Lately, I've felt disillusioned and disenchanted with society as a whole; my sentiments towards humanity have oscillated between mild disgust to sheer apathy. I mean, I could really care less anymore what's going on with the world, who my friends are, or even what happens to me. In other words, I feel completely unfazed by current events on a personal and global scale. "Oh my God, a tsunami hit Asia killing thousands upon thousands -- hm, I wonder if we have any ground beef to make Sloppy Joes?" Essentially, I feel like Donnie Darko's Jake Gyllenhaal or Garden State's Zach Braff, except slightly less medicated, a bit fatter, and without a hot, prepubescent-looking love interest like Jena Malone or Natalie Portman. I can't necessarily account for my rather listless behavior. It may, however, stem from the fact that I am a senior in college with no true, concrete direction or hindsight. With my impending graduation from college, the future brings a great deal of uncertainty and fear, not to mention the inevitable final goodbyes of the close friends I've made over the years. Of course, if I genuinely felt concerned, I'd be more emotional or regretful. No, my apathy extends farther than that, and has wholly consumed me like a fat person on chicken wing night. Bottom-line: I just don't care anymore. I'm sick of going through the motions, and my tolerance for people is wearing thin. I have an overwhelming urge to shun society and simply be left alone. Maybe I can live my life as a Bohemian outcast.
Ultimately, my bitter, almost depressed feelings have motivated me to write, taking after great authors like Hemingway or Sylvia Platt of the American Modernist movement. In my case, however, I lack the alcoholic or suicidal tendencies that drove them to write such beautiful work. If I only smoked cigarettes or had been beaten as a child -- anything remotely tragic or unsettling -- then I'd at least have the "tortured-depressed-Dickens-eque" facade that most writers and artists have. But no, I'm just a kid in suburbia with a blog. A shoddy one, at that. At least it's some consolation that I don't write in a Livejournal anymore; I'm not that quasi-emotionally distraught.
So what's been going on with my life? Well, I'll try to write it as wryly and humorously as possible, without sounding slit-my-wrists-and-suffocate-me-with-a-Walmart-bag depressed as my friend Chris or incoherent (not to mention grossly grammatically-incorrect) as my other friend Zach:
Christmas, as I wrote in an earlier post, was completely uneventful. By the time you grow out of the materialistic, "I-can't-wait-to-open-presents" phase -- which, by my personal observations, lasts until the age of twenty -- you could really care less about the Holiday Season. I wasn't at all excited or even remotely enthusiastic about receiving presents since the majority of my desires would either land my parents in great financial debt or are simply impossible to attain (my ineptitude in quantum physics makes time travel hard). Ultimately, my parents gave me pants, which in all honesty was pretty much all I needed or looked forward to. You see, although I remain emotionally apathetic and embittered, at least I can look good. My parents also bought me a pair of binoculars, a gift that quite frankly baffles me. My mom's rationale is that I go to concerts a lot and would thus use the binoculars to see the stage. Of course, a person who brings a pair of binoculars to the Metro to see Wilco or Spoon deserves to be bludgeoned with them. Alternately, I'm thinking she's supporting my voyeuristic habits, which has been supplemented by my recent Facebook addiction. Of course, if I actually wanted to spy on my neighbors through my window, I'd only be watching a bunch of Vietnamese people playing X-Box or pseudo-Glen Ellyn pricks drinking their pseudo-high balls... nothing too exciting.
After a rather unenthusiastic Christmas, my dad eventually bought himself the Lexus he's always wanted. Now he can honestly say that he's the only person on the block who owns a luxury car. I believe my dad's reasoning behind buying the Lexus is all about status, not to mention that the car is tax deductible if you purchase it before New Years. "Oh my! Jake owns a Lexus! How classy! He must be rich, why he be living in Ghetto Heights, yo!" our neighbors would say about my dad, before retreating to their welfare-paid homes to eat a fine meal of shoe, fishbone, and freebase cocaine. My dad's retired now, so I suppose he's allowed to indulge himself in attention and luxury. As for me, I was handed down the Camry, the car I had been promised since I first transferred to Illinois but never received. Now my friends and family have heard me frequently bitch about not getting the car; thus, they would expect me to literally orgasm at the notion that I finally got one. I would have expected a change of underwear when my dad said "the Camry is yours," but in all honesty I wasn't that ecstatic. After waiting so long, the thrill of wanting a car subsided. Furthermore, convenience aside, the car became a necessity, and necessities aren't all that exciting as opposed to wants. I mean, would you be thrilled to get a new toothbrush or a pack of toilet paper? Those are things you need. This, of course, doesn't mean that I'm not grateful. I'm glad to have a car, which signifies more road trips and more incidents of drunk driving.
New Years, like the rest of my break, had been uneventful as well. Initially, my parents wanted to celebrate New Years at my aunt's house where they would sing karaoke for seven hours straight while my two younger cousins and I would sit quietly aside and strain ourselves to find something fun to do. That prospect was more than unfavorable, and after arguing with my dad, I convinced him to let me go to Champaign-Urbana for New Years. Yes, I know, how lame is it to go back to campus to celebrate New Years? While I was urged to simply take my new car and drive down there with or without his permission, my parents would see this act of rebellion as some sort of transgression and would take the car away.
