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Saturday, January 24th, 2009
12:29 am - Mr. Pleasant
I think the title was the best one. 

1. Put your iTunes on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your next answer.
3. You must write that song name down no matter how outrageous it sounds!


IF SOMEONE SAYS, “IS THIS OKAY” YOU SAY?
Oxford Comma (Vampire Weekend)

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
TV Shooters (Radar)

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT OFTEN?
Flash (Queen)

WHAT IS 2+2?
Such Great Heights (The Postal Service)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Gathering Storm / "Welcome To Barco Am/Pm..." / Cancer Towers On Holy Road Hi-Way (Godspeed You Black Emperor)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Apache Rose Peacock (Red Hot Chili Peppers)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
The Sound of Silence (Simon & Garfunkel)

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP? 
Freedom / The Execution / Bannockburn (Braveheart Soundtrack)

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE? 
Little Queen of Spades (Robert Johnson)

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Are You A Hypnotist?? (The Flaming Lips)

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Cecilia (Simon & Garfunkel)

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Nobody Knows Me At All (The Weepies)

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Country Boy (Ricky Skaggs)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
King Kong (The Kinks)

WHAT’S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
Berkely Mews (The Kinks)

HOW WILL YOU DIE?
Earl's Breakdown (Earl Scruggs, Lester Flatt & The Foggy Mountain Boys)

WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
Shadows Fall (The Coral)

WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
Annie-Dog (The Smashing Pumpkins)

WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
Lookin' for a Rope (Myster-E)

WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
Boogie Stop Shuffle (Charles Mingus)

WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
Brandenberg Concerto No. 2 F Major Andante (Deutsche Bachsolisten)

DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
Don't Stay Home (311)

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
She's Leaving Home (The Beatles)

WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
The Song Remains the Same (Led Zeppelin)

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS? 

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Saturday, December 6th, 2008
10:35 am - A Question
Here's a question I'd like to hear various answers to: when you're people watching/ when you see a stranger, are you more likely to a.) make up a story about that person's life or b.) be filled with an immense curiosity (without a specific story) about who that person is and what makes them tick?  Or is it some combination of the two?  I ask because I used to do a. and now I find myself much more often doing b. - although it hasn't gotten to the point where I'm likely to strike up a conversation with them and ASK them.  Maybe I'll get there eventually. 

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Wednesday, November 28th, 2007
12:08 pm - A Christmas Poem

I just read this poem in the December issue of First Things magazine (which can be found in the T-School library unless Walter Orthwein has absconded with it, as he often does).  I like it.

The Magi

Christmas Eve, the Word made Flesh,
We put the baby in the manger,
But could not add them to the creche --
They still had miles of doubt and danger.

They set out from the staircase landing,
Traveling lightly and untrammeled:
One was kneeling, one was standing,
And our favorite was cameled.

Past falling cards and other perils
They crossed the piano's dark plateau
Where someone fumbled Christmas carols
And sang of silence, stars and snow.

They camped wherever they were able,
A potted fern for an oasis.
From shelf to windowsill to table,
Night by night, we'd change their places.

The thrill of our own gifts forgot,
No longer new, the batteries
Gone dead, at last they'd reach the spot,
One king already on his knees,

One kneeling, while the camel grunted --
Twelve whole days of Christmas hence --
To give what no child ever wanted:
Gold and myrrh and frankincese.

- A.E. Stallings

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Wednesday, May 16th, 2007
1:24 am - Ron Paul: Post-Debate Interview
Here's the interview: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xEZO7MPxJIs.  I think he expresses his position more clearly here.

Like I said in the last post, I do disagree with him about some things.  For example, his comment about us being in "their" holy land is partly true and partly not: the Saudi government allowed the U.S. to build bases there, and so the U.S. wasn't forcing itself on Saudi Arabia any more than the Saudi government does.  As much as Islamists would like Saudi Arabia to be under their control, it isn't, and that's a good thing.

But we still shouldn't be building bases and trying to prop up regimes that we think may be friendly to us.  Maybe in extreme circumstances when it was obvious that international law had been broken - when one country is attacking another, for example, as with Iraq and Kuwait - it's ok for us to send troops; but beyond these cases I don't think we have any right to try to run the governments of other nations.  Again, I think I disagree with Ron Paul on this - I think he might say we should NEVER get in any war other than to defend ourselves - but his position is much, much closer to mine than any of the other candidates.

