Silence of the Lambs (SPOILER ALERT!!!) and Talking Heads

Color my life with the chaos of trouble. Which happens to be a vibrant shade of magenta.

I just finished Silence of the Lambs about thirteen minutes ago. I thought the movie was totally brilliant--and one of the few Hollywood movies that has ever lived up to its reputation, in my opinion. Absolutely terrifying. I was disappointed when I found out that Anthony Hopkins was not in fact in Disturbia, but that didn't matter after I was about sixteen minutes into the movie because Hopkins is so impossibly good at his role.

Psychopaths have always been my greatest fear, (aside from insects and South Australians), but they're also profoundly interesting. I know right about know you may be suspecting that I myself am a psychopath, but I can assure you that I've never killed anyone. Well, anyone over the age of forty-one. Wait...make that anyone over the age of forty-one with red hair. Yeah, that would be a first for me.

Psychopaths are like comedians and Keanu Reeves in The Day the Earth Stood Still in the way that they have the ability to see the earth as it is from an almost non-human but still intellectual perspective. They have no emotion, but often they are total geniuses. Yeah, interesting, but also absolutely terrifying.

The movie was perfectly directed and conducted. I didn't spot Captain Stottlemeyer as Buffalo Bill until I was well into the movie--and boy was that character creepy. Creepier, in my opinion, than Hannibal Lector. Hannibal Lector seemed like a decent gentleman--a poet, artist, and great thinker who just happened to like eating people. Buffalo Bill, on the other hand, was definitely the worst kind of transvestite you'll ever run into. The fact that he played 80's music while doing his...sewing...made me feel all the more guilty for loving the 80's.

The only part of the film I couldn't stand were the last two minutes. One hour and fifty-seven minutes of solid and perfect terror and then it ends with total abolition of the chief antagonist and a bad pun. "I'm having an old friend for dinner." How did that line get in there?! I'm pretty sure the director was suffering from writer's block and found inspiration in a book of 1001 Half-Decent Cannibal Jokes. They could have made a much smoother segway into the sequel.

Jody Foster was nice, though. She's pretty. I like her hair. And her skin.

Today is finally the beginning of the weekend, and I have nothing whatsoever planned. I've also finished my first week of track practice, which included a lot of me struggling to touch my toes after the workout and also a lot of me getting detention for swinging around on the machines in the weight room, beating my chest, and telling everyone that I'm Tarzan.

I'm feeling thoroughly anti-America now because I'm reading The Hotel at the Corner of Bitter and Sweet and it's infuriating. Civil rights capitol of the world? We're no better off than the Neanderthals were in Eastern Europe so many thousands of years ago when they persecuted other Neanderthals for publishing Socialist literature.

I have a little hope for the world of the radio today. I heard both The Temper Trap and the Talking Heads playing in art class. (I see now we're getting back to the Psycho Killer theme of this post.)

Did you know that penguins can jump as high as six feet in the air?

Will you guys pray for me tonight?

Thanks. I love you all. Except for one of you whose name I'm not saying because it's a secret and you'd have to give me nine dollars for me to tell you. Or, also, if you were the President, I might also tell you.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

I Gave Away my Entire Lifesavings and Two Family Members for that Potato Chip with Jesus' Face On It

I'm feeling especially guilty, too, because I waited about four seconds before I ate it.

Right now I'm listening to the only good song by Katrina and the Waves, "Walking on Sunshine," neglecting to watch the State of the Union address but willing to record it so I can watch it over the weekend, and drawing a hot bath. Seriously, don't judge me--I'm so sore from my first and very intense short distance track practice that I have trouble walking up and down the stairs. Don't even get me started on how difficult masturbating is either. We sprinted diagonally across the football field, jogged across the short way, and then sprinted back across the field. We did that eight times. We then did drills, helped to set up the mats for pole vaulting, and then did eight more sprints across the football field before stretching. By the way, my coach's definition of stretching involves tugging on whatever feels tight for a couple seconds and then jogging over to the gas station to buy him a pack of cigarettes. I think I deserve a nice bubble bath, don't you think?

