Elleresque Podcast

Hello, people. It is I, Jordan Eller. I’m having my buddy here publish this bulletin to inform you that I have a real, live podcast! Well, it’s not live. It’s pre-recorded. But, I would be honored if you would give it a listen. To all my old friends that I don’t keep in contact with, this is a great way for you to conveniently be updated on what I’m doing with my life. While it doesn’t show up in the actual iTunes Directory, you can subscribe to it by opening iTunes, clicking on the “Advanced” tab, and then clicking “Subscribe to Podcast”. When the field pops up, paste this address into the space:
http://jordaneller.solidwebhost.com/ElleresquePodcast.xml
iTunes is still processing my submission, so a more conventional way of listening would be to go here:
http://soundcloud.com/j-eller
From here, you can listen and download the files as you see fit.
I realize that by abstaining from Facebook, I have lost touch with a lot of people I care about. I hope that you can find some enjoyment in listening to my ramblings.
Thanks!

-J

A Quick, Videoriffic Update

Hi there. I just realized YouTube upped it’s time constraint from 10 minutes to 15 minutes, so that means I can slap on a couple more videos that were outlawed before. Here’re my 3 newest ones, as well as a link to my channel, so you can keep up with all my goofy, pale antics. YouTube kind of squashed the quality of the videos, so, uh, boo YouTube.










For better video quality, watch it on my actual channel: http://www.youtube.com/user/likeiis

-J

Micyclist

I don't understand car culture. Well, I didn't used to. I get it now, but it took me a long time. Yesterday morning I was waiting for the shuttle to pick me up and whisk me away to Campusland, and I saw two lizards on the curb next to me. The bigger lizard began bobbing up and down and flexing his neck-flap thing. This kept up for about 30 seconds or so. After that, the ladylizard ran away. It may not seem like much, but that tiny, natural exchange is what helped me understand car culture, and a few other things.

I complain about the macho douchebags I see at FGCU all the time. White Oakley sunglasses? Check. Black flatcap with the Atlanta Braves logo on it? Check. Backs his dad's old Lexus into every parking spot he finds? Check. Fratboy, why does your dad's old Lexus have a spoiler now? What about those 22' chromium wheels? And that subwoofer that wakes me up at 3 in the morning as you drive back from yo boy's house after a hard night of drinking and smoking? What's up with that? Well, Brian/ Anthony/ Mark/ Scott/ Matt/ Mike/ whatever your name is, I know why. I've FIGURED YOU OUT. And it's all thanks to nature. In nature, the male species must always ALWAYS has to put on some sort of display of affection and superiority if he wants to have any chance of porking the nearest ladybird or ladygoose. It's just instinct. A long time ago, at the advent of the Paleodouchic Era, a guy saw a bird making a fool out of himself for a ladybird and thought, Gee, I wanna try that! So he did. And it worked! Fast forward to nowtimes. The most popular, studly males around are basically driving around in flashy, attention-getting pre-mating rituals, except now they're called "Honda Civics". Don't believe me?

Right. See? The only reason you can buy spinners for your rims at every conflabbed mall kiosk in town is because nature dictates and requires it if you want to have any hope of reproducing. I think it's hilarious that humans are just as goofy as flamingoes when it comes to attracting a mate. Instead of all that weird strutting and cawwing, we just make awkward conversation and convince the opposite sex that we're not that horrible. I'm not saying that females are attracted to meaningless baubles and counterfeit gestures, because they're not. Er, right?



The nature metaphors continue below.

B'AWWWW. Cyclists equal cute, squishy things? No, dummy. Focus.



Cyclists are the mice of the road. Tiny, athletic, and sometimes nocturnal. Cyclists bother me for the same reason mice bother other people: they have the potential to cause some serious damage. Mice by themselves are not so bad. You see one in a forest or something and say, "Aw, cute". Same with cyclists. "Good for you, flabby 50-something frizzy-haired lady in an unfortunate sportsbra! I'm proud of you.". Not a big deal. But, what happens when you see a bunch cyclists in front of you in YOUR lane? You think the same thing when you see a bunch of mice together. "Bubonic plague". Or "dinner for snakes". Both of these things can apply to a cyclist, I guess, but the general idea that I'm trying to convey here is that a cluster of cyclists puts everybody on the road on edge. One wrong move and you could very easily kill 3 people, ya know? I'm not a nervous driver, but nothing triggers a nasty case of anxious back-sweat like riding next to a cyclist at a traffic light or other significant infrastructural junction. I just don't like that they ride out in the middle of the road in this itty-bitty lane. It seems completely counter-intuitive! If I were a biker, I would A) bike somewhere scenic and pleasant, not on Three Oaks "Deathtrap" Parkway and B) bike on a SIDEWALK, away from a ROAD. Oop, er, what's that noise?

