College Memories (2)

Initiation/Orientation

I remember sitting in the van, with everything packed up, driving out, up the street, away from the house I had lived in for 12 years or so, heading toward the interstate, unimaginably excited about the journey I was embarking on. My dad was at the wheel. We were listening to RRK, and whether by fate or irony, the song Point Of Know Return by Kansas played. I knew that I was making a huge step in my life, and that from here there'd be no turning back.

We listened to Neil Young's Decade on the trip up. I saw visions of demons and angels in my head, during the instrumental portions of Cowgirl In The Sand. When we arrived in Lewisburg, it was getting late. We checked into the hotel we were staying at overnight, before the big day, and then tried to drive in to get a glimpse of the campus. We made it to Market St., and when my dad asked the guy at La Casa De Pizza where the campus was, he said it was just another block or two in that direction. We were confused, as we didn't know the area too well, but we got some pizza and took it back to the hotel. By this time, it was full-on dark. I remember eating that pizza in the hotel room, watching some Conan The Barbarian movie on television for a little bit, then listening to the radio on my portable system, trying to find which stations were good in this town, before finally getting to sleep.

In the morning, I giddily prepared myself, and we headed towards campus. Our car was directed to the building I was to be living in - Larison Hall. As we arrived, and stopped the car in front of the building, we were immediately absorbed by a whirlwind of volunteer assistants who quite efficiently whisked all my luggage away and up to my room. I and my dad were informed that this was the chance for me to go in, get my room key from my RA, and check out my room - without my dad's assistance, a first chance at independence. We eventually met back at my room, and started to unpack some of the more important things.

I finally got to meet my would-be roommate, Brent. Ironically, he was from California, which is where my then-girlfriend had moved to attend college. He was a great guy, very friendly, although we weren't really the best match, since he was a total party guy/social butterfly. But for what it could have been, it was a pretty positive experience since I had never faced the prospect of living in close quarters with a stranger before.

I guess there were some events and things, but it came to a point where my dad was anxious to start the long trip home, and where I needed to start getting used to living on my own, away from parental guidance and protection. We parted ways in the middle of a thronging crowd assembled for some activities fair type gathering on the lawn next to the chapel, and I remember it being an incredibly bittersweet moment, filled simultaneously with fear and excitement, sadness, and vigor.

There was about a week of freshman orientation before actual classes began, where we could get used to living on campus, where to get food, become acquainted with our hall mates, attend supposedly mandatory (ha!) meetings about adapting to college life, and stuff like that. Basically, it was a lot like some kind of camp, except that we were living in buildings and not tents or huts. There were some incredibly lame festivities, where we were held captive on the field and forced to play embarrassing games with the rest of the freshman class, which really lowered my appreciation for the whole orientation program.

My hall had some pretty cool people. Of the two guys right across the hall from my room, one of them was from Pittsburgh, which was pretty cool. He was kind of a rough-and-tumble sporty type, though. Once, we got in trouble for playing the same song from each of our rooms, and adjusting the volume so that you could get a perfect equal balance from both sides by standing right in the middle of the hall between the two rooms. That was awesome. Down the hall, in the triple, there was "rock star Mike" (the Asian and the Mike that I was friends with in college would find irony in the fact that this particular Mike was Asian - and a guitarist! Premonitions?), who was a talented guitarist, and Pedro, another beginning guitarist like myself. Interestingly, we had three Laurens on our hall, and two Kates of some form. There was also a fascinating individual by the name of Whitney, who I got to know a little better later on (he spent a year backpacking in Europe, before entering college!). He started out studying Japanese right away, and though I had plans to take Japanese too as soon as I got the chance, he once told me never to take it because it was so challenging!

During one of the early festivities on campus, though it may have been after classes had started, there was a fleeting experience that burned a lasting image in my mind. I was walking through a crowd on the fields and walkways outside the upper entrance of the LC, tons of people hanging out and having a good time. Maybe there were some crafts, maybe there was some food being served. It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day. Anyhow, and this image may have been idealized by my emotional reaction, but I recall seeing a beautiful girl in the grass, barefoot, with flowing blonde hair. It sparked in me a visceral connection to everything I loved about the idealism of the love and peace hippie generation, and though I didn't make any kind of specific connection to the girl at the time, I took it as a symbol of how beautiful and amazing this world was that I was just entering into! The possibilities were endless!

During those early days, I also met another person that would have a hand in shaping my experience of college life. I believe I first met Paul on the bench outside our advisor's office, waiting for our very first individual meetings with him. Paul was clearly much higher up on the social ladder than I, but we shared an interest in physics and classic rock music, as well as a passion for playing the guitar, so I like to think we were able to have a pretty meaningful acquaintanceship. In addition to my intense fandom of the band he later played in on and around campus, by his connection I was introduced to a lot of scenes that I never would have experienced otherwise. Not to say that all of those scenes were necessarily scenes that I wanted to be a part of, but even so, I'm grateful for getting to see all different sides of life, even if just for comparison.

One of the major developments of that first week of living on campus was the switch from rooming in a double to rooming in a single. My roommate Brent became friends with another guy a few doors down, who also came from California, and who lived in a single. Turns out this other guy was having doubts about attending Bucknell, and before the week was out, he arranged to withdraw and transfer to UCLA. Lucky for me, Brent was the first person to act on the vacancy. He moved into the single down the hall, leaving me in my room all to myself! Some people warned that the administration would find someone else to squeeze into my room in Brent's place, but no such thing ever happened. Besides, that room was pretty cramped for two people, anyway. But it was just right for one. The extra special bonus was that, since it was outfitted as a double, I got twice the furniture! So I had an extra set of shelves, twice the closet space, one desk for school work and one desk for my computer, and a double bed! It was fantastic! Truly a dream come true! I lofted both the beds, so as not to overcrowd the space in the room, and put my computer desk in the cave underneath. It was amazing! Shangri-La!!

Bedside Manners (or Raging River of Thought)

I don't know if it qualifies as insomnia, but I often have trouble getting to sleep. This is one of the main factors contributing to my desire to increase the length of a day by a few hours - believing that staying up longer will make it easier to finally fall asleep when the time comes, without sacrificing sleeping hours. (The other major factor is my hatred of being forced to wake up prematurely). Alternatively, I suspect that if I did more throughout the day - particularly more physical activities - I might be tired enough by the end of the day that I'd be able to fall asleep easier. Well, however it may by alleviated, the problem as I see it is related to the raging beast that is my mind. When I shut off the lights and climb into bed, the distractions of the physical world melt away, and my mind is free to explore. It runs off into patterns of thought that keep me awake, rather than allowing me to drift off to sleep. And the longer I lay in bed trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep, the more frustrating it gets. Usually, it eventually happens, but every once in awhile, my mind just refuses to shut off. And what's particularly annoying, is when I get that feeling that I need to document what I'm thinking about - like when I get a great idea about something, and I want to write it down before I forget it. It's annoying because on the one hand, I want to stay in bed and try to fall asleep, but on the other hand, I feel this urge to get up and stay up and pursue the idea.

