C.C., Pick up that guitar and TAWLK! to me!

RAWK! RULE! ROCK! ROLL! ETC!

C.C., btw, was on the one episode of The Surreal Life I saw before I came back here and was the most charismatic guy EVER on the history of "Celebreality"; and was on an episode of South of Nowhere, which is a terrible show but inspires some amazing fanfic (mostly jengirrrrrrrl--number of rs possibly exaggerated); and, of course, played guitar for Poison, relevantly, on the track "Talk Dirty to Me," to which I cannot stop listening.

I've been obsessed with this playlist I've made, of the 30 songs that make me RAWK OUT the most on from my 2009 song collection. (whoa, 2009 is the year I graduate COLLEGE). (I've also been obsessed with experimenting with capitalization.)

Anyway, this playlist has taught me a few things, like, a) the 80s, b) teenagers having sex (in song, not for real, because creepy), c) guitars--all three RUUUULE and I should re-take-up the guitar. I was gonna be a rock star when I was in the 9th grade. I wasn't any good, but I was going to be 2nd guitarist and backup singer, so I'd still get laid, but I wouldn't have to be talented. It was foolproof, except I was never really in a band. I was in a fake-band with Jaya and Rie and Frankie and Lucas Rainey, back in the day, which was coincidentally called Double Negative (and by "coincidentally" I mean Frankie cribbed it). It was totally fake, though, because I think at one point I was the drummer, and I have the whitest, terriblest rhythm on the planet, except for maybe someone from Norway.

Speaking of Norway, I saw a freaky-ass production of A Doll's House that included midget sex (Safe For Work) and puppetz galore and lip-synced opera. I saw it at Yale with other people my age, which means I was in a car with people my own age and "hung out" with them (as is the common parlance), which is like a giant step for mankind. Haven't seen any of them since, but still, important to know.

Got myself roped into another play. Should probably read said play (um, re-read?) before readthru tomorrow. It's gonna be more experimental than probably anything I've ever done, but honestly, all I want is a main-stage show. In fact, to be really frank, I wanna put on a giant Broadway colorful simple clean-lined musical. I saw The Pajama Game (coincidentally the show we were all in when we came up with the band Double Negative) with Frankie on Broadway and it was so technicolor and pure and heterosexual and simple and wholly anti-my complicated and indoor and gray college experience thus far. Not that Wesleyan is devoid of experiences that seem colorful, of course--there's this hill everyone sits on, Foss Hill, and when it's sunny in spring it's so freaking green, and like the whole school is there interacting and being stoned and goofy and everything I wish I could do. But I fear going to Foss Hill because it's far away from my dorm so I have no excuse and I haven't enough friends with whom to sit and goof off. I'm hoping young Dylan (known mostly in the blogosphere as Lysander)'s attendance next year will jump-start me, and he said he wants to live on one of the dorms on the hill. So, Dyls, if you by any chance read this, I'm counting on you?

No.

Oh, and it's not like I don't sometimes enjoy myself here. But the majority of my time is in this drab-ass fucking room, stuffing myself and watching Doogie Howser M.D. or something equally stupid. (Or something really smart and awesome, like Veronica Mars, but that doesn't help my point. I just like talking about it. And the theme song is on my Rawk! mix, which, is like, cyclical.)

I jotted down some blog-type notes during a particularly excrutiating session of my Doubles in Literature class--it was about a book called The Golem that I didn't read, and it was so dull that I didn't even bother to piece together some bullshit based on other people's comments and in-class paragraph scans, like I normally do. At the end of class, the professor asked me if I was okay, because usually I say something "brilliant" at the end of class that pulls it all together, but I just couldn't that day.

Right before that class, someone entered the room and sat across from her usual desk. "Crossing the boy/girl divide," she declared. I realized with a start that we'd been sitting boys on the left girls on the right the whole time. I used to always notice that shit, in high school. Who people sat with and gender lines and stuff. I either didn't notice because I was sitting right on the divide, or because the emphasis on avoiding that stuff at Wes has led me to sheild myself from it... or because I spend most of that class pawing through the books wishing I'd read/read more closely/understood it better/not sucked at life.

And here are some vaguely biblical thoughts: The story of Jacob wrestling with the Angel is gay even out of it's context in Angels in America; if Israel means "he who fought with God," then is Palestine God? And isn't Palestine Esau, anyway?; and despite the fact that my mom's called me Little Lamb for years, I've never really had a Jesus complex, I don't think. I don't really have a martyr thing. I sort of air my flaws for the world to see, but that's more of a "and then nobody can make fun of me because I did it first OH SNAP" thing. It's fundamentally selfish, and doesn't do anyone else any good.

My final note is "The quick brown fox jumps over a lazy dog" written with my left hand (I get really bored), so make of that what you will.