Lately, I’ve felt compelled to watch the new television show, Lost. I find it so incredibly addictive now, when originally it seemed like some sort of Survivor-related mistake. And yet, now, I can’t be drawn away from it. The acting is so good. The script is mind-boggling in its confusion, and yet you feel cemented to the cold surface of your television screen hoping the end of the episode will bring about some insightful tidbit of information.

I’m hurriedly downloading episodes I missed to satisfy my newfound addiction to the show. As soon as they are finished, I will heat them up and inject them into my veins for a quick fix for my withdrawl.

Yes. Withdrawl. Until Lost, television was beginning to suck. And not just a mild suck, like a plunger. But, hugely sucking, like the vacuum of space.

Years ago, I would have been ranting and raving over the exciting premise of the television series, 24. Now, the show is chalk-full of terrible storylines and moronic actors that I just can’t enjoy watching it like I used to. As far as I am concerned, 24 ended promptly after Season 1, and has not continued since.

As for the mention of naked scientists in this title, well, that’s not about television. That’s about my social life. Yes, despite being an overzealous computer nerd, I do have a social life…

Today, I wrote a chemistry test. I’m quite confident about it. Unfortunately, my confidence is all supporting the overwhelming fact of my failure on the test. The term work and the tests we write are so completely unrelated that my mind feels as if it is boiling inside of my head. While writing the test, I look around nervously hoping that no one will see when it explodes with a strange concussive force. The questions all make sense during the term work. Then the test comes, and the questions are so ridiculous:

1. If you have 22.5 mol/L of an unknown acid, what colour of pants was Robert Millikan wearing when he discovered the charge on an electron?

Where is the connection!?

Perhaps he was wearing blue jeans, or black slacks. Maybe he had just gotten out of bed and wasn’t wearing pants at all? How do I know that he wasn’t in his laboratory, stark naked, trying to catch oil drops between two charged plates? I can’t be sure. But I’ll have to scribble down some incredible lunacy in order to get a good mark. Otherwise, I’ll be sure to receive a swift beating from my teacher, as she tries to convince me that we did cover these concepts, and I’m just an incredibly dense chimpanzee for not understanding.

And of course, I’ll smile and nod. All the while I’ll be thinking of how delightful it would be to show the world what an incompetent clod she is. You can tell she doesn’t understand the material she is teaching. When she defines terms, she includes the term in the definition.

Electron: A small charged electron.

Here. Have a Nobel Prize. It is amazing that this is the standard of education in this country. It makes a slight thrill of nausea run up and down the inner layer of my esophagus, until all of her utter nonsense is excreted from my mouth into some crusted basin.

Too graphic for you? My apologies. But I warned you about coming into the box. I warned you. If all my ramblings are crazy, then please, avoid the man with the hand stamp on your way out.

Today is January 16th.

January 16th is my birthday.

Not a single one of my friends has wished me a birthday, with any form of preceding emotion.

Even if they had phoned my house and said, “Hey, Jordan, have a God awful birthday. I hope you fall into a hole and die!” it would have been sufficient. At least, I would have known they had remembered my birthday. Now, I feel neglected and unloved.

The meter has rolled over. I’m 18 now. An age of voting, and driving, and etc. An age where the world is my oyster provided I have something to crack it open with.

Unfortunately, I am not partial to shellfish.

It is hard to believe that only 7 hours remain in today, and my friends have not even hinted that we will do anything as a group. When Binkle’s birthday rolled in back in July, we had a party with cakes and movies and stuff. For mine, I’ve spent most of the day sitting at my house waiting for my phone to ring, or for my computer to beep incessentally.

Many of you probably find this incredibly stupid. You’re probably sitting at home by your desktops thinking, why doesn’t he just call them up? Well, that’s because I shouldn’t have to. On your birthday, you aren’t supposed to phone people and say, “Hey, I was born today. Have you anything to say to me?”

No. It’s not like that.

I’m not supposed to prompt them. It isn’t my job to hold up cue cards in front of their face, or have the teleprompter on repeat until they get it right. That’s foolishness.

The worst part is, I know they forgot. It’s not that they know and are just avoiding me. They forgot. A few days ago, we were all sitting down to lunch, and Amy asked me, “Jordan, your birthday is coming up, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like…the 21st, or something. Right?”

This is when Binkle chimed in with,

“No. It’s on the 18th.”

Naturally, they were both wrong. My two friends had descended down to the level of apes and were trying, in vain, to create fire from a piece of rubber and a grain of sand. I’m sure that, in no time, they would develop the wheel out of a paper bag.

Since both of them were wrong, and I was too irritated to tell them when my birthday really was, they resorted to a strange and contorted new low. They stole my wallet, because within it was my Driver’s License.

They had to steal from me to know my birthday.

Shameful.

I wasn’t as pissed off at Binkle. I know he’s absent-minded. He can hardly remember his own phone number. But Amy…Amy was different.

Amy was a person I had cared about once, and she had cared about me. Now, we had degraded to the standing where she couldn’t remember my birthday. I remembered hers. Vividly. January 27th, 1988, she was brought into the world. According to her, I was brought into the world on January 21st, 1987. Maybe she doesn’t even know the year. Maybe, in her eyes, I’m a child of the sixties.

It makes me shudder to think of how they could forget my birthday.

Recently, at the request of Dean, I have been playing Resident Evil 2. It is a good game. Ridiculously short (I beat it twice in one day), but gripping nontheless.

