Minor or Major, just do yourself a favor...

Busta,
What it is right now? For me lately it hasn't seemed like all that much, just stammering through the usual milieu. For some I guess that's exhilarating and as much as I try to philo-size it somehow I just can't (some days) get revved up over the mundane. Although, I am willing to accept the fact that Chris Mullin no longer plays NBA basketball, so perhaps I'm closer to Nirvana than I give myself credit for.
These last couple of days, as I indicated previously have held little ground breaking. Not knowing whether to point to my sincere drive for success and self-relevance, or my sincere lack in both those categories as the reason for my most recent bouts with the banal I find myself just reading and watching more Hangin with Mr Cooper. Some would call that heaven, but I strive for more than that. Mine is a quest for relevancy and have no doubt that it's an uphill battle. I believe it was either Jesus or John Lennon who so succinctly summed it up "There is nothing you can do that can't be done, come with me and I'll make you a fisher of men."

Today as luck would have it, kicks off what promises to be an interesting first round of tests for myself for the winter term. I only mention things as inane and irrelevant to you the reader, in the case that they either have significant anecdotal potential or they illuminate what I deem as some larger broader point, but in this case I'm just saying it. I mention these tests really because it is burning on my brain, and after all I reckon that's what this blog's mission statement is, to be all things Andrew. So really I would be doing a disservice to you and the site if I were to mask my true sentiments and feelings from the general public. (Don't worry, fetishes and hygiene aren't until Blog: Volume 2, your still safe).
Only the seasoned blogger can avoid mentioning the occasional self-absorbed topic and I,alas, are not one of them. We are Robert Palmer.
On a lighter note, although these past few days have been somewhat stuck on reruns of Andrew's Greatest Dull moments, there is something to be said for the liberation that comes with that. Not unlike Ground Hog Day, I'm getting to be so comfortable and absorbed into my routine that I can, without a moments hesitation, do things that others in some "real," social situations cannot. Don't know what I mean? Well, really neither do I, but for the most part they involve social profiling and recording responses and behavior associated with the demographics. I guess that's pretty implicit now, as I recently read a collegehumor.com post dedicated to sectioning off the various college students(frat boys etc. etc). However, their statements could be blindly done without ever visiting a college campus. Those have been stereotypes that harken back to Otter and his Delta cohorts (Senator Bluetarsky).
Modernity though, has posed us with several new categories, these members exist as subsets in larger groups, making them infinitely more complicated and interesting as they have to exist by double and even triple standards. Indulge me if I may. To begin with we have indieus normalus. In laymans term, middle-class hipster. These men and women are quite dangerous as they are armed with acidic diatribe about Marcus Garvey and perhaps they even own a Plasmatics ticket stub, but it all seems a little senseless over the alligator shirt they must have pre-wrinkled the evening before. Admittedly its difficult to be an agitator and still fit most societal norms within the fashion world so I'm not berating them. Somehow it got chic to be able to spit political firebranded statements coupled with music that probably meant something to someone else. These are are strange and wonderful creatures. What makes them interesting (although I'm sure you already know this being the 2+2=4er that you are) is the multiple sets of standards they must pass themselves through. It's difficult being indie enough to not get questioned when you buy a Smiths album but still have some semblance of conformity in order that women drunk on Natural Light might not think you too weird to go home with. A paradox indeed.
DISCLAIMER: THE AUTHOR OWNS A BRAIN SETZER ORCHESTRA CD WHICH HE PAID FULL PURCHASE PRICE FOR. WHILE WEARING THOSE LITTLE ROUND PINS OF ECLECTIC SOCIAL IMPORTANCE ON HIS BOOKBAG.

Well, I guess that's it for me. Although I know your hanging on every word, I've got to go. These posts seem to get more and more stream of consciousness as I progress. I attribute it both to no longer nit-picking over what I broadcast/expose on the internet and mescaline. Either way, this post is closing up shop. Buy your e-beer elsewhere, this bar's a shuttin' down.

