Who am I kidding? I'm a wreck. And I'm usually the one that sees through everyone else's self-denial....
Random thought of the day: John Lennon said that we all shine on. He never said a damn word about the people that got burnt by all those shiny motherfuckers. Maybe that's what Mark David Chapman was trying to tell him?
Random thought of the day: John Lennon said that we all shine on. He never said a damn word about the people that got burnt by all those shiny motherfuckers. Maybe that's what Mark David Chapman was trying to tell him?
I'm just tired... in general.
Though I finally got back to my novel the other day, and skipped ahead to what's been my favorite scene in my head. I've written most of it out so far, and I honestly think it's the most beautiful individual scene I've ever written. Now I just have to craft a book around it.... Seriously though, I went through two stages when I was writing it: one, it made me sad, because I was emotionally involved in what I was writing, and two, it made me stop and think, "Wow... this is exactly what it should be. This is good." But it's honest... I think that's why it hurts.
In other news, I just want a very small number of things to work out. Really, not all that much. But when I think about the prospects of that happening, well... let's just say that I've perfected the art of the bitter laugh.
Random thought of the day is currently on sabbatical, but will return next entry. In the meantime, we will NOT be showing any reruns, because those are just plain lame....
Though I finally got back to my novel the other day, and skipped ahead to what's been my favorite scene in my head. I've written most of it out so far, and I honestly think it's the most beautiful individual scene I've ever written. Now I just have to craft a book around it.... Seriously though, I went through two stages when I was writing it: one, it made me sad, because I was emotionally involved in what I was writing, and two, it made me stop and think, "Wow... this is exactly what it should be. This is good." But it's honest... I think that's why it hurts.
In other news, I just want a very small number of things to work out. Really, not all that much. But when I think about the prospects of that happening, well... let's just say that I've perfected the art of the bitter laugh.
Random thought of the day is currently on sabbatical, but will return next entry. In the meantime, we will NOT be showing any reruns, because those are just plain lame....
Oi... back in America. All things considered, I was ready to come home. England was fantastic, and the experience as a whole was one of the best of my life, but I also actually feel a sense of home back here in Indiana. Ouch. That's actually kind of painful to think about. Home it may be, for now, but once I graduate, that must... WILL... change.
And my sister and I found out we actually like each other. We didn't grow up together, so this was the first time we ever just hung out with each other. Her husband is great too. The two of us got drunk together one night (think I mentioned something about that here when it happened), and it only reaffirmed my belief that all males of this world still participate in the Ancient Greek drinking parties that bond people together (not in the sexual way -- I don't swing that way, though that didn't stop a few drunk British guys from groping my and trying to tear off my shirt... long story, that one....)
ANYWAY... I think I met the woman I didn't even know I was looking for. So naturally we can't be together (at least not yet... or ever?) I'm not gonna' go all apeshit and lovey-dovey here (really, do any of you out there really want to hear that?), but I will say that I may be rethinking my beliefs on the possibilities of two people instantly knowing each other and that they belong together. Then again, we AREN'T together.... I'm sure there's some sort of paradox at work here, but paradoxes always give me headaches, so I'm just gonna' end this with:
Random thought of the day (haven't had one of these in a while): So the British equivalent of "fag" is "wanker," and wanker means one who wanks off, i.e. do you need me to spell that one out for you? So if someone who (gasp) gets himself off at any point in his life is the equivalent of a fag, does that explain why so many men seem to find me attractive?
And my sister and I found out we actually like each other. We didn't grow up together, so this was the first time we ever just hung out with each other. Her husband is great too. The two of us got drunk together one night (think I mentioned something about that here when it happened), and it only reaffirmed my belief that all males of this world still participate in the Ancient Greek drinking parties that bond people together (not in the sexual way -- I don't swing that way, though that didn't stop a few drunk British guys from groping my and trying to tear off my shirt... long story, that one....)
