It's All So Useless!

No, I'm not talking about life. Life has it's many uses, even if it does suck a great deal of arse.

There's something I like about Mr. Miller. He's smart and down to earth, and he's a pretty humorous guy. If I didn't know any better, I'd simply say he was a graduate student as well, since he does look it. I actually had this guy pinned as being in his late twenties when I first saw him, and I'm still quite amazed at how long he's been married and how old he actually is. What ever the guy is doing, it works. But that all beside, there's one think I really like about him: His knowledge.

Not only could this guy be a physics teacher, but I bet the guy could just as well be some one of the medical field. He knows all about junk that can screw up your entire life, but for good reason. If you'll take for example: frostbite. Our toes, fingers, and nose will receive frostbite before anything else. Are they poorly heated? Are they subject to cold more so than any other part of our body?

Mr. Miller's answer: The body doesn't need them.

My first reaction to that was "Que?" because I was feeling a bit Frenchy at the time.

The body doesn't need your fingers or your toes to survive. It's actually quite astonishing when you think about it. You could live without an arm or a leg, and you could manage to go through life without a nose as well. As it turns out, the body will conserve the heat it creates by locking it off from other organs that it deems 'expendable'. This basically means that if you can live without it, then it's gone. Why do you think your initial reactions to a object flying at you is to put your arms up? While it's a means of protecting your face, your arm is also an expendable item. Losing an arm to a sword isn't all that bad a thing, considering that you could be slashed through the chest, your head lobbed off, and your eyes gouged out.

Brain: "Well men. It's been a treat knowing you. Right hand, I've enjoyed your company many a days, and I'm sad to see you go. Of course, my skin is worth more than yours, so off you go!"

Right hand: "Oh you twit! *falls off*"

Brain: "Yeah... oh hey! Is that a crocodile biting at us? Sorry leg, but you got to take one for the team."

Leg: "I hate you so much..."

Indeed, Mr. Miller has a lot to tell us.

Oh, and one last word of advice: When trapped in your car during a storm, keep your windows rolled up. Even the smallest crack can send a lightning charge right into your ear.

Body: "HUZZAH!"

Brain: "*fried to perfection*"

Looks like Hannibal is eating good tonight.

One must be fleet of foot when escaping their enemies.

Rollin' Rollin' Rollin'

So here we are once again, just sitting around the library with around thirty minutes to spare. I've got time on my hands and thoughts about free-writing. Let's see... I'll give myself twenty minutes.

2:26 p.m.

Topic: Why eating is important.

Eating is very important to me based upon the fact that my body needs to eat. I eat a lot when i can and I don't stop until I'm full. Strange as it is, but I actually eat faster than most people in my family do. This makes me a prime canidate for the military! Yes, I could ahve been in the military but the fact of the matter is: My eyes suck. Food! Spagetti, motzerella, cheese sticks, ravioli, pasta, pasta, pasta.

I do like pasta a lot, and it's easy to cook if you want a cimple meal. First, you simply need to boil up some water. Second, you toss in some hard, uncooked pasta noodles. Third, you prep the sauce while waiting for there to be some manner of fluidity in your noodles. Slapped with a wet noodle, as Mrs. Shealy always says. I don't know why she said that but it sure seemed funny to the entire class. Mm... I miss St. Mary's. EVERYONE knew EVERYONE! Which is what you get when your class consists of only thirty-two individuals total. Still, I can name just about all of them.

Daven, Milnes, Glenn, Megan, Natasha, Cassie, Patrick, Michelle, Corrine, Rachael, Amy, Genie, Kristen, Marie-Ange, okay... trying to think up more... JULIA! Leslie, Jonathan, Depriest (I feel bad for hating on that kid so much), Peter... some more some more... la dee da dee. There was Jayme but she left in six grade. She was a bit of a hottie too, but alas... she was liked by almost every guy around. Then she hooked up with Robert! ROBERT! There's another one! And so... she was also the shortest person in our class as well. Gymnist too so she looked lovely in that fashion as well. I think she still lives in Chicago... Wow, been a long time since I thought about my first crush. Can't believe I had the hots for her over six years. Darn my shyness in my youth. Of course, I'd always make her laugh.

