An Infinite Loading Bar and a Shockingly Purple Shirt

First I have to tell you about the loading bar. Remember when I told you all about how I lost all of the files on my computer? My dad bought this recovery software online. So I downloaded it and a loading bar popped up telling me when it would be finished. It starts out an hour, so I go off and mind my own business, come back in an hour, and it says three hours left. It's getting late by then, so I leave it overnight. I come back after school the next day: 24 hours. I, frustrated, leave the computer alone for a whole 'nother day. I come back 24 hours later and it says:

13 Days Remaining.

Is that not insane? Like something from a badly-scripted 90's sitcom. I'm so tired of this. I just want my files back.

So Homecoming was last Saturday--hence, purple shirt. (I was trying to decide, what shirt color will make me look both very homosexual and very attractive...and I thought, "Purple!") The first part was actually pretty fun. I went to this really snooty, driving club for rich people with a bunch of friends beforehand, and that was pretty righteous. We played soccer-golf on the golf course, which drew a handful of really annoyed looks from all the pasty golfers who were actually playing golf. We ate and got ready there, and we all liked the Beatles, so it was fun.

Meh, the dance wasn't so much fun. There were too many people there for my liking, (what happened to the sixteen hundred kids who all said Homecoming was lame and they'd rather be doing drugs???) and I outright hated the music. I hate very few things. Usually I just hate babies and people who are different than me and that's it--but the music was awful. Hip hop and rap and country. It was despicable.

And of course, I'm not much of a dancer at all, especially when I hate the music. I couldn't dance for more than sixteen seconds at the same time before giving up on myself and crossing my arms grumpily. I'm just made that way. Plus I kept getting distracted by the sight of my two crushes sucking the faces of two other guys much more handsome and athletic than me.

It wasn't unbearable, though, since I got to go with friends and since I had seen Sixteen Candles the night before, so I knew how to compose myself. (Then again, I kept asking girls I barely knew if I could borrow their underpants "just for like ten minutes" and that got out of hand.)

I slow-danced with this girl named Rachel. Very pretty, but not much of a talker. In fact, all I got out of her the whole night was her name. I think she was so incredulous that she was stuck with me that she couldn't bring herself to talk. That, or she was off in the head. That's rich--the only girl I can dance with at Homecoming is mentally insecure.

It's about the experience, though, right? Even if it was a pretty lousy experience. Sigh...

In other news, I think my Social Studies teacher was kind of out of it today. We were flipping through our text books and he saw this one picture of a Muslim ruler with an enormous turban. He smiled kind of dreamily and said, "That turban is really bitchin'."

HIGHLIGHT OF THE DAY: My mom made my brother and I carry the family couch from the basement to the porch, (no small feat, I tell you) to give to charity. My back hasn't been the same since, which is frightening because the last time I had back trouble, my doctor banished me from lifting actual weights so that I had to lift those wimpy, four-pound ones that yoga moms use. I can't feel manly lifting four-pound weights. Not as effective when I'm trying to admire my majestic, golden form in the mirror while working out.


My birthday's coming up. My mom is asking me if I finally want a cell phone. I'm reluctant. The only reason I would want a cell phone would be if I could make the ring tone the sound of a baby crying. Then I'd keep my cell phone in this big, black bag. Then every time my phone rings..."Shh...it's okay...shh..."

Important note: J.K. Rowling uses the word "slut" twice in the sixth book in the Harry Potter series.

And, in answer to your question, yes, I stopped following your blog. That's what you get, woman.

Good day to you all. Except the "you" mentioned in the previous line. I hope you have a really horrible day. A horrible month too. Not year, though. I hope you have a good year.

T-Shirts That Sell Themselves and Why Am I Still So Damn Irritable?

In case you didn't read about the drug bust at my school on The Chin Scratcher, well--I can't help you. Just read The Chin Scratcher post.

It's really all very tragic, I know. And, to my own surprise, I think it's been somewhat "tramautic" for me. Not to the extent that I lock myself in my room all day and cry my eyes out, but I'm just as freaked out about this as most other kids at my school. To know that kids who used to say "hey" to me in the halls are now in juvenile detention for dealing drugs is just impossible to register right now.

