From Dreams to Paper, from Paper to Screen, Maru and Ciel live again

  With this brand new desk, lamp, and nudging from a new member of the family(?), I finally found my urge to write. My only issue being that I wish I could separate the story that I've been dreaming about for years, and my usual RL musings/rants. Hopefully I can find a way, without creating a separate profile or something of the sort. this feels good, to have the passion for writing.

  Part of what kept me from moving forward with my story was the fact that I couldn't come up with a good introduction, a good origin for my first character, my original Role Play character. I always had the base idea of who he is, his overall characterization, but I went through so many iterations, so many beginnings it got frustrating. I'm a bit jealous of my best friend, as his Role Play character has been the same forever, only changing one aspect to simplify everything else.

Bastard.

  Anyhoo, the story I've been dreaming of in bits and pieces is going to try and encompass all of the characters my friends and I created over the years, maybe tweaking certain concepts to fit the story (and keep it from turning into a Mary Sue, author avatar, fanfic) While throughout our experiences roleplaying, and even in the books we read,  the characters were tweaked/built to fit into the realms we Role-played in, they still kept their originality, which is what I'm going to focus on, instead of normal Role-playing (which I am considering returning to, for inspiration and storytelling practice) which usually involved creating or changing the character to fit the world, I will be building the world to fit the varied characters that we created, we've cherished, we've always thought about. I have a good idea on how this will start, but no clue how to connect one dream to another, and even less on where I want to end up. I just know that Kazuki Hyo, and Ukyo Mido and going to die like the bitches they are. You can take that as a spoiler or not, but trust me, fuck them.

  I hope to devote at least an hour a day into working on something related to this story, be it tweaking characters, committing memories to paper, or brainstorming with my friends on ideas they've had for their original characters, because this is as much their story as it is mine. If I'm going to weave this tale using Maru's friends, his brothers-in-arms, it makes sense that I go to my friends to help bring their characters out.

  I think I found my spark. This is exciting.

Stargazing...and other stuff

 So, it's 3 days before my 25th birthday, and like so many times before, I'm sitting in the dark surrounded by the images of days gone by. Or something like that. I was asked by my better half whether or not I was panicking or at least scared about my birthday. She was shocked when I told her I wasn't. She then alluded to how I may feel this way, because most people do, freaking out about they haven't accomplished anything yet, a quarter of their life gone, yadda yadda. Here's how I see it: All I've wanted in my life, all that truly mattered to be, was having that one special person in my life, having a good circle of friends that I care about, and living independent from my family. Everything else, while they may be important, not what I count towards feeling whole inside. I can look at myself in the mirror on my birthday and say that I have a good woman for support and love, I have some of the greatest bunch of assholes scalawags around me, and I live (relatively) on my one, away from my family, in a nice quiet house in a nice secluded neighborhood. I've had a steady job for over a year now, and I'm close to graduation. I don't stargaze. I walk around the city looking up at the big, nice apartments and get jealous at what I don't have, I look straight ahead, at my next destination, whether it be a straight path, or up a hill, or down  a few stairs. I don't panic at how I'm not where I "should" be, I relax thinking about where I'm not anymore.

 I guess I can chalk it up to being appreciative of the simpler things in life.

 Speaking of simpler things, I guess I reached a pinnacle of thinking when it comes to evaluating my beliefs and values. I see myself as a sort of traditionalist, but I guess I'm more of a moderate when it comes to my personal leanings. This is significant, only because it makes that giant file cabinet of thoughts in my head easier to classify. Maybe another time I'll go through what exactly I think about, theologically and politically. I think they deserve their own posting.

 So, because living in New York (and living in general) is expensive, I've dusted of my (softmodded) PS2 and begun hunting down all the old games I've always wanted to play. So far, so good. Right now I'm starting YuGiOh! Duelists of the Roses. It's a strategy game based of that soul sucking piece of crap card game (which I used to play religiously when I hated myself), as well as being loosely (looser than my ex-girlfriend) based of of the historical War of the Roses. I love this game, mostly because I love strategy games, and this keeps me away from playing Disgaea, which if you knew was the gaping void for all of my friends who've played it. I wish they remade this game, give it HD graphics, an achievement system, give it some dlc cards, make it longer by adding more characters from the GX or 5D series (not Zexal, cuz that shit can like the shiniest part of my sack). Of course, that would involve effort, and caring about the fans when  you already got their money. Working with my PS2 makes me miss my modded Xbox, and wish I had it with me (or rather, wish it was cleaned out so I could have brought it here). More importantly, I wish I had the time and money to invest in tricking my stuff out, maybe maintaining them so they can last in the long run.

