New life will never spontainiously appear in my peanut butter.

I think in my last post I promised to tally up the costs of my DWI. I assure it was (and still is) over $3000. But rather than bore you with my conviction and subsequent DMV fiasco (a battle with bureaucracy!) I'm going to dive into a rant.

This country is 48% retarded.

I was alerted to this by the local newspaper. Specifically, this news item.

It quotes the latest Newsweek poll. Which discovered that 48% of the people polled reject the scientific theory of evolution.

While the article makes some valid points, I am startled at the fact that 48% of a random sampling of people are very, seriously, onerously uneducated.

I am so very astonished that biologists even need to argue for evolution. The evidence is insurmountable. Those unwilling to acknowledge evolution burden us all. We are the Earth's accumulation of everything to this moment. Being such a small blip on the unfathomable scale of time is remarkable. We are not the product of some man with a beard. That doesn't flatter us at all!

We are the product of this great blue ball floating in space. Where billions of years of water in liquid form finally grew something! This single satellite we call the Moon stirred everything up so things like amino acids eventually took shape. And not because there was some dude there who said "Let there be life!". It was because these elements in these conditions simply did what was natural to them.

Isn't that more humbling than someone shaking their finger from the clouds? To realize that, the grand scheme of things is set up to take shape into something alive? That this Carbon-12 atom could link up with four different things and even form complex chains and DNA, all by itself?

The God of the bible doesn't exist. God is everything, all inclusive. The Big Bang and everything up until this point and ever after. This Christian stuff is too new and exclusive for its own good.

When religion becomes worth dying for we ask, "What waits for those who believe?"

Welp, no one can say. People don't seem to be coming back to life these days.

It's time for a fresh look at things.

A lil' D and D... the bad one.

That's right, drinking and driving.

I can explain why my summer was so lame... I fucked up.

Back in February of this, the '06. I went to visit my friend Ashleigh who goes to New Paltz.

Ryan and Knobs got in my car and we left for some drinking.

Knobs called up his Ex and she came out for drinks with all of us. It was a pretty good time despite my coming criminal operation of a vehicle. There was a sake bar and we had some beers.

Fast forward--we drop off Ashleigh and were on Route 299. Getting pulled over by a State Trooper.

Fuck.

It was like the apocalypse.

I knew right then that it was over. I did as the officers asked with a resigned gloom. They were nice enough to park my car down the street and handcuff me with my arms in front.

The three of us were taken to the Highland Trooper Barracks. I was fingerprinted, photographed, and asked to blow into a tube.

I blew a 0.15%, over the legal limit of 0.08% BAC.

After writing me three tickets, they let me go to my friends. I felt awful.

Knobs and Ryan were sitting in the waiting room. Matt was coming to pick us up.

It was this night that I smoked two cigarettes. Oh well, at least I didn't start back up again.

Knobs took a very blurry picture. It still captures my misery somewhat.Guess what happened next?

We got pulled over again in Walden. The scene was ridiculous.

Matt's driving was impeccably good as the cops followed us. It was very obvious that we were going to be pulled over for simply being four people in a car at 4am.

There go them lights.

Matt's window doesn't go down so he's talking through the back. We tell them that were being picked up because I just got a DWI. Knobs is passed out in the back. It was very obvious that they just wanted to check us out. The one guy asks Knobs for his ID. He's searching every pocket for his wallet that is comically resting in his lap. He finally finds it to everyone's amusement. Knobs is still very drunk.

The cop takes one look at his ID.
"What's this about an outstanding warrant in Cornwall?" the cop says.

"You're fuckin' with me man." Knobs blurts out.

We all had a laugh and they let us go on our way.

I called out from work when I got home. It was starting to get light out.

My worries were just beginning.

Drinking and driving is some serious shit. My license to drive was in jeopardy.

Next post: Court, Costs, and Classes - Why you can't afford afford a DWI.

Hey, it's November now.

I am hereby claiming back my blog. I had let it slide for too long. Procrastination and writers block became habit and all of my good ideas shriveled up and died before ever nearing that treacherous, electronically dusty "Publish Post" button.

