Godly in life, mortal on paper.

As if applying for college didn't make me feel "normal" enough, here I am being forced to apply for scholarships. Now, I don't know about most people, but filling out applications really brings me down. The realization that I'm not very special hits hard.

They don't care how far my guild has progressed into the Black Temple, they don't want to see my Overkills in matchmaking, and they sure as hell don't want to read my blog. They don't even care about what I do on the weekends, what my friends think of me, or what kind of person I am. All the things which seem to make me who I am, all the achievements I am proud of, are deduced into GPAs, extra-curriculars, recommendations, and essays.

Spring break is, unfortunately, coming to an end. Despite my earlier prophecies, I actually managed to have a pretty amazing time. Matt and I went up to Raleigh from Wednesday to Friday, which was pretty life-changing.

We saw Badfish, a Sublime cover-band, at the Cat's. Scotty Don't opened for them. First off, the amount of jokes Matt can make out of "Scotty Don't" blows my mind. I think I heard them referred to as "Scotty Don't put it in that hole, Scotty Don't nut yet it's only been a minute, Scotty Don't know when to get off the stage you're so terrible as a band, etc. " Ask him yourself if you want a full list. It goes on for ages.Scotty don't wast pretty terrible, so naturally, when they got off the stage, we cheered at the top of our lungs. Only minutes till Badfish was coming.

As it turns out, Badfish is Scotty Don't with the lead singer wearing a different t-shirt. Sort of like Spider-man is Peter Parker in a spider suit.   They were way better at cover songs though.  After the concert was over, Matt and I had to sneak back into Merideth. This consists of spooning in the very back of Catherine's car with Matt, laying under a blanket, with a cooler on top of us.

There is a bunch of other stuff I could mention, but I have a raid starting in 25 minutes. While it may not be important to the Albert G. Banger Memorial Scholarship Comittee, I'm getting my epics tonight.

First Random Comment

So, I got my first positive comment from a random person the other day. On my "Music" blog. This may seem like nothing to people who don't actually WRITE blogs, but to me, it's a milestone. I honestly haven't been this excited in quite some time.

Her name is "The Shrip Queen", and she writes about fish. And cooking fish. How to cook fish, and the life of a fish cook. At first I thought to myself, "What in TARNATION could a fish-cook find interesting in my blogs?", but then I noticed her personal page.

Actually, her personal page doesn't even give that much away. Her favorite movie is Don't Be a Menace to South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood. Which I had to IMDB in order to see if it was real, by the way. She listens to Nirvana, Sade, and N.E.R.D.

This next passage was taken directly from her blog, from a story that deviates away from the big blue.

"It all began when I got into an accident last month. It involved sleeplessness, darkness, and a stationary utility cart sitting quite comfortably in the middle of a usually(but not at 11:30pm) highway. Bottom line? It was my fault. From the insurance company's wack-ass P.O.V, "What if it had been a small child?" If this conversation had not been recorded for training purposes, I might have revealed the answer that A. The child would have been one dead mothafucka. B. You would not be recieving a call from my ass."

This one is to you, Shrimp Queen. Keep making those shrimp and grits, and I'll keep writing for you. I appreciate your hits.

Blossom

Spring has come, and, although originally dreading it, it actually doesn't seem that bad. The flowers blooming this year seem brighter than the last.

Spring break, however, has maintained the life-long tradition of boring  me. Everyone is out of town, and my "only two friends", according to someone I know, live out of town. There is literally nothing to do.

The prospect of a week out of school SEEMED exciting at the time, but I think it was just an illusion brought on by the fun I was having during the 180 days of torture. I had a "party" before we got out, and was actually able to see a glimmer of hope for the rest of the year. Some of the mentionable honors for the night were:

- A friend of mine passing out WHILE using the toilet. Pants down, on the stool, stone-cold. His name won't get put on the internet due to the fact that his mom has ties with Big Brother, but most of the people reading this know who it is. There are pictures.

