Friday, October 28, 2005

People I hate (probably part 1 of many)

I have a mid-term in a course I'm shakey on in....6 hours, so why not stay up a little longer and write in my blog? Couldn't hurt right? Mom, if you're reading this, I'm sorry I'm blowing Dad's money. Also, please don't read the post below this, I don't think you (or half the people who read this (3 people)) want to know about my body hair.

There are certain people in this world who I unconditionally hate for no real reason. It's a terrible trait that I possess to make superficial judments on people and harshly dislike them because of one or two things that they do. Now, let's move on to examples:

The Guy In Class Who Thinks He's Better Than You:
There is always that one cocky fuck in any class across this nation, be it high school, college, or pre-k, that thinks that they are hot shit. Usually there is a smart girl who is generally smart, and you'll see her raise her hand and sorta feel bad that she's answering all the questions - that's ok. If you're smart and don't shove it in my face, all the power to you. But then there's the one guy....

Last year this guy always had this look about him that he was trying to be something he wasn't. He would wear the same fancy, expensive looking zip up-shirt-thing to fit in with the preppy cool kids but would wear a backwards hat to look thug. I wanted to bite him in the face because he was acting like he was in 8th grade when popularity mattered in a class room setting. So this snotty fuck comes into my group one day and we have to discuss something for our useless Rhetoric class. I bring up how we need to make a "cohesive" argument.

This son of a bitch stops our discussion, actually raising his hand to talk. In a very slow speech, as if he were talking to someone of a lower intelligence, he turns and looks me directly in the eye and comes out with this: "I think the word you were trying to use was coherent, as in the argument would be clearly heard and understood, not cohesive, which generally means to be together. I'm sorry, but you definitely used the incorrect word for that idea you were going to state."


It baffles me to think that this guy had the AUDACITY to clearly challenge my use of the word (and it was correct god dammit - we had 5 parts and we need to PUT THEM ALL TOGETHER, although I understand his point...) straight up to my face, with complete disregard for the small time we had to make our argument. I was so flustered and flabbergasted I didn't say a word the rest of class. Sitting there, with this pained look on my face, there were so many things that I wanted to say to him, but I couldn't find a coherent way to throw together all the curses.

For the record, every time I see this fuck (who looks just like Scott Tenerman from south park) as he walks around all uncomfortable because everything he stands for is a lie, I stare him down. Sure, this is petty and childish and I should let it go, but fuck him, he needs a constant reminder that he's a douche, and I'm the right guy for the job.

The Guy In Class Who KNOWS He's Better Than You:
There is a kid in my new class to take the role of Frosh Year Douche, and beats him by a mile. This kid doesn't have to go up to me personally and talk shit about your ideas, no, he does it in front of the entire class. Here, he will shoot down ideas like he's a Nazi behind a gatling gun on Omaha Beach, with no remorse for people who are desperately trying to formulate a thought.

He sits back with his poseur eyebrow piercing to show that he's hip and indie and not an asshole (luckily I see RIGHT THROUGH that poor disguise) and with this drowning voice that sounds like your alarm clock, he will knock down anything said: professor, classmate or nobel prize winner. The best part is, usually, he's wrong, but you can't tell that to ole' Bullhorn Full Of Shit. Coming from a rich town just outside of Boston, he is obviously entitled to be smarter and clearly better than anyone else.

He's the kid that you used to go to elementary school with and wasn't included in the reindeer games, so he'd sit back with his arms folded and make up silly ideas to try and justify how he wasn't hurt. I could see him with Oshkosh overalls saying to the kids playing basketball who won't pick him, "well that's fine, cause my star cruisers are like 10 million times more important than your stupid game and they require a more advanced form of thinking anyway." I hope this guy still goes home and cries that no one likes him, because he has no one to blame but his own stupid self.