Me and Drunky-McFuck-Sadaroo (aka Zimm)
Back in campus, I realized that no matter where I celebrated New Years nor who I would spend it with, I would remain apathetic and jaded. I ended up spending New Years with my friend Zimm at my other friends Amanda and Chris's place and later at some bars, Brothers and Murphy's. I had a good time, suffice to say, and it was nice to see some familiar faces. Two highlights of that night included Zimm falling down the stairs at Brothers and Jeff's eternal struggle to open a bottle of wine.
And so begins the struggle to open the bottle of wine...
Note the sweat and the popping blood-vessel on Jeff's head (as indicated by the bold, black arrow).
Jeff broke Amanda and Chris's bottle opener, so he began using a wrench. This is why they can't have nice things.
Here comes his girlfriend Sara to take away his manhood.
"Let's do it TOGETHER!"
Jeff saves the day.
Nevertheless, for reasons I simply can't shake off, I felt -- and still feel -- listless.
As you can see with the new layout and this exasperatingly long post, I've been busy writing and doing art projects. It's been keeping me preoccupied, and in essence, grounded me from becoming a totally depressed fuck. Aside from this whole expression-business, maybe in order to further get off this slump is to go out and buy a pet. I was thinking either a turtle or a hamster. None of that goldfish crap. My roommate Tom, who has proceeded to leave the house for a month without taking care of his pet fish, will most likely kill them.
(Happy B-Day, Andre and Erin)
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5:06 PM
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Lately, I've felt disillusioned and disenchanted with society as a whole; my sentiments towards humanity have oscillated between mild disgust to sheer apathy. I mean, I could really care less anymore what's going on with the world, who my friends are, or even what happens to me. In other words, I feel completely unfazed by current events on a personal and global scale. "Oh my God, a tsunami hit Asia killing thousands upon thousands -- hm, I wonder if we have any ground beef to make Sloppy Joes?" Essentially, I feel like Donnie Darko's Jake Gyllenhaal or Garden State's Zach Braff, except slightly less medicated, a bit fatter, and without a hot, prepubescent-looking love interest like Jena Malone or Natalie Portman. I can't necessarily account for my rather listless behavior. It may, however, stem from the fact that I am a senior in college with no true, concrete direction or hindsight. With my impending graduation from college, the future brings a great deal of uncertainty and fear, not to mention the inevitable final goodbyes of the close friends I've made over the years. Of course, if I genuinely felt concerned, I'd be more emotional or regretful. No, my apathy extends farther than that, and has wholly consumed me like a fat person on chicken wing night. Bottom-line: I just don't care anymore. I'm sick of going through the motions, and my tolerance for people is wearing thin. I have an overwhelming urge to shun society and simply be left alone. Maybe I can live my life as a Bohemian outcast.
Christmas, as I wrote in an earlier post, was completely uneventful. By the time you grow out of the materialistic, "I-can't-wait-to-open-presents" phase -- which, by my personal observations, lasts until the age of twenty -- you could really care less about the Holiday Season. I wasn't at all excited or even remotely enthusiastic about receiving presents since the majority of my desires would either land my parents in great financial debt or are simply impossible to attain (my ineptitude in quantum physics makes time travel hard). Ultimately, my parents gave me pants, which in all honesty was pretty much all I needed or looked forward to. You see, although I remain emotionally apathetic and embittered, at least I can look good. My parents also bought me a pair of binoculars, a gift that quite frankly baffles me. My mom's rationale is that I go to concerts a lot and would thus use the binoculars to see the stage. Of course, a person who brings a pair of binoculars to the Metro to see Wilco or Spoon deserves to be bludgeoned with them. Alternately, I'm thinking she's supporting my voyeuristic habits, which has been supplemented by my recent 
After a rather unenthusiastic Christmas, my dad eventually bought himself the Lexus he's always wanted. Now he can honestly say that he's the only person on the block who owns a luxury car. I believe my dad's reasoning behind buying the Lexus is all about status, not to mention that the car is tax deductible if you purchase it before New Years. "Oh my! Jake owns a Lexus! How classy! He must be rich, why he be living in Ghetto Heights, yo!" our neighbors would say about my dad, before retreating to their welfare-paid homes to eat a fine meal of shoe, fishbone, and freebase cocaine. My dad's retired now, so I suppose he's allowed to indulge himself in attention and luxury. As for me, I was handed down the Camry, the car I had been promised since I first transferred to Illinois but never received. Now my friends and family have heard me frequently bitch about not getting the car; thus, they would expect me to literally orgasm at the notion that I finally got one. I would have expected a change of underwear when my dad said "the Camry is yours," but in all honesty I wasn't that ecstatic. After waiting so long, the thrill of wanting a car subsided. Furthermore, convenience aside, the car became a necessity, and necessities aren't all that exciting as opposed to wants. I mean, would you be thrilled to get a new toothbrush or a pack of toilet paper? Those are things you need. This, of course, doesn't mean that I'm not grateful. I'm glad to have a car, which signifies more road trips and more incidents of drunk driving.
