing.  But, still gotta write a few more sentences.  Because I have creative OCD sometimes.  I shoulda made that Gremlins reference.  Damn.  Gremlin.  Ritalin.  Now we're getting somewhere.  Anyway, see ya later.

-11:11 P.M.                                                                                              


Thursday, June 18, 2015

There's More To Life Than Titles

    One would imagine.  Hello friends.  It's me.  I have three choices of what to do tonight.  Watch Inside Out.  Watch Dope.  A third thing, one would imagine.  This morning they came to my room to inspect windows.  My desk was covered with cigarettes and crap.  I said, "Can you come back in fifteen minutes?"  He was like, "... You're not supposed to smoke in there, if this was my supervisor you'd be in trouble, I'll be back in half an hour."  So I quickly did a rush job, cleaning up 95% of the evidence.  Then, when he didn't return after an hour and a half, I figured it was safe to résumé cleaning up and cleaned up 98% of the evidence.  Then, he came back, looked at my window, and left.  That reminds me of a Scary Story I Heard In The Dark once.  A woman kept getting frightening telephone calls saying, "I'm the viper, I'll be over soon."  Turns out he was a immigrant who wipes windows.  The moral of the story is don't trust immigrants.  And don't answer the phone.  Also, don't hire someone to wipe your windows.  How fuckin' lazy are you?  Also, don't keep calling with updates of how soon you'll be over to wipe someone's windows, or whatever.  I'll be there in ten minutes.  Five minutes.  Two minutes.  Yes, I have a solid understanding of time.  I can mostly tell how much time has passed by intuition. 
    One would imagine.  If I got written up for smoking cigarettes, whether I had to pay or not, I'd be in a real shitstorm of criticism from my parents.  Criticism of my parents is pretty much the driving force in my life.  That, and different kinds of Vitamin Water.  Anyway.  I had a dream I went to a Tarot card reader across the street from the one I went to where I didn't find anybody.  I remember thinking, Hey, that's convenient.  Too bad it doesn't exist in real life.  And, even if it did, I had to shell out twenty dollars for a new metro card.  I can't afford spending any money on frivolous activities.  Although it would be nice to finally find out what my star sign is.  Oh well, guess I'll have to spend my whole life wondering.  I feel like I should identify as a Capricorn, right?  Shouldn't I?  Or I should just not care and crap.  Palm readings where it's at. What did the five fingers say to the face?  Read my future.  That's more or less a joke.  Anyway, huh?  This entry sucks.  Not my fault.  Personally, I blame you.  Anyway, what else is crappening.  I actually talked to a girl outside class on campus for the first time ever.  She was in my English class last semester, and I knew it was her because her leg was injured, and she walked thug-like around.  You know, that sort of thing.  So I said hello to her, exchanged some niceties, whatever.  I'm not here to brag.  Although it turns out, I kind of am.  She asked me what I got in the class and I said, A-, and she only got a B+.  So, I guess it turns out I am here to brag. 
    I'm here to write paragraphs.  Let's get that out of the way.  That's my main priority in life.  The dorm is having an ice cream social next week.  I tihnk it's safe to say only the cool kids will be there.  If it's 2015, and you're at an ice cream social, something's gone terribly right in your life.  Hey, we're here ironically, right?  Oh, I'm not talking to anyone, because I'm the only one here?  Seems in line with the rest of my life experiences.  One would imagine.  If I had another ten dollars, I could see psychic about which movie to see.  Or, use it to watch both movies.  Like a sucker.  Anyway, what the what.  You're 31 Flavors of Damnnnnnnn!  That's right, I said it.  Well, yeah.  I think there's a high school graduation nearby.  I'm basing it on the high quantity of teenagers in graduation gowns around.  Still, one shouldn't jump to conclusions.  While I was walking by a group of them, I literally smelled teen spirit.  The smell of sweat and body odor brought me back to when I was in high school.  Anyway, wha.  Where does the expression, "Raise the Roof," come from.  Is that a Harlem Globetrotters thing.
    That sure moved me to a new paragraph.  I guess.  I remember in Ken Griffey Presents Major League Baseball, the only real player they had on any of the teams rosters was Ken Griffey Jr., because this was pre-licensing players for video games through the players unions.  And the Yankees had a really powerful guy whose last name was Harlem, and he was typically a bench player.  I guess he's not very good at making contact, but when he does, oh boy.  Also, he was white.  Good for them for being racially progressive, one would imagine.  But, yeah, each player was made to be like a real player, they just couldn't use the names.  Like, batting second for the Mariners, before Griffey, was someone with the attributes of a young A-Rod, but with a different name.  The reason Harlem always got my attention was because, I was like, "Whose this 40 home run potential player on the Yankees whose on the bench?"  Never did figure it out.  And you would always play as the Mariners, because this was during an age where both the Yankees and Mets sucked.  So might as well go with the mascot team.  And, let's face it, A-rod/Griffey/E. Martinez/T. Martinez, Randy Johnson as the ace.  Doesn't get much better.  Did Joey Cora lead off?  Probably. Did Alex Cora lead off?  Probably, if Joey couldn't make it.  Anyway, that's great.  I also had a Roger Clemens Game Boy baseball game, made four or five years previous.  That game was the pits.  Just real crap.
    Yep.  What else.  Let's see.  I don't wanna see any movie tonight.  But I have shit else to do.  Prep for ice cream social, that's all I know.  Practice thug walking in the mirror until people will buy that I'm a cripple.  Stop smoking in the dorm.  If I leave dorm next week, I would miss ice cream social.  But I don't want to justify anything, anything, by saying, "But I'd Miss The Ice Cream Social!"  That would be a bummer.  Anyway, what else.  I have things to write.  Don't know what yet.  Gonna be words.  Summer in several days.  That's great, just great.  This is crap.  Your fault.  Anyway.  Where was I.  What's crappening, that's right.  I forgot.  Killin' time, and stuff.  I'll probably see Dope.  I'm bankin' on the fact that they'll give out marijuana as a promotional event.  Or, that the movie will be good.  Probably that the movie will be good.  Anyway.  Still an hour or so to kill before leaving to watch Dope.  That's great.  Whatever.  See ya later.

-5:39 P.M.                            


Wednesday, June 17, 2015

You Mean I Could Have Been Talking To Myself This Whole Time?

