I think that the best part of the school year is the beginning.  You can stay up extremely late if you want to, and you usually do.  It’s by choice, and not because you’re scrambling to finish an assignment.  You’ve got time to spare.  And as an RA, I really like having time to spare.  I got all the stuff that I can get done, done for that express reason.  So I can sit around and do nothing important.  In fact, all I have to do is put up some things and wade through some paperwork that won’t take me long at all to do.  So I’m looking at this as awesome.  Plus, having time gives me time to play my guitars, which brings me great pleasure.

In fact, my friend Charles has been chilling in my room for the past hour or so.  It’s legit.  Straight up legit.

But I do have other things on my mind.  Things that have disturbed me deeply and scare me about the future of America.  It’s been a hot button issue in New York, and to me should be a non-issue.  If you think I’m talking about the so-called “Ground Zero” mosque, you’re damn straight right.  I don’t know what that means, but I support it.  The construction of it, the placement of it, et cetera, et cetera.  Let’s look at it from another perspective.  In Germany and Poland, the old death and concentration camps are left up.  Most people would probably see them torn down, but they are left there as testament to the horrors that went on.  They also exist to have education about went on there.

OK, that might not have been the best example.  Everyone agrees that what the Nazis did was terrible.  Except Nazis, they think it was great.  But let’s look at our own actions.  We bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  Hiroshima is the site of the first time that nuclear weapons were used on other people in a time of war, and the first of only two times.  Hiroshima remains as a witness to the horror of war and the destruction of atomic warfare.  But it also is the leader of nuclear disarmament protests.

In both of these cases, despite the things that happened in the past, the places remain to show what has happened, and also to enlighten those about what happened.

The Ground Zero mosque isn’t right on Ground Zero.  Let’s make that completely clear.  It’s six blocks away.

Let’s face facts, folks.  Islam is a religion that most Westerners don’t understand.  Ignorance creates stereotypes.  Stereotypes create fear.  Fear creates war and warlike actions.  If you ask the average American who Muslims worship, they’ll say Mohammed.  Others will say Allah.  But then those will say Allah is not God.  This is patently false.  I believe I have elucidated this before, but just in case I haven’t here we go.  Because the French call God “Dieu,” does that make Him a different God?  No.  He’s still God.  Allah is simply the Arabic word for God.  Mohammed is simply God’s prophet.  Muslims accept Mohammed as their main prophet, but also accept many of the Old Testament prophets as well.  Mohammed was the man that was inspired by an angel of God to write the Koran.  Mohammed is the prophet of Islam, just like Elijah is a Jewish prophet.

After I wrote that last sentence, I realized that both those prophets didn’t technically die.  Elijah was taken off in a  chariot of fire, and Mohammed ascended to Heaven off of a rock in Jerusalem.  Heh, kinda funny.

The mosque at Ground Zero is simply a mosque and an Islamic cultural center.  It exists to educate the public about Islam.  Hopefully, with education, ignorance will be eradicated.  But this simply isn’t going to happen.  Especially when you have prominent figures like Sarah Palin and Newt Gingrich spewing  xenophobic rhetoric and tweets to an audience that believes everything those individuals say.  I would even go so far as to say that they’re spreading hate speech.

That’s my peace on that issue.  I hope you liked it.  This year, I really am going to try and update this thing more than I do.

I have no idea what that was.  I’m sorry, my fingers just started going crazy on me.  But, since I never edit myself, it’s staying in there.  So deal with it.

Alright, I told you I would finish this post, and I am.

Since it’s the summer now, there’s been a lot of thunderstorms lately.  I love these random bursts of rain and thunder.  They’re simply amazing.  Awe inspiring.  They let me calm down.  I used to be afraid of them, but then I learned to love them.

I even wrote a poem about them, and I related them to the love of a good woman.  It’s pretty cool, and I might share it on here later.

