You remember that "weight" thing I posted a couple months ago?

EPIC FAIL

Yeah, I've gotten lazy... And really let myself go during the holidays... BUT I plan on jumping back on the horse and riding it home!

Eventually...

Okay, tomorrow. I really need it.

... you know, it's partially your fault. I told you guys before that I needed motivation on your part, and I got zero feedback on it!

But then again, I doubt that I have that wide of a readership... There are a couple of you out there reading, this though. I'm sure of it. I just wish I knew who.

I shouldn't blame you guys for my laziness, I'm sorry.

And I think I may be getting my Scholastic Fingers back - you know, the ones I use to type papers and such. A Midsummer Night's Dream has plagued me recently; I'm supposed to analyze a passage out of it rhetorically via Ethos, Logos and Pathos - a quick flashback to my Junior Year in Mr. Jason Charles, for those of you who remember - and I had a terrible time coming up with a thesis.

But, voila! I've found a hunch, and I need to explore it!

On another random note, I need to work on my script-writing craft. I've got books on it I should really look into, and its the same text that the screenwriting class at UCI is using... How fortunate for me. :D

It's late, and I feel a bit tired. Note to self, however: window mural is blank. Must decorate with random pop culture. Over.

"Actually, here take a card."

I've been passing these out like candy. Everywhere I go, every person I meet.

"Hey, nice to meet you, I'm Henry. In fact, take a card."

I hand these out like candy and I keep on forgetting I'm leaving the URL to my blog on these. I'm already through half of my cards - and mind you, I call them "My Card" as opposed to "My Business Card" - and I'm guessing there's at least a handful who's visited this website out of curiosity. Or at least one person. To those of you who are visiting... well... welcome!

Now for a random thought:

I play the harmonica. I have a smoking pipe. A gray fedora. Blazers. And to top it all off, "business" cards.

Gimmicky or awesome?

I don't know, but I'm pretty sure this qualifies me as one of those "unique characters." This makes me sound pretentious, doesn't it? You know, I've always thought people who used the word "pretentious" are pretentious themselves - but what does that say about me?

Uh-oh. I'm on a random stream of consciousness again. This is fun, I wonder where my thoughts are going to take me.

You know, I found something great that you can do. Get a ping pong ball. Cut'em in half. Tape those halves to your eyes. Lie down on a couch. Turn on a radio to static. Then, you'll start hallucinating. You see, the brain is addicted to sensations that appeal to... well, the senses. Thence the ping pong ball and the static - they're "whitenoises" that tune out the senses. The brain then starts developing its own. To entertain itself, I suppose.

Entertain. I had a dream last night. I don't remember what it's about. I remember it was entertaining. I know there's somebody that I recognize in my dream. I seem to be having some pretty vivid dreams lately. Last one I remembered? Barack Obama.

I'd really like to meet the guy. He seems like a nice guy to talk to - and he collects Spider-man comic books! Marvel is actually making an issue where Spidey talks to Obama. Now THAT'S gimmicky.

Still, Spidey needs it. Don't know if a lot of you know, but Peter Parker and Mary Jane? NO MORE! Peter traded his marriage for Aunt May's life - she got shot in an assassination attempt against Parker and was about to die. Mephisto shows up, offers MJ and Parker a chance to trade in their marriage and all memories of it for Aunt May's life. And despite the fact that Aunt May's already reaching the age where death is expected...

The writers decided to end the Parker/Jane marriage.

I was pretty pissed off about this - it's like ending the Superman/Lois Lane marriage - it's blasphemy! I thought it was one of those unwritten rules of comic books, you know? Where everything's possible except for the resurrection of Ben Parker (in canon); Clark Kent & Lois Lane will always be together; Catwoman and Batman will still have many flirtations but will not really amount to much considering they're both on different sides of the law; The Flash will always be the fastest thing alive; and Spidey and Mary Jane will be together forever!

But nooooooooooooooooooooooooo! Let's end it! Let's ruin the Spidey franchise, as if it hasn't been molested enough by the third Spiderman movie!

