With all my wallowing in self-pity, I forgot to mention the good news - my family got a new puppy. Anyone who visits me in Springfield will get to meet Lacey the dog. She is a britney. I didn't even know that was a kind of dog, but I'm not very knowledgable about dogs. I've seen pictures of her over the internet (that somehow sounds so dirty) and she's a pretty dog. Can't wait to get home . . . .
Well, it's official - the "Going North!" segment of the Summer Road Trip is cursed. I just got a $50 parking ticket in Chicago. I'm trying to remain calm, imagining my recent problems as a white ball of healing light, but it's just not working.
The thing that really makes me mad is that I'm 90% sure I don't deserve the ticket. I was parked at a meter last night, but Bobby observtantly noted that after 8AM today I couldn't park there anymore. So at 8AM Bobby and I went outside and found some parking on his street. Hooray! Yipee! We felt so lucky that we had found the one open spot, and it was a beauty, as far as parking spots go - however, our elation was replaced by a sinking feeling when, at roughly 11AM, we noticed most of the other cars were gone from the side of the street on which we had parked. We went down and noticed a) the large orange ticket on my car b) a series of large orange temporary signs indicating that today, between 8AM and 3PM, the city would be doing street cleaning. First of all, street cleaning is so overrated. Secondly, I can't believe that we just didn't see any of those signs last night or this morning when we parked the car. I have a strong suspicion that the city put up the signs after I parked my car, and still gave me a ticket, which is so wrong. Then again, the government is also making up excuses for preemtive wars, destroying the economy, taking away civil rights, and letting middle to lower class soldiers die in a war that will profit the rich, so I guess in the greater scheme of things I'm only getting screwed over a tiny tiny bit.
Elementary chaos theory tells us that any sufficienty complex system will have unpredictable behavior and will be impossible to completley control (or at least that's my understanding from my extensive research of chaos theory i.e. several viewings of Jurassic Park). Thus, complex systems, including, say, summer long road trips, will eventually go wrong somewhere. There are so many variables that something is bound to go wrong, it's statistically impossible that something wouldn't go wrong. So you can see that this fundamental law of the universe demands that I lock my keys in my car at least once. And yesterday was my day. Of course, I didn't lock them in my car in Madison, where the situation would have been relatively manageable. No, I locked myself out at Devil's Lake, an approximately 45 min drive from Madison.
For some reason, I thought I could break into my own car using a 20-year-old mangled set of car break-in tools that I borrowed from the camp rangers. I have no idea why I thought I would be successful. I don't possess the "locksmith" skillset any more than I posses the "auto mechanic" or "dentistry" skillset. I don't know how to break into cars, I've never done it, and I certainly had no idea how to correctly use the provided tools, especially ones as old and janky as the ones I had. I just spent a good hour randomly jamming long metal tools into various parts of my car door, praying that by some amazing stroke of luck my car door would mysteryiously pop open. A circus bear would have had a better chance of breaking into a safe with a shoestring. At the end of this process, the only thing I had to show for my efforts was one long piece of metal stuck in my rear driver's side door that I couldn't get out. Half an hour and $50 later, my car was unlocked thanks to the efforts of a seasoned professional, who opened the door in under three minutes. I'll file this under "miscellaneous expenses." I'll file me under "moron."
In other news, the first cut/version/draft/[insert correct film term here] of Dead Awake starring me and my bad acting should be at my house when I get back to Springfield. Danny has been editing like some sort of editing machine all month, and I'm excited to see the results. If these trends continue (eeeey!!!), we may just be able to hold a Dead Awake premier at the beginning of school this year. Someone go get the red carpet and the cocaine, cause I'm a frickin star.
Well, it was inevitable. You all knew it was going to happen. In fact, most of you are shocked that it took this long to happen. That's right, I got horribly lost while driving to visit Steve a few days ago. Actually, "lost" isn't quite the right term, because I knew where I was, I am just an idiot and somehow got over three hours off track. What should have been a simple and pleasant five hour drive turned into a high-blood-pressure, stroke-inducing, eight-and-a-half hour disaster.
