i don't write in code, but i guess i am vague on this weblog, sometimes. believe it or not, i inhibit myself, lest i be an overflowing flood of emotional turmoil and self-deprecation.

i don't want the world to love me too much, but i do want the world to love me. i am just a regular kid seeking attention, but not necessarily absolute acceptance. i am introspective to the extent that it is over-indulgent. i am wrong about most things, most of the time, but i always feel right in a righteous way, no matter what. by this criteria, i am as ignorant as the next guy, an inside joke on myself, of which i am the only one who cares, yet everyone is on.

i know i am weird, but there really isn't anything i can do about it. when i try, i only get weirder, so what's the point. i don't care about being misunderstood anymore, since i understand everyone well enough to know that they'll always think i'm something else. let's just agree to disagree, shall we?

i need a chill pill, or better yet, a shut-up-the-face pill. is there anything on the market i can easily apply, like those nicotine patches, to combat pretentiousness?

been sitting around a bonfire in minh-tu's yard with friends for hours. i smell like a piece of smoked salmon right now. just like minh-tu's mom had said, "we can go to pike place market!"

i'm going to give myself props, because my weblog is the prettiest in the land.

i love the way girls smell and i hate smelling men's cologne on other men, plus i don't relish the idea of touching another dude's dick, so that's how i know i'm not gay. but i think i possess queer eye potential to exhibit prodigious talent as an interior decorator or fashion designer, without the effeminate lisp or fudge-packing inclinations, of course.

it sucks to have an appreciation and understanding of graphic design, but not be able to draw. and it sucks even more to be me and not be able to sing.

why god, why?

you ever listen to a song that used to hit you really hard, you know, deep-in-your-soul-type hype shit, and then find that it doesn't have the same effect on you anymore?

i have to start downloading this new modest mouse album, good news for people who love bad news, again. so far it is nice, but the last bastard i was downloading it from blocked me.

mommy, i need new headphones! though, the duct tape on the ear piece is my style, i have to admit.

i don't know why i always act like i'm surprised or indignant whenever a teacher comes down on me and reacts to my academic effort.

take today, for example, when i was honestly caught off-guard after ms. johnson said i was a "slacker." i know she had good intentions by it, since she also asked me "where is your famous movie?" which is of course unmade and belied in my mind somewhere, obscured by the common scapegoat of writer's block, but i was still rattled by the word "slacker." ms. johnson is just one of those teachers that i actually care about exhibiting any talent to; i actually respect her as a professional in her field, and to earn her favor by submitting a merit-worthy piece to a film festival would actually feel like an achievement of my high school career.

and then of course, there was ms. o'roarty, who, today, sent tyree, mustafa, devin, errin, and i to the library today because she caught us talking off-topic during class, and we all had wack-ass (or non-existent) test scores from a couple days ago. i wouldn't have cared so much, except she included me in that group because i didn't take the test, and i didn't take the test because i fell asleep. i couldn't help that shit! i wouldn't have been able to stay awake and concentrate even if i had tried, so i let myself pass out, which even in hindsight seems like a healthier decision than the alternative. what's she thinking, anyway? i'm going to get a fucking 5 on the ap literature test, she told me herself, so what the fuck is the big deal? do i sound like a cocky asshole right now? i do? good, because i am feeling pretty fucking cocky right now!

mr. bernal came in after school today, while i was making up a test in mr. heft's class. it's kind of funny to hear grown men talk so enthusiastically about airplanes, but everyone is entitled to their own quirky thing, i guess.

(mine is runnin' up on herbs who look at me cockeyed, and smokin' they asses.)

dag.

i was originally going to get dr. muckerheide as my confirmation sponsor, but now i'm chickening out like a punk bitch. this is kind of bad, since my mom already asked muck, like, on two different occasions, in person. i just don't want to burden the man this weekend with this "bearing witness to christ" session, especially on such short, procrastinated notice. i'll just get my uncle as my sponsor, since he's always been there for me, and hopefully muck will just forget about this whole thing, god bless his soul.

golly gee willikers, i almost sound like i care about being catholic!

i think the only way to keep my room clean is to throw out all of my personal belongings and try to maintain an empty room (maybe i'll board up the windows, rip out the carpet, and paint everything white). i don't need much of this shit anyway, i just tend to hold on to everything for sentimental purposes. even stupid junk like broken pencils and dismembered action figures, or books that i'll never read but were given to me by my cousin, are not easy to let go of because they arouse an otherwise neglected or forgotten memory.

and the term "pack rat" is the ugliest, most disgusting label i've heard of. yuck, i can't be that.

the neverending feeling of being broken-down and exhausted and nauseated feels like i'm in a perpetual hangover. if only i could just get some sleep...

but i won't, not tonight at least. though i stuck out some z's earlier this afternoon, i was just playing catch-up for last night's lack of rest.

there's nothing graceful about waking up in a pool of your own drool in the middle of class, but i can't help the mid-day/mid-class bouts of uncontrollable unconsciousness, not even for quizzes, tests, or jews.

(yeah, i know, the last part of that statement was uncalled for. but it's not hate speech, i mean, he is jewish, right?)

don't you just hate condescending bitches?

i have to stop being so critical of other people's bad taste and bland and/or stupid sensibilities. really, it's a sign of my own vanity, somehow. sometimes i wonder how i can loathe myself so much, when at the same time i can get so full of myself. i mean, what could be more vain than a public weblog?! tell me that, people. as for others, there's really nothing i can do but sip on the haterade and have a toast for all y'all knuckleheads out there. i can't change the world, no matter how much i dis 'ya.

and that's the triple truth, ruth.

dynamite! that shit is outta sight!

now that i've got your attention, i don't really know what to do with it. my current attention at the present moment is partially occupied by tonight's episode of the o.c., in which i vicariously live through each of the characters, and yes, even marisa cooper! i applaud that the show has made a character like seth cohen's (obscure comic book references, indie rock interests? wtf!?) adorable to the judgemental girls of today's "millenial" generation, and that they actually gave richard gallagher a non-douchebaggy part for once, as the charming lawyer dad. oh, and the soundtrack! the people who pick the songs that go on that show must be hipsters (which ain't so bad, as long as their hipster tendencies don't go overboard)!

finley quaye & william orbit feat. beth orton - dice

that song. that song!

um, i don't have anything soapboxy to speak upon, or anything impassioned to say. today, i, well, um, stole a bunch of books from the public library, and dreamed that i was allergic to having my spine being touched.

joseph's fun fact of the day: jimi hendrix used to put baby oil on his guitar strings. he also had sex with men... but that shouldn't make him any less of anything. (i guess that was two facts.)

joseph's question of the day: do people who read lips experience something different when they kiss, or even better, read minds?

joseph's spoiler of the day: the bride's name is beatrice kiddo. and bill dies!

goodnight vietnam!

p.s. i just finished watching the o.c., and what the fuck is summer thinking? hang in there, seth!

the pixies.