Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Checklist

Macintosh Computer- Check.
Beatles Discography- Check.
Baritone Saxophone- Check.
Ivy League Education- Check.
Achieve all of my childhood goals before finishing childhood- Check.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Rebuttal to Twitter Post: On the Incompleteness of Thoughts

Sure, it cannot be denied that by limiting our expressions to 140 characters, we are limiting the attention and effort that we put into our musings, but at the same time, it allows us to approach them with a much greater clarity. I am an insecure and indecisive writer, and when I am left pondering over a topic or post too long, my mind naturally turns over itself as I attempt to find the correct diction and syntax to express my ideas. This leads to an often terrible difficulty to come up with the right words, and after a while my befuddled mind drifts and I lose interest in (or the memory of) the idea altogether.

Twitter would work for a person like myself, since it allows me to compactly state these thoughts without too much worry or effort. Sure, details are great, but ideas are most clearly conveyed in... uh, what's the word? Blurbs? Nah, like that, but a little different... can't put my finger on it. Bleh, this is exactly what I'm talking about. You know what? Fuck it.

Long story short, it's sometimes best to make a long story short. Prevents overthinking and all that.

PS: everyone listen to Muscles, he is andrew w.k. on ecstasy and will make you happier than a bag of clams.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

To think, I used to have the attention span to write more than 140 characters.

Twitter is lauded by many, hated by few, not understood by lots, and used obsessively by some, namely me. One of the issues I have with twitter, however, is its effect on a dying breed- the blogger.
If you can't tell, I used to blog. I would write little essays, poems, social commentaries, post pictures, and then I would look at my Google analytics, see that 5 people had read them, and I would be content. I didn't care if people liked what I said or if anyone cared; I liked what I said, I could say it long, and I could say it proud.
Now, however, I've been struck with the twitter bug.
I love twitter. I love the fact that I can post little blog posts, express myself in the same manner, and see how everyone is doing that fast. I love that all 150 of my followers are almost forced to read my snarky, usually meaningless tweets. I love that commenting on other's tweets requires little more than pressing the shift key.
I don't love what twitter has done to my blog.
I logged on yesterday, hoping to write a post about my intense new appreciation for Notorious BIG. I thought about it for a while and all I could come up with was a quote, so I tweeted "Honeys wanna chat, but all we wanna know is where the party at, and can I bring my gat?" I was content but left my blog to lay fallow for yet another day. I looked back at my posts- if 0ne were to graph the number of posts by month, they'd see a steady decline- and a steady increase in my number of tweets.

As usual, I'm at the end of my post thinking about whether I've come to a conclusion or if I've just babbled for a few paragraphs. I don't think I can conclude anything however, because I don't even know whether or not I'm upset- all I can do is watch in disappointment as my ability to type more than 140 characters fades away.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

What do I want to do?

I really wish decisions weren't so hard. Or that I was good at something. I take all these tests and do miserably on them, all to fulfill the requirements for something I'm really not that interested in anymore. And the thing I am interested in? Not gonna take me anywhere, really.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Songs that Give me the chills

When I saw Hair, I had that crazy shivery sensation you get when you're witnessing something fantastic, right at the end when the chorus is singing "Let the sun shine" and Claude is laying on the flag. Usually it goes away after a while, but during this scene I had it for almost two minutes, watching the amazing scene in awe. I thought back to all the other times I had experiences such as that. I'm going to invent a drug that makes everything evoke that sensation.
Interpol- Obstacle 1, right at the beginning
Radiohead- Idioteque, when the chorus is playing in one year and the backup is chanting in the other
Mo-Do - Gema Tanzen, when he says "Immer Lauter Mit Der Musik"
The Lonely Island- I'm on a Boat, only in the video when the helicopter is flying in slow motion behing Andy's head
Daft Punk- Around The World/Harder Better Faster Stronger, when the two songs are going at the same time at the big climax
Animal Collective- Peacebone (the whole song, the first time I heard it)
Animal Collective- My Girls, right when the first "I don't mean..." comes in
Fuck Buttons- Surf Solar, around 2 minutes in
Audioslave- Like a Stone, right at the end of the guitar solo
The Bloody Beetroots- Warp 1.9 when the hoovers first come in
Ratatat- Seventeen Years when the straight quarter notes come in
Underworld- Born Slippy Nuxx, when the vocals come in
Dan Deacon- Snake Mistakes, "my dad is so cool..."
MGMT- Kids, the first time
Danger- 11h30, the intro
DatA- J'aime pas l'art, right after the screaming
and almost all really good mashups.

More things should be good.



Friday, October 16, 2009

Rationale for Having an iPhone, a la Cyanide and Happiness



Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

I knew bringing my iPod to class was a good idea.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

LIFE GOALS

1) See the world
Have a boring domestic life

2) Write a novel
Own several ties

Friday, October 2, 2009

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Also,

Paul Lansky- Mild und Leise

the good music conference

Go to THIS BLOG right fucking now.
It's written by my friend Jesse who's just about the coolest person I know. I also might be dating him, but not intentionally. It's only because as straight men we go on more dates than most couples do.
Anyway, browsing this blog, I found like 20 songs that I liked immediately, and there's like 20 songs on the website. It's awesome, the downloads are sick and they don't waste your time with any bullshit reviews, just a few sentences of why you should download the song. So go and download some shit.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Home

What is home?
When I first went back to my house for Rosh Hashana last week, I noticed something strikingly different between what my house was and what it had been- my house was no longer my home. It was an odd sensation, but in two weeks, my whole sense of reality had suddenly flipped around. I calculated how many rides I had left on my ten trip- My last trip would be a train back to Columbia. I tried sleeping but couldn't stop shifting- I wasn't used to the bed that I had slept in just weeks before. Then, before I left my house, I told my parents "goodbye, I'll call you when I get home!"
What's different? All the junk in my old room is the same, I didn't remove any of the decorations or any of the stuff. I just sat on my bed and gazed around, and all I could think of was "this isn't me anymore. I don't belong here." After a day and a half with my family, I felt like I was getting "homesick-" I just wanted to be back with my friends in my dorm with my shitty food.
This is just an observation I guess. 2AM doesn't lend itself nicely to insightful blog posts- I rarely make any insight anymore, just a whole lotta observation.

Well anyway, it's good to be home, wherever it is.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

RYAN MANDELBAUM FOR CCSC GUY

I'm running for Columbia College Student Council Representative for the Class of 2013. Vote for me. Or don't.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Thoughts on NSOP

Thanks to some strange nights and packed days, there really hasn't been much to talk about on my blog. I really didn't think about any of it, I kinda just floated about for a week, trying to experience as much as I could and all that jazz. Classes started today and I'm trying to get my head back into some non-intoxicated, school-oriented state. Well, let me get straight to it.

Orientation is for getting students acclimated to their school environment. Strangely at Columbia, it doesn't do that at all. From NSOP, a student could gather that Columbia was a happening party school, where the frats welcomed any and all students every night, beer flowed like water, hookah bars were set up on all the steps, bedtime never came, and where one could simply hop on the subway whenever and end up wherever.
Not that that's a bad thing.
Orientation has been a friendmaking whirr for me. I try hanging out with old chums from my outdoor orientation program, but am quickly pulled aside by a "hey you should meet" or "hi my name is" or whatever. It's a strange experience to learn so many names, have so many conversations, all that.
As it came to a close, I realized that NSOP is a precious time to live the Asher Roth college life and do whatever you want. Now it's coming to a close and it's time to start my actual college experience, study for my degree, and live the rest of my life.
Class has started now, and suddenly the necessity of doing my work and actually doing stuff is hanging over my head. It's odd to finally have obligations, but in all honesty, it's really, really exciting; and aside from the fact that my LitHum section has three "that guys," my schedule is fantastic and I'm happy to be learning new things, finally.
I know this post wasn't really insightful or anything, but I'm still here and I'm still blogging.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

College

I'm in college right now, sitting at my desk and studying for a physics placement exam.
weird.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Bonefish.

Thanks for the intro, Paul, glad to have ya!
Anyway, as some of my friends can vouch, I've been pretty depressed lately. Not just depresssion depressed... existential depressed and stuff. Thanks to James Joyce, all I thought of from last Tuesday to this Thursday was about where I came from, why I'm here, and what's gonna happen to me, and the answer to all three of those questions was , to my disdain, who knows? Of course, I didn't like that and kept coming to the conclusion that I just needed to stop thinkin' bout all of that crap. Couldn't do it, though.
Then, today I had an experience that made me forget all of it, one that really changed my outlook and cheered me the hell up.
(I just put on "Peacebone" by Animal Collective to accompany this description)

Today was my last day at work. I work an awful, boring-ass job at a country club and do nothing but press buttons on a computer. Usually I leave work at 3, but today there was extra shit to do, so I had to lift like, 20 really heavy tables for an hour. It was awful.
I moped over to my car after the day was over and turned the key in the ignition. I was miffed, a little relieved, but absolutely depressed. I pulled the car out, then found a CD under my seat- Strawberry Jam by Animal Collective. "Peacebone" came on and I started to drive.