On a related note, I also do a lot of thinking in the shower. In this case, I know that I'll be out and back in my room within the hour, so if I have any great ideas, I can just remember to write them down after I get out - unlike when I'm lying in bed, and I'm afraid I'll fall asleep and then I won't remember at all what I was thinking about before I drifted off. Still, for some things, I put a lot of importance on the exact wording of things, and oftentimes, if I don't capture that precise wording, the idea won't have nearly the impressive appeal to me as it originally had. This is a problem when I'm thinking about a topic of discussion, and I find a great way to articulate my stance. I want to preserve those words I used to frame it that way, but I can't very well write something down while I'm in the shower, and it just wouldn't be feasible to hop out of the shower everytime I think of something new. Sometimes I go to painstaking efforts to memorize exact phrasings of things while I'm in the shower, so that I can write them down after I get out. This is actually a great way to exercise my memory skills (something I've always prided myself on), but it is a lot of effort (usually more than I'm willing to expend on most issues), and one potential trouble is that if I take the time to memorize the first couple of sentences, it might actually stunt my thought process in terms of coming up with the next few sentences. So then I come up against a pretty interesting conundrum. Do I focus on memorizing what I have, making sure not to lose it, or do I let myself follow the thought through, knowing that I might very well engage myself in an enlightening inner monologue that I'll never be able to duplicate?

Well, if it hasn't sunk in yet, I was lying in bed trying to get to sleep, and I started thinking about these very issues, and I felt it would make a good entry for my blog. At first I juggled the value of getting up and going with it against that of staying in bed and hoping I could remember enough in the morning. Guess which side I ultimately allied with? I think those first two paragraphs were pretty good though, so right now I'm gonna say it was worth it. Although, in addition to talking about my sometimes frustrating thought patterns, I thought I'd also mention a few things about my bedside manners.

One thing that I think might be a question on certain people's minds (as it's been asked of me at least once), is what the hell do I do with my hair when I go to sleep? Because I've heard at least one tale of a person with long hair who woke up choking with it wrapped around the throat, and subsequently ran off and got the hair cut. Although that person must not have valued their long hair much to get it cut off so easily, it does bring up a concern. I've only had significantly long hair for a few years (let's say, long enough that it could choke me), but in college, I ended up getting into the habit of pulling my hair up to the top of my head, after laying down in bed, and tying it off with a hair tie thingy, then letting the hair hang over the top of the bed. That way, I can toss and turn back and forth with minimal tangling and whatnot, and I don't have to constantly be concerned about where my hair is, since it pretty much stays in one place. I don't know what other people do with their long hair, if they braid it or what, but this system has worked fine for me so far. I actually wish I knew more about hair stuff, because girls can do so many cool things that guys just never learn. It's like a secret art.

I like a soft, but pretty flat pillow. Those super-fluffy pillows can be really luxurious, and nice to lay on, but I have a hard time sleeping on one, because the pillow fluffs up all around your head, and that makes it hard to breathe clearly. Speaking of pillows, I happen to have a rather large mattress, and while I love to spread my body out, my pillow stays on one half (actually more like 3/4's), with the remaining quarter (the side of the bed away from the wall) hosting a stack of two really fluffy pillows, creating a kind of pillow wall that obstructs my immediate view of the area just beside the bed and the rest of the room, while I'm lying down in place. Why is this? One simple reason. After I had my sleep paralysis episode a year or so ago, I became very paranoid about an evil presence kneeling down beside my bed to watch me (which is exactly what happened during the episode), so just like you throw the covers over your head to protect yourself from the monsters in the dark of your room, I put those pillows there so I wouldn't have to be staring out into the darkness beside the bed, wondering if something might be there. Wow, that sounds so childish, but damn, if you've experienced what I've experienced, you'd understand.

As for covers, I have a nice stack of a bunch of comforters, and I use a varying percentage of that stack throughout the year. In the coldest winter months (like right now), I use most of them, to keep warm, which I guess is about 4-6 layers (I had to take off two of the layers to block off the window...). In the summer, I only use 1 layer, and it's always the same layer on bottom, which just happens to be particularly comfortable for me. Speaking of being comfortable, there's nothing more comfortable than sleeping nude, and the only time I don't is when I can't. But even now, in the cold winter, there's nothing a layer of clothing can do that an extra blanket can't do - and the blanket doesn't restrict you as much, or create as much static friction. Even in college, during the times when I shared a room, I devised a system where I'd use the basket, that I tied to my bedside to sit my alarm clock on, as a place to keep my shorts after taking them off under the cover of the blankets, so that I could slip them on again in the morning before climbing out of bed. I don't remember exactly when or exactly why I started sleeping nude, but I do remember a period of adjusting myself to it. I'm sure I didn't have any specific ideas about nudism back then, but I must have recognized the comfort and simple joy of it at the time. And that's something that I haven't forgotten.

Sometimes, during the summer, it's so hot that even using the one blanket is too much. But for the longest time I've had an inborn aversion to sleeping without any covers. Maybe it's a natural thing - defense mechanism or something - but I've always felt vulnerable without being covered - particularly the feet. Whether it's monsters or the cold or just the space, I feel uneasy climbing into bed without having anything to cover me. On the other hand, when it's just too hot to be covered, I've learned to make compromises - mostly by covering myself as little as possible, balancing the feeling of being exposed with the feeling of being overheated. I like the image that I get in a lot of anime/manga series of Japanese people sleeping with a wide but rather short (perhaps folded over) blanket covering only their midsection. I wonder what the story behind that is, if that's a Japanese custom, if there's some reasoning behind it or something. I've tried it, and it's fun just because of the association I make with characters from anime, but it only works when I'm really hot, and even then I have to gradually unfold the blanket to cover myself up more as I cool down.

Boy, isn't this interesting? I think that's all of what I thought I'd mention. I did promise something about bedside manners, didn't I? Luckily, I haven't really been forced to share a bed with anyone I didn't want to, as a result of crowding or whatever (there was that one time I opted to sleep on the floor rather than share a bed with another guy, if you remember). I have had a little experience sharing a bed with a girl, however. There are all kinds of emotional benefits, waking up next to a girl you love and all, and the physical closeness, which is all pretty obvious. There have been times when I've been pushed out of bed though - inadvertently, but no less frustrating. Ah, I just remembered something else - positions! No, not sexual positions! I mean sleeping positions.

I've always been a side sleeper. I lay on my back to relax, but never to fall asleep. I don't specifically have a favored side, as far as I know, except that lately I've been falling asleep on a particular side - but I suspect that has to do with facing away from the light leaking in through the window. As far as sleeping on my stomach, it's the oddest thing. I had a friend/roommate in college that always slept on his stomach. And it kind of scares me, because there are certain connections I do not want to have with this person - and anything related to sleeping is one of them - but I've never slept on my stomach before, yet, after having lived with him for awhile, I started doing it. I honestly can't explain it. And it's a habit that I still haven't been able to completely shake off. I also have this particular pattern I place my arms in that usually gets me the most comfortable, and it's something that I also happened upon during college. It's like a criss-cross, where I'll have one arm directed upward, over the head of the bed, and the other directed outward, away from my face - but with the arms crossed. I dunno, this is weird stuff, and I'm suddenly starting to wonder if it's even all that interesting, and most importantly, if it was really worth getting out of bed for. Maybe now I'll be tired enough to fall asleep. Still won't make me feel any better when it's time to get up though...

