The human race. The rat race. The relay race.

Did you know that the majority of the passengers on the Hindenburg survived the historic crash? The, "Oh, the humanity!" crash? Only 13 passengers died. That's amazing.

When you factor in the air/ground crew who were injured, the body count stops at 35. That's not too bad, when you consider how famous this disaster is.

Then again, when the space shuttle 'Challenger' exploded, only seven were killed. It's still talked about today.

I guess what was remarkable about the Hindenburg explosion, to me, is that there were far more than 13 passengers on the airship.

So that's your fun fact.

It's not like I haven't been writing. I have been, but they're all stuck in 'draft' stage purgatory. Eventually they may be revised and posted. Time will tell. As a bonus, I have added three extremely short blogs below this one, that I hadn't published otherwise.

But enough jibber jabber. This is what you've all been waiting for:

I have found deeper meaning in the show, BEAUTY AND THE GEEK. (Season 3, aired on MTV in marathon format.)

The entire series is jam-packed with symbolism and metaphor. And boobies. Tons of them. Like at least four. That is a lot of titty. Wowie-wow-woah-wow! Seriously though.

Here's some essential background knowledge: The premise: eight 'beauties' (read: girls who have gotten by on their looks; basically idiots) are paired up with eight 'geeks' (read: guys who have gotten by on their intellects; basically social idiots) and they try to learn from each other. A pair is eliminated via quiz-competition each week. The eventual winners receive $250,000. Nice.

The first challenge was won by Nate, who with his partner Cecile, went on to dominate the entire show. This won them immunity from elimination for one round. That's irrelevant though. What's relevant is that after the beauties and geeks completed their first challenge, a lot of the initial magic was gone. The geeks were frustrated with beauties who couldn't figure out alphabetically organized books. The beauties were fed up with geeks who couldn't even work up the nerve to ask a stranger a question.

Tensions were high, and only one couple wins anything at all in the end. There's no second place. It's $250k or zero.

Or is it?

After the first challenge, after some discussion, and after being given ample time to really dislike eachother, each couple is handed a steel baton and they are escorted out into the main hall of the mansion they are living in. Each baton is being held by a beauty and her respective geek, simultaneously. Rather, they are both holding onto the baton. I don't know why that was so hard to explain. I want you to picture that, for a moment, though, because this means a lot to me.

Decision time.

The host offers a couple $5000 apiece to go home now. Call it quits, pocket five grand. The ride home and the money will be awarded to the couple whose baton first hits the floor. This means that both beauty and geek must let go of the baton.

Fingers quiver, but everyone holds on tight. The host increases the cash to $10,000. The couples are looking at eachother now. Still, the batons are being held firm.

Eventually, the cash prize is increased to $20,000 each. To go home, never see eachother again, quit the show, say goodbye- etc. One couple is seriously considering it at this point. The beauty completely lets go for a moment.

To kill the tension: She grabs back on, and all eight couples stay. I want you to take the last 20 paragraphs and throw them out the window, though, because this has all just been a series of building blocks. We're here. It's done.

What if, in a relationship, you could have so much faith- so much insane faith in not just yourself, or her, but the two of you... that you could just HOLD ON and it would work?


"I want you to take whatever doubts you have about us, and forget about them. Right now. Because no matter how badly you want that $20,000, I'm here for the long run. I'm not going to let go of this baton; it will not ever hit the floor. We're staying. Period."


No one said that line but I really wanted them to.




I wanna be the guy who's strong enough for both of us.
At the same time, I hope I never have to prove it.


When you're in a relationship, you're each holding a baton. It's a prisoner's dilemma. Sometimes you wanna be the first one to let go, because you think dropping it is inevitable. Sometimes you wonder if they're still holding on. Oh man, and sometimes... you let go, for JUST A SECOND, to see if the baton drops. (Girls call this real-life phenomenon a 'test', but we know that it is sadistic torture).

Sometimes you wonder if they're just waiting to drop it too.
---




Be strong enough not to budge if you believe in something. Don't miss out on something amazing because you were hoping someone else would do the hard part for you. If you really, really want something, hold on to it until you can't possibly do so any longer.








If you hold on as long as you can, you'll never regret letting go.










promise.

John De Bergerac

because it is better to fight in vain.










explanation, 9/26/07: This makes sense if you know the story.

I am John's uneasy shudder.

Because I'm basically a teenage girl, I live in a very Don Quixote-esque cartoon of a life. So I daydream about these grandiose heroes and their legendary reputations.