It's all very strange how lightly some people are taking it, though. People who were supposedly best friends with the guys involved are at school laughing and gossiping as though this was something we all heard on NPR.

On a different note, I do have good news! I've designed a t-shirt that's selling like crazy at school right now:

I Got Expelled from School for

Dealing Drugs on Campus and

All I Got Was This Lousy T-shirt?

Good, huh? Yeah, business is fantastic.

Another important thing I have to tell you today: never be nice to new kids at your school. I have two examples that support this statement:

1) Two years ago, a kid at my school was expelled for beating another kid to the ground with his belt. Let's say his name is Scott Herring. So he was expelled and we haven't heard from him since. Neither my brother nor I have ever seen him or known what he looks like.

My brother was sitting at lunch with a few friends, when he spotted a lonely, scrawny kid sitting at another table all by himself. He goes over to sit with him and strikes up a conversation. After a point, the kids says, "You know, my friends are all getting some food from the salad bar. I'm not eating by myself or anything." And my brother thinks, This poor kid has to make up lies to make himself sound cool. Poor guy.

So he keeps talking to him for another few minutes. After a point, he realizes he hasn't even asked the kid his name. So he says, "What's your name?" And the kid answers

"Scott Herring."

And as doom settles like a dark cloud over my brother, all of the kids' friends really do return from the salad bar. They're all the most popular kids at school, kids who have never acknowledged my brother's existence. My brother stays for another thirty seconds or so before retreating to his old table.

We later found out that he had applied to come back to our school during the summer and had gotten re-admitted. Frightening coincidence.

2) There was this new kid on the first day of school who looked like he didn't know anybody. I introduced myself, told him a bit about my school, and all that. He seemed like a kind of shy, awkward kid. By the name of, let's say, Cameron Mills.

Flash forward two weeks. He already has more friends than I've made during my entire time at this school. The girls love him and he's already very active in clubs and sports. He hasn't said anything to me since the second day of school.

Flash forward another two weeks. I've finally mustered the courage to ask the girl of my dreams to go to Homecoming with me. I'm preparing to corner her just after homeroom, when one of her friends join her. Her friend says, "So who are you going to Homecoming with?" My dream girl replies, "Cameron Mills."

I'm gonna kill that kid.

But speaking of Homecoming, I've actually decided to go to the Homecoming dance even without a date. I'm going with a bunch of friends who are going to be wallflowers with me, so I guess it's not going to be too terrifying.

Who am I kidding? I'm terrified.

On a different note, I'm really sorry I've been flipping out so much on The Nerd Archives recently. That last post was especially harsh. You know that person who I mentioned several posts ago who has really been making me angry for the past few weeks? I manage to forget her in real life, but every time I log onto The Nerd Archives to write a post, all the fury just comes right back. I have a problem.

Catch you guys later. Pray for me about the Homecoming Dance. Yes, I'm serious.

Cheers,

That Blond Guy

Teenage Love: You Have to Be Kidding Me

I also considered "You Don't F****** Love This Person, You Love F****** This Person" as a title, but I later decided that was a bit risqué, and not entirely relevant.

Hello to all you fellow teenagers out there! I hope you brought your hopes and dreams with you, BECAUSE I'M ABOUT TO DESTORY THEM.

Ha hem. Excuse me.

I mentioned about a week ago that one of the traits I despised in a person was "tossing around the word 'love' like it's Simon Birch in Sunday School." I don't despise a person because of it, though, and to be perfectly honest I don't even despise the thing within itself--it just irks me when people use the word "love" too liberally. I think it's good to be liberal with things like politics and Tylenol, but not when it comes to using words like "love." Because really, how many times out of ten do you really mean it?

Like some of you may be suspecting, I'm at that stage in my life where I'm even a bit skeptical of love itself. Sad, I know. I'm not in a good spot faith-wise. Not at all.

But one thing I do know for certain is that we have to be careful how often we use the word "love." It's not some treat you can just shove in someone's face, only to jerk it away a second later. Which is what happens all the time.