Oh, it's a million bicyclists protesting their lack of rights on the road. Hm, well, huh. I mean, there is a bike lane, and you're more than welcome to use it. And, well, I'll try not to run you over when you and your neon-colored posse cut me off as I'm trying to turn, so...two rights. I'm giving you two rights.



I like bike rides. I would, at some point, like to bike around Paris or Venice or somewhere scenic. I love bike rides, but it just seems like the presence of gigantic, exhaust-spewing bowling balls on the road would make anyone think twice about riding on a road. We have parks! Parks are nice.



-J





PS - You would not BELIEVE how many pictures of naked bicyclists show up when you type "Bicycle Protest" into Google Images. Sheesh.

Monty

I woke up this morning at 7AM, 15 minutes later than I should've woken up. I woke up late because my alarm is my cell phone, and my cell phone was on vibrate. I took a quick shower and gathered up my school supplies for the day. I left the dorm and went downstairs to wait for the shuttle to take me to campus proper. It arrives about 10 minutes later. The shuttle was only half-full, which at first was refreshing, because usually the bus gets so packed that my face is forced into some foul crevasse of the stranger in front of me. But it wasn't that way this morning, so I sat down and stretched out a little bit. Unfortunately, FGCU only can afford 3 buses (which is strange, because we just spent $250,000 on a state-of-the-art golf simulator), so we were slowly making our way through the dorms, picking up all sorts of groggy, moaning zombies.

Now, I'm a chivalrous fellow. I hold doors open for ladies. I speak politely around ladies. I try not to push them into mud puddles. I'm a nice guy. Usually, if I've got a seat on the bus and I see a girl having to stand and hold on to the ceiling-bar, I'll cede my seat to her. She thanks me politely and I shrug it off like the aloof stud that I am. That did not happen today. I was tired, depressed, and hungry. But most importantly, I was comfortably seated. We kept piling more and more kids on the bus until eventually the seats were all filled and people began standing and hanging onto the bar. A tall, pretty girl wearing a strapless dress sat next to me. I gave the obligatory smile and mumbled a hello as her butt landed right next to me. We were sitting in silence as we watched girls and boys line up in the aisle and grab the bar overhead. Two girls were standing right in front of me and Dress Girl. All of a sudden, as if it were choreographed, two fratboys sitting across from me get up and insist the girls take their seats. Great, I thought. Now every dude on the bus feels like a jerk for not getting up for these broads. To make matters worse, Dress Girl spurts, "Awh, you guys are so sweet!". Thanks, woman. I appreciate that. Not only do those fratboys make every guy on the bus look like an inconsiderate moron, but they receive Dress Girl's affection, too. How nice.

I could have done that. I felt like I should have, but then I remembered, "Wait, I DO do that." Except, when I do it, nobody says a word. Or if they do, it's a disdainful "Thanks...". Those are even worse. They might as well just say, "What took you so long, asshole?". Plus, no girl is going to be smitten with me if I give her my seat. It's not like I've ever made friends with a girl by giving up that comfy, foamy throne. It's a lose-lose situation. If I stand and give up my seat, every guy on the bus suddenly hates me, and the girl to whom the seat was given just hates me a little less. If I don't give up my seat, I look like a jackass as soon as some gentleman becomes courteous enough to allow a girl to take his seat. My solution? Never sit down. Even if I'm the first one on the bus, I will go directly to the back and grasp that cold metal bar of restitution, and stand.

I enjoy conversation. I like talking to people. I like making people laugh. I see people like little puzzles that I can try to solve. Some people are tougher to crack, and other people are unsatisfyingly easy. But, one facet of conversation that I have a tough time tolerating is the word "So..."

To clarify, I like the word "so". "So" is very handy. One of my favorite adjectives, really. However, "so" has become corrupted and turned into a withering, stifling sledgehammer to any conversation. An example:

Jordan: Hey, have you ever been skiing?
Dingus: Ha, yeah. But it gets tiring after awhile, so...

"So..."? So what? "So...take a nice bath afterwards"? "So...bring some cocaine to perk you up when you're done"? "So..." is the easiest way to convey to the other conversational party that you are either A) inept at entertaining a thought or B) not at all interested in what I have to say. To add insult upon injury, many people add the devastating "yeah." after the "so". Nothing is more frustrating that sparking up a conversation, and before anything gets accomplished, your friend ends his piece with, "so...yeah.". What am I supposed to say to that? Are you reassuring yourself that you're smart and funny or something? Because chances are, if you end your sentences with "so...yeah", you're half-Mongoloid who can't finish a thought.

To be honest, I've used "so...yeah" a couple times, but for a totally different reason. I use it for comedic value, or to let someone know that I don't want to talk about something. Like this.

A) Jordan: Yeah, I'm wear a size 10 sneaker, but a size 7 high-heel. So...yeah.