ARGH! As if it wasn't bad enough insinuating that Gwen Stacy and the Green Goblin were having an affair and had twin children (I wish I could, but I shit you not. Wiki it). NO! They have to do retarded stuff like this to - oh God, rape my childhood!

And this is why I turned to Batman! Not the "main" one, but the other "non-canon" stuff - at least those are written in quality!

Damn you, Marvel. I used to love you so much because you did stuff that DC would never do - kill, murder, cheat, and lie. And now I've turned to DC because Batman makes more sense to me than the retarded mess you've left my childhood.

Sigh.

I need a shower. I like seeing how I went from "business card" to "Fuck Spiderman, go Batman!" Weird thing where the mind can take you.

I Hate Jane Austen

Because of this abhorrence of a paper I have to write!

Maybe I'm over-thinking this. Maybe I'm just blowing this out of proportion. But goddammit, I don't know what to write! Either I've got a bad case of writer's block, or I'm just plain stupid...

Actually, this isn't a first time. I've always been terrible at writing papers on novels. Short stories, like Heart of Darkness, I can do. Papers on Aristotelian Courage or Platonic theory of forms and Love I can proudly say I've done with flying colors. But that's because the latter has forced me to apply something I've learned to situations and the former is a short story - there isn't as much to consider when it comes to literary analysis. But goddammit, I cannot do novels. There are too many themes, factors, and events to consider - and where the hell do I start?

I've brainstormed, I've slept on it, and I still haven't been able to come up with on outline about it. I mean, this paper that I'm supposed to write to so...

Alright, enough of me bitching. I just need to get into the gist of writing. Maybe I should have another practice in stream of consciousness.

Stream of consciousness. Interesting concept. Talking off the top of your head. Or in this case writing. Okay, not much of a concept. But interesting in the sense that you see a persons id - or ego? or super ego? How would Freud put it... Or was it Jung? Welcome to the Jungle! We got fun and games! Speaking of games, I wonder when my Guitar Hero should be coming in the mail... I snagged myself a copy on Amazon during the Black Friday rush. Well, it really much of a rush for me - I just bought it at home.

Ugh, I have that essay still pressing on my mind... Dammit, wireless internet access out here is pretty shitty. It's like - oh, what's a good analogy... Well, it's a hit and miss. Maybe I need to clear my mind. Blank sheet. John Locke - everybody is born with a blank slate for a mind - only the impressions of external influences can affect what is on this slate.

Descartes tried something to this affect - he tried to rationalize that human knowledge comes from the mind. He does this through denying everything - from his sense, to his own existence. He reduces himself to nothing but a thinking thought. It's the fact that he's thinking that he proves that he exists - thence, the term - "I think, therefore I am."

Then he tries to prove God's existence along this very same train of thought - pretty much, to paraphrase, I have the idea of an powerful, omniscient force. But where did this idea come from? Obviously, this omniscient force - it gave me this idea as an imprint of its existence and my being a product of its creation." Or something to that extent. A nagging feeling in the back of my mind says that I might be wrong, but after this quarter of thinking, I've kind of doubted the human mind. In fact, this quarter has taught me to hate philosophers. It's one ambiguous question after the other, and ends up in circular logic.

Hmm... Descargo, Escargo. Snails. Naked snails are slugs, right? Then what's a naked hermit crab - or a naked turtle. You know, it seems like all of these are edible in some way. Funny - Americans believe that bugs and reptiles should not be eaten, but mammals and sea life are alright for the consumption. I wonder where we got this idea. I mean, traveling to other countries, they've adopted reptiles and bugs into their diets - I've had escargot, crocodile, snake, and... well, that's about it. I mean, what's wrong with eating bugs and reptiles? They look disgusting to some, sure - but compare that to a pig. Pig's roll around in their own filth. After all, it is banned in some religions to eat pork.

