This is sort of forced and trite. I collected this off an aquaintance's journal. She and I attended high school together, and may have been mislabeled as friends, since we were together in publc so frequently.

You might be a conservative if...
-You've named your kids "Deduction one" and "Deduction two".
-You've tried to argue that poverty could be abolished if people were allowed to keep more of their minimum wage.
-You're a "pro-lifer", but support the death penalty.
-You don't let your kids watch Sesame Street because you suspect Bert and Ernie of "sexual deviance," and believe that Oscar the Grouch "lives in a trash can because he is lazy and doesn't want to contribute to society."
-You argue that you need 300 handguns, in case a bear ever attacks your home.
-You've ever said "civil liberties, schmivil schmiberties".
-You've ever said "Clean air? Looks clean to me".
-You've ever called education a luxury.
-You look down through a glass ceiling and chuckle.
-You've ever urged someone to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, when they don't even have shoes.

Foolish, foolish.

I'm not sure why I've been posting so sporadically as of late.

The rollercoaster ride of a high school career I've experienced has winded through its last corkscrew, and is slowing to a halt. I am now in that post-maniacal waiting period, as the cart creeps towards the station in preparation for another group of riders to board. Here I am, between the ephemeral ups and downs of the adventure and the inevetable trek from a ride I've been familiar with for ages to a new mechanical beast.

That was a really cliched, bad analogy. Forget you even read that.

I think I've lost the ability to cry. I don't know why, or what crime this is a punishment for. It's very unearthing, that I have no emotions.

I spent the day in Naperville today, helping my queer uncle and his partner (read: "Pardner"--I think it's more amusing that way) pack up the unusual lamps, African-inspired furniture, and tacky, impractical brick-a-brack that their store, Tiffany Lifestyles, is comprised of. Watching them together made me question the practicality and sincerity of long-term commitment. It seemed very stilted and awkward between them all day. I don't think I like that.

I collected my tuxedo for prom this evening. I will look amazing, hopefully. And I never say that about myself. Not even in a hopeful sense.

Well, the fruitfly-esque winged insects prancing across my computer screen are starting to confuse me. Why is the punctuation flitting around the page, I wonder? Sigh.

Since I don't have her E-mail address, I would like to apologize to a certain verb I wrote about yesterday. It was simply a flippant allusion to an amusing situation I'd heard about, and no feelings were meant to be affected. So, from now on, I'll simply have to consult each and every verb before I use it in my postings. And that's alright.

Bozo button for you, Justin! You satisfied my evening.

So, new problem.

I think I'm leading the choir teacher's daughter on. I was OBLIGATED to take her out to Maggiano's for dinner tonight for her birthday, because I am a simp and she "surprised" me with a trip there for mine. She thinks we're practically best friends, whereas she knows very very VERY little about my real life. She's planning on visiting me "all the time" next year. Should I start up a fight with her so I don't have to be her friend anymore? I really cannot deal with her yammering on about issues I have no concern for, like her life. I wish I could just Allison this whole situation (Allison (v.): To blatantly make clear that a self-absorbed nuisance is no longer a friend), but I feel like I OWE it to her mother--after all, I did get the choir award. Aah, wonderful.

I'm getting increasingly excited about Europe. I need to speak with my traveling partner soon about the proposed itenerary I've fashioned. Prom is also an evening that holds much anticipation in my mind now.

So, basically, I said everything that I didn't want to say, and didn't need to say, to Theo. I'm just not a public speaker. Essentially, I just rambled on about the inconsequential, minute aspects of our relationship I was unhappy about. Most of it, I don't really even stand behind. He and I need to try this again. I just feel awkward and awful right now about all of this.

I'm finally Europe-bound.

I just purchased astonishingly inexpensive airfare from O-Hare to Heathrow. I'll be arriving two days ahead of Theo and leaving one day after, but that's perfectly alright, I think. Naivete rocks.

Now, to acquire a passport...

My guestbook sure feels...empty.

Call me a twat. Call me a hopeless, worthless imbecile who simply likes clothing. Hell, even call me a "country boy--" after all, because I don't live within five minutes of the nearest Diesel shop, that must mean I grow sun-ripened produce in my backyard, and my house is fashioned to resemble a log cabin. But, it is true...I sort of like my job.

Off to watch Vanilla Sky.

Oh, I must comment on yesterday's iniquitous farce of what a real show choir should sound/look like (the Show Choir concert). The highlight of the "show," amidst the Kyle-led tonedeaf tenor section, which ruined each and every song we sang, several jazz tunes which were far beyond the capabilities of members of my show choir, and a boy who actually said, into the muffled-sounding microphone "Oh, shit," after forgetting the words to his song, was definitely my duet with Jesse. Our voices blended impeccably, and while there were one or two issues, we would have been the headlining act of any show, regardless of with whom we woud have been competing for top billing. It was...amazing.

Prom is in full gear.

I chose my tuxedo today, and received a $50 discount from Gingiss. I also ordered Theo's boutineer (Fuck you if you know how that should be spelled.) a moment ago--it should bear some significance to our relationship. If he remembers.