OR
B) Jordan: And then we just sort of went our seperate ways. So...yeah.

There you go. Those are the only two permissable circumstances when "so..." becomes appropriate.

I don't have any pictures in this post. Congrats if you managed to read all this. You're a real good friend.

-J

Shakespeare

I saw a commercial for the new Michael Cera movie, and I noticed his character was wearing a shirt that Billy Corgan (from Smashing Pumpkins) made famous.

That's almost enough reason for me to go see it.

My brief Facebook tenure is over for good, I think. It was nice catching up with some people, and I think I was nice enough to buy myself another 5 years of excommunication before I feel obligated to catch up with them.

Obligatory conversation is best dealt with while driving. When you're driving around town, and you see an old friend walking down the sidewalk, you stick your head out the window and yell, "Hey! Howya been!". They have about 15 seconds to respond, and then you have to move on. When you're walking, however, you MUST STOP and chat. I'm no sociopath, but if I'm walking anywhere, I am usually trying to get somewhere, and unless you're going to give me food or money, I would really just prefer to keep moving.

I'm wondering who you are. I'm not going to say that I don't expect people to read this, because that's a lie. But I am curious who you are and why you're reading this. Joey? Is that you?

That's my old friend Andy. He's moving to up north for college in a couple days. After that, I'll officially have to repopulate my Friends List. That's right, I keep a Friends List. I used to have millions and millions of friends, but after a while I had to start crossing them off. I'm not callous or anything, it's just that they changed or I changed and life goes on. Making friends in high school was so easy. You're surrounded by all types of people for 6 hours a day. It's impossible NOT to make a bunch of friends. No one had jobs or serious girlfriends. After a while, you develop a certain preference for a certain type of person. I prefer people that are interesting and weird. There's a difference between people that try to be weird and people that are inherently weird, though. The people that pride themselves on being weird are usually the people with an alcoholic stepdad or a nasty habit of inviting friends over to watch porn together.

Hands down, the weirdest, most interesting person I've ever met is the illustrious Ian Daniels. He was a slender, pale Irish kid with a copious amount of thick brown hair and a mumbling voice. I met him during my Freshman year of high school, on the bus. He's like a character out of a book. I don't know what happened to him. He's like a legend. Nobody's heard from him in months. I hope he's alright.

A lot of people like Michael Cera for the same reason a lot of people like Will Ferrell, and that reason is "typecasting". Cera, like Ferrell, plays essentially the exact same character in every movie. It's gotten to the point where a movie starring either of these actors basically feels like a sequel to the previous respective movie they starred in. Let's see some variety, guys.

An Inconvenient Truth

Yes. It's happened. I have a Facebook now. I have turned my back on my own self-imposed social prison and am attempting to reach out in a way that I once considered, well, just kind of dumb. I have realized a certain sad, yet undeniable truth: I am no longer able to stand in the way of progress.

I regard Facebook as a necessary evil. It's gotten to the point where I can no longer ask for someone's phone number, since I will have skipped the "I'll Facebook you!" step and will thusly be considered rude and aggressive. It's an unfortunate state of affairs, but what can I do? I've lost contact with nearly everyone I used to talk to simply because everybody hates phone calls, apparently. So, being the totally and utterly selfless boy that I am, I've dedicated my Facebook to you, the reader, my friend.

Which basically means it's your fault for not calling me. Dorks!

-J

Baseball

Up until recently, I've been somewhat of a pessimist. If you look over any of my previous blogs or Tweets, you'll see that I can always find something to complain about. Call it a talent, a curse, whatever you want, but from HERE ON OUT, I'm going to start liking people. It's too easy to hate stupid people. It's like trying to hunt down every terrorist in the world. Impossible, right? So, I'm going to take the road less traveled and try to understand and embrace people of every personality and behavior.

Excpet for these people:

Hipsters.

Gangsters stand for power and infamy; Nerds stand for intelligence; Athletes stand for fitness and strength.

Hipsters stand for nothing.

You see them everyday. The pale, skinny-armed, mocha-colored-Aviator-sunglasses-wearing pseudo-hippies that trapse around smelling like marijuana and looking like roadkill. To me, the Hipster is the antithesis of what people should aspire to be. I understand that some women are strangely attracted to them, but that's because women are very vain. See, if they could, women would just clone themselves and make out with their clone all day. But, Hipsters offer an almost identical alternative (since they're sensitive, emotional, chic, and penis-less); women can make out with Hipsters all they want without declaring themselves as lesbians. Handy, no?

