Shyzer.com

I wish I could say I was ready to go back to school. It’s not that I’m not ready to go back, but instead it’s more of the fact that I doubt going back to school will change anything. These past few weeks, and especially days, have just outright blown and they forced me to do a few things I wasn’t even sure I wanted to do.

I’ve finally completed the process of whittling down my possessions to the bare minimum. I have a few boxes of keepsake items in my dad’s attic, but for the majority of everything else, I either sold, threw away, donated to Good Will, or burned, which means that I now have the capability to pack up everything I own in my truck and take it with me to wherever I please in just one trip.

The finale of 2004 will bring with it the ending of my chapters in South Carolina. I know I’ve always swore I would leave this place once I graduated, but it wasn’t until recently that I figured out where I would go and what I might do. Well lately I’ve put those two questions to rest, but who knew such an epiphany could be this nerve wracking?

I’m keeping my future close to me for the next few months. Not until everything is finalized legally will I be talking about it on Shyzer, but rest assured, as soon as I’m prepared to talk about it, I’ll post about it. Wish me luck.

I almost didn’t finish these before I went to bed like I promised. For as emotional as today was, I still couldn’t sleep tonight and it just didn’t feel right breaking yet another “promise” I’d given on here. You have to do the little things in life right in order to get the larger ones accomplished. And so here you are, the answer to all your questions in the order in which they were asked. I hope they suffice your expectations.

Caitlin’s Questions

1) Besides manipulation, why would you REALLY want to know what people were thinking?

Information is the key to everything. It’s why I’ve always wanted to learn, why I’ve never really been bothered by and actually enjoyed school, and why if I could, I’d spend my entire life just taking classes. Any change, any power, any control is all based on information. I’ve never had any desire for massive power and domination, but I like knowing that if I need to bring out the big guns, I can….and the best way to build those is through information.

Whenever I play board or video games, I’m always the kid who sits in the corner and just stockpiles weapons and men. I never attack anybody first and I’m quite content in just sitting throughout the game with little / no action whatsoever, just as long as I can do what I want to do in my own little corner of the world. I’m the same way in life. I have no intention of attacking anybody, but when push comes to shove, I find pleasure in totally and utterly annihilating my competition. I enjoy the look on their face when they realize I am a hundred times stronger and smarter then they gave me credit for and that spilt second in their eyes where they realize they are fucked is priceless.

As long as people let me be, I don’t bother a soul. But I’m up for a fight just as much as the next guy if you really want it. And to win, I need information, which is why I’d pick reading people’s minds over those other powers.

2) Do you think it’s possible to be TOO honest for your own good? why?

Hell yes. Without a doubt. But I think the most dangerous type of honesty is voluntary honesty. When you start giving extra bits of truth to people when they never asked you about that in the first place, you are playing with fire. When somebody asks you if you went to the party last night, all you need to answer is the question. “No” will suffice. You don’t need to add “I was out with your girlfriend.”

People don’t realize that most people who “don’t talk that much” or “keep to themselves” are just not giving you extra information that most people give you. I can have a conversation with somebody I’ve never met and be given the answer to 30 questions when I only asked 4. It’s times like these that you get yourself into trouble. If a question with an unpleasant answer is actually directly asked, then you deal with it then. It means that person is ready to deal with the actual truth. Now whether or not you are willing to tell the truth is another story, albeit a more important one.

3) How do you think “your one true love” works?

I’m guessing you’re talking about those conversations we had a few years ago. Well, as with everything else in my life, I tend to see things as complicated as possible. I don’t see the world in black and white. I don’t even see the world in gray. My eyes are filtered through one of those jumbo boxes of 256 Crayola crayons that all the rich kids had in kindergarten. So if the following makes little to no sense to you, don’t feel bad, you’re in the norm Okay, we all know how “odd” my sense of religion is. There’s not a single organized religion out there (except for maybe Taoism) that I could follow, so first we need to get to the base of how I believe in things. I’ve always been a gut vs. mind type person. My heart and brain battle it out over which brand of milk to buy, much less how the concepts of love and religion work. My head, mind, and sense of reasoning usually wins out in most contests, but when the dust finally settles in the love, religion, and other such categories, my gut pulls out the upset. I have no data except for my own observations and realizations to back my theories, which sometimes can be stronger then anything anybody will ever try to tell me otherwise. So my views on love to many seem far reaching, speculative, and just down right foolish. It also raises the nature vs. nurture argument, but I don’t feel like going into a long essay here as to how I answer that part, so you’ve got to look over that. Here goes:

