Journal Entries
prid. Non. Iun- a.d. VIII Id. Iun.
Posted Jun 5, 2002
William was deeply humiliated. I tried to comfort him; I told him that for three days he had been looking for a text in Greek and it was natural in the course of his examination for him to discard all books not in Greek. And he answered that it is certainly human to make mistakes, but there are some human beings who make more than others, and they are called fools, and he was one of them, and he wondered whether it was worth the effort to study in Paris and Oxford if one was then incapable of thinking that manuscripts are also bound in groups, a fact even novices know, except stupid ones like me, and a pair of clowns like the two of us would be a great success at fairs, and that was what we should do instead of trying to solve mysteries, especially when we were up against people far more clever than we.
I remain,
Yossarian Prefect
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Latest reply: Jun 5, 2002
Weather to sleep through....Odd Dreams....Mad mess of reactions to both the ditzy and brilliant female friends....Forced militant march in the rain....
Posted May 29, 2002
Erg....
I have a migraine but I can't take the day off because I have three or four days left until I take my Chemistry SAT II test and I have to make all of my chem classes as they're still teaching us new material....
15 days left, though...
I don't know why the hell I'm so exhausted this morning. I find that the more I sleep the less rested I feel the next morning...
But that's besides the point. If anything it just makes me wish to keel over in a fetal position somewhere on the lush grass, the sun's warm rays reacting well with the awkward touch of the dew drops.
Indeed.
But what the hell am I talking about. It's raining outside. Maybe that's why I'm so tired. Without a doubt this is weather to hibernate in; that lukewarm New England air and milky/grey sky...
I had this weird dream that George Washington was attending one of my pool parties and tried to drown me except failed in doing so and we all lived happily ever after eating burgers from the grill and drinking Newman's Own Lemonade. Addictive stuff, I used to go through cartons last summer in only a week's time.
I'm especially bothered by my increasingly noticable inability to be patient with idiotic ditzy females and then further my increasingly noticable inability to just be myself and not start rambling like the type of fool who is smitten with love and doesn't even know what he's saying whence talking to brilliant girls whose lives, energy level, and coolness are unlike any I have ever known the likes of.
Speaking of this latter case, PurpleJen's alive and I spoke to her for a bit yesterday. Yeah, I rambled, but it was good to hear that she's been doing well.
...I had gym this morning.
They made us walk around the track for an hour in the rain.
I have found that I live a life of regrets and frustration with myself for saying what I do sometimes, regardless of whether or not I feel completely justified in my speech. And yet, I know I cannot dwell on such things and keep moving on in hopes of one day not worrying about whether or not the things I say will be received as being poor in taste.
Which may or may not happen.
I think it's caused me to lose a few friends, if it has done anything else other than eat away at my soul and engulf my thoughts at times whence I'm lying in bed yearning for sleep.
Or maybe it hasn't.
Maybe I'm just a demanding little b*****d who expects too much from himself and people as he lives in the naive belief that clean, well-lit places do exist.
Maybe my mother was right in telling me I would never find what I was looking for because it didn't exist.
Maybe they were all right....
*sigh*
At the very least, let's see if I can pick all three of my entries this week as I did last week for the first time in nine months...
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Latest reply: May 29, 2002
Logarithms
Posted May 13, 2002
The momentum is lost. All of it.
Roughly twenty minutes ago I was having a conversation with a good friend of mine who had recently attended this party on a yacht. The dialogue was some brilliantly deep stuff if I do say so myself and so I had decided to use it as the opening to the very journal entry you are reading now. My connection dies right in the midst of my previewing the entry followed by the computer crashing. I lose the text. And so I ask the guy if he could be so kind as to copy, paste, and send me the beginning of our conversation. He tried. He couldn't.
And now you are stuck with this.
The dialogue ended with his remark that,
"you either were dancing or sitting on the side wishing you were"
Indeed. And I believe that quotation itself was really why I wanted a copy of our dialogue in the first place.
It reflects my mood during this past weekend which, as is the case with all of them, came to an end too soon.