Hipsters attempt to establish themselves as "Mysteriously Awesome". By wearing t-shirts emblazened with the logo of a little-known Indie band, they can achieve a fundamental level of mystere. Coupled with a pair of jeans purchased at the local Babies 'R Us and a ill-fitting wool cap, the Hipster is ready to mosey out into the world. Of course, there's the optional wisp of facial hair, or haircut (one of which that entails the asking of the barber to "just f&#k it up"), but if the Hipster wishes to transcend to the ultimate level of Slackerism, the one crucial element required is simply this: do not use hard consonant sounds This is the coup de grace when it comes to the Hipster ideology. Don't understand? Let me explain with some examples.

"What's up, bro?" becomes "Wha's uh, prah?".

"No freaking way, dude!" becomes "Nah free'in way, dooh!"

"Let me help you down from that forklift, sir." becomes "Lemme ghet you dun fruh tha for'lift, suh."

See? It's that easy. With this lexicon, the Hipsters can quickly and effectively move throughout society as well as assimilate new members in their quest for, uh, nothing.

The only way to snap out of the spiraling depression that I am occasionally afflicted with when I hear Hipsters speak, see them move, smell them, or taste them, is to think about two things. 1) Where they work and 2) what they do during family vacations.

1) Most Hipsters either don't work or are garbage emptiers/floor moppers at the local movie theater, fast food joint, or Blockbuster. This is because Hipsters are what you'd call "Unskilled Laborers". You see, in the 1870's, during America's burgeoning Industrial Age, workers were pigeonholed into two categories: Skilled and Unskilled. This is basically the same thing. When a middle-aged man walks into BurgerKing and orders a burger, he doesn't want to look into the reflective surface of a lip ring or see the sweat glistening on the swollen pores of a freshly shaven chin, since the manager said that "soul patches were unacceptable in the workplace". Therefore, Hipsters are banished to the back of the building and made to clean up the excess waste made by those of worth. And to me, that is amusing.

2) During the actual trip to the family get-together, the Hipster assumes the position in the back seat of the van or SUV. Earbuds placed firmly in the cochlea, iPod turned up to maximum volume so as to avoid any irritating conversation by other family members, and cell phone keyboard clicking away with the words of unfounded disdain about how much he hates his family floating across the ether to the Hipster's friend. When he arrives at the destination, he crawls into his hotel room and turns on MTV. If there are relatives present, he sulks in a remote corner and only fields questions about his life when he has to. "Oh, well, what are you studying in college?". "Digital design, but it sucks. I wanna transfer to Full Sail.". After all the relatives have had their sufficient fill of awkward chitchat, the relatives get the message and back off. So it goes. And so I laugh.

This is the life of Hipsters. The represent nothing, save for their own feeble attempts at individualism. "But Jordan, how are you able to offer such insight on the lives of hipsters? This seems a little bit ill-advised.". Well, I'll tell you how I know so much.

Because I've been there.

Maybe the road less traveled is less traveled for a reason.

Anyway, I'm going to start liking people. Except for people like me.

-J

Kramer

Today is allegedly the 3rd Anniversary of Michael Richard's (AKA, Seinfeld's "Kramer") racist tirade at a comedy club in Las Angeles. If you're not aware of the situation, then let me explain:

Richards was performing his stand-up routine at a club (The Laugh Factory, I think?) when a couple of rowdy black guys started heckling him. At first, he ignored it as any professional should have. However, he eventually lost it and started screaming the N-Word, and about how "50 years ago you all would've been hanging from the trees with forks in your butts!". I'm still not sure what that last part means, but it was nonetheless offensive and Richards, dreading the impending media backlash, fled the public eye for several years.

While he was in absentia, he made a call to David Letterman during one of Letterman's shows and apologized and for a brief moment, we were all glad he wasn't some lunatic bigot. Unfortunately, just as soon as he'd popped back out into the spotlight, he disappeared again for another several years.

Fast forward to, uh, now. There was recently a scene from "Curb Your Enthusiasm" (the show is the platform for the famous Seinfeld reunion) that was satirizing that horrible event. Watch.


Bugh. I actually had to go to TMZ.com to get the video. *Shudder*
 
I thought it was funny. I thought it was a good move for him and might be a therapeutic experience both for the actor and the audience. But what happens? TMZ is running a huge campaign against the scene, calling it "inappropriate".
 
Alright, listen here, TMZ. Howabout you grow up, huh? You know what kind of people don't have a sense of rumour? Communists! If you don't laugh and sigh and enjoy the cathartic irony, then you, sir, are a Communist. I mean, sure, the guy went a tad nuts a couple of years ago, but seriously, it would take an otherworldly exhibition of restraint not to say something inflammatory towards those unruly hecklers. So, maybe the N-Word was a tad much. I'll give you that. But let me ask you this: If you're up on stage, and a kid with glasses starts pestering you, and you want to shut him up, what's the first thing you're going to make fun of? His glasses, of course! What about a fat kid? I'd be hard pressed not to believe that you wouldn't say something like, "Hey, Fatty McButterpants, all that interrupting you're doing is probably the most exercise you've gotten in a month!" What about Kasey Rogers? Er, well, that's a weird case because, to be frank, what ISN'T there to make fun of, amirite?
 