How did this happen? I'm not really quite sure. All I know is that I stopped to get a quick bite to eat sometime in the afternoon. I apparently turned my brain off, then got on the highway and drove for approximately one hour. When I suddenly turned my brain on, i.e. starting looking at road signs again, I realized I had been driving on the wrong highway for the entire time. So, to correct my error, I tried cutting across to the correct highway via a state road. It was going well, until I found out that the road I needed to take was closed. Then I was the unwilling victim of a extensive back-country tour as I followed mile after mile of slow winding detour. I eventually got on the correct highway and continued on my way. In the early evening, I decided to stop and get a veggie burger. I got off the highway, went to Burger King, and then traced my steps back to the highway to continue my journey. But oh no. There was no way to get on the highway going north at that location. I drove around the town for about 20 min looking for a way to get on to highway going north. Lots of places to get on the highway going south, but nothing satisfying my apparently strange and unique desire to travel any further north than that crappy town. I eventually went south on the highway for 5-10 min and turned around at the next available exit. Ugh.
But all's well that ends well, and I got to party with Steve & Friends at a hotel with a water park inside it. That was fun, but the people at the hotel were strangely secretive about the room numbers. I don't know if this is normal, but they wouldn't tell me the room number over the phone, even though they knew what the room number was because we got the last available room. Also, when I checked in, they wouldn't even say the room number to me out loud, but instead would point to a sheet of paper that had the room number printed on it and looked at me with raised eyebrows as if they were imparting some national security code red level secret to me.
The next day, we rocked out Duluth, Minnesota like rock stars. Duluth was fun, and had lots to do, including eating at an awesome mexican restaurant (because Minnesota is where you go for mexican food), thrift stores (one shirt+ one pair of shorts = $12) and other fun stuff. It's a cool looking little town. My favorite thing about Duluth is that most businesses find the need to post signs on their entrance informing customers that guns aren't allowed in the building. Except one store that had a big sign that said "GUNS WELCOME" and yet the store wasn't even remotely related to firearm sales, repairs, or accessories. You better hold me, because I'm scared.
Although the waterpark/hotel was fun, I couldn't afford to stay at it alone the next night. I also couldn't stay at Steve's camp, because visitors aren't really allowed. I figured I could find a free campsite, but I hadn't really planned ahead and looked one up before I left, and the only campsite Steve & Friends knew about was about 1/2 hour out of my way. Since it was getting dark, it became more and more crucial that I find a place to stay. We asked a Subway employee about local campsites, and the only help he could offer was the fact that Walmart lets people sleep in their cars in the Walmart parking lot. After a long dileberation, I decided against that, and decided to drive the three hours down to Madison in order to sleep somewhere that didn't offer rock bottom prices on a wide variety of merchandise. Of course, Doc was working that night and had her phone turned off, so she didn't know I was coming. Her boyfriend/my best friend's brother/ the guy that hit Matt with a skateboard Shawn had informed me that she
a) was actually in Madison (you never know)
b) she was at work, and would be until about 2 am
c) the restaurant she works for is called the "Weary Traveller." How ironic.
So I headed down to Madison with no way to contact Doc or any idea of where her restaurant was. I got into town at about 12:30am and called Danny to help me get directions online, but he was actually going to a party on a Saturday night. Whatta jerk. So I stopped at a gas station and looked up the place, and then got directions, and about a half hour later I actually found it, surprising Doc to no end by just showing up and demanding a place to crash. Planning schmanning is what I say. Of course, that's the same spirit that has had me on the phone begging Danny or my dad for help for most of this trip. I may be an idiot, but I'm an idiot with a cell phone and contacts with fast internet connections.
