Yessssss…how I’ve missed thee. A chance to bring out the Asshole persona yet again, I love it.

Lies lies lies lies.
Filth and deceit.
Why do you girls do it?


I visited college.


About time, anyway.

So this morning my parents and I made an excursion over to Rutgers’ New Brunswick campus.

I didn’t have the foresight of booking any tour, per se. Those things are bullshit anyway. So we just sort of walked around.

Ernest Mario’s School of Pharmacy (William Levine Hall) is located in Busch Campus, and let me be the one to say that the entire Busch campus is fucking HUGE. I have absolutely no basis for comparison, so you can pretty much bite me. It’s big, end of story. I checked out the library, got a map from some ugly college student, and even checked out Metzger Hall (a dorm hall)! Some dude let us in, and then we interrogated a young man who came down to purchase a soft beverage from the vending machine (which accepts cash, as well as these neat Rutgers “debit cards.”) He showed us around the rooms a bit, and demonstrated the cleanliness, or lack there of, of his own. Seems really nice. The hall lounge is ridiculous. There’s a ping pong table and a pool table. That’s just sick.

From what I saw today, I am more than likely to go here. If not straight to Pharmacy, then just undergraduate study here and transfer in later.

I’ve been thinking I needed to set aside some time to appreciate
Electronic Arts here in the post for biting the bullet and supporting Xbox
Live. I have been somewhat impolite
when discussing the issue in the past, but I’m man enough to admit it
when somebody else does right and I’m ready to say something kind if I
have to. Luckily, after playing Burnout online, I’m not obligated to do
anything of the kind.

First, a parable: I am extremely enthusiastic about
nectarines. They’re fantastic. Like all fruit, there is definitely
something erotic in their presentation. I bought one with the intention
of eating it.

When they’re ripe enough, no cutting is required. You can just
grab both sides and twist – as you might twist a squirrel – and then
eat the halves over the sink wildly while the juice runs down your arm.
That didn’t happen this time. What happened
is that though it looked fresh enough on the outside, something
terrible had taken root in the core of it. As I twisted with triumph
and abandon, bringing a half close to my face, I would see that somehow
about fourteen earwigs had been born in the seed, and I had twisted
open their dwelling. The fruit was black inside. Earwigs were writhing,
falling out, clinging to it. Seeing decay and abundance so juxtaposed I
dropped it and began to scream as loud as I could. It’s an image that stuck
with me, and my toes are curling under my desk just thinking of it.

If you think you are getting Xbox Live when you play an EA game on the
Xbox, what you are actually getting is the veneer of Xbox Live wrapped
around the black and infested core of EA’s substandard service. It
starts by connecting you to Live, yes, at which point you are shunted
into EA’s sinister realm of torment.

For the longest time, my Friends List wouldn’t come up. If you’ve been
on Live awhile, you rely on that list the same way you would the basic
server browser in a PC game. It’s that fundamental. It’s a top level
culling mechanism that lets me know at least one
other person in the game I’m about to join isn’t a Goddamn reject.
Since my friends list was empty, it seemed to me that maybe EA wanted
me to completely rebuild my Friends list manually, or perhaps build it
out of names they had on their own service. It seemed like a pain in
the ass, but I thought that the first step – choosing a lobby specific
to a global region, alien to Live – was pretty stupid too, and I

Searching for Gabe, it crashed my console.

I restarted, and this time the Friends list came up. Good. There’s a
text mail from a friend of mine, no support for 3.0 Voice Mail, but I
don’t mind typing in a little message with the controller. It then
tells me the message was not sent. Not much I can do about it now, I
guess. I head out to the lobby and look for games. I get another notice
saying the mail was
sent, which, I mean, that’s awesome I guess. I try to join his game,
and get an Unknown Host dialog. About this time, I get an Invite from
Gabe. I try accepting it, and after eight failed attempts and no
response form the UI telling me what happened I decide to join manually
from the list. The game is full, but Gabe turns them out on their ear
and I manually join the next one.

Shit like this happens every time I go in there. You never really know
if it’s going to kick you out after a match or keep you in the lobby.
If somebody does get kicked, there’s no message identifying it, and everybody just sits there for a while.

Once you get into a game, and provided it doesn’t kick you out even if you are the host,
it’s about as much fun as you can have online – and I know that’s high
praise. Aside from not being able to save and trade your best crashes
(which is a tragedy of epic proportions), the only regrettable thing
about Burnout 3 really is EA’s perverse multiplayer scheme. That it is worth enduring their fragmented, nonsensical approach to player matching is a testament to its craft and precision.

(CW)TB out.

I adore Tycho Brahe.

So I guess that’s it.