I don’t know why I like thunderstorms so much.  I remember being at summer camp on staff, and as a camper, and loving them.  I really loved them when I was on staff, because I would get out of doing some stuff, which always made me great.  When I was camping out, though, it was always riskier because we slept in metal framed tents.  And the only other place to be was under the metal framed dining fly, or in the latrine.  And no one wanted to stay in the latrines.  NO ONE.

I’ve seen some big storms in my day.  And I’ve loved every single one of them, now that I can look back on it.

When I was in the Mt. Rogers shelter, the storm came and poured.  It was awesome.  We had about 25 people in an area meant for about 10 or 15.  One of the guys hiking with us was cooking a steak on a stove, and left it out in the storm.  It was pretty funny to listen to him argue with his dad about it.

Then when I was in Germany on one of our last days there, there was a huge thunderstorm.  I had a rainjacket and shorts.  And shoes, I almost forgot my shoes.  It rained so hard that it got in through my hood and soaked me anyways.  It flooded my backpack and ran down my back so my shorts got wet, and the front was wet from walking around.  And my shoes were completely soaked.  The socks didn’t fare much better either.  The part I remember best was trying to find a bus to take us back to our hostel so we wouldn’t have to walk all the way back in the rain.  As a bus finally pulled up, we had to book it to make it on.  I even beat Herr Koerner to the bus if I remember right.  Aaron was in the back, and he polished off a stein of beer before he started jogging.

And when I was on staff, there were at least five huge storms a summer.  One year, before I was there, it rained so much that it flooded the camp lake and people were worried that the dam would wash away.  My favorite rain stories are the ones with warm rain, not the cold ones.  The cold rains were uncomfortable, and I didn’t like how humid it got after one.  It would go from hypothermia to dehydration in under 10 seconds it felt like.  I remember one time it stopped raining, and myself, Billy and Slippy were skipping arm in arm singing “What should we do with a drunken sailor?”  I can’t remember if that was the right song or not, but we were all in step, in time and on key.  It was pretty special to say the least.

One other time it was raining, and as I was walking up to my cabin from the area I worked in, myself and the two guys I worked with stopped in at the dining hall and picked up some roast beef and chicken sandwiches.  They were the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten.

And one Sunday, it stormed on us.  I ran back to my cabin singing “Alouette” in the rain.  I was soaked, but I was laughing, so it was worth it.

When I was younger, maybe about four, it was raining, so I went and got my dad’s safety goggles and sat on our front porch with a water gun.  My dad followed me out there, and we shot each other with the water pistols.  My mom got the camera and took a picture of us both on the swing shooting at her.  We had the picture framed, and it’s still on the wall in our house.

Well, I hope you enjoy the rain as much as I do.

I’ve talked for a while about how I deal with depression.  It’s one of the main things that I talk about here on my blog.  I talk about it a lot because it’s on my mind.  A lot.  Well, duh.

I’ve been diagnosed by different psychologists with having clinical depression.  I don’t know the difference between clinical depression and normal depression.  I suppose one happens in a doctor’s office, and one while on the road.  But now I’m just being silly.

After the different things that happened to me at the end of second semester, I realized that I needed help.  Actual help, not just talking to a friend and hoping that I would go back to the status quo after a few hours, days, weeks.  I knew that I was messed up.  I still am, but not in this fashion.  I’m still insane, but I’m not depressed anymore.  I’m still me, or at least I think I am.

I’ve been put on anti-depressants.  After feeling like this for about four years, it’s time that I did take something for it.

But I digress.  Lately, I haven’t been feeling so hot.  It’s a variety of things that have caused this, as well as the normal depression that you have to come to know so very well being spouted from my mouth.  I don’t know what it is, maybe the stress of the end of the semester catching up with me, the prospect of not seeing some friends again, the fact that I am rapidly approaching the age that I have to be responsible for myself; whatever it is has hit me between the eyes.  I’ve been having massive panic attacks weekly, sometimes daily.  I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in over three months.  I don’t sleep well in the first place, but recently I’ve been getting around an hour to an hour and a half of actual sleep a night.

Whenever I listen to my music, it makes me feel a little better.  I’m typing this post with my fancy headphones on, just so I can get the full effect of the music.  And it’s powerful, let me tell you.