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12:30 am - Ron Paul
So, I watched the Republican debates earlier tonight, but I missed what might have been the most important part (at least from my point of view).  Luckily, the post-show talked about it over and over again, and then I found it on youtube.  What I missed was Ron Paul, who is basically a libertarian, saying that our foreign policy and our actions in the middle east were partly responsible for 9/11.  Giuliani immediately jumped on this and demanded a retraction, which the crowd cheered (and the crowd cheered only one or two other times during the debate).  Here's the clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sk334TbliaY.

Right now I'm really, really frustrated.  I'm partly frustrated because I wish Ron Paul had said something like, "Listen, there's no excuse for terrorism, and 9/11 was obviously a terrible, terrible thing; all I'm saying is that our presence in the Arab world is something cited time and again by Al Quaeda as the reasons for attacks on Americans."  I think he meant that, but it did come across a little like he was saying we deserved it, and of course that was twisted and spun to make him sound like an anti-American demon.

And that's what really bothers me.  That someone cannot even speak the truth about this issue without being implicity accused of hating America and loving terrorists.  I've read the Al Qaeda manifestos, I've asked Greg Rose what they object to about America, I've studied it, and I've come to the conclusion that Ron Paul is right: Islamist terrorists attacked us and continue to target Americans because they occupy Arab lands and support governments that they hate.  Now, whether we should support those governments is another issue; but the very clear facts are that all the calls for "jihad" against Americans list their involvement in Arab affairs as the primary reason.

Ron Paul had some really good things to say in his post-debate interview; I'll put up a link to it as soon as I can find it on youtube.  I don't agree with him on everything, but Ron Paul seems to be the only candidate in the race whose understanding of foreign affairs is remotely based on reality.  He'll get my vote in the primary.

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Monday, February 19th, 2007
3:20 pm - It's 2007!
I figured I should post at least one entry a year.  Yep.  So.  See you in 2008!

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Tuesday, April 4th, 2006
8:12 pm
Dear Coleman
I am dying from neglect.
Love, your livejournal

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Tuesday, January 18th, 2005
12:57 am
So I'm thinking about leaving Kenyon and going back to BACONC for spring term. Here are the pros and cons.

PROS:
I could study subjects that would be useful for my life (e.g. religion, business), especially if I decide to be a minister.
I would be more able to bring people to the church and bring the church to people (yes, it's possible out here, and I should be doing more of it, but I don't have any church or support system or house where I can invite people in).
I would be able to have discussions about religion and be in close contact with New Church people.
It's not in the middle of nowhere: I could have connections to people who weren't connected to the college. Kenyon is more of a bubble than Bryn Athyn is (because Bryn Athyn is really an optional bubble surrounded by many other places and people).
Friends are there.
It's more comfortable.
I'd be happier overall.
If I come back this spring rather than next year I might actually be able to graduate on time, which means less time at school (hooray!).

CONS:
I'd miss out on Kenyon classes that I couldn't take at B.A. (e.g. acting, constitutional law).
It would be giving up before I've really started to fit in here - I know that this term I could actually let myself make friends and try to form real bonds with non-church friends.
It would be more difficult to find people with whom I could share the church.
I probably wouldn't get a full refund.
I'd feel like a total quitter.
I would be in the same homogeneous town where I grew up.

When you get right down to it, I really just don't like school, no matter where I am. I want to start DOING, to start living, working, but I need a degree for that. Plus I need to learn more.

Right now I'm leaning towards coming back, but it's not sure at all. Please give me suggestions and advice! One thing, though: if you think I should be in the "real world," know that Kenyon is pretty far from the real world: it's a tiny campus in the middle of rural Ohio, completely self-contained and bearing nothing in common with anything around it. Yes, it's very different from Bryn Athyn, but then again so is Hollywood, and few people would call THAT the real world. Other than that, please bombard me with your valuable advice.

