If I ever want to finish a screenplay or manuscript I guess I’ll have to pay someone to stand next to me with a gun pointed at my head at all times.

I’m so embarrassed by how bad this research paper is turning out. I’m not a formal writer. I can’t write formally. I like to picture what I write wearing a t-shirt they got at some concert and cut off shorts. All my teachers want me to write with a tuxedo on. Tuxedo writing sounds so fake. If you write it with a tuxedo then you have to read it with a tuxedo, you know? And some people can’t afford tuxedos!

Sorry. That’s how I’m starting to feel about films. I love the idea of the surreal, unconventional films. I love films that break the rules. At least I think I do. I’ve always liked the idea that films exist that break all the rules of narrative, but when I actually find these films they turn out to be three hours. Three hour monsters that are just daunting to watch. Black and white, maybe. They break all the rules of films so severely that one can argue that they’re no longer films.

The Fountain felt that way to me. It was one giant metaphor (allegory, simile, motif…whatever. It was one of those words I didn’t learn in my Literature class) thing that didn’t feel like a film. It felt like an exercise in filmmaking. It took a lot of thinking for me to finally “get it” (and I’d like to add that I didn’t need any outside help for me to “get it”), and when I did, when it finally clicked, I just sat there and thought, “that’s it? I sat through all that and…that’s it?”

I don’t know what I wanted out of it. Did I want to never be able to crack the film? Of course not. That would drive me insane.

I don’t want to be too harsh on The Fountain. There were a lot of budget issues, so a lot of the original plans for the film were cut. Maybe if I saw the original plan, maybe then I’d really like it. 

There’s another thing. Friggin “Art” has separated “liking” something and “appreciating” something. I just found myself thinking, “I didn’t like The Fountain, but I appreciated it.” I’m not even sure if I knew what I meant by that. I thought it, though.

This is all spilling out because I saw the movie Synecdoche, New York yesterday. It was written and directed by Charlie Kaufman (wrote Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind, Being John Malkovich). It’s weird. Everything is a symbol for everything else. I didn’t “get it” on my first viewing and part of me is afraid of the day when I finally do. Even though I didn’t understand what all was going on I knew that it was depressing.

I liked the movie. I’m not sure if I appreciate it yet, though. Is that one possible? Can I do that? 

It’ll take a few more viewings, and a lot of deep dark soul searching for me to know for sure. Now there’s a positive to these “artsy” films. It’s something I’ve always felt about films in general. Your opinion on if it’s good or bad should partly come from a personal place. Sure you can weigh in how awesome and witty the dialogue is, or how the camera work is referencing some french new wave film that blah blah blah…

But what about you? I think you should have something emotionally invested in your favorite films. But that’s just me.

I don’t know where that dream even came from. The dream was just us cuddling for a while and then I was suddenly out in some parking lot with an angel trying to convince my high school math teacher not to kill himself. We succeeded.

It was a weird dream. 

I blame it on my being sick. I blame my being sick on Facebook not working last night. I tried to log in several times (I had this whole bit in my earlier draft of this blog post about Facebook not working, but I was an idiot and closed the word document without saving. You’re not going to get the bit. I’m too lazy) but the dern thing wouldn’t let me in.  I needed in. I have picture comments to comment on. I had friend requests to deny. I didn’t get to do any of it. I spent the night Facebook-less and I woke up this morning feeling miserable. Coincidence? I really hope so. If it’s not then my life has hit a new level of pathetic.

So now I’m sick. I’m sick and I need to write an essay. I’m sick and I need to write an essay, and figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. Then I need to write the script for a stage production I hope to do this summer. Also find a job. Get some sleep. Do laundry. Study for some tests……..that should take, what, an hour?

I have no reason to complain. 

I take that back.

My reason to complain: I have a blog.

Wish List:

Every album by the Decemberists

Every album by Sufjan Stevens

Every album by Mountain Goats

Sun Giant by The Fleet Foxes

Cease to Begin by Band of Horses

Barenaked Ladies are Me by Barenaked Ladies

Reconstruction Site by The Weakerthans

Girls and Boys by Ingrid Michaelson

I’m sure there are others, but those are the only ones I can think of.

The other day I went to this record store called Good Records. It’s owned by the guy that started the awesome band Polyphonic Spree. It was awesome being in there. It made me want to work at a record store and be a music snob almost as much as watching High Fidelity. 

If that record store wasn’t so far away I’d want to get a job there.

Me: Hi.

Her: Hi.

Me: Boyfriend?

Her: What?

Me: Do you have a boyfriend.

Her: …

Me: It’s just that I have several different things I could say next, and I don’t really want to waste them if it turns out you have a boyfriend.

Her: Oh. No, I don’t.

Me: Husband?

Her: Nope.

Me: Lesbian?

Her: Is the question do I have a lesbian or am I lesbian?