*sigh*

I don't have time for much of anything. But, that's because I'm taking 3 classes this term, and that's killing me.
At least I'm making decent money.

3 days.

Brief Thoughts

   Just some quick ramblings before I head off to work:

• Blogger being a part of the Google metavirus is a bit more cumbersome than helpful. Seriously, who actually uses Google+, or one email account for everything?
• I'm turning 25 in 5 days. I'll expound ton thoughts/feelings at the appropriate time.
• Slowly but surely, I'm starting to dislike my roommates. I've grew up in an apartment with 4 females, and I've never heard this much whining and bitching about the most innocuous shit. If I wasn't such a nice guy (actually being a jerk takes effort I'm not willing to put in yet) I would have flipped 'em off, moved out, and left them both to deal with their own problems, which surprisingly enough make me seem well adjusted.
• I am happy to say that I have found a "kindred spirit" (seriously, how gay does that sound? No wonder only women who have no other redeeming qualities say that) in a friend from work. Unfortunately he quit (can't blame him) but we keep in touch enough to actually have a friendship going. What makes this stand out, is that we should have been friends years ago, during the heyday of my circle of friends. I say this because we have similar tastes in music, we play almost the same games, but more importantly, he knew what Bible Black was. That alone is mind blowing. Even more importantly, he rekindled my love of anime/manga, and that's always a plus.
• Fucking New York Comic Con.
• Madara "fuck-damn" Uchiha (Naruto) is inching towards that Kratos (God of War) heat with me. What I mean is, its getting to the point where I want him to die, just because he's too much. He, as a reanimated corpse, reversed the spell/jutsu that would have sent him back to wherever the hell souls go in this series. It's like...The sun is rising, and Dracula is starting to burn, and then he says, "fuck this!" and makes the sun go back down. How do you do anything against that?

Heading to work now.

With Arms Wide Open.

 It really has been a long time since I took the time to write down my thoughts. It took me forever to find this page, I just remembered I had it. i don't know what else to say for an introduction, so lets just get into it, shall we?

 I think I might be at my breaking point. These past few years have been harsh on me, and my very soul, if you can believe it. I'm fighting wars on multiple fronts, and as they say, you can't win them all.

Raise your hands if you've ever felt like nothing you do seems to get people to like you, or at least not hate you.

 Raise your hands if you've ever felt like nothing you ever do is good enough, or will ever be good enough, to appease some people.

That's how I've felt for practically all my life. This is how I'm feeling right now, as I type this. Sometimes, it's a matter of oversight. Other times, it's damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't. Most days, it's because I "don't listen". Every time, it's because I don't love enough. At this point, after hearing all of it, I'm almost inclined to agree. Maybe I should just stick with the labels I'm given: "Asshole". "Prick". I mean, it's what brought me to the dance, right? It's how I've survived in this world of naysayers and charlatans, beasts and harlots, sycophants and heathens. Maybe I should stop trying. Maybe I should just be what everyone else thinks I am. Would that make you (them) all happy? Maybe I should show you (again them) all how much of an asshole I can really be. Maybe I should (Kinnikuman reference incoming) dial up the memories of your (all of them) past and show you who the real assholes are: The father, who would rather lose a son than accept him as a man, as an equal? The mother, who has turned her back on her duty to protect and love? The sister who has chosen to lie with devils than stand by angels? The brother who has given up on his dreams? The friend who would rather appease his ego, than protect those who have stood by them? The Betrothed, who would rather condemn a man to pariah-dom, than accept the differences that make him who he is? Who would rather see the world end, than see herself step down from her pillar of divinity?

It would be tragic, were it not the reality I face.

