A Double Send Off!

Testing 1, 2, 3.
Can anybody hear me?
If I shed the irony,
Would everybody cheer me?
And if I acted less like me,
Would I be in the clear, G?

Hopefully people wouldn’t like it if I shed all the irony and acted less like me. But, at the same time, I hope y’all can hear me. Is this thing on?

Alright. I’m updating again. Let’s get down to business, shall we? What to do first . . . what to do first?

How about a good ol’ fashioned Texas send off?

Today a friend of mine journeys off to the poverty and war-stricken Third-World country of Honduras to help da childrens survive. Who is taking under this noble undertaking? None other than queen of all hotties Evelyn Powell. Evelyn Powell, we salute you!

Fireworks display:

Crackkkkka Booooom! Boom Boom Boom Pha-toom! (Did you see that big red one?) Boom! Ba-boom craaaaackkka bang boom! Pha-toom! Sweeeeeehheeeew! Sheeeewee booom! (Ooo, aah!) Boom BOOM BOOOOOOOM!

Godspeed, Evvie.

Well, now that that’s over, and my eyebrows is singed off, we can move on to the other stuff.

Here’s a thought: Sociologist Emile Durkhiem believed that crime was necessary for a society to function. After all, it provides so many job opportunities and helps the economy and all that jazz. Well, I was watching a news report on Internet porn and the ways people are trying to stop it, from blocking technology and making porn illegal, and I realized that this is a similar situation. The porn industry generates 5 billion dollars a year. The technology to block Internet porn is a 480 million dollar a year industry. So, it seems to me, that all these people trying to limit Americans’ free speech, and subsequently my whacking off, are not seeing the big picture. Focus, people, please!

Here's another thought: I am angered at the rapid changes a certain word has gone through over the past 50 years. I realize that words in the English language change over the course of time, but this is too fast, and the changes are odious. The word I speak of is "gay." It started as a great word, used to describe joyousness, with connotations of revelry and well-being. It then became a non-offensive, popular term for homosexuality. I am more pro homosexual rights than anyone I know, but this change ruined a splendid word. Hardly ever again can it be used in its original context without invoking derisive laughter. The next change came even more speedily, and is a far worse one. People have started to use the word "gay" as a synonym for "stupid" or "difficult." Now, to see how the word has been twisted from its original meaning to this; in essence, to see it ruined, makes me angry. But what makes me more irate is that this second change came about because of the first. So people are indirectly insulting homosexuals by using it in this vane. So, from now on, I will verbally and perhaps physically reprimand any people I hear using the word this way. However, I will give a dollar to anyone I hear using it in the original way. Seriously.

One more thought? Okay: I like reading about movies, specifically comic book movies, because I love comic book mythos and enjoy seeing how it is transmuted onto the silver screen. However, Entertainment Weekly puts too much emphasis on the film itself, almost as if it's saying that the comic book doesn't matter. What’s worse, the articles are written by ignorant jerks who know not the first thing about the comic book. However, on the flip-flop, magazines like Wizard focus too much on the fact that a comic book movie is being made, and not enough on the film itself. In this way, they get all happy when a movie like The Punisher or Daredevil comes out, but then don’t talk about it as a film, because, well, it’s awful. I wish I could find a healthy medium.

And now, a belated Birthday message to Sammy Cordova! He’s hit the big one five! May all your birthdays be filled with sexay ladays and criminals to fight, Sammy, and don’t change. We all love you.

Que noisemakers: rrrrrrrrrrrtthhhhrrrr!
Que confetti
Que singing: Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday, Dear Saaaaaaammmmmaaay!
Happy Birthday . . . a to . . . A youoooo-whooooo

Moving on:

How about that fucking Casting Call that nobody responded to? Huh? Bastards. Ingrates, all of you! Well, I did some work myself . . . With a little help from my friends (I get by with a little help from my friends . . .) And so without further ado:

Casting Call:

Tony: Benecio Del Toro (circa License To Kill), Johnny Depp (I put down Johnny Depp for almost everybody, ‘cause he’s that convincing an actor.
Steve: Sean William Scott
Andy: Nic Cage, Keanu Reeves, Tim Robbins, Paul Walker, Brad Pitt (He suggested those last two, the conceited fiend.)
Caitlin: Kiera Knightley
Sam: Jack Black, Meatloaf
Myself: Kelsey Grammar, Hale Christiansen, Jean Claude Van Damme, “Hyde,” from That ‘70's Show, whichever Hobbit looks most like me, it was Merry, but I don’t know if that was Billy Boyd or Dominic Monaghan . . . the one that did not tip the skeleton down the well in Moria . . . the one that was a member of the Rohirirm (the Riders of Rohan)
Dan: Tom Cruise (circa Top Gun), Elijah Wood
Mike Pytka: “Jack,” from Will & Grace
Will Murray: Steve Buscemi (sorry, Will, but that’s all I thought of last night. If it’s any consolation, Steve Buscemi circa Reservoir Dogs)
EJ: George Clooney, Johnny Depp

Well, that’s all I got for now. But if any a you peoples thinks of any others, for the folks listed or for our other friends, let me know. (And to all my readers who have no idea who any of my friends are . . . comment with your favorite actor.)

Here’s a disturbing story:
I am a fan of free porn. Over the years, I have become very efficient at locating it. One method that usually works well is to go to a search engine and try an unrestricted Image search for a specific pornographic act, as this will oft times lead to free galleries. Don’t just type in “pornography,” that’s too general, you’ll get nowhere. I usually type in “spanking” or “toe sucking.” Now, here’s the disturbing part: It doesn’t limit your search to porn. Thus, interspersed with pics of hot lesbian mouthing each others feet, I get shots of cute little babies sucking on their own toes. (Babies do that occasionally, instead of thumb-sucking.) And for some reason a picture of a baby kangaroo sucking his lil’ paw is in there as well. What the hell is that? Do you have any idea how bad it makes me feel to be aroused and glance over at a picture of a baby? Good God!

Work’s good for now. I’m learning to shingle away like a madman, but my upper arms are all burnt anda crispy. My dad says it looks more like someone spilled an corrosive chemical on me than like I got a sunburn, so I guess I'm one step closer to having as bad a job as Tony. I feel for ya, Tones. Ouch ouch oucherro. This’ll make those late night sessions with my dominatrix all the more painful.

All the ladies be askin’ me, “Rich Z, what aspects of Hinduism do you believe in?”
An’ I say ladies, ladies, Gimme a chance to explain my thoughts on Hindu spirituality, gimme a chance to explain!

The Way of Rich:

Hinduism: Let’s go piece by bit here, shall we. Directly from my World Religions text book.

First of all, I admire the dedication some Hindus have for their faith. I appreciate the vast ranges open to interpretation. And I am intrigued by the whole school of thought. But onto the specifics. Reincarnation? Yep, I believe in it. How could one spend 80 years in one reality and an eternity in another? Seems kinda unbalanced. I believe we are born again into parallel realities much like this one, over and over. Eventually we get to heaven, but we live a little first. Or, maybe it’s one lifetime, then that heaven, then another lifetime and the ensuing afterlife, and so on for eternity. I’d like to think time has very little relevance to this, so I could be a cowboy in another world in my next life. I believe this cycle ends in something like moksha, but with more retaining of the Self. But other than that, moksha sounds nifty. Monism? I believe there is an underlying bond between everything in existence, but at the same time everything retains its identity. In this way, I find the concepts of Brahman and Atman applicable, and to a limited extent true, but not to such an extreme as many Hindus. The Cycles of Creation and Destruction make a lot more sense than the Western linear time thingee. I don’t believe in samsara so much. However, the better you are in this life, the better the next physical life will be. Karma and dharma? You don’t need to be a Hindu to believe in those. I like ‘em. They make the world make more sense and me more hopeful. Caste system? Too easily corrupted by humans. Acting your age? Well, sometimes. Need I explain why kama sutra appeals to me? Karma marga I love. Because I enjoy physical labor so much, I love the thought that I can be getting closer to the divine just by shoveling dirt. It also has to do with unselfishness, which I am great at. At the same time, Jnana marga appeals to the scholar in me. There is one, you know. He’s lazy, but he’s there. Bhakti marga I don’t love, because I hate the ritualized parts of most religions. Maya is a cool concept, but I don’t hold with it on account of the whole importance of self thing. Yoga is one of the most interesting and unique religious practices I’ve ever read about. I am angered that it is now used as a trendy work out routine by ignorant jerks. The mystical union with the Divine is what I’d prefer to the common Western experience. I believe in beings which are between the Divine and humans, call them angels, call them gods and goddesses, I think they’re about the same thing. Avatars? Where have I heard that word before? Oh yeah, I was the first one in the school besides Mr. Ranstrom to find out what it means. No big deal, just came from the fact that I read the Dictionary. But I like that thought, as well. Ba’Hai speaks of avatar-like incarnations of the Divine, who were people such as Muhammad, the Buddha, and Jesus. I think that’s it for Hinduism. Thank you and keep sending me donations.

