Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Craigy Poooooo's LiveJournal:

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Saturday, September 5th, 2009
4:37 pm	Craig's Archival Status Collection So, I've realized that most of the energy I would usually save up and then purge on livejournal has actually been released incrementally and continually through facebook updates. So, I figured I'd post the ones that I thought were accomplishing the same goal as livejournal, or, at least, left me with a similar sense of satisfaction to write. It's kind of like when a citcom does a clip show. I want the sense of accomplishment without actually doing any more work. It's also a sort of attempt to fight the Twitter-like way my mind apparently prefers to work by tricking myself into thinking that all of this makes more sense or is somehow more appealing as one long entry instead of a thousand little ones. Mostly, it's all an act of blatant narcissism. So, read if you want. If you don't want, then I hereby relinquish you of all responsibility. ( This link is here to imply you need feel no pressure to actually read all of these stupid updates. ) (Comment on this)
Wednesday, May 6th, 2009
3:03 am	Can I waste time, or can I waste time? How on earth did "We just have a difference of opinion." become an okay way to end a discussion? I'm sorry, did I somehow mislead you into thinking that up until this point I have had exactly the same opinion as you? Has all discussion so far been purely a semantic waste of time? Or perhaps it was just an exercise in verbally stroking each other's nutsacks by exploring how our upbringings and our B.A.s have enriched our doppelgangistic* and flawless points of view? Well you might want to put the kids to bed and sit in your comfiest chair for this one, but I KNOW we have a difference of opinion. That is WHY we are having a discussion in the first place. We aren't simply repeating the same sentences to each other because we have different perspectives, and your thesis will not also serve as your concluding argument. Now, one of the reasons this pisses me off is because it usually happens just when I'm just about to hit a debatical** peak, and I'm left with an intense case of blue-balls in my brain and in my gut, and, on one or two occasions, in my balls. But (and this may be the week and a half of cripplingly abundant free time talking) I think that my problem with it goes deeper than that. I think the reason this statement bothers me the most is that it simply lacks authenticity. If you are saying "just a difference of opinion", really you mean something completely different. This phrase serves simply as an empty vessel for your subtext, the beard for your closeted honest thought, the linguistic sleep efficiency tube to your proverbial Japanese businessman of truth, and other analogies as well. But we in this lovely culture of ours have come to accept this phrase, perhaps even embrace it as a symbol. A symbol that we have become so stunningly individualistic that we have evolved beyond the point of needing to listen to each other. For the willing, I would like to extend some alternatives that may be at least slightly more authentic. Maestro, if you please. "Listen. I am starting to become uncomfortable with this situation because I can no longer defend my point of view but I am entirely unwilling to change my mind. I need it to end immediately." "Listen. I'm bored. Both you and this conversation bore me." "Listen. We've moved past the point where books/movies/other people have explained to me what to think." "Listen. I only brought this up to fill the time before we start having sex." "Listen. You are really, truly, very stupid. You are, however, a nice person and deserve validation for that." "Listen. I was really looking for someone who would just nod and occasionally chime in with phrases like, "Yeah, totally." and, "Wow. I actually never thought about it that way before." and, "Yeah, I hate Rachel Ray, too."" "Listen.... Hey, listen... You hear that?.... That quiet?.... Yeah.... Yeah, I'd prefer that." These are suggestions***. Feel free to come up with your own. Shit, feel free to do all kinds of things. I'm not judging you. You WILL have to answer to Jesus. ... Okay, that's all, I'm done. This whole thing was mainly me being frustrated about the events of the day and I wanted to see if I could feel better by venting about something completely unrelated. This is the livejournal equivalent to me punching a pillow, or kicking a homeless person. It was much more effective than I expected it to be. I mean, everyone knows that abusing the homeless takes the edge off, but siphoning pent up emotion through a blog about nonsense? Who knew? Also, as muses go, mine is pretty damn annoying. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ *As the creator of this word, the author has decided to limit the use of "doppelgangistic" in any document written after May 6, 2009 to direct quotes of this post and/or racist, anti-German humor. **"Debatical", the adjective form of "debate", is complete nonsense. The author denies having used this word in his post. ***I actually have nothing more to add to this. It just felt like it needed a footnote. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, March 31st, 2009
