School looks different year to year, it's interesting.

I have not yet gotten materials for school, and on good merit.  Confusion reigns in the aisles of office supplies where rows, racks, shelves, and files of office paraphernalia are in every corner of the eye.  There should definetely be a tutorial to get through there.  You know how they tell you that the most important choices of you life come in high school?  Well, I agree.  For example:

Binder or folder? What size binder? What folder cover, pooh bear or m&m's? Pen or pencil? .05 or .07 lead? Blue ink or black ink? Should I get this sweet-looking $7 pen?  Standard notebook paper or college rule notebook paper? Three subject notebook or one?

What's this? An accordian folder? Cool! But is it useful? Oh no, two sizes! I should've brought an 8-ball.

Generally, I think I look more paniced in an Office Max aisle than I would in the Brooklyn ghettoes at midnight. 

Thankfully crayola has a monopoly in the coloring division, so that isn't a problem.

I don't ever want to see another syllabus, class rules, or course guidelines as long as I live.  Here's an appropriate analogy of what would happen to me if I did: In Return of the King when the Witch King dies.  His face crumples, his body screams, and he disentegrates into nothing. 

Homework beckons, enjoy your time on the internet.

:Tim Allen voice:

Buzz Lightyear mission log: have entered the megafood center in search of the rare human delicacy code named The Great Pyramids of Unceasing Taste.  Thus far I have evaded being detected by the Zurg bagging guards with great fear that they might swoop me through the checkout laser -- or in other words, certain death.

No sign of the Triangles of Orange Splendor, but the product lanes are of great variety and number.  Carrying and hiding behind a piece of lettuce has confirmed my theory that no human dare pick exposed vegetables off their contaminated floors of rampant bacterial colonies.  It is shocking that the humans would standardize eating only food that has been in contact with ground level for less than 5 seconds -- why, by that time the first bacteria to reach the food has had grandchildren and organized entire professional bacterial sports teams on the fallen food.

I appear to be wandering near the Orange Powdered Crunchables, other species of its kind are appearing in sight.  Very fortunate to make it here after having had to fend a Zurg child who was attempting to blow my cover by selecting the Cheesiated Noodles in the previous aisle.  But cleverly I had been packing a round of ammo in the form of pelting food stones, or rasains to Zurg forces.

At last! My journeyed eyes rest on the target.  Getting back to the maintenance hall is all that's left.

(time elapses, Buzz is seen indulging in the rustling bag of his treat in a janitor's closet)

Buzz Lightyear mission log: Tasty.

Aren't Doritos great?

If I have a class with you, we'll make it a surprise and I'll see you there.         

Time after xanga entries goes real quick, almost like the speed of my life is relative to xanga posts.

Anyways, unfortunately today I found how easy it is to buy books off amazon.com and got a little carried away.  On the bright side of things at least I will have something to read while I beg on the streets.

A few random thoughts:

Medievel warfare was so much more interesting than the modern day, technology-manifested world of war.  In those days victory was dependent on chivalry and courage, as opposed to today where it is dependent almost soley on the weapon the soldier bears.

Hollywood must be a lonely place.  Celebrities are rich with money, but money can't buy people who care about you.  Image over integrity, money over marriage, glamor over God, red carpet and ridiculous content over real character, paparazzi over peace, and fame over friendship. 

Water is only as delicious as the sun is hot and the run is long. 

 Communism is like going on a diet, it just doesn't work.

You are currently living without someone who, if you met them, you would claim you could not live without. 

Life is a risk.  It is inextricable, no matter what you are doing in life you are risking your entire life.  Whatever life you choose to live you are risking what might have happened if you chose a different life setting. 

Google is a great word.  I feel as though it's use is underrated.  It can be an emotion (I feel googly, or I feel like googling), an activity ( a great pastime at that, too), or you could very well use it however you like.  Perhaps if you are angry you could use it as an outlet by simply stomping around the place yelling "GOOGLE! GOOGLE! GOOGLE YOU!"  A person who spends much time in their house, unsociably, could be called a googler. I might name my son Google. 

A nap is a trap.  I'm not even tired.  

Sleep find me, please.  And to all of you I bid a fine night.   

Hello!

Here's an interesting concept: being unaware of one's own condition.

I have been told that if you are aware of your own condition in several instances then you are actually not in that condition at all.  This philosophy specifically attaches itself to 'Originality' and 'Humility.'  For originality it is said, "No man who ever bothers about originality will ever be original."  And for humility it is likewise stated, "If you don't think you are prideful, it means you are actually very prideful indeed."

Meaning if you consciously try to be either humble or original, you will be neither.

Here lies the problem.  My mind absolutely adores to play nasty tricks with me.  Thus, ever since I read the above quotes I cannot stop thinking that I am trying to be both original and humble, as though it's my mind's way to spite me for something I've done to it in the past.  Perhaps it's mad I often cram for tests?  Staying up too late?  Eating ice cream too fast? 

So does this mean we are supposed to walk around like mindless zombies for the sake of originality and humility?  For those of you disgusted with the thought of being a zombie do remember you would be a humbly original, or originally humble, zombie. (somewhat more tolerable.) 

Accepting compliments poses another dilemma.  Say you forgot yourself enough to be humble, but someone else noticed and mentioned, "Why, you are such a humble person!"  Why, bloody, they just ruined the whole operation!  They blew your cover on yourself! 

From all this I conclude that we are to master the skill of subconscious self-brainwashing.  Which brings up the point that I'm pretty sure that you can't master a subconscious skill, since mastering something usually means you are focusing on it, which would make it a cognitive activity (which, unfortunately, happens to be the direct opposite of being subconscious.)  On a positive note we would then have a use for A.D.D., since we could read the words 'be humble' and zone out so quickly that we forgot we decided to be humble, but still do it anyways.

One of the worst states a human can be in is 'being unaware of one's own ignorance.'  For then not only do you not know, but you don't know that you don't know.  The next worst state to be in is Michigan.

Be humble.  Peace Out. 

Ah, the drudge of August with foreboding school...it torments my mind like Han Solo in Episode V!

Debated passionately among animal lovers is the classic cat vs. dog matchup, sometimes farther than the sane audience can handle.  On occasion I have been addressed to decide which I prefer, usually with an uneasy feeling about how my answer will enrage or appease those listening.

Here's my answer:  I prefer not to own or care for either; for in both scenarios it means money, work, time, and possibly bitter heartbreak when they die (of course for realizing all the money I wasted on their food.)  But this does not mean I dislike them altogether.  I consider myself a vicarious petlover.  Nearly everyday I visit other homes and residences of both cats and dogs.  These animals are already fed, groomed, trained, and readied for the arrival of company.  It is in this time I indulge in every aspect of petloving through the existence of their pet.  I will use doggy voice: "Sudga cuute wittle doggy!" and turn cats into my evil lap-residing associate, incessantly petting both.  This system slakes all my desires and yearns for furried forms of fervent friendship. 

There's no responsibility and absolutely no committment.  Think of all that future money I'm saving! Why, in terms of money, pets are almost as bad as an addiction to smoking (and unless the pet has rabies, not as bad for you health.) Someday my little 9 year old girl will curl her lip, pop out her eyes like a cartoon and euphoniously ask "Daddy, can I get a puppy? Pleeeeeeease." To which I will briskly respond, "Just go over to Sarah's house, she's got one." 

Cruel and frugal.  I know.  But face it, pretty soon buying gas is going to be like landing on hotel-marked Boardwalk (of course we'd be the car, not the moneybag.)   So considering we soon will be paying for gas with Ben Franklin and not Thomas Jefferson, I'm sure she'll understand.

Until next time. Well wishes.