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mood |
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 pensive |
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music |
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Kylie Minogue "Give It To Me" |
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Hey hey. That subject's an actual song lyric. I think it was really nice of Laura Nyro to write a song about me although I wasn't alive in 1973. That takes some intuition and confidence to be able to predict my birth. I should re-pay the favor and write a big, "Woah Laura Nyro, you're dead and everything, but...rock on with your witch self." Hard to make that into a chorus, I think.
Alright, anyway, hello. I just got back from Iowa orientation...it's funny how much an orientation can leave you, in fact, disoriented. Mom and I drove down to Iowa City on Tuesday with not a lot of luggage and my cd collection. Upon arrival, we spent a night at the campus hotel, and then the next day I got put into my big orientation group. Kelli, my cute, reserved orientation guide, led our group in get-to-know-you games. One particular guy in my group, when I mentioned Liz Phair, said out loud to the whole group, "The new album sucked." It was pretty abrasive and weird, I kinda thought to myself, "uhhh alright... won't talk to him" only to have him come up to me minutes later saying, "I think I'm gonna need your email, you and I are a lot alike." I guess I just don't get some people. He walked with me when we had to go to this meeting later and he smoked (during the tour) and then stumbled stoner-style into the building. Good to know people seeing him for the first time think I'm his tag-along friend or something.
My mom and I went on a tour of the Hancher auditorium...and even though the place was gorgeous and our tour guide resembled my jock character in Illuminating the Future With A Blowtorch...what sticks with me was the tall, reddish-brown haired guy who I'd seen throughout the day but never really up close. I have no idea who this kid is. I couldn't tell you his name. He might've killed a bunch of Romanian hookers and stored them in a potato sack. All I know is, he was into theatre, he wore layers like he was on a Versace runway, and he was all-in-all fucken my type. I wasn't sure he was into guys though... then that suspicion was confirmed when I heard his voice... no denying that kid is very much beyond the metrosexual plateau. Oh the possibilities. And this chick Tess from Riverside that I met is in the same dorm he is, and I've assigned her the duty of making fireworks happen. Not holding my breath on this one...but gotta love setting those college goals. Tess also knew Mike Farnham, oddly enough.
The actual process of registering for classes was an unbelievable pain in the ass. There were so many time conflicts and filled classes that I had to re-adjust my schedule at least twice. In the end, I'm taking Speaking & Reading, Elementary Psychology, Love and Glory: The Literature of Rome (don't ask), American Pop Music, and a pre-requisite class for journalism. Since I'm a journalism major, I need to take a minor in like...a subject I want to be journalistic about. My minor is the arts...which is perfect because as my advisor said to me, I can do acting, film, and music survey courses as part of that. As of now, things couldn't be working out better in the classes department.
Tonight I went and hung out with Kimmie, Sarah, Andy, Brad, and Amanda...we went to see Anchorman which would've been a good movie if Will Ferrell's character was given a storyline that was able to be cared about. Christina Applegate, there's a reason you're only the girl from Married...With Children. The movie world is done with you. We booked it to Barnes & Noble afterwards and who was there, but um, all of these people: Mike Levy, Corey Fucken Krengiel, Liz Rogers, Jason Fricka... the list goes on for a long time, "It's A Small World" style. That means the list is longer than hell. And should be kicked in the teeth. No, all cool people were there, Mike Levy was a little erratically eccentric (for Mike Levy anyway), but that all added to the fun. Amanda Deckelman: easily one of the coolest people I know. She sparkles like our good friend Angel (pronounced on-hell) from the BDEC forum.
Okay, but now that I've got that shit out of the way, I've gotta get a few things straight here... in the car ride on the way to Iowa, my mom and I were discussing the things we sometimes do because of our competitive nature. As usual, the dialogue got me thinking. Just what are the things I do because I need to top others or myself? It was scary, the amount of things I thought of. Alright, I'm going on a weird-ass tangent if there ever was one...here are some scattered realizations and methods of self-improvement that probably won't be achieved but need to at least be acknowledged...right here in the fucken journal where either everything has to go or nothing has to go. Here comes an all-out attempt at "everything".
I need to not attempt to write poems only as a means of competing. I need to not analyze others for the sake of proving to myself that I CAN analyze them...I need to 1) recognize that every time I feel compelled to analyze, I do it because I see similar aspects in myself, and 2) to know that that's not the end of the world...as a matter of fact, that that's a reassuring truth. I need to not thrive on stupid things like the secretive relationship with that one guy who sneaks me to his house...I need to not use potentially-harmful, compulsive "relationships" like that one as a means to compete with people who, in my head, pull off secretive relationships and can have whatever action they want at their leisure. I shouldn't cringe because of losing that battle. I shouldn't feel out-of-control because of losing that battle. There comes a point when the "fun" of a sexual fling becomes addiction for me (and that's not exaggeration), and I need to be especially aware of how my well-being shouldn't be affected because I think I'm "beating" someone else by getting ass. Not even classy ass. The word I'm thinking here is "prostitution". Prostitution without paying anything really, besides the possible consequence of getting caught or losing the respect of people who think more of me (or probably more importantly, self-respect). It's not like that ass would come back if I wanted it to...again, I'm blocked. I don't think about it much at all anymore...other than I do have that instinct to be "beating" people who aren't there. It's come to the point where my candor about the secret-fling experience has become overdone...this situation has nothing to do with the best parts of my life, so why do I delve on it so much in the DJ? Why do I care? The best things involve shit like... making fun of Greg or going to Baskin Robbins with the crew or feeling empowered about my best qualities.
I need to chill the fuck out. Moreso, I need to be light-hearted and not force myself into getting verbose and heavy-handed about little, unimportant things. I'm happy, and I don't think I clarify that enough. Depression isn't being unable to deal with outside-world frustration...depression is an undying circle of denial and failed attempts at self-love...I was never a part of that circle, and that makes me remember...I've always been satisfied with what I've had. Unfortunately, as the Madonna song "More" on the Dick Tracy soundtrack notes, "I'm so happy with what I've got...I want more!" Hmmmm. I wonder if the same applies to me.
You know what, in a month and a half, things will be different. And I think I'll just look forward to that change for the time being... and in the meantime... I'll bounce like hell in the Dino Jump that will be at Katie Erk's graduation party tomorrow. I'll keep on pushin' over the borderline my understanding of myself and myself in relation to the world. And hopefully make a little money and spend it when necessary...like when an emergency Starbucks run is in order or if Alanis Morissette is selling kisses at a Keepataw Days booth. But as of now, I feel fine.
Is it just me or do I always come to that conclusion? Strange how it kind of surprises me every time. Well then. Sarah wants me to check something out or buy drugs off her, so I think I'll just update and move along with mah life. Later, everyone.
Love you and I continue to be there,
Louis.
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