Somewhere along the line, before birth, our soul’s are assigned a specific, quantitative, precise property. The easiest way for me to express this property is in the form of numbers. You must think of the numbers in a circular fashion, not a linear line. How many numbers are in this circle? I have no idea. I don’t pretend to know. I have absolutely no method or thoughts on how to calculate the amount of numbers. Yet. But seeing as how there are around 6 billion people on the planet, let’s go with 50 million for argument’s sake just so I can prove my thinkings clearly. So here we have a large circle of numbers with 0 and 50,000,000 connecting to finalize the loop. Now, we need to understand the properties of these numbers. Each person, as complex as we are, can be summed up in a few pages of basic sentences. Our tendencies, our habits, our reactions…they are all wrapped up in this assigned property that we were given. So now these properties can be translated into a number, ie: the number you are branded with. But you might be saying to yourself, “But Goob, that means there are 120 other people out there with the same number as myself!” Well nice observation Sherlock. Is it really that hard to believe that there are 120 other people out there who are basically the same as you? What makes you all different, you ask? Life experiences. They warp and mold each person differently so that at first glance, you wouldn’t notice one of the other 119 people like you if they came up and kneed you in the groin. So where the hell am I going with this? Hang with me here.

For the rest of this argument, we’re going to pretend my number is 1000. Now, according to our calculations, there are 59 other 1000’s out there. We’re going to assume that the breakdown comes to an even 60 males and 60 females, at least for the rest of this argument. Now we need to define our “one true love” property. Is this somebody you can fall in love with? Somebody you marry? Your “soul mate?” I’m gonna go ahead and go with the latter and say you’re referring to soul mates and proceed from there.

It should be obvious what I’m doing with the numbers by now, but like I said, there is still just a little more to be dealt with. You might be asking “So can I only fall in love with people of my same number?” Not quite. Those 60 people of the opposite sex (or 59 of the same sex) are your most ideal matches. Yes, they are interchangeable. There is no such thing as a “One True Soul Mate.” There are “60 True Soul Mates,” but it’s not quite as loose as it seems. Let’s pretend that I met another girl whose number is 1000. We hit it off, start dating, fall in love, get married, etc. etc. I have found one of my soul mates and that is that. There is no other girl out there who can match any better with me and even if by some stroke of pure luck I meet another girl whose number is 1000, I wouldn’t leave my wife. There is nothing more to gain because I am perfectly happy with where I am. This is where the emotion variable comes into play. I’ve sat here for a good few hours trying to think of a decent way to explain it, but I can’t. You’re just gonna have to realize it for yourself. When you are in love, true love, you’ve found one of those matches. Not fools love, not temporary love: true love. Only you can tell us whether or not it’s true love. But we’ve still got just a little more work with these numbers: Defining the ranges.

Alright, so now you are saying “Yeah, but what if I never find my significant other with the same number as me? There’s only 0.00000001% of people that I can fall in love with! I’ll grow old alone and bitch, bitch, bitch….” Shut it. There are still acceptable ranges that people can be happy within. 50,000,000 numbers is a lot. That’s like fifty million different numbers. So what about the different ranges out there. Some people can easily get married, live happily for many years, divorce, repeat. Or some people’s spouses die and they are able to find others who they are happy with and spend the rest of their lives with. So how do we calculate these? Well they fall in the “200 category.” The 200 Category is the range of numbers two people can be apart and still live happy, content, enjoyable lives together. Which means that anybody 1200 through 800 fits that criteria for me. That’s 24,000 people folks, or 0.000004% of the population. Hey, those odds are looking better! But what about “love?” People fall in love all the time, only to eventually fall out of it. Well those situations are reserved for the “1000 Category,” which says that I can be happy with people within the 2000-0 number range for a time, but that it probably won’t last. That means there are 120,000 people, or 0.00002% of the population, that you can fall in love with. Obviously these “Categories” aren’t completely defined. Maybe it’s a 1000 and 10,000 Categories. I have no idea. But I just used 200 and 1000 to illustrate my point.

I know there are a lot of buts and ifs in this calculations, but I really don’t want to keep going on and on unless people have actually read, understand, and are interested in this. Besides, when I have to explain this, it comes out much, MUCH more scientific and thought out then it is in my head. This is just the way I think folks. If I was way too confusing, let me know and I’ll dedicate an entire post to it and break it down even more complexly, but I really don’t want to have to do that because it takes all the emotion and variables out of it, which is where my gut triumphed. But if you really want to know anything else, just ask and I’ll answer them. Jesus, I’ve only answer 3 fucking questions so far?!

Jess’ Questions

1) Describe ideally (and yet somewhat realistically) where in life you’d like to be in five years?

Hmm…well, let’s start at today. This summer and next semester are kind of like the end of my college years. This summer I’m going home to spend my last summer there. It will be nice to have a final summer together with Alex, Nook, David & Suzie, Dad & Tom, etc. Then we’ve got next semester and (hopefully) next Spring I’m off to Australia. I want to end my “college life” here in the states before I leave and start on my next leg in life over in Australia. Then we’ve got me coming back home, going through the graduation process, grabbing a few essential things in my truck, and taking off. I’ve said it since day one: I can’t stay here. I don’t regret at all going to college here at USC, but I honestly should have gone somewhere else. I needed to get away 3 years ago and I still need to. Where will I go? Who knows. Maybe Seattle. Maybe New York. Maybe Australia. But not here. I don’t like plans. In fact, I hate them. I hate being ruled by an itinerary. I hate my life being dictated by deadlines and schedules. I like having goals and sticking to them rigorously once I’ve set them, but other then that, I want to be as loose and free as possible.

