College is sweet. The people in college, however, are not so sweet. Have you ever noticed the one person in each of your classes that sucks beyond all reason? Also, have you noticed that the one person that sucks the most dick in your eyes is the ONLY person is the whole damn class that seems to come around you? This happens to me on a regular basis.

My first class of the day, three days a week, is math. It's easy math, which is something I never thought I would say. But it is so fucking easy I don't even pay attention and I ace my homework and tests. It is retard math, and I am so happy that I am actually in a math class that I can pass easily for the first time in my entire life. But there is this one kid that sits in front of me that takes it upon himself to share his shitty jokes and his even shittier life story EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY. Then if no one pays attention, he just interrupts more often. Now, don't get me wrong, class interruptions are fun sometimes, and are super sweet if the interruption is something useful. But talking about slot machines in Vegas isn't useful. Neither is talking about how your family was treated like shit because you lived on the rez. Here is an idea: Be born Caucasian, or shut the fuck up and get over it. Seriously, that shit happened hundreds of years ago. Learn to stop wallowing in your ancestors lives and get shit done in your own.

My second class of the day, three days a week, is ENEX. It's basically just a retarded english class, used to teach people the basics of the english language when they were too busy eating paste in grade school to pay attention. I sit relatively close to the door in that class, and I don't really talk to anyone. Not that I don't like anyone in there, I just don't have anything to say to them most of the time. I would rather draw robots and write songs than talk to them, so that is usually what I do. Until, that is, this girl comes in and sits right next to me everyday. Then, I shit you not, she pokes me to get my attention. Pokes me. Like she is fucking three. And she talks all quietly, and insists I be in her group everytime we break into small groups. It fucking sucks. I don't want to be poked, especially by her. There is a select group of people in my life that I allow to poke me, and that is only allowed in the midst of a heated poking war. Unless I have previously declared a poking war, nobody better come anywhere near me with a protruded finger intent on poking, or some shit it is gonna get ruined. And not only does the bitch poke me, she decides somewhere along the line to like me too, as is evidence to the fact that she invited me to go to some shitty concert with her and her shitty friends, for free. She doesn't even know me, and she invites me to go cross country with her to see some shitty band. What if I killed her and her friends? Skinned them alive and then wore their faces as a hat as I swerved their blood stained car down the interstate, yelling obscenities and waving to all the kid-filled school buses I see, blood dripping down into my toothy grin? Bitch better think twice about asking me again, or thats whats gonna happen. Besides, I've got my eye on a chick that is WAY fucking cooler than this girl could ever hope to be.

Then I have Latin. Latin is cool, it's my most challenging class, which I enjoy for the challenge, but I don't enjoy the fact that I'm gonna get a shit grade in it. Anyway, there is a kid in that class that is a big 'ol boy. BIG 'ol boy. He wanders in late most everyday because he can't walk like a normal person, he waddles. Which is cool, good for him. Whatever. If he wants to be like that more power to him. But he should shower. Because he doesn't, and he always sits his sweaty ass right next to me, then scoots his desk even closer to mine, for reasons unknown to man. He scoots his desk next to me like a dude would scoot his desk closer to a pretty girl. I'm not a girl (but I am rather pretty), so he has no fucking business scooting his smelly, sweaty, jean-staining ass closer to me.

 Then I have creative writing, which is a sweet class. I love it. But there are a ton of fuckwads in there. This one dude is like forty years old, stinks of cigarettes and Pepsi, and when he reads outloud he has to make everything over dramatic as he holds out his syllables forever and whispers. And when he is done reading, he always bitches to the professor about something. And a lot of the time, it has nothing to do with anything we are currently learning. Sometimes it has to do with things that we talked about three weeks ago. Then he says that all the stories we read in the class suck, because he doesn't like them. Are you fucking serious? There are a ton of things that I don't like, but that dosen't mean they suck. For instance, I'm not a big fan of Mike Meyers, and I tend to think that his movies aren't very good. But that by no means makes him suck. He is doing what he is doing, and it works for him. He isn't forty and bitching about class material in between weezing and coughing up phlegm from the latest cig. Get the fuck over yourself.

