Yes, I'm stealing a friend's idea, but at the same time, I'm helping him out too.

The project is to make an awesome compilation disc, but this one will have a special theme: girls' names. Each song (about 15 would be ideal) will have a title that is only a girl's name. But I have some rules:

>No other words can be in the title ("Come on Eileen")
>Only first names ("Penny Lane")
>Compound first names are ok (like "Barbara Ann")
>No showtunes ("Maria" from West Side Story)
>Only one song per artist

Here's what I have so far, but some of these just won't cut it. Hopefully this list will evolve with your help!

"Gloria"- Van Morrison
"Dawn"- Frankie Valli
"Rosemary"- Lenny Kravitz
"Layla"- Derek and the Dominoes
"Natasha"- Rufus Wainwright
"Barbara Ann"- Beach Boys
"Roxanne"- The Police
"Sara"- Starship
"Michelle"- The Beatles
"Bernadette"- The Four Tops
"Mandy"- Barry Manilow
"Donna"- Richie Valens
"Polly"- Nirvana
"Adrienne"- The Calling
"Marianne"- Counting Crows
"Billie Jean"- Michael Jackson
"Suzanne"- Weezer
"Alison"- Elvis Costello
"Cecilia"- Simon and Garfunkel
"Emily"- Michael W. Smith
"Amanda"- Boston
"Beth"- Kiss
"Lola"- The Kinks
"Angie"- The Rolling Stones
"Victoria"- The Kinks
"Marjorine"- Joe Cocker
"Elvira"- The Oak Ridge Boys
"Molina"- CCR
"Carrie Ann"- The Hollies
"Susan"- The Buckinghams
"Ella"- Vroom
"Konstantine"- Something Corporate
"Maggie May"- Rod Stewart
"Clara"- The Ataris
"Peggy Sue"- Buddy Holly
"Candy"- Iggy Pop
"Grace"- U2


Any others?

Today I felt the need to write a dedication in your name. I had posted something for him on his day and felt the need to deliver something to you on an equal level. But then it hit me. Just like him, you have no equal. You know how I feel and what I would say, and to both of us that's enough.

I love you.

Why do I always need to figure out who I am? who I'm not?
Why do I feel the need to label others? myself?
Why do I compel myself to act a certain way? to avoid certain things?
Why do I act critical toward my strengths? complacent to my faults?
Why do I place others' needs before mine?
Why do I have the friends I have? Why do they have me?
Why do I buy the clothes I buy? the music? the food?
Why do I want more consistency in my life? more spontaneity?
Why do I take constructive criticism so personally?
Why do I enjoy solitude? companionship?
Why do I provide solid advice to friends? but not always listen to it myself?
Why do I make a wife and kids such a priority for my future?
Why do I study so much? so little? so sporadically?
Why do I act with my heart more than my brain?
Why do I have so much faith? doubt?
Why do I fear failure? success?
Why do I worry about what I can't change?
Why do I allow nerves to affect my actions? or lack thereof?
Why do I feel so great when helping others?
Why do I tell people what they want to hear? what's best for them?
Why do I consider myself kind? intelligent? loyal? attractive?
Why do I cross my legs? talk with my hands? walk with a waddle?
Why do I conform to expectations? deviate from the norm?
Why do I still hate vegetables?
Why do I feel I deserve better? exactly what I get?
Why do I never join a clique of friends?
Why do I sympathize with minorities?
Why do I resist taking chances with girls?
Why do I use so much sarcasm?
Why do I like people because they're Italian? Puerto Rican? attractive?
Why do I surf the same internet sites everyday?
Why do I want everyone to like me? respect me?
Why do I possess this much confidence? humility?
Why do I aim for mutual agreement in a debate?
Why do I apologize for my shortcomings?
Why do I reveal parts of myself in an open forum like this?
Why do I wonder?

Top 5 Games I Miss from Second Grade

5a) Four Corners. The mayhem of fleeing from one corner of the class to another, praying that you didn't choose the wrong one that would send you back to your desk.

5b) Parachute. Actually, I don't think this game has a name. Your whole class lets air flow under a parachute, then you let go and run through the chaos of the bottom and try to make it to the other side before being suffocated by five tons of rainbow-colored cloth. Just as fun when you lose as when you win.

