Get Behind Me, Santa!
So, I had to write a paper for Public Speaking. It's a pretty stupid paper, critiquing somebody else's speech I heard. Stupid topic, not stupid coming out, because I think I did a real bang-up job. Would you like to know why? Why, I'll tell you exactly why. Because I took an Aderall (I always thought it was Aderol. Sounds more clinical and less phonetic). Anyway, I banged that shit out in about 4.5 hours, which is pretty amazing, since I procrastinate a ton with stuff. Oh, and it's not due until Tuesday.
You see, if it wasn't for the social semi-wierdness, this would really be a drug I could abuse. Aw, fuck it, I could abuse it anyway. I could probably abuse any drug. But my point is this: I saw Thumbsucker, and though he did get really good at debating and convinced his teacher Vince Vaughn to buy him a six-pack (which, as an aside, I don't care how small or inexperienced you are, is NOT enough to get a 15 year old guy and three 15 year old girls THAT drunk), he had awkward social tensions. Also, later he starts smoking a ton of weed and getting with that really hot girl (who doesn't love him and just wants experience, THAT'S really awkward). So, basically, that coupled with the fact that when I went to the bathroom while writing my essay, I was so effing fucking wrapped up in trying to think about which logical and emotional proofs this dude in my class had used to defend BC's football coach (yeah. don't say it. I fucking know it. WHO GIVES A SHIT. but the dude's actually from Rhode Island, or so he told me after I gave a totally bullshit speech paying tribute to my high school track team. but he went to LaSalle, so fuck 'im). anyways, a few of my roommates and their girlfriend (they share her collectively, I guess) were playing Wii-Bowling (which is super-fucking-fun) and remarked that I should play. Not to get all robo and shit, because it wasn't nearly that intense, but I had to contemplate social norms and what I should say for a sec, since I was utterly wrapped up and really overly enthusiastic about my shitty (topic, not quality, because I pwned it) paper for public speaking. but this was clearly all in my head, and they thought I was really tired or distracted or stoned or drunk or Alex.
bee tee dubz, I'm still totally feeling the effects of this drug. can you tell?
which is pretty cool. cool that I still am, since Jim warned me I would for a while and not be able to sleep. S'kool, I don't have class until 11 in the AM. cool, because it's cool, like cool-fun. I sort of enjoyed writing my paper. and then I looked at pictures and testimonials about the Ladd School in Exeter, which is really cool and creepy and unsettling to me in this really primeval, indian-burial-ground pre-european north american kind of way. also cool, because as fun as this is to write (and let me tell you, it really and truly is), it will be 10 times more fun to read tomorrow and hear about (if they actually read it) from the small handful of people who read this.
i think the point i was trying to make earlier (and please excuse my inconsistent capitalization...capitolization? capital...) was that I would totally understand where she/he (retarded aside #5467: almost was gender specific with that doctor-pronoun and wrote he, which is bad: for gender in general, for me, and for women. because like Michael Richards [and some shit that Matt C. said last night] proves, not wanting to be discriminatory is as prevalent and bad and awkward as being so. just because you don't think you're a racist [*koff* Kramer] doesn't make you not one). anyway, the doctor - he/she might have prescribed me Ritalin or Aderall or whatevs-ja and I would probably understand. because I totally have a lot of ADD/ADHD symptoms, though i'm sure a lot of people do/did. I think both a willingness to overcome social awkwardity/distraction etcetera coupled with the lugubriousness (wow, that's actually a word and spelled correctly [though according to OED it means the exact opposite of what I thought it did]) of alcohol, marijuana, robotussin, etc. my point is this: some people, and I feel that myself is included in this, have the ability to overcome twitchy, spastic ADD stuff. I also truthfully feel, and this might be textbook definition unhealthy, that drinking and smoking and robotripping have significantly benefitted by mental outlook, capacity to socialize, and altogether mellow (for the most part, and only recently) ness. my mom (and this is taken with the largest conceivable 'dur i rebel against my parents and think they say gay shit and don't get life' grain of salt) always says that her family would be significantly mentally ill, unstable, awkward, etc. if not for the fact that they drink. kind of a lot. in social settings, not, like, 'what a fackin' hahd day at work. get me a fackin' beah, honey.' that's my uncle mark, i guess. although they all kind of talk like that. except for my grandmother. like they're from rhode island, not like they order around their wives.