So guess where I am? Schaumburg, Illinois, that's where. Oh wait . . . that's not on my schedule. Perhaps I, gasp, changed my schedule? Altered my master plan? Yes, yes I did. You should all be proud of me.
I decided to stay in Schaumburg inititally because I didn't want to drive all the way to Woodruff Wisconsin in one day. This was accomplished. However, as an added bonus, it ended up being a lot of fun becuase I got to see Doc and Shawn, and I hadn't thought I was going to get to hang out with Shawn this summer. They took me to a Schaumburg bar, which, as promised, had character, and it had a very loud singer who did covers of everything from REM to Michael Jackson to Pearl Jam to Counting Crows to A-HA. Fun was had by all, and I got to try a new drink I'd never had before - it involves actual mint leaves, which is tasty, but it also means I had to pick mint leaves outta my mouth a lot.
Overheard:
Shawn [to me]: "I tried to tell my coworker who you were. It's kinda complicated. I told him you were 'my girlfriend's ex-boyfriend, ex-roomate, and high school friend and my younger brother's best friend who has been around my house since he was 13.' I think I'm just going to start saying 'my friend Ben.'"
So I was listening to music in my car the other day, and I realized that I have bought quite a bit of music lately, but I always feel like I'm searching for the really great music, and I haven't found it. I've been looking for music that really affects me like music did in high school - and it just doesn't do that as much anymore. I've been wondering if this is just a tragic result of growing up, because I notice at least with some people that as they grow older they listen to music less and less. But I think it's something else. I think the music I listened to in high school wasn't especially great - no, I think what was great was that me and my three best friends were all into the same kind of music, exploring it and sharing it with each other. There were many albums we all knew and loved, and what made the music great was the feeling of loving it with someone, listening to it together in someone's car, dancing like idiots to it at night. I just don't have that anymore, I listen to almost all my music by myself it seems. So it just doesn't sound as good. I need more punk friends at school. Music is just like seeing some awesome sunset - sure it's cool to see by yourself, but it's so much cooler with someone there so you can experience it together, and remember it together later on. I think that's why I always would rather have music playing out of speakers than listening to it through headphones. Even if no one around me likes my music, it feels more right to let it out for everyone to listen to, it's less secretive and lonely.
First, I just wanted to say something I haven't - I really like all the comments I get for this site from readers out there. I know I don't really respond, but I always get excited when I see people have commented. Feedback is always good, so keep it coming.
But more importantly, I had one of the best four days of my life recently. So good that it's kinda hard to sit down and write about it without getting a little bit tangled up about it being over. So if you don't like mushy, you're reading the wrong post, cause I'm feeling eight kinds of mushy right now, unapologetically so.
So I spent the last few days with my girlfriend Jessie, who is, by all reasonable standards, amazing. As such, the weekend was correspondingly amazing. You see, relationships in the real world are great, but there is a whole lot of stuff to deal with besides the relationship. But every so often you get to have a few days where really nothing else matters and you become nearsighted. Everything beyond each other is just blurry. And that's so cool.
Selected highlights:
- Going to Jessie's dad's beach house and getting to walk along the beach at night, then hang out on the beach during the day. Unfortunately, it was raining a lot of the day, but we got to enjoy the beach during the few hours it wasn't raining. Jessie got burnt worse than I did, and she "never burns." Bwahahaha the pastey boy wins for once. It'll never happen again.
- drinking a bottle of wine that Jessie got in Italy and had saved for a whole year. I dunno, it just made me feel mature and independent and the wine was good.
- Letting Jessie shave me. She actually did a better job than I usually do - no deep gashes on the chin or neck. And I found out that girls' shaving cream is a lot better than guys'. Laugh if you want, I know I did.
