Shyzer.com

Ichiro has only 9 homeruns all year.

Yet I witnessed two of them launch into the stands yesterday.

Yep, I’m having a damn good time here =)

There are three constants in life that I’ve grown to realized are always present. Politics, I never have any money, and my mom being pregnant.

Okay, maybe that last one is a bit of a stretch, but growing up, it sure seemed like she was always pregnant. It felt as if every few years she was breaking the news to me that I was about to receive a new brother or sister. The first time it occurred, she sat me down and carefully tried to explain that she didn’t love me any less and that I would grow to appreciate my new baby brother as much as I did her and my dad. By the time Colton was baking in the oven, it had gotten to the point where she just turned around to me while driving to home and mentioned, “Oh yeah, I’m pregnant again!”

When Tommy, Clay, and Colton were all on their way, I resented them all. Tommy was about to cramp my style of being an only child, we had to move to a new house and new school district because of Clay, and I felt Colton was going to do nothing but make our family more hectic and chaotic. The only one I was ever excited about was Julianne, because she was the first baby sister I was going to receive. Of course, the day each of them transformed from some weird blob inside my mom’s stomach to an actual, breathing human baby, my thoughts and emotions shifted to, “Sweet…I’ve now got another sibling! I’m never going to let anything happen to this little creature.”

And I never did. I’ve always been amazingly protective over each of them, standing up for them whenever the situation arose and feeling no shame in kicking the crap out of a kid half my size who had been picking on one of them. I’ve always tried to pass along any knowledge or tricks of the trade that I’ve picked up along the way and like I’ve said on here a million times, one of my greatest joys in life is watching them each grow up and blossom into their own individual.

But there was one inherent flaw in this grand scheme. No matter how many kids my mom decided to have, none of them could be older than I already was. I know, quite shocking, but it’s true. I was destined forever to be the oldest child, the one kid in the entire family who would never have an older sibling.

To some people that might sound like a great idea, being the oldest child, and I’ll be honest, there are times where I love being the oldest. I can pull rank whenever I need to and delegate duties and chores that otherwise I’d have had no choice but to do. But even despite that, there were quite a few times where I wished I’d had an older brother. Somebody who would have looked out for me, taken me under their wings, and protected me. Somebody who could have been the one teaching me the tricks of the trade and showing me how to get away with things behind mom and dad’s back. In essences, somebody who would have done for me everything I did for my siblings.

The funny thing is, it wasn’t until I was in high school that I realized I’d already had an older brother for the last seven years.

Like I said earlier this month in my post about Jeremy, my family moved right after Year 3. It was summertime and of course normally I would have been out running around the neighborhood with my friends, getting into trouble and causing mayhem. The only problem was that I didn’t know anybody in the new neighborhood and I wasn’t too keen about going out and making new friends. I moped around the house for a few weeks until my mom finally grew tired of my whining and threw me out. She had noticed another little boy across the street, playing basketball in his driveway all alone, and therefore thought he would make a good friend. I remember looking up at her and rolling my eyes when she said this, because, honestly, how would she know that he would made a good friend? She’d never met him or actually talked to him. How did she know he wasn’t weird? How did she know I’d like him? This was my mom telling me he’d be a cool friend, so obviously since she thought he’d be cool, there was no way he could be cool. But of course, despite my screams of protest, I was pushed out the front door one afternoon and told I couldn’t come back inside until I’d gone and talked to him.

So there I was, sent out into foreign territory, scared of this kid across the street who was different than me. I remember looking at him from my front steps and thinking he must be Chinese or something and that he probably didn’t even speak English. It must have taken me ten minutes just to walk across the street over to his house. I kept my head down, looking at the ground as I shuffled my feet on the pavement, and prayed that by some miracle I wouldn’t have to go through with this torturous mission.

Finally I was within talking distance and he had stopped shooting his basketball and was staring at me, sizing me up just like I had been doing him for the past few minutes. After a few awkward moments, I lifted my head, held out my trembling hand, and somehow managed to squeak out a “hi.” He responded with a quick “hi” as well. I was instantly surprised that he even spoke English and before I knew it, I had sat down next to him and we just started to talk. I learned that he was two years older than I was and that he was Malaysian and from there, we just sat around talking. We must have sat outside on that cool, crisp April evening for at least three hours and from then on, we just clicked.