I started to pull out as the assorted noises of the intro began. Bonefish. I pressed down on the gas, the car lurched forward. I was slowly drawn into Avey's singing, a peacebone got found... mulling over his lyrics and driving. I passed the houses of Hewlett Harbor and a few cars, leaking the most interesting colors. I slowly pressed down on the gas. I felt as the car accelerated under my foots weight, all by my own doing. The verse continued on as I waited at a red light and I began chanting, until the chorus began- and half of my fingers are dipped in the sand, you progress in letters... the light turned green and I suddenly had an epiphany. I was in total control - it's not the words that you should follow- and I slammed my foot against the gas. Insides! Complete release. Insides! I flew out into the street, like a pelican and reptile, and flew towards West Broadway, second chorus- just a few things are related to the old times! 50, 60mph, a free road. (screams!) I realized I had been shouting the song out of my open window- I didn't end in a yard but I kept going and going with a broad smile on my face. I turned down a random street- the taste of your cooking made me bow on the ground- and took all the turns as fast as I could, screaming along with Panda Bear and Avey Tare and an obsession with the past is like a dead fly, when we did believe in magic and we did die. I skidded around a turn and flew into my driveway... Inside, inside. I slammed the brakes. Inside, inside, I slowed to a near halt. Peacebone, peacebone, I creeped into the parking spot. peacebone, peacebone, I closed my eyes, put the car in park, and turned it off.
Bonefish.

As I exited the car, my ears still ringing with Animal Collective, I realized that I had completely forgotten everything I had despaired about. I thought back; through the five minutes of shouting and extremely reckless driving, I had found my own meaning to life, my own outlook to follow-
Live for the moment. Life is about simple pleasures and finding what makes you happy, and staying happy by indulging in these little pleasures. Who cares if you're going to die in 10, 20, or 60 years? Why not make every moment of those years a screaming joy ride, whether it be through actually using the handbrake for the first time (there are skidmarks on the intersection of Lincoln and Arbuckle to prove it) rapping along with Snoop Dogg as you sit in your cubicle, reading a book in Scots or just doin' whatever makes you feel good about yourself and your surroundings?
So live for the moment, find those little pleasures, and no matter how your life turns out, at the end you can look back on it and think, wow, I had a damn good time.

Yo

Sup Ryan, followers.

I'm Paul, gonna be writing for this blog now. Can't decide whether to post my stuff about music finds here or at my personal exclusive blog (http://notionssundriesincidentals.blogspot.com/) but for sure I'll be putting general thoughts here from now on and confining personal shit to my own space.

Some stuff about me: Best friends with Ryan since elementary school, pretty good writer (wanna be one professionally if I can't hold down a real job) but I don't really hold myself up to my typical standards of perfection too much here on the internet, so don't expect too much from me, okay? Also, I'm funny. At least I think I am. Example of how I think I'm funny: my blogger username, DieterFinch, is what Academy Award-winning actor Peter Finch would be named if he was born in Germany. This is a funny thought to me. Ha ha.

Well that's a pretty fitting introductory post, but I feel like I might as well throw in some content too. Ryan and I discussed the pitchfork top 20 tracks of the decade in great length last night, and after sleeping on the issue, I've concluded that, while I agree with most of the songs on the list, the ordering is all fucked. B.O.B. is a good number one (though Pitchfork's justification for it is verbose and contrived) and All My Friends a fitting number two (a song as epic as Murphy's ego), just about everything below it should have been rearranged.

Crazy in Love is a great song, but the similar 1 Thing by Amerie (placed below the top 20) is just plain funktastic. I'm not saying that it should have been #3, but if one of the two songs had to be in the top 10, if should have been the latter and not the former. Then there's the two songs with eerily similar names which are also similarly ill-fitting in the top 20: The Knife's Heartbeats and Annie's Heartbeat. I personally love The Knife, but Heartbeats is not nearly their best song, let alone deserving of the top 20. Also, Annie sucks. If you're going to pick a crappy pop sensation with an inexorably catchy song for the top 20, move Can't Get You Out of My Head back up out of the lowly 30s.

In short: Move Ignition (Remix) up, move My Girls down, move 99 Problems up, move Neighborhood (Tunnels) down, push Idioteque back to the 50s and replace it with the Int'l Player's Anthem, get rid of Maps, move Hey Ya and Losing My Edge up to the top 10, and replace the two Heartbeat songs with Romeo by Basement Jaxx and either Frontier Psychiatrist or Live At Dominoes or Radio or anything else by The Avalanches. All you have left to do is implement the changes in the previous paragraphs, then fill in the Maps-shaped hole with my personal favorite, No Children by the Mountain Goats, and you've got a perfect top 20!

So that's it. Some other things you can infer about me from the overly-long above musing is that I am pretty wordy, ranty, and I have something against Pitchfork. To be honest, I find them the most trustworthy medium for musical recommendations besides Allmusic, but they do often go over-their-head in pretentiousness, flowery prose, and propensity to bump "hot" indie bands over poppier artists and black people. Also, I love the Mountain Goats. And that's all you need to know.

So yeah, hi.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Monday, August 17, 2009

1001 Things a Teenager Should Know Before Leaving the House

My parents just bought me a book with said title. Upon reading it, I jotted down some notes, and composed a sequel.

1001 Things To Know Before Fucking With the Wu-Tang Clan
  1. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
  2. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
  3. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
  4. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
  5. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
  6. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
  7. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
  8. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
  9. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
  10. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
  11. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
  12. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
  13. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
  14. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
  15. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
  16. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
----------------------------------------------------------
1000. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'
1001. Wu Tang Clan Ain't Nuttin to Fuck wit'

Teach it to your kids. It will help them a great deal when they leave the house.



Friday, August 14, 2009

I LOVE MY MAC

The 17 inch behemoth my parents bought me for my graduation is the most amazing thing in the whole world.
But everyone else is saying the same thing.
So instead, I'm just going to post this mp3, made in garage band, featuring me, Ryan Awesomeguy, on the Jawharp.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

I get wicked existential then don't know what to do with myself!

For the past two nights, I've been wracked with awful existential thoughts. You know, the whole "ah, life... so short, so meaningless" thing. I wonder what happens when I die, I wonder why I'm here, answer both questions with the default "nothing and no reason!" and go to bed miserable. (My brother says it's because I got a haircut.) Well, I wish it would stop. I need to try extra hard to make everything special, do everything I want and everything for the fun of it, accomplish all my goals, etc. I think James Joyce is doing this to me.
But anyway, for some reason, this feeling has compelled me to do something I was obviously going to do anyway- I have since contacted people I thought I would never talk to again and asked them, "what's up, how are you doing, wanna hang out?"
I think it's pretty impressive. I'm glad I did. I don't want to give up on friends.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Twitter Withdrawal, a tragicomedy.

fmsbwbbb #whentwitterwasdown hahaha you're all such dorks! I didn't even know it was down until i saw it on the news. half a minute ago from web

fmsbwbbb @jaredk I know, my butt itches, too! 3 minutes ago from web

fmsbwbbb Can you believe I almost facebook msged my brother to call 911? 8 minutes ago from web

fmsbwbbb Hey, twiter's back online! Hooray! Man, I thought I was done for there! 10 minutes ago from web

fmsbwbbb fggghhnnghh 14 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb 911plz 32 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb mso dizzy... ecertything loosks asooo strnge... id nt know whats towrong 58 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb M finges arteroo biggggfor therbutond on ym fphoen icantanyone read mte>? 1 hour ago via txt

fmsbwbbb Why won't these bright colors and loud noises go away? Does the #twitterfairy hover over your monitor too? 1 hour 10 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb I thought only rabid dogs foam from the mouth? 1 hour 30 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb PLEASE PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU JUST WORK PLEASE 1 hour 48 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb Okay, Ryan. Just breathe. Go get some air. You'll be all right. Just don't think about it. 1 hour 49 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb Is anyone else considering #suicide? 2 hours 9 minutes ago via text

fmsbwbbb Is vomit usually dark red? Do you think It'll break my monitor? 2 hours 33 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb My computer monitor is getting fuzzy... Don't have patience for solitaire... please... someone... Gonna puke... 2 hours 40 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb tried getting on the website using a proxy and it didn't work. WHY WON'T THIS WEBSITE WORK 2 hours 49 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb My head aches. If I don't find out what @sockington is doing soon I may vomit 3 hours ago via txt

fmsbwbbb Tried picking up a book, then put it down and checked if Twitter was working. What's happening? 3 hours 15 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb @jaredk @ankit @sexiigurl30 @mikeman SOMEONE RESPOND! ISN'T ANYONE READING MY TWEETS? TXT ME 3 hours 30 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb I wonder what's happening in the twitterverse. Do you think it's up yet? 3 hours 58 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb Twitter's down? *scoff* I'm not addicted to this stupid website, I'm just going to go outside 4 hours ago via txt

Monday, August 3, 2009

How iPods ruined music

Think back to 2001ish. How were you listening to music? You had one of those big metal contraptions that played one of those mirror-y spinny shiny things that could only hold 14ish songs... and usually, you payed $10 for them and, worst of all, they rarely had more than one artist of music on them. You really only liked that one band; besides, to listen to anything else, you'd have to go and spend so much more money!