Be real.

Discounting the haymaker is always a mis-step.

Hey there,
Wow, a whole weekend since I've rapped at you. Oh how I've longed for the clicky friendship of this keyboard. It's a nice and forgiving companion. There is something that happens between a man and his computer. Not unlike the relationship men develop (or so I'm told) with thier cars I would suspect. You live in them, you reveal yourself to them. They assist you in many tasks that alone you could not complete. My computer has born witness to some of my lowest acts of depravity. Moments where the term "scrapping the bottom of the barrel," would be a far higher praise than it deserves. And so it is. Me and the computer tied together again in the wee hours of the morning trying to figure out which one should go to bed first. Usually the keyboard wins in that contest. If you've read any of my provious posts than you know the wit and coherence of the writing tapers off somewhere after "Hello," leaving me in a silent word driven spiral inevitably looking down the barrel of a cocked and loaded blog-post trying unleash itself on an unspecified and indifferent audience. Touche, keyboard, touche.
Tonights post though is not all about inanimate objects from which I draw my strength and personal narratives, not by a long shot (because frankly the passion that I have for my " Here today, Enema tomorrow:THE HOME KIT," would elicit a passage so long that I would lose the three of you reading this, and I have to give my audience what it wants). Tangent non-withstanding this post is not dedicated to things that can't talk back, but rather to those that can. Say something and marvel in it after all communicational capacity is a blessing not sprinkled on all our cupcakes. Bad jokes about the bevy of politicos who have been inhibited conversationally put aside, communicating is difficult at least for me. That helps keep it fresh and potent. Language is the new Cranberry Juice.
Which is why I dig on living so much. I suppose there's something to be learned from everything that can possibly acknowledge your presence reacting to you. From a looping, uber-verbose rambling blog, to the spit of a child carried on a miscreant wind, everything gives something.

Today has been filled, jam-packed and stuffed to the gills with goings on the likes of which have to led to the crumbling of empires and estates larger and more fantastic than mine. However, no matter what the external pressure, this Dynasty isn't going anywhere. I mean who brought death to the houses of 89 lords, me. Who personally oversaw the systematic arson of thousands of villages who dare stand in opposition, me. Who, when faced with a multitude humanitarian issues, opted to "just have another pop-tart, they'll figure it out," that's me again, me all over. So surely, I'm not going to let something as bee-stingish as required school work break me. Of course not.
As I can see the clock in my task bar trying ever so hard to pull itself up to the watershed moment that is three am, I find myself strangely wishing it was. There is something exotic about being up this late, something abstruse. It's almost as if being awake at this hour is an activity in and of itself. Simply being awake qualifies you as partaking in an anecdote and there's something about that which sits very well with me. Although there are downsides. Namely that you can't remember what you were thinking/writing about six seconds ago, but I rarely let that stop me from doing anything anyway. I've had mixed results.
Sleep seems to be a dish that is best when served warm, so I,tragically must end this post in order I might still catch my bed retaining some of the heat generated from the sun and heat before night fell in my room with its icy fingers methodically creeping up my pillow, I can see them now, and believe those are not good hands. Not like the ones that give these words to you. Supple and soft, conduits of communication. Although,I also scratch things with them.

Smoke 'em if you got 'em.

You'll come up some, but for right now, lets just get down.