Once I graduate, I think I might get a job for a year or two to save up some money and then move on to something that actually makes me happy. I can’t pull the 9 to 5. I refuse to have my soul sucked out by fluorescent lighting. I refuse to spend the better part of my day surrounded by people who aspire to “climb the ladder” and join middle management. I refuse to be happy by the thought of casual Friday when all it means is the same outfit minus a tie. I refuse to operate in a cubicle smaller then most jail cells. You know me better then anybody else Jess: money has and never will be an important part of my life. So getting a corporate job is just out of the question. Maybe I’ll become a cop. Maybe I’ll go to the local elementary school and ask if they need any subs. Maybe I’ll join a bunch of Mexicans doing some yard work in the fresh air. We’ll just have to see what kind of mood I’m in the day I go looking for a job. As long as I’m happy with what I’m doing and I am not starving, I’m content. But, I know one day I’ll return home to these Blue Ridge Mountain Skies. The older I get, the stronger that feeling grows. Yet the need to get away for a decade or two grows with it and I can’t return if I never leave.

2) What would your perfect significant other be like?

Forgiving. Must love baseball (bonus points for Mariners fans). Can’t get jealous easily. Must appreciate my sense of humor. Liberal. Needs to have one of her own as well. Can’t be quick tempered. Athleticism is a plus. Intelligence is an even bigger plus. Physically attractive (in my eyes). Must know who she is. I expect her to know myself better then I do. Supportive. Comforting. Has got to realize the difference when I talk with my head and with my gut. Can go days without talking about herself. Isn’t afraid to take initiative. Can’t be needy. Straightforward. Oh yeah, and she’s got to love me for who I am. Forgiving.

I would have added the trustworthy, honest, etc. crap that everybody says. But honestly, whose picture of an ideal significant other is NOT trustworthy, honest, etc? Who goes, “You know, I want a bitch who will lie to my face and sleep around!” Those are all a given! I’ve been slowly adding and pruning away at that list above since you gave it to me and that’s the best I could come up with so far.

3) What is the most cruel thing you have ever done to anyone?

November-March of 11th grade.

Stan’s Questions

1) Out of all the things in life, what has inspired you the most?

Instead of wussing out with a weak answer, I’m holding off on this one. I’ll come back and edit this once I’ve had a little more time to think about it.

2) Consider the worst possible day ever. Who would be the ideal person to comfort you?

What the hell’s with these serious questions coming from Stan? I didn’t expect anything of this magnitude from you. Alright, well if I were to actually consider the worst day possible, my most ideal person to comfort me would be dead. But that’s a cop out of an answer, so I’ll pretend that I had the second worst day possible. In times of crisis, I’ve always turned to myself. I implode, I break down, and I become a wreck for a few days. Then I force myself to get it together, drag myself out of bed, and take that first painful step to recovering from whatever it is that beat me down in the first place. I do this not because I comfort myself better then others can, but because I hate to put my burdens on those I love. I feel needy, whiny, and most of all weak. I feel as though I’ve failed and need someone else to rescue me and I’ve been like that for as long as I can remember. But the most painful thing is that most of the time, I am holding myself back from reaching out for help. I want to be comforted. I want to be reassured. I want to be helped. But I refuse to allow myself to ask for it and most of the time will even refuse any help offered to me from those who know me well enough to realize I need it. It’s a self destructive tendency that might one day ruin me…but I like doing things my own way.

Now, with that all being said, there is one person who throughout my entire life has been the most comforting person to be there for me. We might have some trust issues now and our history might be a little rockier then I would like, but my mom has always been there to comfort me. She has that motherly touch that no other will be able to replace and even as she tells me things that I know she’s saying just to make me feel better, I believe them and it works.

3) Several nuclear bombs have been strategically set off throughout the world. You are the only Democrat left. Do you realize your error in thinking or continue on being a dumb ass?

Ahhhh….so you were saving your best for last. Well, since several nuclear bombs have been set off throughout the world, there must have been a Republican in the Presidential position at the time. Therefore, all the Republicans who were left would realize how horrible and backward their way of thinking is and begin to convert to the Democrat’s side. And since I would be the only true Democrat remaining, they would elect me President over you. =) So now I’m kind of hoping this happens!

Tommy’s Questions

1) That you can remember, what is the best day of your life?

