Zейводник | only here exists my imagination...

Jeans

2009-01-10T02:35:00.000-05:00

Alright, I'm a fag, and I love to shop...however, I FUCKING ABHOR shopping for new jeans. And it's interesting, I find that jeans are a lot like dating. You know, you go in and you pick out a pair that you THINK will fit you. You try them on, look at them in the mirror...some of them you think look damn good, but then you get them home, and you see them in a different light, and you never wear those fuckers again. Some of them come damaged, with holes and striations, and you think, "I can work these"...and you do...for a while. And then, after a few washes, the holes become bigger and bigger, and you have no choice but to throw them into the burning barrel. And then, when you aren't even meaning to shop for jeans, you stumble upon those perfect pair, and you think "No, this is too good to be fucking true". So you sit on it for a few weeks, you go in, try them on again, and then you purchase them and take them home and they become your favorite pair, the ones you can't even bear to throw out, even when holes begin to form that weren't there in the first place, holes that you love, holes that have become a part of you. Some of these priceless pieces of you you'll keep forever, and some you throw out because you don't have room in your closet for them anymore, even though you love them so much...in any case, you'll never forget that specific pair, never, and you find yourself cruising Ebay for them, but you'll never find them again. I guess what I mean to say, is hold on to that special pair of jeans...you'll never find them again, and you'll always look at the other jeans wishing they were THAT pair.

Thank You, Asshole

2008-08-05T20:53:00.003-05:00

Entering into the job market proved to be exponentially more difficult than, say, cakewalk. After having spent hours first gathering applications from the most random places from the Dollar store to Blockbuster, after tediously checking and double-checking that I checked every applicable box and divulged more information than is necessary on paper, after having spent the better half of some nights applying to places of business on the internet...I resorted to doing something which doesn't come especially naturally to me - nagging. I had seen Dairy Queen as lucrative and prospective as it's only minutes away, where I would feel comfortable driving my car to and from everyday, not expending more gasoline than necessary; My good friend had been working at DQ for a solid year and [apparently] had been staying because she felt it copacetic if not more than...and the boss is gay, just like me. I would call once per week, told that my application had not yet been reviewed, and to call back over the weekend, which I happily did. "I just haven't had time...been very busy...I'll definitely have looked over your app by monday." Great, I now knew the day when I would finally have closure on the issue, for the better or worse. "Umm, he's busy right now...can you call back in five minutes?", said some brainwashed manipulated cunt on the other end of the phone line. Five minutes later, another one of the boss's minions would pick up. "He's stepped outside - could you call back?" By now, I knew that I was being avoided, which seems to be exemplary of big companies, the government, etc., ignoring the individual. Angered, I persisted, as I knew he would cave. Finally - "Fine, come in on Monday at 11am...wear khaki." With this, I embarked on a journey which, in retrospect, I could only possibly describe with a repertoire of the harshest language and analogies comparing my experiences to the Holocaust. The boss (an inconsiderate, self-righteous, homosexual, bastardous Aquarian) put me to work...made to make waffle bowls for a good 2 hours, nothing too lustrous, nothing too strenuous, nothing too bad for money. By the end of the day, I had been trained on the register (a monochromatic B&W screened-bastard with a non-graphical UI, exceptions to every input, and horrid contrast which made finding the multitude of Blizzards nothing less than a severe pain in my cock). I now have 3 days left before I walk out that door and douse my DQ New! Iron-Grilled Turkey Sandwich worker shirt in gasoline and light it ablaze, Iraqi anti-American style. After the endless routine of waiting on customers with hearing-aids, giving them the wrong change, handing out the order that they never wanted, constantly filling long-handled Blizzard spoons, replacing cup after cup after cup, refilling sundae dishes, parfait treat cups, strawberries, pineapple, hot fudge, marshmallow, creme de menth, M&Ms, Thin Mint cookies, Butterfingers, bananas, Snickers, straws, Kit-Kat, Heath, and after taking a hammer to boxes of french fries frozen to the freezer wall with 2" ice, fetching mustard, whipped cream, and pickles from the cooler, hauling barrels of frozen strawberries to be bottled, sweeping, mopping, cleaning every surface (vertical or horizontal), stocking ketchup, iodized salt, pepper, mayonnaise, packing Dilly bars and preparing to-go boxes...I was told that I "don't do anything". I stared in blatant amazement at the audacity and idiocy of such a backward statement. After working 6+ straight hours (only 6 of which I was paid for) with no break (which is illegal, btw), I was basically told that my continual movement within the DQ building basically made absolutely no difference in the quality, efficiency, or cleanliness in the business. I was told that, since I'm in college, I should know how to work a machine which doesn't accurately display food information, that I should be intuitive enough to have known that a banana split qualifies as a sundae and, therefore, gets a short-handled spoon (which never made any sense to me, especially as the dish is large enough for the small spoon to submerge itself in, making the customer's hand sticky), that large Blizzards have to blended half-way full without a cylinder...for each mistake that I made because I was never professionally trained, I was scolded, insulted, and generally accosted by more than one employee and/or my boss. It's true that Einstein couldn't tie his own shoes...intelligence doesn't correlate to practicality, so a German/Russian language major shouldn't be expected to be able to perform intuitively a cretin's job as well as the 11+ year boss/owner/manager, just as such an idiot shouldn't be expected to have the capacity to learn a foreign language, which [probably] directly relates to the reason why he's middle-aged, gay, and has done nothing more with his life than own a DQ franchise to write on ice cream cakes and terrorize his young and [generally] unintelligible workers who don't know scissors from shoestrings enough to flag him on his inappropriate actions which are more akin to elementary school bullies than bosses. But, I say 'Thank YOU, Asshole', for reminding me exactly WHY I'm in college to begin with and not fail at life and need to wipe the strawberry juice from my calloused hands every night before I go home to my boyfriend.

Green 3s and Masculine 9s

2008-07-15T00:46:00.004-05:00

Even before I had read Daniel Tammet's "Born on a Blue Day", I had contemplated the concept of my perception of the 'color' and 'gender' of numbers and letters, and possibility of each number and letter being perceived differently by other people. It seemed odd to me that certain numbers and letters seemed to be, inately, a certain color or gender, although it seemed very natural and felt as though no thought was required to deduce these things for me. After several drunk (and some sober) conversations with some friends about this topic, I found that there are others (possibly even the bulk of society) who also link colors and genders to letters and numbers. A few weeks ago, I had asked my parents about the same thing, but they had no conception of this at all. When asked, they really couldn't choose whether 2 'felt' [more] masculine or feminine, and this boggled my mind, seeing as how, for me, it is very clear-cut. It was never a conscious process when I picked out such things, but this is how it goes:

0 - f - white
1 - m - black
2 - f - yellow
3 - m - green
4 - f - purple
5 - m
6 - m - orange
7 - f - purple
8 - m - blue
9 - m

You see, though, that I don't really have a color associated with 5 or 9. In doing that list, I seriously attempted to discover the colors that I feel for them, although the gender comes extremely naturally and unwaveringly. Colors are more ambiguous but still fairly innate. Also, I only identify numbers from 0-9 because, after that, I find that the number's gender is determined by the last number (103 being masculine because I consider '3' to be masculine, etc.). It is impossible for me to look at a number with more than one digit and determine a color for it. Although SOME letters evoke feelings of a color, it is only for a rare few and not significant enough to include, especially as the colors seem to correlate with the first letter of that color (b - blue, y - yellow, et.), although the genders are concrete for letters for me as they are for numbers.

a - f
b - m
c - m
d - m
e - m
f - m
g - m
h- f
i - m
j - f
k - f
l - f
m - m
n - m
o - f
p - f
q - f
r - f
s - f
t - m
u - m
v - f
w - ?
x - m
y - m
z - m

I actually never noticed until now, but 'w' seems to not have a gender for me. I even attempted to think about it consciously, although I could not say whether it feels more masculine or more feminine, for as I try to fit it into one of those two slots, it doesn't 'feel' right, although it never feels right assigned the other gender; Strange. When I randomly picked up "Born on a Blue Day" in the Penn State Bookstore in Spring '08, I opened up a world similar to mine in this respect. However, as a highly-functioning autistic man living with asperger's and savant syndrome, his perception runs much deeper than that; For Daniel (who is a real British man, featured on the David Letterman show because of his abilities), numbers have not only colors, but also shapes, textures, and even emotions. Unlike me, Daniel's savant syndrome allows him the incredible mental capacity to do amazing mathematical equations in his head, instantaneously, by fitting together the unique shapes of each number, numbers having shapes, colors, textures, and emotions up to 10,000. I may not be this unique, but I'm comfortable in the fact that my 3s are always green, and my 9s always have the traditional male appendage.

Longing for a Simpler Time

2008-07-15T00:01:00.002-05:00

I've always found it strange that I feel sentimentally retrospective toward the 1950s, especially since I never lived during the time, nor my parents, however, I cannot deny that the feelings are there. Call it a longing for that which was simpler, a time when America was flourishing while the whole of Europe laid in a shambles, a time of lemon chiffon and suburban cocktail parties. I wish to live in a time when you knew your neighbors, even invited them into your humble Sears Catalog Home for a pot roast. I want that American dream consisting of a wife, son, daughter, and family car. Perhaps I'm just a hopeless romantic, maybe not even 'perhaps'...I suppose I am. The whole idea of a structured life really appeals to me. Don't get me wrong; I'm not solely obsessed with the superficial ideas of the housewife and suburbia, but of the feel of the time when one knew that being an American and living in the United States meant something, when the US dollar wasn't a joke, when college was affordable, and the government at least half-heartedly cared about its citizens. I've always been about the choices we currently have as Americans, or, at least, what APPEARS to be choices ('appears' as many of them are out of reach for the middle-class man)...I value that there are at least 10 flavors of Pringles in Wal-Mart at any given time, but I'm finding more and more that I despise this America that I live in. As a middle-class white European-heritage male, living on a sizeable hill in North East Pennsylvania, having no religion and next to no family that I really KNOW, I feel as I have no community, no bond, no one and nothing to share a common understanding with. I know who my neighbors are, but I might as well not have any at all. I've conversed with the carpeting in my living room more than the bulk of my neighbors, and that's really sick. I long for the time of the kitchen appliance boom, the invention of the microwave, and the very real possibility of an alien or Soviet attack, and I mean that in all honesty. I want to have a barbeque with three other couples and their children outside under my awning by the pool where the kids play all day. I want to wake up to the smell of crackling bacon and scrambled eggs and have breakfast and coffee with my family in the overly-floral canary yellow kitchen. I want to have a good job that provides financial security for my family and their future, to come home after a long day at work, kick back on the armchair, and light up a cigarette while I read the newspaper. Perhaps Mrs. Abington will stop by to borrow a cup of sugar, or maybe Mr. Cooper with request my help with the construction of his new home addition. I want dinner with my family where the conversation is placid, the food is homemade, and the floral centerpiece is always moved to the sideboard before we begin. I want to have that Sunday brunch at the local diner, where we know the waitresses by name, and she knows our 'usual' order and is actually happy to see our familiar faces. And that jukebox in the corner?, yea, I'll be playing the latest upbeat tune for only a nickel, listening from my booth while my legs stick to the red vinyl seats. It's not fair that my dream is next to impossible. I'm sure there's a 1950s cult/village somewhere which I imagine to be a lot like Stepford, Connecticut, but I'll take the cult atmosphere with the Life cereal and everything that comes with it, gladly, happily, although perhaps I'll spare the robotic vagina.

11am

2008-06-27T10:03:00.003-05:00

This hour has come to be, apparently, when my body first (wholly based on false pretenses) feels it necessary to wrench myself from any deep and innocent sleep with which my mind may then be entertaining itself. This is also the hour, apparently, which coincides with the awakening of the most uneducated hell-animals which tend to characterize a pleasant morning for the bulk of other bipeds - birds. These smug motherfuckers then proceed to, in a caustic string of cacophonous auditory attacks, stir in me a certain murderous vehemence which would, in more mundane circumstances, only arise in such a situation involving being subjected to the stress test of traveling in minus 35mph in a 55mph zone. All these thoughts picked my asshole this morning, specifically, as I simply wanted to drift back into that world which does not exist on this physical plane, to sporadically and intermittently experience the ethereal and surreal, where, instead of becoming perturbed by the birds, I could catch every one of the noisy fuckers in a large cage and submit them to short bursts from a flamethrower, and hear the change in their tune...music to my ears.

Discourse on Technology

2008-05-19T13:40:00.002-05:00

If one had told the flappers of the 1920s that, one day, a little brick-shaped piece of technology would be available to hold up to their ear, through which they would be able to hear a friend or relative who resided in another time zone in the US, they might have told you that such a thing would only be a product of alien intelligence. Well, this day has come and passed, and the cell phone has now become an indispensable and cherished artifact of the bulk of American citizens, as well as those of most other countries of the world. Even those who were fully conscious during the early 90s might have thought an idea that a cellular phone would be in the hands of hundreds of thousands would be crazy. I remember the advent of the popular usage of the cell phone as strange; seeing someone walk through the mall, holding this little piece of metal and plastic up to their heads, appearing as though they were crazy and talking to themselves, especially if you only caught the side of their face which was not glued to the Nokia's surface. Then came the touch-screen. After having been a proud owner of the first iPhone for almost a year now, I take it for granted that I can access the internet from anywhere which is serviced by a cell tower, this power enabling me to discover a plethora of knowledge at the peak of my interest at will. Gone are the days which were characterized by the need to visit a local library to find the [often-outdated] statistic of the population of some random African country; now, I can have such a wanton need to know the ethanol production of Burma and, from the comfort of a moving motor vehicle, discover the fairly-current figure, right on this wireless piece of glass and metal. Every so often, I'll stop in the middle of typing in the Google search text field in Safari on my iPhone and really THINK about what the fuck it is I'm doing...my fingers are simply touching designated areas of this glass screen, somehow delineating to a foreign source that I wish to search for something; simply hitting "search" yields back, wirelessly, the product of my query.

My Discourse on Smoking

2008-05-14T23:01:00.002-05:00

As I mentioned in my previous post, I took up smoking in late October, early November of this year, as a surprise to my friends and especially to myself. I mentioned that I had gotten both of my parents to stop smoking at least 7 years ago, as well as my ex-girlfriend in 2006. Up until I started, I was extremely anti-smoking, seeing as how my one grandmother died of emphysema around the age of 65. Being a product of American society educated in the '90s, it was ingrained into my mind that smoking kills. And this post will attempt to explore the world of a smoker who was once a non-smoker and who will become a non-smoker in time.

It all started several days after I had my bike transferred to campus. I had biked down to this newfound spot that I discovered next to the HUB (the student union center on campus which also houses several well-known restaurant chains including Sbarro and Seattle's Best); it was a quiet plot of ground which contained several benches and small paths of stone walkways which meandered around grass patches and large flat boulders. I biked here intentionally to call my mother on the phone and have a private conversation with her, outside, on a beautiful day, outside of the confines of my extremely small and stuffy dorm. When she didn't answer the phone, I was a little disheartened since I had come here specifically for that purpose. I tried several other people on the phone...no one seemed to be conscious. I then thought to myself quite boldly, "This is the type of situation where one would smoke a cigarette [to wait until someone saw that I had called and then call back]."

It was then that I made the decision to buy my first pack of cigarettes. I consulted my new best friend who had told me that all of her friend back home are smokers and questioned her about which kind/brand of cigarette should be my first. She suggested the new "Marlboro Smooth", which she said tasted like an Andes Candy...how could I pass up a cancer stick that tasted so good?

I called my soon-to-be boyfriend (who had been and probably still is a veteran smoker) and announced that I would like to make such a purchase. Thus, we trekked downtown to scout out the Smooths, made the purchase, and hiked back uphill to the exact rock from which I made the decision to start smoking. It felt somewhat badass at first since I had been raised to believe that what I was now doing was somewhat of a carnal sin, but after conceding that I would only have one-per-day (which would give me a great buzz), I legitimized my new burst of fun, something to look forward too each day. Of course, everyone knew that this one-per-day would go out the window sometime in the near future (which, of course, it did), although I proceeded to believe that I could stick with my plans to have this treat just once every 24 hours.

Soon thereafter, I started having these "postprandial" cigarettes with my newly-close friend, Katie, (postprandial meaning "after a meal, especially dinner"). From there, the act of smoking changed from being the action of me lighting the cigg, holding it to my lips, inhaling and exhaling until it was killed, to being a social activity which involved a certain recap of the day, many meaningful conversations, and a subtle breakup of the normal flow of the day. Obviously, one wants such a good thing to happen more often (the good thing being the good conversations, etc.), so I gradually began to smoke more and more, although I never chain-smoked or (initially) out of stress or anger like many long-time smokers. I refused to smoke between classes, and would almost exclusively smoke with Katie or Sam (my soon-to-be boyfriend).

Gradually, the act of smoking became the perfect thing to do in times of sublime boredom when I would just crave something to focus on. I started smoking between classes starting around wintertime, especially to take my mind of the freezing-fuck cold. I would smoke by myself to obtain seven minutes out of my day when I would be completely alone, outside, to sort out all the things that were going on in my life, in my daily schedule, and to make plans for the near and distant future, along with having regular smokes with Katie and Sam.

There was a time when I denied that I was a smoker, simply because I didn't feel it was fair to put me on the same level as those that were smoking a pack a day or more...having a beer doesn't make someone an alcoholic, nor does smoking 3-6 cigarettes a day (on average) make someone a smoker, necessarily (in my head). However, I finally conceded that I had become a smoker, and that I had to do something about it.

Katie and I had decided to quit together. One of us (not sure who) simply chose the date of April 15th, which we realized later would be tax day, a day to get rid of all negativity and that which is harmful. We counted down the days until around 11:40pm on April 14th when we went out for our final cigarette. In order to document this occasion and to give moral support, I invited Alex, and Katie invited her boyfriend, Neil. We had photos taken during the lighting of what was to be our last cigarette, photos take while we smoked it, put it out, and hugged each other as we knew the road ahead would be tough. We then took the last three cigarettes that we had and ceremonially broke two of them, one for each of us, and then the last one together.

I made it a solid 36 hours when I decided that I simply wasn't ready to quit...not because I NEEDED a cigarette, but because I wasn't ready to give up the special times that the allotment of the time that smoking a cigarette gave me, the unique conversations that only happened with Katie and others sporadically and intermittently throughout the day which I found simply couldn't exist in their same form without lighting up. So I broke and bought a pack at CVS and sunk back into my old ways. Katie held up quite a long time, several weeks, which, of course, made me feel weak, but I have much respect for her ability, especially as she has been a smoker for much longer than I have. I am currently contemplating quitting, contemplating for reasons which I will now explain in the true discourse...

In retrospect, I feel that the college environment exposed me to the feeling of "just letting go" and simply "experiencing", without necessarily thinking of the consequences because this time is supposed to be the best time of one's life and one should live it directly up to its edgy potential. This, combined with my then-boyfriend's habits, gradually led me down this path, along with my long-cultured cynicism for the world which I was then experiencing for lack of direction, along with my simple curiosity and audacity to try new things. It is mostly because of such cynicism that I continue (although much more sparsely than before), as I am the one who believes that the world could end at any minute, that everyone will die in the end and absolutely everything, EVERYTHING, that we will have done up to that point will have meant not a trifle more than jack shit. So, if I can have a cigarette intermittently throughout the day which becomes a certain deserved bonus for living in the first place, what's so wrong with that? Of course, it chokes your lungs, pisses off your body, and poisons your life-liquid, but why not?; we WILL all die some day, somehow...would I rather live to where my ass is strapped to a colostomy bag or simply die of lung cancer. Of course, I'm not mentally retarded - I would love to live to see my children and grandchildren grow up...even my great grandchildren, and I recognized that such a habit may hinder said wishes, and this is the constant battle going on in my head, this, along with "you may never even have kids...you're gay." And at this notion, I smile, because it's accurately true, and just goes to show that some of your greatest dreams (to have children that look like you and your partner) can and will be fucked in the end.

As soon as I started smoking, I told myself and everyone else that I would write a discourse at the end...well, I haven't quite come to the end, but I have written my discourse, and I'm quite proud of it...at least this is one thing that I have gone completely through with and of which I have no regrets.

Freshman Retrospection

2008-05-14T21:41:00.006-05:00

After having completed my first year at The Pennsylvania State University's main campus in University Park, PA, I decided that now is as good of a time as ever to reflect on my impressions, new ambitions, and just to inform the blogosphere about this now gone section of my ever-linear life.