G'day,
Yo baby will you ride with me?
Yo baby will you die for me?
Yo baby, will you ride or die or ride or die?
-Those are the lyrics that have been swimming around in my head all the damn day. I only mention them as jumping off point, but really you must have pity on my generation. We were so inundated with that crap. I'm still dealing with the residuals of my complacent music consummation as a youth. I've allowed the likes of Lil' Jon, David Banner, The Ying Yang Twins (how could you mess up such a good name) to populate the airwaves by blindly conditioning myself to like a genre which has so little energy left in it at its main stream level. Although truth be told, I, like the Ying Yang twins, make girls flip when they see my dick.
Often though, in this debate the following argument arises and with a large degree of validity. The parallel that exists with bad hip hop is the same as with any genre of art it seems, one must dig around to find something of value. Surely, by turning on "Power 105," or any equivalent hit station, an individual can't expect to flipped on to some next level shit. Excluding Nickleback that is, whom is on aforementioned next level shit. Similarly, once hip hop found its niche (something that it is still struggling to fully do by the by) that is define itself, it has stayed there. Not unlike pop rock or rock, both of which stick concretely within the confines of the big three topics and riffs catering to an audience of willing consumers whom seem to be indifferent to good art(Note: agreed, bad can be really really good sometimes). The same constant goes in any art vein. One cannot judge the sole standing of the current artistic realm by taking the kitsch on a tide commercial and making grandiose statements about the artistic realm. Art can be formulaic when tempered with men whom make money from these endeavors. Thus, I place the blame squarely on consumers for dictating the path and allocation of consumer dollars and not demanding something better. I blame me.
This is not to give the hip hop industry, nor any artistic expression, a free pass to produce shlock. Not in the least. Focus on my last several statements, good art exists out there and we are here to consume it, but they must fight the good fight. Great art is rarely marketable on mass scales, therefore inhibiting it's ability to go mainstream. Hip hop did at one point come from some place real, however that has now been tainted with profit making. Let's get back there. That's what made me love it. I would like to love again.
Really though, who doesn't like to get a little Headsprung?

That being said, today, for what its worth has been quite good for me, as I hope it was for you. I post this update happier to be posting than I have in quite some time. I earned this leisure time today, and I think, there is no sweater R and R than the one languished for.
The sun never did shine today but it didn't have to for this cowboy, not today. I was indoors all day, questioning the very reason I attend class while attending school. Nice how paradoxes often work out.
Well, it seems as if, excluding excruciating and non-relevant details of my day, I've run out of things to comment on. Save for the explosive nature of the current national political scenes. Combustible at best. GO OREGON! I end with a quote from a Canadian Presidential advertisement currently running on the televisions of our neighbors in the Great White North. " A vote for my opponent puts a smile on George W. Bush's face."
Be real.

Academik

Hey there,
Some days the worlds, events and movements flow like water across the slimy membranes of earth. Other days are slow and painful, making you aware of every last excruciating second of its passing. Then somewhere past that there is laundry day. I swear to you, as I have very few other e-witness', I can't seem to ever pull myself together enough to negotiate the very menial task of completing my laundry. This is to me indicative of volumes. Perhaps, you might think that is just another lethargic move from a man whom has often been referred to as a continuing series of lethargic moves, but I think its more than that, give me a chance.
First, everyone does it. That in and of itself should be sufficiently liberating. Which makes my hesitance to do the laundry very isolating. I know that I could very well me one of the few people on the planet with this kind of disdain for laundry day. The tower of dirty clothes, which have in a true Darwinist manner, evolved into a very distinct area in the left-ern part of my room. Making a pretty significant statement.
Second, it should be cathertic. It is a simple task to finish, something that everyone has reasonable success with. Although, I would be the first to admit that its kind of scary to dowith which you have little expierence and everyone else seems to do quite well, however I shouldn't let that bother me.
Third, and mainly,it is this. I believe it truly separates me from being a functional adult. There is no greater barometer of independence than the ability to clothe oneself. It is that very low hurdle that I am constantly not getting over. I Jesse Owens this shit though, I will enjoy it, I will become small tasks. I am Rosy.
My day has been somewhat fractured. For several reasons, not the least of which was my over-indulgence last night. Although it was prompted to a large degree by my roommates father gracing us, that is no excuse for allowing oneself to slip to the place that I was crouching in. I would share the specifics of my actual depravity, but there not as important as what I "should," take away form this experience and that is to become more and more like Macho Man Randy Savage. Really, I should just grow up and get a muscle-shirt.
I suppose that's it for me, the usual grade and speed at which I write have been greatly tempered by my brain functions (or lack thereof) and I guess it's time to draw the trainwreck to a close. But real trainwrecks are never this tidy there must be something that no one wanted to see but everyone had to look at. Although I don't know what that is, I hope that you go out and find it tonight. I hope that you find yourself well outside your own comfort zone and reveling it. So tomorrow I hope to see you with the tan that can only be acquired from over-exposure to neon lights. Be real.