Anyway. I love Seinfeld and Michael Richard's "Kramer" is one of the greatest characters of all time. I just think that people that dwell on drama in the past are a lot like high schoolers, or FGCUers. Get over it and stop taking everything so seriously.
 
11:57PM and I am going to bed. 'Night!
 
-J

You to Thank

Joey Earle told me to write a blog, so I'm writing a blog.

Twitter is sort of my new blog, anyway. It's easier than having to log in and ramble when I can post bite-sized rambles whenever I want. Plus, my no-doubt diminishing fanbase coupled with my no-doubt diminishing writing ability is sort of a one-two punch to my motivation.

This is my sixth (or seventh?) week at FGCU. The first two weeks were very good. The food was good. The classes were good. The people were good. Slowly but surely, things went downhill. I think it's partly because every student at FGCU is a clone of Wes Diaz and Chase Wade. I can't talk to anyone unless the words "beer, drunk, high, police, boobs, or Tapout" are an integral part of the conversation. It's insane. People are running up and down the hallway, banging on doors at 1 in the AM. And the funniest thing (to me, at least) is that no one is awake before noon on weekends. NO ONE. FGCU is a Ghost Town before noon. I guess no one has jobs, or they're all sleeping off hangovers, or both.

Joey Earle called my videos stupid. Well, for your information, William, I'm going to try my hand at film production next semester, and I thought I'd get my feet wet with some computer animation, if that's fine with you. Punk. You want a funny video? Here's "Aquagize".

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PyVlSfbXVXc

Or, better yet, here's the famous (or infamous) Ponce de Leon video that sent Jack and I to the Regional History Fair in Mr. McGarry's class. We lost to Canterbury and their ridiculous budget.

http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=24003058

Hm. What else is happening? I'm sort of in a funk because all my friends are gone. I went to watch a Panther's game by myself at Beef O'Brady's. I was overwhelmingly lonesome (and the Panthers getting clobbered didn't help), so I printed out pictures of Joey, Patrick, Katie, and Dan's head and glued them to the chairs so I had someone to talk to. Later, I gelt really stupid because I couldn't finish my curly fries.

My days are filled with class and sleep now, with a little Andy Francis and Kaita Tinkoff on the weekend. I should be happy, and I was, but now I'm just bored. I'm no longer intellecutally stimulated by Kasenow every day (once a week via email, if I'm lucky), I am no longer able to make fun of Mr. Mayer behind his back with Dan, Liah, and Kaita. I no longer play the baritone sax in band, and that sucks.

Eh, looking back, I guess I'm being negative. I just miss you guys.

Do you ever stop to think about the origin of some of the most basic, fundamental foundations that our existance is based upon? No, I'm not talking about protozoa or evolution. I'm talking about something bigger and not soul-damning (technically...).

Gold.

Do you know why the American economy was the initial lodestone of our economy? Because it's valuable. Do you know why it's valuable? Because we said so. Gold doesn't have some magical property that renders it superior to other chemical elements. It's just pretty. I think this was the first case of "pretty=valuable". And now look where we are. People like Kim Kardashian and Ben Affleck are famous just because they're attractive. Also, if you tell me Ben Affleck is an actor, I will come to your house and kick your legs. That's not acting.

See you on Twitter!

-J

New Video!

Hey hey. The video I've been working on is finished. If you don't know what I'm talking about, then you probably won't think it's funny. It's animated, not live action.

Bah. I think I might leave Blogger in the dust soon. I hardly have any free time now.

Curse you, Introduction to World Literature and Culture!

Here's the video!


Also, I'm on Twitter now. I'm no more stimulating on there than I am on here, but it's easier to blurt out weird things I'm thinking.
-J

David

Why is ther a slice of cake in front of the Blogger logo on the homepage?

Yesterday was my first day working as a volunteer for the Salvation Army. While sifting through the mounds of musty clothing and being chastised by an old lady named Susan for being colorblind, I realized something.

You know when trendy girls brag about shopping at thrift stores? You know when they come into school looking like a hobo, but as soon as they mention that they bought this outfit at a thrift store, all of a sudden they're rocketed into the high-fashion limelight? Well, I don't know who "Ralph Lauren Blazer" is, but for Pete's sake, thrift stores are for poor income families that can hardly feed themselves, not for trendy teens whose parents are paying for their college! I mean, sure, I've bought a couple shirts from Family Thrift, and yes, I agree that there's no harm in being thrifty, but goodness, look at "Byrna Nicole Bag"! That tie was meant for a homeless guy so he could look nice while he was trying to get a job.