Since August 24th and until May 9th, I called 105 Sproul Hall my home. This small cubicle of about 120 square feet was shared with a roommate. This small cubicle, I called home. As I opened the door on August 24th, I was instantly frozen as I peered over the austere surfaces which were screaming for personalization and character, begging me to lay a paper or two atop the desk simply to break up the void of nothingness. By May 9th, I had collected a good heap of shit, ranging from a large 3x5 German flag which I had hung proudly in my room during early fall when it was still 90 fucking degrees while I blasted my techno music, making sure passers-by would easily see my German pride as I lived on the first floor, to a plethora of cards which had been bequeathed to me for various reasons. Although the area seemed extremely small, especially as my partitioned 60 square feet also included a bed which took up about 15 sq ft, and a desk, bolster, and closet which took up around 20 sq ft, and half the area occupied by our shared minifridge, the space was extremely functional, I became especially proud that my space had in it a place for absolutely everything, organization which I never thought was possible, and that's when I decided that I would be quite satisfied with living in a small apartment for the rest of my life, so long as the city outside my door was large enough for me to breathe.

College has thankfully pushed me to the edges of acceptance, expansion, and has made me somewhat jaded to the differences in people I see everyday. Nevermore do I turn my head to look at someone who has dreadlocks or slanted eyes, especially as people wearing chicken and banana suits aren't uncommon prowling around outside of specific frat houses. My group of close friends includes a Chinese-Jamaican (my best friend), a Chinaman from Hong Kong, an Indian who's half-white, and a girl who is so white that she can trace her lineage back to William Bradford, the first governor of the Plymouth Colony.

Several of my stereotypes have changed, or, rather, stayed the same, but from a different perspective. I had Jersey people all wrong - I used to think they were bad drivers, but, after having driven on the Parkway, I've found that they're just assertive and know where the fuck they're going and how they're going to get there - I seem to have a newfound appreciation for those from the Garden State. I've found that, against my sincere wishes, it seems that several long-standing stereotypes are true...1.) Chinese women should not drive - I was only ever almost hit by two people on campus, both were Asian, both were from Connecticut [strangely]...2.) Black men can be incredibly loud, and thereby inconsiderate, which I found out when my neighbor refused to stop screaming, stomping, and cheering at 3am while playing Madden, especially after having asked him to stop for several consecutive nights and after having notified my RA, who proceeded to visit his room several times.

Let's talk about firsts - I had my first experiences at traditional Frat parties, complete with beer pong, stripper poles, and d.i.y. cocktails. I discovered the elegance and pleasure of the hookah at Chronic Town. I pulled a complete 180 when I started smoking around November, after having gotten both of my parents and my ex-girlfriend to stop smoking. I would elaborate here about the "smoking thing", but that's quite a lengthly topic which would be more appropriate in a post of its own.

Obviously, it was my first time being a college student, which I MUCH prefer (to make as much of an understatement as possible) to being a high school student where teachers are on power trips and good students (i.e., me) get detention for "holding a teacher's calculator hostage" (which I actually didn't, btw). The atmosphere is so much more freeing and is the type of thing that I have been searching for for a very long time; especially coming from living on a mountain for a solid 13 years, being able to step outside and be around so many people my age instantly was something that I began to take for granted which I now hate myself for. I was able to walk on a sidewalk for nothing more than 20 seconds to our convenience store and dining commons to purchase anything that I then desired, from Bold Chex Mix to Advil and Trojan condoms.

I've experienced the dilemma of being the typical college student who is notorious for being poor, which is most definitely a learning experience and sick study into this thing called a "budget" and "saving". However, I coped with this quite copacetically through the donation of (rather, sale of) my plasma. Two times per week, usually Wednesday and Saturday, I would allot a two-hour chunk of my time to the donation of my plasma at Biolife, downtown. Each donation, I would make my appointment by phone, the the bus downtown, show up and scan my fingerprint, take a quite lengthly electronic questionaire on a touchscreen (have you taken Avodart in the last 12 months, have you EVER taken Tegison, have you had sexual contact with another man EVEN ONCE since 1977), have my fingernails looked at under a blacklight, have my arms checked for trackmarks (both front and back), have my weight taken, have my finger pricked, blood drawn, temperature and pulse taken, and my blood checked for protein and iron content...if I passed all that, I would then proceed to the hallway where I would wait for a bed to open up where I would then be prepped with a quite large amount of iodine, stuck with the needle, listen to my iPod for a good 1.5 hours, be patched up, scan out, and be on my good fucking way, freezing my dick off because of the room-temp saline which they pumped into me and with a bright pink fucking band which they wrapped my wound with, tight enough to cut off the circulation to my forearm.

Being at a top drinking school, I've seen my fair share of drunkards, from that crazy bitch that stumbled into Dunkin Donuts at 1am, well announced by her exclaiming "I WANT SOME NUTS!!!...DONUTS, that is!", proceeding to tell her life story to a table of adults enjoying their blueberry lattes and vanilla bean coolatas, which included her most recent debacle trying to get into a frat house - "I tried to get into this one frat, but the guy said 'you're too drunk', so I was like 'suck my TITTIE!!!'", to one of my good friends who passed out on the floor of his supplemental room only in his boxers, with his head in the trashcan, BEFORE they even left the room to go to a party.

Now, all but a sophomore, I can't say that I have any regrets from my freshman year...I got involved in the worst relationship of my life, but I've taken from that what I could in order to never make such a stupid mistake again by thinking that you can force someone to let you help them. I've made some friends who I know will have a continual significant impact on my life and its course, not simply some associates whose only common thread we have is some shared gen. ed. class. I feel quite confident in saying that I wouldn't mind repeating this past year of my life again, and again, and again, and again...

State of His Life Address

2007-08-21T16:19:00.000-05:00

So, I survived the elementary and secondary school systems...I've thrown myself directly into the tertiary system at The Pennsylvania State University (PSU) and have only recently chosen to "be a part from the start" by volunteering for the PSU Red Cross and joining the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union), both of which I'm very proud of. I survive on a parental allowance of $50 per week which is more than sufficient - this allows for haircuts, entertainment, small outings, etc. I find that I don't much miss high school or many of the people that I've met before this period in my life...the relationships were almost entirely superficial as the only binding factor was the common school which we all bitched about, all the time, for one reason or another. I suppose it's not that I don't miss the people, I just realize that it's not so bad not having them because they would never possibly fit into a major part of my life, especially from here. We're told that, after high school, things would change and you wouldn't keep contact with those people throughout our college years...most people try to not let that manifest, but I never tried to stop it from happening. I wouldn't say that that is too incredibly insensitive, just the truth. Those that I still have contact with and those that I still choose to include in my life should know that they are there for a purpose, they should know that I actually feel that they mean more to me than just acting as an appliance in high school drama.

Crazy shit happens here at college - I've been shot in the neck with a Nerf dart (and it stuck because it was humid that day, buah!), Brian was shot in the eye by Kelly, I've had music battles with my neighbor (due to my awesome Logitech 2.1 soundsystem, YEA!), and my boys in supplemental decided tonight to have a dance party in their large room with sweet lights and music. Sigma Nu rules, by the way. I've thought about pledging, but I don't feel the need right now...perhaps in the future. I mean, I am here for a solid 4 years. On that note, we should probably discuss my future...

In this first semester, I am taking Russian 001, German 003, Sociology 001, Language Myths, and Astrology 001...I am at the top of both my Russian and German classes, and probably near the top in Sociology and Language Myths; Astro is another story altogether, one which makes spontaneous relocating to some unknown island sound like a pertinent reaction to the class. It is my current plan to major in German and Russian, with a possible minor in Sociology (to what end with sociology I am unsure). I am shooting for a position with the CIA or UN in translation, interpreting, or teaching the languages to agents who may need to live and survive in those countries...I've even been considering a position in foreign media analysis, which would also satisfy my compulsion to write and do it well. As two years experience is usually required for these positions with the CIA, however, it is very possible that such a position will only be occupied by me after some years of teaching the languages as a professor, which I would equally love, if not more so. I would never teach at the high school level...especially because you need a teaching degree for the high school level and not at the collegiate, plus those little fuckers just don't give a shit, and I don't like that. I would prefer the open movement and freedom to do what I wanted in my classes anyway. It is almost a given that my 3rd year will be spent entirely abroad, half in Germany and half in Russia, and it's even possible down the line that I might transfer to a foreign university...the University of Auckland in New Zealand is very perspective as they have a large number of majors and is fairly respectable as a good university.

I have an unofficial favorite, although he plans on relocating ASAFP which means I will lose pretty much the only guy with whom I can have an intellectually stimulating conversation and not just constantly be this college guy who is slightly offput and perverted by the other unintelligible guys who compose my crew...the story of my life.

ΣΝ...let me tell you about Sigma Nu...these two Greek letters compose the "best" fraternity that I know to be in existence. The group of guys who have pledged this frat are some of the most open people on campus...more later!

Idiosyncratic

2007-07-22T14:17:00.001-05:00

Ever since blueberries have come into season this year, dropping their normal astronomical purchase value from in excess of $4.99 to a mere $1.50 per pint, I have been subsisting on a ramekin's worth of blueberries and a portioned size of cottage cheese for the bulk of my lunches. I meticulously sort through the pint container, carefully discarding the stems, shriveled loners, and all the otherwise non-Aryan blueberries. The chosen few who've made the cut then proceed to be blasted by the coldest bacteria-caustic water which is able to be pumped from the ground. A minutes worth of swishing, rubbing, and draining [repeatedly] yields my perfect ramekin of blueberries. Now, this process, for be, in joyous - it ensures that my eating experience will be sublime, unhindered by the unexpected crunch of a stem, effectual insofar as to satisfy my need for a good meal. The process which involves the peeling off of the cottage cheese container is the one which seeks to burn my core. Every container, EVERY container which I have unsealed, no matter what my angle, speed, or pull-pressure, seems to want to ensure that a little piece of it still exists when the bulk of it is gone, like a whore in the old movies who would leave that handkerchief for the jock to find and, consequentially, return it. For me, it is not a handkerchief - it is a piece of colorful foil which sits on the rim, glued, staring me in the face with every bite of cottage cheese which I may so choose to proceed in hoovering into my open gullet. THAT bothers me; I dig in with my fingers and fingernails in order to loose the wretch from its last stand, throwing the lot of it into the trash can. Call me idiosyncratic, or maybe just a little OC, but I am who I am, and that foil will never be left on the pristine white plastic which encases my lunch. Fuck.

On My Humor

2007-07-15T15:38:00.001-05:00

It's a shame that I haven't talked more of my particular brand of humor, especially as it is one of my defining features. It ranges from the simple and happy-go-lucky traditional joking to the deeper, more intellectual art of sarcastic jabs, cynical projections, blogging from a satirist viewpoint, and being that exclusively raunchy pervert-type that everyone is attracted to for some odd and unexplainable reason that perplexes even me.

I must say, however, that I am not a pervert at heart. Anyone who knows me may find this a tad offset and even "untrue", but I can explain it this way - I take joy in making people laugh, and people laugh at dirty tasteless jokes. The sheer "shock factor" sometimes is enough to send someone reeling in laughter, and I delight in that; This laughter takes my very core and shines it with a gold dust and buffs it to a glistening finish. If people found "why did the chicken cross the road" jokes equally as amusing, I would tell them more than make a reference to my penis, their pet goat, or their mother. Anyone who claims to not be amused by such things is either (a.) a liar, or (b.) a mormon.

More than being a pervert, I take much more pride in my keen ability to be sarcastic when appropriate and/or opportune - I enjoy not only exercising my human right of freedom of expression, but also craftily insulting and astounding those who get in my way or insult me. This ability, though, is very sporadic, and tends to be heightened naturally when I am in a taciturn mood, and also (more strangely) late at night, especially in hotel rooms, especially at FBLA conferences, especially when calling girls across the hallway.

I practice satire to be a good American citizen - constructive criticism takes a turn with me, though, as I prefer the Jonathan Swift-ian absurdity to simply pointing out mistakes and will go to great ends to elaborate my point through much extrapolation and a spoken fluidity characterized by a dextrous vocabulary and, most importantly, the willingness to do so.

Many people like to say "I think, therefore I am.", I say "I shit, therefore I am.", especially as defecation is one of the characteristics of life - thinking is not. Now, you have experienced my humor.d

Reality TV - Seconds, Anyone?

2007-07-15T15:11:00.001-05:00

Completely against my original prediction, it seems that reality TV continues to live on...therefore I must address it. My feelings really run no deeper on this subject that this forward-coming example of backwardness:

If you were chosen to be a contestant in which you are to win the heart of a rapper (Flavor Flav) by competing in various competitions against other female competitors while living in a large mansion, would you say this is more of a dream, or more of a reality? Unless you really ARE one of these contestants, this scenario is most certainly surreal and, ergo, NOT reality television at all...more like surreal television, even macabre television at that.

Applesauce and Bacon/Choices and Sacrifices

2007-07-09T20:29:00.001-05:00

Yesterday morning, I performed my usual routine of waking up late (11:30am) as I am a teenager on Summer vacation and walked to the refrigerator. Upon opening the door, I saw a bundle of something wrapped in a paper towel atop a square barf-pink-colored plastic plate - bacon. Next to this, I saw the stack of four Wegman's cups of unsweetened applesauce. Ten minutes later, I had proceeded to use the bacon as spoons to eat two of the applesauce cups (not the actual plastic cups, resin identification code 7, mind you). I know you're about to call me a hog, but stop - you all know you've dipped your pork chops into the applesauce, and NO, that's NOT a sexual reference, so stop trying to make it something that it's not, you fucker.

I recently (today) solidified my "choice" of The Pennsylvania State University, University Park Campus, over the University College Utrecht, the hardest decision of my life, thus far. "Choice" in quotes as I feel it really wasn't my choice, but rather my obligation at the moment to keep as many options open to me as possible, and, in this instance, that means going where the most opportunity and horizontal movement exists for me. For me, this was not "choosing" PSU over UCU, it was simply selecting PSU, as it would have been impossible for me to say a stark "no" to UCU - I know you think it's complex, but you can be sure in the fact that it's much more complex in my own head than as it is written in this blog. This "choice" (ok, enough with the quotes) brought both great serenity and, with it, immense disappointment. Since I had learned of the possibility of studying abroad for the first years of University (assumed until, at least, the completion of a bachelors), it was my goal. After the discovery of the program offered by UCU, my admission into this prestigious institution became the point to which I affixed and aligned my entire life and high school curriculum - this became a success in May after a grueling and cumbersome phone-interview. However, by this time, I had been well into crafting a backup route in the event of my previous goal being a failure - enter my interest in PSU. Before my mom suggested that I have such a backup plan, I was hell-bent on going to a foreign university for several reasons - I felt I would have greater responsibility in a European university environment; I saw a safer, quieter environment in which I could integrate well and study; I saw a new adventure, one set completely apart from every other person I had ever met, ergo an opportunity to be my own person, stray [continally] from an "orthodox" American life, and seize higher intellect; I saw me, with Mona.

Although the "current situation" had nothing to do with my "choice" (okay, so I lied - fucking sue me), Mona was an undeniable factor in the balancing of the scales, as was my family, naturally, and it pains my flesh to know that I cannot simply get on a train to be by her and even more to think of the possible ramifications of my decisions, the choices, and the sacrifices.

2007-06-30T00:17:00.000-05:00

Of course, after purchasing a subscription to GOOD Magazine online after searching the surrounding 50-mile radius for several months, I saw an issue staring at me, banteringly, from the shelf of the Wegman's magazine section, only one day after my purchase...I can never win.

Inexcusable

2007-06-17T16:15:00.001-05:00

I know that my readers are probably more than adequately annoyed by my lack of posting, and even more vexed and/or pissed by my persistent apologies which could be replaced by more constructive posts, but, once again, I must truly apologize for the delay between this and the last post...much has occurred, much is occurring, and much will also soon come to pass, but not without having occurred, to continue the motif. My status of AWOL since May 10th is, Hauptsächlich, inexcusable, especially as it has continued through the climax and culmination of 13 years of having been in the American School System or ASS (btwfyi, I just made that up without any purposeful premeditated thought). If that last sentence wasn't explicit enough, I graduated from high school on the Eight day of June in the year Twothousand-Seven. I tend to like that archaic way of datum delineation, actually - it's amusing to me, even. The weather on 6-8-07 was crafted in such a fashion that any type of comfort was easily quashed by humidity easily-exceeding (at least, it FELT possible) 100%, saturated in an outside air temperature in excess of 90 degrees, and, with the threat of evening thunderstorms (the ceremonies only beginning at 8pm), we were forced inside, into the ONLY room in the entire senior high school building which is not airconditioned - the gymnasium. Add pure synthetic polyester robes around 216 nervous students, at least 1,000 parents and staff crammed into and onto plastic bleachers (currying a sort of swamp-ass effect for the bulk of them), and poor ventilation...THAT was graduation. Surprisingly, the ceremonies only lasted about an hour and five minutes, although the practice earlier that day had occupied more than three hours of our time, add 40 minutes for me as I live on the edge of the district.

To celebrate my achievement, I hosted an "Ice Cream Social" at my house on the 15th. It was aptly successful, with just the right amount of attendees to harbor several concurrent conversations in several places on my property. The invitations which I had crafted for three hours, singly, into the early morning of my last day of high school were unique, to say the least - designed in Publisher 2007, printed in pure B&W [becuase my printer is a cunt], rolled, then fastened with a gold seal with either an "S" [for Shellenberger] or a graduation cap on top, and tied around the middle with hand-cut hemp. Around forty invitations went out, fifteen was the total count of partiers, and I'm comfortable with that number. The [non-metrosexual] Ice Cream Social was to be located at my "Mountain House" starting at 3pm until whenever the last faithful attendee departed. Food was served at 5pm, dad-pulled pork BBQ with Dinosaur Sauce, mom-patted hamburgers, and Sweet Thai Chili Pringles included. Betwixt the food and ice cream was positioned the harrassment of the flamboyant and candy-stuffed donkey, also known as a pinata. I would estimate fifteen pounds of sugar goodness was wrenched from its cardboard carcas after several American teens were loosed upon it wielding a metal flag pole and (after having been bent) a sturdy curtain rod - it was beautiful. 7pm marked the beginning of the actual Ice Cream Social, which was more like a make-your-own-sundae-fest plus a movie - Will Ferrell's "Old School" to be exact. Ice cream condiments included all the Smucker's products - hot fudge, mint chocolate hot fudge, caramel, marshamallow topping, and crushed pinapple. We also provided marashino cherries, Redi-Whip Whipped Cream, and crushed peanuts and walnuts. To make a delicious story shorter, I loaded my sundae layer atop diabetic-coma-inducing layer with every topping save the crushed walnuts, to which I have a slight allergy. A bonfire, complete with a non-traditional heat-dried Christmas tree, was ignited at 9pm for the pleasure and glow of my cohorts upon the embers of which we were to partake in the American delicacy of s'more and cherry/blueberry mountain pie-making and feasting. It is necessary to mention how dry the Christmas tree really was at its time of explosion, I mean "lighting"...ahem...it was beautiful, an untamable raging flame carried into the sky by the catalyts called newspapers and Macy's flyers. 11pm brought an overworked Natalie Dincher back to the party, only to the avail of an unaccostomed-to-party-hosting Zak after a long day of decorating, eating, serving, and joke-cracking.

It is also necessary to mention the graduation gift accrued by me through the devices of Alex Stopper - a book, rather a photolog compendium of everything one Tucker Shaw ate in the year 2004, organized by date eaten, thing/s consumed, time hoovered, and place enveloped by his [apparently-] large mandible. This book satisfies my exact random personality, characterized by my unorthodox ideosynracy for the craving of that which is also random, eccentric, and even minimalist. For this quenching, I thank her.

More later...

Bad Boy

2007-05-10T22:43:00.000-05:00

Instead of studying for my AP US History exam, which takes place in approximately 9 hours, I am being a freak listening to new Russian techno (obviously, that phase isn't over yet) and avoiding going to bed, so I can be at my OPTIMUM tomorrow ;-)

Death to Kimberly Clarke

2007-04-29T15:51:00.000-05:00

I fucking hate Kimberly Clarke. Everyone knows who she is. Even if you live in a shitty corner of South Ankara, you know this cunt. She's the one who seems to stock every public restroom in existence with the thinnest of half-ply toilet paper with the transparency features of dried cheesecloth combined with the absorption ability of phyllo dough. The number of squarelets needed for each consecutive ass-wipe does lessen, ever, for fear of accidentally stuffing your fingers up your asshole. This is the fear with which I live, every time I come in contact with a public toilet - not the possibility of contracting HIV or HPV from the toilet seat, not the possibility of the hems of my jeans becoming soaked in a urine so yellow it would rival the latest shade of goldenrod of this season's sun dresses, but the very real possibility that my finger may somehow slip into the vacuous hole that all living creatures share. Fuck you, Kimberly Clarke, for making the defecation process in public even more complex than it ever needed to be with your hundreds of thousands of yards of cheesecloth on that gargantuan cheese wheel of a toilet paper spool.