Then I have Literary Studies, which I can't complain about. Everyone in there is actually pretty cool.

So there you have it, a list of people that piss me off. I'm sure none of them will read this, and if they do, sweet. Ask me about it sometime and I'll tell it to your fucking face.

In other news I'm in love. Hooray.

(No one won the lyric contest. It was "Late Goodbye" by Poets of the Fall, a sweet band from Finland. Take a shot at this one.)

I apologize for not updating this dear internet blog of mine earlier this week as I had promised, but my internet was down. I shall explain.

I have a roommate. He is from Billings. He is nice, when he talks. But he usually doesn't. He plays World of Warcraft, and that is pretty much all he does. I mean, I'm not knocking him for playing WoW, but . . . nevermind, I AM knocking him for playing WoW. He doesn't do anything else. He doesn't talk to me, only to his WoW friends over the microphone. He doesn't shower. He doesn't clean up his messes. His side of the room is this hell hole of boxes and empty bottles, which he stacks neatly in the window sill becuase he thinks it is cool to show off how much soda he drinks. His only interaction with me is to talk about the youtube videos I'm watching, to ask me what I think about the shitty techno music he composes, or to wage a bitter war with me over who has the right to have the loudest speakers. He only has one friend that I know of, and even his one friend doesn't really talk to him; my roommate only calls him up when his computer is fucking up, because my roommate doesn't know even remotely as much about computers as he claims to. Which is where my tale begins.

My roommate recently bought all the parts to build his own desktop computer. Where he got the money, I have no idea. Not that it's any of my business, but this is a pretty expensive computer we are talking about, people. Anyway, he buys the parts and accessories, and builds it (which he fucks up more than once on, as I snicker quietly to myself behind his back), proceeding to boot up World of Warcraft so he can fight some baddies. Later on, he purchases two new LCD HD monitors so he can dual screen; which means that he can play World of Warcraft on one screen and do whatever he wants on the other. He chooses to download stuff illegally on the other screen.

Well anyway, earlier this week his internet stops working. To make a long story short, I am pretty sure that the internet people at the college (here at U of M, you have to purchase the college's internet services if you want to access to wonderful digital world of the internet) turned off his fucking internet because he was downloading illegally. I know, I know, I didn't think anyone would actually get caught for it either. But then I realized - he was using so much bandwith (taking up so much space) that the internet services people had to know what was up; I mean, my roommate was downloading 200+ movies while playing World of Warcraft at the same fucking time. He claims that it isn't illegal to download movies when you already own them, but yes, it is. He is just a fucking idiot.

Anyway, his internet is turned off for a couple days, he is sweating bullets because he is fucked, and I wake up to go to class. He informs me he is going home for the weekend, so I probably won't see him until Sunday evening. He tells me this Thursday morning, two days after the internet shut down. I tell him to have fun doing whatever his faggot self does in Billings, and I head to class. After class, I go shooting with my brother, then go out to dinner with him and his fiance, then tromp on back to my dorm. My internet doesn't work.

The next day I call the internet people, because I tried EVERYTHING to make sure my internet was working. It turns out that my roommate probably switched our internet ports when I went to class and didn't switch them back. So, not only did he steal my fucking internet when his was shut off, he was probably downloading shit with my internet too. So I'm just lucky I didn't get mine shut off as well because of his stupid shit antics.

Fuck. My. Roommate.

In othernews, I love someone very very much and I don't know what to do about it. Kill me now. The S.A.D. is setting in....

...this could end up sucking.

(The song on the last entry was "Fall For You" by Secondhand Serenade. I'm not gay. Take a crack @ this one.)

http://s271.photobucket.com/albums/jj153/remotelyinsane666/?action=view&current=valimarskull0001-1-1.jpg

That is the tentative new logo for my band, Valimar. We are going to have music up here at the end of the year, when I am back from college on winter break and we have time to write and record. Another cool thing that is in the works is the re-recording of some old Afflatus material. If you guys read my old blog, you know what Afflatus is; if not, I shall elaborate: Afflatus was the first real band I was in, and we created some nice trippy progressive rock. It was a sweet band, and the songs were really good for what they were, but we unfortunately ended on a sour note. We are planning on re-recording some shit this winter though, just to have the songs recorded better. So I'll update everyone on that as it comes.