4:58 pm	The Contest Last night at a piano bar: Gay Waiter: What are you getting? Craig: Ummm... Fuck it, I'll have a Vodka Redbull. (Sassy/judgy look from the waiter) Craig: (Not about to be out-sassed by anyone working in a piano bar) What, are you judging me for my drink order? GW: Yeah. I am. Craig: Do you want to fight? Because I will fight you. I will fight you right here in your fruity piano bar. GW: (laughs, gayly. (Not happily. Homosexually.)) I could totally take you! Craig: Yeah... but, I'm a bleeder, and you are wearing a very expensive looking shirt! GW: I could kick your little ass. Craig: And I could run up your dry-cleaning bill. And this went on through the next hour or so we were there, with little sass contests every time he came to check in on us. And when we got our check... GW: You aren't even going to be able to walk out of here. Craig: What the hell are you talking about? I only had one drink! GW: No. I'm going to fuck you so hard that you won't be able to walk. (brief, shocked pause) Craig: Yeah? Well, like I said: I'm a bleeder. (GW bails. Craig wins.) (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, March 23rd, 2009
9:12 pm	Show time. Hey. Come see Kite Runner at San Jose Rep, located in the heart of downtown San Jose, a place that is the metropolitan equivalent to slapping an expensive prom dress on the fat girl with halitosis and a club foot. Previews start again on Wednesday, March 23. It opens Friday. I can get people $6 off a ridiculously overpriced ticket, if you let me know ahead. I just finished crying in the shower due to pent up emotional backwash from doing the show a thousand times this last week, which means that it must be good. Either that or I am becoming frighteningly unstable. (I suppose those aren't mutually exclusive.) What a shining pitch. I should go into sales. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, March 5th, 2009
9:49 pm	Another list of thing I've learned Let's start at the beginning. 1. "Let's start at the beginning" is a pretty stupid and unnecessary thing to write. 2. "The chase is always more fun than the catch" has been expanded from just dating. It now includes old friends and fat people (it's like playing the beginner setting on Minesweeper). 3. Gigantic eyebrows, sunken eyes, and poor acting do not a supervillain make. I speak from personal experience. 4. There is some sort of affliction that affects gay men over the age of thirty, wherein their nipples somehow become so enlarged that normal cotton and poly-blend shirts can no longer contain them. The rate of 2nd degree eye-pokings in the Castro has tripled over the last ten years. 5. There is a direct correlation between how frequently I become sick and my insurance premium. 6. I've started to become very worried about the long-term ramifications of a career in speed-pooping. I mean, has anyone seen an old dancer's foot? 7. Doctors don't know the first thing about anything. Except medicine. 8. The existence of the 80's is an elaborate lie constructed by the wig industry. 9. All short people suffer from delusions of grandeur, specifically with regard to how unique, special, and different from everyone else they see themselves. I, like always, am the exception that proves the rule. Yes. I've learned exactly nine things. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, October 29th, 2008
11:45 pm	Good evening ladies and not-ladies, tonight I have prepared for you a set of controversial musings in the form of a rite of passage and desperate attempt to make sense of the world, right here, on Pay-Per-Livejournal. Hope you enjoy. Send money. ******************************************************************************************************************************************************* I am going to attempt to sort out my feelings about gay men. Now, the problem is I think I already know how I feel about gay men, but that I am trying to convince myself that I'm just confused, which is a familiar and unwelcome feeling. Anyway, I hate them. And, the only thing I like about being gay right now is that when I say "I hate them" to people, I'm met with a confused and placating sympathy as opposed to outrage and vigorous sign-making. Gay culture, led with an iron fist by Despot and Fashion Consultant Tim Gunn with Commanding Officer and Resident Hag Ina Garten and her army of well-fed, gay WASPS in pink cardigans, has penetrated, if you will, the anus of mainstream culture by harnessing the largest phallus TV has to offer, the Reality Show. And, as I have learned from the struggles of past civil rights movements, becoming part of mainstream culture is extremely important. After all, gay culture needs mainstream culture in order to reach the ultimate goal, which is, as we all know, the heroic, self-actualized rejection of mainstream culture which seems generally to happen immediately after mainstream culture stops caring. So blah blah, television, cultures, blah. I don't really care about that, nor do I really know whether or not I believe it. I just like the thought of Tim Gunn wearing camouflage, and needed a point for it. The reason I bring up the assimilation of gay culture into the mainstream is because of the effect it appears to be having on the shirtless specimens floating in gay culture's musky formaldehyde. Because gay culture is not based on anything to do with predisposed physical traits (skin color, vestigial tail, etc.), nor does it come with any sort of history (no, individual queens writing aphorism-laden plays or being the king of England does not count as a culture) or family ties, everything within the culture has been completely manufactured, and, until recently, done