I Hate People

Song of the Day: “Beautiful People” by Marilyn Manson

“The weak ones are there to justify the strong

The beautiful people, the beautiful people

It’s all relative to the size of your steeple

You can’t see the forest for the trees

And you can’t smell your own shit on your knees”

For some reason I have been on a Manson music binge for the past few days. “Beautiful People” is just one of Manson’s many great songs. I understand why people would be opposed to letting Marilyn Manson have free reign in the media. He’s a freaky guy. He wears way too much makeup for any one man to be wearing, he wears strange outfits that make him look like a woman, or some bizarre space creature, or a Nazi. That would, and does, disturb a lot of people. It doesn’t bother me though. I don’t care what he looks like, I don’t care what he says on the news. He makes good music, and that’s it. Some of his lyrics might be a bit out there (“Tourniquet” anybody?) but for me it’s hardly about the lyrics. I listen to the entire song, not just the guitars or the drums or the lyrics. It’s a melding of all the elements in the band that creates the complete picture. It wouldn’t be the same song without the guitar track, would it?

As it turns out, Manson is a very intelligent man. If you’ve ever seen him on any talk show, you would know what I’m talking about. Sure he looks like a freak, but that’s all part of the persona that he has knowingly and willingly adopted. He is trying to create a shock value in his image that gets him noticed. If he gets noticed in the media, or there is some big controversy because of him, he sells more records. So all he has to do is create this anti-christ image of himself that everyone loves to hate. Politicians, WASP house moms and bible huggers do all the marketing work for him every time they get on the news whining about Manson turning America’s children into Satan worshipers. Simple, right?

Anyway, enough about Manson. He makes great music but there are a lot of other talented artists out there, so lets move on.

Thanksgiving was a good break for me. I got to see the majority of my family in Maryland. Needless to say between myself, my dad, and my uncle, there was plenty of great wine flowing constantly. Thanksgiving dinner is one of the most memorable events of the year, if not solely for the left-over turkey sandwiches and stuffing (I am a stuffing-aholic). After the events on Thursday, I drove home Friday night to go out drinking with some of my fraternity brothers in Long Beach. And boy did we go out. We got hammered and it was an absolute blast. When I woke up in the morning I had the shakes so bad I couldn’t drive my car, so I had to wait that out at my friend’s apartment. Fortunately another one of my brothers called me and we went out to lunch, which was a great opportunity to recover. I was still so hung over though that I left my phone charger at his place, so sorry to anyone who’s tried to get in touch with me since the weekend, I have been sans phone.

Saturday night my dad opened a bottle of 1982 bordeaux (care to clarify on which bottle Dad?) which was fantastic. I think that wine is in its prime right now and is perfect for drinking over christmas break (hint, hint). After that I went to see my friends who I have not had a chance to hang out with in a very long time. Only one of them was home, so we hung out, played video games and drank some beer. After a while something personal came up with him and I came back home. I spent the rest of the night drinking three bottles of wine with my neighbor Taylor, who has been a very good friend to my family for quite some time.

All in all, I would say it was a pretty successful Thanksgiving break. But for some reason, I feel stressed out all over again. I haven’t gone to the gym once since I’ve been back, which is a long time for me. I think it’s just that finals and due dates for my final projects are bearing down on me and the pressure is just climbing every day. Which gets me to the title of my post. I hate people. I just seethe and boil over the most inconsequential things about a specific person and I hate them for it.

This is what happens sometimes when I get stressed out. I channel all of that pent-up energy into anger which I direct at random people for no reason. One time when I was boarding a plane, I saw a woman and I immediately wanted to punch her in the face simply because I didn’t like the way she looked. There’s not much rhyme or reason to it, I just pick somebody and blow everything out of proportion. In these instances pretty much everything pisses me off and there’s nothing I can do about it, I just have to sit and fume and wait for it to pass. A voicemail that is longer than necessary, a pointless email or text message, somebody walking down the street talking about something entirely inane. All of these things and much, much more just make me so God damned angry. Which is uncharacteristic of me because I try to never be angry, just mellow.

I went through a stage in my life when I was angry all the time. Angry, or morbidly depressed, I’m not sure which one. I listened only to heavy metal and death metal, wore the t-shirts, had long hair, the works. That was a very difficult time in my life and I try to avoid living my life in any way that is seriously tied to that time. Sure, I still listen to heavy metal and, obviously, I listen to bands like Marilyn Manson. But I also listen to every other genre of music. I wear clothes that are bright and expressive; my favorite color is orange, but it’s tough to wear that a lot, it’s more of an accent color. So now I try to live a mellow life. Nothing really makes me angry any more except a small group of very particular things and during times like these. I do get frustrated very easily, but when I do get frustrated I always try to put whatever I’m doing down and come back to it later so I can cool off. I try to divest myself of attachments from certain things so that I can’t get upset over things that don’t matter. It amazes me how some people can get so worked up over the most mundane thing. Or some people get stressed out by things they can’t control. What’s the point? There’s nothing you can do about it, so just deal with it and move on. There’s no point wasting energy worrying about the situation when you should be directing your energy towards trying to figure out how you’re going to make the best of it.

