Spring Brake AKA The Bad Puns Continue...

Time to chill out.

Turn off all of the bullshit. Turn on the TV.

Stop. Take some time to think. Figure out what's important to you.

Music. Family. Food.

Silence. Enjoy it.

My spring break so far, in less than 50 words.

More Later...

~Mc

S'no Day AKA More Bad Puns

Boston University cancelled class today. Therefore, today did not happen.

I was so fucking excited that I finally had a snow day again that I commemorated the occasion by watching a lot of TV and taking a lengthy nap. Being in college allows me to invent new ways to waste my life each and every day of my hapless existence.

My sister wrote a 9-page short story. I ate some chicken and curly fries that I found in my room.

My dad enjoyed his snow day in beautiful, scenic New Hamphire. I literally watched the Charles River thaw.

Kids in the area had snowball fights and built igloos. I decided against taking a shower.

I watched the second season of Seinfeld. It was the highlight of an entirely blissful period of time in which I would normally listen to other people tell me how to live my life and why the way I am currently doing it is wrong. 

I managed to summon the energy to walk down the hall of my dorm only to watch Jon and Kate Plus 8 and Sex and the City with Andrea. I think I'm a Miranda.

Andrea studied for her Italian midterm tomorrow. I made inane comments and philosophized about the mental well being of poor Jon (he hates himself).

Snow days are fucking awesome. Not because they allow you to finally accomplish all of those things you've been too busy to do but because they allow you to procrastinate those activities without guilt or shame.

I raise my glass to everyone else who enjoyed this snow day American-style (fat, lazy, and in front of the television).

'Til next time,

~The one and only

P.S. 35 days until Jesus comes back. I hope he brings food. Yeahhh!!!

ReLENTless AKA I like bad puns...

I am a Catholic. 

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. It was the first Ash Wednesday in as long as I can remember that I did not receive ashes. I didn't forget either. I was reminded by my sister via text message that I should get them and I saw people with them on their foreheads walking around all day. 

I even had an opportunity to receive them when I came out of Beijing Cafe last night around 10:20 and saw the lights on across the street in Marsh Chapel. My friend Kara and I walked up to the doors and peered inside at all of the people attending mass. She said to me, "We could stay. It's up to you." I declined, so instead we went to Crispy Crepes for dessert.

On the way there, we discussed fate vs. pre-destination and other matters pertaining to faith and religion.

"I'm not sure what I believe anymore, but I've always gotten ashes" I said.

She replied, "Well, what do they mean?"

I couldn't answer that. I mustered up something nonsensical about Jesus spending time in the desert and the palms from Palm Sunday being used to make the ashes and just blurted it out. I also told her that I wasn't giving anything up for Lent.

What would I give up? 

-Being awesome? Not possible.

-My old ace in the hole, soda? Already given up for health reasons.

-Women? Yeah, right.

-Alcohol? See above.

-Junk food? What does that really even accomplish? I love junk food. It's delicious.

I'm sure there's something that I could give up for Lent if I really thought hard about it, but I just don't care as much as I did when I was a kid and my teachers and my mom told me to give something up. Maybe I don't have as much faith anymore. Or maybe I never did; it was just obedience to adults and once I was old enough to make my own decisions, I gave up my religion.

In the end, just to satisfy Kara--who didn't like my previous post (I know, how could anyone NOT like that? I was just thinking the same thing.)--I have decided to give up fiddling with the flukes of modern technology and trying to learn how to salsa dance.

Umm, you're welcome, Kara.

~Mike

P.S. 39 days 'til Jesus gets back, Woot Woot!!!

Top Ten Reasons You Shouldn't Go To College

10. Getting a job is overrated.

9. $200,000 - 4 years.

8. You'll stay up all night writing inane things on your blog that no one reads.

7. By senior year, you will be an alcoholic and a smoker.

6. High school girls are easier.

5. Your roommate will be a douchebag.

4. Prison food is better.

3. You'll major in Disappointment with a minor in The Art of Bullshitting.

2. Facebook will take up most of your time, with short breaks for eating and sleeping through class. (It's not as fun as it sounds.)

And the number one reason why you should never, under any circumstances go to college is... (drumroll)

...

...

1. You will learn enough to realize all of the above and eventually drop out anyway.

Thanks for watching, folks. Get home safe.

It's the End of the World As We Know It

Plane crashes in the Hudson. Everyone lives. Miracle.

Plane crashes into a house in Buffalo. Everyone dies. Tragedy.

Fires ravage Australia. Thousands die.

I say, "Apocalypse."

Ever seen the movie Armageddon? Yeah, well shit ain't goin' down like that. If an enormous meteor is hurtling towards the Earth at breakneck speeds, some oil tycoon isn't going to land on it, drill into the center and set off a nuclear bomb, saving us all just in time.

It's just gonna end. Game over. No survivors.

I, for one, would love to die in the apocalypse. If there is an afterlife--just humor me, atheists--then you get to tell everybody out there how it all went down. You get to know everything that human history has to offer. Sweet.

This ship is sinking. We're all going down.

In the end, we're all gonna drown.