Musical Discoveries

Inspired by a post by Satanic Thoreau, which characteristically turned out to be way fucking longer than I was expecting, I've decided to discuss where I discovered some of my favorite musical artists.

Classic Rock (Popular)

Most of the classic rock artists I'm into I discovered from a combination of my parents' listening habits as I was being raised (more of a subconscious inspiration), and the stuff I heard on RRK, which was (alas, no longer) the classic rock station in this area when I first *consciously* started recognizing music and acquiring a taste for it (around the end of my high school years). But here are a few specific stories:

Led Zeppelin

Stairway To Heaven was one of the first songs that I really got into in a big way. During the first semester of my senior year in high school, I spent a lot of time at home after school sitting in the dark and listening to RRK. I was "earning my chops" as a listener, in terms of getting to know all the most popular classic rock tracks (at least on big name radio, anyway). But everytime Stairway To Heaven came on - which was relatively frequently - I went into a total trance. It was practically a spiritual experience. The magic of the song, and the power and emotion of the solo. Once, a little later, after acquiring a girlfriend, I pulled the car into the driveway when Stairway came on. She was anxious to get inside, so she shut the radio off - cutting off my reverie. I was pissed.

As far as the rest of Zep's catalog, in addition to what RRK played, they did a Top 50 Albums countdown over Thanksgiving weekend that year. I got introduced to a lot of good albums on that countdown (as opposed to just songs), and I actually used it as a guide for writing up my Christmas list, since before then I didn't really know what albums were good. The albums on that countdown that made the biggest impression on me were Zep's.

Another formulating experience, if I haven't mentioned it already, was the weekend with the ZoSocar. One weekend that December, my brother 'traded' cars with me for the weekend, because he wanted to take the van up to Canada. So I got to drive his white Firebird. It was a sweet ride. He left Zep's fourth album in the CD player, so naturally, driving the car meant listening to the album. It was an amazing experience, that I am sure only increased the magic of that album.

Pink Floyd

I discovered Pink Floyd pretty much the same way as Led Zeppelin, though there wasn't necessarily one song that stood out for me as much as Stairway To Heaven did. But I do remember one Floyd-related incident from my childhood. I was in some way familiar with Dark Side of the Moon, because I remember I would sometimes beg my mom to put it on so I could listen to my favorite part, which was the ambient portion at the very beginning of the song Time. Floyd was probably the band I was most consciously aware of during the early years. In the discovery period, during the end of my high school years, I attached myself to Pink Floyd because they seemed a bit more sophisticated than the average rock band, and also because their music had a certain emotion to it - something a bit more introspective and atmospheric - which attracted me. I remember driving back from the mall one day, by myself, and Hey You came on the radio, and I thought back on my experiences, since I was approaching graduation, and I just had this feeling that Pink Floyd had some underlying connection to me.

The Doors

Something about The Doors reminds me of our family vacations to Deep Creek Lake in my childhood. It probably has a lot to do with hearing them a lot during those vacations. But it might also have to do with a very important experience that has stuck in my memory all these years. We were just coming off the lake as a storm broke out. While our relatives were tying up the boat, my brothers and I ran ahead to the cottages for cover. The doors were locked and nobody answered. We ran along the road from our parents' cottage to our grandparents' cottage, and the van drove right up to us, coming back from shopping. They opened the door and we climbed in out of the rain, and Riders on the Storm was playing on the CD player. Perfect.

The Who

The Who was actually the first rock concert I ever went to. But it wasn't me, it was my brother, that suggested it to my dad in the first place. I wanted to get a better idea of who The Who was - in essence, which of the songs I knew from the radio was actually The Who. I heard Who Are You one day, and I remember coming to the realization that "this is The Who". So I've kind of always felt a little behind the curve in my appreciation for The Who, but there's something very unique about the band, particularly Pete Townshend's approach to playing the guitar, that I've come to appreciate more and more over the years.

The Rolling Stones

The Rolling Stones is my dad's favorite band, so my awareness of them is pretty self-explanatory. They don't really have a searing guitar god - Keith Richards has always been more of the rhythm/song-writing type - so I've always spent less attention on them than other bands. But there's no doubt that they have a solid groove, as well as being just downright cool. And listening to them a lot, and learning about them on the side, from my dad's influence, I've learned to appreciate them more and more.

Neil Young

My first encounter with Neil Young was the song Cinnamon Girl which came on every once in awhile on the radio. I remember separating it in my mind from Brown-Eyed Girl, since the title was similar in structure. But between the two, Cinnamon Girl was more interesting because it was electric and had a rock edge. Another time, in a rare occurence, I heard Down By The River playing on the radio, and I was captivated by the electric jamming and groovy atmosphere. Yet another time, I heard Like A Hurricane, and I wasn't sure it was Neil Young, but I had a pretty good idea that it was, because I could hear the stylistic similarities to Down By The River. I tried to look it up, but kept getting Rock You Like A Hurricane, which obviously wasn't right.

I knew my dad had some Neil Young in his collection, so I looked through it one night, and discovered the album Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere, with the song Down By The River - bingo! Listening to the album, I heard Cowgirl in the Sand for the very first time, and it blew me away. I loved it, but I didn't become totally obsessed with the song until my freshman year in college, sitting in the window, watching the students pass by down below, listening to the song on repeat for hours, waiting for just a glimpse of heaven.

Other Classic Rock/Blues

Robin Trower and Ten Years After

I'm lumping these two together only because I 'discovered' them simultaneously. Ten Years After has more or less been my dad's second favorite band, and my introduction to them during the Woodstock film (Alvin Lee totally smoking on the guitar throughout I'm Going Home) whetted my appetite for more. As for Robin Trower, I heard about him from an online classic rock forum, and decided he was worth checking out. So sometime during my college days, I ordered a TYA album and a Trower album. When they arrived, I took them to the library to listen to while doing some homework (I'm thinking this must have been sophomore year). I was entranced by Trower, and TYA blew me away. One of the TYA songs, You Give Me Loving, actually sounded familiar to me. It was bizarre, because I know I hadn't consciously heard the song before, but the riff must have been burned into my brain subconsciously from listening to TYA a lot during childhood, as I'm sure I did.

Peter Green's Fleetwood Mac

My first introduction to Peter Green was waking up halfway in the middle of the night, with the radio still playing, and hearing the song Oh Well, including the full acoustic portion. It mesmerized me, and I made a point to jot down the name of the song and the band, that the DJ announced after it ended, on a strip of paper so I would remember it the next morning. I woke up and looked at the piece of paper, and told myself that there was no way that song was by Fleetwood Mac, the band that did the Rumours album. So I shrugged it off for the time being.

I don't recall how Peter Green re-entered my consciousness, but I was curious, perhaps still wondering about that Oh Well song, so I went and bought the BBC Sessions featuring not just Fleetwood Mac, but Peter Green's Fleetwood Mac. I was sold instantly, after listening to it. Peter Green, with his heart-rending soulful blues licks, and his melancholic sensibilities, immediately became one of my favorite artists of all time. He's an amazing musician, and the very personal songs he sings, I feel like it could have been me that wrote those songs. There's a deep connection there.