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Sunday, September 19th, 2004
8:19 pm - Ohio
Today: I was going to write a poem. And I did write part of it. But then I didn't like it very much, and now I'm not sure if I'm going to finish it. I'm starting to think I don't like poetry very much. Or maybe I give up too easily. Either way, I want to do something that makes people happy. In fact, I want everything I do to have as an end making people happy. That's difficult, perhaps impossible. I don't care.
I'm doing it anyway.
I tend to be a little bit preachy in my poetry. Actually, I tend to be a little bit preachy in general, especially recently. That's not a good thing, for the most part, unless I'm really meaning what I say and not rattling off my opinions. It's hard. The poem I'm writing is about revenge and empathy, but it's hard to get to a place where I real FEEL everything I'm writing. I want it to make people cry. In a happy way, though. That ain't easy.
I think I want to be a lawyer or a minister.
Words don't satisfy me the way they used. They feel so empty.
I need to talk to people, argue with people, discuss things with people. Who wants to argue and discuss things with me? Bring it on, I say, bring it on.
I need something to do. I'm restless. I finish my homework and I want more, not just conversation, I want some big project. I want to be in a play, maybe. Earlier today I was in the best mood I've been in for a long time. Now I feel the weight of whatever has been weighing me down so much lately again. I think I know what it is, partly: the overwhelming unreality of living in a world where I'm not close enough to anyone to know anyone's pain or suffering or joy. I've shut myself off a lot, I think, and I did it long before I came to Kenyon. I've been living in my own dead world for a long time, and I've been trying to crawl out of it, but I often slide back down.
This is B.S. No more philosophical rantings for me.
I won't delete what I just wrote. But I regret that I wrote it. Negativity breeds negativity, and I'm actually just as capable of being upbeat and excited about life as I am of being gloomy.
I think I might do some research on Habitat for Humanity and write an article about it for the school paper, maybe about whether or not it's as good as it seems to be (I haven't read one negative thing about it after searching on the internet, which makes me slightly suspicious). I think part of my gloominess comes from a lack of intellectual stimulation. I haven't been seeking out truth much, lately. I need to do that. That's why I think I could definitely be happy being a lawyer: trying to piece a case together, to find out some truth behind it and show what the truth is.
Also, I'm going to finish this poem I'm writing, and it's going to be darned good.
Also, I realized what was wrong with my novella: Adam doesn't DO anything to repent. Doing has power.
I gotta do some stuff. I think I'm going to go do that now.

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Sunday, December 21st, 2003
3:54 pm - Balzac
Turns out my memory's not so good; Balzac didn't actually stick the coffee under his lip. He did something much, much tougher: “At last I have discovered a horrible and cruel method,” he writes, “which I recommend only to men of excessive vigour, with coarse black hair, a skin of mingled ochre and vermilion, squarish hands and legs like the balustrades in the Palace Louis XV. It consists in the employment of a decoction of ground coffee taken cold and anhydride (a chemical term which signifies ‘little or no water’) and on an empty stomach. This coffee falls into your stomach, which, as you have learned from Brillat-Savarin, is a sack with a velvety interior, lined with little pores and papillae; it finds nothing else, so it attacks this delicate and voluptuous lining; it becomes a sort of food which demands its digestive juices; so it wrings them forth, it demands them as a pythoness calls upon her god, it maltreats those delicate walls as a truckman maltreats a pair of young horses; the plexus nerves inflame, they burn and send their flashes to the brain. Thereupon everything leaps into action; thoughts and ideas rush pell-mell over one another, like battalions of the grand army on the field of battle, and the battle takes place. Recollections arrive in a headlong charge, with banners flying; the light cavalry of comparisons advances in a magnificent gallop; the artillery of logic hurries up with its gun-carriages and ammunition; flashes of wit arrive like so many sharp-shooters; the action develops; the paper slowly covers over with ink, for the night’s work has begun, and it will end in torrents of black water, like the battle in torrents of black powder.” (http://etext.library.adelaide.edu.au/b/b19zk/chapter5.html)

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3:13 am - Gasp.
What is this? Two LiveJournal updates in the same week? Yes. I blame coffee entirely. Here's why: this evening (which was a lovely evening), I went first to the Eagle Diner, and there consumed two and a half cups of coffee. Following this, I returned to good old BA, there picked up Natalie, and departed again, this time to the Dunkin Donuts. There I consumed a small coffee, which is in reality not all that small. I thought I was finished, but just as I neared Natalie's house to take her home, and was about to drop off the others (the others being Dibb and Beast) (I had already dropped off Jason) (his house coming before Natalie's) who should call but Hans. Of course he wanted to go somewhere to eat, so we all went along to the aptly named Yum-Yum bakeshop, where I consumed more coffee. Thus am I awake.
Before all this diner-hopping nonsense, I went to the Barnes and Noble for the purpose of purchasing books with my Gift Card (for which I am eternally grateful). I purchased several books. One of these books was by Honore de Balzac, who is French, or was French until he died. Do people keep their nationality when they die? I don't know. Here's why I bought this book by him:

1.) Balzac read Swedenborg, and in fact wrote good things about him in his novels, which means he's a Good Guy.

2.) Balzac died of too much caffeine in his system. He drank a lot of coffee. A LOT of coffee. Even more than I drank tonight. Then when he got sick of drinking it, he'd grind it up really fine in stick it in his lip like dip. Which means that he was the toughest guy ever. Or at least the toughest French guy ever. Which isn't saying a lot, I suppose. (Because the French are wimps.) (Or so I've been told.) (I only know one Frenchman, and he doesn't seem all that wimpy, but perhaps they're wily as well.) (They would be.) (Dirty Frenchmen.)

