I've got to start keeping track of the movies I see. I've tried this before, many times. I always start on January 1st with a simple list and the farthest I've made it was early August. In the last few days my 70's kick has continued. I watched Easy Rider, which I loved so much I bought it as soon as I sent Netflix's copy back. I saw Spiderman 2 last night which was really outstanding. My movie itch a few nights ago led me to Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines; and last night I was able to knock another 70's flick off my Netflix queue by watching the dynamic Mr. Jack Nicholson in The Last Detail, on the Black Starz channel.

I just wanted to remind myself that I saw those films. Thanks Blog, for being here to remind me of shit.

There were eleventy-two commercials before the trailers before Spiderman 2 last night. This shit is getting ridiculous. There was even a commercial for Aqua fucking Velva. Not even some glitzy new product from Aqua Velva, just an ad to remind you that for all your skin needs, to turn to Aqua Velva. It looked so old and lame, I swore to God it was the clever start of some new movie preview.

Nope. Just... Ahhhhh Aqua Velva.

Also saw a trailer for The Aviator, the Howard Hughes movie starring Leo DiCaprio. Directed by Martin Scorcese.

Looked super good.

Also. Marlon Brando died yesterday.

I made my first EVER purchase with a card that has a major credit card logo on it coupled with MY NAME. Not someone else's card. Mine. Babies have VISA check cards but here I am 22 years young popping my credit cherry. What did he buy you ask?

Three tickets to the July 21st Finger Eleven show in Hartford.

Tonight on Tough Crowd they did Message Boards, where they reply to things people have said about them on the...well, message boards. One to Jim Norton was: I think Jim Norton has cancer. And he's hiding it so no one feels sorry for him. If I'm wrong I'm sorry, but he should get another haircut cos its confusing.

Jim's straight-faced reply: No sir, I don't have cancer. But a lot of people do. And I don't think it's a laughing matter. If I did have cancer I wouldn't try to hide it, I would try to help other people in my situation. I hope that no one in your family ever has to deal with cancer. But I do hope your grandmother goes to Africa, falls into a ditch and gets teabagged by a monkey.

Watch Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn people. It's like real life, a jumble of shit moments balanced with moments of pure genius.

So here I am in the waning hours of two consecutive days off, and what did I do? Nothing. Oh I did stuff. I finally got that tire George gave me money for the day I got back from Boston. I put some money in the bank so's I can start saving, so the YMCA can subtract their tidy sum. I ate at two restaurants I've never been to, by myself. See even that has changed accordingly, my take on lonely eaters. Here I am, 12 hours from work again and I have been about as antisocial as possible. Here I am actually longing for people. Longing for the Brewgirls. And its not that I don't want to hang out, just that this whole Norwalkian fiasco has pushed me further and further into my shell to where, maybe for the second time in my life --the other was freshman year of high school-- I am thinking more than I'm talking. For the first time in my life, I feel truly selfish. And I'm not quite sure how to overcome it. I put so much time and effort --well, less effort-- into thinking about myself and the choices I've made and the direction I'm going and who I am and who I was and who I am becoming, that I leave no time, no room, for anyone else. Which is the exact opposite of who I am. Or maybe that's just who I was. Adam told me once that you are only who you are right now. Or something like that, I was high, but its muddled message stuck with me and I apply it to life all the time. It floats up and haunts me when I reminisce, when I long for the past. That all those fleeting moments we cherish in pictures and home videos and journal entries and our good old fashioned heads, just helped get us to here. Here is who we are. And this is who I am, not sure I'm happy with what I've become. An introvert. A book worm who only reads the first fifty pages of books. A person so overwhelmed with the future that thinking about takes up all of his present. I pray that the phone won't ring at night. And why? Because I want to be left alone to be... alone? I'm not writing, except here. Odds are I'm watching something I've seen before. My cousin has called a dozen times -here I am admitting I know this, there go any excuses I was planning- and I haven't called him back. And the thing I need people to understand, or try to understand is that I haven't NOT called him back because I don't want to talk to him, or I don't want him to come visit. I would LOVE for him to come visit. He drags me out of my shell. I miss my cuz. He's my only hint of brother in the blood sense, I love him. I just. don't. call. anyone. I call my mother, who fills me in on everything. Today when I got off the phone with her she asked that I call my cousin, my father and my grandmother. That was about six hours ago. I've called none of them. I just got done staring at the phone for five minutes contemplating calling Amy. And I didn't. NOT because I didn't want to talk to her, or see her. But because I just. don't. call. anyone. It's like I'd rather wallow in self pity, which is all this fucking rant is. More of me, just venting about ME. And who wants to read that fucking shit??? ME! I'll probably read this again and again before I publish it. And then again and again afterward. And I don't know why. I am consumed with myself. This is all just a long-winded admittance to that fact. That dad I haven't called you, Aaron I haven't called you, Grandma I haven't called you, Amy I don't call you, my beautiful sisters I haven't called you, Rye-dawg I haven't called you, Chris- my brother with a different mother I haven't called you because I am so self-obsessed it makes me sick.

I'm sorry. All is weird in the world. Know that I miss you painfully, and love you dearly, and think about you so much more than I let on in this rant.

Doesn't mean I'll ever call you though.

I'm filled with a weird sadness today. A little of it is Johnny. The busser who got busted up. He is apparently still unconscious, they couldn't even transfer him to another hospital because the swelling was too bad. He was in surgery for five hours last night of a scheduled ten. They stopped halfway, presumably because of all the swelling.

I overhear people at work shaking their heads saying that he'll never be the same again.

Also I'm sad about Abraham Lincoln getting killed. I watched The Lincoln Assassination last night on the History Channel and it totally bummed me. I think I've just always felt too disconnected from Mr Lincoln because he's on the penny and the five. Too far removed to feel sad about a death that happened a long long time ago. His big hat and his beard have made him almost an American character like Paul Bunyan rather than an American hero. Legend. But this documentary really humanized it, with all these written accounts of the shooting; stark portraits of his powerful, gaunt face. How Lincoln's wife screamed and screamed and screamed. How these people carried the 6'4" president out of the theater and across the street into a house so he could die in a bed. How the Nation reacted. That the people who hated Lincoln in the north, the people who hated him in the south, all realized that, shit, they didn't hate him THAT much.

John Wilkes Booth got shot in the throat and choked on his own blood, paralyzed, for three hours before he died.

I'm glad about that.

God I need to learn more about this fucking country.