We were SUPPOSED to practice band yesterday. I got to Poho around 1:30 pm. I woke up Kris. No one else contacted either of us for the rest of the day. Huh. Brian supposedly lives in Poho now, having spoken to Steve (Poho's leaseholder) and given his ex-landlord some excuse as to why he must move out. (He didn't have a lease, I don't see why he has to give an excuse.)

Bereft of an activity, Kris and I went out to the Ave to find lunch. We found Pagliacci and the promise of delicious italian-style food. We ordered a calzone each. (I don't know how to pronounce "Calzone". Cal-zone. Cal-zo-ni.) (One result of reading a lot and not talking very much; you know a lot of words but not how to say them out loud.) (Aloe, Annihilate, Awry...)

Big words are bad. They look vain. I will use some small ones now. I found some dumb guys. They stood by the WOTC shop. All of them wore black full length coats. They spoke in fluff words, and did not know what they meant. They laughed and wore smirks of hoped ... uh... oh well. ...magnanimous intellectual superiority. Feck! I think I've forgotten all those useful short words. Okay, so we're facing decaying intellectual capacity, unemployment, impending bankruptcy, a filthy room, treacherous friends, fading artistic talents (whatever they were), and worst of all this apathy towards all of this. It doesn't seem tragic to just stay like this forever. In fact, it's easier to just let it go. I can think of a way to get away from it. I'll consider slacking off a hedonistic, self-serving activity and not let myself do it. That might not work, though. I might just end up with hundreds and hundreds of pages of the number "1" on folder paper. In calculus once, before class, I was experimenting to see what the largest number I could write on one line of folder paper was. Nines are worth more, but ones were smaller and would fit more on a line. So I turned in my homework the next day with what looked like a very neat lawn of ink grass on the first few lines.

"That's obsessive-compulsive behavior." Well, there seems to be a lot of these pop-psychology buzzwords flying around today. You could say that people in the past just didn't recognize the 'signs', but it seems like there are a lot more people with 'mental illnesses' today. And chronic fatigue. Chronic fatigue?! You feel tired all the time. Wow, I must have it! That's why I shouldn't do any work! Oh, OH, ADHD, sign me up for that, too. I can't pay attention to anything on purpose, instead I focus only on what I want for hours. It sounds kind of like something that watching 6 hours of TV a day would train you for. You watch your show, then when the commercials come on you go flip flip flip flip flip flip until it's back on, then you watch some more. Yeah! I got bad retard grades and yet my PSATs qualified for the presidential and national merit scholar progams. Whoop! Must be a syndrome of some sort! Sometimes in conversation with completely functional, well balanced people they will mention that they were diagnosed with some sort of disorder. Sigh. Your suffering is awesome. Why, God?! WHY?! But they're strong! They will fight these immense obstacles! The easiest life can be made into an inspiring accomplishment just by introducing a few bugs into the wiring of the brain! Thank goodness that science knows EXACTLY how a healthy brain should react in any situation.
Take this simple test:

Do you ever:

1. Wear socks that don't match?
2. Drink straight out of the bottle?
3. Glare unnecessarily at the backs of peoples heads?
4. Eat food without chewing 100 times for each bite?
5. Cross the street against the red hand, for any reason?
6. Blink?

That means, you who really ARE fucked up can still go feel sorry for yourselves. I rant mostly at those who make excuses for poor academic/workplace performance. My academic record sucks because I have been a shitty student. Case in point.

And since I'm stupid, I feel like some company. Lessee, who else would like to be stupid? Okaaaaay... the guy who took a bite out of my Calzone between the time I put it in the refrigerator and when I came back and retrieved it gets to be stupid. The half of the band that missed practice today without notice qualifies to be stupid, unless they died. The worker at Pagliacci who introduced my Calzone to me as "Fred" is stupid, but only because he mixed up my order with Kris'.