My So Called Life

Don't take life too serious. You'll never escape it alive anyway.
-Elbert Hubbard

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Well, it’s my big twenty-second birthday! Whoop! I’m old. Get me my adult diapers and I’ll be on my way. I had a post for yesterday too but somehow I accidentally closed the browser and lacking the motivation to rewrite the bitch, I went to BW3s instead. There I watched one pledge vomit up twelve “blazing” wings and another squirm in agony after getting the “blazing” sauce on the most tender of regions. I hope I never have to experience a “burning” sensation down there, hot sauce related or otherwise. Though once I did convince myself and my waiter at Applebee’s that I had a venereal disease of some sort. I was drunk… and also convinced I was going to be working the rest of my life in a factory overseas. Anyways, here’s the quick version of yesterday’s now deleted post. Titer pung…

“I read an article on the persecution of nerds. I really related because I was a nerd in high school (or even now). However, high school was the greatest time of my life. What more could you ask for? Underage women, no responsibility, and friends you saw everyday. Despite the clique-ish nature of high school, I felt at home with all my classmates and never felt a rebellious need to raise my station or become more than the nerd I was.”

Also I used the word, “penchant”, in the original article. This is important because I feel my use of that word obviously labels me a nerd. Well to the subject at hand. So I’m old. I remember freshman year in my lyceum class, we wrote papers about where we saw ourselves in ten years and I wrote about the moment of my death in ten years time. It seemed so far away. I felt I’d have accomplished everything really interesting I can in ten years. Well here I am, three years till that deadline and I can’t remember doing anything more interesting than getting really drunk a time or three (okay sex was pretty fun, but…). In fact, this blog maybe the only thing I’ve actually contributed to the world in general. So here it is, Yoosuk’s opus. Somehow that’s even more depressing.

Some Highlights of the Last 22 Years of Life:
1) Panama City 2002 - I don't remember much or I'd pick out some specific incident, but a week of nothing but fun (except for that night at Waffle Shop and the picture Ray vowed never to show anyone, which can be found on his website).
2) Any time that I've had sex - Its a good thing and don't let anyone tell you different.
3) Hess's Naked Party - I've never been more intellectually stimulated in my whole life.
4) New Years 2000 - Crazy, I remember Rob falling down the stairs and that's about it.
5) The time I won $100 at the bowling alley - free money!!!
6) Goth chick sexually molesting me after I proposed to her - what can I say? (sorry Ray, Pikachu hates you.. TIMES TWO!)
7) Once a guy said to me, "Wanna scrap?" and I responded, "I don't recycle."

The statement below is false.
The statement above is true.

All these things are just written in the sand behind me.
I dream about you every night. I call your name.
The whole world thinks that I am insane.
Here I come again, playing the hero of love.
-Live "Hero of Love"

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So I lied. Today's blog will definitely not be about breaking men's hearts. I mean what would I have to say about that? Instead I'll point out that lying is the most valuble skill a person can have. It can do everything from trick a freshman into your bed to advance your political career. Not that I've used the skill for either purpose, lacking a political career to advance or a decent bed to trick women into. What other skill can elevate a man so high and bring him so low in the same instant? It makes everything you say more interesting and at the same time saves you the time, money, and risk of doing the actual things you've lied about. Its the magic fairy dust of the twentieth century. That being said, lying is bad. Very bad. Especially if you are not good at it, you'll be causing yourself so much trouble that you'll wish you'd just stabbed a spoon into your eye instead. Why a spoon? Because its dull, you idiot! It'll hurt more.

On that note, I've been told time and time again that I'm a terrible liar. Well you know what I have to say to that? Practice makes perfect. You can't expect to make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. A bird in the hand is worth.... whatever. Maybe I'm practicing to become a debonaire spy or master politician. Maybe I'm not such a bad liar after all. Maybe I'm a bad liar because wouldn't that just be the perfect disguise for a master of the deceptive arts! A clumsy lie to disguise the clever ruse (vocabulary word, "ruse", refer to Clerks for definition)? So you'd better think twice before you claim I'm a terrible liar. I might just be pulling the wool over your eyes. Okay so that's a lot of maybes. But maybe.. it isn't. Think about that one.