I think it’s time that I break this down.  I’ve been having horrible dreams whenever I do sleep.  I need to go see a psychiatrist and get fixed whatever got loose in my head.  I’ve been spending the majority of my days indoors.  I’ve gotten to know these four white walls quite well.  My only contact with the outside world has been going for food and going to classes.  I just don’t go outside anymore.  This is extremely out of character for me.  I, in fact, love hiking.  I’ve hiked on the Appalachian Trail, I’ve hiked local mountains, Graveyard Ridge, and even the German Alps.  I love being outside, but lately my motivation has hit zero.  I couldn’t even enjoy the short hike I took on Saturday next to the Broad River.  I almost had a panic attack next the river bank.  It was amazing, and only in the sense that it’s so horribly messed up.  I don’t know why.

It feels like I don’t have any friends.  I know that I do, but it seems like they only talk to me whenever there is some sort of ulterior motive.  Whether it’s me driving them somewhere, me floating them a loan, or even to act as a bodyguard.  There’s never any time for me.  If I ever ask them to hang out, it’s always some lame excuse.  Or they’ve already got plans, and they don’t want to include me in them.

I’m broken inside.  Mentally, spiritually, emotionally, physically.  I’ve been getting by on baling twine and duct tape for years now, but it seems like its all coming undone.  And there couldn’t be a worse time for it to happen.  I feel like Patrick Bateman.  I have all the characteristics of a human being, but no discernible emotion.  It feels like I’ve become a joke.  I know, I strive to find the humor in situations.  I do it as a defense mechanism, if someone is laughing at the situation and not me, then I’m fine.  But if not, then, well it sucks.  Don’t take my American Psycho reference to mean that I’m going to start listening to Huey Lewis and the News and start chopping up people with a shiny silver axe.  I don’t even like Huey Lewis.

Tom Gabel said something about his fans that rang true to me.  He said, “It’s OK if you’re fucked up, it’s OK to be who you are, we’re all here for the same reason.”  That was paraphrased, but I think his meaning is still valid.

Jesus, it just sucks right now.  I usually try to give my perspective on something, but lately my blog has just become a bitch post for me.  I’m sorry.

I don’t know what’s going on right now, and this is sort of therapeutic to me.  That, and the clonazepam.  I’ve been laughing at danger for a while.

My heart is being torn in a few different ways.  There’s one girl who’s in a relationship right now.  But she listens to me and she cares about me.  So that’s why I like her.  When I was a kid, that didn’t happen a lot.  So I imprint on stuff like that.  Then there’s one girl who matches me, but I don’t think she returns my affections.  And then there’s one girl who likes me as a friend, and I don’t think it would work out.  It probably wouldn’t.  But then again, most of my relationships never work out.  It’s either me or her, and it’s usually my dumb fucking mistakes that end up tossing a sabot in the gears.

Fun fact, sabotage came from the wooden shoes Dutch workers wore, called ‘sabots’, which were thrown into machinery in German occupied war materiel factories.

It’s usually my fault for these things.  I’m not what she expects.  She wants someone manlier.  She wants someone gentler.  She wants someone she can control.  She wants a man with God on his heart and mind.  I’m none of those.  I have my moments, my flashes, of those sorts of qualities, but I’m never consistently that person.  I have the propensity to be that man, but I’m not.  Because that’s not who I really am.  I’m all of those in one.  But no one ever sticks around long enough to find out who I really am.

Fuck it, I’m done with this post.  See you later.  Comment if you want.  If you don’t, so be it.

Just wanted to let you know that from now on I’m going to try to update my blog once a week from now on.

First off, before I get to my main idea, I want to talk about a play that I recently pulled camera on.  It was horrible.  The play was, not the experience.  I couldn’t have asked for a better technical director and fellow camera operator.  I mean you, Cat and Julie.  You know who you are.  But I want to talk about the message of the play.

