The Jets will finish 11-5 this season.

And that's the bottom line, because Magi said so.

*cue theme Music*

If you're reading this journal, you've been wondering where I've been the past couple of weeks or how my first days of freedom as a college freshman have gone. Needless to say, I've thoroughly enjoyed myself through partaking in a dangerous combination of reading, writing, arithmetic, getting jacked out of my mind, 2:00 AM fire drills, wild and sloppy orgies (sorry BC), and much much more. However, at the end of the day it's the work that really counts, and I've spent quite a while (the past hour) crafting fine-tuned masterpieces such as the one below -- my first college essay! The topic involved making a 1-2 page self-assessment of both yourself and your writing ability, which I believe I accomplished with flying colors. Don't expect anything Michael Jackson-caliber here, but get ready for some damn good writing and a closer look at the man behind the Magi name.

The State of My Writing

 The self-assessment is a useful and accessible tool not only for examining one’s strengths and weaknesses, but also for developing a better understanding for who one really is. Featuring an endless amount of topical possibilities, self-assessments may range from evaluations of one’s artistic ability to considerations of one’s zebra riding skills. However, in order to achieve success in such an endeavor, one must examine and recognize all facets of his being – the good, the bad, and the ugly – and strive to both capitalize on his strengths and remedy his inadequacies. Writing is a unique topic in the sense that no matter how well-versed one is in the subject, he always has room for improvement. While my academic surroundings and personal activities have benefited my development as a writer, not even my mother, who has hammered grammatical rules into me since my infancy, has rendered me an exception to this standard. Such an upbringing has made me a talented writer, yet my improvement potential remains boundless, a fact that I must capitalize on throughout my college experience.

 Harnessing this potential should prove to be an interesting and difficult task because my greatest strengths and weaknesses as a reader, writer, and thinker are intertwined. On one hand, I believe that my imagination in each of these fields is my strongest suit. I constantly strive to spin my words in such a way that I can both surprise the reader and maintain his interest. The same holds true with my preferences as a reader in the sense that I favor creative writing that may or may not border on the outlandish. This creativity, coupled with sound grammatical techniques and a willingness to explore virtually any subject, gives my writing a style and flow that is uniquely my own. 

  Unfortunately, my creativity is both a blessing and a curse in writing, as well as in everything else I do. My spontaneous style often evokes my personality’s self-indulgent side, the one that wanders off on random (albeit interesting) tangents when it should be focusing more important tasks at hand. This self-indulgence also manifests itself in my writing through unnecessary wordiness, wild compound-complex sentence structures, disinterest in thoroughly editing my work, occasional tirades about the New York Mets’ pitching staff or Michael Jackson’s mansion in essays where neither subject bears any relevance, and a general lack of organization. However, as a fat boy enjoys inhaling dozens of luscious, onion-laden hamburgers at White Castle, I too take pleasure in indulging myself. As a result, I appreciate writing assignments where I am free to use as much fluffy language as I wish, as well as reading material that takes a similar approach. On the other hand, this renders reading and writing experiences that require concise language and attention to detail uninteresting and nearly unbearable to me. Fortunately, I understand that such writing has its merits and that in order to appreciate it I must give it a chance and make an honest effort to try working within its boundaries. 

The college years are not only a time of physical and mental maturation for students, but also for discovering who one really is. Self-assessments are valuable tools for finding one’s true place in the world, and reading, writing, and thinking in general can aid one in reaching this realization. As a writer and a newly instated college freshman, I hope to make the most of my opportunities and to utilize self-assessments like this to constantly evaluate my writing ability and my life as a whole

 

Sometimes I wish that life had an "edit message" button, but at the same time I fail to realize that it does possess a proverbial "preview message" key. At this point in my life, I can no longer be careless and rely on non-existent edit buttons to get by -- I must be more thorough.

Rate my purchases, plz! I started off my morning right with...


