I do not think I will ever be drawn to boating. I love swimming, but even when that is tied into boating, I think of floating about idly for a minute or two before swimming back to the boat before it drifts away. It just doesn't equate to much of a good time for me! As much as I try to fish and enjoy boat rides and things like that, I just can't ever seem to do it.

I haven't even been on a boat recently. I did, however spend time on Deephaven's beach (i.e., its 100-foot patch of sand with a square-shaped dock extending over the water to box in a swimming area), and watched the masses of Minnetonkan's leave the harbor on their boats.

I don't know.

Anywho, Deephaven is a beautiful neighborhood and I kind of wished I lived there. I think I could deal with the overly-dilligent and wholely unneccessary police force and the multitude of super snobby rich folks that I'm fairly sure live there. I think I just want to live somewhere that seems a little more tucked away than my neighborhood (which consists of about 10 houses off to the side of a busy road). I just wish it would fully commit to either being a neighborhood or somewhere in the middle of a large population.


Oh, I graduated. And I will be leaving for PA in about 3 days. This summer looks promising, and that goes for the time that will be spent during it in both states.

blog, i have forsaken you.

How did USB drives outdate floppy disks without me knowing? I guess I haven't had to use one in a while.

This is not the kind of emotion I would go parading around on my blog like it gives me some kind of non-existent blog credibility, but I am a little bit sad right now. Surprisingly, it doesn't have anything to do with how hard it is to make something remotely interesting or cool on Windows Movie Maker.

I will try to do a better job of updating this in the future. High school is winding down for good, meaning that there is probably going to be lots of sentimental diarrhea to get out of my system. Speaking of which, I also seem to have a case of irritable bowel syndrome and have almost completely stopped exercising. Meltdown to come soon.

ch-ch-ch-changes...

This past weekend I went snowboarding for the first time. By stereotypical default I wasn't all that excited because I kind of don't like family vacations or most sports/sport-like activities, but it was okay. I felt like my ass had been struck with a mallet by the end of the second day.


I should be writing a physics paper right now. This would have been done much earlier on in spring break if not for the aforementioned snowboarding trip. Also, my writing teacher wants me to try to get published. I'm pretty sure she encourages a few kids to try and do it from each class. It's weird to be considered in the upper margarin of something. I even got in the B Honor roll this semester. I haven't been on the B Honor Roll since 7th grade! It's funny how all these things that would have looked pretty good on my transcript happened too late for it to matter.


Another first in several years this weekend was eating at McDonalds. After a grueling three-week effort I gave up being a vegitarian a little under a week ago, and my digestive system is getting funky on me. It may be time to bust out the Milk of Magnesia again.


I feel like I'm changing. Maybe because things are changing. Please tell me if I'm changing. Be honest. I wish everything would just stay the same for once. It feels like there always has to be some huge change on the horizon when I'm starting to like how things are going. Is continuing working towards new friends even worth it at this point? I should have been trying to do this way earlier this year.

Bitch bitch bitch

I'm sort of lonely right meow, but no matter. Here is the unnabridged version of my predicted autobiography from 10 years down the road, in the form of a health assignment:

Ten years from now, I will be a disgraced writer of nonfiction-turned disgraced writer of children's books, and it will all be because of pizza. I will first falsify information about a study I claim to have conducted in which I ate nothing but Hot Pockets for several months. My daily intake supposedly consisted of the follwing: A breakfast pocket in the morning, the delicious pepperoni pizza pockets in the afternoons, and the vegetable/sausage/pepperoni pizza hot pockets for din-din. I will claim that, despite each respectable Pocket's 11 essential vitamins and minerals, being on a strict diet of them caused me to develop genital warts on my face (I guess those are just regular warts) and bleed profusely from the ears. Although upon further analysis my hypothesis will prove to not be entirely far-fetched, I will be disgraced within the writing community and forced to live in seclusion for several months.