come to think of it, and if you've followed me this far along, gentle readers, fucking kudos. i'm barely keeping up. so come to think of it, the women in my family all wear the pants, for the most part. not that the men are pussies, nor should they be or not be. but i guess there are a lot of strong female personalities up in there. not that there aren't some strong male ones. but with the exception of my dad, who swings around his symbolic genitals only as far as they don't piss my mom off, i would say women get last say in my extended family. so what the fuck am i talking about? you tell me, I'm the one who's on Aderall and thought it would be a good idea to write pages of nonsense on a livejournal nobody reads at quarter of 3 on a sunday night after writing seven pages of introductory level communications bullshit.
ok, so concrete...concrete...well, let me look to my livejournal inspiration. let's see...sporadic posting with non-sequitor musings on life...Jim, check...oh! a recap of events this past weekend...I didn't forget about you, Zach. and if either actually read this far, the two of you will probably just mention it to each other and snicker (snigger?) behind my back...
ok, so friday...oh, we played a shitload of wii-bowling. what else is new. as far as artificial stimulants for friendship/camraderie go, the wii is bang-up for me and my roommates. somehow, inexplicably, a little bit drunk, I set the wii-bowling record with 220. cool, i guess. then the supposedly-bonster bash but ended up being a cool/weird/stuff potowomut shindig with guests took place at zach's after the sharps concert which features all songs from my junior high school days. in attendance from the Poto-Platte (sidenote a million: when I was little, and riding my training-wheels bike, my dad said I could stay anywhere on the platte. like, no uphill or downhill, just the small area bounded by heightened or lowered elevation. why the fuck would a little kid ever know that word? couldn't he have just said, don't go past this street? anyways...) included the fieldings, the butzbachs, 2/3 forsberg-laries, the minor griffith, major (will), jim, cool matt (formerly fucked-up), and other people that are irrellevant. highlights (of not the sharps) included the first ever Older Brother Vs. Younger Sister Butzbach-Forsberg-Lary World Supremacy Beer-Pong-A-Thon(g?). Brothers almost lost, but pulled it out in uber-drunken fashion at the last minute. Hallelujah.
...um, um, quick! Leonard Cohen songs that we had a drunken sing-a-long to that night? oh! oh! Chelsea Hotel #2! no wait, that religious one. i don't remember the name of it. anyway, we also rocked the fuck out with irish jig songs whereby jim and zach instrumentalized, ross and i contributed retarded verses, and all fucking 11.7 of us drunkeddedly screamed a rousing, "hearts, stars, and clovers...." y'know, the whole potato-famine thing. then we played charades. whatever.
oh, and so then, saturday?...ah, filming a screenplay that zach wrote. starring matt and jess. probably already heard about it. because if you're reading this and you're not named Alex or Phineas (a separate peace, ba-dum cha!) you were there. but it was fun. and freezing. and i guess not being a smoker but smoking cigarettes keeps you warm. i tell myself that. my favorite parts were when jess called matt out on something that LITERALLY just happened. although that may have been part of the script. oh, and jim whispered hilarious stuff (wastedly) into the mics that i was headphone-listening to, stuff about people walking by. what a dick.
so then today, jim and i played a shitload of zelda. it's a one player game, but jim needs all the help he can get, since he has this chronic spatial geometry problem where he thinks he's looked a full 360 degrees around a room but only does 3/4, TOPS. roommmates matt and paul helped. then i made shake-n-bake. nobody fucking helped. oh, jk bee tee dubz, it was ramen. it was good.
so, i've been writing for a really long time, and as per the Aderall, it seems like nothing. and really fun. so i'm not going to stop until it is no longer fun. for me, that is. if you're still reading, well, then, let me reveal to you a secret: it's not in Bill Carson's grave, it's in the unmarked grave NEXT to Bill Carson's. Sorry. little italian cinema joke for you.