One Grande-Sized Vanilla Latte

After that refreshing cup of coffee, I relaxed a bit, paroused through today's paper, and worked out. Following that was a momentous occasion in my life, one that may have been even more important than my 4001st post. After four and a half years of owning my trusty, dusty, and antenna-less Motorola cellphone, I finally put it to rest to buy something completely new.


LG VX6000 Cameraphone

So, after calling a couple of my friends and taking several naked pictures of myself, I figured I'd go out, see the world, and continue buying awesome stuff. Little did I know that the best was yet to come. Two friends and I proceeded to go on a mission to the Salvation Army to find awesome t-shirts. Instead of finding any noteworthy T's, I was shocked to find that one amazing brand name had made a cameo appearance at everybody's favorite thrift store.


Abercrombie and Fitch

No, half-naked male models didn't suddenly come waltzing into the Salvation Army (I was already there and it was 95 degrees out, so that store was hot enough to begin with), but I waltzed out of the store with an awesome pair of Abercrombie Corduroy pants that cost five dollars. Whereas some people pay upwards of 200 dollars for latest trendy designer pants, I paid five for something from the same brand. While God only knows where those pants had been or what happened inside them, I can now die a happy man knowing that I bought Abercrombie pants for five dollars.

After that, I bought a slice of Sicilian pizza.


Minus the pepperoni, of course.

Let the ownage begin!

As one of my biggest heroes, Clint Eastwood never ceases to amaze me. While most A-list Hollywood actors would've thought it a great idea at his age (he turned 75 this May) to take all of their money and pool it towards purchasing a private island or joining an exclusive and extremely expensive cult (ala Tom Cruise), Eastwood continues to be, like so many of his greatest characters, a restless, truth-seeking maverick.



Million Dollar Baby, which Eastwood both starred in and directed, proves no exception to his general rule of thumb -- even in his mid-70's, this man continues to shock audiences by delivering amazing performances as an actor and thought-provoking, imaginitive scenarios as a director. It's no surprise that awesome groups like Gorillaz choose to honor him in song, even if he's wholly unrelated to the subject matter! Check it!

Hey, I'm happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine in a bag
I'm usless but not for long
The future is coming on

Hey, I'm happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine in a bag
I'm usless but not for long
The future is coming on
It's coming on, it's coming on
(Rah, yeah)
It's coming on, it's coming on

Finally someone let me out of my cage
Now time for me is nothin' 'cos I'm counting no age
Now I couldn't be there now you shouldn't be scared
I'm good at repairs and I'm under each snare
Intangible (ah y'all) I bet you didn't think so
I command u to, panoramic view (you)
Look I'll make it all manageable
Pick and choose, sit and lose
All you different crews
Chicks and dudes, who you think is really kicking tunes

Picture you getting down IN A PICTURE TUBE
Like you lit the fuse
You think it's fictional, mystical - maybe
Spiritual hero who appears IN you to clear your view (yeah)
When you're too crazy
Lifeless for THOSE A definition for what life is
Priceless to you because I put ya on the hype shift
Ya like it?
GUN smokin' righteous but one talkin' psychic
Among knows possess you with one though

Hey, I'm happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine in a bag
I'm usless but not for long
The future is coming on

Hey, I'm happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine in a bag
I'm useless but not for long
(That's right)
The future is coming on
It's coming on, it's coming on, it's coming on, it's coming on

The essence, the basics without it you make it
Allow me to make this child like IN nature
Rhythm you have it or you don't
That's a fallacy, I'm in them
Every sprout and tree, every child of peace
Every cloud and sea, you see with your eyes
You see destruction and demise
(That's right)
Corruption in the skies
From this ****ing enterprise that i'm suked into your lies
THROUGH Russell NOT HIS muscles
BUT percussion he provides

WITH ME AS YOUR GUIDE, y'all can see me now
'Cos you don't see with your eye
You perceive with your mind
That's the end (**** em)
So I'm gonna stick around with Russ and be a mentor
Bust a few RHYMES of mother****ers
Remember but the thought is
I brought all this so you can survive when law is lawless(right
here)
FEELINGS, sensations that you thought was dead
No squealing, remember it's all in your head

I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine in a bag
I'm usless but not for long
The future is coming on

Hey, I'm happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine in a bag
I'm usless but not for long
The future is coming on
It's coming on, it's coming on, it's coming on, it's coming
on...