I also bought other books, these being Ovid's Metamorphoses, Les Miserables (little known fact: it's actually pronounced "Lay Meez-air-ahb", not "Less Miserables". Believe it or not.), and Don Quixote, all of which I may never read but which will certainly make me look more intelligent to people browsing my bookshelf.

I choose to stop now.

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Friday, December 19th, 2003
12:51 am - Excitations
Well. Well well well. Christmas is coming. The goose is getting fat. Etc. So, it seems as if I haven't updated this journal in a long time. Here's what I did do, though: I went back and read all my entries, and in doing so depressed myself, because I used to be so much more amusing than I am now. Oh well.

Here's some things that I'm excited about:

1.) I have a rubber ducky. Not just any rubber ducky, though. This rubber ducky has a baby rubber ducky embedded in its back. When you squeeze the larger rubber ducky (the mommy), the smaller rubber ducky (the baby) POPS right up out of its mommy's back. It's the miracle of birth, rubber ducky style.

2.) In addition to the rubber ducky, I have a plastic Santa-head cup. The straw sticks directly out of the middle of Santa's head. Santa has a rather surprised expression on his face, as if he was not expecting anyone to drink the contents of his head.

3.) I just received (probably from the person who provided objects 1 and 2)(Becky Walker, probably, if you want to get specific) a mug that says "I Love My Grandpa," or actually, "I [Heart Symbol] My Grandpa." And I do.

4.) My father has some work gloves with no fingertips (they were designed that way). Currently they are sitting on my desk. I said I would return them, but now I'm thinking perhaps I'd rather not, because they are awesome, and make me look like a bum. And because now I can pick my nose while wearing gloves. Or anyone else's nose, really. But mostly because they make me look like a bum. Oh yeah, they're also comfortable.

5.) I'm done Christmas shopping.

6.) My facial-hair has been described as "pirate-esque," which allows me to imagine I look like Johnny Depp, which in turn allows me to imagine that nearly every girl in the world is in love with me. All I have to do now is replace my hands with scissors and I've got it made.

7.) I got a cellular telephone. I'd like to tell you the phone number, but my daddy would be angry, so I'll just tell you the last four digits: 1098. The first digits are the same as those of such people as my brother or my other brother or my sister or my mom, or also Lydia. That should be enough of a hint, I think. Yes, yes it is.

That's all.

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Friday, August 8th, 2003
3:09 am - 3:14 is the current time
Here I am, writing in my LiveJournal at 3:15 in the morning. How crazy. I just finished reorganizing all the emails from my inbox into neato little categorized folders. The friends folder has the most, which is quite nice. I had so much to write, I thought, but apparantly I was wrong. I could explain my uppitiness at this hour. Indeed, that's what I will do. Last night, the time was nearing 3:00 in the morning. I had two options: go to bed, or watch a movie that was 3 hours and 17 minutes long. For obvious reasons, I chose the latter. The movie in question was, and still is presumably, The Seven Samurai, which is quite the movie. I enjoyed it thoroughly, as did young Joel, until the wee hours of the morning. I "hit the hay" (as they say) at roughly 6:30 in the morning, then slept until 2:30 in the afternoon. Thus, I am still awake. Also I am awake because of Wawa coffee. Because I drank it, that is. And yet, I'm tired. Isn't life a mystery? Goodnight.

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Thursday, April 3rd, 2003
1:09 am - Huzzah
White Stripes. Elephant. Good. I bought it Tuesday morning, and I've listened to it all the way through at least 5 times. It's amazing. Jack White is my new hero.

Also, I'm bored. For this reason, I am writing in this, my living journal. I wish normal people were awake this late on Wednesday nights, because I'm not tired and I don't want to be stuck in the dorm. I'm not in my room right now because Johanan's asleep. I don't think I'm going to live in the dorm next year unless I can have my own room. There's nothing wrong with Johanan, but I really need to have my own space where I can have the light on at 4 in the morning and write and read without anyone else around.

I wonder if there's a limit to how much LiveJournal lets me write. If there is, I'm going to try to reach it. How should I do this. I know: I'll write down my day, but I'll include the tiniest, tiniest details. It will go thorugh boring and out the other side to brilliant. This is a warning: I'm going to write the tiniest details of everything that happened today. Don't read it if you don't want to. Here I go.

