I'm hoping this high in my life is a new level in my journey and not a temporary visit. There's a bit more paint in the sky.

The phrase "shout out" is for giddy teen girls on TRL, not for comments on journal entries. Does anyone know how to change the phrase on my comments link? If you do, give me a "shout out."

A brief list of pros and cons of my weekend at home, a get-away so pleasant that the pros should clearly outweigh the cons:

Pro: Time froze for a weekend.

Con: Dark skies and rain muddied the colors of Pensacola.

Pro: After calling my dad to tell him I had arrived home safely, he urges me to come visit him at work promptly, not because he had to show me something, not because he needed me to do some errands, but because he wanted to see me, hug me, and talk to me.

Pro: My internal camcorder records the scene of my family, Aunt Neomi, Grandma, and new-to-Pensacola cousins Milton and Jackie in my Aunt's kitchen. Everyone is pleading with my dad and sister to sing for us, and the pleading turns into roars until the finally comply. Family sitting in silence while other members belt out song for there genetically connected audience compels me to turn my head and search for the HBO cameramen.

Con: The freshest of curry carries even more potency than the fires of hell. Attempting to handle the third level of curry at my Thai restaurant, I sense that this curry could be more like the ultimate fifth level of spice. My throat attempts to shut down, my eyelids go into spasm, and I can barely breathe from the suffocating spice. To top it off, I brush the bottom of my nose with my fingers, which still had curry on them. My burning nostril feels as though it is eroding for a half hour.

Pro: Haley and I engage in friendly, warming, and deep conversation. Never does a moment pass where my stomach turns queasy or my heart pounds against my rib cage. We are completely comfortable together; we are completely over each other; we are completely solid friends. As I repeatedly declared to myself and to Haley, "Wow, we did it!"

Con: After confirming I am over Haley, I realize I am truly single and can no longer consider myself as someone who isn't dating because he just got out of a relationship (granted, I went on a few dates with one girl this semester, but I still wasn't quite ready to date at that point). While I don't miss having Haley as my girlfriend, I do miss having a girlfriend.

Pro: My thespian buddy Andrew manages to escape his hectic schedule just long enough to have an Italian lunch with me and the family.

Pro: My mom always has love and sincerity in her eyes when she looks at me, but it practically oozes out her pores when she's thanking me for being home for her birthday (Happy Birthday Mom! Sorry I can't be there tomorrow.).

Con: Some people from my high school days may have completed twelfth grade, but they still haven't "graduated" from high school.

Pro: I return to Pensacola to a healthy group of friends and family that love me. We are all making our own distinct pathways in life, but we can still get together for a weekend and show each other how invaluable our bond remains.

We did it, Haley! We're ex-loves who have maintained a genuine friendship without any awkwardness. This friendship is one of the best gifts I could ask for, partly because it's with you, and partly because people say it can't be done. We did it... we went from friends to something more, and when that ended, we preserved the basis for our whole relationship: the friendship. Wow, we did it!

They call tomorrow Homecoming, so I'm coming home.

Home is where my family guided me and raised me to share myself with the world.

Home is where my cousin Milton and his fiancee Jaqueline now live as of today. A few rough years have motivated them to escape the Bronx and be closer to family that loves them.

Home is where I lust on Panang, the best Thai food in the world.

Home is where the high schoolers look younger and less familiar. By now, I will only recognize the occasional senior who would have been a freshmen when I graduated.

Home is where I get to see Haley again. I can't wait to see the girl I once loved, give her a great big hug and kiss (on the cheek), and just talk and talk with a dear friend.

Home is where my old schoolmates show me their new lives. No one is the same. The ones that appear the same are merely depressed shells of their former self.

Home is where my good friends and family show me that even when away, those who truly love you don't change; they merely evolve.

This weekend I'll be at home.

Sunday afternoon I created Effin Tunes 9: Toad Seefus. My latest compilation disc's subtitle refers to our beloved toad who used to greet us at our front door and lick his chops when we'd catch a moth for him. About three weeks ago we videotaped a battle between Toad Seefus and some creature we caught for him. The beast looked like he was part dragonfly, part hornet, and he was about the same size as our toad. Nevertheless, we thought Toad Seefus (aka Toad Diddley and Jack Toad) could handle the challenge, and fifteen minutes of gut-wrenching action later, Toad Seefeus had ingested the entire creature. We have not seen our beloved toad since that night, however, and fear he may not have survived the battle. If you're reading this, Toad Seefus, you can come back home. Anthony, Mason, and Dave will feed you whatever your little snap-action tongue desires.

My compilation discs might as well be called complementing discs for how well they complement where I am in my life, and Effin Tunes 9 is no exception. In August, Effin Tunes 7 reflected my sadness to have finally lost Haley after months of attempted salvation (hence the intro of Bill Withers's "Ain't no Sunshine (when she's gone)") but pointed to an optimism that came with returning to Gainesville for school (hence the finale of Sarah McLaughlin's cover of "Blackbird," which includes the line, "take these broken wings and learn to fly"). One month later Effin Tunes 8 consisted of hard-edged rock and fast-paced tunes to signify the enjoyable chaos that comes with that first month back at college. The disc is more alternative radio-friendly, which means lots of fun but perhaps a slight lacking in substance.