So here I am, sitting in the dark because my betrothed is essentially mad because I was talking to myself and she didn't like that I was trying to keep from arguing with her.
(Incoming rant)
1. It's absolutely OK for her to call me names, tell me she's disappointed with me and "fed up" with me, but I can't even have a mini-conversation with myself, without her getting upset and offended.
2. It's also absolutely OK for me to be accused of cheating on her, and endure her distrust for 3 years, with her feeling insecure, but her staying in contact with her long distance ex-boyfriend, who "Never cheated on her but only tore her heart out multiple times by leaving her for the same girl over and over", and who she also was caught planning on rendezvousing with in Europe, only for her to turn it into a commentary on how I "pushed" her into this position of trying to secretly meet with him to see if she "made the wrong choice".
3. It's absolutely OK for me to be told " I see why [redacted] cheated on you".

But alas! I can't be upset about any of that, because it's absolutely not OK for me to be any less than accepting.

You know what? Maybe this is all my fault. Maybe I deserve to be alone. Clearly at this point, I was meant to be alone in this world. I clearly can't have nice things. Or rather, I shouldn't.
Maybe I did deserve for [redacted] to sleep with one of my "friends".
Maybe I did deserve for my best friend to trade information about me to [redacted] for sexual favors.
Maybe I did deserve to have my heart broken every time, every day.
Maybe I deserve to be alone, to walk this earth with a void inside, screaming for someone to actually love me.

Maybe I am the Asshole everyone, no, she tells everyone that I am.

Maybe I should stop being the nice guy I try to be.

Maybe I should just let out every dark thought I've ever had, and let the world see the monster it created.

Would that make you (them once more) all happy? To have the mirror turned on you, for everyone to see how horrible you truly are? To see how terrible people you've become?

Or, maybe I could just have you peek at the mirror, so you could see who you've become.
Or?
Who you have always been.
 As I write this, I replay my entire life, and I acknowledge as well as accept that I've always been the villain. I have always been a jerk. But, When it is all said and done, I can at least walk away knowing that I have been open about who I am. Can most people be so cognizant about themselves? I am The Bad Guy, but I wish I didn't have to be all the time. I wish I can be The Bad Guy when I actually need to be, not when everyone wants me to be, to tell their story.

Hero to myself, Villain to everyone else.

I guess when the story of us ends- whenever it ends at this point- I shall be the magnificent villain, to your poised and elegant hero, a tale woven with the greatest of battles, the most dramatic of scenes, and the most captivating of expositions.

It is a dance I know all too well. We shall see if I remember the steps.

But, I would be remiss if I did not admit that I am at a disadvantage. Like a soldier who spent too long at peace, I fear as though I am Samson without his locks. I may very well lack the strength to tear down these pillars around me, these pillars of hate and fear, of betrayal and envy, of apathy and regret.  I pray I may find some of semblance of that lost strength, to bring down the world around me, to one last time bring down the sky around me, to one final time stand tall and shake the heavens.

Maybe before then, I'll find my peace.
Maybe before then, I'll find that sparkle in my eyes.
Maybe before then, I'll find that smile.

Until then,
With Arms Wide Open

I'll wait in silence.

I really need to stop drinking Monster...

With most every classic novel comes some outlandish interpretations. Some people have wild fringe theories about Harry Potter as an allegory for young gay love and Lord of the Rings being about WWII and the atom bomb. But some of these laughably wrong interpretations stick. In fact, you were taught some of them in school.

Upton Sinclair's The Jungle

Upton Sinclair's expose of the American meatpacking industry is largely to thank for the massive drop in cases of gastroenteritis (and rise of vegetarianism) around the dawn of the 20th century. When the book was published, the public, pretty keen on taking solid shits, was outraged by the novel's accurate depictions of the unsanitary conditions in slaughterhouses and lack of regulations forbidding the practice of shoveling week-old entrails off the floor along with the cow shit and calling it sausage.
President Teddy Roosevelt took action as a result, leading to the Pure Food and Drug Act, the Meat Inspection Act and eventually the FDA, despite getting his meat primarily from large game he beat to death with a club (probably).

"Who's hungry?"

What it's really about:
It wasn't about sanitation or meat safety. Sinclair was actually trying to expose the exploitation of American factory workers and convert Americans to socialism.
He went undercover for several weeks as a meat packer and not only saw that working conditions in meat-packing factories at the time were horribly unsafe, but that there was massive corruption within the upper levels of management. The stockyards exploited not only the common man, but also the common women and children, who worked the same lengthy shifts and lost the same useful appendages to machinery without proper safeguards. At one point in the book, an employee accidentally falls inside a giant meat grinder and is later sold as lard.

A pinch of Mitch in every bite.

