Mazur brought up the fact that [...]]]> This morning, Kirk and Lynne officially became my first friends to (voluntarily) reproduce. In my “congratulations, don’t drop her” email I almost said something about them having 16 years before they had to worry about me hitting on their daughter, but in a rare fit of common sense I didn’t.

Mazur brought up the fact that in Missouri, the age of consent ranges from 14 to 18 depending on the ages of both partners. That is:

where A_m is the age of the “major” partner and A_c is the age of consent. Which actually seems like a unusually rational way for legislators to account for their belief that, say, a 17-year old having consensual sex with a 15-year old is not rape, but a 22-year old having consensual sex with a 17-year old is. The problem with this, and any other, statutory rape law is that it doesn’t take actual informed consent into account, because legally speaking a minor can’t be informed. Which, if you consider what they’re looking at online anyway, is just foolishly optimistic and outdated thinking.

Anyway, this being-at-an-age-where-people-get-pregnant thing is harder than you might expect. For one, the conversations are prone to enormous early forks. Witness:

Friend 1: So my girlfriend is pregnant.
Me: Really?
Friend 1: Yeah, and we’d only been trying for three weeks.
Me: That’s awesome!

Friend 2: So my girlfriend is pregnant.
Me: Really?
Friend 2: Yeah, and she wants to keep it.
Me: Sucks to be you, dude.

I want to move to the UK, just so I can read their editorials. Seriously, this is what passes for an opinion piece over there. It’s more important, and a damn sight better written, than what passes for news on our side of the pond – even if I [...]]]> So I don’t have to thinky thinky.

I want to move to the UK, just so I can read their editorials. Seriously, this is what passes for an opinion piece over there. It’s more important, and a damn sight better written, than what passes for news on our side of the pond – even if I don’t get the references.

BBC NEWS | UK | Magazine | What porn is really for

And call me a Creep, but Hannah Montana, if you’re really so desperate to get publicly fucked over by an unkempt, pasty blond guy, come on over. You’re legal in Indiana.

Miley Cyrus Snubbed By Radiohead, Vows to “Ruin Them” : Rolling Stone : Rock and Roll Daily

I watched Bolt tonight, which is an OK flick, especially for being made by Disney (damn, I’m just beating up on Eisner projects tonight) and starring Travolta. And even though it’s a blatant Animaniacs rip-off, I couldn’t help but LOL at this scene. Pigeons with New York accents are just hilarious. I literally cannot think of a funnier bird/accent combination. An Australian penguin might come close.

But did I? Of course not. And why? Because she’s engaged, and I’m a nice guy, and nice guys really do finish last. If you’re 12 years old and you’re reading this, you give that shit up right now. Women are not your friends. They don’t even particularly like you. [...]]]> I could have gotten laid tonight.

But did I? Of course not. And why? Because she’s engaged, and I’m a nice guy, and nice guys really do finish last. If you’re 12 years old and you’re reading this, you give that shit up right now. Women are not your friends. They don’t even particularly like you. What they want to do with you, I have no idea. But get the fuck out while you still can.

Why do we, as men, give them this power over us? Is it sex? In the name of all that we call a civilization, I hope not. I think that the truth is that we’re all bitterly, desperately afraid of being alone. I think that we reach out for anyone and anything we can make a connection with, even for the briefest of moments, because we feel that those moments are all that we have.

Well, that’s bullshit too. You really think that if we wanted to, really wanted to, we wouldn’t have cured death by now? Of course not. It’s Jesus and Buddha and the Boogeyman telling us we have to die. Well, fuck them. I say we control our own physiology, our own humanity, our own destiny. I reject the basis of your entire society: the assumption that I have to tolerate your crap because something better waits for me in another life. I sure as hell know that this one is nothing special and fuck you if you think there’s anything else waiting for us out there; it’s you and me and the bottle makes three tonight, baby.

That’s all we’ve got.

It’s that time of year again. Formal is Saturday night in Chicago, and you know what that means: I had to find a date. I’m taking Chelle. A splendid time is guaranteed for all, even though her boyfriend comes back from Iraq on Monday or so. And I’ll probably spend most of the night [...]]]> Fucking insomnia.

It’s that time of year again. Formal is Saturday night in Chicago, and you know what that means: I had to find a date. I’m taking Chelle. A splendid time is guaranteed for all, even though her boyfriend comes back from Iraq on Monday or so. And I’ll probably spend most of the night holding back her hair. And when we’re both drunk I’ll probably be tempted to try something. The silver lining is that it’s pretty much guaranteed to be better than last year, and I’m hanging out with Irina on Saturday, so that will be awesome. Can you say deep dish pizza and the Field Museum? Yes, that’s English you’re speaking, and no, you aren’t English, you’re American. You acquired your incredible language skills through Muzzy.

The only person with keys to the boiler room is out of town. It’s 80 frickin’ degrees in here.

Just when I thought all hope was lost and I was getting ready to call Wal-Mart, someone from Oak Ridge sent me an email and let me know that they’re looking at my application. It’s hard to imagine that I would be the most qualified candidate, but it’s nice to know that they didn’t circular-file that thing. I just need to find a way to let people know how awesome I am, like my mom does.

As I sit here watching the sky turn from gray to lighter gray, I wonder if maybe I sleep less than all those people who do homework nonstop and brag about how little they sleep. It’s like a badge of honor for some people and I just want to slap them and tell them to go sleep for eight hours and damn well enjoy it.

Fucking insomnia.

Irina and I were talking the other day about how most people are alone and might not [...]]]> Wow, what a week. Being in St. Louis is fun, of course, probably mostly because I’m not at school. At the same time, it’s brought to light some things that are at best unpleasant and may actually be harmful.

Irina and I were talking the other day about how most people are alone and might not even be aware of it. I know that I’ve always felt a very acute sense of isolation from other people, but lately I’ve been feeling something else. It’s an actual physical pain, like there’s a weight pressing on my chest. It’s become especially pronounced during these days at home, and I somewhat naively thought it could be love, an emotion I’m not entirely sure I can feel. Last night, however, my thoughts (and more to the point, my feelings) came to a head and I recognized it for what it is. Being alone has never bothered me before; in fact I frequently prefer it to the company of other people. This new feeling is something entirely different. I feel lonely.

Broze Yuri: I need sex

Broze Yuri: and companionshiop

Broze Yuri: and love wouldn’t be bad

Broze Yuri: heh

Terrill Sean: in that order?

XX Update: The cute girl in my Spanish class also seems to be really cool. Bonus!