Dispatches From a Collegiate Txter

Yesterday, Four O'Clock in the Afternoon.  In a School of Communications and Theater meeting at Mitten Hall.  

Message to John Crodian-

J.G: "College is gay"

J.C: "we need to find a way to make summer last forever."

J.G: "That sentiment brought a tear to my eye."

After I said goodbye to my family, I ran into Ben Holloway and Dom Urbani.  Ben offered me a Parliament and when it comes to smoking when people offer you a cigarette, I'm an addict.  This is about to stop.  They don't taste as good as I like to tell myself.  I'm lighting it just as my parents are rounding the corner onto Diamond Street.

Message from Mimi-

M.G: "Mom is freaking. Just saw u with a cig. Ur dumb. No more."

Message from Mom-

L.G: "You said u wouldnt smoke. You make me sad"

Point taken Mom and Mim.  That sentiment, too, brought a tear to my eye.

Sometimes, I like to drop Jon Boyd a line.  Our conversations...  I don't know what to say about them, really.  This took place last night, 9:20.

Message to Jon Boyd-

J.G: "Dont let school murdere [sic] yr spirit and will, though, senior year kinda sucks"

J.B: "Its about to but ill try not to let it Cable news chanels are disgusting"

J.G: ""Such bias and really does the populus need bullshit "commentators" telling them whats wrong and right"

J.B: "I noe the only chanel keeping it real with convention coverage is whyy"

I had breakfast in the cafeteria.  That makes sense.  What doesn't is that I had cereal instead of something of a little more greasy persuasion.  I'm glad I did that actually.  They have flatscreen TVs to keep your mind off the D-grade meat and thick consistency of the milk that I'm sure comes from a bag.  Nah, I haven't been that negative but, as an aside, TVs in cafeterias are kind of a weird trend...  Anyway, I thought of Miles when MTV-U spun a Dizzee Rascal video and I didn't think my roommate was picking up what I was putting down.

Message to Miles-

J.G: "They have MTV U on in the cafeteria and theyre playing the flex video. College is aiight"

M.F: "Haha that's tight! Cool classes? Cool roommate? Cool everything?"

Everything's pretty tight.  Classes start Tuesday.  Tired of writing for myself, so, what do you want to hear?

At Your Own Expense

Oh no. Tomorrow, I fly. I think, though, I think that I'm doing a good job of calming my nerves. I just it's not all that plausible that the plane is either: just gonna crash, blow up because someone somehow got a bomb on the plane... whoa, I guess that's it. See? There's not much to be afraid of. I. Can do this.

I'm flying to Chicago. It'll be my first time in that windiest of cities. Awesome musicians that hail from Chicago: Kanye West, the Kinsellas, Jeff Tweedy, Davey von Bohlen. My uncle Sean lives there and he's seen pretty much every cool band (Fugazi, Sonic Youth, The Clash...). He's taking us to the Pitchfork Music Festival which is sweet because it doesn't have an overwhelming amount of absolutely huge, big shit bands like Bonnaroo or Lollapalooza or that shit. Also, I read Pitchfork every single day. It'll be nice to see how they exist. I get to see No Age again. Pysched as fuck on Titus Andronicus (better than/as good as reading a book. Heavy ass lyrics that take more than one cue from Albert Camus. Patrick Stickles, their head-dude has to be one of the most desperate and anguised motherfuckers I've ever heard on record), the Hold Steady will be amazing, Spoon (chance encounter with Britt Daniel?), Animal Collective (I'll stand and wonder "Why?"), Ghostface and Raekwon, Boris, Cut Copy, tons more.

I've been taking pictures on my 35mm SLR again. I missed that thing. I had a house show last night, it was off the hook. We did it in my garage. I can't get over the shear fucking talent that's happening right now. John Ciccone played solo and it was otherworldly. Jeff Buckley-level shit. Scotty Leitch from Pirouette played solo too and every time I hear one of his songs, I choke a little bit because they make my heart wanna sing. John Crodian played a lot of stuff I'd never heard him do before and that was exciting because I think he's the best storyteller I know. I need to see his movies. TV Dinner might've played their best show ever, albeit out of tune. No surprises there, though. I feel like Scotty is the dad to our little scene. John, lately I feel like you're the punkest kid out there.