Why I'm Hating Life at the Moment

2007-04-26T16:46:00.000-05:00

I think I'm pretty justified in my feelings right now - have a look:

I've nearly spent all my money, going from over $200 to a little over $40 in the last few days, spending on my tux for senior prom, food, and ice cream.
Ungodly amounts of work brought on by inconsiderate teachers who think that their subject is the most important
Impending AP tests which will be hell due to either inexperienced teachers and their uninteresting teaching methods throughout the entire year
Badminton, which has gone from what would have been my favorite phys. ed. unit to my least favorite due my partner's continual ranting (such as I'm doing) to me during gameplay (thus bringing me down even further), her continual hacking up her lungs and, sometimes, [it sounds like] even the caudate lobe of her liver
The bad rainy weather that I've always associated with April and May which has surfaced out of the inanely beautiful weather we had been experiencing out-of-season - tgtbt, right?
Dumb "gossip-style" shit which I have so innocently and easily be sucked into after avoiding such juxtapositioning for the past few years, fairly successfully
Tomorrow, April 27th (a 27), which will be a marathon of a Friday...I have to come in early to do [basically] all of the Anatomy and Physiology of Smell lab and questions by the end of the day, attend the Senator Madigan pre-conference meeting, find time to do the calculator part of the calculus quiz which I already know I failed, have an interview with the University College Utrecht over the phone in my guidance counselor's office because the time difference doesn't allow me to do this from the comfort of my own home...and I'm guessing that all this will take place between 7am and 11am tomorrow...
Classmates who think I have a problem because I have so many things going on right now and their asinine thought process that suggests to them that I should not have a wavering in my usually-amicable air about me for their continued and unhindered fucking amusement (Amanda)

Unsure

2007-04-23T16:40:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, I realized that, on average, my three-person family goes through one roll of toilet paper every two days. TODAY, I realized that I don't even know where the new rolls come from or who replaces them when there are no more underneath the sink...what does this say about the degree of my family participation? I'm not sure how I feel about not knowing the location of a possible emergency-solving object, or who would come to my rescue during the zenith of my vulnerability.

America as a Teenager

2007-04-21T23:59:00.000-05:00

In a world full of "adult" countries, however bipolar (United Kingdom), corrupt (North Korea), and miserly (Switzerland) they may be, there is one that stands out as being the common teenager - The United States of America. The US behaves as though it were an uncontrollable teen boy who entertains no notion of the existence of a frontal lobe, that underdeveloped part which is crucial in weighing decisions and their consequences. The hormonal problems and consistent rebellious nature of the teen is apparent in his decision-making which is characterized by bad choices, speaking without thinking, ineptitude stemming from a lack of discipline and a spoiled nature, and, overall, his unholy ego. If one were to have replaced the previous sentence's "teen" with "USA", it can most accurately be read the same and remain just as profound and sublime. Constant fighting, violence when forced to comply with others, and otherwise isolationist tendencies, preferring to be locked in his messy room instead of cleaning up and opening the door, seem to also shape what this teen [country] has become, of which the parents are not proud. His ego leads him to believe that he is capable of anything, needs no one else, and charges on whatever whim the next tram shuttles him to. His dabbling in drugs ("business" practices of Enron, Adelphia, etc.), backward practices such as the breaking of promises to his parents (the Patriot Act), and general feel that he is capable of anything by himself (the No Child Left Behind Act) engender this rage-driven entity named America. Unlike other child countries, America was born of a womb of malcontent and slaughter of thousands of indigenous peoples into a family of uncaring and irresponsible parenting, was raised on a milk formula accurately titled "Hypocrisy", and was continually suppressed into accepting the occupation title of "Head Fry-Wench" until he grew up to become a mass murderer out of cloudy hallucinogenic reasoning, refusing to apologize for known mistakes, and slowly killing himself in his old age through his old habits.

The Great Analogy

2007-04-21T22:39:00.002-05:00

When one begins to delve into the interoperability of the Universe and everything in it, one can easily become lost, scared, and disillusioned when similarities between that which is gargantuan and that which is nothing more than minutia [mostly literally] are juxtaposed and studied from the keen eye of a craned and probing neck.

It is most interesting the seemingly-direct relationship and the similarities which it constitutes between the civilization which the human species has fabricated around itself, particularly the transportation infrastructure, and the human body itself. Let us develop and overexpose this fascinating smidgen of uncanniness.

If one were to step back, yes BACK, far back into the most desolate "corner" of the universe and, within the parameters that this is the only universe in existence (hence UNIverse), look forward (such a relative term is most necessary within normal communication), it is most probable that you would see an innumerable amount of galaxies and, within them, solar systems. Within these solar systems are planets rotating around a central star or stars, and on many of these planets are (without a 70th of an iota of a doubt) some type of form which goes about its own business, yet maintaining a certain harmony, just like everything else in the universe.

Now, step into our own galaxy, the Milky Way, and zoom in to planet Earth. Here, there exists the most sublime example of the smaller representing the larger on an incredibly accurate scale.

The human body is an enrapturing machine to peruse over, dissect, and stimulate for reaction, but its very workings are mirrored the Earth. Suppose that the Earth is an organism, as is a human, and that each of its continents are organs, that each of its tissues are countries, and all the way down to humans as cells, and then the entire layering process is repeated within the human body. But, lets continue the analogy of the Earth as an organism and humans, other animals, plants, and all of its other inhabitants as its cells.

The following will be in the form of unique written tangents which will, collectively, express loosely and, in a very scatterbrained fashion, my gist.

A human is born, cultured, learns to perform a task, performs this job for the bulk of its life, dies, and is replaced by another who does the same job, sometimes better, sometimes worse, and is sometimes replaced even if he is not yet deceased (becomes fired). If many unemployed individuals gather, they form a cancer, just like malignant cells.

From the house to work and back again, the human is mirrored as a cell in the arterial and vascular systems of the body. Small back roads upon which the human drives from the house are made akin to the smallest arteries, becoming bigger and bigger as he nears center city on a multi-lane highway to perform his job at a business like many of his other coworkers, although not exactly in the same way, and not exactly the same job, consumes energy, defecates, and travels back home via the same highway, only on the opposite side, in the venous system, back from whence it came. The department in which he works combines with others to form a company, which combine with other companies to form cities, which combine with other cities to create a country's economy, and these countries (organs, each of them unique in what they accomplish) then work together to create a balanced world economy - the organism.

Many cities have high unemployment rates, crime, and poverty - ever hear of cancer? Like the city of Detroit, a cancer can grow and mestasticize into a large edifice of infarct skin and a totaled economy.

My America Series

2007-04-04T22:13:00.000-05:00

The next few blog posts should consist of my review of America through several analogies which I have developed (some more so than others) over the past few months. These will include:

America as a Teenager
America as Brad Pitt
America as The Ultimate Hypocrite

I hope they are for all to enjoy, as they should be comical and enraging, as much is very true.

On the Fourth Anniversary...

2007-03-19T23:46:00.000-05:00

...of the Iraq War, I feel discontent. It has been my general feeling until, well, last month, that the US should leave Iraq immediately and let them fend for themselves. It is [still] my firm belief that Iraq should be populated exclusively by Iraqis, that America should not "set up shop", seek to convert the "heathens", impress upon them any form of democracy which they do not want themselves, or occupy any area for any amount of time where a malignant purpose is the main motivation (a.k.a., OIL). I feel the war was and is based on disinformation (as revealed by the expat residing in Germany), persuasionary misinformation (as fed to us through our propagandist government seeking full support in times of ambiguity between 9/11's attacks from Afghanistan and its blurred line onto the borders of Iraq), and the harvesting of foreign Middle Eastern oil, for what other reasons would the US decide to be so benevolent to such a people whose radical sect wishes to see the entire Western world be disintegrated instead of assassinating the corrupt government of the Darfur region of Sudan?! One might say that the Iraqis were oppressed under Saddam, that they were persecuted and executed...but the American people pay so much money into African charities to feed, clothe, and school them, when the real problem resides in the Sudanese seat of government, who won't let the UN in to help. It has even been recognized that GENOCIDE (a term which has highly-restrictive context-particular implications and usage, used only in positions of lack of more comprehensible diction) has been committed in Darfur, nor in Iraq. Perhaps THIS Janjaweed ruler should be the one who is to be removed from power and not a half-decent Saddam who was executed after having made no specific brandishings of military intent toward the American people, becoming mixed up in our own oil-based agenda.

X

2007-03-11T01:30:00.000-05:00

As I am a creatively logical man of numbers, X is THE MOST sublime title for this blog post, as it serves its purpose as being the most universal variable known to man, and thereby replaces every other possible well-fitting title that I otherwise would have titled this post. X represents exactly why, sometimes, it takes so long for me to write a new post, which stems from any of the most well-deserving titles that arise from my everyday interactions with other physical avatars of "people", inside jokes shared through a maniacal snicker in the hallway, and other random verbal lines that circle around my cerebral cortex throughout the course of each and every day of my life-dream. Those titles and their impetus-esque origins that made the cut [all at once] are as follows:

1.) “HIAWATHA!” – From Scary Movie 2 when Handsome continued to fornicate a roasted and personally-basted turkey…possibly my favorite movie quote.

2.) “Lu-Lu-Lu-Lu-Lu-Lu-Lu-Lu! Five dolla on pump six!” – Tinicia’s possibly-favorite quote from Lisa Lampanelli’s one stand-up special.

3.) “Four Numbers” – From the long-overdue blog entry about my feelings on the production, plot line, and entire concept of the film “The Number 23”. The producers of this film were, in an expansively-interpretive nutshell of strangeness, uncanniness, and exactitude, four numbers away from making the production the story of my life, thoughts, and entire being which is linked innately to the number 27. It includes, scarily, Jim Carry’s confession in the movie that “…the only real philosophy that matters is whether to commit suicide or not”, which anyone who really knows me can tell you that it is/was something I often contemplate/d.

The movie often made painful jabs at my ego and id when referencing Carry’s connections to 23, echoing the same type of my connections to 27, especially personal things such as my Social Security Number, name, birthday, relatives’ birthdays, anniversaries, and others. It frustrates me though as, from now on, anyone who has ever heard of the movie, directly after I explain to them my explicit connection to the number 27, will ask, “OH…yea…did you start looking after watching that movie, The Number 23?...?”, and then I will continue my inner fire-slicked battle with a distant Hollywood. Anyone who is reading this now, or who will read this in the future, knows exactly this feeling – they feel that, if they only have ONE thing in their lives that is distinctively theirs and distinctively defines them and DISTINCTLY differentiates them as a full-featured and fully-individualized human being and it is taken away from them, that it is more than a matter of politeness, that they hold the only possible mental copyright to this thing, that it is even LOGICAL that it is their mental copyright as it IS them, not just describing them or being related to them…as if someone stole your identity and YOU would forever be known as the fake clone of the real Zak Shellenberger.

The fact still remains, though, that I truly AM joined at the cerebellum to my number, 27, and not through some Hollywood fabrication, as it pervades my name and birthday, corresponding to both the numbers of letters and syllables, the fact that September 27th is the 270th day of the year, the fact that my SSN really DOES start with 207, that I will graduate in 2007, that the German girl who I happened to meet by chance online, met two times in Germany, and two times in America, happens to be born on May 27th, her cousin was born on September 27th, their grandparent’s anniversary is on a 27, as is my parents’, and the fact that my dad was born on a 27.

The numerology is also quite abject – subconsciously as a child, before I even discovered my whole 27-thing (which only occurred by chance about 2 years ago), my favorite number had always been 3, which I related to the letter “Z” and the color “green”, which all characterize those which were/are my favorites, and all, suspiciously rhymed. After I saw that Zachary Francis Shellenberger (me) was born on the September 27th (9th month, 27th day), and my name matched the month (9 syllables) and number of letters (27), I began to play: I discovered that 3^2=9, 3^3=27, and (much later, after much continued astonishment) that 3^3^3=19683, and 1+9+6+8+3=27. I even went as far as to analyze the etymology of the word “September”. I saw that the root “sept” meant seven, and then that, because of Julius and Augustus Caesar, it was moved 2 months back, to the 9th spot…that my month, number SEVEN, was moved TWO spaces back = 27. I saw that the cardinal direction that corresponded to my zodiac sign of Libra, east, was at the 270th degree from north, even though that is a little bit of a stretch.

Fuck…it just makes me angry that it happened to me so soon, and that it is something that has been (and continues to be) so personally Zaevodnik. Zaevodnik=27=Me, and Hollywood has no right to destroy my life.

4.) "Fatties and Taxes" – Also, a long-overdue topic, spawned from several years of hindrance by those who continue to eat their problems, bad luck, and, apparently, anything that comes in a grease-laden aluminum-clad bag…but first, let me define “Fattie”, for legal reasons, if not others. I define “Fattie” as being any person whose pubic mound is so grossly large that it covers the entire genitalia by a hanging boxing uvula of adipose tissue, skin, and an occasional Tastykake. Anyway, it is my firm belief that money rules the world, whether we slaves believe it or not, and that a tax hike laden upon those who are grossly obese would spur a dieting trend unrivaled by the cutest of Ethiopians.

Seriously, fatties really do ruin it for everyone. Think about it – they give America a bad name, they develop diabetes more frequently, which leads to more of our tax money streaming to hospitals and clinics to take care of and harbor their fat asses which can’t work or walk for a longer-than-ethically-benevolent time, and I’m sure their considerable weight has some effect on the sidewalks, just like the Amish buggy wheels do on the asphalt. Not to mention the pain they cause themselves, the anguish they cause staring onlookers, and the unreasonable space that their entire mass occupies in our physical Cartesian space.

You see, if I pay for a ticket for a seat in a comedy club, I assume that the ticket not only pays the comedian who is about to contort my stomach in fits of laughter, but also reserves a specific space in which my body is to occupy in a seat and area. If Harold’s fat roll, which developed over a course of eighteen years of fried Twinkies and Cheesy Poofs ingested during back episodes of The Simpsons sitting in a beanbag chair, happens to invade my aura and space which I paid MONEY for (that thing that people, unlike them, are able to WORK for and not just get by claimed disability)…that’s just ridiculous.

5.) "Rubber Boobs and Liquor" - …fuck, I really have no idea why this came to me today, but it’s been there, cycling up and down my frontal lobe on an annoying tricycle honking its juvenile clown’s horn for more than six hours, the bastard.

6.) “Assholus Superiosum (a.k.a. Tom McArthur)” - Comedy Night in Allenwood, Pennsylvania - The entire two-hour show basically boiled down to this: Tom bantering and pissing off everyone whose looks and geographic location directly corresponded and correlated to their hobbies, shoes, and distinctive NASCAR-influenced drawl in their slow retarded speech as he continued to make the other 299 of us reel in circuitous and resounding shock-fueled laughs. Tom’s vivid descriptions of one of the members of the audience, who sat back in his chair to hide his face as he knew he was about to become his next victim in the predatory game into which he paid to gain entry, included this man’s recoiling backward, folding into his own asshole to escape the comedian’s wrath.

Another attack occurred to my right – a man, in an annoyingly-solid red long-sleeved shirt, sat in the very front row, right in the line of fire, with his hands folded across his chest, legs in full spread. Tom asked the man if he could fetch the man a magazine, as it looked like he was taking a shit. We thought it was curt and funny. Other victims included the ambiguous art-teacher-bastard whose answers to the comedian’s simple questions were completely devoid of any axon-dendrite activity. Tom fired back after various “every; sometimes; maybe” answers like so – “What are you, the fucking Rainman? [does Robert DeNiro accent from the move “Rainman”] Yea…yea…back to Allenwood…yea…painted shit into my pants…yea…”

He also had fun with a retired U.S. Marshal, whose rate of spoken words rivaled the very finest abilities of the common mute parakeet. The man in the green and white Cat in the Hat, well…HAT, toward the back must have been born mute, as he wouldn’t respond when asked his name – I’m guessing it was something like Pompous Prick, but he was embarrassed because his wife likes to call him “PP”.

7.) “Apparently, they didn't get along.” – From the workings of the “Chinese Auction” that followed Comedy Night. Mom won the basket which contained several large heavy-duty kitchen spatulas, two half-ply kitchen towels, and some chip clips, all situated in a serving basket, suffocated in a large, obtrusive plastic bag, tied at the top by a scoff-deserving patriotic ribbon.

Dad, in his normally-taciturn mood, asked “Are you going to chop me up, put me in that bag, and beat me with the spatulas in the basement? Did you hear about that man’s wife who did that?”

Mom replied, somewhat taken aback, “No…why’d he do it?”

Dad said, his excitement, again, equally-uncontained, “…Apparently, they didn’t get along.” If that’s not the funniest thing I heard all night, then my name isn’t Captain Abu Dhabi and the Holocaust really did exist. KIDDING, KIDDING!!! – I make my own jokes too, you fuck.

Death by Dishwasher

2007-02-12T21:23:00.000-05:00

Ever smell? Ever smell a smell that you can't really identify? Do you know what a burning dishwasher smells like? I do - the fucker was ten feet beneath my bed. The heating element of our new (bought in November of 2006) GE dishwasher apparently went "on the fritz" last night around this time. I had been reading my AP history assignment when I noticed my throat felt a little scratchy, so I swallowed, swallowed, and swallowed again, then realized it was the smell that was making me feel this way. I walked toward the sink to get some water as I took a break from my intense [that was overstated] reading and leaned my face down toward the vent on the front side of the dishwasher, took a quick sniff, and decided that it smelled vaguely like dishwasher fluid - of course, in retrospect, it was still strange as I didn't remember having heard it make its normal cycle that would have precluded this drying stage, and I should have noticed something was unorthodox then, but, then again, we're a people forced into not trusting our normal instincts and simply submitting to the belief that our mind has fabricated something to fuck with us, and of course it's not like anyone is checking on their dishwasher regularly to see if IT (of all possible objects) is about to spontaneously combust into a ball of hell fire underneath their sleeping quarters. I finished reading and went to bed. Next morning, mom says, "The dishwasher's heating mechanism must have come on during the night and ran for the whole time because the inside of it is scorched, some of our Pampered Chef utensils have melted, and the butter (which was sitting atop the counter, a good three inches of wood and centimeter of thick quality Pyrex-grade glass away from the big hot fucker) had melted in its container." That would be such an unfortunate way do die...not by a car crash where you're propelling your body unnaturally across the surface of the earth in excess of 65mph, not by the OVEN, which is made to heat your Hot Pockets and lasagna to temperatures in excess of 500 degrees Fahrenheit...no, I could have died at the hands of a seemingly-innocent kitchen appliance, one that had been on a purported mission to incinerate its owner. What a bastard.

Bαбελ

2007-01-28T02:18:00.000-05:00

Standing outside the exit, you could easily pick out those who just saw Babel...they were the ones who weren't laughing, weren't smiling, weren't talking. They were the ones hollowed in contemplation. What they were thinking? Not sure...maybe they couldn't think anymore...thinking about that which is unthinkable is, well, unthinkable in itself. I was one of these people. After seeing a small Moroccan boy masturbate (indirectly), a desperate Japanese deaf girl make a pass at being deflowered, the eyes and emotions of a helpless husband whose wife had been shot, and the frantic search for nothing by an illegal Mexican immigrant-nanny to the United States...all I could say was "...it's art...it's art that you either love, hate, or hate and love at the same time."

Besides the multi-culti flick, Babel, my eating habits today reflected the same...my extremely late "brunch" (about 1:30pm) consisted of Padh Thai noodles. Dinner was at the Olive Tree, rated the best restraurant in the Williamsport area, where the one and only cook, Sophia, personalized my Gyro to be more similar to my beloved Döner. I had a small slice of Baklava in-restaurant, but brought home a Jalapeno-Dark Chocolate Pastry Log - that is waiting for me in the refrigerator.

How I feel my generation will differ from past generations...I feel we will not be stuck in a semi-persistent time period in which we grew up, carrying 80% of our mindset, music, fashions, etc. and only acquiring 20% of the fads of future generations. My reasons for this belief can be explained simply - we have been raised to change, to adapt, to use - use the internet, youtube, cell phones, all things that we deem, now, indespensible. The thing that these all have in common? - that would be the exchange of information, the means of communication and media, and huge fads, trends, and necessities. Because we have grown alongside such societal staples, it is unforseeable to me the discontinuation of such growth.