In other news, I've been working out a lot. A LOT. And I'm losing weight, but I still want to lose more. I'm afraid I might be getting greedy with the weight loss deal, but I am willing to work hard to get to where I want to be. I mean, I'm happy with who I am, I just wish I looked a little different, bodysize-wise. So work out and diet I shall.

My roommate got speakers the other day, so he plays a lot of World of Warcraft at really high levels and blasts his homemade techno music and even higher levels. He is a cool enough kid; I mean, he is nice to me and respects my shit. All of the World of Warcraft is a bet tedious though, sometimes I wonder if he is going to spend the whole school year playing WoW. Probably will, not that its any of my business. But whatever.

This is a relatively short blog, mostly because I wanted to update and not let this blog die like I did it's predecessor. But I'll update with a larger post later on this week probably.

Peace out, loves.

(no one won the lyric contest, it was "The Day That Never Comes" by Metallica. Take a shot at this one.)

People, take some fucking control with your lives.

I was browsing people's myspace pages, facebook profiles, and blogs today and I realized that the majority of things are of people just plain ol' BITCHING, about the smallest of things that don't even matter. So you have a dickhead neighbor that doesn't enjoy your company? Who fucking cares, don't talk to Mr. Dickhead neighbor. You can't afford to pay your rent, or feed yourself? Get a fucking job. The nice thing about living in the world we do is that everyone can get a job, and if you don't believe me, go down to Taco Bell and check out the worthless fucks that work there. Your girlfriend/boyfriend that you've been dating for two weeks dumped you, and your heart that was once 'in love' and basking in the warm glow of companionship is forever broken and scarred from letting go of your one and only? GET THE FUCK OVER IT. I'm aware that it can sometimes be hard. I'm aware that a lot of the time the only thing that you think matters is your oh-so-perfect highschool relationship, and you probably will for a long time. But just wait people, life gets so much better.

I know that I don't have much room to be talking about people bitching, because we all know I do more than my fair share of bitching. But good God, there is a difference between bitching and wallowing in your self pity and waiting for someone else to come and fix things (like I used to do; see old blog) and bitching about things in a not-so-serious matter and actually doing something about it. Examples....

Bitching and wallowing - "OMG he dumped me AGAIN. sumtimes i just wish that i could just forget everything about him and just die. i cant believe that everything in my life just falls apart and keeps on getting worse blah blah blah i'm a whiny bitch."
-Random myspace girl.

Active Bitching - "Wow. I'm kind of a fatass. So I'm going to start going to the gym almost everyday, and I'm going to get myself on a diet. By Christmas break, I'm going to be down to my goal weight, which means I just need to lose 15 pounds this month and 15 next month, because I've already lost 10. Then my problem will be solved, and I'll hopefully be an all around happier person."
- James

So I now go to the gym practically everyday. I don't eat fast food, I don't drink soda or energy drinks or anything anymore, and I hardly ever have caffeine. And it's true - I've already lost ten pounds, and by the time I come home for winter break, I'm going to be at my goal weight and I'm going to be sexier than I am now. (If that is possible.)

The point is, people need to stop bitching and realize that they either need to A.) realize that their problems aren't as bad as they think, or B.) fucking do something about it. I know that it is kind of a phase people go through to bitch about everything that they can, mostly just to get under people's skin. I mean, I did it. I did A LOT of bitching (again, see the old blog). But I fucking do something about it.

This isn't saying that all people don't do anything about their problems, I'm sure that a lot of people do. But doesn't it always seem that the people that don't do anything about their problems are the only ones that make their problems known to everyone? It sure as hell seems like that to me.