I wake up at 8:30. I'm still tired. Some song is playing loudly on my stereo, I don't remember what song. I lie there listening to the music, half-awake. I throw off the covers and swing my legs out of my bed. I stumble blindly over to my laptop/stereo setup. I reach out with my right hand and turn the volume knob to the left, watching the volume numbers go up, even though the volume is going down. I push my thumb against the release latch on my laptop and open up the screen. I lean forward so I can read the clock in the lower right corner. It's 8:33. I take a step toward my bedside table thingy and reach out my right hand. I fumble for my glasses, and then find them. I put them on my face, tucking them under my shaggy hair. I sit down on my bed. After flipping on the light, I lie down on my side on my bed, sort of twisted over, with my head near the foot of the bed. I lie there, maybe shut my eyes, then throw myself out of bed. I stagger over to the door and open it, and listen for the shower. Someone's showering down the hall, but no one's in my shower. I close the door. I take off my clothes, throw my boxers in the hamper and my shirt on the couch, then wrap my green towel around my waist. I reach over to the top of my dresser and pick up my shampoo and body wash in one hand. I open my door with my free hand, step into the hall, push open the bathroom door, and step into the bathroom. I take the step up to the showers, and look around to the one on the left. After putting down my shampoo and body wash on the little ledge thing, I reach out, grab the metal shower handle thing, and pull it towards me. I walk back out of the shower area and use the urinal. I place my glasses on top of the left sink, then I step back up to the shower, hang my towel on the rack, and step into the shower. I wash my body, then turn off the shower. After drying off, I wrap my towel around my waste again, grab my shampoo and body wash, and leave the bathroom, picking up my glasses on the way out. I walk across the hall, open my door, go back into my room, and close the door. I take off my towel and hang it up on the rack that's right inside the door. The bottom drawer in the dresser is the underwear drawer. I pull it open and riffle through the underwear, deciding on boxer-briefs. I put on my boxer briefs and notice that I left my shirt on the couch. We've just cleaned the room yesterday and I want to keep it as neat as possible, so I pick up my shirt and throw it in my hamper. I walk back to my dresser and pick up my stick of Brut deodorant and pop off the lid. I rub it under my left arm, then switch it to my left hand and rub it under my right arm. I pick up the pants from yesterday, then decide it's probably time for a different pair of pants; I've been wearing the same ones since Sunday. I empty the pockets of the old pants (khakis), pull out the belt, and throw all that stuff (planner book, 3x5 cards, pen, wallet) onto my bed. I pick up the khakis in my right hand and shove them into the hamper. I open the third drawer down on my dresser and pull out a pair of jeans, my baggy cargo blue jeans. I put my left leg through the left pant leg and my right leg through the right pant leg, pull up the pants, button the button, and zip the pants up. Then I pull open the drawer below that and pick up my turquoise Nike shirt, the one with paint stains. I stick my head through the head hole and my arms through the arm holes. I sit down on my bed and pick up the belt, the woven black leather one with a tarnished brass buckle. I stand up again and pull the belt through the belt loops, then fasten the belt buckle. I hitch my pants up a little, undo the buckle, tighten the belt, then redo the buckle. A pair of socks is hanging over the edge of my top drawer, so I grab them without even opening the drawer. Sitting down on the bed, I pull the socks apart, lay one on the bed, and pull the other one onto my left foot. Then I picked up the one on the bed and pull it onto my right foot. I pick up my shoes from the foot of my bed. I put one on (I don't remember if it was right or left), pull the laces tight, and tie the knot. I do the same with the other shoe. I pick up my leather scheduler book and slide it into my right cargo pocket along with a pen. I slip the 3x5 cards into the left pocket, after unzipping it (only the left cargo pocket has a zipper). I rezip the pocket. My watch is sitting on my bedside table thingy. I pick it up, lay it across my left wrist, and hold it in place as I fasten the velcro. The computer is still playing random music; I walk over to it, sit down in front of it, and open it all the way. I close winamp then double-click on My Documents. Once the "My Documents" folder has opened, I double click on My Music, then CDs, then White Stripes. I right click on the Elephant folder and select "play in winamp". "Random" is still on, so I click the Random button to turn it off and double click on "1. Seven Nation Army" in the playlist to start the CD from the beginning. Since I'm already at the computer, I decide to check my email. First I go to my newchurch.edu