Living a Dream

I have these flashes where I want to write something that changes the world. I want to write things like "I don't care if you're gay, you're still human" but then I ruin it by adding things like "and as a human, you're likely an idiot." It could be cynicism (or as cynics call it, realism), but I keep wanting to say important things and then realize that it's just not my style. I can have a serious conversation with you if you'd like, but I will undoubtedly interject silly quips and whatnot. The problem is that I like serious conversations...I just like making snide comments just as much. So far, over the last week, this blog has been mostly on par with that - the real-life issues I'm having and the not-so-effective but ultimately therapeutic ways I deal with it (which is by writing...I think that's clear). So maybe I should try. I never thought of myself as a particularly tolerant person, but I also didn't think of myself as being

Here I sit. It's 1:00 a.m. and I have no reason to be awake. I'm house-sitting, so the dog will probably wake me up around 7, but I'm not even really trying to go to sleep. Why would anyone do something so stupid? It's not like I'm watching something interesting or helping someone through a crisis. I'm not really doing anything. I'm just dilly-dallying on the internet. For instance, right now I have tabs opened to Twitter (holla! @kevinpnye !), facebook, livejournal (so I can read Coke's blog), and google analytics (which can be attributed to Lauren). Before I go to bed I will invariably check my email (guaranteed to be nothing new), refresh Twitter, probably breeze through espn.com (even though I could turn on the channel instead), may find something good on youtube, and then I'll end up watching a movie on netflix.com. The question really becomes "what in the hell did I do before the internet??" . I like to think that I've blocked out

It's pretty obvious that I like to write; if I didn't, you would be reading something else because I wouldn't have anything for you. (if you wanna take a minute to think about how you wouldn't know that I didn't write because you just never would have experienced it, and then let your mind wander down that road, I don't blame you - that's what I'm doing.) But whenever I tell people that I like to write, they invariably ask what I mean, what I want to write, and it always leads to the same thing. It's foolproof, someone will always say "write a book." Maybe I'm just a bundle of hate, but that always sort of bothers me. Perhaps it's because I've thought about writing books and partially realized just how much goes into it. Or maybe it's because I don't say things to engineers like "Hey, build me something." The point is that, in order to write a book, you have to somehow come up with over 100,000 words based on o

Alright, enough beating around the bush. Maybe this is me starting to finally get back into writing in a big way. Maybe it's not. But screw it, it's a start. Some of these posts that will be coming semi rapid-fire over the next few days are inspired by people and conversations that I'm having as I type this, so I'm going to try not to delve into what exactly is happening/leave the people involved out of it. If you've read the older posts you may know that I feel an insatiable desire to be seen/heard. I can't really explain it (which you also know if you've read the older posts...I ramble). But there's even a little more to it than that; I just want to be important in some bizarre way. I know that's amazingly selfish and I'll explain why it isn't in a moment, but it's selfish...and isn't that how we are? Aren't we all just living, breathing, egos? Don't we all perform better, feel better, act nicer if someone has made us feel g

Sometimes I go through major Andy Kaufman syndrome - I have an extremely difficult time being serious. Furthermore, this is a problem because people who know me know not to take me seriously...but at the same time, I'm very serious. I'm serious about important things, and I know that sounds really lame, or like the setup to a bad joke (if you want a bad joke, see the end of the previous post), but it's not. There are a lot of things that I'm serious about, but only a handful of people pay any attention to these things. I think too much: I spend tons of time thinking about inconsequential, weird things. I wonder about things beyond my control, knowing that they'll never be within my control. I try to explain bizarre thoughts to a lot of people who don't really have any interest in hearing them (there are a few who hear me out, which is nice, but not the point). I don't know. Maybe none of this is important right now. I think I'm on the verge of an epiphan

It's become a funny existence. I wake up, I sit around, I catch up on Ninja Warrior, I eat, play video games, work out, watch the Cavs, and repeat. In between I apply for jobs, don't hear back, sulk, laugh, make others laugh, read things, write things, listen to music and occasionally sell things on eBay for my grandmother. But what am I doing? There are few things that I know are certain, and one of them is that my parents are displeased that I don't have a job - particularly my dad. I can't say that I blame him, but the real problem is that he acts like I'm thrilled about not having a job. I've got a big job fair that the Cavaliers are hosting on the horizon, it's later this month, and I really am starting to put the majority of my proverbial eggs in that basket...problem is, though, that the basket has slippery handles. I'm sick of not doing anything, but there's nothing to do. I can't keep asking people if they want to hire me when I know tha