Guy That Is Overly Needy:
I was in line tonight to get my usual counter-productive-to-working-out and artery-filling mozzy sticks when this guy walks up, and already I know he's going to be a pain in the ass. This haughty-taughty bastard is pointing with that finger that is on a swivel from the wrist, and goes up and down with the whole hand; the most obvious sign of someone I won't like. He points at the marinara sauce, which is a common condiment (especially with mozzy sticks), huffs, and asks, "what's that?" like he's staring at a soup of shit. I will give it to him that it isn't as common as catsup (old school) or mustard, but c'mon, you're at least 18 years old and you don't know what marinara sauce looks like?

He huffs and asks, in an overly loud voice so that everyone can hear his order and can't mess it up, for chicken fingers, mozzarella sticks, and french fries. When asked if he wanted that horrible looking marinara, he did the unaudible "pfft" (so just the face retraction) and said "no" as matter of factly as if he was asked, "do you love anything in this world?" He then asks for barbeque sauce, is not heard, and then points and goes, "excuse me I want barbeque sauce" and stops with his hand on his waist. If I could, I would have belted him right there, cause lord knows he wouldn't have faught back (but I'm a pussy). The guy behind the counter pours out the bbq sauce into one of those li'l cups and then hestitates, asking if he wants a cover on it.

There is no need for a cover. As I've already said, we have elevators, and you can ride them, regardless of the floor you live on, so there is little need to cover anything...unless you skip and do cartwheels instead of walking. This arrogant fuck looks like there isn't a need to be asked this question and emphatically states "yes," as if asked, "you have to know that everyone hates you."

I'm generally not a bad person. I hold doors open for people, always say, "god bless you" after someone sneezes, and treat my girlfriend and others in a reasonably nice fashion. My simple question is - why can't everyone?

The good part is they give me ammo to rant on at 3:30 in the morning, so I don't need to do silly things like sleep for my midterm in 5 1/2 hours, or study for said mid-term. So thank you, assholes, douchebags and pricks for giving me even MORE reason to despise you.

ps: I see that some columnist have a mailbag feature where they get letters or comments from their readers and then they comment on them. This is a fairly wide open topic, so I'm going to be ballsy and see if I can get a response from the 5 of you that enjoy this page (for whatever reason) to the question: which person do you irrationally hate? Leave it in the comments, im me, or e-mail (if you are reading this and you DON'T know either my sn or my e-mail...who are you and how the hell do you know about this?!). Anything would be appreciated, cause I don't want to eat my balls on my stupid blog. Thanks in advance.

Friday, October 21, 2005

You might not respect me after this

Just when you thought you were addicted to checking away messages and profiles (thanks for clicking that link btw you bored bastard or bitch) here comes FACEBOOK. It is the single greatest stalking/boredom controlling/social networking system ever created, far surpassing MySpace. MySpace sucks. It is full of little kids and emo bitches and artsy assholes who have dark backgrounds and terrible indie music 4 people have heard of while their hot-pink font tells their awful stories of woe that no one gives a shit about. It's a half step below having a blog - trust me, I hate myself justly.

Facebook is great to stalk people in your classes, on your college's hockey team, or down the hall. Let's say you meet someone one drunken night, stumble into their rooms and apparently talk about computers, ailienating yourself from that person forever. Seriously, that actually happened, and I'm such a dullard that I was bombed and discussed WINDOWS AND LINUX. If there was a shotgun near by, I'd be admiring the metallic taste before the matter that would process those thoughts were splattered on the near by wall. Back on topic, it is a place to look at that person's name, face, info, and know that you can never look them in the face again. It's a comfort.

Facebook is also great for random messages, but it is not good for poking. What the fuck IS a poke? What does it stand for, mean, lead to? Is it a strange form of flirtation, a simple hi before the commitment of asking for friendship, or just being a douche? Nothing good has ever come from the poke - nothing. There was a senior girl last year who poked me incessantly for no reason. I asked her why she was poking me, but she never answered. She has graduated, moved on with her life, and I sit here, still confused, still e-bruised from her e-poke.

