Shouting Into Darkness

Movin’ Out

Posted in Personal Crap by Chris W. on November 9, 2011

From Google+:

I spend my last night in my apartment the way I spent my first: sleeping on the floor, overheating, and surrounded by unorganized piles of junk. Poetic.

This place has been good to me. I’ve been through college graduation, unemployment, tragedy and triumph. And through it all, this place was “home.” It’s nice to know you have a place to go to, to belong no matter what happens outside it’s boundaries.

That time is over now. I’m a quarter-century old, responsible (?) adult (???) and I’m moving in with +Meaghan Hartie, the woman who now defines my world like this place did three years ago. Our next apartment will be a reflection of our life together, may it be long and prosperous. But to my first apartment, I say “thank you.” I hope you treat the next tenant as well as you did me.


Spring Cleaning at Shouting Into Darkness

Posted in Personal Crap by Chris W. on March 24, 2011

If you’ve shown up at Shouting Into Darkness recently, and you wouldn’t be reading this if you hadn’t been, you’ll notice that this site looks a lot different from they way it did a month ago. It’s more rustic now, more “lived in”, and I’m really proud of how it turned out.

Here’s some background of what’s been going on behind the scenes. When I redesigned the site a few years ago, I settled on a jet black background with white text. After all, the site’s name is “Shouting into Darkness,” so it made sense at the time to make the background of the site a big empty void. That was all the thought that went into the look of the site. Black background, white text, images by Google. You can probably tell that I didn’t go to college for web design.

You could probably tell that from reading the site. On certain monitors, everything was fine, but on most LCD monitors, the white text started to give me a frontal lobe headache after reading it for too long. The words eventually blurred together and I squinted at them like a fatigued driver trying to make out the road for the road signs. You don’t have to have a degree in C++ to know that your site design shouldn’t physically distress your visitors. My writing ought to make your head hurt, not the site itself.

After flirting with the idea of a complete site redesign, I finally took the plunge a few weeks ago. Gone was the black background. Gone was the white text. The mantra going forward was stark and readability. I wanted the content to be king (this is a benefit of having a blog that you don’t expect to monetize. You don’t have to clutter it up with ads) but have the site still evoke that feeling of one lone nut throwing all his thoughts into the ether, hoping that they somehow connect with someone else.

The key to this was in my retro fetish. I have an old-timey typewriter sitting in my apartment, and I’ve even typed up some blog posts on it. They coincidentally never got made into real posts because I detest having to type something twice, but that’s beside the point. I love the look of type-written pages, especially long, manuscript-sized reams of paper. That’s how all the great writers of the past delivered their work. Once I started unraveling that thread, it was a no-brainer. “Shouting Into Darkness” would have a typewriter theme. It wouldn’t be as sexy-cool as other websites produced with modern Macintosh hardware, but it was certainly better than black background/white text.

The redesign has also had an effect on how I feel about this website and the work I put into it. This is the very definition of a labor of love. I get no monetary satisfaction out of it, and until I install some code-heavy Google Analytics bullshit, I have no idea how many people are visiting or reading. Judging by the comments, I’d say my readership numbers are just about as good as a website made up of random numbers and letters thrown on the screen. That site might even have more readers than I do, because there’s the chance than an accidental dirty word would pop up and stand out among the gibberish.

But despite the lack of feedback, or lack of any long-term prospects this site has, I don’t care. I’ll keep doing it, and I’ll hit that “Publish” button every time with a smile on my face.

One of the realities that every creative person has to face is their own motivations for doing what he or she does. Why does the underground band get up and perform their sets at lackluster gigs to crowds that barely care? Why does the screenwriter spend hours and hours of personal time crafting worlds that are highly unlikely to be open to anyone else but him or her? Why does the filmmaker invest thousands of dollars of their personal funds into a short film that might get play at a local festival and then languish in the lower doldrums of YouTube while The Annoying Orange gets a development deal?

The easy answer is “because they enjoy doing it.” That’s what we were all taught as kids. “Do what you love, and don’t let anyone stop you from doing what you love.” A fine message, and one I’ll try to pass along to my kids if I have any, but a love of what you do can’t sustain creative drive forever. Especially as we all get older, as time becomes more devoted to the families we’ll raise or efforts to bring in more money, creative endeavors that are financially taxing or eat up a lot of time become less and less important. Time and Life have eroded the wills of a great many creative persons, leaving creative dreams littering the empty highways of the past like abandoned cars in a zombie movie. Sometimes, doing something just because you love it isn’t good enough for some people. If it isn’t paying off, it’s just not worth the time.

