Pro Deo et Patria

Fri, 06 Apr 2007 04:28:55 GMT

Check your friend lists for sated buffalo.

Add as desired.

Abandoned '59 Chevy, a handle of something hard, and no clear destination.

Fri, 30 Mar 2007 17:52:37 GMT

I'm elated.

Shall I explain why?

"Nat" is no longer an active participant in my life. Haha. That guy was like my dentist's brother. What with the jokes and the sliminess. Ah, I'm so pleased to be rid of that man. His advice never went beyond the obvious and he didn't make up for it with character or humor or wit. Sludge. Now, I'm sure there are those who'd appreciate him. They're probably all mini-skirt wearing whores, too. I, thankfully, am not.

Anyway, I wandered into the philosophy department this afternoon, looking to switch my major. I'd been avoiding this for months because I'm petrified of having to ask for explanations or not understanding what information I should have prepared. Luckily, the girl behind hte desk was as clueless as I was. Eventually I found a form, filled it out, and wound up a philosophy major.

But not before talking to the head of the department. Who just happened to be Andrea Tschemplik. Who's now my advisor. And probably the coolest person ever. (She reminds me of the depiction of Diogenes from Reign. Haha. And Ive always loved that guy.) Ah, now I can't wait for academic advising and whatnot. She's my second favorite professor ever. The first being Surjit Mansingh and she only wins because she's slightly crazier and wears saris all the time. And happens to be a sikh. Apparently.

Anyway, this is seriously going to kick ass.

In other news, Escapology is the stupidest album ever. Fucking Robbie Williams.

25 years and I'm still.

Fri, 30 Mar 2007 06:13:17 GMT

Pleasantly blue and studious.

It's all about perception, really.

Short, because I tire.

Tschemplik says I should meditate.

Ignorance is bliss and you're a happy motherfucker.

Thu, 08 Mar 2007 23:37:55 GMT

I've this thing for enormous animals and adjectives.

It's not your voice, honey, it's the hot pants.

Thu, 08 Mar 2007 16:44:13 GMT

The only female vocalists I can tolerate* are Linda Perry, Grace Slick, Nina Simone, and VV (Alison Mosshart). And that Heather Headley chick, but only because Represent Cuba sounds fucking gorgeous. Oh, and Antje Duvekot, Donna and Vickie Simpson, Imogen Heap, and Sierra and Bianca Casady. I love those last two.

It's not even that I don't like high, grating voices. I mean, Denis DeYoung can hit higher notes than anyone and I still like him. I think it's just me not liking whores who happen to sing.

* I'll admit to tolerating

Seriously, I don't care if you think Christia Aguiliarara has a wonderful voice. I saw her on the television and I was pretty sure I was at risk for VD. I'd much rather listen to In Flight than watch some 19 year old prostitue herself.

Well, usually, at least.

Maybe I've just been listening to too much righteous reggae or something, though. Is my stance too 15th century?

Fill me up, let's take a ride from your mouth into my mind.

Seriously, someone go buy my a Cocorosie CD.

The drag queens
The speed freaks
All the homo boys they touch me baby

"I intensely dislike you."

Thu, 01 Mar 2007 01:19:47 GMT

But I think that's selfish.

This appeals to my sense of awesome. [Haha, and a little heart wrenching, in that wry sort of way I really like.]

Whose Line Is It Anyway is also pretty much awesome. [My grandmother tried to tell me how much she liked Whose Line, once, but I realized she was talking about "What's My Line?" instead. And I thought, "Damn, they're both so entertaining."] BBC America is basically the only decent channel. Well, I do like Cartoon Network. Especially when they show Tom and Jerry cartoons. [Or those radical WWII toons where Bugs Bunny screws with Hitler or something.] And I secretly love Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends. Seriously, that's some entertaining stuff.

I bought sunglasses today. They make my head look like a deformed squash and my ears stick out and I like them a lot. But it struck me as really weird to go to CVS just to impulse buy some cheap sunglasses, even if they have a picture of Panama Jack on them, so I grabbed a box of candy and hid the sunglasses underneath. I guess I could've just used the self checkout, though. Jeez.

I heard a funny thing the other day. This girl was in the hall and she was yelling into her cellphone, "You don't love me! You just idolize me!" Immediately I thought, "Hunh. That was always sort of my conception of romantic love. Wait, didn't Carla say that same line on Scrubs?" Moments later I thought, "Whoa, I watch too much television." Then I ate a grilled cheese sandwich with tomatoes and bacon and spinach and read Anatole France. But I kept thinking about what that girl screamed and that she was a twit. Or, alternatively, that I'm a creep who listens to other people scream.