Did I tell you guys that I went to the Blue Man Group over the weekend? I don't think so, but you would know if you all were dutiful readers of The Chin Scratcher. (Just kidding--don't read that blog. It's insufferable.) But honestly, the Blue Man Group was totally amazing. Astounding. I would tell you about it, but that would make it lame. There was this one part where they had this really long camera tube that they shoved down a guy's throat, and they showed the inside of his throat on the big screen. The whole thing was drifting a bit from performance art and borderlining pagan sun-worship ritual.

Here's a question probably all of you have asked yourselves: why do people always answer "Good" when people ask "How are you?" even though it's rarely just as simple as "good"? It reminds me of when my family and I were driving back from Texas this year on New Years' Day. We stopped by Sonic for a quick lunch before we got to the airport. When the waitress delivered the food to our car, my mom asked, "How are you?"

The woman responded, "Okay, I guess. Life is pretty crazy. I'm really stressed out right now."

Mom just said she was sorry to hear that, gave her the cash, took the food, and wished her a Happy New Year. The woman responded, "Happy New Year? I hope so. Probably not, though."

I interrupt this post to announce that apparently our house is without warm water and my muscles have no chance of loosening up before practice tomorrow unless I drive to the nearest massage clinic and sign up for a massage with an expert named Leslie who sounds like a hot chick with dimples and red hair but turns out to be a 6'2 man named Leslie, which turns out to be a moderately common boys' name in some parts of the country.

Now I'm listening to the Kinks again and I've just noticed that the main guy has a really enormous gap between his front two teeth. People pay to have teeth like that. Well, not people. Beavers. Beavers do.

The last poll has done closed up. I'm really sorry to those of you who do find me annoying, and I hope you can be frank with me about how I can change. Better yet, vote on the new poll about your taste in music/adulterers, and just remember that your answer says a lot about you.

Let me just conclude by saying that I love all of you so much and each and every one of you means so much to me and I hope you never leave me! Your comments make me so happy and without all of you I'd probably still be watching "The Secret Life of the American Teenager" and eating peanut butter out of the jar on a spoon every Friday night. Which already sounds tempting...so you better keep reading!

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

I'm a Sex Slave, So Who Wants to Buy Me?

To begin this post, I have a riddle for you. What walks on two legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and two legs in the evening?

The answer is: a baby duckling.

Now I have a question for you: why was 80's pop culture so much cooler than 21st century pop culture? True--no matter what, pop culture is always pop culture, so it was occasionally distasteful, shallow, or frequenting hidden Satanic messages. But in the 80's:

• Everyone had awesome hair, and it was acceptable for guys to blow-dry their hair (not that I would want to do that now!)
• Work-out videos were still sexy without being explicitly sexual
• Racial jokes in movies were still acceptable
• Feminists were persecuted
• Sex symbols like Kelly LeBrock, Madonna, and Christie Brinkley were still thin and healthy-looking.
• Michael Jackson was both black and a man--and both at the same time.
• All R&B was known for was a way of abbreviating "rice and beans" in West Texas
• Smoking was still good for you
• Woody Allen and Mel Brooks directed the hit comedy films, not whatever 26-year-old gorillas are behind Scary Movie and Epic Movie (literally--they're gorillas. Look it up.)
• Teenage girls were still creeped out by Psycho
• Men with mustaches could still be considered attractive--even if the mustache was actually a wide-tooth comb taped to the upper lip
• There were no blackberries or Macs
• Duran Duran, Blondie, Queen, Simple Minds, Karla DeVito, Bruce Springsteen, and David Bowie
• Aviator sunglasses were cool, not slightly homosexual
• Justin Bieber wasn't born yet
• Video games didn't provide 9-year-olds with opportunities to blast virtual Arabs to tiny bits with guns taller than them
• John Hughes was still alive

(Sigh.)

I'm feeling really nostalgic right now. Not about the 80's, although that would be appropriate, but about third grade language arts class. I really liked that class.

But back to the stuff about the 80's, what happened? What happened to the media that they play Katy Perry and Lady Gaga on the radio? Why do teenage guys wear their pants low and why do teenage girls wear ugg boots? Why do we watch movies like Transformers 2 and watch TV shows like Burn Notice? I'll tell you why:

Black people.