The worst part about facebook is how it has become watered down. Sure, everyone gets the random friend request, where you sit there staring at the screen contemplating whether to accept it or not, debating the pros and cons. Now I see people who have 300 friends as freshman. Unless you are so loose that you make Paris Hilton blush, this is difficult, nay, IMPOSSIBLE to achieve. You should at least know some of the people that are your "friends," or else they'd merely be "play fellows" (thesauruses RULE!).

Moving it to high schools was a great move, too. Now people from all across the nation can harass my girlfriend because she is attractive. Just when I thought I had to be wary of the kids in my hometown and neighboring towns (i.e. anyone who goes to the Palisades, Garden State or Paramus malls) but now horndogs from as far away as Alabama. Facebook, making my paranoia even greater.

Secondly today, I would like to share an embarassing new revelation: I'm going through puberty again. I was checking out my massively large arms one day and I see these long, wispy hairs climbing north on my arm, now at almost shoulder-level. What once stopped at Farmer's-tan-level has now broken down that pigment discrepancy boundry and has started to advance. Even worse than that, the horribly itchy neck hair has started to migrate south for warmer climates, and possibly a ghoulish connection to my chest hair. Eeeeehhhhhhhhh.

Most girls do not know this but the neck hair is the most annoying hair growth one can attain, for it itches like mad and is impossible stop except for two areas. For whatever reason, the first 5 or 6 days of growth, all is well, but then for days 7-9 it burns like ants who are made of fire...or fire ants - either will do. The itch then subsides, leaving one confused. The worst is not over, for in another week it returns, this time with the passion of a thousand suns, before retreating again. Curing cancer? Ha! Start to cure Neck Itch and then we'll see who gets Humanitarian of the Year. Or what about itchy neck cancer....?

Anyway, body hair and I have always had a rather contentious relationship. First off, it never came quick enough. All my friends had leg hair since 4th grade, while I was as smooth as a baby's hairless ass. This lasted until middle school when my body hair felt bad that I gained 60 pounds in a year and threw me a bone. I got no confidence from this since I was hefty and hated myself, but at least if I got a cut on my leg I could have the joy of ripping off 20 hairs as well - surely a blessing in disguise, this leg hair was.

My first realization of hair in that classic spot "where hair wasn't there before" was quite painful, in fact. I have a dog named Whitney, a black lab who is a true Anton - she's lazy and always gets her way. We love her, but she's kinda dumb, vomits on the rug a lot, and leaves her thick dark hair all over the place. After drying myself off in the shower one day, I look down to see, once again, one of her "not good enough" hairs down below the belt. I go to pull it off and realize it is deeply rooted into my skin. I scream, not for pain, but for joy. This is what manhood feels like!

The question I bring to you now, dear readers, is why do these hairs all of a sudden appear, and are so fucking huge? I had not seen my ass for many, many years, probably around 3. One day in Junior year at a hotel room, while going into the shower, I peered into one of those obscenely large mirrors all hotel rooms have and noticed that my entire ass is covered in hair like the floor underneath a man who just had his afro shaved off. Obviously it was a dark day indeed.

More so, I just discovered an island hair in between the two points of the collarbone that lay just beneath the Adam's apple. The thing is solo, with no hair anywhere near it, and is about two inches long. Where does it come from, and how the hell do I not notice? It's akin to someone looking up one day in NY and being like "Chrystler building? What the fuck is that?!"

Dear reader(s), I understand that this blog entry might have been a bit........too personal for your tastes. Fear not, for how else would I realize where the boundries are unless I am to push them like so? If you would like me to stop swaying in the direction of, well, myself, please let me know. Odds are you got this through my profile on aim so im me and be like "hey, douche, I don't care about you or your freakish body hair. and you're ugly." That last part will hurt me, but I guess I deserve it.

Or, hell, if you have any comments at all just drop me a line cause I'm lonely. And sad.

...damn that's a bad way to end things. Well then, we'll end with this:

Monday, October 17, 2005

Some random thoughts suitable for 2:30 AM

I'm just going to throw some shit out here:

Captain Planet was easily the worst tv show ever created (and yes, I did see That 80's Show). The premise was stupid, and was a horrible ploy to get people interested in the most boring topic ever: saving the environment. Ever see Furngully? Yeah, my point exactly. Environmentally conscious themes and animation - bad news. I also didn't even realize that this was the first "politically correct rainbow of diversity because everyone is neat and keen!" show either.