I'm retarded when it comes to Emily Bonsall. This is self-flaggelation but with a Dominique Francon-emulating girl that just happens to be awesome.

I bid on a Cap'n Jazz 7-inch when I was drunk last night after the show. It better be worth the seven dollars I'm apparently willing to pay.

"Between Joey R.'s hitler mustache, still thinking about the No Age show and Nouns, the strange looking lady with the stranger gastronomical persuasions and Matt's pork fried rice I just wanted to cry."

That's what being at work on a Saturday feels like.

Note to self: send postcards to Murph, Mr. Tischler, others?

Old school Pirouette Jumpoff:

Cheers to Ralph Maccio!

New Firefox is whack.

John turned me on to Giuseppe Andrews. He played the weird cop in Cabin Fever. He also makes music and movies. We watched Touch Me In The Morning last week. It's a patchwork quilt of black and white home movies, psychotic old people. sexual absurdism and, somehow, innocence. It was fucking hilarious. See it. Here's a video for his song "Bikini Wax." The look on his face is so fucking priceless.

One Month Waiting, One Week in the Making

FREEDOM.

I'M DRUNK. HERE WE GO.

So much freedom this summer. I graduated from school. 'Nuff said. Part of me wants a girlfriend but part of me is glad I don't have one. This time last year I was spending my days off sitting in air conditioned bed rooms at the whim of somebody that wasn't me. Now I'm out every night until at least 12 with my best friends making amazing memories/music/love. That's what I did today.

I've always wanted a fourth of July celebration of my own. The Kalmbachs used to throw the best barbecues at their gorgeous near-estate in the countryside but now, they go away every year. Last year I got close: great friends and I went to the Laurels on a rainy day, swam in the creek and partied at Jeff Daman's. I thought Kelly and Trey were going to hook up.

I've always wanted to host a big game of capture the flag. When I used to talk to Shelby, we would make plans to do it. Her mom was in real estate, sold off a lot of Somerset Lake, and had maps of the whole place. We were going to plot out the shebang... make teams and shit. This is when I was almost popular again, freshman or sophomore year. There was that time by the rocks... but I don't kiss and tell, I digress. Needless to say, the maps and the game never materialized and it's probably been drilled out of her memory by now by all the alcohol.

Today I did both. The CTF wasn't as large scale as I might have dreamed, but it was fuckityhellofa-time. Christian dove over pines into the neutral zone giving us, the red team, a disputed second win. I was really glad he was there! Plus he was an insane advantage. Lots of people came, maybe I can post pictures.

There were wonderful females from Coatesville. I feel like my knowledge of them lies on a string. By that I guess I'm saying first, I know them by total chance and second, do I even know them? I'm getting to.

Like we had been talking about all day, we made our way up to the orchard after dark. It looked "very Harry Potter" according to Mimi. We tied two of my shirts to trees and fumbled around the mist and carried each other barefoot over stinging nettles until we just gave up and watched Longwood's half-fireworks show from the top of the big hill. Usually they go all out, but this year, I guess because of all the rain, it was kind of muted.

We finished as we do with most wonderful nights: watching videos on YouTube. It works like this: someone jumps on the computer, peruses, finds and then we become amused. They get a couple more rounds (all day: honors system) then someone else gets a genius fucking idea of what everyone else wants to see. It almost never goes badly. You know the standards: "Unforgivable," "Tourette's Guy," "Charlie Brown," those G.I. Joe overdubs...

**********************************************************************************************

Allison's LJ let me know it was okay to post a fourth of July entry a week late.

Most importantly, I saw No Age last night.

Segue: I'm coming over to the side of the musicians/critics calling for an end to amateur digital photography at shows. When I heard about the dude from Band of Horses that wishes he were James Mercer flipping out about cell phone cameras at a show I thought it was kind of stupid. Let us do what we want, art is free. But then, Mimi told me about this thing Billie Joe Armstrong said at one of the secret Pinhead Gunpowder shows that went down in March... Calling for people to put their fucking cameras away, let loose and rely on your memories of the show to share later on. After that, thinking back to when I saw Cat Power and she had to fucking stop the show to say hey, cut the fucking flash photography it's driving me nuts, it made so much sense. Fuck your Flickr account. The show is never going to look as good as it does right now, in front of your face. Why spoil it?

