For quite some time I've been meaning to put up a terribly boring section on this page in which I might air my random musings about Life, the Universe, and Stuff. Sometimes they're funny, sometimes they're tragic, and sometime's they're just a little piece of my complicated and puzzling brain. . . keep in mind that I think about some fairly screwed up stuff, and that you might not care to finish reading what you've started. Riiiight.
Zach's Random Thought for May 17: I haven't updated my webpage for awhile, which seems to have disturbed a lot of you. Excellent, it means you're all still reading my page, and being amused at my almost continuous stupidity encapsulated therein. Well, whatever, I suppose I should be getting on with it. It's that time of year again. . . no, not the time of year when a young man's fancy turns to love. . . I think I've already covered that subject rather thoroughly in my previous entries, and thus proven that girls are dumb. No, it's almost graduation time for high schoolers! And, this being a year after I graduated, along with a lot of you, I find myself getting a tad nostalgic. Remember the parties? The fun? Parades, balloons, elephants, and open houses. Admittedly, few elephants and parades, but, well, I was trying to be a little metaphorical, and, as usual, failing quite wretchedly.
But the thing that I truly marvel at is the fact that all of the kids who were juniors last year will be graduating in a week or so!! That's insane. . . they're all, like, 6, you know? And next year they'll be at college with us, as freshmen. College freshman! That's, like, 2/3 or the way to being a grown up, and we all know that being a college freshman is no where near as bad is it is to be a high school freshman. It just boggles my mind as to where all of the time went. Do you realize that Scott "Funboy" Martin can drive now? No shit. . . the other day I saw the kid cruisin' around in a Saturn. For a second I just sort of sat there, thinking that something was a little out of place, and then I realized that FUNBOY WAS BEHIND THE WHEEL! I think it was the scariest moment of my life. I gripped the wheel and steered intently for a few moments, until I was sure that he wasn't about to suddenly lunge sideways and knowck me off of the road. I think I'm mostly over the awful fright now, but I'm still a little frightened when I make protected left-hand turns. . . Scotty might be headed towards me, and I don't think I trust the kid to realize what's going on.
I suppose this random thought is a little more purposeful, and a little more sentimental than most of my other random thoughts, but I've realized a little something since I went off to college. . . if you don't think about stuff every once and awhile, you forget it. Higher math is probably the first thing to go, which causes us no end of trouble when we try to order pizza -- it's one of those things that, as soon as you forget it, it becomes vitally important that you know it, or, at least, you'd really like to remember how to add 10% to $8.73 and divide it by 25 (yeah, well, we're cheap. . . we can't afford a lot of pizza). But my point is, someday we're all gonna get together, and start talking about this stuff. . . So take a minute today and think about last year--graduation, grad bash, parties, summer, fun, 4 year obsessions, writing senior theses, high-speed trips to and from South Haven, Prom, the relay for life. It's all great stuff, and at least reasonably precious on my scale of things to remember for years.
And for you high school kids: Have fun this summer, do good deeds <heh>, and enjoy it. It's your last summer to be completely free of responsibility. . . pretty soon you'll have to grow up, get a job, whatever, so aviod working this summer, unless you really really need the money for college. But don't get all of my waxing philosophical wrong. . . as romantic as I've been here about the end of high school, bigger and better things await. Much bigger, much better, and much more lecherous. So, as you look ahead to the higher learning and more mature world of college, realize that most of your education will not, in fact, be of the higher things. . . you'll gain an intimate knowledge of various alcholic beverages, because even if you don't, one of your friends will, and they'll talk about it incessantly. You'll learn about girls in tight pants and backless shirts (or become one of them). And, most importantly, you'll learn about garbage, in the form of Cafeteria food. And I wouldn't give up a second of it for anything ;)
Zach's Random Thought for April 19: It's exam week, and I don't feel like doing all of the thinking for you people. Seriously, piss off! I can't be bothered with this sort of thing all of the time. . . I have a life too, you know! Well, obviously you know. . . I spend a lot of my time ranting about it on this very page. And where does all of the ranting get me, you ask? Nowhere! I suppose I get a few laughs, now and then, out of you, faithful reader, but that doesn't matter one lobster in a ping-pong tournament! I mean, I'm providing a service here, shouldn't I get some sort of reimbursement? eh? EH?! That's capitalism for you, I suppose. Now, if I were a republican. . . but that's neither here nor there, and I'll thank you to not send me "Reagan Forever" bumper stickers. . . he can't remember the 80's, and neither should we, except for Back to the Future. . . that was a good movie.