Rhetorically, I wonder aloud, "These days, who is famous--- who is legendary, even, for loving someone?"




well that's scary.




explanation 9/26/07: Haha! This is still funny. I don't know why I didn't post this in the first place. That is Tom Cruise freaking out on Oprah, by the way. That is hopefully the first and only Oprah reference I'll ever make on here.

I am John's haunting dissapointment

Don't ever catch me embarrassed.

The apology is worse than the incident. Always is.







Explanation, 9/26/07: Did I do something embarrassing on the 15th? I have no idea.

The Definition of Insanity

So she got into his car out of loyalty. She smiled all the same, but it was loyalty and nothing else that found her in his car. It is the ultimate act of charity- she has no idea why this is important to him, but she knows that it is important to him, so her loyalty brings her into his car and they drive slowly. He plays the saddest song he'd heard all week, but hesitates on the volume knob because maybe he'd rather see her happy than enlightened. Rather happy than healed.

They drive slowly listening to songs that remind him of her. He wanted her to hear them too, as if she'd fall in love with him the same way he fell in love with the songs. That strong association with art. I'll never forget the girls who own these songs. My favorite songs aren't even good songs, but the memories are the best. It's where it takes you.

It wasn't that sad, she said- the song wasn't that sad- as if in order for him to think of her, it would have to be a sad song. So he played her a happy one. Fate forces him to say something lovely as the loveliest song he'd heard all week comes to a close.

He halfway tells and halfway begs her never to stop being sweet. Cause she might be the only sweetness left in the world. She assures him she's stuck in this state. They're her crutches, but it's the boy who is lifted up by them.

It's her illness- but for the last half hour, it's been killing him. And it's been curing him.

She gets out of his car when he gives the cue, and her day goes on normally. His does too. Scratch one significant moment off the list, carve another notch in the belt. Write it down for the story that everyone's gonna see someday.

Junkie got his fix.

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over while at the same time expecting a different outcome each time.

She doesn't know why it makes him happy but she'd rather make him happy than break his heart.

We're all addicts in the end. Whether it's love, affection, or attention, we need it. To validate ourselves. To remind ourselves that we exist and we're important. The Capulet up on the balcony might sing to you, but she won't jump down into your arms. Not without a lot of dead bodies getting in the way.

The best you can do is get it down to a checklist and just keep on going throughout your day. Get that drug you need, but don't let it define you. Make yourself better without selling your whole life wholesale in order to get validated. Do something for yourself.

What kind of reputation would you have if you were the last living person in the world?

I've traded brick for straw.

No huff and puff will dismantle us.


Do you exist outside of the mirror? I do not. People call me out constantly for catching myself in a mirror, or sunglasses, or a wading pool or your deep dark beautiful eyes.

I look in the mirror to remind myself that I exist.


Even conversationally, I have no idea at all what I look like. I'm completely unaware of myself unless I can see evidence that I'm real.

Times like this I wonder if I'm not dreaming all of you-- but rather, am I part of someone else's dream?

I can't even see my own nose without closing one eye.

It's this lack of existence that makes interaction so damned meaningful. If I can't see myself, let me see myself in you. Our conversation is evidence that we both exist for real, cause I'm not clever enough to come up with your lines myself.

How powerful could you be if you paid attention to the image you gave off in every conversation? Is that dishonest? Or is it more efficient?

What if you postured yourself perfectly to convey an idea- so well positioned physically, that you basically didn't have to say anything at all?

What if you're already doing this subconsciously?
---

sometimes, the worst thing in the world is admitting someone is right. It is rare and dishonest to easily admit that you're wrong, if you're at all invested in the subject.

The reason this is so disarming is because whenever you make an important decision, you pass it through several logical filters in your head, that you've developed over the years to make the right decision. Abortions, gunshots, moving days and 'goodbye forevers' shouldn't ever be impulse decisions.

When you're dead wrong about 'goodbye forever' it's embarrassing as hell because your whole fucking brain was wrong. Every checkpoint was just leading you in the wrong direction. No one ever elects to do the wrong thing by choice, we all think we're doing what's best for us.

The hardest thing in the world is to admit that every single step you've taken has been dead-ass-wrong. You're covered in lava and you broke your mother's back. Watch your step next time.

Harder still is the opposite of goodbye forever. Whatever that is. Getting someone's character completely wrong makes you feel like a real idiot. To the point where you might just fake it to keep from having to change your outlook.
---

Push ups keep me focused. With the heat, I shower a few times a day. I don't get in the shower without first doing a ton of push ups. Around 500 a day or so. Some with the Perfect Push Up, some without. They make me feel better about what I'm eating, and the huge chiseled pectorals don't hurt either.
---

Everyone's got these threads coming off them, and they're all connected to me. I don't cut any threads. Everyone I've ever encountered, I remember. Someone I sat next to in Comm 103 four years ago is still more special to me than some stranger.