    Better late than never.  Unless if it's about an unwanted pregnancy.  Chalk it up, Joke #1.  Ever since teacher changed the due date for homework 11 A.M. on the day it's due, to 9 AM, I haven't done it.  I guess I could get in the habit of being one step ahead, and still do it in the morning.  But that would require me doing two tonight.  What am I, Productivo?  Anyway, I just had to walk in the rain, like a chump.  Where's my Inspector Gadget umbrella?  I believe as an eight year old I was promised an Inspector Gadget umbrella, yet, still, nothing.  I also believe when I was eight, NAFTA was a thing.  Isn't that sort of what the President is trying to do with the pacific rim?  Oh, what a job.  Hah.  Chalk it up!  I could be 0-2 on the facts required to make that joke possible.  Oh well.  At least I'm starting.  You know what that means-- league minimum salary for me!  Anyway.  It's Tuesday.  That'll happen.  Where am I.  I slipped further into my 30 Rock induced coma this morning.  When, lo and behold, a character in the show slips into a coma.  Talk about life imitating art imitating life imitating Carlton dancing.  If everything in the world was just an imitation of Carlton dancing, we may just have a chance. 
    Anyway, what else and crap.  I don't know.  Sittin' in common room, like a pimp.  I like when teacher calls on me in class.  Mike, you look like you have something to say.  Yeah, sure, I know all about stuff.  ... Like, did you know they're remaking It?  Remaking what?  It.  Sorry, what?  Please, what's my father's name.  You can call me It.  Where am I.  Has any of this made sense at all?  I don't know.  I remember my first exposure to Judah Friedlander was when they cast him as part of the Project: Greenlight program.  He fought bats, or zombies, or sunlight.  I don't have the details.  I remember my last exposure to Judah Friedlander.  It was 30 Rock.  We can play the first exposure game all day.  I remember my first exposure was when the night I did cocaine.  I don't think I had whipped it out before then.  Too bad they didn't use Friedlanders first exposure to kill the vampires.  Assuming it was vampires.  It could have been rats, or beetles, or angry robots.  Apparently he had a small part in Zoolander.  Friedlander.  Zoolander.  I smell conspiracy.  There goes my synesthesia again.  I think the best part, besides the sex, was waking up in the morning with a girl in my bed, and I was like, Wha?  Huh?  How'd That Happen?  Although I knew damn well what happened.  I seduced her with my... good.. something.  I'm not sure.  And then, who cares.  Let's move on.
    Yeesh.  Diet juice drinks, mixed with alcohol, jeez, you can down a lot of that shit.  Got to make a pun today.  Mission accomplished.  There should be a movie about a guy who commits crimes, and finds a partner to help him.  Called, "I Found a Friend To Help Me Commit Crimes!: The Story of Carlton Dancing."  Anyway, where am I.  Right, right.  Anyway.   /\/\/\ Next day time.  Well, yeah.  Anyway, what's up.  Online class today.  The last week or so, around this time, a couple of hours after waking up, I have a pain in the back of my throat.  Something kind of like a cough.  I haven't found anything to shake it off.  But, yeah, I don't know if it's the drinking, or the Ritalin, or what.  It goes away after a couple of hours, though.  I'm out of groceries, like a chump.  That's the bad part about doing your own shopping.  On my way home, I feel great, I accomplished something.  Then, a week later,  Wha?  I have to do that again?  I already did it.  Where is justice.  Life isn't fair sometimes.  And grocery store isn't close enough for it to be convenient.  I guess I could do all my shopping at the Nathan's kiosk.  Except, over the summer, it closes after 3.  Where is justice.  So, so far, I think Ritalin has been good.  And I only abused it once, and it was just by taking one subliminally.  I do think a higher dose, though, would be more effective.  Then I'll really be able to abuse it.  Nah, once I tried the abusive way once, I realized, I don't need this, I can take it just as prescribed.  But a stronger dose would be better.
    Anyway, happy June 17th.  I wonder when they're gonna reschedule the floor meeting.  Soon?  I bet it's soon.  Ritalin.  My mom's name is Linda.  Is this drug suggesting I get rid of my mother?  How dare you.  I'll take it under consideration.  But, more importantly, how dare you.  Maybe it's suggesting I get cigarettes for my mother.  She'd like that.  One thing's clear, though.  I don't get to add 'er all up.  Not yet, at least.  I need to replenish my cigarette supply, anyway.  I've been using bottle caps as ashtrays when I smoke in my dorm.  I woulda taken my ashtray, but my Mom and Dad would be like, "Nooo, you're gonna get caught and pay five million dollars."  So keep that on the down low.  I know how often you talk to my parents, so, let's just hope it doesn't come up.  I guess I could buy an ashtray.  Like a chump.  I don't think I've had an interaction with my suitemate longer than two lines of dialogue.  One for me, one for him.  And that's fine.  One night I got to see a girl past sundown, that's more than I could ever ask for.  I was convinced girls were reverse vampires.  A.K.A. Jews.  I don't know if that joke makes sense.  I don't know if anything makes sense.  Has anyone noticed the similarities between vampires and gremlins?  Something's up there.  And the similarities between Jews and reverse vampires?  Yeesh.  I don't know any more.  The transitive property would suggest Jews are gremlins.  Great, now I have to Grem my Mom. Where is justice.
    Last paragraph time.  I don't know no more, and crap.  What the what.  I find whenever I'm dorming, whether it be now or seven years ago, I make my bed half-assed, and after a few days, the sheets are fully off, and I just don't bother fixing it, I like sleeping on a bare mattress.  It's not just laziness, it's preferable to me that way.  That's an interesting story.  What else and crap.  I think I accidentally threw out out my Jurassic World poster.  Now how will people know I'm ironic.  I think having the movie theater next to a Hooters is genius.  Now I associate movies with boobs.  They sure roped me in.  Like a chump.  I had a dream I went to the movies with someone, but I accidentally picked a seat that didn't have an available seat next to it.  And thinking, Crap.  That's an interesting story.  I'm pretty sure the calories listed at the movie theater concession stand are wrong.  A hot dog is not 700 calories.  I tried it, it was just a regular hot dog.  Nachos are not 1500 calories, even with cheese.  The only thing that's appropriate is popcorn.  Maybe they're really pushing the popcorn, for whatever reason.  I don't know.  See ya later.

-12:18 P.M.                   


Monday, June 15 2015

Just Think About How Many Trees Crazysheet Is Killing!

    I'm glad, trees had it coming.  Stupid converting CO2 into Oxygen.  Think they're so great.  I remember in Hebrew School there was a thing where you had to plant a tree in Israel, or something.  Like, mail them a seed or something, I guess.  They can't do that on their own.  I have the distinct memory, as a child, learning that it takes twenty or thirty years for a seed to become a tree, I was like, Fuck that, I don't have time for that shit.  Let's just invent robot trees that convert CO2 into Oxygen.  You know, air fresheners?  Whatta waste.  Where am I.  I slipped into a 30 Rock coma for about a day and a half.  Anyway, small talk with cute girl in English today.  Too bad there's only two more in-class session for the semester.  That was quick.

Damn Right I'm Gonna Act Like a Baby

    lI went to floor meeting.  There was no floor meeting.  I saved my second Ritalin fo the day and did three Klonopin for nothing!  Whatta baby.  But, to rectify not having friends, I'm just gonna drink all the drink I have left.  And write something great.

Can I Go Home Now?

    I have no home.  I'm like that guy from stories who goes, "I have no home."  Except this is real life, baby.

So Whatcu Got To Say?

    I made some good small talk with girl sitting next to me in English.  She's a little too Jewish, though.  Like, right on the edge of being regular Jewish and too Jewish.  You know, big ol' nose.  How supercilious of me.  That's a word that's oddly almost appropriate.  Also, she's legit smart.  Which is pretty cool.  Good thing we have a whole two more class sessions to further our relationship.  I don't have a relationship.  I haven't had a relationship in ever.  Well, romantic, never.  Unless if you count one sided ones.  Which I do, sometimes.  Friends?  There's no such thing!  Where did my life go wrong.  We talked about poetry today.  It's an English class.  I thought that was oddly appropriate.  My teacher looks a little bit like Amy Shumer.  Except, with streaks of blue in her hair.  My first huge crush, in high school, died the tail-end of her hair red, so that's a pretty good trigger for attracting me.  On the other hand, I accidentally shaved the hair parallel to my ears.  Gotta do sometihng.     

Any Jokes Or Shit?

    eYeah, I haven't even started on alcohol.  Shit, that means something.  Any jokes.  Even at my worst, most depressed, lovelorn, addicted to drugs and alcohol, I could still laugh.  Sounds cliche, right?  I know. 

Go On

    I still was in a world of frivalty and nothingness.  Things I shuold have been worried and concerned bout for down the line, I didn't care about, and things I was worried and concerned about added up to a shitbowl of nothing.

Shoula Gotten The Burrito, Not The Shit Bowl

    I don't know, if you're gonna eat shit, just get through it as quickly as not.  I'm not debating whether the tortilla would make it a little easier on the palate, but that's just so much more food to get through of.  Just go for the bowl and get it done. 

That Should Be the Counter-counter programming to Superbowl/Puppy Bowl

    How do you figure?  That's right, I'm turning the table on you.  Not so fun now, is it.?

Pieces of Shit Playing Football.

    They already have that, it's called the NFL!  *Zing Burp Fart Noices*  Anyway, I think NFL Blitz, if it was indeed in contract with the NFL, is genius.  Hey, when I play this, there's ten hail marys a quarter and the score is 300-279.  I guess that's what Football is like.  They trick you to get you on board early, and then it's too late to back out.  Is there any contigency plan if bowlers tie?  Gotta happen every now and then.  I was gonna say if both score 300, which would be pretty rare, but, even let's say both bowlers bowl a 229.  Whattado?  Tie breaker by playing NFL Blitz in the arcade section of the bowling alley?  Bowling is such a racket.  I'm convinced 60% of their profits come from loaning people shoes.  Anyway, and to rub it in, on my way back to my dorm, half, half, the rooms I passed by smelled of marijuana.  I coulda shared alcohol with them in exchange for the precious sticky icky icky.  Coincidently, that's probably why no one showed up.

You Shouldn't Do Drugs.

    You shouldn't judge people you don't know me.  You don't know me, you don't know me.  Besides, I'm on such a quantities cocktail of drugs as it is, one or two more added to the mixture would hardly make a dent.  Anyway, Do as I Do, Say What I Say.  That's a new children's book I'm marketing to really, really hands on and controlling parents.  My teacher is pretty cute, though.  And she seems to have a solid understanding of English.  If I had to give her a grade, I'd give her an A.  But rock ain't about the grades.  Who can tell me what it's about?  Getting wasted, scoring chicks, nope.  Sticking it to the man?  Yes!  But you can't just say it, you gotta mean it.  Anyway.  Now I'm the man.  I don't wanna stick it to myself.  Getting wasted is getting boring.  Scoring chicks?  I guess I can go to Scores the gentleman's club.  I'm of age, probably.  Don't have that kind of cheese, though.  Gorgonzola or nothing.  I may or may not have mentioned previously I seriously considered getting sex from someone on craigslist in NYU 2008.  Added their number to my phone in case I wanted to impulse call them.  I also added WFMU's phone number in case I wanted to impulse call Tom Sharpling.  Never did either, though.  Also, the one I added, she was like somewhere in-between full blown regular and full blown fetishist, with the fetish either being submission or domination.  I honestly forget which end of the spectrum she was on.  That wasn't as important to me as just be doing something.  Ironically, losing virginity to a prostitute would have been less traumatic than losing it to a girlwhileontoot.      

Puns Can's Solve All Your Problems.

