It's only a fabrication, this place is all in my head

My last post, when I first conceived of it, was going to be about how, on the same night as I tasted the pure, unbridled joy of baseball fandom at its best for the first time in 15 years, I also experienced the similar joy of seeing old friends for the first time in ages. In this case, in eight years, the vast majority of which were spent with regrettably little contact at all. But then I kinda got caught up in the Phils and forgot. It was strange seeing people from Dwight, though in entirely different ways than I'd imagined. Turns out, even when around my friends from high school, I've either grown out of my awkward phase or grown to love it or a little of both, but whatever the case, I was more in my element with them than I ever remember being. Given how detached I felt from a lot of what went on in my Dwight days, it really shocked me how much it felt like going home having a beer with that crowd on the upper west side. Suffice it to say, the Phils alone would've made that a night I'd remember for a long, long time, but the hours of drunken reminiscing which followed made it truly special. As always, life reminds me that the only thing I'll ever really know is that everything I think I know is subject to change, and that's the way I love it. I <3 entropy. Click me for the rest!

Each time you smile, it'll only last a while...Life may be scary, but it's only temporary...Everything in life is only for now.

So, it's official...I'm a derelict blogger. But with no one reading, I hardly think it's a crime. Sadly, the most notable things in my life lately have been the 904 bug bites I'm sporting on my lower right leg, thanks to the astoundingly brilliant combination of Paramore, Central Park, shorts, sandals, and, because she was incredibly annoying in addition to continually leaning back into me, forcing said right leg to get tucked back under the row of bleacher on which I sat, the rather large high school girl in front of me and her two competitively slutty friends. Fuck you all.

I've also finally really started the process of writing my Senior Project/Thesis/whatever you wanna calla 30-40 page paper on essentially anything media studies related. And by started the process of writing, I mean I attended my first meeting (of 7 total) of the seminar whose lone assignment is a semester-long research paper which eventually compiles to about 30-40 pages but must be delivered in many increments before then or else an A paper can get at best a 55 or so. I think my topic, which is due in a week and must eventually be boiled down to a single thesis question, is essentially "What Makes Media Independent?" with, hopefully, the most significant changes to be made to the wording of the question, and not the spirit of it. There's definitely enough there for me, given the amount of literature review required and the ridiculously vast amount of literature on media ownership, and, as a natural byproduct, independent media, and it's definitely a topic I can really dig into, and with any damn luck at all, maybe just have something compelling to say about it.

I felt like I got into a really nice groove writing papers last fall/spring which seemed to always come around to a decent point even when I had no fucking clue what I wanted to say while I was writing them. So hopefully, I can knock one more out of the park, boost my final official bullshit GPA a little more with an A, and finally complete a damn degree of some kind (damn you for costing me an IB diploma, Petrovic. The run of the mill one really feels illegit to me.) In other news, there are some sweet-ass brand name band aids (officially the greatest new tongue twister of the 21st century) with neosporinesque (neologism! score!) antibiotic ointment on them which are currently plastered all over my foot/ankle. Other than sometimes getting a little gooey, they're quite helpful.

Running out of transitional phrases here, those Phlailin Phils have their last best chance yet to come, with 7 games of their next 10 against the 2 teams they're chasing, the Mets and Milwaukee. I predict a 3-4 record and a phairly quiet phinal phade.

Fuck transitional phrases. I'm going to see Ben Folds con Orchestra and Beth(orchestra with ben, who beth and i will be seeing together, for clarity's sake. Not that Beth shouldn't be performing with Ben and an orchestra. Also, I should be linking her name to her blog...but I not sure how spell it.) in Philly on Saturday, which should be quite awesome.

And finally...I still have no job. But at least I'm seeing a couple old friends in the next few days. I'm still convinced that's really the most meaningful thing there is. It's now 2:32 as I wrap this up, proofread, and begin the interminable search for THE song lyric which sums up how I feel. Over/Under at 2:55 AM for clicking publish.