Now, to talk about a friend:

Tomorrow, someone very close to me will be leaving the East Coast for some time. He is leaving to study at one of the finest schools in the country, and to eventually serve said country in the Air Force. Let’s talk a bit about Dan McLaughlin.

I met Dan freshman year, when he suggested that I join his group in a math project. I’ll never forget his reaching out like that, as I was a shy lad and not prone to socializing with those I don’t know. From there our friendship bloomed and we learned that we had similar sense of humor. Dan made my first two years at Catholic great and I’ll never be able to repay him. Junior year we grew very close. I confided things with him that no one else knew. I felt more comfortable talking to him than to anybody else that year. And it’s a good thing that was so. I was able to get a lot off my chest, and he gave me sound, considerate advice. This year we’ve been in a few scraps together, from a street fight outside of the Hampshire Mall, in which he saved my ass, to a debate about the draft with Tony, Pawel, and Steve. I can think of no other person I’d rather be in those situations with, and no better guy to be defending our country. He’s smart, capable, and decisive. (Plus, he can annoy any enemies to the point of surrender with his song-ruining skills.) Seriously, if there has to be someone fighting and making important decisions overseas, I hope that person is Dan. I’d be glad to serve under him (as I might because while he’s sure to get promotion after promotion, authority and I don’t really mix.) Dan is honorable, decent, and a fun guy to hang around with. He’s also an awesome bowler. So, in conclusion, though it might be infuriating to debate anything with you, because you’re so friggin’ smart, I thank you for four awesome years, and hope to see you soon. Good luck in Colorado, and know that there are plenty of people here who love you. I know you’ll do splendidly.

PRESENT ARMS!

ABOUT FACE!

21 GUN SALUTE!

Bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang BANG!

*Salute*

And now for a mood-lightener, how about a little Joke Corner? Astronauts call it “The Daily.”

Rich’s Joke Corner:

A women went to see a relationship counselor. He asked her how her sex life is with her boyfriend. The woman responded, “I wish it were better, but every morning we have verbal sex.”
“Verbal sex? I believe you mean ‘oral sex’,” said the confused counselor.
No, I mean verbal sex,” replied the woman, “every morning we pass each other in the hall and say, ‘Fuck you!’”

Why were men given larger brains than dogs?
So they wouldn’t hump women’s legs at cocktail parties.

Two cows were standing in a field. One said to the other, “You know, I was artificially inseminated this morning?”
The second cow said, “Seriously?”
The first cow responded, “It’s true, no bull.”

More cows:

Two steers were standing in a field in Britain. One said to the other, “I say, did you hear about that beastly mad cow disease?”
“Of course, old chap,” the second cow responded.
“Well, aren’t you worried?” asked the first cow.
“Why would I be, chap?” asked the second, “I’m a bloody helicopter!”
(The best part of that joke isn’t crazy talking cows, it’s crazy talking cows with British accents.)

Hey, Kids, It's me!

I bet you thought that I was dead! But when I fell over I just broke my leg and got a hemorage in my head!

Oww.
Fuck.
Oww.
Fuck.
You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to type when you’re missing three layers of skin on your fingertips. Because I work without gloves to toughen my hands up, I have scraped my poor fingertips till they’re shiny and raw. According to CSI, the human fingertip has more nerve endings per square millimeter than any other part of the body. Thus, this hurts. But, nonetheless, I will persevere. I will continue boldly onwards . . . with the help of morphine.

How about a nice tasty update? Huh? Wouldya like that? Okay! But first you have to shum mum shush hush shummer my shimmah shusha shum witha whip cream whisper whisper riding crop. Oww! You didn’t need to go slappin’ me in the face. Damn, girl, don’t be a playah hatah. It’s not my fault I likes it freaky. Oh well. Have your update anyway. Spoilsport.

Monday I was sick from work with my goddamned allergies. Fortunately, my allergies did not keep me from attending Steph Lepine’s party. I had a decent time. I should have had a great time, but that’s no fault of Steph’s. She put together a great shindig. I just had a lot on my mind that night. I was a little troubled. On top of that, I’m very self conscious about my body and that kept me from going swimming. It subsequently kept me out of the hot tub. That I regret most, as Steph seemed to be touching everything in site with her feet while in it. Damn. But, it was one of the coolest parties I’ve been to in a while, like it was right out of a teen-oriented film. And Steph’s mom was really ingratiating. Hah! I was gonna type “nice,” but I decided to be a more eloquent jerk.

Tuesday I went to see a great movie with AL and EJ. The Terminal. It was perfect in a lot of ways. Tom Hanks was hilarious and heartwarming (a real switch for him), Stanley Tucci was in fine form, and the idea of the head of Airport/Homeland Security being a . . . what’s that word Steve uses so well? Douche bag! was most welcome. I hate airport security. It’s a good thing I have the power of flight (That’s telekinesis, Kyle!) or I’d never get anywhere. I was up freakishly late, and barely made it home as I was running on E, and my engine was contemplating over heating. But my trustworthy Pontiac 6000 got me to my destination safe and sound. She’s quite a vehicle. I gave EJ a ride home. Fool! Now I know where he lives! And I got to meet his super hot sister and see his criminal lair. He let me borrow The DaVinci Code, which I will hopefully start after I finish Murder In Retrospect and Beyond Freedom and Dignity, by Agatha Christie and B.F. Skinner, respectively.

I’ve been working in Hatfield. It’s an absolutely bee-ay-yutiful ride up there and there are so many picturesque views in the town itself. I strongly suggest you motor up there, Pawel, and work some Photo-magic. The pictures are practically beggin’ to be taken. (Like Tara after a few Jello shooters.) (Zing!)

Today I worked until 4:30, but my crew of three finished roofing an entire house. In one day! Day-yam! That’s mostly because I don’t stop working as long as it’s physically demanding. I have the mind set of a freakin’ bull. And due also to the fact that my boss, Steve, shingles faster than any mortal I have ever seen! Thor shingles faster, but he’s a Asgard god. I swear, I think Steve missed his calling. He should’ve been a gunfighter in the old West the way he handles that nail gun. But, to sum up, work has been good lately.

I want to have a party for Evelyn on Friday. A send off before she heads to Honduras to help all those poor illiterate starving orphans. Contact me with any thoughts you have on the matter. I’d be best to have it at Brendan’s house, I believe. (If you read this, B, gimme a call. I’ll contact you as well.)

While there I’d like to discuss two things. 1) Undying Love. We gotta pick a film date soon. And 2) Evelyn and Caitlin have come up with the idea of a fund raiser for Brett and Tom. Another talent show. I’ll do stand-up and would be happy to emcee, The Quick Fix could play, Steve could play, Andrew could play. Mr. LeTellier could play. The HCHSFTCT can do Python. It’ll be great. Hopefully Adam Goddu and my lil’ bro will do a duet. Anyone interested gimme a comment or a call.

Hey, is it me or should Mike Pytka stop copying Jack from Will & Grace? There are other ways to be gay, you know.

Okay. Let’s try this out. I call it Casting Call. I wanna pick actors to play my friends and enemies and me if a movie is ever made of our lives. Aside from Johnny Depp as me, I’m stumped. Comment with ideas.

Alright. Deep breath. I will now talk about one of the troubling things that happened a few weeks ago. It involved myself, Evelyn, Andrew, eventually Brendan, and indirectly Caitlin. Charter Days. That’s where it really began. I went with the intention of letting Evelyn know my feelings for her. The ideal time for this would have been the fireworks display. However, as I had to go back to my car to get blankets, and Evelyn was in the process of setting hers up, I returned to see her sitting next to Andrew. Now, halfway through the ‘works, Andy got up and offered his seat to me. A very noble thing to do. But it would’ve been awkward, and so I remained where I was. Later, I planned to sit next to Evelyn on THE ORBITER, the coolest ride this side of the Connecticut. Doing so involved buying tickets for the entire group. It would have been worth it. However, while I was standing in line plucking up the courage to ask Evelyn to sit next to me, Andrew asked her first. Now, this came as quite a shock. I grew angry. I called him a quote, “lanky bastard,” and asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. His response, though interesting, is unimportant and damaging. So I rode the orbiter alone again. The next day Andy apologized. An incredibly touching and mature thing to do. The day after that, Brendan called me and let me know that Andy was out seeing a movie with Evelyn. Just those two. I got pretty angry after that. I met Brendan at The Thirsty Mind and we talked over the situation. I recalled our trip to the beach during which everyone (Dan, EJ, Cait, Evelyn, Andy, and myself) broke into a jog on the beach. Caitlin stopped, and AL, hopefully not noticing, continued down the beach with Ev while I walked with Caitlin. EJ joined us. That scenario seemed fishy to me in retrospect. Well, after some angry banter back and forth, Brendan and I got the courage up to do something reckless. (Thank God we’re not racist, or there’d be some lynchin’s, let me tell y’all!) We had convinced ourselves that Andrew was trying to court Evelyn. What was worse was that it seemed he was exploiting my plans for his own selfish desires, or as Brendan put it, I “was doing all the leg work.” What’s worse was that he was Caitlin’s boyfriend. What’s worse was that he was being deceitful and Evelyn might fall for it. Or so it seemed. So, we resolved ourselves to go and find them. We went to Andy’s, then to Ev’s, then, as we were heading home from Ev’s, Brendan did a screeching 180 turn and sped back towards it. I asked him what he was doing and he said, “We set out to kick ass and chew bubble gum,” he paused to light his cigar and cock his gun, "and we’re all out of bubble gum!” Then we sped into the night. (I’m just kidding, B doesn’t smoke.)
So we parked outside Ev’s and waited for them for like 20 minutes, but gave up. It’s a good thing cops on stake outs don’t have curfews . . . . So then Brendan talked to Evelyn and told her all our horrible ASSUMPTIONS about AL. She got sad and confused, repeated them to Brendan, yelling all the way, and then came lookin’ for me. It was a bad situation. I won’t go into anything more personal, nor tell you what I think the real deal was. Alls I’ll say is these 4 things: 1) Almost all of what we thought about AL wasn’t true. 2) Brendan, thanks for everything you tried to do, and I’m sorry it got you in trouble. I love you, man. 3) I think we’ve all grown in our relationships, and hopefully strengthened them.
4) Andrew, I’m sorry. I will honestly say that I think some of what we thought (which is no where near all in here) is true. But what we did was wrong, and I ask your forgiveness. I love you, man.

