Spew
Special Schmierbach Edition
Okay, in case you didn't know, a person named Mike Schmierbach writes the editorials for the Emerald. They are bad editorials. Very bad. After reading his web page, now we know why. He is a neurotic freak. In case you think we are taking this out of context, please direct your browsers to http://gladstone.uoregon.edu/~treznor (Yes, his email address is treznor as in Trent, as in Nine Inch Nails. Yes, that is the lamest goddamn thing we've ever heard of). He puts his journal on this web page. Here are some choice excerpts. And let this be a lesson to you all: Don't put your diary on the web.
On Writing Editorials
I often wonder if people think I know what I'm talking about. There really is no logical purpose to a lot of the gibberish to come out of my keyboard, but if I act authoritative enough, there's always a few suckers gullible enough to believe I know which end I shit out of.Do you ever feel like you spend half your life making commentary and the other half trying to explain it away? I'm sure that I spend more than half explaining it away, so I wouldn't really be able to associate.
This may seem irrelevant, like I'm only trying to fill space, but I've managed to think of enough things on this subject to fill a reasonably large amount of space.
I confess that I don't know what I'm doing. Don't know what I'm writing, don't know what I'm thinking, don't know if I'm going over the edge or if it just seems like an attractive and glamorous option.
A whole page to take care of every day, and none of it has to involve "reporting." This is cool. I can't buy a date, but spouting off on random political and social topics. This I can do. [sic]
I don't know if I was right. I don't think it's especially important to be right.
On His Sex Life (or Lack Thereof)
But this is pathetic. Even as I attempt to validate myself and my singular existence, I dwell upon my status in the great jostle for sexual companionship. Fuck that. I have so much more to offer this world than sperm donor, why should I worry if no one is asking for the use of my penis? What I should worry about is when they don't ask for use of my mind, and the very act of reading this is a much appreciated request for some tiny slice of my mental capacities.But I'm alone, and a person shouldn't drink alone, so I figure I'll subject you to my sadness, whether it be seasonal affected disorder, sleep deprivation, or lack of sex.
Sometimes I think that I need to move to a monestary [sic].
I honestly believe there are people out there who don't really know what it is like to go months, years, or lifetimes without so much as being asked out, and I'm a little bitter about it.
What am I doing wrong? I don't know--if I did I probably wouldn't be doing it. And that's really what frustrates me most. It's not like I can do anything, but I've always managed to do okay at the things I was interested in. Well, usually. But this [sex] is certainly something I'm interested in, and for all my efforts I've no clue what I've ever done right, or how to do it in the future. Suggestions?
Notably, "get laid" is sitting a ways down there as well. Gotta set some unreachable goals, because otherwise you get done, pack up, and go home, and home these days includes a sink full of dishes. It doesn't include a woman. I'm not sure what the solution is, but I think it might involve large sums of cash which I can't afford to shell out.
Rejection is one thing, but perpetual lack of opportunity is quite another. Premptive [sic] turn-downs, I guess you could call it. Well, not really. Just a variety of conspiring circumstances. I'm a real conspiracy buff.
If I were in a relationship, I would at least be important to one person, but right now the closest I come to being in love is being annoying.
And sex? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Let's see. Shannon had a date the other night. Not with me.
Don't you think if I could be different, I would? Don't you think I'd love to be more masculine if it didn't make me feel like, well, a Clinton-Democrat? Don't you think I'd love to get laid sometime this millenium?
All I know is that on Monday my coach will probably be mad at me because I told my partner I didn't want to debate with her again, and that I don't really care, because I'm too busy looking for Kleenex. (Okay, so we took this one out of context--he was sick. But you weren't surprised he would have said this were you?)
I need an ego boost very badly. I need someone to flirt with me.
On I Don't Believe You
I'm proud to report I am now aware of the reality of female orgasm, a major stumbling block in my earlier sexual existence.
On See Directly Above
Perhaps I should just hook up some kind of direct line to the bladder and be rid of the damn thing. Why not live up to people's expectations? It might be easier.
On Just How Desperate Is He?
In the end, though, it's a really cute, really friendly kitty, and I'm glad I finally have a companion who will sleep with me.I mean, my cat is soft and fuzzy, but he doesn't make a lot of jokes, so he only fills half that companionship role.
On The Man in the White Coat Has Everything You Need
Killing feels good, I'm afraid to say. Luca and I were having a conversation today, and we agreed that everyone wants to kill, and the crazy people are the ones who do it. Which, by the way, is what makes insanity something of an absurd defense.Nevertheless, I've been having a lot of thoughts about murder lately. It's not that there are any people in my life I would like to see dead--far from it. It's more of the random excitement factor.
In Dairy Queen I was flipping coins to determine who lived and who died. I'm afraid that a rather tragic number came up tails. (I'll leave it to you to imagine whether tails corresponded to life or death. It all depends upon your definition of tragedy.)
On Public Incrimination
So, I'm sitting at a desk belonging to one of the "adult" members of the Emerald staff, when I open the stout. Bubbles and beer pour out of the bottle, onto the desk, and continue to flow down to the floor.
On Not Bloody Likely
So, if anyone out there reading this page finds me attractive, let me know. A guy has to take his chances where he can.