An Expected Visit

2007-01-21T23:31:00.000-05:00

Today, I had an appointment with the Grim Reaper...he wasn't happy. He sat across from me at our kitchen table, a supremely white kitchen table from the mid-90s, which made his bodily shade the epitome of what can persuasively be termed as "black as death". He asked if I wanted coffee, as if he knew how to manipulate our original 1972 Mr. Coffee automatic-drip coffee-maker in such a fashion as to produce "coffee". I declined, casually, so as to not make him feel as if he, himself, were also not in want of coffee. Why the Grim Reaper wasn't happy, I was not sure. It was not my place to ask, so I let that perception fade as he continued with his questionaire...

"Are you eating healthfully?"

"Yes..well, when I can control myself." I snickered here, but it was not well-recieved.

"Doing any drugs, cigarettes, ganja, acid, meth, or ingesting more than the recommended amounts of cough syrup?"

"No, no, no, no, no, and n...well, I doubled the Robitussin on Wednesday because I thought my bronchitis was having a resurgance." That was a lie. He didn't pick it up.

"Any accidents, including any unpleasant slips with a pearing knife in the last six months."

"No." I toyed with my shirt button as he continued making what I imagined to be checks on his clipboard with a pen I had lent to him...he only divulged that it was not his fault the way his last pen had been confiscated in Bangladesh.

"Evaluate the validity of this statement: Do you feel as though you are in good health?"

"Generally, yes." I responded with a despondent overtone that made him stand quickly, causing his robe to even show a bit of his under-smog, which frightened me as it puffed outward, like a miniature inverted atomic mushroom cloud.

"Well, that disappoints me. You are one of our hopefuls." This I knew. He made one last attempt at worth. "Now, before I go, is there anything I can do for you, within reason? It is now my responsibility to offer my resources, says my employer."

"Actually, yes...could you now, kindly, fuck off?"

I couldn't see his eyes, of coures, as they were hidden under that menacing hood, but I'm sure he physically rolled them, right then, during another realization of exactly how meaningless his job really is. What exactly IS his job, though? Of this I am not sure...but I AM sure that it must somehow be important to The Employer, otherwise he would not have been forced to garner my health stats for a second time this week.

I almost felt bad for the Grim Reaper, having to wear such dull earth tones...but I suppose other teens would egg him if he became suddenly adventurous with hibiscus prints and Japanesque neons. I decided I would make Baklava for the next time he came, which would be July 21st, six months from now, six months because that's the way it is, six months for everything, except for a physical, which is a pain in the ass (pun intended) which every guy loves to skip.

My Philosophy on Apple and its iPod

2007-01-20T21:26:00.000-05:00

First, just becuase I'm admitting the few shortcommings of the iPod, which has become my entire essense of life, doesn't mean that I dislike it. In fact, that would be most retrograde to my actual feelings for it. Upon asking "Why does the iPod not have such and such a feature?", one might be pressed to say that "Well, if they pulled out all their tricks on one model, then they'd never have to buy another one, and that would just not be smart for the company and business economics." Well, I'd like to counter that. Suppose such an incredibly versatile iPod DID come out, one with more features than you could shake a burnt IEEE cable at...what would happen? Well, everyone would probably want one. And then? Everyone would buy one, even if the price was fairly...let's say..."unfavorable". And THEN?! WELL...business would slow, maybe stop, until the first iPods started to break, malfunction, require upgrades, new technology was released that was not yet available to Apple, etc. And what would happen after that? Everyone would buy a new one. And that's the way all staple electronics are, especially in the concept of brand loyalty. Obviously, if a company were to create THE BEST product, then why woud anyone want to settle for something subpar? It makes absolutly no sense that, if everyone were to buy this "super iPod", and it would obviously need replacement later in life (even if only due to battery problems), they would not purchase yet another iPod to continue the best experience possible, seriously. Now, if you were to ask me what the iPod is lacking, I can tell you, and many of them are total "no-brainers" (sorry for the use of such infantile verbage)...

FM Tuner - Jesus, if this is not in the next version...I mean, this isn't UKRAINE where radio is only hitting its 20th anniversary and color TV is still a box of mystery
Multi-Function Middle Buttion - Currently, the middle button, when pressed and held during the playing of a song/video or viewing of a photo, has no function...how can this be?! Aren't there enough features lacking in the iPod that could easily be stuffed into a simple three-second hold of the middle button? - Of course there are. Let's explore the possibilities, as shown through the menu that would be displayed when the buttos is held for three seconds during playback (or pause). It's confusing to me, with such large libraries of music on 80GB devices, why there is no way to jump to the artist/genre/album of a song when listening to it. Of course you can just hit "Menu" to go backward, but if you are listening to ALL of your songs and just shuffling them, then you have to go to "Artists" and find the artist. Why should you not be able to rename your MP3s or, now, videos and photo files on-board? I propose AT LEAST for there to be a way to "mark" the file (be it video, audio, or photo) so that it shows up in iTunes during the next sync in a special section, all the files listed so you can batch-manipulate the fuck out of them, ID3 tags and all.
The Options Menu - in order to better illustrate my vision, I have devised an ingenius Excel table...

Wireless Capabilities - It would be the most awesome thing if you no longer needed a cable to sync your iPod through a bastardous cable. It would be even cooler if you could download content directly onto your iPod through WiFi HotSpots...if the RIAA is bitching about piracy, this is one of the first steps possible to take to encourage legal downloads and purchases. There have been many times when I would have been more than willing to download a game to my iPod, and even pay for it, exactly at that time when you are so incredibly bored that your emotion takes over and compels you to do something that you wouldn't normally do, like buy a game for your iPod, such as when standing in a sizeable line at Starbucks.
The End of DRM Restrictions - Of course it makes sense to have DRM restrictions...after all, if the artist wasn't getting paid for their work, then they would not be able to feed their families, right? Well, isn't it the better argument that the artist makes music FOR people to buy it, and that it is something to OWN? If you cannot own the thing indefinitely, then you really cannot own it at all. The least Apple could do is keep a record of who buys what, so that you can have the file for all time, no matter what happens to your unstable computer or who gets into your iTunes library and decides to have a hayday with the "delete" button.
Company Responsibility - Besides ensuring that what you purchase will continue to be in your posession, the fact that iTunes is so restrictive and it's .M4P format is more than cumbersome is just rediculous and archaic...it's like designing a pen to work on only one type of paper, and vice versa. Do you think that anyone would actually buy such a pen then? Exactly - NO!!! Christ...if you buy MUSIC, you are buying an experience that you should be able to have whenever and wherever you want, through whichever medium you choose, be it CD or MP3 player. [sarcastic, now] Of course, it makes sense to build an entire monopoly around yourself and refuse to share, like that 2nd-grader when you were in Kindergarten who used to rule that swingset which you could only use if you were his friend, EVEN THOUGH it was the school's property and your parents paid school taxes...and France is now acting like the responsible adult and punishing the devilish imp for being such a little bastard. Unfortunately, Dad (a.k.a., the United States of America) is being Disneyland Dad and letting the bully do whatever he wants because he thinks it's funny. Grow up, Apple. If you are so self-conscious about our products that you think you would fail if you didn't sucker everyone in and then pull the carpet out from under them, then maybe your products really do suck after all and we've just accidentely joined your cult, which we cannot dissolve due to M4P, the devil himself.

2007 is My Year

2007-01-01T22:13:00.000-05:00

Just wanted to not be a little bitch and not post on the first of this new year, which isn't just a new year, it's a new era - the era of 27, which began at exactly 00:00 this morning where I stood in Pen 4 of Times Square, New York City. Anyone who's reading this blog post requires no new tirade on my obvious connection to the number 27, so I'll just spare why EXACTLY this is MY year. Yes.

Confusion

2006-11-10T14:02:00.000-05:00

Call me old-fashioned, but, for the 18 years that my body has traversed this country, it has been a well-followed precident that having no money meant just that. Where did it change that "no" money actually condones the purchasing of a dehumidifyer, dresser, and new dish washing machine? I know that Lenin callled religion an opiate for the masses, ut this type of backward thought is an entirely new drug class altogether. Maybe, just maybe, this type of thought process goes along the line of spending to get out of economic depression?...fuck it.

I've had a more than lustrous week. Monday and Tuesday were both spent in pure anticipation of Wednesday, which was my FBLA trip date to New York City, which was spent in anticipation of Friday, which is when my Gram came down and we went "ramming" all day. NYC was a drag, to say the very least. There's something about torrential rain mixed with taxi exahust and persistently violating police and fire engine sirens that just says "Why doesn't FBLA check the weather forcast?" One point two hours spent on a tour bus, wet, to get from the bottom of Central Park at 57th street down to the Financial Disctrict is more than a little asinine, especially when the subway could get you the same place in less than one fourth of that fucked up time, and even dry your clothes in the process as you watch the A, C, F, and 3 trains shoot by in front of you and barrel on into the terra firma once again. I can't help but feel incredibly sympathic towards those who had no choice but to expeprience New York City for the first time in this more-than-perverse way.

Now I sit in Starbucks, on the 10th of November, and it's approximately 65 degrees fahrenheit outside. Couples sit with their grande peppermint mochas a venti caramel macchiatos on the outdoor patio as if it were fucking July, even though their beverages are bedeckt with festive Christmas colors and patterns. There is only one thing wrong with such a seemingly-harmonious scene...IT'S NOVEMBER, YOU FUCK. There should be hail the size of small cats and ice on the road thicker than the heel crusties of the Manor Care patients!! WHAT has happened to the Novembers of my childhood, the ones spent playing outside and eating [dirty] snow?! It is now only a remnant that has evaporated from my porous mind with the onset of global warming...but, HEY! I'd rather have a Venti Peppermint Mocha Latte sitting next to a palm tree anyway!

Terribly Happy (Oxy-MORONS)

2006-11-08T23:50:00.000-05:00

Today was my (counts somewhat slowly)...fifth time in New York City, and, by far, the worst as far as weather goes. Rain with fog, laced with more taxis than lightpoles doesn't necessarily set the mood for a pleasant experience. And why is it that high schools would like their students to mature, and yet they systematically subject them to kids shows (i.e., the Sony Wonder Lab)? O, the retardation!

Yesterday, which had been November 8th, 2006, marks the first time in my adult life that I have voted in a public election - I voted for Ed Rendell, John Peterson, and Bob Casey, because Rick Santorum is just a homophobic bigot more concerned with his "homosexual agenda" than the facts and figures of more pertinent things such as starvation. Now, November 9th, 2006, in response to the quick democratic coup in the Senate (HALLALUJA!), it has been reported that Defense Secretary, Donald Rumsfeld (possibly the only half-normal looking person in all of congress), will resign. But, old G. W. Bushy Bush doesn't skip a beat of course - he's already selected a replacement - Robert Gates, a former CIA chief, who is expected to shift several policies concerning the war in Iraq. Maybe (and that's a very non-full-throttle maybe), because of the now-current Democratic majority, it is possible to take back our country and make it into what it was meant to be in the first place.

New Hope and New...News

2006-10-02T16:26:00.000-05:00

Today was pretty packed with hidden goodies...of which, some were good and some were...bad:

I got a 100% on my senior project
I got a 60% on my AP Calculus
I took an AP History FRQ that I knew next to nothing about
I discovered that, through History class, I won't be in school tomorrow
I got a paper saying I could apply to go to county band
I ditched that paper because my schedule is already fucking full enough
I attempted the rough look by not shaving yesterday and today and by using wax in my hair instead of gel - I pulled off the stubble look with some compliments, but this wax shit just melts and looks like I stuck my head in a bowl of fondue'd lard...sick

I discovered today that I really like the concept of numbers and the way that you are able to fuck with them in an infinite amount of ways, abilities, and with multiple manipulations...I mean, I hate having to do word problems or to actually apply numbers to some tangible real-world "thing", but I seriously enjoy being given a function and, through a series of mandatory and sometimes-cyclical steps, find another number (e.g. I love finding the derivative, f-prime, and, especially, f-triple prime [f''']). I always thought I had a deeply embedded hatred for mathematics that had been strained through a hell-filter to be infused with all that which is required for an unquenchable loathing for ANY subject matter - turns out I was wrong. Plus the fact that I'm basically linked physically to the number 27, and everything I discover about it just leads me deeper and deeper into this already gargantuan rabbit hole.

So, what exactly is new in my life? I registered for the SATs, again...this will have been the second time I will have taken them, and, hopefully, the fucking last because they SUCK. Four hours of bullshit that is probably unrelational to any type of thing you might take at the university...I plan on going for Philosophy, for instance...I'm pretty sure I won't NEED to know how to find the vertices of a hyperbola, nor it's ASS-ymptotes. I need to decide quickly, too, which universities I may be going to as the time that CollegeBoard.com will send out free reports to universities of your choosing is running out...and I'm not interested in having to pay twenty greenbacks just for this shit-service.

I must prepare for a different kind of Christmas, this year...the one that will be more hectic than others...the kind that involves a certain someone flying in for fifteen days, going with this person to NYC to watch the Ball drop into 2007, and excess Christmas shopping before that. And when that's all over with, I should have approximately 0 hours to catch up on work that I plan on missing because I plan on being sick during the first week of school after Christmas since our school board somehow decided that we need every-other day off in November, but only between the 23rd of December and 2nd of January off for Christmas vaca...FUCK THEM...assholes.

On another sublime note, Starbucks of Williamsport is now open! In the first two days of its opening, I had been there three times, consuming approximately five beverages in all during these three visits, and also attaining two $5 gift cards, two small packs of Starbucks Verona ground coffee (all free, of course), and I bought the most awesome black Starbucks mug that has some sweet metallic base and simple white letters on the front. The rim is extra thick and manly, which is a great change from my mom's traditional porcelain fuck-cups that feel like they're gonna crack when you pick up one of the fuckers. Now all we need in Williamsport is a centrally-located mall and a local Panera Bread establishment...

18 мне уже...

2006-09-27T08:27:00.000-05:00

This post is quite awkward - somehow, I forgot to blog about my EIGHTEENTH birthday ON my birthday, which is not allowed...so, the date this is posted shall be fibbed for my own satisfaction, and just because I can, you asshole.

Now, as this is written with future knowledge (however, you shall never know the true date in which this post is written), you will have to simply bend your mind's time-continuum auto-sensor to disregard what it detects as "impossible", or, in other words, "bullshit".

This is at least the sixth year in which I have attempted to see a clock at the exact time that my avatar has aged exactly another year on this earth...and failed, consecutively, for six years in a row, on probably the most important birthday of my lifetime (for reasons explained later). I was sitting in AP American History and realized, at 11:15am, that I had been 18 years old for three minutes already. A few nights ago, at Emily Dick's 18th birthday party, we discussed the advantages of being 18...which are surprisingly few, and fairly retarded, really, and only to be utilized by either the bored or the stupid (most, at least)...

Porn - this falls under the category of boredom, and will have to wait until later (i.e., personal apartment time) to see if it's beneficial or no ;-)
Tobacco Products - this falls under the category of fucking retarded, period.
Gambling - bordom, also...OH, BUT WAIT! - I've always wanted to pull that gold handle on the slot machines to watch the bars and cherries line up to give me back a quarter out of the $50 that I already stuffed into the bastard
Voting - this could be potentially useful...if we lived in a country where votes and/or public opinion really mattered (take, for instance, the fact that Bush is totaling everything, no one likes him, and he's a pure twit...if every American signed a petition to get him out, ten Jeffersons says it wouldn't work)...doesn't matter, all those politicians are fuckers anyway.

Remember that time when I gave up on life?...

2006-09-11T21:09:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry to all my [three] readers of this blog that it has been such an incredibly long time since I've posted anything meaningful here. This shall be a rant, so, depending on your mood or (rather) how intoxicated you are at this hour, you may or may not enjoy this post. First of all, I'm back from Germany. I'm not happy about that. My vacation ended abruptly as I was thrown directly into school. Since then, I have lost my tan, a certain sense of positivism, and a small section of sanity that I had been holding onto tightly before the start of school. Currently, I seem to have slipped into an alternate reality much more easily this year than last...let me explain. Last school year, nearing the end where there was much work involved and, because it was nearing the end, I had thought that each week would be a little easier, and then the next, easier than the last...I was mistaken. Rather than this perfect ending to a hectic year, each week became progressively worse during each consecutive week. Because of this strain, stress, and overall buildup of negative energy, I slipped into a state of depression that lasted at least two months...a certain educational burnout, if you will. Now, bringing you back to the present, even though I haven't been in school for more than two weeks (to the day), I have already slipped into this state where everyday is indistinguishible from the last, and weekend activities are either unsatisfyingly too short or difficult to remember, for some unknown reason that has been bothering me for some time now. Last year, during my educational burnout, it was the same - I would be able to count the times I remembered waking up, looking at my alarm clock, getting out of bed, and then getting off the bus after school...things between these two times were all a blur and I have no cognizant feeling or rememberance of them whatsoever, as if I had not been alive during that time. I have been contemplating seeing a psychologist, just to see what of my case is exactly normal and what I can do about it except for yoga, because I'm not particularly gifted when it comes to stretching out my testicles. I hate my school. Our Christmas vacation this year lasts from December 23th (our first day of vacation) until January 2nd...I personally think that this requires no explaination of the lunacy that is contained therein. It would not have been a problem except for my genius plan to have Mona come and spend Christmas with my family...a trip that would cost approximately $1,000 for a length of ca. two weeks. Now, for two weeks in America, during Christmas, and for staying in a hotel in Times Square for New Years Eve to watch the Ball drop into the magical year of 2007, this might seem like a cheap price. Now, imagine that this plan, which seems too good and amazing to be true, actually is too amazing, but not because of self-contained factors, but because school board members are humbugs and fuckers. But, I believe it still must happen because of the symbolism that is carried within the number 27 and its relation to 2007 - it's meant to be, and something will suffice. And now comes some major personal internal struggle that no one else but I must deal with - losing weight that I gained over the summer, deciding which university/country I want to study in, what to wear because of my new left-leg appendage, whether or not to join band and its possible repercussions as it will take away a study hall every other day (and how the sectionals will disrupt my classes, AND whether or not Disneyworld is even worth all that trouble, AND if I really want to have to play at five football games to pass), dealing with not having much social interaction or contact outside of my family or a few immediate friends because of homework inhibitions, dealing with not being able to talk to the person I spent every waking (and, even, some sleeping) hours with for a total of 51 days straight having the best time of my life (literally) to this point...that's 1224 hours I spent being with, seeing, thinking about, talking to, and being talked to by Mona, and now I am lucky that 5 minutes of the day are spent doing any one of those activities - it's just all so strange and lonely.

2006-06-22T14:17:00.000-05:00

Hey...I'm sitting in a doctor's office and, I swear to Lucifer, if this egotistical bastard of a salesman continues to sw to sw

Mobile Email from a Cingular Wireless Customer http://www.cingular.com

2006-06-21T15:22:00.000-05:00

2006-06-17T09:16:00.000-05:00

If a man puts a cord around his neck, God will provide someone to pull it. -Unknown (will find later)

Mobile Email from a Cingular Wireless Customer http://www.cingular.com

Sorry, I have to Shampoo my Carpet...

2006-06-13T14:55:00.000-05:00

^Perfect example of an unsocial person^
I fucking hate unsocial people...I think most people understand that I am more social than others and that I just enjoy being around people like myself more than the quieter ones; while this is partially fact, the more true flipside is that I actually HATE being around those who are unsocial, they are annoying, questioning, sneaky, and way too fucking observant:

their "I don't know what to say" thought pattern
their "I don't know what to do" indecisiveness
their constant doting and desire to please you, and their inability to understand that maybe you actually want them to make the decision and not just say "whatever you want to do"
their inability to cope with change
their thoughts that are too deep for their own good
the invisible constant pressure on you to be the leader
the silent look away when "you've hurt them" and their unwillingness to tell you about it directly as they believe that, because they are the quiet one, all root malcontent must flow from YOUR physical being
the obligations that come along with befriending an unsocial - you must be their pal until a certain event reaches its end because they refuse to venture and talk to others

This post is most definitely not aimed toward any single individual and was not written because of any particular event, recent or retro, but because I am simply bored and have never expressed explicitly this feeling.

Responding, Poignantly...

2006-06-11T22:13:00.000-05:00

I replied to a question beset on a "Libran Group" on MySpace to the question, "What is your most annoying Libran trait [as a Libran]?" with this:

My memory problem, being so far set in that a 80-year-old's gelatinous medula may rival my own at certain times, along with my severe OCD of indecisiveness <=it's hell on wheels, traversing hinter me wherever I go, affecting (or, rather, NOT affecting) my choice of ice cream, clothes, fajitas, etc...well, I guess it's mostly food...even today, I had an argument with myself whether I wanted the taboule salad on top of romaine or not - mom decided = yes.