Teens who claim to have "loved" several different members of the opposite sex have a handful of different things going on in their head. 1) They've read a lot of teen fiction novels about true love, and they're thirsting to be the main character in a teen fiction novel. 2) They think they're ready to have sex, but they don't have a Christian way to say that. 3) They're trying to rush life to go a bit faster, because they do want to love, they just don't know how. 4) They're freaking out, because they, like me, are wondering if there really is such at thing as love. And they're trying to convince themselves that what they're feeling IS love.

I don't think it's impossible to love a guy or girl as more than a friend as a teen--I just don't believe it happens every time a guy corners a girl at school who he met yesterday and tells her he loves her. And it's disrespecting the name of love to pretend anything otherwise.

Most importantly, I don't think teens should have sex. I'm just going to go out and say it. And I don't think any teen should have sex, no matter how much they argue that they really love this person. The only reason a teen should ever have sex is if they're the last human beings on earth and they need to repopulate. That, or if it's an Italian supermodel that's pressuring them to have sex. I mean, come on. That's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Second most importantly: no, people, I did NOT really have a stroke.

Finally, to end on an intelligent note, I want you to watch this video. Disappointed in me for being amused by this? Have you been dealing with this on Facebook and at school for the past week? Did you perhaps think that I would not be amused by this twisted internet sensation? That The Nerd Archives would be a refuge from the cruel vulgarity of the media? You, my friends, were seriously misguided. Though I feel guilty saying this, I roar with laughter everytime I watch the interview--and now I have the song stuck in my head.

CROSS COUNTRY, I WANT YOU BACK, BABY! COME BACK HOME, HONEY, SO WE CAN MAKE SWEET LOVE!!!

Um. Ha hem. Excuse me. I just, uh, got passionate for a minute there. Um...sorry.

As the first matter of business, I have to apologize everyone for the post yesterday. It was, well, a little hurtful. Hardly subtle. It was certainly rather immature of me, I admit. Some of you may ask now, why don't you just delete it? Well, eleven-year-old girl with pig tails and chubby cheeks, I'll tell you:

I'm still angry. This is the moment in time in which I could say, "Wait--what am I doing? This is hardly Christian of me. I'm going to delete this post right away. I can't undo everything I've done, but at least I can try to fix it."

Hm. Well, that's what I should do, but I don't think I will. I think I'll leave it there for a while, until it's likely that the target of that post might just read it. I think I'll let them feel the sting I felt. I think I'll let that sting sit for maybe three months or so. Then I'll let that sting get infected and plague its owner with a potentially fatal illness. Then, if I'm still writing on The Nerd Archives, I'll delete the post. How does that sound?

I mean, I'm still a teen! I only have so much time left until I can't justify it when I act like a huge jerk. I'll enjoy it why I can. Don't question it, huh?

(Sigh.) I'm putting on my calm face.

TODAY was Activity Day at my school. Kind of like a field day, except we did stuff inside too. It was pretty awesome, actually. They brought in a stunning magician, and we had an hour and a half of free time during lunch to just play around on the football field, karoake, or dance. Hm, guess which one I chose?

You would never guess it, because I'm always ranting about how much I hate even semi-social events, but when they do come around--I get really hyper. If I do say so myself, I'm at my funniest moments during those events, sometimes at my expense. It was scorching hot while a handful of my friends were playing football outside. I had mentioned that I felt like I was having a heat stroke about fifteen minutes earlier, so I really freaked them out when I greeted them with a drooping smile and told them I'd lost feeling in half of my face. One of them ran to get the nurse before I stopped him.

Of course, nobody took me seriously when I had a real stroke fifteen minutes later. There's an up and down to everything, I guess.

Homecoming next Saturday. I've been trying to corner two different girls, but it's killing me! I'm such a huge NERD to do this, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to quote Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. "Why do they [girls] always travel around in flocks?" This is so true! We guys aren't afraid to walk by ourselves to the bathroom for God's sake! Are you never alone?

I certainly won't go to Homecoming without a date. I don't want to be that guy who shows up to the dance without a date and wearing that stupid tuxedo t-shirt--the one who just walks up to every dancing couple and starts grinding next to random couples. I don't want to be that guy. Nor do I want to be that loser who just stands by the punch bowl the whole time, bobbing his head to the music and smiling creepily.

WHICH brings me to my last point: I sincerely miss running cross country.