Reminds me of Pulp Fiction, the diner scene where Jules Winnfield is talking to Vincent Vega about how he doesn't eat pork because he believes they're disgusting creatures. In the same vein, sewer rat can taste like the greatest thing on earth until you realize that you've eaten sewer rat. Isn't there a place in China where they serve Mountain Rats for food? They at fruits as opposed to... well, sewage, so I guess that makes'em healthy to eat... Not so sure I'd want to try it though. Not unless it's deep fried. I mean, the crocodile meat I had was deep fried, and it actually kind of tasted like chicken.

Fried chicken. Now that's something I haven't had in months. Huh. You know what, now I'm actually in the mood to write. I wonder if anybody really does read through these blogs... Well, obviously you are. You must be thinking this blog quite preposterous - or at least a bit interesting - in comparison to others. Don't exactly know where I'm going with this. I usually don't nowadays.

But it seems like Tristan - the Caucasian - is right - I should just write some shit down, just to get into the gist of writing. The Caucasian - maybe that should be his nickname... Kind of reminds me of the Big Lebowski; the Dude always orders a White Russian, or as he sometimes calls it, a Caucasian. So quite honeslty, not exactly naming him after his ethnicity, but rather a cocktail. That happens to be his ethnicity. I could call him the White Russian, but he really isn't Russian, he's German. And a lumberjack. Maybe I should start calling him Jack. Cause of his lumberjack backgrounds. I've seen that guy without his shirt off, it shows that he's done some work with lumber (No homo).

Alright... Maybe I can finally get to writing my paper. Hopefully I can get that shit done. I still don't know what I'm going to do, but hey, at least I got my typing fingers back.

Let's get to work.

Back to Therapy...

The title refers to the fact that I find blogging therapeutic - despite the fact that I also find blogging about my life narcissistic (and I despise narcissism. Speaking of which, thank God for spellcheck, because I cannot spell narcissism right for the life of me).

I've been feeling depressed at night for a couple weeks. For obvious reasons.

God, I don't want to do this. This is exposing too much of my life to the internet.

But who's gonna read it, right?

Maybe somebody within my social network... or my boss...

Oh, that'd be terrible.

Maybe I should stop typing like this. Stream of consciousness is annoying. It's like... God, I can't think of a witty analogy that's literary or of any merit. All I know it's as annoying as...

Dammit, failed again. What was I talking about before my digression?

Oh yeah, depression.

It sucks ass. Almost as much as studying Descartes. Or reading Jane Austen. *rimshot* (but not to be confused with rim job).

I've decided I'd do away with the damn thing sometime in Lorbeer Middle School. Middle School was an odd phase - I think for everybody. Hormones. The opposite sex. Boobs. No longer does the cootie shot exist, but instead all we want to do is touch each other. Or ourselves.

Anywho, I decided depression is not a part of my personality. Over five years later, I've met with my old friend again. And now I have an urge to wear all black, listen to Linkin Park, and quite possibly smoke nothing but black cigarettes and watch Donnie Darko over and over and over again.

Least I have been for the past several weeks. But after an alluring conversation with my friend, Aarika (as well as a bountiful dinner with some people in my dorm that I really enjoyed :]) I've decided to do away with Depression and be who I want to be.

Problem is, who do I want to be?

I've been having a problem with college, I'll admit it. It's nothing I ever hoped it to be.

When I initially thought of college, I guess I expected something... a bit more...

Okay, I don't know what I expected. All I know is that I wanted out of the drama and idiocracy of High School and into the intellectual fire of college.

And quite honestly, I haven't found much of a spark. Don't get me wrong - the classes are all stimulating for my cranium - it's just that socially... Well, I've turned out to become quite a social retard out here. I don't know what I'm doing any more. I feel like I've lost any value that I got in high school. I mean shit, I was top shit in high school - people fuckin' loved me!

But as soon as I got here and worked my charisma and my charm, it doesn't really get past anybody. Probably because I'm catering to a different crowd now.

But why does it feel like the people I want to get away from in high school have followed me here? I know several of you know what I mean... I don't want to go into detail in fear that those same people are reading this blog (I'm a pussy like that) but I -

I'm ignoring my homework. And I have class in less than nine hours. I must take my leave. Therapy session is over. Got to get to work!

Autobots, rollout!