4) Heads Up, Seven Up. Nothing but darkness inside your folded arms as you wonder, won't someone come to my desk and tap my head?

3) Quietball. What a premise for the burned-out elementary school teacher: invent a game that forbids any sort of noise. Plus, you got to sit on your desk and dangle your legs in the air, which was way cool.

2) Kickball. The poor man's teeball was always rewarding whether you kicked the ball high into the air or tripped on the ball after striking out. Rivalries with classmates, tournaments with other classes, and a big red ball. Plus, I got to hide behind the dugout and kiss Whitney Allen, my second-grade relationship that ended in tragedy when I threw dirt at her and ran away from my commitment. I digress. On to number one...

1) Dodgeball. The game where legends were made. Nothing beat the gradual word-of-mouth that you hadn't been hit the whole game. Jumping over balls, watching flying objects pass your body from all angles, contorting in ways you had never discovered (I wonder if there's a correlation between great dodgeball players and future love life). And when you got hit, you joined the circle with your friends, caught a ball, and released your payback.

Apparently, you can find this blog by doing a search for:
>"I'm angry with you" e card
>Max Kellerman fetish
>"farted" + "ninth grade"
>paco will not beg
>Cameron Diaz sucking dick
>grandma sex story sunk free
>embarrassed happy faces
>homemade pee container
>spells to get rid of gym class
>naked girls who are under 8 to 16 years old girls naked snaps little under age teen girls nak
>middle school jockstrap
>jocks in their jockstrap after the game
>polish bertles
>pee bottle auto liter soda

This evening, a girl at Chi-O asked me how my day was going. I couldn't think of a substantive response and replied with a "just fine." I then thought about it a little more and realized I couldn't remember what I had done today. Did I get any tests back? Did I bump into any friends? Did I eat lunch at home or out? Did I even eat lunch at all?

For a few weeks now, all my days have blurred into one mass, an ongoing event. Everyday is the same becuase I'm always doing the same thing. Everyday I study. It's the first thing I do after taking a shower and last thing I do before putting in a Simpsons tape and falling asleep.

Whenever you fill out a survey, it usually asks for your occupation. I always scroll right above "Other" to find "Student." Unless the survey really sucked, then I fill out something cool like "Government Official Top Spy Superman 007." This month is the first time I have ever felt like "student" really labelled me.

So Anthony, what do you do?
I'm a student. I study. I read books, take notes, do homework, and take tests. It's tough, and the pay sucks.

It's my duty to study. It's right there in the job description. In the next few weeks I will have taken the GRE, aced a few exams, finished the literary review of a future journal article, and gathered some sexy letters of recommendation. And for the first time, I feel compelled to dedicate my full time into acquiring the knowledge and skills necessary to succeed in the upcoming stages of my educational life, because it's my job. I want to well so I can get a damn good promotion.

Even if you can't find me, you know what I'm doing. Back to work.

1:27pm- Strip down into hospital gown, thankful I remembered to put on underwear
1:32pm- Take pictures of my kidney
1:34pm- Cute nurse whispers that my butt is exposed, fixes my gown, grazes my butt
1:46pm- Bring X-rays to urology lab
2:15pm- Pee in a cup, ah the memories
2:16pm- Damn, Jennifer Garner looks a-m-a-z-i-n-g on this Teen Magazine cover
2:31pm- Hey Dr. Cassisi, how's it going? You got good news for me?
2:32pm- All looks good... systems clear... no more stones!

I just witnessed the post-accident part of a hit and run, so I guess I witnessed a run.

Best nickname I've ever given someone: The Kooter.

Camille took me to Chili's when I visited her during her first month at college. She and her friends made fun of the waiter, for reasons I can't remember, but I do remember that it took quite a while to get his crap into gear and take our order. I'm not a huge fan of Chili's, so I carefully dissected the menu in an effort to find something I may like. My craving changed 5 or 6 times, and when the waiter returned, I ordered some sort of chicken kabob dish (which failed to change my opinion of Chili's). My sister gave me a raised eyebrow and a perplexed gaze, one which came unexpectedly and not understood. And then she explained.

Chicken? Chicken? You ordered chicken?!?

