in our darkest hour

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03/03/2004 - 2:57 a.m. | in our darkest hour

And, uh, 2 o'clock rolls around once again. I guess I should recap yesterday, but there isn't much to note except that I am just very content lately. I dunno - I'm happy with my life and where it will be preceeding. I'm looking forward to some things - summer, mostly, and my theoretical blue electric mandolin - and everything justs seems... attainable. I'm trying to actually follow through on some of my half-assed ideas, which I return to in a moment. Man, I hate that. My damn biopsych book does it all the time. "Later on in the chapter, we'll discuss blah blah blah..." Yeah, you're really holding me in suspense there, buddy. Can't wait to see how them retinas turn out.

My sheep brain test turned out really well, I think. I'm almost positive I got an A on it. I'm practically a sheep brainologist now. Everyone else who was all smart-looking at the lab session was like, "Man, I had no idea that was corpus callosum!" and I was like, "Shit, man! Gotta think outside the box!" OK, no I wasn't, but I could've been. The regular part of the test was pretty swift, too.

Kyle and I went out for some Fazoli's which, while not absolutely delicious, is filling, and that's all I can demand right now. Meanwhile, the internet is a shitpot, so nobody might even see this entry for a little while. Screw you. Watched the, uh, "Let's make fun of the lousy people some more" episode of "American Idol," and it just made me a little sad. William Hung is so cute and down to earth, and it's all this horrid joke on him. Although the sight of like five cheerleaders shaking their asses at him while he flails around and sings Ricky Martin makes me feel a little better.

From there, for the next 2.5 hours, I cleaned the kitchen. And hell yeah, if it doesn't look better. It was a sticky, stinky, awful battle, but I won, and I was fairly happy while doing it. Dishes aren't so bad if you leave me alone so's I can dance, all right? And with this task complete, we enter a new era of Nate's diabolical plans to keep this shithole a little less landfill like. New policy is as follows: Besides the regular chores, everyone will be charged fifty cents for each dish they leave dirty after 1. Right now, I believe he is unaware, but Kyle owes the bank $2.50. I'm assuming I played a game or something last night because the only other way four hours could have been so efficiently sucked up is through amazing amounts of drug consumption. And drugs are for squares.

God bless forgetting everything after my post-guarding-the-cross nap in the morning. It's all just a haze, which makes the rest of the day so much more bearable. And then I go out and do it again. Hmmmm - apparently, there is some sort of universal rule that everyone is allowed to make fun of the crossing guard as long as he is my age. See, if the crossing guard is older, then they probably actually really need the supplement to their income, which means they're poor, and that's not funny. Somewhat. But - when you are the slightly-goofy-looking college student out there with the ridiculous sign and vest, everyone is allowed - perhaps required - to take a shot at him. "Why don't you go leap out in traffic?" some dad asks. "Use your powers!" And what can I do? Kill them? Naw, man. That's not legal.

Anyway, I was talking about going through with my retarded ideas, right? Well, I'm still pissed that Bill Murray didn't win the Oscar the other night, so I started talking to Kyle about how I should make an Oscar replica and send it to him. So, combine time and the energy to pull these sorts of things off, and there you go. One "deformed, misproportioned papier mache Oscar" (my words) all packed up and ready to go. I doubt that I will receive a response from Mr. Murray, if it even makes it to him, but it's fun to try, and it's something kind of fun to do. Sadly enough, I really do think I have a talent for these sorts of projects. I can't do math or hold a debate (or a conversation) for the life of me, but I seem to have a mind for this sort of thing. It just all comes together, so I sit here with my hot glue gun and my tub of gross flour paste and a hairdryer, and I get things done. Speaking of which, I'm starting to process a new vision for my room. Avril will not be eliminated - because that is not cost-effective - but some changes will be made, I think. Like you even care.

So, in the half hour of hell (a.k.a. "Frasier") between "American Idol" and "Scrubs," I decided I would shoot over to Art Coop and get some gold spray paint, so I could just get this thing over with and be done with it. Unfortunately, I once again forgot about the wicked combination of old bike, brick road, and high velocity. The chain went shooting off, and I struggled through my thirty seconds of hell as I leapt off the bike and tried to keep it from taking me with it out onto Springfield. I guess I like to be optimistic and think that you get a little better at something everyday. Well, I am sure as hell better at popping bike chains back on. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Anyway, so I was lighting fast with the repair, but my hands got all shit-stained again, so I rode over to Dank's and sadly demanded paper towels. Then, huge rush to get the paint and make it back in time to watch "Scrubs" and the Lil John thing on"Chappelle's Show" once more. Never gets old. Never.

Did some picking up (and pondering of Sarah Lucas) and put the final touches on the statue. I'd show you a picture, but it's much more fun if you go digging for it yourself. Spritz suggested that I start trying to mass produce and sell the statues on eBay, and I am inclined to agree. We'll see how bidding goes. Then again, as I figured out how to hook up my video camera to the comptar to take shitty pictures (new strategy), Spritz also suggested I should start record myself masturbating and sell that online as well. I do need the money. Not all of us can buy $1000 digital projectors out of fucking nowhere. Man, $1000. I can't even comprehend. I mean, I'm glad I have this computer now, but if I got another $1000 for some reason, none of it would be going towards technology. Just piles and piles of shirts and shoes and all the CDs I want and a nice mandolin and food and whatever bizarre shit I can't allow myself to get now. Gah.

I started reading through away messages like all of stalkers do, and I was intrigued by Allen Wittman's talk of bum wine, so I decided to go to the local liquor depository (Schnucks) to see how their selection fared and possibly to convince a hobo to buy me some in exchange for a quarter or a blowjob or whatever. Turns out all they have is like 30 flavors of MD 20/20. Weak. And the same hobo I saw buying it that one time was there again buying it some more, and I thought I'd ask his opinion, but he doesn't know I am his future king, so he might knife me right now. Besides, being raised by wine snob parents has sort of put me ahead of the game (See, Shiow? I don't mean snob in a negative connotation at all!). My standards are already much higher than box wine; I can't stand it unless it costs over 6 bucks a glass.

Instead, I bought a pie. In situations like these, I find it's best to wander around and follow your cravings. So, if my brain tells me out of the blue that I need a rhubrab pie, even if I haven't had one for years and years, I will do my best to attend to the need. I forget what I was talking about. I also bought a free song - er, Pepsi - and started reading Kyle's nerd books.