- Getting bored and playing "truth or dare" which is so nostalgically 8th grade, but then again, I remember playing "spin the bottle" with some people after senior year of high school too. What's my age again? ----- or ----- How old would I be if I didn't know how old I am? Jessie asked me this: "If you could relive, but not change, one day of your life, which one would it be?" which was, I thought, a good question. I couldn't pick. I narrowed it down to five days, but I'm not gonna talk about them here, because I'll probably offend poeple by forgetting a really great day that included them. That's the kind of question where you think of a really great answer days later.
- Seeing a sign that set the speed limit at 19mph. Why 19? Why? Was 20 really too fast, to the point they had to lower it one mph? I'd love to be a fly on the wall when that decision was made.
- Singing in the car to one of our favorite songs under the safety blanket of music that was slightly louder than our voices. I felt brave somehow.
- Telling her stuff I had never told her before and getting that scared feeling in my stomach. And then feeling great because it felt great to not have secrets.
I'm sure I'm forgetting some stuff, but suffice to say it was enough to make me feel infinite all over again. And I miss her like hell.
Since I am driving around the country all summer, I feel it's my duty to inform everyone out there of any dangers they may encounter in these united states. In light of this, I'd like to say that this one part of the Jersey Turnpike is a deathtrap. Avoid at all costs. Imagine a regular toll station, but imagine right you pay your toll, all 10 lanes have approximately 100 feet to get into the correct lane because the highway splits very quickly. So basically you have ten lanes of traffic, and approximately half the people in every lane need to get between 0-5 lanes over. All at once. At high speeds. Possibly on drugs. Also, there is this one on-ramp to a major, very busy highway in New York which, if used, will result in injury or death. Most on-ramps have a reasonably long tempory lane which you can drive in as you speed up and try to merge. But oh no, not this on-ramp. It has no lane. At all. You just drive up it and onto the highway at a 45 degree angle. If there happens to be a car blocking the entrance to the highway (and the entrance could be blocked by one car), I guess you slam on your breaks or sideswipe it. Fun for all. You'll notice I don't really remember exactly where these Indiana-Jones-quality booby traps of modern transportation are, I can't remember any exact names, details, or locations. So although I guess you don't know enough to avoid them, you do know enough to be scared.
I can't imagine being a parent. It's not the responsibilty that worries me at this point - it's the energy required. I love my younger cousins (they are 7 and 10 I think), but after hanging out with them for one day, I feel like I ran a marathon, climbed a mountain, got hit by a train, and then singlehandedly pulled this country out of our depression, all while wearing a rusty suit of armor. I have no idea how my aunt and uncle don't collapse every day around noon. And I'm 21. I'm supposed to be at my physical prime, and there is no way I could keep up with my cousins for more than three days, max. Parents should make rich yuppies pay to watch their kids, as part of a new weight loss and exercise program.
This is old news, but I'll still post it. While in Manhattan, we were discussing bad trips (planes, not drugs) and I actually heard a story that began, "You know the kind of diarrhea that kills people? . . . " The great thing about a story that begins like that is that you don't really need to hear any more to understand.
As you may or may not have noticed, a fair number of my recent posts have been about the rich and how they live (answer: spendidly!). Kenny took me to see the rich people's houses, pardon me, estates, in Connecticut and I've seen lots of amazing places in New York as well. But last night was the first time I was really blown-outta-my-socks impressed. Dave&Tracy (tm) took me to Tracy's friend's house. Oh my god. I really wanted to take pictures, but I thought that might be kinda rude since it wasn't an actual art museum, but dammit, it coulda fooled me. There was so much cool original art (i.e. not prints) everywhere. It really did look like a modern art museum, especially since some of the artists I had seen featured in St. Louis art museums. Of course the house, even ignoring the art, was awesome. It wasn't so much that the house was huge, although small it was not. It was just that the architecture screamed "hip and modern! big open spaces! very few doors! rotating walls! skylights! skylights! skylights!" And when houses talk to me, I'm 50% scared, 40% amazed, and 110% effort. It's always gametime around here.