But, I suppose I should face the facts. . . no one is making me continue writing, and I should probably stop. If I don't, one of three things will happen. 1) you will become bored. 2) I will say something that I will regret later. 3) the Spanish Inquisition will burst in and confiscate my computer. No one ever expects them, you know, and certainly not behind the tool shed in the back yard. At any rate, I shall forge ahead, and feel free to stop reading at any time, should I offend/bore you. Along those lines, has anyone else ever noticed how disturbing carp are? I mean, really, who created such filthy animals! Was evolution just having a really bad week, or something? Generally, animals mate with the most attractive members of the opposite sex, but the carp seem to seek out the ugliest, nastiest, most-likely-to-eat-loogies-spit-into-the-pond mates! All of this leads me to think about all sorts of evolutionary theories for gettin' myself some action, genetically speaking.
It would do no good at all to just reverse the order of things, though. . . then I'd want ugly chicks, but I'd be under the impression that they were hot. Now, this idea has a kind of seductive appeal, as the ugly chicks are usually nicer, but that's probably only because they have to worry about actually impressing people with their personalities, and I wouldn't know the difference. On the other hand, hot chicks are flirtier. . . I'm still working out a way to reconcile that particular crisis to my liking. However, I would like to be the first to propose a new attractiveness-caste-based way to reorganize the world to my liking. I'll just completely scramble the way in which everyone is attracted to members of the opposite sex, based on their own attractiveness. First, I'll make the attractive guys attracted to ugly girls. However, I don't want those girls pursuing folks higher on the ladder, so I make them attracted to the ugly guys. Keep in mind this is all completely ethical, as the people within the system (everyone) will be too randy for their assigned group to complain about it. The ugly guys, then, shall be attracted to the ugly girls, as well. Thus, competition for the hot girls is completely eliminated. . . we average looking guys won't have anyone horning in on our turf. All we have to do now is tweak the hot girls a little, so they're attracted to we suddenly-not-so-average guys, and boom! Nice, average guys suddenly no longer finish last! We're free to pick between hot girls, if we're more into the physical, and average girls, if we're more into the mental thing, or just happen to really like them. And the average girls are happy because the ugly guys aren't pursuing them anymore, and they have a little more access to the hot guys, as they are busy chasing the less attractive chicks, and getting rebuffed by them, as the ugly chicks are paired with the ugly guys. Thus, the hot guys must "settle" for the average girls. . . but it's better than the current system, where average girls don't have access to the hot guys because they're all taken by the hot girls.
And, thusly, I sit in my room at night solving all of the problems of the world. Too bad my solutions to things aren't more practical, or I might make something of myself someday. So, until such a day as the world is rearranged according to My Divine Plan, I am accepting applications for and invitations on dates. If you think you might meet my rigorous qualifications, don't hesitate to E-mail me at masked4now@aol.com . . . I'm desperate, but I'm witty, too, so I'm still pretty good company. Sorry, Tripper, I'm not currently accepting applications from male candidates. Sicko.
Zach's Random Thought for the week of April 3rd: This week, a more a question than a thought. . . is there now, or has there ever been, anyone quite as angsty as me? I mean, seriously, I angst over everything, and not just a little.
My Grades: a source of angst, though only very slightly. Angst is generally reserved for those things that involve a lot of thought, or that one is particularly concerned about. While you all know I have to get good grades, lest hell freeze over, it's not as difficult for me as it could be, and grades aren't something I spend long hours pondering. . . they generate more straight stress than almost anything else, but I thought I should include them in the interest of making my listing complete.
My Future: definitely a source of angst, it comprises a healthy percentage of my blood-angst level from day to day. I mean, come on, I'm 19 years old (yeah, you all missed my birthday, you bastards!). . . how can I be expected to decide what I want to do with the rest of my life. . . especially with my wide ranging interests. Perhaps, if someone could go through my schooling for me, and just transfer the knowledge into my head, then that would be fine. . . I'd be an astrophysicist or something. . . it'd be cool as hell to be working on the cutting edge of science. Unfortunately, the amount of schooling and work involved in order to get there is, quite frankly, daunting. And a commitment to such a large amount of schooling requires that one be extremely sure that that is what they want to do. And, since I am Hamlet, only without all of that pesky stepfather killing business, and am therefore incapable of commiting to and taking any action at all, then, even should I somehow realize what I wanted to do, I would be too frightened to act on that decision, being frightened that it was incorrect. Maybe I should just quit college and take up semi-professional miniature golf. . . sure, it doesn't pay, but the hours are good. . .