The problem with idolizing someone, as far as I can tell, is that it inevitably leads to jealousy. So, in examining all the people I manage to shove onto pedestals, I figure I'll get a pretty good picture of which traits I should cultivate. And basically, no matter where you look, it comes down to two or thee things. I'm taken by people with spontaneity and curiosity and creativity. And people with ambition and desire and needs. And people with child-like appreciation for the world around them. Does that mean I'm missing those things? Well, I damn should hope not. [But secretly fear that I do.]

It's funny that thoughts like that are so easily pushed aside by pomegranate-flavored tea. [Too bad everything tastes like rose hips after taking vitamins.]

I don't know. Old people scare me, I guess. Human beings are really horrible. I wish you could just inhale positivity.

I don't know, I guess I just wish my life was filled with more zombies and stuff.

That wasn't as stupid as you implied.

Wed, 28 Feb 2007 06:28:43 GMT

Am I just another character straight out of Hemingway?

Reading St. Augustine and listening to Leonard Cohen simultaneously causes the strangest thoughts.

Mon, 26 Feb 2007 23:44:11 GMT

My one delight was to love and to be loved. But in this I did not keep the measure of mind to mind, which is the luminous line of friendship; but from the muddy concupiscence of the flesh and the hot imagination of puberty mists steamed up to becloud and darken my heart so that I could not distinguish the white light of love from the fog of lust. Both love and lust boiled within me, and swept my youthful immaturity over the precipice of evil desires to leave me half drowned in a whirlpool of abominable sins.

This, this is the worst vacation ever, I am going to cut open your forehead with a roofing shingle.

Mon, 26 Feb 2007 22:02:05 GMT

Here's the thing, though - everyone has to conform to the same system of measurement or everything gets completely out of whack and no one can communicate. And I'm not talking about a simple conversion from meters to feet or something. I'm talking about totally disparate ways of interpreting the universe.

Motherfucking bitch.

p.s. - I dislike things.

Weird as fuck, but great.

Take your parents credit cards
Buy a bunch of crap that you don’t need
And will never ever use
Your mom and dad are out of town
And they trust you implicitly
A rubber chicken for the mail man
Is on your horizon

And there is nothing
That I’d rather do
And there is nothing
That I'd rather do

Your sugar daddy’s turning 50
He shops for you indiscreetly
A fashion show
In his penthouse and black silk kimono
Step out into your short shorts
Put out as often as you need to
To make his summer #1

And there is nothing
That I'd rather do
And there is nothing
That I'd rather do

Mon, 26 Feb 2007 03:13:59 GMT

Uh, that's really upsetting. Thanks for letting me know.

Roald Dahl wrote that, didn't he?

Mon, 26 Feb 2007 02:48:45 GMT

Man, am I antisocial or what?

I like the look of my thumbs. They're nicely boned, with just the right emaciated leanness I find attractive. My other fingers aren't quite long enough to match the glamour of my thumbs, but they're getting there. Watching my tendons tends to hypnotize me.

When I was a baby, I crawled backwards. Now I just fall on my ass when I try to walk. I watched some kid twist his ankle this afternoon. For some reason, I didn't bother to help him. I even chuckled. (And there are people who think I'm a good person. Good god, I'm worse than...several fictional characters.) I think I'm becoming a sociopath of my own will, which is a really disturbing thought. Sort of.

My aunt's begun to pick up on my inability to deal with groups/people, I think. She's hinting at it, at least. "Have you ever heard of projection?" Ha. Have I?!

Cream kind of pisses me off. The band, not the ~~condiment~~ dairy product. The songs I like by them are really just bad covers of good songs and the songs I don't are oppressively sucky. Then again, sometimes it's nice to just listen to crap.

I guess in that sense, my life and my music tastes are analogous. Yesterday I took a three hour tour of "cow country", with Rosemary and my grandfather. I admit, I've always had an appreciation for aimless drives in what can be ambiguously described as wilderness. (Not quite undiscovered country, but close enough to suit.) I started hearing contrabass in my head and thinking about Thoreau. I mean, three hours of pastures and horses and majestic vistas'll do that to a man. That's sort of what it's like to listen to a band like Cream. You can't escape it, it's a little horrible, but in the end it's therapeutic. In short doses, at least.