account, then my Juno account. There is a lot of junk mail at the Juno account. I delete it. The computer clock says 9:10, so I still have 20 minutes till class, enough time to make coffee. I stand up and open the coffee maker, pulling out the old, wet, ground-filled filter. Holding the filter in my left hand, I grab the carafe with my right. I walk into the hall and throw the old filter into the trash. I push open the bathroom door and walk to the sink, still holding the carafe. I hold the carafe under the spout and turn on the hot and cold water. When the carafe is about a quarter fulll, I swirl the water around inside it then pour the coffee tinted water down the drain. I repeat this operation, then turn off the water and dry the carafe out with a brown paper towel from the roll. I walk back out into the hall. Someone has taken off the front of the water-fountain. I'm glad to see this, because it exposes the lever that pushing the button presses on, and it can go down much further than the button allows if you push on the lever manually, and this means the water goes higher. Crouching down so that I can see the carafe at a level, I hold the carafe over the water fountain and push down at the lever. Water spouts into the carafe; I stop when it reaches a little over the 4 cups line. I only want four cups, so I pour a little out into the water fountain. I walk back into my room, open the top of the coffee maker, and pour in the water. I look at the side of the coffee maker, and realize I have less than three cups. I go back to the hall, fill the carafe a little more, come back, and dump the water into the coffee maker, filling it up to four cups exactly. Next, I pick up the shiny blue Santiago's bag of B-52 flavored coffee beans. I open the ziploc seal. With my free hand, I pick up my yellow quarter-cup measuring cup and scoop it into the bag. I shake it a little to level it off, then pour the beans into my coffee grinder. Before grinding the beans, I pull down the shade on the window and let it go. It whirs up. letting the sunlight in. I put the clear plastic top on the grinder, then push down on the grind button. I watch the grinder, glancing at my watch, and release the button after about fifteen seconds. I turn the grinder upside down, pouring the ground coffee into the dome shaped lid. I shake the grinder a little, but not as much as usual; I know that a lot of the coffee will stick to the grinder no matter how much I shake at. I pull the lid and the grinder apart and turn the grinder right side up. I set down the coffee-filled lid and pick up my yellow quarter-cup measure ago, This time I use the handle, scraping the ground coffee that is stuck below the blades of the grinder. I tip up the grinder over the upturned lid/cup and shake a little more coffee in. Then I pull a white filter out of it's package on top of one of my speakers. I fold the edge, then the bottom, and after swinging open the filter-holder part of the coffee machine, stick the filter into the machine and try to flatten it against the sides. I pick up the lid and dump the coffee into the filter. I swing the filter holder shut, then flip the silver plastic switch. The little green light embedded in the switch turns on. I sit back down in the chair at the computer and go to homestarrunner.com and google news. I watch the coffee as it dribbles down into the pot. After a few minutes, the dripping slows to almost a stop, and steam comes out of the machine. Holding my flowery white coffee mug (with lemon tea stains from last night), I pull out the carafe and pour steaming coffee into the mug. When I return the carafe, a little more coffee streams in; it hadn't quite finsished. Still looking at various stories on google news, I sip my coffee. I look at my watch; it's 9:20. I realize that I probably won't finish my coffee in time for class. I see a cardboard Wawa cup on top of my speaker, which I pick up. I almost pour my coffee in right away, but decide I should probably rinse out the Wawa cup first. I take it into the bathroom, fill it with warm water, swirl it around, and dump out the water. I dry it with a brown paper towel, then take it back into my room. I sit down at the computer chair and pour the coffee from my mug into the Wawa cup. I pick up the Wawa lid (one of the black ones), intending to put it onto the cup, but see that it has dust all over it. I start wiping off the dust, see that the other side has congealed coffee/steamer, and decide against a lid. I look around the room to make sure I have all my books. My binder and my notebook are under my bed. I pick them up, unzip my backpack, and put them in. My jacket is draped over my chair; I pick it up and stick my arms through the arm holes. I sling my backpack over my shoulders and pick up my coffee. I turn off the stereo and close winamp. As I walk out the door, I feel around to all my pockets for my car keys and can't find them. I don't really need them, but I usually keep them in my pockets and I don't know where they are. I don't have time to look, though, so I just leave. I forget to turn off my coffee.