Michael Bloomfield

I came upon Michael Bloomfield in a roundabout way. It's pretty ironic, actually. One day, jumping into (or maybe just before getting out of) the car at Guitar Center, I heard on the radio - a rare occurrence, indeed - the version of Season of the Witch which turned out to be by Al Kooper and Stephen Stills. Not at first, but this gradually led me to the Super Session album, from which the track comes, which features some of Bloomfield's best playing. The session was conceived for just that purpose, and Stills' contribution came only after Bloomfield skipped out halfway through the proceedings. So by chance, I was drawn to Super Session by one of the non-Bloomfield tracks!

And then there was the Monterey Pop Festival DVD. Bloomfield plays on it with a band called Electric Flag. But what caught my attention even more, was the Paul Butterfield Blues Band's performance on Driftin' and Driftin'. Once again, I just barely missed Bloomfield, because shortly before Monterey, he had quit the Butterfield Blues Band to form Electric Flag! Still, I got interested in the Butterfield Blues Band, and bought the anthology, half of which features Bloomfield on guitar. So from both this and Super Session, I came to discover, in a roundabout fashion, the genius of Michael Bloomfield, forgotten blues virtuoso guitar god of the sixties (and to a decidedly lesser extent, the seventies).

Other Genres

Joe Bonamassa (Modern Blues Rock)

I don't recall exactly how I came across Grooveyard Records, but when I did, I realized that here was a potential treasure trove of modern music that could appeal to my guitar-driven blues-influenced rock sensibilities. I downloaded all of the sample tracks from the various albums they were offering, and I listened to them, paring them down to the very best four. Then, I ordered the albums those best tracks were from. This is how I discovered Lance Lopez, also. One of those first tracks was A New Day Yesterday from Joe Bonamassa's live album of that title. I got the album and I've been a dedicated fan ever since. He's my favorite modern guitarist.

Shannon Curfman (Modern Blues Rock)

One day during my senior year in college, I was sitting at my desk in my room, reading from a hometown mag I had just got in the mail. I scanned through it for anything interest-catching. Well, in the live performances section of the magazine, there was an article about an upcoming performance by a young female blues rocker. My interest was piqued. When I read that she had recorded a blues album at age 15, I was fascinated. I couldn't get home to see her perform that time, but I bought her album and got a chance to see her next time 'round.

Silvertide (Modern Classic-style Rock)

When Silvertide were just getting popular over in Philly, there was a Philly-based member on an online Zeppelin forum I frequented at the time. He was advertising the band, but I pretty much ignored them at first. Finally, this member sent me an audio track or two, and I was really impressed. I also visited the band's website and heard a few more songs, and I was hooked. I got a chance to see the band live as an opening act, and I eagerly anticipated their first album release. Afterward, I even hoofed it out across the stateline to see them perform for a future live DVD release, which never happened. Unfortunately, the band faded into the void behind lies of a second album. Nobody knows if they will ever resurface, but at this time, it looks highly doubtful. Ah well, they were good while they lasted.

Godspeed You! Black Emperor (Post-Rock)

My initial foray into the post-rock and, more generally, the ambient and atmospheric music genres, came out of my discovery of the band Godspeed You! Black Emperor. And that occurred while initially watching zombie horror flick 28 Days Later. Despite their anti-publicity stance, Godspeed allowed one of their songs to be used in the movie - and to breathtaking effect. It certainly made an impression on me. Not only did I fashion the main riff of the first "original" song I wrote on guitar after the riff in that song, but I tracked the song down (which doesn't appear on the film soundtrack, by the way), and I've been a fan of the band ever since. The post-apocalyptic soundscapes that journey from very loud to very quiet sections entrances me.

College Memories (1)

The college application process was a nightmare for me. It's not altogether unlike the whole resume scene. Tests are one thing, but what I had trouble with the most was the recommendation letters. Asking somebody to write something like that for me was a huge hurdle, especially considering that I was the kind of person who tended not to make a huge impression on or have much personal connection with my teachers. The "college essay" was also something that I antagonized over. What is it even supposed to be about? I don't remember exactly what I ended up writing, but I think I just described a few aspects of my unique personality - you know, in an attempt to stand out.

For the letters of recommendation, since I was considering studying physics, I figured it would be a good idea to ask one of my physics teachers. There was the teacher of my current AP course, and then there was the teacher of my previous honors course. I felt a little bit closer to the teacher of my previous course, so I resolved to ask her for a letter of recommendation. It was really hard for me, but I forced myself to do it, and she accepted my request. For the second required letter of recommendation, I turned to the one teacher that probably knew me best (which is still to say, not a whole lot) - my Japanese teacher, V-sensei. It helped that she openly admired my intelligence. I had no problem convincing her to write me a recommendation.

I kind of waited till the last minute to apply to colleges. (Well, my older brother waited till the last minute; I guess you could say I waited till the last hour). It was a pain in the neck for me, and although my dad had made a point to take me to some college fairs so that I had tons of brochures to look through, I had a hard time figuring out where exactly I wanted to go. I eventually picked out four places, and applied to each one. Harvard was at the top, and Penn State was at the bottom - since my dad graduated from there, and my older brother was currently enrolled, I figured I'd have no problem getting in. Harvard flat out rejected me (although some 4 or so other kids from my high school had already been accepted to Harvard that year, probably on early decision, so they probably reached some kind of quota). Of the remaning two colleges, one put me on a waiting list, and the other accepted me. Oh, and Penn State also accepted me, as expected. So, ditching the waiting list college, I had two places to choose from - Penn State, and Bucknell University.

In the spring, I took a day trip up to Bucknell with my dad, and my girlfriend tagged along (she was already primed to enroll in a college in California - if things had progressed between us a few months earlier, I might have actually considered applying to a college in CA), on admissions day. The weather was cool and gloomy, with a little bit of drizzle here and there. I remember making a point to catch the trial physics lecture. Tom Solomon was the professor, and he definitely made an impression on me, talking about Chaos Theory and related issues. I was still undecided about my major (as I figure most people are at this stage), but I was toying with the idea of studying computer science. Unfortunately, there was a complicated split between the computer science associated with the engineering college and the computer science associated with the arts and sciences college, and it became this huge issue for my dad, who wanted to make sure that I was in the right position to pursue what it was I wanted to study. Of course, the issue wasn't nearly such a big deal, but my dad was determined to clarify the details, and I got incredibly embarrassed and somewhat frustrated at all the questions he insisted on asking various people.

It actually got pretty bad, and I kind of broke down, and started saying that I didn't even really want to go to college anyway, that I was only doing it because it was expected of me. My girlfriend tried to console me, and I felt a little better, and kind of just rode the rest of the day out. It was a mixed experience.

But among the cool things that happened that day, in addition to the neat physics lecture, I got to meet the anime society at the club fair. They had a really cool Evangelion wall scroll hanging up at their booth, which is the same wall scroll I had hanging up in my room back home. I talked with them very briefly (pretty sure it was the pres and vice pres of the club at the time), and became excited at the idea of joining an anime club. Another interesting experience that day was walking between the lower dorms and hearing Black Dog from Led Zeppelin's fourth album blaring from the direction of Larison Hall. That made an impression on me.