And today, we may be going to a comic book shop in Manhattan. From what I've hard, it will be the largest comic shop I've ever been in, which means it will be, proportionally, the greatest shop I've ever been in.
Has anyone seen Donnie Darko? That movie weirded me out. Not because of all the time travel stuff, that just confused me. No, moreso because Donnie Darko reminds me of Doc's older brother, and his girlfriend reminds me of Whitney. Scared the hell outta me. Oh yeah, if anyone who liked that movie can explain it to me, I'd really appreciate it. I'm so confused that I can't even decide if I liked it or not. The jury is out and they are banging their heads against the wall trying to figure out these key points
1) why time travel? what the heck happened at the end?
2) what was the point of the young teachers played by Noah Wyle and Drew Barrymore?
3) huh?
4) ew.
After getting to hang out and party in New York City for a few days, I've determined, after some careful consideration, that I like it a lot. Now, I understand that getting to stay in Julia's insanely cool apartment doesn't accurately reflect any sort of living situation I would ever be involed in within the city limits. Why was her apartment so cool? It just had all the basic things you would expect in an apartment
- As much floorspace as my apartment in St. Louis? Check.
- Amazing view of Central park and the city in general, from the 30th floor? Check.
- Doorman who pushes the revolving door for you, unnecessarily? Check.
- Excellent neighborhood with easy access to movies, stores, etc? Check.
- Fancy shmancy sculptures and other art? Check.
- Easy view of both Harrison Ford's and Madonna's respective apartments? Check. Check.
- Grand piano? Check.
- Solid gold furniture and optional rocketcar? Coming soon.
I know I would be living in an apartment the size of my current bedroom or smaller, but even so, New York is so cool. Getting around the city was easy, walking around it was fun, and partying in it was a blast. I felt like I was in Coyote Ugly - so many girls at the bar were dancing on the bar and giving out drinks. Some of these girls were the friends I was partying with, and we were all proud of them. It was a good time all around - and even saw some guy from Wash U, although it was someone who I have never talked to before and probably never would outside the "Hey, don't you go to Wash U" context. He just looks sketchy. Good books always have shiny gold covers with diamonds on the spine.
Ok, it's off to the beach with Carp and Kenny. Fun times on the south shore.
At school, internet is like running water - it's everywhere, and you come to expect data on tap, through a fat pipe. This summer, internet is usually not available, and when it is, it's a trickle. I'm drying up.
Ironically, I'm in the city with the most free wireless in the world (go NYC wireless), without my wireless card (I'm an idiot and left my wireless card with my dad's stuff in New Hampshire) - it's like being a heroin addict, and being in a big warehouse full of heroin, but you've forgotten your spoon, lighter, needle, and belt. My analogies are nothing if not elegant.
Anyone interested in a $210 scarf? No? How about a $90 hat or umbrella? $300 wallet? Or maybe a cute little 4-inch tall $295 teddy bear for a younger sibling? Anyone? Anyone? Well in case you become an idiot, or use a lot of drugs and want to go on a spending spree, or become so rich and twisted that the very act of spending money is the only glimmer of happiness you can experience, you can always get these items at the Burberry I just visited. I've definitely seen my share of overpriced clothing, but this was my first journey into the world of the truly absurdly, give-you-a-headache-and-a-nosebleed overpriced clothing. I mean, for $210, that scarf better have a hard, diamond center. Who buys this stuff? I can understand nice clothing, and there is something to be said for quality, and even for style, but come on - try to keep the quality and the price at least in the same ballpark.
The trip to Burberry (overheard - Kenny [whispering]: "Check out the prices on this stuff. But try to control your facial expressions") was the capstone of our New England tour of the insanely rich. People really go all out with their wealth out here. It's no joke. It's incredible to consider the vast range of human experience in this country - it all boils down to the fact that there are stores like Burberry and stores like Walmart, and both have enough customers to make them profitable. They say that something like 90% of the wealth in this country is in the hands of 5% of the people or something like that, and now I believe it. When will people learn? Capitalism just doesn't work . . .
