If I may (of course I "may," this is my fucking blog), I'd like to add a little writer's note to one of my previous posts, Fuck da Fakes. For those of you not familiar with the post, the title is a decent three-word synopsis. It was essentially a run-on sentence rant that was targeted at the kids that I considered fake. To quote myself: "...people who are so obviously posers that it warrants immediate lights to be lit that proclaim "Get a load of the fuck who thinks he's Seth Cohen." I laughed after I posted that. Laughed my ass off. In retrospect, I realize I was being a bit harsh.
Here's what it comes down to: I pride myself on originality, and I feel like some people who used to be my friends have gotten away from this in a way. Maybe they feel like what they're doing is original, and I can agree with them in some respects. I just don't think all things common should be tossed aside while striving to be one's own person.
But the thing is, I went too far in trying to convey this. I got caught up with a bunch of different emotions. Well, one emotion. Anger. And the majority of it stemmed from that fateful rejection letter I received several months prior. Yes, Chapel Hill, if I must spell it out. I am jealous as fuck of all those that got in. I don't know how to describe what it feels like to not get something you have wanted your whole life. A part of me really just wanted to bash those kids who got in there. And that isn't really fair, I admit.
I am quite stubborn and hate directly apologizing to people. So I'm doing it through here. I am sorry. I got a little carried away. And to those of you who got into Chapel Hill and are considering going elsewhere, Fuck You. No apologies for that one.
I would continue this post with some anecdotes of recent events in my life that I found quite humorous, but I am dreadfully tired, and I do have a couple of things to do for tomorrow so that I can try to get by in European History with a D.
Peace out, Seacrest!
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
Friday, 9:30 a.m...
It is 9:30 a.m. on Friday and I am sitting in my dad's HP office downtown. It is pretty boring; I don't have internet access because the thing is password-protected. So typical. So I am sitting here typing what will ultimately be a blog entry for lack of anything better to do.
I guess I should enlighten you as to why I am not in school at this time. If you know me, and you probably do because I doubt anyone who doesn't know me reads this blog, then you know why I'm not there. Your boy got caught skipping yet again. Actually, I don't think caught is quite the right word. My theater teacher snitched on me. She saw that I had been present in the first three periods on Friday, and was absent for her class. Befuddled, she e-mailed my mom. Of course, my mom will never stick up for me, and said that she had no idea where I could have been. This was all the evidence Catherine Metz needed. She wrote me up, and I am now suspended for three days.
I went into Mr. Parker's office like I've done so many times before. He asked me why I had done it. I made a halfhearted effort to blame some of it on the separation thing, even though I am completely over that, and the skipping occurred even before I knew that was going to happen. But I think he bought it. He suggested that I write a letter of apology to Nixon and that I could probably get the sentence reduced down to a day. So I did it, and had my mom deliver it this morning. But it turns out he doesn't even want to read it. He wants to see me in his office first thing Monday morning. Yikesies.
By the way, my dad's apartment isn't that bad. It isn't much from the outside, but it's been completely redone on the inside. Hardwood floors, beechwood ceilings, marble countertops. I'm not too picky, but I know a decent place when I see one. It's pretty small. I slept on a fouton he recently purchased from a woman who is moving to Israel that lives (lived) upstairs. It smelled funny. I don't think that is related to her trip to Israel, or the fact that she is presumably Jewish. I think she just smells funny.
I got a text this morning that a kid who gets picked on a lot at East beat another kid's ass. I'm sure you all know who I'm talking about. I just don't want to mention his name for fear that he might come over here and kick my ass. It was bound to happen. I mean, this kid gets picked on so much. I'm guilty of throwing a few insults his way also. I rolled his house a few months ago. I guess he just snapped. Reports from my boys at school say that he stomped this kid's face over and over, and that there's blood in the halls. He's not going to graduate. This is a really fucked up situation. There is so much fucked up shit going on at East this year. I'm sure there has been a lot in the past, but this year takes the cake. Everything just seems fucked up lately.
I downloaded some new music. Band called The Mercury Program. If you really like some trance, instrumental stuff, or you want to get into a really solemn and focused mood, this stuff is for you. I was listening to it last night on my laptop as I was going to sleep and my dad called down the hall, "Chad, what the fuck is that music?" He obviously doesn't understand the appeal. I wouldn't expect him to.
I am pretty bored, but this beats the hell out of being in Newspaper, the class I would be in currently. Mr. Allen is such a prick. Pretty much all of my teachers are pricks. I can't wait to go to college and get some decent professors. Hopefully.