On another day, I went up, just with my dad this time, to visit Penn State main campus. My experience was much less personal, partly because it's a much bigger place (like 10 times the size and population of Bucknell), and partly because it wasn't explicitly the day for prospectives to check out the campus. But my dad knew the place well, and he showed me around. The main impression was: huge. It was like a city. It definitely didn't have the homely feel of Bucknell, but with size comes diversity, which breeds opportunity. Still, I felt more comfortable in a smaller place with less people. Plus, having the opportunity to attend a college like Bucknell seemed like one not to be missed. I mean, so many people go to Penn State, it just seemed like it would mean more to attend Bucknell. And that's the decision I made.

While I was deciding which classes to request for my first semester, I got the idea that I definitely wanted to major in physics. My concern was that if I didn't get off to a good start, then I wouldn't be sufficiently prepared by the end of my time at Bucknell to go to grad school. Like, if I didn't start right away, I wouldn't have time to earn the right credits, or that I'd have to get an arts degree instead of a science degree, and that that would give me a disadvantage trying to advance higher in the system. So instead of letting things work themselves out naturally, I made a point of entering the university as a physics major.

Among the other classes I requested, Japanese was one. Having finally got a chance to formally study Japanese in my final year in high school, I was anxious to continue my education in that language. As fate would have it, I ended up being forced to take a year off from my studies in Japanese, only to return to the language in my sophomore year. But the good thing about that is that I ended up studying with some really cool students.

For my required "freshman seminar", I had to pick a list of favorites from the available choices. There was a physics-oriented seminar, but the one that really caught my eye was more concerned with philosophy and psychology. It was titled "Distortions of Reality", and is definitely one of the greatest courses I've ever taken. And the professor was an unendingly fascinating individual himself. I also requested a general philosophy course, since I had always been interested in philosophy, and there had never been any philosophy courses in my high school - the closest I could get was a psychology course in my senior year.

So my freshman schedule consisted of the freshman seminar mentioned above, the introductory philosophy course, and for my major, a combination of the introductory physics course, and Calculus III. I guess that last one requires a little explanation. I took AP Physics and AP Calculus (the higher of the two AP Calculus courses) my senior year in high school. I also took an AP Computer Science course (in C++). I managed to score a 5 on my AP Calculus exam, so Bucknell placed me considerably ahead in math. It was a mixed blessing. The higher I got in math in high school, the more I felt like I needed some extra time to get my bearings and really understand what I was doing. But I kept plowing ahead. And that continued into college. I was able to survive through Calculus and Differential Equations, and once I got to Logic (the mathematical, not the philosophical kind), it was a refreshing change of scenery. Instead of solving equations, which is more important to science, all of a sudden it was about proving (mathematical) statements, which was endlessly more interesting, and far easier for me. I regret not studying more and higher math in college, but on the other hand, it was a relief to finish my math requirements early, and open up spaces for some more interesting courses, like the ones that earned me minors in Japanese and philosophy.

Girls

I'll admit I haven't had the best of luck or the most experience with girls in my life, but I have had some, and I'm thankful for that. There were a number of girls throughout my life that have made an impact on me, and I'd like to take a moment to discuss the most important ones.

Childhood

The first girl I ever remember making an impression on me was the girl that lived across the street from the house my family lived in during the majority of my childhood (pre-kindergarten) years. My memories of this stage of my life are admittedly vague, so I don't recall a lot of details. I'm pretty sure she had a brother, who we (my older brother and I) played with a lot in that neighborhood. I'm not sure, but I think the girl was actually a little older than me, closer to my brother's age. We didn't really have much of a connection, I think, other than just being neighbors that played together sometimes. I mean, I was pretty young at this point, but I do specifically remember having some kind of admiration for her. Maybe it was my very first crush. Although, as I've said, I was quite young at the time. My most vivid memory is when her family moved away from us. It was probably the saddest memory I have from that young an age. The day after she moved away, we woke up and looked out on the front porch, and on it the word "goodbye" was written in chalk. I recall crying very hard.

The Best Babysitter In The World

Also from my childhood days of living in that house, I remember our regular babysitter, Stacey, who lived just down the street. She was absolutely the coolest person in the universe. Every time she came over to watch us, it was an absolute blast. She loved to play videogames, and she'd always bring over some titles, or we'd rent some for the occasion. Thinking back on it, she was a total 80's chick, but that kind of thing didn't really make an impression on me at the time. I think I can honestly say that I loved her, but it wasn't really in a romantic way. Heh, I guess it's like the way you love God. Or something like that. It was a disappointment as we got older and saw her less and less, particularly after she moved farther away. But those evenings of playing video games with Stacey have to be among the greatest times I've had in my life.

Within The Family

I'm not sure at what age this happened, though it was fairly young, but I specifically remember having a crush on one of my cousins. Obviously, nothing ever came of it, albeit to my disappointment, but I remember lying about liking some early pop boy band just so I could hang out with her. I'm not a hundred percent certain, but I think she might have had really long hair at a young age.

Elementary School

Throughout elementary school, focusing on the later years when girls really started entering my consciousness in a significant way, there were two girls that impressed me. They were actually close friends who spent a lot of time hanging out together, and they were also two of the most popular girls in our grade - so naturally, I wasn't the only one thinking about them. The one was more the outgoing type, with a lot of style, and a certain amount of attitude. Basically the girl everyone wants. And the other was a lot shier, a bit of a more gentle beauty, with fairer skin and a softer voice. Of the two, I think I liked the shy girl better. Of course, considering who I am, I probably never once even so much as spoke in their direction. But I remember thinking that whether or not it was a good day depended on whether or not I had made any kind of contact (not necessarily physical) with a girl on any given day - any girl, really. (As a sidenote, I remember that later on, in high school, the outgoing girl ended up becoming the bad girl type, dating a lot of rebel-type guys, while the shy girl ended up getting serious with the smartest guy in our grade - he was an insufferably nice guy, but I always hated him for getting her, though I'm sure they deserved each other).

Ah, I just remembered another girl from elementary school that played a significant role in my life. She was tall, and probably had longer hair than average (though not necessarily really long), and she was a bit more playful than the rest. I remember, in the period before the kids really started thinking about dating, this one girl would sort of take on different boys, one at a time, to sort of be her pet. I pride myself on being one of her pets, although there wasn't a whole lot to it, besides getting more attention from a girl than I usually would. Which was a great thing.

Junior High

Junior High was a painfully awkward period of life. Once again, there were two girls that captured my attention. The one I liked more was the smart type - actually my rival in math class. The other one had really long, jet black hair. But I kind of lost interest in her when she got a buzz cut and went all punk/butch. As for the smart one, I remember two significant moments between us. One was at the end of the year, when I actually, for once, got up the nerve to ask her to sign my yearbook. We exchanged books, and returning them, we both shared a laugh after we realized we had both written something math-related. I guess it's not that much of a coincidence, in hindsight, but that didn't ruin the experience at the time. The other moment was at a school dance. You have to realize the effort it took me to actually go to the school dance. It's the kind of thing I'd fantasize about when I was at home alone on Saturday nights. But this one, I actually worked up the nerve to show up at. It was a Halloween dance, so I put on a cape and I may have put a colored streak in my hair. It was a hell of an experience, although nothing really great happened, except at the very end. The dance kind of ended a little earlier than I had told my dad to pick me up, so I was sort of hanging around as the adults and the student helpers tore things down. The smart girl was there as one of the helpers, and we were sitting on a table as things were winding down, and she mistook me for being one of the helpers since I was still around, and she made some comment about us doing a good job, and slapped me on the back, in that camaraderie kind of way. God, it's not much, is it? But to me, it was everything.