    Yeah, but a good thirty, thirty five percent, right?  Good.  Can something be traumatic even if it was incredibly enjoyable at the time?  Probably.  Anyway, where am I.  My teacher lowered the due date from 11:00 A.M. of the day of the class to 9:00 A.M.  I guess I just have to hope I wake up early enough.  No other way to address that problem.  Because I'm OCD about my laziness.  Can't give it up one place, then the whole mosaic falls apart.  Hey, The Mets are winning by negative one.  That's a way to start the day.   

Puns Can's Solve All Your Problems.

    Yeah, I heard you the first time.  Where am I.  So far my bender has just been a couple of sips of beer, and white castle hamburges, a blogna sandwich, and now, popcurn.  In a world where food is drink and drink is food... hey remember Teletubbies?  ISo, I mena, at this point, I'd say it's a 70% chance I go home at the end of next week.  If I even had one friend to do stuff with, that would tip it over.  And I can see myself staying anyway, under some circumstances.  On the other had, who are you people.  I keep hearing Sweet Home Alabama.  I heard it in the radio on the way over here for the first time, I heard it in background in pizza place, I heard it on a walk, and I heard it on my way to get glasses.  The universe is trying to tell me something.  Most likely that I'm going to die in a plane crash.  Oh well, I had a good run.  Anway.  I also like it here, ahving two mattresses.  Sure, one is four to six inches higher than the other one, but as they say, variety is the spice of life.  Also, I don't think you can really get high from Ritalin unless you don't really need it.  And, since I think I actually do need it, that line... of... reasoning?  Is.  Wrong!  It took me a year to get to this point, though.  Because there's the stigma, OOh, he just wants it to abuse it or to sell to his friends.  Trust me, Doc, if I had friends, you'd know about it!  Also, it can possibly increase my psychotic symptoms Bismarck Rainstorm Reservoir.  That's a risk I'm willing to let somebody else decide for me.

What Else Ya Got 

    This was supposed to be my moment of triumph!  Can't stop me.  I've been having trouble keeping up with my rock memoir books.  When I'm at home, it's like, great, what fun stories, maybe one day I'll have my own life in music.  But, here, around other people, I'm like, If I can't even say five words to my suitemate over a month, how am I gonna have some kick ass rock stories.  Can't be done.  It amazes me the percentage of people who say they will liten to your music, compared to those who actually follow through.  Ten percent, maybe.  Five or ten percent, and that's being generous.  People are the worst.  Then again, it could be like that scene in Undeclared where Marshall does music at talent show, to show his parents he was serious about it, but they were in the john, and when he came off stage, and found out, he was elated, because he figured out he sucked.  One of my favorite parts from the 30 Rocks I watched was their allusion to the, "Green Week," which, I remember, was a real thing in like 2007 where all NBC shows spread the message of being environmentally conscious, and stuff, for a week.  And then they never brought it up again.  Good job, guys.  Mission Accomplished, and whatnot.

There Should Be a Rodent Themed Sequel Called Ferret Bueller's Day Off.

    I guess you can't argue with progress.

What's The Good Word

    Ooh, brain busters.  Cross over between Ghostbusters & Pinky & The Brain?

No, That's More In Response To Something You Said.

    Yeah, but we're a team.  I used to have a P.C. game called like, "The Lost Mind of of Albert Einstein," or, "Dr. Puzzle," or, "Quiz Master General," or something, which had a bunch of little games to test your neurons and crap.  I remember one had to do with trains.  Trains?  I love trains!  The good news is, the three klonopin/one Ritalin is a pretty good combo.  Until the kidney failure I'll be experiencing in 3... 2... 1... ... Hey, still alive.  How about that.  They're all pretty much the lowest doses you can get, so yeah, it's not that dangerous.  I can't stand these doctors who talk about good cholesterol and bad cholesterol.  How is that politically correct.  Some cholesterols are different than others.  Can't we just leave it at that?

Yes, Lets.

    30 Rock is like the Dick Van Dyke for my generation.  Also, Dick Van Dyke is a hilarious combination of words.  30 Rock is the third rock from the sun for my generation.  There, that's better.  Sometimes I think about what the next generation of comedian/comic actors will be like.  You watch these shows like Inside Comedy and they all have like the same influences and crap, and how they got started, and so on.  Who are gonna be the comedians saying, "I grew up on Conan and Patton and whatever."  I can't imagine that paradigm shift.  Needless to say, I'll be watching from the shadows, in my permanent room in Creedmoor, saying, That coulda been me.  Or, perhaps my illness will have bloomed into full-blown psychosis where I think I am that person.   That's me!  They've concocted a robot to steal my jokes and mannerisms!  Jeez, I hope I never get to that point.

I wonder if anyone ever tried pouring Bud Light on a joint and being upset nothing happened.

    Yeah, I guess.  I've still never been in my attic at home.  That's definitely on my bucket list.  I wonder why they call it a bucket list.  Probably because it rhymes with, "Fuck It," list.  That's actually probably accurate.  Makes more sense than saying, "I got all these things I wanna do, so many things, they fit in a bucket."  Doesn't add up.  I have cut my cigaretting down significantly, even though I do still smoke a little in my room.  Down from about a pack a day to half.  And I can hardly tell the difference.   

Those Klonopin Are Kicking In

    How can you tell, this is the latest I've been up in a dog's age. Dog.  Age.  I don't like those words.  Get rid of em.  Rock 'N Roll Ega is Daniel Johnston song.  Age Llorn Kcor.  In his age, he's lovelorn just like Kor'nblum.  Still not sure what an Ega is, but age lovelorn me fits a title of his song perfectually.  Summer 08-- Never Forget.  I forgot.  Too busy smoking.  For some reason I thought Mind Contorted was the most brilliant romantic song ever.  And the crazy rhythm in Crazy Girl was fascinating to my hopped up mind.  Love Wheel, Foxey Girl, Love Will See You Through.  What a great album to be exposed to at just the right moment of my life.  And I remember thinking, based on what little I knew about him, was, here's a mentally ill, probably slightly psychotic person.  But, to write those songs, he must have had a pretty good sense of self and what he was doing.  He just made it seem otherwise to the layman.

The Wendy's Commercials Are Un-Slutifying Wendy

    I guess they want a character we can grow old with.  We ain't gonna be young forever.  I like how Taco Bell's mascot was a dog.  What are they trying to say?  This tastes like dog food?  Or the food is made out of dog?  Either way, sign me up!  Yo Quiero Taco Bell.  Well, Yo Quiero una muchacha de la pinata a la biblioteca. 

     Ol' McDonald had a farm,
     Used Genetically Modified Organisms

If you're a comedian and you have to do jokes like that, I'm sorry for you son, I got ninety nine problems, but a bitch ain't one.

    Now you got my interest piqued.  Do an Oprah Winfrey special where you talk about your ninety nine problems.  I think it would capture the public's imagination. 

     Ninety nine problems of beer on the wall,
     Ninety nine problems of beer...

Ninety Nine Problems, Red Balloons...

        That one doesn't really work, oh well.  Well, you can go, Ninety Nine Problematic Red Balloons Go By.  Still works pretty much.  I don't think people in 1999 really appreciated the year turning to 2000.  I mean, sure, there was a bunch of historical programming on T.V.  Particularly on the History Channel, now that I think about it.  But, imagine, now, going from 2015 to 3016.  You'd be like, you'd say, emote, you'd feel like, Woah.  That went nowhere.  Anyway.  My iPods broken.  I cracked the screen a few weeks ago, then it started acting funny, and now it's full blown out of control.  I guess I need to get another one, like a sucker.  I wanna creative Nomad, for sentimental reasons.  Do they still make those?  I wonder of Franz Ferdinand or Feist ever got a cut of every iPod sold for their specific time periods.  That coulda been lucrative.  Anyway, see ya later.

10:20 P.M.    



