It smells like this time last year

I never notice when it happens exactly--usually because it happens overnight--but I know it's a yearly inevitability when the summer heat shuts off and causes the trees to burst into something like flames and ash on the ground.

I'm excited for cider and flower picking, pumpkin patches and corn mazes. But I hate winter and I know of course that has to follow. There's really no choice but to take the good with the bad, I suppose.

I rode my bike to the library to study. It was well packed with old men and women with small children. I watched a little boy jump around and shake while (perhaps) compulsively lifting his t-shirt to expose his tiny chest. His sister, just a few feet away, pressed her body against a brick column as if trying to hug it; she stared toward the ceiling while sliding around, embracing it. Another little girl talked to what I assumed was her imaginary friend before handing her bear to her mom and shouting, "feel hims nose!" And I realized that children act like adults on brain altering drugs.

My dad said it's because the innocence of childhood hasn't been beaten out of them yet. Later in life, when you try to recapture this innocence--say, with multiple hits of acid--it will again be beaten out of you as innocence is largely frowned upon. I suppose acid is frowned upon, too, but I haven't yet substantiated this claim.

I left because it looked like rain and I had roughly 2 miles to bike home. I told myself I'd continue studying at home, but instead fell fast asleep and dreamt that I had tried to sneak back into work.

I tried to work on one of my stories, but felt I was hitting another wall, so I moved on to a different story that I had previously put on hold. Subsequently hit another wall. I'm starting to put so much pressure on myself now that I quit my job. I don't have any more excuses now; it's just me. There's so much riding on this portfolio, and I'm finding myself putting so much thought into each word I write that I'm becoming almost paralyzed. Not exactly putting the horse before the cart.

I really need to find some people to read my shit.

In other news, my brother has announced that he's moving out in a month. That means things will stop smelling weird.

Note to self: when was the last time I talked to mom?

Tomorrow is my first day of (f)unemployment. Big day. I hope I don't blow it.

Then we talked about summer nights.

I was in Warminster for my cousin's b-day and finally dropped the news that I quit my job. It went over exactly how I thought it would. My aunts and uncles asked about what I plan on doing next, and my grandparents and great-aunt lectured me about how I should keep my job because you can always use the money, and now you won't have health insurance, and a lot of people are out of work right now, and what if something happens to your car and you have to get it fixed, and can't you just go to school part time?

How do you explain to the Depression Generation that it's not about the money; it's about your dreams. That you want something more than a paycheck and health insurance, and simply working isn't satisfying this internal itch that's making you want to get up/shake down/run. That you have 6-months worth of money saved, you're not being lazy, you have a plan. That it's difficult to study for graduate exams, look for scholarships/grants, and write a 50 page portfolio while working full-time at a job that crushes your spirits beyond recognition, for which you drive an hour both ways. That you can't get a Masters degree from a community college.

That you just need to be something more.

On the way home my dad told me, just focus on what you're doing and getting where you want to go. Don't worry about anything else; I got your back.

Hello world, this is me.

I learned some things new about myself tonight: I'm disappointed and marginally annoyed with 28-year-olds who still play beer pong.

I spent the night on a gazebo swing, shooting the shit with NR and watching the June bugs collect and meet their fate in the glowing pool.

Also, if your cat is stung several times by a yellow-jacket, there's a good chance she'll swell from the shoulders up.

When I woke up this morning, the first thing I thought was, "am I really going to do this?" Quickly I realized that sentimentality is the mother of all plateaus. You have to let go at some point. Of everything.

No turning back now.

Do you have any prospects?

(From toothpastefordinner.com)

Romantic comedies: The death of romance and rationale

I just watched Good Luck Chuck with my girl(space)friend AH. Relax, we didn't pay for it; it was HBO on demand. The reason we watched it was because the movie description listed the actors as Troy Gentile and Connor Price. Who? I thought this was Dane Cook and Jessica Alba.

It is. Troy and Connor are in the movie for 5 minutes playing the young versions of Dane Cook's character and his loser dip-shit best friend. Their significance is minuscule. Glad we got that cleared up. Oh, and to clear up something else, Dane Cook's BFF in the movie (Dan Fogler) is not a grown-up Donkey Lips from Salute Your Shorts. Although, maybe you can see why I would have thought that.



















Anyway, if there was an award for the most cliche, formulaic, and embarrassingly unfunny romantic comedy, this movie would win three in the same awards year. However, the real issue at hand seems to be the perpetuation of romantic ideals, as studied by the University of Edinburgh. I read an article on bbcnews.com several months ago that essentially blamed romantic comedies for our ill-conceived and poorly maintained relationships, explaining that "[m]arriage counsellors often see couples who believe that sex should always be perfect, and if someone is meant to be with you then they will know what you want without you needing to communicate it. We now have some emerging evidence that suggests popular media play a role in perpetuating these ideas in people's minds."

What's worse? Not only does a movie like Good Luck Chuck brainwash young girls into believing that their true love will buy 2 first class plane tickets to Antarctica because he doesn't know which of the two flights she's on in order to catch her at the last minute and pour his heart out in a last ditch effort to keep her from running away with her new "love interest"--who isn't a love interest at all, and the audience knows it, so there's no romantic suspense--but this movie will also lead many young fools into thinking that physical comedy and the repetitive shtick of sex-with-food is actually funny. (Spoiler alert: Fogler masturbates with grapefruit!)

America's future, nay--the world's future will be misled in thinking that someone as hot as Jessica Alba can have a nerdy, borderline annoying obsession with penguins, which makes it difficult for her to get dates and be sexy. And that it's normal to project your problems onto the penguins because their relationships to each other are so much like ours to each other. When a penguin loses its mate, they stop grooming and get depressed. Hey, Dane Cook stopped showering when Jessica Alba dumped him in the movie...that's called a parallel. And yes, it does mean that he really does love her.

People will think that the first time they have sex with someone will be fun and satisfying just because they're in love. (Another spoiler alert: romantic sex is not fun! It's high maintenance and more bells-and-whistles than moans-and-screams.)

Hell, they might even be misled into thinking that Dane Cook and Jessica Alba are good actors!

Call me a realist/pessimist/Janine Garofalo, but I'm noticing a trend between the rising divorce rate and the rate at which garbage like this movie is produced. The most realistic film portrayal of a married couple that I can think of at the moment is that of Marge and Norm Gunderson in Fargo. A lot of people died horrible bloody deaths in that movie, which leads me to believe that watching people get cut up and tossed into a wood chipper breeds happy, balanced marriages.

So in conclusion, please stop thinking Dane Cook is funny. It only encourages him.