In reality, I’d rather talk about the plausibility of the actions ever occurring.  Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh being arrested and executed for high treason?  Not likely at all.  Nor is Fox News ever going to report on anything that actually has any real ramifications for society.  Terror attacks rank equally with celebrity pregnancies in the Fox News hierarchy.  Rupert Murdoch has added to the idiocy that plagues America today.  The American idea of individuality has been squashed since the 1950′s.  This was also when the idea that America was a nation formed by Christians sprung forth.  For the record, it was formed by deists.  The idea of individuality was done away with once the Soviets got “The Bomb.”  We wanted a society that would take orders and not question them.  We wanted a society of pre-fab soldiers, houses, foods, and other goods.  This was only perpetuated by Reagan and both Bushes.  George W. made it a priority again, but this time with brown people who live in cold places, not white people who live in cold places.

Also, the Boy Scouts aren’t being trained as Homeland Security officials.  The program that is actually mentioned is the Police Explorer program.  At one time, Explorers were the only co-ed program in Scouting.  This changed in 1996, I think, when Venturing was established.  Explorers became a stand-alone operation, separate from the Boy Scouts, similar to the Order of the Arrow.  While both are associated with Scouting, they aren’t official members of the BSA, however they are recognized by the BSA.  What the young people were doing was simply a Police Explorer exercise.  I remember Explorers in my high school walking around in their uniforms with pepper spray, handcuffs, and batons.  They weren’t issued firearms since they were minors.  So these young people were doing these exercises for a grade, not to become the new Gestapo.

On to what I really wanted to talk about, the Avett Brothers.  Yes, they’re from North Carolina and I generally support NC based organizations, but not the Avetts.  I don’t hate folk music, far from it.  I love Old Crow Medicine Show, but not the Avetts.  I’m not knocking their talent, but rather their message.

The message I’m talking about is that women are the root of all men’s problems, as well that a woman can change her man.

The first part is similar to all male-dominated music scenes, even punk which is my favorite.  I must admit that there are a disproportionate amount of songs that blame women for the amount of stress put on men.  However, the second that a woman says anything about a man hurting her in a song, she’s a bitch and she deserved it.

I have been hurt by women in the past, yes.  But I never think that if a woman has been hurt, either emotionally or physically, that she ever deserved it.  I’m insane, not a sadist.

For instance, the song “Shame” off of “Emotionalism,” deals entirely with how they feel after being rejected.  Sure, these songs are fun to listen to, put once you see the lyrics you become appalled at the way they talk about things.

One more thing before I move on, the Avetts write what I call “panty-dropper” songs.  I think it’s pretty obvious what that means.  If you’re clueless; however, it means that the Avetts write songs that either get them or other guys laid.  If a guy was playing Slipknot or Frank Sinatra, these extremely macho songs, a dude probably won’t get laid.  But put on some Avetts and it shows his sensitive side, and he’s getting some ‘tang that night.

The next point I wanted to make is that it makes women want to change their men.  With the messages in the songs, some women can think that if they can get their man to be like one of the Avetts, he’ll love her and won’t hit her anymore.

I got news for you ladies, you’re not going to change a guy.  Any ideas that you have about this, put them out of your mind.  There is no way that you can change him, no matter what the Avetts say.  Plus, if he’s hitting you, you need to leave him immediately.  If you think that because the Avetts are nice and sensitive that your guy can be too, you’re wrong.  If he’s abusing you, he doesn’t love you.

I hate to end this blog post on that negative of a note, but that’s all I really have to say.  Check my vlog on Youtube, I update it more frequently than this blog.  I hope to see you there, and that you have a great week.

By the way, I’ll post a vlog later, too.

I’ve been listening to a few songs that are addictive to me.  One is “Rebels” by the Drive-By Truckers, off of “The Fine Print.”  It’s a great track, amazing.  Simply amazing.  It’s motivating, it’s high energy.  It’s simply amazing.  The other one that I am currently addicted to is “Guns and Money,” by Warren Zevon.  I don’t know how to pronounce his last name.  I’m from the South, so I tend to say ZEE-vaughn.  I’ve heard it said Za-fon and Ze- vun other ways, but I prefer my way of saying it.  It’s a great song, I love listening to it when I go driving on warm days.  It’s just uplifting.