No, not really. (Laughs nervously.) I love black people. Not all of them, though. Just the ones that are nice. I'm not being racist now, am I? Surely not. Are any of you black? If so, don't be offended. Please continue to read The Nerd Archives and being my friend. If you're Albanian, on the other hand, get the hell of my blog before I get out my shotgun.

This post wasn't even supposed to be about the 80's--it just turned out that way because I love that decade so much. I don't really have much else to say, anyway. Track tryouts are next Monday. One of the Lost Boys of Sudan visited our school today. For the first time ever, I want to kill a teacher--and for the first time ever, I've hired someone to do it. There are like fifteen girls I have in mind who I'd be happy to date at my school--and none of them think it's okay when I film them without their knowledge. Hopefully I'll be seeing Silence of the Lambs this weekend. Listening to loads of indie rock.

Please comment on this post informing me of either your weirdest fetish or whether or not you're a Republican or Democrat. If your weirdest fetish is Democrats, call me up and we can spend all of tomorrow kissing and snuggling but doing nothing sexual because I actually might be gay.

George Harrison is looking at me funny.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

Orgasms, Blind People, And Of Course Everyone Blames McKenzie Whilst Trapped in an Elevator

At the peak of my week-long Meg Ryan obsession, I watched When Harry Met Sally and am DELIGHTED to announce that the movie lived up to its fake orgasm scene. Still, that scene was even more entertaining having seen the rest of the film as well. My favourite bit was when the old lady tells the waitress, "I'll have what she's having."

I think the reason I find orgasms so hilarious is because they really are a good metaphor for life. A solid twenty-five seconds of good hard work, six seconds of intense pleasure, and then a lot of red-faced explaining you have to do to a disappointed cheerleader named Audrey. Actually, that's nothing at all like life. I just find orgasms hilarious because I'm an immature teenage guy who watches Family Guy from time to time.

Jizz in My Pants

Anyway, enough potty talk.

Have any of you been to the Dialogue in the Dark exhibit? I went to the one in Atlantic Station a year ago and have a newfound respect for blind people. If you didn't click on the link I just provided for you, do so, because I don't plan to explain the exhibit to you.

At the time, I had the decision to go to Dialogue in the Dark or the Bodies exhibition. Because I've never been keen on the concept of wandering through a room with skinless corpses posing like they're playing volleyball and arm wrestling, I agreed on the first one, and IT WAS FANTASTIC. It is totally amazing. A crowd of a dozen people led around in total darkness by a blind guide--it's just a recipe for an awesome time. (Add a pinch of nutmeg and heat in conventional oven at 425 degrees for 35-40 minutes or until golden-brown.)

The only part I could go without would be the fact that everyone's always feeling your face or grabbing your crotch and shouting in your ear, "JOEY? IS THAT YOU?"

I think the whole exhibit was an opportunity for blind people to take revenge on people who can see. The biggest piece of evidence I have to support this is the fact that they have a cafe at the end where you can order a soda or sandwich or anything of that sort. Because, as you might discover if you go on the exhibit, after you order--they actually make you pay. In total darkness. How they expect you to fish for a $20 bill in your wallet in total darkness? My point.

Like I said, all of the guides are blind. So after I finished the exhibit, I felt all inspired and more understanding about the condition of blind people. Ironically, right after I walked onto the street to find lunch--I collided into a blind person.

True story, I swear to Morgan Freeman's role as God in Bruce Almighty.

I saw M. Night Shymalan's Devil on Sunday, and I still have no inkling of why everyone is saying that Shymalan is losing his touch. All of his movies are total genius. Devil was absolutely amazing. I definitely suggest it to all of you. Another suggestion I have for all of you: THE ONLY SAFE SEX IS NO SEX.

Ha ha, okay, not really.

Interesting fact: Dr. Seuss did not have any children of his own. He was even described by his wife as being slightly afraid of them. Weird, huh? Ah, well, I still love Dr. Seuss. The Lorax. The Butter Battle. Green Eggs and Ham. Well, I liked Green Eggs and Ham until that once character had to go and make things personal.

"I like green eggs and ham just fine, Sam-I-Am. It's your green eggs and ham I don't like."