I didn't realize that Camille had not seen my diet and--- as a result--- palate change over the past six months, and to see her big brother order anything that didn't require the slaughter of a pig or cow was quite an alarm. The brother whose favorite food on Thanksgiving was not the turkey, but the rib roast? The brother who ordered a medium rare New York Strip anywhere and everywhere? The brother who mocked her default selection of chicken strips or chicken nuggets or rosemary chicken or whatever the chicken special was?

I tweaked my diet this year in four ways: I've replaced many times I would have eaten red meat with chicken or fish, decreased my salt intake, made water my beverage of choice, and said goodbye to iced tea. You probably assumed these changes were choices based on health factors... until that fourth item. How is iced tea bad for you? Well, I needed a change for health reasons, but not for reasons you'd normally expect.

I needed fix to the health issues responsible for my kidney stones.

They caused me indescribable pain. They hindered my normal routine. They interfered with my sleep. They affected my studies. They terminated my already-waning social life. They lowered my spirits. I never want to deal with kidney stones again. And these slight adjustments in my eating habits should prevent me from ever dealing with these little balls of terror again.

Or so I hope. Tomorrow I go to the doctor, seven months after passing my last stone, and see if another little bundle of joy has festered into my kidney.

If you're perception of me is based only on my blog, on a few cyberthoughts of mine, you don't really know me. Snippets of my life and heart spread across the internet for you to see, but they only provide carefully dispersed clues as to who I am. This blog is not of my life; it is a dramatization of the real me. Like any biography, it takes the events of my life and gives them a sense of excitement, no matter how ordinary. The other 90% of my life is spent surfing the internet, taking a bus to class, watching The Simpsons, checking up on my dinner, studying for class, sleeping.

Everything is stretched across one strand of emotion to appear more vital than the everday feeling. With something good or joyous, my blog tells you about the ultimate exhilaration of that simple, forgettable chat with an attractive girl. When my mood is low, it may appear as though my turmoil nags on every thread of my life, when in fact I overcome my minor sulk in a matter of moments. The thoughts within my writing may impress you, but many times I've spent two hours in front of a white computer canvas thinking of one word that would be better for that paragraph, or one idea that would elicit a comment or compliment.

When looking at a painting, you may see a whole picture. You may even look up close and notice some hidden messages. But you can't truly uncover all the colors used. All underlying inspirations for the work. You may be close to deciphering it, but the only way you'll ever know is if you're personal with the artist himself, if you know how he ticks when he's not at work, if you know the other 90% of him.

So don't think my life is better or more captivating than yours. Our lives are just as oridnary and beautiful. I just edit mine.

Maybe the ten hours of studying have caused extreme pressure to my brain, or maybe having three exams in one day impedes on my ability to think critically, but I've stared at this sentence in my Developmental Psych book for an hour now, and I must be missing something:

In an observational study of blind children enrolled in preschools with sighted agemates, the blind children were less likely to initiate contact with peers and teachers.

I have no idea how this could be true. Oh, perhaps because the children can't see their peers and teachers!!!

Jamey and I claimed a table on the side and prepared to study, but within five minutes the workers behind the counter were closing the register and sweeping the floor. Starbucks was closing an hour earlier than I had anticipated (that's what I get for not reading signs and just making up facts like "Starbucks closes at midnight every night"), so we got in our car and headed back to the apartment. We listened to cover songs and played ketchup with each other's lives. And during our talk, it hit me: in middle school and high school, I always liked one girl. Not a specific crush spanning seven years, but one girl was always in my heart at one point, with a gradual transition of feelings from one girl to another. The point is, you could have asked me, So, who do you like? anytime during those days, and even though I was too shy to tell the truth, there'd always be a definitive answer. Today, if you were stuck in the Dawson's Creek phase and asked me, So, who do you like?, I couldn't give you an honest one-name response. And to tell you the truth, I haven't been able to definitively answer that question for over a year now.

I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about that.

Dear Coach Zook,

You seem like a nice guy, so why would you dismantle something so cherished to the University of Florida students as Gator Football?

Unsincerely,
Gator Football Fans

Things to do in October:
>Study for the GRE
>Finish literary review for professor
>Detail my hopes for 3 letters of recommendation
>Study for the GRE-Psychology
>Narrow list of grad schools to about 10
>Concoct a proposal of study
>Select a Halloween costume