Dates: Good For Poop

I know. Amazing. Magically, a new post appeared! It's been a while, I know, but as I explained in my last post, it was not because of neglect. Okay, maybe it was a little because of neglect. Sorry about that. Many things have happened in the past month+, too many things to summarize in a quaint little paragraph. So I won't attempt to. Instead, lets talk about philosophy. Not the type of philosophy we would talk about normally (no Objectivism here), but some philosophy that is closer to home. Dating philosophy. See, now the title makes sense. Sort of. I am not going to talk about poop, I just thought it sounded good next to the part about dating. Because dating, y'know, like dates- the fruit. They are good for pooping. Sort of transitive property. Yeah. On topic, I have extremely mixed feelings about dating. On one hand, it's pointless. As far as I know, the most primal basis of dating is to find a compatible man/lady to marry. That is really all there is to it. Dating is, for the most part, like trying on clothes. When you break it down, it sounds sort of sad. At our age, needless, even. So why do it? Why date when you are in ninth grade, when the chances of stumbling upon your future spouse are almost nil? I needed to thing about that one. It was a totally valid point. Stupidly, I also told many pretty girls that theory, girls that I would not object to dating. Which, I realize, makes me a hypocrite. But I needed to thing to myself, "why am I thinking those things? Why am I open to dating while simultaneously being vocally adamant in my stance against dating?" I found a few answers. One, of course, is the sex aspect. By sex, I don't mean penetration, though that certainly is an aspect in some sense, I mean the idea of being 'intimate' with a member of the opposite sex. Crazy, I know. You might catch cooties. Equally shocking, boys like that idea. Which I suppose explains the large amount of two-week dates. They ask a girl out, girl says yes, make out with her, maybe get a little more, get bored, and break up. It is the less awkward version of asking a girl to be friends-with-benefits with you; asking her to date you. I know I would never ask a girl to be friends-with-benefits with me, not unless I either had a great reason to, or a great back-up plant when she says no. That's a different blog post, though. On the topic, I did say there were a few reasons for dating. Another is more romantic. To become very close friends with someone, to really explore their intellect, while also having that sex factor. Those normally last longer, because the dat-ees actually enjoy each others company. This is also a less common form of dating. Often, the girls who are the pretty ones aren't the smartest ones, which renders the biggest draw of said form of dating obsolete. Now, there are many, many other ideas behind dating in a lower age. I am simply too tired to write them down. This is actually a case where I want people to comment on a post. I would love to hear some of the different theories behind dating from the general public, because I know some of what I said will probably be considered controversial. So yeah, debunk me, do your commenter stuff, troll, I don't care. Just give an opinion. Have fun. Play nice. Eat dates (they're actually really good). I'll be sleeping. Alex out.

Do Not Worry, My Presence Is Still Valid

School has been much more prolific in eating away my free time then I thought it would be. This has caused me to temporarily suspend my blog. Until now. My updates will no longer be as frequent as they once were. It will not be a day-by-day basis that new words will form on the blank canvas of Blogspot, but I am still going to write on this URL. As I type this, I sit in a darkened hotel room in Canada, the Land with No Flaw. Honestly, I can not find one determent to the this northern land. This is not the first time I have visited the city of Vancouver, but each time I come I find new facets that add to the already large pot of greatness. Does that even make sense? I am tiered. I don't even know if I spelled that last word right. I may have just stated that I have become a living rubber sphere. I would be surprised by that turn of events, rest assured. Possibly the greatest additive to Vancouver is its newness. The majority of the high-rises in it rise unblemished by time, glass gleaming in the autumn sun. The concrete on the sidewalks have not been marred by the ebb and flow of earth. Even the manholes still shine. Vancouver, to me, stands as one of the prime examples of a perfect Pacific city. That is not something I can say about Los Angeles.

I saw The Social Network today. Many prominent reviewers call this movie the new Citizen Kane, or the movie that defines our generation. I disagree with the later statement. The last generation-defining movies have been movies that can be applied to a broad audience, that almost all the viewers in that relevant generation can see as a movie about themselves. The Social Network follows a selfish and greedy effigy of Mark Zuckerburg as he ruins almost every life he comes into contact with. I don't think many people can look at that and say that is just like themselves. Sure, you can look deeper into the film and fine themes that apply to your generation, but the average person looking for their defining film will not try to find the subliminal messages that make them apply to the film. The Breakfast Club had many sub-surface thoughts, but in the end was a bunch of eighties kids being eighties kids. Eighties kids could look at that movie and see that kids like them were doing things that they would do. It would be relatable to the core.The Social Network is a terrific movie, but nothing like that. Citizen Kane? Maybe. Generation Defining? No.

PAX Mega-Post!

If you were unaware, I haven't posted for the past three days. My posting prowess encountered blockage. That blockage was PAX. I'm not really going to bore you with things like 'text', and 'words', so here is a lot of moving, colorful things, and pictures. Have fun. Tomorrow, though, I'll bore you with 'words' and 'text'.