Women: the primary source of angst in my life, by far. Sure, women have done all right by me occasionally. . . I must admit that my only formal romantic relationship was rather good. However, more often than not, I get screwed over in some respect or another, so it's become rather expected. Actually, now that I think about it, I've mostly gotten screwed over by one girl, repeatedly, not that I'll mention any names, Kerry. Errr. . . wait, I wasn't going to mention any names. Dammit, I always do that. . . umm. . . okay, Zach, play it cool. . . maybe no one will notice. . . yeah, that's the ticket. But, it wasn't precisely her fault that I kept getting screwed over. . . it just wasn't fated to be. Thus, I have developed a specific and healthy hatred for fate. Though I suppose fate has spared me some grief on occasion. . . there was that time when I liked Lemmer, and, with apologies to Kristina, that relationship would have been a disaster, as we're terribly incompatible. Still, I think fate enjoys toying with me regarding women, though I'm not sure precisely how. After all, I get angsty when there are available and desireable women around and I cannot/do not have them. Then, my angst increases when the women leave, because there are no women around to pursue. However, when the women return, my angst increases yet more, as I do not have one of the tantalizingly attractive females near at hand. And so it continues, thusly convincing me that, somehow, fate is toying with me, despite that fact that, no matter what happens, my angst only increases. Bugger. Perhaps learning to live without women would be the best for my permanant angst content, but that is patently impossible. . . who would do my cooking and cleaning? No, I'm joking. . . but I can't make out with myself, nor provide myself with emotional comfort, and the idea of cuddling with myself is just kind of creepy.
All of this may give you the idea that angst is bad. You are probably right, but I don't know what I'd do without the stuff. When I'm not angsting (which has happened for brief periods, believe it or not) I turn into an ambition-less slug. I can't write about anything, my poetry sucks (betcha didn't know I wrote that stuff, did ya?), and the Smashing Pumpkins stop speaking to me as much. It's probably some sort of symbiotic thing. . . I cannot survive without the angst, which depends on me for some sort of sustanance, or possibly cheap laughs. Either way, ladies, if you see me being too happy, lead me on, or something, 'cause I think I might die if I were ever completely angst free. . . I'll thank you later, after I've stopped writing death threats and throwing darts at your picture.
Zach's Random Thought for the week of March 27th: Girls are dumb. Yes, indeed. But before you get up in arms, let me explain that these comments come solely from the perspective of an angst-ridden 18-year-old, and not the enlightened, mature 18-year-old which I usually draw my perspective from when I write. I'm not sure exactly what's brought this all on. . . perhaps the fact that it's springtime, a point at which the trees re-leaf, flowers bloom, and a young man's fancy turns to gettin' it on with the finest chick in his immediate vicinity. Or does it?
Perhaps this is the most crucial mistake that females make. Often, they view men as slaves to their horemones. They are quite right, much of the time. Okay, almost all of the time. However, inside every slobbering young man, there is also a sensitive young man with lots of icky feelings that he likes, quite sensibly, to ignore. Sometimes, though, those squishy feelings force themselves through layers of sports statistics, video games, and plots for world domination, flooding the young Romeo's mind with, like, genuine affection, and, in rare cases, love. The women, of course, fail to notice this, as they are too busy gibbering over the hot guy at the mall. . . despite the fact that men are supposed to be the hormonally controlled ones.
I refuse to deal with issues of complicatedness and signals, as they are discussed quite adequately elsewhere. I will add that we can, in fact, read these signals, but only if we're looking for them, so don't go dropping them without at least a little warning.
I guess my primary complaint is that girls are constantly overlooking terribly great guys. . . and I'm sure we're overlooking great girls, as well, but we're evil, shallow bastards, and cannot overcome that. So ladies, the next time you see that guy with an abnormally soft expression on his face looking at you at a party, say hi. He's either experiencing some seepage of actual emotion, or he's completely plastered. He'll try to kiss you either way, but the beer breath will clue you in as to whether or not you should kiss him back.