ANYWAY... I think I met the woman I didn't even know I was looking for. So naturally we can't be together (at least not yet... or ever?) I'm not gonna' go all apeshit and lovey-dovey here (really, do any of you out there really want to hear that?), but I will say that I may be rethinking my beliefs on the possibilities of two people instantly knowing each other and that they belong together. Then again, we AREN'T together.... I'm sure there's some sort of paradox at work here, but paradoxes always give me headaches, so I'm just gonna' end this with:
Random thought of the day (haven't had one of these in a while): So the British equivalent of "fag" is "wanker," and wanker means one who wanks off, i.e. do you need me to spell that one out for you? So if someone who (gasp) gets himself off at any point in his life is the equivalent of a fag, does that explain why so many men seem to find me attractive?
Sometimes I wonder if I can do this anymore. I don't get hurt too often, but when it happens, it's big. I can't go through that again.
Ho...ly... SHIIIIIIIT. Last night was the strangest fucking night I've ever had. I'll give you all the short version:
First of all, I had my dreaded novels class midterm yesterday, and I kicked its ass. I've been worried about it for weeks now, and I finally got over it. Shit, it was hard, but yes, I'm just that fucking good. I proved I'm good enough to be at fucking Oxford. There really aren't a lot of people I know who could pull off what I did. I know I'm kind of bragging right now, but I don't give a fuck. I've been down on myself a lot lately, and this is at least one thing I know I'm fucking better at than anyone else I know.
So that night I went out to dinner at my new favourite (hah, British spelling) Oxford restaurant/bar, All Bar One, and had a glass of sauvignon blanc and an Archer's and Lemonade (Archer's schnapps mixed with 7-Up). Then I came back to the pub here in Oriel and met some guys for a little while and had a white Russian and another Archer's and Lemonade. So, a little tipsy, I decided to go see this British movie called The Descent (which was fucking awesome; the best horror/thriller of its kind since the first two Aliens movies).
After the movie, I decided to head back to the Goucester Arms on my own, the goth bar we as a group went to the other night. That night, I had seen quite a number of downright gorgeous goth girls, and I was still in celebration mode for my midterm being over, so I figured what the hell? I got there and started talking to this big guy -- shaved head, tattoos all over his arms, the works. He kept trying to get me to growl something that sounded like a Satanic incantation, which I always managed to avoid.
Anyway, he got up and went somewhere else (the drinks were piling up in me by this point, so there are some gaps in my memory about the next few events), and this fucking hot goth girl with long jet-black hair and a thong sticking out from her skin-tight pants (and yes, she DEFINITELY had the body to pull that look off) takes his seat and we started talking.
Well, I'm not quite sure what followed, because the next thing I remember, my back is against the wall and she's pressing her body up against mine, and we're making out hardcore. She kind of wraps her leg around my waist and I remember taking hold of it somewhere near her thigh (this is all in public view, mind you, though nobody seemed to take particular notice -- maybe this sort of thing happens there a lot).
Then, out of nowhere, the guy I was talking to earlier comes back, takes a look at us, and shouts, "WHAT THE FUCK?!" He comes up behind her, grabs her shoulders, and pushes her away from me. He then gets in my face, grabs me by my shirt and pushes me back up against the wall, and starts shouting at me. I couldn't really understand what he was saying, between the incoherent yells and the bits of saliva splashing onto my face, but I did pick out the phrase "my girlfriend." At this point, the only real thought going through my head was, "Oh, SHIIIIIIIT!"
He clenches his hand into a fist, and I'm trying to find some desperare way out of this situation, looking at the bartenders (who just shrugged and watched the whole thing) when the girl screams, "Who the FUCK are you?!" The guy turns around to yell at her... and stops. He stares at her for a second, then looks back at me with a face that could have been a mix of shock and (maybe) embarrassment. Then he cracks this grin and goes, "Aw, shit, I'm sorry mate!" He gives me a hug, and my body is perfectly rigid, me not having a single idea what to do.
It appears as though he thought I was making out with his girlfriend, only to find out that the girl I was with was someone completely different. He then proceeded to buy me three drinks (I have no memory whatsoever of where the girl went at this point), and I somehow stumbled back to the pub at Oriel, where everyone saw me stagger in and made me tell them what happened. They laughed... a lot. And I went to bed.
And you know... I'm single. Is there really anything wrong with that? I mean, fuck, it's given me a great story I'll have for the rest of my life (though my mom did call me this morning and asked what I did last night, to which I replied, "Umm...."). At least it wasn't a guy who came onto me this time. I should go back there sometime....