Chong (as I grew to call him) and I spent all summer long together, exploring the forest behind our houses or playing with the scrap wood pieces from construction sites. I remember one particular incident that stands out in my mind as the moment I realized he was a true friend. One afternoon, we got caught red-handed by a neighbor burning some grass clippings. The fire couldn’t even be called a real fire, due to its miniscule size, but we ran like bats out of hell. We must have ran a record time as we flew back to his house and got our “story” worked out. But the main point to this story is that Chong got caught; I didn’t. And Chong never mentioned my name to his parents, not a peep about me being in the incident at all. He had my back the whole way and never once thought about bringing me down with him.

Whenever I had a question about what classes to sign up for, I turned to Chong. The first time I ever sipped a beer or smoked a cigarette (I swear I can still taste the nicotine on my tongue from that damn cig!), Chong was right there by my side watching over me. Chong even seemed to have the answers to any “mature” or “sensitive” questions I had growing up, if you know what I mean. In fact, almost every time I ever had any trouble or qualms, Chong was there for me. The few words he had to offer as pieces of advice invariably turned out to be more helpful than all the speeches I was forced to listen to by my parents. I seriously have no idea what I would have done without him.

As I grew up and moved into high school, I noticed that many “best friends” began to break apart. Guys changed, girls sometimes got between them, and in time they stopped being close friends. But Chong and I had a bond that was far too strong for that. It’s not to say that we weren’t tested though. In Year 10, we both liked the same girl. The only problem was that she kinda liked us both as well. One day while changing for track, I looked over to him and said, “Dude, I don’t want this to turn out bad. I don’t want to end up like some of these guys we hang out with who stab each other in the back just for a girl. We’re better than that.” He turned and looked at me, nodding, and said, “Me too bro. Tell ya what, we’ll let her decide. Whoever she likes more can date her and the other guy will have no hard feelings. Fair enough?” I stuck out my hand to shake his, smiled, and knew that we’d be just fine. It’s not every day that you realize you have a friend of that caliber. And in the end, we proved to the world that we were right. She made her choice, both of us were fine with it, and we moved on like nothing had happened.

But like I said, Chong was and still is two years older than me. Therefore, when I hit Year 11, he was off to uni and that’s when it hit me. Chong had been the older brother I’d so desperately seaked for all these years. And better yet, I had gotten all the perks of having an older brother without having to suffer through the beatings and torturing and general crap that I subjected my brothers to on an almost daily basis. I couldn’t have been more blessed while growing up.

We managed to stay good friends despite going to uni in different states, always talking on-line and meeting up whenever possible. After graduating, he got a job that ultimately shipping him across the country to Seattle. Some might have let that become the beginning of the end of their friendship. Us? Well, tomorrow morning I head out to Seattle for a 5 day spree of drinking, Mariners baseball, and general mayhem with none other than the one and only Chong.

Don’t be alarmed nor surprised if you read in the news that Washington State has called out the National Guard. It’s just their response to a few days of Goob n’ Chong.

Honest to God, could 2005 be any more perfect?

Just because you run a blog, that does not mean you run a website. Got it?

Something that used to only irk me has grown into a full blown annoyance as time elapsed. You have no idea how many this I’ve been mentioning Shyzer to somebody and they or someone in close proximity would say something along the lines of, “Oh cool! You know, I run a website too!” My ears would perk up and my eyes would glow because in all honesty, it’s not everyday that you meet a fellow webmaster; someone who knows all too well the joys and pains of running an almost figmented project, but one that can cause far too real stress and joy. So naturally, I’d ask what their site address was and as time has passed, I’ve received more and more responses resembling something like, “You can find it at www dot livejournal dot com slash users slash shitty pointless site slash I’ll never be going to read it because you just led me to believe you actually ran a website.”