Lately, I've been doing a lot of thinking about college. I know I'm going to love Wilmington. I love the beach; I can really think out there. I did a lot of thinking during Spring Break. Sure, a lot of it was alcohol-induced. But I don't plan on ever being sober at the Dub, so it was good practice. Being drunk and being at the beach brings something out in me that I cannot explain. It is an abandonment of all my feelings of self-consciousness, and an embrace at a who-gives-a-fuck attitude, an attitude that I like to project to others as being the one I live by, but knowing all along that this is not the case. The only thing I am worried about at the Dub is getting decent grades. That, and connecting with people. I really need some people that I can connect with mentally. Right now, I only have a couple friends that I can do that with, and none of them is going to Wilmington. I am thinking about transferring after my freshman year. I was going to try to transfer to UNC, but I don't think I am now. There are so many kids that I hate that are going there, and although I know it is a huge school, I feel like it is filled with a bunch of booksmart kids who like to consider themselves intellectuals but don't know the first thing about thinking.
So that leaves the door open for other schools. Maybe I'll stay at Wilmington. Who knows.
I just need to get away from everyone at my high school. And that is not even an insult to them. I respect all of them, and cherish every person that I've met. The fact is, I have met them within the walls of the hell that is East Meck. No matter how close we become, I will still associate them with that place.
I think after lunch, Pops and I are going to the driving range. The closest one to hear is the Chris Leatherman center, formally the Michael Jordan Golf Center. I wonder why they dropped the MJ name. Guess he's just not big enough anymore. They need a superstar, like....local golf instructor Chris Leatherman! Yes, that works. Surprisingly, that place is doing some sick business; it's always packed when I go over there. I do not know why I am talking about the driving range, other than the fact that I have rediscovered my love for golf. I still suck right now, but my game is definitely on the way up.
I just won at Solitaire. That game is ridiculously easy. And it isn't like I've just gotten better at it. It is just so fucking easy in general.
The Radiohead concert is comin up. Should be smashing. Even though I know that there are a lot of better bands than Radiohead out there, I feel like it might be one of the best live shows in existence. Thom Yorke's energy is unparalleled. And on the studio albums, I can envision how the songs would sound live, and really like it. I've been watching some of their previous concerts on Youtube, and I am pretty sure I will not be disappointed with this one, even though it is in Charlotte at the Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre.
That's all for now.
I guess I should enlighten you as to why I am not in school at this time. If you know me, and you probably do because I doubt anyone who doesn't know me reads this blog, then you know why I'm not there. Your boy got caught skipping yet again. Actually, I don't think caught is quite the right word. My theater teacher snitched on me. She saw that I had been present in the first three periods on Friday, and was absent for her class. Befuddled, she e-mailed my mom. Of course, my mom will never stick up for me, and said that she had no idea where I could have been. This was all the evidence Catherine Metz needed. She wrote me up, and I am now suspended for three days.
I went into Mr. Parker's office like I've done so many times before. He asked me why I had done it. I made a halfhearted effort to blame some of it on the separation thing, even though I am completely over that, and the skipping occurred even before I knew that was going to happen. But I think he bought it. He suggested that I write a letter of apology to Nixon and that I could probably get the sentence reduced down to a day. So I did it, and had my mom deliver it this morning. But it turns out he doesn't even want to read it. He wants to see me in his office first thing Monday morning. Yikesies.
By the way, my dad's apartment isn't that bad. It isn't much from the outside, but it's been completely redone on the inside. Hardwood floors, beechwood ceilings, marble countertops. I'm not too picky, but I know a decent place when I see one. It's pretty small. I slept on a fouton he recently purchased from a woman who is moving to Israel that lives (lived) upstairs. It smelled funny. I don't think that is related to her trip to Israel, or the fact that she is presumably Jewish. I think she just smells funny.
I got a text this morning that a kid who gets picked on a lot at East beat another kid's ass. I'm sure you all know who I'm talking about. I just don't want to mention his name for fear that he might come over here and kick my ass. It was bound to happen. I mean, this kid gets picked on so much. I'm guilty of throwing a few insults his way also. I rolled his house a few months ago. I guess he just snapped. Reports from my boys at school say that he stomped this kid's face over and over, and that there's blood in the halls. He's not going to graduate. This is a really fucked up situation. There is so much fucked up shit going on at East this year. I'm sure there has been a lot in the past, but this year takes the cake. Everything just seems fucked up lately.
I downloaded some new music. Band called The Mercury Program. If you really like some trance, instrumental stuff, or you want to get into a really solemn and focused mood, this stuff is for you. I was listening to it last night on my laptop as I was going to sleep and my dad called down the hall, "Chad, what the fuck is that music?" He obviously doesn't understand the appeal. I wouldn't expect him to.