A link

Y'all,
Bit of jelly for that apple bottom.
http://www.economist.com/opinion/displaystory.cfm?story_id=5385434

Don't Stop 'till you get enough, or pass the muthafucking pie.

To whom it may concern,
A pleasant warm January evening hello to you all. I don't recall it being this pleasant out for quite some time, which, makes me, like every decent human being on the planet, want to go directly to a computer and spout. Welcome to my Text diorama, your my shoebox. In you defense though, they were really expenseive shoes.
How was your day? Hopefully it was well spent enjoying the weather. My sincere hope is that you combined something that you like with this weather. Synthesized it to make it something that you love. I for instance, took my pornography for outdoor viewing. That is liberating. Taking your perversions for a walk.
My day, outside of the mobile porno, was composed of small matters and trivialities that seems to make up everyday lately. I've made some haphazard grasp at the vapors of larger things, but all that seems to come out lately are campaign speeches and allusions to cancelled USA television shows, which isn't exactly what I'd call aggressive life pursuant inner dialogue, but I guess we all have to cope with out little crosses to bare.
This post, reader, is quite unique actually, counter to the above trends. You see, as I sit here clicking and clacking on what might be the worlds most comfortable chair, I do it bathed in a new baptismal light. One that washes you clean. Until you watch porn outside that is. I have completed the heralded Athens bar shuffle. I know, its quite difficult to see the world when your eyes are sagging from cheap booze and you smell of smoked cigarettes. Lay the fuck off then, always on my shit aren't you reader? That happens to be one of the blissful places that I frequent. A water hole has many characteristic that I think have been drilled out of society via modernity. The pursuit of a fit mate, satisfying some of the most intrinsic animal urges, all of these things as far as I'm know, make it a largely self-enlightening endeavor. However, that being said, speaking only for myself here, a lot of times it's difficult to read the Hemingway because of the words. To be more precise, I believe that far too often I can get wrapped up in those urges, (because lets face it, I'm a man of passion) letting too much slip right through my fingers unregistered, unexpressed. Which always makes my hangovers that much more intense. That there I was, feasting on existence, and I missed it because all I could do was keep having meade. Due in large part to my own weakness. Catch 22. Andrew Simmons, it would seem, is Andrew Simmons' worst enemy. Much to my own surprise. I thought it was the USA network.
That isn't to say that last night wasn't fun. IT is not to say that, whoa no. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I believe it was my friend Austin whom had the most illuminating quote and If I remember it went something like this...
" Andrew,really, Why do we ever do anything else?"
Unaware to the brilliance of this question, (note: not because he was unaware of the depth of the question but moreso because he was suffering from a quite pervasive bout of pass-outs) he wandered off, leaving me to sit in the quandary that he left wrapped under my half drunk boozemas tree. The answer of course is all to easy, without work there is no need to play, if play were the norm it would become "work," on a long enough time scale perhaps. Although, I'd like to believe that if there was no economic advantage in working or schooling and every endeavors drive was sole passion, that there would be a lot more carpenters.
That I guess is the conclusion if tonight's post. It was a fun trip, somewhat forced, but I guess that's a pretty accurate snapshot of where I am. Let's take a look at your inward pictures, I bet you water down your whiskey too. So don't ask me to pour it more stiffly.
May the wind always be at you back. I wish you all a small skill, which might seem minute but if it was within my power to bestow it I would, only because,as we all know, it is the threads that weave the blankets. I wish you the ability, to say something that means something. Pierce an issue. Be a consumer. Fuck USA today.