Shyzer has only been around for 34 months and yet according to many companies that track blog history, Shyzer could be considered a father, maybe even a slightly young and cool granddad, of blogs. In 2002, there were only around 100,000 blogs on the Internet. Today, most counts range from a minimum of 20 million to a maximum of 60 million. This amazing jump since Shyzer’s birth can be attributed to the many free and shitty blog services like Livejournal, Xanga, Blogspot, etc. that have exploded into mainstream popularity. On one hand, you might think this is great. More blogs means more information and more content to read. One might even argue that with new blogs competing for a relatively limited number of possible visitors, the quality of writing might improve across the blog scene, resulting in the weak being eliminated in a sort of electronic Darwinian fashion.

The only problem with this argument is that 98.52% of these blogs suck. First off, most of these blogs out there are dead space. People who think I take too long to update Shyzer would be shocked to learn how many and how long the vast majority of blogs out there go untouched. Weeks if not months go by without an update, leading to only helping clog the Internet even more and denying a possible useful username for somebody who might actually use it more than once every quarter. But let’s say you happen to find a blog that is actually updated at least once a week. What are you most likely to find? A) A blog which does nothing but recap in a boring fashion the mundane events of the author’s day. B) A blog which takes itself far too seriously and whose author thinks he or she is an actual “player” on the Internet scene who has some sort of power. Or if you’re really lucky, C) A blog so far learning to one end of the political spectrum that it serves as nothing more than a tool of alienation to 99% of the people who happen to find it.

I’m not knocking the people who actually run these sites. I know some people do option A so that they can keep in touch with friends and family. That’s fine and dandy. Hell, that’s what Shyzer was started for. What I’m taking issue with is people who lead others to think they actually run a fully developed website when they don’t. If you didn’t have to code any of the HTML, you run a blog. (and no points are scored if you’re only picking the color and background from the main menu of your Livejournal.) If you don’t have any subpages, you run a blog. If you don’t own a domain and pay a hosting fee, you run a blog. If 99% of your energy is devoted to typing a post, you run a freaking blog.

And I’m not even counting all the crappy Angelfire and Geocities pages out there, because in all honesty, those are still websites. I will guarantee you that over 90% of any successful website out there started on Angelfire, Geocities, or some other free web hosting company. It’s where new webmasters go to learn, to take their licks, and to see what works and what doesn’t. And they can do it for free. Hell, I know I did back before Shyzer was even a figment of my imagination. The difference between these and the aforementioned free blogging services and that with these, you still are working with HTML or php or some sort of basic webmaster skills. It might not be any more advanced than elementary based skills, but everybody has to start somewhere. So while I cringe when somebody gives me a web address that is painfully long and hosted on a free server, I’ll still check it out, because the Angelfires of today are the Shyzers of tomorrow.

I know this may seem pointless to most people. I know the two words “blog” and “website” may seem interchangeable and that their usage is semantic to most people, but to many of us who actually run a website, the difference is monumental, almost to the degree of insulting. So do me a favor. If you run a blog on a free blogging service, just call it what it truly is; a blog. When you start messing with MySQL databases and pissing away time and energy trying to solve the CSS Box / Internet Explorer compatibility issue, then you can call your blog a website. Until then, stop pissing me off. Thanks.

As I stated earlier, I traveled down to Charleston this past week to spend my days and nights with Fellner and his family. They so graciously accepted me into their vacation for the second year in a row and as I’ve always said, a week of fun and sun never hurt anybody. So sorry for the complete lack of posts, but there was no Internet connection and seeing as I have yet to get that chip installed into my brain that will provide me with 24 / 7 web access, I had to wait.

While I was in Charleston, I managed to see some of my best friends from back in the day as well as those I run with more often in the present. It was fantastic seeing each and every one of them. In fact, it’s been amazing seeing all my friends since I’ve arrived back here in the states. It boggles my mind when I think I’ve only been back for three and a half weeks. With all the stuff I’ve done and people I’ve seen, it almost feels as if I never left. But whenever I start to feel like this, I invariably run into somebody I haven’t seen since my pre-Australia days and naturally, one of the first thing each and every one of them does is ask if I enjoyed my trip. I, of course, tell them how much fun I had and how I’m going back this February, which of course leads to a follow up question that I’ve been asked at least 100 times.