Haha, I guess that's what I mean when I say I have an escapist personality. I suppose it's closer to just avoidance or something along those lines, but I honestly just like the word "escapist". It's so much more juicily disparaging. I always want to find some way to avoid reality, for whatever reason. Not that reality is unpleasant - heck no. I just prefer my little fantasies to anything God or physics thought up. It may be arrogance, but I think I'm much happier in my head than interacting with the masses.

Probably because I'm so good at thinking and so poor at having a conversation. I mean, I know a lot. I'm not a dullard. But I only care about so many things. I don't give a shit about art history. I don't care one lick about another person's business venture or the cost of cattle in Seattle. I'm more amused by the fact that Seattle and cattle happen to rhyme than anything else. Hell, I still don't understand polite greetings. I always get flummoxed. "Hi, how are you?" "Fine, how are you?" "Oh, I'm alright, how are you doing?" "...?" It errs toward the awkward side. Seriously, though, apologies to all those people who love conversation. I mean, wit is the thing. But I've got to admit, I'd much rather read a conversation than hear one, and I'd much rather hear one than participate in one.

Unless, that is, if it's in an isolated location with someone I know relatively well and I actually have something I want to discuss. Then...well, then I'm talkative and witty and everything. But seriously, that whole idea of "group outings" is beyond me. Most mortifying evenings of my life. (And yet people drag me to them because, "I need to be more social.") Fuck people.

Which is really one of the reasons I think I'm going to stick to the campus next year. I don't have the gumption to transfer, my interest in living off campus was fleeting (largely because it would mean spending even more time with more people I don't necessarily care about or find interesting), and the Sophomore dorms are clean and large. I might even get to live in Centennial (I have quite a few credits - more than some juniors). Besides, the convenience of living next to my classes, not having to take the metro every day, and the pseudo-free food is nice. And a house would require so much effort. Effort I'm simply not willing to put forth. Still, that $240 a month efficiency on U st. was really spiffy.

My Uncle-in-law showed me his wedding photo. (You may be wondering why in hell anyone that cool would marry into our family, and I have no good answer for you. The guy's a total loon, but in a nice, amiable way. And he cooks. And he's a blacksmith. And a roofer. And a security analyst for the government. And 900 other things. He's my Napoleon.) I was thirteen when they got married, and I think I'm still the youngest in the family (though some random relative has probably had a litter of children by now), so, of course, I look entirely 13. And at first glance, it's so disgusting. I'm the only one not smiling. In fact, I'm glaring at the guy taking the photo. But after a moment you realize that I'm cool as all get out. I've got a lock of hair covering one eye, my hands shoved into my pockets, and the greatest death stare I've ever witnessed. I only wish Stuart had been there. He really would've appreciated/complimented me.

Haha, I swear, it's like we're the weird relatives no one likes or understands. Which is pretty cool, because I actually feel superior to everyone but Bruce and Tim, who aren't even really my relatives. So, maybe I'll wind up marrying some brilliant roofer lady or a theology major. Probably not. I'm actually probably going to wind up as some kind of immoral bastard with interchangeable girlfriends who all look vaguely the same and have no personality who I just use for sex and to impress work associates. Or a hermit.

It's funny, now that I've gotten over that whole, "Morality is fun!" mentality (okay, gotten over is a bad term...try "temporarily justified ignoring it") I'm beginning to understand many of the James arguments. You could even go so far as to label them Beloin arguments, but that sort of paints man as too much of an animal for my taste. I prefer lascivious sex demon, myself.

Just to clear this up for everyone who doesn't know me so well - I'm actually joking. I felt I needed to point out that I'm, in fact, not a lascivious sex demon, or even an aspiring one.

It's funny. Once you make up your mind to do something, just to simply do something, it's very easy to do it. And keep doing it. And never stop doing it. The power of the rational mind is beyond commpare. Every day I feel more virtuous. Thank god for the atmoists, eh?

My mother says all families are insane. Does anyone have relatives they honestly like, and would spend time with regardless of filial piety? I figure someone's got to have nice cousins or something. (Mine remind me of characters from Willy Wonka & The chocolate Factory.)

Man. I suddenly want to read that book about poaching and raisins and sleeping pills. Actually, I just want to be thirteen again. I might have been a mess, but I had fun dong it.

EDIT: Danny, The Champion of the World. And yes, he did.

I think when people type, "Your retarded", you can justifiably stop talking to them.