Here we have a skateboarding white guy (red head - Irish), the incredibly African guy (with Run-DMC gold chains), the Indian (with...a monkey - will avoid the obvious racial joke here), the Asian girl, and the Swede chick (cause Eastern Block chicks are banging). They all can work together and form...a freaky looking blue guy with a horrible green mullet !!! My biggest problem with this piece of shit is that the one white American had a fire ring, and never used it. Simply burn all of the polluters and litter bugs and the show is over in 3 episodes. Wusses - want to save the rain forest but do it by arresting them and calling federal agencies. Make me sick.

The only good thing that came out of that show was "when our powers combine," which everyone in our generation uses ALMOST as much as the infamous "I'm so excited! I'm so excited! I'm so...SCARED ZACK!" from Saved By The Bell. If you don't know which scene that is, you obviously had no childhood.

Have you seen the commercials for the ultra-slick and great looking HDTVs? Can someone explain to me how this is a good idea? If my tv is incredibly shitty compared to HDTV standards, and that the graphics and resolution can't even compare to HDTV, why do I keep showing (simulated) screens on said tvs that my currect picturetube could NEVER show? It's like trying to sell 5.1 surround sound through the mono speaker on your radio - it just doesn't make sense.

There is nothing more irritating than improper use of an elevator. If you live in a dorm that is plus-6 stories, you will understand what I'm talking about. Obviously every facility has stairs, but for some weird reason, people on floors 2 and 3 don't understand this concept. How much do you want to just kick these assholes out of the elevator when you hit "6" and they hit "3?" There are only certain accepted ways that you can hop on the elevator if you're going to floors 2 or 3:

-With laundry
-With food
-With other bags (be them working out or shopping, backpacks do NOT count)
-If injured: crutches, wheelchair, that funny lookin' boot they give people with foot problems

Maybe you'll ask me about the grossly obese, and say "Hey Michael P, why can't you include them?" Maybe they wouldn't way 300 pounds if they would do all of the simple excercises, like climb TWO flights of stairs, probably to their lair full of comfort foot to forget when Daddy said they were the worst accident since Exxon Valdez, except that needed less clean up than you after a meal at Taco Bell.

How utterly worthless is the golden dollar? I went to purchase stamps, got lost and scared, and turned to a vending machine for my 20 stamps for $7.40. Only having a 20 on me, I figure it's going to be a quick, efficient, and all-around satisfying exchange between myself and this machine, leaving me with some much-needed stamps, and a few new, crisp dollar bills.

You can see this one coming can't ya?

Out comes the stamps and then a whooole lot of change. It reminded me a lot of when you're down the shore (yeah jersey) or at an arcade (fuck you other non-jersey people who didn't get my reference and thus have to make a secondary reference) and you win on the slots, and all you get are worthless coins where 500 of those disease-ridden pieces of scrap metal can net you 17 parachute guys? Same sort of feeling when I have 12 Susan B's and Sacagawea staring back at me, as if saying, "yup, we're pretty god damn worthless, too!" And no, the irony is not lost on me that the only time we honor a Native American through our government is on some sort of currency to be used at Foxwoods and Mohegan Suns of the world.

We in America are real stubborn bastards, aren't we? Europeans have been using dollar coins for many, many years, but we refuse to subject ourselves to currency that is worth picking up after we drop it unless it's in paper form. The 2 dollar bill was equivalent to that of the two dollar coin or the two dollar paper money Franc, but we hated that (especially now since it was French, but we let them go on the whole Statue of Liberty thing, as if it was chiseled in Brooklyn).