Okay seriously Apple, stop being so cognizant. Whilst I had music ADD and looked for a song which wasn't so sleepy for my lyric (at 2:37), iTunes, shuffling (not party shuffling, for true blind randomness) my entire library, has just given me THREE songs in a row with lullabye in the title (lullabye by Ben Folds Five, lullabye for wayne by Weezer, and lullabye by Billy Joel). It's not bedtime for me until 4. Any time earlier than that that i choose to go to bed, barring morning obligations, is my choice, and it's not yours to influence, Mr. Jobs. Your team of slaves is clearly picking my shuffle music for me somewhere in a bunker somewhere, thus creating the strangely cognizant abilities of itunes and ipods and iphones, and they wanna go to bed. Too bad. Don't make 24-hour devices if they're gonna not only spy on me but try and influence me. That's bullshit.

Oh, also, I'm clearly way too into parentheticals and I think I've essentially come to be a nihilist. But ya know, a nihilist who really loves ancillary cultural institutions like sports and movies which conveniently convey the most prominent signs of our imminent cultural demise. Nihilists can still vote Obama even if we think change is hopeless, right? I like the dude and I like voting so no one can tell me if I didn't vote I can't complain.

It's 2:49. Still no song. What all-encompassing song lyric could even sum this one up? At 2:55 AM I pressed publish. Click me for the rest!

Fergalicious definition make the boys go loco

So, it's been a little while since I checked in. Not a shit-ton of things going on really, but I'll bore y'all to death with my random thoughts none the less. Coming up after the jump: Brett Favre, Step Brothers, Eureka, Weeds, Baseball's playoff race, and Lollapalooza.
As most people who know me probably already know, I've never been much of a Brett Favre fan. The guy has always been completely reckless in his decision making on the football field, has one of the desert island all time top 5 egos in the history of professional sports, and over the past handful of years with regards to his retirement, he's handled himself, as Rick Reilly brilliantly pointed out, more like Cher than Jordan or Clemens or any other oft-retired superstar. I watched this unfold for weeks heaping praise on the Packers' front office constantly for finally recognizing the parasite that is Brett Favre. It's too bad they're every bit the weasels he is. Meanwhile, Aaron Rodgers has already convinced me of his poise under pressure 100-fold. Here's hoping this "open competition" (AKA this horrific mistreatment of Aaron "The Green Bay Packers organization must move on" Rodgers) spells the beginning of a massive humiliation for Brett and the Pack. It's only just.

I spent last weekend in the even-in-stifling-heat-Windier-than-New-York-City with my Mother's entire side of my family celebrating my great aunt's 95th birthday, with a notable pre-family excursion into the insanely pot-scented mass of humanity that was Radiohead's crowd at Lollapalooza. A combined result of my being dehydrated, our flights not landing till after 4, and a lack of overt desire to see anyone else playing at the end of night 1, we only witnessed Radiohead's set, but let's be honest...there wasn't shit else to witness anyway. Even from about 50,000 people deep in the crowd, with absolutely no view of the stage save for on massive (and very well-programmed) video screens to either side of it, they were every bit the crowdpleasers I had last seen 7 years prior.

Saw Step Brothers yesterday. Utterly fucking hysterical. Easily my favorite Ferrell starring vehicle since Old School. If it was music, it would be like Fergie crossed with Jesus.

By way of a PSA: If you haven't ever seen Eureka, you don't know what's good about television, about Sci-Fi (genre AND network) or about life. Usually when I make a statement like this, it's because I'm trying to do my part to save a beloved, underappreciated gem like Arrested Development or Veronica Mars, and usually, you all ignore me until it's already cancelled, at which point you watch the DVDs and proceed to walk through life with an immense sense of guilt for having blown off my advice when you know as well as I do that I know what quality entertainment looks and sounds like. This is not that situation. Eureka doesn't need your lazy asses, and neither do I. It's a massive hit for the Sci Fi network and it ain't goin anywhere. No, you need Eureka, and if you don't believe me, take the challenge and try to watch two episodes of it without getting hooked. I dare you.

I simply refuse to believe that the recent pickup of Weeds for 3 seasons beyond this one doesn't signal the show's inevitable decline. So much of that show's tension, which, despite all its laughs, is what brings the masses back week after week, comes from the idea that Nancy and her ever-shrinking wardrobe are just one false step away from taking a bullet in the head. Good luck convincing me of that when I know you've got 40 episodes left on order from Showtime. But then again, i thought they had painted themselves into a corner introducing the DEA storyline at the end of season 1, so I'm clearly a fuckin fool.

