Submarine Hunt

DO NOT!!! EVER !!! USE !!! CLASSMATES.COM !!! The sad reason is that most people are retarded. Let me guess... You think that it would be cool to talk to some old friends. Hell...you are waxing nostalgic like a mother fucker. In your head you are romanticizing all the relationships you had and how special they were... That girl that was so crazy about you would LOVE to hear from you!! In fact she is in an unhappy marriage and you are her knight in shining armor. "Thank god you found me...” she would say and then "My hero!!!” as she fell weak into your arms. Truth is that most people do not have net manners. Most people do not even think of how discourteous it is to nab random email accounts and drop them at the well...the drop of a hat. Your average Joe or Jill fuckstick does not even check her or his email for 3 to 6 months at a clip. And when he/she does your fucking heart felt email is wedged in between a penis enlargement ad and a Russian money order scam. "Teenage Teacher big small asshole fucks mouth cum hamburger". I have actually gotten email subject lines that have made less sense. Fucking spammers… cockroaches of the 21st century. Don't get me wrong. Sometimes you actually get through to the person that you intended only to realize the one obvious fucking thing...There is a reason that you have not stayed friends all these years...YOU ARE NOT FUCKING FRIENDS!! Your friends are the people you talk to today...now. Fuckers that you can carry on a conversation with after a 20 years absence are called ...FUCK I don't know what they are called, but they are not friends. Recently I talked to a friend of mine from high school. We had not talked for 12 -13 years. We even added each other to our AIM buddy list. But guess what...every day I see her fucking icon online and every day we do not talk. It is a comfort knowing that she is merely a click away, but I never click. Maybe that is all someone can hope for...someone to be near them...just in case. Someone that does not have to talk but whose presence speaks loudly enough. Who the fuck knows? Like Allen Parson says, Time keeps flowing like a river. I guess friends are people that choose to float with you a while, then go off to explore other parts of the river. This process repeats itself over and over with different people until you loose the capacity to take any more people into your heart. If the people are strong enough they leave a little part of themselves with us and it changes us in a positive way. We end up like a finger painting in which many fingers have left their mark. Souls crossing one another like submarines in a silent sea, never knowing how close they came to colliding.

But I’m really not as cool as I’d like to be

Next Tuesday is Valentines Day. Once, when I was in 9th grade, I bought 15 red carnations and sent them to a short-legged brunette with a big juicy peach butt. Along with each carnation, I attached a verse from the Kinks song called “Destroyer”. Here are a few lines to help you remember:

Met a girl called lola and I took her back to my place
Feelin’ guilty, feelin’ scared, hidden cameras everywhere
Stop!
Hold on
Stay in control

At the time, I thought that she would be impressed with my cool taste in music and ingenious presentation. Looking back, I am pretty sure my Kinks wrapped carnations had the opposite effect. Although she did give me a “you are a pitiful” kiss before the school day was over. It was better than nothing, I guess.

A part time friend of mine ended up going out with the afore mentioned hottie for a bit. I ran into them at the movies shortly after the carnation incident. I can’t remember the name of the movie, but I do remember that I was not old enough to attend it legally. I did try though and the ticket taker easily labeled me as a youngster and chided me for even attempting such nonsense. I seem to remember a particularly hostile Roswell cop, eyeballing my awkward teenage frame with contempt and malice. He looked like he would love to crack my skull open with the butt of his revolver or jam his nightstick into my side. My part time friend ( lets call him Bisbee ), however, marched effortlessly into the Roswell Mall theater with his right hand jammed elbow deep into the back jean pocket of my unrequited love. The lucky bastard was palming her butt, or at least part of it. In two days I had been forsaken by my beloved, labeled a child by the establishment and sent into a jealous depression by a sometimes good friend of mine. It sucked to be 15. Little did I know that it sucked to be other ages too.

The police took Shaggy's drugs

Going to a commuter college, is not like going to college at all. It is like having a part time job. You never really feel like you are part of the organization. Georgia State University is a far fetch from the idealistic and forever autumnal campuses of New England. The building in which I attend most of my classes, the general classroom building, looks more like it belongs in the Chicago skyline right next to the high rise apartment that the Evans family lived in "Good Times". There is a courtyard outside of the 9-story brown brick and crème stucco building whose pea gravel speckled patio is covered in cigarette butts and dark gray blobs of ancient bubble gum. On nice days, it is a great place to loiter and people watch. For the most part, people pair themselves off in intimate impenetrable groups of two or three, but there is a group of recently promoted high school stoners that lurk about the building entrance. One of these guys, whom I have christened Shaggy, sports a devilish tuft of hair off the jutting precipice of his Clinton Tarantino-sized chin. He is always dressed for summer, even on the coldest of February days, with an armless black Metallica tee-shirt and oversized skateboarder pants. Many nights he uses the concrete bench that traverses the perimeter of the courtyard as a podium to deal out his obnoxious and unfunny wit. Imagine the following excerpt from his base and juvenile rant done in the hoarse satanic tone of a death metal singer. "There was this girl, and she did not know me from Adam, and I jumped in front of her and said, "The police took my drugs!". Ha ha ha ha and she just looked at me like she was freaking out man." Insert courteously laughs from his disillusioned, disgruntled, lazy-ass, and spoiled cronies. The bad part is that somewhere a cute girl probably likes him.

Many of the students spend their time before and after class on cell phones. Occasionally I will catch a piece of a conversation, "You sound like you are mad at me" and "I am in the courtyard mother fucker". When the weather is good, street venders come down from Peachtree Street and setup shop in little yellow taped rectangles on the ground. The eclectic selection of goods offered by some of these venders always amazes me. Where else can you get a poster of Haile Selassie and a real imitation leather cover for your cell phone? Crystal skulls and phony Aztec jewelry also seem to be popular. I wonder where these guys come up with there business model: "Hmmmmm I got it Simmy !, The formula to make us rich ! Here it is: Crystal Skulls + Incense + bootleg Reggae CD's = financial independence!” The randomness of the products makes you appreciate even the most unimaginative business idea: Coke + potato chips + chewing gum = profit. Not particulary original but might just make a buck. Anyway, I digress. I guess that I will have to face it … I missed out on the whole college experience. So far, the best part is sitting in that courtyard and listening to the roller coaster ride that is the youthful life.

'Yeah, it is kinda hard with my boyfriend in California and all, but we are going to make it work."
"Dude, the police took my drugs!"
''Why are you talking in that tone, you sound like you are made at me?"
"Jason will be out soon and he has cigarettes."

Being young would be so much better if you could do it when you are older.