Anyway, here's my tips on getting away with a lie (with women, of course)

1) Never lie about anything that can be verified or will come up in a random conversation. Since women will talk about almost anything this means you'll have to lie about sports or porn.
2) When lying, first make a lie that is unbelievable then confess your lie and give her a more believable one. Its very unlikely they'll suspect you of lying multiple times to cover your tracks. If necessary, tell the truth the third time then disavow that as a lie too. But your fourth lie had better be REAL good.
3) If the questioning is too intense, always make up details. Details means gossip. Be vague and drop a couple of hints about "something you heard". Always have gossip ready to dole out in these situations. Women are easily distracted with gossip and these details can easily turn into the topic-changing piece that you were looking for.
4) Be ready to apologize... no lie is perfect and women are very good detectives. Wearing some sort of protective gear below the waist might not be overly cautious.

General Tip on Life for the Day:
Don't write an article about how you lie. You'll never get away with another lie with anyone who reads it. You idiot. What were you thinking?!? You've ruined everything. The women, the parties, the uninhibited lying, its all going to have to stop!

3 Steps to Love

To open your eyes and see the sky is not enough.
To open your ears is still not enough.
For only if you open your mind will you hear the clouds
whispering love's sweet songs and dancing together accross the noisy sea.
I don't care what consequence it brings, I have been a fool for lesser things.
-Billy Joel's "The Longest Time"

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Instead of writing about and thus remembering my pointless weekend, I think I'll talk about a topic that is close to everyone's heart, love. Unless of course you are a soulless beast in which case you should read tomorrow's entry on how to break a man's heart in three easy steps. Okay so you can't wait, here's the long and short of it.

Step One: Be hot.
Step Two: Smile.
Step Three: Be yourself

Since we're at it, here's the three step program for guys to meet women.

Step One: Be hot.
Step Two: Smile.
Step Three: Be yourself.

The way I see it, you can divide the major thoughts on love into two categories. Those who believe in only one, true love and those who believe otherwise.

First I'll focus on the thought of one, true love. Well it is an awfully romantic idea that maybe in some heavenly place before we are born somebody introduces us to a soulmate that will complete us in the mortal plane. With 6 billion people in the world it seems that in order to subscribe to this theory, one must have pretty firm trust in destiny or fate to put you in a geographically convenient location relative to your one and only when playing musical chairs with the game that is birth. I myself am without a soulmate currently despite my unerring faith in destiny. It seems the days of me socially meeting women are coming to a close and I have to wonder if my one and only has passed me by. I mean I'm often easily distracted and who knows if I might have missed the attention of a particularly lovely lady, (okay to be fair... I usually pay very close attention to lovelies) or forgotton to call one back because I'm just too lazy (I am REALLY lazy). I mean what if my soulmate died yesterday... do I get another one? If so will I have to wait eighteen years before she's old enough to even date me?! Its crazy! Who invented this system? Its really quite unfair. (Refer to my post, "Poop Donuts!", for my thoughts on fairness)

I guess now we'll have to consider the possibility that there is no such thing as a soulmate. That love is some kind of biological response to the need to keep men from pillaging and raping their way across the countryside and to keep women in power as the motivation to succeed. It makes a sick sort of sense and it does seem like enough people "fall in love" constantly enough to make it possible that love simply happens in any situation despite limiting circumstances. So does that mean a person can love more than one person? I feel if love simply happens because of proximity and a natural need for love then it can happen more than once. But is that really love? Then the term love becomes oxymoronic. Maybe a natural response is to say that a person can "fall out of love". A person can only have so many close friends, because after a point you have to decide who you are going to spend your time with and you can't maintain 25 best friends. Likewise, it might be said you can only maintain so much love and then you "fall out of love". But what does that mean? Does that mean you no longer feel the same way about that person? I guess in my opinion, no it doesn't. I think it means you simply can't maintain that love because you've simply (and more conveniently) fallen in love with someone else and its a question of time management. Whoops! I'm double-booked on love for that week, sorry pal. Terribly cynical, I know. But that's me, hippocrattic me, the cynical poet. You might almost say I'm a tortured, warrior poet... nah, that's going too far.