I'm not exactly sure where the word "poignantly" came from as I began typing a title, seeing as how it is one of the rarest words I use, even in my baroque-ish writing; but, I assume it came from the same exact place as...fuck. Remember up there (points ^) where I said about my memory? Well...the word I was about to say is now lost in my sea of neurons, and may well wash ashore before the conclusion of this post.

The dreams have started - and NO I'm not talking about those dreams...I mean my dreams of being on an airplane, over the ocean, on my way to Deutschland, which shall come to cognizant fruition in approximately dreiundzwanzig Tage, on July 6th. Oh yes, it IS that close. My departure will be the catalyst of what I am deeming the 51-Days-of-Fun-and-Freedom-from-American-Oppression, or 51DFFAM <=stick that in your meth pipe and smoke it, you Bradford-County fuck!

Panera Bread

2006-06-08T00:25:00.000-05:00

I recently (two minutes ago) emailed the Panera Bread restaurant establishment, requesting that they place a franchise in my hometown of Williamsport, PA. The following is the actual e-mail (cross your fingers!):

I beleive that, as the Williamsport, Pennsylvania, are is currently growing at an incredible rate into new fields of accessability and convenience-ready establishments for the use of college students and travelers, it would be highly beneficial for Panera Bread to invest in this area as well. In the past year, two Quiznos subshops have been erected, along with two Sheetz gas stations, another Pizza Hut, two new hotels, and several other new buildings. Currently, a Starbucks is being built in the downtown Williamsport area, which is sure to harness MUCH use by Lycoming College and Penn Tech college students, as well as the numerous fans of the area. Just 15 minutes away is the Lycoming County Mall, which is also undergowing extreme growth, adding such other establishments as Best Buy, Old Navy, Border's Bookstore, and Macy's. The Market Street Bridge project, the first of major renovations to breathe new life back into the City of Williamsport is nearing its middle stage, which will bring many more interstate travelers directly into the heart of the city. The other projects that will be completed by 2010 include an entertainment complex/ice rink, amphitheater, conference center, pedestrian bridge, and downtown [approximately] 8-screen cinema complex. Clearly growth of the city is evident, and the younger generation of Williamsport would surly appreciate the freshness of Panera Bread being local instead of one hour away in State College and/or Bloomsburg. Feel free to contact me directly for more information, or even tips of possible high-business hotspots. - Zachary Shellenberger

What? Why!?

2006-06-07T23:22:00.000-05:00

Have you ever heard of the 50/50/90 rule? It goes in tandem with Murphy's law, only this one states that, whenever you have a 50/50 percent chance of getting something right or not, 90% of the time you get it wrong. Being applied to simple economics (which, perhaps this is only happening because my high school was stripped of this course, ergo, I'm not able to take it), specificially the exchange rate between the USD and EUR, this seems to apply to my expectations. Last week, when the stock market was on the rise, closing higher by hundreds of points each day, one would expect the exchange rate to improve between the two currencies, in favor of the US Dollar, right? Obviously not, as it plummeted to a (for me) all-time low, at only 77.4 cents to one USD. When I went to Europe in 2004, the exchange rate was 80 cents to one dollar, and I watched it peak at 83 centers per dollar in summer 2005. Now, as the stock market is crashing, I see the exchange rate has actually improved! How exactly does this make sense? I mean, in a world filled with backwardness and nought, I guess it does make perfect sense to dish the opposite of one's expectations, usually to the dismay of the querier, however, in this specific case, I'm pleased that the exchange rate has risen to 78.2 cents, and can only pray that it will continue to improve until I decide it is time to cash in my greenbacks for some rainbow-colored Euro-cash.

What the Fuck is Up with Milk?

2006-06-02T22:23:00.000-05:00

Why all the godammed advertisment?! Why all the promotion?! Have the farmers rioted and this is the backwards reaction? Milk helps you loose weight...scientists aren't even sure if the shit's good for you or not. Fuck.

!Zu Viele Scheiße Gekauft!

2006-05-28T23:45:00.000-05:00

State College = Devil's Advocate of Interesting Spending. In the above foto, you will find:

Freakonomics - Barnes and Noble, $18.95
Aloha Beach Towl - Target, $4.00
Airwalk Foam Shoes - Payless, $11.01
Starbucks Macchiato Representative Cup Holder - Starbucks, $3.60 for grande with whip
Starbucks Tangerine Mints - Starbucks, $1.95
Starbucks Peppermints - Starbucks, $1.95
Starbucks Nalgene-ish Bottle - Starbucks, $10.95
3 Buttons from Hot Topic: 1 - Please stop existing, thanks., $1.95 2 - Music=Life., $1.00 3 - I'm only wearing black until they invent something darker., $1.50 4 - Sarcasm is the body's natural response to stupid., $1.95
Choxie Dark Chocolate Peppermint Candy Sticks - Target, $3.00
Choxie Aztec Dark Chocolate Thin Bar - Target, $2.50
Choxie Toffee & Crystallized Ginger Chocolate Thin Bar - Target, $2.50
American Eagle Sunglass with Free Pouch - $20.00

- all for a total(ish) of $86.81 (doesn't really look like that much, does it?).

Relay, Cult, & Tux, with a Hint of Rotting Ferret

2006-05-15T21:20:00.000-05:00

This post shall encompass four, in my opinion, great points in my life, especially the extreme latter (which will become cynically clear in the last paragraph).

Relay for Life = a stress test that's out of control for the truly dedicated that stay awake for 24+ hours, which is what I attempted. From 6am Friday to 4pm Saturday, that's 35 hours (I spared you the counting off on the fingers), I got approximately 10 minutes (yes, minutes) of sleep, and two hours from 4pm-6pm...with no catch-up after this.

The Cult of the National Honor Society has decended upon my feeble mind, bestowing a golden rope around my neck, and forcing me to sign the official title of my soul in their book. Yes, I was selected for this "honor", which could only be recieved if I agreed to comply with their ritualistic [Satanic] procession. The new "inductees" looked on as black-robed, candle-holding, would-be-Satanists-if-they-had-had-inverted-pentacles-around-their-necks, already-members poured in from either side of the auditorium in darkness, quietly proceeding to the alter ::ahem::...stage. In retrospect, I guess this ritual SHOULD entitle me to more educational opportunities...don't you see the connection between Satanic rituals, goat sacrifices in school, and the business world, you outcast!?!

It is official that I will be attending Prom 2006 as a Junior, a title I hold steadfastly proud.

У меня есть «Orange Fever»

2006-04-15T17:23:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure in the least why orange (particularly the shade, tangerine) is the color that fits me the best - it's even only in third place in my list of favorite colors, after green and blue. BUT, I've found that all my favorite color combinations contain orange, which seems to be the common tangent unlike the others:

Tangerine-Lime
Tangerine-Sky Blue
Tangerine-Silver
Tangerine-Crimson

It is usually only when I wear this color do I get compliments, and my one friend, Shana, went as far as to say it is my color. I'm only making this post now since I stumbled across what Old Navy is terming "Orange Fever", with some complete outfit under their 'new arrivals' section: see below foto.

Moshing is Not a Spectator Sport

2006-04-13T09:29:00.000-05:00

Last Saturday, I attended my first real concert in my entire life's history - Yellowcard featuring Mae. Granted, I'm a seventeen-year-old American male and it was held at a local University. It hadn't originally been my intention to, but, somehow, I ended up in the mosh pit after discovering what it was (pathetic, I know...you don't have to tell me that which I do ^^). It allowed me to loosen up and really have a good time which was basically downtrodden because people in this area - this country, actually - really don't know how to party unless boose is involved. Also, its not like I even had a choice to mosh...I approached the pit, as a spectator, and was hurled into the center as a curiously-retarded dog is so unexpectedly into a tornado. Once you are inside, it's either mosh and be moshed or be fucked. The exhilaration was such that my hip got bruiesed, although I've heard that some even have limbs and/or noses broken due the the excitement. After the concert, I even convinced the cashier at our mall's FYE to let me have the poster that advertised the concert for free, the day after it took place.

I traversed to Philadelphia with some kids from my school, yesterday on a school trip, to the Franklin Institute which has been holding Gunter von Hagens' "Body Worlds" exhibit since October. It consisted of entire and partial human remains (whole bodies and cross sections/body parts/fetuses (morbid, I know), respectively) which have undergone the process of plastination. There really are no appropriate words to describe such things that this museum displayed.

I'm going to end the post now since my blogger's-block seems to be continuing. The motivation and/or creativity that is involved in this art seems to currently escape me as it has for the last two weeks. I haven't uncovered the source of this pulsating void of blogger-blocking thought stints, but, as soon as I do, you shall see a resurgance in my subject matter and interesting content - for now, I apologize.

Ending of an Era

2006-03-30T23:46:00.000-05:00

The ending of this era is actually quite exponentially more profound than I had originally expected or thought it to be. What I speak of is that this will be my final home experience utilizing a dial-up internet connetion, which has consistently been the pulp of my entire essence since we started our subscriptions to various companies starting around 1997. From Up-Link to Earthlink to MSN, and now, through our new broadband medium of WildBlue Broadband Satellite Internet Service which will be installed tomorrow as I am in school. I believe this to be one of the most defining moments of my entire lifetime, as well as rated highly among all those other events that shall come. It represents the movement and growth of technology throughout the course of my lifetime...as though it were my child and I've watched it grow up, grow and mature through time, but now it has decided to move away onto 'bigger and better things' (sorry for the cliche`). I think I will almost prize the ability to click a hyperlink, take a piss, make hot chocolate, and schedule Grey's Anatomy to come on at 10pm, and then come back to the front of the monitor to see that the final text and pictures of Engadget.com are just then finished loading. With this instant connection, I think it will be gravely more difficult to part with the CRT to do even such mundane tasks as pissing, however strange that sounds, it's still truly difficult. I'm writing this blog post as a sense of closure, to document this extremely defining moment in my legacy as I move from that which has revolutionized not only my life, but every other possible nook and oil-smeared potato chip-bag cranny of what we know as 'life' to something of a second generation of an already-breathtaking tool known as the internet. Without it, I would have never been able to go to Germany for two months this Summer to vacation/travel/learn for only $1,100 as I meant Mona on the now-defunct instant messenger, Odigo. It would have been quite impossible to meet such a person previously, especially for someone who lives on a mountain (not by request OR authoritative opinion). As a final statement, I'd like to state the trends that have been covered by my utilization of the "Dial-Up" Internet Connection that has characterized my entire conscious existence:

E-mail
Napster
Instant Messaging
Social Networking
Google's Appearance
Personal Website Creation
Alternative P2P Services and Lawsuits
MySpace Globalization
Blogging
Photo-Sharing
Google and Yahoo's Imperialism
RSS, XML, XHTML, and CSS Introduction
Videopods
Shows-On-Demand through Network Stations
AJAX

Goodbye, beloved [bastardous] Dial-Up. You shall be [perhaps] missed. - RIP March 31th, 2006 (Future Death)

Strange Message Left on our Ansering Machine

2006-03-04T01:12:00.000-05:00

We never answered the phone to tell this woman that she had the wrong number, so she was probably perplexed when "Rose" never called her back...we would have if we had caller ID, however...just so you know that my family isn't completely bastardous.

Agreed

2006-02-27T17:58:00.000-05:00

As if there weren't more important problems in the world besides gay marriage...try mass genocide, starvation, and severe poverty.

Chocolate-Covered Espresso Beans and the 1.5lb Burrito

2006-02-26T01:00:00.000-05:00

Today, I have begun seriously contemplating the publication of my works...the first of which I believe will be titled: Zaevodnik - The Unorthodox Blogs and Compilation of Personal Esoteric Philosophies. I'm thinking it will be a winner. The name would be enough for me to, upon seeing such a title, inhale deeply and swiftly make a hand-grab pass at it to read the back cover's description. I'm not decided yet, at all, upon the outside cover - I imagine something simple, yet interesting, yet intriguing running in tandem? Maybe a stylized, large, bold, "Zaevodnik" with the rest in a contrasting font centered at the bottom, smaller. It will be fascinating if this actually comes to fruition, as this actual posting will be included...basically a living representation of the root thought. About the title: today, I bought (with my Starbucks card) several items, of which included chocolate-covered espresso beans. My dinner at Qdoba consisted of, no shit, a burrito that had to have weighed more than one pound...now, to say 1.5lbs existed on that tray is a little too specific for me to back up, so I'll just say it was quite...mammoth, to say the very least. The internal components existed as follows - chicken, cilantro rice, fajita vegetables (seared bell peppers and onions), pico de gallo, ranchero hot salsa, roasted corn salsa, sour cream, and few hefty dollops of guacamole <=the foil that the...uhh...burrito-maker-man attempted to wrap around this specimen went approximatley 4/5 the way around, leaving a square of flour tortilla exposed at the bottom. Eating this kindergartner-sized burrito was a mandatory two-hand ritual. I [seriously] asked my mom to open my Coca Cola for me, for fear that if I were to lay the burrito down, I would not be able to pick it back up without the insides gushing out onto the tray in a conglomerate of Mexican base ingredients. She happily obliged with a curt laugh, smile, and a short "sure". The weather must be stopped. Satan must periodically be passing gallstones for we have, in a 24-hour period, experienced all four seasons. I awoke to semi-cloudy skies. They cleared. My grandmother phoned to tell us to expect snow later. Approximately fifteen minutes later, sure enough, it was snowing...but not just snowing, it was more like a hell-blizzard infused with hatred and sin constantly ingrained with hell-force gusts against the windows sending them whistling, scaring the shit out of the dog. Another ten minutes, the sky was PURE BLUE AGAIN!...now, I think I have seen many strange and interesting things concerning weather patterns, but I wasn't at all expecting that which came next: fifty-degree temperatures. Okay...from snow to 50 is a little ridic, no? I thought this would be the end, because a fair and just God wouldn't allowed much more of this rampant shit to go on, would he? Well, he did, and it snowed again; raging 20-degree winds made anorexics float above the ground like pebbles skipping over that old pond in Fairview Park...funny, really. After a long battle with a serious continuum of seclusion and the final losing of all hope of a more open air to my city and then a re-affirmation in the true belief that "all things to those who wait", things are starting to fall into place. The first indication of said change occured when my father offered to purchase the equipment for satellite internet. This was extremely unexpected because a. he's tight and b. he's tight. I actually was in such disbelief that I wrote it off as a fluke action that only happened in a parallel universe that happened to strike my subconscious mind, persuading me to believe that which was impossible. I waited a few days and asked if he was serious - he was. HA! Such paradoxes could cause cardiac arrest if continued consecutively...however, a second event happened, HOWEVER, only after three years of willing it into being. After I sent not one but TWO e-mails suggesting the following action to the company, Starbucks is installing a cafe in Williamsport [!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!]. OMFG. Now, this HAD to be a slip-up on a demons part, for NO fair and just God would lead his child to believe such things, especially when they concern a heaven-sent Starbucks Cafe in one's hometown. I chose, also, to disbelive this until further confirmation. I had first been notified of the action by my AP European History teacher, Miss George, a real Starbucks fanatic whose veins course with chai tea latte and espresso. Three days later, Heather Westlake commented me on MySpace with a charged paragraph titled "STARBUCKS IS COMING TO WILLIAMSPORT!". This too, I disbelieved, for the purpose of less further disappointment as has been the case with several other things, namely broadband internet [strains out several inaudible expletives]...it's a long story that I no longer have the mental strength to elaborate on such a burdenous-bastard-child of technological bottlenecking at its finest. Anyway, I waited until I saw the news story in writing on the Williamsport Sun-Gazette's website. Let's just say I'm satisfied.

The People's Republic of Google

2006-02-19T13:39:00.000-05:00

China must be stopped. I genuinely feel bad for Google. I think, in the back of everyone's mind, that they knew that Google seemed like too much of a good thing. Sticking its finger in every pie, pulling out plums all over the place. It was only so long that other major corporations (or entire countries, for that matter) would start to get a little edgy about the idea of complete 'internetal' domination. Now that they see how Google so perfectly has made our lives incredibly organized and frilly, they realized that their own services only provide a miniscule version of a complete set of services offered by The Giant. I like to entertain the thought of Steve Jobs and Bill Gates ordering a full-fledged investigation that would stem from original technological research from 1932 that would dig up possible copyright infrigement violations on The Giant. I then see the CEO of Google (funny I don't even know his name...or even if it is a "he") calmly perched atop a trillion terabyte server shelling out quadrillions of kilobytes to the world each second trying to picture his own dimise...only to see that it's very unlikely, then laughing as Barbara Walters serves him his afternoon tea with a side of baluga. I think it's only natural for American corporations to get anxious about this new good thing that has come to be titled "Google," and it's only natural that one would try to kick it down like a little two-year old girl pissed at the bigger kid that took her Good 'n Plenties. I assume, also, that Google cannot dominate forever, unfortunately, for everything always is poised in the direction of its own demise...every country, every company, every idea, every living thing heads toward an end. And so too must Google, but I hope its lifespan is comparable to our solar system, which is very young and is expected to last for a few more billion years until the sun implodes.

Who's Ready for Some Bullshit!

2006-01-31T21:00:00.000-05:00

Oh, yes, it's that time again...time for the annual State of the Union Address, that is. For those of you so deprived of such a...ahem...entertaining event, let me explain: The President takes one night where he spews his inner-most bologna, in hopes that his smug grin is convincing enough to keep the rest of the nation underneath his tinted cloak of deception. Like to officially follow along the way any fun American would do? Go here. Oh look!, it's beginning. There she is, my favorite cabinet member, Condi. Beautious with her perfect hair and stern demeanor. Oh, and that Donald Rumsfeld in his dark urban colors, perhaps the most human-looking of all the other congressmen...he almost has loving grandfatherly features...almost. Damn that Samuel Alito in his spankin' new robes...today, he has been inducted into the Supreme Court. Basically, this means the death of all choice of the free people of America...hope your seatbelts are set to "loose" and "I no longer care about my freedoms, just give me the republicans!" setting, because this is our future. He strangely looks like one of those Catholic priests who just can't help but fondel himself underneath those airy robes. And then there's our President...George Dubbya Bush. Wow, his hair is even grayer today than it was last week...must be the filibustering over Alito had been getting to him. Why does the congress applaud his entry with such esteam?...There should at least be someone who verbally accosts him before he takes the stage, as only nature would allow for the rest of us. Now begins the State of the Union Address...in essence, the culmination of professional planning of screwing the American people out of what they have always been promised, shattering hopes and dreams that only a cold Sibera or arid Uzbekistan could have done without him. ::Bush impression:: "Haha...in't that raight, Dick." Aww, he's begun the State of the Union drinking game with the terms "terrorists" and "weapons of mass destruction"...now, was the WMD referrence worth one or TWO shots of tequila...I forget. Why the constant focus on policing the rest of the world? Why not concentrate on our problems we have here which cause us to be even more stressed-out than the poorest of Nepalese? Because we're AMERICA, of COURSE! Haha. Why the continual talk of democracy, which seems to be the "fad" nowadays since he reported "more than half of our world at the start of 2006 has democratic governments" when what he really is is a republican believing in REPUBLICANISM?!, which is NOT infused with the same democratic ideologies and democracy. Terrorists, Iraqi, terrorists, Iraqi, terrorist, Iraqi...like a sick lullaby that he listens to on his iPod. New democracy this, Iraqi freedom THAT, Abraham hit me with a whiffle ball bat! I personally can't wait until his timely fucked up phrase of the year...2005's was "...eighteen-hundred pounds of mustard gas in a turkey farm." - oh yes, he actually said that. Shit shit bla bla bla shit bla shit shit bla shit enchilada shit bla shit shit bla...same old shit as last year...a confirmation of his supreme ego over the world, congratulating himself on being the master of the universe. ALRIGHT!!!!! ALRIGHT! THIRTY SECONDS OF CLAPPING IS FUCKING ENOUGH!!! I can't imagine the mental damages of a blow out eardrum during the S of the UA. Awwww, heh heh...he has such a small round Polish head too...what a cute monkey-boy! He seems to have titties on his mind because he just referred to the "...illegal jug trade."...not exactly as much of a MAN'S man as Clinton, but close to it, eh? GO MONICA! FUCK THE PATRIOT ACT! If ever there was a sad time in this nation's history as the Patriot act, Washington would have previously rolled over in his grave and his elephant's teeth would have fallen out. Not until now have our founding fathers deserved a resurgent resurrection to slay Bush. Spying on your own citizens is just plainly and simply wrong, treasonist, and total abgefuckt, literally speaking. Don't get me wrong, I am NOT against America...I just believe that the administration has corrupted it in such a way that it has become quite backward and perverse that will never be fully reverted back to a more pure system of self-reliance, self-sufficiency, self-belief, and most of all, trust. No one trusts shit anymore...first, there was "what we knew before 9-11", then there was why FEMA totally fucked up, why America has a deficit, why the richest 1% needed a tax cut, why the proletariates aren't given a managable working wage, week, or move. Anyway, why is it that one (in America) can operate a gun at 12, kill someone at war and drive a car and [potentially] kill someone at 16, but then not be able to smoke or drink until 18 and 21?! Is not killing others more of a misdemeanor than killing oneself? What a memorable moment...monkey-boy cracked a joke and got that "hoo hoo hoo ha ha ha!" screach look on his face...the resembalance is sickening. HOLY FUCK! Did he ALMOST just say something progressive?...nope. I thought that when he said that America is addicted to oil would be followed by "that's why we're switching to hydrogen." My mistake, he only proposed more solar panels, windmills, and cleaner coal and nuclear energy. Bastard. Did mention something about nanotechnology...nice touch. Nice to hear we have less teen pregos...now what about that homosexuality thing?, thought THAT was America's biggest problem, eh? Btw...what IS America's preoccupation with homosexuality? It's not like it's contagious, that it will disease you and eat away your petuitary gland...I mean come ON! Leave them alone just like they leave you alone, unless you're cute ;-) Sorry, Mr. President, but EVERY country is headed toward its end...if you were a real Christian, you would already know this. Can't decieve yourself, can you? Well, Bush did. Damn Bush, DAMN HIM and his suck-ass christianization of everyfuckingthing their pro-life bullshit that will only stint everything else logical! Has Dubbya developed OCD?...for he is continually moving his jaw to the left...just enough to make me thing it will unhinge and the rest of his wooden joints will bust and crumble to the floor as a pile of kindling. What an amazing event that would be...finding out that your president was Giopetto's love child. OOOO...KERRY!! He's another funny one...so horse-like yet to calm and [annoyingly] ugly. Good, he's finished. Now the reporting...supposedly, he had been applauded 58 times...I'm sure half of them were for getting some big words right. Haha, they are slamming him already, stating that we have NO money to throw around to any new proposal, which he introduced several [fairly prospective ones]. He's a simple Nazi. A simple Nazi...