I came with low expectations. On last.fm, I was reading horror stories about long setup times and a lack of engagement with the crowd. Abe Vigoda were pretty much what I was expecting. I want their record. Plus Juan, their fey guitarist/vocalist, seems like a really nice dude. And their drummer was awesome. I'm sick of this whole High Places/Yeasayer/(to an extent) Animal Collective neo-primitivism thing, so I didn't really want to see High Places. There was nothing to do because everyone was trendy and brown bagging... so I ended up seeing High Places. They're like the best parts of A Sunny Day in Glasgow with the worst parts of A.C... you get sunshine-gorgeous, reverb-drenched female vox on top of no-destination-in-mind, synthetic-like-duPont and supposedly "tribal" beats. My impression of their sound (which did a pretty good job of entertaining Mimi) is something like: boom boom boom. Coo cooooooo coo. Boom. Coo coo. Like I said several times, it was good for three things: browsing records, sleeping and if you were to take three percs and then smoke a bowl.

So the rumours were just a teeny-bit true. Their setup, for two dudes, took way too long. I know they make a lot of noise and have lots of effects but Randy's were arranged tidily on an enormous pedalboard he simply carried out onstage and Dean's on a small rack above his snare. There was lots of socializing going on onstage, dudes from Pissed Jeans were there I DUNNO WHAT DO I KNOW about the innerworkings of sort-of-noisy punk bands. I started to get really excited though and the question was constantly on my mind... No Age are kind of in this void between punk and trendy indie. Even though their music is absolutely meant to be a full-stage-press, pump yr fist n stage dive affair, something told me that sort of thing wouldn't go over well with the crowd. The people up front - a few of those amateur photographers, obnoxiously F.R.C., some other serious types - did not seem down. In short: would I pogo like it was 1977, would I be able to jump into a commotion-ridden crowd with an enormous grin on my face, would people be fun?

The answer became clear in the middle of opener, "Miner" (TATATAT, DOOODOOO DOOODOOO DOOOODOOOO.. gahhhhh), when some like minds behind me clearly wanted to move. After about ten minutes, the better part of the floor of the church was bodies gently pushing bodies, my shirtless dumb ass making lots of friends and the occasional dive. I mean on one end, this is not what the show is about - some moshpit glorystory - but in another way, it is because No Age is a band to be experienced, not just heard. They demonstrate it all the time through their total involvement in L.A.'s Smell punk scene. They want to be slamdanced to and I think that's the point a lot of their new fans miss. Anyway, Dean and Randy seemed ecstatic. At one point, Dean was just like "You guys, you guys..." thanking us for "killing it," and so on. So yeah, crowd/band involvement was at a high. Their set was perfect: most of Nouns, a few from Weirdo Rippers, a couple of rarities and an obscure cover (The Urinals' "Male Masturbation").

So let me tell you why No Age are an important band. Like I said, they're filling a really cool void between punk and indie. They sing about having passion. Their sound is a perfect balance of noise, pop and punk. They're like our Sonic Youth. They cater to the youth. They like all ages shows. They want you to have a good time. They're original and fit for our time because they're kind of like this bastardized punk band singing about just ignoring the bad and going up and down and loving every single minute of it because that's what humans do.

I just updated my blog for the first time in a month so now I can go back and read everyone's backlog of entries. <3

Constructive Summer

So I've taken to hanging out with an Oxford crowd again and by that I mean Liz Cimino and whoever she is with (usually Hope and Em, sometimes Kelly) lose a little bit of sense and drive thirty minutes north on Route One to my house. This has happened exactly twice in the last 5 days and both occasions have garnered an A+ for fun and possibility.

I need to start doing push-ups again because my arms are flabby. I want to film that.