But much to Sinclair's frustration, the public's reaction was less "that poor exploited worker!" and more "HOLY SHIT THERE MIGHT BE PEOPLE IN MY LARD." They read right past the hardship of the workers and focused entirely on how gross the meat-packing process was.
Adding insult to injury, the passing of the Meat Inspection Act and the Pure Food and Drug Act meant that taxpayers, not the meatpackers, were responsible for the $30 million a year costs of inspection, giving Sinclair further shit to gripe about as it added even more burden to the American worker.

"We have to wear coats now?"

It didn't help that Roosevelt didn't sympathize with Sinclair's socialist views, calling him a crackpot and stating that three-fourths of his book was the same bullshit everyone was apparently eating at the time. Sinclair would later take matters into his own hands, running for Congress twice on the Socialist ticket. He lost. Hell, he should have just run on the "No more shit in your hamburger" ticket. That seems like a pretty easy win right there.

Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451

It's the defining anti-censorship book of our time. The image of government crews gathering up and burning books is as iconic in the free world as Big Brother.
In Fahrenheit 451, America in the future is a clusterfucked society and a nation of dimwits. Books are outlawed for promoting intellectualism and free thinking, which inevitably leads to objective discourse and debate, which are now considered politically incorrect because dissenting opinions make people sad. Instead of preventing homes from going up in flames, firemen have been reassigned to rifle through homes and seize any contraband books that remain.
Just about every critic and literary scholar on the planet viewed the novel as metaphor for the dangers of state-sponsored censorship. Can't see this as much of a stretch, considering it was about book burning (although, the title may have suggested that it was really about book warming, since, according to Bradbury's sources, the temperature at which paper combusts is actually 450 degrees Celsius, or 842 degrees Fahrenheit).

This didn't occur to him?

What it's really about:
Bradbury was actually more concerned with TV destroying interest in literature than he was with government censorship and officials running around libraries with lit matches. According to Bradbury, television is useless and compresses important information about the world into little factoids, contributing to society's ever-shrinking attention span. Like "Video Killed the Radio Star," television would kill the, uh, book star (he said same thing about radio too, by the way). An interesting rant from the author, considering that much of Bradbury's fame was a direct result of his stories being portrayed on science fiction shows.
Also,

"Featuring your host, a Martian-ophilic hypocrite."

For a science fiction writer who predicted the development of flat-screen TVs you hang on the wall, ATMs and virtual reality, he sure hates new technology. Along with bitching about radio and television, Bradbury also has something against the Internet. He apparently told Yahoo! they could go fuck themselves, and as far as he's concerned, the Internet can go to hell. He doesn't own a computer, needless to say. At least we can say whatever we want about him without getting sued.
What probably pissed Bradbury off more than anything was that people completely disregarded his interpretation of his own book. In fact, when Bradbury was a guest lecturer in a class at UCLA, students flat-out told him to his face that he was mistaken and that his book is really about censorship. He walked out.

Later, he accused the camera of stealing his soul.

Machiavelli's The Prince

If you've ever heard a politician or other powerful person referred to as "Machiavellian," you can guess it's not a compliment. That's thanks to a shifty-looking Italian diplomat named Machiavelli. He was bad enough that we turned his name into a pejorative adjective that means "cruel, amoral tyrant." Napoleon, Stalin and Mussolini were three of his biggest fans, and the Mafia considers Machiavelli the father of the organization.

In his defense, he cleans up well.

The reason for this is Machiavelli's The Prince, one of the most notorious political treatises ever written, designed as an instruction manual for the Florentine dictator Lorenzo de' Medici to help him be more of a bastard. Completely disregarding moral concerns in politics, the book serves as a levelheaded discourse on the best way to assert and maintain power, noting that it's better to be feared than loved, and that dishonesty pays off in the long run as long as you lie about how dishonest you are.
Machiavelli's masterpiece is equal parts brilliant and irresponsible, showing tyrants how best to run a country like a video game.