Me: Both. Either one.

Her: No to both.

Me: Cool. Um. Do you find me at all attractive?

Her: Well…

Me: You know what, don’t answer that question. Terrible question. Here’s a better question, would you at all be offended if I flirted with you?

Her: I don’t think so.

Me: Good. Congratulations, you just passed the quiz. 

Her: I’m glad to hear it.

Me: And, uh, how am I doing?

Her: I give you a B+ for creativity.

Me: Hmmm. Want to know something funny?

Her: What?

Me: I’ll probably never ask you out, or anything like that. I just like the way you look at me, and I wanted to make sure there was nothing tainting it or anything. You know? Eh, it’s stupid.

Her: It’s also kind of a waste, don’t you think?

Me: Yeah. I guess it is.

Sounds pretty good, right? Well it does to me! Sadly, with my luck it would most likely go like this…

Me: Boyfriend?

Her: Yup.

Me: See ya’.

Music: John Lennon’s Acoustic album. It’s what I’m listening to right now. This is the first time I’ve heard it and the thing’s pretty durn cool. That is, except for the song “Cold Turkey.” With less than 50 seconds left in the song Lennon turns it into a terrible experience for everyone involved (including his own throat). Also the deeper I get into this album I feel more and more that Lennon is very upset with me and the rest of the world. It’s making me uncomfortable. Maybe you shouldn’t listen to this…

Activity: Go Bowling. Haven’t done it in a long time, right? I know! Me too! Let’s go together. It’s so much fun and while you’re there at the bowling alley you always say to yourself “this is a blast. Why don’t I do this more often.” Yeah. Good times.

So up until five minutes ago I was fine with the idea of never posting a new blog again. I accepted the fact that I’m terrified of long term relationships…with blogs, I mean. Yeah. With blogs.

The only real relationship I was in had the most anti-climactic ending ever. Get this: we just stopped talking. One night I didn’t call (I called every night) and that caused a ripple effect that was our downfall. I didn’t call. Then I didn’t give her a ride to school the next day. Then I didn’t talk or see her during school. Then I didn’t call her again then next night. How lame is that? We just stopped. There was no break-up speech. There was no mess. There was no week of recuperating. There was nothing. And you can’t go blaming this whole thing on me. She could’ve tried to keep the thing moving, but she didn’t. The only thing she ever did was send me a text a month later that said “it sucks we don’t talk anymore.” I sent back, “yeah. It does.” The end of that.

Then Five Minutes ago happened. I went to my blog to see if I could steal a few jokes from myself for something I’m trying to write. I read a post and enjoyed myself. The enjoyment was a motivator. I am motivated.

Where have I been? What have I been doing? Nowhere. Nothing. I’ve watched at least 24 movies in the past 19 days. Blockbuster has this new deal where you can rent a movie for 99 cents. I’m sure in the long run still wasting as much as I was when movies were more than a dollar…but I’m not one who does the math.

Today I go to eat at Chipotle. It’s a great meal. I drive back to my dorm. I get diarrhea. I’m not surprised. I did just eat Chipotle, after all. I gently place my diarrhea in the toilet. 

“Before I go,” said the Diarrhea, “could I have one phone call?”

“Sure.” I said. I pulled out my phone and handed it to diarrhea. Suddenly I realized it: Diarrhea doesn’t have anyone to call! This is a trap! When I realized it it was too late. My phone had been under “dirty” water for too long. My phone was ruined.

How It Really Went Down:

I got diarrhea. I was sitting on the toilet bored so I played some music off my phone. My selection of music was slim since I hadn’t added any new songs since I got the phone. “Online Song” by Blink 182 is what I played. I rested the phone on my knee. The phone fell.

I swear it was in slow motion. It was so strange. And instead of rushing to grab the phone for ruin I just watched it. I sat and watched and thought, “you’ve got to be kidding me.” 

Plurp! (that’s the sound of it hitting the water)

Did I jump into action then? No. I still sat there. “Is it really worth diving my hand in there?” I thought. Seconds past. I decided it was. I grabbed it. But it was too late.

Ruined.

Today sucks.

Oh and it has been fun, this day of sickness, and I have charished every moment of it. HOORAY!

Let’s cut the crap. I’m miserable. The problems with my body and the aches were one thing, but the thought process I had a few seconds ago made me realize how miserable I really am.

Here’s what I thought.:

“Why couldn’t I have gotten sick on the weekend? I can’t miss my friggin classes.”

When I thought this Elementary School Taylor stopped coloring immediately, stood up and ran to tell Jr. High Taylor. He spit out all of his cherry 7UP onto his pants, making a mess. He ran every where to find High School Taylor. Finally he found him in the theatre (that guy’s always in there) and told him. High School Taylor cursed loudly, and took off his pants. Everyone laughed and forgot what they were so shocked.