My Future (future)
It's coming on, it's coming on, it's coming on, it's coming
on...
My future
It's coming on, it's coming on, it's coming on, it's coming
on...

Anyway, back to the point I was trying to make, Clint Eastwood is a veritable cinematic God in my opinion.  

Feel free to worship him, post impressions of Million Dollar Baby, or spam in response to this entry! 

But above all, please go out and see Million Dollar Baby.  ;)

Considering how much I neglect this journal, I've decided to update it every now and then with one or more of my writing samples. I took this piece from my Livejournal, which I've also neglected quite a bit lately. In an entry from May 23, I wrote the following:

Please consider the following disclaimer while reading this!

I was not under the influence of Marijuana, Opium, or any other hallucinogen at any point in the past twenty-four hours. In other words, I literally have no idea how I had such a trippy nightmare. Since this is the closest I'll ever come to a Highway 61 Liner Notes experience without experimenting with any foreign, illegal substances, I will tell my tale in a stream-of-consciousness narrative style. God, I hate James Joyce. Now, without further ado, my 115th Dream.

---

drunk and directionless in the city that never sleeps i woozily wandered into a gun store, one that sells dangerous firearms to weapon enthusiasts of any age, regardless of their license or lack thereof. i was with two friends and we all chipped in to purchase a gun, which i, the most liberal and peace-loving of the three, ironically opted to carry in my pocket. they both left but i waited around, unholstering and admiring my shiny new pistol. not unlike jayson williams in his own fated moments, i twirled my piece about my finger, making nothing of the potential danger at hand....then it happened -- i shot and killed a man of about thirty and ran far, far away into the heart of new york city, at which point i called a friend from my aged cellphone and explained my situation, only to have him recommend i "lay low" for a while and "sober up!" always quick to blame someone or something else, i shifted the burden of this brutal murder onto my drunkenness, concluding that the anheuser-busch corporation was to blame, and that i was free of fault....from here i returned home and temporarily forgot about my grim, dire actions and the price that i, or perhaps the beer manufacturers, would ultimately have to pay.

days turned into weeks as time passed and my recollection of the crime began to fade, ever so slowly, into the depths of my memories....however, the event was triggered once again as i strolled through an overly normal village filled to the brim with overly sad, sorry people, one of whom was a particularly angry, brooding individual, somebody who had been emotionally scarred by the inexplicable pain of sudden and tragic loss. staring at this angst-ridden man, my unforgivable wrongdoing resurfaced in the shallows of my thoughts and i stopped dead in my tracks, realizing in disbelief that i alone was responsible for one man's death and an entire population's deep emotional anguish. this same man saw through me and immediately recognized me as the murderer, at which point he put me on trial not in a courtroom, but in a pub filled with angry, drunken locals, all of whom appeared ready to, at a moment's notice, execute a mass attack on me. the prosecutor was no different -- his stinging words flew at me like thousands of rounds fired from a gatling gun, emotional bullets that rendered me a decrepit and incredibly lonely excuse for a human being.

so alone was i that i was deprived of my constitutional right to a defense attorney, a sticky situation that forced both myself and my representative lawyer -- we were one in the same -- to deliver a speech filled with heartfelt comments like "i'll never drink again!" and "damn that adolphus busch...i'll get him, and his little descendants, too!" although my presentation was oh-so-sincere and oh-so-gutwrenching, the alcoholics opted to block me out, focusing their attention on their inner suffering instead of my speech -- indeed, this was but a mere fool's useless, unheard soliloquy. the barroom judge awarded this same fool with the grand prize, sentencing me to the death penalty and subsequently loading me onto a speeding train filled with countless other dejected, deranged death row inmates.