There's a really cool (and admittedly cute) American Express commercial featuring a bunch of ordinary objects,but they're manipulated to look like faces. Kaita would like it. Also, the background music is Bach's Cello Suite Prelude. Dan likes Bach. A little something for everybody.

Andy came over yesterday and rolled around on my bed and now it smells like baseball and narcisissm.

-J

GBlog

Hey everyone. To celebrate Blogger finally updating it's horrible text editor, I've decided to do something special. Those pictures I've been making are going to turn into full-blown movies. This is my maiden voyage.



Anyway, you guys can tell me what you'd like to see in my videos. Well, since only Kaita and Dan read my blog anymore, the pressure's on you two, you two.

See ya!

-J

Conjunction

I just realized something: I'll never be able to tell if I have pinkeye. Since I'm colorblind and all, I'm missing a component that is crucial for the identification of one of pinkeye's most telltale symptoms: pinkness. Two colons in two sentences, wow! I'm moving through these things faster than the hooker that looted DJ AM's New York apartment after she killed him!



I figure one day, I'll be walking around campus, and some innocent passerby will come up to me and say, "Gee, you don't look so good.". Then I'll say, "Yeah, well, that's what your idiot deadbeat father said when your whorebag mother's water broke, but you still made it. You're a miracle of science and nature.". After Donny McBeefynads knocks off my jawbone, it'll hit me that something might actually be wrong.



I'll end up asking everyone I see, "Does this look infected? And if it does, do you think it's virus-related or bacterium-based?" It's not the best way to meet new people, but it's better than, "Hey, I'm Jordan. No, I'm not a meth addict."

-J

PS - For some reason, now when you click the pictures within my post, they blow up to where you can actually see them. Way to go, Blogger.

Greg

Howdy folks.

My first week of college was relatively uneventful. I started all my classes and unceremoniously met up with some old Southies and SFCAians. My dorm is by far my favorite part about the whole experience, though. My own thermostat, my own locked door, my own...laundry basket. Ah, life is good.

I got an email from Kasenow recently. He said he hasn't noticed any intellectually stimulating students this year. Then he quoted Alexander Pope.

I went grocery shopping today at Target. Well, uh, by "grocery shopping", I mean I picked up some cheese, Triscuits, and Ho-Hos. I've never felt more collegiate.

I spend most of my free time playing on my laptop, Skyping with people, eating, and hanging out with K. Tinkoff. Suffice it to say that this is the most relaxed I've ever been at the start of a school year.

I was exiting Target with "groceries" in hand when I entered the glass-lobby-thing at the front of the store. There was a couple with a small child in front of me in a shopping cart. As I was walking through the automatic slidey doors, the kid manages to fall out of the shopping cart.

I stood there, horrified, but not because of the new dent in the kid's skull. The parents started chastising and yelling at the kid! Saying stuff like, "You deserved that one!", and, "Look what you did! You shoulda sat still!". Uh, pardon me, but your kid is broken, and all you can do is yell at it? Come on, humanity. Let's get our act together.

I saw a really dumb bumper sticker today. It was blue with big, white type that said "I Believe In EVOLUTION!". Under the word evolution was the word, "God", but "God" was scratched out. As most of you know, I'm a staunch Christian. I wasn't offended as a Christian, but as a human.

People like that are the reason there are wars and hate and racism and probably diabetes. I don't care what you believe in, how you act, your creed, or your heritage. I respect you as a person (unless you prove me otherwise). But when you go out of your way to stick it to an entire community to promote your own feeble opinion, that's when I start having problems with you. It's the same thing with Atheists. Just because you don't believe in God doesn't mean you all of a sudden have the right to go around protesting at churches and post "Jesus sux" on Christian websites and forums.

I read a news story the other day. It said that a large group (50 or so) of Atheists had a "reverse baptism". These people met in a public park and dressed in robes and took turns using blowdriers on each other while repeatedly chanting, "Logic over superstition.". Now, again, what you believe is your own business, but when you go so far as to mock a sacred tradition that dates back 3000 years just to make a statement, you need to re-evaluate your life, pal.

Faith is a personal choice and should never be a publicity stunt.

Okay! See you guys later!

-J

New Home!

Hey! Sorry for the writing sabbatical. I've moved into my FGCU dorm, and right now I'm typing on my brand-new (albeit defective...) laptop. I've decided I hate laptop keyboards!

Everything is cool! Kaita helped me make my dorm fabulous and has kept me company these past few days. Today I ran some errands around campus. I met my new band teacher. He's a really awesome guy, which is a welcome contrast to my previous experience with a band teacher. I also found out that I'm not allowed to drive to any of my classes, which is NOT a welcome contrast, since my first class is a good 30 (!) minute walk from my dorm. Rrrg.