What's Hot:
Roman Polanski
Summer
Wawa Milkshakes

What's Not:
Total lack of Q-tips in the bathroom drawer
Graduation party stress
Lacking another driver for extreme camping June 16-23 in North Carolina (all interested parties please apply as soon as possible)

I noticed something. We have these neighbors, we'll call them the Vees, that don't wave back at us. The Gallagher clan are a friendly bunch and we often take to waving at whomever we pass on the street and the Vees are nearly always out walking their dog at twilight. They never reciprocate. But I noticed something recently when I was biking to work. Mr. Vee was walking his dog alone, at midday, and after I waved at him he waved back. There were several more occasions where the Vees were walking together, not bothering to wave, but today, Mr. Vee was playing with his dog in the yard. Just he and his dog. And he waved. At my dad and I. Just thought that you should know.

Also, the new Hold Steady is absolutely awesome. It's not really funny to think that two or three years ago my summer soundtrack was pretty much Saves the Day and Lifetime. There's nothing wrong with Saves the Day and especially Lifetime but I'm using them to illustrate a point: summer used to equal pop-punk. But there's so much more than that. I'm trying to think of a way to describe... well, look: somehow, No Age, Cap'n Jazz and Jawbreaker all overlap. Jawbreaker, Latterman and Lifetime certainly overlap. The Hold Steady aren't doing anything drastically different than any of these bands, except they're older and grew up with Paul Westerberg and Bruce Springstein instead of Ian Mackaye. Pirouette, well, goes without saying and Failed Attempts need to put out a full-length. That was my late-night musing about my summer listening, I guess, but what I really want to say is this, this chorus from the first track off the excellent new Hold Steady album, Stay Positive. It's called "Constructive Summer" and it goes:

" We're gonna build something this summer/
Summer grant us all the power/
to drink on top of water towers/
with love and trust that shows all summer/
Let this be my annual reminder/
that we can all be something bigger."

'Night

We're On The Air

Some people don't like television. I guess I should be one of them but sometimes, there's too much to love. For example, today I spent a good twenty minutes deciding what movie to watch on Comcast On Demand. There are always so many excellent choices! Something like fast food value menu of movies... where is this going? So there's that, but also there's so many high-quality programs: that new green network; Current Television (I never mention this channel because I'm afraid my ex-girlfriend will think that I stole it from her when in fact it's the other way around. See, when we broke up I was the bleeding heart liberal and she was the one indifferent to politics. Then I guess she realized it was fashionable to hop on the Barack train and now she's a Current junkie like John Boyd and the rest of us.); NBC's unbelievable double helping on Thursday night with the Office and 30 Rock. For me, nothing will ever beat listening to a record while reading a book or magazine but there's one thing that comes damn near close and it's on the tube. I'm talking about Radio Free Roscoe.

Like a lot of good television (Degrassi, Degrassi Junior High, Degrassi: The Next Generation), RFR was Canadian and geared toward teens. Four suburban high schoolers [three guys (one vaguely Latino or maybe Indian, one African American and one Buddhist) and a girl] are tired of the "Be like this!" mentality they're surrounded by so they do what any fringe-hip clique of teenagers would do: they start their own radio station. It's executed a little less ridiculously than the way its premise sounds. Think like, Pump Up The Volume meets Dawson's Creek minus star-power, unrealistic drama and neverending, hyper-taut love situations. These are kids you could actually relate to... except they had their own pirate radio station.

There's a moment in the second episode that immediately guaranteed itself a place in my life. Lily, Travis, Ray and Robbie are hanging outside the warehouse they'll soon be broadcasting from, debating over on-air aliases. Lily, of course, really wants something special, something that's a good fit... just like the boys'.

Robbie: "How about Shady Lane?"
Ray: "Shady Lane? Yeah, great one Robbie considering nobody has ever, ever called her that!"
Lily: "No, no, it's a song by Pavement, the band, it's the song that made me want to start playing the guitar!"

It's August, I'm fourteen, watching this show on this channel I just got (DishNetwork, baby! Summer before freshman year!) and they're talking about a band I recently fell in love with? Cool I guess is the word?