The time has come to put the top up and leave it. I’m very upset about making this decision but it’s one I have to make.

Until spring, then.

At least I can look forward to Saw III this Friday. Yeah, that should be good.

So I was a cool kid this weekend. I went to a party a chick was having. The party was held outside, where the temperature was easily 30 degrees. I thought I’d freeze my nuts off. Thank God there was this huge bonfire where we could gather around and warm our frozen limbs.

I couldn’t drink because I was driving and boy oh boy was I ever fucking pissed because of the fact.

The party was meh. It was mostly sophomores, with a few interspersed seniors. I think this was more of a “invite everyone I’ve ever met” sort of party, rather than a “invite people I actually care about” kind of party. There was some douchebag I knew from like 4 fucking years ago, who I know this chick couldn’t give a flying fuck about.

A (small) advantage to not drinking at a party is watching others who do.
Some fat little chick met this ugly buck toothed hick of a kid. They hit it off, she was drunk to fuck, and sometime during the course of the night, they hooked up. And when everyone found out, the shame on her face was absolutely priceless.

I met some cute little girl there too. Complete moron who wouldn’t shut the fuck up for 2 seconds, but cute. For warmth, or so I said, we got to cuddle a little bit in the cold.

There was dancing for a little bit, then a failed game of manhunt in which people were probably still hiding hours well after we already long stopped playing.

I also had a miniature heart attack when I thought I lost my keys. I started freaking out and when I found them, they were still in my trunk lock, for what was probably 4 hours.

When the party finally started to wind down, I bid my host good night and headed off. I was easily in the more malignant states of hypothermia by then, and so when I got into my car, I blasted the heater to the point where most small animals would be stricken with heatstroke.

Decent night all in all, I think.

So I went on my night cruise tonight. (It’s getting pretty cold lately, and that upsets me, because sooner or later I’m going to have start driving top up for the most part.)

And I decided to stop in the mall to make a quick purchase.

As I’m looking around, this is not the mall I’ve come to know. There are kids around. Some are sitting at tables at the shitty little restaurants. Some are walking in herds aimlessly about. Others are bounding about individually, trying to find the herd they were separated from.

Who the fuck are these kids and what the hell are they doing? Is this known as “having a life”? Standing around with your stupid friends babbling about whatever the fuck you think your vapid existences are about? What is this “maller” generation? Do these idiots actually find fun standing around holding their dicks in a mall?

These questions bother me. They disturb me. Because I know the answer to none of them.

Bah, I’ll not concern myself with such tripe.

Haha, curiosity killed the cat, don’cha know?

To say that I was dressed sharp today would be a gross understatement. I was, in fact, dressed fantastically sharp. I couldn’t give a fuck about school spirit, but I’ll use any excuse to dress up.

New South Park at 10:00
1010 – Miss Teacher Bangs a Boy
A South Park Elementary School teacher is conducting an illicit affair
with a student. As the new School Hallway Monitor, Cartman takes it
personally when an infraction is committed in his jurisdiction.

SATs yesterday.


My test center was at Old Bridge High School because I must have signed up too late to be in EB, I guess. Eh, it’s alright. The drive was great. I saw a red Elise behind me on 18. When I got to the school, there were surprisingly a lot of people I knew from EB.

The test was like last year: too LOOONG. And our instructor was really lax too; he let us choose our own breaks. We took a break after the 1st or 2nd section, in which I ate a(n awesome) granola bar, drank a Red Bull, and took a piss. Simultaneously. And then from there, we just wrote the rest of the test straight through. We were done around 1:15.

I reviewed my essay from last year, which got a 7(/12), and looking at it with a fresh eye a year later, I’m shocked at how fucking stupid I was. I would have tried to find out if I could give my essay a score of less than 2. Like 0, or a negative number or something. It was such dogshit that dogshit would be embarassed to have the same name as it. Godawful, really.
Conversely, this essay was FANTASTIC. I knew what to write from the instant I read the prompt. The whole structure was instantly set out in my mind. It turned out great, I know it. I’ll consider sharing it when results come in.

I parked in the Guam region of the parking lot. And some asshat STILL managed to park directly next to me. The lot around us was bare. There was room for 150 more cars. And the cock still had to park next to me. Thankfully there was room between us.

The drive home was simply fantastic. There was a cool crisp breeze, driving top down was orgasmic.

This is the last time I’m ever taking the SATs. It’s sort of a big deal, I guess. Here’s hoping to get 2000+ this time around.

Yesterday felt like Monday.

And I didn’t take my nap yesterday afternoon, so I was dead for all of today.

I’m good at golf. Yeah, I’m surprised at myself.

<3 Miata