I'm not sure if I even remember HOW to work at the Gap. I shall find out in a few minutes though, won't I?

Today was...awkward.

I don't think I've ever felt this unenthused for a concert. it will be horrible, except for my dangerously awesome duet with Jesse.

Today was better than these past two days. Last night, I sat in on a rehearsal at ECC for D-C's orchestra concert. My uber-conservative comrade Shannon is performing a Haydn concerto on her cello, and it was relatively wonderful in rehearsal. I only wish she weren't as nervous as she is. I then purchased some juice and books with Theo.

I wish I were able to quit work. I really do. I have to work on Graduation Day. How rediculous is that? Frustration ensues when I'm told I cannot switch with someone, because I have to train a new employee. This is not "kosher." But, in my life, what is these days. Good thing it's only a Jewish nose, and a sometimes-Christian body.

I feel disgusting for leaving that last post. But not embarassed enough to actually remove it altogether.

I am so frustrated and "stressed" at the current moment. The day just was not nearly as wonderful as I'd hoped. I would have normally had a cigarette HOURS ago, but unfortunately, I QUIT. (Insert shouted obscentites)

Off to NHS Induction....whatever the fuck for.

Who ISN'T queer these days? I just discovered tonight that a good friend from years ago, Kevin Ciacco, is gay. In fact, I believe it was Kevin who initiated my fasciation with all varieties of underwear. I recall, during some CTE show, he was changing, and he looked so amazingly beautiful and masculine in his white generic briefs. (He was a wrrestler, and had an impeccable body.) I will never forget that day--also because my then-best friend, Matt, either caught me, or thought I caught him staring at Kevin's brief-clad midsection. I've never been sure of it. Hmm...shall I E-mail him?

I cannot focus on this hid-eous research paper, which is due in 14 hours. H.G. Wells, you old scallywag--inspire me.

As my friend Kaitlin so eloquently stated, I was like "Titanic at the Oscars" tonight at the Music Recognition banquet. I received, from least to greatest: Senior Participation award, IMEA All-State Honors plaque, the student leadership award for Madrigal Singers, a sizable scholarship from the Vocal-Strings organization, and the much-anticipated National School Choral Award. My dining room table is beginning to feel claustrophobic, from the multitude of menial plaques and awards it has collected the past month or two.

Let me share with my readers a tale from a far away, mysteriously trashy land: Lincoln, Illinois. I had a prom to attend to this weekend, with my friend, whose name is, get this: Betsy. I enjoy her company greatly under most circumstances--she's the naive blonde farmgirl every boy wants as his friend, gay or straight. However, this weekend was an assault on my general sense of tolerance and politeness. Betsy wore, as the picture I have scanned will prove, a massive assemblage of tulle, sequins, and "flare" that, while some may mistake for a Volkswagen Beetle, a circus tent, or a large body of shimmering water, was actually just a motherfuckingly huge dress. The dress really bothered me. A lot. It collected trash, for Chrissakes.

I'll sum the weekend up in a few sentences, because I have a term paper to write. Essentially, Betsy simply didn't understand what sort of responsibility taking a date from another school to prom really is. She was galavanting through the crowded Knights of Columbus hall, dancing, obsessing over her dress, and "yukking it up" with people I had obviously never seen before, and hoped to God never would again. Humorous moment of the evening: in a purely Violet Beauregarde-esque sweep of fortune, Betsy succeeded in toppling over at her friend Carrie's house. Apparently, something happened with her plasticglass "slippers" and she found herself lying flat on her face in a muddy ditch of sorts, limbs flying everywhere, like a topheavy turtle, or a beached blue whalebeast. I couldn't laugh at the moment, of course, but the image of big country bumpkin Betsy's limbs swimming through the air entertained me throughout the night, as I stood alone, watching her dance.

Cardinal Rule of Relationships #147.53 B--Thou shalt not reject lead roles in acclaimed musicals for significant others.

I'm sorry--who said that rules were meant to be broken? And why do I feel like I've "sold out?"

Now who has made sacrifices.

I discussed Europe this morning with my parents on a much more serious level (read: lots of yelling, father storming in and out of kitchen). I'm really going now, alone or with the companion I've been planning this whole trip with. I'm going. I'm getting my passport Monday, and staying between 2.5 and 3 weeks in Europe, leaving June 12. Pressure, pressure.

Off to Lincoln! I love Prom(s)! Number six for me! There's nothing I'd rather do today than go to Lincoln to their po-dunk Prom! All-righty! I'm off!

I just adore being the "Oh, sorry--I already have plans" guy.

I'm in a mood, and I shouldn't be--I just viewed a carefree, warms-the-cackles-of-one's-heart film whose (yes, poor choice of word--I cannot think what its properly-chosen counterpart should be) title I shan't reveal...I would never hear the end of it from a certain Shiva-replicating deity. I enjoyed myself, nevertheless.