Whew. That feels good to get off my chest. I mean both the above story and the leather corset I was wearing; those things are tight!

Speaking of good feelings, let’s talk about ‘em. Here are some of my favorite feelings:
Knowing you have fun things to get done and plenty of free time to do it in.
Learning school is canceled.
Finishing a good blog.
Coming up with a great idea.
The feeling you get just before a movie starts in the theater.
The feeling you get after a physically demanding task is done.
Being physically close with someone you care about ( I mean romantic love) and the subsequent erection.
But here’s the best one: The feeling I get after I do stand up. I’ve obviously only gotten it twice, but damn it feels good. To hear the crowd’s laughter melt into applause as you walk off stage. Awesome. The best ever was at Parent’s Night. After I was done, Brendan walked back on stage and gave a handshake/hug and said, with a grin on his face and laughter still on his lips, “You’re the king.” I don’t know how sincere he was in his praise, I like to thin pretty true, but it made me feel so . . . great. I can’t decide if that or the laughter at the last Python skit, when we all four were up there, standing together in front of everyone, is better.

The drives home from Hatfield have been amazing. It’s such a beautiful ride, and what’s better, I’ve liked every song on the radio. I change the station now and then, but I find good music all the time.

Speaking of music, here are my four favorite slightly werewolf related songs:

Bad Moon Rising, by Creedence Clearwater Revival
Hungry Like the Wolf, by Duran Duran
The Monster Mash, by that guy
and lastly, this one I heard on 102.1 yesterday and I really liked it. I have no clue who sings it, though.
I think it’s called Werewolves of London. It’s cool and funny and a little scary and has a good beat.

I think that’s it for tonight. Next Time: Hinduism, Joke Corner, Casting Call, and a Tribute to one of my heroes. (That’s right, I’m finally starting the Friends thing.)

Current Mood: Awwooooooowerewolves of London! Awoooooooo! Pretty good, now that I’ve updated, although for some reason I’ve been feeling really attracted to Jess lately. I don’t know what gives. I’ll go into that next time.
Current Music: Ben Arthur’s S&M song.

The Way of Rich.

Hey, guess what? Another post, that’s what! That’s right, I’ve updated again. I should really do this more often. According to my blog calculations, my publishing rate is a scant four posts a week, since I started in late May. That’s an outrage. From now on, a post every two days! Wait, that’d be the same rate, wouldn’t it? Damn. Okay, a post every day starting today! That’s good, ‘cause I got lots to talk about. Namely my allergies. They’re pretty bothersome.

I thought that, aside from my usual intriguing, if random and useless, observations, I’d make the focus of this blog post my spirituality. Influenced, I suppose, by both Tony’s recent sometimes funny, mostly offensive take on Mass, and a desire to show my readers, especially the lady-types, that there’s more to me than bulging muscles and curly golden locks. So, this entry will be all about the more supernatural contemplative side of The Rich. First off, though, how about an update?

I updated my blog profile, but like a jerk it won't let me put my "over-150-characters-long" answer down. So . . .

Here's the question from my profile:

Well, maybe they don't need them, but don't you think that some fish might like a bicycle?

Here's my answer:

Sure. I imagine that, though they can't ride them underwater, or on land without dying, and aren't physically capable of pedalling anyway, that fish would like them to have as decorations in their natural homes . . . underwater castles.

But check out my profile anyway, to see the answer I put down there.

Time, it seems, does heal wounds. Many of the bad feelings from the subjects of the last post are fading. Work is better. My boss is really cool, my pay is great, and it does toughen me up some. I feel less guilty about the Jess thing, but I do need to talk with her. Which I plan to do soon. I’d talk to her at her birthday party, but oddly enough I wasn’t invited. Hmm . . . I suppose my invitation must have been . . . lost in the mail.
Without revealing too much, let me just say that Evelyn now knows how I feel about her. It turns out I was not the one to tell her. I owe that to my good buddy Brendan. I feel better now that she knows and I believe it will be easier to talk with her . . . if I can manage to get a hold of her. There is almost absolutely now shred of hope that anything but awkwardness will come from my profession of feelings, but that’s okay. The past two weeks have taught me that being single is actually pretty good. I have decided I don’t want a girlfriend anymore. (There are 5 exceptions to this. I think you know who you are).

I am a bibliophile through and through. I finally got around to organizing those books I mentioned like 3 weeks ago, and let me say a few things about that. First, my dad has some pretty cool books. I found a 1911 copy of Treasure Island in good condition, Hudson’s Complete Shakespeare from 1871, and the complete works of Charley Dickens from 1860! Also, some books by Freud, Aristotle and Plato, and old copy of Les Miserbales by Hugo, and an old Catholic school text book that was my grandfather’s. It’s probably from when he was going to St. Joseph’s, one of the schools that became HCHS, and he wrote his name in it. It’s pretty nifty to see that, partly because we have the same name. The organizing process made me realize that there are a lot of books out there that I have yet to read, and so this summer I’ll hopefully get around to it.

Speaking of books, I finished The Hobbit. That was a great story. I wish all of Tolkien’s writing was like that. Towards the end his work started reading like the Bible. It’s really, really dry. But he wrote for a noble reason. He wanted to give England its own mythology. King Arthur is heavily French-influenced, and the Celtic stuff was lost after the Norman Conquest. Reading his uber-boring, but admirable Unfinished Tales gave me an idea for a story I'd like to write. Any Tolkien fans will appreciate this. Okay, you know there are wizards in Middle Earth. They are called the Istari, and are actually emissaries from the Divine Powers, the Lords of the West, the Valar. They were not Men, nor were they Elves, but spiritual beings who took men's bodies. Now, their mission was to combat the growing menace of Sauron. He had destroyed the island of Numenor and was banished, cursed, to Middle Earth. Well, there were five of these fellers, the Istari. You know, I think, of two; Gandalf the Grey and Saruman the White. Also mentioned in LOTR is Gandalf's cousin, Radagast the Brown, who loved the birds and beasts and plants of Middle earth, and alone stayed true to his mission. There were two others, clad in blue. Of these Tolkien claims to know little. No names are given them save Ithryn Luin, "The Blue Wizards." Well, these two travelled with Saruaman as missionaries to enemy territories in the East. Unlike Saruman, they never returned. No one knows what became of them. This is where my story kicks in. What if they were close, like brothers, and started on the same side. But one of them was ensnared be the power of Sauron, (as is mentioned as a possibilty), and ended up fighting the other. There could have been a great battle in the East between the forces of the two wizards, and because of that both are slain, but Sauron's troops are diminished and this aids in the victory against him seen in LOTR. Mentioned as well are rumors that these two started cults of magic that lived on long after Sauron. That'd be cool, too I think, to fiddle with that idea. And lastly, the character whose scenes were cut in Return of the King, but who is cool and scary as hell, The Mouth of Sauron, is said to be from the East. What if he's one of the wizards? Nifty, huh? Maybe not, but I think it's a fun concept.
I also finished The Pale Horse, by Agatha Christie. The only thing I had read by her before this was And Then There Were None, freshman year. I had always thought her to be somewhat overrated, but let me tell you, she’s great! She has humour like P.G. Wodehouse, but adventure and romance and a truly good mystery in her work as well. I urge you all to read it.

Music? I need to improve my library, but Ben Arthur is what I’ve been listening to lately. His sexually-themed fast-paced pop really gets me pumped when lifting weights. The song Mercy I like especially, because if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was about a weird S&M relationship. Let me show you:

“It started as a lark,
Twistings in the dark..
Tied up and what to do,
Naked and black and blue.
This here is the bad part:
I think I need a new start.
Oh God I think it’s true,
I think I need this . . . too.

And I cry,
Mercy, mercy!
You’re only happy when I’m on my knees!
I cry,
Mercy, mercy!
You’re only happy when I’m on my knees.”