“But what’s so amazing about it? Is it the land? Or the people? I don’t see what they could possibly have that America doesn’t that would make you want to move there.”

This question is to be expected. It’s no surprise whatsoever I’m being asked it and so, you would think, I’d be able to formulate a response ahead of time. But ever since I’ve arrived back in the states, I’ve had trouble answering it and it wasn’t until recently that it finally dawned on me. Anybody who would ask that question automatically doesn’t and won’t understand it’s answer.

When I was down in Charleston, I met up with Jessica (my ex-girlfriend) and Elton (the one person I’ve ever been closest friends with). It was fantastic to see them both, since I had not really seen or talked to either one of them in over a year. As the night was winding down, Elton and I decided to go grab some food at a diner and before I knew it, four hours had passed and time was making fools of us yet again. But somewhere in the middle of those four hours, a thought passed through my head. Of all the people I’d seen since I got home, Elton was the only one not to ask that question.

It shouldn’t have really surprised me though. It was Elton who convinced me to follow my heart and get out of South Carolina in the first place. It was Elton who had gone to Chile, and since Brazil, and soon Cuba. It was Elton who I had grown up with, shared my deepest thoughts and desires with, who always knew me better than I seemed to know myself. He had no need to ask such a silly question when he already could see it in my eyes. I was no longer the Goob he had counseled just a short year ago. Sitting across from Elton was the Old Goob, the True Goob, and he could put two and two together.

Somewhere around the third week of my stay in Australia, Sez and I were talking in my room one night and she asked me, “so, is Australia everything you thought it’d be?” During the delayed seconds it took me formulate a response, all the uncertainty and nervousness I felt on my way over there came rushing back. To be honest, I had no idea what to expect and I was only hoping for the best. All I knew was why I was going over there and what I was hoping to gain from the experience, personally. So I responded with, “I don’t know if it’s everything I thought it’d be, but I can certainly tell you it is everything I needed it to be.”

She probably had no idea what in the hell I was talking about, but I knew even as early as week 3 that the five months I was about to spend in Australia was exactly what I needed to finally give re-birth to the Old Goob. And that, my friends, was exactly what I went there to do.

About a week before I left, Emma came to my room with a small piece of poster board. She was leaving the next day to go home, so this was the last night we were going to get to spend together before I left. The poster board in her hand, though, was an ingenious idea she had come up with earlier. There are quite a few International students at Newcastle – some stay for a semester, others for a year. But in the end, we all have to go back home. Well, Emma came up with an idea to get every International friend she had leaving to sign the poster before they took off and that night it was my turn. I came back to my room to sit and think for a minute and eventually the previous conversation I had with Sez came floating through my mind and I thought about how right I’d been, even early on.

Back in middle and high school, I was a happy go lucky guy. Sure, I was serious when the situation called for it, but on any average day, I could be found with a smile on my face and a sarcastic remark on the tip of my tongue. And most importantly, I was happy. Truly happy. But somewhere along the line, and trust me, I’ve thought long and hard about where, I began to change. There were forces in my life, both ones I knew about and ones I never even recognized until many years later, that ultimately seemed to sap the positive energy out of me. By my first year of Uni, I was exhausted and far too serious. Gone were the days of constant sarcastic remarks and random periods of uncontrollable laughter. Instead I was much too moody, judgmental, and serious. Sure, I laughed and joked and had fun, but that spark that I used to have was gone. I no longer would randomly shout out some weird phrase and giggle just for the hell of it. I no longer would act goofy and stupid and completely out of normal just for the hell of it. I no longer was Goob, I was just some average Joe.

But luckily, this only lasted for two years. By my third year at Uni, I knew something was gone, something was missing. I began to search for it and slowly, Goob began to regain his old form. I would send random IMs containing nothing but my favorite recipes. I would call my friends and leave voice messages in my made up language (which only I can speak). I even started creating new alter-egos to entertain people for hours on end.

