Still no internet, by the way.

Many things for a twenty-year-old college student to do on a Friday night. Tonight I talked to you. I didn't leave. I talked to you, and you talked to me. Words made my Friday night better than any action could.

I think I'll just stay here.

Cable modem installation unsuccessful = check computer for problems = can't fathom a reason websites won't open on my computer = call Cox Communications for assistance = talk with Richard the technician for 1.5 hours = still have no internet = still have no clue why modem and computer hate each other = will call Cox tomorrow morning = a technician will come and discover that I did something to my computer = he'll take my money I need for books and car = I won't buy my school books or fix my car = I flunk my exams and my car still screams = I flunk my classes and my car scares people = I flunk out of school and my brakes stop working = I have no job and live in my car, which lays lifeless against a telephone pole I crashed into

The last three or four nights have stretched along in consciousness, my body pressed against black pillows and sheets, never finding a position allowing me to relax and submerge into sleep. My brain--- or is it my mind?--- took a sabbatical from the world of academia while in Pensacola and instead fostered on emotional maturity, learning about the deeper layers of love and how to handle the obstacles lain in front of a twenty-year-old child set to become a man. The new (old) atmosphere of schooling thrusts me back into the stage of present dedication and future planning of education. When I turn off my bedroom light the goal is to sleep, but my brain (mind?) activates all its tiny lights and races through these bloated balls of questions and ideas. I wonder when during the day can I schedule time to read for classes; if my choice of courses will help me attain future prosperity in my career; what I can do next summer to maintain momentum before graduate school; whether I should just graduate a semester early or take two part-time semesters next year and look into working in a relevant Gainesville institute such as the courthouse; where in this world graduate school will relocate my life. I should have given more love and attention to the academic part of my brain. He tussled locked in the shell I made for him, and now that I opened that shell, he makes me tussle.

Highlights from the first day of classes:

>>>Sitting at the bus stop for the first time, awaiting the bus, here it comes, here it comes... what's the bus driver doing? He's shaking his hand at me as if to say, "Go away. The bus can hold no more." There it goes. Cross the street back to apartment. "Hey Dave, can you drive me to campus?"
>>>Discovering that my summer course in Corrections gives me an edge over the other suckers students in my History of Corrections class.
>>>Yea, at least the bus will bring me home!
>>>Deciding to order cable modem from Cox rather than get a phone line, saving me about $27/month. Apparently Misty, the operator I spoke to from Bellsouth, goes by the script and just blurts out remarks like an automated teller. Her closing remarks after I cancelled my phone line order: "Thank you for choosing Bellsouth. Have a good day."
>>>Ooh, the bus will pick me up now!
>>>Scoping out the room at my World Musics class. There's this girl on the other side of the room. My eyes have retired for the day on her face. Something about this Asian girl with the school-teacher glasses and the fine clothing just mesmerizes me, as though I'm now in the presence of a fine work of art I've longed to catch a glimpse of my entire life. You better stop staring because she'll eventually catch you and think you're a freak. Why can't I stop staring? Oh crap, she's looking over! Oh crap, eye contact! Oh crap, she just smirked a faint smile this way! Should I strike the nerve to talk to her after class? Wow, I'm just not ready yet. Ok, stop staring now.
>>>First concert I find out I'm supposed to attend for a World Musics paper: the David Benoit Trio. He effin rocks!
>>>No, I'm sorry, miss: I would remember if I had appeared on Guiding Light.
>>>Josh is introducing us servers to the girls of Chi O. Calls out Raphael, check. Mike, check. Brandon, check. Enrique Iglesias, whuh? What's he talking about? Wait a minute, he's pointing toward me! Ok, so now he'll tell them my real name. Chris, check. Wait... he didn't tell the new girls my real name! Now they're all calling me Enrique. My name is--- hmmmmmm---I kind of like it. I mean, if Anna Kournikova likes calling out the name, it must be a keeper.
>>>A crowded table of friends reunited after a summer apart. The Alehouse walls have not moved an inch; they stand exactly as I remember. Hey, there's Chasity (not Chastity), the coolest waitress ever! Hey Chas! Aw, she remembers my order. But not tonight thanks, for this evening would be Monday: All-You-Can-Eat Wings for $6.95. Seven guys share laughs, loads of wings, and eventually all rush out in a race to the their home toilets!