I'm sorry, but the much-needed report from this weekend may be dealyed even further. It seems that, for some various reasons, I've decided to "buckle down" and actually quit smoking now. I want to cry and kill myself. It's not fun. This, however, thanks to an attractive South suburban beautiful queer athlete with a self-proclaimed "fat fetish," is.

Horray for U.S. News and World Report--the news magazine featured a piece on Blogging's popularity in a world that extends beyond the trite, typical occurences in a (this) teenager's life.

I strolled through a pleasantly busy day today, only to come home and remember all of the issues I had before the day began. Somehow, my subconscious allowed the general team of problems to take a field trip from my psyche all day, and the train just careened back into the station. Ugh. Go away.

After visiting my damaged mother in the hospital (she's not doing/looking too well), I decided to remedy my bout of depression by...buying things!

Purchases from Fox Valley Mall in Naperville:
1. Shirt from Abercrombie
2. Banana Republic cologne/lotion
3. Sunglasses
4. Venti Caramel Frappuccino
5. Fun fun fun 2(x)ist underwear
6. 1 dozen Krispy Kreme donuts

I do my best, and most morbidly pessimistic, thinking while dreadfully tired. So, I did a LOT of thinking.

My late night study session was for naught--the sentence outline I was scrambling to bullshit early this morning never was reviewed by Moeller. Now, I'm just moody and pseudo-depressed...that's how I get after not sleeping much.

Today, as all Mondays are, has been a pretty high-impact day. I had the AP test this morning, my mother's operation early this afternoon, and I ran into Allison Robson, an old friend from middle school with whom I haven't spoken since graduation day. Of course, i looked "hid," after not shaving all weekend/today, wearing an old Gap t-shirt and my scrubby tan "Safari" jacket. (Note: The current issue of GQ heralded the safari jacket as this spring's hot necessity. So ha.)

I have an enormous project to do tonight, but I don't even know where to start with it.

When Harry Met Sally + Theo's heavy breathing (he was sleeping) = Good evening

My parents met Theo last night. He was very quiet, which is understandable. Judging from their morning report, I think they liked him. "He seemed nice," quoth my mother.

You think I'm kidding when I say I live in the confines of a white-trash town? First, read this, and then read my commentary below.

Yes, yes...insane, is it not? Now, I am on the school board's side, considering these fools were completely conscious of their sacrifice of prom for their rehearsal. The director gave Alex Fanning the role only if she promised she wouldn't go to prom, and likewise with the prince, who I was once best friends with until the whole "gay" thing surfaced. I've never been so embarassed of my school, my friends, or my region in my life. What sort of credibility does a journalist have if she (Naomi Dillon, Daily Herald) chooses to write about such a blown-out-of-proportion topic, only to spar an interest in the major network television news shows and the Chicago Tribune, a news source I once had a strong affinity for? Well, being my fourth and final prom at Jacobs, I cannot say the experience didn't go out with a bang.

Jillian looked beautiful; her dress looked much better on her than on a hanger.

I had some severe issues with the tuxedo, in the fact that they didn't include half the necessary accessories, which I did not discover until I was already five minutes late for pictures. Ugh.

The only downside--I really, painfully missed Theo, and couldn't stop thinking about him all night.

He called my house.

Mr. Moeller, my archaeologically-revived AP English teacher, goddamn called my house. He left a message, asking my parents to call him about my "Senioritis." Yes, this dusty old man, who wets his pants and wears his trousers at least five inches away from the laces of his shoes, actually referred to my lack of turning in the past three essays as "Senioritis." I love it. He then stumbled over words, and alluded to the fact that I may not graduate if I keep doing horribly in his class. The truth, my friends, is this: I had all the mandatory English credits at the end of the first semester, in which I received As in his class.

I thought it would be over, since I figured he went to bed at 6:30 in the evening and my parents wouldn't have been able to speak with him until after that. But no, after what I alleged was five minutes of him dialing my phone number with his slow motor skills, he called again, after my mother and I had tittered about the phone message. Yes, she laughed. She doesn't really care about my mid-year grade situation, because she knows I'll always come through in the end. So, while I was cooking dinner, she played June Cleaver and spoke very solemnly with Moeller. (Haha--solemnly...) So, that's that. Entertainment.

Note to self and all: get your hair cut from the SAME stylist every time. Even if you get your hair shorn at Mario Tricoci. Hazardous results may ensue if you do not heed my warning.

I picked up my tuxedo today, avoiding the lines (read: masses of angry teens) by picking it up at 2:30, following the aforementioned haircut.

Why am I talking about these foolishly tedious things? My Blog's title isn't "Banality at its Best," after all.

Horray!

Even though I have the worst credit on the face of this earth (Yes, it is possible to have poor credit at the age of 18...it's called "I'm queer and have no concept of financing"), I was approved for a Platinum Plus Visa this afternoon. Aah...more debt to accrue...I am thoroughly looking forward to ruining my life dollar by dollar.

My day was otherwise horrid--I woke up late, the sunglasses Theo gave me last night combusted, and AP English is becoming quite a strain on me and my otherwise streak-free reputation.