But the kicker didn’t come until I went to Australia. I needed a fresh new slate, a group of people who had never met or heard of me before. I needed to find them, introduce them to Goob, and see how they reacted. I hoped a few would accept me. Maybe I’d even make a few friends. But I never dreamed I’d fall in love with as many people as I did in such a short amount of time or better yet, that I’d have people actually wanting me to stay instead of come back to the states. And the best part of it all was that I was able to make friends with each and every one of them all while being my true self. Australia proved to me that I could go out and be myself and people would still like me. Australia helped me to remember what it felt like to be the Old Goob and for that, I will forever be grateful.

But that’s just part of the reason why I’m going back. Like I said, if you have to ask the question, you’ll probably never understand. =)

Is there any worse time for the new Harry Potter to come out than right before I go traveling for two weeks? I think not. I went and bought it tonight (no, I didn’t stand in line right at midnight. I was smart enough to wait until 0100 and then go to Wal-Mart, where they still had 100 – 150 left. I’m already to chapter 5, so I forced myself to put the book down and not start reading again until tomorrow. I don’t want to just fly though this one like I did the last five! In fact, earlier this week I went back and read the 5th one over again to freshen up in my memory what had happened.

However, I’m supposed to be leaving for Charleston in about three hours and I’ve yet to sleep. Something tells me I might not be leaving on time tomorrow morning. Just a hunch. Luckily for me, though, the three hour drive won’t be nearly as bad as I had thought it would be. Why? Because my new iPod arrived in the mail yesterday.

I hadn’t realized how much I relied on my iPod for entertainment until I no longer had it. While up in Minnesota, it somehow broke after being in Waynus’ hands for under 60 seconds. I don’t blame it on him….but come on, it can’t be coincidence. Either way, I tried in vein to fix it for a few days before giving up and sending it back to Apple for a replacement. I’ll admit that it only took six days from the time I sent it until the time I received my replacement, but I still was without an iPod for at least 10 days or so.

I probably listen to my pod anywhere from three to seven hours a day. Once I wake up and get dressed, I always slip my pod into my pocket and slide my headphone around my neck. Anytime I walk, say, to class or throughout a store, the headphones are over my ears. Any time I’m sitting at the computer talking or working on Shyzer, the headphones are over my ears. Hell, whenever I’m driving, the headphones are over my ears. It’s become a habit that I had no desire to break. In fact, the only times I’ve found that I can’t listen to music is when I’m reading or typing something.

Yet when my pod was gone form me, I was at a loss. My music was no longer right at my fingertips. If I wanted to hear some Blink or Coldplay or David Gray, I had to find a computer. And not just any computer, but a computer which I actually had the songs downloaded to. And then once I had found this mythical computer, I had to actually stay within hearing range of this computer. What kind of Neanderthal way of listening to music is that

I love music. It plays a central role in my life and better defines me than most people realize, which is half the reason I’m still working ever so diligently on Shlyrics. No, that section is not completed yet. I’ve only got one final part to complete, the one part which I had initially thought would be the easiest but have soon found to be the hardest. I’m now at the stage of actually trying to explain just what each song means to me and that is a far more difficult task than I thought it would be. But I’m getting it done, song by song.

When I listen to music, it of course mirrors my mood and state of mind. But it also does much more than that. You can learn a great deal about me by looking at the music on my pod. You can tell what generation I belong to by finding those hit songs that were popular when I was a kid. You can tell what artists I like most by finding those with the most songs on my pod, thereby deducing what type of music I like best. From there, you could guess at what kind of moods I like to be in best by listening to those artists and seeing what type of songs they sing. You could see the weird and random and sometimes foreign music that I have on my pod, which would reflect my love for learning and embracing new ideas and concepts. The list goes on and on.

But for me on an everyday level, I’m just happy to have my pod back. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some Australian music to listen to. Nothing like a dose of Art of Fighting, Thirsty Merc, and The Living End.

Oh, and hopefully they’ll have internet connection at the beach, because where I’m going is fairly secluded. If not, then I’m sure I’ll find some other way to post…

Last week while in Minnesota, my siblings walked through the front door late one night and I practically imploded. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed them while in Australia. Of course, within minutes, it felt as if I had never left. We slid right back into the groove of things, playfully making fun of each other, bickering as always, and just being our normal selves. But honestly, who would have even believed me had I tried to say I hadn’t missed my family?