Throughout its two seasons there were controversial class election campaigns (Lily's "Think Pink!" platform,) struggles to remain original (probably the most important storylines dealt with this,) really cute supporting characters (see: Julia Alexander, Victoria Nestorowicz. Grace and Parker, respectively,) a solid soundtrack (nowhere near Pete and Pete's, however,) really well-done season finales... I was crushed at the end of summer '06 when it was finished off. Degrassi just didn't cut it anymore.

I have the Best of Season One DVD (the only one the ever made. I had to order it off amazon.ca!) and they show re-runs now at 12 and 12:30 in the afternoon on The-N. I was watching them today and I still always find my gut wrenching whenever Robbie's usually benign messages about being yourself take a militant turn or when Lily embarrasses herself on stage at Mickey's. I laugh when Parker quotes Nanny Haynes. I root for Travis and Ray and really, really hope they succeed in their romantic pursuits. I smile when I watch this fucking show! It's the television equivalent of listening to Pirouette. Come watch with me?

Other news:
Hung out with Liz and Emily and Emily's cousin Hope Sunday and it was super, throwback, sophomore year kinda fun. Driving back to Oxford with them listening to Andrew W.K. superfun.

Today I picked up Caitlin and that girl... puts a spell on men! Caitlin, I'm pretty sure you are blessed with the power to make any man fall in love with you. Then we went to the park for Kelly's Peru isjawn and Sarah's Guatemala (?) ishjawn... I didn't take any pictures, but it was hot sweaty stuff your face delight. John was wearing a Rites of Spring shirt and I find myself listening to them now... I love that our taste in music doesn't entirely overlap so we share new things with each other. It's strictly heterosexual. I have trouble memorizing the lyrics to his songs and for that I am sorry. I hope you are better than I am at such things. Practice makes perfect.

Dis

I just... I just don't know why this girl is so bad. Like, maybe I shouldn't be critiquing someone else's work when I'm not even close to being an established writer but... her pieces are awful. Redundant. Cluttered. Lacking flow/much sense. Here's a link to all the stuff she published this year.

I feel bad. But it makes me want to write even more and especially to write well, so I'm going to find within me an entry for tomorrow.

Can I look at faces that I meet? Can I get my punk ass off the street?

So I just did several victory leaps (I guess?) up my driveway.

Should we recount?

I wrote my last entry after my last day of high school and since then I've been swimming laps in uncertainty (the pool opened memorial day weekend). The "Killer Questions" I wrote about in my first article for the Review this year were getting to me and you know how I am with everything: I'm just not ready. For anything. Ever.

I told everyone I was excited but then realized that was a lie. Then I told everyone I was excited but immediately followed that by admitting I was lying and was completely unsure of how to feel. At graduation practice, they taught us how to stand at length with our arms behind our backs, how to sit in unison, how to clap, that this was going to look really, really nice if we could just make sure to watch when the speakers place their hands on the podium, but yeah, I didn't learn what to feel. Wednesday morning after the last practice (but before picking up our tuxes because the line was so fucking long,) Frank, Kyle, Garrett and I went to Five Guys (11 sharp) and it didn't feel like the end. Actually, it kind of just felt awkward because I had just let myself into Schlaz's car on their way out of the lot so I think I was seen, about 50 percent of the time, as an uninvited guest. Until Garrett offered to pay for my burger and Frank and I got our kicks using the empty fry cups to steal soda. Then I knew shit was going to be aiiiiight.

Last night was Baccalaureate mass and for those not in the know (most) that's just a stupid name for a graduation mass. There's really not much to say about it except whenever I saw a woman crying I thought "stop crying, it's unnecessary."

We went to Buckley's for dinner afterwards. Pulling into the parking lot I saw someone tall, gangly and short-haired who could only be Tim McConnell and it was. Tim did a lot for me as a person freshman and sophomore year. He and Shawn were really close and I can't help but think Shawn's weirdness began with his friendship with Tim. Shawn though spiraled needlessly out of control and what really disappointed me last night was, after transferring to Warren Wilson with Shawn, Tim's become the same way. I got a hug and then some weird Shawn-esque maxims and that was that. My stupidly excited "Tim McConnell?!," issued from the window of our moving car, was put to shame by some quiet congratulations and barely formed sentences.