Well, now it's 2009. You have all of your mp3s in one little box that cost you 300 bucks, laid out in front of you on a 3 inch screen; your iPod. Look at how convenient: 5,000 songs in your pocket. Every artist imaginable, just a few spins and clicks away, and often (shh!) times, that music is free.
I think I'd rather the former.
The truth is, with so many options, how do you wade through it all? How do you pinpoint what you like the best, what makes you happiest, and what fits your personality the most?

I guess I have nostalgia back to fall, 2004. I had just heard "Slow Hands" by Interpol on the radio and was hooked. I needed the CD, because this band had something special, something I wanted to hold on to and cherish. With the CD, I had that feeling. I listened to nothing but that CD for weeks (not only was it the first CD I had bought with my own money, but it was one of the only ones I had), absorbing every lyric, looking at the pictures on the booklet in the jewel case, and mapping out every song, every layer in my head. I never skipped the slow songs or the songs I didn't like; I just sat through them and listened to how they melded and fit in with the rest of the album. I then went and read about the band on Matador Records' website and saw they had another album, and I immediately went to buy it. The bliss of finding a favorite band and listening to both their CDs front to back had consumed me, and I was truly happy.

I think about that now, and though I've heard lots of good music, I haven't had that feeling since. "Music ADHD," as some call it, has evolved from having so many options that I can't even sit through a minute of a song without yearning to hear something else. I have so many albums I haven't listened to yet that when I try to listen to something new, I get antsy and disgruntled that I'm not listening to something else. Finally, instead of having a favorite band or favorite album, I just have a song (not a favorite one, mind you; it's more short-term infatuation) that I listen to over and over and over again until I can't stand it. It's not necessarily a bad thing, but I guess all I have to say is:
I wish that iPods had just changed the means by which you listened to music and not the way in which you listen to it.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Ryan, you conceited pig!

It is my desire to become wickedly successful... or at least good enough for a wikipedia article (and a good, linked-to one, not some stupid stub), though I'm shooting for textbook entry.
Why?
Well, as you can probably relate, 17 year olds are the angstiest, most existentialist breed. At this age we start to fear death, and eventually come to our own conclusions about it, and while some of us turn to religion, most of us just come to terms with the fact that nothing happens afterwards.
Me? I've decided that in order to have any sort of afterlife, all I have to do is do something or be something memorable. Isaac Newton, Albert Einstein, Napoleon, Caesar... These people will never die and will be forever outlived by their achievements. I want that. I don't know how yet... nobel prize? Cure something? Write a classic? Who knows? I just want to never be forgotten- and maybe I'll live on in people's memories.
...
I actually wanted to make this a blog post about why I have a list of people I'm never talking to again but I don't think I could fit that in here at all. I guess the short of it is that if I manage to reach the aforementioned goal, you'll probably want to speak to me. Not because of how we used to be friends or whatever, but because I'm wickedly successful and you'll want to brag about knowing me or whatever. The "never talk to again" list is not for people I rarely speak to in the first place because I doubt I'll remember them anyway. The list is composed of people I thought I was close to who, when I ultimately thought about it, don't value my friendship at all. These people were the first to stop speaking to me once I was out of their lives, and nothing will give me greater satisfaction when I am sitting behind my mahogany desk in 50 years to have the following conversation with my secretary:
"Excuse me Ryan, ____ is here to see you. They say they knew you from high school."
"I don't know a ____. Please get them out of my office."

I suppose that's my own take on karma. Maybe I'm sick in the head, maybe I'm expecting too much, and maybe it's conceited, but hey, don't come crying to me. I probably won't remember who you are.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Dadrock

The only good thing that came out of last night (The cap of the worst day ever) was the elaboration on and complete reclassification of rock music, only this time with "dad rock," inherently uncool music from the late sixties to the late seventies, as the cornerstone. Here we go.
*note- I get it, I'm lampooning all of your favorite bands, blah blah blah. If you don't like it there's a nice red X on the top right corner of your page that'll get rid of it.

1940s-1955 Funk, Blues, Rock.
Dadrock and Rock have the same origins with Chuck Berry, Elvis, and the like. It is cool to enjoy these bands as they are the "original" rockers, so while dads may enjoy them, they are not really classifiable as dadrock.

1956-1965, Protodadrock
It all started here, with bubble gum and the British invasion. This music, as it is not the Beatles, has been labelled as completely uncool by every scene and therefore, the origin of dadrock, the uncoolest music around. Protodadrock is characterized by jangly chords, mushroom cuts and ridiculous, senseless lyrics that only a dad could enjoy.

1963-1968, Dad Folk
Every once in a while your dad will put on a Dad Folk album by such artists as Bob Dylan and Simon and Garfunkel. Your dad only listened to this stuff because it was the only crap his dad would let him listen to. (See dadrock revival for the same phenomenon occurring between you and your dad)

1965-1969, The Beatles.
Your dad hated the Beatles. He only says he likes them now because they're "the best rock group of all time" or some shit. Trust me, he thought the beatles were for pussies. At this point, if he was old enough, your dad was probably listening to Cream, Traffic, Canned Heat, The Rolling Stones and the Doors. Only once he and his buddies became sexually active did he realize that you had to like the Beatles to get any, and by the time that came around, your dad had discovered...

1968-1971, Dadadelic Rock
The Grateful Dead, The Allman Brothers, The Doors, Parliament/Funkadelic (eh, okay, and maybe the Beatles a little bit). Your dad was smoking weed because everyone else was, but trust me, he was not doing LSD. He's your dad for christ sakes. Your dad was listening to these bands because he heard on the news that the Kool-Aid acid tests and all that jazz were hip, but since your dad wasn't participating in any of that, he was living vicariously through this "music." Your dad didn't actually enjoy any of it, either. When he puts this stuff on now, it's only because he's got nostalgia from the time where he thought he was as cool as you think you are now.

1971-1985, The Dad Rock Golden Age
And then, with the breakup of the Beatles, your dad was free to express himself and listen to the Daddiest, Uncoolest music ever. Starting with Led Zeppelin and encompassing Blue Oyster Cult, Black Sabbath and all prog rock, then ending with Dad Rock Jesus, Bruce Springsteen, this was the era of your dad slowly turning into your dad. It was at this point that he, using his leather jacket and bell-bottoms, met your mom. While there are many splinter divisions such as Dad Metal (Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, AC/DC) Hard Dad (Zeppelin, Blue Oyster Cult) and Nu Dad(Boston, Kansas, and PINK FLOYD), these are all lumped together as dad rock, the stuff you only listen to because your dad likes it and the stuff your dad legitimately thought was cool (come on, all you teenagers listening to Q104.3 or whatever, you can't seriously think it's cool to listen to, right? Your DAD liked it).

1978-1985, Altdad
While most dads were banging their heads to the aforementioned shit, a select few were enjoying bands like Joy Division, The Ramones, and the Clash. These dads died of heroine overdoses before they had you, and they are WAY cooler than your dad.

1985-1991, Progdadrock
Your dad was getting older. At this point, either he was trying desperately to remember the sixties, the seventies, or some other point in time, but at the same time, trying to stay with the times. Bands like Poison, Motley Crue, Def Leppard and ultimately Guns n Roses took the themes presented by their dad rock predecessors and tried to make it as undadly as possible by growing some long ass hair and adding weirdo instruments your dad could barely comprehend (what the hell's a synthesizer!?). These bands still had those rockin' guitar solos your dad loved and remembered, but at the same time made bandanas, long hair, and denim jackets, cool again. This music was the culmination of everything dad adn nowadays it is, in fact, the least cool music imaginable.

1991-2001, The Dad Dark Ages
At this point, your dad was raising your sorry ass and was too busy fucking your mother to care about music. Try asking your dad about Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Green Day, The Smashing Pumpkins, or Jane's Addiction. Chances are, he either never heard of them, or would never listen to them, because from a dad's point of view, NOTHING is as cool as that Ratt bandana.

2001-Present, Dadrock Revival
Finally, Shit your dad could listen to again! With bands that you think are god awful, such as Nickelback, Hinder and Wolfmother, getting big, you wonder why anyone listens to any of it. It's because these bands have put their own flare on dadrock and have "brought it back" so to speak. The only people who listen to these bands are dads, children of dads who listened to way too much "classical rock," and you because this is the only music your dad will let you listen to in the house. Dads think that they're cool because they've started listening to these CDs instead of cassettes and records, but most people just look on in disgust. Some of these bands actually are good, like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, but these bands usually are crossovers and incorporate enough elements of non-dad rock to be pretty cool.
Also, I heard Green Day on Q104.3 last week, automatically qualifying "American Idiot" as Dadrock revival.

So, you're probably thinking, okay, I get it, but what about Mo-town? Disco? Ska? Rap? Stuff I listen to?
Well, the first two genres aren't really "rock" so I'm not classifying them with dad rock. Ska is too fast for your father and there's nothing rock about a trumpet. Rap, even old school rap, is still cool today, and your father won't like it until you've completely forgotten about it. Anything you listen to today won't be classifiable dad-music until he starts listening to it, and he won't start listening to it until it's presented to him, and that won't be for another twenty years, so don't worry about your dad jamming to 3oh!3 or any emo shit or whatever you like, be it lo-fi, punk, art rock or whatever, because, well, that'll be your dadrock.

