Category Archives: random

bastards of young

Ah, May. It’s that time of  the year when it’s becoming more practical to wear shorts and when the remains of my innocence are lost forever. LOL!!!1!

Since my return to Facebook, I’ve quickly discovered how much I had missed in the 6 months hiatus. Particularly how what few remaining friends I had in Kutztown have graduated. I remember when some of these people were barely Sophomores, and now they’re adults! Hell, one of my ex-girlfriends even got her Masters degree. Yet I can only envision her as the 18-year-old freshman who had yet to understand the awesome power of indie rock. Kids those days… pfft.

What I’m trying to say is that those people remained my one link to the days when I didn’t have to care about anything, and when college felt like it was going to last forever. And now that they’ve moved on, it’s become a bit harder to reminisce. I can’t go back to Kutztown party like the good old days, especially now that my old apartment complex has become a virtual ghost town (the management at The Cliffs forgot that new apartments across the street > shitty old apartments that haven’t been upgraded since the 1970’s). But then again college parties feel more overrated the older you get. Just a few weeks ago, my old room mate and I schooled a pair of frat boy stereotypes in beer pong. Here’s a hint guys: backwards hats and polos do not make you a better player. That’s the problem with people under 21… they’re all talk.

But like high school, I wouldn’t want to go back to college. Particularly in the year and a half after Krista, I felt this sense of dread every day. Like when you know the world is going to end and you don’t feel safe or happy, so you make out with lots of girls and break lots of hearts and you fail Geology class and for some reason you can’t stay healthy (probably due to the weird mold growing in the corner of your room in the apartment that hasn’t been upgraded since the 1970’s) and you drink shitty beer not to be ironic but because you actually like shitty beer and you have chronic panic attacks AND YET SOMEHOW IT WAS THE BEST YEAR AND A HALF OF YOUR LIFE.

That shit was exhausting/confusing!

But now here we are, two years later and I’ve become a relatively productive member of society. I work, I buy stuff, I pay my taxes, I play Batman on my XBOX. On paper, it’s barely an improvement over the average college kid’s life. But my mentality is completely different. It was comforting to know that I could go back to the old days… and now they’re gone. I’m not sad, but it feels weird. It’s like the dawning of some crazy era where it’s no long socially acceptable to slide down a flight of stairs on a mattress.

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color me impressed

Indie as fuck.

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now my heart is full

I don’t have much to say these days, but something interesting happened today at work.

I was at Holmdel Park because most of the rangers are on vacation, so I suited up in my park ranger gear and took care of the shelter building. It gets a lot of foot traffic, being that it’s the only indoor facility and it has a large, open fire place. I spent most of the day tending to the fire and chatting up patrons, but there was what I think was an extraordinary moment near the end of the day. There was an attractive woman sitting next to the fire place, probably in her late 20’s or early 30’s, and she began asking me about the parks. After a few minutes, a man roughly around the same age as her, sitting on the opposite side of the fire place, chimed in during our conversation. I didn’t even see him come in so I did one of those ” where the fuck did you come from” faces.

But soon they began conversing and I slowly went out doing some park ranger stuff. I think they were talking about The Secret and laws of attraction and iPhones. I sat back and watched them talk from opposite sides of the fire place, and every so often I’d sneak in between them to move or add some wood. Eventually my shift ended so I thew one last piece of wood on the fire and I wished them both a Merry Christmas. It wasn’t until I walked out of the building that I realized what had transpired. The way they carried with each other was so genuine; none of the conversation seemed forced. They were good looking and interesting and had never been to the park before. They weren’t sledding and weren’t with anyone else… They were just there at that exact moment for no apparent reason.

Now if that wasn’t the start of two people falling in love, then I don’t know what is.

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it’s not my home, it’s their home

Today, I realized what I hate about living at home the most. And it’s that there isn’t a decent place to read a book in here. The lighting is poor (energy saving bulbs are shite), there are few available chairs/couches, and there is always noise. Always. When you have five, sometimes six people living in a house which has been a few years outgrown, a moment’s peace is hard to come by. Well not so much peace, but a spot to read more than 10 pages without getting distracted by clattering pots or four straight minutes of running water. All I would really look for in an apartment is a place for a bed and a big chair with a bright lamp next to it. And probably a monkey butler. So if any of you know where I can find a cheap studio apartment that allows very domesticated pets, let me know.

On a vaguely related note, I am waiting with boner-fueled anticipation for Chuck Klosterman’s new book, which drops tomorrow. After reading the head scratcher that was Downtown Owl, it’s relieving to see that he’s written a follow up to Sex, Drugs, and Coco Puffs. Or anything really, as long as it’s not in novel form. I can’t remember being this excited over a book since they heyday of Goosebumps, which we all know declined in quality after #35 (though Monster Blood III was probably the shark jumper). This summer marked an upswing in reading. I think I have read about 15 books this year, up from a whopping three in 2008. These numbers are due in part to my drastically reduced video game playing (despite clocking in 75 hours in Final Fantasy XII since September) and the fact that I actually have money to purchase books. But most of it has to do with trying to keep up with Ashley. I am waaaaay behind.

But other than all that, life is kicking ass for the first time in a while.

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robot roll call

I had en epiphany the other day about what I want in my ideal woman. It came about as I was watching an ad for Match.com and how it supposedly cross references things like your “values” and “beliefs” and “character” to other people’s profiles. Well that’s a bit skewed, don’t you think? Unless someone fills out your profile for you, I highly doubt anyone will write in anything negative about themselves. “Hey, I’m a Leo, I like skiing, and a woman’s place is in the kitchen.” Yeahhhhhh.