2006-01-29T12:53:00.000-05:00

Release by Request

2006-01-23T23:13:00.000-05:00

It has been said me that I have too little of an interesting blog to read for its void of "bitching." I laughed at this. What exactly is the continued human preoccupation with the negative all about? Well, I'm not going to name anyone directly [Tinica Lynne Steinbacher], but here you are...and I will even try to the best to counter my usual idiosyncracy to be satirical in my "bitching" and be rather direct and truthful.

I hate that I'm too white and too hairy to even begin to enjoy my time at the beach
I hate that I am unable to lose approximately 3 (maximum) pounds of belly fat and replace it with muscle
I hate that my wrists are the size of a two-year olds and that my nose is big and bulbous
I hate that I keep going on about my body, so I'll change it
I hate those certain few in my school system who think they are all that because they have the last name of King, Miller, Lorson, Lazorka, and Wenner and all those assholes who think that sports will make them a living when they can't even win a varsity game
I hate that I turn off my computer everyday wondering if it will ever function again and the truth that I have no idea exactly what I would lose in the even of the crash
I hate that MySpace is so popular that it's now uncool and more of a conformist cult than anything else
I hate the current perverse and backward American Dream because it is only that now, a dream, since it cannot be obtained when retards think that we are "oh so smart" even though we have scores below at least twelve other industrialized countries...and, NO, gross capital does NOT mean we are a great country, a smart country, or a country worth dieing for
I hate the American school system...I don't even know where to begin, but I will only state that it's backward (in it's most pure form) to even BEGIN to believe that everyone should have the same courses, live up to the same standards, and put up with the same goddamned bullshit everday when each and EVERY individual HUMAN is so totally different from the next with different hobbies, interests, strenghts, weaknesses, likes, and dislikes that I just want to lacerate my gastro-intestinal tract with a WMD
I hate the Patriot act because it is unpatriotic to spy on your own citizens...duh, you shitholes! And I hate even more those intolerant fucking christans (of course, I can't make such a generalization, but let's just just say THOSE christains) who support a "Free" country by being biased toward a religion and trying to implement it and ingrain it in every single corner of society so that one cannot shit or piss without saying eighteen hail mary's and just sucking it up that America is about neutrality and not majority
I hate that people support they opinions over pure logic which has been emancipated from opinion, even though it's fact, which just makes them look an inane and perverse ass
I hate that discussing politics makes my blood-pressure rise, so I'll change it
I hate that people that live even more in the middle of nowhere than I do are able to get DSL, even though the internet is my baby, I am its mother, and I give it milk each day, but it keeps biting and biting my rotting and trebit nipple (yes, I made trebit up...woops, satire...)
I hate hating things. I am a positive person by nature and I hate this list. Looking at the size of it (insofar as this) makes me sick and want to curl up in a corner in the fetal position to suck my thumb and ponder the meaning of "infinite"
I hate girls that think that men care so much about their appearance that they complain in that valley-girl accent that their "chartruce chammy doesn't match my $6,000-dollar Louis Vuitton gold-lined duffle and matching colostomy bag"...please catch the drippings, because this is total bullshit at its finest
I hate that because of the thing in the world that I'd most rather do (listen to my iPod) causes me so much suffering...at almost ANY given time in my day, there is a song in my head. It keeps me from concentrating, studying, paying attention to friends and people of authority, and generally from the world, so much so that I feel almost non-existant and constantly in a dark void, detatched from many situations. I have found the only cure for this is to stop listening to my iPod...an invariably [almost] impossible task to fulfill for more than 48 hours
I hate most that I have to make this fucking post because I know no one cares about these things I hate, mostly not because they don't care about my well-being, but because they know themseleves that they cannot solve any of these problems, and I cannot hold anyone responsible for this except for genetics...and who the fuck can deal with them...happy?

Radom Rant

2006-01-23T22:07:00.000-05:00

Trying to teach my father figure how to use the computer is exactly like trying to catch a chicken for dinner with your own head cut off, or, at least, I imagine this vividly as the equivalent. You will only get frustrated, pissed off, fall, and get pecked in the eyes...it's almost useless.

I recently posted a question on Yahoo! Answers...I inqured this, "What is your favorite philosophy?" looking for something intriguing. An amusing reply I recieved: "Man is spirit. But what is spirit? Spirit is the self. But what is the self? The self is a relation which relates itself to its own self, or it is that in the relation that the relation relates itself to its own self; the self is not the relation but that the relation relates itself to its own self. Man is a synthesis of the infinite and the finite, the temporal and the eternal, of freedom and necessity, in short he is a synthesis. A synthesis is a relation between two factors. So regarded, man is not yet a self." -Soren Kierkegaard, 'The Sickness unto Death'
Haha.

Racism...I abhor it, and I think that it would be completely alien, let alone purely retarded, to even say that the white man is not, still, the main impetus for the continuation of this most asinine craft. I am a caucasian male, basically as white as they come as a German-Irish-Polish mix, raised in a half-predjudice family (one side is comprised of hicks and tart carts). I have stated this to show that I SHOULD be the one to hate "them niggers, japs, canucks, chincs, and spexicans"...but I'm not. I take as much as, if not more, offense to a racist comment and/or scoff at a person "of ethnicity" (as to say that caucasians are a standard) as the person being directed at would. I actually find this intriguing. I have tried to discover why I have such a reaction, the reaction being an actually tangible rise in blood pressure, adrenaline, and overall anger and instant disdain for the person who said it. I think it is because I can only relate these comments to stupid people, which STUPID is the only word to describe such an inane and truly retarded species that I refuse to call "human" since they display no humane qualities. But, since I work from a completely neutral standpoint and able to argue from any logical side, I must also state that I have witnessed such a hiatus in the deviation away from racism due to those that are ridiculed in the first place...a startling find. Some "blacks" use their "blackness" as an excuse to manipulate situations and alter the outcome of something that would usually be ruled in favor of the opposite. On the whole, I MUST ALSO state that the federal government is the most corrupt group of fuckers out there...their methods are BACKWARD and PERVERSE...ESPECIALLY concerning college admissions. What kind of "equal" law is it to even make a discrepancy between two different "races" of people? Reserving special spots in a university for special ethnicities (even whites) is just asinine in itself. It's pure retardation served to the American people on a silver platter with a side of bullshit in a white bullshit sauce with a bullshit cocktail, all for free, tip inclusive. I'd be hardpressed to hear someone who could make any logic out of it! If YOU know, please let ME! The start and end of racism is to delete the word "race" and "ethnicity" from every dictionary, language, encyclopedia, and, most importantly, every mind around the globe. What purpose does it serve other than to fuel racism?...exactly, you pricks, none. What would be so bad about knowing someone by name instead of saying and making uneccesary discrepancies like "that BLACK kid, Jamal." I don't even know how to end this post because it upsets me to such a degree that I can't close it with anything more than a period, since it would be inhumane for me to consider such a topic closed, period.

Future of War and Comedy

2006-01-22T13:25:00.000-05:00

Imagine a world where the unimaginable happens. After 236 years of dormancy, Canada storms New York City and holds Lady Liberty hostage for twenty-eight thousand pounds, swinging from the torch screaming "EH! EH! EH!" George Bush would just blow it off as a "...funny quip. Canada doesn't have any nucyular weapons anyway. Nice try prime minister!" It would be funny though to hear this over the morning boradcast: "Eight Canadian Mounties were killed today by an American tank headed toward Manitoba. Since the war has started, it is estimated that 50,000 Mounties have died, 95% of them in the combined US bombing of Youkon Province and the blitz in Nova Scotia. Two American soldires are being interrogated in Toronto. An ex-Canadian says that this is not a problem, however, since Parliament ruled in the late 80's that anything other than tickling is inhumane. Inside sources say the Canadian army is running short on horses, so an early win is expected."

The Anatomy of a Number - 27

2006-01-15T09:27:00.000-05:00

The New Year seems to have brought a little something sort of unexpected...the re-arrangement of EVERYTHING in the grocery stores. Why is it that olive section has been replaced by fibrous shit-well-more power bars and the pomegranates have moved to where the popcorn used to be!? I think that Donny Wegman is out to get us all with this new development...maybe he was PMSing and decided "FUCK THEM ALL! I'll show them!" and ordered all the cafe's to replace the rotisserie chickens with gallons of Breyer's ice cream...roasting on the stake. Although this 2005-2006 switchover has charged me with creating some new mental grocery store map, it has also ushered in a wave of new products...specifically mints. Holy Christ...I didn't know it was necessary to freshen your breath this much. There are now, officially, enough mints in each check out aisle to shove one up each cow's ass in the entire state of Texas and have all the Tic-Tac's to spare. It's actually quite intriguing.

Today, I discovered a lot about myself from creating some [after I started, and OCD-motivated] list of all of my favorite things/brands/preferences/stores/brands. It has grown to a list of 200+ things in that many categories since I started it about an hour ago...it's quite a doughball to digest. The most recent Friday the 13th wasn't very positively culminating for me, considering that LAST Friday the 13th I found [rediscovered] a twenty dollar bill...this 13th, I forgot my fuking iPod headphones in the morning. Real smooth, Zak, real smooth...

I'm glad that at least one of my [interesting] friends has finally decided to start blogging. It allows me to peak into her life a little more than usual and really see things from a whole new perspective, but still be able to relate. However, es kotzt mich an that the rest of my friends (who are even remotely interesting) don't blog...usually only the ones who bitch about their boyfriends and girlfriends and talk about how they didn't like the way Amber said that to her and how the left shoe doesn't belong with the other left shoes and how baked corn makes them think of their grandmother's diaper. <=I don't like that stupid run-on shit (pun intended in at least one way). I prefer that which is somewhat more or less profound, like this sentence.

You know, in this age, I thought that [since we're now able to watch live news from our cell phones in the middle of the Mohave] we'd be able to identify any song we heard anywhere. But, no, I think this has never been on the progressives' lists...and that bothers me. I believe this is also why the music industry (at least, as we have known it in the past) is failing. Most of the what I download is done so illegally...but not by choice. Most often, it is music from Russia/Greece/Holland/Shit Hole Place, which iTunes doesn't supply. You think that someone would catelog the tunes somehow...I once heard of an online service where you whistle into your computer microphone and the website will give you a match. What about everything having an embedded tag, no matter how it's renamed on the outside for personal purposes? The the question comes up about DJ mixes of 20+ songs...well, it'd have to be embedded throughout, which wouldn't be too hard considering we've sent hunks of metal into outer-fucking-space to take samples and send back analyzed photographs traveling lightyears to some little dot we call a 'satellite', which we can then interpret the elements of the substance. Put this way, is a catelog of music really all that complex? No...I think not.

My full name consists of 9 syllables and 27 (remember these numbers). I was born on September 27th (9-27...weird, huh?). Well, my original favorite number (from childhood, just always liked it) was 3. Three squared = 9. Three cubed = 27. THEN, just on WEDNESDAY, I discovered that three, to the third, to the third [3^3^3] equals 19683. Now...I originally looked at this number and thought "well...looks like that's the end of my freaky pre-ordained natural number-life selection connection", but then I just got curious and, for the hell of it, added up each of the digits together and about passed out...1+9+6+8+3 = 27!!! I tried this method with other numbers (2 and 4) and neither of them work the same. I've become convinced that I am connected to the fabric of the universe by some kind of hellish thread of freaky-ness that likes to dangle me over the flames of fascination and intrigue. Even I wasn't expecting that calculation to culminate into something more than a retarded number with absolutly no [personal] meaning. Also, 2+7 (from 27) equals 9. It's not even linear, rather cyclical (the number 27). I love it and hate it at the same time...like a bad relationship ending in a fight over silverware.

Ausgezeichnet!

2006-01-10T22:48:00.000-05:00

Now, THESE are something that I never even THOUGHT about but would be a perfect accessory for a real iPod buff like myself. If only I had a job (I don't have any) that allotted enough money to purchase a Video iPod and reduce my third generation one to a portable-harddrive status in my collection of gadgets and gizmos...that's right, I said it, third generation.........this is when YOU laugh and I go silently cry in the corner.

Lucky Charms and Enchiladas

2005-12-29T19:07:00.000-05:00

α | Sorry about the demented title, but I was unable to contain that wonton desire to completely perplex you into reading this bullshit entry.

Why is it that Ukraine has way more [delicious] flavors of Wrigely's Orbit Gum than AMERICA does, even though they barely have fucking PLUMBING?! I'm confused. I was under the false impression that an original American company should be loyal to its country and provide the most products. For example. We have Peppermint, Spearmint, Wintermint, Sweet Mint, Cinnamint, Bubblemint, and Citrus Mint...Ukraine has those, minus the Bubblemint and Citrus Mint (which aren't all that good anyway...BUT they have these:

Сочный Арбуз (Juicy Watermelon)
Морозная Вишня (Frosty Cherry)
Фито (Herbal Mint)
Мятный Бриз (Mint Breeze)
Грейпфрут (Grapefruit)
Эвкалипт (Eukalyptus)
Фруктовый (Fruit)
Яблоко (Apple)
Клубника (Strawberry)
Зеленая Мята (Green Mint)

NOW...don't forget that they have all of our flavors PLUS these...all is very attractive packaging that you can see at their website Wrigley Ukraine. How is this fair?! Maybe they have Camel-Flavor in Saudi Arabia...THEN I'd be TOTALLY pissed... | Ω

Молоко! Хорошо!

2005-12-27T02:02:00.000-05:00

Those would be the first words to the Russian version of the world-popular song "Dragonstea Din Tei" by the Romanian group O-Zone...although, the songs is more popularly known simply as the "Numa Numa" song. Perhaps you've seen the fat man doing his little dance and "singing along" to the catchy dance tune <=very funny. If you've NOT seen it, it is a must. The video has been featured on numerous news broadcasts in the States as well as abroad. Google "Numa Numa Dance" and have a go.

Because of the word "eponymous", I stumbled upon an automatic ephemism generator...pleasantly to say, I found a fairly funny one = 'The last time I had this much fun, I was skinning the parcel.' <=Don't know exactly why it tickles my pickle, but it does.

Tomorrow, I must traverse to Target in State College for some ~~simple~~ gift returns. Turns out that the Target wishlist that I sent to a select two people doesn't seem to tell either when a certain article is ordered, therefore creating couplets of gifts...funny, really. It will be fairly complicated because my mother unit hasn't found the reciept/invoice from her internet order, but my gram has. I will be returning two things from my grandmother unit and one from my mother unit. Thank Jahova I'm not the one with the checkbook...OR the age appropriateness of being of credit-card age. ::performs sign of cross::

What did I get for X-Mas, you ask? For starters, a healthy boost to my already beautiful DVD collection, including the complete Alien Quadrilogy, Mean Girls, and The Interpreter, to scrape the top of the addition. A shiny new Canon SD550 PowerShot Digital Elph 7.1mp 3X optical zoom 2.5" screen digital camera graces the top of the Christmas gift list. An iDog, electronic Sudoku puzzle handheld, and many clothes also fall in there somewhere. From the stocking - lint rollers, a mini-slinky, gum, and Starbucks Peppermints = all very good and thoughtfully creative. Also an IR keyboard for my Pocket PC...now I can get in trouble in school for taking TOO good ov (haha...that's the phoenetic Zaevodnik in me) notes!, those shitters. Mona, being the cutest Pupsi that she is, sent me some heavenly Hanuta chocolate hazelnut waffers (?...pretend you can see these in your head...I mean, it's 2am...do you really think I am up to describing some bag of German candy/food?!). In the box were also Jumpys (German version of cheese-puffs [almost] in the shape of kangaroos [haha...funny Germans]), b.a. shotglasses from various Deutsche provinces, Lebkuchen (gingerbread) chocolates (chocolate-covered gingerbread chocolates, that is...confused again?...), South Park boxers (WOOPS!, wrong PACKAGE!! [HAHA...didn't even mean it, but, pun intended!]). The sweet picture frame she sent with our pictures in it is amazingly arresting. Alright, enough of that...sorry for the inventory, but this blog will also help my Libran mind to separate what I had aquired before 2005 and after 2006, comprende?

Milk Inc. and Groove Coverage have been the subject of the last four hours of my iPod listening time...all stemming from the Rue 21 speakers that spewed "Poison" by Groove Coverage. Of course, at the time, I didn't know this was the title; But, through careful listening and ~~simple~~ memorization, I committed some of the words to my RAM and Googled them within quotes - perfect match (Jesus...Google is GOOD).

You know, I had no idea that DSL was so fast...I mean, when compared with 56kbps over old analog phone lines. Going from a max of 3kbps download speed to between 50kbps and 100kbps download speeds is a major thing; I wanted to cry at the beauty of it. I seriously can't even imagine the speeds of WildBlue satellite internet service that we plan on having installed after the whole after-nondenominationalmas financial funds (ha) are straightened out ::crosses fingers while praying::. That will truly be the happiest day of my life. It is so totally illogical that I, as a HEAVY internet user does not have a broadband connection. I mean HEAVY. Eleven hours on Sundays. No break. I shouldn't have to put up with shit such as connecting two and three times because the phone line is a pure asshole. I shouldn't have to wait for fucking RADIO to buffer. How is THAT even logical in the first place? Why can I hear regular radio stations perfectly fine after being transmitted through God's fucking AIR yet I must WAIT for audio to BUFFER?! Perverse bullshit called upon by Lucifer himself can only describe this hellish action. And I wonder why I have anal spasms?

It was a sweet Christmas anyway - was the first year that I didn't depend on ANYONE to bum money off of for presents for others...AND the first year that I had saved enough (as well as had come upon enough) money to buy everyone I wanted to at least one nice gift, which made me feel very good, and also have some left over to boot.

Fun Fun

2005-12-09T21:10:00.000-05:00

Quote by comedian Louis CK: "Theoretically, if you sleep with a woman, and that woman slept with a man, and that man slept with your ex-girlfriend...you're basically fucked."

Upon being asked "What's your most hated celebrity and why"...my reply: Martha Stuart. It's just the way she looks in your eyes with that curt smile and cheeky glint that makes it seem as though one minute she could be stuffing a turkey and the next minute chopping up an 8-year old, stretching some bands over the shoulders, and basting him for an Atkins-friendly meal.