But then you come back — weeks, months, or even years after the fact — to something that you’ve created. Everyone remembers coming across an old report or school project they did in the past. Creative people experience that feeling all the time when revisiting old works. You get swept back to the moment of creation, what was going through your head when putting the ideas together. If it’s been long enough, you may not even recognize the work as your own and just experience it like a stranger would. That leads to the best feeling: setting the pages down and thinking, “You know what, that was pretty good.”

I wanted to reflect that nostalgic feeling of coming across something you created in the past, a snapshot of your mind and personality frozen in ink or digital encryption, flattening out the pages on the coffee table and re-experiencing the work you did long ago. Even though it may not get wide exposure or be remembered by many, there is a small kernel of truth you tried to communicate in that art and that small bit of your reality is now eternal. Like a photograph freezing a moment in time, these blog posts are like snapshots of my mind and I want to preserve them. Like most creative people, competitiveness is a driving force. It’s much easier to keep producing if you know that people out there like what you do. But if I can look back on something I wrote, feeling proud of what I created even though it never went anywhere, that’s all the positive reinforcement I need.

The drive to succeed in these creative endeavors doesn’t come solely from a need for monetary gain or for acknowledgement of the work, although those things certainly help. Beyond the immediate need for money and the psychological need for kudos, I think most artists want to leave a little piece of themselves behind in the work they produce. I don’t buy the argument presented to me in college that the “best art” is one that is independent of the artist. Art is a product of the artist, of his or her personality being affected by a myriad of influences, and a small part of that personality imprints itself on the finished product. That art will live on forever, even if nobody sees it, and because the art will live on forever, a part of the artist does as well. I never knew Hunter S. Thompson, but by reading his books, and can get a sense for his mind, the burning hope that things will be okay, coupled with massive drug use and personal anarchy to shield himself from the horror of what he saw as reality. That sense of life will always be in the pages of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, generations after his death and my own.

That’s why I redesigned the site, to make it easier on the people who do come to read, and to capture that feeling of an idea scratched out on an old piece of printer paper, filed away and forgotten, only to resurface later and give a small window back into the person who originally had that idea. In the creative world, a tree can fall in the woods and nobody can be around to hear it, but someone will later discover the downed tree and experience its truth in his or her own time.

Viva la Resolution!

Posted in Personal Crap by Chris W. on January 6, 2010

It’s 2010 and all the world is filled with sunshine and lollipops (at least until Monday came along). A new decade is upon us with opportunities abound (until you realize that unemployment is still quite sucky). We great the New Times with open arms and an optimism unmatched since 10 years ago (until you realize that you’re still behind on your credit cards and you overslept the 9:00 bus). In short, Happy fucking New Year, jackasses!

All kidding aside, this is the time of year when we set new goals for ourselves and strive for self improvement. We set resolutions to last us throughout the rest of the year and, hopefully, the rest of our lives… Or, if you’re like most people, you shoot for the stars and wind up only getting as far as the stairs. Not to say that the practice isn’t a good, valuable one. Empty promises to oneself are akin to mental masturbation, but real, honest attempts for self-improvement are a healthy part of the human psyche. So, to prove that I’m not a cynical, lethargic asshole (really, I’m not), here is what I wrote down as my New Year’s Resolutions for 2010:

  1. Lose weight: This is the obvious one which every person not trying out for the UFC will put on their list. “I’ve gotta shed a few pounds, maybe even go down a pant size. I’ll start by writing up a diet and sticking to it, and then I’ll join a gym and work out there three times a week, and…” We’ve all heard that song and dance before. My version isn’t all that different, but I’m not trying to go from Kirstie Alley to slimmer Kirstie Alley in preparation for the High School Reunion. I’m still in the right BMI, but if I don’t start eating healthier and exercising more, it’ll be a goddamn massacre once my metabolism shuts down. Plus, I’ve seen certain members of my family and they’re in decent shape. So, unless I got dealt the genetic Three-Two-Offsuit, I have the capacity to look better.
  2. Spend wiser: This is the one that is more pressing than the weight issue. I mean, really. I’m an adult now, so I should know how to handle my money. I’m also a gainfully employed recent college graduate. Last time I looked, we’re a dying breed. So, instead of squandering the money I make from a full time paycheck and getting lovely letters from my apartment complex telling me to pay up or else, I need to find a way to make what I have work for me.
  3. Crew on more films/find extra part time work: Related to #2, this is about making the $100,000 piece of paper hanging on my wall work more for me. Seriously, I’m an NYU graduate and I need to start making my university earn the money I pay it in student loans. We have a few programs to help people like me get out into the field, and by golly, I shall tap into them. Also, even though I love my job, it’s not where I want to live out the rest of my days. I want to get into films, be a sound recordist (or maybe a writer), pursue my passions. If I don’t start now, I’ll wake up one day and realize that the need for a steady paycheck has claimed another creative victim.
  4. Enter Speech Therapy: You probably can’t tell from reading this, but I gots me a bit of a stuttering problem. Really, I use print as a way of circumventing having to speak (with the exception of the podcast) and that’s gotta change. Therapy won’t be cheap, but I think it’s a worthwhile investment in the rest of my life. Anyone else interested in stuttering therapy should check would
  5. Learn to ride a motorcycle: I got into bikes after watching Sons of Anarchy. I don’t want to seem like a pretender to the biker lifestyle, but that’s exactly what I am. Why be shy about it?!….. But, I like the freedom that motorcycles represent, especially to someone who is a slave to public transportation like me. Maybe it moves faster than personal transport in New York City, but being in a situation where I’m often and spectacularly boned by the MTA just because they’re cheap is demoralizing. So hopefully, you can read the guaranteed hilarity and possible reports of bodily harm as I learn to ride a motorcycle in 2010. Plus, Harley-Davidson is probably a bit more financially stable than the MTA right about now (Doomsday Scenario, my aching ass…)
  6. Write more often: This is probably self evident. Oh, and thanks for reading!
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As We Go On…

Posted in Personal Crap by Chris W. on May 14, 2008

I feel I have to write today, because it’s somewhat important.

Today is Graduation Day, hence the title which I debated including for fear of earworming some of my readers to death with a pop-music audio equivalent of a colonoscopy. (If you were one of the affected, I apologize sincerely.) It’s been a long four years, and in some way they’re still going on, but I came to the end of the line today with the official NYU commencement ceremony at Yankee Stadium. I’m filled with many different emotions as I write this, and believe me I’ll pour them all out, but this is day was a symbol of all the things I’ve learned over the course of four years, and what I’m taking with me from my college education, besides a debt that will surely haunt me for many years to come.

I woke up groggy, as I often do these days, to the alarm going off at 6 AM. True to my nature, I shut the alarm off and went back to bed to sneak a few more Zs. At precisely 6:30, I was awoken by the sound of Nickelback’s “Rockstar” coming from somewhere. I thought it was the radio, and wondered when in the hell did I turn the radio on, but realized too late that it was my Mom calling my cell phone. I sprang to attention and called back right away, taking that as a good opportunity to drag my ass out of bed. Although I wound up leaving the apartment later than I wanted and running to catch the Ferry, I did forget only one thing: my camera. Luckily, Mom had me covered with that one.

It was a nostalgic trip up as I waited for my parents at the Embassy Suites in Downtown Manhattan, the first hotel I ever stayed at when I first came to New York City. I didn’t get to see the inside, but while listening to the Mike O’Meara Show on my iPhone and waiting for Mom and Dad to come around the corner, I couldn’t help but remember all the times I’ve spent with my family at that hotel, either when they came up to see me, or just happened to stop in. Downtown Manhattan is way different from any other place in New York City. On a good day, it’s scenery will strike you dead, and the way the trees in the park mix with the towering buildings overhead brought me back to the crossroads of the country boy that came to the city to make a name for himself. Underneath those buildings, I can still remember feeling small and overpowered by the sheer size of it all, especially when I was still in high school and not knowing where I would eventually wind up. I would say that the area around the Embassy Suites may be one of my favorite places in all of New York. I got to experience it for a lot longer than anticipated, since Mom and Dad were stuck in Jersey, fighting traffic like Space Invaders. No problem for me. I was there in my new Indiana Jones hat and pencil thin beard, looking like a beatnik musician that didn’t know he went out of style 50 years ago.

Eventually, the car service guy showed up and I had to keep him company until Mom was able to navigate through traffic and get to our location. They managed to get there right before a waiting fee kicked in, but the check-in process but us over the top. I didn’t care, though. As long as I made it to graduation on time. We settled our business, the driver being an okay guy who thankfully spoke English like it was at least a second language. We chatted about movies and what was going on with me on the way up, I regaling everyone who would listen about my antics at the Harvey Dent rallies and my stint in Joker make-up. That did turn out to be a theme for the day: people who wouldn’t shut up.

