Shut up Billy Corgan!!

"Give a cadaver an aspirin and see if it feels better."--Prof. Pope

This past weekend was kind of crazy. Most weekends are almost always something else but this one a little more so. So, as you may already know, I happened to lose my Moleskine on Friday. There was some freaking out and what have you. I'm sure that most people would feel rather funky if two months of their life had disappeared. Just so happens that having left contact information in the Moleskine someone had found it and had emailed me. Got that email Saturday night. I was so very happy. I got it back today. Good things do happen.

Story time: So I had dropped my Moleskine sometime during my Political Science 150 [Comparative Governments] class. I didn't notice. During Math 112 is when the discovery was made that I was missing said Moleskine. Once again with the freaking out part. I have my Political Science 170 [Intro to International Relations] in the same room as my PS 150 class. I looked for it some. Not there. Now the thing was, the person who found it, was a PS 170 TA and found it on the podium just after that class had ended. So my Moleskine was in that classroom for about four hours before she picked it up. I am guessing that it went through at least one other persons hands to get to the podium so on. Then I get the email on Saturday night. Monday all is returned. Good deal.

You could say that I am a little more prepared for loss. I'm just trying to take care of myself. Now I just need to take care of a lot of homework. And we all know that homework is no fun at all. Drat!!

I'm Cheese

"I got distracted by your game winning cracker."--Melanie Tomlison

Who is this man with the can of toxic waste in the middle of the park? How does this person come across any toxic waste at all? Sure, we all know that the stuff affects and does weird things to anything close to its proximity. And I don't think diluting it with water will do us much good. Hence, I got turned into cheese. And if I'm cheese, I think I would probably be pepper jack flavored. hmm....pepper jack.

Wait a second...What the crap am I doing running through toxic waste anyway? No normal human being in his right mind would go skipping through anything not FDA approved. Cool things do not happen when running through toxic waste. None of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle stuff. No DareDevil. My nothing will get enhanced. The Green Goblin and the Joker are both very creepy. I would exactly call those enhancements because both of them are really MESSED.

Also, I am reminded of the Blaster Master story. I'm going off on that sequence of images that runs when you don't press start at the title screen. Why on earth would a normal family have a drum of toxic waste in their backyard right in between their tractor and corn field? Does that seem wrong to anyone besides me? I hope so. And why is there some massive hole by the drum of toxic waste where at the bottom is some sort of titanium vehicle and why didn't I die from that 100 foot fall? This makes no sense to me whatsoever. But that space age suit fits very nicely.

Toxic Waste: Does the body bad!

Fire-dancer lost

"Standing in front of the mirror to sketch in this strip, I was glad I work in the privacy of my own home."--Bill Watterson, Calvin and Hobbes Tenth Anniversary Book, p. 146

So, over the past year and some, I have gotten into journal writing. I thank my very good friend JHVO for starting me on the habit. The thing that helps incredibly is the small little notebook that I am able to carry around anywhere I go. These notebooks are courtesy of none other than Moleskine [check the link on the sidebar to the left]. I value my 'skines very much. I've been writing in one since 11 July, 2004. About every four months I finish one and start out new. Yesterday however, I lost no. 4. Slipped out of my pocket somewhere between Political Science 150 prior to Calculus. Two months of my life have just disappeared somewhere on campus. Talk about feeling a void. I was wiggin' out.

As worried as I was I have found peace. A couple of things that helped me out. I read an article of the New York Times that lifted my soul. And here's a link to a site that is mentioned in said article. Once again, inspiration can be found in the weirdest of places. Another site.

I know that the Moleskine cannot be replaced. I hope it will be refound in my presence. Having left my name, address and phone number I still have hope it will be returned. Though I can't expect its return. Having dwelled on this for over 12 hours now, I am feeling much better. A half used notebook will find itself in the hands of someone I don't know at all. What's wrong with that? Nothing. My thoughts, experiences, quotes from others and opinions are written down in that thing. Someone will get to know me through that Moleskine. I'm okay with that.

Why do we write? I write to explain me to myself. To help discover who I am. I like to keep track of myself and my thoughts. It's second nature to me now. I write not to keep things hidden. I write to share who I am. These books will eventually go to the people I love. Somehow, I will become real in the imaginations of those people. I might influence them as a friend. We have the ability to reach out to who knows how many people. I write to leave myself behind. I will be imagined as me. I cannot ask for anything else.

To those who write: You will be found.

I should be 30 ft. to my right

"You opened my cheese wrong!! I'm bitter!"--Summer

Classes started this week. Joy of all joys. I am bursting with excitement. I have quite the class schedule. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays are beastly. Three classes in one classroom. So, that should become my favorite room because if not, I'm screwed!!