I took off work all day today and it was so nice. Because that place is just getting insane some days. So I got nearly 12 hours of sleep (9:30 to 9) and told Anna all about it when we went to West Chester (refreshingly early at 11:40). It was all I wanted to do before I graduate, just do something cool and kinda normal and not Salesianum oriented. I blew all the money I cashed from my check on records again. The Mad Platter is kind of overpriced but I don't care, it was all money well-spent. On vinyl I got Surfer Rosa ("Vamos" was the last song I listened to as a high schooler and it sounds so fucking good on my stereo) and Elliott Smith (I spent a good chunk of my afternoon listening to this, worrying, fretting and trying to finish Trainspotting,) then the new No Age and a used copy of the Magnetic Fields' Distortion (both totally awesome and kinda what my ears needed) on compact disc and the Amy Winehouse DVD I asked for for my birthday but didn't get.

Yeah, I spent a lot of the time between returning home and leaving again wallowing. It wasn't for nil but graduation actually turned out to be pretty cool. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. Taken in black and white, fittingly, you know for the timelessness of the memories or some bullshit.


Ian and Will

Kyke Schlaaazzzz (not shitty.)

Let's do this Nick.

This was kind of unexpected.

BFF Three

Ahhhh Driz, you're wiil'in.

Slaugherhouse Salesianum. Nah, just kidding. It felt kind of cool, our teachers were lined up on either side of the hallway egging us on and giving us the requisite Michelle-Barack pound.

Murph (lower left) is going to West Point.

Oh Shit, go time.

Bird's eye. This was up in the bleachers, in the midst of applause for someone. It's a pretty good picture of what the whole night was like. After we all stood, I pulled out my camera and snapped it worrying all the while someone thought I had reached for a weapon.

Geoff was always really good to me even though he didn't have to and was pretty much the must well-known kid in the universe.

There's this tradition that after graduation, we all smoke cigars on the school steps. So we did that.

T-boneeee!!

Mimi, get in here.



Another unexpected bunch. Horace is black as night.

Barker is one of my favorites.



St. Patrick's.

It's easy to look cool next to Lou.

This was before we set the school on fire. Not.



Frank and Christian, thank you so much for always being my friends. This was pre-last Newpie session of high school.

Yeah, so that's that. I actually got a diploma which I honestly was not expecting at all because I didn't complete something that was very, very required of me. I'm not even going to mention it here for fear of the obsessive Googling on the part of Sallies' PR Dude Pete will turn up this blog and turn over my diploma. I even got a fucking award. They didn't tell me of this award beforehand. In fact, I didn't even know it existed. Well they give out awards you the sciences, you know, maths all that shit. Jason Patterson Dan Kowal very big deal shit. Every passing second, every award "merited" I was like, "ihatethosefucks,ihatethosefucks,ihatethosefucks..." Then, though, comes The Blah Blah Blah award for Excellence in Journalism and I get a nudge from Frank (whom I'm really glad I got to sit next to) and I expect to hear my name. I heard it, I got the gold fucking medal. Holy shit! I don't get awards, friend, I don't I don't. But this was cool. I mean, my grandparents got to see this shit. And maybe I pissed off Kowal and them (they all have bad haircuts anyway.) We filed out later, chatted. We went to different rooms to get our diplomas (we don't actually walk). Fittingly I had to go to the Library where I probably spent most of my time (and money paying back fucking fines, hah) and even more fitting, Mrs. Diemer handed me my diploma. I gave her a big hug and thanked her so much for everything. I told Ms. Orga that I'm not good with numbers but pretty good with words. Told Mr. Losapio again where I was going. I know most don't, but I really like that guy a whole lot.

I ended the night driving around with Christian in the batmobile, sans top. It smelled like honeysuckles and I accidentally stole a mint milkshake from Wawa.

Devil Maker Torches, Trickle Down

Fuck, I really wanted to call this something else but I really can't remember right now.

Is this status quo? Like, my life right now? I just can't seem to do much creative. I can't write songs, reviews, even blog entries.