so in secret. So it didn't have a great jumping off point to begin with. Now that lifestyle created out of heavily persecuted desperation has crawled from its hole and is living among the God-fearing, decent folk, drinking their 7ups and farting quietly in their theater seats. After the great gay culture appropriation, referred to by mainstream media as "Bravogate", the problem for gay men (gayblem) still remained:  "How the fuck to we find and meet each other?" or, rather "How the truck-stop bathroom, under-stall, leather-hooded, bareback butt-fuck do we find and meet each other?" The answer, it turns out, was pretty simple, and I am going to tell you how it is done. Craig's Brief Guide on How to Be Gay You may be thinking, but Craig, how could I possibly become gay? Well, you shouldn't be wondering that at this point, because the bold letters above make it quite clear that I was already going to answer that. It also implies that you should have been wondering that before you reached the bold letters, and so I suggest you think about what that says about your critical thinking skills. Now, being gay, it turns out, is very simple. The trick is to walk, talk, dress, dance, smell like and generally make yourself into an exact copy of any gay man you see. It doesn't matter which one you choose because if you can see them then they have already done this and are therefore exactly like all the others. Many men at this point experience some feelings of depression. This is normal, as your entire identity is melting away, and that process can be very painful. Luckily, this can be treated medically. Most gay men prefer methamphetamine and amyl nitrate, but be creative! Anything that can be smoked, huffed, swallowed, snorted, or injected is fair game and readily available within the community. Now you have assimilated. Good for you. You are almost there! The next thing to keep in mind is that it is a social imperative that you immediately have rough sex with the first gay man you see, and then subsequently with every one after that. Not doing so is considered very rude, and may run you the risk of getting your hair pulled relatively hard. I hope you have enjoyed this guide. The full version can be purchased at your local bookstore! Look for it in the "Jaded Homos" section. ------------------------------------------ So, what now, huh? I've sworn off my brethren and have become a homophobic homo, or "hobo." It doesn't help that the more jaded I become about unrelated things, the more successful I become in the performing arts. I am, of course, the first to point out this correlation. Okay, the end draws nigh. Not only have I come to realize through the process of writing this that I am a hobo(tm), but I have also completely outed myself as one. How embarrassing. More importantly, however, I realize that I have robbed myself of my ability to tell myself I'm just confused. It's okay, though. I can still tell myself it's just a phase. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, December 10th, 2007
8:15 pm	Danny Wallace is walking around my brain occasionally saying "yes" to things. I realized today, and by today I mean roughly four minutes ago, that I only show people the actual moment that I understand what they are saying about fifty percent of the time. Which means that the other fifty percent of the time I am faking understanding or feigning confusion with what people say to me. And I'm not talking about when people are explaining complex things to me. This usually happens during the more mundane of the conversations in my life. Especially with strangers. At first, I thought that I had pretty clear reasons for doing that, but the more I think about it the more I realize that I do it relatively instinctively and rationalize later. The more I think about the moment itself, the more I realize that the impetus for it was pretty arbitrary. Which perforates my otherwise impenetrable reasoning for doing it. I don't know if this is something that everyone does or just something I do, but either way it is a pretty damn strange way to behave. Also: My writing style, or, more accurately, my thinking style is drastically affected by the voice of any book I am currently reading. Or maybe it doesn't change at all but the man in my head uses different imaginary vocal inflection when he dictates it to my fingers. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, November 28th, 2007
12:12 am	The Update I now live in a house in San Francisco with six other clowns (here "clowns" is meant literally, as in those who currently are performing, teaching, or training to be circus/theatrical clowns, not as a lovingly derogatory name for my housemates). I've tried before to explain what this is like, but I feel the essence of my life here is best captured by our recently erected Christmas tree. Our seven-foot, skinny, sparsely-needled tree can't stand up on it's own because we cut it too short to fit into our $2.99 Christmas tree stand which, we learned, was not strong enough to withstand the air pressure change from bringing a Christmas tree into the room. So, with all the grit and moxy and holiday spirit our clown family could muster, we festively tied the tree to the ceiling and adjacent walls with holiday twine. While the tree now, at first glance, appeared to be supported by the stand, it actually was hovering a couple inches above the bottom of it, dangling joyfully about a millimeter above the water. So we put a key-lime yogurt container