Maria Full of---(zzzzzzzzz)

Last night i watched Maria full of Grace with the bro. It was one of those movies that you wouldn't want to watch a lot, but you go around telling everyone they should see. For all i know, it's full of lies and propaganda, but if that's what it is, it's some really good lies and propaganda. i prefer to go along with the tag line "based on 1000 true stories." Check it out, i don't want to tell you any more about it.

i just finished an Ancient Lit project. don't take the class. Save yourself the frustration, the pain, the inferiority complex that comes from having a Green Beret for a teacher. Everytime i complain in my head i hear him snarling "Back in 'Nam we lived on dirt for 5 days, and you are whining about a little Josepus reading. Shut your hole nancyboy." But seriously, the class is brutal. I know what Harry feels like in Professor Bins history of magic class. Mr. Iliff (i still call him by his proper name otu of fear that somehow he will discover my blog and hunt me down...and he will) really is a decent teacher, he has just forgotten what it is like to be a student. Teachers liek that really bother me. If i ever become a teacher (all you students out there should hope that i don't, but if i do you should hope you aren't like the students i despise at my school...not to name names...you knwo who they are) i won't forget hwo much huge reading assignments that are over my head suck. I won't assign homework over superbowl weekend (unless it involves evaluating the commercials in light of the free choice determinism debate). Heck, i'll try not to assign homework ever. We don;t have homework in Chem or Calc really...i never had homework in elementary school. What diabolical person said it should all get dumped like an elephant on laxatives when you hit high school?

This post really sucked, but i am tired and i have Bible study tomorrow. Maybe the elephant on laxatives saved it...i like to think it did. Well sleep well, and dream of pachyderms with the runs defacating (ahh yes, potty humor).

Flimflammer...and my lost shot at greatness.

"i am not what i am"
--Iago in Othello

All our lives we are told to "just be yourself" and "Be you." But isn't it just way more appealing to be someone other than you. I guess it's the whole desire-for-something-new-until-you-get-sick-of-it-and-want-to-move-on-like-a-four-year-old-with-ADD syndrome that we humans have. Your whole adolescence you want to be old and then suddenly you are old and you want to be young. So why not be Iago? We all love costume parties (actually, i have never been to a costume party, in fact, i havent even dressed up for Halloween the last few years. i am going to rephrase thsi sentence). We all love actors and actresses. Some of us even enjoy acting. For me, that thrill comes from being not me. Seriously, i am me 24 hours a day, how great is it to be not me for 2 hours on stage (or if you get a really long, mediocre script like Scottish Chiefs, 3+ hours). This brings me to an ideal profession, that of the flimflammer.

Flimflammer, matchstick man, con artist, call it what you will, but these guys get to go around for hours eac hday be not themselves. These are the men Dr. Pepper commercials aren't made of. How wonderful? Granted, most of the time they play the sleezy salesman or government worker, but they get to work people over. It's like a giant poker game where every hand you are bluffing and they end up folding because they are so into you!! THese con-men see all the angles way before their marks. Man i love it. Go watch The Sting and Matchstick Men. Post-viewing, you will want to call your friends and screw them out of a lot of money, just for the heck of it. Friends, after all, are the easiest marks because you have all that built up trust. Now i turn away from my Machiavellian thoughts.

In our Great Ideas reading, Kreeft mentioned that the three greatest teachers and maybe thinkers ever (sorry Mr. Schneider, you didnt make the cut), Jesus, Buddha, and Socrates, never wrote anything down. When i read that i thought "Man, all we writer wannabes here in blogdom have no shot at greatness all because we picked up that pencil in first grade." And i thought Mrs. Jernigan was a good teacher...she killed my shot at greatness when i was 6. i leave you with my poem about a certain con artist.