I mean let’s face it, probably 75% of dating sites are for finding people to fuck. So instead of paying for a website that will only really remind you of how miserable and lonely you are, try this: think of two television shows, movies, or books that you love and your ideal mate has to already love. Then go on Craigslist and save yourself some money and time.

Now, it’s preferred that your picks mean a lot to you. If you try to buckshot it and say your favorite movies are popular fare like Transformers and the last two X-Men movies, you’ll probably get more responses but the quality won’t be as good. Unless of course you actually like those movies… but then you probably wouldn’t be reading this blog if you did.

So I would say that my ideal woman would have to find Mystery Science Theater 3000 and Wonder Showzen funny. I picked these two shows based on their relative obscurity and the fact that they are probably my favorite shows of all time. Arrested Development would’ve also been an acceptable answer. Keep it limited to only two though, for you are not making a “Top 10” list.

And what ever you do, do not use songs or bands. It’s been done to death.

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lifetime piling up

I’d like it to be known here and now that going to the movies by yourself is arguably the best way to enjoy a film. For too long people have waited until the DVD release of a movie because they couldn’t find anyone to see it with in a theater. There’s nothing stopping you from going, so just go! People don’t talk during movies anyway (unless you’re riffing on it) so going alone is the most logical, and relaxing choice. Of course I’m speaking from the viewpoint of someone who is single, so if you are in a relationship I would say that not going to the movies without your significant other is either means that you’re a dick or she’s just not that into Quentin Tarantino (and vice versa). But I digress. The popular mentality that going to the movies alone implies that you are alone and pathetic and nobody loves you.

Not true.

Going out and doing things alone means you get to do whatever you want to do. You don’t have to negotiate a plan to go out, you don’t have to wait around for someone, and you can do whatever you want for as long as you want. And yes, you will get barraged with happy couples shopping and holding hands and such, so good for them. But you are free! And that’s an awesome feeling? Isnt’ it???

On a side note, having spent a lot of time in the bookstore lately, I have rarely come across couples shopping for books. Most couples are shopping for clothes in the mall adjacent from Borders, but I always see a lot of  people shop for books by themselves. I can’t imagine being self conscious about my book choices. If the guy/girl you are wooing doesn’t like your choice in books then that is their problem. But on the other hand, if I saw my significant other buying a chick lit (known to most men as garbage) then yes, I’d probably question her taste in literature. But only because I’m an asshole.*

The acceptance of seeing movies alone came about earlier today, when I felt the urge to see Inglorious Basterds. So far, two individuals who said they would see it with me flaked out (or have been flaky). So I decided that I wasn’t going to sit around and sacrifice a good time and feel like a tool. The movie was very, very strange. But like all things QT, it was well written and entertaining. And the Nazis depicted in the movies where either fucking assholes or absolutely hilarious assholes. But above all, I wish I could’ve grown up to be “The Bear Jew”, minus the Boston accent.

ANYWAY, I guess what I’m trying to say is that while attempting to turn over a new leaf and have a different attitude towards the opposite sex (and life in general), I have at the same time become somewhat of a boob. And being aware of this has not made me very happy. Maybe I’m just not getting involved with the right women, but that’s a theory I’ve had for a while. But lately it feels more and more like there’s always a catch or it’s too good to be true. The point is that I have absolutely no idea what they want from me. I don’t know how they want me to act. I don’t know if they think I’m actually funny. I don’t know if they take me seriously or not. All I can do is be myself and that’s that. And if that’s not good enough, then I guess I’ll be going to the movies alone indefinitely. And I have no problem with that.

Or I could be overreacting to nothing, as usual. God damn it.

*Actually, no. Chick lit is for women who either don’t like reading or have unrealistic expectations when it comes to relationships and life. And I’m saying this because most of the girls I’ve dated who have read these kinds of books were also incredibly patronizing toward my interests.

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we were better off as animals… right?

I was having a discussion with a friend today about drinking, specifically the justification for drinking and drunkenness. It was during this conversation that I concluded that humans can be pretty fucking dumb.

A hard night of drinking results in a hangover, which everyone can agree upon. And it’s also agreed that hangovers are awful, especially when one has to go to work. But I am willing to bet that everyone who drinks, be they frat boy, hipster, or newly divorced cougar, thinks to themselves at some point that there will be physical repercussions to their drinking. And yet for some reason we all say “fuck it” and throw back a shot of whiskey and it’s all downhill from there. Why do we think it’ll be worth it? I mean, it’s not worth it, ever. It’s not fun, and hangover days are more or less spent wearing sunglasses indoors and watching one of the crappier Bruce Willis action movies (i.e. Mercury Rising)  in the afternoon and not doing anything productive. But we do it for the sake of being social, or to forget that life outside of the bar sucks, or because someone is paying for your drinks and you might as well take advantage of the situation.

Also, try not to get roped into two consecutive chugging contests. That will just make things worse.

I’m writing this only because last night was by far the strangest night of drinking in my life, and I’m trying to put together how and why things played out the way they did. I woke up this morning to make sure whatever piece of my car came off wasn’t important (it’s wasn’t, sorta) and why four car bombs cost $32 at fucking BRANNIGANS. And more importantly, I couldn’t understand how I keep making it home alive. Either I’m a great drunk driver or a lucky idiot. I need a Vitamin Water and two more aspirin… and some answers.

In other news, I’m happy that my brother has been cleared to join a police precinct and go on to the police academy, I’m taking my motorcycle permit test sometime this week, and after careful deliberation with my bank account, I decided not to go to All Points West after all. In any case, the entries are going to be infrequent thanks to Twitter, but if anything important happens it’ll end up here.

In conclusion, here’s this guy:

1_006

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