What it's really about:
Actually, Machiavelli was totally just trolling. Far from being the spiritual patriarch of the Gambino crime family, he was a renowned proponent of free republics, as noted in a few obscure texts called everything else he ever wrote. The reason The Prince endured the ages while the rest of his philosophy gathered dust in the back of an old library warehouse is chiefly 1) it's really short, and 2) it boils the blood. By far the best way to get a book on the best-seller list is to write something that pisses everyone off, but the drawback is that it steamrolls the message of any work that's only meant to be understood in context.
The context in this case is that the Medici family to whom he dedicated his love letter is the same group who personally broke Machiavelli's arms for being such a staunch advocate for free government. He worked for the Florentine Republic before the Medicis marched in, mowed down the government and mercilessly tortured him, and then he sat down and wrote The Prince from his shack in exile, assumptive with some really bendy handwriting (on account of the arms). When you learn about that, it kind of adds a new layer of meaning to the text -- it suddenly sounds like it's dripping with sarcasm.

Not everyone was in on the joke.

For centuries, the consensus on Machiavelli's best-known work has been that he was just trying to brown-nose his way back into the government. But a deeper study of his full body of work reveals that this is a pretty absurd ambition, considering not only did Machiavelli repeatedly say that "popular rule is always better than the rule of princes," but after he wrote The Prince, he went right on back to writing treatises about the awesomeness of republics. Considering also that he was no stranger to the literary art of satire, scholars these days are turning to a more likely scenario -- Machiavelli was the Stephen Colbert of the Renaissance.
Part of the blame might also be leveled at the shitty job that people have done in trying to translate his work into English. It's from Machiavelli that we get the notorious phrase "the end justifies the means." A much more accurate translation from the original Italian is something more like "one must consider the end," which kind of means something totally different.

At least he got a badass statue.

#3.

Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Anybody who grew up in the 1960s (and still remembers anything about it) can tell you what Lewis Carroll's classic childrens book was really all about: A girl takes a "trip" down the rabbit hole and finds herself in a surreal world where animals start talking to her. After she eats some "mushrooms," everything starts to change sizes before her eyes. She meets an over-stimulated "white rabbit" and a stoned caterpillar smoking a "shitload of drugs."

We didn't really need Jefferson Airplane to clarify it; Alice in Wonderland is the Fear and Loathing of fairy tales. It became one of the most important allegories of the 60s counterculture, with scenes that accurately correspond to the sensation of every mind-altering substance known to man. The Beatles drew heavily from Carroll's work during their fucked-up phase (1962-1971, according to historians), and acid still comes in tabs with the Cheshire Cat printed on them.

What it's really about:
Lewis Carroll was the pen name of the very conservative Reverend Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, Anglican deacon and professor of mathematics. He wrote Alice in the 1860s, a time when the most radical thing taking place on college campuses was complex math. While that sounds innocent enough, Carroll thought it would lead straight to Satan. Yes, the book that launched a million acid trips was written by the biggest square in the universe for the nerdiest reason imaginable.

NERD.

All the weird drug-trippy stuff that's been misinterpreted since Woodstock is, we're sorry to say, really just an elaborate satire of modern mathematics. Dodgson was old school when it came to math, because right up until his time, math professors still taught from a 2,000-year-old textbook. That all began to change in the mid-1800s, when a bunch of irritating young people invaded academia and started bringing new concepts to math. Weird new concepts. Like "imaginary numbers" and other crazy stuff.
What incensed Dodgson was that math no longer had any real-world grounding. He knew that you could add two apples to three apples to get five apples, but once you start thinking about the square root of -1 apples, you're living on the moon. The Rev. Dodgson thought the new mathematics was completely absurd, like something you'd dream up if you were on drugs.

Dodgson to new mathematics: "Get the hell off my lawn."

So he decided to write a book about a world that followed the laws of abstract mathematics, purely to point out the batshit lunacy of it. Things keep changing size and proportion before Alice's eyes, not because she's tripping on bad acid, but because the world is based on stupid postmodern algebra with shit like imaginary numbers that don't even make any sense god dammit. "Alice" was the sensible Euclidian mathematician trying desperately to keep herself sane and tempered, while "Wonderland" was really Christ Church College at Oxford, where Dodgson worked, and its inhabitants were just as barking mad as he thought his colleagues really were.

#2.

Jack Kerouac's On the Road

Before there were hippies, there were beatniks: the goateed hipsters in berets and black turtlenecks, playing the bongos and writing shitty poetry. During the late 50s, these pseudo-intellectuals crowded every coffee house and jazz club with an open mic night.
Jack Kerouac is responsible for every last one of them. His semiautobiographical novel, On the Road, made being a nonconformist trendy and inspired an entire movement he coined "The Beat Generation."

