I think 30 cds will suffice during Thanksgiving break (and my trip to the ATL).

I was sitting at the kiddie table at Alehouse--- the one low table with short stools surrounded by raised bars and high stools--- eating my free buffalo wings and chicken nachos, when a buddy asked if I had heard the song, "Slow Your Roll." The title didn't ring a bell, and neither did the lyrics of the pop/r&b chorus my friend half-assedly performed. I was quickly losing interest in the conversation, until he said, "Well, the girl who sings it is right over there."

And suddenly I'm intrigued. He says she's way hot. And suddenly I'm more intrigued. He says we should go over and get a picture with her. And suddenly I'm leaving my friends at the kiddie table, asking a guy I barely know for his camera, and walking over to Susie. On the way there, I'm asking my friend to spit out the essential facts--- her name, her song, etc.--- as though I'm doing some last minute cramming for a big test. And I am. I don't want to walk over to this quasi-local-celebrity and not know a thing about her. If she thinks I'm a fan, the conversation must start somewhere.

The fact that she was smoking hot gorgeous beautiful made it easy to want to talk to her, but the truth is, she could have looked like Biz Markie and sang like--- well, Biz Markie--- and I'd have still gone over to meet her. Fame and celebrity, no matter how minor, fascinates me. With celebrity, you can meet someone for the first time, and you're the only one making a first impression. Your view of her is not naked. She doesn't know you, but you know her: her name, where's she's from, what she does for a living. Imagine walking over to a complete stranger at a party and having this conversation:

Hi, what's your name?
Clara.
Hi, Clara. I'm---
--- Joe Guy, I know!
Right, Joe Guy. Nice to meet you. So, where are you from?
I lived in Boca, about an hour from where you're from. So how's your foot?
Oh, my foot, yeah. It's getting much bett---
--- because I heard about what happened, and I was like, oh man! And how's the studying at UNC going? You know, I almost went into computer sciences too...

It's happened to me one time, because of this blog. Soon after taking my seat on the bus, a guy asked me if my name was Anthony. I didn't lie, and he further asked if I had an online journal. He looked past my puzzled grimace and asked me one or two questions I'd only expect to come from friends, people that know me. I had forgotten the powerful reach this internet has. This guy knew much about me (or perceived to, at least), and I had nothing of his. But now, I had his praise.

With celebrity, you're placed on a higher platform based on the fact that you've done something significant (or petty) enough to gain outside recognition. Strangers know you and what you've done, and they compliment you. You're praised by someone whom you know nothing about, and you're helpless to return the favor. You can only smile and accept the admiration.

Oh, Susie was very nice. Great smile. Did I metion she was smoking hot gorgeous beautiful too?

Oh yeah, and when I put my arm around her, my hand bumped her boob.

For some reason, it's very surreal to me that Jonathan Brandis is dead.

Ways to expand my music collection this Christmas...
Let it Be... Naked, The Beatles
Grace, Jeff Buckley
A Mark, a Mission, a Brand, a Scar, Dashboard Confessional
Chain Gang of Love, The Raveonettes
The Thorns, The Thorns
Tupac Resurrection, Tupac

My mind entraps the significant and insignificant all the same. I have an excellent memory. It's worked to my advantage when cramming the night before exams, when quoting a movie with my friends, or when recalling the name of the vaguely familiar face of the girl who seems to have missed you immensely.

But sometimes the magnitude of my memory embarrasses me, and I downplay the visions I recall, or better yet, act as though they don't exist. I'd never tell my ex-girlfriend that I remember the shirt and pants we were wearing during our first kiss. Never let the hot blonde in my criminology class know I can recite her first and last name, where she grew up, and how she likes her eggs. Would never admit I can still name the actors from Full House.

Scott Weinger played DJ's boyfriend, Steve.

I'm afraid of showing people how much I remember about them. It creates the image that I hold things close to my heart that others would deem forgettable. I'm like the obsessive fan who can instantly tell you anything and everything about Emma Watson. You're impressed by his knowledge, but feel a tad uneasy that someone would remember so much about something so unextraordinary.

I am everyone's obsessive fan. I remember when you wanted to be an engineer, the one on the choo choo train. I remember your favorite flavor of Gatorade, Green Squall. I remember that your parents went to University of Nebraska and maintained a long distance relationship. I remember your last name is Miller. I remember that your girlfirend, a girl I've never met, fell in love with you in April of 2000, three weeks after prom. I remember that Usher's "U Got it Bad" gave you goosebumps.

But I don't have faith that you remember that in high school I wanted to be a radiologist, that my favorite ninja turtle was Donatello, that I got my middle name from an old doo-wop singer, that we met playing ultimate frisbee. That my name is Anthony.

And when I've been completely erased from your mind, I wonder why you won't escape mine.