Nonetheless, it’s still a good song.

Speaking of lifting weights, I’ve had the best, most draining work outs I’ve ever had these past two nights. After the first one, I felt crazy. Ready to take on anything or anyone. I really wanted to hit something. It was quite a rush. After today’s work out, I felt so spent that I just wanted to sleep. Then, about a hour later, I just wanted to hug everything. I felt complete peace. It was awesome.

Movies. Movies. I like ‘em. I just saw three good ones. The first, Nurse Betty, a wacky comedy about a women obsessed with a soap opera and the hitman obsessed with her. Then there was The Rock. I love this movie. Let me explain why, if I can. It’s a good action movie, that alone is worthy of praise, as so many films in the genre are lousy. It has some hilarious parts, some touching parts, and some unbelievable parts, but it’s all good. The line between bad an good is hazy. The “bad guys” are Marines trying to get proper compensation for their fallen comrades, the “good guys” are an annoying FBI lab technician and a 60 year old convict. Ed Harris is impressive and perfect as ever, Nicolas Coppola . . . I mean Cage . . . is properly cast and conveys the right amount of bumbling whininess and heroic coolness to make you like him, and Sean Connery is one of the best badasses in movie history (there’s one scene where he’s fighting this Marine who’s about twice his size, and losing, but he’s too tough to quit. At the last minute he dodges a punch and the Marine breaks his hand on a pipe. Connery then flips him over, wraps a chain around his neck, and pushes the stone that the chain is attached to down a cistern. You think he’s gonna quip or say something, but he just scowls at the guy and walks off, leaving him to be strangled to death. So cool.), but he has a good heart. His part is the funniest, because he’s playing pretty much who James Bond would be if he had actually aged. The plot is better than most action films, and it’s by Michael Bay and Jerry Bruckheimer, so you know it’s exciting. Good, good movie. Lastly, I saw Dark Blue, a movie about corruption in the LAPD before the LA riots and the coming apart of a man beset by his own demons. It stars two of my favorite actors, Kurt Russell and Brendan Gleeson. Gleeson is a master of his craft and a delight to watch, but Russell, in a career-topping performance as the tragic hero is tremendous. I recommend you guys see it.

Where in the World is Sammy Cordova? Right now, New York. That’s right, my brother has hit the Big Apple in all his pipe wielding, foul-mouthed glory. As I type this he’s probably being shot at, evading local gang members and the cops, while stealing the hearts and purses of many a beautiful lady. Or, he’s bringing swift vigilante justice to a depraved city as . . . BATMAN! Whatever his current exploits, good luck, Samster, be home soon.

Now, without onto further ado, The Church of Rich and the Latter Day Saints:

I don’t really know where to start in my explanation of my spiritual beliefs. Let me begin by saying that I’m to try to avoid writing “I believe this,” or “I don’t believe that.” You must realize that anything involving faith isn’t definite, it’s all belief. So I’ll just write, “It’s like this,” or “It’s not like that.” Very definite, like it was in my Holy Book . . . if I had one. I’m not saying that what I type here is right, I’m just saying it makes sense to me after many years of contemplation.

Okay . . . God is imperfect. That goes against a whole lot of Christian doctrine, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. Otherwise, God would know everything that was going to happen, would have planned it that way, and then nothing matters. It also explains the existence of evil. I like the idea of God a more than one identity. That’s because the thought of God as The Force behind Nature makes sense, the thought of God as a force that works with and through people makes sense, and the thought of an intimate, caring, loving God is comforting. I believe in Jesus Christ, that He is both human and divine, and died so we may have eternal life. Now, was he the only incarnation of God? I don’t know . . . . I want to say that Muhammad, the Buddha, Krishna, Abdul Ba’Hai, and many others were divine as well, but I don’t want to sell the human race short. Hell is only temporary, and everyone, EVERYONE will eventually be with God in Heaven. That includes Lucifer and the Fallen Angels. Angels are an odd concept. I think I’ll have to ponder them some more. But I do believe in the Devil. I do not believe that he is completely evil, and, as God is All-Loving and All-Merciful, they will eventually reconcile. God can feel pain, emotional, at least. And She is badly hurt by sin and hate. I think God would rather humans live peacefully and not believe in Her than believe in Her but have wars and conflicts. I hate the notion that God wants us to pray for God’s sake. Prayer, whether it works or not (and I doubt its effects in most circumstances) is to keep us on track, to help give our lives hope and direction. To say differently would be to say that God depends on us, and that ain’t true. I dunno. Maybe it is. That would make creation seem a little more logical. Lets forget that for a while. Uh . . . how about the Church? Let’s talk about it. Too much ceremony, too much symbolism and pomp. That’s not what it’s all about. What’s the major problem with the Church? It’s governed by people. This leads me to another belief of mine: Humans are by nature evil. Their tendency for it when left to themselves is too strong. While we as a race, or species, or whatever category you wish to use, are capable of incredible greatness, but are hindered by human nature, which isn’t bad or good, it’s both, and usually in a grey area between. I won’t get into miracles. I don’t know what to say about magic and witchcraft. I could go either way. I like to think there are other forces out there, but there very well may not be. There is something, there, though. Whether through drugs or the power of suggestion, or just the way of life, there’s power to primitive traditions. I don’t believe in the idea of the no-self, but I do believe in reincarnation, and that all reality is connected by some underlying force. Okay, who know what? I can see this will require some more thought. I have a new plan. I will take my world religions book, and explain how my beliefs differ or correspond with those of each religion, one by one. So, aside from Rich’s Joke Corner, there’ll be a new segment: The Way of Rich. “For I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life,” sayeth Rich, “Those who believe in me will laugh a lot.” (Was that over the top?)

Okay then. Oh, speak of the Devil, look what it is!

Rich’s Joke Corner:

Three marines were driving up the highway between Barsa and Baghdad when they came upon an Iraqi insurgent who was badly injured and unconscious. On the opposite side of the road lay a badly injured American soldier who was semiconscious. As the Marines were giving both men first aid, they asked what had happened. The American explained,
“I was moving north along the highway when I ran into this guy. We pointed our guns at eacxh other, and I said, ‘Saddam Hussein is an asshole!’ Then he yelled, ‘George Bush is an asshole!’ We were standing there shaking hands when a truck hit us.”

A couple were having the interior of their house painted. The man came home after work and accidentally leaned against the freshly painted wall. The next morning the wife said to the painters,
“You fellas wanna see where my husband put his hand last night?”
“Look, lady,” one painter said, “We’ve got a long day ahead of us. How about you just make us a cup of coffee?”

In the beginning, Adam asked God for a mate.
“I can you the perfect companion,” the Lord replied, “but it will cost you an arm and a leg.”
“Jeez, that’s a little steep,” said Adam. “What can I get for a rib?”

How did the blonde get cancer?
She snorted artificial sweetener thinking it was diet coke.

One last one, in the tradition of Monty Python and the Holy Grail!:

A king suspected his wife was being unfaithful to him, so he secretly placed a razor blade in her vagina. Three days later, he ordered all of his knights to drop their pants. They all had bandaged penises, except one.
The king said to him, “I always knew that you were my most loyal knight.”
The knight replied, “It wath nothing, Your Magethy.”

Okay, that’s all for tonight, Folks. Sleep well and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Current Mood: I’m a’ight.
Current Music: Loud motorcycles outside my house.

Did I just see the Four Horsemen?

Hey Folks. Remember me? I'll bet you do. After that night in Newark with the sexually confused German Goth chick . . . oh yeah! So anyway, my life is chaos. So much is going wrong at the wrong time, or right at the wrong time, or every which way at all times that I feel I will surely perish. Now, wanna hear the worst part? I can't tell you all the juiciest parts. Awesome, huh? After the smoke clears I'll recount all in detail, but for now I can't for the sake of my friends invovled. And it's not just one situation with one group of friends. It's two. Damn. It's nuts, I tells ya. I wish I could say more. I really do. And not just because it would make my blog the most popular in the known surrounding townships. I've been wanting to let a bunch out and onto these pixilated pages for about a week. I can't. For the sake of my friends. Lousy jerks, I wish they all . . . razza fraggin'. Oh well. However, I can tell you some things. Let's start with work, shall we?

Roofing. It was bad before and I didn't think it possible but it got worse. You see, this is how it used to work: I'd arrive at the job, climb to the roof, rip the old shingles off (along with at least two other guys) and then go clean up the old shingles. Moreover, a lot of the jobs were at Doverbrook, which has nice broad, gradually sloping roofs. It was hard, but manageable. Now I am on the roofs all the time. Well, almost all the time. Half the time I am lugging awkward 80lbs bundles of shingles up ladders. The roof I have been working on is neither broad nor gradually sloping. It is insanely steep and high. And I have to nail the shingles on. Not with a nail gun. No. That'd be too easy. With a hammer and loose nails. I'm tired of it. The pay, ten bucks an hour under the table, is almost not worth it. I wanna work in a bookstore. Plus, I'm working out three days a week. I'm sore and tired and without free time. Wah wah wah.