But no more!

Since I'm just getting back into this I'll be brief. I don't really have any crazy stories because truthfully it was a dull summer. I can't remember anything significant about the whole three months prior to September. If anyone cares to remind me of something entertaining please do.

At the end of September I went to NC for a gathering of family at the beach.

Silly Uncle Bill has got some big feet!

It was pretty fun. We were on the top floor of of these condo's with a great view.
In October there were mountains. Dan and I went on a number of trips up Schunnemunk.



















Also Harriman state park last week.

Yeah, you love it.

Hey, it's me. No, I'm still alive. I seem to be on this once per month blog thing and I suppose this must be the May entry. I probably could have done this in three entries but I grow impatient and you'll settle for this drunken rant and like it.

Bamboozle '06 was an excellent event. Although I was for the most part at the table for The Knife Fits, I was able to see Poison The Well, He Is Legend, Emmanuel, AFI and hear very clearly Saves The Day and some of Say Anything. The first day we realized that the bags were popular. At such festival-type-events bags for the craploads of shit that people get are neccesary (halfway into the second day they were already sold out).

We soon realized that our red wristbands were tokens of great power. The Bamboozle was a no re-entry event. Our writstbands allowed us to circumvent this rule. We are no mere spectators! We are vendors. And therefore special. I tailgated in the parking lot after I had spent hours behind the table, screaming: "The Knife Fits Clothing! Sign up for our mailing list! Free sticker! The Knife Fits makes clothes for your band! Your band needs t-shirts and we make 'em!"

That night was out of control. Although I was conscious most of the night, some of it remains blurry. I was the first into room 2114 and noticed the bathrobe. I immediately put it on. Connolly was also seen wearing the popular bathrobe for a period. We had not been in the hotel for an hour when security knocks. We promise to hush and he leaves. This hotel obviously does not realize what is in store for them. Timid at first, we begin to infiltrate the halls. Soon we are swaggering around with our beers in our hands, causing a ruckus. The ultimate ruckus however, belongs to Knobs.
Knobs has 'the story'. He fought a middle-aged woman at the hotel. I'm a bit sketchy on the details, as very few actually witnessed it (two maybe? Will and Connolly? or was is Jesse and Connolly? I dunno). Appartently this drunk ass knocks into a door tagged "Do Not Disturb" and the guest comes out to confront Knobs, the aggressor. Knobs being the reasonable party, tells the lady to "chill the fuck out". She responds by slapping him in the face.

This is where the story differs as such events are difficult to describe. These quick actions are best ascertained through sight because Knobs pushed the lady and she kicked him. I don't know how it happened but everyone bolted immediatly after this.

At one point we were all in an elevator going between our party rooms. The doors opened and security was right there. They wanted all of our room numbers as we were going to get kicked out. You'll notice Emily's face in the adjacent pic, her response to this command: totally bogus. He got on the elevator and as he tried to discuss his punitive measures, a group of kids equaling our size entered the elevator on the next stop. At this point, the guy must have realized he doesn't get paid enough and said forget it. The elevator was crammed with drunk kids.

Connolly got a pic of himself with two securtiy guys. The guy on the left can find the inherent humor in this situation while the guy on the right is clearly ready to go Chernobyl.

We met some cool kids in the hotel. One kid gave me a Corona, which was excellent because our 2114 group had killed our three 30-packs of cheap brew. We went from floor to floor, being drunk idiots at every turn. Several floors were being renovated and I admit going into random rooms on a random floors for no real reason. I seem to remember chillin with Jess and then Joe took the flag from outside and brought it to the top floor. At 4:30-5 o'clock I crawled into an available bedspace. Apparently Knobs wasn't pleased with my choice but Kaella nearly pushed me off the bed anyway (I thankfully didn't fall or I'd have hit her friend).

I had told Brett that I would be awake first thing to help set up The Knife Fits booth no matter how tired or hungover I was.