Allison
the almost sonnet

Deceptively young, you appeared inside
My life without warning, a real tom-boy.
Fake. Frizzled hair and a satchel by your side
you deceptively leeched my trade. Oh boy
did you ever, like real parasites would.
Only Allison looks good; feels better.
Her bite is satisfying. If I could
only accept its poison...then, wetter
than I wished, and emotions wasted,
I zapped the tube, discovered your real age,
moaned in disappointment, quickly pasted
your name on my wall of shame, flipped a page,
read about poker theory for a while,
soon to return to your fake sappy smile—
reality for an hour and a half.

My apologies

It finally happened. I suppose there was no stopping it, i mean it happens to everyone sometimes. For some reason i thought i would be the exception. When i woke up this morning, it haunted me. "Will this have an outstanding effect on my reputation? Are my friends still my friends? i'm glad my cat didn't have to see me at this stage." That's right, yesterday i commited the sin i had condemned many others for this past week, i failed to post on my blog.

All i can do now is come to you, and ask humbly for your forgiveness, undeserved forgiveness. i had the time, i had the energy, but i lacked the motivation. Don't let me do it again.

Whew, glad that's out of the way. It felt lke approaching dad to tell him I wrecked the car by running into a lightpost while doing donuts in the empty school parking lot (don't worry dad, i didn't really...yet).

Does anyone else hate snow as much as i do? i hope they do. Maybe if we all combine our powers of snow-hating it will disappear, or someone will invent some snow disapparater like in the second Frosty special (which doesn't even compare to the first). Must be the Puerto Rican blood comin' through in me. Alright, well i'll post again today to make up for my evilness.

Death of a Cat

"You've got friends, you've got beer."
--some commercial on tv that i caught one sentence of...pretty profound though

We never treated her poorly. Not recently anyways. I can't be held responsible for my preteen self. He always was more violent, renowned for leaving bite marks on his siter's arm. Perhaps he did likewise on her paw. Mom had just bought a brand new case of Friskie's canned cat food. When we told her the news, she promptly placed it in the back of her SUV. "Well i guess that can go back to Sam's then."
"Mom, we still have another cat."
"Yeah, but nobody really likes that one, it's retarded. When your dad leaves, i'm not feeding it."
"That's thoughtful."
Dad thinks it was a bobcat. i suppose it would have to be a cannibalistic one. i mean housecats are in the same order as the bobcat. Evidence of the attack was found the next morning, an overturned cardboard box.
"It was really windy last night dad, it could have been anything."
"No, definitely not anything. Probably a bobcat, possibly a coyote, but i dont see him getting through the kitty door."
"Well are you at least going to check the humane society?"
"As far as i know, bobcats don't take their prey to the humane society."

As you can see, for some uknown reason, dad is attached to the bobcat theory like Linus to his blanket, it gets kind of annoying sometimes, like when he talks to our roof-dwelling cat about it.
"You saw it happen didn't you? Luckily, bobcats dont climb onto roofs. But i know you've been actin' weird since Abby disappeared. Like someone who witnessed a murder, and you did, oooooh yeah you did. Might have to keep you inside for a while, make sure its safe. That bobcat might come back, clean up his trail."

Poor Scuba just stares at him and drools, like her retarded self should. I hope to find her a mate, one that can deal with the mentally challenged roof-dwellers. Until then, may peace rest upon the soul of my deceased feline, Abby (1992-2004).

Technology (sigh)

I jsut finished compiling a post full of quotes i really like from my computer and the internet, but Internet Explorer just crashed, so all is lost. What i love about a program crashing is that little "send error report" window that comes up. As if telling microsoft how much they suck is going to help the situation, and as if it makes any difference. "uhh, mr, gates, we got 2 million error reports today, i guess that means our company sucks." No sir, it means that america is dumb, and will buy your product no matter what? Remember, you just made 100,000 dollars in the time it took me to type this.

Technology is such a good thing when it works. But oh, when it screws up, I wish i was Amish. Give me an abacus man. Throw me in a log cabin with walls of books. I'd yell, "Dad, my book just stopped working!"
"No son, you are reading it upside down and its dark."
Sure enough...books dont stop working...silly me. That's the thing with new cars too. So much can go wrong. Just the other day one of my power windows stopped working, as did a power mirror. It made me hearken back to the days of Mr E-clipse (second post mention in two days) when i laboriously stretched to reach that window crank on the far side, and prodded that window adjuster, trying to get it at jsut the right place.