The night before my last day of high school classes I went to bed too late. I walked to my room, embarrassed about the idiocy of staying up until 1:40 a.m. on a fucking school night, even read a little bit of the Story of B. Actually, no. I finished Bright Shiny Morning (which, incidentally, was very good but only if James Frey is your thing. Really, though, he should not be so loathed. Truth, untruth, he has talent). Then I went to sleep after the usual fussing, which goes something like this: this side, no that side, no side at all I'll lay (lie?) on my back, no, my stomach. Pillow on top of my head, no, one pillow, maybe, no, two pillows, I guess, zzzz. I guess I slept peacefully for three or four hours. Lately, I've had this problem with bugs ever since I saw this freaky as fuck one in my shower (incidentally, late at night). It was actually my third encounter with this particular miniscule monster -- it's sort of long (1-1.2 inches) with legs (not as many as a centipede but more than a spider) on both sides of its body and two antennae at either end. The next few days I spent shaking towels and looking in crevices. So yeah, a bug problem, then after three or four hours of peaceful sleep I had a dream. In this dream, I discovered after, incidentally, a bout of insomnia/bedtime restlessness/general inability to fall asleep) that at around three o'clock every morning these large, black, thick and usually stationary bugs just appear on the walls. All over the walls, all throughout my house. Of course, this made it even harder for me to sleep (in my dream) and I laid in bed scared until daybreak. So, I had a dream about not being able to sleep after I late bedtime... I woke up delusional. It took forever to get dressed, I was in a horrible mood (because of the dream). It took forever to get dressed, oh my god. It's like, me, tripping over all the crap on my fucking floor -- clothes, poweramps, chairs, vinyl, shoes, belts, hats -- in slow-motion and half-blind. Awful. I forgot just about everything I needed for my last fucking day of fucking high school that I hated so fucking much except, thankfully, my camera.


Fives, all round, certain of it...

Homeroom of the year.

Betsy's mostly argumentative bunch.

A reluctant open time crowd of football players (some nice, some not), overachievers, kids who annoy...

My friend and I. "Joe, you're one of our best!" Thanks, father.

Last lunch in that horrible, horrible cafeteria. I fucking hate Eric Desch. Eric, I fucking hate you (rear, left).

Wow. Am I the only one who loved Gov class? Actually, no. John Boyd, aka my hero, with his arm in the air (pink shirt) did too.

I voted boyer best comedian because he is.

The English class that ruined my fucking life. Note the green army men above the green chalkboard.

Web design weirdos.

Drizwald and I's last ride in.

I hope I walk. I might not walk because, for some reason, I have opted not to turn in my service project. Look, I did the service. I wrote the paper. I have the blue book. I haven't turned it in. They last asked for it in late April and I'm hoping it's water under the bridge... What do you think?

I actually had to go back Wednesday and Thursday for a religion exam and book buyback respectively. Book buyback as usual was the great textbook swindle. But my mom and I got Jake's afterward so...

Work was the worst ever today. Matt's in Vegas so from 3:30 on, I was all by myself. Mallory was busy in the bakery for once (right?!) so she couldn't provide the usual refreshingly-high school girl banter nor much needed help. So between frying up batches of the 100 chicken fingers I made from scratch earlier in the day, I sliced prosciutto two or three times, made some rich fella who promised to bring home dinner a ribeye at 6:20 (in other words, everything's clean), cut two pieces of the smelliest messiest cheese ten minutes to close, left the slicers a mess, was pissed off, made sandwiches, was pissed off, was pissed off, helped idiot customers that pissed me off.

What was good today though was riding my bike. I love riding my bike again: what my helmet does to my hair, making amazing moves (like, get this! I was behind this van coming up Walnut when it stopped to make a left so I cut back onto the sidewalk, then off the sidewalk in front of the van again. Perfectly executed.), sweating, breathing heavily, telling people "I ride my bike to work," and having them respond "Isn't that far?," feeling fitter than I actually am and hauling it up several flights of stairs to see some of my favorite local acts and friends. Which is what I did, after work.