hmm...what else is irrelevant?
ah, so here's a funny story to stick in your Kramer pipe and smoke...i was using the toilet in my dorm room for numbers one and two, and i placed the Entertainment Weekly i had been reading on the shelf above my head. i was reading the E-Dubs because i've been getting it free for like 2 years after buying a bunch of DVD's at best buy. i don't feel the need to justify reading such a hardcore mainstream rag like EW, though maybe I subconsciously do. you know, to maintain that thin, shimmering veneer of indie, artsy street cred i continually polish and try to play up day in and day out? although, that's relative to BC's student population, so compared to the world at large, i'm a gay-bashing, free-market, toby keith truckdriver with a trust fund and a hard-on for killing me some A-rabs. anyway, i was searching for some toilet paper, since for some fucking reason it's been dissapearing. i bought a bunch less than a week ago and it dissapeared. so i'm looking around for the ol' TP when i knock over the magzine, into the unflushed toilet. as i see mel gibson's creepy, masochistic face with the barest hint of hope in his eyes as he thinks about how to mutilate aztecs rather than messiah's shimmer through the amber dew that i'd just mictorated, all i could think about was how i'd never know if John Stamos felt he had the fame he thought he'd one day achieve when he was padding the cast of Full House o-so many years ago.
so i threw it out. the end.
well, i'm not really tired (and Aderall is basically just amphetemines), but i've gotten to the point where this is just stupid enough to stop writing but seems just brilliant enough to click 'update journal.' i suppose the next time we speak, i'll once again have the attention span of coked-up hummingbird, and you'll have the dignity to never speak to me again.
keep on takin' er easy for all us sinners.
BTdubz: so i'm reading this entry right after i post it because...because of boredom and Aderall? and so i'm reading my posts from the summertime, and I think to myself 'What the fuck was wrong with me!?' i guess i'm pretty uninteresting unless i have ulterior (alterior? alter-ego?) motives in terms of substances. because i like the ones where I robo'd the fuck out, and I like the weird foreign picture one, where I was obviously hitting my crack pipe pretty hard. but other than that, remind me never to write this shit unless i've got floating free-radicals in the ol' bloodstream. or something like that. you know what to do.
You see, if it wasn't for the social semi-wierdness, this would really be a drug I could abuse. Aw, fuck it, I could abuse it anyway. I could probably abuse any drug. But my point is this: I saw Thumbsucker, and though he did get really good at debating and convinced his teacher Vince Vaughn to buy him a six-pack (which, as an aside, I don't care how small or inexperienced you are, is NOT enough to get a 15 year old guy and three 15 year old girls THAT drunk), he had awkward social tensions. Also, later he starts smoking a ton of weed and getting with that really hot girl (who doesn't love him and just wants experience, THAT'S really awkward). So, basically, that coupled with the fact that when I went to the bathroom while writing my essay, I was so effing fucking wrapped up in trying to think about which logical and emotional proofs this dude in my class had used to defend BC's football coach (yeah. don't say it. I fucking know it. WHO GIVES A SHIT. but the dude's actually from Rhode Island, or so he told me after I gave a totally bullshit speech paying tribute to my high school track team. but he went to LaSalle, so fuck 'im). anyways, a few of my roommates and their girlfriend (they share her collectively, I guess) were playing Wii-Bowling (which is super-fucking-fun) and remarked that I should play. Not to get all robo and shit, because it wasn't nearly that intense, but I had to contemplate social norms and what I should say for a sec, since I was utterly wrapped up and really overly enthusiastic about my shitty (topic, not quality, because I pwned it) paper for public speaking. but this was clearly all in my head, and they thought I was really tired or distracted or stoned or drunk or Alex.
bee tee dubz, I'm still totally feeling the effects of this drug. can you tell?
