The Runcible Blog

I've been confused even though I understood, been at a loss for words for no reason, and managed to say the wrong thing at every opportunity. What's the big deal today? I'd like to take a mulligan, please.

The possibly-homeless man without a tongue who wanders South Lawrence and watches high school track meets has moved into the 21st century: today he was talking on a cellphone while aimlessly wandering down the street.

Keep in mind that he has no tongue. And he was talking on a cellphone...

$60 for an oil change?! Every time I need to change the oil, I say I'll do it myself but never get around to it. Unlike the Camry, I need to put the Civic on ramps to access the oil filter, and that always makes me uneasy. I imagine the car squishing me as I'm under it.

Because I think saving about $50 is worth more than the threat of death, I'll probably change the oil myself next time.

I'm staying home today because of this blasted cold. Normally I'd probably go to work anyway, but what's the point if I'm going to feel like crap? I might as well use those sick days.

I'll be at home, trying to sleep and stressing out about other things in my life...

The changing weather along with some Spring cleaning in my room have given me a lovely cold/fever. I have a farily massive headache, and my face hurts (I know, I know -- it hurts you just to look at it!). I don't have much energy to speak, read, or do anything more than vegetate right now.

I mentioned my B&M Vegetarian Baked Beans habit. Well, I didn't look at the nutrition facts, until now...

When I eat a whole can of beans for supper, I'm consuming 3.5 servings (1 pound!) for a total of:

• 525 Calories / 35 Calories from fat
• 3.5g of fat (7% daily value)
• 0g saturated fat
• 0mg Cholesterol
• 1190mg sodium (49%)
• 98g total carbohydrates (31.5%)
• 21g dietary fiber (84%)
• 73.5g sugars
• 21g protein
• 35% daily iron
• 14% calcium

It looks like a hefty dinner. (un)Fortunately, I don't know what those numbers mean. Any nutritionists out there?

didn't father time and mother nature get the memo? my birthday just recently passed, therefore, hence, ergo, i.e., whenceforth: winter is over, my friends. don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

my room is colder and darker without you.  
my bed is less soft without you.  
it creaks -- does not invite me.  
blankets are useless against the drafty windows.  
your absence lowers my body temperature.  
fingers and toes move slowly in the chilly night.  
my circulation grinds to a halt without you.

my dreams are less vivid without you.

the morning sun shines dimmer without you.  my alarm screams louder without you.  
jumping out of bed feels empty when we're not jumping out together.

my bagel burns without you.

my car starts roughly without you.  traffic is worse without you.

work drags more slowly without you.


work drags more slowly without you.



work drags more slowly without you.


inspiration wanes without you.

my room is colder and darker without you.

I left a little early today so that I could go for a run. Unfortunately, I skipped it because it was chilly outside... I want to run a little bit this week so that I can jump in the last mile of the marathon next monday. That's what I did in 2003 (has it been that long?? What did I do last year?). I figure if I run every day this week (except today) I'll be fine for a mile. A fast mile would put some strain on my ticker, but a slow mile is cake. Besides, although I might be out of shape, I've been doing more endurance sports lately, such as....well, uhh, nevermind.

I feel a little woozy already. I have to hold my breath until I get some kind of response.

not a good way to start the week. but it's my own fault. haven't I learned to shut up? to keep my thoughts to myself? I don't know if I ever will, at this rate.

Franz Ferdinand's self-titled debut album. Get it. tis great.

Pressure pushing down on me / Pressing down on you

Even though I might focus on the lows here, this weekend wasn't bad overall. It's just that there's something still hanging onto my mind. I smell a small rant coming...

There are times when I feel that everything I say or do is being put into a "self-awareness" filter. If I have a momentary lapse of awareness, bells go off, and all of a sudden it's, "Aha! I knew it! Maybe you're not with it after all..." It's almost like I'm expected to fail eventually...like she's looking for an chink in my armor — when I didn't even know I was wearing armor. Or maybe I'm missing the point.

If everything is subjective, can't I make up my own rules and say that I am, in fact, so "self-aware" that I don't have to act like I am? I'm not going to ridicule or be flippant about someone's personal philosophy, but I kind of cringe inside at the prospect that there are really only two types of people in the world: those who are aware, and those who aren't (granted, I guess there is a spectrum?). Plus, I hate labels. I don't want myself pigeon-holed with any labels, even though they can be convenient. I don't want to be called "self-aware" even if I fit the bill because what happens when I make mistakes or do something supposedly out of character? Does it throw the philosophy into a tailspin?

I think self-awareness goes into the same category as love. In the end, each quality should be self-evident. If someone loves another, they don't need to talk about it constantly to remind themselves that it's so (though there's nothing wrong with reassurance). The actions will prove it. Similarly, if people are self-aware, do they need to say so? What difference does it make unless there's a social club or a secret hand shake associated with awareness? After all, they're just words.

I also don't want to have to prove myself, or feel that I must. Judge me if you want, but don't rub it in my face. It's unusual because I normally would want to know what people think of me, but in this case it feels more like an "I told you so" than a "for your information" type of judgement.