John Crodian made me almost cry with is speech before "Failed Attempts at Facial Hair." Not after he mentioned my name, I was bending my knees with feeling even before that. He was talking about the morning before, the moisturizing strip on his razor blade had been completely worn down tearing up his face and triggering the emergence of an under-the-skin zit. "This song is the story of my life for the last six months..." "Failed" is probably my favorite song right now. John takes a tired three chord progression on a ukulele (not-unpleasantly kitsch) and erm... the lyrics make me want so much more for myself and that;s a good thing. I cannot wait for the record.

True confession:
I stalk my ex-girlfriend's lj (still). How do I stop? She never ceases to piss me the fuck off. Our relationship was unhealthy, cancerous. I know this summer will be better than last.

I really need to lower my morals. I really need to ask Steff Yeagley out. Or someone.




I hate to actually do anything, but I'm starting a webzine on this domain name I've had for awhile.
This entry sucked.
YOU NEVER MEANT NOTHING TO ME. YOU NEVER MEANT NOTHING TO ME-E-E.
I hope someday soon I get what I want.

My Awesome Life

(txt)
Me: What should I blog about?
Alison: The show, your awesome life


Get ready...

...for the most attractive, innovative and awesome younginz.

Allison and Caitlin are still the only girls for me.

And Miles and Christian are the best Best Friends you could ever count on. That's why. They're counted on.

Justin's singing is so wonderful that I hope he never grows up (his voice cracks at certain points and that's why).

Pirouette were inspiring...

and TOO AWESOME for driving from bumblefuck to play on my back porch and call it a day. Nicest dudes/ette in the world. Their full length is going to make my year.



TV Dinner draws a crowd. I still love Anna! And that other girl in blue, with the short hair... for no reason, I hope she has a crush on me. It'd just be kind of cool. She goes to most of the TV Dinner shows and was really excited to see me at Prom.



Trey is TVD MVP <3. style="font-style: italic;">Raising Arizona, Lost in Translation, Rosemary's Baby.

Later that day, I snapped in study hall. I had actually been having a really great time in the Library with Jon Plush and Chris Burcham who are athletes and also my friends (which, admittedly feels really good. Also: these are really good human beings). I was even having txt convos with Miles, Mimi and Murph (whoa). It was last period so a few minutes before the bell, the world was restless and Father Pileggi asked (nicely, as always) for everyone to push in their chairs. We did but the round table behind us didn't. They were small fuckers, sophomores probably.

"Hey, push in your chairs."
"No."
"Push in your chairs!"
"No."
"Listen to me, why the hell not? Father asked you to."
"So you can do it."
"I swear to God, so many people in this school lack any semblance of respect and the whole sophomore class fall in with that."
"We're not sophomores! That just proves how retarded you are!"
"Joe, My Friend, calm down."
"Sorry Father."
[bell]

Am I stupid for opening my mouth and refusing to let this shit stand? I don't think so, but what do you think? I just believe there is so much fucking constant, blatant disrespect from all sorts of faces and it drives me nuts.

There definitely is not enough to write about school this week but Friday night I went to my senior prom.

















What you need to know is this: Kara and I looked great. Kara was the best looking girl at the prom. Kara was the most fun anyone could ever hope for (universal acclaim!). Dinner was pretty good. The hotel, it goes without saying, is really nice. We didn't dance in the ballroom. We danced how we dance (which is rhythmically, hand in hand with lots of twirling) in the room with the dessert table and the mingling kids. After Prom defied expectations. I actually won something: XL Temple t-shirt and four Blue Rocks tickets. Kara and I sang four songs karaoke (once again, universal acclaim!) : "What's New, Pussycat?" (we broke down laughing,) "How Bizaare," "Hunger Strike," and "Can't Buy Me Love." I'm not going out on a limb when I say that we had the most fun out of anyone there.

I drove home and thought these things:
I'm not wearing my glasses so everything is in soft focus
We were listening to "All My Friends" (which should be the world's prom song 2008) and, yeah Charlie, I guess I felt infinite but what does that even mean in the first place you prick?
"Every time I blink I hear the deafening crunch and the edge-of-death screams, look over and see the blood --Kirk Road, Old Kennett, the elementary school for the handicapped..."

Allison starts a new life for the summer tomorrow! She is awesome, she is going to thrive, she is going to leave before it makes her cold, she does what she wants. Good luck my frienddddddddd.