I'm still pretty convinced that the lack of activity in the NL East at the trade deadline was perhaps even more beneficial to the Phils than any individual move they could have made to bolster the club. While all three teams obviously have severe flaws, the Phils still bring more balance to the table than either the Mets or Marlins, no matter how you slice it. They're younger than the Mets, older than the Marlins, have every bit the powerhouse offense of Florida, albeit every bit as reliant on the longball as Florida, with more depth behind Cole than the Mets have behind Santana, and a massive and undeniable advantage in the bullpen. Since the deadline passed, the Marlins and Mets both lost uninspired, low-scoring series marked by mental errors and shoddy situational hitting against vastly inferior competition, while the Phils took 2/3 on the road from the playoff-contending Cardinals, despite one of Cole's worst performances of the year, and behind incredibly encouraging lights-out performances from Myers and Blanton, who seemed to feel the spectre of J.A. Happ looming over their tenuous spots in the rotation. Even at this stage of the season there's a lot of baseball yet to play and it's a humbling enough game for me to wind up lookin like a fuckin fool, but with StandPat Gillick doing his usual routine at the deadline, it's fair to assume that what we've seen all year resembles what we'll see in the next several weeks. So I'm officially ready to make this proclamation: there's simply nothing which should stop the Phillies from returning to postseason baseball except for themselves. Anything short of being swept by the obviously superior Brewers in the first round will be an out and out failure.

Finally, I've been making good on the proclamation which I made in this blog's initial post, having enacted plans to reconnect with all manner of old friend. Having seen and had a lovely time with Ms. Sharkey, similar plans are in the offing with such characters as Texas, Fishhead, and Miriam, seeing all of whom should be delightful. And with that, I bid thee adieu.

Click me for the rest!

If you don't like it, you can shove it, but you don't like it, you love it, so I'll be up here in a rage till they pull the curtain down on this stage

So...let's see if I remember how to do this. It's been quite a while since I've had a public conversation with myself, and truth be told it doesn't quite feel like second nature as it once did. But alas, I press on, as my pseudonym's inspiration would demand. I suppose the most logical place to kick this off would be with some sort of an introduction. So welcome, I guess, to my brand new little corner of the Internet.

I'm not really convinced anyone will read this at all, but I'm quite certain no one is going to arrive here who didn't come knowing exactly who I am and what I'm all about, so I'll spare you the personal history. What I would guess is more interesting to any of you who have landed here anyway is where I've been, because, save for a few exceptions, I really haven't spoken to or seen the people who would be interested enough in my ranting and raving to be here in quite a while. Truth is, there isn't a whole lot to tell. I've returned to and theoretically graduated from NYU, though not without a couple loose ends to tie up over the course of the next few months. And my beloved girlfriend, who we'll just call ML here for privacy's sake, and I have moved in together, still in the same old DisAstor you all knew and loved (and, it bears noting, would be more than welcome to drop by any time). And that's basically it. For the most part, I'm still the same old ultra-opinionated, never-serious procrastinating addictive personality you remember, falling in and out of love and hate with whatever mediated sludge the world throws my way.

So what brought me back to the world of spewing forth my verbal diarrhea at an indeterminate number of people who simply don't care at all? I'm glad you asked. As none of the people who were once a part of my life and who are no longer need reminding, there have been an inordinate number of relationships which were once integral to my life, and to my happiness, which through no malicious intent or falling out on anybody's part, have fallen by the wayside. Personally, I blame the very communicative tools which let me have this blog. It's hard for me to accept, and surely I'm overstating the matter to some extent, but the truth is, the way we communicate now, if you aren't involved in a never-ending conversation with a person spread across a dozen different platforms, you're out of touch with them. And I'm tired of feeling out of touch with my past, and with all my friends. It's one thing to keep moving forward, but to do so without ever taking time to make sure you're bringing the worthwhile parts of the past with you is empty, and it isn't how I like to live. So this is going to be my place to dwell on shit again, with the hopes that even one of the people I've lost to laziness and the sheer speed with which everything moves now a days will stumble here and dwell in shit with me again, like the good ole days.


All that, and I need a place to post all of my random thoughts so as to maybe shut up long enough not to drive ML totally fuckin crazy.

Until next time, you can derelick my balls, Mugatu. Click me for the rest!