Thanks for reading, and remember, always remember to rock out with your pops out.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Caviar

I work as a busboy at a country club. It is an awful, humiliating job, but the most amazing, humbling experience I've ever had. I've had countless bouts with the antics of rich people, and have been looked down upon many times because of my "lowly" position as busboy, but I'm not going to talk about any of those experiences; I'm going to talk about sturgeon eggs, Catnip for the wealthy, caviar.
Last night I was in charge of the caviar stand during cocktail hour for some event. I arrived at the table with some mini spoons; on top of the table was an enormous bowl of ice with bowls of egg, onion, and parsley , and in the center of the three foot tower was a flimsy tin with a black paste in it. It looked kind of like Floam but creamier and slimier.
I stood still by the table for a while, inspecting a spoonful of the stuff. I felt it, squished it between my fingers, and ultimately put some in my mouth. While the essence of dead fish wasn't pleasant, I wasn't repulsed; just interested. The first connoisseur arrived just as I put my fingers to my nose, and as I grimaced, he whispered
"hey, smells like a 90 year old's unclean vagina, right?"
I nodded my head, face still contorted. "Yes, yes it does."
"Do you know how much it costs?" I shook my head no. "That can? Probably 200 dollars."
I stood back, perplexed.
"Can I let you in on a little secret?" he leaned in closer. "We only eat this stuff because we're rich. That's why the egg and onion's there. No one actually likes it."
He backed up and asked for a heaping spoonful.
Suddenly, I was enlightened. I saw through the lady who complained to the manager because there was no lemon to squeeze on (read as hide the taste of) her caviar, through the man who asked for three spoonfuls to impress his friends, through the lady who told me it was "Crapiar" because she had eaten beluga caviar the night before, and through the lady who complained that I was wasting valuable caviar by throwing a way an empty can with three eggs left. People were shoving each other to get to it, pushing me out of the way and forcing me to let them serve themselves, calling me over so I would get them six or seven little pieces of toast full of caviar.
I called my boss over and asked, "Why is it that the most expensive foods also happen to be the worst tasting and the worst smelling?"
Some things just can't be explained.

I'd rather be a bum and live on McDonalds than have to eat grandmapussy just to prove to people I'm rich.

Monday, July 20, 2009

A Portrait Of The Blogger As A College Student Who Stopped Giving A Fuck Too Soon

Google Analytics says I still get about 5 readers a day, two or three of whom stay on the site for more than no seconds, and surprisingly few of them being unique visitors. So those readers may notice that my updates have been coming less and less frequently.
Well, that's because I stopped caring about everything. Oops!
I was gonna write a blog post about how much I was enjoying the book that inspired this title a couple days ago then thought, hey, I just don't give a fuck.
I was gonna go out the other day, eh, nah.
For example, my daily schedule-
9-10- Not doing anything
10-1030- Not caring about the speed limit
1030-300- Standing thoughtlessly by a computer, usually belting one of the three songs I know by heart
330-530- Not caring about anything
530-1200- Who Cares?
Showering? Who cares what I smell like? Brushing My Teeth? So my teeth are yellow, what do I care. Getting Dressed? This stained t-shrt has just enough holes for me not to care. Combing My Hair? Psh.
I don't know, I'm at the part of my blog post where I'm rereading and it doesn't sound like I'm saying anything. Maybe I should just delete my blog. Nah, too much effort. You know, I kinda feel like Adam Sandler's character in Click when he's on fast foward and stuff. Whatever.
I was going to write a poem to describe how little I care but that would take too much effort, and in all seriousness, I don't care enough to make this blog post good.
So I'm going to express how I feel again only this time I'm going to try to make it rhyme, I guess.

I'm writing a poem
Fuck how it sounds
I guess this'll show'em
Mngrghgmmmghounds.

Thank you, thank you, I'll be here till Thursday.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Schrodinger's Poem

I live in a box with high walls
And may have left many appalled
While pondering nuclear decay.
Both new and old atoms, I say,
Live as the same until I
with one last "meow!" do die.
Or do I?

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

24 Hours


It's been a little more than a week since my last update, and though I could talk about just about any of the weird things that have happened in the past week, I think I need to get the past 24 hours down because they were fantastic.
12AM, July 7th. Best Day Begins.
Me, Paul, Ashley and Danielle had just finished playing a few rousing games of blokus and were sitting around the table playing with the pieces on the board. Paul decided to put the four cross pieces in the middle. Then, we decide to all put the same pieces down. We kept going for a while, then finally placed down our long five, corner three, line four, line three, two and one pieces... and got this.
Yeah. How fucking awesome is that. HOW FUCKING AWESOME IS THAT, YEAHHHHHHH.
Okay, so after the spiral we had about and hour of picture taking and merriment because we were still stunned with how awesome we were, my friends left and we went to sleep.
10AM- 3PM, work. Doesn't matter, stood by a computer and looked pretty.
4PM.
Paul texts, "CAT DROPPED OUT, WE NEED A THIRD PERSON TO COME TO RICHARD CHEESE TONIGHT!" Of course, I new exactly who I needed to call, Kyle. Me, Paul and Kyle were all going to see Richard Fucking Cheese.
6:30PM
On the L train, going towards Williamsburg. Paul and I had been sitting and chatting, when suddenly, some fat lady in a black dress, who had been encroaching upon my personal space the whole train ride, turns to the lady next to her and says "Look here. Not a single lady sitting down in this whole row. Look at what kind of world we're coming to. No manners. None of these men even offered to get up."
She gazed angrily at Paul and I.
"Uh, do you want to sit? I'll get up, I didn't realize." I said.
"No, it's fine. I don't want to sit."
"Uh, okay."
Three seconds pause, and then, very melodramatically, "I just wish your generation would realize the importance of chivalry. I mean, who taught you these awful manners? How on earth were you raised?"
Paul and I looked at each other and at the same time said,
"Jewish."
"Yeah, that's why." She said.
"Well, you know," said Paul, "Rosa Parks did some great things by not getting up. I mean, just imagine..."
She didn't like that answer. "Maybe one day you two will grow up and learn the importance of chivalry."
We arrived at our station and sprinted off the train.

8PM- 11PM, Richard Cheese.
Though the show was 18 and older, Paul and I got in, and Kyle arrived soon after, for the greatest concert experience I've ever had. After Natalie Gelman, the opener who was alright but absolutely bangin', Richard Cheese came on. His act was two hours of lounge singing, molesting audience members, and making fun of the drunk people who yelled shit out. Never have I laughed so hard in my entire life. At one point, he walked down into the audience right behind our row and turns to a man with long hair. He turns to the man, then to his girlfriend, and begins to sing, "Somebody told me that you had a boyfriend who looked like a girlfriend..." Seriously, bliss. Everything from Cheese's comic delivery to his bashing of "Matt" who screamed out "I DRINK IT" when he warned about the dangers of bubble fluid to Markos and Missy who were just friends but would be "More than that by the end of the night" to Sasha who wandered around the theater until he trapped her in a "chair prison," then later in the show took her top off so she wouldn't have to sit down, to his throwing a bottle of bubbles down a girls shirt, to the "Richard Cheese Dancers" Kickline at the end of "Down With The Sickness" was fantastic. Everything, best concert ever.
THEN WE MET MATT ON THE SUBWAY RIDE HOME (which smelled like a bathroom with a toilet made of meat, then dumplings)
He was a twat, but whatever. Fucking rad.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Graduating, AP Scores, etc

I'm finally done with everything and I don't know how much I like this. I'm really excited for college, but I feel kind of empty, like I'm never going to see any of my friends again.
I don't know. One of the few people I actually want to see again won't return my texts so I'm guessing we're done talking too, so whatever, time to move on, blah blah blah.

In more awesomely awesome news, I, Ryan Loser/Tool Chukwuebuka called the AP people today and got my scores. Instead of actually telling you them because there's someone out there who'll say "YOU ARROGANT PRICK, I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'D ACTUALLY TELL THEM TO ME," I'm going to give verbal representations, inspired my UChicago friend Kirsten.

AP Studio Art
First Reaction: "Isn't this the grade they give you as long as you finish all of your pieces? Yeah, it is. Well, uh, at least I passed... or something"

AP Economics
WOO, I knew I wouldn't let you down, Mr. Gofman. Please stop calling me gay now... Oh wait, I graduated.

AP US Government
I told you I'd do it Ms. Foy... I can't f*cking believe you made me do all of that work to "boost my grade" after this and still give me an 82 for the quarter. I ain't gettin no respect.

AP English Lit
I mean I told everyone this was what I was getting. I still get credit so it's fine.

AP Italian
(Tries to recall an italian word) Hmm... "Rino, non shpudamai in terra!" Wait, that's not italian, that's some whacko dialect. No wonder this is what I got, the teacher didn't even teach me how to speak the damn language.