High School

High School is where things finally started to get interesting for me in the romance department. I had spent my whole life as a loner, lamenting my position outside of the social circle, believing that that was just my place and that it would never change. But then I watched Evangelion in a one-stop marathon, and it blew my mind. At the climax, mirroring Shinji's breakthrough, I discovered that what was actually important in life was people - specifically, *other* people. So from that point on, I started actually making a conscious effort to try to score some companionship (granted, in my terms, that doesn't necessarily mean much). That was in the fall, and the following spring, I met a girl online. It's kind of pathetic, but for me, I suppose it couldn't have happened any other way. The internet was the best place for me to meet someone and start to actually make an interpersonal connection - in a largely impersonal arena. We seemed pretty compatible at first, and we chatted regularly for awhile before we finally realized that we both wanted to be a couple, so that's what we did. I was 17 years old at the time (she was 15), and she's the one that awakened my sexuality. In the past, I had understood that looking at pretty girls felt good, but I didn't really 'get' what it was all about until, with her encouragement, I discovered the secret. I have to say, she was quite perverted. We had a lot of cyber-sex and played a lot of erotic cyber-games. It was fun, and it was the first time in my life I actually had someone that I could consider a romantic partner. Somebody who actually admitted to loving me. It was an amazing feeling. The relationship only lasted three months before she went on a vacation to Europe, and for some reason decided to end it before she left. I cried really freaking hard that night, but then the tears were gone, and the sadness was mostly behind me, only to be replaced by anger. She later told me that she was planning on resuming our relationship when she returned (it was only like a two week trip or something), but by that time, I had said some pretty mean things, since I was so pissed at her, and well, things ended kind of messily. I was ready to move on, though.

The One

Then the most amazing thing in my life happened. 1) I fell in love with a girl, 2) I actually mustered the courage to show her my affections, and 3) she actually returned my feelings sincerely! She was a girl I'd known from Junior High, but had never been real close to until senior year of high school, when things just sort of blossomed. It started on a field trip with the Japanese class (to an outdoor taiko concert in the city, actually). There were sparks, but I was still pretty timid. When Christmas rolled around, knowing that she considered herself to be a witch, I spied a deck of Tarot cards during my shopping that I knew she would love, so I picked it up. The difficult part was actually giving her the gift. Last day of classes before break, I was agonizing like crazy during that last period, almost dying from anxiety. Should I head to her locker after this class and give her the gift, or should I just forget it and go home? It was a back and forth battle. For once in my life, I did the right thing. I found her and gave her the gift. We got to talking, and she invited me to a New Years Party with her friends. The next day, she called to confirm details, and we ended up making plans to meet that night. It was magical, though still very innocent and repressed. Next day, we went to see a movie. Another of the most agonizingly anxious moments of my life. I had the urge to put my arm around her shoulders, you know, like the cool guys do in all those movies. But at this point, despite all the signals, I wasn't even sure if she was actually available. Halfway through the movie, I just did it. It was another one of the greatest moves of my life. Later that night, we shared a passionate kiss - my first. Then, just like that, it was Christmas.

We had to be separated for a few days, to spend time with our separate families. But the night before Christmas, I couldn't sleep at all. A strange idea started formulating in my head. I knew it was downright insane, but the more I thought about it, the more I knew - just knew - that I had to do it. I got out of bed, like 3 or 4 in the morning, took a shower, and then, before dawn, I drove over to her house. I remember seeing the light snow falling in the glow of the van's headlights. I got to the house and I parked out front. It was freezing, and it was really early. I turned the heat up high and I figured I'd wait till they got up. You see, I didn't have much of a plan at that point, I just knew that it was Christmas morning, and I had to see her. Before too long, the car battery gave out. I guess I should have kept it running. At that point I knew there was no turning back. The only way to get home would be to get help, so I knew it was just a matter of waiting till they got up. My bones were being chilled to ice.

Finally, around 6am-ish, I couldn't take it anymore. I went up to the door and rang the bell. I felt bad about waking them up, but they said they were just about to get up, anway, though I can't know for sure that they weren't just being polite in saying that. Anyway, I had a problem, and I needed help, and they knew who I was, so they were very welcoming. I had a cup of coffee to warm myself up (I wasn't in a position to be picky), I even got an impromptu gift (a cinnamon candle which I still have and burn every once in awhile), and most importantly, I got to see the girl of my heart on Christmas morning. After getting a jump, I headed on my way, in the brightest of spirits, to join my own family for Christmas. It was insane, but I don't regret it for an instant. Can you imagine any better Christmas gift? I can't.

So from there, things just got better and better. I confessed my love to her explicitly, and we got pretty serious after the New Years Eve party. Meaning the night of, as well as in the ensuing months. We went to the prom together, we graduated together, and we spent the summer in love. Then she moved to the west coast for college. We continued the relationship mostly by phone. I flew out to visit her just after Christmas that year (my first ride in a commercial jet - and alone!), and the experience was mostly positive. We definitely had some good times. I came home after a week or so, and after that things started to go downhill. In the spring, tensions mounted, and during a particularly bothersome sickness, the whole thing stopped short. Later that summer, she showed up on my doorstep, and we started back up again. Another semester over the phone, then that holiday season, it was over for good. It was just not working out. But I was ready to move on.

Epilogue

Even though it's already been a couple years, the latest one is still too recent, and I don't necessarily feel like dredging up the painful memories that I'm still trying to heal from. Another time. If you're anxious, try reading my poetry or listening to some of my songs.

Clothed In Space (or Comfortably Nude)

I alluded to this earlier, but now it's time for the full-on confession. I've always had a fascination with nudity, but only recently have I accepted it and begun to become comfortable with it. For me, nudity possesses an allure that is independent of any connotations with sexuality. That's not to say that nudity cannot take on a sexual quality, as it often does, but the truth is that I've learned to appreciate and enjoy nudity in a completely non-sexual context as well. I'd like to share an observation I've made. It's not like I've actually discussed this with anyone, but it's an impression I got reading various people's opinions. It seems to me, that aside from the whole sex issue, one of the major problems non-nudists have with nudity is that they think it's all about seeing. Whether it's having to see other people nude (arguing that most people are ugly in just their skin), or having to expose one's self to others. But nudism neither has to be about exhibitionism, nor does it have to be about voyeurism. It's not about seeing, it's about being. The appeal is simply *being* nude.

I'm not gonna pretend this is true for everyone, although I would recommend giving it an honest try at least once in your life. Ultimately, though, that's not my decision, and I still respect people who disagree with my views. But at least for me, I find that being nude is exhilarating. It's thrilling, but it's also immensely comfortable, assuming that the temperature is reasonable. Perhaps a part of me is attracted to the idea of exposing myself completely, since I've lived for so long hiding myself from people. But above and beyond that, I've always been drawn to the natural state of things. It's not unconnected to my search for spirituality. Settling on a nature-based belief system, such as the general form of paganism, has a lot to do with the idea of stripping off all of the chains of the society of man, including clothing, and re-uniting with the natural principle within. As I mentioned previously, being nude in a natural surrounding, to me, symbolizes the perfect state. It fills me with a wholeness and a vibrant awareness of the energy of life. It truly is a mystical experience.