Crazy, baby.

The book is about Kerouac's bromance with a former car thief with a knack for free verse, and chronicles their adventures across America, as they abandon square social expectations for a more hedonistic lifestyle filled with sex, drugs and jazz. It wasn't just a beatnik bible, either. Major counterculture icons of the 60s, like Jim Morrison and Bob Dylan, were said to have "dug it." In fact, it's generally believed that hippies are really just beatniks with worse hygiene.

And worse taste in fashion.

What it's really about:
First of all, Kerouac hated beatniks; he thought they were a bunch of posers. Anyone who wanted to be a part of "The Beat Generation" completely missed the point. In his mind, those who were "Beat" were beaten down by society's demands and struggled to find their place in the world. It was not something you chose to be because it would help you meet chicks.

As far as his time On the Road, he hated that too. Kerouac spent roughly seven years roaming the countryside looking for answers. He never found any, and it's pretty clear in the book. Yes, there were some wild times that seemed like a blast, but it got old after awhile. Nevertheless, it was that side of his character everyone celebrated even though he tried to put it behind him.
Kerouac was a Catholic who grew to have pretty conservative politics, so he was always resentful of inspiring what would become a cultural revolution. And keep in mind, Kerouac wasn't even describing events that took place during that time. Since the novel came out in the late 50s, everyone assumed he was describing the thought and feelings of that era, but the events of the novel took place almost a decade before. He wasn't even writing about the era he supposedly defined.

#1.

Friedrich Nietzsche's Thus Spoke Zarathustra

Friedrich Nietzsche is probably the most-recognized name in philosophy behind Socrates and Aristotle. But his notoriety with the layman is mainly due to the people he inspired -- Ted Bundy, Mussolini and Hitler. His seminal work, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, is about as cheery as anything Nietzsche ever penned. It popularized the quote "God is dead" and illustrates Nietzsche's disdain for the concept of traditional morality and his prediction that some kind of master race would soon drag itself out of the slime and rule the world.
He refers to the rightful owner of the world as the "superman" and the "splendid blond beast," and anyone with a passing interest in modern history knows exactly where that line of thinking is going.

Hitler, who might otherwise have faded out of history as just another square-mustached college dropout, picked up a copy of Zarathustra and was inspired to do a little more with his life. Some years later he distributed copies to his soldiers and went about arranging a big-budget live stage adaptation known as "the Holocaust."
What it's really about:
If Nietzsche wasn't too busy being dead, he would probably have had a few words with Hitler about the fuehrer's liberal interpretation of his work, due mainly to the fact that Nietzsche hung around with entirely the wrong crowd. His sister, Elisabeth, and good friend, composer Richard Wagner, were both as Nazi as the goose-step.

This portrait of Wagner comes courtesy of a dockside caricature artist.

After Nietzsche died, Elisabeth inherited the rights to his works and went about diligently re-editing them with a "kill all the Jews" subtext. It didn't help that Nietzsche's thought-baton was then picked up by the philosopher Martin Heidegger -- you guessed it: Nazi.
Nietzsche actually hated anti-Semites, having refused to attend his sister's wedding because she was marrying a Nazi, and even wrote that "anti-Semites should be shot." We have his sister to thank for the "blond beast" confusion. She, Hitler and decades of disapproving philosophy students interpret this as an allusion to the Aryan race. In fact, Nietzsche was just describing lions.

After all, does this look like the mustache of a racist?

And as for the "superman" thing, rather than referring to some genetically pure German dictator, Nietzsche was just making a generic statement about people who believe in the subjectivity of morals and seek to find their own values in the world -- a concept wholly incompatible with just following the whim of some guy with a hate-boner for some specific race. Interpreting Zarathustra's message as a call to raise an army and purge the world of undesirables is something akin to believing that Animal Farm was really a warning about farm animals taking over the world.

Wait, it isn't?

...it's probably because you think you're cooler than me.

So, another year is going by, and I find myself fortunate enough that while I'm wading through this most recent crashing wave of "god I hate this family", I can have enough moments of sheer awesome that it almost makes it all worthwhile.

I feel like a hipster, celebrating Halloween (or Samhain, for people who care) at this age. Actually caring about a costume, and aesthetics? Ugh. But nonetheless, I look forward each year, not just because I love the holiday and have a sweet tooth, but because I spend it in the company of friends and the woman I love. What more can you ask for? More days like that.