Blogging Tip of the Day:
Don't write blogs that are really long and overly philosophical. No will read it. Its just too much for light readig.

The Cost of War

"Every now and then
I think about you and
It makes me, breaks me"
- AudioVent

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It seems like another lonely weekend for me. I've cancelled all plans of leaving Lafayette for the weekend. Why? Not because I don't want to leave this boring burgh but because I can't afford to. I hate you War! You've raised my gas to outrageous prices not to mention trapped me in this town. Trapped! And sadly nobody wants to (or for some reason can't) come visit me this weekend. My disappointment is unfathomable. This means I won't be seeing the people in my life who really make every day worth living. The ones I've known for at least half-a-decade of true friendship and the ones I wish could be there with through every step of my life. I mean what else do I have in life that is more important than sitting with a friend and talking about video games, women, and beer. Nothing and that's the truth because what does it avail me if I live my life only for myself. The only thing I have between now and the end of my life that makes any difference is how I affect those I meet and see because when I die every selfish thing, every vain thought, and every object of my greed dies with me.

"Titer Pung!"

Whoa! Sorry, if I get all preachy, but sometimes I get carried away. Ranting is a favored pasttime of mine. Its like stream of consciousness but less fluid and more angry like an avalanche. My words start tumbling out and rolling into and over each other until I'm just making loud baby noise and gesticulating like incompetent President.

"And that's the point of thathingwhichicannoteotame!"

Drinking Tip of the Day:
If you eat something very coarse, such as sand, before you drink hard liquor, the coarse substance will scrape the lining of your throat. This allows more of the skin there to make contact with the alcohol, thus speeding the rate at which you absorb alcohol. Then next thing you know, you'll be waking up in a pool of your own vomit in the Undergrad Library. Happy hunting!

Get Trip 'Un

"Ohh, your journal. Could you be more queer?"
-Cruel Intentions

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Well today was rather uninteresting. Took an italian test, "Non c'e bene!", and puttered about the house. I came to two conclusions at this point.

1. Puttering is not as fun as it sounds.
2. The word 'puttering' is an anagram for 'titer pung'?

Using these two facts, I was able to put together a final, conclusive, and comprehensive theory of puttering. Said theory states that all other things being equal, the word puttering is much more fun to say than do. In practice, this theory is not very useful because all things are not equal. You'd think in this day and age the world could see past racial differences but... "titer pung"? I'm not quite sure what it is but I like it! In fact its going to be my new slogan. Titer Pung! Of course this shouldn't be confused with the anagram 'Tiger Punt'. Which is what Tiger Woods' special move would have been if he was in Street Fighter 2. Tiger! God I'm lazy. Anyway I guess its time to go pretend to be interested in doing something. Maybe I'll be lucky enough to get drunk today! Whoo! Thanks for coming out!

Dance Tip of the Day:
This move is called "the windy day". Simply place your hand over your forehead and pretend to be holding a hat slightly forward. Your other hand should be bent at the elbow and parrallel to the ground. Now lean into the "wind" and simply bob your head and arms in time with the music. Extra flourish can be added with shoulder and leg shaking. If someone asks, "What are you doing?" tell them you saw it on "Soul Train".

You Suck?

