I am starting to worry that inconclusive reasoning is beginning to take over my life. For reasons unknown to me, I have recently decided that a lot of problems are now solutions to a bigger problem. According to Einstein, all I have left to do is figure out how to punch a hole through the exact center of my life, and I will be able to visualize the fourth dimension.
Hows that for setting your goals?
Long time no journal, eh? Well not much has been going on. For as much as I hate routine, I always get caught off guard by the fact that no routine is a routine in and of itself.
A funny thing happened on the way to writing this journal entry... On Friday we hosted a Communist Party. I thought it was a great idea but the satire of the whole thing was definitely lost on a gang of talking haircuts. I understand that this city has been having some problems with rogue pods of feral haircuts ever since they were introduced to this habitat by merchant ships on trading voyages between here and Long Island, but shit.
Since when is it ok to go to somebodys apartment, who you dont know, just so you can bitch about how lame they are then punch holes in their walls and leave. Heres an ide-er, next time, stay home, trim you post-hardcore beard, listen to rites of spring vinyl and figure out how youre going to get to the damnation a.d. reunion for New Years. Dont bother me. If I want to drink vodka, talk about perestroika, and get some extra mileage out of the five things that I know how to say in Russian with my seven friends I should be able to, right? Lifes too short to spend every moment defending how punk rock you are.
Pardon my saltiness, but if I dont have some decent and worthwhile human interaction, and soon, whatever few kind and humanitarian cells I have left will surely be squashed like the Spartans at Sphacteria.
Note to self; salty rants and obscure references to ancient Greece will not make you any new friends. This is a problem.
It could however be just the ticket I need to get myself into Philadelphia, faux communist, vodka-drinking, so-not punk rock, workaholic, detractors of Argos underground society. I bet we would all be pals. Yes, that sounds a lot better.
Hows that for setting your goals?
Long time no journal, eh? Well not much has been going on. For as much as I hate routine, I always get caught off guard by the fact that no routine is a routine in and of itself.
A funny thing happened on the way to writing this journal entry... On Friday we hosted a Communist Party. I thought it was a great idea but the satire of the whole thing was definitely lost on a gang of talking haircuts. I understand that this city has been having some problems with rogue pods of feral haircuts ever since they were introduced to this habitat by merchant ships on trading voyages between here and Long Island, but shit.
Since when is it ok to go to somebodys apartment, who you dont know, just so you can bitch about how lame they are then punch holes in their walls and leave. Heres an ide-er, next time, stay home, trim you post-hardcore beard, listen to rites of spring vinyl and figure out how youre going to get to the damnation a.d. reunion for New Years. Dont bother me. If I want to drink vodka, talk about perestroika, and get some extra mileage out of the five things that I know how to say in Russian with my seven friends I should be able to, right? Lifes too short to spend every moment defending how punk rock you are.
Pardon my saltiness, but if I dont have some decent and worthwhile human interaction, and soon, whatever few kind and humanitarian cells I have left will surely be squashed like the Spartans at Sphacteria.
Note to self; salty rants and obscure references to ancient Greece will not make you any new friends. This is a problem.
It could however be just the ticket I need to get myself into Philadelphia, faux communist, vodka-drinking, so-not punk rock, workaholic, detractors of Argos underground society. I bet we would all be pals. Yes, that sounds a lot better.
fun times were had this past friday.
[Edited on Feb 22, 2006 12:04PM]