I object!
Look, Your Honor, I understand the evidence against me is a bit damning, but I swear I've been plenty productive! Overly productive, actually! Lee Virtel lined up these exhibits very carefully, so pay attention.

Exhibit A: I made a list of places to apply for internships. All by myself. One day that green post-it could turn into -- what else -- millions of dollars, all thanks to -- what else -- journalism internships. Already you can see my level of initiative is untamed.

Exhibit B: If you quiz me on ANY of the lyrics to Miley Cyrus' "See You Again," I will KNOW THEM VERY WELL. And then I will KILL MYSELF. Whatever, grad school research is basially the same thing as listening to Kiss FM.

Exhibit C: I interviewed a world-famous author. Jackie Collins. You know, just at www.advocate.com. This one's actually not facetious, soooo... I rest my case? The verdict is in? I'm having the most productive summer you've ever heard? Perfect, back I go to online Boggle.

Yeah. I'm a lazy motherfucker as of this month. Probably won't help when Jess, Mattfrench, and Sarah visit me for four nights, or when I visit Iowa or Wisconsin (all happening in the next few weeks), or when I, uh, live in Lemont 24/7 and succumb to its silvery streets of world-class boredom every day of my god-forsaken, post-graduate life. I have seriously about three good friends left in town, besides my family. Technically, one of those friends may have been the bag of Peanut Lovers' Chex Mix I just inhaled. So I'm down another friend. What can I say? We destroy the ones we love.

I haven't prepared at all for the arrival of Jess, Mattfrench, and Sarah, even though they arrive sometime on Thursday. Yipes. I imagine we'll spend most of our time eating piles of Portillo's beef, pretending to know anything about Chicago as we stumble headlong into the projects, and taking expensive tours of Lemont in the Virtel family Chevy Cavalier of glamour. Thing is, I don't even know where PT lives anymore, so I'm missing my big cash-cow tourist attraction. It won't feel the same if we take outrageous mock-blowjob pictures by where PT used to live. Oh well. However, the culmination of my tours is always a special double-circling of the Lemont Target, so there's a rest-assured high note. Or just some $7.99 copies of Love and Basketball, but whatever. Target's beautiful with or without its material possessions.

And in case anyone's wondering -- I still don't know whether I'm jetting to Los Angeles, New York, or... well, Chicago. Depends on what opportunities crop up. Or wherever I impulsively click when I visit Expedia. Quoth the prophet Mann: "So all that I need now / Is someone with the brains and the know-how / To tell me what I want, anyhow." And how to get it cheaply too, thanks.

I'm a pretty lost guy right now. I'm not used to the feeling, so my body's done this force-quit super-fuck-it thing where I just deny the importance of making a decision. Sort of like what happened when I chose a college. But you know, I find things work out nicely, somehow. This might only be because I'm listening to "Landslide" right now. I'm high on all this "snow-covered hills" bullshit metaphor. See last entry for further analysis.

By the way, while this likely sounds petty in a legendary way, I've been feeling reeeeeeally un-funny lately. Like this journal entry? Not feeling it so much. I'm sure I'll feel like my old Benny Hill self before long, but for now I feel stagnant and desperate. The stand-up comic that needs to sit the fuck down. You know. The way Carlos Mencia needs to feel for once in his sorry motherfucking life.

The important thing: To those of you who still stumble upon this old-fart deadjournal, I really love the hell of you, so I hope you're feeling productive, energized, and inspired. And sexed too, hell! And famous. And botoxed until your forehead looks muscular. Happiness is a warm injection of mystery face plasma, so they say.
Hop aboard the gladwagon! Just don't get too excited, you'll fuck up your new cheekbones. ;P

Well, it's 4:18 a.m., so I've got to start thinking about sleep in a few hours. See? The stress is palpable.

Love to y'all, yet again. Keep me in your extremely atheistic prayers.

Xo(sex)o,
Louis