quite a few of these captives clung to their last strands of hope more than others -- one particularly enterprising prisoner went as far as to hack mercilessly at the sides of our vehicle, which continued to speed at a blistering pace toward our collective demise, an end that i had nearly surrendered to at this point in my journey, an end that i willingly and grudgingly accepted, an end that was unfortunately justified given the means i had taken to reach it....just as i reached this miserable conclusion, the bold prisoner ripped open a sizable hole in the train's side, revealing a tunnel that evidently led to someplace better than death row. eager to escape our moving prison's clutches, criminals flocked to this new exit and jumped headfirst into the tunnel, disappearing from view afterwards....yet i remained indecisive, gloomily sitting in my cushy train seat. should i stay or should i go?

i chose the logical answer and went, jumping through the hole and finding myself running, yet again, away from something and toward nothing in particular. this "nothing in particular" eventually took the form of something entirely different than i ever would have expected -- the gigantic, blinking eye of an enormous whale....my eyes met the massive mammal's and we stared at each other momentarily, blinking several times together in the process. i understood that i couldn't look back and that i would finally have to dive headfirst into something, so i prepared to jump yet again and dove -- headfirst into a circular, spiral door that opened and closed rapidly....had i missed my one opportunity to escape? apparently i hadn't, as the spiral door continually opened, revealed the whale's eye again, closed, rinsed, and repeated. "enough!" i yelled to myself, and as my voice echoed throughout the tunnel, i finally took the plunge, a jump that left me stranded in the depths of the sea, floating not toward death, but toward the rising sun, the day ahead of me, and the sounds of sweet, innocent birds chirping outside.

I awoke in a cold sweat at exactly 7:35 this morning, as scared and wholly alive as I had ever been.

---

(Re)Reading this piece, I now realize that it's even more of a work-in-progress than I thought -- if anything, I'd like to at least vary the sentence structure more in the first paragraph and try to further bend this piece's already unorthadox grammatical style. Since I haven't been writing too much outside of the boards lately, I'll at least try to make fine-tuning this entry a project for the next month. As usual, suggestions and any other comments would be greatly appreciated!

In my neverending race around the long and winding track of eternity, life has completely lapped me in two week's time. I need to catch up.

I never cease to amaze myself.

Before lunch today, I thought it'd be a funny idea to run around my Catholic High School screaming that a new Pope had been elected. I rounded up a few of my friends and we began running down each of our school's three floors, screaming "NEW POPE!!" at the top of our lungs.

When questioned about the nationality of the brand spankin' new Pontiff, we claimed that he was Filipino.

Sure enough, by the time lunch rolled around, at least half of Chaminade's 1600 students were abuzz about our next fearless leader.

Only a select few knew that we were joking.

Amazingly, ten minutes later, an announcement came through the loudspeakers -- HABEMUS PAPEM!! WE HAVE A POPE!

At this point, I still believed I had convinced my school's administration that a new Pope had been elected and that the smoke emitting from Michaelangelo's Sisteen Chapel was indeed white.

Sure enough though, JP2's successor had actually been chosen, and all the teachers in fifth period classes were asked to turn on their televisions.

A BONA FIDE MIRACLE!

Unfortunately, the new Pope wasn't Filipino. He's actually quite the opposite -- a 78-year-old German Cardinal/former member of the Hitler Youth. Oh, the Fuhrer must be rolling over in his grave now!

I honestly couldn't care less about Catholicism, to tell you the truth.

Fin

Pinkeye is easily the best way to get sick. It doesn't make you feel too crappy, yet it's highly contagious and schools simply won't permit somebody who has it to enter.

Thanks for the day off, sheets! This particular illness was also timed well, as it should pass before tomorrow night.

Happiness.

I'm going to Disney World!

I honestly haven't done anything too important lately (ala winning the Super Bowl), but I will be at the Happiest Place on Earth until the Sunday for my school's Senior Trip.

I'll post pictures of the autographs I get from Mickey, Donald, Pluto, and the rest of the gang when I return!