WHITTLE!

Tonight my boredom reached an all-time high and at my most desperate moment I decided that I needed to start learning how to whittle immediately. Without access to the necessary tools and supplies (my mom isn't home so I don't know which knives I'm allowed to use), I grabbed my miniature swiss army knife and a stick that I've kept in my house for about a year. A thought occured to me; why is it that almost anywhere I spend time I end up gathering and storing sticks there? This particular stick actually made the journey from our old house in Connecticut to our new house in Indiana. Meaning my mom must have noticed it while packing up my old room and thought it important enought to pack and carry half-way across the country. It must be in my genes, then, because it's a habit that I've had since childhood. In every bedroom I've had, one could probably find a stick underneath the bed. Perhaps this is some evolutionary tool. Sticks often come in useful. Tonight, especially, a stick saved me from a potentially dangerous outburst because of my recent inactivity.

The stick that I used I found in a pond in Weston. CT, and carried it back to my house in Newtown. Now that I think about it, this is probably the most well-traveled stick in the entire world. Because it spent so much time in the water, it is light and soft. I'm no expert but I do think if a professional whittler were with me right now, he would tell me that this is the best type of wood to widdle with. It was very easy to carve even with my knife that I haven't sharpened in quite some time. The stick is very long and skinny so all I could think of to carve it into was a spear, which eventually turned into a snake. I even carved little scales on the sides. A keen eye could probably notice that the stick isn't actually a snake, but I am only just starting to widdle. By the end of the summer I hope to carve a snake so realistic that I will put it in my brother's bed and scare him into a coma. If he touches it, though, he will realize that it is fake.

Since I have recently quit playing the personality-altering game that is tetris, I am hoping that this new hobby will fill that void and stave off the boredom that awaits me in the next few months. Maybe I will start taking pictures of my creations and will share them with all of you readers. Now that I think about it, I must be really losing it to look at whittling as my last resort to going on a antsy rampage, and then find that interesting enough to write a blog entry about it.

Lobotomy?

It's one of those days again. Against my better judgement, I've started rereading the greatest story ever conceived, The Lord of the Rings. I say 'against my better judgement' because I suffer the same reaction everytime I come close to anything Tolkien related. That is, I realize that nothing that can happen in my life will ever be as incredible as anything that happens in Middle Earth. This is a disheartening thought- to know that my greatest dream, the thing that would make me wholly and eternally joyful, is literally impossible to achieve. What then? What do I make of my hopelessly subpar reality? The answer has been upon me for some time, I must choose the course of mental illness.

I know, you may be wondering, how can it be possible to choose to have a mental disorder? And further, why would anyone desire to have one? To answer the latter, mental illness is really my only hope in coping with the utterly mediocre state of the world. We live in a world devoid of epic battles fought only with swords, bows, and pure, mindblowing gallantry. A world without sorcery, or terrifying perils to overcome. No matter how hard I try, I will never be face to face with an Uruk-hai in a glorious life or death battle. This is a shocking and horrible fact. But maybe it is possible to delude myself into a state where the realistic confines of our world don't matter. Maybe, if I put myself in the proper setting, (New Zealand, obviously, is the closest thing to Middle Earth our planet has to offer) and provide myself with certain tools (swords, bows, castle, cloaks, wooden spoons and goblets), and (to answer my first question ) drug myself into delirium, I can acheive all the glory and amazingness of Tolkien's world that I really need. I can carry on quests and wars in my own head but across the plains of New Zealand. Of course, I would need some land to myself so that I could fulfill these quests without putting any kind Kiwis in danger. In my elder years, I can retire to a nice hobbit hole on a hillside somewhere in the country. I will fill it with books and maps all relating to Middle Earth. Once the dementia kicks in, Middle Earth will be complete reality. I won't even know that there is such a thing as New Zealand.

The biggest problem I see with this plan is lack of funding. I probably won't make much money saving the world from great evil. But I will need something to sustain me into old age which, the way medicine is going these days, could be hundreds of years from now. To solve this I am opening this blog up immediately to begin accepting donations. I have no shame in living off the charity of others. If, on these journeys, I begin to miss my friends (unlikely since I will almost certainly hallucinate that they are partaking on these adventures with me) they are welcome to come and participate in the fun. The main point is that living in the "real world" is an intolerable future for me. I am perfectly content to live in my own head.

Trenchfoot

This weekend the Maritime Aquarium in CT is featuring a new exhibit, the endangered great white alligator. As an educated person, I know that it would be basically impossible for such a creature to not be pure evil. I refused to go anywhere near the exhibit. Instead I went to see "the brightest star in the universe", Kanye West. It was an magical quest, but it had its challenges.