But what’s really been surprising me are the little things (and sometimes big things) that I thought I would miss but that I’ve found out I didn’t really miss whatsoever. Almost every hour or so I find myself playing a little game called “Would You Give This Up?” where I notice something and think to myself “Would you give this up to go back to Australia?” Take for instance baseball. Before I left, I guarantee you I would never have given up baseball. You could have waved a million crisp, new one dollar bills in my direction and I still would have turned you down to keep baseball. But last week, I was sitting at a bar with my uncle watching a game on TV and I thought to myself, “Holy Crap…I’d totally give up watching baseball every day during the summer in order to go back to Australia.” Talk about your unexpected self realizations.

Some other things I’ve found that I’d give up while playing WYGTU surprised me as well. The Daily Show was one. In fact, all of TV was one. As long as I can download LOST off the Internet, I am a happy dude. I actually enjoyed not watching TV while over in Australia. It was freeing in a queer sort of way. But what about other things, you ask? My computer here that I’ve slaved over and cared about for years? Yep, I’d hand that to Waynus if it meant I could return. My truck? My ability to fly very cheaply? My cell phone? Yep, oh yeah, and Hell yes! The only two things I’ve found so far that I’d refuse to give away have been my journal and Shyzer. But I might even give up Shyzer if I was allowed to start a new site somewhere else that everybody could move to =)

I’m heading down to Charleston later this week before swinging by Columbia to pick up some things I left behind and meet with my Study Abroad advisor. I’ve got a brand new cell phone number, so e-mail me if you need the digits and I’ll pass them along. There’s quite a few people that I want to see and chill with for a while just to catch up on old times before I leave because in all honesty, it might be a while before I’m back =)

When I was in the middle of Year 3, my parents told me we were moving. I remember not really understanding what that meant at the time, only that the girl I had liked the year before told me that she was moving and then WHOOSH, I never saw her again. When I saw my parents packing up the house in moving boxes, I finally put two and two together and realized that we were leaving the house I’d grown up in (or partially grown up in at least) to go some place else. My dad and I would drive the 20 minutes or so across the county to start working on the house before we moved in, building shelves in the garage and doing some minor yard work and such. My parents told me it was for my own good and for the good of the family. The school district we had lived in before was quite pitiful to put it lightly. Some teachers had suggested we move to another district since they felt I would benefit from a Horizons program and more challenging classes. Plus I think the move had something to do with the fact that Clay was on the verge of shooting out of my mom and we needed a bigger house.

So, right as Year 3 ended, we trekked all of our belongings to the next town over and began our new life in a new house in a new neighborhood in a new town. I was quite angry with the move, promising that I would run away the first at the first chance I got, but every time I only made it down to the road before giving up and trying to set camp under the mailbox. I didn’t want to leave my old friends behind and as much as my parents promised that I’d see them all often, I regrettably had the last laugh by proving them right that I would rarely, if ever, see them again. Later this month I’ll be writing something eerily similar to this about the events that led up to my friendship with Chong, but that was a more after-school, get into trouble in the neighborhood type friendship that we had. This post is about my first friend I made at school. This post is about Jeremy.

To this day, I remember more about Year 4 than I do about Year 5 and 6 combined. Year 4 was a roller coaster of emotions for me. The first few weeks I was in way over my head. At my previous school, division and cursive wasn’t taught until Year 4, but at the new school I was attending, both had been taught already in Year 3. I had no friends whatsoever, I was struggling in all my subjects, and for as nice as my teacher was, I just didn’t really like her that much for some reason that I still can’t explain. So, you can understand why I was thrilled to have found a guy that was nice to me when I finally did around the third week of classes. His name was Josh and he was one of the roughest and stupidest kids in the class. He found more pleasure in skipping class or causing trouble than he did in learning, but I didn’t care because I had finally made a friend. Sort of.