Fri, 23 Feb 2007 20:11:28 GMT

You can leave me
On the corner
Where you found me
I'm not for sale anymore

Wed, 21 Feb 2007 19:26:40 GMT

When I tie my shoes really tight, I suddenly become insane.

I've been jumping things for about an hour.

I think that's a pretty cool phenomenon.

Oh god, I am so out of shape.

I've been listening to the Meteors, again.

Tue, 20 Feb 2007 20:12:55 GMT

1. Where is your cell phone? Six inches from my left hand. Waiting for a call.
2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend? Which? I have six.
3. Your hair? Is soft, beautiful, and manly.
4. Your favorite thing? Nostalgia-flavored witticisms.
5. Your dream last night? I think it had to do with a car ride, my mother, and my debate captain.
6. Your favorite drink? Pomegrante green tea or really strong ginger beer.
7. Your dream car? Ford Taurus. Hatchback.
8. The room you're in? Dorm: it's spiffy.
9. Your ex? Haha. My mother makes fun of me.
10. Your fear? Sparks. It's the weirdest thing. I'll never forgive Alex Mann.
11. What do you want to be in 10 years? A gigantic, omniscient walrus that the masses pray to for forgiveness and inspiration.
12. Who did you hang out with last night? Bill, sort of. I mostly slept and read, though.
13. What you're not? A god damn hippie. Got it?
14. Muffins? I steal them from TDR, forget them in my backpak and then wind up eating these smashed little patties of freshbaked goodness in my literature class. Haha.
15. One of your wish list items? Those military grade stilts. Those are so fucking cool.
16. Where you grew up? In closets, hiding between clothes and wondering if my brother would find me.
17. The last thing you did? Scored a heroic victory in the Battle of Trebia. On Very Difficult, no less.
18. What are you wearing? A snot-stained sweatshirt and shitty jeans. (Shitty jeans always reminds me of incontinence, which reminds me of Artistotle, which reminds me of beastiality.)
19. TV? Ah, I watched some DS9. Yeah. I don't really pay attention, I mostly just turn it on to keep up the image.
20. Your pet? Furry and happy and fat. And with silly names.
21. Your computer? Covered in political stickers and faded Dali prints. It's pretty bitchin', but I wish for a better video card.
22. Your life? I desperately want to write my memoirs. They'll be better than Stendhal's, and his were fucking great.
23. Your mood? Average. Hilltop Hoods is bringing me up, though.
24. Missing? My childhood, but mostly the days when I could just be weird without eliciting too many stares for comfort. Or, rather, when I didn't notice people staring.
25. What are you thinking about right now? Lenders and cream soda and that waitress! Ah, now I want french toast.
26. Your car? Well, I don't even have a license. But my grandmother's going to give me her FIT when she's done with it, so score.
27. Your work? Relentlessly cool. It's like smoking a pipe, wearing a fedora, and the worrd "pips" all rolled into one.
28. Your summer? Looks fucking exciting. But that's assuming I'm abducted. Or wrapped up in some assassination plot. Otherwise it'll be just sorta...great.
29. Your relationship status? Cult leader.
30. Your favorite color? White.
31. When is the last time you laughed? Bill attacked me with a vagina and I laughed nervously.
32. Last time you cried? Honest tears? Ah, about two weeks ago. Otherwise, like, ten minutes ago. I need glasses or something.
33. School? I'm annoyed with teachers who lecture for 45 minutes and then "let us out early" every day. I'm also annoyed with teachers who know less than I do.

(17:06:15) Carl: So, I was taking an oral practice test with my japanese professor
(17:06:27) Carl: And we're talking about things I like
(17:06:32) Carl: And she asks me if I like pizza
(17:06:43) Carl: And I don't really care either way, so I ask her, what kind of pizza in particular
(17:06:50) Carl: And she says goat cheese and lobster tail
(17:06:59) Peter Yakovlev: haha damn
(17:07:00) Carl: And I say whoa, that sounds really good, I'd love that.
(17:07:07) Carl: And she says I used to make it when I was in japan
(17:07:11) Carl: And I say man, that's cool
(17:07:16) Carl: And she says, I'll make you some sometime.
(17:07:20) Carl: And I say, what, really?
(17:07:24) Carl: And she says, Of course! I have a sepcial recipie!
(17:07:26) Carl: And now
(17:07:27) Carl: I get
(17:07:31) Carl: lobster and goat cheese pizza
(17:07:35) Carl: I'm so exciteddd
(17:07:41) Peter Yakovlev: lucky bastard
(17:07:42) Peter Yakovlev: :P

My life is perfect, now.