Next, I've been feeling guilty. It's odd how if you consider being guilty about something it gnaws at you until you're sure you're responsible. All I have to go on is rumor and scant evidence, but I think the night of the prom Jess Geoffroy and Mike Mitzgel (I know that's spelt wrong, but you freaking Poles need to learn about a little something called phonetics. Caitlin, I'm lookin' at you.) Anyway, they may have done something they'll both regret. Physically. Invovling bodily fluid exchange. You get where I'm going? I don't know how far they went. I doubt that far, 'cause Mike's a decent guy, but he is a teengae boy, and Jess did look pretty hot, and does worship him . . . . I don't know how strong willed he is. I'm only typing this gossip because I figured everyone already knew and it is to support my larger point. Anyway. I got to thinking that she's only 15. Way too young for that. And that it might do some serious emotional damage. Then I thought, if i hadn't broken up with her, if I had gone along with my original plan to break up after prom, that wouldn't have happened. (If indeed it happened at all.) So I feel bad.

So much for all that work for the fucking school newspaper. It looks like it won't be printed at all. Bastards! I'll try to post it on this blog if I can.

Everything's goin' nuts.

Aaaah!

In about two weeks I'll explainit all. Till then. Stay posted.

I gotta do this more frequently . . .

Here’s the story, Morning Glory: I realize I’ve been lax in my posting over the past, like, three weeks, but I’ve been either busy or lazy or coked up outta my mind. I apologize. From now on I will post at least every two days, hopefully each day. Another deciding factor in this sad state of affairs is the fact that I have exhausted all shocking facts about me. I don’t want my blog to turn into a daily blabfest about my life. As well as I write, even I would get tired of that. (And I usually never tire of reading my own brand of awesome.) Unfortunately, a blabfest it may become. However, not today! There may come a day when the creativity of Rich fails . . . but this is not that day! So onward! Now for wrath! Now for ruin! I can’t believe it’s not butter!

Let me start this post by giving an update on my life. Howzabout we start with the literary front? No, not literary . . . uh . . . the entertainment front. I usually don’t like periodicals . . . at least the ones that don’t have boobs in them, but I just read two articles that I really liked. They were both interviews. One was with 82-year-old stand-up comedy legend Rodney Dangerfield. He’s a pretty cool guy. After a quote “fucking depressing childhood,” a decade of failed comedy, another decade of selling paint, and countless operations, most notably his recent “brain by-pass,” he’s still alive and jokin’. I enjoyed learning about the man behind the red tie (now hanging at the Smithsonian.) The second article was with 50-year-old blue collar liberal hero Michael Moore. There are three types of interviews. There’s the one where the interviewer badgers the interviewee, there’s the one where the interviewee is using the interview as a means of preaching his or her wacked out ideals, and there’s a healthy balanced one. The Moore interview was the kind with the wacky ideals. Those are usually annoying, but this one was quite good. I enjoy Moore’s films and appreciate his courage and sense of humor. This article gave me a taste of his new film, Fahrenheit 9/11, which he gleefully admits is timed to do as much damage as possible to Dubbya before the November election. (Sweet Ma’s Five Alarm Chili! That reminds me. I’ve got to register to vote.)
I probably liked these articles because they deal with issue dear unto my heart: stand-up comedy and liberal politics. If anyone wants to read them, let me know. One’s in a month old Entertainment Weekly, the other in Playboy. They both have really good interviews.
What else I got? Oh, yeah. I saw The Stepford Wives yesterday. It’s about this suspiciously perfect town in Connecticut where . . . ah, you already know what it’s about. You’re not living under rocks. (If you do indeed live under a rock, I apologize. But, as you’re online anyway, just look it up.) Man, I’m writing like EJ tonight. The movie is based on the book of the same name, written by the guy who wrote Rosemary’s Baby. That’s grade-A freaky shit right there. The movie was very good, despite an overly complex yet at the same time overly simplified ending. And it opened my eyes to a few things. Namely that a) reality TV is for the most part odious and completely out of control. I await the days prophesied of in Stevie King’s, The Running Man. b) Christopher Walken needs a good role, ‘cause nowadays he just looks silly doing a lot of stuff. He was good in the movie, and hilarious as only he can be, but he needs another Deer Hunter. Also that Christopher Walken is one scary looking melon farmer. Seriously. And c) the Matthew Broderick is pretty buff now. I’m impressed, Ferris. Now you don’t need charm, luck, and brains to help you against the Dean, you can just throw him out a window. Where was I? Oh yeah, go see The Stepford Wives and vote Walken.
Also on movies: I hope someday soon they have extended marathons of the LOTR trilogy in theaters, ‘cause the extended films are so much better than the ones most of you have seen, and take so much more from the books, but at the same time, the movie needs to be seen on the big screen to be fully appreciated.
One more thing: I like action movies. I used to really love them about 5 years ago or so, and would watch any, bad or good. Now though, I’m a bit more discriminating. Still, a good action movie is a beautiful thing. Here are some of my favorites: The Rock, Die Hard, Lethal Weapon, The Last Boy Scout, The Long Kiss Goodnight, Broken Arrow
What’s that you say? Music? Well, I don’t know . . . I got nothing to say about that except I need to get some new CD’s, the Floyd Patterson Band is pretty good, and I recently realized Britney Spears really can’t sing. And to think all this time I’d been distracted by her . . . body. I mean dancing . . . no, wait, I meant boobs. Also, I like Kenny Chesney. Mostly he plays good Country music, which is hard to find these days. His music is good, his songs are cool, his lyrics are well written. Bravo Kenny. I suggest you all check him out.

Charter Days! Charter Days! Whopdee friggin’ doo! I wasted so much money there I don’t even want to talk about it. And as a whole, my experiences there would be what you’d call “lousy, heartbreaking, and head-ache-inducing.” Nonetheless, I still like carnies, and the Orbiter was an awesome ride. It reminded me of how much fun amusement parks can be. As a result, I plan to go to Six Flags . . . I mean Riverside, soon. Any interested parties let me know. Maybe I won’t have to ride ALONE on every fucking ride again!
The Fireworks were actually pretty damn good. That is, the ‘works themselves. The time as a whole was bad.

Now, a new topic: High School Drama. I know y’all been clamoring for relief from all this crap, but let me elucidate my emotions on the matter. First of all, it’s a lot more difficult to not be involved when you are directly involved. At which time it seems like a pretty important issue, despite what others think. Secondly, for those of you like me, who spent all of High School sheltered from such things, it is not as wearisome to be drawn into the foray. If foray is the word I’m looking for. If you’re jaded with something, whether it’s small or big, relevant or childish, it’s still gonna seem tiring and unnecessary. That said, here we go.
I have made a heartbreaking discovery. I will not divulge the details of said discovery further than that it involves three of my “friends,” dishonesty, teenage hormone-driven lust and four years worth of unrequited love. I will also add that there may be a serious shift in our social circles, causing a lot of tragedy and tears. I wish I could explain it now, but then it might become a self-fulfilling prophesy but suffice to say that when this near-cataclysmic event happens, I will get to shout “Told you so!” to the hills. To the hills, goddamnit! But think no more for now about this foreboding message of danger and mystery.

And on to other things!

Like work. I started officially today. It wasn’t that bad. Got out at 9:30 because of the rain, and that’s that. No clean-up involved, neither.

And now and Official Send Off:

*Trumpet blast*
*Drums come in, hip hop beat turns to solemn but noble march as trumpets resume*
*21 cannons fire*

Boom! Bah-boom boom! Boom!

I enjoyed the company of a long lost friend this weekend. Well, not lost, I knew she was in California. But anyway, my friend Sarah, whom I had not seen since we journeyed to Australia together two years ago, stopped by to be at the send off for her boyfriend, my good buddy, Dan McLaughlin. (I set them up, you know. Matchmaker, Matchmaker, make me a . . . I liked working on Fiddler . . .) Anyway, while she and Dan were physically inseparable, but I did get to talk and joke with her in person for the first time in a long time. I’m extremely glad that she came and wish she could’ve stayed longer. But, hopefully I’ll see her again soon. So:

Goodbye, Sarah!

I hope to get in at least two stand-up comedy shows before school starts. I hope a lot of people can come to them. I really want to do two at PACE, as I know there’d be people there. I’d perform at the Thirsty Mind, or maybe Jester’s, but I don’t know how many people would show. I don’t want to tell jokes on stage to five people. I’ve firmly decided to go through with doing more stand-up because of one person: my grandmother’s boyfriend, Mr. Stanley Dudrick. Stanley is a mountain of good humor and technical no-how. He’s just a big, friendly guy who . . . whom? . . . I’ve only recently become close to, and I think he’d really enjoy the show.


Here’s something I like: I’ll be in a situation and there will be an opportunity to make a witty comment, and I won’t be able to think of one. Then, later, the perfect comment will hit me. Now, this is slightly infuriating, but it makes me happy to know that my mind works subconsciously to develop funny stuff. Maybe this is the same for a lot of people. I just like that humor is so deeply ingrained in my membrane. Ingrained in ma brain! Thank you, Cyprus Hill.