After parking the car and paying the driver, I parted company with Mom, Dad, Grandma and Grandpa and started to navigate inside Yankee Stadium. Everyone knows that it’s the last year for this historic ballpark, and I had a few fond memories of this place as well. When I was in high school, we took our class trip up here and went to a Yankee game. I had a lot of fun at that game, talking baseball lingo to people who didn’t know or care what the Infield Fly Rule was, but laughed when I claimed that a batter with one ball, one strike, and one out (1-1-1) was in the Shithouse. I also took my first birthday as an NYU student up to Yankee Stadium to watch a game. The connection I feel with the team isn’t as deep as someone who’s lived here all their life, or caught a foul ball that Derek Jeter himself hit. To me, the Yankees are just another facet of being a New Yorker, something that I’ve tried to do ever since I moved up here. By the same token, I’ve also started saying “on line” instead of “in line” when I’m waiting for movie, referring to pizza by the “slice” and using “fuggetaboutit” in places not normally deemed appropriate. When I found my box, I made my way to an open seat; there were surprisingly many of them around. A few people I know passed me, and I hugged some of them, waved to others, and just let others pass. I found myself saying “I think I know that person” a lot, and being caught up in my goody-two-shoes personality, I couldn’t move from the designated spot I was in. It was quasi-depressing, not being able to talk to the people I’d come to know and respect for four years. There were a few surprises, too. I found my old roommate from University Court and said a few words to him, but ultimately took my seat. I wished I could be around people I knew and enjoy their company as I passed through this chapter of my life, but I took solace in the fact that I’ll meet a lot of them at the Tisch Graduation on Saturday. Now, in the calm aftermath of the event, I can make a lot of comparisons to other large gatherings, where I would often wind up by myself and wonder why the pretty girls wouldn’t talk to me. Just for the record, I think I now know why…

Graduation was a lot of stand-up-and-wait. The ceremony itself, with it’s traditions and proud heritage, was beautifully moving. I could actually feel myself start to tear up as I realized that I was actually there at the end of the line. Kinda like how religious people enjoy the customs and traditions of their faith (marriage comes to mind), I greatly enjoyed the formal opening, and the Provost coming up to the microphone and saying the words that were on everyone’s mind. “You did it!” he screamed out to everyone in the stadium, provoking a huge response as it hits that those three words sum it up rather well. We did do it, simple as that. Regardless of how hard or easy it was, we were taking that final step.

Throughout those opening minutes, I felt a sense of oneness with NYU. Not with the people who trained me or the men at the front who were praising us for our accomplishments. I felt at one with the symbols: the torch, the seal, the abstract concepts that no one can lay a hand on or see with their naked eyes. This is something to be felt. I get the same feeling when I watch a great movie that sucks me in and wraps me in its characters and situations. I’m swept up in it all, and in my heart I feel the community around me which will follow me for the rest of my life. You are me. I am you. Goo goo g’joob.

Shortly after that, I got to hear a truly blasphemous rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner.” Props to these three people for trying something new, but a good intentioned bad idea is still a bad idea. I thought that, since we were in Yankee Stadium, a Robert Merrill version would be appropriate, but these people went with a multiple harmony attempt a the Hardest Song to Perform. I would later say that they were singing in three separate keys, and all of them were wrong. When they hit that first harmony note, my sphincter instantly closed and locked itself shut like an iron safe. I thought I’d have to get the Jaws of Life to pul my ass cheeks apart, and my face resembled eating an entire box of Sour Patch candy at once. The lesson: if you’re going to perform “The Star Spangled Banner,” do it with style. Like Hendrix.