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

A Drunken Revelation and Vampire Weekend

This drunken revelation just happens to be the result of half a spoonful of cooking sherry from the pantry, which even then I diluted with Ocean Spray cran-grape juice. Although I know probably a lot of my fellow teenagers drink. Show of hands: how many of you under 21 do drink at least occasionally? Nevermind--maybe I ought to do it in a poll. That would be interesting. And unanimous.

Here's my drunken revleation: people focus too much on sexual relationships to care about anything else. That's what people care about: sex, money, and occasionally their passion for the saxophone. Beginning at the age of five, kids are looking for a "relationship" to be in with the opposite sex.

It's like when my dad talked to two of the Prek-K kids at his school, one a boy and one a girl. He teasingly said to the girl, "Who is this? Is this your boyfriend?" She shook her head and replied, "No, he's my Ex."

I think people tend to want to be in a relationship for the sake of being in a relationship, and sometimes they miss out on life because they're so eager to be in a relationship at such an early age. There's always the option of meaningless sex, which I think is a sincerely undervalued concept in society, but that's hard to come by these days what with the illegality of prostitution and women always wanting to know the man's name before they make wild, passionate love.

The point behind this drunken revelation? I think I'm fine being single for a while. I want to travel the world, try new things, and explore who I really am--and yeah, I kind of want to do it by myself, although I hope there's a lot of meaningless sex involved along the way. I have the rest of my lifetime to settle down with a nice blonde Jew and have a dozen children. It seems like everyone's rushing into relationships, and they consequently rush out of them. (I don't even keep track of the divorce rate anymore, even though that's mostly because I can't count.)

So why not do as Summer Finn suggests? Take advantage of your youth before you settle down with a spouse whom you're not even sure you're in love with. There will be time for relationships later, when you're actually concerned about the person you're marrying, not just their giant breasts or sensual eyebrows. If you find a nice girl/man along the way, great--squeeze out a few wee ones and spend the rest of your lives together. But in the meantime, can't you enjoy life by yourself?

I've just read over what I've written and I'm really disappointed because none of it's funny. Sorry, I'm in a ranting mood. Also, there's a very large Italian man standing behind me and reading over my shoulder, threatening to whip me with a belt if I try to make any weird jokes.

I've been at Barnes & Noble for the past few hours, and I finally bought George Orwell's 1984 and the album Contra by Vampire Weekend. The music is pretty stellar, but I don't like the band name at all. Everybody knows that vampires don't have weekends--every day of the week is a Thursday for them.

I'm also pretty proud of myself for going there, considering I have an irrational fear of being murdered in the bathroom of a Barnes & Noble.

Thank you guys for bearing with me with the vlog. Yeah, it was awkward. No, it wasn't really funny. And yeah, adorably awkward was the most I could muster. In answer to your other questions--no, the stuffed monkey is not available at your local Target and yes--I hope to vlog again some day. Hopefully by that time I'll be less coy around the camera. Maybe I'll even ask it to dinner and buy it flowers.

In addition to Vampire Weekend, I've been listening to the song Lola by the Kinks and am totally puzzled over the meaning of the lyrics. Seriously, look them over. Is Lola a transsexual? If so, that'd be really creepy, especially the bit about telling the main character "dear boy, I'm gonna make you a man." (Shivers.)

Important note: HAPPY MARTIN LUTHER KING DAY!!!!!!

Check out my vlog if you haven't already, and comment on this post leaving your middle names.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

No Matter What You Do--Vlogs Always End Up Mortifyingly Awkward

I know, I know. It's bad. It's not original or even remotely amusing. It's also insufferably lengthy, which is the result of my tendency to stare off distractedly in the distance mid-sentence.

But it's the best I can do for now, especially because I only speak a limited amount of English. Usually I have a translator who writes my posts for me. His name is Richard. He's Vietnamese. Nice guy and everything--he has a cat.

Like I said, it's really long, so feel free to fastforward, fall asleep, or not watch it at all.

It makes me hot when you click on this link.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

There's a Guy Who Hides in My Closet and Only Comes to Out at Night to Eat from Our Pantry and Watch Me Sleep

"Every time I come close to orgasm, my husband goes to make himself a sandwich."