That’s all for now. Stay tuned.

Current Mood: Ducky
Current Music: Reservoir Dogs Soundtrack (The EAR scene.)

"I been away so long . . ."

(The title of this post comes from the song "The Missionary," by Jimmy Buffett.)

Good day to you, Ladies and Gents. I am deeply sorry for my week-long hiatus from posting. What a week it has been! I have a great deal to say, as you could readily imagine, but even more so than usual. I will begin, as is the custom in these instances, at the beginning. Of my hiatus, that is. Let me think back . . . .

As I recall, I last posted nigh on seven days ago, on June 2nd. The entry is not a happy one. Indeed, times were dark for our hero. It was Class Night, and he would not be attending, for he had missed the rehearsal. I spent the day wallowing in shame, went to the school that night, but could not pluck up the courage to enter the gymnasium and face my peers and teachers. I was still sore at ingratitude, still worried about work and summer school. It was a sad day.
The next day was Thursday the 3rd, Graduation. Or, as the authorities feel the need to call it, “Conferring of Diplomas,” because that sounds so much cooler and is what everybody calls it, anyway. (That was sarcasm. More on the subject of sarcasm to follow.) This day was much better than the past week had been. I attended that ceremony and was mostly proud to see my class graduate. I was also proud to have my name on the list of graduates. Either this was some benevolent deed from the powers that be, or it was due to the fact that said being powers ordered the booklets too early to make corrections. The ceremony was conducted with dignity and honor, and I praise my class, my school, and grudgingly Sr. Marlene for that. Four speeches were made that day, as we were lucky enough to have two saluditorians, Evelyn Powell and Marissa Lapointe. Marissa’s speech was light-hearted and simple, while still showing her intellect, and Evelyn’s was impressive and required a good deal of focus and a large vocabulary to appreciate, but it’s meaning was dear to my heart. Peter Slepchuk, our valedictorian (big surprise there, I know) gave another speech, which was clear and good, despite being fanatically censored by Sr. Marlene. The best speech of the day was courtesy of our new bishop, His Excellency Timothy McDonnell. One could doubt the sincerity with which he gave it, or the originality of the theme, but one could not easily disparage the power of the words. The Alumni Choir, as led by Mr. Paul Goddu, was in top form, as was organist Jeffrey Chirgwin. Caitlin Szewcyk, my friend and, in the words of one deluded individual, “sexual object” suffered the indignation of not having her name called. Fortunately, Mr. Matte and Mrs. Kitchell stepped in and made things right. Caitlin got her well-deserved mention. (And Shannon de la Bruere received two mentions.) The best thing about the day was how nice everybody was. This was after I had gotten over the emotional ruination and shed my tears, but before I began to sense condescension and not pity in people’s words. I was able to see the ceremony from front row seats, thanks to Mr and Mrs Celi. They made sure I was in the front, despite my original intent to skulk in the back. Mrs Celi said she was proud of me and gave me words of encouragement and love. Mr Celi was his usual gruff and likeably cool self, but expressed his sympathy and good feelings, nonetheless. I had the privilege of sharing the pew with Mr. Slepchuk, who said two things that made me very happy, that he thought I was funny, and most important, that he hated Sr’s Connie and Marlene. The LeTellier’s were very compassionate as well, and invited my brother and me to Friendly’s after the ceremony, as I had no party of my own to go to. The evening was enhanced by Mr. LeTellier’s good humour and Andrew’s scrap book full of hilarious and heart-warming pictures. Mrs. DeStefano said she had faith in me (and that she won a good deal of money by betting on my not graduating), Mrs. Martinez gave me the most thoughtful and encouraging talk I’ve ever had, and Mr Goddu, the strongest, most sincere hug I’ve ever had from anyone but my parents. I must thank most of all, my classmates, who still consider me one of them and have stood by me like they have, without being critical or mean-spirited.
That night we part-tayed at Will’s house. And by “par-tayed” I mean sat around and laughed at each other’s jokes and signed yearbooks. Mr. Murray gave me quite a scare by slowly maneuvering his crotch in front of my face, but luckily he was merely fixing the bird cage in front of which I was sitting.
Friday I can’t remember what I did. If someone was with me then please fill me in on the details. I think it may have involved the LeTelliers and scallops, but don’t hold me to that.
The same for Saturday.
Sunday, or as I call it, The Day of One Thousand Parties, was needless to say, full. It began in earnest at Brendan Smith’s house, where his dad greeted me in a good-natured and hilarious manner and the friends and food were great . . . despite the early lack of dipping sauce and the fact that Ashley Lapointe put makeup on me. Next was Tony Celi’s party, at the canoe club in SoHo. This was quite some fun. His dad forced delicious pasta dishes upon us (I know what you’re thinking, “A Italian forcing food on someone, and pasta for that matter, you must be crazy) and we ended the party by reenacting several times the storming of the Bastilles using a rake, a club, a bucket, and a tree house. I realized at this party that Stephanie Lepine is incredibly sexy and that Tony is a great guy. I next journeyed to Andrew’s house, where I was confronted by a horde of Andrew’s well-wishing relatives, and several sexay lay-days. Mmmmhello, Lay-days! I also got to spend more time with Andrew’s friend, John. He apparently oft times confuses the two of us, as we’re both semi-buff, hilarious, hormonaly-controlled fellas. One bad thing about this day was how I may have accidentally called an 8-year old girl hot in front of Evelyn Powell. She got all offended , something about that being wrong and having sisters that age. . . jeez, some people can’t take a joke. I kid, it wasn’t as bad as all that. I finally made it to Tony’s birthday party, which was so crowded with friends and enemies that if we had all been gassed we would have remained standing for there would be no room to fall down. It was fun! I especially enjoyed the anime parody “Labyrinth (Loverinth?) of Flames.”

Something occurred to me while enjoying the week’s festivities. I realized that I wasn’t treating every moment with my friends as if it were the last. At first I was disconcerted. I felt I wasn’t enjoying their company enough and that I’d regret not being more aware then after we had parted ways. Then I had a mini epiphany. I realized that maybe that’s how it should be. If I were focusing on every moment I’d never appreciate the whole thing. Someone, I think it was my dad, told me right before the epiphany that nothing makes sense until it’s done. You can’t fully understand anything while it’s going on. I believe now that this is the way to say good-bye to friends, slowly, but not acting very much differently than you would under normal circumstances. You have to have fun as you normally would with those close to you, and then after you say good-bye you can cherish that time, not during it. I wrote a short message to put into one of Brendan’s awesome and speedily written songs. Some people liked it. So, I decided to immortalize it on this here blog.*


In life, we are tested by, and sometimes broken upon, obstacles known as insecurity, loss, fear, and regret. We survive these trials through the most well known form of divine intervention: Friends. Our friends are what ensure that we are not destroyed, but made stronger after passing through the fire; that we are forged anew. They are God’s way of helping us pass His tests for us.
But their most important effect is not aiding us in the present. Rather, a friend’s most crucial purpose in our lives is to shape us into the people we are becoming. The love and companionship of a friend are often most evident after we have parted ways, for through the times they make us laugh or hold us when we cry, give us advice or help us realize something about ourselves, we are forever changed. So, a friend’s impact on our lives is with us always . . . long after we say goodbye.

Monday I did some other stuff. . . mostly getting ready for the beach, no biggy there.

