Previously, On Battlestar Galactica...

Oops. Guess it has been a while. Well not a whole lot worth telling about in my usual virulent manner happened. I spent a few weeks in Rochester alone, thank the Powers That Be, which I realized, after going back to Massachusetts for a few days, really fucking sucks. Sure, it was great to not have to listen to the small comments about what-the-fuck-ever-little-thing-that-pisses-my-roommate-off, but I'm actually a very social person. I do like getting out of the damn house and living up to my self proclaimed title of the King of the Assholes. Unfortunately, Rochester is a blackhole of entertainment. (With the exception of the Gonculator show at the Montage Music Hall, Monday night! GO THERE!) Even if some of the places are worth going to, my friends here are not nearly as kick-ass as my old highschool friends, some of which are actually hot girls. FUCK YOUR GIRL/GUY RATIO, RIT!

So, making friends with exotic named shots and a few bottles of the bars' best, grinding on that cute looking brunette, and exercising my wit with blatant insults to the bulldozer of a douchebag who has either had one too many shots of Jager or too many run-ins with the defensive line, making him oblivious to the obvious defamation I've caused him, turns out to be a great time! All I have to do now is graduate from an Institute who decided to only hold the classes I need long after I'm willing to quietly reside in this frozen hell-hole and take them, and find a job worth the 5+ long and drunken years I've invested into my education four hours west of the most westerly point I should ever have dared ventured to.

Upside to the Brick City? I did meet a cute one, but here's the kicker... She grew up minutes away from me, and even attended a rival highschool. What are the odds? More importantly, can I make the last five years worth it with this?

Tune in next week to find out.

At Least I Kept the Whipped Cream Out of My Beard

The walls inside me break down as the man I've become crumbles. How poeticly cryptic. So apparently it's been so long I've forgotten how to do some things that were pertinent to my afternoon and evening. Maybe I just misinterpretted what it was all about, maybe I need to learn what friendship looks like again, maybe I'm reading wrong the one thing I think I'm reading right, maybe I just failed miserably.

Either way, the night I thought went well ended unexpectedly and unfavorably. More reasons to hate roommates, I guess. I did walk away with some new ideas to think about, maybe some previously closed off to me before. Definately some that would turn the sailor mouthed, rough necked, Masshole that I'm proud to be into the exact person I direct all my hate towards.

Fuck.

As I Wear Two Different Shoes

Major chrisis. My level of asshole has dropped significuntly, if you haven't already noticed from the gross lack of offensive material in my latest posts. I've been swearing less, driving less like the true Masshole that I am, and even giving New York drivers a break when they inevitably drive incorrectly. My insults have been come nigh amicable and my temper has all but ceased to flare.

Most disturbingly, I've been having a distressing urge to shave, or at least quaintly trim, my beard. I know! How sick is this, that I want to actually deface what makes me the greatest man alive since, well ever in my own eyes, but my own face? How perposterous does this sound to anyone who knows me well enough to know these thoughts are the core being of everything I despise, and to have the undying volition to succumb to them? What is becoming of me?

I have my suspicions, of what could be causing this faithless and debauched transendence of mine, and I'm sure some of you may have figured it out as well. But Myself-willing, I will only be defeated by the most unholy of actions that would cause me the pleasure I so forcefully and unequivocally seek, and remove your mind from the gutter because that's not what I'm talking about (Sara).

I will mull over this for the time being and return with hopefully some good news. If not, know that I went down in a blaze of glory matched in proportion only to my beard, and a maelstrom of the most depraved. Or I pussed out and am contently living the life I desperately dread at the time of writing this.

Pre-parting note: As I write this, in my mind's eye the world is being ravaged by fires from the heaven's, demons from the hell's and Zeus' lightning strikes the ground with the force of exploding suns. In the middle of this blitzkrieg of apocalyptic immensity, I stand alone, pushing the bodies of the fallen and weary from me, and face this unruly force that threatens everything you know and love about me. And damn, does my beard look as epic as ever.

It's time to stop complaining over your problems and finally do something about them.

It Began, As Always, With the Desire for Power

Friday night again, seems like I've run out of stuff to say already. Or I'm more lethargic than I thought. In either case, it's still Friday night and I'm tapped out and blogging. Kind of really lame.

Tonight is about a bunch of random thoughts, most that pertain of course to me.

I've decided that I need a camera phone. I've been using the stupid $20 cell I got free when I signed up for this plan a year and half ago, but I'm too cheap to buy one, so I'm stuck with a phone that does exactly what a phone should, make calls, that's all. Transgression is the key to procrastination... I need a camera phone because I've come across several moments where I wish I had one.

Perfect Camera Moment 1: Under a "MOTORCYCLES ONLY" sign in the parking lot on campus was a small bright blue moped. It was tiny, it made me laugh.

PCM 2: A Brinks truck being towed away. Its an irony thing, I'm still working on that.

PCM 3: This is my favorite. We have the only nationally funded deaf school at RIT, and that means a lot of deaf kids, and of course interpreters for them. The most famous of our interpreters is Santa. Yes, kids, Santa works at RIT in the off years, complete with plump jolly figure and fluffy white beard. I saw Santa walking around not to long ago with his favorite carbonated beverage in hand, Pepsi.

