I found a picture to describe my current mood:

This is litte Alehandro, all grown up. Pity poor Alehandro, he done got jipped.

It's been a little while, and I've got a math test to study for. So I'm gonna spend a long time writing here.
Junior year is hard.

The madrigals tour was pretty cool. I don't fit in with all of them very well sometimes. I always make dirty jokes or hit someone at a stupid time. I geuss I seriously offend people sometimes, but I don't really care. It's fun. And many of them are sort of pricks. Yeah, I could stand to refrain from smacking people occasionally, but hey, we all got our flaws, right? I kid. I dont smack people, I just like to be physically abrupt occasionally. Thats my new term for smacking people. Pysical Abruptness. "Sorry officer, but I've got this condition where I *smack!* Oh, damn, there it goes again"
Lets see, flaws...yeah. You know you've got em. Maybe I should make a list.

I can't wait for this weekend. I've got forensics saturday till 2 or 3, then a madrigals performance on sunday, but otherwise I'm free. I wish I could stay out late. I feel like having a crazy night again sometime. We'll go visit the Goth. Venture into the deep dark unknown that was called in medieval times "Ye Clean Fowl".

I've been listening to "Prince" lately. I like it. Maybe there's something wrong with me. I should go to a doctor, because I've had "When Doves Cry" stuck in my head for like 3 days. Man, I really wish I could sing like that. I'd rather be a funk star than anything else I think. Forget anything else.

So at the tours we had the kids raise their hands and ask questions. One names Alehandro started telling us a story. Literally, he told us an entire story about how a knight saved a princess from the evil night. I thought about that. So many kids raised their hands, and so few get called on. I remember being called on once, it was for a dancing thing. I was 6. I danced on stage with several other people. I remember just trying to move my legs as fast as I can. It wasn't much fun. It was dissapointing. By the time I got up there and figured out what was going on it was over. You don't really think about what's happening, you just raise your hand and pray secretly to be called on, to be special for a minute. And then you get it, and you fuck it up. So many kids did that on the tours. I feel badly for them. Poor Alehandro never had a chance, and he never will again.

To end, I describe an instrument used in the victorian period to prevent male masterbation.

This instrument, designed exactly 103 years ago to the date as of my 17th birthday, was made by overly conservative people in America. Specifically, it was a belt like device that, in the event of an erection, would ring a bell at the end. In the event of a prolonged erection an electrical shock would emit to the penis from the belt. Also, having an erection at all would be painful due to the tiny metal barbs, though not sharp, designed to create discomfort in the nether regions.

If I've made anyone want to see this horrid device, some totally tame pictures are here: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/a/ac/Sexpatent01.png

Enjoy your phalluses, gentlemen, for it has not always been so.

You Can BET that he's doing it for some doll!

My blog looks all gross now. I gotta stop writing at 2 in the morning.

Its been a fun weekend. Today is project, homework, ex-cetera all day. Madrigals in a few minutes. I'm gonna miss the Bears game. I could die. Bah! It was cool to be social all weekend, I never was out of things to do, which is really neatorific. Long weekends can be a bore, but I wish this one would have never ended.

Getting my license was cool. Ya know, the stereotypical thingy where its an exciting feeling of freedom being able to drive around anywhere. Now I have to give people rides though. I was considering telling nobody I had it to milk ya'll for a few more weeks, but ya know. I'll just get up early and siphon the gas out of your cars before you wake up.

So a quiz thingy asked what my favorite color was. I picked grey. Here's what it told me:

GREY: The color GREY a preferred by people who are indecisive. They can't get excited about anything - including color - so they choose a noncommittal shade. Men who prefer GREY look at sex as a way of relieving tension-but nothing more, nothing less. It's wham, bam, thank you ma'am. Women don't make love, they have intercourse. And for one of two reasons only: to accommodate their mate, or to become pregnant. They count the cracks in the bedroom plaster until the sex act is over with and done. But when teamed with another color, the GREY spouse considers the other's infidelity a blessing. When GREY marries another GREY, the marriage is made in heaven.

What the fuck?? Then it told me that it should be a color that I'd like to look at a lot, something I'd paint my walls and such. So I picked blue.
To paraphrase that it said I'd be a wild, perfect lover for any woman.
Then I told another quiz that my favorite kind of ice cream was strawberry. It told me I'd be a perfect husband.
Then I took a "romance" test that said I had trouble being in steady relationships because I thought the picture of the mountain was prettier than the other ones.

I gotta stop taking these things...

When You See a Guy Reach for Stars in the Sky

You can bet that he's doing it because he wants to nail this one hot waitress at the mexican diner down the street, but she's got six children, a cloven hoof, her eyes are sewn shut with pin-needles and she's been chained behind the dumpster for a week eating nothing but her own excrement.

Hmmm...Nathan Lane would turn over in his grave. I should send that in to Marilyn Manson, I'm sure it would be appreciated.

It's one in the morning, and I'm seriously considering going to pay the Goth a visit. Too bad it'd take about 45 minutes to get there and back. It'd be a great walk if I had someone to go with.

I wish I had someone to talk to right now. Just some communication. I've decided. I'm going to put off all my homework and spend all day tommorow with people if I can. I want to hang out with you guys, so drop bye, holler. Ya know.

Here I go with a self serving blog entry, hooray. Hold on to your rollerblades, muchachos.