Tuesday! Tuesday! Need I say more? I need? Alright, then. On Tuesday, that's Tuesday, I went to Hampton Beach with some of my favoritest people in the world: Andy "Crock-pot" LeTellier, Kit Kat Szewcyk, EJ "The Wind Massa, Evelyn "Hottie" Powell, and Daniel "Shifty-eyes-McGee" McLaughlin. Now, I know this beach trip sounds like roses and cauliflower, but it was in reality quite an ordeal. Lemme 'splain. We all had to get up early with little sleep, myself especially. I had gotten 2 hours, to be exact. We all convened at La Casa LeTellier and set out at 6 of the clock. After 2 hours of driving we hit a snag. Two tractor trailer trucks collided and burst into flames and such, and this held up traffic for obvious reasons. By the time we got to my friend's house in Littleton, Massachusetts, it was 8 twenny foe-wah. We then drove for about another hour and a half to Hampton Beach. We parked several miles away, because my friends are geniuses, and lugged our goods to the sand dunes on the horizon. While crossing the street, we met an eccentric truck driver, who let us pass, but threatened in a gruff Southern accent to "Take a belt to us" if we did not hurry. He then requested that the girls show him their bellies. Now I don't know how they run things in the South, but were he here now I would challenge him to a duel. May he contract a venerial disease though intercourse with his mother/sister, the cad! Where was I? Oh yeah, the main problem with Koreans is that they . . . wait, that's not where I was. Lemme check . . . . . . . . . Okay, right, the beach. Things started out badly, actually, once we hit the sand. This happened for two reasons. First off, I have come to the sad realization that I am not the worlds greatest frisbee player. In fact I . . . what's the word I'm looking for? . . . Suck. That's it. I suck at frisbee. Suck harder, indeed, at frisbee than I would on Evelyn's toes. Still, Andy was the usual patient good sport/great friend he always is, and I didn't feel as worse as I could have. The second reason that I thought I had made a mistake in coming was my insecurity and self-consciousness about my body. I felt very uncomfortable at first, but built up enough courage to take off my shirt and head to the water. This is thanks in no small part to Caitlin, who encouraged me to go try the water. No, about the water. It was cold. And When I say cold, know, dear reader, that I mean Ball-Shriekingly Freezing. It gave one the impression that one's blood was now composed of little shards of ice. I don't know how it was for the ladies, but as a guy, I can say that once you were up to your waste you longed for the numbness to set in. Hilariously enough, it never did. Nonetheless, EJ, Andrew, Caitlin, and myself, intrepidly braved the frozen waters, dodging ice bergs and evading leopard seals, and proved ourselves Champions of the Waves! Plus, the cold gave me a nipple erection like you wouldnae believe and that makes anybody look better.
The day was full of things to do, read, relax, eat; there was no shortage of good food. We also took a walk to the jetty. The five of us clambering across the peninsula of boulders, laughing and jesting away. EJ and I leapt the rocks with ease, and Evelyn out did us both in grace and finesse. Danny McLaughlin made it to the tip of the outcropping first, and sat brooding pensively over the waves like a guy in a book. There was also no shortage of sexy bodies to gaze upon, though none so beautiful to mine eye as that of Evelyn Powell. Best of all she was barefoot. I actually got to lie quiet close to her on the blanket, and that was, as pathetic as this sounds, kinda thrilling. (More on Evelyn a lil' later on.) The day wore on well. I love what the beach does to my hair. I looked so cool. We headed for home at about 3 o'clock, as Dan had the Declamtaion Delight to attend. EJ and I were the only souls brave enough to drive the 4 hours home under the influence of enormous fatigue. It was quite frightening for the first half hour, I had to grasp the wheel firmly and slap myself repeatedly to avoid swerving off the road. We made good time, though, mostly because I was going 90 on the highway! Zooom! It was a great day, despite the tiredness and sunburns which ensued. The back of my legs is all burnt up. It hurts like a bitch, if I may use the expression. Nothing is worse than a burn.
Later that day we went to Chili's, where I made the mistake of ordering a fajita again. I hate those things. In case you know not what they are, a fajita is a crafty sort of Mexican dish which is comprised of a skillet of meat and fried vegetables, a plate of cheese and cold vegetables and sauces, and soft corn tortillas. They must be manually assemled into soft shelled tacos, and do not come with instructions. I have no idea what I'm doing whilst I makes 'em, but I am told I do it well, and that it appeares to be an art form.
Now, about Evelyn. I have decided to resort to what I have code named "Plan B." Let me brief y'all on it. When I first resolved to express my feeling towards her to her . . . uh . . . yeah, that's right . . . I confided in mi amigo, Brendan Smith. He has been the driving force in this operation. Some of the last advice he gave me was, "Tone down the romantic angle. Tell her you'd like to hang out with her more and get to know her better." I saw the wisdom in this. However, as it turns out, I am spending more time with her this summer, so I do not need the first monolgue, only the second. This I will deliver in good time. I also want to organize a send-off for her before she leaves for Honduras on a mission of charity. This would be better than organizing a send off after she got back. She leaves June 28th. So let's get crackin'.

Uh . . . what else is there to say? Oh yeah, Sarcasm. Sarcasm is a key part of humour, but it must be used wisely. One must use proper inflection so that the sarcasm is subtle, but perceptible. Evelyn has trouble with this. It makes me feel kinda stupid. Hopefully after I get to know her better she will be less sarcastic, more open and honest, and also I'll be able to tell when she is which.

I am happy happy happ happ happerroo. This is because of many many theengs. Let me tell you some of them.

First and-a foremost, it appears I will not have to go to summer school after all. Alls I need ta do is finish that paper, an' some other stuff. So, hurray.

Next, I just finished Jeeves and the Tie that Binds, my favorite P.G. Wodehouse book, and started The Hobbit.

I have discovered the music of Howie Day. Thanks, AL.

I will be going to Charter Days this weekend with some friends, and also hopefull working on Undying Love.

I have found the best place to buy low priced DVD's: Target.

Perhaps some day everyone will explode.

I want to wish anyone with love problems good luck and tell them they are in my prayers. You know who you are.

No Joke Corner for tonight, just a funny story.

Funny Story:

My friend Jutsin LeTellier and his friend Drew, were listening to the comedic stylings of Dave Attell, on his Skanks for the Memories CD while on a road trip. They made the mistake of leaving the CD case in the car . . . the family car. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, the admirably pious, but somewhat sensitive Mrs. LeTellier found the case. Taking her sons, Andrew and Justin, aside, she began to harangue them about the topics Mr. Attell chose to cover.
"Why would you listen to this filth? He talks about dirty sex and drugs and alcohol. He makes fun of people with disabilties. He talks about masturbating. How could my boys be thinking about masturbating?!"
Passing by and hearing this, Mr. LeTellier said, "Boys don't think about masturbating, they just do it."
Enraged and distracted from the two sorry youngsters she was yelling at, she threw Mr. LeTellier into another room, walked in, and slammed the door after herself. In this way did Mr. LeTellier take a bullet for his two sons, and make a funny witticism at the same time. Way to go. My hat's off to you, Mr. L. Rock on!

Current Mood: Happy, despite fatigue and burnation.
Current Music: The sounds of the rain.

*Author's Note: When I went to publish this blog last night, I double clicked on the PUBLISH button. I thought it published two copiies of the entry, it only published one and a half. I deleted the full one, and left my readers with half a blog and lots of confusion. Here is the re-written post, as completely true to the first as the drugs allowed me to remember.

I'm Confused.

This is probably the weirdest I’ve felt in a while. I am currently filled with such a range of emotions and confused thoughts and motives that I have no idea what to do. I just hope I can do something. The one thing I don’t want to be is mediocre. If I do something good, great. If I do something stupid, that’s okay, too. There are two songs which have lyrics which sum this feeling up nicely. One is by Sister Hazel. It’s called Your Mistake, and the lines go like this:
I wanna be seen,
I wanna get clean,
I wanna just fall out of in between.
The other one is from a song called Rain King, by Counting Crows. The lyrics are as follows:
Don’t try to bleed me,
‘Cause I been here before
an’ I deserve a little more,
I belong in the service of a queen,
I belong anywhere but in between.
So there you have it. Actually, as I sit writing this I am completely directionless, so forgive the awkward wanderings of my words as I try to convey all my thoughts in the best way I can.

First off, about the whole Evelyn thing, I screwed up royally. It wasn’t completely my fault, but I still despise myself for being such a coward. Brendan Smith was such a great guy to help me with this endeavor. He planned out an entire picnic at Dufrense Park after the last exam last Thursday. (I mean the picnic was then, not that he did the planning then. It took longer than that to plan.) Unfortunately, Evelyn did not show up. She was busy with stuff for the prom. I was then given advice by all my friends to talk to her at the prom itself. This was something I did not want to do at all. I was either too scared or too busy having a good time to make any sort of move, and not until I saw her slow dancing with Brian Rodiwitz did I realize I could ask her to dance . . . and probably have a good shot at getting the affirmative, based on who I saw she was willing to dance with. Sadly, this was the fourth to last dance, and the second to last slow dance. The last slow dance is really for original couples. I was on the dance floor about to ask her when Mike walked up and grabbed her from behind. With my heart in my throat, I found my date and danced the last dance with her. In retrospect, I’m glad it happened that way. If I had asked Evelyn, she probably would have declined and danced with Mike, as was right. If she had accepted, where would that leave Jenny, my date? No, I’m glad happened, sad as it was. However, I did get to dance with Steve’s girlfriend Katherine and Stephanie Lepine. Oddly enough, hot as Katherine is, and was especially so that night, I did not become embarrassingly aroused as I danced. I did with Steph. I don’t know what would be worse, if she noticed I had what the Aussie’s call a “half-mongrel” going, or if she did not notice. (Think about it.) After the prom I went to Brendan’s house for a little after prom orgy . . . I mean party. (Even when I’m on the verge of tears I still can’t stop making jokes. I make myself sick sometimes.) Anyway, we hung out and played a game of Scrabble. It was Andrew LeTellier and Kris Lavertue on one team (they lost horribly, even while cheating, but were fun to watch), Ashley Lapointe and her boyfriend Jerry on another, Brian by himself (he won, the genius bastard!), and Marissa Lapointe, Evelyn, and myself on the last team. That’s right, Brian was a good enough Scrabble player to beat me, Marissa, and Evelyn . . . combined! I managed to make Evelyn laugh, a good thing, and Mike’s friend showed up and managed to out-gay Mike (a near impossible feat) which was also good for my cause, but as we were leaving I had a chance to say something to her an blew it. Thanks a lot, cowardice! Last time I leave the situation up to you. What was I thinking? So that was that. I made several attempts to contact her over the weekend, called her, had friends invite her to get togethers, but to no avail. And now that she knows I’m not graduating, I doubt she’ll be much inclined to want to have much to do with me. Nothing against Evelyn, I don’t mean she’s shallow or anything, I myself even find it a bit pathetic. (The fact that I’m not graduating, I mean.). On top of that, she’s just so . . . uh . . . what’s the word I want? (Gee, I wonder why I lost at Scrabble . . .). Imperious, impervious, unapproachable, out-of-my-league? Getting the picture? Intimidating! That’s what I was going for. Brendan said he was afraid of her Freshman year, but when he told he that she laughed and warmed up immediately. Maybe so, but that doesn’t change the fact that, while I’m normally inept at talking to girls, I’m especially inept at talking to beautiful, smart, confident, capable girls like Evelyn, no matter how harmless they may be. I don’t know if I should even keep trying. I think I’ll talk to her at one of the parties on Saturday or Sunday. So, that’s that update, and the first thing I’m worrying over.