The first day back to school always turns out to be either hectic and stressful or crazy and thrilling. A day like this requires all your energy, cool, and focus. The second day, while for most people comprised of entirely new classes and experiences, never reaches that upper echelon of uncurbed pacing and saved memories. This school year has premiered with the thrills we all hope a new beginning will deliver. The future holds to reveal whether this first day is merely a Monday on my calendar, or whether today serves as an omen for a spectacular year.

I prefer my life evolve in gradual increments rather than staying stagnant or undergoing sudden upheaval. For the last week and a half--- probably since Haley went back to school--- I’ve acted somewhat like a bag of frozen chicken: cold and bland but gradually softening up and ready to get cooking. My time in Pensacola had run its course. My activities circulated around the same themes everyday (staying stagnant): cooking at Appetite for Life, running errands to kill time, surfing the internet, and having dinner with my wonderful family. In a matter of two days, my surroundings completely changed (sudden upheaval): the people, the daily runnings, the tasks at hand, the attitude. Something I had claimed to feel giddy in excitement for--- returning to my college life--- quickly overwhelmed me with the drastic change of pace. I’m waking up at 11 am again. My neighbors look more my age than my grandparents’. No one cooks for me or picks up the tab. I watch lots of Simpsons-- No change there; we must keep some continuity.

I’m growing warmer to these changes as they become the norm again. The apartment has life with it’s greens, burgundies, and browns. When I want to escape, I can walk down the hall into my bedroom, overcome by jazz. The golds, the blacks and whites, the music, the sexy view, the classic pictures: they all scream Miles-Davis-esque jazz coolness. Hopefully Dave and Mason will grow on me, but it feels slightly awkward at time with them being much closer friends than I am with either man. They do their things together with BCM, while I march to the beat of my own drummer. Eventually we’ll do the occasional activity as a group of three. I feel like the “other” roommate, which is what I anticipated, but Dave and Mason are great guys that would never push me from our little apartment circle. As long as we’re peaceful to each other, do not purposely exclude each other, and share mullet jokes and Simpsons fun, I’ll be content and satisfied with my roommates.

These twilight days before the reality of our purpose here in Gainesville kicks in--- school--- follow a pattern of relocating your friends, adjusting your living quarters, searching for your next meal, and cavorting as though every puzzle piece is magically snapping securely together.

And the bulk of the puzzle finds another match every day. The next piece awaits me.

Things I hope to find upon my return to Gainesville:

An authentic Thai restaurant
Friendly neighbors
A cool jazz spot
Kind, mature, beautiful twenty-year-old girls
A big tv for a low, low price
Cameron Diaz in my bedroom asking if I need a back massage from a long day of driving/classes/doing nothing
Intellectual, compassionate, helpful criminology advisors
Pizza by-the-slice I can call home about
A guy to join me, Dave, and Mason for tennis, racquetball, and ultimate
One surprise new friend from both genders

Saturday night, post-midnight: Cameron Diaz's gorgeous face flashes onto the televison screen. This is the moment it hits me: I don't have any pictures of Cameron Diaz on my blooger! Of course, I had to change that promptly.

Uh, I must have missed the orignal advertisements for tonight's rerun of Saturday Night Live, or I would remember hearing that Jonny Mosely was the host and responding with the same puzzled look that children have when their parents try to rationalize with them. Excuse me, who? When? Why? And does this guy realize he's mispelled his first name? This episode apparently aired just after the Winter Games in Salt Lake City, and Mosely represented the United States--- I already forget in what skiing event. He won a gold medal... but that happened four years ago in Nagano; he didn't even win a medal in these Olympics! Couldn't they have found at least a current medalist? Who rejected Lorne Michaels's calls? Apolo Anton Ohno? The Canadian skating pair they parodied in this very episode? Sarah Hughes and Michelle Kwan?

I give this episode a big ole boo!

After a quality night of Hibachi and Italian Sodas, I surmised that your best friends from high school eventually fall into three categories:

1. Those who share a weaker bond with you than expected. You may exchange the occasional e-mail, but by year three you no longer speak and cannot still be considered friends.

2. Those you follow and talk with through year one. You steadily update each other with your state of the union, reflect on old times, and engage in decent conversation, but by year three you are different people, and the drifting apart slowly strains your bond.

3. Those you don't worry about continually updating, and no matter how little or often you talk while apart, you can still meet up, goof off in the car, and share an intimate talk with as if you've been in each other's lives everyday for the past few years. You have been a part of each other's lives this whole time. You hold a truly special friendship, one where you can envision playing catch with your friend's children while your wife laughs at how you two still act like kids from high school.