Jackass: The movie was intense. Some parts were absolutely hilarious, some parts were over-the-top, unwatchably gross. But one thing is for sure - I laughed harder at some parts of that movie than I've laughed at any movie probably ever. It's certainly not smart humor, or subtle, but it's the same kind of long, lower-belly, almost-cry laugh you have when you or your friends do something incredibly stupid when you are around. It makes you feel like you are right there with those idiots. Anyone who says Punk'd is better is so wrong. Jackass, although admittedly pointless and gross at times, also has moments of pure creative prank genius. Amazing. Punk'd, while funny at times, is essentially a rehash of Candid Camera, only with celebrities. Kinda lame. All I'm saying is that Jackass: the movie was great at times, and a punk'd movie would suck. And that's the gauge of all greatness for all things - whether or not it would make a good movie. That's essentially my reasoning of why chemistry is God-awful. No movie potential at all there.
Someone told me yesterday that The Simpons third seasons DVD is coming out very soon, like within a month. I'm hella pumped. So many good episodes, so little time.
So let's talk about love, baby. This is a little late, but I had an interesting conversation awhile back about the nature of love with several highly intelligent gentlemen. The topic of conversation never really made it to this blog or any other I know of. It began when I said that I thought it was tragic that some couple with strong Christian faiths get married at a pretty early age. Why? I think it's at least reasonable to assume that some of these couples felt the pressure to marry because they had been together for a very long time and wanted to have sex. I'm not saying every Christian couple that marries at 19 is just horny, but I do think that the nearly overwhelming force of hormones has gotta play at least a little bit in that decision. And I think it's too bad, because it would be terrible to get into a life-long commitment like that when your thought process is partially clouded by hormones. Because maybe when you are a little older, wiser, and more mature you figure out that you married someone who you really shouldn't have for whatever reason. But my friend brought up an interesting idea - perhaps there's nothing wrong with marrying early for whatever reason, because people marry for all kinds of complex social reasons, e.g. love, security, financial reasons, social pressures, to name a few. Perhaps, and this is the key point, it doesn't matter because lasting relationships don't depend on two compatible people getting into them for just the right reasons, perhaps good relationships last because the people in them are willing to do the work. In other words, the people, their interests, their lifestyles, etc., aren't really that important, it's just whether or not they want a relationship and whether or not they are willing to work at it. Based upon that, you could take any two people in a room and force them to go out, and assuming that they both were looking for a serious relationship, the chances are good that they would last. Chemistry, compatibility, soulmates, love at first site - all these things are just our misperceptions, idealizations of a love based on fate that we desperately want because it's easy. Love is not stumbled upon, but obtained through dedication. I'm not saying I agree with it, but it's an interesting idea. I've never really subscribed to the belief that there is one perfect person out there for me, but I guess I've always felt that was a certain segment of the population who are "my type." But people surprise you. Sometimes the best thing is the last thing you were looking for. It's all very confusing, but oh so fascinating.
I didn't really do justice to the conversation in it's entirety. There were more sub-arguments and points brought in. You can order the official transcript at www.wastedbrains.com.
So what exactly is the allure of Squam Lake, New Hampshire? I mean, I've been there for a week, without reliable access to phone or, more importantly, computers & internet, and as a result, I haven't been posting. What experiences could possible make up for this startling lack of communication and connectedness? Allow me to relate some of the highlights of my amazing week.
First and foremost, I got to see my family. I jogged with my sister and dad. I talked with Jane (wonderful family friend) and my mom on the porch and on the dock. I watched my brother try to jump over inflatable rafts and I realized that lankiness runs in the family. I played basketball with my brother several times, and we sweated (past tense of sweat, anyone?) hard because we played hard. I go to see my brother and dad sail in the regatta and my dad be an iron man at 51. I always knew he was.