I know campus pretty well. I can find my way just about anywhere. I should be that well versed, I've been here going on three years now. So I'm going to my math class. We all know that there are about 40 gwazillion math classes in that stupid building. I get in and of course it's MATH 112 and/or Calculus 1. All is happy about 10 minutes into the class period I discover I'm in the wrong section. This has never happened to me before. I'm in the right level of math, but not in the correct section. I should be 30 ft. over in the classroom next to me. I decided to stay for the remaining time. Room 104 is basically the same as room 108. Just different TAs and a slightly different homework schedule. Ah well.

Already I hate the math. Good thing I don't have to take anything higher than this. As for math goes. I'm not sure exactly how we are supposed to understand this stuff. I had to buy a new book. And after having done some homework last night I discovered myself writing lame comments in it. I own the book. I can pretty much do whatever. Hence, I will. I still intend on having a good time around here. I have a billion things to do and a zillion homework to do. Got Happy Pirates "try-outs" tonight. I hope to keep some sort of balance. Maybe a scale.

Man, you really freak me out

"I know you don't mean no harm,
you're just doing your thing,
but man, you really freak me out"
--Freak Me Out, Weezer

This just stemming off a conversation that I had a couple of days ago in mine own kitchen. You know, there are many people out there is this here world and we all have these crazy quirks, ideas, personalities and what have you. Then we end up doing lots of stuff. We do stuff with other peoples and maybe possibly our with ourselves but depending on the mood, we'll do a certain variety of who knows what.

With all of that said and done, we must also realize [this is beginning to sound like some sort of lecture on chemistry, or social behavior or politics...eh...] we come up with ideas and plans that never come to pass. We do not do these ideas because of many reasons. I'll name a few:

a. The stupidity of the idea
b. There's no possible way to even accomplish it
c. We have no backbone
d. The convincing powers of peoples you know
e. Warwick Davis
f. The sheer creepiness of you actually doing it

I myself will only expound on the latter. If you're in the beginnings of the process of the actions and you feel weirded out, creepy, thinking that whoever is going to be on the receiving end of this is going to have their mind blown away; you're probably right. If it seems creepy, more than likely that is the case. You should probably get to know the person before you do anything. Once you know the person, then you're allowed to get away with a lot more stuff. Maybe I shouldn't have said that.

I would like to say now that you should only do things that you are comfortable with but that would get some people into trouble. Once again I would like to say people have their own opinions and good luck to you with the social scene [hint, I've failed several times].

Sometimes I think that creepiness and romanticism share a very thin line. Now there's an argument for you.

I heart stereotypes

"You're the first person I bought off here."--Brian Cassaday

I'm driving back to my pad from West Jordan thinking about who knows what and lo and behold, I have a thought [amazing isn't it? shut up!!]. I was thinking, stereotypes. Side note: resembles kind of the caste system? just a side note. Basic thing is, we classify people. I don't know why, we just do. I guess it's in our nature. There are definitely certain kinds of people and just subconsciously group them together.

Certainly there are all types of people. We know who knows how many of them. I myself have met upwards of probably several thousand people as have you and that person off to the left. Every single one of them with their own little bit of individualism, personality, gene code and hair color. We get to know them and soon enough we put people into a specific group or folder or something like that.

The jock, skater, rich girl, pretty boy, momma's boy, teacher's pet, socially inept one, village bicycle, Señor Cardgage, creepy guy who writes those letters, fun one, the guy who won't shut up, *wench*, "he smells funny", loud one, obnoxiuos jerk, Tim Curry, "what the crap are you doing?" girl, the opinionated one, Sandra D., the not your regular dude, this person has the IQ of a brick and "why are you making fun of my southern accent?". Just to name a few kinds of groups.

So we get classified. I guess we might have to do it for identification purposes. But we do it nonetheless and we do it a lot. I think we like it. We can't or refuse to do nothing else. We're messed.

Lithgow, Willis and Boyle

"Do you want to be thumbed down?!"--Aliana Schaeffer

Today is the day where I see a man who looks like unto Peter Boyle. A couple of weeks ago I saw a man that looked like Bruce Willis. Last year I saw a man that really, REALLY looked a lot like John Lithgow. Who are these people? And why don't I know them? They gots to be cool peoples!! I agree with myself.

Now it's not often that one sees persons who look like famous people. I have been told that I look like one Eagle Eye Cherry. Others claim my bro-in-law resembles the loose footed Kevin Bacon. Where do people come up with this stuff? In my personal opinion I don't think I look like said pop star. If that helps you out any, more power to you.