The other day my remote for the big screen died, and the universal backup didnt have Picture in Picture. NO PIP!! What does a man do when two equally good programs are on, one of which doesn require sound (sports)? Must i use flashback? NOOO! Imagine if all remotes stopped working, and we had to get our lazy butts off the couch! I would definitely be buying a boomerang and going the Foster's (Australian for beer) route.

All that to say, I'm getting a Mac, and my post full of great quotes will have to wait for another day, although i did update the potter quote! Later friends.

Fate at a car wash

In class today we debated Determinism vs. Free Will. Let me first say this. And by say i mean type. I'm not really sure where i stand on this. I know that i believe in some form of free will because i think the problem of evil is just too strong if you are a pure Determinist (yeah that's you Luther...bring it). But there are verses that clearly point to some form of predestination. I believe the answer lies somewhere in the mystery of God being outside of space-time, something our minds cannot comprehend. Yes he saw it before it happened, but not so much before, because he sees everything at once, all time and all space. As you can tell one's mind starts to hurt. Kind of like getting a labotomy...nurse Ratchet was scary.

One event today, brought to mind all the factors that go into a small event in life. This morning i decided i was going to wash my car after i finished tutoring(you must understand that this is an event in itself. In the 2+ years i drove the ole E-clipse i only washed it twice).I usually tutor for an hour after school 345-445. Today i only ended up tutoring for half an hour, so i made it to the car wash around 410 (we started at 330). A few blocks away, a certain female friend of mine was at soccer conditioning. It went til about four and she was riding with he rmom in a filthy van. Suddenly mom perks up "Hey, lets wash the car." Who does that? Now in the city of topeka there have to be a couple dozen car washes, so back to me. I am pulling into the car wash and i think " hey that girl at the change machine looks familiar." She turned around and sure enough, it was my friend (she remains nameless for her own protection. i realize that thousands of people will be reading this and i want to protect her identity). I waved, she looked confused, i got out to get change, she realized who the heck that weirdo in the Taurus was who just waved at her, we smiled and proceeded to wash our respective cars.

Didn't this have to be predetermined? I mean no one could have set that up. I should probably just go ask her to marry me right? (o goodness, i am walking a fine line here) I guess what i was trying to illustrate is all the outside factors that go into events in our lives, and that maybe God is up there looking at the choices we have made, and looking at the choices everyone has made and, like a master puzzle-solver, saying "ok, this will all fit together into my plan like this!" and bang, prophecy's are fulfilled, Satan is defeated and even though we had a choice, God fit it into his plan. Adam had a choice, he chose poorly, but God fitted it into his plan. No one would say that God willed Adam and Eve to fall, but they did, and God is still goign to dominate. I'm done.

signs our world is dying

i have recently felt convicted for having a Potter-centric blog title and not mentioning the septology once in my posts. So here it is, my first potter rant.

Today i heard that a certain brother of a close friend of mine began reading the potter books recently. "That's great," i thought. Then i heard he started with Goblet of Fire (book 4 for those of you who arent my friends). He had already seen the first 3 movies, so it was ok.

OK?! Ok to skip the first three parts of the greatest fiction of my generation? ok to miss out on the experience of imagining the second most complete fictional world ever (LOTR)? ok to miss Rowling's keen wit (almost completely lost in the films)? After watching two Columbus-headed live action Disney movies, and the artistic, focused Cuaron film (not just a movie, and shane, if you read this, you are wrong, and i don't want to talk about it with you), this guy thinks he has enough potter knowledge to experience GOF! What really ticks me off about this is that if there were four movies out, he would have started with book five, finished it, and thought himself as informed as we potterheads. No sirree! My prayer for this soul is that when he finishes his shallow reading of the last two books, he will recognize his arrogance, repent, and read all 5 books through again before HBP comes out. Then and only then will i forgive, and even after i forgive, it will be something he has to live with for the rest of his life. Like a murderer. Sure God can forgive him, but the man can never forget the life he took. It will scar him for life, like Umbridge's quill on the back of Harry's hand (If you have ideas for how we can punish this lost soul, let me know in the comments).