I am pretty bored, but this beats the hell out of being in Newspaper, the class I would be in currently. Mr. Allen is such a prick. Pretty much all of my teachers are pricks. I can't wait to go to college and get some decent professors. Hopefully.
Lately, I've been doing a lot of thinking about college. I know I'm going to love Wilmington. I love the beach; I can really think out there. I did a lot of thinking during Spring Break. Sure, a lot of it was alcohol-induced. But I don't plan on ever being sober at the Dub, so it was good practice. Being drunk and being at the beach brings something out in me that I cannot explain. It is an abandonment of all my feelings of self-consciousness, and an embrace at a who-gives-a-fuck attitude, an attitude that I like to project to others as being the one I live by, but knowing all along that this is not the case. The only thing I am worried about at the Dub is getting decent grades. That, and connecting with people. I really need some people that I can connect with mentally. Right now, I only have a couple friends that I can do that with, and none of them is going to Wilmington. I am thinking about transferring after my freshman year. I was going to try to transfer to UNC, but I don't think I am now. There are so many kids that I hate that are going there, and although I know it is a huge school, I feel like it is filled with a bunch of booksmart kids who like to consider themselves intellectuals but don't know the first thing about thinking.
So that leaves the door open for other schools. Maybe I'll stay at Wilmington. Who knows.
I just need to get away from everyone at my high school. And that is not even an insult to them. I respect all of them, and cherish every person that I've met. The fact is, I have met them within the walls of the hell that is East Meck. No matter how close we become, I will still associate them with that place.
I think after lunch, Pops and I are going to the driving range. The closest one to hear is the Chris Leatherman center, formally the Michael Jordan Golf Center. I wonder why they dropped the MJ name. Guess he's just not big enough anymore. They need a superstar, like....local golf instructor Chris Leatherman! Yes, that works. Surprisingly, that place is doing some sick business; it's always packed when I go over there. I do not know why I am talking about the driving range, other than the fact that I have rediscovered my love for golf. I still suck right now, but my game is definitely on the way up.
I just won at Solitaire. That game is ridiculously easy. And it isn't like I've just gotten better at it. It is just so fucking easy in general.
The Radiohead concert is comin up. Should be smashing. Even though I know that there are a lot of better bands than Radiohead out there, I feel like it might be one of the best live shows in existence. Thom Yorke's energy is unparalleled. And on the studio albums, I can envision how the songs would sound live, and really like it. I've been watching some of their previous concerts on Youtube, and I am pretty sure I will not be disappointed with this one, even though it is in Charlotte at the Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre.
That's all for now.
Monday, April 21, 2008
p.s.s. to previous post
Quite possibly the most noteworthy item of the day: transferring to UNC, something I had been planning on doing since the beginning, has been dashed off the list. The previously described poser Indies heavily populate the Chapel Hill grounds. They've infiltrated what was once a "cool school." I gotta cheer for my Heels in basketball, but I'll keep the academics at Wilmington for now...and who knows where else in the future.
Fuck da Fakes
I am done feeling sorry for myself. I need to get back to one of my passions: criticizing people who are so obviously posers that it warrants immediate lights to be lit that proclaim "Get a load of the fuck who thinks he's Seth Cohen." Did I lose you with that statement? I bet the message got through to those who need to understand.
If there is one thing about myself that I like, it is that I have the ability to make my own choices. I like the music that sounds good to my ears; I like the activities that are fun to me, regardless of whether everyone likes them or not. I like to drink. I like to be seen in pictures with an alcoholic beverage in my hand. If I see a camera, my first instinct is to look at my right hand. If there is a beer, solo cup, etc. in that hand, I high-tail it over to the camera. If not, I glance at my left hand, and repeat the process. If there is no drink to be had in either hand, I get in that picture anyway.
I like all forms of music. I don't put others down for their musical choices, although I think most would agree that Jack Johnson is a painful listen. But other than that, I have no problem with pretty much all music. I like obscure bands like Explosions In The Sky. But I also like mainstream ones, like Dave Matthews. Sue me for having a broad pallet, wannabe Indie kids. Sue me. And while you're at it, do hours and hours of research for your latest blog entry just so you can satisfy your hunger for a few Facebook comments that say "Swell blog!" While you're wasting time on that and overachieving at your ridiculously white high school and trying to figure out how you can make sure your high school friends become your college friends, I'll be working on a two-minute freewrite, not doing any homework, not because I am anti-school or because I think it's "cool" but because I am already into college, and not living my life to please others with how artificially interesting I can be.