Yeah, I just watched Sleepless in Seattle for the first time ever. By the way, I had no idea Tom Hanks was in that movie! Nor Bill Pullman! Nor the little girl from Uncle Buck! How have I not seen this film before?! I love older-but-not-vintage romantic comedies and Meg Ryan (at least the 1993-version of her) is like the most beautiful woman in the world. (She's now in the top five in my list of actresses who were stunningly beautiful in the 80's but are kind of just meh now.)

Anyway, I loved the movie to bits. Loved it tender, was what I done. It was like a slightly less amusing but sweeter version of So I Married an Axe Murderer, just instead of axe murderers, lots of explicit parallels to An Affair to Remember.

God.

(Wipes sweat off of forehead.)

That was a lot of linking.

Anyway, it's Thursday night and I just found out that school has been cancelled tomorrow. That would make this the fifth snow day of the week. And then, we've got next Monday off because it's MLK day. I think it's awesome that all of us racist Southerners still get a day off on MLK day even though we were the ones persecuting the blacks. That way, there are nine more hours in our week which we can spend on committing hate crimes.

In case I haven't mentioned this to you darling leopard cubs, I've been sick the entire week. I just got better today. Three days of snow and I couldn't leave the house for all of them. Today, I'm better but I still wasn't supposed to go outside for any longer than ten minutes. I still did, though, because I'm a total bad-ass. And get this--not only did I go outside...but I went outside NAKED.

Okay, not really.

Right now I'm looking at a black desk lamp labelled with a yellow tab that says "la lampe," and in parentheses, "lahmp." Still working hard on my French. And across from me is a framed black-and-white photograph that I took for art last year. It's me on the driveway in a lawn chair. It's night, I'm wearing a baseball cap, and there's an empty lawn chair next to me. I'm looking off serenly into the distance. I think it's pretty sweet-beans. I had to take it with a timer, but it only lasted five seconds, so I had to set the time on the camera and then sprint down the driveway and leap into the chair.

Yeah, I know I don't have that video blog I was going on about. I'm working on it. I should have it ready within the next three minutes. So far I've gotten nine solid hours of film of me trying not to blink, then giggling wildly when I do blink and then eating a banana--over and over again. For nine hours.

Have any of you ever tried recording a YouTube video on YouTube itself using your Webcam? Tell me how that worked out for you. Then bake me a giant hollow cake with Megan Fox crouched inside it waiting to jump and surprise me. Make sure you put Megan Fox inside the cake after you bake the cake, not before.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

Oh My God It's a Vlog It's Going to Eat Me Oh My God Oh Wait No It Just Wants to Cuddle

I just watched my video blog on The Chin Scratcher from a while ago and it was mortifying. It was really very bad, and I'm embarrassed that I ever gave birth to it.

Then I was struck by a totally radical idea--why not make a vlog for The Nerd Archives to make up for the embarrassing one on The Chin Scratcher? It would be bigger, better, and like ninety billion times cooler.

If I was to make a vlog for my precious Nerd Archives babies, what should it be about? Should it be a ninety-minute rant on my stance on abortion? A reading of The Lorax and The Butter Battle in French? An instructional video on baking cup cakes? Or it could be like a sex video--three hours of footage of me bench-pressing with no shirt on or shaving my legs in the bathtub.

So I need you guys to tell me, by comment/e-mail/telegraph, what I should make my vlog about?

In the Sun, by She & Him

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

The Ring and an Incense Burner In the Form of a Severed Hand

There's something intensely entertaining to me about grade schoolers lip singing to alternative rock songs.

Love Lost

Tighten Up

On that curious note, greetings to all of my readers! For those of you who live in America: congratulations! Looks like a lot of us are going to have a snow day tomorrow. For those of you who don't live in America: well, that's what you get for not living in the most awesome country in the world besides Great Britain, Ireland, France, Denmark, Australia, New Zealand, Russia, Spain, South Africa, Canada, and about fifty seven other countries which are arguably more awesome than The United States.

The first week back from the break was hard, partly because it's always difficult to transition from two weeks of leisure time to several months of solid schooling, but mostly because this week was the first time I've ever gone to school without any legs. Mind you, it's not as fun as it sounds.