That’s like asking which kid is your favorite (even though mom and dad would easily say me). It wouldn’t be anything like graduation or my first day of college or any of that crap. I don’t know…I mean, there have been some really good days in my past. You know those type of days where everything just falls into place and for 24 hours not a thing goes wrong and everything turns out for the absolute best? They never last longer then a day, but I can remember feeling that some days have been the best days of my life, so I know I’ve experienced some. I just can’t think of any now =)

2) That you can remember, what was the worst day of your life?

I don’t know. There are quite a few events that pop up in my mind, but they all span out over the course of a few days, weeks, or even months. All the times Jess and I broke up were hard. The day Lorraine was killed was horrible, because I lost my best friend over the next few months, as shallow as that sounds. You know me, I am far too much of a perfectionist to be able to say which day has honestly been the worst day of my life without pouring through my journal and actually calculating all the bad days I’ve had.

3) If you could be anything. Career wise. What would it be? And why

First, I need to make fun of your use of punctuation. Instead of using commas, you broke it up into 3 fragments and 1 sentence. Your last fragment didn’t even warrant any punctuation….I like it little bro =) Now, I’m glad you asked me this question. Jess’ question forced me to be realistic and now I can be as idealist as I want. I honestly don’t know if I have 1 dream job. I can’t narrow it down from the 3 I have in my head. So here goes.

1. Professional Baseball Player: Do you even need an explanation for this? Ever since I was little, I’ve dreamt of playing major league ball. I dread the day when I’m 40 and suddenly realize that I have absolutely no chance to ever play. Right now I’m looking at a 0.0001% chance, but I’ll take that any day over zero. I don’t even care what team I played for. I don’t even care if I was viewed as the team’s worst signing in history and every single fan despised me as much as they do Bill Buckner. None of that would matter. I would have been able to play baseball on a major league field. I would have been able to patrol and own centerfield and have the opportunity to climb walls, lay out, and care little for my body’s protection as I attempted to catch fly balls. I’d have the opportunity to hit a 98 MPH fastball and an 80 MPH change up. God that would just be amazing.
2. Secret Service Agent for President’s Child: I don’t want to be protecting some old man or doing advance scout work for the First Lady’s trip to Orlando. I want to be the lead agent for the President’s kid. Call it the older brother side of me going as far as possible, but I’ve always relished situations where I was able to protect those weaker and younger then myself, especially children.
3. Delta Force Member: If I were disengaged from the world enough to not have or not care about my family and friends, I’d want to be in Delta Force. I’d want to drop off the face of this Earth, go across the globe in complete secrecy, go behind enemy lines in covert operations, etc. It’d be like real life RS6 Tom =) And then quit it all once I turned 50 or so, start a new life, and people would have no idea.

Angela’s Questions

1) Which character from The Simpsons do you most identify with and why?

I’d have to say Maggie. She’s always the quiet one of the group and likes to keep to herself, yet at the same time is brilliantly smart, as we saw in the episodes where she saved Bart and Lisa from the Babysitter Bandit and then later on when she led a revolution and helped all of her fellow kids escape out of the daycare. Yeah, gotta go with Maggie on this one.

2) If you were given $10,000 to have plastic surgery, what would you have done?

The only thing I would want to change on my body would be my eyes. I’m sick of glasses and contacts, so I’d love to one day have the lasic eye surgery and rid myself from these vision problems. I’d then spend the rest of the money on a new computer =)

3) How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

Having not known the answer when I first read this, I felt the sudden urge to go find it out. So I went and found a woodchuck who agreed to chuck as much wood as woodchuckingly possible. He went a remarkable 18 hours straight (with one short break for sweet tea and Ritz crackers. I felt this was reasonable) and the final tally came up to 3 desks, 12 chairs, 2 kitchen tables, and 1 grandfather clock.

Lee’s Questions

1) What does Trademarked mean?

Trademarked, ™, is a word, name, symbol or device which is used in trade with goods to indicate the source of the goods and to distinguish them from the goods of others. Trademark rights may be used to prevent others from using a confusingly similar mark, but not to prevent others from making the same goods or from selling the same goods or services under a clearly different mark.

2) What does Registered mean?

Registered, ®, actually is short for “Registered Trademark,” so it is essentially the same thing as Trademarked!

3) What does Copyrighted mean?

Copyrighted, ©, is a form of protection provided to the authors of “original works of authorship.” It generally gives the owner of the copyright the exclusive right to reproduce the copyrighted work. The copyright protects the form of expression rather than the subject matter of the writing. For example, a description of a machine could be copyrighted, but this would only prevent others from copying the description; it would not prevent others from writing a description of their own or from making and using the machine.

4) What does Patented mean?

Lee didn’t ask this one, but I’m answering it anyways. A patent is granted for a brand new or unique idea. If you were to patent a machine, nobody else could build that machine without your permission. It does not, however, prevent people from taking your machine and changing it to create a whole new machine.