Just give me a chance to be someone and grow without having to worry about being the "right" person at every moment. I put enough pressure on myself as far as who I want to be, eventually. It's a lot for a boy to take, at times.

On another note, I was thinking that 21 must've been some kind of bellwether year for me. I can't quantify any amount that I might've "changed" except that I noticed that I got my first tattoo only a little over a year ago. I realize that physical changes are a small piece of the puzzle, but maybe there's some significance to the past year's changes. I don't know.

Finally, to end on a cliche:
You're not going to hear me call myself self-aware. I'm just some guy who thinks a lot about people and myself. Ultimately, I want to help people, and I think I need to know myself well in order to help others. If that places me into some category or another or improves my score on the spectrum, great. But I don't particularly want to know where I am on that scale.

Callooh! Callay! I chortle in my joy because I found the clip to my Space Pen last night. Now, I can be a serious writer without impediments.

What better way to celebrate a birthday than bowling? Here's the score sheet. Players:

• DEET = Marty
• NATRO = Nathan
• PEEB = Lea

• DAVEE = me
• LELEE = lee lee
• ALAEE = dada

As you might be able to see, I totally blew away everyone (an 88 and a 93). But I'm not one to gloat.

Read it and weep, kiddies:

Marty says, "I just pooped myself!"
I say, "When am I going to get some competition here?!"


lee lee trying to bowl as well as I do. A+ for effort!

homage to/parody of Coolio's Gansta's Paradise:

I'm 22 now, but will I live to see 23
The way things are going.... probably

wow. two straight nights of B&M vegetarian baked beans... look out, world. i'm gonna be dropping bombs on all a y'all tomorrow.

I think the main reason why Hotel Rwanda received such rave reviews is that it's hard to give a bad review to a movie that deals with real-life genocide that happened only 10 years ago. I mean, how insensitive can you be?

Don't get me wrong, I learned a lot from the movie. I just disliked the stinky acting and heavy-handed writing. Aside from Don Cheadle's decent performance as Paul Rusesabagina, everyone else either overacted, didn't know how to act, or were drunk (I'm looking at you, Nick Nolte). Cheadle pulled off a conflicted sadness convincingly without having to sob in EVERY SINGLE SCENE, unlike his wife, Tatiana (Sophie Okonedo). Don't even get me started on Nolte's slurring portrayal of a Canadian blue-helmet with a Scotch habit. Keith Richards would've sounded more coherent.

I can't say much about the plot's accuracy because I'm a stupid American, ignorant of genocide across the globe, but several plot devices were about as subtle as a hammer to the nose. A crate of machetes breaks open, revealing the evil tools of genocide to a still-disbelieving Paul and foreshadowing for us lazy movie consumers. Later, an American journalist asks about the difference between Hutus and Tutsis, thus conveniently explaining the arbitrary ethnic conflict for the audience. In real life, don't you think a journalist would've researched something that basic before stepping into a potential war zone? No, I guess real seasoned pros do all the leg work at the bar in the hotel lobby just before going out to document a genocide.

Some characters, like the journalists and the one Red Cross worker in Rwanda, were so underdeveloped that they might as well have been stick figures on a blue screen. I wondered whether there was an extra half-hour of footage dealing with Paul and the Red Cross worker's steamy affair-turned-friendship — how else can we justify their inexplicable relationship?

Maybe it's nit-picking, but the special effects were lousy, too. Lose the digital smoke and explosions, please. And the machetes weren't even sharpened! Even I could tell.

Aside from those minor gripes, I think Hotel Rwanda is a great, serious movie that every American should see so that we can learn from history yadda yadda yadda.....

April is off to a jolly start, with pranks on the 1^st; Barnes and Noble loitering and much people watching/ridiculing with lee lee on the 2^nd; and Davis Square cafe squatting, burrito eating, and movie watching on the 3^rd. Oh, and I tried Red Stripe. (Yay, beer...but isn't it supposed to taste good? maybe I missed something)

Inching toward my 22^nd year on the planet, I figure this one might as well be the best one yet. Of course, I'll probably jinx myself and owe you all a Coke, but I'm glad to have as a birthday present someone who digs me as I dig her. I hope the simultaneous, giddy digging continues well into the year — 2005, the year of our lord, George Bush...

To all aspiring documentarians out there: If you're going to make a documentary, find someone with a decent voice to narrate it.

Too many times I've seen otherwise compelling documentaries make me want to tear my ears off because the narrator (usually the filmmaker in independent documentaries) sounds like a little kid. For added effect, maybe he or she will have a lisp. Such irritating voices can really drag down a good documentary. Imagine Steve Urkel narrating a film on the final days of a cancer patient, or Carrot Top speaking about the plight of the Native Americans. Well, some documentaries aren't much better. At least if I knew Urkel narrated, I could appreciate the quirky — if inappropriate — choice.

I mean, I'd like to make a documentary about something, but I think if my voice narrated such a thing, it would lead to the largest mass-suicide in theaters and homes across the country after viewers endured 2 hours of my nasal whining. (Seriously. I'm not exaggerating at all.) Instead, I'd go for someone with a comforting voice, like Isaac Hayes or Gilbert Gottfried.