One of the biggest threats of the evening occured while standing in line to be let into the Dodge Music Center. There were literally thousands of people vyeing for a few ticket lines in front of the center. I found myself in the center of a crowd so tightly packed that I was being held up entirely by the force of the crowd around me, with no use of my own muscles. Next to me was a boy around my age who was green and clearly about to throw up. He looked very much like a zombie and he was tapping on my shoulder. I forced a gap in the crowd and pushed him through so that he wouldn't throw up on me, because I am a kind person. His friends started yelling that he was going to throw up and started pushing away from him, which led the rest of the crowd to start yelling and pushing. If I friend had not held me up, I would have been forced over entirely and trampled. It was astounding. As I often do while standing in large crowds, I started wondering what would happen if the Rage broke out at the moment. There would literally be no chance of survival.
After I made it out of the mass, I had to travel up a long muddy hill and felt a lot like Frodo Baggins climbing up Mount Doom. I had to look supafly for Kanye, so I wasn't wearing anything to protect myself from the rain or the cold. Before the concert even began, water had completely soaked through my clothes. My new kicks were not coping with the elements as well as I would have liked. I remember remarking to my friends at some point that they were going to have to amputate my feet because I was sure I had trenchfoot. My feet were swimming in a puddle of water in my shoes. Bear Grylls would not have stood for it. I was just too distracted to take the steps to protect my feet. A rookie mistake. This did not matter once the show began. Kanye was so incredible I felt at times that my mind literally could not handle the experience and that I was going to have a stroke.

Fortunately, I am a champion, as I reminded myself of several times throughout the night. I survived a violent mob and lifethreatening diseases, probably the largest, muddiest hill in the entire world, and a horrifying storm. Also at one point I had to go to the bathroom and the only one around was in EroticZone, an X-rated video store. The facilities were subpar, and the customers: unsavory to say the least. But it was totally worth it. If I had gone to see that great white alligator, I'm certain that I would not be alive to blog about it right now.

Indiana

Indiana Jones is the bravest man to ever live. I was watching the movies today, and someone in the film said something like "archeology is our religion". I think that aside from Judaism, that's pretty true for me too. I think that if I was an archaeologist I would be like Indiana Jones. I'm assuming every archaeologist is some variation of him. Of the two I know best, Indiana Jones and Dr. Grant from Jurassic Park (actually I guess he's a paleontologist, but they're basically the same thing) they always find themselves in fabulous adventures. I' sure it's a fair representation of that career because I trust everything that Stephen Spielberg tells me. In conclusion, I want to be an archaeologist. First I have to learn how to use a gun.

Target

Yesterday I had to have oral surgery. Before the surgery I was perscribed a valium and took it without hesitation, because, when it comes to medical procedures, I have a history of severe anxiety. To put me out for the procedure, I was given "laughing gas". The combination of the two medications put me into a deep delerium, and I was laughing throughout the entire procedure. I had basically no idea what was happening to me. But during this absurd and confusing trip, I began to pick up bits a pieces of the conversation that was occuring between the doctor and the nurse that was assisting him; chit chat about the weather this weekend, and something about a festival of sorts that the nurse was having to attend with someone whose name ended in "onica". I'm assuming this was Monica, but I missed the first part of the name because I was think I was laughing or blacking out or something. Anyways, as I opened my eyes and watched these two people converse, I started wondering if they knew I could somewhat hear what they were saying. Did they think that I was spying on them? Did they think that whatever I heard I would be unable to remember because of the gas? Then I became suspicious. What if they purposefully gave people more nitrus oxide than necessary, to assure that they could talk about anything they wanted to during the procedure, or DO anything they wanted, while the patient lay helpless and unknowing?
My mind flashed to that Seinfeld episode where Jerry wakes up from a dental procedure and thinks he sees his doctor and nurse redressing. his shirt is untucked, and he has know way of knowing what the two had done during the time he was unconscious, or whether he was involved. As I struggled to focus, which was incredibly difficult through all of the laughter and the fact that the Lord of the Rings soundtrack was playing in my ear and causing me to partially believe that I was in Hobbiton, I began to fear that I was overhearing sensitive information. What if I had overheard a terrorist plot of sorts taking place? What if my doctor knows that I heard this because my eyes were open? I have know way of knowing if this "Monica" and "festival" are codes for something more serious, but if they are, I think it is very likely that I am now a target.

Warning

Just a precaution today folks: the terrifying overcast skys and abnormally-chilly-weather-for-may conditions outside not only provide aliens with excellent coverage to invade, but may actually be the result of an alien invasion. Earlier today I resceived a call from someone who I thought was my friend, but it actually just turned out to be some strange electronic beep-boop signal that I took as proof that my friend had been transformed into some non-human thing.

At first I thought it would be foolish to hesitate even a moment before bludgeoning my now-transformed friend, but then I realized that we had never set a "question system" in place, and so it would be unfair of me to kill her. A question system is a useful tool that all friends should use. Choose a question that you ask your friend that only you and that person know the answer to, so that you can prove your friend hasn't been body-snatched. If that body snatcher has the ability to read minds, you are out of luck.