PAX- Day 0

Today is the day before the day. The day, of course, is the first day of PAX. PAX is, for those uninitiated, the lovechild of E3 and Coachella- minus the drugs, nudity, and hipsters. We arrived at LAX much earlier than expected, at around five-thirty. Traffic was much more lenient then expected, and we sailed the tar waves with finesse. Once at the airport, we quickly found Theo and family watching their bags being pulled through the antiquated x-ray machine. Industrial design wise, airport x-ray machines are ugly apparatus's. Beige makes any machine look fat. People too, I think. Theo and I parted ways after a dozen minutes, but I was not done with sitings of the non-celebrity kind. From the corner of my eye, I saw a black slab being man-handled by a... man. This was a pre-production protoype of the upcoming Windows Phone 7! I talked to the man-handler, and he seemed to enjoy his phone very much. As I was watching the AMOLED screen, someone called my name. When I turned around, I saw my trainer waving at me. Small world. After a quick chat, I boarded my plane. I read a little, then fell asleep. Waking up, the sky was rosy and quickly darkening. It was an easy flight, to say the least.
Seattle is a very nice city. If you like Vancouver, you like Seattle. This is because they are EXACTLY THE SAME CITY. If you travel to either you will never have a shortage of coffee. PAXers walk down the streets, talking amongst themselves about the latest release, and the negative aspects of it. I'm in my hotel now. It's not very nice, and there is no mini-bar. This is a huge disappointment. However, I feel like I will not die. I'll post the first days events tomorrow. Until then: anxious waiting.

A Wild Packaged Appeared II!

Sorry about this abnormally late post. The day before school started I was waiting for this package. When I asked where it was it appeared. I was amazed, and excited to open it. Now I know never to raise a bar that high, when the bar is not material yet. I was so excited, and nearly tore off the top of the box. It was mangled, at the very least. This is, if you haven't guessed by now, the mysterious package I have been hinting at for the past couple days. What is it?

Shoes! What else could it be? This was, by far, the nicest shoe box I had ever seen. Thick, durable, yet pleasantly pliable board made up the box. Small 'G's were embossed on it like scales on an alligator, layering over themselves to create the shoes' armor. In a velvet bag were the literal keys to the online store. 

I don't lie. So much care was put into creating the most optimal unboxing experience. When I could bear to snap the ribbon, I found there were more branded trinkets inside the box.

 

When I sent the shoes back, I decided to keep the horn. I thought it was humorous. I don't think Gucci intended that jest, but the cheap plastic was in suck ironic contrast with the surroundings that I let out multiple chortles. After all of this time, I decided to gaze upon the shoes that have been so long in the coming. How gorgeous would they be?

Not very, was the answer. These were the wrong shoes! I had not ordered, our intended to order, the boots you see on the screen! In shape, they were the same, but instead of that disgusting branded patter splayed along the side were lovely (and tasteful) diamonds. I was crushed. In revulsion, I sent them back.  Now these pictures are all I have left of the lovely packaging. And the cheap shoehorn. If that is not a metaphor, then I don't know what is. 

How the Ramblin' Man Rambles

Who is this titular Ramblin' Man? I am. Today was an eventful day only because it was so uneventful. I got up early, cold light cascading through my windows. I've been trying to get up early, to prepare for the start of school. Surprisingly, I have been succeeding in my attempts to do so. I watched The View with my mother afterwards, then sat on the floor of my bathroom. Once there I heated the floor with the extraordinarily handy floor heater. With a small twist of a nob, the normally frigid tiles become warm and inviting. I think I may have fallen asleep, which would have been detrimental to my progress in the getting-up-early field. As it is a Sunday, the internet pretty much slumbers, so I spent the remainder of the day reading a semi-engaging book. Then the day ended, and the moon shone. Over in the Nokia Theater, the Emmys started about then. My father has been nominated twice for television made movies, which always makes the award show more engaging then it would be otherwise. Normally, the show is just a poor mans Golden Globes, which in turn is but a poor mans Oscars. Today, however, it was different. I had watched television this year, which is crazy. Specifically, I had watched Modern Family, Lost, Mad Men, Glee, and Entourage. The fact that I knew what was being talked about kept me many times more enthralled by the ceremony then I would have been otherwise. Also, the host was totally capable, which is a bonus to any show.

Tomorrow marks a somber occasion: the last day of Summer Vacation. I had been looking forward to the start of the learning aspect of the year, but as it slowly approaches I have found myself doing otherwise. Otherwise of looking forward is dread. I don't want my unchecked freedom to end, I savor the boredom and the sunlight and the freedom. The thing is, I only really savor it when I am grasping for more, and when I have none left. Tomorrow I will actually take advantage of the cheery SoCal weather, and do something active. Run. Ride my bike. Something that is typically summer, and something that I have neglected to do much of the three months I had the opportunity. God, I am so blissful illogical sometimes. I have now depressed myself. I think I shall go eat pie...