AP Calculus BC
MS HAGLER I LOVE YOU! :D:D

AP Physics B
WHHATTT? "If you would like to rehear your score, press nine." *presses nine* "If you would like to rehear your score, press nine." *presses nine* "If you would like t-" *presses nine.* No one thinks it's that great that I got this one because they're all like "Ryan, you wanna be a physics major and stuff." But if you had seen my confidence level during the test, or seen a copy of my answer sheet, you'd beg to differ; I left 10 multiple choice out, and instead of doing the last problem I wrote an essay about how my physics teacher left me grossly underprepared for the test. I guess miracles do happen.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Observe as I use Quantum Mechanics to do stuff

So I have no idea how neurons work. I want to be a physics major, not a brain surgeon, anyway... but if this is completely wrong, whatever. Sue me.

To begin, from what I learned from being a jerkoff in AP Bio last year, the brain is like a network of electrical signals, where thoughts and signals are created when electrical impulses are fired through the neurons via chemical ions travelling through little nanotubes, yadda yadda etc ad infinitum.

BUT WHERE THE HELL DOES IT ALL START?

Why do I worry about things? How is it that when I want to recall something, I just can? It seems all too good to be true - Your brain, technically just an advanced machine with loads of little wires, can just do stuff? Whenever it wants? That's like saying your computer, once it's on, can just do anything it wants when it's on. Literally, the same thing. So why is it that we can think, that we have free will?

Well, according to me, we don't. That's why.

When I think of these neurons firing, the first thing I think of is electricity. When I think of electricity, I think of differences in charge, and when I think about charges, I think about electrons and protons... and when I think about electrons, I think about the probability involved in quantum mechanics.

So therefore, there are electrons floatin' around in your brain. Thanks to Heisenberg, you wouldn't be able to know where they are or how fast they're moving, just that they're there. And if you ask me, that's free will for ya... there is none

In less convoluted words, thought is the most random thing possible because it relys completely on quantum mechanics and the random movements of ions in your head. Sure, one random fire can cause a whole chain of thought, but

Fuck it, I have no idea how to explain any of this shit. But I know what I'm saying. If you don't like it, stop reading.

Friday, June 19, 2009

Here We Go Again

Today was the opposite of yesterday, making it the same as two days ago.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

King of the Nerds

Today was the opposite of yesterday.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Hypocrite

I am the world's biggest hypocrite. Serously.

Since freshman year, I was the bubbly, happy person, bouncing around classrooms, making jokes and taunting teachers. I watched as my peers succumbed to pressures, got together, broke up, complained, angsted, and all of these things.
Being unable to relate, I criticized.
"You just want attention." "There's no such thing as angst." "Teenage depression is just your yearning for attention."

After a sudden change, they are the ones with the last laugh.

Today, I woke up at 8. I layed in my bed until 10, plagued with the worst stomachache I've ever had. Thinking I could make it go away by forgetting about it, I showered then drove to school. I returned home and sat on the computer. I sat there for four hours doing nothing but checking my facebook and sitting. At 4 I broke up with my girlfriend. I then went to tell her best friend. At 7 I went to dinner, but of course, no appetite. I had three dumplings, came home and vomited. I tried watching Forrest Gump but instead curled on the floor of the bathroom in a fetal position. I will be going to bed soon.

I need some help, please.

Erngh

I lost my appetite a week ago, it has not come back yet.
It started in my mouth. I could no longer find pleasure in the taste of a hamburger. After finishing the meal, a taste I once loved was so repulsive to me that I had to wash my mouth out.
It moved through my esophagus and down through my stomach. My once hearty desire for food withered away and I was overcome with a feeling of emptiness. The feeling wasn't a hunger emptiness- I needed nourishment from something I still don't comprehend.
The feeling continued- even the thought of food made my gastrointestinal tract begin to ache and my intestines convulse as my body stated simply "I will no longer take in food."

Is this some growing up sickness or anxiety or something?

Saturday, June 13, 2009

He gazed into the mirror at the gargantuan blemish. It was right in the center of the forehead; a pulsating third eye, staring back into his soul, and, at an inch across, the largest pimple he had ever seen, let alone had. He grasped it between his two pointer fingers. He could smell the fetid pus, feel it sloshing around inside of his face.

With a grunt, he squeezed. Nothing. He squeezed again, nothing. A third time, with two fingers on each hand, and out came a small river of dirt, yellowing from contact with the air. Another squeeze. More goo eminated from the beacon; another push, more pus. Then, with four fingers on each hand he squeezed, pushing ever tighter - A coil of white ooze collected on his fingertips.

He pushed even harder; the cream was turning red. For a second, a block up, then hard, white chunks came out, yet harder and harder he pushed. Out came fragments of his skull, his two eyes, his nose. Out came both his ears, then his brain, heaped up on the sink like a plate of spaghetti. Then came his spinal cord, the rest of his skull, then one by one his vertebrae exited the hole. He wouldn't stop squeezing; following his spine were his ribs and pelvis, the rest of his skeleton; his blood vessels, hooked on a piece of exposed bone, came next and blood began pouring out of the aperture. His esophagus, stomach, and feet upon feet of intestine followed and spewed out of the hole, until after minutes and minutes of squeezing his heart and lungs escaped the opening.

He would not stop squeezing; tiles began shooting out of the hole, and floorboards... Toothbrushes, pipes, glass windows came next. His appliances shot out of the hole, then pieces of the roof, the concrete foundation; his entire house, and soon the very land his home had stood on shot out. Mud and dirt from the surrounding property was sucked under and then blasted from the pimple until the surrounding houses were all engulfed and spat out. The entire town and surrounding villages were not spared from the destruction, and it wasn't long until the entire state had been eaten and regurgitated, but he still would not stop squeezing. Lava from the center of the earth was cooled by the ocean waters and frozen columns of solidified rock rose ever higher; thin strands of what was once earth lay like pickup sticks in the sky.

Ignoring the cries of the asphyxiating people, he still squeezed with all his strength. The moon stretched and stretched, its gravity trying to fight the force of the pimple, but it too was sucked in and spewed out. The planets began to rumble and the sun began to tilt; everything shook and pulsated until the entire solar system gave in. Harder he squeezed, harder. Proxima and Alpha Centauri felt the pull suddenly and spiraled, still orbiting each other, into the hole. The surrounding stars and soon the entire galaxy lay victim to the pimple's pull - the force had even caused some to nova as they were sucked up - the pimple was now an enormous and brilliant light of what once was. Andromeda, speeding towards the entity, was no match for its destructive force and was effortlessly drawn into it. Further galaxies could not resist the force themselves and were dragged in behind, leaving bright trails of gas as they sped along. After a few minutes of squeezing, The outer limits of the universe came rocketing in; even the expansion of the walls of the universe couldn't stop from being sucked in and spaghettified out.

He peered at the black hole and resulting quasar.

"Damn. I should wash my face more often."

Graduating and what comes next

Friday, June 12, 2009

Inner Turmoil

AACAAAAaaaAaaaAAAAAAKAAaaaaaaaVaaaaaaaITa
aAAAAAAYAAaaaaaaAaaaaAAAARaaaaaaOAAAAAAaaTaaa
AAAAaaaaaaaAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAaaaaaaa

Monday, June 8, 2009

Google Analytics

It's pretty stalkerish but I can see the locations of all of my readers (not their IP addresses or anything sneaky)
And I seem to have a regular reader from Singapore.
So if you're there, Hi!

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Being Forgotten

It's happening more and more often lately and it's starting to get on my nerves-
I look through pictures and see all of my friends together having a great time
-or-
I read my friends twitter updates and they read something along the lines of "had a great time last night"

Why does this annoy me?
I am not in those pictures.
I did not have a great time the night before.
I wasn't even there...
I wasn't even invited.

Maybe I'm expecting too much from my friendships but you'd probably feel the same way if people you were sure you were good friends with hung out without you all the time.
ALL the time.
Literally.
Like, every weekend.

Whatever, I've got to go. I have a hundred parties, sixty movies and ten broadway shows to not get invited to.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Be Grateful, Prick.

TYPES OF ARROGANT PEOPLE, AS OBSERVED BY ME, RYAN AWESOMEBAUM

The Innately Arrogant.
This is the person who does stuff other people consider good, then either brags about it, mentions it subliminally, or acts as if it was no big deal. This person has his or her arrogance built in and the most they can do to suppress it is to check their words before they say them. No amount of warning can un-arrogant this person and others just have to deal with it.
(I think I fall under this category, because at this point every time I open my mouth someone calls me arrogant, whether what I said was actually arrogant or not)

The Aggrandized Self Image
This is the person who thinks they are better than they actually are. This is the person who gets a 1000 on their SATs and then tries to convince people they're going to Yale, the pitcher with a 8-10 record in high school who tries to walk on a Division 1 baseball team, or the person who thinks they could be on America's next top model just because they fit into a size 00. People like this will answer "why?" with "Because I'm me" or do irrational or presumptuous things and justify it with their inflated confidence. These people are those in need of a "reality check."