My first blog, chronicling my life while working in Newburg, NY was pretty much a bitchfest on all the drivers I had to put up with while driving to and from the site I was working at that day. And while I had promised myself not to do that again, as it was a complete failure, although I know a few laughed (Guddy...). I have to break that promise today. I've noticed that New York drivers are the worst I've ever encountered, and I've driven up and down the East coast, and in Texas. New Yorkers don't just think they own the road, the believe the road was put their especially for them, and we are all the hallucinogenic byproduct of whatever non-FDA-Approved antidepressant they must be on to continue living in this shithole of a state. Also, I believe they never passed any math course, because they obviously don't know what the giant black numbers say, or how to match them to the numbers on their speedometers.

I've been rock climbing at Rock Ventures (on University Ave, go there) for the past 3 weeks and I have this to say about it. My forearms are killing me. It's going to be a fun shift tomorrow.

My new video card came in the other day and I've been playing Fallout 3 and Oblivion on it. They are beautiful! I'm becoming readdicted to video games.

Obama won. Not too surprised about that, I would have voted, but being from Massachusetts, there was little point. Oh, and I don't give two flaming flying rats asses about all of it, and the amount of effort it would have taken to get a absentee ballot would have detracted from my proactive procrastination.

Song of the Week: Corruption in America - Gonculator, check out their MySpace, Facebook friend them. Great guys, great beats.

I need to pick up the bass again, it's been too long.



Message from the Author: I took some time out of writing my paper the other day to make this blog look a bit nicer. I created a graphic for the header, added a Quick Reader Poll to get some feedback from all 5 of you that read it, and made it easier to comment. Help me out by giving your opinions or whatever. Or just fuck off, I don't need your bitchy comments anyway.

The Day Jeremy Knew His Destiny

Let me start out with this, daylight savings rocks!

Well it’s been an intense week for me, and since I don’t really have anything to comment on today, I’m going to update you on my awesome week. Thursday was a complete disaster for me, like always, one slightly catastrophic incident after another beat me into submission finally ending in me losing an entire post Thursday night, which would have enlightened you to the tragedy I had foregone to get to that point. Fortunately for you, my torment was too much and I left my blog postless for a bit longer than usual.

Friday was pretty decent though. Halloween started me heading out to Canandaigua to shoot a few scenes from a student film I’m in. We filmed on location at this nationally renowned garden, which was pretty nice, but the best part was my cute-as-hell director who I will not elaborate on, to spare you, my faithful few readers, from the endorphin induced stomach retching poetic imagery I’m inclined to write about her. You’re goddamn welcome.

Following that, hit up good ol’ Rock Ventures for a bit of rock climbing, which I recommend to everyone. It has turned into my favorite recreation, I can choose whether I want to be challenged, or just have fun on any route, and getting to the top of these walls with just finger holds is a great feeling of accomplishment, almost as good as the feeling of releasing my hate upon you all a couple times weekly. Plus my arms and shoulders are getting a great workout and I’m getting sexier by the day.

Finished off Halloween by heading out to the Bug Jar, a local joint showcasing live music of somewhat questionable listenability, and $2 Rolling Rocks. But the best part of that night was chilling outside, talking to a pimp and getting stumbling ass drunk as a Gay Cowboy.

If you think that was a fun night, Saturday wins the prize. After a quick shift at RV, followed by some rock climbing with Britt and refueling ourselves with greasy, garlicky, buttery, cheesy, barbequed and wholly innutritious fried chicken and motz-sticks that pass as acceptable Papa John appetizers, we headed out to the Montage for a night of rock star mayhem.

Gonculator kicks ass, and it’s not Hogan’s. A local power-pop band from Fredonia, who not only know how to use their instruments as perfect tools of godlike musical wonder, but have the energy and stage presence to command an entire crowed of drunken and highly ruly patrons that unfortunately did not pack the Montage to the level their performance clearly deserved. Their show, one of five, is the pinnacle of rock band stardom beginnings. After the show, we hung out with the band, praised their head banging talent, commented on the lead singers pink wings, and drank the night away, shot after shot after mind melting shot.

Between other sets and drinks when we needed a groove band and alcoholic reprieve, we hit on Toni, the best and best looking bartender ever to hand me a Blue Bottle and discounted shots. But partying with rock stars comes with its price, as anyone who ever hung around Chad Kroeger I’m sure knows. Ours was being hit on by some of the more colorful and drunker ladies that were circling the drain of total drunken inhalation. BJ almost got raped, Britt I’m sure is a bit bruised from the constant barrage of punches he received each time someone (pretty much me) said anything funny to the inebriated lady at his side, and I ended up making face thanks to the regrettable tendency to lose one’s misjudgment while in the company of Jameson.

Capped off the night with a few parting words to the closing manager of the Montage as we rushed out leaving the contents of someone’s stomach hopefully all in the porcelain throne and proceeded to get lost in Rochester. Stopping not so quickly at McDonald’s to pick of some fries which later managed to fuse themselves to the side of my Jeep with the help of stomach acid and face numbing 40 mph wind as we cruised back home.

The next anticipated night of rock star mayhem is December 1, when Gonculator will return to the Montage. And this time we are promoting the fuck out of the show. If you live in the Rochester area, look for fliers, return here and check out Methodical Madness for more info, spread the word. We will see you Dec 1. Rock On!

Always trust your instincts, they will never fail you, unless you are Britt.

Second parting side note: I forgot to mention theres a cutie working at Rock Ventures. I'm coming for you, be ready.