which is pretty cool. cool that I still am, since Jim warned me I would for a while and not be able to sleep. S'kool, I don't have class until 11 in the AM. cool, because it's cool, like cool-fun. I sort of enjoyed writing my paper. and then I looked at pictures and testimonials about the Ladd School in Exeter, which is really cool and creepy and unsettling to me in this really primeval, indian-burial-ground pre-european north american kind of way. also cool, because as fun as this is to write (and let me tell you, it really and truly is), it will be 10 times more fun to read tomorrow and hear about (if they actually read it) from the small handful of people who read this.
i think the point i was trying to make earlier (and please excuse my inconsistent capitalization...capitolization? capital...) was that I would totally understand where she/he (retarded aside #5467: almost was gender specific with that doctor-pronoun and wrote he, which is bad: for gender in general, for me, and for women. because like Michael Richards [and some shit that Matt C. said last night] proves, not wanting to be discriminatory is as prevalent and bad and awkward as being so. just because you don't think you're a racist [*koff* Kramer] doesn't make you not one). anyway, the doctor - he/she might have prescribed me Ritalin or Aderall or whatevs-ja and I would probably understand. because I totally have a lot of ADD/ADHD symptoms, though i'm sure a lot of people do/did. I think both a willingness to overcome social awkwardity/distraction etcetera coupled with the lugubriousness (wow, that's actually a word and spelled correctly [though according to OED it means the exact opposite of what I thought it did]) of alcohol, marijuana, robotussin, etc. my point is this: some people, and I feel that myself is included in this, have the ability to overcome twitchy, spastic ADD stuff. I also truthfully feel, and this might be textbook definition unhealthy, that drinking and smoking and robotripping have significantly benefitted by mental outlook, capacity to socialize, and altogether mellow (for the most part, and only recently) ness. my mom (and this is taken with the largest conceivable 'dur i rebel against my parents and think they say gay shit and don't get life' grain of salt) always says that her family would be significantly mentally ill, unstable, awkward, etc. if not for the fact that they drink. kind of a lot. in social settings, not, like, 'what a fackin' hahd day at work. get me a fackin' beah, honey.' that's my uncle mark, i guess. although they all kind of talk like that. except for my grandmother. like they're from rhode island, not like they order around their wives.
come to think of it, and if you've followed me this far along, gentle readers, fucking kudos. i'm barely keeping up. so come to think of it, the women in my family all wear the pants, for the most part. not that the men are pussies, nor should they be or not be. but i guess there are a lot of strong female personalities up in there. not that there aren't some strong male ones. but with the exception of my dad, who swings around his symbolic genitals only as far as they don't piss my mom off, i would say women get last say in my extended family. so what the fuck am i talking about? you tell me, I'm the one who's on Aderall and thought it would be a good idea to write pages of nonsense on a livejournal nobody reads at quarter of 3 on a sunday night after writing seven pages of introductory level communications bullshit.
ok, so concrete...concrete...well, let me look to my livejournal inspiration. let's see...sporadic posting with non-sequitor musings on life...Jim, check...oh! a recap of events this past weekend...I didn't forget about you, Zach. and if either actually read this far, the two of you will probably just mention it to each other and snicker (snigger?) behind my back...
ok, so friday...oh, we played a shitload of wii-bowling. what else is new. as far as artificial stimulants for friendship/camraderie go, the wii is bang-up for me and my roommates. somehow, inexplicably, a little bit drunk, I set the wii-bowling record with 220. cool, i guess. then the supposedly-bonster bash but ended up being a cool/weird/stuff potowomut shindig with guests took place at zach's after the sharps concert which features all songs from my junior high school days. in attendance from the Poto-Platte (sidenote a million: when I was little, and riding my training-wheels bike, my dad said I could stay anywhere on the platte. like, no uphill or downhill, just the small area bounded by heightened or lowered elevation. why the fuck would a little kid ever know that word? couldn't he have just said, don't go past this street? anyways...) included the fieldings, the butzbachs, 2/3 forsberg-laries, the minor griffith, major (will), jim, cool matt (formerly fucked-up), and other people that are irrellevant. highlights (of not the sharps) included the first ever Older Brother Vs. Younger Sister Butzbach-Forsberg-Lary World Supremacy Beer-Pong-A-Thon(g?). Brothers almost lost, but pulled it out in uber-drunken fashion at the last minute. Hallelujah.