I heard the little poem-speech thing I wrote went over well at Bacc Mass. Mostly because of Brendan’s great song that it fit into like a substrate into an enzyme . . . whoa. Where’d that analogy come from? It’s a pretty good one, but what am I thinking about Biology for at a time like this? Anyway . . . and because of Meg’s excellent reading skills. Sadly, Sr. Marlene still doesn’t know I wrote it. I’m trying hard lately to figure out if I’d be sad or happy if she died. I think a bit of both. I like what she does for HCHS as a whole, but when it comes to her as a person, I wouldn’t mind it if she were hit by a truck. I wish I went to Bacc Mass, and that I was going to Class Night. Unfortunately, I’m not. There are many reasons, but one is that I really don’t feel like part of my class anymore. I vowed that even though I wouldn’t be graduating I would still be one of the 80-something integral pieces of ‘04, but I guess the administration succeeded in breaking my spirit. I don’t feel less than or greater than . . . just different than the rest of my class. I don’t necessarily hate the feeling. Nor do I hate the administration for all that they’ve done to me. I hate them with almost all my soul, but for other reasons. And don’t say it’s because deep down I know I deserve what I’m getting. It’s hard enough without people being assholes about it. No one deserves this. However, I am over it. I’m just feeling lousy today.

I skipped work. It’s because I’m really nervous and don’t look forward to a summer of roofing. But still, it adds to my anxiety. My head kinda hurts as well.

I’d like to thank everyone who was at Andrew’s last night for being so supportive of me. Even his parents. It means more to me than you could know.

Speaking of Andrew’s, I saw a darn good movie there last night. Bubba Ho-tep. The plot is as follows: Elvis is not dead, but for reasons which do not matter, is now residing in an East Texas nursing home, where his only friends are a crazy old black man who may or may not be JFK, and another loony who might be the Lone Ranger. Elvis’s problems, aside from his hip, arthritis, and a growth on his “pecker,” are a lifetime of regrets, a patronizing nursing staff, and a 3,000 year old soul-sucking mummy in cowboy duds. Together, he and JFK try to stop the fiend and save the souls of their fellow senior citizens. Besides the ludicrous plot, other highlights of the film include a seriously scary mummy, cool setting, Ossie Davis’s crazy Jack Kennedy, and Bruce “Evil Dead’s Ash” Cambell’s lovable portrayal of a crotchety but heroic King, I also borrowed some CD’s from Grade-A (my new nickname for Andrew), and am currently listening to the sometimes funny, sometimes melancholy, always insightful sounds and lyrics of the Ben Folds Five. Maybe that’s why I’m in such a sad mood.

We got a bit of a start on Undying Love, but need to get to work badly. It’s a greater undertaking than I imagined. We’ll hopefully work more on it today.

I’m also sad because it’s Wednesday and I can’t see Angel because it’s been canceled. I guess it’s like my relationships with a lot of people at Catholic: I waited until the last minute to see how great they are, and before I know will not be able to see them again. Of course, I can always rent them on DVD . . . .

I need to clean my house.

I am angry at ingratitude. I spent my entire Sunday, from 10:00 in the a.m. until 11:30 at night helping Lisa Reist. My dad and I moved every gigantic piece of furniture they had up the insanely steep and cramped staircase of their house and all I got for it was scrapes on my arms, raw hands, and a sore back. I also painted for three hours. (Slightly off the subject, I painted alongside Dave Morneau and realized he’s a pretty good guy). Anyway, I figured, I spent my entire Sunday that I could’ve used to see friends, brood over my life, or not talk to Evelyn, to move them in, but now I’m done. Let them unpack. It’s their freaking stuff, their freaking house. Maybe I’m being a jerk, but it was a rough day. I didn’t even get lunch because her mom wouldn’t go to two places and so we had to have SUBWAY, despite the fact that most of us wanted McDonald’s. And let me tell you, if you have your heart and taste buds set on McDonald’s, the last thing you want is SUBWAY. Where was I? Oh, yeah. I figured I was done helping. But they wanted me to come back to help unpack their dining room. I had already made plans to go over Andrew’s house, but did that matter? No. And to top this off, after some talking back and forth on the phone, I ended up with a call from Lisa saying that we didn’t have to ignore her calls anymore because she wouldn’t be calling for help anymore. What? I helped move you out of your old home, took a day off of school to do it, and then helped you paint your new home and move into that, and you have the gall to say that to me because I didn’t come to help you unpack your dining room? Phah! And what’s more, I didn’t ignore her calls, I was screening my calls and she didn’t leave a message! How was I supposed to know? Whew. Anyway . . . .

I’d like to publicly apologize to Dan for standing him up yesterday. It was me being scared and thoughtless. I’m sorry.

Wow. From the look of my blog you’d think I wasn’t feeling to well.

I may be sad and distressed for a lot of reasons, but I do feel good about some things. Namely, my lunch, two DVD’s a borrowed from AL, a full day ahead of me, getting this blog done, and a whole bookcase to organize. I really am a contradictory person. I am ridiculously disorganized, but for some reason enjoy organizing things. Especially books.

I have a few announcements to make.

Anyone who is interested, talk to me about going to the beach on Tuesday the 8th.

Anyone who is interested, talk to me about going to a Ba’hai fireside some Monday.

Anyone who is interested , talk to me about going to a midnight screening of Rocky Horror Picture Show some Saturday. Or don’t. It’s actually, in my opinion, a waste of time, sleep, and money. The lights and call lines and cast ruin the movie, and the atmosphere is not what I’d call pleasant. It leaves you with a headache. Maybe it’s an acquired taste. I still want to go in full Frank N. Furter garb to one show.

I still need an invitation to Graduation. I have heard from a reliable indirect source that they don’t check invitations, but I really want to make sure I can go. So, if anybody has any, please see me about it.

I also need to do work on HCHSFTCT guidelines for the HCHSFTCT cadets soon to be captains.

I wanna know when the freaking paper is coming out! I worked hard on those three articles!

For tonight, as I will not be there to correct this, my Senior quotations were miswritten. Stupid incompetent yearbook staff! I had down these three:
“I have more desire to stay than will to go.” -Shakespeare. (That one is ironic, isn’t it?)
“Have a wit as sharp as a dagger and a heart as soft as tofu.” -Chinese proverb.
“Cake or death?” -Eddie Izzard.

They put the proverb as an Izzard quote and left out the “Cake or Death?”, the bastards!

Anyway, anyone who wants to sign my yearbook, go right ahead, just see my brother about. That’s right, lil’ Sammy Cordova will be there handin’ ‘em out. Just keep it nice and try to leave out any, “Too bad you didn’t graduate, you stupid jerk.” comments.

And now, to wind things down, or rather, wrap them up:

Richard’s Joke Corner:

What’s the difference between sin and shame?
It’s a sin to put it in, but it’s a shame to pull it out. . . . you get it? Because they’re talking about a penis! Ha!

A man walked into a dentist’s office and said, “Can you help me? I think I’m a moth.”
The dentist said, “You don’t need a dentist, you need a psychiatrist.”
“Yes, I know,” said the man.
Then asked him, “So then why did you come in here?”
The man replied, “The light was on.”

A machine operator came home from the factory and told his wife, “I’ve got some good news and I’ve got some bad news.” The good news first: I got 25,000 dollars in severance pay.”
“That’s great,” said his wife, “but does that mean that you got fired?”
“No,” said the man, “but wait till you hear what got severed!” . . . . you get it? Because they’re talking about a penis! Ha!

A brunette secretary said to a blonde secretary, “I know how to get some time off of work.”
“How,” asked the blonde.
Without talking, the brunette climbed up on the file cabinet, grabbed a hold of the ceiling lamb, and just hung there. The boss came in and asked her what she was doing.
“I’m a lightbulb.”
“Wow,” her boss, “You need some time off.”
The brunette walked out the door. The blonde began to follow her. The boss asked her, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Home,” said the blonde, “I can’t work in the dark.”

Current Mood: Happy, for the first time today, but still messed up.
Current Music: Dave Attell's comedy stylings ("That's not music, you douche bag!" -Steve)