OK, I'm stopping now. I know I said I'd write the whole day out, but that would actually take a whole day to write, and my fingers are getting sore. It's interesting, though; if someone asked me what I did today, I'd probably say nothing, but that stuff all happened before my day really even started. Anyway, to make a really long story short, I went to class, turned off my coffee, went to chapel, ate lunch, went to class, got a haircut, went to Rita's, watched lacrosse, ate dinner, watched TV, drove around to random places with Beast and Torrey, hung out in Ariel's room, talked to Tyrell (who's moving in with Todd), went to Dunkin Donuts, came back, got online, and now I'm going to bed. Goodnight.

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Friday, February 14th, 2003
9:03 am - My Mouth Tastes Like Coffee
Sometimes I take a shower in the night to take off the make-up, and then the next day I wake up at the usual time but don't need a shower, so I have lots of time before class and I get bored. This, believe it or not, is one of those days. So this is a pure boredom entry; I don't actually have anything to say. I suppose I could write what I've been up to lately: the play, not doing homework because of the play, and getting depressed because I had to stop being Linus in the play. I thought being in the first week cast would be better, because that way I wouldn't keep comparing myself to Lincoln. I didn't realize it would be so hard to give up the part. Plus, I thought that I'd have a lot of time to do homework in the green room, and I do have a lot of time, but I never do homework. Oh well, that's the way it goes. (Haha, subtle play reference).
Here's another thing: a week or two ago, Dr. Baker told us that calc. homework can't hurt our grade, it can only bring it up. That means that I really don't have to do the homework, which is bad, because a.) I need it to bring up my grade and b.) if I don't do the homework, I'll do badly on the test. So I should do Calc. homework, but I haven't in two weeks, and the final test is Wednesday. It's not a big deal, though, and I should do all right if I study.
Hmmm, still ten minutes to kill. I should probably be reading short stories right now, not writing. I have to give a report on a book of short stories for my creative writing class today, and I have read seven out of twenty. So it goes. I have to brush my teeth now, because my breath reeks of chocolate-rasberry coffee.

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Thursday, February 13th, 2003
1:20 am - Current Events, etc. (Really Long!)
I think we're teetering on the edge. I think that within five or ten years, everything will be different. "Pax Americana" can't last much longer. Other countries are getting too fed up with us. Even in the U.N., nations bitterly disagree. Now, we openly trade with the world's largest communist nation, China, but if World War III starts, I don't see them siding with us. Is this a good thing? War is never a good thing, although occasionally it's necessary. I think it's necessary against Iraq. It shouldn't have ended up this way, though. The stupidest thing the U.S ever did was create the nation of Israel. It's ironic: the U.N., an organization dedicated to achieving world peace and freedom, took land from a nation and caused a war that has lasted fifty years and probably won't end soon. The U.S. has backed Israel when it shouldn't have, but it's too late to turn back. That would be "giving in" to the terrorists. If terrorists really care about the U.S. support of Israel, then attacking the World Trade Center was the stupidest thing they ever did; now any sign of cutting off our ties to Israel can be construed as giving in to them, and the U.S. government will not do that.
What would happen in a nuclear war? It's an important question, because if there's a world war, it will be a nuclear and chemical war. Fear of nuclear war seems like something from the sixties, an antiquated idea that died out completely with the tearing down of the Berlin wall. Now it's back, or it should be, and now the nukes are in the hands of small nations with nothing to lose. That's a lot scarier than Russia.

It's easy, at least for me, to start thinking that maybe a Muslim victory over the world wouldn't be so bad. We'd get rid of all the excess and gluttony that make me a little ashamed of being an American, a modern Westerner. But of course, thinking like that glosses over the real threat: loss of freedom, especially freedom of religion.
We tend to take things like freedom for granted. It's impossible not to; we've never experienced anything else. If you start to imagine life without out it, though, you realize how valuable it is.
People usually tend to talk about freedom at the end of speeches, along with other vague abstractions like peace. Our liberty isn't some vague thing, though; it's a concrete, specific right.
If World War III breaks out, would I fight? I don't know. I like to think I would, because I believe in freedom. But I'm also afraid, afraid of dying anonymously, without having done anything for the world. I think I'd take that risk, though. I hope I don't have to.

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Sunday, January 19th, 2003
11:56 pm - So.
I've been sick for nigh on a week now. It started with just generally feeling like absolute poop, then progressed to that nasty cough I get every year. I'm getting better, though, and I think I'll be fine in a few days.
Eagles lost. Oh well.
I love my iPod. It's nice to have a soundtrack.
I'm brewing echinacea tea, which may or may not help, but it won't matter, because after the tea, I'm having NyQuil.
I enjoy poetry class, but I never feel like I have enough time to write something really good. It's the class I look forward to. Hopefully short stories will be just as good.
I wish I could write longer poems than I do. My poems are all less than twenty lines, unless they're in a fixed form. It's the short attention span.
I hate the fact that I end up throwing out half of every pot of coffee I brew.
Here's a weird thing: back in the day, chapters in books were really short, about two or three paragraphs. That's weird because you'd expect chapters to shorten with our attention spans, but the opposite happened. Except with Kurt Vonnegut.
I could go on writing forever like this, just one line random comments. It's much easier than trying to write something cohesive.
Maybe I have A.D.D., except that that's a made-up disease.
I should make up a disease. It's called Polyglot Bivouac disease. Its symptoms are yelling at people because you're mad about something they're not responsible for, but you're yelling at them anyway because you THINK they're responsible. For example, if you stub your toe and start yelling at your mom, not because it hurts and you need someone to yell at, but because you actually think that she is the piece of furniture you stubbed your toe on. It's very rare. Its treatment is medication.
I am listening to the Smashing Pumpkins. They are on the "Study Music" playlist on my iPod, which is on "Shuffle" within that list.
My tea is ready.
Goodnight.