Tue, 20 Feb 2007 08:18:33 GMT

People mistake me for a graduate student because I'm less insane than my peers. (And I have a creepy beard.)

Oh, I like Kurdistan. A lot.

Sat, 17 Feb 2007 23:17:41 GMT

I just got home.

I saw a deer today.

I feel like a ghost.

I hate people. Here's why:

Wed, 14 Feb 2007 14:54:37 GMT

...

Someone just compared Che Guevara to Martin Luther King Jr.

That is so fucked up.

Cowardly Mass Murderer versus Leader of Civil Disobedience Movement. Yeah. Totally the same.

Oh, and Benjamin Franklin was never the fucking president.

And, just for your information, Lincoln was a schmuck.

Some twelve year old just offered me a condom. What the hell.

And someone threw up in the bathroom again.

Oh, and people who are rude to service workers just piss me off. "You may serve me." What the fuck? Who says that?

Eh, at least Lewis Black is still kind of funny.

Tue, 13 Feb 2007 05:58:05 GMT

Weird dreams. Social nightmares, hah.

I don't know where I went wrong; you scare me out of my wits when you do that shit.

Mon, 12 Feb 2007 10:09:02 GMT

Le style est ceci: ajouter a une pensee donnee toues les circonstances propres a produire tout l'effet que doit produire cette pensee.

Mmn, Stendhal appeals to my sense of things like no one else.

Sunday brunch with Anne Fadiman and some Minesottan b-boys.

Sun, 28 Jan 2007 16:01:37 GMT

I guess it must be strange to walk into your dorm room at 4:52 in the a.m. to find your roommate sprawled out in boxers and a t-shirt on the carpet, wearing headphones pumping Atmosphere, buried in a shiny copy of Francis Scott, surrounded by eight empty boxes of cereal and an empty milk jug, with Gigantor muted on the television.

Ah well.

I think I'm going to go eat some Special K and read about epilepsy.

P.S. - drunk people. oh my god. i despise them. they relieve themselves in the most unlikely and least convenient locations. seriously, could we keep ourselves sober enough to remain continent?

P.P.S. - booklists are horrible. or wonderful. i can't quite decide. it's one or the other, though. on one hand, i have the overwhelming need to read faster, more, better! on the other, i do this constantly, and usually at the detriment of more important(?) pursuits. ah me. my addictive personality (though a fickle one) has fucked me once again. i'm rather happy about that, though. weird.

Sun, 19 Nov 2006 05:29:40 GMT

It is a tale
Told by an idiot,
Full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Sat, 18 Nov 2006 05:22:43 GMT

"My principal objection wasn't the vanity involved in writing one's autobiography. Such books are like all others: quickly forgotten if boring. What I was frightened of was de-flowering the happy moments I've experienced by describing and dissecting them. Now that's what I certainly will not do - I'll skip them instead."

Mon, 03 Jul 2006 03:37:22 GMT

"That for which we find words is something already dead in our hearts. There is always a kind of contempt in the act of speaking."

It is a strange thing to find comfort in Nietzche.

I'm definitely calling DJ.

Fri, 09 Jun 2006 02:32:02 GMT

I'm the poetic version of the guys in wifebeaters on COPS. The landlord said don't be late - he may have to litigate.

US Ambassador to ASEAN Proposed in Senate...

Thu, 04 May 2006 23:45:23 GMT

Well, finally something good.

I popped a bag of popcorn yesterday and completely forgot about it. I went to lie down and fell asleep, I guess. I mean, I was only expecting to take a short nap, not a thirteen hour sleep marathon. (Okay, I take it back, that wasn't much of a marathon, comparatively. I remember sleeping for thirty six hours straight. That was probably the best day of my life. I say probably, because I don't remember a thing.) Anyhow, I just found the bag of popcorn not in my microwave, but on my bedroom floor, on the other side of the bed. I don't really understadn how it could've gotten there, unless someone took it out of the microwave and threw it across my room. Or, the cats opened the microwave and dragged it over there. Both possibilities strike me as a little far-fetched, though.

Regardless, I get to munch on some popcorn.

So, here's the final layout of my mythology project. Actually, this is only transitory - a third draft. It'll likely change.