People - Take some fucking control in your life. Things usually don't fix themselves, and if you go through your entire life without having to fix a problem on your own, then congratulations, because you are the only fucking one. Have fun in your lonely "I don't fix my own problems" club. Start fixing your problems, and start realizing that not everything is the end of the fucking world. You need direction? Next time you have a badass problem and don't know what to do, go out and look at the clouds and the sunset and feel the breeze on your skin, and if you have to, stay out all night until the stars come out, and do some fucking self reflection. Drop your fucking pedal to the metal lifestyle for a day and you'll be surprised how much you can figure out on your own.

Fast food fucking sucks. But me, all sexy, slim, and ripped by winter break, doesn't.

Holla.

(no one won the lyric contest this past entry, the answer was "Kirisute Gomen" by Trivium. Take a shot at this one, although I don't expect many comments until my traffic picks up again.)

Isn't it funny how some people reinvent themselves?

My brother went to school with a kid that was socially awkward; he never really fit in with anyone. He was the butt of many jokes. He had a fucking club foot. He was the kind of kid that everyone knew of but nobody seemed to understand; therefore leaving him out of any social circle, and more than likely encasing the poor socially retarded boy in rage. Yet now that he is in college, he is Mr. Oh-So-Fuckin'-Popular. He is the epitome of frat boy, he is rolling in the sweet pussy of college chicks every night. He does keg stands, he bongs beers, he probably smokes a shit ton of weed without blowing the bowl. He is Mr. Cool.

I dated a chick (she was a key player of my life for a LONG time, read the old blog) that reinvented herself with whoever she was with. The girl that I fell in love with turned out to only be the way she was because she seemed to know that it was exactly what I was looking for. Yet, whenever she was with someone else, she completely changed everything about her persona - if she didn't drink around me, she drank around them. If she listened to metal around me, she listened to country around them. If she dressed a certain way around me, she dressed the opposite around them. Now, instead of just being pissed at her for that, I feel sorry for her. I can't imagine what it would be like to live your life without having even the slightest idea of who you are.

Which leads me to my next point. I know who I am, but I also know that there are some things in my life that I would really like to change. Before I get a ton of comments saying "James, don't hate yourself. You are just fine the way you are.", I would like to make it very clear that for one of the first times in my recent memory, I do not hate myself at all. Not even the least. And it's been this way for awhile, and hopefully it will continue to be this way, considering I'm not quite the little raging ball of hormones that I was in high school. James is all grown up. However, like I said, there are some things I would like to change.

To put it in simple terms, come Christmas break I'm going to be fucking cut and sexy, rigid and thinner, ripped and toned. I'm well on my way; my combination of an awesome diet, working out daily, and Hydroxycut has already served me pretty well. Add in the facts that I stopped drinking soda and all its relatives since January, and that I am actually serious about this and have stuck with it this long, and I am pretty much guranteed to not be quite so rolly polly. People have already noticed, and I can't wait to come back to Anaconda during Christmas break and blow the fucking faces off of all the ignorant little bitches still stuck in high school. I will be the object of many a young girl's sexual fantasy, just you wait and see.

I'm also getting more and more serious about the rock star thing. It's totally what I want to do. It's gonna take a fuck ton of work, and a fuck ton of practice, and even more luck, but I'm determined. I've wanted this my whole life. Not necessairly selling out huge arenas every night (although that would be fucking TITS), but even just being able to tour for the majority of the year, see new places, meet cool people, and make a difference in someone's life, somewhere, somehow. Thats all I really want to do.

But to do that I need money. Not much time for a job my freshman year....which means I'm going to have to start donating sperm and plasma. Donating both of those will earn me over a thousand bucks a month, and it's even better because I'm saving lives AND helping less fortunate people create families (which gets even cooler - it's an anonymous program, which means I won't have anyone knocking on my door in twenty years telling me I'm their dad).

James, v.2.0.....here I fuckin' come!

(nobody won the lyric contest, the answer was "Two Weeks" by All That Remains, off of their new album, OVERCOME. Take a shot at this one.)