I was a decent runner, but that's not what this is about. This is the first school semester since second grade that I haven't been on any athletic teams. And I hate it. I really did like belonging to a time. I liked when the principal announced over the intercom that cross country runners would dismissed for the meet that day, and I would stand up and look smug and be as noisy as possible as I packed up my bag to go. I miss that.

I even miss running. I'm stepping down from long-distance racing, (I'm running sprints instead when I do Track and Field.) But there's something so addicting about the feeling of terror and dread before the long-distance race, the empty-headed desperation and suicidal tendences felt during the race, and the immense feeling of relief after the race. You don't get that with sprints. You start sprints, you make a really stupid, concentrated face while you run them, and they're over before you know it. It's so simple when it comes to winning. Long-distance, however, is about endurance, pace, and determination in addition to speed.

God, I sound like my coaches.

But I do miss cross country. I've been resorting to running on the eliptical and around my neighborhood, which just isn't the same. But yeah, I run on the eliptical. I also exercise--lift weights and do crunches and stuff. Yeah, I'm getting pretty toned. I exercise shirtless, by the way. Just thought you might know that. I'M SINGLE! Wait--sorry, what was that? Hm?

Catch you later, guys. Take it easy.

Some Pricey Advice for Priceless Readers--Or Is It the Other Way Around?

The following are traits I despise in a person:

1) Using me when they need me and ignoring me otherwise

2) Manipulating me like I'm a sedated lab mouse in a twisted science experiment

3) Pathological lying

4) The action of ever giving someone the silent treatment for months at a time

5) Tossing around the word "love" like it's Simon Birch in Sunday School

6) Texting while I'm trying to talk to you about something pointless

7) Walking too fast

8) Choosing Sex Drive as your favorite movie

Imagine all of these traits sandwiched into one person--like some really cheap breakfast burrito with runny eggs, too much cheese, and bloated potatoes. Oh, and when they delivered the breakfast burrito to you in tin foil, they didn't even label what stuff it had in it, so if you're going to deliver a bunch of breakfast burritos to a big group of people, you don't know which burrito to give which person. And everyone has to stop what they're doing and help unwrap every single burrito and sniff it and inspect it to see what it has in it. And after twenty minutes, you've finally gotten your burrito, but some random guy already took a huge bite out of it before putting it back in the tin foil. Who even does that?

Sigh.

So yes, maybe some of you have a similar person in your life. Are they tiring you out? Making you feel worthless and exasperated? Well, here's the solution! Next time they come crawling back to you, kick some dirt in their face. Ha! You can't crawl with that concentration of dust in your lungs!

And in twenty years when you're insanely famous and wealthy, they'll tell all the news reporters that they knew you in your teenage years. You're asked about this on national television. How do you respond?

"No, sorry. I've never heard of them before."

Take that.

Judd Nelson and a Swedish Goth Girl

Surprise, surprise--I had a pretty decent week. Yesterday my sister and mom threw a baby shower for my sister's friend's mom. This was a plus for me because it meant 1) there would be tasty treats left for me afterwards and 2) I'd be thrown out of the house for the day. My dad, brother, and I went to Border's, Chili's, and Yoforia for the day. Fun times.

Of course, there were bad moments. For one, all of the moms asked me to carry in their gifts for them, me being the impossibly muscular macho man that I am. That was fine, until I accidentally ripped the wrapping off the heaviest present while trying to set it down. Embarrassing on a mortifying level, plus it reinforces the impression of all of Callie's friends that my brother and I are mentally ill.

And yes, every single one of my sisters' friends is under the impression that my brother and I are mentally insecure. I can sympathize--we're big, bumbling, and kind of quiet. But they think we're about as sharp as Lennie in Of Mice and Men. They all speak to us very, very slowly, and smile comfortingly every time we say something. It seems they informed their mothers of our mental disorders as well, because once I ripped the wrapping, the girl's mom was overly gentle, as though I would start crying if she didn't handle the situation carefully.