Alright, so as an honors level student, I've got to do something additional for the class. Now, for the other students, that means reading Antigone or something. 'Course, I'm too good for that. I mean, sure, I've got 6 APs, MUN, social engagements, some weird things for Mr. Gabriel, and 90 other things to do this month, but that doesn't phase me. (Hey, I saw phase spelled 'faze' the other day to mean what I mean in this context. Anyone know the proper spelling/meaning combination? Or was the television jsut wrong and faze isn't a word at all? I don't want to look it up, but if you guys already know, I don't mind learning. Faze just looks dumb.) (Oh, and spelt? *shrug* Curious.) So, instead of reading a fifty page play, I'm going to read about 4,000 pages and then write an incredibly lengthy, bullshit-filled paper comparing various and diverse world cultures, based on their mythology and uses of it in society. Sounds pretty cool, huh? Yeah, I thought so too, when I came up with it.

Here's what I'm planning on reading: (by June 1st, mind you)

The Tale of Genji by Shikubi Murasaki (Seidensticker Translation); Library
The Tale of Genji: Lengends and Pictures by Shikibu Murasaki; Library
The Tale of Genji: A Reader's Guide by William J. Puette; Paperback; $9.97
Tales of Moonlight and Rain by Ueda Akinari; I have no idea where to find this. Help?
The Electric Geisha: Exploring Japan's Popular Culture by Atushi Ueda; Library
Underground: The Tokyo Gas Attacks and The Japanese Psyche by Haruki Murakami; Paperback; $9.72 (admittedly, a bit of a guilty indulgence, but worth the $10)
Haruki Murakami and the Music of Words by Jay Rubin; Paperback; $10.74 (Haha, guilty indulgence? More like meaningless purchase designed only to make me chortle with glee.)
The Prose Edda of Snorri Sturlson by Snorri Sturlson; Library
Beowulf: A New Verse Translation by Seames Heaney; Library
The Arabian Nights : Tales from a Thousand and One Nights (Modern Library Classics) by A.S. Byatt; Paperback; $10.74
The Illiad - She's probably got a copy kicking around somewhere I can steal for quotes.
The Odyssey - Shoved in my backpack.

So, here's my plan: I'm going to spend the majority of my time comparing Japanese mythology and culture to that of the Greeks. But, I'm going to use the scandinavian sagas and the Arab/Hindu (whooo, controversyyyy...) stuff to counter-balance everything and give myself more work. I'll skip the Arabian Nights and Snorri if it looks like I'm running out of time (I'm doing more work than is expected, anyway) but I'll come back to them afterward.

I think the only reason I'm doing this is because I'm utterly disgusted with her analysis of everything Greek, so much so that I can barely pick up Sophicles anymore. "Nipples? Why's everyone getting stabbed in the nipple?!?! I'll bet Homer had some sort of fetish..." God damn it. I just want ot shoot myself in that class.

This paper better get a better response than my Joe McCarthy one. God, she wouldn't even read it. What a jerk. And, I mean, that was an awful paper, admittedly, written in less than 20 minutes, but still. It was funny. Just because you forgot about the 50s doesn't mean Communism isn't still funny. Geez. It's the punchline ot jsut about every joke I tell. (I've got a new pun.)

Oh, and I bought this, too. I want to wear it into Starbucks and make people angry. Unobtrusively. Ha, I'll bet its mere proximity to the hipsters wearing the Guevara shirts will make theirs ignite. Or maybe mine will. (Metaphysical) Battle of the Ideologies? Oh, sweet Christ, let's put that on the show. I've got other shirts we can burn. Hahaha, this'll be great. Oh man, oh man. (P.S. buy this for me. As a present. For being such an amazing friend/brother/son/mentor/protege/debator/companion/love/kid-who-stares-at-me-and-makes-me-feel-nervous/student/teacher/philosopher/inspiration/whatever.)

Shit, do I have to study for Econ or what? I'm so screwed. Not that there's anything specific I don't know. I think I'm just psyching myself out. I got a 55/60 on the multiple choice I took last night. And the essays make sense to me, now. But, every time I try to think about it, my mind goes blank and I sort of get this vacant look on my face like, "They went to the moon?! When???" And then my jaw sort of drops and I start drueling everywhere. Plus, I'll be taking it after a battery of three tests. It's going ot be awful, really. But I'll do fine, I think. I mean, I know I will. Probably.

I'm thinking about taking Japanese next year. Oh, Nina...

Oh, and dear mock trial team, some words of advice from a dead guy who drank too much, "If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bull." Go to it.