I can't stand this little keyboard. My brother is giving me a decent USB keyboard in a week or so. I hope my laptop lasts that long. If you're not Kaita, then you wouldn't know that this laptop is somewhat broken. The screen is bad. Right now it's working, so keep your fingers crossed. Muh.

Alright, I'ma go eat. I'll write soon. Probably.

-J

Oh! Also, I got a Skype account, so log on and track me down. Bye!

Bucolic

Hey everybody. Kaita went to Miami with her family and I just got in from working in the rain. I figure after this post I'll go watch some old Steve McQueen movies I just Netflix'd, since I don't have much to do today.

I talked to my bud Jack (White) Trescott yesterday. He seems to be doing well. I was a tad disappointed to hear he traded in his cinematographic knowhow for a microscope and a labcoat, but I understand. It's hard to put food on the table when you want to be a musician/artist/movie maker. Oh well. Who knows?

I've never seen an attractive hobo. Maybe that's because good looks actually ARE the key to success! You don't even have to be super attractive, either. Basically, as long as you have all your teeth, shave once in a while, and don't smell like pee and beer, you're set!

Hm. Now that I'm actually looking over my picture there, I realize that I've never seen any lady hobos, either. The hobo world is a mystery to me. I do believe in that "attractive=success" mantra, though. Like it or not, people are mean, and unless you're easy on the eyes, you're going to have a tough time. Unless you're easy on the genitalia. Look at Britney Spears. Bah, uh, anyway. I don't think I'm an attractive person by society's (Abercrombie's) standards, but I have a lot of other things going for me. It's all about confidence and respect. If some guy (let's call him Kasey) thinks he could put a mirror store out of business as soon as he walks in the door, then he's screwing himself. Maybe he could shatter a mirror or two, but until he gets past things that he can't change, he's just ignorant. And ignorant is bad. Samuel Johnson said it best, I think:

"He that voluntarily continues ignorant is guilty of all the crimes which ignorance produces."

I've been seeing a lot of teaser trailers for the new Final Destination movie. Oh, whoops, sorry, the new THE Final Destination movie. This movie was interesting (but by no means good) the first time, but seriously, how many times can you have a scene in which a woman is too busy yelling at someone to notice she's about to be obliterated by some flying debris?

Look out, you dumb broad!

I've seen that like, a thousand times! If you're going to make a gore-horror ("Gorror) movie, then it has to have some substance behind it. The first Saw had more gore than America's 2000 Presidential Campaign, but the traps were clever, and the story concise. Albeit the Saw series has dragged itself out for way too long, but you get the point.

You know what movie I want to see? Inglorious Basterds. I don't know if I'm a bandwaggoner or not, but for every 10 gritty, super-realistic war or action movies, there's one completely over-the-top Quentin Tarantino movie. It's a refreshing palate cleanser.

-J

Espresso

Hey hey! Yesterday I bought a laptop. An HP laptop, to be precise, I guess. My parents had generously offered to pick up the tab, so I asked, "What's your price cap"? The said, "Well, we're not going over a thousand dollars. We'd like you to keep it under that.". No problem, I thought. So I hopped on HP.com and picked a model. The base specs weren't really what I was looking for, so I went component-by-component customizing this sucker. After half an hour, I had finished and the grand total had come to $999.55. Ha! I even had some left over cash! Now I can go spend that cool $.45 on a gumball or something.

That's what I imagine the inside of a septic tank looking like.

The meteor shower last night was really good. The minute Kaita and I walked out there, a giant fireball streaked across the sky. We ran and got some blankets and plopped down in the front yard. Between the swats at the incessant assault of mosquitoes and the fits of laughter caused by the local toads (Local Toads is a good band name), we kept careful watch on the night sky. While the subsequent meteors were not as spectacular as the first, there were a good amount of shooting stars. All in all, we spotted about 25.

I hate it when a company that is absolutely famous for a certain product runs out of the certain product. It happened to Taylor in Kansas. We went to Panera Bread and she ordered a sandwich. Everything would've been fine, except that Panera Bread quickly informed us that they had, in fact, run out of bread. Are you kidding me? That's like a gas station running out of gas, or Zumiez running out of low self-esteem! I think the very first chapter of any business management-type book should be "Don't make a certain product the lodestone of your company if you can't produce it.". DUH.

Ok, I think that's all. I can't wait until my laptop comes! Whee!

-J

Gene

Yesterday I spent the day with Andy Francis. We played Halo and went antique shopping, and it was good. Later that night, I met Joey Earle, Patrick Ryan, and Madison Wagner at the Ale House for a hearty helping of buffalo wings, and it was good. They're all leaving within the week for various colleges scattered across the US, and I had a good time. They're good people, although Patrick was on his phone for like, 45 minutes. He has horrible manners.