I also gave the lady at Border's an empty gift card jacket, so my dad had to bail me out with one of his. The lady wasn't very understanding. She scowled at the lot of us the entire time and told us we should never come back. It's okay, though, because I finally got Regina Spektor's album Soviet Kitsch, along with a book called Everything is Wrong With Me! Good haul, right? Overall, good day. Especially since we went to a frozen yogurt place called Yoforia, which was my favorite part of the day considering I discovered that the yogurt shop in Chuck actually borrowed its icon from Yoforia. Fun fact, huh?

Movies I watched recently: From the Hip. Pretty sexy lawyer flick, starring.......JUDD NELSON! I loved the movie. Thrilling, amusing, and enlightening. Hey, sounds like college! Except maybe the part about debt, drugs, and sex.

Also saw So I Married an Axe Murderer with Mike Myers. I saw it way too late. Hilarious movie. Plus, Myers plays the part of a beat poet! How have I not seen this before? It's on Instant Netflix if you want to check it out in your spare time. Yeah, I know you have spare time. Don't think I don't know that.

And just today I saw The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I had to watch it in subtitles because they haven't dubbed it yet. But that, if anything, actually added to the movie. (What do thriller movies, shoes, and women all have in common? The best ones are foreign!) This movie was Swedish, so it was pretty righteous. Very thrilling. Very plot. The rape scenes are revolting--I still shudder whenever I think of them. But if you have a strong stomach and dying thirst for murder mysteries, this is the movie for you.

Catch you later! Check out the Beatles post below if you haven't already. It's pretty gerrymander. (Dictionary.com word of the day--I'm trying to incorporate it into my everyday speech as often as possible.)

Take it easy, dude brothers.

All You Need is Love...And Food...And Water...And Shelter

My life can not be described as chaotic. I do not live on the edge like Chuck Norris or people who drive on the highway without their blinker on. But, being a nerd, I am sometimes overwhelmed with life. In order to ease the stress that life applies on me like butter, I need to find anchors that keep me sane.

I have three such anchors as of the moment. Harry Potter, fuzzy stuffed animals, and THE BEATLES.



The Beatles are my favorite band. I rarely pick favorites, but in this case I have no choice. There is something so strangely enchanting about the Beatles beyond just the fact that they make good music. Maybe it's that in this picture it's like they all bought the same wig from Party City. Maybe it's the solemness they wear on their faces, (which they keep in a jar by the door.) Maybe it's just my inner bisexual lured out by their defined jaw lines, but they seem so perfect!

I think it's so cool that each Beatles member was so clearly unique from the rest. George Harrison was tranquil and artistic. John was rebellious and wild. Paul was, well, just a pretty-boy heart throb, but he had killer lyrics. No one really cared about Ringo. Poor guy. Cool name, though.

The Beatles have been to the end of the world and back. They've tried every type of drug there is to try. (Come on, people! It's not use denying it any longer! How else do you explain I Am the Walrus?!) They've toured all over the world and raised hell wherever they went. They've probably slept with so many women whose names they didn't know. They're like gods. I'd say it's arguable that they're bigger than Jesus now.

I do think it's a pity what time has done to Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr now. Check out this video Ringo made a few months back:

"Peace and Love, Peace and Love"

Kind of makes one guilty part of me sad that he didn't die earlier of a failing liver or something. I mean, there are some fates worse than death. That video is proof.


Since you're so desperate to know, I definitely prefer late Beatles to early Beatles. Their songs had so much more color, even most of the songs were nonsensical, pointless, or bizarre. Never before have subliminal messages about Satan been so stealthily hidden in classic rock music.

In conclusion, aside from the fact that the two surviving Beatles members are now crusty old men, I thank God every day that he let the Beatles walk this earth. Their music, ideas, and icon were revolutionary, and I shudder to think of the Elvis Presley-dominated 60's we would have suffered through without their assistance.


Thank you, Paul. Thank you, George. Thank you, John. Thank you...um, what's that last guy's name? You know, the one who played the drums? Kind of squished face--big nose? Ronald? Rupert? I got it--Ringo! Thank you, Ringo!

Rollerblading Accidents and an Abating Nerd Revolution

Hello, all. How are you today? I'm decent, thanks for asking, although the combination of a pounding headache and the knowledge that I have a brain tumour the size of a billiard ball in my cranium is making me violent and irritable. I would vent about it through my writing, but I chose instead to take it out on my cat so as to not bother you all. You're welcome.