Friday evening my friends and I plan on throwing a surprise party for a friend of theirs whom I only know as a mere acquaintance. He was playing in a tennis tournament at his pompous asshole private school and lucky for him I was feeling just crazy enough to get myself kicked off their slave-driving campus for good.
We arrive in proper pompous rich snobby private school b******d attire; they're dressed up like matted-hair geeks and I'm dressed up like one of those snooty-jock tennis players. With the orange hunting/aviation/Vegas sunglasses of course. Few people realize how essential sunglasses are to the job.
Apparantley, though, the guy wasn't doing too well in his match. What made the entire situation worse was that if we wanted to surprise him it would have to be /retroactive/. He gets really emotional about the smallest damn event that happens to him and so if we were to jump him in the middle of his game and embarress him he'd be devestated. This latter point is emphasized with the example of how when the couplet he was playing scored the last point that he was in the fault for missing, he threw his raquet onto the court, walked up to the chain-linked fence, and began violently hitting his head against it.
"Good God," I muttered as I stumbled back a good two feet in shock at how bad this kid was messing up his head just because he had lost this worthless f**karound of a tennis match. What the hell had I gotten myself into...
I wanted out. But then again, how could I?
Wasn't he the same guy who participated in my own surprise party five months earlier in which they broke into my house, pounced me while I was changing the cat's food in the basement, rolled me in a rug, threw me in their car, and ended up taking me one of their houses for a somewhat worthy party as far as their parties went?
I couldn't just leave now. Besides, I was in charge of the champagne bottle and I knew that if I was gone it would go with me. As badly as I wanted to leave, I wasn't wretchedly depraved enough to deprive the kid of his birthday champagne. And so I stuck around until finally being convinced by my friends now turned temporarily into matted-hair geeks to go and comfort the guy and stop him from destroying too many of those essential brain cells. The movie and champagne would do all the work in that field and so there was no need to be excessive about the whole thing.
So I walk onto the court and approach him.
"You know, you didn't play so badly out there," I said. I mean, yeah he did play terribly but what the hell was I supposed to say to stop this kid from making a bigger mess of his face than it already was? "Don't be so hard on yourself, man. We all have our bad days."
?
He wiped the tears from his eyes and muttered something under his breath followed by the type of laugh someone who is trying control his or her tears cracks out so that it's just the right blend of incoherence and bitter remark mixed with pure irony at its finest.
Good, then. I had made some progress.
He needed to go change out of his tennis clothes so I waited outside with my friends acting as conspicuous as possible because I really had never imagined I wouldn't be able to go all out and try to enjoy myself a little as I would defame the school and show its warts to the world. Let its true stench of greed, mandacity, and deceit fill the air. That'll show the b***** ds.
But it never happened and I'm digressing a bit.
He returns from the locker room. My friends dive into the bushes just in time as to avoid being seen, and then he and I make our way to the main building where he needs to pick up some work.
We return to the courts as I tell him that's where my mother would be picking us up so that we could drive him home. He's skeptical about the whole thing. I mean, can you really imagine a guy not wondering how soon it would be before he was thrown a surprise party after observing each of his friends having a surprise party thrown for them for the past consecutive seven months?
The guys jump him. He freaks out, notices none of his depraved peers from his school are around, then loosens up. I reach into my pocket to get the bottle opener for the champagne. It was this really weird bottle that kinda had a cap on it rather than a cork...
So I had forgotten the bottle opener and the reaction of the matted-hair geeks was truly one of menace. The looks peirced through my soul.
I didn't need this, I thought to myself. And I really didn't either. The whole event so far consisted of my witnessing an hour long tennis match and then somewhat comforting the guy who had just lost miserably.
There was only one way out. I threw the bottle at the building expecting the glass to shatter, stunning them for a split second so that I could make a run for it, but the bottle just bounced off with a sharp clang.