P.S. I requested "Lottery" for my roommate next year at the Dub. ****Gasp!****
If there is one thing about myself that I like, it is that I have the ability to make my own choices. I like the music that sounds good to my ears; I like the activities that are fun to me, regardless of whether everyone likes them or not. I like to drink. I like to be seen in pictures with an alcoholic beverage in my hand. If I see a camera, my first instinct is to look at my right hand. If there is a beer, solo cup, etc. in that hand, I high-tail it over to the camera. If not, I glance at my left hand, and repeat the process. If there is no drink to be had in either hand, I get in that picture anyway.
I like all forms of music. I don't put others down for their musical choices, although I think most would agree that Jack Johnson is a painful listen. But other than that, I have no problem with pretty much all music. I like obscure bands like Explosions In The Sky. But I also like mainstream ones, like Dave Matthews. Sue me for having a broad pallet, wannabe Indie kids. Sue me. And while you're at it, do hours and hours of research for your latest blog entry just so you can satisfy your hunger for a few Facebook comments that say "Swell blog!" While you're wasting time on that and overachieving at your ridiculously white high school and trying to figure out how you can make sure your high school friends become your college friends, I'll be working on a two-minute freewrite, not doing any homework, not because I am anti-school or because I think it's "cool" but because I am already into college, and not living my life to please others with how artificially interesting I can be.
P.S. I requested "Lottery" for my roommate next year at the Dub. ****Gasp!****
Monday, April 14, 2008
Spring Break
Christ, I nearly forgot I had this damn thing. It feels good to be back typing away at any rate. Let me give you a little breakdown of SB'08....
I left around 2:30 in the morning with my boy JP. Got there in about three and a half hours, despite following the speed limit the entire way. I actually got pulled over early on in the trip, but it was only because I had my high-beams on. I actually had beer in the back; coulda gotten ugly.
Got there around 6 a.m. Things were pretty quiet around the house, as everyone was asleep. DP was the exception. He was wide awake when I get there for reasons unknown, and proceeded to hook me up with three JagerBombs. The week had officially begun.
Things kind of get blurry after that. I remember a wrestling match between Andre and Denison. Not too hard to guess who won that one. I remember taking a shower at 3 in the morning and everyone in the house staring at me (or so I thought, paranoia, eh?). I remember Salty McDougle's, throwing my phone, countless hours of frisbee, and those girls we met on the last day. I remember making a complete fool of myself multiple times. I'll table those indefinitely. Most of all, I remember how good it felt for a week to be free from everything. I didn't worry about shit. Not my grades, health, or hygiene. It was beautiful.
Looking back, I have to say that Spring Break did indeed live up to the hype. I made a couple new friends, and got closer with the ones I already had. And I fucked the bullshit and smoked some drugs.
I left around 2:30 in the morning with my boy JP. Got there in about three and a half hours, despite following the speed limit the entire way. I actually got pulled over early on in the trip, but it was only because I had my high-beams on. I actually had beer in the back; coulda gotten ugly.
Got there around 6 a.m. Things were pretty quiet around the house, as everyone was asleep. DP was the exception. He was wide awake when I get there for reasons unknown, and proceeded to hook me up with three JagerBombs. The week had officially begun.
Things kind of get blurry after that. I remember a wrestling match between Andre and Denison. Not too hard to guess who won that one. I remember taking a shower at 3 in the morning and everyone in the house staring at me (or so I thought, paranoia, eh?). I remember Salty McDougle's, throwing my phone, countless hours of frisbee, and those girls we met on the last day. I remember making a complete fool of myself multiple times. I'll table those indefinitely. Most of all, I remember how good it felt for a week to be free from everything. I didn't worry about shit. Not my grades, health, or hygiene. It was beautiful.
Looking back, I have to say that Spring Break did indeed live up to the hype. I made a couple new friends, and got closer with the ones I already had. And I fucked the bullshit and smoked some drugs.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Nearly fatal mistake
So I was supposed to be departing for Spring Break tomorrow. That was the plan. Until this morning, when I picked up a barbell at the J during a little skipping episode and saw my dear old dad over my shoulder. I wheeled around to face him, an awed expression playing across both of our faces at the discoveries we had just made.
Three words: "Get to school."
I told myself nothing was going to come of it, that he was going to have complete sympathy. But something told me that he was going to punish me, and it would in some way affect Spring Break. It wasn't as bad as I had hoped, but he did just that. Now I have to leave on Sunday. At 12 a.m. on Sunday morning, I will make my departure.