Been sitting here writing random shit about my life on my computer for about two hours. I have lots of strange shit now sitting on my computer. I reread all of it when I was done, and I've decided that I'm pretty fucked up. Ha. Cool. Ya'll are too, ya just wont admit it. Maybe everyone should just collect all their little oddities and show one another, so that we all can interact a little easier. And by oddities I mean everything. Not just terrible things that we've done. Not to say that I've ever done anything mean to anyone...ever. Or that I've ever been needlessly violent.

So c'mon people, lets visit the final frontier of our own depravity! Come with me on a magical exodus to the White Hen and back, where we will discover our inner disconcertations. So that we can explore the most provocative of ideas, the idiotic to the sadistic. So that we can enjoy a steamy mocha latte at the hands of our favorite server, who, himself disjointed from the fabricated layer of consciencious-society membrane dulling the sensory nerves upon our frontal lobes, will let his fountains of knowledge and creamy-dreamy coffee goodnees flow into our cupped hands. A sacrifice of his own life blood. The concept I'm talking about is (for those who have taken sex-ed classes) just like the clittoral hood, which protects the fragile clittoris from damage and allows for indirect stimulation. Rather that settling for indirect stimulation of this fragile area, we must eliminate our need for our clittoral hood of life and stimulate ourselves directly. And yet, care must be taken, as increasingly doing so could either cause external damage or desensitize the area. And so, one could either be like the goth, and live dangerously. Differently, wasting away in a gas station cutting sandwiches to the sounds of heavy metal at 2 in the morning. Perhaps that experience is more "real". But then, if you never are stimulated directly, how do you know which is better? So what is needed is a cross between being nuts/perverse/violent and nice/sociable/docile. Then, and maybe only then, can one live a life full of experiences. So I suppose we have to leave ourselves open to attack. Let ourselves be stupid/nuts/violent. And you know what? Many of us do.
And thats comforting.
You might ask how the fuck I know this. Four years of sex ed, then an anatomy course in psychology. So I hope I'm remembering all this right. Female anatomy is soo confusing sometimes. Need to know something about how to do a hysectomy? Come over and I'll give you one. I'll run out and buy a needle and some thread and we'll be done in a couple of minutes. Hell, I could even do an argile pattern.

Whooo. I really shouldn't post this one...
My blog looks gross now between this and the poem.

I have taken hostage the one thing you hold most dear.

You don't want content. You want pretty pictures and inane commentary.

Here you go, you wascawy tabasco bottles!

HEAR YE HEAR YE!

Eat thy vile little hearts out, all ye wankers and wankresses who of no slight proffess to be of the intelligista!

IM GON' EATCHO BABIES!!

So its been a little while, yes? So I figgred I'd put a litty diddy on here about whats been going on. This weekend is 3 days, and so I expect all of you to make it fun. Cause if you don't...


Though all of you know, I'm on lockdown after 11 until Christmas break. And by the by, I'm staying here for X-Mas. Should be really cool I think. I woulda loved to go to Florence, more than anything, except maybe death. So many cool things to see there, so much great art. Good lordy. And its close to Rome but minus the contemporary religion hooey. Oh well, there's always studying abroad. Gotta learn Italian!

So I keep getting lectures from my parents, lasting between 2 and 20 minutes, and they're driving me nuts. I think I might just grab a knife and stab one of them in the throat if I hear about how 5 Bs and 2 As isnt good enough. Bah! Thank God Mr. Ericson is giving me an A. Hurrah!

So the Vermeer plays tonight, a great string quartet, like world class. I remember in Wichita my dad and all his friends freaked out when they came around and went to go see them. They play for free here and barely fill NIU's concert hall. I'm not going to go on a rant here about how DeKalb is cultureless like the rest of my family would, but I find that sort of revealing, especially with the huge student population. Anyhoo, that rests my case.

Not that I'm that cultured by any means, but ya'll know, the more you learn about something you see, the cooler it becomes. If you know something about a peice of music or about the genre, you can get more excited about it and draw more reasonable conclusions about it. You can enjoy it more by being in a position to read between the lines. If Halterman hadn't taught us how to get themes and analyze text we wouldn't get the same sort of depth in what we read.

So I suppose the idea, especially for us yunguns, is not to be cultured, but rather to be interested in things, to try to understand things and do things. Not to be a lump, just to be active. Socially, culturally, all that happy stuff.

Anybody have any Crosby Stills and Nash CDs I could borrow?? I dont want to buy it and I can't download a program to steal it.

More Blogthings (I have nothing better to do)

What Your Underwear Says About You

You're a total rebel who doesn't conform to any rules. P.S. - It's a jungle down there! You're also way too lazy to do your laundry more than a few times a year.

The Underwear Oracle

My question is how do they know if I shave down there or not? I have access to razors...I don't neccisarily just leave it all there. I take some offense at that. I

Your Inner Child Is Angry

You're not an angry person. But when you don't get your way, watch out. Like a very manipulative kid, you will get what you want. Even if it takes a little kicking and screaming.

How Is Your Inner Child?

I found this one sort of appropriate. Hardee hoo.

Candy Cigarettes

You're a total badass, but you don't taste very good.

What Kind of Candy Are You?

Now it's proven.

Fuck Yeah!

In a Past Life...

You Were: A Lazy Monk. Where You Lived: Turkey. How You Died: Killed in Battle.

Who Were You In a Past Life?

Isn't that just great?? Can I get one of you guys to make a photoshop of my past life? That'd be so awesome!

Besides this, it reminds me to write about a really really super interesting book I've been reading. It's called Godric, by Fredrich Beuchner. It's about a 12th century Holy man, an English monk, who toys with the Augustinian ideas of self deprivation on his path to religious perfection. It's a really great period piece, and it's a pretty short book if anybody wants to borrow it when I'm through.