Fellner’s Questions

1) if you could have anyone living or dead give the eulogy at your funeral, who would it be and what would be the most sentimental thing they would say?

Winston Churchill – He lit that damn candle and never gave in.

2) if you write a book about your whole life, what would be the most interesting chapter title?

Goob’s Goob

3) and my favorite, would you rather be 8 feet tall with a 3 inch penis or 3 feet tall with an 8 inch penis?

Okay. Think of it this way. When you are 8 or 3 feet tall, you are going to be famous. So now, we have to look at HOW you are going to be famous. If I’m 8 feet tall, I’m the first pick in the NBA draft and dominate in a major sport here in America. If I’m 3 feet tall, that means I have to use my 8 inch penis to make my money…which means porn. So it boils down to being a porn star or an NBA Hall of Famer. I don’t care how short my dick is, if I’m in the NBA, women are throwing themselves at me and I’m having no trouble finding new ladies. So 8 feet tall with a 3 inch penis it is. =)

David & Suzie’s Questions

1) When a tree falls in the forest does it make a sound?

Trees never fall. They just trip and have trouble getting back up. Which is why I am creating a revolutionary new device that will make me millions. Remember the old commercials where the granny falls down in the bathroom only to find that she can’t stand up? She then pulls out her trusty box with red button on it, mashes it with her wrinkled fingers, and screams “Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” I’m not sure what happens next, but there’s a picture of an ambulance siren and a guy sitting at a desk in a 1970s uniform and before we know it, she’s up and kicking! Well I plan on implementing the same system for helpless trees. First, I’m going out and hiring three thousand squirrels to eat, sleep, and possibly procreate in the woods amongst the trees. They will be my eyes and ears and will alert me within moments of any tree that happens to come tumbling down. See, when the trees fall, they will just squash the squirrels and my trusty satellite tracking will pick up the exploding collar from the squirrel and send the coordinates to some lumberjacks. That way, we get rid of one more squirrel AND we’ll have plenty of notebook paper for years to come. So to answer your question, who cares, I just want some money.

2) From personal experience, is it necessary to change the oil in your car or is it just a waste of time and money?

Alright asshole =) I guess I’ll tell the story for all of those out there who have yet to hear it. My first car was given to me by my grandmother when she reached the point where she could no longer drive. It was a 1985 Ford Mustang that had around 17,000 miles on it when she handed it over to me. It wasn’t in the best condition and my excellent reckless driving didn’t help matters any, but that is beside the point. Around 20,000 miles, I remembered that you were supposed to get an oil change on cars after 3,000 miles. But I didn’t understand why they charged $25 at a mechanic when I could buy the oil myself for $4 at Advanced Auto Parts. So I went, got some oil, poured it in my car, and was on my way. I waited until around 24,000 miles before I repeated the process and then as my car was just a few hundred miles over 27,000, it exploded. I was driving down the highway, blue smoke started pouring out, a cool looking fire kinda started up for a second but quickly died out, and that was that. My dad and I thought about repairing it and spent a day taking the engine apart. When we got to the pistons, we saw the main problem. The first piston had a hole in it the size of a fist and the second piston had one about the size of a pea.

I still think the whole theory of an oil change is a conspiracy. I’m convinced sabotage caused my car to explode. But until I can prove this theory, I change my oil every few thousand miles =)

3) And we really can’t figure this one out, where do babies come from?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I really couldn’t stop laughing for a good 5 minutes after reading this one. But my answer is quite simple:

Baby-In-A-Can (sorta like cookie dough) + 30 minutes in microwave = baby
Or you can go to the Anne Geddes factory across town.

Thanks everybody for the questions. I spent way too much time answering them, but it was fun. I’m working on getting my Music Meanings page back up and I’m still working on my Mariners subsection. I’ve got my baseball and playoff predictions for this year ready to go ( I made them back in March…I just had to build the page) and now that school is just about wrapped up, I have more time for senseless posts like that of the Objective Christian Science Fair and such, so keep coming back.

“I bless you
I release you
I set you free
I set me free
I let you be
I let me be”
Love Mantra for Letting Go

Last summer, my mom handed me a small business card with that passage written on the back of it. I was going through a rough period in my life and she was just trying to help in any motherly way possible. I stuck it in my wallet, where it slowly faded into an illegible, crumpling piece of paper, but recently I’ve committed it to memory since I’ve needed something to help me move on.

We had plenty of similarities and common grounds, but we couldn’t have been more different. Our relationship was plagued by communication, or lack thereof. We never really discovered how to talk to each other. Even after 5 years of being around each other, we spoke in code. It was the only way we knew how to say what we wanted to say. We spoke at each other, not to each other. So it’s no surprise to see how we gradually fell apart, how she was unable to tell me why she wanted to go in another direction, and how I didn’t understand why she was going that way. It’s clear to me now, as I’m sure it is to her, why we broke up, but at this stage, it’s a moot point.