Oh, and I saw Florence in the same diner.

Oh, the wit of God.

Seriously though, I'm starting to lose my faith, because of all this crap. I may have done some jerkish things in my life, but I try to help people when I can. My friends know me as a sort of puckish guardian angel. (Okay that may be stretching it) I'm there. I don't deserve to be disrespected like this, by the same people whose name I've tried so hard to restore credibility, honor to, I am the one who fought the hardest for my family, but in the end I'm the outcast once again. I know I joked about being the J.A.D (Jesus Allegory Douchebag) but this is utter crap. I mean, why do I have to deal with this?

But in the end, I'll have my revenge, I guess. When things start going to hell, -and with this family, it's like an annual event- they'll realize that their best hope, the absolute best thing to happen to the Chico family, the savior of the entire family name has given up on them. Maybe I should just change my name to Jose Enrique Chico the First, because I might as well be Patriarch, and hell, I will be of my own clan. Shit, I'll even come up with my own family crest. Hell, if you think about it, I would by default be leader of This Thing of Ours.

Arrogance.
 Because no one has done it better.


So I'm getting better at this school thing. Y'know, the whole doing it concept. Don't get me wrong, I'll always miss the days of making money and partying and hanging out, but I gotta move away from that sort of thing, at least for the moment. I'm still here though. The Party will always there, professionalism and maturity be damned. I know that sentence will probably cause me an issue or two, but I'll defend my right to have fun and live life to the death. Just because I'm growing into a future doesn't mean it has to be mundane and without the guys who got me there. Besides, I think the company I keep (most of em) will make great uncles for my kids, but that may be thinking to far ahead. What can I say? She has me thinking about that crap, and unfortunately starting to worry a little. The worrying part is if there will come a point in time where I might lose the part of my life I actually like. I'm not the guy that sits and reads the newspaper for fun, and can't do anything else. That's not who I envision myself. That house'll be there, the fence? maybe? Kids? Someday? A wife? If She'll put up with my videogames, cards, and quirks. I will be a success, but in my own style. So I'll shelf the party hat, and dust off the graduation cap, but the Nike's are still on my feet, and I'll still got that J.A.D swagger, with the cap tilted to the side, Love it or Leave it. And I'll always be home for dinner, just as soon as I pwn that last noob.

...and be broken.

 So, I finally accomplished one of my life's goals a while ago, so I guess I'll start with that. A year ago, (February of last year to be exact) I went to the New York Comic Convention, and purchased the Complete Set of the 90's X-Men: The Animated Series. For anyone who is a comic fan, or grew up with a television in the 90's knows of this, and knows that it is one of the greatest pieces of animation ever, next to the Spiderman animated series, and Batman: the animated series. This Cartoon is surprisingly true to it's source material, and very rarely deviates, only to fit time constraints and advance the story. I LOVE this series, and while sad to finally see the end of it, and frustrated that it HAD to end (which in essence began my hatred for FOX), I feel not only a sense of accomplishment, but that wonderful feeling of nostalgia, in reuniting with some old friends, and now that I'm older, I can truly appreciate that wonderful part of my childhood. With that, I'd like to point out some things:

•  Storm over dramatizes everything when she uses her powers.

Don't get me wrong, I love Storm. She is a co-leader, she's hot, and she is such a eloquent, benevolent person. Nary a bad word said from her, and she holds herself in such a regal manner, probably from when her tribe worshiped her as a goddess. That said, she made Everything overly dramatic. Don't believe me?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3fz93UFClpo
All the time. After the first episode, I found myself saying "shut the fuck up Storm!" every time she went into battle, albeit jokingly, of course.

• Apocalypse is the greatest promo guy in the entire universe.

Exactly what I said. Every episode that features him, and everything he says not only sets the mood, but upgrades it. I actually found myself hanging in his every word. Apocalypse is EPIC in his monologues:
 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OYt78FWfa5M
My Favorite Quote: " I am not malevolent. I simply Am."

• Jean Grey is fucking useless.

I won't even put up a video. She did absolutely nothing, besides get fondled by the Nasty Boys and become the Phoenix.. That, and she doesn't have a codename. In fact, she STILL doesn't have a codename, and she's been dead for 4 years.