If the curtain wasn't open and Kaella wasn't pushing me off the bed, I might not have woke up two hours later during the hour of 8. But I did and I wanted to stick to my word so I got up and called Brett. I went down to room 420 (isn't that great?) and woke up Sullivan. I went to the 7th floor to get Advil from Will and back to 2114 for some water. By the time I got back to 420, Sullivan had left.

I was not about to sit around with drunk passed out kids for hours until they went to the show. I was supposed to be there! I decided to investigate breakfast.

I found that there was no free breakfast. The hotel had a resturant. I thought, "Fuck it, I'm hungry." I ordered the buffet for $12.99. I had bacon, eggs, potatoes, a muffin, fresh fruit, coffee, and orange juice. During my second plate the waiter delivered the check...

It was payable to a room number. Just sign my name and room.

It was at this time a funny little idea creeped in to my head.

The waiter passed by again, "Can I pay for this with my card or do I have to put it with the room? I don't want my friend waking up and finding out he has to pay for my breakfast." I said.

The waiter hesitated and began to explain how I couldn't. I cut him off, saying, "It's alright, I'll just give him the cash for it." The waiter said that was fine and to put his name and room number on the check.

Maybe you can see where this is headed.

I finished eating and decided to go for it. I put down a modest $3.00 tip and signed my breakfast over to room 619. Signed, Ralph Rufus. Fellow Goshen grads may recognize Ralph Rufus as the dog of subsitute teacher, Mr. Startup.

I then left the building for good. I had a free breakfast! Too bad I couldn't go back in. The stadium was in sight so I planned to walk across four lanes of highway.Then I see Hailey and Meghan! They too were vendors (I forget for what), and gave me a ride to the festival.

Sunday was better than Saturday and despite my dehydation and hangover, I still drank the beer that we smuggled into Bamboozle. Heehee!

This concludes the Bamboozle part of this post. I wanted to talk about The Knife Fits but I think I plugged us enough. I've went from just learning HTML and CSS to server scripting PHP since our beginning and I've still got lots to learn. I just wanted to say I'm proud of myself for accomplishing what I have so far.

And lastly, I'm finally playing music again. I'm playing guitar for These Three Poisons. It's such a relief to play again. It's been too long since Somnambulist and I've been a little unbalanced without my cathardic release. WOOOOOO!!!

The Optimist

Behold, my confession:

I'm lonely.

Whew...!
I don't know if you can tell from the content of my posts but as you probably realize, I'm feeling dejected lately. I've always considered myself an optimist. Well, maybe that's not true. I certainly would never have been called a pessimist. I used to keep a journal; I wrote in it for about four years starting in about 8th grade. It was called "Krap.doc" so no one would read it and it was password protected. During the beginning of this document's history all I did was complain. As I got older, my entries had less whining and became more of a cathardic tool. I realized that feeling down on yourself does nothing to help. Being sad did nothing to improve my life. I wasn't begging for sympathy and I wasn't getting any either. From then on I embraced a resolute optimism.

On some days it's hard to be resolute.

The past two years have led up to this defining moment. I feel something new on the way, and I'm not very sure what it is. My outlook is constantly changing and I think it's about to happen again. I've been through periods of feeling heartbroken, being happy to be single, dreaming about a crush, back to lonely when hopes are crushed, to periods of nearly grasping the elusive "happy", then being shot down by being the romantic that I am. I've felt so happy I just want to shamelessly love everything about life. I've felt so terrible about what I've done that I wonder why I exist at all. I believe that a new outlook is on the way. I mean, I've been down so long the only place to go is up right?

I've had plenty to be sad about. Politics are so fucking out of control I wonder if anyone has any idea what the fuck is going on. Our lives are so controlled by our social class that upward mobility is about as likely as fundamentalist calling off their holy war. Nothing is permanent. Life is marked by years that will eventually end. I haven't been in a relationship in so long I forget the simple pleasures of kiss with meaning, a goosed ass, and careless flirtation. I've been stuck at home because of a suspended license (multiple posts on that coming up). And not to mention I've been so poor.