Sink or swim. The hour is here.

But never fear, the end is near. 

Sleep is for Lovers

Sleep is overrated. So is love. Love is trouble. Love is cruelty. Love is pain.

Love is like cancer. It doesn't stop growing until it kills you. Not that I'm complaining.

I'm trying a new thing. It's supposed to be cathartic. My own personal Europa.

As a writer, I'm supposed to be the one creating and manipulating through words and images, yet these words seem to have more control over me than I do over them.

By the way, Europa exists only in my head. It's this idealistic vision of the way my life would be if I left school and moved to Europe, at least for a little while anyway. Maybe it's all just fleeting. 

Joey says life is meaningless. Maybe, but we're all human (or are we dancer?). So I search for meaning amidst the emptiness, unlike Camus over there. Because without hope, I have nothing. Maybe I have nothing anyway. 

A tree fell in a forest. There was no one there to hear it. It made a loud fucking sound.

Maybe now I can go to sleep.

~Mike

P.S. I promise you that the next post will be funny and lighthearted...and maybe a little irreverent. SPOILER ALERT!!! There will be midgets and breasts and maybe a little drug use. Dammit, that sounds like the plot of In Bruges. Originality, too, is overrated. 

Restless Legs Syndrome.

Have you ever seen an ad for some bullshit medical problem on TV and been like 'I have that'?

Well, I have.

It's called Restless Legs Syndrome and it affects those who thirst and hunger for something more out of their lives. Of course, the doctors want you to think that medicine can cure it, but doctors just want to make money off of some drug that is only good for getting you addicted to something new. Yeah, like I fucking need that.

This is what Wikipedia has to say on the subject:

"Any type of inactivity involving sitting or lying—reading a book, a plane ride, watching TV or a movie, taking a nap—can trigger the sensations and urge to move. This depends on several factors: the severity of the person’s RLS, the degree of restfulness, the duration of the inactivity, etc."

It sounds like somebody just needs some goddamn exercise. Never mind the fact that we live in a society that stresses the hell out of us every single day of our godforsaken lives. Aghh, it drives me crazy!!!

I need a stiff drink and someone to punch in the mouth. Oh, and if you "actually" have that and are offended by this, you can fuck right off because I have no goddamn sympathy for anyone who is coaxed in to believing this crap. Where is Denis Leary when you really need him?

~Michael Fucking Carlos  

1.20.09 - The Beginning is the End is the Beginning...

Well, the day is finally here. Bush has left office. In his place stands a man with a whole helluva lot of work to do and a microscopic environment in which to go about his business. Can Obama do it?

As a college student, I felt a strong emotional rush come over me on November 4th. It was unlike anything I've ever experienced in my life. This man stood in front of the entire world on that night and accepted its challenge to save it. It was very hard to avoid feeling a sense of pride on that day--to know that in some small way I was a part of this.

Pride.

Two things of importance happened over the last 24 hours. Irish rock band U2 premiered their new single, "Get On Your Boots." As an avid fan of the group, I eagerly awaited its arrival by listening online to Rte Radio 2fm in Ireland, which played the song on the air at 3:10 AM Eastern Standard Time. A jolt of joy ran through my bloodstream as I repeatedly listened to the hypnotic rhythms and wonderfully unfamiliar melodies of the sixth track off of the band's forthcoming album, No Line on the Horizon. With the naivete of hopeful youth, I gaze out my window at the peaceful calm of the Charles River, and I see with my eyes and feel in my heart no line on the horizon.

The second thing that happened was the fact that when I awoke this morning, I did not have any classes in observance of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. What a magnificent day that we all too often take for granted as just another Monday without any school. Well not today. I went about my business as usual: reading for class tomorrow, having lunch with my sister, dinner with good friends, but something was different. Something intangible was following me all day. It was like I was walking with a ghost.

Now nothing of any particular significance happened to me today, but I was overcome by pride and felt joyful at my very existence on this planet. In my excitement over the new single, I listened to almost every song in U2's canon. When I got to "Pride (In the Name of Love)," tears welled up in my eyes. The opening guitar riff that is absolutely timeless and heroic coupled with the most perfect lyrics.

One man come in the name of love

One man come and go

One man come here to justify

One man to overthrow

In the name of love

What more in the name of love

In the name of love

What more in the name of love

One man caught on a barbed wire fence

One man he resist

One man washed up on an empty beach

One man betrayed with a kiss

In the name of love

What more in the name of love

In the name of love

What more in the name of love

Early morning, April four

Shot rings out in the Memphis sky

Free at last, they took your life

They could not take your pride

What else is there to say?

MEN, LISTEN UP: PMS Symptoms On The Rise

Now that the FDA has warned consumers to avoid peanut butter indefinitely, we are all at risk to be attacked by something much more deadly than salmonella: Women on their periods. 

Of course, most men know to steer clear of the fairer (psh, right) sex during that time of the month. However, my research indicates that the only reason women are able to show any type of emotional restraint whatsoever during these intervals is the combination of chocolate with peanut butter.

No Reese's Peanut butter cups mean that she will be chewing you out instead.