under the trunk, inside the stand, and filled that with water. So, our Christmas tree now lovingly and securely attached to our house and sated with drink from the traditional key-lime yogurt container set within a broken Christmas tree stand, we then set about to decorating it. First we attached hooks to all of the little branches that fell off along the way and hung them on the holiday twine thus creating the inescapable illusion that they were part of our Christmas tree. Then we took a the ten inch section of trunk with a branch sticking out of it, covered it with about twenty candy canes, and hung it on on the ceiling hook to which we had attached the ceiling-assigned bit of holiday twine. As for the tree itself, it was festooned with lots of pretty, plastic, traditional bulb ornaments and lights. After we were done, we decided that our tree looked too classy, so we began a found-ornament contest. Though the contest is nowhere near over, the following now hangs on our tree: A plastic severed foot sent to one of the clowns by her mother (with a drawing of the clown's tattoo on the toe) A severed finger sent by said mother Two wiffle balls A  1 inch section of the trunk with a hook attached A red monkey puppet A pistol A toy radio Several condoms Our mail key (the wall-hook which used to house our mail key now has an ornament hanging from it) A T-Rex toy A brown monkey puppet Handcuffs Shockingly phallic sidewalk chalk A Tinfoil man A snorkel A Thai take-out menu A pair of hot-pink earrings A rubber chicken A George Bush plush novelty A hand-knitted skull with clown makeup Another rubber chicken A koosh ball A piece of the broken Christmas tree stand A plastic juggling hot dog And that's what it's like to live in a house with six other clowns. P.S. For the record, as far as the contest goes my entries were the disguised twine, the mail key, the chalk, the take-out menu, and the section of trunk. I'd better win. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, August 22nd, 2007
1:21 am	Fear Soup So, scorpions are terrifying. And surgery is terrifying. But the idea of scorpions performing surgery is just hilarious. With their cute little scrubs. I think I may be on to a whole new way of getting over fear. Now all I have to do is hire a ghostwriter to stretch the above four sentences into a 500 page self-help book and I'm on my way to becoming violently wealthy. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, August 21st, 2007
4:11 am	Ah! BEES! On Tuesday, June the twenty-second in the year of our lord 2004, I wrote an entry titled "things that need to stop". This, as one would expect, is a list of things of which I disapproved and wanted removed from existence. Number six was "Bees". So I just wanted to apologize, because I guess it's my fault. If someone read this post and took it upon themselves to make my dreams come true, please, for the sake of all the bland teas of the world, return the bees. --- Also, if I ever write a memoir it will be titled: How Speed-Pooping Gave Me Hemorrhoids And Other Things My Genitals Taught Me and the cover will be a picture of me doing this: (Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 13th, 2007
8:25 pm	Oops! Sorry. I just got meta all over your monitor. Any time that I want to write on livejournal I want to rant about something trivial (or only temporarily poignant). However, given the length of time that stretches between these days and the ones where outbreaks of livejournal usage were common, I found it impossible to write these pointless grumblings because the intellectual and emotional force necessary to break the dam of long-time livejournal truancy and allow a deluge of triviality was too weak due to the fact that my thoughts were... trivial and lacking intellectual and emotional strength. So I decided the following: 1) I would post-modernize my first return-to-livejournal post by talking about my inability to write such a post. 2) I would begin my first post with my point immediately, as though I had never been absent from livejournal at all. (This decision being made after several attempts at interesting, amiable introductions failed to be either interesting or amiable) 3) I would tailor a ridiculous yet somehow charming run on sentence with which to state my problem (see point 1) thus leaving the reader with only a vague sense of what I am trying to say, but still allowing them to be happy that I've figured something out for myself. If spoken aloud to someone, I would hope it would garner the response: "Well... (pause). Glad you're back." I cannot attest that anything written above is in the least bit true, let alone insightful or entertaining. However. I did manage to complete a livejournal entry. It is therefore a success. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, October 1st, 2005
