I think I've figured this whole blogging thing out. I personally do not blog for anybody else's sake but mine. At least not here. In looking over what I've written and when, I've realized that more often than not, the blogs follow a period of heightened emotions, such as a great consequence to me, an action for which I am greatly regretful of, or someting that I am overjoyed for.

But, there's the exception to this rule, and that is during vacations and weekends when I'm awake and very tired. Usually, in these cases, I'm sitting at my computer, thinking how bored I am, and listening to whatever happens to be in the winamp playlist. (At the moment, it's Radiohead's "Paranoid Android") So, here I am, and I wonder about how everything is going. What I'm gonna do in a year or so, who I'm going to know. What I'm going to be like. What I want to do. That kind of stuff. Also running through my head is nostalgic stuff. I'll hear a song by some band or group I heard about from a friend I met at some summer camp, and go back to thinking how much I'd like to be there doing whatever I was doing again. (This occurred earlier today, as triggered by a listening to Oasis' "Don't look back in anger." This particular song, as I have realized has significant memories of camp during the 2000 summer.)

So anyway, here I am now, writing about what prompts me to write. I suppose it's time for a new topic. How about... My amazing social skills. Or not. A mere observation that bears relevance to the poetry presentation I had to give today... Walt Whitman's poem "Song of the open road" has a couple of stanzas explaining how the open road is free of societal custom and tradition, and because of this, true friendship and brotherhood among men can be achieved. This is because in society, we are restricted by the norms of society, expected to be within some level of conformity or be ostracized as some sort of weirdo. The thing is, I think he's right. We may not believe it, but I think that at all times, we are trying to be one of the crowd, unless of course you're some sort of recluse weirdo. But wait, a weirdo to me, however, to others, they may not be viewed the same way. I assume they are a weirdo because they, unlike me, do not necessarily seek the company of others. This isn't even society, so much as a toned down version of xenophobia. Well, not really, more just that people don't like people who are differnt from them. Is that not what is in part behind the issue of racism, and other forms of discrimination?

I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. But do I ever really know? I mean... I've got a quote somewhere from some great philosopher character, but I'll paraphrase. Basically, it says that we know the senses can be decieved, but how do we know when? For that matter, how do we know not always? And if always, what difference does it make? Does my view change if I know that my life is merely the figments of some insane computer's imagination? I mean, whoa. This is, like, deep thought.

Ok, well, while the thought is still fresh in my mind, I will also consider the bit about how do we know when we're being decieved. For example, how do you, the reader, know that I'm not some psychopath with an extremely elaborate imagination creating a fictitious account of the world from the point of view of some kid? Well, for those that know me, too often is it made clear that I'm authoring this, however to some random schmoe who finds me from some web directory or search engine, I could be anybody. In AIM, how do I know who is who? I don't. How do the people talking to me know who I am? They don't. I think the anonymity is entirely fascinating. So anyway, what prompted the sudden mention of anonymity was some reading I was doing earlier... here it is. It's an interesting view of some varying levels on anonymousness. Sort of.

Well. I think I've done enough babbling. Maybe, if I want to, I could be up early enough to see some cartoons. They're quality stuff. Well. Some of them at least. Like Transformers! Yeah, those guys were awesome for a while. Before they got SUCKY that is. Also, did you know that in the first Transformer's movie (maybe it was the 2nd, I can't remember) they actually had to cut some scenes to prevent getting an R rating? I'm telling you. Cartoons, they're gruesome. And we expose the world's youth to them all to often. Walt Disney may in fact be the tool of the devil. I don't have any actual thought process to back that particular statement up. But still. We'll never know, will we?

I think I lack the fundamental skill for being mean without making enemies.

I'm too damn nice to people. And for that, I resent myself. For some reason, I feel that my ability to articulate thoughts RAPIDLY diminishes around 16 hours after I wake up. I'm on hour 17.3333333 now. That's assuming I can count. Which at this hour, is not a safe assumption to make.

In an amazing combination of lethargy, apathy and boredom, I managed to sit through about an hour of some disney movie on the disney channel.

I feel so pitiful. I deserve pity.

I think I may have started a little school-wide pseduo fad. This consists of getting somewhere to put a webpage (i.e. a friend w/ webspace in my case, or in others, geocities), and then putting a blog on it.

YEAH! That's great. Yet, so ironically pitiful.

YEAH! Snow day!

Ok, I'll admit it. I was wrong. But is there anything wrong with that? Yesterday I went around naysaying the possibility of a snow day, even a 2 hour delay, but... in this case, pessimists have a win-win situations! If I was right, I was right, but if I was wrong, all the better!

Back to sleep I go.

D'oh!

Breaking news!

BUSH WINS

Crap.

Well, I think I should apologize for any derogatory statements I may have made earlier regarding poetry, and a certain Mr. Murphy's english class.

In full honesty, I think this year's english class has been the best one I've had since coming to bromfield. Actually, maybe 2nd best. I really enjoyed 9th grade w/ Mr. McGarty. (With the exception of Ethan Frome, that is...) So I guess that's it. There's always one bad unit/section. Well, maybe more than one, but only one that I'm probably going to remember next year.

I've definetly gotten a lot more about how to write this year than in the past though. (Consider, although this was partially me, my PSAT score in writing went from >50% to 93% since last year...) Well. Enough of that. I think that I should get back to writing some JAVA. It's hard. I'm screwed. I need help I think. I can't do anything.

This blog is undergoing a major overhaul in appearance, pardon technical difficulties.

If anybody could help me out in getting a decent free chess program for the PalmOS, please email me.

Ok, with regards to my last post... I think I should clarify my points.

1) Ok, this still stands, I mean... of all the projects I've done, this one is only outmatched in sheer hatred by myself by stuff like Natural Resources and other projects with an equal or greater degree of suckiness.
2) Alright, I think I take this back. Let me rephrase and retry. I don't hate metaphorical stuff. I was looking for an excuse. I do think that it's kind of silly that we value special meters so much. I just don't understand why poems are so great. They're difficult to read, and not all that amazing to me. Sure, it's tough to write in iambic septameter or whatever, but who cares? Not me.

Well. I don't like poems still, and to me, they still suck.

Poetry: I hate it. Why do I hate poetry? Two reasons.

1) Mr. Murphy. The Explication assignment is in my mind one of the greatest evils unleashed upon the unsuspecting high school student, ever.
2) I don't see the point. Sure, it's an artistic or whatever way of conveying ideas, but who cares? If you have something to say, why not just say it. For example, let me consider "O Captain, my Captain" or whatever that was by Walt Whitman. How about, "Dang. Abe's dead, and what a pity he didn't get to see the fruits of his labors." It says mostly the same stuff, but, a whole lot shorter. Furthermore, who needs all this metaphorical crap. Why make the poor reader decipher what you're talking about. Not actually a captain, but instead Honest Abe. Bah.

It should be pretty clear that I have no appreciation for the talent it takes to write good poetry, which may be in part due to the fact that I can't really write poems, but nonetheless, I've come to the conclusion that poems suck.