But within a few days of meeting Josh, a kid came up to me on the playground during recess. He very quietly asked if I wanted to come play foursquare with him and being the new kid, I was happy to accept any friendly invitations. He introduced himself as Jeremy and I followed him over to the blacktop and quickly learned the rules to this foreign game I’d never played before. The bell rang only a few minutes later and as we filed back into the classroom, I ran up to talk to Jeremy and thank him for letting me play with him. He said no problem and that I should come play with them again the next day instead of playing with Josh since he was nothing but trouble. 15 years later, I’m still friends with the group of guys Jeremy introduced me to that fateful afternoon.

In 5th grade, Jeremy and I were placed in the same class again. We somehow conned our teacher into thinking we were the most trustworthy kids in the class, so she selected us to run the candy business. Basically, what it meant was that Jeremy and I were allowed to leave class 10 minutes early to take candy out to recess to sell for a few minutes each day. Then, after recess, we were allowed to sit in the back closet and “restock” the candy. Of course, we just sat back there and took as much time as humanly possible to move a Snickers bar from one box to the next just so we could skip math every day. But I’ll never forget one day in particular because it was the make or break point in our friendship. We were outside setting up and I decided that I wanted a Reeses’ Cup. But of course, I didn’t want to actually have to PAY for it, so I just grabbed one from the box and started chowing down. Jeremy’s head snapped over towards me and quickly asked me, “Hey, you didn’t pay for that!!” I didn’t really know what to do, so I just reached down into the money jar, picked up a handful of change, and then just dropped it straight back down into the jar. Jeremy’s eyes narrowed for a few seconds, then slowly a grin spread over his face and said, “That’s more like it.” From that day on, every time one of us would take a candy bar, we would make sure we grabbed some money out of the jar and “pay for it.” But more importantly, it was from that day on that I knew I’d always have a partner in crime if I ever needed one.

There was New Years at the Holiday Inn when we were all about 16 or so. That to this day is still the best New Years I’ve ever had, but I can’t go too much into detail because certain people have threatened me with bodily harm if I reveal too much. Apparently I remember far too much incriminating evidence against people that occurred that night! But there was Dave getting drunk off root beer, us stealing the pool sticks, and Jeremy’s ingenious idea to clear our throats so that we wouldn’t make too much noise when we broke the balls. And of course, I don’t think any of us from that night will be able to forget Mary Poppins and her sidekicks, but I think I’ll just leave it there.

And let me just thank whoever bought the Pimp Mobile off him, because that was the biggest heap of rubbish ever to have four wheels stuck on it. Of course, Jeremy just took a little Hawaiian hula doll and stuck it in the dashboard and called it his pimp ride. I think I saw a grand total of one female in that car. Ever. And that was only because the walk back to her house would have taken her three days. Poor girl.

But Jeremy, this is for you bro. Thank you for always being there by my side and I can only hope I’ve been as good a friend to you as you have been to me. I hope you have many, many, many happy and successful years down the road with Katie by your side. You deserve it mate.

Today was an amazing day since I was able to talk to a few of my favorite people from Australia. God I still miss that place.

I fixed the gallery. Don’t ask how though. I’ve got three new posts ready to go as well, which I’ll try and spread out over the next three days. Until then, go have a look at the new Aussie Cast Page that I just finished working on. There are heaps new faces that weren’t on the original version and truth be told, I’m already thinking of more people I could have added. But for now, we’ll just stick with these. And as always whenever I upload one of these big pages, if you see any errors or typos, let me know.

It’s past 0600 folks and I’m exhausted. Goodnight.

Well, I’ve finally made my way back to South Carolina after spending a fantastic week in Minnesota with my family. Sorry I never got around to driving those ten hours or so to see you Stan. I’m now sitting in Waynus’ room using my old computer and trying to get used to the new house that my dad moved into. It’s about a mile away from the house I grew up in and it’s odd being so close to so many old memories.

