Today I went in to the wellness center to get a refill of my antibiotics. I walked in and the lady behind the counter yells out, "Here he comes with his skateboard." It seems the wellness center ladies have started taking a liking to me. I was overly polite last time and tried making small talk. I guess that's more than they get from most guys who barge in, mumble that they want some free cherry flavored condoms, and hurry out shoving said condoms into their pockets. So I'm now known as 'the kid with the skateboard.' I went into the office and sat there waiting for the doctor. My heart was beating a little too fast, and every time my eyes passed over the "BC Sharps Collector Bin" I would feel slightly queasy. I guess piles of needles don't make me very happy. The clock was ticking loudly, which was the only sound. I had plenty of time to read up on HIV, pap smears, vaginitis, bronchitis, urinary tract infections, and a myriad of birth control possibilities. Plus I learned how to do a 'male self check' to see if I have testicular cancer. The doctor finally came in, asked me what I wanted, I said pills, he said ok. Once more...it all seemed very illegal...very hush hush. He hands me a bottle and asks me if that is my woody. I said yes, picking up my skateboard. He then made some comment about people who have corvettes and if they say the same thing about people who have long boards. It seemed to be some kind of sexual innuendo that I failed to pick up on. The lady behind the counter said, "Yeah, they are a long, smooth ride." The doctor smiled at me knowingly and said, "Yeah...um...that's what they say," as if I would know that she didn't pick up on the sexual joke either. I walked out feeling slightly confused, and skateboarded home.

I'm one of two things...but I don't know which. Maybe you can help me figure it out. I'm either a total klepto stuck in a innocent boy's body, or I'm an innocent boy merely trying to be "bad" because of some internal psychological desire to be a "bad boy" since that is what is deemed attractive. It's not like I ever really steal anything valuable, but I find myself...to use cliche movie lingo...casing a joint when I walk in. Just about any time I go into a store/restaurant/business, I immediately check for cameras. Not staring up at the ceiling, but casually and secretively. I then look for metal detectors, cops/rent-a-cops, magnetic strips on products, plain-clothes-cops, etc... I figure out the best way to take just about anything the store sells and come up with elaborate plans. I look for receipts on the ground to see if someone bought something expensive and paid in cash so I could grab the same product from within the store and "return" it for a cash refund. The thing is...I don't take anything. I've never planned and carried out some elaborate thievery action. But I still pay attention to the eye in the sky and see if I can switch labels from cheap products to expensive products. Maybe I should buy something expensive and tell the employees my addiction. Then I could put the product back on the shelf and then pretend to steal it all sneaky-like. Oh well...I'll just continue to heist food from Chapman when I forget my ID card.

I've been illegally downloading stuff off the internet lately. I guess I shouldn't say "illegally downloading" since you can technically download anything off the internet to try it out for a 24 hour period. I'll restate...I've been legally downloading stuff off the internet lately and illegally keeping it for as long as I please. The only problem is that people are making this really hard for me. If everyone would label their files the actual name of what the file is...I would not have this problem. But since there are sick and twisted people out there who like downloading hardcore porn and then changing the name to "Friends- the one where the monkey gets away," I download something I think is Trainspotting, and I end up with allot more skin, allot less plot, and a need to wash myself clean of what my eyes have seen.

Professor's Quotes of the Week:

Hold on...you're picking the cherry first and eating it. I understand. It's on top. It's red.
-my logic teacher on me answering an argument too quickly

As with all philosophers...when confused...I just skip it.
-my logic teacher on something he couldn't explain

This (pointing at monitor) is the meat of editing. There are lots of meats. There's beef, and chicken, and pork. This (once more pointing at monitor) is the chicken of editing.
-my editing teacher...on the chicken of editing

Dark and morbid...just how I like it.
-my screenwriting teacher on my last script