The metric system is the easiest, most scientifically helpful way to measure things, but fuck that. It was always fun in class when we would have to learn about pints and gallons and cups and the ratios between at the same time as learning the super-easy metric system. No one ever bitched about the all-american idiocy of our measuring practices, but god damn did we loathe the metric system ("it's all in meters, but then what's a meter really? Fuck this this shit is dumb, I'm going to go and buy 3 bushels and 5 cups of dog shit to throw at Europeans because of this!").

My favorite is the new problem of a language barrier, as if we're the first ones to have to go through with this. We feel the need to push English on the rest of the world, making in the official language of...Earth, but we can't STAND having to deal with Spanish being an option when you have to call up Cingular because they charged you long distance on every phone call you made (trust me, it's possible, and the bill was for 224 dollars). Countries all over Europe have two or three national languages that co-exist. Hell, Russia has over 100 different nationalities, but do you hear them bitching? No, they're too scared of the Great Purge II to ever talk bad about holy mother Russia and their exhaulted Pooty-Poot.

What I hear the most of is that "my great grandpa came from Italy and he HAD to learn English and he WANTED to learn American customs!" which is why we all eat pasta and pizza at least once a week. Ok. And we all didn't become drunks because of the Irish being here. Everyone brought over a piece of their culture, and you can't tell me you don't walk the streets of a city and hear any number of different languages. Take a trip to Chintatown and be horribly confused and scared when English gets sucked away like you're in a black fucking hole. Maybe we just hate Mexicans.

Hey, did you see a Mexican trying to save the world with the other Planeteers? Exactly. We're just bred to hate them from bitch. Fucking litterers.

Or to our Spanish-speaking readers, litterers de mierda.

(If that's wrong I took french in high school and used the translating widget on my mac osx. It's pretty sweet. 見なさいか。それは支配する!)

Monday, October 10, 2005

A reality I touch but for me it's hard to keep

Not going to be the normal, funny, quirky thoughts here for my 2 or 3 fans. Sorry if I disappoint.

Today I was on my friend's roof, a brownstone on Bay State Road in Boston. From there I could see the entire city from each side of the Charles, could see the third baseline in Fenway, could feel the wind kicking off the river as I stared into the outreach of lights and concrete that went on for miles. But there was a sharp contrast between that world and the one where my feet were placed, a very evident crack in reality. From where I stood I clearly saw the edge of the building, from 4 stories up. One of the kids walked right to that edge and stared down. One quick breeze and that was it.

You never think about how close you are to death, how rudimentary the whole process is, until you can stare at it from 10 feet away. Just to think that I can take 10 steps to the left and I'm 3 steps past death.

I am presently writing a paper for my psuedo-journalism class on the death of Joey Smeen, but more so the ramifications of what it meant. Most of the people who are reading this understand what I'm talking about, and there is no need to go any further, and a smaller minority were crushed by the passing of others in our bubble community of Park Ridge (MV, RG, and so on).

With such clarity, I can remember vividly getting asked by Tyler Rogers what I should do about one of his girl problems in 6th grade, about how there were notes being passed around, his feelings, and what he should do about it. This was a first, someone coming to me (let alone with the social stature of one Tyler Rogers) for advice. Easily it became the most important part of my life, where I dedicated the entire day to whether or not he should date this girl (who I forget, unfortunately). These were the questions that plagued me, that challenged me, that would haunt me on a day-to-day basis.

When should I ask out Jenna Peles? Who is better, Patrick Ewing or Shaq? If I had a choice between Rage and Limp Bizkit, who would I choose?

Remember when that was life?

There are built-in mechanisms in this world that assume that you will get to a certain maturation level, that you are mandated to grow up to this point by this amount of time. From first to sixth grade, you develop on your own to think abstractly and understand all forms of manners (and try not to fight over football game rules during recess). In middle school, you are being prepped for the work load and responsibilities of high school. In high school, you are being taught to be ready for the slings and arrows of being a young adult, with raging hormones thrown in for extra fun. This prepares you for college which, in four quick years, will fully prepare you for life.

Clearly, I believe this is horseshit.

We are all at, or coming to, a serious set of crossroads in our lives. Here we are, some of us sophmores in college, gearing up to have careers and lives seperate from all others in at least two more years. There is no other way to describe the feeling than terrified.