The rest of graduation was a bunch of speeches. Some inspired, some not. One was filled with so many bad jokes I thought it could’ve either been on a Letterman monologue or this blog. One speaker, who was supposed to only say a few words but wound up reciting Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time tried to use the Anthropic Principle, usually used as a scientific/philosophic proof of the existence of God, to explain how lucky we as human beings are to be alive. I understood what he was trying to do (even though he put the inappropriate image of all our parents having sex at the same time into our heads), but now I feel his speech was misplaced. We sure are lucky to be alive, but we’re lucky to be alive any day, given the vast odds that we could easily not be alive. What makes today more special than any other day from that point of view? Beyond that, I got to hear President John Sexton give the stupidest argument for the existence of God (again, misplaced) in the entire ceremony. Baseball metaphors and jokes were plentiful, since we were in a baseball stadium, but he did throw a fact at us that I didn’t know. Before Barry Bonds became the 10th player to win MVP in back-to-back years, the nine players who held the honor before represented each position in baseball (catcher to outfielder). President Sexton claimed this as proof of an Intelligent God, and posed it as a challenge to skeptics in the audience. In other words, me. I was so flabbergasted and borderline offended that I called out “Wrong!” in a medium-loud voice. No one three rows beyond me heard it, I’m sure, but I felt it needed to be said. Again, I understand why he might have included this; thinking skeptically should be a value for higher education, but God’s existence or non-existence is not a factor in our graduation. If I were speaking, I would certainly try to sneak some of my values into the speech, but I’d hope to make something that would touch everyone, regardless of race, creed, and background.

While I’m bitching, I do want to say something about art students like myself. Art students are the biggest whiners because we don’t do real work for a living. Right now, I’m sitting on my futon with the television playing and typing away on a computer. Taxing, this is not. But the group of people directly behind me had to be the biggest group of complainers I’ve ever seen or heard of. They weren’t obnoxiously loud; I just had the misfortune of being next to them. And frankly, they weren’t the only ones talking during a speech, but all they could talk about was how stupid the people speaking were and how long the ceremony was going. To be honest, near the end, I was watching the clock as well, but keeping it to myself. Also, I was somewhat enjoying the inspirational messages being thrown at us, so I didn’t want this group of people farting all over my parade. Now, those who know me well know that I don’t have the best temper in the world. I’m not quite to the level of The Incredible Hulk, but I can fly off the handle at times. Recently, I’ve tried to keep it under wraps after coming into contact with some major league assholes at public events, and I’ve figured out what separates being mad from being an asshole: Even when you’re mad, be respectful. Don’t be sarcastic, don’t try to mock someone, but ask the offender nicely to be quiet. I’ve found that people (including myself) are more likely to take you seriously and obey your request if you sugarcoat it first. Therefore, I sat there stewing and thinking up all kinds of mean and nasty things to say to these people when I finally lost my temper. But I didn’t crack, and it was a good lesson to learn. I can put up with being called a lot of things, but I never want to be known as a jerk.

The last thing I will say about graduation itself was that it was really inspiring to me personally. During the last two years of my college career, I’ve found myself slacking off quite a bit. Not in all areas, I thought my internship with MTV was a pillar of excellence, but with my Color Sync film and my outside writing projects, I’ve really let things slide. But there, with all the other graduates, some who did better than me and others who didn’t, I felt the urge to do better. I wanted to go back to school as a graduate student to prove to myself that I’m not the type of student that I left NYU as. I should be better than this; I am better than this, but I’m not proving it to anyone. But with the President and the Provost and all the Deans talking about achievements and my future, I realized that my future would go nowhere if I didn’t step up to drive it. I’m okay with missing Graduate with Honors, even though I’ll miss it by a small margin if I do miss it and that’ll bum me out, but for a person with a 3.4 minimum GPA at NYU, I can’t be content with working at the entry level of a pissant Internet company for too long. I know the stories of people with dreams that lost them in the day-to-day search for a paycheck and reduced standards, and it can easily happen to me if I don’t constantly strive for greatness in all areas of my live. So, the big message to take from this very long journal entry is that if you shoot for anything else than the top, you fail before you begin. It’s okay to shoot for the top and miss if you know you gave it your best shot. But if you settle for anything else, then you’ll never be able to live with yourself. You shouldn’t have to give the woulda-coulda-shoulda speech when the chance to change anything has passed. Live to the fullest of your capacities and without regret since the worst person to second-guess you is you.

Finally, I’d like to send a very heartfelt “Thank You” to all the people that I’ve met, worked with, and laughed with during my four years of college in New York City. Friends, co-workers, professors, the lot. It’s been beyond unreal; it’s been surreal or even supernatural at times, and I hope to see you all sometime down the line. To my fellow graduates, I wish success and prosperity in all your endeavors, since this business can often chew you up and spit you out. But the level of talent and dedication I’ve seen in so many of your work tells me that you stand a very good chance of making it past the pitfalls. I have nothing but respect for all of you, and consider it a privilege to be around talent of this caliber.

Playing Catch-Up

Posted in Personal Crap by Chris W. on April 16, 2007

Well, well, well… a lot has happened since the last time I formally updated, so let’s see if I can bring everyone up to speed.