I remember when I was giving her a spelling test too. We were out in the hallway, which was a bluejay egg color. We say in some plastic chairs, just the two of us. She was looking at her test paper and I was busy staring away at the words. I couldn't bear to look her straight in the eye for obvious reasons. But, the one thing that works wonders for me was that I had a nice sense of humor and could make her laugh. She sat there and listened intently while I read out words, then gave her a funny sentence to go with it. Every single time I said a sentence to her, she'd laugh and smile about it. It made me happy that I could make some one I cared about (even secretly) so happy and joyful.

Darnit, I don't need to think about this. Change of topic however! Girls I've liked and what happened with them.

Michelle came next for me. I don't know what it was about her that enthralled me so. She was very shy, soft-spoken, and she had some thick thighs on her also. However... she had the most drop-dead GORGEOUS face on her. I couldn't help but be captivated by how her face looked. And she actually had a crush on me too, I think... least that's the message Kristen conveyed to me. Alas, I had my reasons for not going with her, and I'm saddened that I didn't bother to do so. I think she and I would have been a great couple. I liked making her laugh too and she always seemed happy. Ha, it was funny too. She would follow after Corrine (a BOMBshell based solely on the size of her bouson) like a dog, going where she went and sticking to her to the very end. Spiffy, no? I was like that with my friends, so I felt like we related some how. She was shy, I was shy, she had... brown eyes I think, I had blue. She has light brown/dark blond hair, and I had dark brown. Perfect no? Ah well, what can you do. The last time I saw her was back during my highschool graduation party.

There she was, sitting down at her own table. I was hanging around with Hack-Saw (weight-lifting buddy of mine) and I noticed a few faces. Rachael, Stuart, and Michelle were all there, seperate tables. I noticed Michelle and I turned to Hack-Saw saying, "Hey, I know that girl! Hold on..." And I turned over to there and waved to Michelle, instantly getting her attention and smiling. She ran over and grabbed a seat next to me, talking and chatting about how life was. I told her about the military and I, then we laughed about a few things. She looked really good, and her thick thighs has really slimmed down. Basicly, I think she could have been a very nice model at that point.

Also, she has that award winning face of hers.

So, we bid each other a farewell, but before she turned back to her friends, I stood up and opened my arms. She smiled, exclaiming a slightly surprised "Oh!", then leaned in and gave me a big ol' hug. I kick myself these days for not asking her out.

Next came Jodi Derr but... no, I'll leave that for another day. My free-writing time is up and I need to get going in a few moments anyway.

Fluttering hearts see through foggy eyes.

Something New.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20050928/ap_on_re_mi_ea/iraq_050928103738

So now we have female suicide bombers going about Iraq. To many of you, this would seem tragic and downright horrifying, but I find it to be an interesting point of dicussion.

For one, we have a female suicide bomber. Normally, they'd be male and we'd understand what their purpose of martydom would be. Muslim men, when taking part in an act of martydom, would get a number of virgins once they get to heaven and would lead some sort of lavishing lifestyle; truly something amazing since I don't understand how all those virgins got up there in the first place. And note that they never actually say what the guys would do with all those virgins either.

Oh, but how we can speculate. And people down here look scornfully at polygamy, shame on them! God (Allah) is just showering these people with forty-two or so virgins once they die, and no one seems to say against it (save for radicalists).

But now... what's the say on what happens to Muslim women that are martyrs?

"According to the Koran, male martyrs are welcomed to Paradise by 72 beautiful virgins. Ayat, as with many of the women she is incarcerated with,believes that a woman martyr "will be the chief of the 72 virgins, thefairest of the fair.""

I suppose it's better than having to deal with 72, insecure, shy, virgin men who wouldn't know how to please a women properly. If a woman was the chief of some male martyr's harem, she'd have the pleasure of a master that knows how to get it on properly. Not only that but I'd hate to wake up to a dozen or so peni in my face every morning.