The Disappointed
The Disappointed are very similar to the Aggrandized Self Image- the only difference is how vocal about their own accomplishments they are. These are the people who place second, become a co- or vice- position, people who accomplish great things but cannot help but think they could have done better. While the Aggrandized Self Image who think they are the best from the beginning, the Disappointed are just what they sound like- disappointed that they had to settle for the best, and not the VERY best. These people simply need convincing that they are the best that they can be; their arrogance is the least severe.

The Underconfident
These people are the ones that piss me off the most because I think they are the most annoying. The underconfident are the people who begin every detail about themsleves with "it's not that good" or "I could have done better" or "it's not the best." This is as if Picasso finished the Guernica and said "eh, this isn't THAT good." These people are innately arrogant people, but instead of trying to censor themselved, they try to mask their arrogance with negative comments. These people can either be told that they are as good people others say they are, or completely ignored as they often solely want attention.

I think I've covered the main ones.

Sunday, May 31, 2009

Something better happen quick!

I used to be such a carefree guy- I could spend a night happy, with no strange, ominous or sad thoughts, with my friends. However, in the wake of a few funerals and the biggest transition I'll probably ever have to make close in sight, It's no wonder I'm becoming a little existential.

Whenever I used to think about death, I used to have all of these little coincidences I would remember and "prove" to me the existence of god, and therefore, of a heaven. For example, I listened to a band called Lectrolux, then the next day found an "Electrolux" vacuum in my house. Another time, I was listening to "Like a Stone" by Audioslave while I was sitting in the car, and as I looked out the window during the guitar solo, cars were coming by exactly to the tune of the guitar. Then, one day I found a list of schools an abandoned notebook that was identical to the list of schools I was applying to. After these experiences, I thought god had "proven" to me that he was there for me.

Now, as I realize that I have aged somewhat, these thoughts no longer assuage, and whenever I think of death, especially of how close it really is, I am overcome with images of eternal sleep, dirt, and blackness.

And that scares the SHIT out of me.

What's worse is that the malaise that comes with these feelings just doesn't go away. Constantly tugging on the back of my mind are these dark, hopeless thoughts that do nothing but give me stomachaches. I try everything -- setting goals, calling friends, listening to happy music... things that once comforted me and made me feel special -- things that once helped me feel better but now only serve as minor distractions.

I need to find or do something that makes me feel as if life isn't just the time you spend waiting to die, that I have some purpose or task I have to do.

Maybe I just need to get my ass off the computer.

Saturday, May 30, 2009

I have a Stomach Ache

It sounds like this...

Grrrrrrrmrmmmrmrmrmmmmmmmnffnfffmnnnhnnhhnjhhiiiiiiiiii
nnnnnhhghgggggngnggggggggghgggmgggeiggggggiiiiiiiiiiimmmmmm
mmmmmmm

Then a cloud of methane exits and I feel somewhat better.

Friday, May 29, 2009

Get it? Huh? Do Ya?



You see, it's funny because it's offensive to gay people.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Born Without Shame

I think I was born with some disorder that eats my shame. For some reason I never think about how something will affect my character or how people will perceive me before I do it, and sometimes, I really wish I could change that.

Example. In my Italian Class, we began scripting our final exam, a compendium of short skits. For one of the skits, we are performing "Single Ladies" by Beyonce, in Italian. I immediately signed up to be Beyonce. Why? My original thought was "haha, I would love to learn the single ladies dance!" Now, looking back on it, I still have no problem playing Beyonce, but I have a gut feeling that, well, I SHOULD have a problem, and some emotion I'm lacking just won't kick in.

Example. I wore a bowler cap to Waiting for Godot today because of the cap's significance to the play. While my teachers, peers, and strangers gave me strange looks and commented on how "weird" I was being, I took no offense and continued on without taking that hat off. Should I have had some semblance of shame and just taken the hat off so as to not look stupid? I don't know.

So if any of my loyal three readers have any input on how to deal with this issue or whether I actually need shame, please tell.
Because I seem to relish in being ridiculous.

Monday, May 25, 2009

Stomach

For some reason, whenever I get close to getting what I want I get pretty bad stomachaches. I don't know if it's nerves or just that I have a weird system, or whether anyone else has this, but like, when I'm anticipating a package, when I opened my acceptance letters, everything, stomachache. Then, since I recognize what causes the stomachache, I often try to convince myself and others that I didn't want the thing in the first place so as to assuage my pain.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

The life and times of a flamboyant and quite narcissistic twelve year old...

I had a blog when I was twelve and wrote in it. I actually believed that people read it.

A cold, the green kind

EXPLICIT CONTENT- NOT TO BE READ BY NORMAL PEOPLE

"Thoughts" seems to be less exciting lately, and I realize why- my thinker is clogged. The damn thing is backed up with snot. I had a cold, gave it to my brother, and once I got over it, he gave it right back to me. So as you can guess, this blog post is me describing my cold in great detail because, well, it's the only thing I can think about.

It came over me slowly, hours at a time. First, just a rattle in my nose. Then, firm nasal pressure, and finally, darkness. I didn't realize until the first morning when I took a deep inhale through the schnoz, and instead of a breath, I took a gulp. That day was not the worst. Without any nose blowing at all, my nasal passages would swell with clear fluid, clear up, then swell again. I took a NyQuil this first night and I was fine.

The next morning it was not my nose that was stuffy. I felt like Giles Corey, an unbearable pressure placed on my chest. I took a deep cough; nothing seemed wrong and I went on my way. My nose welled with fluid and I blew it for the first time that morning: clear, thin fluid. Except for the 90 decibel nasal clarion call, there was nothing to be worried about. I spent that day, like the first, breathing somewhat fine, only this time with the occasional honk.

The third morning something was different. I woke again with the same chest pressure, only this time, I did not just cough -- I choked. There was something in me, a presence rumbling in my trachea. I tried breathing through my nose. Another change... my brain processed a putrid smell. I opened my window to clear the air, when I realized this smell was coming not from some strange emitter in my room; it was coming from inside of me. I blew my nose and out came the rankest, greenest mucus I had ever seen in my life. Instead of an alleviation of the pressure in my nose, my sinuses immediately re-filled with fluid. Instead of clearing them again, I went on with them stuffed so I would not have to smell the hideous odor. That day, I instinctively tried to blow my nose, but the effort was mostly futile. That evening I enjoyed the last meal I could taste, the last smell I could smell.

That night was the first night in which my cough and cold medicine did not clear my nose, so I tried breathing through my mouth. For two hours I forced my body to breathe in this manner, but when I was taken by sleep, I snapped back to my instincts and snorted through my honker.

The fourth morning was the climax of my troubles. I woke up with a splitting headache, centered right in between my eyes. My chest felt like it contained a lead weight, and my nose was as swollen as a broken toe. I put a Kleenex to my face and blew- nothing came out, yet my nasal passages were still blocked. I was suddenly overcome with the urge to run into the bathroom; neither my mouth nor my nose would take in any oxygen. I choked, coughed and sputtered into the toilet. A whooping, bubbling cough permeated through the house, and after minutes of crying and spitting, I gazed, lightheaded, at what I had procured. Brown and green gobs of sputum sat in front of my eyes. The pressure was gone, but the cough remained -- I went through the day choking, crying and spitting in between each tissue blare.

The fifth day, yesterday, began exactly the same as the fourth. However, this time fluid came out of my trumpet- a thick, yellow pudding of bacteria and pus. I spent the day at the beach, and though my nose cooperated and stayed fairly clear, my sense of smell had dissipated, my sense of taste was gone, my coughs were full of gunk. When I arrived home I was so exhausted from coughing and taking shallow breaths that I passed out, sans NyQuil, at 8PM.

This morning, I expectorated more than I had ever expectorated before. Entire colonies of rhinovirus were laid to rest that morning, and instead of praying for them, I flushed them. I blew my nose, still yellow and fetid. I've been a one man symphony since this morning, blowing, snorting, spitting and choching (that's an onomatopoeia, pronounced with a Jewish CH as in Chanukkah). Starting at around noon, however, both my snot and my sputum have been turning white. The smell is still awful, the taste in my mouth is still gone, and my sinuses still hurt, but the pressure in my chest and nose is almost gone, my coughs have become less rattly, and my nose doesn't feel like a water balloon. Though I have no doubt that I will have a coughing fit tomorrow, I think with some hot tea and Tylenol I will beat this cold.

If you've made it here, thank you for embarking on this journey with me. I hope it wasn't as miserable for you as it was for me.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

So get this.

Our entire observable universe is a "true vacuum." That means that in between stars and galaxies, there is a minimum amount of energy, caused by a few stray particles. In this true vacuum, all of the particles that make up us can exist. Now imagine a false vacuum. In these places, there is a greater amount of energy and pressure in each piece of space. One of these vacuums is already proven to exist- the electroweak false vacuum. In these vacuums, there is so much energy stored in each unit of space that very few or no particles can exist. However, since each of these vacuums have such a huge amount of energy, the space they occupy is expanding at a rate exponentially faster than the speed of light (since it's just empty space it can expand that fast). Our own true vacuum universe is expanding too- just not nearly as fast.