Random thought of the day: So Rupert Murdoch owns Fox News, which has been the outlet for all the Right Wing "moral issue" voters these past few years, right? Yet he owns the British tabloid The Sun, which prints a picture of a naked woman on page 3 every single day. Something doesn't add up here....
First of all, I had my dreaded novels class midterm yesterday, and I kicked its ass. I've been worried about it for weeks now, and I finally got over it. Shit, it was hard, but yes, I'm just that fucking good. I proved I'm good enough to be at fucking Oxford. There really aren't a lot of people I know who could pull off what I did. I know I'm kind of bragging right now, but I don't give a fuck. I've been down on myself a lot lately, and this is at least one thing I know I'm fucking better at than anyone else I know.
So that night I went out to dinner at my new favourite (hah, British spelling) Oxford restaurant/bar, All Bar One, and had a glass of sauvignon blanc and an Archer's and Lemonade (Archer's schnapps mixed with 7-Up). Then I came back to the pub here in Oriel and met some guys for a little while and had a white Russian and another Archer's and Lemonade. So, a little tipsy, I decided to go see this British movie called The Descent (which was fucking awesome; the best horror/thriller of its kind since the first two Aliens movies).
After the movie, I decided to head back to the Goucester Arms on my own, the goth bar we as a group went to the other night. That night, I had seen quite a number of downright gorgeous goth girls, and I was still in celebration mode for my midterm being over, so I figured what the hell? I got there and started talking to this big guy -- shaved head, tattoos all over his arms, the works. He kept trying to get me to growl something that sounded like a Satanic incantation, which I always managed to avoid.
Anyway, he got up and went somewhere else (the drinks were piling up in me by this point, so there are some gaps in my memory about the next few events), and this fucking hot goth girl with long jet-black hair and a thong sticking out from her skin-tight pants (and yes, she DEFINITELY had the body to pull that look off) takes his seat and we started talking.
Well, I'm not quite sure what followed, because the next thing I remember, my back is against the wall and she's pressing her body up against mine, and we're making out hardcore. She kind of wraps her leg around my waist and I remember taking hold of it somewhere near her thigh (this is all in public view, mind you, though nobody seemed to take particular notice -- maybe this sort of thing happens there a lot).
Then, out of nowhere, the guy I was talking to earlier comes back, takes a look at us, and shouts, "WHAT THE FUCK?!" He comes up behind her, grabs her shoulders, and pushes her away from me. He then gets in my face, grabs me by my shirt and pushes me back up against the wall, and starts shouting at me. I couldn't really understand what he was saying, between the incoherent yells and the bits of saliva splashing onto my face, but I did pick out the phrase "my girlfriend." At this point, the only real thought going through my head was, "Oh, SHIIIIIIIT!"
He clenches his hand into a fist, and I'm trying to find some desperare way out of this situation, looking at the bartenders (who just shrugged and watched the whole thing) when the girl screams, "Who the FUCK are you?!" The guy turns around to yell at her... and stops. He stares at her for a second, then looks back at me with a face that could have been a mix of shock and (maybe) embarrassment. Then he cracks this grin and goes, "Aw, shit, I'm sorry mate!" He gives me a hug, and my body is perfectly rigid, me not having a single idea what to do.
It appears as though he thought I was making out with his girlfriend, only to find out that the girl I was with was someone completely different. He then proceeded to buy me three drinks (I have no memory whatsoever of where the girl went at this point), and I somehow stumbled back to the pub at Oriel, where everyone saw me stagger in and made me tell them what happened. They laughed... a lot. And I went to bed.
And you know... I'm single. Is there really anything wrong with that? I mean, fuck, it's given me a great story I'll have for the rest of my life (though my mom did call me this morning and asked what I did last night, to which I replied, "Umm...."). At least it wasn't a guy who came onto me this time. I should go back there sometime....
Random thought of the day: So Rupert Murdoch owns Fox News, which has been the outlet for all the Right Wing "moral issue" voters these past few years, right? Yet he owns the British tabloid The Sun, which prints a picture of a naked woman on page 3 every single day. Something doesn't add up here....