Tonight I sat across the table at Barnes and Noble from a dear friend who falls into the final category. Her name is Crystal. We shared one of those nights where we reaffirmed the legitimacy of our close friendship. We even taught each other a mutual lesson that applied to some of our shared dilemnas: you can only live in the present. We hugged and said goodnight, thanked each other for the wonderful night, and as I closed her car door, we quoted Zoolander and chuckled like kindergarteners.

Ah, bona note.

With so many emotions and feelings circulating through my body today, it's fitting that I physically crumbled and fell victim to a sudden nausea and sickness. My mind is tired from saying hello to people I love but rarely see... and saying goodbye to the girl I must admit I still love. We had a heavenly farewell, almost straight from a Hollywood script. The beauty of my growing cousins gave me a joy I needed to block the fact that I had seen Haley for the last time for a while, unsure of where our friendship will be three months from now--- will we still be the closest of friends now that we're no longer together and will be busy with other lives and other people? I need to return to Gainesville soon. Spend time with my visiting family, share some final moments with my family and hometown friends, and leave for a new chapter in my life.

Con te partiro...

One U-haul truck... one U-haul trailor... two trucks... two SUVs... all going to the same destination... Gainesville will soon be hit by the mullet gang... The David... The Mason... The Anthony... moving into their new stylish apartment!

See you when I get back.

She kept flashing that beautiful smile and saying, "I really had a great time tonight."

Instead of smiling and saying the same, I allowed my head to go limp and wondered, "Is this our last great night?"

See, Dave, Mason, and I move into our apartment in Gainesville Friday morning. I must work hard to finish the tasks at hand so I can return home to see my visiting family... and bid adieu to her before she leaves Tuesday and cements herself in Mississippi until Christmas.

I hope I get to say goodbye. Maybe I'll smile and say, "I really had a great time too."

Red crayon covers the sleeve of the first cd I ever owned: "Anthology" by Frankie Valli and the 4 Seasons. My parents always gave me a present after a Taekwondo tournament, and back in 1989, my dad handed me my first compact disc, which he told me I could listen to on his stereo system. At that time I was a tad immature for jazz music, but my dad surrounded me with the oldies. In my kindergarten years I was playing Thundercats and listening to The Beatles, watching Who Framed Roger Rabbit and listening to The Lovin Spoonful, picking my nose and listening to Grass Roots, cartwheeling through the living room and listening to CCR, to The Rolling Stones, to Fats Domino, to The Animals, to Elton John. To this day, I can still put my first cd in my car, take down the T-tops, and cruise through Track One ("Sherry"), Track Six (my personal favorite, "Dawn (Go Away)"), until the final Track 26 ("December 1963 (Oh What a Night)").

Where am I going with this? I don't know. I guess I like the classics, the originals. No album could ever replace Frankie Valli in my collection. Ask me for the second cd I owned and I'd strain so hard to recollect that my cranium would suffer through an ice cream-esque brain freeze. The also-rans don't receive the same special space in the memory chest. Have you ever asked someone, "Who was your second love?" Friends don't tell tales about the second time they had sex. I can't recall hearing about the second car my mom owned. My first day in the dorms freshman year is still sharper in my memory than my first day of second year--- let alone the second day.

Where am I going with this? I don't know. I guess the second occurrences generally represent the beginning of a trend, where only the significant points get saved. I can remember the first sentence I wrote in this blooger entry had to do with red crayon on my Frankie Valli cd, but I don't know where the next sentence took me. The first time represents a beginning; the second time either confirms or follows the first. In life we remember the beginnings, the extraordinaries, the specials, and the ends of our experiences. What makes life all the more special is when we can remember those complementary parts, the step twos, the pettiness and tiny screws of our experiences. That first cd I own is special, but without numbers two, twelve, or twenty, the collection would not be built as strongly. Similar, yes, but not the collection I know and appreciate today.

Where am I going with this? I don't know. I guess, as the 70s classic says, "Lord, I was born a rambling man."

A new commercial has replaced "This is the face of erectile dysfunction" as the no-way-in-hell-could-they-ever-flash-enough-money-in-my-broke-college-student-face-to-get-me-in-that commercial. That poor guy dancing around in his white Joe Boxers by K-Mart is scarred for life. That pathetic smile on his face as he shakes his fists like marachas; that bouncing up and down with his abs, calves, and bulge in full display for the entire viewing nation; that freeze-time quality the commercial possesses where it seems this guy has been permanently stapled as the wallpaper to our television... it all adds up: scarred for life. He'll be walking down the street for the next five years with strangers mimicking his little mariachi rhumba for him to see. Not for all the money K-Mart owes has!