6:29 pm	This actually stirred me to use this site Haven't seen this place in a while. When the fuck did this happen: par-a-dox. (n) 1. A seemingly contradictory statement that may nonetheless be true: the paradox that standing is more tiring than walking. 2. One exhibiting inexplicable or contradictory aspects: “The silence of midnight, to speak truly, though apparently a paradox, rung in my ears” (Mary Shelley). 3. An assertion that is essentially self-contradictory, though based on a valid deduction from acceptable premises. 4. A statement contrary to received opinion. I hate this word now. This word has become meaningless. I always thought it was such a strong word; a word that told of a basic principal with implications in every aspect of life. I thought it was when two things or ideas can simply not exist together by every definition and explanation that modern thinking can devise, and yet these two things or ideas do exist together. And now it means contrafuckingdictory to recieved opinion? THAT'S IT? So, if we one day prove that the platipus wasn't actually a mammal then that is a paradox? (sorry I'm watching Animal Planet). If I look for the stainless steel skillet that I bought on Amazon.com, the good one with the sticky stuff on the side which I got most off with a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser but there's still that little bit around the handle in the right hand cupboard that doesn't close right because it was painted over a thousand times and then Jason tells me that it's actually still in the box, we didn't unpack it yet, then THAT is a fucking paradox? Fuck Webster. Fuck him. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 15th, 2005
3:04 am	I'm So Happy This Exists. God's work, guys. God's work. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, February 13th, 2005
7:53 pm	Things you should be punched in the face for: 1) Saying "Too much information." 2) Rolling your eyes. 3) Sitting on the same side of the table as your date. 4) Triumphantly pointing out minor errors made by your teacher. 5) Saying "bra" instead of "bro", unless you're being ironic. 6) Saying "bro". 7) Salmon. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, January 28th, 2005
3:29 am	Two things... I've started figuring out how much money I was spending per various amounts of time in class for school, which I've found to be both extremely unhealthy and extremely gratifying. I did this because of my human sexuality class. I think this teacher is incredible: she's really smart, really funny, and really has her shit together. In general. But yet, we had to sit through the most terrible video on gender differences I have EVER seen. It was just a tape of a bunch of random people talking about their personal opinion based off the same damn television that I watch, that someone with a stone age camcorder and a beginner's guide to powerpoint made between bong hits to earn some extra crack money. And it was an hour long {insert cash register noise here}. Then, today, she made our 500 person class try to do an exercise about gender that anyone that's even been in the same room as a brain would have understood the point of when it started. But we had to write down our answers, send them to the sides, tally them up, divide by the number of papers, go down to the board, write the answer, add them up and divide by the number of answers, and then finally come out with a bunch of averages that determine what would have taken all 5 minutes to just SAY in the first place. It took so long she had to rush through her lecture. Her lecture became the other thing that we did today. Again, one hour is gone {insert second cash register noise here}. So, shall we tally, Sally? It costs essentially $780 for this class over this 10 week period. Therefore, I am spending roughly 37 cents a minute to be there and to be learning. So you see, Sally, I determine that my professor owes me and everyone else who had to endure the last two days of lecture $44.59 for these mind-numbing wastes of time. There are 489 people in the class, so maybe Ms. Tonay will learn her lesson after forking over $21,804.74. Also, men having sex with each other is a lot hotter than any other combination of genders. That's why I'm gay, Mom and Dad. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, January 4th, 2005
2:36 am	On another note: There's a stage direction in my new play that calls for me to do the following: "Grabs at money like a manic octopus." So after some internet browsing, a couple library books, and a very memorable trip to the aquarium, I think I'm ready to go. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
1:56 am	Helplessness The reaction to the tsunami from people over here has been really interesting, and it made me really realize an important aspect of human nature. Everything changes the moment we feel helpless. I mean really helpless, cosmically helpless. When we create catastrophe like, for instance, the war in Iraq, the general public, the great unwashed grows to see it as an inevitability to some degree. They separate themselves from it, watching the occasional news report to be able to tell their friends (and themselves) that they're well informed. They hate the enemy or they pity the enemy. They hate our government or support our government, but in the end they just repeatedly say "hmm... yes, horrible" to each other until they clap off the light and pull the down comforter up to their chin. Then something comes along that happens completely regardless of human existence. A huge wall of water crashes down on land that would have been there whether or not there were humans, and only NOW do we suddenly empathize. The idea that unpredictable death dealt to you by God or the Earth alone is a fear that lives in everyone. We empathize now, we feel for them now, we finally relinquish our scraps now because we can see ourselves walking out our front door, looking to the left and seeing the slowly rising wall of water gradually casting a shadow on the neighborhood. We can feel what it's like in those last excruciatingly hopeless 15 seconds when you know there's nothing you can do and you are