So I went to Fry's and bought the most expensive earbud headphones they had (ok, I was on a budget and I settled on the $25 ones).  I wonder why all these new headphones have these rubber obtrusions you get to stab into your ear canal.  I just kind of fear that it will just keep on widening my ear canal until one day I can stick my fist in there and stimulate myself.  Well, my cousins (who happen to be in middle school) thought I was sooo cool for a moment with my white headphones snaking out of my ears into my jeans pocket (wow!! cool!!  you have an IPOD?!?!) until I pulled out my shiny red discman.

That's Venus in the sky tonight next to the moon.  Sexy.  I wonder if anyone else noticed...

I snapped my board yesterday, and what took it down after 7 years of faithful service and just about 6 months of actually learning tricks was a meager ollie.  Rest in peace, baby.  I still remember when I bought my Chet Thomas A-team deck at 118 with Indy trucks and those damn 55mm Spitfire wheels that I thought were so cool but I now wish I had gotten something smaller for street.  I remember being somewhat displeased with the graphic, because that was all I cared about and wanting to be cool, but I felt bad about having my mom drive me around to all the skate shops in the valley because I really wanted that Andrew Reynolds Birdhouse deck with the killer from Scream and the blood splats but my parents wouldn't let me buy it online.  Nevertheless, I was so damn excited when I was trying to ollie in the plaza while my mom was inside Marshalls.  It wasn't until this past summer that I figured out I was regular, not goofy and finally learned that right.  Wherever you are, Clara, thanks so much for that pimp-ass painting of the tiger.  The only reason I still rode it even though I knew it was going to chip was because I figured you'd appreciate that much more than just hanging it up on a wall.  I've gotten so many compliments on it, it's too bad you didn't get to see.  Your signature on the tail is still untouched.  Anyway, your beautiful art is going to be immortalized because it's still going up on my wall.

Well, I can pop a whole 4 inches now.  If anyone wants to take me under their wing, or just practice sometime, drop a line.

I need to get some better friends.  Except for that one from Beijing, she's pretty damn cool.

Does anybody want to volunteer tutor with me at Gompers?

The sirens wail on haplessly and pathetically as I sit at my desk with the soft mead glow of late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, my continuum mechanics text shining forth, and a fine recording of Grieg's lyric pieces prostrating its heavy, broad, felt-clothed shoulder for me to softly cry on.

I WANT TO STUDY ABROAD IN NORWAY

AND GRADUATE IN 4 YEARS

WITH A DEGREE IN BIOENGINEERING

I don't know what it is about Norway, but I know even less what it is about Grieg.  Having amazingly stumbled across a book of all of his lyric pieces in Geisel's music library while searching for Rachmaninoff's moment musical's, I walked out Esty's 1-speed beach cruiser with the less-than-full tires and coaxed it to campus to the laundry room in Pepper Canyon.  The rain began to fall during moment musical #4, much to my dismay, as I pictured myself and my messenger bag drenched, stubbornly pedaling back home, with Jay Chou and the moonlight scorning my rain-soaked back and squeaking tires.  Then it hit.  I slowly pulled out my copy of Chopin's etudes and the book of scherzos, pinned them flat against each other next to the moment musical.  Taming the suddenly opportune rainfall with a brighter, more coherent storm of ivory, I cackled into the night.  Chromatics sparred with raindrops, thrust, clanged, maneuvered, jabbed, danced, until the 88 emerged victorious.  After the rainfall and at the beginning of the soreness in my arms, I pulled out Grieg's lyric pieces.  Sunshine warmed voices cried out, the smell of grass; if grass could smell and sound green, it would right at that instant.  The sounds of memories, of mirth before the disaster, some unspoken disaster leaving plains empty and wind rustling through weeds choked yellow.  Children playing on cobblestoned streets, clouds gathering, candles flickering, struggling to give texture to soft wool, cracked leather, weathered parchment.  Vanished days, butterfly, arietta, to the spring, melodie.

I want to study abroad in Norway.  Whatever inspired Grieg to create such cosmic proportions of emotion and memory encapsulated within simple, un-technical 2-minute works of clavier beauty, I wish to possess as well.  Whether it is the fjords, the blonde hair, the cold weather, the 20 hour days, or the ocean, I want to know, and experience it as well!

WHY DON'T WE HAVE AN EAP PROGRAM FOR NORWAY?!?!

P.S.  Why you gotta be such a hater, Debussy?  It's YOU who's the "pink fondant stuffed with snow," not Grieg...Oooooh, draamaa.  Who knew classical music was so gangster?  Don't doubt it, Grieg wrote a song about hoes, too.  It's called "Erotic Piece," although its erotic content is lost on me.  I suppose it's a matter of personal taste, but I don't find it as erotic as other classical works.

So, I looked at some of the previous entries and I wanted to slap myself.  So, I decided to chisel my my underwear off my chair and sit up straight and clean up this eyesore a bit and push those stupid entries off the first page by putting in some coherent entries that say cool things and make people think I'm cool.  And we begin...

I'm convinced I belong in 1969: a time before guitar distortion was invented, so that no one could overdo it, a time of mean bass lines, slick drum kicks and smooth clean distortionless guitar licks.  A time when jeans fit right, bright colors didn't mean you were gay, and flannels didn't mean you were a dork.  A time when glasses had about 3 times the plastic that modern emo kids think is cool, and lens about 5 times the size as what is considered "nerdy cool" nowadays by those same kids who call themselves nerds but are too cool to be nerds.  A time in between rock'and'roll and disco, a time when long hair was cool, and music and t-shirts were psychedelic.  A time when rock was melodic and fresh and innovative, and when poetry didn't have drum machines or cheap samples behind it.  And if you don't like any of the above, I have 2 more reasons why I should have been in college in 1969:

1. ABBEY

2. ROAD

And now, here's a list of reasons of why I shouldn't have been in college in 1969:

1. drugs were cool

Although, I suppose, bioengineering didn't exactly exist back then.  And, I probably wouldn't have been cool anyway, and thus probably wouldn't have really done drugs.

That is all.