Now if these false vacuums existed in our observable universe, we'd obviously be able to see them. But what if instead of our universe containing false vacuums, a much larger false vacuum universe contained true vacuum bubbles of universes like our own universe? Each true vacuum bubble would begin with a "big bang" as energy from the false vacuum would suddenly be released. As the false vacuum universe inflates at an enormous pace, each of these little bubble universes expands like our own universe. Therefore, we will never be able to contact these other universes, but if the scenario above is correct, they exist.

Let the daydreaming begin.

*With apologies to Alex Villenkin.


PS, EXEC BOARD APPLICANTS- THIS IS NOT QUANTUM MECHANICS AND QUOTING THIS OR USING THIS THEORY WILL GIVE YOU NO POINTS.

Monday, May 18, 2009

The Tale of a Fallen Soldier

This person wanted me to post this on my blog to protect his anonymity but so everyone could still laugh at it.

so it was the weekend before thanksgiving, i was at a party, ready to get the fuck out of there because i was bored and tired. I'm watching my friend play beer pong. I see some other girl watching, i start talking to her, get her #. We both want to "chill" after party. There is a miscommunication and we end up not chilling. We are texting the following week; I realize this girl is useless and doesnt have half a brain in her head, so she isnt worth more than a fuck buddy. (I was a virign at the time, but didn't care who got my virginity). Me and girl continue texting and i decide I'm going to tell her I don't like her but we should just fuck. She agrees. She texts me dirty things during thanksgiving. I could probably go through my phone and find them, but its not worth it. I get back to school after thanksgiving. There is a party; I call the girl up to go to the party with me so she can come home with me. I get to party; crazy girl is there, but dancing and smoking with friends. I see my a kid i know dancing/making out with some girl and that girls roommate wont leave them alone. I decide I'm going to take action. I dance with the friend. end up hooking up with her. Go talk to my friend and ask him should I go home with crazy girl or the friend's girl's roommate. He says crazy girl. I finally get back with crazy girl. We fuck twice. She goes to bathroom then I go to bathroom and tell her I'm going to tell my roommate he can come sleep in his own bed because I'm not about to make him sleep on the couch. She goes, "If you do that, I'm leaving." My response: "Then leave." Lets just say she ended up staying. We sleep for a little, wake up at about 7:30 or 8:30 and shes like lets fuck again. Me: "the roommates here!" Her: "so.." Me "the roommates here" Her: "so..." repeats several times then I give in, not because of her. The reason why i gave in was because when I was telling my roommate how crazy that girl is that might come home with me, he said, "I want to be in there for a show." So i gave my roommate the show he wanted, but the whole time we were going at it, I was hoping he would wake up, but at the same time I was hoping he wouldnt.

In conclusion, it is better to lose your virginity to a crazy bitch than to not lose it at all.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Lactose Intolerance

Today, my stomach felt upset,
To cheer him up, we'd buy a pet;
But when I got into the store
I threw up all over the floor.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Star Trek

I can't stress this enough. See this goddamn movie.
Two hours of explosions and theoretical physics. They turn a planet into a freakin' black hole , outrun a supernova, talk about event horizons, skydive from space, take part in an enormous time paradox...
Maybe it was the fact that I was punch drunk and loopy when I saw the movie but I promise everyone that I've never had such an awesome experience in a movie theater in my entire life. Seriously, that space jump thing was sick. Giant monster thing? Awesome. Spock? Never looked better.
Everyone who doesn't want to see this movie solely because it's Star Trek should reconsider why they go to see a movie in the first place. I don't know why anyone else sees movies, but I see them so I can see black holes eat planets, see the Enterprise defy the laws of General Relativity, and so I can see the principle of spaghettification at work, alongside copious explosions.
If you don't like that, what COULD you like? The Notebook?

Monday, May 11, 2009

HA

I really want to be a physicist and my science teacher only taught us half of the curriculum so I'm going to get a 3 on an AP I think I am perfectly capable of getting a 5 on.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Today

Today was the greatest. Seriously.
I drank sweet tea with my friends and studied physics in the park.
I love everyone.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

"Pretentious"

Someone just told me that my screenname, fmsbw***, is pretentious.
I don't think people quite understand the word.

Liking Dostoyevsky for the sake of telling people you've read the Brothers Karamazov is pretentious.
Reading the calculus textbook just so you can show everyone how good you are at calculus is pretentious.
Eating foie gras but not liking the taste is pretentious.
Listening to Beethoven to tell people you're high society is pretentious.

The fact that my screenname is a poem from an art movement I'm really interested in is not pretentious.
Taking notes on a textbook for a physics class is not pretentious.
Listening to Bach because your mother plays it in the car is not pretentious.
And for gods sake, liking Creme Brulee because it's fucking delicious is NOT pretentious.

Therefore, please stop calling me pretentious unless you sense that I'm doing stuff just so people think I'm high society. It's not my fault I like things that some people consider pretentious, that's just how things've worked out.

However, claiming that I know what's pretentious and what's not is pretty pretentious so uh, sorry

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Dear Katelyn

You aren't anorexic :)
You're sitting next to me. You are wearing a striped shirt and jeans. You have a white bag and glasses. That's awesome! You're awesome! You're also one of my three friends who has a blog. Hooray! So uh, what's up? How's life, sitting next to me and stuff? I'm pretty good myself, just sitting and yawning and all that jazz :P
So uh you're telling me about SUNY Genesseo's focault pendulum and sitting next to me and Paul is sitting behind us talking about black people and Jo-Jo is there to make sure it stays not racist... that's pretty rad. We're talking about Lexington Steele now and you think it's gross but I think it's AWESOME. Now you're showing me a sideways tree. It made me make this face:
:{
Aight I'mma go. Enjoy your letter!
Your bud,
Ryan

Saturday, May 2, 2009

How to be 16: A Guide

As a 17 year old, I am, of course, the most reputable source.

-Hate your parents.
-Hate your friends.
-Complain about both.
-Be different.
-Get a significant other.
-Have a superficial relationship.
-Dump them.
-Binge, then purge.
-Make up problems.
-Complain about them.
-Give up.
-Pussy out.
-Blog about it.
-Facebook it.
-Twitter it.
-Today, fyl.
-Repeat.

Damn, I'm glad I'm not 16 anymore. PS, Columbia University '13 :)

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Bubble Spinner

I sit for hours playing this god forsaken game. Gov reading? Nah, bubble spinner. Art project? Nah, bubble spinner. Physics? Angle of incidence = angle of reflection (really useful in a riveting game of bubble spinner...)
I need this computer to please crash.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

I am the craigslist killer.

I am the Unabomber.
I am the Zodiac.
I am Charles Manson.
I am a Somalian Pirate.
I am Adolf Hitler.
I am Ahmedinejad.
I am Scott Peterson.
I am Goliath.
I am Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold.
I am Cho Seung-Hui.
I am The Enola Gay.
I am Al Capone.
I am Jack Kevorkian.
I am Ted Bundy.
I am Edmund Emil Kemper.

and I am Man.

Monday, April 20, 2009

We have the sweatpants and we're voting yes!

CC '13

It's so much better than being undecided :)

Friday, April 17, 2009

The -itis

So I just got back from UChicago. It was amazing, great time, food poisoning, etc, but that wasn't the highlight of my trip.
After my dad picked me up from the school he took me to Jesse Jackson's office in Chicago. Waiting for us was Rev.'s second hand man (Rev. Greg) and his assistant (Dexter). They took us to a soul food restaurant in Austin and we all ate fried chicken and collard greens. All good.
Then, I finished eating and laid back in my chair. Greg, a 60 year old civil rights activist, Harvard educated lawyer and very close friend of Jesse Jackson turns to me and says,
"What's the matter, doc? You got niggeritis?"

Mull that over in your head.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Watch as I outsmart the system.

I made this up.
"Today, I out of curiosity I asked my mother how we would be paying for college. She said "don't worry, we have it all invested with a very nice man... I think his name is Madoff. I am now going to community college. FML"
I'm gonna be a web celebrity.

Monday, April 13, 2009

The good life

There is nothing like a pitcher of sweet tea sitting in your fridge. It's more reassuring than a security blanket, it's more comforting than a couch, it's more delicious than any other beverage.
Things get shitty? Sweet tea.
Too much work? Sweet tea.
Thirsty? Sweet tea.
Unhappy? Sweet tea.
Tired? Sweet tea.
Hyper? Sweet tea.

Never doubt the power of four bags of lipton, a gallon of water and a cup of sugar. It's mystical.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Saturday, April 11, 2009

ARRRGHH

I haven't chosen where I'm going to school yet but this article here puts a lot in Chicago's favor. I want to take this course so badly, it's not even funny. I hope it fits the core :)

One more thing. I beat Portal again today, and I was distraught as usual. It takes me like, 20 minutes to put the WCC into the incinerator. Seriously, I am pathetic. So miserable was I that I took one of my two Rubik's cubes, took off all the labels and did this to it.