She’s now moved forward and found somebody else who makes her truly happy. Is it weird seeing her gush over another guy? I’d be lying if I only said “a little.” Does it make me remember what we used to have? In vivid detail. Was it hard seeing her block me out? Excruciating. But even after all of this, how do I feel?

Back in early November, I wrote about an Epiphany that I experienced. (okay, so I didn’t actually elaborate on it - but trust me, it was huge for me). Jess and I had finally agreed that we wanted each other to be happy, that we no longer really knew each other, and that we should move on. The following day, I experienced some things that were quite divine. Below is an excerpt from an IM conversation that I had trying to sum up what it felt like.

All of the hate, anger, uncertainty - all of it - it just vanished. Each and every ounce of it was replaced with this feeling of peace and calmness, the feeling that I’ve known all along is what I was going for, but never understood how to obtain it. It feels amazing. Everything that used to make me angry no longer does. Nothing stirs that rage inside of me anymore and I’ve sat here and tried.

I’ve yet to waiver in my belief that what I went though was supernatural, but as with everything else in life, the passage of time seemed to slowly erode the memories and feelings of that afternoon.

The past few weeks have been especially rough for me. March 31st was exceptionally odd, as were the few nights leading up to and after it. It would have been our 4-year anniversary and it just felt weird seeing the turn of events that had taken place instead. I had quite a few events and surprises planned for that week, but it quickly became obvious that they couldn’t happen and I was left trying to figure out what in the world had just occurred.

As I desperately tried to recreate what I’d been through in the past year or so to a friend, the first thing out of his mouth was “Why aren’t you angry? If I were you, I’d be pissed. I’d also go find me another girl to get my mind off her.” Which brings me to my inherent flaw - er, quality if you must. I’m not like most people. Yeah, yeah, everybody says that so much that the phrase carries with it no significance anymore. But it’s true. Ask anybody who knows me. I can’t run to another person to try and fill that void. I have to move on, be patient, and slowly over the years build back up what I had. So while the statement about getting another girl might not have applied to me, the one about anger most certainly did…or at least, it used to. Before, I would have collected all the emotions I had, converted them into anger, and struck back. It’s what I did whenever I got pissed with anybody. I did what I could to make them go through the hell I’d just gone through and when I felt we were even, I’d drop all the anger and move on.

So what was the point in reminding you about a post that I made last November? Well, like I said, I know that had the past few weeks happened before my said Epiphany, I would have done some things that I would have later regretted. I would have let my emotions take over and get the best of me while trying to justify my actions to myself. So in turn, I must be grateful for the trials of these past few weeks, because the glass is always half full, right? They have helped remind me of my evolution and strengthen my devotion to life. Before, I would have been angry for quite some time until I extracted my revenge and I would have been hurt for many months thereafter. Yet this time around, the anger lasted for maybe 1 minute. The hurt is ever so slowly subsiding.

But the final piece to this whole puzzle? I’m happy for her, an emotion that would have never run through my body before. I truly am happy to see her happy. Not angry, not vengeful, not spiteful. Maybe depressed that I don’t have something like what she has found, but an emotion which I can overcome and fade away. It’s strange sitting here and typing that I’m happy she is with another guy, but I can’t lie. I care so much for her that it truly does make me smile to see how joyful she is.

Every time I go through one of these periods in my life, I run back to music. It’s the one thing in my life that has never let me down and frankly, I find more solace in it then anything else in the world. David Gray, a true genius, sings my favorite song of all time, Please Forgive Me. Every time I listen to it, I am reminded of that feeling of love I once shared and how wonderful it felt. And yet Fate seems to find pleasure in Irony, so it is only natural that Gray also sings the song that I recently discovered. I have listened to repeatedly over the past few weeks and it could not sum up my feelings any better. “Shine” is the perfect song for me right now and I’m providing it to you free of charge, so why wouldn’t you download it?

I don’t believe in Coincidence, but instead in Fate and Providence. So despite how much I might miss her, I took and used the events from the past few weeks to finally close the 2nd chapter of my life. It’s something I’ve put off and told myself would never have to actually occur, but I’ve finally done it. Yet it’s hard figuring out how to start a new chapter. You sit down and start scribbling opening lines that always end up being furiously crossed out. Before you know it, your trashcan is overflowing with crumpled sheets of notebook paper while you are still left searching for that perfect string of words that will capture the essence and emotion you so desperately want to convey. Which is why I’m sticking with Reunion. Short, sweet, and to the point.

The morale of the story? Even though She blocks you out of her new life, yours still moves forward. So this is my Good-Bye, my Farewell, my Retreat into the night. I wish you all the best of luck Jessica and I hope that you are truly Happy.

And now, I’ll be returning to the main reason why most of you are here - to read the random shit I come up with. I know I vowed long ago to not bitch and moan on here, but I thought you all might like a glimpse into my life every now and then.