- My ex-step-brother coming over with his new girlfriend. While she was over here, I happened to bring up her ex-best-friend that he used to see. I tried to play it off, but just continuously laughed in her about my mistake.  Oops.

- The toilet-drunkard getting up, driving to school at six in the morning, going to Raleigh with Science Olympiad, throwing up multiple times during the day, and STILL qualifying for the state physics competition. Tank.

- And last but not least, Justin. Just everything about him.

Intelligence.

Intelligence, according to Wikipedia, is an umbrella term used to describe a property of the mind that encompasses many related abilities, such as the capacities to reason, to plan, to solve problems, to think abstractly, to comprehend ideas, to use language, and to learn.

After spending the last few nights of my life wasting away to countless episodes of CSI: Las Vegas, I have come to the conclusion that they are wrong.

Gil Grissom is the man. Anyone who watches the show knows that. When it comes to getting stuff done, he is numero uno. If you commit a crime, you are getting caught under his watch. Don't even bother messing around with the evidence, getting false testimony, changing your gender, killing the witnesses, etc. It's no good against this gumshoe.

I consider Grissom to be the epicenter of intelligence. The modern day Coeus. By diving deeper into his personality, it has allowed me to get a bird's-eye view of what intelligence really is. It's not being able to find the derivative of the limit of the log of ln(x). It's not being able to deeply analyze the world, make profound psycological breakthroughs, or even developing ideas that rock the foundation of society.

It's about knowing random facts, and being able to introject them in conversation at the correct time.
- Being able to console that cross-dresser by telling her about oysters that are able to spontaneously change gender.
- Knowing the key ingredients to everything ever made, and what the human bodies reaction to each ingredient is.
- Making references to Van Gogh when a victim is missing their ears.
- Confusious: "If you try and chase two rabbits you end up losing them both."
- Countless more examples that I can't even begin to fathom at the moment. I don't have enough time to list them all.

I present you the smartest man alive.

Music.

I understand that different kinds of people like different kinds of music. Different stuff floats different people's boat. However. I've noticed an increasing number of  boys jamming to The Kooks, Jack Johnson, and the GooGoo Dolls.

Being the self-proclaimed "Most Hardcore Mother-fucker Alive", I only listen to metal. No other types of bands are really music. ACDC, The Beatles and Elton John are all posers. They just take stuff that Slayer has already produced and pump it full of estrogen. Unoriginal.

That guy with the multiple piercings and 16k silver wallet chains? The one walking around school in his Lamb of God shirt every single day? The one that you always see shredding on the guitar after school; pumping out Dragonforce, the hardest metal known to man, like some sort of aparition of death? Yeah. That's me.

I laugh as I walk down the sidewalk and these Weezer fans jump out of the way in fear of the good ol' fashion five fingers of fury. I can't think of a kid in town whose ass I haven't kicked.

Yeah, I've got a weapon on me. More than one actually. Razors, Iron knuckles, my spiked HIM belt, all that. If you were raised like me, you more than likely would also. Murders, kidnappings, I've seen it all. Done it all.

Damn right I'm in the Anime Club. I co-founded it. You claim it isn't good? That I'm a weeaboo? Shows what you really know. Anime is the best form of artwork in the world aside from Slayer albums. It is able to capture emotions and ninja techniques ten times better than film.


I just figured I'd tell all the other guys out there to quit being girly-men, and start rockin-n-rollin like I do if you ever want to get somewhere. If you don't have Slayer playing on your iPod every waking second of your life, do me a favor and get out of mine. Get a taste in music, and realize that you're wrong about what is right.

March, trying to meet quota.

With Super Smash Bros. Brawl released, I don't know if I have time for life anymore. As sad as it sounds, I feel like I just had a deployed father come home to me.

My ex, who I am still good friends with, isn't allowed to talk to me anymore because she has a super clingy boyfriend... hope she is able to get out of that one!