Don’t get me wrong. The graphics are terrible. And I find it difficult to believe that all citizens of Raccoon City wear the same attire. But, I guess that’s the way games were before the new millenium rolled around. We certainly were behind on the times.

Soon, I will move on to Resident Evil 3. I am hoping Capcom didn’t cheapen the gameplay. I already know Jill Valentine isn’t garbed in proper Zombie hunting clothes. Apparently, you can battle an army of T-Virus junkies in simply your shortest mini-skirt and a tube top.

Good for her.

My writing is continuing at a sluggish rate. Every chapter trickles like molasses towards completion.

I’m also reading Sherlock Holmes. Arthur Conan Doyle was truly a brilliant writer. If you haven’t read his stuff already, then I suggest you promptly find a copy of The Adventures and Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. It is a gripping read.

Anyway, goodbye to one and all for now. I must be off, to finish a chemistry lab. If any of you have knowledge of solutions and solubility, as well as Ksp values, feel free to contact me.

Granite

After making my most recent entry to this blog (now my second more recent entry), I realised that I had a comment on my entry about Christmas Eve. Following my discovery of this strange new creature, a conclusion slapped me in the face like a bag full of potatoes. Someone had been inside the box…and yet I hadn’t known about it.

I’m willing to concede the fact that the things I talk about here are not terribly interesting. They entertain or grieve me enough to write about them. In addition to this delightful gift to the world, I am also allowing strangers I have never met, and probably never will meet, to read my thoughts and musings about my life and (to a more limited extent) the world.

Thanks to the Celtic Witch for being the first to comment on anything in this crazy blog.

I am now inspired to read some others on the site.

With New Years Eve just around the bend, a new emotion has been brought to the front of the crowd. My friends and I began arrangements for our new annual custom, the New Years Eve gaming party.

We begin by eating dinner at a Chinese buffet. Nothing fancy. Just good food with good friends at a low cost is the idea. Besides, Chinese food kicks ass and anyone who disagrees must be eating complete rubbish.

Anyway, afterwards we will be attending a friends house to play a large pile of video games non stop until 2 AM. Pretty nonsensical. Clearly. But we’re doing it anyway.

This year, there will actually be two girls permeating our nerdly midst. First of all, there is Amy who I have mentionned in previous log entries that have since been deleted. She is coming as Andrew’s date, as they have been boyfriend and girlfriend for six months now. They will arrive to dinner, and leave before midnight. Apparently, in their little universe the year rolls over before midnight. Why they are leaving, I don’t know. Andrew stayed past midnight last year. I imagine they are doing something together.

In addition, Binkle is finally unveiling his lady friend to us all. The girl simply known as “Erin” will be coming to dinner with us, attending the party, and then spending the night at Binkle’s house. Erin and Binkle have become ridiculously close, and may even be dating (as far as I know). Anyway, she is taking a two hour drive to spend time with us (or with him, but with good reason). I’m really happy for Binkle. Originally, there were huge transportation issues in getting her down here, but they have since been resolved.

Anyway, because my two best friends both have girlfriends, I feel kind of left out. A little foolish actually. They all have unique qualities that have appealed to someone, whereas I am attending this New years party sans fille. This is depressing. I’m glad Binkle has “found” someone. I’m sure Erin is a great person (at least from talking to her she seems to enjoy or at least pleasantly tolerate my sense of humour). Nevertheless, I can’t help thinking about my girlfriend deficit.

I’m happy for Binkle and Andrew, but depressed for me.

Happy New Year…I guess.

When I had intended to begin this post, the day was December 23rd. However, time flies when you are looking up information on Phantasy Star Online. Anywho, today is Christmas Eve. Now, there is a phrase I have never quite been able to understand. How can Christmas Eve be an entire day? I always thought it was the evening before Christmas. Or, does it mean the coming of Christmas.? Truthfully, I no longer care. I lose interest in my foolish ramblings quite quickly.

Anyway, here I am. Sitting here in the first few minutes of Christmas Eve. My DS has been nestled into its spot on the shelf, because of those last few stars in Rainbow Ride of Super Mario 64 DS (a shorter title would have been prefered). Never have I been so angry at a small piece of metal and plastic. Nevertheless, I kept my cool and the DS kept itself in one piece. We’ve decided to take some time apart.

It is, for this exact reason, that I am here now.

Recently, it has come to my attention that people do not like Santa Claus taking precedence over Jesus at Christmas. My apologies. I should never generalize to that extreme. There are, in fact, a precious few who aren’t complete morons. If you are not a moron, pat yourself on the back and go by yourself a beer (or if underaged, your favourite flavoured milkshake). Santa doesn’t detract from Jesus’ importance. Any Christian who celebrates Christmas knows that the kid in the manger came before the man in the sleigh.

These are sad times.

Anyway, I’m greatly looking forward to Christmas. I’m hoping everyone likes the gifts I purchased them. They were pricy. However, it wasn’t the money put in that I hope marvels them. What I am hoping for is that they will realise the gifts I purchased them are things they’ve wanted all year, and for one reason or another, couldn’t obtain. My mothers gift should be especially touching…

Merry Christmas.

For any new and foolish readers, I have taken the liberty of deleting all Amy related blog entries. That entire summer is a chapter of my life I would rather not remember any longer. It was painful, and some of the entries inspired within me emotions that should have died long ago. Please be advised that it is no loss to anyone reading. The “Amy Saga” is passed.

Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.