Every time I blow out some birthday candles, flick a penny into a fountain, or send my eyelash floating into the air, I wish for the same exact thing. I tightly close my eyes and silently say to myself “Please, I wish that when I die, I have no regrets.”

For years, I always decided not to do something and blamed it on something else. In most of those situations, I wasn’t really lying to myself. I held back or quit because I had other obligations that I wished to attend to first. My family, my relationship, or just plainly myself always seemed to be used as an excuse more then anything else and I knew that something was awry. I soon realized that I was afraid. I’m not one to scare easily. Besides Laura Bush’s face, I can’t think of anything that really scares the bejesus out of me. Roaches gross me out and yellow teeth are kind of freakish, but I can’t say I’m scared of them. Some people, however, are scared of words. Love, Hate, Defeat, Unrest. The list could go on and on, but you see what I mean. I never thought of myself as one of those people, but over time I’ve grown to realize that I guess you could say mine would be Rejection.

Call it the perfectionist in me. I hate being told I’m not good enough for something. I’ve never been one to desire Mastery in subjects. Instead, I’ve always wanted to be that Jack-of-all-trades type guy. The kind of guy who could install your air conditioner and cook up a souffle without breaking a sweat. I’ve also never really cared about being accepted in 99% of the things I do, which seems to backfire when I finally find something that I actually do want to do. By only leaving myself that small sliver of activities I wish to be accepted in, I force myself to master those areas just to avoid the rejection. And the 99% is no exaggeration. Hell, I’ve never even asked a girl out until recently. Not from the fear of rejection straight up, but from the fact that when I finally find a girl that I am completely compatible with and interested in, I put myself in the position to where I don’t even have to ask, it just happens. I try and perfect that art of asking her out to the point where no just isn’t an option and quite frankly, all of this perfection has begun to annoy the living hell out of me.

So as I was laying in bed the other day, I began to grasp the fact that I do have some regrets. My hesitation and laziness in the past only seemed to add to my regrets, and therefore, I set out to remedy as many of them as I could. I was fully aware that some of my past mistakes couldn’t be fixed, but damned if I wasn’t going to try.

One of the biggest bonuses with hanging out with Lee, Tucker, Fitz, Phil, and all the other guys is that there is always enough to play a full game of baseball every Saturday afternoon. I don’t think I can convey to you the amount of joy I find from jogging out into the outfield and catching anything hit my way. The feeling of slapping a ball just over the head of the shortstop or crushing the ball into the gap to score the tying run are feelings that can’t be forced. God, I miss playing baseball. After playing last fall, I finally reminded myself of how much I enjoyed it and I’ve gotten to the point now where I’ll go out during the late hours in the afternoon just to try and find a game going on somewhere. Usually I can get in on them, but I want more. I found an almost semi-pro league (18+, fast pitch, actual baseball rules, pitchers throw around 70 MPH) down in Charleston that runs through the summer. I had a slot wide open for me, but with no job or housing set up for me, I had to turn ‘em down. Wherever I go this summer, I have got to find a league to play in. I don’t see how I can be happy without it.

My best friend from high school Elton studied abroad in Chile last semester and after talking to him about his trip, I couldn’t believe that I had yet to take advantage of the opportunities I have. I always wanted to go somewhere, but I either missed the deadlines, or decided against it because of where I was in my life. So it feels good to say that I’ve been accepted to study abroad next year. Seeing as how it’s going to be my senior year, I had to ask for a few favor and exceptions to be made, but it looks like all that is left is picking the country and forking over the money. I’ve been debating over it for the past week or so, and I think the finalists are Australia (how could I not want to go back?), Italy (The culture, the climate, the location - what’s more to ask for?), and England (Can’t really go wrong with England. Plus I’m a sucker for British accents.) I’ve still got to make up my mind, get the loans approved, etc. But I have no intentions of backing down and quite frankly, I couldn’t be more excited.

And finally, I reversed yet another factor in my life today. Two Valentines Days ago, I decided to grow my hair out since Jess loved long hair. So it has been over 14 months since I cut my hair. And as you all know, the last time I shaved my face was on Halloween, so I had collected a nice sized beard. Yet I was tired of waking up in a pile of my own hair. I was tired of pulling out a clump of hair whenever I ran my hands through it and I was tired of never being able to see my face. So, that all changed today…

The finale to this series will be posted within a day or two, and then we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled ramblings that aren’t personal, since I know this has to be boring most of you to death. I have quite a few topics to post about (My now infamous nil with the ace of spades, The Brothers venture down here, The Dark Side of The Moon coupled with The Wizard of Oz, and much much more) so don’t give up on me just yet.