And yes, that IS my airzooka in the background.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

FMyLife

I saw a status on facebook which read as follows:
"Went to bed early, woke up early...FML"

First of all, what's so bad about waking up early? Secondly, how bad could your life possibly be if you get the chance to go to sleep so early? I wish I was as privileged. Finally, the time you wake up is nowhere near severe enough to warrant a "FML."
I liked that website a few months ago when it was novel; now all I ever see is "FML! FML!" "Just ate a bagel. FML." "School today, FML." "Won the Nobel Peace Prize. FML." Seriously? I want to start a mass mailing with this message:

Dear suburban teenager,
As you sit micromanaging your home business with your pink Blackberry in the backseat of mommy's Range Rover beside your gucci bag, carrying a second Blackberry should you decide to throw the first at your eigthieth ex-boyfriend, please take the time to consider this.
Your life is not "f***ed"
There are people worse off than you
Embarassing situations will not condemn your entire life
The stories on FMyLife.com are far more interesting than yours
And those stories are all made up.
So while you update your status for the three hundredth time today, remember that "Sitting in car" does not warrant an FML.
Unless you want to say "Got chlamydia, FML." That would be funny as hell and you deserve it for being annoying.
Sincerely,
Everyone else.

So send this message to all your friends because seriously,, unimportant things are not made funny with that stupid three letter addendum.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Bliggog

The integral bureaucracy
Come va-dx/dt
Gilgamesh je' micron pens.
Inflation e diffraction lens,
And still I mu-nought adverb, noun
Approaches at speed "spell renown."
So Euler nella selva oscura
Through field B, Siddhartha Buddha
A scholarship! Should I ap-pi?
3.14 through the Rye,
I think I got divide sketch grandma.
g(x) is f times lambda.
I thought this year'd make me think straight
But minced brain does eight APs make.

Sunday, April 5, 2009

How do I feel today?

"When Ghetto Tech plays, it's as if the Heavens themselves are speaking. Ghetto Tech will be the natural law of the New World Order. God himself will come down, declare his kingdom on earth, and inscribe on two tablets for all the hoes to shake their multitudes of titties. And it will be good. To the farthest reaches of the earth Ghetto Tech will permeate, and teach us all about harmony, life, love, and slapping dicks against the mouths of many bitches. Oh yes. So it is written, so it will be done. Amen."*
*http://techno.org/electronic-music-guide/
DJ Assault- Ass 'n' Titties

Thursday, April 2, 2009

As U approach U of C...

But it's okay, since Paul is going to take me under his wing at Northwestern and show me where the biddies truly are. PS, it pains me not to put the dx in there, but it just wouldn't look as funny.
And no, I didn't make this up myself, but I did spend two minutes in MS Paint making it.

Leyendecker

This song was the background of a nightmare I had last night.
It was a scary fucking nightmare...
And this is a scary fucking song.
Battles- Leyendecker

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Woo!

Stanford Early Action- Rejected
Saint Johns- Accepted without applying, then unaccepted (what?)
Stony Brook Honors- Accepted
Tulane Honors- Accepted
Caltech- Waitlisted (place on the waitlist turned down)
Duke- Accepted (+ likely letter!)
MIT- Rejected
University of Chicago- Accepted
Yale- Rejected
Princeton- Rejected
Harvard- Waitlisted (currently on the waitlist)
Columbia- Accepted

Final count, 5-4-2
Respectable if you ask me, but I'm no 6'6" half black, half asian supergenius like Jamison :p

Anyway, now I've got three US News number eights to choose from and I think Chicago might be the answer. Hip hip, hooray!

Monday, March 30, 2009


How frustrated I'm getting with respect to time t.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

The reason why Chicago accepted me

Excerpt from the Journal of Theoretical Physicist, Ryan Mandelbaum III
November 18th, 2088AD
Well, Journal, I found you in the back of grandfather’s closet, so I don’t know if you’re up to date with the current state of science. It’s almost the eightieth anniversary of the Large Hadron Collider’s failure to discover the Higgs boson, the ultimate panacea for the standard model. Because it was never discovered, your old owner, my grandfather Ryan Mandelbaum Sr., dedicated his life to proving its existence and to explaining how and why this universe works the way it does. Sadly, because the Higgs’ existence was put into question, physicists have been scrambling to come up with new ideas to replace the standard model, and to ultimately find a Theory of Everything.
But I’m sure you know all about that.
The scientific community is not as worried about the demise of the Standard Model as it is puzzled by the collider my grandfather funded, the Mandelbaum Super Accelerator of Anything, Real or Imaginary (MSAARI, pronounced like the misery it’s been causing me). Unlike past colliders, this one will concentrate anything, not just particles, into beams and then accelerate them to 99.9999% the speed of light. Of course in order to discover the Higgs boson, and to try to explain the universe just after the Big Bang, the experiment would need to be a super high-energy one. But c’mon, Journal, you know as well as I do that an anything collider could never work, right?
Me? I’ve been following in my grandfather’s footsteps as a theoretical physicist at the University of Chicago. I loved my grandfather, but everyone’s been so critical of his ideas that it’s been hard not to disown him. I desperately hope this collider can yield at least a few useful ideas.

December 14th 2088AD
The official opening was today. I felt so bad for my grandfather that I sat quietly in the back of the ceremony and wept. No physicist was there for a serious reason; everyone just wanted to see if the collider would be as miserable as its name suggested. For the “grand” (more like miserable) opening, a tube of red paint was fired at a tube of green paint; visible through the detector screen was a small puddle of brown paint. I couldn’t bear sitting at ceremony and left as soon as I saw the result of the experiment. I am somewhat perplexed as to what my grandfather hoped to accomplish with an Anything Collider. While most scientists at the ceremony worried that there wouldn’t be any food left at the reception, my worry was that my beloved grandfather’s collider would fail and be the brunt of every physics joke for the next hundred years.

December 15th, 2088AD
“MANDELBAUM SUPERCOLLIDER NOT SO SUPER; GIVES PHYSICISTS SOMETIHNG TO LAUGH ABOUT.” That’s how my day began, with this caustic headline in The New York Times. I will not let this be my grandfather’s legacy. I must prove everyone wrong. I am going to do something big with this accelerator.

All right, here I am, Journal. I’ve got some rope to lower myself into the detector and some dynamite to blow a hole in this thing in case I get stuck. I’m going fix the MSAARI and make sure it does what it was meant to do: Explain how this universe works and how we all got here.

This journal belonged to University of Chicago Physicist Ryan Mandelbaum III (2051-13,000,000,000 BCE) grandson of physicist Ryan Mandelbaum Sr. (1992-2071). Mandelbaum Sr. had the accelerator built in order to find a theory to replace the Standard Model of Physics, but instead, managed to give birth to the universe. From the evidence that can be gathered, Mandelbaum III tieda rope around his waist and then jumped into the accelerator holding a stick of dynamite. The result was recorded on hologram, and was shown to physicists the next day.
The hologram was slowed down by six orders of magnitude to reveal to scientists exactly what happened. Mandelbaum III and the two objects were propelled to a speed just short of the speed of light. From the stationary detector, all that could be seen was a flash of light. However, from the moving detector, designed to travel at the same pace as the beam, Mandelbaum could be seen lighting the stick of dynamite as he rocketed toward the ball of rope dangling from the interior of the detector where he had entered. The exploding dynamite gave him an extra boost and pushed his velocity just over the speed of light, what physicists originally thought was the speed limit of the universe.
The collision condensed Mandelbaum and the rope into a super dense ball about one Planck length in radius, and the previously unattainable speed of the impact shot the ball thirteen billion years into the past. The super-condensed ball was very unstable and exploded in an enormous burst of energy, leaving only little pieces of vibrating string and Mandelbaum’s remains, spreading rapidly from the force of the explosion. After viewing the hologram one Planck second at a time, it is possible to see the result of the explosion. The energy of the bang caused each piece of string to begin vibrating at a certain frequency, depending on its size. Upon even further scrutiny, it was possible to see that the pieces of string that were located just near Ryan’s heart began vibrating exactly as the string theory predicted the Higgs boson would vibrate. For this reason, the scientific community unanimously voted to change the name of the Higgs boson to the “Mandelbaum boson.”
Through a paradox originally thought to be possible only in well-written science fiction, Ryan Mandelbaum III, in order to save the reputation of his grandfather did more than just that; he created the entire universe. It pains every physicist today to think for even a second about what would have happened had Ryan not put himself into the accelerator. Instead we thank Ryan for martyring himself for the sake of humanity. Just think, if Ryan had not attended the University of Chicago, the entire universe would never have been created!


Journal donated to the Chicago Museum of Physics by the Mandelbaum family.

This is the nerdy ass essay that got me into UChicago. Woo!

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

One week

I'm sitting here counting down the freakin' omer...
Six days, nineteen hours, 16 minutes.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Ryan and Spencer Write a Double Dactyl

[22:51] **affeee: mandela mandebaum
[22:51] **sbwbbb: vaginal intercourse!
[22:51] **affeee: or ryan gladbear
[22:52] **sbwbbb: that's not my real name.
[22:52] **affeee: his intelligence wow
[22:52] **affeee: phantasmagoria
[22:53] **sbwbbb: it just amazes me
[22:53] **sbwbbb: how he stays sane

Friday, March 13, 2009

I GOT INTO DUKE

Or at least likely letter-d.
WOOOO