Saturday, June 13 2015

I Get Ya

    Today, now, just now, earlier, recent earliyer, a certain amount of time that isn't now, but also wasn't so far in the past, I got Halal food.  The Halal Foodman quizzed me, "What animal doesn't want to be alone?"  Ooh, brain busters!  A popsicle stick joke!  ... "I don't know."  "Tigers."  Oh, they don't want to be a-lion.  I exclaimed with satisfaction.  No, Tigers Travel in Packs.  Lions don't.  Unsuccessfully, I tried to explain my response to the quizton, because, if he's asking this to a lot of people, they will mostly reach the same conclusion as I did.  No.  Lions fight Hyenas.  Then again, he gave me Halal Food, so he's not that bad.  I think it's these bad ass glasses.  People want to share their most prized knowledge nuggets with such an exquisite looking nerd.  Also, I feel 10% less awkward around people in public with the glasses.  The big frames cover up the endless sadness and tragedy that's concealed in my eyes.  I once heard that eyes are the windows into the soul.  I wouldn't put too much stock in that, though.  Shoe size is the window into the sole.  No, because sole is like Filet of Soul.  Lions don't eat souls.  I think, at this point in our history, we can safely remove lions from being kings of the jungle.  I know most humans don't hang around in the jungle, but, c'mon, we gotta be at the top of that food chain, no problem.  Also, we don't use the word jungle anymore.  Rain Forest is where it's at.  You fools.  Rain, Forrest, Rain!  Enjoy your chocolates.
I did errands today, like the alpha male that I am.  Want some mini-muffins?  II'm on it. Also, it was me who wanted the mini-muffins.  Well, not really.  I just impulse bought them.  Because I'm a sucker when it comes to grocery shopping.  Fell right into their tricks.  On the other hand, someone gave me a sample of some sort of beef or something.  Afterwards, I apologized profusely, when saying I still wouldn't be purchasing it.  Now, that's the response they'll get 90% of the time, so, no harm, no foul.  But it feels weird getting food for free. Well, that no one paid for.  I've been getting food free from my parents all my life.  I'm just rediscovering 30 Rock of Netflix.  How wonderful.  30 Rock was one of the first shows that triggered my symptoms.  Probably because I was high.  Too high.  I looked up ways to abuse Ritalin, snorthing it, putting it uner your tongue, shooting it, butt bumping.  The only thing I'd consider is the tongue thing, because it's basically what happens anyway, just sped up.  And, I'm on such a low dose, probably wouldn't make a difference.  However, when reading thiat, I got another great idea.  I'll try Klonpin under the tongue!I  Did it, and, eh, pretty much the same as just taking it. 
    That's one area of my life that they couldn't really address when I first got sick.  I could stop abusing drugs when there's no avenue to take them, or even, at home, because it's not that much fun to get high around your parents and be paranoid they'll find out.  But, once I'm back in the real world, where there are societal pressure to think and behave a certain way, you really gotta take stock in what your priorities are.  So, I might try the sublingual thing, but I ain't snorting, definitely not shooting, not freebasing.  And, it's sad, because a lot of the positive things in my life I associate with doing drugs.  Mainly, losing my virginity the night I did coke for the first time.  That'll mess ya up down the road, don't think twice about it.  And it's all wrapped up in what I considered my personal narrative at the time-- lovelorn, on drugs, wanting to do music, lovin' marijuana, music, and comedy.  I mean, when you add that all up, you see a person whose desperately looking for meaning or some sort of spiritual (non-religious) satisfaction in everyday activites.  I thought that's what being an artist was.  You live something, then you can art about it.  It's not 100% wrong, but it's certainly not 100% right.
    Anyway, gotta replenish my alcohol and beer supplies tomorrow, like a chump.  I think I've become a real tried-and-true alcoholic since moving in.  Like, I drink no more than I was at home, maybe even a little bit less, but it doesn't really do anything for me anymore.  I just do it to get even.  So, that's pretty crappy, one would imagien.  Well, I mean, not really.  Like, when I went home for two days, I didn't drink at all, and I was fine.  I don't need it to get well, I just keep drinking it because I'm an idiot.  Anyway.  After pretty smooth sailing of creating worth-while music for about a year, the last couple of months, I think I'm done.  But I justify it by thinking, "Well, that's a lot more music than any of you assholes ever did."  But there's a nice high you get when you create something that it slightly better than mediocre.  Anyway.  Still on the fence on whether to re up in a week and a half.  I think I kinda like it here, even without friends.  But, at home, there's less to worry about.  I do think the Ritalin is helping, though.  I can focus more on shit and crap and what the huh eh. 
    Lovelorn is a good word.  There was a time in my life, my adolescence and very early adulthood, lovelorn was pretty much my defining characteristic.  How far we've come.  How far.  We've.  Come.  Now, my main characteristic is thinking, "What the Hell is going on?"  The layman might have just used the word, "Confusion," but I ain't no lay man.  I did meet a girl named Lay in Hospital first time.  She was one of three, three, girls in hospital who wrote me notes in magic marker, with pictures, saying how great I was.  TTHey didn't even know me!  I gI guess mentally ill people are really good at intuitating others quality.  And I remember, her big point was, it had to do with The Killers, "Human," which was big at the time, and her final line was, "Are We Human-- Or Are We Dancer?"  Which was nice, and shit, but I got no time for this girl.  Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus and Miranda Cosgrove and Ariana Grande are lonely.  Ariana Grande is probably the most Hitler-themed name of popular women in that age group.  Next age group?  Ariana Huffington.  Next age group?  Adolf Hitler.  I wonder if perverts in the 1940's were really attracted to Hitler.  That's the way my mind works, sorry.
    Anyway, that took a turn for the worse.  How come things never take a turn for the best.  Doesn't seem right.  Hey, Mike, we're replacing your your-age suitemate who doesn't even go to Queens College with some 19 year olds who love Super Smash Brothers.  Now that's a turn for the best, in my opinion.  There's a floor meeting on Monday.  My mindset going into it is, "Be my friends, you jerks."  I hear you in there, walking the hall.  Listening to music.  Other stuff.  I know you're there.  Is it just me, or is anyone else curious what Jay-Z's 99 problems are?  Gotta be something.  What animal doesn't want to be alone.  I was all pumped for a clever pun or something.  Whatta let down.  I guess that's life with smart glasses is like.  People just sharing their smartest thing with you all day and all of the night.  I literally have four more in-class sessions for my class.  And I've only attended two.  That Sounds Crazy!  Anyway, I'm not gonna abuse drugs.  I've come too far, and made too much progress.  Like, well, hmm, ya see, it's different because, well, you see. Just gotta stick to the game plan.  Sure, the game plan is slightly elastic, that's fine.  Just stick to that, then.  I'm really starting to feel at home here.  It's been less than two weeks, but even when I visited my parents Thursday, and I was like, "Okay tomorrow, I'll go home."  It's just a pretty chill environment, with limited stressors.
    Also, everything the doctor does makes me feel like he's a pervert and is emasculating me for fun.  Stick out your tongue.  Wiggle it around.  Shake your hands back and forth.  But I gotta do it, so I can get my Ritalin perspection.  That's how life goes for some people.  And he just looks like a pervert.  And, let's face it, if you're gonna be a pervert, being a doctor who deals with mentally troubled young adults is like winning the jackpot.  Whatta life.  I moved on from being lovelorn to moving in with Lorne Michaels.  I mean, what?  I don't know anymore.  Who set up the camera on the first moon landing.  You see Armstrong steppin' down, saying some shti.
  Who set up the camera?  Obviously, there's a reasonable explanation.  But, no there isn't.  There's no explanation.  I demand answers.  Anyway, entry winding down.  Watch some 30 Rock.  Then sleep some shit.  Whatta joke.  I wanna go home and shit.  Not really.  Just some place that isn't here. Or home.  Or Halal cart.  Maybe Halal Cart.  Anyway, see ya later.

-8:54 P.M.    