Other notes: Yesterday I ate at our apartment kitchen table. This was the first time in a much too long while. Generally, the table is havoc. Good luck to you.But I must say it was quite the experience. I failed my cleaning check again. I don't care. So far I've never been charged. It wasn't all that bad anyway. I sound disgusting don't I? Ah, crap!!

I must go to witness Abberforth get the hanging of a lifetime. Or the end thereof. I think I might be able to save skin. I have collateral. Yes, I do have your gloves Jules. HA HA!!

What exactly is the use for a band-aid?

"Go vomit!!"--Absherificon

So, I was checking my electronic mail on campus when I looked off to the side and found this band-aid on the desk. It wrought me into a state of disturbance.

Now don't get me wrong. I do believe that band-aids serve a purpose. When one gets cut and starts to bleed, I would suggest a band-aid, even if you did get cut by a pizza crust [yes, I was stabbed in the arm with a pizza crust and I was cut].

But the question is: does a desk bleed?!?!? Last time I checked. Yes you can cut a desk but it doesn't heal and the only thing that happens is that ones handwriting gets jacked because of the divets created by the cutting. I am also wondering how long the thing has been upon the desk. Left out band-aids are one of the most disgusting things ever. What with the sticky adhesive going funky and the bizarre gross looking brown-ish skin looking color. I get the upwards jibblies. Ehh....

Another messed up thing about this station that I am currently at on campus. I just noticed that the space bar was divided in two. I'm sure my face had that classy "What the crap is this?" look upon it. So out of curiosity, I had to try out both buttons. Yeah, right side is the space bar and the left side is a delete button. I'm weirding out. But I am sitting in a nice chair. Ah...

Care-a-Lot, We care a lot

"It's cooler out there, warmer in here, I need a tuna sandwich."--Jim

Digging around my closet and/or taking stuff out and putting it all back I happenstanced upon my Care Bear. I've owned that bear since about the mid 1980's when I got it for Christmas one year. My mommy made it. It's totally Funshine Bear. Brings back so many memories. So of course I slept with Funshine Bear next to me. Talk about good times. I mean, he even has the whole heart "tattoo" on the left side of his bummel region. That seems kind of weird to me. Oh well.

Since I've had this bear for probably near 20 years, we've been through a lot together. There's a hole in his armpit and he's also missing his right pupil. But that's okay, he's still got class. I just remember Funshine Bear around me about all the time. And I have him around for sentimental reasons. He makes me happy. I think that's their job. It works.

Does anyone remember the Care Bear movies? I do somewhat. The one about the carnival was kind of creepy. But as I recall, they were still really feel-good movies. I know my parents have them on VHS somewhere at home. That's a massive wall of videos. I should probably dig those up. Well, sweet dreams

I feel funky

"Go down there in one of those cool little cars and set off a couple of nukes and we'll all have a good time."--Prof. Skinner

I'm exhausted. Two reasons: actual work as a cleaning technician in Heritage Halls and the processing of thoughts throughout the day. Today was full of some unexpectedness with a little bit of what have you scaliwag. The basic premise is that I desire change but do not know what I want. Or something like that...

First off, doors are for going through and windows are for looking through. I'll go through the door. Mostly because I work there. I like being given money, even though I have to work for it. The kids visiting the dorms for the week invited me to go through the window. I ignore them for a reason. Two reasons. They bother me and I clean up after them. So I have eight hours to do my thing at work. I can do the basics within two of those hours. The amount of time we have to do all our duties is ridiculous. No wonder I spend a good portion of my time with some of my fellow custodians. Thanks Auds and Jules. However today, I did some group work [of which I was not crew leader and was very happy] and I had to pass around some supplies and a little more upkeep than usual. 'Twas happy. I felt I accomplished something. Hooray!!

For the thought process action, the thing that started it off was that I saw someone whom I have not seen in quite some time. We've gotten back to that nod 'hello' phase. We haven't had much of any other phase. You're a great concept. This then started me thinking about where the freaking blazes to I do I want to go in certain aspects of my life. I basically said in my head "Ah CRAP!!" [side note: I was listening to the first song on the Weezer Pinkerton album when I saw the above Sandra D] I'm thinking, come fall semester, I think my social scene is going to be messed up. Wow.

Happy note: Eating at the Creamery I ordered my food and the thing is that once the food is ready, the employees call out your name so you can get your product that will soon be consumed by none other than your very self. I had them pronounce my name as "Filpay" instead of "Felipe" because that is the way my supervisor says my name. And she's been my boss for nearly a year and a half now. We all laughed.