...um, um, quick! Leonard Cohen songs that we had a drunken sing-a-long to that night? oh! oh! Chelsea Hotel #2! no wait, that religious one. i don't remember the name of it. anyway, we also rocked the fuck out with irish jig songs whereby jim and zach instrumentalized, ross and i contributed retarded verses, and all fucking 11.7 of us drunkeddedly screamed a rousing, "hearts, stars, and clovers...." y'know, the whole potato-famine thing. then we played charades. whatever.
oh, and so then, saturday?...ah, filming a screenplay that zach wrote. starring matt and jess. probably already heard about it. because if you're reading this and you're not named Alex or Phineas (a separate peace, ba-dum cha!) you were there. but it was fun. and freezing. and i guess not being a smoker but smoking cigarettes keeps you warm. i tell myself that. my favorite parts were when jess called matt out on something that LITERALLY just happened. although that may have been part of the script. oh, and jim whispered hilarious stuff (wastedly) into the mics that i was headphone-listening to, stuff about people walking by. what a dick.
so then today, jim and i played a shitload of zelda. it's a one player game, but jim needs all the help he can get, since he has this chronic spatial geometry problem where he thinks he's looked a full 360 degrees around a room but only does 3/4, TOPS. roommmates matt and paul helped. then i made shake-n-bake. nobody fucking helped. oh, jk bee tee dubz, it was ramen. it was good.
so, i've been writing for a really long time, and as per the Aderall, it seems like nothing. and really fun. so i'm not going to stop until it is no longer fun. for me, that is. if you're still reading, well, then, let me reveal to you a secret: it's not in Bill Carson's grave, it's in the unmarked grave NEXT to Bill Carson's. Sorry. little italian cinema joke for you.
hmm...what else is irrelevant?
ah, so here's a funny story to stick in your Kramer pipe and smoke...i was using the toilet in my dorm room for numbers one and two, and i placed the Entertainment Weekly i had been reading on the shelf above my head. i was reading the E-Dubs because i've been getting it free for like 2 years after buying a bunch of DVD's at best buy. i don't feel the need to justify reading such a hardcore mainstream rag like EW, though maybe I subconsciously do. you know, to maintain that thin, shimmering veneer of indie, artsy street cred i continually polish and try to play up day in and day out? although, that's relative to BC's student population, so compared to the world at large, i'm a gay-bashing, free-market, toby keith truckdriver with a trust fund and a hard-on for killing me some A-rabs. anyway, i was searching for some toilet paper, since for some fucking reason it's been dissapearing. i bought a bunch less than a week ago and it dissapeared. so i'm looking around for the ol' TP when i knock over the magzine, into the unflushed toilet. as i see mel gibson's creepy, masochistic face with the barest hint of hope in his eyes as he thinks about how to mutilate aztecs rather than messiah's shimmer through the amber dew that i'd just mictorated, all i could think about was how i'd never know if John Stamos felt he had the fame he thought he'd one day achieve when he was padding the cast of Full House o-so many years ago.
so i threw it out. the end.
well, i'm not really tired (and Aderall is basically just amphetemines), but i've gotten to the point where this is just stupid enough to stop writing but seems just brilliant enough to click 'update journal.' i suppose the next time we speak, i'll once again have the attention span of coked-up hummingbird, and you'll have the dignity to never speak to me again.
keep on takin' er easy for all us sinners.
BTdubz: so i'm reading this entry right after i post it because...because of boredom and Aderall? and so i'm reading my posts from the summertime, and I think to myself 'What the fuck was wrong with me!?' i guess i'm pretty uninteresting unless i have ulterior (alterior? alter-ego?) motives in terms of substances. because i like the ones where I robo'd the fuck out, and I like the weird foreign picture one, where I was obviously hitting my crack pipe pretty hard. but other than that, remind me never to write this shit unless i've got floating free-radicals in the ol' bloodstream. or something like that. you know what to do.