Sometimes college can be a little tedious. It's not that my classes are hard or anything, in fact they are pretty easy. It's not the fact that most of the time my dorm room smells like a mixture of sweat, farts, and that odd smell that comes from warm electronics, all radiating from the right side of the room. Mostly it is because I spend a lot of time doing nothing over there. It's not that I don't go to class or anything, I go to all my classes whenever they are scheduled. My schedule is nice and easy and I get all of my homework done in more than enough time. My friends all have classes that require a lot more studying and shit like that, but I mean I guess that is what you get when you pick some crazy ass major instead of something swank and sexy like creative writing.

So I love to come home. That is until I end up seeing things that remind me of why I'm so happy to be gone in the first place.

I hate sitting in the park surrounded by my friends to suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, look into my rear view mirror and see the quick reflection of violet burning into my retinas until all I can see is red and my heart sinks into the bottom of my chest and all I want to do is run the fuck away from that bullshit as fast as I can and never look back until I know that I'm far enough away that it will never catch me, and even then keep running some more. It's awkward. It's stupid. It's some serious high school bullshit that I should be fucking done with. And it's probably the only thing that I can seriously say I hate about my life right now. And it's also probably the only thing that seems to keep on coming back no matter how many times I think that I've fucking put the final bullet into the back of this problem's head.

But then I just leave. I leave with my wonderful gorgeous friends and shimmy on down to a different part of town, and we continue our wild rumpus of festivities (which mostly include telling stories and huddling into one big orgy of bodies, close to each other than an litter of puppies, to watch the stars), and suddenly life is good again. I love the shit out of my friends. My friends and my family are the biggest things I miss about Anaconda.

I'm going to see Trivium, All That Remains, and 36 Crazyfists at the Wilma Theater in Missoula tomorrow night. Or tonight, depending on how you see things. I don't really measure days by time, but more so by my sleeping cycles, which can sometimes get a little confusing, but I would much rather have my life be a little bit confusing than have some prick correct me when I say "tomorrow night" at one in the morning with "Don't you mean tonight?", followed by rampant snickering. You can tell that someone is an asshole when instead of just merely laughing, they snicker.

I'm going to continue with the lyric contest on this new blog. For those of you who are new to my blog or simply don't remember, this is the skeleton of the lyric game: my entries will have titles put together from lyrics to a song, and you leave a comment on the entry with your guess of what song it is. I guess you can google the lyrics if you want, but unless you are a pussy, you will limit your mad googling. You don't win anything, you pretty much just get the warm, fuzzy feeling of knowing that I, James Ransom Burkhart, acknowledge your existance.

Word.

 

MoonDoggy - Redux.

My name is James Burkhart, as some of you may already know. I started a blog called "MoonDoggy" about four or so years ago, to chronicle my high school experience. I eventually stopped updating it, and just recently posted the killing entry, ending MoonDoggy once and for all.

Until this blog, that is.

I've decided to start another blog to write shit in during college, as I am now attending the University of Montana in Missoula for Creative Writing. College is pretty cool, but I will undoubtedly come across some crazy shit to update about, probably more so than in high school.

I also have a blog on myspace, but I don't really post much in there other than poems and song lyrics, with perhaps the random rant about 'scene kids' or whatever the hell else is chapping my ass at the time. This blog, however, will be the one that is updated more regularly, and I will hopefully drag in some more readers with time.

So this is the first entry on what could end up being another legendary blog, or it could end up just being another page in cyberspace that is barely visited and is just taking up more than it's fair share of digital room. Whatever, make of it what you will.


I had a dream last night. There was a girl in it, someone that I haven't talked to in a while and honestly shouldn't be in my dreams. But it led me to think....could things have ended up differently? I suppose it doesn't matter much now, and I'm a total idiot for even still letting girls like that back into my dreams, but I can't control what I dream so I guess I'm not really that much of an idiot.

But honestly, that dream scared me a little. I really hope that I don't fall into that shitty little hole again, that little chasm of space that I spent the last four years of my life in. I mean, I'm finally out! I'm living and learning in Missoula, on my own, and I totally love it. But a small part of me still wants to be in that chasm. I hope that part of me doesn't get any bigger. But fuck that shit. It's over now. Sweet Jesus, let it be over for fucking good this time.

Good day.