For starters, I turned 21 on April 11 (whoo hoo!) All in all, it was a fabulous birthday. I got a lot of people giving me well wishes, some very sweet messages from friends and family, and I treated myself by skipping class to go see Grindhouse. (A review has been posted, so I won’t dwell on that here.) Also, as if to compliment that, I was made up as a zombie in my special-effects make up class. Hopefully, I’ll get the pictures so I can post them here.

For the most part, I’ve been swamped with school-work. I’ve come to resent my gen eds because I feel they are distracting me from what is really important right now: my film and my craft. I may not say this to my professor’s face, but I don’t give a flying fuck about much of what they’re saying, and it’s occupying most of my time. Like most things I do, I do it because they force me to, but once I’m done (after this summer, thank you!) it’ll all be a distant memory. I wish there was more time to devote to my film, because I want that damn thing to be good, but I just don’t have the time in my day to make it happen. But I soon will…

I also did a small audition for the Blue Man Group here in New York City, playing guitar for the back-up band. It was a great experience, but I didn’t get into the band. I made it past the first round, playing the guitar part for “Drumbone”, but once I got to playing the zither, I bonked out. Despite the negative outcome, I don’t think I could’ve asked for a better audition, considering what a bundle of nerves I was and the fact that I’d never seen a zither before in my life. I fully intend to go back and re-audition, but after some time has passed, my schedule has cleared up a bit, and I’ve had more time to practice.

On a similar note, last Saturday (the 21st of April) a friend asked me to be in a small TV project she was directing. My part was small (two lines), but I had to be as convincingly crazy as I could be. I believe that I was too good. Everyone who watched me on the monitors were either laughing their heads off or scared white. While I was only acting (honestly!) I think I genuinely creeped out the other actress I was working with. Oh well…

I’ve got just about everything taken care of for the summer. Once these damned classes are done after next week, I should be able to update a lot more regularly. But for the next few days, it’s going to be a bumpy road. I apologize in advance, but the worst will be over soon.

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Confessions of a Shopaholic (No, not related to the movie)

Posted in Personal Crap, Technology by Chris W. on February 28, 2007

I’ve got total gear-lust. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I have an uncontrollable urge to obtain new stuff constantly. I don’t know what that says about me as a person, but at least in my point-of-view, they’re wrong. I don’t value things more than people, but I will admit that if there was a way that I could fuck my HDTV, I would. It’d probably degrade the overall resolution, though…

Like Pavlov’s Dog, I salivate every time I see some new piece of technology/entertainment that seems even the least bit desirable. I love it all: computers, laptops, DVDs, HD-DVDs (hey, gotta work that HD-DVD player, right?), software, hardware, hardcover, paperback, new edition, special edition, ANY edition.

I will be living in a hole in the ground in the next year or so.

The focus of my obsession varies from time to time. Right now, I’m eyeing one of those new Macintosh computers, like an iMac or a MacBook. My own delusions tell me that my current computer (the one I’m typing on right now) is getting older, and I should probably be thinking about what will take it’s place once this model goes belly-up. Also, I’d love the opportunity to use one of those built-in iSight cameras, even though people rarely IM me, and even then, they don’t have a camera. As it stands right now, I’ve been racking my brain as to how I can stretch my current budget to include another 1,500 dollar weight that didn’t exist beforehand.

But it’s still embarrassing that I can’t turn off my gear-lust, even though my credit cards are pushed to the point of pain. It’s something I’ll have to learn to do, because when I take full control of my gravy train, I don’t want to derail that sucker right away. I’ve got over 5,000 dollars in credit card debt, and I intend to pay off in full before I graduate. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I will, hopefully without resorting to any illegal methods. (Just in case, does anyone know the exact process for growing your own hydroponic marijuana?)*

In later entries, I’ll post my progress, as well as a God’s-honest-truth as to what I bought that week. Part of it is because I want to brag, but the other part is because I feel that if I have to confess my wrongdoings to the world, then I’ll be less likely to grossly overspend. So, a new world is dawning, one of frugality and a credit card balance that doesn’t have four digits in them. It’ll be glorious, I tell you! Glorious!

…I’ll start tomorrow.

*By the way, if anyone was confused, I don’t actually plan on growing dope for money. That was just a joke. I thought I’d clear that up in case any fine members of the NYPD happened to be reading. If you are, then you must be reeeaallly starved for entertainment.

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