From the journal I've been keeping over here in England:
July 7, 2005
I was sitting in class this morning, watching out the window as a mother duck led a pack of ducklings across the street (never seen that before), just before Professor McKenzie was about to finish class for the day, when one of the girls who had apparently gotten a text message from her brother told us that six different bombs had gone off in central London. I ran back to my room to get my cell phone and called my sister Angi (who was okay), then home to let my parents know that Angi and I were all right, then some of my friends. It took a while, because all the international phone lines were pretty busy.
The Underground (subway) was bombed in six different locations (a few of which I've passed through before) and a bus was bombed in Russell Square. The Thanet Hotel, where I first stayed on this trip (and was about to head back to tonight, meaning I would have been there tomorrow morning), was just in Russell Square. What a difference a day makes.... If al Qaeda had planned their attack for tomorrow instead of today.... It's all a little strange to think about right now.
Angi was damn lucky. She had been running late to class; elsewise, she could very likely have been on one of those tube lines that were bombed.
What's interesting is seeing the response of the British people. They're all obviously affected by what's happened, but unlike Americans would be at this point, they're not letting it alter their lives. I guess maybe it's because they've been through this before. And the British emergency response system is LIGHT-YEARS beyond anything we have in America. They really handled the situation remarkably well.
From what I read now, the death count is up to 50.... Damn al Qaeda, and damn Bush for letting them go because of his obsession with Iraq.
July 7, 2005
I was sitting in class this morning, watching out the window as a mother duck led a pack of ducklings across the street (never seen that before), just before Professor McKenzie was about to finish class for the day, when one of the girls who had apparently gotten a text message from her brother told us that six different bombs had gone off in central London. I ran back to my room to get my cell phone and called my sister Angi (who was okay), then home to let my parents know that Angi and I were all right, then some of my friends. It took a while, because all the international phone lines were pretty busy.
The Underground (subway) was bombed in six different locations (a few of which I've passed through before) and a bus was bombed in Russell Square. The Thanet Hotel, where I first stayed on this trip (and was about to head back to tonight, meaning I would have been there tomorrow morning), was just in Russell Square. What a difference a day makes.... If al Qaeda had planned their attack for tomorrow instead of today.... It's all a little strange to think about right now.
Angi was damn lucky. She had been running late to class; elsewise, she could very likely have been on one of those tube lines that were bombed.
What's interesting is seeing the response of the British people. They're all obviously affected by what's happened, but unlike Americans would be at this point, they're not letting it alter their lives. I guess maybe it's because they've been through this before. And the British emergency response system is LIGHT-YEARS beyond anything we have in America. They really handled the situation remarkably well.
From what I read now, the death count is up to 50.... Damn al Qaeda, and damn Bush for letting them go because of his obsession with Iraq.
Okay... so last night in London, after a few too many drinks, my brother-in-law took me to a bar and tried to get me to pick up some random girl (he even offered to pay the extra fee to have someone else spend the night in my hotel room). I was doing the stupid love-sick guy thing over a friend of my sister's who I had met only for three days last weekend, and who was now gone on some tour of about four different countries for the next two and a half months, so I only saw her in my mind's eye every time an attractive girl walked by. (God, that's so cliched, but it's true....) So, after it became apparent that he wasn't going to let me leave until some form of sexual liason took place (and I had to leave with him, because I had no idea where I was or how to get back to my hotel), I told him I was going to the bathroom, then just waited in the back of the crowded room for about 20 minutes, then came back and hinted that I had just had sex with someone in the bathroom (or loo, as it's called over here). Fortunately, he was just drunk enough to believe it, and we soon left. He called me this morning, and I just laughed and told him the truth. He gave one of those embarrassed but relieved laughs as well, and now I've come back to the comparatively painfully slow Oxford. And I have to put together a major report by tomorrow. Oy.
Oh yeah, and I almost got arrested while trying to sneak into Hyde Park for Live 8 last night.
Random thought of the day: Do you ever wonder if some of the British really do celebrate the 4th of July as the day that they got rid of that dastardly colony once and for all?
Oh yeah, and I almost got arrested while trying to sneak into Hyde Park for Live 8 last night.