Audio from the NYC Christmas Spectacular featuring the Rockettes

2005-12-03T20:35:00.000-05:00

What I Truly Hate

2005-12-02T21:59:00.000-05:00

I abhore the stench that floods an enclosed room with air tainted by peanuts and/or peanut butter on the breath of a totally ignorant individual.

When is a Wal-Mart not a Wal-Mart?

2005-11-28T20:29:00.000-05:00

When it's a Target. Target is the greatest thing to high the supermarket scene since general stores started carrying more than one type of flour. Target has specially priced DVD's where the sale lasts only a few days, but extremely inexpensive are these. When you can get Titanic on widescreen DVD for only 8 big ones between November 22nd and 25th, you got yourself a deal. While there (only the second time I've stepped a foot in the automatic doors [prompt ones, at that]), I saw a pair of cords that had some metallic shine unlike any I'd ever seen previously - fascinating. Also, their holiday selection of boxers were pleasant enough to coerse me into buying 3 pairs at $9 altogether, even though my underwear drawer is overflowing. Perhaps I should clean the NES gaming cartriges out of the center drawer and fill that one?...nah.

I'm intrigued that someone has made a page specifically to bash Pennsylvania, this hick state that I currently reside and have always resided in. Click here, if interested. Personally, I don't understand how a state that sits above the mason dixon line could be injected with so many tree-hugging bambi-shooting retards, but, it is. When Brooks and Dunn are worshipped over some hardcore Norah Jones, you know something is up in this 'modern' world. That shit belongs in some state where teeth are optional and your next-of-kin is the deformed blue-man who was the love child of your great aunt and her brother with only two toes and obviously a lot to live for. ::Scoffs:: All I wish is that I could go to the grocery store and not have to stand behind some two-toned trucker with a funny hat and greasy plaid shirt with a nasty hankerchief hanging out of a ripped back pocket.

Top 10 Locations for Osama bin Laden

2005-11-19T13:44:00.000-05:00

NOTE: 1-10 ranges from the least to the most likely! 1.) Mt. Rushmore - George Washington's left nostril
2.) New Orleans with former FEMA director Michael Brown sipping a mojito
3.) Exiled with his harem and two camels to Siberia
4.) The Yukon - frozen in a dick-shaped ice cube
5.) With George Bush at his Texas ranch watching back episodes of the Teletubbies with him
6.) Spanking Dick Cheny in a field in Nebraska
7.) Having "peace-talks" with North Korea while playing with his nuts under that robe
8.) Shopping in Macy's for a new turbin and matching mocasins
9.) Kentucky...with all the rest of the retards, skanks, and the tooth-less
10.) Sharing Creme' Brule' with Laura Bush in the White House hot tub

Flock.com - New and Novel Browser

2005-10-24T20:49:00.000-05:00

Blog This!You can easily blog interesting web content with Flock, in just a few clicks.Example: 1. Highlight a passage on a web page that you would like to blog about. 2. Right-click that selection and choose Blog This. 3. The blog editor opens with that selection already inserted. Not only that, the selection is properly formatted as a Blockquote and appropriate citation is included.

Flock

The Canterbury Tales and Freeze-Dried Tofu

2005-10-13T19:52:00.000-05:00

This is the first time I've ever had freeze-dried tofu, which has (quite unexpectedly, I may add) been found in my bowl of instant noodles. At first I thought it was corn for it has a small square-ish shape, but upon closer exploration (a paradox - ha), I found it to be white and blocky rather than curved. The soup is rather good - Hot and Spicy flavor. I must warn you from the start, the rest of this might get boring and/or vexing since it will be a rant about my English class and general uber-analyzation of everything, which makes up a simplistic definition of "school"...First there is English. This class is like a stress test that's fucking out of control. I am seriously interested in what we are learning about (The Canterbury Tales) but am so drawn out by the consistent analysis and complete synopsis of every numbered line that the EEG will soon read "Fuck This" and my forehead will contact the faux-plastic desk. The teacher, Mrs. Hall, is a kind woman with a old-style hobby and a new-style in fashion. Mid-40's to early 50's with a lot of time left to exhaust the ideas in the books she 'teaches' about. My theory is this - if something was written, painted, said, expressed, or performed simply, then it should be interpreted as such - simply. There's no reason to butcher someone's writing or painting trying to discover "hidden" meanings and other miscellaneous crap. People only do this because they are bored with themselves. How do you think people discovered 'all that we know today about mathematics'? Someone had to seriously be bored enough to sit down, think "Besides all these million operations, what else can you do with numbers that I can bore the fuck out of other people with?!". Unfortunately, I think this to be truth. The unfortunate part about it is that fanatics got their hands on this shit, decided for themselves that everyone else should rejoice in the fact that, under certain parameters set up by the original creator, sin(x) should make waves and that y=1/x makes a fucked up graph where two curved lines (a 'hyperbola') will get closer and closer to its asymptotes but never touch. Despite the ludicrousity of the way this sounds, someone obviously thinks that this is going to impact our lives, therefore we must MEMORIZE it. What they should rather be focusing on is getting us to being able to apply it to how to fix a broken door which was kicked in when locked out, perhaps how to get a collector's coin out of sand without bringing in a backhoe, maybe even (god forbid) how to create your own morals to live by. I tried testing my theory of why most mathematics is obsolete and retarded in it's purest, and I just couldn't imagine a situation where I'd need it. I can't even fathom standing in line at Dairy Queen, finally reaching the front of the line, the order-taker asking me what I would like, and me saying aloud: "Well, based on the fact that y equals negative b squared over the sine of x multiplied by pi theta mu mu root 81698 angle XHJ cubed subtract the quantity of the square root of the tangent of the square of f of g of x equals 17.3, I think I'm in the mood for butterscotch." Same goes for English - both literature AND grammer. If we grow up with a certain vernacular language that everyone would undertand anyway, why is it even necessary to have standards even as there is a middle ground for things such as grammatical errors in advertising, grammatical errors in grammar books, and others spoken by our teachers of everyother subject other than English everyday? Why don't they just band together and submit that their existence is no longer necessary and the world can get along just fine using 'bad' grammar (which is completely relative to each person depending on their knowledge and perception). Shouldn't the real definition of 'good' grammar be what feels right? If this were the case, we wouldn't have to think of WHY the word 'who' doesn't fit where 'whom' does or why 'them' should be 'they' in certain, yet awkward-feeling, situations. It's all about simplicity, which was obviously forgotten about when God started handing out genes that had titles from Merck called "instant-retardation", "ill-logical bullshit", and "kiss my ass, you must know how to solve this equation or else you won't be able to purchase bananas!!". Hot and Spicy Noodle Bowl - $1.50 6 Pack Ramen Noodles - $0.99 Number of times you'll try to barf up all those carbs - countless. There are some things that dieting can solve, for everything else, there's tofu.

...и целуй меня взде, семнадцать мне уже!

2005-09-27T20:27:00.000-05:00

Today, being September 27th, is the 17th anniversary of my avatar being exposed to the toxicities of this earth and the almost-instant start of the oxidization of my cells. Well...I for one was ecSTATic! No - it really was a great birthday. I hate cake, so when my mom asked me what I wanted for my birthday dessert, I replied "a pumpkin roll", which she had my dad buy at Wegman's the morning of. My uprising in school didn't exactly go as rigidly as I had "hoped" for...to my knowledge, no one who participated in the protest against the soon-to-be-mandatory pledge of allegiance got in trouble to tell the reason why they were protesting in the first place, myself included. I was hoping to be sent to the principal's office and demanded of an answer to this 'disruptive behavior'. The reason for the protest wasn't to protest the pledge, or the "under God" line, or the people who choose to stand and say it...the motivation was the simple fact that the government can even THINK they can force high-school students into doing something that is a pure opinionated activity and not even entertain them the fact that they can choose to opt out. The audacity of the teachers to even practice the sort of child coersion that they do when saying "stand up and say it or you'll be saying it alone" is unspeakable in a situation like this. My main goal was/is to has a school- wide announcement, verbalized over the intercom directly before the pledge of allegiance, that tells the student body that the teachers may not do anything about their choice in whether to say the pledge or to not say the pledge, that it is their right to stand OR sit, as long as there is no disruption of those choosing to 'opt-in'. There are some who belive that this is, in some retarded way, against America or American Values in general... <=that is total bullshit. If they weren't busy kissing George Bush's ass, they would realize that there's a difference between the government's opinion of freedom, and the real definition defined by our (excuse the cliche') Forefathers. Forcing ANYONE to say the Pledge of Allegiance is a direct stripping of the freedoms and rights guaranteed to the American people in their own United States Constitution and Bill of Rights and, I would HOPE, that the one's most upset about this coersion and forceage should be the PATRIOTS! - sadly, this is not the case, for the patriots are also blinded and cannot think for themselves. In this situation, opinion cannot exist whether an action like this is a violation of freedom - it's pure fact which cannot be denied. Also, this protest was not AGAINST saying the pledge, for we (those who participated/expressed interest in/or are in the same mindset as those who protested) are pro-CHOICE, not pro-SAY or anti-SAY. As I drink my refilled bottle of Aquafina, I ponder what is next for America - maybe another huge hurricane, or some wintry drought...both quite scary if you live on a well-water system. Unfortunately, because of our presidential status and a few other deciding factors like RETARDED OFFICIALS IN THE GOVERNEMENT, when the chemical attack from the middle east comes, millions will probably die, and THAT I really and truly am scared of...For the past three weeks, I have been intently watching the many facial expressions of my trigonometry teacher, Mrs. Terry, who is the head of the entire mathematics department of my school district. She's an ancient woman with a range of vocal patterns - from screech to growl in two seconds flat. I realized, after the second week of study, that there was one particular expression that reminded me of someone I see quite often, but I couldn't EXACTLY place my middle finger on it. With absolutly NO warning, it hit me. When she is explaining cubic roots and imaginary numbers squinting her eyes, wrinkling up her forehead, and leaning over with a half-grin half-smile half- smirk look on her face and pauses mid-sentence, she looks just like George W. Bush when he's telling a lie. <==You know that look and curt laugh...like he just tied someone to the railroad tracks just that "heh heh, that's right Dick, spill the oil" gag.

Emergency Landings and 20% Interest

2005-09-22T16:54:00.000-05:00

Approximately fifteen minutes ago, I took to the sink to get my dog a glass of water from a cobalt blue glass. Before I filled it to take the first load to her, I rinsed out the "soap smell and taste" from the walls of the glass...then I realized that my dog licks her own ass. Supposedly, in an interview with ABC, former president "slicky-willy" Clinton announced his disdain for George W. Bush's handling of several present-problems. According to ABC, Clinton rebuked Bush for the slow response to Hurricane Katrina and that if the FEMA director during his own presidency would have been there, things would have been much different. He also talked about the national debt, which is currently around 6.9 trillion dollars. Our nation had a 2 trillion dollar SURPLUS before the beginning of Bush's first term. From ABC - On the US budget, Clinton warned that the federal deficit may be coming untenable, driven by foreign wars, the post-hurricane recovery programme and tax cuts that benefitted just the richest one percent of the US population, himself included. "What Americans need to understand is that ... every single day of the year, our government goes into the market and borrows money from other countries to finance Iraq, Afghanistan, Katrina, and our tax cuts," he said. "We have never done this before. Never in the history of our republic have we ever financed a conflict, military conflict, by borrowing money from somewhere else." Clinton added: "We depend on Japan, China, the United Kingdom, Saudi Arabia, and Korea primarily to basically loan us money every day of the year to cover my tax cut and these conflicts and Katrina. I don't think it makes any sense." I guess I'd rather have a semi-egotistical man's man back in as president than a procrastinating monkey-boy anyday. I watched (un)patiently last night as the JetBlue passenger aircraft circled the skies over Los Angelas' LAX International Airport before finally coming in for the emergency landing - which wasn't very eventful. Just once, would I love to see a gigantic airplane explode and tumble on the runway ripping to shreds live. Of course, I would love even MORE for all of the passengers to survive this terrible feat miraculously with very little damage or incurred solatium fees! My dad left for Dover, Delaware, this morning with two other friends for the NASCAR and Bush races. Because he spends money like a kindergardenr with no conception of self or time, he said he needed more money...being the clever one that I am with a new set innitiative of getting what I want, I told him he could borrow my 65 greenbacks as long as he agreed to pay me back 20% interest of the $65 when he gets back, which I'll get approximately eighty bucks, take an extra thirteen plus two for roundage, ;-)

More Shit

2005-09-17T00:36:00.000-05:00

So much for a commemorative 9-11 freedom walk. Unless, in our American 21st century copy of Webster's Unabridged Collegiate Dictionary, the word 'freedom' is defined as pre-event sign-ups, no entering or leaving the walk once it has commenced, the walk fenced in, and surrounded by police, then the governement has yet again (surprise surprise) fucked things up in some strange way that we prefer to digest. Also, I think it's fit to mention that at the conclusion of the 'prisioner walk to the furnaces', the government hired a country singer whose name currently escapes my perverse void of a mind who sang a song, which, within it, directly (and VERY incorrectly) related the attacks of 9-11 with the on-going war in Iraq...which is basically a flat out stick-this-spoon-in-your-ass lie. I believe this kind of action of governmentalist/republican propaganda was deployed for the single reason of deceiving the American public by blurring the lines between Iraq and Osama bin Ladin and causing us to almost subconsciously rally on the war in Iraq for vengance on 9-11, which is totally misguided and should be corrected before serious damage insues. (Change of subject) I've tested it and found this to be true: I am the most intelligent when half asleep...especially after 3 hours of exhaustive dancing at FBLA state leadership conferences and at 3am chatting with girls across the hallway on speaker-phone.

Shit

2005-09-11T12:02:00.000-05:00

monanda17: but can u help me with some expression of a text i dont understand THAT well? Zaevodnik: i'll try my hardest monanda17: k let me see monanda17: its a text about mexicans and what they think of america and shit Zaevodnik: omg Zaevodnik: why should germans know or care what mexicans think of americans? monanda17: what? Zaevodnik: americans don't even know or care what mexicans think of us Zaevodnik: MEXICANS don't even know or care what they, themselves, think of us in general...it's some stupid per-person basis monanda17: because our subject is "the american dream" for the 999th time Zaevodnik: anyway...what about this text? Zaevodnik: tzz...just wipe your ass with your paper and hand it in for a grade because that's the aweful truth of the american dream - it's shit

Bullshit

2005-09-10T01:32:00.000-05:00

Section 1. The Blame Game = Bullshit Obviously the time when a responsible goddamned president is going to shed a little light on his mistakes is less of a probably action than peanut butter killing off the entire population of Scandinavia. I'm sick of hypocricy - not implying that i'm not (nor the rest of the good human population) a hypocrit, at some time or another. Problem with government is centralization...centralization of bullshit, centralization of secrets, centralization of mindset, centralization of EGOTISTICAL BASTARDS! Preventing such catastrophic damage to a city beyond comprehendible repair because of toxic waste could have been such an easy task. Perhaps if the levy had been a foot thicker. Perhaps if the levy had been a food deeper. Or...PERHAPS this idea was about to be entertained into reality but was quickly squashed during the impetus of the Iraqi war in which we "...must train them to take care of themselves..." spending our precsious tax dollars on a cause most don't support anymore. For those of you who think that this is a great country - wake up and smell George Bush's ass...IT'S NOT! Any stupid fucker with one lazy eye and a burnt tater tot can tell that, in a tangible state of emergency in the (hypothetically-speaking) greatest country on earth, if the federal government is unable to provide their tax-paying over-working under-sleeping citizens with water and food for FOUR DAYS then there's not much for the rest of us! I would like to hope, money aside, that if I were drowning in a pool of human feces and industrial chemicals, that some trained fed would save my life instead of sitting on his ass while a sixty-year-old man attempts of pull my mangled corpse into a shopping cart to haul me off to a local astrodome. There is NO reason for the feds to leave us hanging (or, preferrably, drowning, in this context). I was in Barnes and Noble a few months back when, in the Philosophy section, a bright red book with gold lettering stimulated my retina. The small hardcover seemed quite simple for the title "On Bullshit". I quickly discovered an irreplacible collection of philosophical ponderings and bitchings about how much bullshit our society puts up with...not because we don't care, but, rather, because we simply accept that our lives shall forever be at least semi-miserable...which is NOT the way it has to be, people! I see the American public as accepting the fact that, if, in the event their entire CITY is flooded, that they will assume the subordinate position and gratefully accept food and water from the government after no less than four days of waiting parched and emaciated on a rooftop as a new standard of "excellence". How much bullshit is that, really? So much bullshit in fact that it is becoming even an unhealthy topic to even discuss: causing so much high blood-pressure that a cholesterol binge may actually be healthier. I, myself, as an adolescent male living in Pennsylvania knowing not a soul that resides/resided in the entire state of Louisana, am, for one, pissed and completely in awe of such an ascinine position. Such a paradox, as it were, that one could even fabricate in one's own MIND that help could be on the way, when truthfully, it was right around the corner... Section 2. - Turns out that food and water were just across the bridge from the convention center, although (hold onto your hats), government officials weren't about to let ANYONE cross that bridge to a salvation sought after by many, and given up on by many more. Also, there has been talk that there were loads of these essentials existing also in the superdome but weren't distributed because these "heathen people would never leave the dome if they knew food existed...and, let's face it, starvation is SO much more fulfilling to the end viewer than providing "shelter" for a few more hours" <=my version of what really happened, in all the vividness of the minds that have undergone such stresses without much able to be questioned validly.

Alex is My Cronie - Back to School

2005-08-27T17:27:00.000-05:00

School...the very word instills a thick metallic taste in the mouth of a teen whose summer has been replaced by chicken patties that aren't even formidible by the American Heart Association and ill-fearing lectures comprised of the best lidacritical bullshit that only a fat capitalist American could conjure with one brain hemisphere and, obviously, a lot to live for, the outlook can be quite dim and suicidal. In a school system where well-rounded students are cultured and those able to excel are beat down to a lower level, it's no wonder students are bored to the surface of their desks upon which their drool puddles and hair mats. Getting up every morning for this new school year is worse than dragging ass after a crazy night of dancing with friends only two hours later. After mustering enough motivation to even leave the comfort of a half-on half-off bedsheet and step into a cold room, you realize that, for the next 180 approximate consecutive days, you will not have control over your own time, audio or visual stimuli, and the will of relaxation is squashed by a textbook the weight of the elephant man's left nostril.

Little League 2005 Audio - Opening Ceremonies with Curacau

2005-08-25T13:55:00.000-05:00

Update and Rant

2005-08-15T21:37:00.000-05:00

Wow...soo much shit has gone on in the last months it's fairly incredible. Mona came in early July and left in early August. Some of the activities done during the visit: numerous mall trips day in hershey park day in philadelphia day in harrisburgh two days in new york city rollerskating to the movies for the island to the movies for charlie and the chocolate factory photography of williamsport's millionaires' row visits with family members (more later) In the past month i've managed to total my cell phone. This is how all the shit went down- Part I: I bought the Motorola V3 Razr in June at a Cingular Wireless store for $200 with a 2-year contract. Mona is very big on catching rays (trust me, this all ties into the tradgedy...GEDULD, AUGUSTUS!!!) so we were out on my deck. I was uncomfortable just sitting in the sun so I decided it would be cool to get my sleeping bag and pillow and we could both lay outside and tan while we listened to our headphones. I brought out my cell phone in case anyone would happen to call me (yea...right - tzz, j/k) and set it on the sleeping bag behind me...NOW!, I remembered that I forgot to go get some water so, to cause a laugh or at least a raised eyebrow from Mona, I did a simple back-roll from a laying position placing my knee firmly in the outside display screen (glass and liquid crystal display) of my beautiful phone (Please see photo below). I wanted to cry, but was unable to because of the sheer "irony" (excuse my free use of the word no matter how incorrect it really is) of the situation of me destroying my own phone that I had just aquired two months prior. Mind you, the inside display was perfectly fine, but the outside was totally damaged with the LCD (when lit) only displaying some abstract purple shit. Part II: Mona and I were in Hershey Park the day before the second tradgedy where I bought a bag of Limited Edition Hershey Nuggets with Loa Nuts and Toasted Coconut. I placed the bag in my black Fuse TV cinch sack with the rest of my things that I usually tote around with me...gum, digital camera, wallet, cell phone, ipod, etc. May I mention, that because of the trip to Hershey (only about two hours, but still) my dad had opened a bag of bought ice and dumped it into the cooler in the back of the car that we took to Hershey to store bottles of water for the four of us on the way down. Day after Hershey: We got up and went galavantin' around local areas...went to Wal-Mart specifically to look for a headphone-splitter for my iPod so Mona and I could both listen together, which I found for el cheapo - about seven bucks. BEFORE going into Wal-Mart, I placed my cinch sack with my shit in it into the cooler in the back so as the chocolate would not melt from the intense and hellish heat. Two hours later: while sitting in the parking lot of Wegman's with Mona as mom and dad were in picking up some prescriptions, I remembered that I had bought the headphone splitter and wanted to see if it would work. I hurriedly ripped open the package and remembered that the iPod was in the cinch sack in the back in the cooler with the chocolate. I got out of the car. Unknowingly at the time, I reached into the cooler and felt around for the sack. Strangely, the air in the cooler was somewhat vaporous and humid...I only wrote it off as being normal for something airtight on a hot day...I reached a little deeper into the cooler...ice cold water enveloping my bag of electronics. From what I remember, the following sentences were infused with a "fuck" so strong and tangible that even Hitler would have fallen backwards in ecstasy. I quickly ripped the back out of the cooler and slammed it onto the gravel of the public parking long with probably enough strength to smash the rest of the glass out of my phone. I quickly rooted through the bag trying to find my iPod. Phone...camera...wallet...gum - all were there except the iPod (thank god I had forgotten it at home). I could only laugh that the phone still fuking worked - talk about a survivor. The camera is also perfectly fine, as are the other articles contained therein. Mona couldn't help but laugh at the pure "irony" (see above note, asshole) of it. <=and I most certainly do not blame her. ^So, that's the story of my phone^. I've visited two different Cingular stores (looking for some random worker who's pissed with their job and will replace it for free, but, no go joe).