A recent away message on my instant messenger surprisingly aroused quite a bit of response, a simple question on the preference of one actor over his sibling. Which actors do you prefer (my personal choice in bold)?

Owen or Luke Wilson?
Joan or John Cusak?
Keenan Ivory, Damon, Shawn, or Marlon Wayans?
David, Rosanna, or Patricia Arquette?
Alec, Billy, Daniel, or Steven Baldwin?
Mary-Kate or Ashley Olsen? (Is there a difference?)
John or Jim Belushi?
Kirk or Candace Cameron?
Ron or Clint Howard?
River or Joaquin Phoenix? (Tough call)
Dennis or Randy Quaid? (I'll admit it!)
Bart or Lisa Simpson?

Side note: Thanks to amiannoying.com for help finding these sibling pairs.
Side note: I'm aware I have to install a comment system to elicit response to these highly important debates. I may remove the comment section soon, as I had a hostile relationship with my barren commenting system a while back.
Side note: I left out two pairs of brothers because I am scared to admit regularly seeing certain tv shows that include them. Here are a few clues to the sibling pairs: Fred and Ben Savage and Joey and Matthew Lawrence.
Side note: Don't spend too much time wondering if I watched The Wonder Years/Boy Meets World/Blossom/Brotherly Love or blood will shoot out your nose.
Side note: Does anyone know how to edit/add to the blooger time and comment entries? I'm no big fan of "Shout Out" and wouldn't mind having the liberty to adding a few spicy intro words before the time of post.
Side note: That's it. I'm done.

They hired me, and I immediately quit.

Blockbuster Video called my house tonight asking to speak to me regarding my application. The nasal-voiced man on the other end of the phone invited me to come in tomorrow and discuss when I could work for them. Had they responded to my application when they first received it, I may have been able to work in that blue and yellow polo shirt. Over a month later, I'm preparing to move into my Gainesville apartment. So when I hung up the phone, I returned to the living room, lied on the couch next to a beautiful woman, watched a movie not rented from Blockbuster, and remained without a job.

And I couldn't be happier.

Just days ago, I pondered my current feelings for the girl that just one month ago fell into my every thought, kept me body spinning and tossing for many restless nights, and ultimately uttered the "f" word when deciding the depth of our relationship when we drive in opposite directions on the highway. My mind told me that my return to Gainesville in a few weeks would complement a readiness to conclude the chapter of my love affair with this girl and dip the pen in new ink, awaiting a new girl to help me write the next chapter. I used the words "possibly" and "dare I say, probably" for whether or not I expected my heart and body to be mended enough to embrace a new special girl upon the start of fall semester.

The last two nights, we have shared warm moments together. Two days with her, and I must downgrade my outlook to "doubtful."

Quite simply, I am not over her, and until we kiss goodbye and she travels five hours into the broken roads of Mississippi, my feelings for her will grasp at those glances, smiles, and frozen moments we've shared. She and I will not end this summer in a Hollywood picture, with her telling me how much she loves me on the eve of her departure, and I confessing all my desires to be with her as our faces pull closer and closer until our lips seal our hearts from the outer world. I will not return to Gainesville with her glowing smile framed on my wall, nor do I want to open my wallet to picture of her holding me tightly. My soul still secretly yearns for her to lean into my shoulders and breathe on my neck as she falls asleep, dreaming about me... BUT... overall I decline to surrender to those desires because while I adore the girl with the same vigor, my adoration for the girlfriend has weakened. I ultimately only want her in my life as a friend. Though the girl finds her way to press her finger on my heart and spread a warmth across my entire body, the girlfriend lost her passionate touch while we stretched across ten hours of emptiness and hope.

I must move on, and I will move on, but I need more time than I thought. Some guy spread the word that patience is a virtue. Here's to the virtuous journey of mending my heart. I smile because the healing is inevitable, and with the right timing and magic, I'll rise to a higher platform of bliss.

Hey, remember that night when we went to pick up my dad at the airport, then we went through all this trouble to drive to Steak n Shake and find your car so my dad would drive my car home and we'd go rent a video you wanted to see, only it was 10:20 pm and the video store was all the way down Blue Angel Parkway, so when you called the store to get directions they said they closed at 11 and you'd never make it in time, so we rushed to the other one in Pace, and we got there at 10:45 pm, but that one closes an hour earlier than the other one, so it was already closed, so we had no video, and we had ice cream at McDonald's instead?

That was a fun night!