I think the reason of this is because this past Sunday, in 2005, one of my personal heroes committed suicide.  You may or may not know him, but his name was, and is, Hunter S. Thompson.  He’s a great author.  Completely batshit insane.  In many ways, I model my life after him.  It’s potentially self-destructive, but I’ll have a hell of a time while I’m doing it.  And isn’t that all we can look forward to?

He wrote about the death of the American Dream, about politics, and law.  He was knowledgeable about all his subjects, because he threw himself into whatever he was writing about.  He pioneered the style called Gonzo journalism.  With Hunter, there was no such thing as objective journalism.  In fact, he said “Words like scum and slime don’t belong in objective journalism, but it misses the point.”  Something like that, I paraphrased.  If I remember, he wrote that about Nixon.  Or maybe Chicago’s Mayor Daly, I can’t remember and I’m too damn lazy to look it up at this point in time.

Hunter is a legend, a man’s man.  He pissed straight bourbon and his sweat was heroin.  He had a veritable armory, he was addicted to guns.  However, he hated the war in Vietnam.  For the short time he was alive in the 2000′s, he hated the war in Afghanistan and Iraq.  He said that they would become a Christian jihad, and I believe that they have.

He rode motorcycles with the Hell’s Angels, reported and supported George McGovern and even wrote about Jimmy Carter’s Law Day speech.  He was a great American, in line with the Founding Fathers with his ideals.

He took himself out because he was tired of living.  He knew what he wanted, and he got it, by God.  He’s inspired me to be a great man.  He gave fuel to a new generation.  He was a great friend to those who knew him, and his impact was felt by all.  I just wish that he could have stayed around to see the Fool (G.W. Bush) go down in flames and see Obama as the new president.

So, wherever you are Hunter, rest in peace.  You glorious bastard.

I’m not ready to let this blog go just yet.  And hopefully I never will.  I’ve been bored/busy lately, so I haven’t been pissed off or inspired lately.  Not to write blog posts at least.  I have, however, been pounding out poems like crazy.  Which is good.  Amazingly so.  I love writing, especially poems.

The title of the blog today is a direct allusion to Warren Zevon’s song “Guns and Money.”  It’s a great song, you need to listen to it on Youtube.  Seriously, it’s amazing.  I listened to it as I was driving around today.  It’s a great sunny day song.  Upbeat and happy, you can laugh while you sing.  It’s great!

Today was a good day.  I dressed up as Gordon Gekko to do interviews for RA candidates today.  Plus, it was about 60 out today.  60 Fahrenheit, of course.  Tomorrow’s supposed to be warmer.  I don’t mind the cold, I like it actually.  But it’s nice to wear shorts again, too.  The last time I wore them was the day that it snowed.  Maybe I jinxed campus and we’ll have some more snow.

This blog was more of a journalistic one.  I’m sorry about that.  Usually I try to keep my personal life out of these as much as possible.  I hope this will be the last time that I journal in my blog.  The truth is, I felt guilty that I hadn’t blogged in a while.  Well, that’s it for me.  Hazel out.

I believe that this is another time that I’m going to talk about my depression.  Are you ready for the fun that is going to commence?

I hope so!

Don’t you just hate it when you find out things about people that you never thought might be true?

Yeah, it always gets the jump on me, too.  And when it does, it pins me to the ground and pummels the shit out of my face.  I scream for it to stop, but it won’t until I bleed, until it can feel my cheekbones give way, until it knows that I am beaten for good.

It knows my weaknesses, it knows who I love.  It knows everything about me, and it won’t stop.  I’ll surrender and it will punch me in the guts to make sure I know who the boss is.

In short, it’s me.  I am my own worst enemy.  I know when I sleep, I know when to stop but I refuse to.  It’s amazing the amount of dickishness I can show towards myself.

I can’t wait until next year, when I’ll be 21, to find a bar that’s friendly and cheap and drink all night long in it.

Shit, this one was dumb.