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Tuesday, January 7th, 2003
2:32 am - I Hate Calculus
Why is calculus? That's not the real question, which is: why am I taking calculus? The answer is that I thought maybe I'd want to do something with math someday. I changed my mind. Here's the problem with calc class: it's all problems, and they all rely on just figuring out how to manipulate things, what little tricks to use. It's like doing an impossible crossword puzzle without the answers; it might be fun, but you don't want to be graded on it, which obviously sucks the fun out pretty dang quick. I wonder how dropped courses look on a transcript? I really should ask someone. Maybe Dee would know. I don't want to feel like a quitter though, and I would. It's that stupid guilt thing I inherited from my mom. Now I will go to bed, being tired.

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Monday, December 23rd, 2002
1:56 am - Really, really worthless. A waste of your time. I warned you.
Here's something I just did: I wrote about my day, then highlighted it all, and pressed delete, because it was boring as all hell. Right now: I am listening to 104.5. There is a song called "Happy Holidays" or something similar. A CD I bought recently at Main Street Records by a band called AMFM was, and I enjoy it thoroughly. Here's a story, set in Hatboro, because Hatboro's so quaint. It's fiction, and I have no idea what it's going to be about yet, because I just decided to write it, just now.

Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad

Shut up radio.

I want to wish you a...

Shut up.

Ok, the story will not begin until this catchy Christmas tune is over. Ok, here we go.

The story begins in Hatboro, at the intersection of Byberry and that road, the road that is Hatboro. Santa Claus is visiting, in a disguise. He's wearing Groucho glasses. He walks down the street. The hero of our story, Al, runs down Santa with his car. He shouts out the window, "Screw the Santa Clause." Because he's seen that movie, and he doesn't want to turn into Tim Allen. So he keeps on driving, past all those quaint little shops. There's Main Street Records, and the Oriental Spa (unless that's in Jenkintown) and all those other quaint little stores. He pulls into the produce junction parking lot. I used to get my hair cut near there. So anyway, our hero, who's actual name is Portobello, because "Al" is boring, decides to confess the crime of killing Santa. He walks up to a bag boy, and says, "I just killed Santa." And the bag boy says, "How do you know he was Santa? Wasn't he wearing a disguise?" "Yeah," says Melvin, our hero, "But it was just those stupid groucho glasses." "Oh," says the bag boy, who is actually Santa in a different disguise. "Wait a second!" says our hero, Penelope. "How did you know that he was in disguise? And why are you wearing Groucho glasses? And why are you so freakin fat, Jolly McWhiteBeard?" So Samantha (our hero) hauls back and punches Santa right in the fat gut. "Take that, commercialization!" he shouts. Santa tries to call for help, but they're in Produce Junction. So again, Santa has been killed, but for real this time. Igby buys a can of pork and beans and leaves. When he gets home, he decides to cook up the pork and beans, but he can't, because he doesn't have a can-opener. "Where's my can-opener!" he yells at his can-opener, so I guess he has one now. Then he realizes that they're playing that frickin awesome Snoopy Red Baron Christmas song on the radio, so he quickly finishes the story.

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Monday, November 25th, 2002
3:08 am - Mmmm, I enjoy cookies
Here's a fun thing to do (and by fun, I mean dangerously addictive): go to the livejournal homepage. Click on the "Random" button under find users. Read the journal. Click on "User Info". Read the info. Click on random. Repeat. I have been doing this for the last two hours. I like to try to guess the age of the writer, which usually isn't that difficult. Actually, most of the journals are pretty boring, and same with the profiles, which is exactly what makes it so dangerous: you keep telling yourself "Just one more, this one was boring." And so it goes. I did fall in love with one girl, though, but I don't remember her LJ name and I wouldn't do anything about it even if I did. I also read a journal by someone who's mom technically died last night, before they revived her. Really interesting stuff. Well written, too. Well written journals are in general much more entertaining than crappily written ones. Also, I drank a beer, and it was good. I guess that's it for now, although I'll be up for a while, having woken up at 3:30 this afternoon. I feel hideous. Goodnight.

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