Most people that I know don’t realize how deaf I am. You see, I grew up on Southern Rock. My dad was in a band. A good band. Good enough to where he was gone for 8 or 9 months out of the year for most of my childhood. Most of my memories from those years are of terrorizing the babysitters that had to stay with us for 3 or 4 days in a row each week while both of my parents were at work. The memories of those sweltering summers, though, are full of touring across the country in the band’s bus, playing NBA Jam in the back (and beating all the guys), eating massive quantities of Reese’s Cup and M&Ms, discovering that girls practically throw themselves at guys who are in a band, and sitting on his lap while singing in front of thousands of screaming fans in jam-packed stadiums and coliseums. It’s a miracle I didn’t grow up 100 pounds overweight, but like I said, all those nights sitting right next to the speakers backstage have taken a toll on this lad’s hearing.

Growing up, In the house we listened to The Allman Brothers, ZZ Top, Lynard Skynard, The Charlie Daniels Band…and Luther Vandrose. Don’t ask. My mom loved him. I never understood. And we listened to his band. A lot. Hell, I liked it. It was all knew. Nothing’s cooler then being able to tell your friends that “yeah, that’s my dad on the radio” when you’re just 8 years old.

But things changed, as they tend to do. My teenage years were full of rebellion, just like any pubescent child. I hated my dad. With a passion. When I was going into the 7th grade, he finally “retired” from touring. He was tired of having a relationship with his family over the phone and by this point, Clay was already born and frankly, he wanted to see his children grow up. Fair enough. The only problem was we had never spent 6 straight months together in quite some time, much less 6 straight years. We didn’t know how to act around each other. Whenever I was dragged in by the neighbors for setting their back yard on fire or filling the road with a giant snowball (which was the size of a full car. I’m still quite proud of that accomplishment), my dad just did what came naturally to him. He became a hard ass.

He became the man who would get angry with you over not making your bed properly. He became the man who would ground you for making a B+ when you could have made an A. He became the man who would shut off the electricity to your room when you talked back to him. He never beat me physically, aside from the few smacks upside my head that I received from running my mouth. But he just didn’t know what else to do. I can’t really say that I helped the situation. I thrived on pissing him off. Some of the acting I did in front of my mom should have garnered an Emmy. I made sure to never let up and never let him win.

Which explains why I absorbed every type of music except for his. Alex listened to Guns & Roses, Beastie Boys, Aerosmith, Smashing Pumpkins, MXPX, Blink 182, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, NIN, and other bands along those lines. It was like a whole new dimension to me. I wanted nothing more to do with Dad’s music. His music was stale, bland, and stood for everything I hated about him. I soon found the likes of Collective Soul, David Gray, Dave Mathews, and countless other bands who quickly filled the void in my musical life.

My final act of rebellion finally took place at the close of my freshman year of high school. Playing in the band wasn’t cool anymore. All of my friends had quit, I had no desire to go march around on the football field during half time, and even though I practically had the teacher begging me to go play for the Jazz Band, I shrugged it off like it was nothing more then a birthday invitation to some kid I didn’t even like. He just wanted a free present and the cake wasn’t even chocolate. So I quit playing the saxophone.

I tell you this not to brag or gloat. Far from it. I tell you this because I have finally begun to remember where I’ve come from. Over the years, my dad has matured into a parent as I have grown into an adult. The comparison between him now versus 9 years ago is astounding. He is mellow, calm, smooth. He’s learned how to deal with his children and in turn, I’ve begun to learn more about him. We’ve finally reached that point where we respect each other. We might have total opposite political views or differ on how we approach women, but we still get along like a father and son should. He always told me that if I ever needed anything or to talk to somebody, I could come to him. But it wasn’t until now that I finally felt comfortable enough with him to actually do so.

But after being out of music for 6 years, my dad had had enough. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed an outlet to pour all of his talent into and so he started a band. Again, it was a good band. A band full of guys who had been around the block a few times and had no desire to start touring the country and letting the record labels dictate how they should make their CD. So they all used their connections, pooled their money together, and made their own CD. They started coming down here to Columbia a few months ago and so me and the guys would go out every time, grab some food and drinks, and sit back and relax. And each and every time I watch him play up there on stage, I think about how much in common me and my dad really are.

People should be warned before going to concerts. I’ve learned that the “itch” is apparently contagious. I went down to the local music store a few days ago. I hesitantly walked in, slowly browsed around, gazed at all the familiar equipment which brought back a flood of memories, and found what I was searching for. She was no virgin, but she was just begging me to pick her up. As I cradled her in my arms, my fingers went straight to the keys and she was a perfect fit. She was coming home with me and I had no intentions of making this a one-night stand. It took me a little while to re-learn all the keys but a few days later I was playing my favorite song - Louie Louie. Hey, it sure did pick up the chicks in middle school. I know I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me, but who knows. Maybe one day he’ll get sick and need somebody to fill in for him.

And with the completion of this circle, I can finally say that my dad and I are at peace with each other now. He’s not just my dad; he’s my friend. And god can he play the sax. I just wish I could figure out how in the world he plays the flute.