I got to read a ton. I think I probably read more than 600 pages in a week, which spanned four books, although I completely read only one of them. I don't just read one book all the way through - I like to alternate between two books at a time, so I can read whichever one I'm in the mood for. To steal a line from Dave Attell, or alternately, whoever he stole it from, I read like if I kept reading, I would win something.
I also had the very flattering yet intensely weird experience of reading my girlfriend's favorite book. Have you ever read someones favorite book? It's a weird thing to read something that someone else likes so much. It tells you a lot about them, some things that they couldn't tell you if they tried. Reading it reminds you of them constantly, and you start to see a little of the book in them as well. And you feel a weird connection to them, because at some other place in time and space and life experience, they were reading the exact words you are reading.
The book, for those of you who missed my previous post, is The Perks Of Being a Wallflower. Check it out. It's strange that I read it in New Hampshire, because there, more than any place on earth, is when I am in full wallflower mode. I used to try and have friends there, but for the last five years or so I've come to accept and enjoy being a wallflower. It's become a time to be by myself and with my family. To not have to be "on," socially speaking. To find myself again and sort out my life.
This year was somewhat different, because although I did the aforementioned finding-self activities, I also got to hang out with one of my best friends Sara. We had a time. Key events included aimless boat rides, watching fireworks at midnight on top of a mountain, and long walks. Can you see how cool this week was?
Happiness is driving in a tunnel of trees, with their million greens, and your friend is sitting shotgun playing acoustic versions of all those favorite songs bursting with guitar on the stereo, and you're both singing along. And you know exactly which ones she's gonna pick, and you're so happy she picked every one she does. It's enough to make you feel, well, infinite.
At Squam lake, there is no TV. One night I realized that over the course of this entire summer, I've probably watched a total of 15 hours of TV. Yes, I've watched more movies, but still that's pretty cool. I added an hour and a half to the total today, becuase we went to the Museum of Television and Radio in New York City. We got to pick out old TV episodes and watch them. I picked episodes of Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Kids in the Hall, The Incredible Hulk, and The Ben Stiller Show. Lots of fun. And yes, that does add up to about an hour and a half becuase there were no commercials.
I also didn't have to drive at all at Squam. Thank god, because my butt couldn't take it. I should become a pizza delivery guy for like a week, claim that I hurt myself on the job, and then get workman's comp. I smell a scam in the oven.
Don't you hate it when a goodbye hangs in the air? I think that's why I like to leave a place early in the morning. It's hard to have carefree fun with someone when you know you're going to have to say goodbye in a few short hours. I don't know about you, but when I get it in my head that I'm leaving, I can't leave soon enough.
I hate spammers. I didn't check my email for a week, and when I returned, I was greeted by over 300 email messages of which I only read seven. Seven! That's around 2.3%. I don't even understand why spammers keep spamming. Are they actually making money doing it? What part of the population actually buys products that they discovered via spam? Whoever they are, they are idiots. All we can do is hope that they have yet to breed and hunt each and every one of them down and chemically castrate them. Same goes for the spammers, because they clearly have no moral compass. Your grandchildren will thank you.
So now I'm in Wilton, CT. Woodsily speaking, it doesn't look that different than Squam Lake, NH. Today Kenny took me on a trip, not only through New York City, but also through the life and times of Kenny Edwards. It was like hanging out with the ghost of Kenny past. He showed me his old school and where he took the train and we even got to eat where he used to get pizza. The tour was awesome, I learned so much more than those usual tourist suckers. We saw Times Square and a huge Toys 'R Us (I know, I didn't the "R" correctly, but this keyboard doesn't have a backwards "R") and the Apollo Theater and Columbia and Central Park and too many other things to name. I have no idea how Kenny knows so much cool stuff, because I have so little knowlege that would come in handy when giving a tour. All my memory is tied up remembering Simpson episodes, comic books illustrations and stories, and random computer related tricks and tips.