Despite the platitude, most people probably can't dance.

Hey there,
It's been my experience that thus far, although I try and keep my posts to an arbitrary friendly letter format (because that IS what we are after all, a format I mean) it seems when I upload a picture it has the unpleasant consequence of dislodging whatever construct I had used unto that point and replacing it with, what could at best be called, complete and total text chaos. So, again my sincerest apologies, but I am as new to this as I suppose they come, although I do see the irony of me becoming more experienced with every keystroke I make. Luckily my razor wit caught such irony before you, viciously, used it against me.
However, despite these minor typographic setbacks, I still have been able to eek out an existence in the harsh throws of this all too quaint town quite well as of late. Although I did express a certain amount of concern about my STRONG desire to forgo this quarter completely in favor of shaving my head, fathering children, joining the marines, becoming a major and getting my own sitcom, however it has recently come to my attention (thank you USA) that Major Dad has already been a long standing sitcom in syndication allowing me to focus more completely on my studies. Something that I, and my mother, could not be more thankful for.
This does not mean that all my classes are light as a gum drop, I guess it might be more accurate to say that instead of dreading attending class I am back to where I usually am. Which is a quite sincere indifference smelted with a streak of pithiness. I know what your thinking, with those characteristics I would be the perfect guy for Major Dad, and believe me I agree with you, but sometimes you just have to let dreams die.
It's been quite a busy time in the news hasn't it? As I alluded to in an earlier post, I challenge anyone to think of a more exciting time to be a global citizen. With the general world populous becoming progressively more aware of the unsustainable nature of the current fossil fuel quagmire. With rapid burgeoning middle classes in countries that have never felt the joy of simply buying skittles when they so choose. With technology growing at such a rapid rate, that it is simply being devolved on the off hope it might be a potential "winner," on wall street? It simply is a revolutionary time. I must build one dam in this waterflow of progress, and I think it is one that many people much more qualified than I, have been levying in on (sorry for all the irrigation references). Namely, is the pace of world growth sustainable? The South Korean market grew by circa 65% in fiscal year 2005, with similar growth all across the third world, something that gives some of us the willies. I think a perfect reflective anecdote might well be the recent Japanese wrong ticker trade incident that I mentioned in an earlier post. With the Pacific Rim economy growing at such clip, investors have almost no choice but to "get in it," as it were. This does not negate the fact though, that many feel as if it could easily become a house of cards (that distinct possibility I'm sure many would argue is lessoning by the day) and with one large firm entering one wrong trade (a simple incorrect numeric entry, which by all American standards would never have happened, given the brokerage software used here) everyone pulled out, literally plunging their fiscal world into complete disarray. I think the more acute question is of course, is this a symptom of a larger instability, or merely the fits and starts of an economy growing its way into stability and economic prosperity? I don't know which camp I belong to, but I will say that I guess by merely entertaining the position that it (rapid growth) could be a facade, I might be not admitting to myself that I align closer with one philosophy than the other. Which pains me a great deal, for a long time (a lifetime in fact) I have let me conscience, for the most part, be the North Star for my economic tradewinds. I have always felt that good and morally responsible action (re: Fair trade vs. Free, NAFTA, Kathy Lee, etc. etc.) almost always can intersect with good fiscal policies. I wouldn't go as far to say as I am from the Kucinich school of electricity dealings, but nonetheless I was a bit of an ethicist.