Traffic froze, his fingers kept searching the presets, only to find mouthy DJs and local commercials. He flipped on the vent. Carbon monoxide and whatever else smaug contains hit him in the face (it must contain something else, after all, CO is odorless). Reaching into the glove compartment, (does anyone put gloves in there? did anyone, ever? Wouldn't they get frigid?) efficient causality popped into the brain. Now you may ask, why efficient causality ever pops into anyone's brain, and to that, i have no desire to reply right now. For our suffocating man though, it was a natural thought process that brought him there. He wanted to know why he was having a crappy ride home. Answer: traffic jam. Well how do traffic jams start (if there isnt a wreck or unnecessary construction)? Usually it is all the fault of one person driving scared. "O my gosh, this person is trying to merge, and i am going 70, and he is going 30, but i really need to let him in even though i could just pass him and he would be fine, but o my i gotta hit the BRAKES!!! Grandma slams her foot down, Chucko get in the lane, but not until the 100 cars behind about died and everyone stopped. So there is the Prime mover.

Now what i want to do sometime is get in a huge traffic jam, set up a monstrous radio communication web like they used for the traffic in the Matrix Reloaded highway scenes, and get everyone to hit the gas at the same time. That would be a rockin way to spend a weekend, and Oioloa! No more traffic jam.

Senior Paragraphs

At Cair Paravel Latin School, we Seniors write up these little things called Senior Paragraphs. They are supposed to be little 150 summaries of our time spent there, with shouts out to all the people we love and stuff. They tend to be pretty uncreative wit hquotes and stuff. My real Senior paragraph is just that. Nothing to exciting, a few subtle references to stuff i like which some people may or may not pick up on, but generally formal and serious. Here i will post my real Senior Paragraph with things that i really want to put in there but can't, in [ ].

May we all[by we all i really just mean the people i like] never hesitate to look back with a smile as we laugh at musical bloopers ("Can we do that again?" "Matt fell into the pit."[that Matt Patton. He's always good for a joke. If you ever need someone to do something silly, go to him.]), relive soccer moments (WAHAA in ‘03, MAACS in ‘02 [me diving to get fouls called, getting asked if i had a vagina by a Perry guy for it and then busting out the ole "Scoreboard, Scoreboard" chant to the guy's face]), and remember all the fun times we had on school trips. This ride has been an indescribably fun thing I’ll never do again. To my teachers from Mrs. Jernigan to Mr. Schneider, you all have blessed me. Mrs. Hunter, you never made school a chore[and then we fired you for it]. Mrs. Greene, no one understands the sacrifices you make for our music program[did you know that when you came, everyone thought you were totally hot. Seriously, Nathan Clark was disappointed to hear you were married. I had to use "purity music" freshman year]. To my friends, the fires to come will be our true crucible[required mataphor of life]. Craig, Nate, Ben, this is a chain we’ll never break. Brady, thanks for befriending a sophomore [What does this remind you of?]. Daniel, you opened my eyes to poetry, Wallace, and the life of a gourmet chef[i could have honestly written my entire paragraph about this guy]. Baker, thanks for being my literature buddy. Shed, Box, please stay out of trouble[don't get STDs, but seriously...read the last part of "nothing better"]. Mom and Dad, I’ll have you know that with the money you have spent at CPLS you could have bought a Porsche 911...Turbo...and still had some left over. Paul, you’ve been through it, thanks for hanging around home[and by hanging around i mean not dying :)]. Sara (that's my sister), maybe I'll be seein you in Cali[yes she really does exist, and please no hot sister comments]!
Your Student, Friend, Son, Admirer, [enemy, future assassin, lover, brother, etc.]
Thomas Carr

i wanted to write some weird story that was a vague allegory of my life at CP, but then i realized that A. i didnt have the talent and B. this was supposed to be 150 words, not 1500 (at least). I have a feeling i could have done more here, but o well, i'm done. and by the way any capitalized "i" within the paragraph doesnt break my vow of uncapitalized first person singular subjective pronouns.