Hers will I be; and only with this thought
Content myself, although my chance be nought.
-Earl of Surrey

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Those are the last two lines of one of my favorite sonnets by the illustrious Earl of Surrey, inventor of the Shakespearean Sonnet. Funny how that a man can invent something so influential and famous, yet not even have his name attached to it. The final indignity being, of course, that his name was Henry Howard and yet most only refer to him as Surrey. I can only hope that my life will amount to enough that someone someday after I'm long dead will say, "Idiots! Don't you know, its pronounced 'You Saw' not 'You Suck'?"

As you probably noticed, my faithful readers, (pause for laughter) I did not post yesterday. Its too bad because I think I had some witty and insightful things to say for once. Sadly, www.blogger.com was not working for me and all my wonderfully amusing thoughts were lost in the swamp that is my short term memory. My memory I blame on the alcohol and the tendency for immobile objects to try and force their way into my head. Those bastards! They want to steal my thoughts! This reminds me of the time I once lost the meaning of life. Don't ask me about it because in all reality I've forgotten it completely. What I never told Nick is that it is my belief aliens came in the night and stole my memories and the two diagrams we made. You know what I'm talking about. Anyway, when something bad happens (like losing the meaning of life) I tend to do something fun because it takes my mind off of it. So I'll often go out and party hardest when I'm most depressed. Thus my general malaise (vocabulary word of the day) the last 6 years despite having the time of my life. Even worse is the fact that about 2 years into it, I really forgot what I was so melancholy about. At this point, its become more habitual than anything else. So if there's a hole in the conversation or I'm feeling especially bored I'll say to noone in particular, "I hate my life." Then I'm comfortable again and I can continue to make fun of Ray.

Important Safety Tip of the Day:
Do not. I repeat. Do not, carry a cane with a little mirror on the bottom so you can check your hair as you're walking around campus. Women will think that is very vain of you and smack you. Maybe even try and take the cane away from you to beat you with it. Remember, girls don't like it when guys ignore them to preen in a mirror. So reassure them that you think they are "very hot".

POOP DONUTS!

I have great faith in fools; self-confidence my friends call it.
-Edgar Allan Poe

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Today was an excellent day. I have a working computer now! So I don't have to put up with all those "freaks" in the computer labs staring at me when I start gesticulating wildly at my AIM windows. 'Calm down, sir.' indeed! Geez, can't a man gesticulate in peace these days? My head hurts right now because I didn't sleep last night. Instead I studied for my history exam which was a big failure. So I came home and gesticulated at my broken computer but it just wasn't the same. Luckily, my graphics card arrived just then like a knight in shining armor. And I said, "Hello, GeForce4!" To which it replied with a nod and the blank-eyed stare of a man who's seen too much death in a lifetime. And I knew right then, in that moment, that the Fed-Ex man was very, very frightened.

I watched an excellent film last night, 13 Conversations About One Thing. I think that was the title. I have fairly strange taste in movies and if you like artsy movies with confusing plots (i.e. Donnie Darko) you'll love this one. The thing I realized during this movie is that those people who think the world is fair are idiots. They simply sit there on their bums while the world piles sh-... poop on them. Hoping eventually the world will realize who's buried in all that poop and apologize. Maybe buy him some donuts from Krispy Kreme! Meanwhile, the people who know that the world is an unfair place are too busy shoveling through the poop looking for their own donuts to spare a glance for these unfortunate souls. The saddest part is how these poor romantics are so much happier thinking about the donuts they're going to get compared to the realists that know that there's no way they're going to find freakin' donuts in a pile of poop! Come on! After all, the world IS an unfair place. Isn't it?