Yesterday I went rollerblading and had my first "accident." It happened very fast, but slowly at the same time--like getting knocked unconscious or losing your virginity. I was trying to speed up, for I was about to go up a hill. Considering I'm not a great skater, I had a bit of difficulty, so I suppose I was spreading my feet too far. Then I was leaning forward a bit much. I was going faster and faster and eventually I realized, hey, that's funny--my feet are higher than my head. What are they doing up there? Then I glanced at the ground bemusedly only to find it was inches from my nose. I stuck my arms out only to discover that the sky was upside down and I was feeling quite sore. It was as though I had grabbed fistfuls of the world and tugged it down with me like a blanket.

Oh, I was perfectly fine. Fortunately, my brother was biking right behind me. Unfortunately, all he said to me was "Get off the road!" before zooming off. I had no choice except to hop up and skate back to the car. To my disappointment, after taken inventory on body parts, the only injuries I had were a scraped knee and a couple of fingers bleeding freely. The worst thing that came out of it was that I had torn my jeans.


But I wasn't going to let this get to my head. I had survived a crash. I had tasted death and it tasted good. I was somewhat above everyone else. I was a daredevil. An adrenaline junkie. A hell-raiser. I was...cool.

If anyone of you normal people want to know what it's like to have a near-death experience, I can't help you. You wouldn't even understand. I'll just tell you this, I hope you never have to experience anything like it.

So that's what's on my mind recently, especially considering I'm having trouble typing this post because my hand is so hard to move. Sexy, right? Oh, and something else....

I gave birth to The Nerd Archives nearly a year ago. I did it naturally and without medication, and I did it with hope in my heart. I had as much thirst for revolution as the Communists in Russia and the gays in San Francisco. I'm sure you all decided to follow this blog with the same fervor and excitement.

What's happened since then, guys? I hardly talk about being a nerd anymore and I barely hear a peep from my readers! I need support and you need a true, socially awkard leader. Let's face it, we all need each other. I, though, especially need more comments and followers! What? I'm insecure is all. Look at the number of comments in the past few months. 0, 0, 1, 0, 0, 3, 1, 0, 0.... It looks like the percentage of citizens in each state who voted for Ron Paul in the 2008 election.

Ah, well. I am but a walking shadow, and turn the other cheek when someone slaps you. I think Karl Marx said that once. Can't be too sure.

Bye!

I Don't Need You! I Can Be Happy by Myself!

I am in a terrific mood this 12 noon on a Saturday day. I mean euphoric. I mean as good as the morning when Bill Murray woke up in bed with Andie McDowall at the end of Groundhog Day. I feel fantastic.

Why should I feel fantastic, one might ask. Well, little boy with mousey hair and developemental disabilities, there are many reasons why I shouldn't feel so ecstatic today. My blogs are getting so little traffic it's almost funny, but not quite. I have a huge load of homework over the weekend. My supposed Ex-girlfriend has been totally ignoring me for the past fortnight for a reason I don't know because she refuses to talk to me. Academic Team is a little tough on me, because I know so little about anything except art and literature. Homecoming is a month away, and most of the girls I planned on asking are already taken. We still can't figure out how to recover the files on my computer, and I've just been diagnosed with terminal brain cancer.

Why am I so happy, then? Maybe it's because that enormously malignant tumor in my head is fiddling with my prefontal cortex. Or maybe it's because I just found out that my dad has the White Album from The Beatles, which includes I'm So Tired. Or because it's a three-day weekend. Or because I just found out that I get to go on a Church retreat this year after two years of missing it. Or because I was forced to saw off a Ken Doll's legs for an English project and am now at liberty to use them in any sort of art I like. Or because...no, that's about it.

The point is, look on the bright side. Instead of complaining about the fact that your father is an alcoholic, consider how lucky you are that he'll be too drunk to care that you stole his car last night. Instead of wondering why we just enlisted more troops for a pointless war in Afghanistan, feel good about yourselves for withdrawing troops from eight pointless years in Iraq. Instead of falling into depression because you have a brain tumor, be grateful that you have two amputated Ken Doll limbs in your possession.

Look on the bright side of life.

My head hurts.