My horrifically insulated and poorly sealed apartment allows for a thin layer of condensation to build up around the bottom regions of my window.  It's good for looking out thoughtfully and playing up the melodrama of life.  Plus everything looks better through a fuzzy haze.  Daddy likes. 

My room is in chaos, like some apocalyptic laundry disaster occurred.  Not to mention a fair amount of reading needs to be done in the next week or so.  This obviously means it’s time for me to post some inane nonsense on my weblog.  Weeeee.  

I’m getting accustomed to my winter quarter routine up here in UCDavis.  My daily foundation is built firmly on going to school, work, and the gym, while the holes in my schedule are usually plugged up with studying, eating, sleeping, going on my walks, spending time with friends and enjoying whatever multimedia I have available.  I actually have a Sabbath day this quarter, and although Sunday’s will occasionally be used for catching up on homework and other miscellaneous errands, it’ll be nice to have that day of rest. 

On a complete side note, does anyone know what “security color” we’re on now?  Is it mauve?  Indigo?  I think this is the sign of a borked system.   

I had a moment of frustration while on the road the other day, probably sparked by the so-called “drivers” that pollute the streets of Davis.  Anyway, I was getting tired of always feeling like I’m in the process of things—that I’m doing all this legwork to get somewhere without actually arriving.  However, the next morning I was reminded (in my ancient Greek civilization lecture of all places) that when the journey’s done you’re pretty much dead and getting there is a pretty fascinating process.  I think inspiration should always come from a flamboyantly Greek professor with a heavy accent and a comb-over.

I think I feel my brain shrinking.

Currently Reading Slaughterhouse-Five By Kurt Vonnegut see related

I really do cherish stability.  There is security, a sense of belonging, a feeling of arrival.  But I suppose it’s the steady ebb and flow of change that keeps life from becoming stagnant from the constant eutrophication that the world tends to bring to quiet waters.  It just sorta blows sometimes.  Most things of worth take a while to develop, a process that tends to be confused and gritty.  Sometimes I forget that there is procedure and protocol and wonder why the hell it isn’t finished yet.  It takes years to get good at things, to get good at life.
            “We’ve been married for 25 years.”
            “I’ve been playing the piano since I was 5.”
            “I started working here 40 years ago.”
The problem is, when you’re 22, you don’t have many notches on your belt, a five-year plan is a hefty chunk of your entire timeline. 

I’m not the most patient of men, and I tend to have a sitcom mentality when it comes to trials.  I want a resolution in 30 minutes to an hour.  But reality tends to be a little more complicated and drawn out than that.  It’s a damn shame too.  You see, I’m only 22 years old.

Currently Playing Hi Everything's Great By Limbeck see related

My abnormal psychology class continues to be a fount of fascinating information.  Mmm, introspective fuel, it’s like heroin for the reclusive.  Besides plummeting me into further thought-intensive isolation, all this talk about disorders and psychoses is making me seriously reanalyze what I previously thought were my innocent little quirks.  What if I’m completely, need-a-padded-room crazy?  I think I narrowed down my primary abnormalities to bipolar disorder and social anxiety disorder.  Those, of course, are only the primary ones.  I’m sure deep down inside, I hate my father and have yearnings for my mother.  Standard fare, really.  The good news is that according to my self-diagnosis, the intensity and duration of my symptoms are not nearly severe enough to have me labeled as “ass-backwards crazy.”  Yeah, it’s a real term.  At the same time, having a college student self-diagnose his psychological problems is like having a boyscout climb Everest.  It just isn’t the best idea.  However, I don’t think some talk therapy, cognitive restructuring and some good old fashioned cathartic bawling would be out of the question.  I’m not that sane.    

On a completely tangential note, a few weeks ago during a smart people convention, a Harvard professor announced to his audience (which contained both men and women) that he thought that there might be “scientific” evidence to prove that in essence, boys are smarter than girls.  I’m sure someone threw The Feminine Mystique at him afterwards.  However, before supporters of the feminine perspective begin the lynching process, I would kindly ask that they apply their keen gender sensitivity to their “All men are…” statements.  I am neither hound nor swine and would no longer like to be referred to as such.  Thanks. 

I’m running low on segues and “connectors” so I’m hoping that paragraph breaks will be enough to signal a complete change in thought.  I’ve managed to rekindle my love for Conan recently.  My roommate finally convinced me to dig out my rabbit ears for the T.V., and I once again have access to major network television.  Let the world rejoice.  Although I still hold fast to the “less is more” belief when it comes to T.V., it’s hard to resist Conan’s random characters and self-deprecating humor.  Honestly, who can change the channel when the masturbating bear is on?

I want to have his babies.    

Currently Reading Cat's Cradle By Kurt Vonnegut see related

Wapow!  It’s Stephen’s update!  Right when you thought I had conveniently disappeared into the abyss of online seclusion I come out swinging.  Watch out world. 

This whole posting thing really has a lot to do with priority.  If “Update Xanga” is found near the bottom end of my list of things to do (ranked by importance, of course), I’ll end up posting the first chance I get.  Ah, the joy and wonder of procrastination.  It is ultimately the fuel that powers my sputtering motor of creativity. 

I ought to be updating my resume (accent ague).  As you can all see, I’m not.  My oh so, critical parents would blame my laziness, but I find that explanation far too truncated.  Truth is, I’ve found things to do that are far less important but are infinitely more entertaining.  My mp3’s need organizing, you see, and my Xanga has been ignored for God knows how long.   What would you do? 

I got a chance to see my brother this weekend since he was finally back from his trip to Hong Kong.  Visiting my brother is one of those few things that manage to be important and entertaining at the same time.  It’s a lot easier to identify with my brother nowadays.  Here, I’ll draw a diagram to explain. 

x = Me      o = My brother. 

              Then

                 x
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Disastrous Relationship(s)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                 o

           
               Now

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Disastrous Relationship(s)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                x  o

The tilda bordered chasm tends to a broad and deep divide in ideology and perspective.  Is it better on this side?  Eh, I don’t mind it so much.  I just wish I was actually given the choice to take the blue pill instead.  Yeah, that’s right, we all got a little closet geek inside.

I think life is calling me away again.