I finally got in touch with my bros earlier today, which turned out to work in my favor since Jeremy’s bachelor party is tomorrow night. The fact that Jeremy’s total nights of bachelorhood are now limited to two still blows my mind. Friday night is the rehearsal dinner and then Saturday is the actual wedding. I’ve already gone through a bunch of the First with my friends. First friend to have a baby. First friend to die far too early. And now, First friend to get married and buy a house. I’m still trying to think of what other Firsts I have to go through. First friend to get divorced? First friend to move to another continent? (I might be racing Elton on this one.) First friend to, uh,…be convicted of a crime? Hell if I know. I can’t think of anything else.

There was a brief moment the other day where I felt like I was falling behind on things. I’m in no hurry to get married, in no hurry to start a family, in no hurry to even settle down in one place. I’m still trying to move to another continent for Christ sake. Thankfully, that moment only lasted roughly 3.2 seconds, but it felt like forever. Of course, I’m not out trying to avoid all of these things, but I just don’t feel as if I should be trying to do them because “it’s the right time.” I’ve just never worked that way. Who says it’s the right time? What pattern or expectations are we supposed to be following here?

Hell, I can’t even conform to a set pattern in my every day life. Kinda like good ole’ Mao Zedong.

Ha, bet you didn’t see that one coming. I still remember coming across the following passage last year while reading one of my textbooks for a Chinese History class. “Mao Zedong had no concept of time. He ate when he wanted. He slept when he wanted. He worked when he wanted. He never allowed his life to be dictated by a clock.”

Now I’m not saying I’m going to lead a country through a Communist Revolution, but I wouldn’t put it past myself. I’ve never been able to follow The Clock and I’ve never understood why more people aren’t like me. Because of my sleep pattern, I’m called a combination of lazy, slob, bum, good-for-nothing fool, and my personal favorite, somebody who is out of touch with reality. I don’t have a set bedtime. I don’t set an alarm unless I am forced to be awake at a certain time. I’ve never set my meals to any set schedule. I wake when my body wakes. I eat when my body says “hey retard, feed me,” and I sleep when my eyes close. It’s as simple as that.

What’s that you say? You have a job? Well good for you! Some Most 99% of people will let a clock dictate their lives for money. I understand that I’m in the minority when it comes to people who would rather take a less paying job in order to be able to call their own shots. I’d much rather take a lower paying job that allowed me certain freedoms than a higher paying job that would lock me into a routine. A freelance ANYTHING would be the perfect job for me, at least for the next 10 years or so. As long as I can make above the poverty line, have freedom to move around, and enjoy every day to the fullest, I’m an extremely happy man.

Life is only as enjoyable as you make and allow it to be. If there’s one thing I wish I could get people to listen to me about, it would be how much more they could be getting out of life. Stop worrying so much folks, realize that happiness comes not from bigger TVs or cars, and start marching to your own beat. I promise you won’t regret it.

To all those Americans out there who are friendly to Shyzer, I wish you all a Happy 4th of July. Now go back outside and enjoy your BBQ and family!

And to all my Aussie mates, I’ll be toasting that longneck of Toohey’s Old Black Ale you see in the cam picture in your memory. It’s the one and only bottle I was able to bring back to the US and I thought it would be fitting to drink it on America’s Birthday (I literally cringe when I type that. The historian in me is far to anal about “facts” and all.)

I promise to have another worthwhile Shyzer post uploaded soon. I’m still up in Minnesota as of now and my Internet capability is limited to a minute or two per day tops. I haven’t even had time to read my e-mail or comments here on Shyzer, so I can’t wait to get to them later on this week. I’ll be going back to South Carolina sometime in the next few days to participate in Jeremy’s wedding, then it’s off to Columbia to see about going back to Australia, off to Charleston to relax on the beach with Fellner’s family (and hopefully see Vernice, Jugdish, and Elton!), off to some place in the mountains for Jeremy’s bachelor party, off to Seattle to watch some Mariners games with Chong, back to Columbia to graduate from Uni (dear God, I can’t believe I finished), off to Myrtle Beach for a week at the beach with my family, then off to find a job that will pay me enough money in a short period of time to return back to the land I’ve somehow fallen in love with.

But for now, I’m off to enjoy the fireworks, shoot off a few of my own, and enjoy myself. Peace y’all.