A Few Things
1) You know when it's too hot? When you say to yourself, 'maybe I should've put deodorant on my balls.' --Lewis Black. For all you people who don't live here, let me explain something: no matter how idealistic Florida weather may seem, to live through it 11.5 months of the year, 21 years straight, gets a little monotonous.

2) Why does the health food aisle at Publix hold the candy station?

3) My life, in cliche: The most consistent thing I have going for me right now, is my inconsistency.

4) Ingredients for a successful Glutton Bowl '03: hamburgers, hot dogs, chips, Dr. Pepper, chicken wings, brownies, pizza, malt liquor

5) Best restaurant in Gainesville, pound for pound: Ballyhoo.

6) When I woke up Saturday morning afternoon, I found a bowling ball in our backyard.

7) My Top 5 movie list has had two vacant spots for a while now, but now that Swingers finally earned itself a spot, we're down to one free spot left. Maybe Glitter.

I may have narrowed the list of cities I will live in next year to four. In order of likelihood...

1. Harrisburg, Pennsylvania
2. Charlottesville, Virginia
3. New York
4. Gainesville, Florida

After I reread the sentence on the University of Virginia website, my stomach sunk to the floor. I must have lost all pigment in my face. I called frantically in desperate search for the tiniest loophole, and each time I found only barricade. I called my mom for any possible help, a friend for comfort, secretaries for mercy. Over an hour passed, the clock struck 5, and that was it. Businesses closed, workers left their offices, and I had created a blunder that I might not be able to fix.

I walked away from my room and down the hall. There were people in the other room, my roommates and one of their girlfriends. It's fitting that they were all contemplating what they were gonna do in a year, decisions that could very well affect the rest of our lives. Everyone envied me, thought I had it all figured out. I thought I did too. But I messed up.

Long story short, my scores for an exam required for PhD psychology programs will not be available until a few days after application deadlines. These deadlines are, apparently, quite strict, and there's no way to take the test or get my scores sent any earlier. None of my applications would be complete by deadline. I cannot get accepted for next fall.

All this happened for a reason. I'm just trying to figure out why. Perhaps God is telling me that I'm not ready, lacking the proper life experience, to enter the research, clinical world. Maybe I'm destined to go to Penn State, my number one choice and the most attractive education alternative to not immediately beginning PhD work (I'd work on a Master's). It could be that I need to learn to be more aggressive and ask for help and guidance when making life-changing decisions.

I'm somewhat sad and embarrassed by the whole situation, particularly since there is no finger to point but directly back at myself. I'll try to sort things out in the next few days. But one thing's for sure: for reasons good and bad, unfortunate and exciting, I have little clue as to where I'll be and what I'll be doing this time next year.

I sampled a can of frosting that expired three months ago. Butter Cream by Pillsbury. Still pretty freakin good. I ate a third of the can then threw the rest out. I didn't get sick.

Tried some celery and carrots the other day. Yep, they still suck.

Dawn, Carrie Ann, Billie Jean, Michelle, Donna, Alison, Sara, Layla, Gloria, Maggie May, Amanda, Suzanne, Angie, Rosemary, Lola, Cecilia, Beth, Susan, Natasha, Grace.

The 20 Girls compilation is finished.

We were still bursting with energy from the incredbile night, driving down an unfamiliar highway in effort to find a friend's house. Without finding that house, we were left with either calling hotel numbers we had been given that night, or sleeping three guys in a cozy-but-not-that-cozy Honda Civic. On the left, a dark stretch of trees clouded our view from the aftermath of a city-wide party we had just escaped. Every block looked like the next, and that's why the yellow lighted boxes stood out so strongly. We immediately looked at each other and smirked, as if it were our duty to pull over.

I got out of the car and put on my cap, my hair sweaty and curling by the minute, and walked in not quite sure what I wanted at Waffle House, but I knew I didn't feel like having a waffle. When we entered, our Waffle House waitress harked out a "Good Morning!" to us boys, we being perplexed until realizing that yes, when it is 4:45 am, morning has indeed arrived.

I got a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich on white toast, side of hashbrowns, and a glass of water.

One cell phone call later, we successfully found Lynn's house and called it a night morning night.

I lied motionless on a pull-out sofa, thinking about our night. Well, my night. Looking back at all the 32 oz beers, the hostile Georgia fans, the obnoxious array of noises, and the beautiful babies from both my school and across the border, I realized that definitely I had a good time, maybe even a great time. I did. I had a great time.

I knew that once I woke up, I probably would not have a night like this for quite a while. And actually, I was thankful; thankful that "partying" was not my choice of lifestyle; there are much better, more meaningful things to live for. And yet, the same time, I could appreciate my fun for what it was, and I'd have a few memories from this night that stay with me long after I've left University of Florida. The memories that stay with me will do so because they are deviations from the repetitiveness in my life. I was definitely content at keeping this night as an opportunity to see how great I have it, an anomaly in my subdued life, and, most importantly, an unforgettable October night.