Effin Tunes 9 is packed with substance when compared to more recent complementing discs. Once again situated inside the acedemic barriers of UF, I'm in a more intellectual state. I'm striving to put my career prospects in order, discover what I want to do in life, discover what I want to be in life, and with dedicating time to myself I'm putting things in a better perspective. Effin Tunes 9 does not have a clearly visible motive, as neither do I quite yet, but it, like me, is filled with potential by holding deep thoughts about all sorts of aspects on life, from how exciting it can feel to realize you truly are alive (Radiohead's "Airbag") to accepting that we sometimes crave the sinful (Rufus Wainwright's "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk").

Will I play these cd's years down the road and be able to recall the feelings I was going through? Will my fiancee listen to my past and feel she knows me better than ever? Will my children rummage through the attic to find an old, dusty compact disc player and listen to my "oldies"? I started these discs to have music while I drove. Now, the good ones have the same purpose a good blooger has: to reillustrate some highlights from my existence.

In the next world war
in a jack knifed juggernaut,
I am born again.

In the neon sign,
scrolling up and down,
I am born again.

In an interstellar burst,
I am back to save the universe.

In a deep deep sleep,
of the innocent,
I am born again.

In a fast German car,
I'm amazed that I survived,
an airbag saved my life.

In an interstellar burst,
I am back to save the universe.

---"Airbag" by Radiohead

At ten o' clock tonight I returned to my apartment after finally finishing class for the day. I had to open that blue book one more time to make sure Professor Fondacaro had not made a mistake on my practice exam. Last week in Criminal Law we were given 75 minutes to analyze a case and break each element down into a four page legal analysis, hard-core junk when compared to my usual multiple choice, fill-in-the-blank exams. This paper had no effect on our grade but instead prepared us for the essay that actually did count for 50% of our grade. Two exams, two essays, two grades, 50% each, zero pressure at all, right?

As I expected, the seventy-five minutes crunched on my style a bit. My writing takes time to develop. The first words come out very slowly and infrequently until I can reach a momentum to propel me into a comfortable mode of transfering my thoughts onto paper/computer. When the countdown for our essay began, I kept my composure, steadily read through the case, jotted some notes for prewriting, outlined my paper, and wrote the first word... about fifteen minutes later. The first students were walking down the aisles and handing in their blue books as I was just feeling the gears accelerating in my brain. The deadline came closer and closer, and my paragraphs shrunk further and further into two-line snippets. I turned in my report unsure of how someone with a PhD and JD would care for my work. After reveiwing the model answer, I left feeling slightly more assured of myself, though I did forget to address the fact of whether or not the place burglarized in the case qualified as a "building" under statute (you have to be incredibly precise).

Tonight Dr. Fondacaro returned our papers and said to read the criticisms that would help us on the real exam. He also said the grades were on a grade-point scale, with 2.0 being a solid C and 4.0 being a solid A. I came home tonight with a little kick in my step, my shoulders a bit higher, my nose trying to stay relatively even with the ground as to avoid completely inflating my own ego. I went to my room, and read the criticism so that I definitely knew what he thought:

"Talk about the (mens rea) in the discussion of the issue. You could also use a few more facts, but overall this is an incredible job. You have a real knack for legal analysis, Anthony. Very impressive. 4.0"

So why am I boasting about all this? Why do I openly commend myself doing well on a test when getting an A is a regular occurence at all schools? Sometimes I hit myself too hard over the head. Whether I fail to dedicate enough time to my studies, catch myself sitting on the bus while a girl with a heavy bag is standing in the aisle, or flash only a shallow smile when a girl at Chi-O asks for more bread, I bring myself to the corner and chastize my laziness... my inconsideration... my aloofness. I, like many of my friends, are at a crossroads in life where I'm trying to decide what direction my road will follow. The only certainty I seek is this: I must be a better person. I cannot stay stagnant and certainly should not digress. I must find ways to improve myself and, in turn, my world. Of course, I have no clue as to how I will do that, but bombarding myself with criticism and counting my flaws will not make me a better person unless I do so in a positive light. There are appropriate times to criticize yourself, just as there are appropriate times to pat yourself on the back. I must remember that not all of self-improvement comes on finding flaws; sometimes you must acknowledge your strengths. Tonight I wanted to reward myself and (super)conciously remind myself that I'm not all bad.

I'm glad I took time to write tonight. My blooger has been depleted with trivial two-line tidbits as of late without any effort or thought under the surface. I was desparate to find some sort of substance in my thoughts that I gave myself a note to write about a thought brewing in my head last night. Of course, Father Time made me sleepy and robbed me of my will to write. Inspiration revolves around every level of writing. A writer must be inspired to fully release his thoughts and emotions onto the page, and a reader must be inspired with some sort of emotional response in order for the words to be truly heard. I'm no longer inspired to write about Columbus Day; Italtian-American pride day has come and faded into the calendar. As for my sister, I'm immensley proud--- almost in awe of her. With the track she's following, I'm sure she will once again do something that amazes. With the right timing, maybe I can use that inspiration to write once more.