"Want to have sex?"
"Can I have sex too?"
"Can I do you from behind?"
"Can I watch?"
"Oh I'll watch too!"

It's a beautiful thing, let me tell you. Sarcasm aside, I think women would make more practical use of all those men. Instead of sleeping with them all the live long day, she'd end up making them listen to her, to make her bed, to vacuum the floors, to harvest the crops, and to pamper her to no end. Knowing women, she'd raise her hand up to Allah and shake it furiously with what she first received.

"My child," says Allah, "What is troubling you?"

"You know darn well what's troubling me, merciful Father!" explaims the woman, "I'm waking up to peni in the morning and I hate it. Now I sacrificed my life to take out that McDonald's so you better darn well reward me if I can't have any of those McNuggets! You had best change six of those insecure pansies into proffessional massagers, five of them into Chippendale dancers, two of them into bartenders, and the rest into my personal all a round servants or else I'll start talking to your wife!"

Oh and she'd do it too...

Which reminds me... does one regain their virginity in heaven? Does one have to go through some sort of application process before becoming a suicide bomber? If so, what are the qualitfications?

Men: Faith, strong mind, unbending loyalty, love of virgins, love for thine country, hatred of captitalist swine.

Women: Virgin.

Yeah, I can understand why there would be more men applying than women now. Men can have just about all that just by saying it. I, personally, have some decent faith in my religion, I've a strong mind, unbending loyalty, love of virgins (Uh... I like women?), patriotism, and I hate some people. I'm sure I could fit the bill as a suicide bomber without a problem! Women, on the other hand, might have a problem or two. You look around your average college campus and have to ask yourself: "Hmm... how many ladies here are still virgins?"

Yes, yes... I know that just because a girl wears short shorts and I can almost see her nipples just from looking at her shirt, it doesn't mean she's not a virgin; it just means it's a lot harder to believe. But I'll save that conversation for a different entry.

To those with wings, fly to your dreams.

Bad Days

Has one ever had one of those days where everything doesn't go their way? Everything in life just seems to smack them square in the nose? Everything a person had planned just went up in a poof of smoke, never to be seen again? I certainly have, and today was just another one of those miserable days.

I set my alarm clock so that I can wake up around five in the morning. This way, I can get some much needed studying done, some reading done, and I can finsih off all my assignments. Note, this plan is just plain ridiculous since I should ahve done all this ahead of time (stupid procrastination). But, unlike my planning, I wake up around 9:25. What the heck happened to my alarm clock and why wasn't I woken up? Oh I have a good hunch why, but I'm not going to go into explain about him.

So, as calmly as possible, I get ready for school, I put my homework in my backpack, and I leave to enter class. It is then that I realize that The Booksetter's Daughter is no where to be found in my room, or any other room. I spend a frantic ten minutes searching through all of my stuff, organizing my classes into folders, and looking desperately for that one book so that I can actually participate in class. I don't know how many of you know this but I care a lot about my English class, and it shows since I'm tearing my house up just to find one measily item. However, I eventually remember it's in the back pocket of my bookbag; right where I left it the previous week.

There are times where I nearly lose my grip on profanity - this was one of them.

So, I finally make my way to school and drop off my homework for Physics class (yes, I ended up missing it), and then head into my English class, which had already started. I'm given a folder and a decoder sheet, and then am graced with my wonderful essay that I did a week and a half a go. I worked diligently on that paper and I was proud of what I managed to accomplish while writing it. I was so thrilled and prepared for it, ready to give it a hug. Then... I was met with a nice punch to the gut.

A 'C'?!?

I got only a 'satisfactory' grade on my paper that I spent so much time on? It was just bleeding lead tears and I could hardly read any of the corrections the teacher managed to make on it. Wordy, wordy, wordy, ww, be concise, explain, etcetera, etcetera. Okay, time for a little student - teacher meeting between the two of us. As soon as I can tomorrow, I'm heading to her office and asking her: "What do I need to do to pull off an A in my writing?"