going to die here, on your doorstep. We can see ourselves noticing the irony of how worried we were that we weren't going to have time to get a bagel before class. We somehow can't worry about soldiers shooting us when we walk outside. I feel this way too, to some degree, otherwise I wouldn't be saying it. I think, to take out my especially dark cynic's lens, that this tidal wave was a relief to people on this side. Finally, something EVERYONE can be against. Finally, death that we can just be SAD over as opposed to having to garnish our sadness with political agenda (or, more often, the other way around). Is that BAD? I don't know. I guess so. Seems bad when I write it the way I just did. Should we be equally sad for every death? Is the death somehow more scary or more weighted because it was completely out of our control? I don't know. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Monday, December 6th, 2004
12:20 am	Mandy Hafleigh My friend from middle school committed suicide about three weeks ago. Her name is Mandy Hafleigh, and during 6th and 7th grade she was my best friend. My favorite person. I didn't have too many friends back then. I got along with some other people. She didn't really have too many either. It was just the two of us, really, for those two years. I googled her name when I found out, and there's a lot online written about her. Almost all of it is from GLBT sites telling about what a great contribution she made the community. How odd. My best friend from my puberty years narrowed down to three paragraphs about how she helped out gay people. I really don't like that we break people down to their accomplishments when they die. I don't want to be remembered solely based on what tasks I accomplished in life. I don't want someone to decide the three things I did best or three ways in which I helped people the most. There's a lot more to a person than that. Obviously. And it seems so obvious to me that I'm amazed this is still what we do. Anyway, this is my contribution to Mandy's memory. I didn't know who she was when she died. I hadn't talked to her for five years. But I knew who she was in 6th grade. These are some of the things I remember about her: Mandy was the first girl I ever made out with. In 7th grade on the bus to Yosemite for a school field trip. We were playing truth or dare. These other two people were supposed to make out before us, but they were all squeemish and we got really impatient with them and told them how lame and boring and immature they were. We then proceeded to make out. It was the worst kiss I've ever had. As I recall, she wasn't a huge fan either. And we both turned out gay! I love it! At Yosemite we were mercilessly sexual with each other, running into random people's cabins (including those of the chaperones) and jumping on the bed, stripping off our outer layers of clothing and yelling "HERE! LET'S DO IT! HERE!" Then we'd act all uncomfortable, as if we didn't realize anyone was in the room. Man that was fucking hilarious. Also, at Yosemite, we had to gather every morning at this big amphitheater area. A bunch of other schools were there too, and we were talking about this girl that was bugging us (I think she was bugging us because she was wearing a cap with two strategically placed hair clumps coming down across her face. That bitch). Anyway we decided that we would spend the whole week freaking her out. So Mandy and I put on sunglasses and pointed our faces towards her with really stern expressions. And we'd watch the presenter or whatever from the corner of our eyes but always keep our faces pointed towards this girl. By the end of the week she was so freaked out that she was having her friends make a circle around her to protect her. Man, that was funny. We would always talk about how Spanish words could be made really sexual. And we had a running joke with each other for a long time after where we'd say, "Mi mochila, eh EEEHH?" all lecherous like. Also we'd walk up to other people and each other and breathe really loudly, and say that they were invading our comfort zone. She also came up with our group name there: "The Turtle Heads" with out slogan: "POPPIN' OUT!" She was one of those kids who really REALLY enjoyed her poo humor (what? And she was MY friend?!?!) She had the worst and dumbest temper ever. It made me so frustrated. If something didn't go her way she would turn into such a baby and get all quiet. Hands folded and everything. It was ridiculous and annoying, and I always wanted to call her on it, but I never did. That and just smack her. In 5th grade, I believe she was one of the co-founders of "Picklet", a three-base version of pickle. We played almost the entire year. She was a huge tomboy in elementary school and used to get picked on a lot for it. She would laugh all the time. We would say the dumbest things to each other that were not funny at all, but we'd both just laugh. We ate lunch in front of the math room for a while, while it was just the two of us. And all we did all lunch was laugh. I had a huge crush on her around the time we made out. I remember it being really intense (possibly fueled by my denial of my budding homosexuality). I came really close to asking her out, but her body language suggested that it wouldn't be a good idea. So I decided not too. I don't think we ever talked about that. --- Anyway, that's some anecdotes about who Mandy used to be back when I knew her. I'm not really that torn up that she's gone, I guess mainly