I dove for it, grabbed it off the ground, ran to the front of the building, saw a sign at the front of the building. A dim light flickered above my head. I took the bottle, and forced the cap off using the sharp edge of the sign, and ran for the street as the bottle fizzed out the delicious foam all over my hand. I was going to go home. And then I was reminded of how this was his /birthday/ champagne. Goddamnit.
I put the bottle down on the sidewalk, walked a few feet to the grass, and stumbled down off my feet as I tried to catch my breath and look as nonchalant as possible.
What the hell was I doing, anyway? This was that tennis player's day, not mine. And here I was running around with a bottle of champagne like a selfish fool. It had to stop right here. I was going to sit through this night and do as best as I could to avoid being in the spotlight.
Which is what I ended up doing after apologizing to the guy who said that he thought that my concept of putting the school to good use for the first time in its existence by opening a champagne bottle with it was brilliant and that I needn't worry.
And there was much rejoicing.
We drive to the movies dressed like matted-hair geeks and myself dressed as a pompous idiot tennis player and go watch Spider-Man. The movie was great for one very simple reason, really. The fact is (and this is where X-Men went wrong), that the movie was made to be nothing more than a comic book. It wasn't a pathetic attempt to make what we'd call a decent movie using Spider-Man themes. It was true Spider-Man in its entirety; from start to finish.
I went home after the movie, I recall, fell into bed fully clothed without even as much a second thought as to how the day had gone. I was exhausted. The work week is getting to be murder especially in these last few remaining weeks.
But the momentum...
The momentum's gone if, in fact, it ever existed. The only thing left to do now is retreat to the warmth and security of my bed before it is too late and I'm caught in auto-pilot, staying awake for as long as possible until I simply fall asleep and stay in that dormant state for hours.
Cheers, Purplejen. Wherever you are.
~Yossarian
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Latest reply: May 13, 2002
Good God...
Posted May 10, 2002
Eight picks.
Eight.
Due two days ago.
Anna'll have my head on a platter... 
I'll get around too it. Don't want to be a jerk about the whole thing. I mean, they do kinda ~need~ those picks in so that they can have five on the front page everyday and such...
~Yossarian 
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Latest reply: May 10, 2002
Where the hell do the weekends go...?
Posted May 6, 2002
Not very often do I find myself writing journal entries every six hours or so knowing full well that I have a lab to complete, two tests to study for, and over 150 pages to read in a particularly terrible book all due tomorrow.
But here we are and here it is so there you go.
This evening I went to a friend's house and had dinner. About ten minutes afterward a few of his friends came over and they were hungry as well and so I ended up having dinner again. At the time I felt like a pig but looking back it now, I figure it sounds a lot better to say that I was bracing myself for the game of Axis and Allies Europe, you see. A terrible game. Rotten. Rips into the souls of men and leaves them with nothing more than a human shell. The inside is mangled in worms. Seven infantry in Bellorussia wiped out by Axis bombers. Blasted territory lost. Don't mind the infantry. I'll produce ten more next turn...
So it goes. Let the b*****ds at it while it lasts.
I suppose it's better that way, though. I mean, imagine how devestating everything would be if we realized just who the hell we were effecting in our everyday actions. Even retroactively speaking. Where our material posessions and such came from. Who slaved over it and such...
Not my problem... yet. I just want you all to know that I'll be Secretary-General of the United Nations one day.
I would also very much like to own a yacht. Or a Galleon. Maybe even both, really. I occasionally find myself in various moods of time periods and such. Romanticized, of course. At times I'm musically inspired and so I walk around feeling like the greatest drummer in the world who's contributed (or at least has the potential for contributing) brilliant works. So that's Brilliant Musician Yossarian with drum-playing karate-chop action. Available in stores June 5, 2002.
~Intermission~
SoEasilyAmused has just informed me that,
"procrastination sucks.
studying sucks
exams suck
..... is that good?
lol"
~End of Intermission~
Zark, I'm tired.
And I still have allthis work to do.
I've officially surpassed the point of mere exhaustion. Running into overhaul. It's going to be a long night...
Bad Craziness...
~Yossarian
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Latest reply: May 6, 2002
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