The Invincible Yoosuk

"All men are bad, and in their badness reign."
-Shakespeare (CXXI)

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Here is my day in haiku form:

Woke to wash the dogs
Met a dog seeking lovin'
We called him, "Humper"

There were a lot of dogs at the humane society that were very cute and adoptable and if I had the ability to take care of another living thing I would have adopted them all. Keep in mind, how responsible can a man who would name his first-born son "Blitzen" be? Answer: 24

I was thinking the other night, if I was a superhero which superhero would I be. I considered the Martian Manhunter and if I was limiting myself to the Justice League of America that would have been it (ah memories of playing who's who in the JLA while sitting at Jake's) , but I think in retrospect it'd have to be The Invincible Iron Man. He embodies all the things that I would like to be. He's a drunkard and sometimes a cripple but at the end of the day when the chips are down, he puts on his work clothes and gets the job done. He's invincible. Not because he can't be hurt and not because he has a suit that lets him lift a thousand times his weight but because he doesn't let his problems get him down. He looks adversity in the eye and doesn't blink twice. Not that I'm saying I want to be a drunkard or even a cripple despite the special priviledges I'd receive at amusement parks, but you have to admire that in a fictional character made up to amuse children.

Important Safety Tip of the Day:
Remember, with opposable thumbs, monkeys have the ability to use firearms just like children, evil, hairy children who throw poop. So don't leave firearms in your monkey cage.

It Snowed Last Night

"For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise."
-Shakespeare (CVI)

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Well my day of suffering is apparently over, thank God. Between the stomach pain, the snow, and the multitudes of happy couples everywhere, Its amazing I only vomited 3 times. Luckily the constant pain and distractions of the people drinking all night, left me very little time to indulge myself in writting droll poetry. On the other hand, I don't think that I've never been in so much pain while having a girl's butt grinding into me. How do you tell a girl, "Hey?! Could you stop dancing on me because its going to make me vomit." Yeah, what interesting situations I get myself into.

Anyway, then I got up this morning and forced myself to go to our philanthropy and watch sorority girls play volleyball. I swear! The things I do for this fraternity! And tomorrow, I promised to go wash puppies with sorority girls... that sounds interesting (read: Wild Things car wash scene). Actually it'll probably end up with my stomach being sickened by the smell of wet dog while girls ignore me. All in a day's work. I promise I won't use the word "bitch" to describe any of the female dogs. I promise.

Chicken Fingers and Other Deadly Treats

"You are not what loves you. You are what you love."

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Either I have a 12 hour hangover, or I've been poisoned. The obvious culprit is the chicken fingers I had as my drunken, midnight snack last night. This really puts the cramps (pun not intended, but I'm leaving it in) on my evening of maxxing and romancing! Wait a second... I had no such plans. Which brings me to the subject of this blog: you can't change other people.

The crazy thing about the world is that nobody ever really listens to other people. Sure you may nod your head and make all the right noises so that you can go back to making a difference in the world, but the truth is that you aren't going to change because someone wants you to change. I know its true of me... I want to change. I hear people tell me exactly how I can change and I know that they're right. Yet when it comes to doing what I need to do I pansy out. I think I know better. I trust my heart over my head. Silly boy. Yet I watch others make mistakes and feel that I have some right to give them "logical" advice. I talk and I talk until I believe what I say. How convincing am I! What a hippocrit!

Does anyone else thing of a hypercritical hippopatomus when they hear the word hippocrit? I do and that scares me. I have a fear of animals that are larger than me and a hypercritical hippo would be the worst! He'd point out all my faults and I would be unable to run from him because hippos are really fast despite their weight. Worst of all they poop a lot. I bet they smell and he'd knock me over and tell me what a terrible person I am. That hippo does have a point. Weird because hippos can't talk.

"Laughter is the best medicine"
-Anonymous

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Keeping that sage advice in mind, I woke up this morning feeling very dehydrated and sick to my stomach. So I laughed and laughed all the way to the bathroom where I threw up. Even the laughter of my fellow fraternity brothers was not enough to cure my ails (certainly the smell of sausage and bacon throughout the house didn't help either). What a way to start Valentines Day.

How to Torture a Poet 101

Well if you're looking for the website of a "tortured warrior poet", you've been led astray. "Someone" has been getting pretty liberal with his adjectives recently. Anyway, he who led you here has much more of a poet's heart than I. But since I'm always willing to cater to an audience here is my impression of a tortured warrior poet.