Friday and Saturday I spent in Savannah at an Academic Team tournament. 'Twas loads of fun, even though the bus ride to the hotel was over five hours. The time went by really fast though, considering we were all naked and lathered in peanut oil for the duration of the bus ride. It's just like they say, I guess. Time flies when you're having an Ancient Roman peanut oil orgy.

Since I'm pretty awful at Academic Team, I was on the "bench" a lot during the tournament. I wrote a few short stories instead, and doodled a lot of pictures of puppies and the Eiffel Tower. We also had dinner that night at a restaurant that's supposed to be like the eighth nicest on that block, so that was fun. The guy I was sitting across from had never heard of Alfred Hitchcock.

Most notably, we went to lunch at the food court in the mall, and I also got THIS:



Yep, it was pretty much love at first sight for me and this hand. I was thinking about buying a hermit crab as a pet to surprise my family, but apparently you have to bathe hermit crabs every day and as the owner of the hermit crab I would need to be trained in hermit crab CPR and possess a hermit crab AED in case of emergency. So I decided on the hand. I brought it to the counter with a smile on my face.

"Good afternoon," I said.

"Good afternoon," she echoed. "Do you just want the incense burner, then?"

That's when it dawned on me that it was an incense burner. I was startled, but not put off--sort of the feeling you get when you discover that the boy dog you bought three years ago is in fact a girl dog, and your vet is not in fact a licensed vet but a life-sized puppet.

"An incense burner?!" I repeated with a drunk giggle. "Is that what it is?"

And that was the beginning of our journey together. Since then we've had a number of amazing adventures. Ice skating, flying on dragons, playing games, watching Boston Legal, holding hands, brushing each other's teeth, and snuggling. It also replies to my text messages for me whenever I'm not available.



I think it slacks off when I'm not around to encourage it, though, because I'm getting a lot of calls asking me why I haven't replied to messages. That's okay, though. We all have our flaws.

In other news, I also watched The Ring all the way through for the first time ever. I ain't messin' around, brother, that movie is terrifying. I'm not easily scared by horror movies, but that one is totally messed up. I'm getting the collywobbles just thinking about the ending. I also discovered that the woman's son is Charles Wallace!!! That was like seeing Brick Heck in The Unborn. (I kept imagining he'd say to his mother, "He wants to get born." Then look down and whisper to himself, "get born.")

I think the only thing that kept me from dying of shock was remembering The Ring parody in Scary Movie 3. I still think it was the stupidest movie ever made before the filming of The Hangover, but I owe my life to it.

I appreciated the responses on my last post about cell phone ring tones. In response to all of your questions, yes having a default ring tone makes you a bad person, and yes, not having a ring tone at all makes you an even worse person. Those of you who had ring tones had pretty awesome ones, though. So Kudos to you guys.



Mmmm....delicious.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

What's your cell phone ring tone?

Comment and tell me what your ring tone is. I'm leaving it at that, but I want you to remember this as well:

A cell phone without a ring tone is like a cell phone without a soul.

Side note: I got my first ever drunk phone call from a girl last week.

Also, all of you ought to bug me on Formspring more! I'm lonely!

Also, listen to this song by The Strokes.

Also, make sure you read the post below this one and comment on that one also, telling me how poetic and handsome I am.

Okay, now you can leave.


Cheers,
That Blond Guy

O Captain! My Captain!

A few weeks ago, I was at Youth Group, making the usual fool of myself and trying to convince the rest of the Christian teenagers present that God was a delusion and that they were wasting their time worshiping an imaginary figure. (But not really. Actually I just sang the songs and ate the snacks when they were offered to me.)

But I was making my typical weird jokes and offering my bizarre commentary which usually involved tying Bible stories into Woody Allen movies or trying to state my case for why I thought it was likely that Zacchaeus was not just a short person but in fact a leprechaun.

At our snack break, (I swear to God, we have those--they serve Chick-fil-a and cheese with crackers and grape juice and breast milk), I was making a particularly ridiculous joke which I think involved elements such as Richard Dreyfuss, bunny rabbits, and a French housewife. Once I was done, I got the usual response. Scattered laughs, mostly blank stares, and a few kids silently praying to God to forgive me for my terrible sins.