College has messed with who I am. It is destroying the slacker in me. No. That’s not true. He’s making me realize how dumb “slacker Taylor is.” He’s still here. He’s still “doin’ his thing,” but now he’s frustrating me more and more. 

Tomorrow I’ll wake up, rue the day before it even starts, go to class, realize I forgot to do something or other, go “oops,” and not think of it again. I’ll eat lunch in the cafeteria. I’ll probably get the same thing I get every time because their selection is the same as CHOOSING TETRIS PIECES! Then I’ll go to my room. Sit. Nap. Sit some more. Yell at my internet connection. Play around with the guitar and garageband. Realize I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to recording music. Get mad at my brother. Sit some more. Complain about college to my roommate. Laugh at the dumb things he says. Sleep.

Rense, and repeat. And repeat. and repeat. and repeat. 

Until I get my diploma.

God help me.

You’re lucky I don’t play World of Warcraft (“WOW” for those in the know) because there would probably be twelve more paragraphs about how the streaming limit is re-to-the-dickles because I “gotta have my fix!”

I’m not saying I don’t need my fixin’z (street cred +1), because I do. It’s just not as unhealthy as a WOW craving. At least I hope it isn’t. All I need my streaming for is:

          -youtube videos

          -movie trailers

          -new music

          -old music

          -episodes of TV shows that I missed

And to get all these things I’ve come to a coffee shope (fancy pants points +1 for use of “the fancy e”) attached to a Hastings. That’s right, I’m “one of those guys” with their laptops and their smug looks as they type away on some waste of time document just to make them look important. This is my waste of time document.

So. Here I am at the Hastings Coffee shop place. There’s a girl to the right of me. She’s sitting alone and I’m pretty sure she’s attractive. I’m not a 100% on that. Like I discussed with someone earlier today- it takes me a full 60 seconds to decide if I find a girl attractive or not. Compare it to a cheeseburger! In the first second of the first bite of a cheeseburger you have no idea if it’s good or not. You gotta leave it in your mouth and chew for a while. I have to put a girls looks in my mouth and chew for a while. Wait. No. Weird.

Anyways. Here I am, a student who has been brain washed by his Christian college, thinking “my God, this woman could be my future wife.”

That was a joke. A joke and a complete fabrication. I don’t expect to marry her. I was merely thinking “how would one go about ‘hitting on’ a pretty girl in a coffee shop?

‘Hitting on a gal’ in the first is awkward to the max to me. But I don’t know this one at all. The only thing I know we have in common is that we need free wifi. Do I start off with that? 

“I see you like the internet.” -Smooth move, Steve. 

Let me explain “Steve.” Taylor is I and I is Taylor BUT when it comes to anything to do with girls or male hormones it’s no longer me. It’s Steve. Steve is just like me but he has a swinging ‘stache (that’s mustache for all those lame-heads out there). It really isn’t significant but it gives me someone else besides myself to blame when I screw up with a girl. 

There are several pick-up lines I thought would work wonderfully in a movie. I don’t mean they’d work, I just think they’d sound cool.

Here’s one.:

“If I was less of a chicken I’d totally hit on you right now.” Bam. That’s movie trailer worthy. And then the girl can respond with either “that’s a shame, because if you weren’t such a chicken I’d totally go right along.” OR if she wants to turn him down she can say “it’s a good thing you’re a chicken.” 

Whatever. It’s not worth my time. I’d probably freak the poor girl out. A rape whistle would sound and I’d never see her again. I guess that’s the part of that really messes with me. You see someone, on the road, in a coffee shop, and then you’ll never see them again. It could be a guy waiting in line at a movie theatre who references your favorite movie. You want to say something to him. You don’t. You never see him again. 

Why pass up those situations? If you go for them, talk to the guy in front of you, say hello to the pretty girl? You might get to see them again if you do, and if it goes terribly wrong you can thank your lucky stars you’ll never see them again.

I was at Six Flags with a group of friends. It was the greatest day of summer, but that’s a different story. We were getting a ride and the girl checking our safety harnesses was really attractive. Me and one other guy sure thought so. When she checks my safety bar (maturity points +1 for holding back and not using a sexual innuendo) I say, “thank you pretty lady.” She smiled. I smiled. And when we got back to the “loading station” she was still smiling. Then we left and I never saw her again. I should have said something else. I didn’t. 

And now there’s this girl and this coffee shop. All I know is that she likes the Great Gatsby because her shirt is a recreation of the book cover. I’ll never see her again after tonight. What do I do? 

I’m sorry if I’m making this sound more important than it really is. I do that when I’m listening to good music. Throughout writing this blog I was listening to Ingrid Michaelson‘s myspace playlist and The Submarines‘ myspace playlist. They gave me a sense of urgency. Blame it on them.

Now if you’d excuse me, it’s my move.