because I didn't know her anymore. But I've spent a lot of time thinking about how much she meant to me in middle school, and it's been really fun remembering all the things we did together. I do wonder what would have happened had we stayed friends. We could have gone through coming out together. Maybe I could have brought enough joy to her life that she would have rethought killing herself, at least this time, you know? I mean, I don't blame myself or anything like that. I just wonder if we had never stopped being friends, if she would have been happier. I hope so. I'd really like to be friends with her again, and I'm sure I would have loved to be friends when I was coming out. It actually makes me feel better to feel like my friendship could have helped. I don't know exactly why, because I feel like it should be making me regret not being her friend more. But that's not my fault or her fault or anything. It just went away, and that's okay. It's just nice to think that there is something I can do, and had I been there and loved her these past five years, that it might have been just enough support. Anyway, I'm going around in circles now. Bye Mandy. I really loved you a lot, and I'm sorry we didn't stay friends. I know you were depressed, but I hope you had a lot of good times, too. You sure as hell deserved them. (13 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 30th, 2004
6:56 pm	I am trying to do a report for my Econ class about the effect of legalizing marijuana. In the process I found this book. Why Marijuana Should Be Legal by Ed Rosenthal and Steve Kubby. The status of this book as reported by the library's website: Lost My laughter was copious. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, November 10th, 2004
1:32 am	The solution to love I have solved a major mystery in understanding how I love. I will begin by saying that I've always had some huge problem with romance. My problem stemmed from the fact that love poems and songs about love all made me want to vomit onto salted broken glass and roll around naked for an hour, but yet I still wanted romance in my love life, and I wanted it hard. I couldn't understand how I could want romance so badly when I hated it so much. Jason said my solution in the most perfect and pithy way possible: "Love is mortal." I'm tired of hearing that love is something that is celestial and godly. A force that whirls people up into a storm and becomes or is guided by fate for two people. That it is a power and magic that will bind the souls of the couple together even after death and after whatever comes after death. AND I'm also tired of the implication that the power of love is diffused if it doesn't carry this glorification. Love is mortal. I make this point for two major reasons. The more obvious one (and the one I'm assuming most people believe is WHY I am writing this) is because it CAN die. Love is a bond that is human. It is CREATED BY US. This is why I am not going to even once try to define it (I hope you all understand how "love is mortal" is not a definition, but a trait of the undefineable idea). Because it is created by us it HAS to be different every time. AND because it is created by us, it is at the whim of everything else human qualities are: psychology, biology, etc. Love can die. Love can be passed on like a parasite. It can continue to flower and travel from person to person, but, like a parasite, without a host it will die. Now, the second thing, and the much MUCH more important one, is that love's mortality is the REASON that it is so beautiful. ALL OF LOVE'S POWER COMES FROM IT'S MORTALITY AND IT'S REALITY. If love were as the movies and stories and poetry paint it, then it loses some of it's reality. Love does not exist outside of reality. It is as much a part of reality as back pain and joy and shoes. When something is intangible and godly and omnipresent it isn't ours. We can't have it. It loses it's reality and it's genuine, significant, TANGIBLE puzzle piece in our culture. This is where relationships often run into trouble. People rely on its etherial existence and therefore do not believe that real life things such as logistics and smell play a part. They plan for the future purposely and consciously deciding not to think about possible problems that could arise. This can sometimes lead to walking right into a problem that could otherwise have been avoided. But, more importantly, simply by ignoring these future possibilites, the good and the bad, you miss out on experiencing just how fantastically real and alive love is. Love is something extraordinary that we get to have. Maybe some animals out there have it too, but I bet we are among a very lucky few to have such a capacity. To say that we don't create it, to say that we don't own it or that it's power is led by fate chisels away at this beautiful, earthly, organic, solid, real thing that we have into something completely different: an interesting and pretty sculpture that might be worth a lot of money and ten minutes of thoughtful consideration at an art gallery. If we let it become as such, we lose so much. There are people that I love so fucking much. Just so motherfucking goddamned much. And I would never let my love become a sonnet. My love is real, and co-owned. It is something my lovers and I have birthed and tasted and dug our fingernails into. I can't say love is invincible, nor can I say it is fragile. Love is just mortal. The Motherfucking End. (10 Comments |Comment on this)