These threads are also why I spend so much time digging around the cache of my life. Whether I'm ignoring your call or checking in after eight years, I've always been looking backwards while falling forwards. Maybe that's why my future calendar only ever goes as far as two weeks from now.

---

I wonder how much of drinking is the alcohol clouding the senses, or the inherently accepted fact that you can get away with more while you're drinking? That is to say, the drunken outbursts we experience-- I bet they are more EMOTIONAL than PHYSIOLOGICAL. Feel me?

Cause when I'm physiologically drunk, I'm pretty gone. I definitely exist; it's everyone else whose existence becomes questionable. But when I'm buzzed (you too) that's the time where I'm just doing all the shit I know I can get away with because of this mask. Probably.
---

I've been looking for purpose and in the process have spent a lot of time on myself, which has been rewarding. The more content I am with me, the more disappointed I am in all of you. Not really. That's harsh. What I mean is,

the more time I spend on myself, the less I worry about existing to other people... so when I *am* focused on you and yours, I'm a little rusty. A bit salty. Me me me.
---








Please remember that your life isn't the Hills or any other location-based pseudoreality show on MTV. The camera might sympathize with you but your real life friends need more than that. Even if it would make good television, it's not. My life could be the greatest movie of all time. It's volatile, but you don't have to touch and go.

You've just gotta live it and let it write itself.

imagine living your whole life for the worst thing you ever did.

part one: milfhunter
------------------

Like clockwork I'm old.

1985, John is born.

22 years later I am the oldest man in the entire world.

I've been so attracted to adult behaviour in girls lately that I must be an adult.

Can't find a job? Oh tell me all about it.
Stressed about your full time job? I've got a boner.
You miss college? Let's get married.
You're nervous about your wedding? Dear God lets run away from all this...

These grown up problems get me going so much because I'm at this bizzare stage where I might be the only medicine left for these people. I'm a grown up. Still living like an eighteen year old. I'm gonna make you young forever.

The people I'm closest to are my age, and in turn, a lot of them have graduated and moved on. And their situations are terrifying to a college student. But somehow, I'm not phased. I'm not scared. For some reason, I don't think it's gonna be me. That dude who slows down and lives for happy hour and is in bed by ten cause of work...

You see it, around this age, around this time, at this exact fifth year in college. That nervous confusion of the 22-24 year old college student. People feel old, and they're over the college scene. They just wanna get out. Move on, move up.

I do feel old, but I'm so not over it. I've seen enough wealthy and miserable graduates to know that it's not for me *quite yet*. I'm already thinking my career is going to have to be fun...

that is HUGE.

because as a business major, you usually realize in your senior year that your career will be lucrative but not fun.

I think mine might be fun. I might force it. It's gonna be great.

I've never felt so positive about the future. I think about it so rarely- I exist two weeks at a time. But I look forward and I feel good.

I see all these kids around me doing the SDSU dance, and it's funny to see how the patterns are so consistent. Freshman year people tend to act a certain way. Sophomore too. Junior too. Etc.

It's like my hero complex has grown up with me and graduated college before I did, because I just wanna save these 'grown up' girls who've accepted this monotony... the total value change.

I saw Johnny Rotten on Jimmy Kimmel and he's 50 years old and he's STILL pissed off. Ha!

I'm completely rambling. I don't feast on other people's misery, I just wanna help. For realsies.

------------------

part two: something's wrong syndrome
------------------
Everyone loves to be a victim. You can see it in people as young as toddlers. Here's a classic example:

Kid is toddling around the living room and bonks his head on a table corner. Ouch! He pops back up and keeps toddling around, but mom runs in from across the hall and coddles the shit out of him. "OHMYGOD AREYOUOKAY? OHMYBABY!"

This attention... shit, read Choke. Anyways, this attention not only reinforces the behaviour, but the "what's wrong?" aspect of it suggests that SOMETHING IS WRONG!

So the kid cries, cause she's wondering if he's okay so he must not be.

"What's wrong?" is the most fucked up thing you can ask someone.

Are you alright? Well fuck you, I'm not now.

And once you make yourself the victim, there's no backing out. You're miserable and you can't just turn it off. It's hard to change character on a dime. All cause some drunken bitch couldn't perceive the difference between distracted and depressed.

Here's how you fix it. Just claim drunkenness. Just do it. You can get away with anything if you're drunk, don't make yourself a victim or a villain and just say, "Oh I'm fine, I'm just shitfaced."

That's all there is to it. Heed that one, save yourself a lot of awkwardness. Trust me.