Friday, June 12 2015

When I Grow Up, I Want To Be Just Like Me

    That's great, just great.  I don't get what the big fuss is about winning the triple crown.  Who needs three crowns.  What, you want two back-up crowns?  No one's gonna mess with you, you're wearing a crown.  One crown, all you need.  Anyway, where am I.  Right, right.  I don't have class today, like a chump.  I'm going home either tonight or tomorrow morning, on account of having to see Doctor.  I'm gonna ask him for some anxiety pills. Uh, uh-- anti-anxiety pills.  I first heard that joke on The Simpsons in 1962.  That's how I feel.  My iPod is broken.  It keeps telling me to listen to songs I don't wanna listen to.  I call it "shuffling."  I never signed on for this.  I wonder if Morgan Freeman would be a good dinner guest.  Alright, think of sixty more sentences like that, and I'm in the green.  I don't wanna think of things.  I never signed on for this!  The only two shows I'm missing that I wanna watch when I get home are VEEP and Inside Comedy.  Also, anti-anxiety pills.  Also, anti-ADD pills.  Hell, just give me everything.  Every thing is sure to balance every thing out, so it all adds up to zero.  I wonder if when they made Jurassic World, a producer who doubted the project said, Fine, But Jur Ass Ic On The Line!  Probably, then they all had a good laugh.  And traveled back in time to 1962 to watch some classic Simpsons.     
Ask not what you can do for your Simpsons, but what your Simpsons can do for this country.  Anyway.  I got three choices.  Se Jurassic Park at night.  Go home for night.  Fuck around here at night.  Oh, if Fucking Around was really an option.  A prime difficulty for fucking is, I was never good at reading body language or applying appropriate body language, but being out of the game for seven years, I don't know what's going on at allAll I know is everyone loves The Raconteurs and Forgetting Sarah Marshall.  Anyway.  This title's a lie.  When I grow up, I want to be Kanye West.  I heard in an interview he has synestheia, and that sounds like fun.  Or so I thought.  I just wikipedia'd synesthia, and not only is its so-called appropriate spelling not be accepted by Microsoft Front Page, the whole deal seems like a bunch of crap.  I wonder if Hellen Keller had synesthia, and just never knew it.  Probably.  That's how I feel.  I'm up to them making Tommy in my The Who book, but I haven't read that much in the past week.  Eric Clapton seems like a good guy.  Wait, no.  Pete Townshend.  I'm thinking about my other book.  Townsend Harris is in the back of the Queens College lot, here.  I could have gone there if I was smarter.  I remember freshman year, the first week, I had a Music Appreciation class with an Asian girl who was in my class from 6th-8th grade.  Pretty shy and reserved.  And, she must not have liked it, because after a week, she transferred to Townsend Harris. Jokes on her, though.  She never learned to appreciate music the way I did.   For example, Baroque.  Rococo.  20th century.  Impressed?  Where am I.  Gettin' new glasses tomorrow!  They're gonna be great, this is gonna be a whole new start for me.  Whose the guy wearing glasses?  I've seen glasses before, but damn.
Anyway, even if I do home tonight, it'll still be
Jurassic Park.   I mean world.  Park just sounds better, though.  My Dad would have liked that joke.  Well, the spirit of the joke.  It would take him twenty minutes to process it.  Anyway, what the what.  My Dad, he's said, sometimes makes jokes to his students.  I'm so old, I went to Jurassic University, and then whistles the theme from Jurassic Park.  Every time he tells me that, I wonder, Who outside my family really knows the theme to Jurassic Park by hard?  Also, my dad used to say, "By hard," instead of, "By heart."  True story.  I think he finally figured it out some way along the way.  What fun.  Anyway /\/\/\
    Went to see Tarot reader.  They weren't there, or just pretended not to be.  Even the don't know how to deal with my problems.  Instead, I'm gonna see Jurassic World.  More or less the same thing.  "Jokebox Hero" playing in Hooters outdoors.  I aughtta show them what a real jokebox hero is.  Because I'm an idiot.  Anyway, started Ritalin.  So far, so good.  Except it hasn't been that far.  Or that good.  Either way, took a selfie with E.W.  That's right, Sublime's Eric Wilson.  It was a pretend selfie.  I like a pretend life.  That's why I wanted to see psychic.  I can't make sense out of this crap, maybe him or her can.  Maybe She and him can.  It's my half birthday.  Give me cake.  You can't be half born.  Am I right?  Probaby not.  New glasses.  For a second, well, two seconds, I thought about going into Hooters for a glass of beer.  If I can't make sense of my problems, maybe Hoots can.  That seems right.  Yeesh.  Anyway, I lost my interest of what I was talking about, gotta problem with that?  You should, it's pretty problemson.  That's what I imagine Psychic would say.  I'm attracted to Psychis and rely on Hooters to fix my problems.  Oh, it's a world topsy-turvy, it is.  I've never seen either of those words by themselves.  Something's not adding up.
    Now, last ditch attempt at solving my problems, Jurassic World.  Good chance it will.  Anyway.  I look just like Rivers Cuomo looking just like Buddy Holly who looks like a fit Jewish Santa Claus without a beard.  Except my face has some chub to it.  If it weren't for that, I'd livin' be large.  Instead, I'm living large.  Oh well.  I had the thought for a Facebook post yesterday, "Sometimes I wish I Had Two Buttholes."  Interpret that as you will.  "You're pretty... interpretty!"  Good, that joke is over.  All I could ever really ask for. ... And the guy sitting next to me is a retarded perv.  He's a retard whose a pervert.  Or a pervert who is retarded.  I picked up a thing or two from our monthly meetings.  I picked up a thing or two on body language from when I knocked on Pyschic's door.  It's like jazz-- the music is in what's not happening.  I'm still amazes an owl themed restaurant is so relatively popular.  Do they serve owls at Hooters?  I'd eat some owl.  Oh well.  Okay.  I heard Jurassic Park was gonna be about the cast of Party of Five!  High Five!  Here's to references from twenty years aog that I don't fully understand.  Either way, double five.  I'll take those odds.  Huh?  Wha?  I guess I could make this the second half of the crazysheet entry.  Crazy Sheet Entry Part II:  The Crazening.  Wes Craven.  Cranberry Raisins, Ralph Kramden, Brayan Cranston.  You know how that goes.  Maybe writing this could be attributed to Tiralin.  I keep wanting to say Adderall, because it's a better name.  "Adder all up!  I can get behind a sentiment like that.    
    When I went to see psychic, I saw a sign that said something like, "primarily relationships."  Now seeing I have no relationships... problem solved.  I want my ten dollars back.  Also, get out of my house!  Huh.  If that was a paragraph, this is the fifth.  II drank a fifth of paragraph, dare me to drive?  Fine, just make sure it's on the left side of the road, you Italian bastard.  They're playing, "Summer of 69" on Hooters Radio Outdoors Radio!!!  High Five!  Up Top!  Also, it was Edie Wilco.  Eric Wilson.  That's all I got.  Eric Wilson knows all about what I got.  Another terrible joke no one will understand. Ender Wiggins.  Anyway, now I'm sitting across two high school nerds.  The one on the right is clearly the alpha nerd.  I think one of them said, "I am Mclovin," but real dejected-like, you know?  Eh.  Whatever.  How much screen time does Batman get in Jurassic World?  A lot?  Not so much?  They handed me a promotional poster for J.W.  I can it it up on my wall, and people will be like, "Mike, you must really like Jurassic World," and I'll be like, "Nope!" See ya later.

6:33 P.M.      


Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Good Idea

    That's right, good on ya.  The title compliments any and everyone in regards to anything and everything.  In other words, I'm a hero.  Plus, I got Halal food.  Plus, I'm gonna see the fifth movie in a theater within 8 days.  This is college, I'm here to party.  AKA watch movies by myself.  I did a Hero yesterday, because the way the seats are set up, it's 2 x 2 x 2 with no armrests in between the two, and I was sitting at the very end, and two love birds came about.  And I was like, "You wanna switch seats so you can sit together?"  A legend was born.  Also, it turns out Spy was hilarious, and even though we didn't interact, the girl I was sitting next to seemed to be in good spirits, which rubbed off me.  Then I rubbed off on her.  I'm a man, I have needs.  Then, she left halfway through the movie, which made me think, What if she was a terrist leaving a bomb.  Turns out I'm the real spy, Melissa McCarthy.  Also, after half an hour she came back and we laughed some more.  Also, I mispelled terrorist by accident, but that's how George W. Bush would have pronounced it, so I'm leaving it on.  Anyway, I'm seeing Insidious today.  The poster says, "This Is How You Will Die."  Boy, I sure hope not.  I'm sure that scares off some people.  Yeah, its just a stupid tagline for a movie, but you can never be too safe.  With me around, you can be too safe.  Hell, I almost considered taking her nacho tray and throwing it out the window, if theaters had windows. 
    Anyway, huh.  oh!  I met a rapper in my English class, and we got to talking, so that might be a music friendship (something more...?)!  Something more may or not mean sex.  I kind of hope it doesn't but you never know.  But he not only raps, he's putting a band together, or some shit.  They have him rapping, guitar, drums, base.  I was like, "Oh... oh.  I guess it's the life of a back-up singer for me!"  It turns out I can take any bus I want, anywhere I go.  Talk about a sight seeing adventure!  I keep sitting outside Movie Theater smoking my cigarette, thinking, Is there anything I can do creative or romantic or anything to win the favor of these Hooters' Girls.  Probably not.  Although, if they like seeing someone twenty feet away, looking in a clockwise direction to them, while smoking a cigarette and listening to his crap voice and guitar on iPod, oh, I'm your man.  There's a couple of cute girls in English class.  And I've made continuous eye contact with them with the primary motive of not being creepy.  The goal is to be insidious.  Whatever that means.  I get the sense it's horror-movie related.  I don't really wanna see Sans Andreas.  I already know what happens.  Cars crashing and falling into things.  Helicopters.  That's pretty much it.  Sounds like my social life.  Up top!  Maybe I'll save movie for tomorrow.  I got shit to do here.  Like nothing.  That takes up a lot of time, one would imagine, and crap.
    Yeesh.  Maybe I will see the movie.  Let's have a poll.  Yes No Yes Yes Yes No No No Yes Maybe No No No Yes Yes No Yes No.  Tally em up!  The No's have it.  I still wanna see the movie.  That, "Yes, No," crap was to decide if we have a poll or not.  And, apparently, no poll.  Suck on that.  I need to replenish my soda/juice supply.  Like a chump.  In my wildest fantasies, where I have a significant amount of money, my main joy would be from having someone do stuff for me.  Groceries, cleanin' up after me, laundry.  You know-- stuff you can buy machines to do.  Whose side are you on.  You know-- what my parents do for me at home.  I gotta clean up after myself, though.  Like a chump!  6/9.  Up top!  Got a good half hour before I need to go to movie.  Including cigarette time and make the Hooters regret their life decisions with ever single glance their way.  You get what you pay for.  And my tax dollars paid for that little enclave with benches I smoke cigarettes.  If God wanted to put a Hooters next to that, well, that's just Intelligent Design.  Sorta like Hooters waitresses.  I'm sure 60-80% of them are fakin' it.  Tit wise.  Also, congenially wise.  These ladies are dying on the inside.  Won't someone do something to help them?  I know.  Sit at a table, and when they come to get your order, just say, "Take a seat.  Today, I'm gonna get your order.  What'll it be, it's on me.  And then they punch you in the extremities.  Extremities is what I call penis.  Which would help them let off some steam, which was the point of this exercise.  Always gotta be one step ahead, am I right.  You can take my word for it, because I'm usually several steps behind.  Gotta be, to watch their Hooter asses.  What's Hooter's stance on asses.  CBS: Face The Nation, get on it!
Anyway.  That was written yesterday.  Today is today.  I'm pretty sure.  I saw Insidious yesterday.  I thought it would be a porn called, "Inside Us," boy was I wrong.  Online class today.  How delightful.  Anyway.  The mornings are the worst.  I just don't know what to do with myself.  Wake up, that's as far as I got.  Do homework four days a week.  If it's past 11:00, some jammin'.  Thinking about the hopelessness of my life and future, that takes up some time.  /\/\/\ I am home now.  Whouda thunk it.  Lets get comedying with it. /\/\/\ What was that point of that last installment.  No point.  Oh well.  I just spent an hour walking around the QC area.  You would not believe what I found.  Deli/Bodegas.  Chinese Food take out restaurants.  Dunkin Donuts, Subways.  Besides that, though, who cars.  Hey-- when I got back to dorm, there was sign for second floor (me) for a dorm meeting!  I took it to mean semi-informational, and semi-social.  The last time I went to an intruductory dorm meeting was fall '09, where I was obsessed with anorxicing/binging food.  And for the event, they advertised having cookies.  And I was like no way.  I can't be aroud that environment.  And listening to my roommate play, "If You Like It You Shold Have Put a Ring On It."  See, I don't take that to be a wedding ring thing.  I see it as giving someone a personal ring tone on your phone.  The ultimate committment, in my opinion.
And my opinion seems to worth a lot.  My parents listen to what I say.  In my last treatment plan, my therapist ranked me at 60/100 on Able to take care of one's self scale.  Better than average!  Well, feeb's average!  Suck on tthat, you feebs.  That's our word, you can't say it.  I hate seeing white people use the N-word colloquially.  If I was ten inches taller, I'd just go right up to them and punch them in the face.  As it is, the only action of offence I can give is blowing smoke in their face.  Yeah, they may not care about it at the moment, but if enough citizens like me take a stand, boom, Cancer.  Hey, it's the last chapter.  Paragraph.  Whatever.  Floor meeting time next week.  I better practice raising my eyebrows, as a flirting technique, immediately.  Can't hurt to be over prepared.  Unless if you neglect your other activates.  Then it can hurt, I guess.  Whatever.  Entry over.  See ya later.               

