I really like going to sleep when I’ve run out of things to do. I love summer. I love slacking. I need money.

School’s over at last. Finally, sleep. I think I’m sick, actually. Splitting headache. Typical. On the bright side, it is a justification for doing nothing at all today. I actually have delusions of self-improvement, did you know that? Goals for this summer include garnering some computer expertise and hopefully making some money, which I will promptly spend upon setting foot in Brazil. I’m going to Brazil, by the way, not China, because apparently my all-expenses-paid trip does not include medical bills for SARS. Oh well. I was looking forward to China’s bootlegging industry, but I guess piranhas are pretty cool too.

Give me your address if you want postcards from Brazil or Russia. Please? Postcards are so nifty.

I saw X2 yesterday, which was nice. It made me feel fuzzy inside. I like the way the good guys could get away with indiscriminate carnage. Ian McKellen was really awesome, even in the stupid helmet.

School year is almost over. Parents tell me I no longer have a chance at MIT and company, which is probably true. I can’t really bring myself to care. My parents both worked psychotically in high school so they could get into the best university, and insofar as I can tell the only payoff was monetary. I don’t think I really care how big my house is going to be. I can’t seem to appreciate material things. This is unfortunate, because I think material possessions are the only dependable things in this life. Tragically I base my happiness much more on walks outside at night, conversations, people, which aren’t nearly as reliable and can’t be guaranteed via hard work in high school. I wish I had a work ethic.

Ahahaha.

Why are people calling me Luke in my guestbook? Who’s this Jones person? Is it a conspiracy of some kind?

I’ve got about 24 pages to write before tomorrow, and my mom’s dragging me off to see a movie on some Russian boat.

I really like Saramago’s Blindness. I haven’t been high on a book for a while, but there you are. I’m going to Borders today to finish it. Not going to buy it, because you know, there’s love and there’s money.

I got attacked by an enraged Frenchman in a wheelchair today. Let no one say the French are incurable pacifists.

I don’t understand people who look back to their childhood and go all nostalgic. Possibly their faulty memory is a side-effect of their arthritis, but I recall my elementary school career as the worst years of my life to date (not terribly impressive). Little kids are cruel. They haven’t acquired civilization by osmosis yet. I’m really loving the teen years, though. I’m young, and I can make mistakes. I’ll shed my skin when I go to college, and again four years later. I find that to be the most comforting when I screw up — that people won’t remember for as long as I will, anyway.

Independent Study Project (due today) is about 10% done. My topics have been varied: Japan, programming a card game, Tarot, Communism, the mass media, and now foreign policy.

I’ve got to learn how to write. I don’t write poetry for inspiration, but rather for the sake of writing poetry. My occasional lumps of prose (few and far between) are awkward and never good enough. Practice makes perfect, but I can’t stand to practice. Theoretically this journal should polish my style, but I think writing for an audience makes me sound forced. Bah!

My Independent Study Project for English, which I’m supposed to have been working on all year, is due on Thursday. Woo! Two days! Mine’s probably going to be on US foreign policy. Stephen Zunes’ Tinderbox is a good book. On a side note, is using the acronym tag on ‘US’ pathetic?

Did anyone else know there were so many rhetorical devices out there? The previous sentence was an erotesis, by the way. My AP exam seems to have been a success.

From this site:

Any product that is made to be Halal and pure for a Muslim requires more care to make it just right for a Muslim, and we are sure that in the end it is worth it for all Muslims on the day of Judgment.

I saw American Beauty last night. I adore it unconditionally, except for Kevin Spacey speaking from beyond the grave… this was annoying. I don’t know how They could have fixed this, though. I am in transports of joy over the guy with the video camera.

Happiness is transient. You’ve got it and you lose it, begging the question: “Why bother in the first place?” Are past moments of happiness or success meaningful, or do they become inconsequential as soon as they pass? And if not, wouldn’t a single, remembered moment of true happiness be enough?

I want someone to watch the sun rise from a roof with me soon.