Oh, and remember that thing you said at McDonald's, about how cute and romantic you think it would be for a couple to take a trip to another city or even state just to go to McDonald's or Burger King or Taco Bell or any other place you could have driven five minutes to get to, but instead you take a long car ride together where you can talk and hold hands and lean on each other before and after you eat everyday fast food?

That was a great idea! You mind if I use it one day?

We were relaxed and cozy on the couch when my body trembled from the thought of all the pain people I love have and can potentially experience. I'm sorry that she had to feel me shake. I'm sorry that I can't alleviate the sorrow and the troubles from them. I'm sorry that there was a girl at home I only saw briefly on a day she needed caring people around her, that I had to be honest and reveal some discomforting feelings to the girl on the couch, that she must deal with this situation in one way or another, that I can only serve a strictly limited role in helping her, that we may never know what could have become of it, that in a few short weeks these girls will be taken from my presence.

I'm really sorry that she had to feel me shake. I've been a steady rock for the past week, but a wave of enfrightenment briefly snatched my composure. I must be strong, for myself and the people I love, particularly those two girls.

Crystal and I watched Zoolander together. If you've seen the movie, I'd be curious to hear what your favorite line is. As for me and Crystal, we both laughed at the same part, which made it all the funnier for both of us:

Matilda: When I was in seventh grade, I was the fat kid in my class.
Zoolander: Eww!

The doctor examined my MRI and discovered an acute case of writer's block, not triggered by any particular stimuli. I sat listening to the expert opinions and decided to forego creating ho-hum entries that would be doomed as "forgettable" from the point of origin. So here's another list...

The titles of my Effin Tunes series (and reason for the title):

Effin Tunes: Self-Titled Album. Most "self-titled" albums are merely named after the artist, but to be nerdy I decided to actually declard the disc as self-titled in the name.

Effin Tunes 2: Y'arr, we are but Pirates. Created after Spring Break, when I shared a sailing expedition down the Keys with fellow East 3 Mullets. The first part of the title represents the sound we all grunted while on the sailboat as we imagined ourselves as adventurous pirates. Every 'r' word was said in pirate talk. How arrrrrrre you? Time to parrrrrrrty. I like tarrrrrrtarrrrr sauce. The second half of the title refers to a line from Peter Pan we also quoted while on the boat, which if said a given way will suggest a different connotation.

Effin Tunes 3: Sup Guys (by Chadwick)?. Ah, another East 3 moment. Can any mullet ever forget encountering our beloved Chad as he walked into your room, snarled that upper lip as though a fish hook got caught in there, then made his presence felt with his copyrighted intro, "Sup, guys?" Hard to imagine we only got one semester of Chadwick.

Effin Tunes 4: Pluto is a Bastard Child. Since the story behind this title first aired in late May, I'll release the syndicated version of the inspiration for this raunchy title. My astronomy class was taught by an eccentric man who had some family issues and frequently used the word bastard, referencing to the term whenever possible. The first slide we saw in class was of the nine planets, and Professor Leacock referred to the outcasted Pluto as the bastard child.

Effin Tunes 5: Wait till I Finish!. Before he cacooned into the sex symbol he has become in such hits as Meet the Parents and Zoolander, Ben Stiller portrayed an over-the-top villian in the addictive Disney movie Heavyweights. We have a small group--- a cult following, if you will--- that admires the hilarity of this movie. We all have our favorite lines, and during a recent watching I took new appreciation to a scene where Ben Stiller goes ballistic. Using a personable facade for the taping of his infomercial, Tony Perkis (Stiller) tries to suppress his anger as portly Joshua Birnbaum interrupts him just before Perkis finishes his questions. Perkis initially offers a stern recommendation that Josh wait until he finishes asking the question before he gives his answer. When Josh interrupts again, Perkis explodes with, "Wait till I finish!" Hmm, I haven't watched Heavyweights in almost a month. Streak must be broken.

Effin Tunes 6: Hot Plate. I've enjoyed watching my dad playing with our dog JR this summer. The feisty little jack russell flashes his teeth and belts out a viscious little snarl whenever my dad gives him what he refers to as a "hot plate." My dad, after kissing the little critter on the side of his face, presses his lips against JR's cheek, forming a fully insulated border. With one long exhale, hot air from my dad's lungs heat the little dog's face. Apparently, JR doesn't like hot plates; he now displays his teeth at the mere reference to a hot plate.

These titles will give me a glimpse of my activities this year, which are further complemented by the musical journal that are my compilation discs.