But whenever I get to my very lowest, something is always there to brighten me up. One day, I was brooding about my license and feeling stuck. I was commanded to bring branches from the yard to the top of the hill where it could be burned. On my way up the hill, arms covered in pine sap, sweating and dragging branches, I spotted one of the first flowers of Spring. It grew from the monochrome, dead earth; bright and alive. It was the kind of vibrance only acheived by pure existence. The most beautiful thing in creation, yet simply a flower. It was a flower that just is. Words often fail to describe the is-ness, the pure being, the suchness of something. I had to have a picture and no thousand words would ever do justice.

Another day, I was driving to work and was stricken by the beautiful day. I pulled over, already late for work, and took a picture of the clouds. It was a moment of joy where work didn't exist, bills were meaningless, and despair unthought of. A singular happiness that was not alone. A connectedness in the enormity of the most infininte of possiblities. It didn't matter that the feeling would fade when I stepped into work. All I needed to do is look and see, it was always there.

Maybe I am as hopeless as I say I am. Well fuck it, I'm an optimist. Does anyone want to watch the sun set? Stargaze? Go to someplace with a view? Come to the secret garden?

Well, whatever. It's your loss.

Decide for yourself!

Hey everyone, sorry about the lack of updates. I need to give a shout out to Connie, who, armed with guilt, believes (correctly) she deserves mention in my birthday EXTRAVAGANZA. I was blacked out okay? Sorry! ...oh, and thanks for the drinks.

New layout. You like?

I've been trying to write something candid and witty like my Anonymous Messages post but something always comes up that makes me change my mind. I suppose there is such a thing as being too candid. My three attempts all came out whiny, pretentious, and here's the bottom line: not good. I'm hoping that this one won't go the way of the dinosaur. I was trying to write the sibling post, the brain child's twin, if you will. I had gotten several responses to that post and I wanted to try and address them which I soon realized wouldn't work. Which brings me to my point:

Why Would Anyone Go Out With Me Anyway?

First off, I'm poor. I'm what is considered "Near Poor". I reside just over the poverty line for one person. Because I'm over, I can afford the following:

1. A Car.
2. Insurance for said Car.
3. Cellphone.
4. Negotiable Quanities of Alcohol.
   

You'll notice this list does not include 'Girlfriend'. So while I may be able to take you out to dinner, I'd rather just cook it. I may be able to take you to the movies, but you should just rent one. Don't expect material manifestations of my feelings for you, because I have no money. Writing you a poem is my highest form of compliment so if you think I'm cheap you're right.

Secondly, I live at home. I may have the freedoms of any other adult: I can have a girl in my bed overnight and stay at a girl's house... but you better not wake my parents!

Third, I'm a jerk. That's right, I said it. The awful things I've done by no means compensate for the good things. Just ask "Laini" how I treated her but she always came back, or ask "Vana" the mean things I said to her but she still talks to me. Or how about any of the other mean things I said in that infamous post? I'm sure you can pick them out.

Fourth, I'm an introverted, hopeless romantic. Let's not mince words here, that really just means I'm shy and horney.

Fifth, I have escapist tendancies. You'll often find me daydreaming. Thing just seem so much better in your head don't they? My life sucks so bad I'd rather be dreaming out endless possibilities where I actually have good things happen to me. So instead of dealing with important things in my life, I'm in the fantasy world of wistful daydreams, books, and video games.

Sixth, I'm a slob. This is evident upon entering my room.

And finally, I'm just not worth the effort. The enigma of Bill is beyond the comprehension of some. My world view is a mash of philosophic and spiritual beliefs, bitter realizations, and lofty ideals brewed to make a creamy stout. Meaning: If I was a beer, I would be a dark brew, smooth and mysterious, creamy and distinguished, a hard flavor with an eminent aftertaste, enjoyed by the beer lover of the finest taste. Wait a minute... I must be thinking about Guiness. Forget the analogy with beer. I'm really probably a pale ale or something German like Hacker-Pschorr. But uh, well, I think I proved my point. I don't understand it either.