During this time I will write children's books under the pseudonym of The Pizza Warlock. My pseudonym will then be disgraced within itself for my highly controversial first work, "The Pepperoni Manifesto: A Brief and Informative Introduction to the Goals and Ideals Held By The Pizza Party." In the Pepperoni Manifesto, I will propose an idea through which our entire economy is converted toward producing and relying upon nothing but Pizza. It will be our main export, import, and source of guiding light in the pursuit of happiness. Jobs will be assigned to all, regardless of race, religion, sexual orientation, or taste in music. Society will be comprised of farmers, chefs, soft drink-pourers, and those in charge of bread sticks and ceasar salads. Since no economy has yet proven to infallible, there will be government-issued Tombstone frozen pizzas for those who can not afford more high-quality pizzas.

The Pizza Party's Leader and HNIC will of course be The Pizza Warlock. His cabinet will consist of the Head Secretary of Seasoned Breads, The Department of Sauces and Cheese, and of course the department of Foreign Affairs (who will spend the bulk of their time figuring out ways to fight other countries that live under governments who like other kinds of food). We will be a country for the Pizza-eater, by The Pizza-eater.

Mysteriously enough, I will not be married for some time. However, this will be no matter of concern when I become the most powerful and dynamic man in all of American History. It will be all thanks to nothing but the love for pizza that myself and other Americans who aren't total weirdos share.





It may also be worth noting that, in relation to health class, my response to this assignment is a good example of "passive aggresive" behavior, brought on by the overwhelming feeling of bullshit that comes with having to take another semester of health to get the proper credits to graduate, when I could be taking a cool class like cooking or art instead.

I think if God exists or there is some kind of a superior force acting on the universe, it really doesn't want me to get into college.

Point in case: Aside from the 3 seperate-but-equally shitty guidance counselors that I could use as scapegoats (maybe rightfully so), out-of-state applications have way higher expectations (I moved just in time!), my grades have been consistently shitty (completely my fault), now...


Drexel has somehow managed to lose my application. I know these things happen, but how do you lose something that's sent electronically? Especially after sending me an email and a letter both confirming that I sent it in. On top of that, the lady who I talked to when I called asking why I hadn't heard back yet was a total bitch and talked to me like I was a moron because I couldn't understand how they couldn't have gotten it.


I had a longer post that wasn't a giant complaintfest, but internet explorer shut itself down as I was finishing typing it. Heh

Some time last weekend, I dropped a spatula on the floor, grabbed it by the end that you stick in the deep fryer, and charred the non-living shit out of my index finger and thumb. The very first thing I thought of was that scene in Raiders of The Lost Ark when the Nazi tries to pick up the burning medal thing, screams, and runs outside and sticks his hand in the snow. This was somewhere inbetween yelling "OH FUCK OW OW OW FUCK" and still scrambling to make more french fries.

the night before I got to leave early cuz I sliced my pinky open on the corner of something and bled into the ice cream. This is the second or third time that I may or may not have bled into someone's ice cream. I think I have hemophilia. I think I am a lil' bit of a pussy, too, because I started wigging out when Lou tried to pour hydrogen peroxide on it. The hospital turned me away because they were busy and the cut was at a funny angle and it was hard to tell how deep it was.

I want to live in Uptown and go to every restaurant (or maybe just pizza place) and then feel really restaurant savvy when I take someone there.

I'm about to have 20 people I don't know sleeping in my basement. Most of them are probably going to be drunk and annoying. I wish I had a stash of barbituates for situations like this.


oh, I'm 18 now. That means shows in the future, most immedeately Blitzen Trapper this week and Animal Collective in May. Am I hip yet?

how the hell?

Does it mean that you're exceptionally guilty
if you sometimes worry that the point of existence
is that everyone in the world reads your thoughts
and has some kind of agreement to only laugh about them when you aren't around
and act surprised when you share them.
I mean, I would never know!

Maybe it's kind of flattering when you star in my wet dreams, being that I'm the center of existence and all