This time, however, one girl--who usually just stares at me when I make my weird remarks--looked me in the eye, smiled a little, and said, "I hope you never get boring."

At this moment I had a flashback to The Breakfast Club. There, staring at me curiously and vividly from my memory, is Ally Sheedy. Her cheeks are glossed with fake tears. Her wild, dark hair sits on top of her head like a giant brown mammal, and her eyebrows are thick and beautiful. She waits for a dramatic pause and then, voice dripping with trepidation and nervous excitement about the secret she's about to share with her four unlikely friends, she speaks.

"When you grow up, your heart dies," she says.

Then there's Judd Nelson, with his perfect, criminal face. His eyes are filled to the brim with what appears to be almost genuine apathy, nose wrinkled only slightly, mouth open just wide enough to prove how angst-ridden he is, and fantastic hair splashing onto his shoulders like a waterfall in heaven--a shocking contrast to his role of the attorney Robin Weathers in From the Hip.

"Who cares?" he replies with a perfectly delivered but clearly fraud lack of interest.

Ally Sheedy, who does not seem to be thrown off by the question, replies unflinchingly.

"I care," she says.

Then I'm transported to a private boarding school in Vermont. There are the faces of over a dozen teenage boys, all staring befuddledly at a photograph of a class of boys from decades before them who are, apparently, not unlike themselves. They're exchanging glances and occasionally throwing frightened looks at Robin Williams, who has his hair parted neatly and an impossibly sweet and docile twinkle in his eyes despite his reputation as an actor and comedian.

And the boys are craning their necks and straining their ears to understand and to listen, holding their breaths so they can hear. And then there's Robin Williams again, whispering hoarsely out of the corner of his mouth,

"Carpe....Carpe....Carpe Diem...seize the day, boys....Carpe Diem."

And then I'm transported back to Youth Group. I'm standing in the room alone. The session ended two hours ago--according to my watch--and I'm pretty sure I was mugged--because my phone, wallet, and shoes are all missing.

Carpe Diem. This is a phrase which has had so much meaning in my life. A phrase which I would even describe as my motto, if not for the fact that Carpe Diem most literally translated from Latin does not actually mean "to seize the day," but instead "to fondle the day."

Take chances. Do things you have always wanted to do. Live your live as if today was your last day. This idea, Carpe Diem, is a perfect philosophy for life. Human beings are like turtles: they're most comfortable inside their little shells. They're afraid to take risks, and oftentimes they have difficulty getting anything done because they're afraid to leave their comfort zone. They're also like turtles in the way that their blood is highly nutritious. (Don't look at me like that. I read it in the Life of Pi.)

And now I'm remembering what this girl said. Never get boring, she told me, a short way of saying, You may get a load of crap sometimes for being who you really are, but don't grow up and become an accountant who hates children and eats frozen dinners for both breakfast and supper. And this is advice I won't easily forget. Instead, I'll remember:

Carpe Diem. Seize the day.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

A Message to Silent Raven

Let's make a deal.

If you would just get the hell beans off of my blog, I won't make life difficult for you. I won't bother with your stuff if you don't bother with mine--I promise, (even though I know promises don't mean much to you, apparently.) And don't think you can slide by me again unnoticed. You never have been able to.



To the rest of my readers, please disregard this message and politely continue on to the post below this one. Hands in the air, and make no sudden movements.

Side note to Silent Raven: ravens are never silent. They're noisy and expensive.

Squawk squawk squawk squawk,
That Blond Guy

Happy New Year and a Brief Scrutiny of Texas Banter

Happy New Year, everybody! I am hereby welcoming myself back to The Nerd Archives, because I know it's likely that no one else will. If you still wish to welcome me back to The Nerd Archives, I hope you are not put off by the fact that I have already welcomed myself back to The Nerd Archives, and I sincerely hope that you do proceed to welcome me back to The Nerd Archives.