3:18 P.M.


Friday, June 5, 2015

Merry Christmas, Crazysheet!

    There's another pizza kiosk in bizarro-world cafeteria?  And it's open?  Things are finally looking up.  And, believe me, I know all about looking up.  Last week I was looking through my old Shel Silverstein book, "Falling Up," complete with illustrations.  Now, some of the poems can be disturbing, but the pictures are fucking terrifying.  That's probably what inspired my life long fear of poetry.  And of illustrations.  And of Sarah Silverstein.  She changed her name so it would sound equally Jewish.  Anyway.  Generally, I'm enjoying myself here, and the thought that it's even still possible I make Friend(s) (Parenthesis)...  Huh?  I realized I un-ironically like Entourage because it's just grown men acting like children.  That's right up my alley, so to speak.  I'm The Twenty Six Year Old Teenager.  I had a dream I had a chance to rectify not leaving a tip at Pizza Place, and left a two dollar tip.  That solves that problem, I thought.  Yeesh.  This pizza is different, but good.  All pizza is good.  Get off my back.  Yeesh.  Cafeteria is almost completely empty, yet I still feel pretty comfortable.
    Anyway, who cares.  Real, non-online class next week.  Time to fuck some people up by shock and awe-ing them with my supreme intelligence.  What fun.  Maybe I'll write Entry: Part II in Library.  Gotta keep moving, and stuff.  Or, go back to my dorm, and listen to music in the common room, with the front door slightly ajar, and imagine hall mates are listening to music and judging me.  I can't help it, I'm a social creature.  This pizza was pretty good.  I got no complaint.  at least not about pizza.  Who cares.  The Nathans' sign says, "Since 1916."  Who cares.  "Established in 1916?  I was on the fence, but now I'm in!"  Whatta joke.  Anyway, I'm still here.  Gotta do something.  They got NY1 on jumbotron here in cafeteria.  That was always on T.V. before elementary and/or middle school in my house.  Except no Or.  I should wear a shirt that says, "Since 1988."  You, or the shirt.  Me you rube.  If the shirt was genuinely made in 1988, it wouldn't be notable, every new thing then was made in 1988.  Ehh.  Ehh.  Ahh.
    Back in dorm.  Doing exactly what I said I would do.  D.J.ing it up for an audience of .5.  I'm the .5.  Everyone else is a zero, on account of there being nobody else.  What else and crap.  Anyway.  Forget friends.  I'm yards away from female people.  Plus, I get to crap in Queens College, which I've mentioned my favor for in past entry.  The ultimate pleasure.  /\/\/\ Dinner time now.  I'm eating a cup of noodles and listening to Sublime.  If not now, then when?  If not when, then why?  If not why, then I'm also finishing my chicken parm.  Anyway, yeah.  I went to super market half a mile away.  Becuase I'm a Man.  That's what the main quality I assosiate with manlyness.  I guess because, other than finanicialing supporting us, my father's greatest contribution to our lives at home is he gets the groceries and food.  Gonna be tough on him when Pizza Hut takes that over in a few months.  All Hail Pizza Hut.  That's what I take away from that movie.  I'm eating my free donut I got from Dunking Donuts because I'm no sucker.  Free food, great.  Oh, but you have to order a beverage to get it.  Why, umm, hmm, hummina hummina, yeah, I was gonna do that anywawy.  Hook me up with iced coffee.  The conceit o that is false, I would have gotten iced coffee anyway.  Just a little inside The Actor's Studio there.  I find most actors are liars.  Let's have a round table discussion.  At Medieval Times.  This was all just a ploy to get you to go to Medieval Times with me.
Anyway, huh.  At least this entry is almost over.  That, and my life.  II'm hangin' on by a thread.  I fuckin knocked over my can of coke on the common room rug.  What a chump.  Cleaned it up with towels, but still.  That soda seeped into the rug is gonna be my tell-tale-heart of the rest of the summer.  No escaping it now.  Anyway, I got some jalapeno potato chips.  Because I live life on the wild side, at least, per my dietary choices.  Sublime's inaugiral album is pretty weird.  There's a song called, "Date Rape," another song which sings about a Nazi, and a third reference.  Man, if I could make that my calling card.  The jokester who gives two jokes, and then, consistently said, "And... a third thing."  People would go crazy.  Well, I gues the third thing coul be the constant allusions to having sex with underage girls.  And, to be fair, I have no idea if they're just lyrics or not, so I'm gonna give them the benefit of the doubt.  I sing some crazy stuff too.  "I don't care, I don't care..."  Of course I care, you rube.  They do have a song called Burritos, and Chipotle is one of my favorite things that's a thing.  I wanna read that Judd Apatow penned paperbag from Chipotle.  I threw it out like a sucker.  That's like a time capsule of our culture from a few months ago!  Why am I still listening to Sublime.  This shoulda ended thirty seconds before it even started.  Story of my life.     
    Utz potato chips.  "When there's nothing else, there's Utz."  Pay me for marketing shit for you now, please.  Posting something to this website is a ringing endorsements.  Do you have any idea how many Nigerian Princes read this website?  Cause I do.  Hell, I'm even doing business with most of em.  All of em, now that I think about it.  Can't go into details, but, suffice to say, this is gonna pay off in a big way.  Music has been off for ten minutes, whatta rube.  How the Hell are people across the Hall going to be thinking about me if they don't hear me listening to Weezer over and over again?  Also, there's fifty percent chance the room across the hall is empty.  Don't tell me that, though!  Lalalala I can't hear you.  No, the truth is, under most circumstances, the probability would be against it, but I have seen/heard some activity there.  Girls?  Boys?  Girls and Boys?  Boys and girls?  Girl on girl, Boy on boy?  These are questions I do not have the answer for.  Anyway, what the what.  Near closing time.  Finally finished the bottle of rum I bought on my first night here Sunday.  We've been through some interesting times.  Closing times, Time after times, the Times of our lives.  Time to pretend, Time by Pink Floyd, Time by Ben Folds.  Time flies by Weezer, killing Time by yours truly, Time off by mine deceptively, running out of Time by Hot Hot Heat.  What does such an obscure and mediocre band have doing on both my lists.  Those assjerks.  All The Time by Greenday as well.  Alright, I give up.  Tap out.  Still on the fence, at this early point, on whether to re-up on June 24th for another six weeks, or not.  I got some time to see how it goes and whatnot.  Either way thanks for continuing to read.  It gives me something to write, and if I didn't have anything to do, I'd be pretty, pretty bored.

-6:39 P.M.     