Wait...so she's not a lesbian?
-my editing teacher on a very poor student film

In other news...incredibly exciting news by the way...wait...I just realized that I have two pieces of news which are both exciting. I'm sure one totally outweighs the other in excitingness, but at this point in time they are kind of tied. So I'll just say both at the same time: woeuarrdeeompoeinsifnignfaolrlvyadnoinlelaanidcweiilnlmbaerocuhtsoon Hmm...that didn't work. I'll try again. Our CD is finally done and we will have a final copy in our hands this Sunday. You know what this means. Or maybe you don't. It means that you all can hear Breakfast Epiphanies in their almighty splendor for the first time on a 6 song CD. We'll mail you one if you want, but you'll have to pay the $5 plus like an extra dollar for shipping. But oh my friend...it will be worth every penny and more. Heck...we'll even sign it for you. In fact...the first person who doesn't live in this area who buys a CD (by saying..."hey...I want to buy a CD") will not only get a CD, but a button, two stickers, a signed CD sleeve, and one of my guitar picks which will surely become insanely valuable when we're famous.

The other news is...well...we're one of the opening acts for Vanilla Ice. Yes...you heard me right. Vanilla Ice. As in "ice ice baby" Vanilla Ice. He and his crappy hardcore band are coming to Chapman and we're one of the bands opening for his big show. So now I guess we can technically say we've played an event with one of the OG white rappers. I'm not sure if I should be excited or hiding in shame, but this will be an event to remember.

I am glad to report that I am now typing with vision just about as good as the rest of you...if not better. Everyone says that contacts give you 20/20 vision...but for some reason I doubt that. Alas, it is not quite as fun to type when not leaning in so far I could easily lick the monitor. Which I would not do. Unless it tasted like strawberries, because then I probably would. Especially if there was whipped cream. Speaking of strawberries and whipped cream, it seems we're about to go to war. (ha...betcha thought I was going to make a Valentine's reference there huh?) No, I don't think allot about war. Even when we're told to duct tape plastic sheets over our windows and cover ventilation shafts because "the threat of terrorist attack is more than likely." I know that this all has something to do with Iraq and I know that people say it also has to do with oil. Sadly I just don't know much about it, but that's how I'd like to keep it. That is until someone pointed out to me that if we go to war which is very possible, and this very possible war last longer than expected, the draft will be reinstituted. I, being the older than 18 year old that I am, get a little tense at that thought. Hmm...maybe you can't be drafted if you have the eyesight of an asparagus frond. On a happier note...it was recently Valentine's day. Yes, I realize that this could be a happier note or a much worse note. I know many who would rather be drafted than live through another day filled with Hallmark induced gift giving and so much red and pink you want to go color blind just to get rid of those colors. I spent last V-day walking around campus with an upside down heart pinned to my black shirt, which matched my black pants and black shoes. I was the oh-so-hip anti-valentine guy that everyone pointed at and said, "hey...cool." But not this year my friends. I gave in and spent this year's V-day at a posh hill topped restaurant, decked out in my one and only suit, eating filet mignon. And on another happy note...it doesn't hurt as much when I pee now. And on another note...not so sure if this is a happy note or just a creepy note...I truthfully can't tell if this is a parody or the real thing. If this is real...the world is a much funnier place right now.

So maybe this will become a habit? I am once more at my computer and typing away but with no corrective lenses of any kind. My glasses are still AWOL and my contacts are hiding out in the bathroom where Ed is currently taking a shower. Although the shower just stopped. Maybe I'm more creative when not assisted by man-made inventions to let the blind see. Although man-made help is sometimes quite nice. Like these little pills called doxycycline hyclate. I went to the health center yesterday because I was having this sharp pain under my right rig cage. Ends up being nothing. But I described a few other symptoms to the nurse and a couple questions and a urine sample later, I have a urinary tract infection (yay for telling embarrassing personal ailments to the entire world!) Yes...it burns when I urinate. So now I'm taking these little orange pills. But it's all ok because they didn't have to do one of those tests. You know. The ones where they stick a tube up your urethra and then put a cotton swab through the tube. No, I have never had this oh so joyous sounding experience. And if my luck holds...I never will. It actually all felt very illegal. I walked in, signed a few forms, mentioned a few symptoms, peed in a cup, and then a doctor walked in and handed me a bottle of pills. I would imagine this is how the blackmarket works. Only this is a blackmarket for people with urinary tract infections.