It would seem to be then I would be unequivocally rooting for the expansion of this middle class that some are predicting. How can it not higher the standard of living and average wage per worker in places like Sri Lanka? I am only worried about two things, and I believe them to be both in the best interest of the "keep on truckin," Sri Lankan's. First, I have always thought that, on a macro scale, time would eventually be the greatest equalizer. That is not to say that I was against movements of humanitarians and philanthropies. Or that I was some kind of crazy isolations. Not so, in fact,what I was in favor for, was the long arduous journey that unleashed OUR economy. America, and other industrialized countries, although being around for a shorter period of time than some other countries, happen to employ, what I would call, a successful "me-first," driven economy. I believed that it was our responsibility as a developed people to make sure that no governments stood in the way of this occurring in other countries, (i.e. dictators, slave-drivers, war-mongers, etc. etc.) and made enviroments conducive to growth, mainly because I believed that although some-what self-absorbed it was a peaceable economy, when done ethically. I think/thought that long term sustainable growth must come from supply AND and demand side driven economies, a situation that can only be devolped from a populous who has accumulated general liquid wealth and with it has created an economy that supports them and thier loved ones (re:thier kids) to participate in this ecomony (re: spend money) with confidence. Not thinking that the rug can be pulled out from under them at any time.
And while their are some very real contributing factors to the tear that the world markets have been seeing, I believe it, to a large degree, has been directly related to Americans, and the civilzied world, dropping the moral ball. Yes, it is the responsibility of a corporate entity to look after its bottom line, so to employ third world labor, in both blue and white collar sectors, is semi-permissible. But at the expense of the American employee? The American employee has priced themselves out, pushed for too much, health care, retirement, the list goes on. Not even to mentioned the irresponsibility of credit that the baby boom generation has launched us into. But in regards to another macro model, I believe it would be safe to assume that when the world economy grows it might, roughly, resemble, in vague ways,the way that ours devolped. That is to say more precisely, that eventually, ALL workers, will be demanding things like health-care etc. Then with everyone demanding it, profits can increase from increases in price points and people and corporations make more money, with everyone now a viable global consumer. And so on. The artificial inflating of the third world economies, allows for none of the confidence and infrastructure to be set up, thus making it more potentially combustible.
However, at the same time, perhaps rapid expansion is the only method, and it will eventually lead to everyone in China not living in squalor, but that remains to be seen.
Well, I guess that's it for me. It's been fun as usual. In regards to advice for the next couple of days, my first thought would be you should probably get your advice from a more reputable source, but if you do listen to me, I have the following words of wisdom. Get a secretary of the opposite sex, even if you have very little to do, there must be someone whom you can pay enough just to file your papers, I mean that takes like five seconds. The power trip is unreal, or maybe that's just the coffee I've been making Susan make me, her name is Jen, but she's my secretary so I can pretty much call her whatever I want. I suggest getting your own Susan or Derek.
Be real.