Thursday, June 4, 2015

What Fun

    Hi!  It's dinner time, and you know what that means.  It's dinner time.  Pretty self explanatory.  I saw Entourage today.  Like a rube.  Then I saw Aloha yesterday.  Like a mark.  And I saw Poltergeist the day before.  Like a chump.  It's okay, it's helped me get acclimated to dorm life, spending three hours a day in movieworld.  Well, AMC Loews.  Movie World was literally the name of the theater I left behind.  I set up flyers where I could.  They wouldn't let me set em up at teh dorm, which was the primary objective, but they did say they'll keep a copy on the front desk, or something.  I was confused by their technical jargon.  Like, "You can't do that,"  "Go away," "Our job is to help you, but I just hate you."  What fun.  I saw a couple people moving in today, and got worried someone is gonna discover my super bed and feel like a jerk.  Anyway, Entourage and Poltergeist were fun, because there were other people in the theater.  Although, when you're seeing a movie with Michael, there's always other people in the theater.  Because I am multiple people.  Hell, I've even turned myself into, "You," in that sentence.  What a blatant abuse of narrative.  I don't think I'm multiple people.  Well, maybe two or three.  But that's it.  I've been eating like an asshole this week.  You know, to get acclimated to Dorm.  I got chicken parm from the italian place, and I waited and picked it up there, and when the receipt came for me to sign, there was room for a tip.  I panicked and went with my initial instinct, to not give them a tip.  On account of them not doing anything.  But, then, afterwards, I panicked, that I was supposed to give a tip, and I didn't.  And they think I'm a jerkhole.
    Anyway.  I got plenty of movies on the horizon to see, to.  I guess life is worth living, after all.  Where am I.  Oh, yeah.  Writing crazysheet is helping me get acclimated to dormshit.  The best part of Entourage was Haley Joel Osment.  I know that guy!  From sitting ten feet away from him during past Dinner.  Also, after seeing someone who looks like him ask for a cigarette outside the theater when Iron Man II ended.  I am supremely connected, is what I'm trying to say.  Movie connected.  Not mob.  The first rule of mob connection is don't talk about mob connection.  The second rule is always eat at Arties, he's friends with the Don.  The third rule is Johnny Cakes.  Where am I.  What am I.  Where am I.  Oh, wait, I already said that.  Also, at Dorm, it seems drinking has relatively little to no effect on me.  Either I'm always drunk in my head, or drinking does noting to curb my social anxiety, which is really what I'm after in a drug.  And my social anxiety means being anxious, socially, when no one else is even around.  That's the worst kind of social anxiety.  Because there's nothing you can do to rectify it, you just have to sit and stew.  Anyway.  Flyers put up.  The headline of the flyer is, "Hi!"  Because I'm an idiot.  Save the clock tower, etc. 
    I finished dinner, like a joke.  I'm stopping by homeville tomorrow or the day after, for glasses purposes.  I told you all about that earlier.  Anyway, huh?  Who actually likes Seltzer.  Who are these people.  Richard Seltzer.  Belzer.  Balzac.  Ball-zactly.  Where am I.  I had fantasies about working creatively here, without the crushing weight of being ten feet away from my parents at all times.  Turns out, my parents love me, and being without that unconditional love is even a heavier burden.  Nobody warned me about that.  Also, when it comes down to it, I'm an idiot.  A lazy idiot.  A lazy boring idiot.  No one wants that.  It was funny, putting up flyers.  Each building I looked for the cork board, put one up.  Then, if there wasn't a cork board, I was like, A real rocker would put this up wwherever he wants.  Turns out I'm not a real rocker.  I am terrified of authority.  I mean, what could they do to me for putting a flyer up.  They're not gonna expel me.  I just didn't have the guts to do it.  Well, once.  Outside the bookstore/student union, there's a stairway that goes to the basement entrance,, which is actually the main enterance.  And I put one up there, where there was nothing else.  Because I'm punk.  Don't mess with me.  I'll put up flyers all over the place, I don't give a fuck, brother, I don't give a fuck.  There's a Hooter next door to the movie theater, and they have an outside seating area, and, lo and behold, there were two Hooters waitresses waiting on people.  Why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free.  In other words, why would I pay to enter Hooters if I can look at Hooters from outside for free.  Terrible business plan.  Terrible.    
    AAlso, how is Hooters legal.  Seems like it's discriminatory in it's hiring practices.  How the Hell do they get away with it.  Maybe city hall is in the pocket of Big Hooters.  Yup, that must be it.  If I ran Hooters, every waitress would be an owl.  That's what I would do if it were up to me.  I'll have the chicken fingers.  Who?  No, chicken fingers, I read the book on the Who last night.  IIBIf you're gonna have to use an animal to re-enact a knock-knock joke, owls are almost certainly the way to go.  Either that, or a slide whistle.  Which is apparently an animal.  I was talking about musical ability in our family to my Mom last week, and her father played the Harmonica a little.  And she said, "Oh, he was better than Bob Dylan."  You do realize that Bob Dylan is... Bob Dylan... right?  Your father muckin' around, sorry, I'm just not buying it.  She qualified it by saying, "Oh, but Bob Dylan isn't known for his harmonica playing."  I could give a fuck.  He' still better than some stupid grandfather of mine.  ANyway.  I think you can tell a lot about a person if you bring them to a hooters.  When he looks, how he looks, etc.  I remember thinking, "Well, I'm not gonna stare, that's what everyone does, I'll just glance here and there."  Not realizing That's exactly what everyone thinks, and they still completely associate you with every other pervert, which is what you were trying to avoid.  Well, not everyone.  Just any pervert whose on the same level of me.  And being on the same level as me, in this case is ideal, because it's right up to the Hooters.
    I'm short.  That's the fun part of that joke.  Whatta joke.  One would assume.  Where am I.  When am I.  When Yer June Fourth.  There's a decent, thirty percent chance I get one response from the flyers.  I'll take those odds every day of the week.  Unless if I have to put money on it.  I mean, I'm not crazy.  Today was a productive day.  I did a lot.  One would imagine.  Anyway, waht the what.  My plan is to play guitar nonstop, Liam Neeson Style, so, if someone does come to my door looking to jam (I gave my room number in the flyer), they'll be like, Man, this guy does nothing but play guitar, like a rube! Whatta suckers.  Also, are you a niece, or a son?  Make up your mind, am I right!!!  Probably not.  Oh well, gotta do something.  One would imagine.  I've cut my smoking in half, from a pack, to, let's see, I don't know, you do the math.  I wanna say, two-thirds of a pack?  Either way, good on me.  Me and Big Poppa Whoppa were two thirds of a pack.  Mad Dawgs are on the prowl!  Anyway, see ya later.

-9:20 P.M.       