But I can enjoy being nude indoors, as well. I have to admit I've practiced. Having a house effectively to yourself for half the day every day, during the hot summer months, tends to lead toward a continuous shedding of layers. Nobody's around, and nobody's gonna see you, so what difference does it make if you're not wearing any clothes? So you experiment, and you either find you like it or you don't. I like it. Simple as that. It's fun, so I find I want to do it more and more, as much as possible. Of course, there are conditions, like whether it's warm enough, whether you can expect to be alone, and if not, whether anyone is going to mind. I'm comfortable by myself, but I'm still not sure if it's something that I want to share with others. I mean, yeah, even I get the feeling of, "oh I don't want to see any of these people naked". And yet, a part of me is excited by the idea of it - not the seeing, but the being. Because ultimately, it's all about being, and I enjoy being nude, so why wouldn't I want to share that with other people of a like mind? But then, I feel like those kind of people aren't exactly easy to find. I have to reiterate that this has absolutely nothing to do with sex - I don't want people to get the wrong idea, else I'd be likely to find myself in an extremely uncomfortable place that I really really don't want to be...

"Have you ever taken photos of yourself nude?"

I have to admit, this question intrigues me. Particularly in this age of digital photography, where you can completely bypass the development stage, ensuring that you're the only one who has to see the pictures you take, it becomes a very valid question. It's probably not surprising at this stage, but to answer that question honestly, I'd have to say yes. I've taken photos of myself nude.

This begs the question, why? For what purpose? Curiosity? Because there's someone you want to show them to? I consider myself an artist, with some interest in photography. The nude body is a natural work of art. Put two and two together. Although I'd obviously prefer to have attractive female models, the bottom line is, I have to work with what I've got. And, this might sound a little strange, I'm not sure, but I actually consider myself somewhat attractive. Unfortunately, and this might also sound odd, I kind of feel like I look better without clothes, anyway. I mean, when I'm dressed, the only real part of me that shows is my face and my hair. And while my hair is beautiful, I've never been entirely satisfied with the shape of my face. Of course, this is just my opinion, and I'll bet that for most of the people I encounter, thinking about how attractive or unattractive I am is one of the last things they want to be doing.

So that explains it, right? Actually, I have an even more obvious answer. The first nude pictures I took were for my girlfriend. The last part of our relationship took place cross-country, and you need some kind of comfort, right? All hail the webcam. Anyhow, that might have been the start of it (I didn't own a digital photographing-device before that webcam, which I bought specifically to keep in touch with my girlfriend when she moved from sea to shining sea), but the pictures I've taken haven't exclusively been for her. Some of them I've just taken for myself.

And being an artist, they're not particularly lewd or crude. Some of them are quite interesting, from an artistic perspective, I think. I have considered putting up something of a gallery of my best shots, but I've never quite got past that feeling that nobody would want to see them, as in, "what the fuck, I don't wanna see you naked." Plus, there's obviously issues about the borderline between art and pornography, and I'd be afraid of somebody getting the wrong idea about my intentions, you know? But on the other hand, despite my hesitation, I don't think there's anything particularly shameful about my body, and I'd probably be proud to show it off, as long as everybody else is on the same page. (On a related note, I've flirted with the idea of being a nude life model, but I've never had the balls to actually try it). Maybe I could go for a private gallery of my photos, and only give permission to people I trust. I dunno. Does that sound too weird? Too perverted? Too risky? Too pointless?

Dirty Laundry (or Mentioned Unmentionables)

In addition to the other psychological problems I have, I'm a bit of a clean freak. Related to that, I'm also a bit of a germophobe. Particularly lately, I've noticed that I wash my hands incredibly often, and when I do, I often soap up three or four times in one go, and sometimes I still have to tell myself "you're clean already" and force myself to finish and move on. It makes me think that I might have symptoms of an obsessive-compulsive personality, although I wouldn't go so far as to say that it's serious enough to label it a disorder (unlike some of my other problems). Unsurprisingly, I value having clean clothes to wear each day, and to keep it that way, I have to do a lot of laundry. For the longest time, this meant doing laundry once a week, with very little change (although it wasn't necessarily once every 7 days, so it's not like a specific day of the week was always laundry day).

I've always been very private about my laundry. I don't think that's necessarily an unusual feeling to have, I mean most people don't like the idea of other people looking at their unmentionables, right? That's where the phrase "dirty laundry" comes from, right? But even so, I've been more protective of my laundry habits than is really necessary. I don't specifically remember what it was like here at home before going to college. Sorry. But at college it was often a chore.

Let's see, four of the five residence halls (dormitories, if you prefer) I lived in during college had laundry facilities within the building. The fifth had a laundry room in the basement of another building that was just a short walk from the one I lived in. I got into the habit of doing laundry late at night, when there'd be less chances of a crowd. Although machine availability was always a concern (and sometimes an issue), the real fear was just having to do laundry (i.e. put clothes into machine, move clothes between machines, or take clothes out of machine) in front of other people. I obviously made a point to wait to fold my clothes back in the privacy of my own room. Unfortunately, I didn't always have privacy in my own room. In those cases, I really just had to make out the best I could.

Nowadays, I have a different problem with doing laundry. I'm much less concerned about being seen doing laundry as I am about being heard, since I do it in the middle of the night when everyone's asleep. The problem is that the machines are in the basement right next to the room where my brother (the working man) sleeps. And sometimes the washer makes a lot of noise. Just the thought of being such a nuisance, keeping my brother awake at night, when he has to get up in the morning and go to work, while I can sleep all day and then lounge the rest of the day, makes me feel very uncomfortable. It's not like he's ever complained, or that I have any reason to believe that he even hears the machines when he's sleeping, but that doesn't make it any less unnerving.

There's also another issue, which relates to the problem I discussed in my last post. Sometimes I go to the basement and I might hear sounds coming from his room, or there'll be a light under the door, and I'll know or suspect that he's still awake. In those cases, I can't very well do any laundry, because I know he'll know that I am doing laundry, and I fear that he might think about me and make some kind of judgements about me. Not that he would, but that he could. It's that whole idea that I automatically fear that people are criticizing me, and the best way to avoid the anxiety that that thought causes is to erase myself from the minds of others, by sneaking around and trying to convince people that I'm not even there in the first place. That's how I've gotten the nicknames "Phantom" and "Puff of Smoke" in the past. But it's crazy that I'm so insecure that I can't even do laundry in the middle of the freaking night!

So lately, I've been avoiding doing laundry as much as possible, and I've gone to brand new lengths between loads. That's still not more than a couple weeks between, though. I've known people that hardly ever do laundry, like once a month or something, but they have tons of clothes I guess. I only have so much to wear. I've got plenty of shirts, but the rest gets stretched a little thin. I resorted to going out and buying a pack of extra socks at Wal-Mart recently, just to extend my range.

If you don't want to read about my underwear, then I suggest you just skip the rest of this entry. But my feeling is that if I force myself to talk about the things that embarrass me, then maybe I'll be less embarrassed about them in the future. Hiding things away and refusing to talk about them just because they're undesirable is a great way to compound your problems. I believe that. Plus, I'm all about truth, and holding back in the fear of embarrassment is, for me, equivalent to being a hypocrite.