Sorry

Due to time constraints placed on me by Sir Austin Conan Doyle, there was no room for editing on the previous post. My deepest regrets. Also I would like to point out that I did violate certain infallible laws of logics in my time rant (slippery slope, etc.) However, would you accuse Alan Alda of philandering? I didn't think so. So at least treat me with the same respect as Hawkeye,jesus.

When there's no more room in hell.

Hey there,
Time, time, time. That's all the ever is, doesn't it seem? Everything exists and lives and dies and waters the plants according to time. Although, throughout the ages many of the greatest minds of the times have weighed in, the artificial construct. I thought that seeing as how I heard Dr. Phil speak of it today in the Metro, that now might be a good time to set the record straight. At least for, because after all, this is my post. (ed note.- the sole owner of this blog and all intellectual property is Microsoft)
Time, as near as I can tell, is to large degree intricately woven into the fabric of life. However, this does not meant hat it current manifestation is thus inherently correct. I mean, time, like all other necessary dimensia can be perverted and to some some degree perhaps it has. The allegory here would be sexual perversion I think. Humanity ( as well as dolphins I'm told, but usually conjecture emanating from locker rooms is pretty unsubstantiated) enjoy the physical act of Coates. There is something I guess to be said for that alone. But more to the point, sex, or more accurately reciprocity is absolutely implicit in our survival on this harsh ball of gas. Interestingly enough though, because it is something that we enjoy it has been morphed, perverted, and had leather strapped to, to meet the needs of an ever more demanding society.
Andrew, you might say, are you trying to say that time, the very fabric of everything that we hold dear, the reason why I'm able to keep track of Oprah's birthday, is on the same playing field with something as carnal as sex? Why yes I am, and that's a very astute question reader. I guess what I'm trying to say is that time, as we know it, is a subjective a thing, as something that is "inherent," in a "reality," can possibly be. Even if the nature of the universe is, just for iota, debatable in any sense, then how can one deny that something in it might be bendable?
AHA! You might say. What IM driving at is that I believe time to have fallen the way of foot fetishes and nuke the whale posters. It keeps itself vital because it is an outgrowth of us, and therefore is malleable.
What then? Yes, we might know that time as a construct, might be tweakable, what the hell does that matter. I guess not much, would be my response. The only thing that I like about it as it empowers me, or as it might apply you to, it empowers the individual. It defeats, the mighty giant, it allows you to become the master of your domain once more. It's time the works for you, not you for it baby.
Overall, my day has been somewhat of a recuperation one. Its my supposition that there are no more unique days than when your dealing with one of the rather obtrusive alarms of a five alarm hangover. It whittles you down until you are basically just a shell of yourself, or a tiny ship in some cases. But either way, I've never been in a mode looking for the path of least resistance as much as on these days. So reader, sharp on a sweater on a cold day, avoid hangovers, try and break a clock, then, as always, hustle. Be real. Yours truly.

What about jay and Bob? I mean those guys were alright...

It just simply is,
Why Hello there, my what a long, long time its been. Posting after a slight lay off. How engaging. In a figurative sense. Or something.
As far as I'm concerned I've pretty much shut down all brain functionality for the time being, in respect to New Years ( my sincerest hope that you had a good one) I am still, as of now, feeling the effects. For those of you whom are not up to date on A the A exploits, let me say merely this. We took Yellow Jackets, the "diet supplement," that augments your diet from "some food ingested," to "probably never going to sleep again and sipping on water." Which, as I can now attest to, is a pretty abrupt transition to say the least. I can only liken it to thinking that your about to watch a really funny film but instead having to sit through the entire hellfest that was/is the Mr. Bean movie. (My condolences automatically go out to anyone who knows that rings as true as I do).
The no sleep thing, will, as opposed to what I thought it might be like, truly, truly messes with you. My synapses are slower (which now puts them now at somewhere between Moose's and Jughead's speed) so now I'm Andrew sans his senses. Which, come to find out, is a slightly different person. Although I believe there is probably a very significant amount of you out there that might be frightened by an out of body experience, I am here to tell you that it isn't all bad. Par ejemplo, although you might think that you are generally a happy person, try being completely bereft of thought. I mean completely. ARE you there yet? I don't think you are, because I am and I haven't quit grinning since. Once you truly can't think straight,it leading to truly not thinking. Then not a bad thought runs across that gray matter. Let me cut the chase, Yellow Jackets are the new Nirvana.
(ed note.- Andrew has decided to NEVER EVER EVE EVER ingest Yellow Jacket diet supplements again.)
However, there was an upside, which was namely that we (Aaron and I) were able to hang in there until we heard the indifferent cacaw of the invisible rooster. And while this fictional barnyard occurrence might drive some men to bed, it merely pushed us to the car. Where,after very little debate, we were on our way to breakfast.
Post-eating there was some crashing, but for the better part of three days my sleep schedule has been so messed up that I really have been only here in body. Which is why I decided it was a good time to post.
Back at school, this must be the ultimate medicine. Although I'm excited to be here, I don't truly believe that I could be any less looking forward to the commencement of classes. That being said though, I don't believe there to be a better way to kick start the old melon so maybe it isn't all badd.
Brevity, I suppose is the key, and with that I believe I'll sign out. Because really, in conclusion, I don't think its right to post when whacked out of your skull, but it worked out so well for Jesus that I had to try it. Hope it was worth it. Be real.