Ryan French with Ron Burgundy's Booties

2005-08-13T07:56:00.000-05:00

Елина Хусид с "Jesusss Fuckinggg Chrisssstt"

2005-08-12T13:30:00.000-05:00

Nieuw Yahk Citay

2005-07-30T00:57:00.000-05:00

Steaming asphalt mixed with tangible rotten french fries, taxi gasoline, and corner-shop Starbucks coffee and flowers compose the New York City air - a scent that cannot easily be forgotten, replicated, or even unmissed. Even though I was only there for two days, this is what I've gathered and believe to be true: The People - Almost "overly-helpful". <=Now, there's a sentence you don't often hear describing ANY American, let alone a New Yorker. The citizens went out of their own way to point one in the right direction (figuritively as well as literally <=any help is still help!), when they see distress they adress it, they generally have more manners and are more proper about most things. The Buildings - Amazing in the absolute. The modernity combined with special ethnic architecture in the old-town, Chinatown, and Little Italy is very stimulating. The Photography - Best shots can be had by taking a bay cruise with the Circle Line company aboard their ship the "Zephyr" and also from atop the Empire State Building. Unfortunately, while I was there, the Flatiron building was undergoing some facelift with much black scaffolding defacing the face of the front (sorry, had to seize the opportunity to "face"). The Atmosphere - I felt more safe traveling with 100+ strangers (mostly ethnic) in one subway car than standing next to an old man with a cane in the Metamucil aisle in Wegman's. If that's not saying much, then nothing is. Besides this, there are army-men with machine guns in all major areas of interest. NYC - You have to go...I thought I could never truly fall in love with an American-style city, but I believe I have and it may have changed the course of my life.

2005-07-24T20:23:00.000-05:00

...guess...

Polish Shiz by Muna

2005-07-24T18:51:00.000-05:00

2005-07-04T00:05:00.000-05:00

The second wallpaper from Fusion Zaevodnik.

2005-07-04T00:04:00.000-05:00

The first of many wallpapers offered by Fusion Zaevodnik.

Sundays Suck

2005-07-03T11:21:00.000-05:00

Ahoj!

2005-06-28T23:23:00.000-05:00

Hey Chica! Its about 108am right now...so bored bc it is thunderstorming...therefore,i cant use the damned intern

Mobile Email from a Cingular Wireless Customer http://www.cingular.com

Japanese Name-Generator

2005-06-23T00:35:00.000-05:00

Who are you really? What's your Japanese-incarnate name? Find out!

My japanese name is 弓 Yumi (archery) 大輝 Taiki (large radiance).
Get re-named - Japanese Style!
Remember in gradeschool when you needed to fill out those "Getting to Know You" sheets on the first days? I never knew what to write besides "funny" under the "Three words to describe yourself" category. I've finally discovered the real answer: Random Unorthodox Gift - this is how you should view me, lol. Why does my computer keep making this scraping noise? - Can't be good...will back up all my photos tomorrow in case the writing heads decide to crash into the surface (can you tell I've experienced that before?). Sayonara!

Silent Scream

2005-06-21T21:39:00.000-05:00

Just to continue the trend of my product-reviews in this blog, I'd like to note that the new Coca Cola Zero is THE BEST diet soda I have ever tasted. The aftertaste is almost non-existent and the artificial sweetener is, truthfully, even sweeter than the sweetest of the sweet. That said, it is still a cola, not a syrup. There are no calories and no carbohydrates which will satisfy the CO2-soda-junkies on Atkins diets. The bubbly isn't as prominent as in other diet sodas which may be the trade off if one would hate the excess burping after each gulp. I made the stupid mistake around 10:19pm tonight of texting everyone in my cell that the season primier of the Real World XVI: Austin is on MTV...I pay $4.99 per month to Cingular to send/receive 200 messages that, individually with no plan, would cost approximately $20, which isn't a bad deal. Several...by several I mean about SEVEN...people txt'd me back saying "sweet", "I'm watching", "thanks!", and "did you see the 'chix' kiss?!". Next time I'll have to remember add a "plz dnt rply!" note. Speaking of commercials, there are some that I was ammused by at first but am now officially pissed off by - the "Willy Wonka-inspired" DirecTV Sports Event Ticket commercial with the fat guy singing about "that's how watching football games should beeee". Just go grab a beer, leave a good fart, and leave us the fuck alone, PLEASE! I was distraught to find out that MSN, after their release of the "MSN Spaces" section of their site, blocks their users from posting cuss/swear words on the blogs - how effin tarded is that?! Blogs are for freedom of speech, right? Not like people aren't expecting it...Janet Jackson's breast on live TV is one thing, but swearing on a blog? - Microsoft can kiss my Polish ass. <=While typing that sentence (as a note) that DirecTV commercial came on...MOTHERFUCKER!

Late-Early

2005-06-09T00:35:00.000-05:00

It is, during the typing of this sentence, 1:36am Thursday morning. I think it has been a while since I wrote a blog entry that I actually enjoyed and didn't have to rack my brain for some kind of filler. I thought a good idea for this posting would be to discuss the usage of logging into websites...just to use their free services so they can "better their services to the people who use them". I currently am subscribed to all of these, and even more that I can't remember, with the name Zaevodnik and most of them also with more names that I have used in the past. My only sanity-keeper now with it is that I have chosen Zaevodnik as my standard. They include blogs, contact information logs, instant messengers, miscellaneous, community, e-mail, and photo upload/sharing sites.

Blogger
Xanga
MSN .Net Passport
Bebo
Hi5
Spaces
Ringo
Tribe.net
AIM
Odigo
Yahoo
ICQ
Hello
Zorpia
Flickr
Photobucket
Beepworld
Half-Bakery
Translate.ru
Mail.ru
Pochta.ru
Google
Yahoo
Coke
Pepsi
Alienware
Pac-Sun
Lucky Brand
Aeropostale
CNet
G4TechTV
Cingular

Kind of sickening if you ask me. Just another way for the government to track its pets. I will update that list as I subscribe to other semi-useful things and services. This Pennsylvania heat is almost unbearable. If everyone loves this type of weather so much, then I don't see why they are so afraid of hell because this is definitely my version of what it would be like. Sweating profusley while sitting, forearms sticking to the table, skin oily from perspiration, bugs of the devil that constantly dive into your eyes, ears, nose, and mouth: all of these are what I characterize Hell as being. I seem to have a subconcious trend with dice - made a pair of metal dice on the CNC machine in tech ed., bought a set of invisible poker dice in Spencer's distributed by Kikkerland.com, and also found a set of metal poker dice on clearance and bought those as well. Trends seem to pick up and drop extremely fast (guy's pink shirts and popped collers) in this country with only a few sticking for longer than a month (Livestrong and Livestrong-influenced wristbands). It's starting to piss me off that I can only unsubscribe from things I subscribed to a long time ago only if I remember that old password (which I didn't pick a standard one at the time). Moving it to junkmail also pisses me off because it doesn't exactly say what is moved to the junkmail folder, only that there is new contents and I am still forced to check it to make sure it didn't filter out a message from a dieing relative (however hypothetical) or something that was semi-important in general. The selection of sodas and colas is also becoming overwhelming. There are at least two versions of every kind...the original and their diet counterpart, now also a "made-with-Splenda" counterpart. Pepsi, Pepsi Twist, Pepsi Lime, Cherry Pepsi, Pepsi One, Pepsi Vanilla. All that multiplied by two = 12 types of Pepsi to choose from (excluding the new Splenda-infused shit clowns). I'm kinda hungry now that it is so early yet I am still awake. The new strawberry milkshake poptarts are fairly good...especially when frozen, which it says on the pack. Now that I'm on summer vaca, it's back to my Hot-Pocket-a-day diet...I can't wait for tomorrow when this will kick in. I don't understand why people dislike grocery shopping so much...it's one of my favorite fun activities and almost a natural high. How could one possibly be depressed around so much cool and unusual food?? The colors are stimulating, smells...invigorating (at least most), and free samples are always a perk. Words that have been on my mind:

hydrogen peroxide
morbid

That was quite random, eh? One of my favorite classical music pieces is "In the Hall of the Mountain King" by Edvard Grieg, a Norwegian composer. It was just played on the Real World/Road Rules - fascinating. Speaking of the Real World...the newest installment will be The Real World Austin (which I believe is number XVI - not positive on that one). Rachel seems to be a conceited bitch seein' as how she thinks she is better than everyone else (almost verbatim of her gob) since she has fought in Iraq - what a carrot hole. My randonimity is fading, spontineity subsiding, peppipity declining...time for a SNOWBALL FIGHT!

Avi!!!

2005-05-29T22:46:00.000-05:00

Test post from my mobile phone!

Mobile Email from a Cingular Wireless Customer http://www.cingular.com

xPod (a.k.a. Sick Truth)

2005-05-15T18:10:00.000-05:00

xPod
Originally uploaded by zhi yang.

Too bad this is the truth of what would come of a Microsoft-based MP3 product...haha. Bill Gates has more cheddar than anyone in the world yet he can't figure out the blue screen of death? What a joke.

Burrito Bomb? - Poor Boy...

2005-05-02T21:04:00.000-05:00

After reading this insanely un-immaculate news story I was slightly disturbed and amused. Please enjoy! - Bum wrap - Peculiar Postings - MSNBC.com (It may look like it says BUM wrap, but it's actually BURN wrap...too bad our computer language and technological bullshit hasn't found a way to distinguish (unterscheiden - ha) between the letter combination of rn to m.) Ha! What an asshole...after I was finished writing that ^ I realized that it DOES actually say BUM!! I decided not to delete it though because it's fun to say "unterscheiden"...enjoy anyway!

Plus!

2005-04-27T16:02:00.000-05:00

Perhaps some of you nice people could click there ^ and download MSN Plus! so I can maybe win a PSP or even an Alienware Laptop?? If you do download it, I'd like to say one thing. It is free an is not a joke and is a very good long-standing program that allows you to do a hell of a lot more with MSN than you thought you could ever do. When you install it, though, when you get to the page that looks like one of those "yes, I accept, now install the fukin' program" screens, read the two selections closely. They both say you accept to install, but one asks you to install additional third-party programs which I think you won't want, so just select the "I don't want the extras" (or something like that option). Thanks!

Satanic Napkins

2005-04-24T16:22:00.000-05:00

One might be thinking that a jigsaw could be exponentially more dangerous than a paper towel, but you'd be fukin' wrong to think so. I've used a band saw. I've used paper towels. Guess which one ripped the skin off my lip...I can guarentee you it wasn't the saw! I came into the living room nearly stumbling into a nice yellow glob of dog barf. I returned to the kitchen to grab a few paper towels to rid the carpet of its lovely new decor, quite thank you, when I took one of the two and suspended it from my lip through the absorbancy of the saliva into the Bounty napkin. After using the first one, I proceeded to try to utilize the second one pasted to my lip. Mind you, I hadn't closed my mouth after placing it on my lip, so my lips were fairly dry from breathing over top of each. I slowly started to tug the paper towel...I felt a gentle stinging sensation and continued, figuring it was just the removal proccess. I loosened my lip muscles allowing the napkin to pull my lip until it was fully extended, feeling like I was in some dentists office getting checked for gingivitis. Finally, after a little sweat breaking loose from my hairline, it came off. The central sector belonging to my bottom lip felt inflammed and angry. I felt it with my tongue...smooth texture compared to a normal lip. I came to the conclusion that the skin had been ripped forth and also that I never make this mistake again. Bounty Paper Towels certainly took its bounty. Thank God they weren't Brawny brand...now that crazed hick would have taken the whole fukin' lip.

Dollar Bazaar

2005-04-24T16:07:00.000-05:00

Today, I was in the Dollar Bazaar with my mom when, over the store radio tuned to 102.7 KISS FM, Gail and Garry started to talk about George Bush and what he may have on his iPod. A real good impressionist of Bush came on and talked about it. "Well, first of all, I love Michael Jackson. I'm a big fan. I do the moonwalk everyday. I have a Michael Jackson jumpsuit."...and so on and so forth, etcetera, etcetera. Next, they cracked some cute jokes...among them was my favorite: Q: What's the difference between Michael Jackson and a grocery bag? A: One is white, made of plastic, and hazardous to little children. The other is used to carry groceries. ^^Most def a good one. Last week it was 83 degrees. Today it is snowing. Today, it's 31 degrees. Today is April 24th. This is Pennsylvania. Am I setting the same kind of fucked up picture for you that I am experiencing, because I sure hope so. Interesting to know...Maine is approximately 13 hours north of here, yet it is thirty degrees warmer today. I believe we are in the end times, god-responsible or not.

American Hypocritical Bullshit

2005-04-19T16:42:00.000-05:00

Have you ever looked on the back of an American one-dollar bill? I'm sure you have. There is a pyramid which has a floating section hovering over it with an eye inside. Below the pyramid says "Novus Ordo Seclorum" meaning (literally, from Latin) "New Secular Order"...secular meaning "non-religious", or, from a Christian point-of-view "Satanic" because to be without God is to be with Satan in ANY circumstance. Now, if you look in any encyclopedia or other reference, you will be shown that it actually means "new order of the ages"...ha. Interesting enough, the words "In God we Trust" are placed right next to this "semi-satanic" symbology which is also related to the Illuminati/Freemasons/Masons who are, in a nutshell, against the Church. To analyze the rest of "The Great Seal", the MDCCLXXVI on the bottom of the pyramid are the Roman numerals for 1776, the birth-year of America. The "Annuit Coeptis" means "He has smiled on our undertakings". Now, I know Latin has many cases, but I don't think that's the literal translation. Many people claim that this symbolism, even though it seems to come from Masonic origin, in fact, does not. I am sure the US government and note-printers are well aware of this. So, the question is, why would they print something in such dispute when they could find a better seal that would be less controversial/conspiracle? It's the same concept as if they were to put an inverted pentagram on the back...they would claim that it stands for equality (shown in the arms) even though it is very well affiliated with Satanism and Satinic practices. Perhaps the reason why they stopped teaching Latin in our school system as a semi-standard is so we couldn't figure out what the hell they were saying on our money. Short list of those thought to be members of the Illuminati

Leonardo da Vinci
Sir Isaac Newton
Victor Hugo - wrote the Hunchback of Notre Dame and Les miserables
Walt Disney

Illuminati - group claiming enlightenment: any one of various groups of people in history claiming to have received special religious or spiritual enlightenment, especially an 18th-century German secret society with deist and republican ideas. The name was also applied to several groups in 18th-century France, a group of religious enthusiasts in 16th-century Spain, and the Rosicrucians. Microsoft® Encarta® Reference Library 2003. © 1993-2002 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.

Red-Neckin' it at the Mall

2005-04-07T20:06:00.000-05:00

I was chatting with my friend, Anette Baier, in the back of the bus today and she told me the funniest story I think I have ever heard, although it wasn't supposed to be a joke, it was hilarious none-the-less. She said her boyfriend along with his relatives including two small cousin were traveling to the local mall. On the way, they hit a deer which flew up over the windshield and landed on the tarmac behind them. They pulled the car over, all got out except two of them, and (here comes the red-neck part) stuffed the deer in the trunk. Now...they continued to go to the mall (on a summer day) and told the smaller kids not to get anything big because the deer was in the back. Well...one of them came out to the car hauling a gigantic toy box (a good three feet high) and they said, "Ha!, fuck this...there's NO WAY that thing's fittin' in the back of the trunk!!". Somehow, maybe by God's good grace and a little petroleum gelly, they got it to fit...deer and all.

Pope's Demise

2005-04-02T16:55:00.000-05:00

UPDATE - I'm sure everyone has already heard (how could you not) that the Pope has finally passed. It is a sad day for Catholics and sort of "ho-hum", if you will, for myself. Although, I think in retrospect by the end of the entire media coverage (I will estimate to be by September 28th) everyone will end up despising the fact that the Pope is dead. The weather in Pennsylvania and the north-eastern states is extremely shitty at the moment...among the most shitty I have EVER seen. Major flooding (as much as eight feet in excess in some counties) is possible and should occur, fog in the valley makes it look like a gigantic mush bowl from the mountain-top, and the incessant rain is unbearable in comparison to that weather which was beautiful yesterday - 62 degree sunny weather. Lately, in the world as well as in my own life, strange and uncanny happenings have been occurring synchronously. First, there's the bout with feeding tubes. In the approximate same time period the Pope's was inserted while Terri Schaivo's was removed. I guess we can also infer that death is in connection with feeding tubes for they are now both dead. Cancer seems to be a growing trend as well. In the last month, I have been informed that my aunt has bone cancer, my grandfather has prostate cancer (which I learned today), my mom's best friend has uterine cancer, and my dad's best friend has yet another tumor (he is a miracle in himself for surviving cancer at least eighteen times before). ALSO, my gram had her cat put to sleep because it had cat leukemia. Enough of that...the flavored water craze has finally hit the mainstream, flowing off the shelves, and cascading into grocery-store-goers carts (puns, all inclusive, intended). I belive it started with the not-so-name-brand Fruit 2o which is fairly tasty. A case of 24 assorted flavors can be had for approximately ten greenbacks. Although, recently, and the most popular so far, Aquafina released their Flavorsplash flavored waters as well as their Sparking Aquafina flavored waters...the latter I refuse to believe exists since it is not in Wegman's. If Wegman's has seaweed, spätzel, four types of prepared hummus, peppadews (new African fruits), and fifteen types of donuts on display, then it would have Sparkling Aquafina if it did, in fact, exist. What does this tell us? Pepsi has lied - aqua-fukin-simple. Following other product trends is the UK-based company, Altoids, who has new flavors of sours, gum, and their original mints. Sour Cherry, Sour Apple, and regular mint chicklet-like gum have hit checkout counters, Tangerine, Apple, Citrus, and the new Raspberry sours are slowly working their way in next to the Tic-Tacs, and the new Ginger Altoids are quite a spicy treat if you're into ginger, or spicey foods in general.

4

2005-03-19T23:33:00.000-05:00

4 is the number of $25 New York Strip steaks that my grandmother sent back to the kitchen because the chef couldn't get it done medium-rare. Let me set the scene - packed Red Lobster earlier today during main dinner hour. The first two steaks were cooked so well that there was not a drip of juice left in it, the third - so raw that I swear I heard it moo as the waitress dropped it on her plate. The waitress, Tiffany, with a deep raspy voice, loud boistrous manner, and sturdy appeal, laughed and said she was having the time of her life "screaming at the cooks after taking so much of their shit for so long".

Beautiful Glacial Sunset

2005-02-28T16:26:00.000-05:00

DSC02719
Originally uploaded by Andreika.

Found this on Flick.com...posted by Andreika.

2005-02-21T19:33:00.000-05:00

Ein ander nettes Foto von mir.

2005-02-15T22:16:00.000-05:00

These cute pins were also purchased in Spencer's. I believe the sayings and photos are derived from the genius movie "Napoleon Dynamite". Well, you may say, "I heard that movie was the stupidest movie ever to be filmed and anyone with two fingers and a tater tot could have made a million dollars off the same bullshit." And THAT, my gentle snowflake, is very true.