Random thought of the day: Do you ever wonder if some of the British really do celebrate the 4th of July as the day that they got rid of that dastardly colony once and for all?
Okay, because I really haven't had time to update this page while I've been in England, I divert you all to my Xanga site if you just HAVE to know what I've been up to. I have limited computer time here, so I'm sorry if I can't make many comments on anyone else's journal. I promise, I'm not ignoring you.
Random thought of the day: WHY THE HELL IS THIS KEYBOARD JUST A LITTE DIFFERENT?! IF IT WERE COMPLETELY DIFFEREN,T IT WOULD BE ONE THING, BUT THESE LITTLE SUBTLE DIFFERENCES KEEP THROWING ME OFF! ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!
Random thought of the day: WHY THE HELL IS THIS KEYBOARD JUST A LITTE DIFFERENT?! IF IT WERE COMPLETELY DIFFEREN,T IT WOULD BE ONE THING, BUT THESE LITTLE SUBTLE DIFFERENCES KEEP THROWING ME OFF! ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!
All right everyone, tomorrow night I'm leaving for England. I'll be studying at Oxford for a month, and periodically swinging by London on the weekends (and maybe Paris if I can come up with enough money). I don't know if I'll be able to update this thing while I'm across the pond, but I'll try. So, just in case I can't, I'm writing this just so everyone will know I'm not dead if I don't happen to update or talk to anyone. How WILL you all survive without me...? Yeah, yeah, my number of friends on here isn't even in double-digits, but it's quality over quantity, eh? So, in case I don't write again until August 2nd, cheers all.
Random thought of the day (a friend told me this and I just had to share it): In this, you'll be asked a question; one question. The scenario is: you're a photographer, and you're walking along, when all of a sudden, you spy a massive flood on the way. Caught in the midst of this wave is the President of the United States, George W. Bush. Now, you can either take a picture of this and win the Pulitzer, or help save the life of not only a person, but the president of the United States. So the question to you is: do you use color film or black-and-white?
Random thought of the day (a friend told me this and I just had to share it): In this, you'll be asked a question; one question. The scenario is: you're a photographer, and you're walking along, when all of a sudden, you spy a massive flood on the way. Caught in the midst of this wave is the President of the United States, George W. Bush. Now, you can either take a picture of this and win the Pulitzer, or help save the life of not only a person, but the president of the United States. So the question to you is: do you use color film or black-and-white?
Sometimes being proven right about a person or a situation doesn't bring a feeling of satisfaction. In the case of people, it occasionally makes me feel sorry for someone I dislike. I guess in some sense, pity is worse than animosity, but it doesn't make me feel any better.
I could go into details, but no one here would know any of the people I'm talking about, and the moral is what's really important here, right?
I know things about people; it doesn't make me feel wise or anything like that, though. When a moment of clarity does occur, I usually try to put myself in the shoes of the person I don't like (I won't say "hate," -- that's a term I reserve for people that REALLY warrant it, like The Idiot). What makes me feel pity for these people is the fact that I can often quite easily empathize with them, and understand them in a weird way. In one instant I can go from not liking someone to wanting to help them. I guess that's pretty arrogant, in some way, but that's me. I'm just weird, I guess.
Edited to add: Everyone check out Angeline's set: at last, something cool to come out of Indiana.
And....
Random thought of the day: If life is a journey and not a destination, then why are some people able to travel by supersonic jets while others of us are stuck walking barefoot?
I could go into details, but no one here would know any of the people I'm talking about, and the moral is what's really important here, right?
I know things about people; it doesn't make me feel wise or anything like that, though. When a moment of clarity does occur, I usually try to put myself in the shoes of the person I don't like (I won't say "hate," -- that's a term I reserve for people that REALLY warrant it, like The Idiot). What makes me feel pity for these people is the fact that I can often quite easily empathize with them, and understand them in a weird way. In one instant I can go from not liking someone to wanting to help them. I guess that's pretty arrogant, in some way, but that's me. I'm just weird, I guess.
Edited to add: Everyone check out Angeline's set: at last, something cool to come out of Indiana.
And....
Random thought of the day: If life is a journey and not a destination, then why are some people able to travel by supersonic jets while others of us are stuck walking barefoot?
