Light It Up!

That's right. That's the slogan for this year's prom. I don't know how it was approved by the teachers, unless they're secretly trafficking cigarettes throughout the high school. Which would be a first, because usually they're trafficking underage Brazilian-American prostitutes.

I then suggested to the prom committee that they instead choose the slogan, "Just do it," but they seemed pretty set on this one.

In case any of you are wondering--yes, I am going with a girl to prom. No, the girl is not imaginary. And yes, she is over the age of 30.

After nearly a year of waiting, I've finally watched the It's Kind of a Funny Story movie. I have read every single one of Ned Vizzini's books, contacted him five times, bought the soundtrack to the movie, received a signed photo of Ned Vizzini which I gave to a friend (who I now more or less despise), and watched the move trailer six times. Once I saw the cast and the trailer, I was starting to think the movie would ruin the book for me. Emma Roberts and Zach Galifinakis in a Quasi-serious movie portraying the experience of a sixteen-year-old in a mental ward?! That couldn't possibly work. I was pleasantly surprised, because I think they somehow pulled it off. Not unlike how Christie Brinkley pulled off all of her clothes halfway through National Lampoon's Vacation.

"I understand there was an incident this morning. Would anybody care to talk about it? Something about a breakfast burrito?"

In fact, that was an understatement. I think the movie was incredible. Absolutely stunning. So, so, so, so, so, SO creative. The Under Pressure scene was maybe my favourite. It definitely had a different feel to it than the book, but so did a lot of great movies, right? The ending felt like a smoking hot angel punched me in the fast and then my brain had an orgasm. Most importantly, Emma Roberts makes me feel hot in my pants. Noelle, I'll answer your question to Craig for him. YES, I AM A SCHOOL UNIFORM PERV.

This has been a decent week so far. On Tuesday I got home from track practice and my entire family was gone. For a while I was worried because I was under the impression that I made my family disappear, but then I stared straight into the camera, relaxed, and realize that, yes, I made my family disappear.

You may be wondering why this is such a big deal for me to be in my own house by myself for one day, but in a family of five where two of the other members are the exact same age as me, that's actually rare that I get the house to myself for half a day. I get to do everything I can't usually do when my family is around, like blast Vampire Weekend on my brother's stereo, walk around the house naked, and have noisy shouting matches with my cats in French. (Yes, I actually do all of those things.) So it was nice, especially since this week has been so stressful. It was awkward, though, when my entire family walked through the front door and there I was carving a nude sculpture of the Greek goddess Alethia out of mashed potatoes.

Wednesday I had my first track meet of the season. For whatever insane reason, I chose to be on the short distance team, despite the large number of people who would walk up to me and say,

"So, you're running track this year?"

"Yeah."

"Righteous. The new long distance coach is Mr. Reid. It's going to be awesome."

"Oh, I'm doing sprints."

"...what? I don't understand."

"I'm running sprints. I thought I'd try something new."

"But...you're white."

"So?"

(Gives embarrassed look.) "I just don't understand."

So even though I've had to deal with a lot of reverse-racism and the fact that I'm one of the slowest on the sprints team, I went to the meet yesterday and I actually did half-decent. Just half-decent, though. I think it was because I drank so much Oceansplash Cran-Grap juice like ten minutes before I the event and because I was wearing those ultra-tight compression shorts which split my sperm count in half at the very least. They also kind of aroused me, but they also mostly just slowed me down. I was wearing my spikes, though. Man, running on spikes makes you feel like you're flying. But then when you shout at the top of your lungs, "Embrace me in your arms, wind, for I am a soaring eagle! A hawk! A falcon! A dragon! Let me fly away with you!" suddenly you don't feel like you're flying anymore. I learned that the hard way.

You guys really need to check out my other blog, The Chin Scratcher. If The Nerd Archives was a young, vibrant male who was only just beginning to go to parties and test out his sexuality, then The Chin Scratcher would be the wheezing, deformed Benjamin Button baby that was practically dead before it was born. Comment, follow, and read it as though it was a cool new edition of the Bible that just came out which incorporates words like "dude," "bitchin'," and "pimp" into scripture. If you're into poetry, movies, books, writing, etc. just do me a favour and check it out, hm? You might just surprise yourself. And it won't be because you opened what you thought was a container of cheeze ballz and springy snakes popped out at you. It will be because you read my blog. And it was awesome.

I love you all. You know that, right?

Cheers,
That Blond Guy