What The Hell Is Wrong With You Millennials

Wha?  Huh?  Look, I can understand if the music I like isn't the most popular music with people eight years younger than me.  But, you, you, you're way off track.  iTunes shares certain people logged into the networks library.  Holy shit, what a let down.  Not one of them liked The Uppers!  That's my favorite band, and no one seems to care.  The good news is, there's a Nathans in the student cafeteria a stone's throw away, and I've been eating fish sandwiches like a mother freaker.  It's like any other type of sandwich, but with fish.  I can't describe it any better than that.  I have online class again today in an hour.  Goal is to get this entry done by that.  Also, to figure out why people like Justin Bieber and One Direction.  Eh.  I have my whole life to figure that out.  Let's just work on the entry for now.  I mean, I knew they were popular.  I just figured when their fans turned thirteen, they might start looking for some new music.  It doesn't matter.  I got a new Queens College ID, so I can have access to the library, so I can have access to the printer, so I can print things.  Printing things?  I can't think of anything more fun.  Scripting things, maybe. 
    Anyway, wha.  I'm pretty much enjoying myself here, except for the mornings.  I wake up and just have no idea what to do or what's going on.  But, yeah.  So far, no friends.  But there's still a ways to go.  The people in Internet Class are okay.  I got to make a few puns that in a normal classroom environment I would have kept to myself. Some people even said, "Ha-Ha," or, "I appreciate the puns."  That's the most validation I've gotten in a decade.  Anyway.  The pizza shop in the cafeteria is closed for the summer, but I saw Santa Claus guy working at another kiosk.  Good for him.  When one door closes, another kiosk opens.  That's what I take away from that.  Anyway.  I'm gonna be goin home for the day one day this weekend to get new glasses.  Eye glasses.  Although, now that I think of it, I could use some glasses for liquid.  Let's double up on the glasses, is what I'm trying to say.  Anyway.  Even though I haven't been able to duplicate my adequateness at music here, I'm still gonna put up the flyers.  As a desperate attempt to meet people.  And if there's anything I'm gonna make a desperate attempt at doing, it's gonna be to meet people.
    That's how I feel.  Probably.  I already forget what I said, and if it makes sense, and if it's how I feel.  My suitemate had a girl over last evening, and just being fifteen feet away from a girl, in the place where I live, man.  I'm outta my mind.  Probably what inspired me to  write the entry.  Either that or watching Aloha in movie theater.  I'll see that.  I'll see anything.  While in the lobby, I overheard the workers debate which movie will come in first in box office over the weekend.  The one instigating the debate said Insidious.  Another say Entourage.  Me?  I say Titanic.  It has a proven track record of succeeding at box office to the greatest extent possible.  It would be foolish to count it out, and so on and so forth.  I don't get why chain food places have menus on HD-TV.  Does that really make people want to eat more?  I mean, it must, otherwise they wouldn't do it.  Well, I just negated the rant I was about to go on.  Let's move on.  Anyway.  The only things this place is missing is a Chipotle an a Chick-Fil-A.  Also, a shit load of other things, not the least of all, other people.  But, mostly, Chipotle and Chick-Fil-A.
    When ordering my food, I saw a fly fly on my fish sandwich.  I was like, eh, whatever.  I've got bigger fish to fry!  Ha!  Ha-ha!  How big a fish can you fry, really.  There's gotta be a size limit for your frying device.  Let's get real, and whatnot.  I'm feeling cautiously optimistic about flyer inducing friendship/music-friendship.  There's gotta be more people like me out there in dorm.  And ones that don't have Justin Bieber and One Direction as half their iTunes collection.  Anyway.  Internet Class in an hour, then I can go print out flyers, and then hang them up on each floor of dorm outside elevator.  Anyway.  My second guess for Box Office domination is me getting my glasses.  Assuming they're filming that, that's something people would pay to see.  Lord knows it involves me paying to see.  Bingo bango bongo.  Ringo.  I can't see or hear or think about Ringo Starr without thinking of a story my Dad wrote as a kid, called, "Rick Starr and the Plutonians."  Also, Martin Starr.  Whatta geek.  My Dad was such a rube, thinking Pluto was a planet.  I assume.  I hate flavored sparkling seltzer water,  Still, every six months or so, I get it, thinking, "Nah, me not liking it is in the past, I'm gonna like it this time."  Because I'm a delusional.  That's the definition of insanity, it is.  I can see Spy this weekend.  I've talked before about how much my Dad liked Melissa McCarthy in Bridesmaids, but it turns out all other things after that he didn't like.  So, I want to say thank you to Melissa McCarthy, for letting my Dad down as much as I have.  Takes some of the burden off me.       
Anyway, duh.  I saw fingernail on the floor in the hall and I instinctively thought about putting it in my mouth.  That's about where I'm at in life.  /\/\/\/\/\/\ It's now an hour later.  Don't know why that symbolizes the passage of time.  Better not to question things you don't want to know the answer to.  I wanna know the answer to that.  You think you know, but you have no idea.  Anyway, it turns out Online Class isn't till 2:30, so I took the time to mosey on over to Library and print out 10 copies of Flyer.  Techniqually, while I see flyers in every other building, I don't see any here in the dorm.  So, is it allowed?  I don't know.  Only one way to find out!  Ask my conscience.  Dear conscience, is it okay to flyer up this crapjoint?  Yes, you should have gotten started on it sooner.  Alright!  Thanks, conscience.  Katch you on the flip side!!  Don't forget to take a flyer.  We learned that from Back II The Future lady.  Yeesh.  It's 6/4.  I knew 64 meant something, and after twenty seconds, realized it was the Beatles.  Another story my Dad wrote, I think the first one he wrote ever, in second or third grade, without giving away his first name, was Dada Kornblum & The Boy Scouts Go To Africa.  "Were you even in the Boy Scouts, Dad?"  "No."  Anyway, can't end of that note.  Gotta end on an E minor, or a D+, or an AUY.  That's from a license plate I once saw.  I find that license plates will be the artistic legacy our generation leaves to the world, right?  Something like that, I don't know.  I can't think right now, I got class and crap!  See ya later.

-2:12 P.M.      


Wednesday, June 3, 2015

I Guess I'm Still Doing This For Some Reason

What's up riends + F.  I am in college!  It's goin' okay.  Could be worse, could be better.  Could be the same.  In fact, the probability that it's the same as it is is astoundingly high.  I'd say closing in on 100%, if I were a betting man.  One of the biggest differences is music sounds different.  Even my own.  Especially my own.  I just find myself getting lost in little knooks and crannies I would have otherwise over looked, or thinking about things in a different way.  I think I hate music.  Make up your mind.  Stop being so ambiguous and crap.  It does help me, though, when analyzing poetry.  This... could mean... pretty much anything.  A+ please.  I really hate it when the teacher, of all people, talk definitively about what a poem is about.  This is about romantic love.  What a rube!  I should be teaching this class.  Hand over your clothes, and lemme buy a six pack of chalk, and let's get busy.  But, still, whatever.  Haven't made any friends yet, and the dorm is pretty unpopulated.  I was worried that might happen.  Mostly because that's what they said would happen.  But I guess I let myself get caught in up in fantasy land.  Either way, it's nice to be on my own.  Feels like seven years just disappeared below my feet.  Also, movies!  To kill time, I went to see a movie today nad yesterday.  The theater has fuckin' deluxe seats.  Reclinable and all that jazz, you're practically lying down.  I don't like presenting myself in that fashion to the movie.  I feel like the film is about to fuck me or something.  Also, jazz.  I don't like all that jazz.  In fact, I don't like any  of that jazz.  Or any jazz.  In fact, I don't like anything.
    That settles that.  My suitemate is my age, working at a hospital or something.  That's good-- makes me feel like less of a creep.  Unfortunately, I haven't met one female.  So far, my classes have all been online, which makes my decision to dorm for convenience laughably misguided.  Which is fine, in general, I'm fine with being laughably misguided.  At least I'm being funny, in a cosmic sense.  Sometimes the person at the reception desk for the dorm is a woman, but I can't make friends with them.  First it's friends, then, sooner or later, they're gonna wanna know what's in my book bag. Spoiler Alert-- It's alcohol.  Anyway, I hit a block in reading my musician biographies.  It coincides with me realizing I'm terrible at music.  Gotta comedy it up, then, I guess.  Gotta leave my mark on this world, somehow, right, and not just in my carbon foot print, which is a phrase I heard once or twice.  I don't see what the big deal about using oil is.  Sure, it'll run out eventually, but might as well make the most of it while we can.  Then, when it's gone, we can say, "Well, we had a good run.  Let's go back to living in hollowed out mountains.  You know, like our predecessors did.  It is kind of nice not having a T.V.
    Anyway, what the waht.  I gotta admit, I'm pretty good at bullshitting that I'm smart at English.  Even this class, what with the antiquated language, half the time I don't get what's going on at all.  Still can knock some comments out of the park.  I gotta admit.  Yeah, that was real big of me, admitting a positive fact about myself.  When I saw Poltergeist yesterday, it was in 3-D.  Finally a movie has decided to include me.  That's what I've been waiting for all mny life, when it comes down to it.  Also, whenever someone interacts with me, they're coming down to it.  It being me.  Or Adams Family.  Or Stephen King clown.  Or freeze tag.  I guess regular tag too.  Regular tag is a snore.  Freeze Tag, now that's a game.  I can be frozen?  The stakes have been raised.  Pun involving, "stakes," and, "steaks."  You figure it out, what do I look like to you, some pun figure outterer?  Quit your complaining, we all got problems.
    Hey, fourth paragraph shit.  I'm living in a double room, but I have no roommate.  I came up with the great idea to combine our beds into a super bed.  Unfortunately, one bed is four inches higher up on the other.  I'm keeping it that way to maximize room space, but it's pretty awkward sleeping in the middle of it.  Just gotta make up my mind each bedtime, do I wanna sleep on left, with sheets, or right, a few inches higher, with no sheets.  Choices, right.  Always good to have choices.  Anyway.  I thought of making flyers looking for musicians to jam with, to post on each floor outside the elevator.  I even include the line, "Or just wanna hang out..." because, now that I realize I'm the suck at music, I just wanna use this excuse to weed out some possible friends.  Also, I've gotten better at singing.  I think if I figured things out, I could be an adequate singer.  Same with lyrics.  All my lyrics to this point aren't great, but I just feel I have it in me do achieve adequateness in that arena. 
    Hey, entry almost done and crap.  I did it!  I'm a special!  June, huh?  Halfway there to 2016.  From 2015's start.  Halfway to 4300, from Christ.  That'll be weird.  Maybe by 4300 we'll finally get those 3-D Jaws promotions.  You know-- all the future has to offer?  Better technology for movie advertisements?  Crazysheet, by that time, will be a self aware entity that does crazy shit for no apparent reason.  That's what makes it crazy.  And the poor quality is what makes it shit.  And both aspects combine to account for the misspelling of shit as, "Sheet."  Anyway, this went too quick.  Whattamisupposedto do when the entry is over.  Why does 'do,' of all words, get its own word.  Quit questioning me, you hack!  Crazy Doo.  Anyway, almost done.  This was astoundingly almost mediocre.  Whatta achievement.  Whatever.  Anyway, the point is, it could be better, could be worse.  And almost definitely can be and is the same.  Also, I started wearing my old contact lenses.  Who cares that I only have the contacts for my right eye.  I'll double up right eye contact lenses, pop one in the left eye.  No one'll be the wiser.  See ya later.

-7:58 P.M.