• My Way Entertainment ruined The Juggernaut, and yet made him 10x funnier.

Oh yeah. when The Juggernaut burst through that wall on Muir Island, I said it. Every other time he spoke, I said it. I won't say it now, because I'm starting to hate seeing those parody videos. Hilarious the first time around, but then it ruined the quality of it. Oh, and Gladiator is a genderless prick.

• Rogue is a virgin.

Think about it. Damn Shame though.

 So yeah, those are my most important observations about the X-Men:AS. I'll surely miss it, but then again, I wouldn't mind popping it back in my $300 piece of shit and re watching some episodes. My next item on the agenda would have to be finishing (or starting rather) my Baccano! series. From what I gathered, it's pretty much The Godfather meets Fullmetal Alchemist. Should be fun.

 One year. I finally made through the fire and flames and made it to 1 year with my girlfriend. I feel good about this. No, happy.

 Oohh! oohh! My WoW is still up! SO if you aren't or you haven't get on! Message me and we'll play sometime!

  So, I've been having these dreams lately, about this story I wanted to do since senior year, and in each dream it progresses little by little, or reinterprets it self, changing events each night. There are two distinct dreams, one towards the end of what I believe to be the first part, and the other in the middle of the second part. I've begun to write out a framework of the characters involved, but I can't seem to come up with a beginning, or something to link together the two dreams. It's weird, but I'm actually excited about it. I hope this feeling doesn't go away for a while, cuz it's actually motivating me to put pen to paper.

Here Comes the boom...

- A brief note: I hate Myspace. No, I absolutely abhor Myspace. I'm 22 years old and I respect myself just enough that I will no longer subject myself to signing into a social networking site populated by teenagers and sexual predators. Yeah, I said it. It served it's purpose, connecting me with people I probably wouldn't have interacted with normally. But in recent years it has degenerated into a cesspool of shameless harassment, name calling, stalking, and the like. To put it bluntly, if I wanted to be surrounded by that, I wouldn't have cut school every year after freshman year. Yes. Myspace, has become High School, and if I couldn't be bothered to sit through it like a normal student, why deal with it now?
But I digress, there was one bright spot amidst all that wreckage. I created a blog series which surprisingly had quite a few followers. I actually enjoyed doing it for a while, and despite the subject matter, it was still, in my opinion, well done. Sadly, that hate for Myspace and all it entails overrides this, which leads me here. Facebook's " Write a Note" feature, sucks. No need to draw it out. I'll keep my Myspace account, just to archive my past blogs, but all now posts, will be done here. Sooner or later, I'll post those old blogs, especially the ones I really like, but for all intents and purposes, Fuck Myspace. I'll try and be around more often so don't worry:
                            As long as I have something to say,
                                  There will always be
                                         A Crash of Thunder

  So unfortunately, I have to say at this point in time that I am a PS3 guy. After all my posturing about it, I went and bought one back in March (or was it February?) and, since I don't have an Xbox 360 (and refuse to buy games for a system I don't own, unless it's Gears of War or Halo) I have grown attached to the piece of crap. I say piece of crap because lo and behold, it doesn't play PS2 games, or have a memory stick slot. Unbelievable, how in this day and age the simplest things mean so much. Let's be honest, the PS2 is the highest selling console of all time. Hell, people still play the damn thing, in the era of motion gameplay, and online gaming. But whatever. So I have this $300 piece of crap, and now I'm attached to the damn thing, and wish my friend had one, so we can communicate together and kill shit the way we always wanted. Sadly, only one of my friends have one, and for all his smack talk, his internet is impotent. (I'm lookin' at you, Blanka!) So here I am, lonely as fuck, bonding with something I've despised for the past year, because my friends are lame. Sounds like my last relationship.


  I'll keep this short. My family can kiss my ass. I'm better than them, and all their primitive hillbilly antics. They can go to hell. I wake up and already I've bested them. If they can't accept parts of my (not that they ever have) than they can do without me period.

 So, my birthday is tomorrow.
Fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffuck.
I hope that whoever should be there is there, and whoever isn't there wishes they were.
It's all I can ask.

  Started my second semester of school. I feel good. Proud. Like maybe I do deserve better.
  Despite how bad I've been treated by those who feign giving a damn, I feel good.

Alright, I'll cut it here, before I get all preachy and bitch about my family. They don't deserve the space anymore.