I returned at around 11 last night from Texas. Our flight was delayed several times, but it was all right, because I had plenty of books to read, a handful of fashion magazines, and a grilled cheese sandwich from Dunkin' Donuts. It was also sped up considerably by the fact that we spent a lot of it bumping into this Canadian family who had been with us ever since we turned in our rental car at the same lot as them and found out that they were flying to Atlanta from San Antonio just like us. It made it all worth it that they were totally like the stereotypical Canadians. They very honestly added the word "eh" to the end of every sentence. It was nice, though, because they were some of the only ones at our terminal who didn't look absolutely miserable and suicidal. Being Canadian can come in handy, eh?

Although I did have a pleasant time in Texas, sometimes I find it difficult to put up with all of the racism, Republicanism, blistering heat, Evangelicalism, lap dances themed on the Wild West, murder mystery novels, taxidermy, over-promotion of Toy Story 3, and, of course, THE TEXAS BANTER.

If you're like me, you quickly tire of small talk. It's often miserable for you to talk about things like the weather or a mutual friend who recently came down with a mild form of cowpox but still managed to deliver her baby the same day. Corny jokes make you squirm, and you have at least once in your lifetime killed a man because he just wouldn't stop talking. But believe me, my small dwarf friends, you haven't seen anything until you've become an unwilling participant in Texas banter.

It. Is. Insufferable. Do you any idea what it's like to begin every single meal with the words "This looks good enough to eat"? To begin every dessert with the words "Well, I reckon there's enough apple pie here for me, but what about the rest of you?" To be greeted every five minutes with a "Howdy" and a "Hope you're not too scared to play me in dominoes this evenin"? To be told regularly every other round during a game of cards (which is already tragic enough as it is), "Now watch your uncle, Christopher. He cheats like an Irishman"? I should be congratulated for coming out of there alive. And not flipping out and threatening to murder everyone in the household with the sharp edge of a baby carrot. Well, actually, I did do the last thing. Heh. Yeah. Embarrassing.

I hope everyone else's New Years' were as fantasticalicious (that's for you, Eeshie) as mine. I've been reading some of your posts and it certainly sounds like it. Heavy drinking, sex, fireworks, drug abuse, baking powder and vinegar volcanoes, gardening, investing in small businesses, watercolor painting, three-legged racing, small puppies, reading my Bible, tennis shoes with colorful laces, school, etc. (Sorry, halfway through I got distracted and started making a list of my favourite things.) Meanwhile, I spent New Years Eve with my grandparents, drinking Italian soda and sparkling grape juice and talking about our favourite memories from 2010.

Somehow, though, I'm not regretful that my New Years celebration was kind of goody goody. If any of you are wondering if it gets tiresome to be the perfectly well-behaved child--"a parents' wet dream" in the words of Judd Nelson--it does. But I like old people, and I like foreign soda drinks even more, and so I think it works out best for me in the end. The nerd.

But it is nice to be back in Atlanta. I'd forgotten what black people look like.

And now it's 2011! Can you believe it? Many wonderful things happened this year. Albums released by Vampire Weekend, Cold War Kids, Yeasayer, Band of Horses, and Arcade Fire. Healthcare reform and the repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell. Leap Year, 500 Days of Summer, Alice in Wonderland, Inception, The Girl Who Played with Fire, It's Kind of a Funny Story, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and Love and Other Drugs came out. (I haven't seen the last one yet, but I can't wait to see Anne Hathaway naked--they showed us next to nothing in Havoc). I also believe the eleventh Shrek movie came out. Mike Myers and Eddie Murphy: what the hell happened to you?

Aside from popular culture, a number of good things happened to me last year, but I won't list those because I'm paranoid and have recently become under the impression that my life is like a more blonde and less entertaining sequel to The Truman Show, in which case I would want my part to be played by Ellen Page.............stop looking at me like that.

In regard to my last post, I know that my list resulted in an uproar of rage, disgust, disappointment, animosity, irritation, violence, envy, gluttony, lust, pride, sneeziness, and hungriness from my readers. I have no response to your complaints, but will instead inform you that during the Break I found a girl who fits all the first 24 descriptions on my list. Unfortunately, she's nine. She is Russian, and she says my name in a way that's kind of cute, but again--she's nine. And also, she's my second cousin.

Happy New Year!

Cheers,
That Blond Guy