So this is kind of funny. I say "kind of" because it's not really, but it sure has that funny potential to anyone who doesn't happen to be me. Right now I'm sitting at my computer and leaning in about 5 inches from the screen which immediately makes me think of my mom saying, "Grant...don't sit so close to the TV...you'll go blind." Only my mom never said that. I guess I've seen enough shows with 50's style housewives telling their kids good advice. Why am I sitting so close to the monitor? I took out my contacts and I can't find my glasses. I constantly find myself in this dilemma: I just took out my contacts and realized that I should have my glasses nearby so I can see. Problem is...I made that whole "yeah, I'll need my glasses" realization after my contacts were in the garbage can. So here I am, sitting way too close to the monitor because I had this insatiable urge to write something. What was this something? I'm not sure. But I'm sure it had something to do with my slightly odd night. I was about to go to my room to go to bed when I saw this girl sitting all by herself in the lobby, watching American Pie, with a table next to her with apple pie and condoms adorning it. This struck me as slightly pathetic. I told my roommates (and our drummer...who was in our room...and I’m still not sure why) and we decided to go and keep her company. You see...our school has these odd ideas about safe sex. They will do just about anything to give out free condoms. So they set up an event to watch this movie, eat pie, and give out "love gloves" (or at least that's what the poster called them). The girl was the one running the peopless event. She informed us that she had 7 more pies if we wanted any. So I went and bought some vanilla ice cream because how can you eat apple pie with no vanilla ice cream? You can't. Then Emma decided that I needed a condom (in her words: "for later" which sounds like some kind of cryptic comment with many possible meanings) and put one in my pocket. So now I have an oh-so-aptly-named "crown" condom sitting next to my computer. The thing is I don't know what to do with it. (I really hope that comment doesn't spawn a hoard of e-mails with links to "how to use a condom" websites) You see...if I keep it I just know it will end up greatly embarrassing me. Don't ask how, but me having a condom sitting around is just asking for some kind of crazy un-sex-related scenario to ensue. But throwing it away seems like such a waste. Anyway...then I watched Dogma for the first time, took a shower at 2:22am, and here I am...typing away in the dark, making countless spelling mistakes because when you sit this close to the monitor it changes the position of your hands and it's kind of hard to type. And this had a point...I swear. Only it seems to have been lost. Or it never existed and I just tricked myself into thinking it had one. Eh...oh well. I think it's time to sleep.

There I was, at work, which is where I am sometimes. I was doing what I am oft to be found doing at work, which is pretty much nothing. Not to say this is a bad job. Quite the contrary is true. But I was partaking in some oh-so-fun nothingness during a particularly un-customer-filled period of time. I suddenly found myself in dire need of something metal and sharp. No, this metal instrument was not intended to skewer an increasingly annoying customer (though many a customer of my work do deserve it), but instead to scrape some white out off of a page of my journal. I, being the lazy person that I am, decided that rather than walking ten feet to pick up the scissors, would instead rip the metal pocket-clip off of the pen in my hand. I started twisting and pulling and yanking but to no avail. I gave a particularly powerful tug which loosed the metal clip which continued in its trajectory which happened to be through my finger. Then a customer walked in. I shook off the pain (which I find odd, that we shake whatever body part is hurt. wouldn't it be more beneficial to hold it very still in case of something serious?) and walked over to the counter. I looked at my hand and thought, "hmm...I don't remember drawing a red line on my finger." So I tucked my hand under the counter and proceeded to ring up her order with one hand. People don't like blood, and do like law suits. So instead of showing her my inch long cut and threatening her with who knows how many diseases (hey, I'm a college kid, aren't I supposed to have lots of diseases from lots of unprotected "safe" sex?) I excused myself in the middle of her order to find a band-aid. I'm telling you, stuff like this never happens unless it's during a really inappropriate time where it's difficult to handle. I wish Murphey never lived.