But don't fear, comrades, I have come up with a few handy tips on how to handle the women in your life.

1. Do not, under any circumstances, initiate conversation with any woman regarding her mother, bitchy friend, co-workers, or any women whom she perceives to be prettier than her.

2. Actually listen to her when she's in  a complaining mood (which will be always). I know this will be hard, but you might have to turn off the TV.

3. Do not make eye contact with any woman whom you do not already know. Chances are that she will take it the wrong way and subsequently kick your ass.

THE GOLDEN RULE: If all else fails, eat a whole jar of chunky style Skippy, get salmonella poisoning and take solace in the sweet release of death.

Until next time,

~The man without a plan

2009 - I Wanna Sink to the Bottom with You

2008 is over. 

Thank God.

Time to make some New Year's Resolutions.

I resolve to:

1. Host a '50s theme cocktail party and outdrink everyone else there. Then 

I'll cheat on my subservient, suburban housewife with a hot, young secretary from my firm, where I sell the lie of the American dream. Then I'll drive home. The Real American Dream.

2. At the very least, play one show with The Clap!, an amazing musical group that I helped found. C'mon everybody, get the Clap!

3. Win a staring contest with an 8-year-old.

I'm just gonna let the awesomeness of that one settle in.

4. Build my credit....card debt.

5. Steal your girlfriend.

6. Kick your ass.

7. Wake up from my delusions of grandeur.

8. Improve my wardrobe to an acceptable adult level.

9. Finally write my first groundbreaking novel.

10. Travel the countr--nay, the world!

11. Stay afloat in the failing economy, or sink to the bottom with the one I love--that's right, YOU, my loyal reader.

Try to keep your heads above the swell, ladies and gentlemen. It's going to be a long swim. 

In 2009, the Chinese year of the Ox, let's hope we can be as stubborn as an ox,  as sly as a fox, as brave as a lion, and as lucky as a leprechaun, or else we're fucked. 

See you in Hell,

~MC

I'm gonna start posting more often, I swear.

So I haven't written anything on here since I promised to write about my summer.

I didn't fulfill that promise, so why should you expect me to follow up on this one? I'll tell you why: because I am angry and filled with things to say and if I don't get them out then I fear I might combust.

Anyway, I'm gonna keep this one short and sweet but expect some rants to appear in the coming weeks.

As always,

~Miguel Charles

Oh, P.S. My friend Jill is studying abroad in France for the year. I've provided you with a link to her blog in the--wait for it-- "Links" section on the right side of the page. It's the one with the French title (don't worry, it's in English). Read up on Jill's zany misadventures in scenic Grenoble. There are pictures. You'll like it.

New Poll Question

By the way, this question is totally a joke. If you find it inappropriate, you're an idiot and you've missed the point completely.

It's kind of my immature college equivalent of the fourth grade note that reads:

do you like me? (circle one) 

YES NO MAYBE

And if anyone's interested my number is 867-5309. For a good time, call.

Summer is for Fucking (Part 1)

I thought it was about time to make a new post here. I've learned to hate this Godforsaken blog over the past few months, but I'm gonna try to turn it around in time for the beginning of classes in the fall.

Summer is for fucking because summer is when all the cool kids have sex on the beach and under shady trees and in public restrooms--wait, scratch that last one, that's pathetic, lonely old men, but at least they're getting laid--and the losers like me continually get fucked by everyone but the girl of my dreams. And also because I say the word fuck a lot.

First of all, Fuck you, Grassroots Campaigns Inc., you suck. You take money from people without being able to tell them where it's going. While briefly working for you, I quickly realized that that's because it's going to lobbyists and special interest groups, you fucking hypocrites. "We're nonpartisan, we swear." Oh yeah? Is that why you have a picture of John McCain likened to Hitler in your New York canvassing office and you start off the day by saying left is right and right is wrong. I don't care whether I support Obama or not, don't tell me that you're nonpartisan and then shove liberal views down people's throats. I'm not a conservative, but i'm also not a fucking liar, which is more than I can say for GCI. Good riddance, motherfuckers.

By the way, after I quit, these high class employers withheld my pay for the two days I spent out on the street, discovering that Europeans will stop when you look them in the eye but Americans will pretend to be on the phone or just ignore you entirely. I still haven't received the money, and frankly, I wouldn't accept it anyway. When I came back to the office with a large number of stops (people who stop to talk to me and my clipboard) but only $60 on my first day out, and in the pouring rain I might add, I was informed that I needed more training in how to 

get those people to give me their money. The problem is why would anyone give their credit card information to a man on the streets of New York with a clipboard and no identification proving his affiliation to the group that he claims to be representing. I wouldn't and neither should you, because chances are that it's a swindle. Therefore I quit and was essentially fucked as I had wasted all of my money from my job in Boston and didn't even have the prospects for another job. I know, not entirely their fault but nevertheless I was fucked. But that's what the summer is for.

I didn't proofread this post, so please excuse the typos and mindless errors that I may have made. 

I'll be updating this more throughout the summer as I find more examples of why summer is for fucking, or in my case, for getting fucked.