I don't so much mind the fact that I am missing one night at the beach; there will be plenty more. It's the fact that I let my boys down that really pisses me off. I was going to be the official chauffeur/booze transporter, and now both of those duties have been dashed, leaving my boys hanging in the wind. I think they'll be able to find worthy transporters; I'll gladly bear a lot of the alcohol if need be. I doubt they are going to need every last drop of it for Saturday night alone; at least, I hope not.
I feel extremely tired right now, but I don't want to sleep too much so that I can nap tomorrow before my long trip in the night. I am watching Dan in Real Life on watch-movies.net, so I guess I shall get back to it. I think I'm bringing my laptop down to Ocean Isle. Hope they've got wireless.
UPDATE 11:55 p.m. As per usual, a few tears from ol Dan..
Three words: "Get to school."
I told myself nothing was going to come of it, that he was going to have complete sympathy. But something told me that he was going to punish me, and it would in some way affect Spring Break. It wasn't as bad as I had hoped, but he did just that. Now I have to leave on Sunday. At 12 a.m. on Sunday morning, I will make my departure.
I don't so much mind the fact that I am missing one night at the beach; there will be plenty more. It's the fact that I let my boys down that really pisses me off. I was going to be the official chauffeur/booze transporter, and now both of those duties have been dashed, leaving my boys hanging in the wind. I think they'll be able to find worthy transporters; I'll gladly bear a lot of the alcohol if need be. I doubt they are going to need every last drop of it for Saturday night alone; at least, I hope not.
I feel extremely tired right now, but I don't want to sleep too much so that I can nap tomorrow before my long trip in the night. I am watching Dan in Real Life on watch-movies.net, so I guess I shall get back to it. I think I'm bringing my laptop down to Ocean Isle. Hope they've got wireless.
UPDATE 11:55 p.m. As per usual, a few tears from ol Dan..
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
It's almost here...
These last couple of days are going to drag on forever. Slow as molasses, as I like to say. Actually, I hate to say that, and I hate the saying in general. The official inventory for the trip is as follows, as received via Instant Message from D.P:
Memphisbball89: 3 bottles barberosa, 4 bottles burnetts, 1 bottle jagermesiter, 2 bottles of aristocrat, one bottle everclear, 10 cases busch light, 2 cases budwesier
***I'd also like to add four beers from my secret stash here at the crib***
Alcohol taken care of, I can now worry about other things. Such as, how to stay sober enough to not do something I am going to regret. It's going to be extremely difficult. I don't even enjoy talking about this, so I'm going to move on.
The train, known as my 2008 Scion tC Coupe, will depart approximately 9 a.m. on Saturday morning. It will make a short stop at Krispy Kreme, upon which we will be thoroughly stocked with free donuts from my boy Rashad (Jonny?) Walker. From there, it will embark on the shortest route to Ocean Isle beach, which is yet to be determined. 74-East? I know that goes toward Wilmington. Could be the best bet. I'll do my research, you be damned sure of that.
Upon arrival, I shall sit my ass down on the beach, beer/liquor in hand, and chill like it is my job. This will mark my slip into intoxication, a state I shan't rise out of until the following Saturday, whereupon I have to make the depressing drive back to civilization.
But I won't think of that now. For now, all that I have ahead of me is seven says of sweetness.
Memphisbball89: 3 bottles barberosa, 4 bottles burnetts, 1 bottle jagermesiter, 2 bottles of aristocrat, one bottle everclear, 10 cases busch light, 2 cases budwesier
***I'd also like to add four beers from my secret stash here at the crib***
Alcohol taken care of, I can now worry about other things. Such as, how to stay sober enough to not do something I am going to regret. It's going to be extremely difficult. I don't even enjoy talking about this, so I'm going to move on.
The train, known as my 2008 Scion tC Coupe, will depart approximately 9 a.m. on Saturday morning. It will make a short stop at Krispy Kreme, upon which we will be thoroughly stocked with free donuts from my boy Rashad (Jonny?) Walker. From there, it will embark on the shortest route to Ocean Isle beach, which is yet to be determined. 74-East? I know that goes toward Wilmington. Could be the best bet. I'll do my research, you be damned sure of that.
Upon arrival, I shall sit my ass down on the beach, beer/liquor in hand, and chill like it is my job. This will mark my slip into intoxication, a state I shan't rise out of until the following Saturday, whereupon I have to make the depressing drive back to civilization.
But I won't think of that now. For now, all that I have ahead of me is seven says of sweetness.
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