Welp, I suppose you'll really have to decide for yourself. I'm not really as bad as I say I am (I think? I hope?) but truly everyone has different opinions of me for their own reasons. I'm just having fun.

EXTRAVAGANZA

(From the top left, clockwise: Will, Me(duh), Ryan, Laruell, Emily. Credit to Will on these pics.)
It's important, when celebrating birthdays, to have lots of fun. Celebrating mine and other's was quite an experience this year. My birthday was March 7th. Emily had her 21st birthday on the 2nd. On Saturday the 4th together with Will, Ryan, and Laurell we set off on the 6:07 train to New York for a night of drinking in the city.

Giving the play by play of a night in the city would feel kinda dry (I think Will realized too), so I'll just kinda photo-blog it and give you some amusing anecdotes.

The first bar we went to, The Darkroom I think it was called, had a gay bartender. He wasn't really flaming but it was obvious he was gay because of the bandanna or neckercheif or whatever tied around his neck. We asked him to take a group shot of us and we told him it was both mine and Emily's birthday's. He gives Emily a kiss on the cheek and as he's shaking my hand Ryan is like "Why don't you give him a kiss!" I wanted to fucking kill him. Thankfully he only touched his cheek to mine because I'm sure if there was any more contact Ryan would have suffered the consequences.


There was one bartender who made Emily cry. We ordered five Jager-bombs and it cost us $45. That's $9 for one drink if your too slow for math. Ryan was incredulous, "This better be the best fucking Jager-bomb I've ever had!" he says. Apparently the bartender thought we we're cheap (which we are) and he tells Ryan something like go drink at home and Ryan says something like it'd probably be cheaper. I was right there and this exchange was not very heated. However, the bartender made us all leave when he refused to give Emily a drink, "You can blame your friend there" he says. Now, I've never ran a bar in the city but I know enough about customers to know that that is not how you treat people. Emily was fucking crying because of that jerk! Happily, Emily calmed down and even remarked that she thought it was a cool bar. Figure that out. We moved on to a place called The Library. It didn't have nearly as many books as our hometown Mullany's but it was enough to name the bar such. I though it was a pretty cool place, the jukebox was playing some good tunes. We went to one other bar called B-side that I also thought was cool. We got to our hotel room at about 4:30am.



And what hotel experience would be complete without jumping on the beds?I love this one:
Somehow, Ryan gave Emily a high five and she was launched into lamp as reinacted here.





Emily attacks as her alter-ego "Ron":

We finally all passed the fuck out around 9am. We had set the alarm for 11 so we could catch the 1:oo train home. I tried everything I could to rouse everyone else but the girls proved to be tough sleepers. I wasn't going to splash water in anyone's face but of course, we missed the train by 20 minutes.

The city was a great time. Then, Wednesday the 8th, I went to Henry J's in Chester to drink with some friends at work. It was two other people's birthday's as well as mine.

I was continuously fed drinks all night. Now, I've never had a problem with free drinks but I didn't refuse a single one and therefore... blacked out.

My memory becomes very spotty trying to recall my night. I remember taking a shot of Jager.... Having a big mac in my hand thinking it belonged to someone else.... And putting band-aids on my face and hand.The worst part about injuring my face was that I don't remember doing it. Today at work I was able to get a few more details about my faceplant. Now keep in mind that this is all stuff I heard from other people because I don't remember any of it:

• I went to McDonalds for food.
• Stepping (jumping?) over the curb, I fell, clutching the cheeseburgers. I managed to save the burgers but at the cost of my face and right palm.
• I did what is described as "pig rolls" on the asphalt.
• Back at the bar I'm eating cheeseburgers with a napkin pressed to my wounded face.
  
• I did four or five more shots. One of them was apparently a body shot. I still can't believe I could forget that part!

I had a ton of comments and questions about my face at work today. I told everyone I got in a fight with the asphalt and the asphalt won. Once, as I was saying that, Mike (who filled me in with most of these details) said somthing like:

"Nah. I was there, he threw down. He won."