Where is the detail? Where is the depth? Where is the substance?

Perhaps if I write it, I may be compelled to follow it... note to self: after class tomorrow night, study Research Methods and then go to your blooger. There, polish your inner thoughts connecting Columbus Day and your sister and present them in electronic journal mode.

Before the Florida-LSU game, we discussed using a coupon for Domino's Pizza after the game for free cheesy bread "When the Gators beat LSU."

During the Florida-LSU game, we joked and wielded out the sarcasm to relieve ourselves of the pain.

After the Florida-LSU game, we burned frankincense and myrrh in our Zook shrine and pleaded with our leader to release us from the misery that has become Gator football.

Sometimes the thoughts come into my mind, but they fail to impact me. That is, until someone sets them in writing for me. Thank you, Elizabeth.

In conclusion, women express a more compassionate attitude toward criminal offenders that would indicate support for a rehabilitative model of crime policy.

Thank you. I can go to bed now.

They're an odd bunch, those folks at Country Village.

If my living buddies and I were to have our front door open, our daily lives at full display, here are some moments you might have caught:

1) One of us beating up a football, punching the pigskin with all our might and finally slamming its "head" into the ground
2) One of us stepping in a circular motion atop an empty water jug, while another chugs from his still full jug in envy
3) One of us trying to slap the other one's chest, while the other is pointing a pocket knife toward his attacker
4) All of us crowded around the patio window staring at the second bird to crash into our window and break its neck
5) One of us shaking our hips from east to west, executing the official apartment greeting
6) One of us burning our happy trails with the lighter
7) One of us checking on our captured lizard to make sure he's alive, the lizard we made a booby trap for and hope to feed to Toad Diddley whenever he returns
8) One of us pulling out robo-mullet and gawking like a boy from Spiddle County
9) One of us pouring lemon juice into his water
10) All of us playing cards on the dining room table while blasting Motown through the living room speakers
11) Two of us reciting scenes from "American Movie" while the other pulls out a meat cleaver
12) One of us yelling at the other in a Grandpa Murphy from Spiddle County voice
13) All of us doing nothing

Sports serve as entertainment. Fast action, physical dominance, intriguing storylines, fierce rivalries, relentless determination, and amazing outcomes can all cloud the fact that sports are games, broadcasted on the same television that shows your favorite sitcom. They may be fun to watch and track, but they are not life. I must especially tell this to myself on a Saturday when I just basically lost two sports for the rest of their respective seasons.

Why I lost college football: The Gators lost to one of the few teams they had a chance of dominating, Ole Miss, by a score of 17-14. The loss is our school's second, a rarity to experience by early Octobr, and the rest of the season looks bleak.

Why I lost baseball: When I say baseball, I only refer to the Yankees. If the Yankees aren't playing, I don't care. The Yankees won't play anymore this season. I won't watch anymore this season.

So, with college football done, baseball over, and no good boxing this month, I can do one of two things: (1) get excited about the NFL or (2) get a life.

...

I'll get back to you.

Scores from the Putt Putt Open at the final major ever to be played at the closing Putt Putt Entertainment Center:

Anthony (Phil Mickelson): 51 (+15)
Jamey (Tigger): 58 (+22)
Nathan (The Shark): 55 (+19)

Though almost choking in Mickleson fashion, Phil Mickelson wins his first major! Sadly, Gainesville no longer has room for miniature golf. I'm sure this town needs something more in the college mold. Maybe we can get another restaurant that serves buffalo wings and chicken fingers or a place that serves beer rather than slurpees. After all, we don't have enough places in that atmosphere. There's little room in a college town to be a carefree youth, even for one night.

I can't wait until the toad comes back!

Three guys.
Spotted outside apartment door.
Reunited.
The Toad.
Many names.
Toad Seefus, Toad Diddley, Jack Toad.
Feedings from Friday.
Gobbled moths, beetles, dragonflies.
Delight to the guys.
Toad fulfilled.
Leaves.
Guys in dismay.
Until now.
Toad back.
Videocamera.
Frozen memories.
Quest for insects.
New grub.
Toad hungry no longer.
Gargantuan bug.
Size of Toad Diddley.
Ultimate test.
Minutes of struggle.
In mouth, then regurgitated, then back in mouth.
Swelling body.
Bug inside Jack Toad.
Permanent.
Willful toad.
Accomplished toad.
High-fives around.
Celebratory guys.
Farewell, Toad Seefus.
Back into apartment.
Tape of action tonight.
Forever secured.
Toad.

This was the night I said I would get to sleep early. I told my friend that after work I would go home, read my Criminal Law casebook, and get some good sleep, in bed by 11. Instead, the night featured Tweet Sampras (the bird we found dead on our patio), games of Oh Hell, a meat cleaver, underwear time, Simpsons watching, and a mini torch.

(The author now allows you to ponder the various manners in which the mentioned elements could co-exist in one flowing Monday night.)

Well, this is earlier than normal bed time. That amounts for something, yes?