Simply put, I'm way too embarrassed to go out and buy underwear. Although, I've managed to do it once or twice in the past, so I at least have something to work with. But if I only have so many pairs, then I can only go so many days before I *have* to do laundry, right? Well, inspired by an eccentric in my life, I tried "going commando", as they sometimes call it. Unlike that eccentric (and I refer to him as such in a purely complimentary way), I didn't do it for reasons of joy or pleasure or adventure. It was simply a practical solution. I wouldn't necessarily say I prefer it, but honestly, I could go either way.

The biggest issue is that after taking a piss, you have to be very careful about zipping up. I never really understood the whole "getting caught in the zipper" thing because it just didn't seem like it could happen. Until it almost did. Now I'm extra careful.

When it comes to clothing, I've always hated wearing layers. It just never felt good, having layers rubbing against layers over my skin. In elementary school I went through a period where I'd wear sweats exclusively, just because they were comfortable. At the time, I hated the rough feel of putting on jeans (I have since gotten over that, since I rarely wear any kind of pants other than jeans). But I never wore a shirt underneath my sweatshirt. I knew that most kids wore sweatshirts to keep warm on a cold day, and they would take it off at times when they got warm, revealing whatever shirt they had on underneath. But I didn't like the idea of wearing two shirts at once. The only time I can accept it is if I'm camping and it's so freaking cold that that's the only effective way to stay warm.

On a related note, I never caught on to wearing boxers. I tried briefly (pardon the pun), but it just felt like wearing shorts under my pants, and they would constantly bag up and get all out of place and it drove me absolutely insane. I own only a single pair of boxers these days, and I never even wear it. It's silk ("a little too delightful"), and I only bought it to impress my high school girlfriend anyway, and even then, the material didn't have enough substance to avoid taking my shape, if you know what I mean, making them a rather ridiculous garment to wear in sensual situations.

Wooh! So getting back to what I was saying before, the less I wear, the less I have to wash. This is a simple truth. You know, I actually considered just not wearing clothes at all. I'd never have to do laundry. And it's not like I encounter many people in my average day, and I only rarely leave the house. But the bottom line is that I know my dad wants me to become more "well-adjusted" and not more eccentric, in the hopes that I'll eventually make something of my life, so I have a good feeling that's not a boundary that I could get away with pushing. And it just wouldn't be fair for me to push it. I don't want to even imagine what that conversation would be like if I showed up to dinner one evening, naked as a jaybird. I'm not stupid. And the last thing I'd do is willingly throw myself into the jaws of the shark like that.

(disclaimer: I love sharks, it's just an expression)

A Little Background (or How I Failed At Life)

I'm starting this blog because my two friends from college, the only friends that still play a significant role in my life (beside my brother), each started one recently, detailing their lives as working men. Even though I don't work, I thought maybe I could share some of my own experiences, to give a whole 'nother perspective on the working world.

So how did I become a worthless human, whose college degree offers no protection from the cannibalistic dangers of Society?

High School Graduation was an uncharacteristically bright period in my life. I was headed to a respected university, and I had a serious girlfriend. I deserved the education, thanks to the lifelong efforts of my parents and their parents to raise me well, in addition to my own intellectual faculties; and I earned the girlfriend with a sincerely kind heart (and a lot of luck).

So what happened?

I suppose I became a failed human the moment I decided to opt out of continuing on to Graduate School. Granted, I could still have gone straight into a career, but that's where the problem lies. The reason I made it as far as I did was because of my smarts. Going to school was never a choice for me. Going to college wasn't even a choice - it was expected, and I just followed along. But somewhere in college, my smarts started to fail me. I completely lost faith in the field I was studying. My interest declined, and my work ethic dropped with it. I coasted through those final classes just to complete my degree, and then I dropped out of the race. Even if I had attempted to apply to Graduate School, I am certain that I wouldn't have been able to 'cut it'. But it turns out that I would do no better in the job market, either...

Having 'finished' school, the expectation is for me to go to work. But you see, getting a job is not like passing from sixth grade into seventh grade. There's a whole new world out there - one that I haven't been prepared for - and it terrifies me.

My problems are largely psychological. I am not normal. This is something that I've always been proud of, but lately it's carried a darker meaning. I'm talking psychological disorder, here. Everybody's got problems, yeah, and you learn to deal with them the best you can so you can get through life and make the best of what you got. Well, when the problem gets to the point where even that kind of effort doesn't produce satisfactory results, you have to start looking for alternative methods. I never liked the idea of being the crazy kid who takes meds and goes to therapy - I knew kids like that in high school, and I did not want to be like them - but honestly, I'm considering all options at this point. Anything to get back in the game. But when your fear is talking to people, well, it's that much harder to get help.

Maybe this is a confession. It's really embarrassing to sit here and admit all these problems I have, because then I come off looking like a pathetic wretch who's reaching out for sympathy from anyone and everyone who'll care to listen. And that's hard, because it just reinforces all those ideas in my head that cause me to have zero confidence and a really poor self-image. But on the other hand, it's something that I need to come to terms with, and admitting it to myself and not hiding it from others has to be a step in the right direction.

"If you live your whole life in fear, hiding who you are, you become a stranger to yourself."

One of the primary tenets of my life is fear of reaction. Criticism, rejection, just negative feedback in general. And it's not so much the reactions people *actually* have, but simply the idea of a negative reaction, whether it's believable or not. So, in my naturally avoidant manner, I have become very protective about anything and everything that relates to me and my life. The less people know about me, the less they can criticize who I am. I have developed an attractive mystique, which often turns people off because it seems like I don't really care about anyone or anything. So I think telling people who I really am can only be a positive experience in the long run. Honestly, I've fantasized about being completely open to people, strangers even. I *want* people to know who I really am. Because it really sucks having to constantly hide who you are, always putting on a mask and cloak and pretending to be someone, or noone in particular.

So that's the whole point. Telling people who I am, so I no longer have to hide from them. It's part of the healing process. And sure, you can criticize me for being one of those pathetic fools who can only open up on the internet, where I don't have to actually face people. But you know what? That's who I am, and I think it's the first step to being able to really be myself, in the real world, too. At any rate it's worth a try. At the very least, admitting it means that you won't be whispering about it behind my back.

And besides, I'm a lot more interesting than this. This blog isn't gonna be a string of melodramatic psychodrama. Although I'm bound to throw it in, because frankly, I'm interested in psychology as well as philosophy, but I just wanted to set the stage, so the audience knows who they're listening to. I'm not just a basket-case, and although I am pretty much a shut-in with limited contact with the outside world, I'm also a budding musician (guitarist) with a huge interest in rock music and blues. And I have other interests, too. You'll hear about them in the course of this blog, since another goal is for me to describe just what it is I do with my time, being a college graduate with no job to speak of...

If this sounds interesting, then maybe you'll have a good time. At worst, you can always sit back and say, wow, this guy is so pathetic, at least I'm not as much a pussy and a failure at life as he is. Otherwise, you don't have to read the blog at all, or even think about me and my life. I didn't write it for you, anyway. So don't think *too* highly of yourself. Either way, this is the end of the introduction. From here on, we get into the meat of the dish.