Let me explain: You can't teach a person how to do something properly by telling them how wrong they are. When parallel parking, you don't go: "Ugh, try better next time." Try better at what? Do I turn my wheels a certain way? Do I have to work on my timing? What do I need to do to be better at this, hmm? You tell me, Miss Instructor. It's your job to instruct.

What a person should do is explain how a person can do something better. If she wants me to be more concise, then she needs to show me how to do so. She needs to give me examples, and she needs to work this out with me. By telling me to be less wordy, I don't know what she means. How do I be less wordy? Do I just scratch out my words and never put them back in ever again? Do I need to write little sentences that would turn my paragraphs into short lines? What is it that I need to change?

Told "ya" I was having a bad day.

So out the class I go, leaving behind my pride. I stare at the wall and grumble to myself about all these things. I miss one class, and nearly miss turning in my homewor. I find my writing to be seriously lacking, and the teacher is making me feel stupid with all the comments she makes that explains almost nothing. My grades aren't what I want them to be, my motivation is lacking.

And to top it all off, my emotional state of being has gone up, down, to and fro over the past for days. It's all really enough to drive a man into insanity. Deep breath in and out... good golly gosh (what am I, Flanders?).

Anyway... calmed down. Not ranting... well... done ranting at least. I'll make something less whiney next time.

Ciao, ma peche.

Real World's Dream

The real world, to me, is really just a strange image. Can you say something is real and actually prove that it is? You can touch it, you can taste it, you can hear it, you can see it, and you can acknowledge it is there for those reasons; it must exist, correct?

WRONG!

"But James!" they say, "You just said why-"

I know what I said and I did it to make you think. If everything we touched, tasted, heard, felt, etcetera and etcetera was true, then there would be plenty of strange things like no one could imagine. I'm talking about one's dreams here, which, in fact, stems from what you actually think and feel that you know. I know that dreams are something that is a phenomenon to me, and I've been immensely confused by them on multiple occasions, though that is besides the point. The point is that dreams are similar to reality.

Yes, dreams are like a real world that is created via the mind's perception of thought. That's why they feel controllable at times, and also why they're entirely bizarre. In a dream, we can see a tree and actually touch it. You can feel the texture, see it's colors, and hear the rustling of the wind. In fact, you could go right up to the tree and taste it's bark. This would technically make it real, correct? No, we all know that dreams aren't real and they aren't something we can grasp and take into the real world.

But how amazing is it that these dreams, these figments of our own imagination, could possible be produced as such realistic replicas? My friends, computer technology has nothing on what dreams can produce, and I can safely say it is a long away aways from such realism also. In dreams, we can touch some one's face and smell the scents they give off. We can feel sensations such as stroking a dog's back or petting the head of a cat. We can hear what people say and decipher it in such a way as to remember it later on. We can also feel such an intense emotion by laying with another person and sharing a 'romantic' moment with them. Of course, you might have to do your laundry when you wake up from such an exciting experience.

Makes you wonder why children wet the beds in their sleep. Niagra Falls must be running along in their minds at night.

Ah... the children; mankind's innocence. What it must be like to have dreams where there is little experience with the world. Personally, I think that's what makes up dreams; the experience we have in life. I believe that's why dreams can be so vivid and amazing. We're introduced to new experiences every day, and memories of the past can come up and remind us of what we felt and thought.

See, that's why we can only use a certain portion of our brain. The rest of it is used to store data from the past and to be called upon in the future. That and the fact that if we used a hundred percent of our brain's power, we'd end up killing ourselves with the amount of electricity surging at once. Why do you think you get a headache when thinking and studying too hard?

Dreams are a wonderful thing, and they help us to look at events and life in different perspectives. I've experienced many thrilling events in my life right when I'm laying still in bed, sleeping for tomorrow. I've met people that I've never seen before in my entire life, and I'm sure I'll meet many more. Who knows? I might even meet one of my readers. While I'll have never met them in reality previously, and I wouldn't be able to tell whether or not they'd existed, it doesn't stop me from getting a feeling of deja vu if I had met them.

See you in my dreams!