All in anticipation

A wasted day rested on top of the trashcan. Next to it rotted grapefruit rind and a pear core. The day had all the makings of a well used day, or at least one that brought some short-term happiness. Unfortunately, KU got stomped (nothing to do with trashcan lids), poker didn't work out, and the boy just sat in front of his computer screen searching for burnt out pixels (there were none on the 1024x768 screen. you do the math). Eventually i (i mean he) did watch a mediocre movie with his dad. Tomorrow, football playoffs await, along with lengthy Bible readings.

There it is, a true topic. Bible readings assigned as homework. Can anything make you feel more guilty? "No mom i don't want to do my homework!" "Well what is it?" "jeremiah 10-18" "What! you don't want to read your Bible? SATAN!"

Mom doesn't understand that something about forced education sucks life out of otherwise meaty texts. Take Crime & Punishment for example. While i absorbed Dostoevsky's commentary on society the dementing knowledge of the upcoming essay quiz blurred my focus. Time skipped. i was staring at a white sheet (flourescent lighting glared off it, damaging my eyes. Where was Mrs. Buller?) reading broad, subjective questions about who knows what. They didn't even test for comprehension. Whoa bunny trail. My point being that Bible assignments make the Bible less desirable. That makes Mr Illif and our school heretics! i would write out the syllogism, but it's fallacious.

I can't wait for the playoffs. Ice plated sheets of dirt. Sublimating breath. Bruschi (with a name like Bruschi, it has to be good. (Go buy Sports Illustrated just for the cover(parentheses w/in parentheses compliments of Sam))). I should go read my Bible (but it won't be the part i need to read for homework:). Later kids

Nothing Better...

"Tell me am i right to think that there could be nothing better than making you my bride and slowly growing old together."

As the thick velvet curtain closed on the stage production, the only synapses firing through my brain carried information about the weight of said velvet curtain. What if the handicapped protagonist's wheelchair battery died and found himself helplessly in the mass of fibers' path of destruction (you ask why he doesnt just move the wheelchair with his arms. He doesn't have arms. i said he was handicapped...he operates the joystick with his mouth.) ? Not to worry, Lenny Kravitz got up on stage to bid Nicole Kidman goodnight while some male model stood next to him, looking like a deer in headlights, and not those cliche headlights. We are talking xenon halogen pure white high intensity heliopowered monsters. Wait til Lexus gets ahold of them and they start turning corners!

IS there anything better than smashing your archrival on their home court?

Is there anything more annoying than teenage girls? Not so much the way they babble and gush forth streams of information at Spanish speeds, rather their disregard for the common sense you try so hard to etch onto their hearts. Alas, in the end, they stray onto the road of attention and instant gratification only to find it ripping the sutres out of almost healed wounds. I never was much of a doctor, but i was better than they ever gave me credit for. I mean these girls can't see a bad situation if it knocks on their door with death's scythe, prods them with Satan's pitchfork and stomps on their beliefs. All i ask is that you remember me. Remember that i was right. I'll be waiting outside with brawny paper towels, hoping to soak up what's left of you.

Here I am...

Not knowing exactly why i created this public forum for rants and raves. I feel like a victim of must-feel-meaning-by-forcing-opinions-on-others syndrome. Today i wrote a seriously weak-sauce stage-style paper for Great Ideas. Trying to meld humor and Epictetus works about as well as watching Napoleon Dynamite to get meaning in life. Although i can imagine some people think it is pretty profound. To you, I say " ." Not worth my typing, but notice how i put the end punctuation inside the quotation mark.

I fully intend to never capitalize my first person subjective pronouns here, and i hope to make posts that make even Sam a little jealous, ok then, maybe David Foster Wallace, ok, maybe i'll stick with Sam.

Question of the Day: If a white playwright wrote Othello in the year 2005, what would become of him?