There are no other people to pass the blame on to, we are now at a point where our actions are our actions. Mommy and Daddy can't be called up to bail you out of any situation, running to them and telling on Bobby will not get you out of court. For every action there are a serious of repercussions that will occur whether you want them to or not: the ripple you cause cannot be stopped.

This summer has seen the likes of ethics being pushed to the boundries, the weighing down of someone's health vs. your life, the possibility of the validity in your future goals, as well as countless others that have been brought up with any number of the people who read this.

Now we are at a time where everything matters. At what point does experimentation become a dangerous addiction? Where is the line between forcing a girl to have sex with you and rape? Who deems it necessary for who gets help? Who doesn't need it? When does something become too much? When do you step in?

If you get caught smoking weed now and it is put on your record, your future could be dead while you're still learning how to get there. If you put your hand down that girl's pants no matter how bad you think they want it, how many times they said "yes" before just saying "no" how would you like to spend your jail time? How would you like to spend the rest of your life as a registered sex offender?

We have gone far past a cushy life where everyone gets along, everything is just fine, and eveywhere is happiness. The harsh reality is some of us will be lost to excesses of drugs and drinking, and some of us will be put in jail. Some of us will be incredibly successful too, but it will almost certainly come at a price. Very few get the silver spoon treatment (and being at a second-tier, incredibly expensive college fully understand the irony of this statement) and a good majority of us have to fight and claw and be let down, knocked down, and pushed down before we can make it back to the surface.

This is a world I'd rather not take part in. It's a place that's polluted and dismal and dreary, a place where dreams crash and die at your feet. Sometimes this is out of your control, and sometimes it is soley on your own volition. We can't control everything, we don't always know what's smart or right, but we are going to have to learn somehow. Unfortunately, the only way we can truly find out is learning by experience.

And hopefully that experience doesn't swallow us all whole.

Here's to life, adulthood, and the onset of reality. Cheers.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Awkward situations

Man, I usually love awkward situations. The ones like "man, Jeff was ALL OVER that bitch last night" in front of his girlfriend. That makes me giggle so, because no one wants to be there...but here we all are. No one knows how to respond to awkward situations, at least not honestly. People will smile and be like "oh that's ok" when inside they're thinking "I will kill you slowly with a butterknife." People will also be quiet, or act like they don't know what's going on. My favorite is the reach and scratch your head, and get-the-fuck-out-of-there move of "well, I...uh...have to...there's this thing...that..." *walk away*.

As I was walking back from class I thought of some awkward situations that I have realized are either not fun or won't be fun. Here are a few.

-When you're walking past a guy on the street who is poor and has the cup for change as the coins in your pocket hit your keys. Now you're "clang clang-ing" all the way, as if boasting to the homeless man, "you're not getting this, ya lazy ass."

-When you're walking and you see the crazy guy on the street, and he's right in the middle of side walk and you can't avoid him. To go from point A to point B you must go through Mr. (or Mrs.) Batshit Insane. This happened just recently. What do you do? Do you keep your head down as you listen to your fashionable iPod (which makes all music THAT much cooler) or try and talk to him? What if he doesn't even KNOW he's crazy? What the hell do you say then? "Yeah, totally, fuckin' penguins screwing with the Earth's temperature. I'm outraged too Mr. BI!"

-Talking shit about someone when they are either right behind you or are in earshot. One of the few things in movies that happen in real life. There is no way out of it, I mean, they heard it. What can you do, say someone else said it with a voice that has the particular tone and pitch as your's? Maybe you were cloned? No, no you take it and you take it right in the face.

-Any time you talk to your doctor, or are with them, I don't care who they are. When they go "turn your head and cough" to males, yeah, can't avoid the strange "eh-heh" sound that you put out. Also, the question of being "sexually active" or doing drugs, why is it so hard to say yes)? I can tell my mom I got high and was fucked in the ass but I can't tell my doctor?

-When you finally reveal your true self on your blog. Reeeaaaal awkward.