Tonight I'm going to Kaita's to watch the Perseids meteor shower, but I can't figure out when would be the best time to go outside and watch the sky. Google has yielded almost no viable results. I've gotten pages that say "9-11PM is best", and then when I double check with another page, it says "4-5AM is peak viewing time". Why, Google? Why must I suffer such an injustice at your e-hands?

I've been thinking a lot about information control. Censorship, meme theory, selective pressures, etc. If I ever compose my thoughts into a readable venue, I'll stimulate you with some good ol' fashioned conspiracy theories and whatnot. But not now. I'm tired. I'm stressed about school and whatnot, so I don't know when I'll be able to be illuminating again, but just wait it out.

Bye!

-J

Toto

Hey! I'm back from scenic Tonganoxie, Kansas! It was definitely an experience I won't soon forget. Shayla was glad to see us, and we were glad to get out of Ft. Myers for a week. Kansas is probably what you'd expect: lots of corn, lots of road, lots of hills, and not a lot of much else. Except Sonic Drive-In. Those things are everywhere! When you look out towards the hills in the distance, the horizon is punctuated with yellow and blue neon signs. It's kind of tragic, really. I'm not going to describe my entire vacation, since we really didn't do anything too amazing. We (Taylor and Shayla) went shopping, and we sampled a lot of the local cuisine. Tonganoxie is sort of like Sanibel Island; if you want to go somewhere cool, you have to drive for awhile. Anyway, I took some quick snapshots of my trip. Taylor has an $800 Nikon camera, so she was the principal photographer. I'ma try to get her to email me some of those.

Ahem! On to the memories!





This was my bed for 5 days. It was a spongy little futon, but it was comfortable in a weird, uncomfortable way.

Taylor just had to order her tater tots herself. Notice how Shayla seems used to this sort of behavior...

A very, very creepy doll in Shayla's basement. That thing gave me the jibblies.

I followed the girls around a mall for 3 hours on Wednesday, so Shayla bought me a book for being such a good sport. If you know me, you know I love this series and this author. I was very excited. However, my excitement was soon tempered when the girls dragged me into a thousand more stores. In all, we would spend about 6 hours at this mall.

The second photo was a 3D diorama of Super Mario World displayed in a storefront in downtown Lawrence. It was really cool. Sorry I had to put the description down here, but this damn Blogger format won't let me put text up there. I hate this thing.

When I returned to Ft. Myers yesterday at about 5:00PM, I was greeted by gray skies, upped gas prices, and a triple-homicide (or something of the like) in San Carlos Park.

Home, sweet home.

-J

Pretty

Last Sunday, my entire family embarked on a splendid vacation on the other side of Florida. I've been home alone since then, and even though I'm running out of food, I'm having a good time. Most of these days I've spent with Kaita, which is exactly how I wanted to spend them. Leah actually dropped by once, and she ate all my grapes.

Today, Kaita is hanging out with a friend, and I have the day to myself. I decided to go get a job. She had actually recently informed me that Borders is hiring. I figured I had a pretty good shot of getting hired, since I worked for a year at Barnes&Noble. When asking for a job application, my routine is as follows:

Dress nice, ask for manager, give a firm handshake, say I'm trying to get money for college, get the paper, fill it out, hand it back in.

The whole process usually takes only 20 minutes or so, depending on the length of the application.

Anyway, I waltzed in the door and confidently strode up to the nearest pudgy, unkempt, spectacled salesperson (or, PUSS) and inquired about the location of the nearest shift manager. She looked me over and said, "In regards to what?".



I was shocked. How dare she? Damnit, if I want to see their manager, then go GET them! The worst part about it is she was definitely, DEFINITELY patronizing me. I responded, "In regards to a potential employment opportunity and the prerequisite application forms, miss.". She then said, "Oh, here.". She handed me a tiny little card with a web address on it. She didn't get her manager, and she didn't give me an application form. I hate online applications. I'm too charasmatic for e-applying. If I can't shake someone's hand, flash them the famous Eller smile, and charm them with my...charm, then I have no chance. I guess this just stems from my distrust of the Internet.

I was watching Iron Chef (Japan), and during the commercial break, I saw a Miller Lite beer commercial. After watching a bunch of Abercrombie-esque men pat each other's backs and laugh in slow motion, the commercial concluded with, "The difference is Drinkability".

...What? "Drinkability"? That's not even a word! It's made up! What does "Drinkability" even mean? How easy it is to drink? The calibur of the drink? The quality of the hops? Of course the difference is "Drinkability", because YOU'RE THE ONLY BEER COMPANY THAT MAKES UP WORDS.

*pant pant pant gasp wheeze pass out*

-J

PS- I know Kaita hates it when I blow things out of proportion, but it's all for comedic effect. I don't really care that much. I just needed something to write about. Sorry, Sugarbob.