My sword is lost and now I'm a poet.
What do you know I didn't even know it!
Ouch! I'm tortured and it hurts so much
My soft poet skin so used to fairer touch
But at least I'm not dead and still I love
Because nothing can hurt "Poet Love!"
Wait! You can't rhyme a word to itself!
I better stop before I hurt mine self.

Anyway on with the show... Last nite I learned why you shouldn't drink on a Wednesday night. You get drunk and nothing gets done! Its crazy how this world works. Since last night, I've gotten and lost a companion for Friday night (and no I don't mean a certain red-headed poet). I've also received my computer parts in the mail... only to realize that the 8RDA+ has no inboard graphics card and I've since spent another $150 to rectify the situation by Monday. That of course means I have no money.... and anyone who was expecting flowers from me can instead feel left out and generally terrible about themselves because Yoosuk is an asshole. Luckily, I don't think anyone was actually expecting flowers from me bringing the total number of hearts broken to zero. Whoo hoo. Also I got some sage Asian advice about women... and more importantly about why I'm a stupid, stupid man. Interestingly enough I'm not going to take any of this incredibly wise advice because well... here the secret... I'm a stupid, stupid man. There's no reasoning with me. I defy all reason and logic.

On that note, I'm going to tell the story of Pandora. In the beginning, mankind was stupid. So Prometheus felt sorry for the poor bastards and stole fire from the gods to give it to man. So the gods were angry and they created Pandora, the first woman, as some sort of punishment to mankind and they gave her a box that contained every evil and sin imaginable. The men begged her not to open the box but she was apparently not very nice because she opened it anyway and evil was set loose in the world. The very last thing out of that box was hope and it flew away.

Okay, so that wasn't exactly how it goes but the important part of the story is clear. Hope is evil. It torments men for the amusment of gods and women alike.

"I shall create! If not a note, a hole.

If not an overture, a desecration."

Boy Breaking Glass

-Gwendolyn Brooks

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I ONCE HAD AN ANTFARM

Sometimes when I can't do anything about a situation, when I'm feeling most helpless is when I'm a flurry of activity. This is how I would describe the last two weeks of my life. I've been thrashing helplessly in the viscious liquid of my reality and if not exactly satisfying at least I know that I'm still alive. So today, I've gone to class, called the ballroom manager at Holiday Inn, read my history homework, and I'm probably going to do some more before the day is done. All so I won't have to sit in my room and stare at my fish. Amazing!

Well folks here it is, a website devoted to me ranting about the stupid things I do on a daily basis. So here I'm going to air my most private and frivolous thoughts, but I warn you now from the start that I am of a melancholy sort. That's what my friends closest to me say anyway. But most of them are idiots. They also say that I'm an asshole. Go figure. Idiots. Well enought of that.

"I am a philosopher. I have to be."
-Kurt Vonnegut

I start with this quote because that's how I feel. Some people say I think too much. I tend to agree, but I mean the world is so crazy what choice do I have but to somehow justify the decisions I make. On a less philosophical side, I like vicodin... it makes pain go away and alcohol work faster. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure it also got me so drunk on Saturday I hit on several girls I've never met before as well as Nick's friend Julie, who according to Miletich is the "Worlds Biggest Cocktease" (World's biggest as in accomlished not size-wise). And the next day I woke up with a cough which I blame on Jenner's girlfriend and the inevitable depression which follows an excellent weekend of drinking and partying, which makes it two weekends for those who are counting. This depression has lasted through Sunday and continues to plague me as I look forward to another Valentine's Day that will be both sad and depressing. I can only hope that am able to stay away from any females and the chance that I would do anything completely stupid in my drunken idiocy. Thus the plan for Friday stands... my dates: a bottle of Jack and two large orders of cheesesticks.