If you worry about every little thing that happens in your life, you’ll end up dead, or even worse, old, before you know it. You have to care about the important things, the things that really matter. You have to stop, take stock of your life, and determine what is important to you. What do you like about your life? What do you hate? What would you change and what can’t you change? All of these are important questions, things you need to figure out on your own. I know that isn’t the easiest thing to do. Hell sometimes I can’t even do it. But it’s something we all need to do so that we can figure out what’s important and what’s not. So we can care about what really matters, and divest ourselves of burdens we shouldn’t be carrying.

For those of you reading this, I hope that you take me seriously. I hope that you take a little time for yourself to reflect on the events of the day or the week or whatever. Think about what happened and how you reacted. Think about how the situation would have changed if you had reacted a different way. People in general are quick to anger for various reasons to long to list here. In my experience interacting with other people, most of the time people react negatively in a situation that doesn’t even matter. It bothers me when I see my friends go through this because I can so easily shrug my shoulders and move on, because the situation doesn’t affect me, so therefore I don’t care. But most people don’t react that way. So next time you are in a difficult situation take a step back and evaluate the situation entirely, and try to determine if it really matters to you one way or the other. And please, take the time to reflect on the events of your day and how you reacted to to them, and try to learn from your mistakes. This could be a good step towards living with a little less stress in your life. I hope you do this, even for 15 minutes a day, it is worth doing.

Procrastination is Just One of My Many Skills

Song of the Day: “All in My Head” by Shawn Mullins

“Is it all in my head?  Is it all in my head?

Could everything be so right without me knowing?

Is it all just some game? Where everything stays the same?”

I can’t help thinking to myself that maybe all of the troubles I have been writing about are all just in my head.  Well, of course they are in my head, they are my thoughts.  But perhaps I’m just fabricating or exaggerating my problems because of the stress?  Granted, I am still all alone here in Philadelphia, but maybe I just let it get to me too much.  I feel OK now; sure I am spending another night by myself but for some reason it doesn’t seem as bad as it did two weeks ago.  Maybe things really are right but I just don’t realize it?  I know that I like to complain (it’s just entertaining), so maybe my downtrodden feelings were just an extreme extension of that sentiment?  I don’t know for certain but I can’t help thinking that it might be at least a little true, and it makes me chuckle.

Yes, I am procrastinating.  I am writing this when I really should be working on my final project.  I just can’t bring myself to focus on it though, and I think I know why.  My partner and I are doing a study of adaptive filters in digital signal processing.  Due to my distaste for MatLAB and my proficiency in writing, I have taken on the role of writing the research paper.  Really a very simple task, I should have no problem hammering out a 10 to 15 page paper on the many facets of the subject.  But right now I just can’t bring myself to write.

I have always had a system to writing papers that seems to have served me well in the past.  Procrastination.  I would wait until just a few days before the paper was due and then I would write the entire thing in a day or two, reserving myself some time to proofread and edit.  But in the period before I actually write the paper I’m not really procrastinating.  Like all problems I tackle, I mentally prepare myself for the task at hand and try to plan out which directions I will take with the solution.  This is the same method I would use to solve a complex calculus or physics problem.  I will work out in my head which strategy (i.e. which theorems to employ) would be best utilized to get to the final answer.  Essentially I solve the problem before I do any work, I just have to write out the solution to find where I will end up.  I do the same thing when I write.  I take my time to create a framework of the paper; a series of sections compromised of different facets of the subject, which points will be the focus of each section, which sidetracks I will follow to take up space, etcetera.

This is my normal methodology for writing papers.  But since I have a partner in this, I feel the need to start early so show him I’m actually contributing to the final project.  What I have is not much, but it’s a solid start and considering I have about three weeks to work on this I’m ahead of my game.  The most difficult part for me is getting past the mental stage and actually putting pen to paper (figuratively of course, doing anything other than typing it up on a computer would be far too time consuming).  I do need to get working on it though.  In the next three weeks I have to study for two final exams and finish two final projects.  I have quite the task at hand and I shouldn’t be wasting much more time slacking off.

I think this is my resolution to stay focused on my studies for the rest of the semester.  Really I don’t have a choice.  If I slack off the work will just pile up and I’ll be left with little or no time to study for my final exams.  This isn’t fun and games like it was in Buffalo, this is the big leagues and I need to take this seriously.

Anyway, here is a picture of a view I have on my way home from class.  In the foreground is the famous 30th street station and behind it is a building I don’t know.  This building always has a different pattern of lights showing on its face in different colors.  It’s really cool.  Sorry the quality isn’t better, the picture doesn’t really capture the view like how I see it every time I walk by at night.  It is really a great view and I wish you could see it like I can.

I’m Losing My Hair

Song of the Day: “Slide” by Goo Goo Dolls

I think I am slowly, but surely, losing my hair. Ever since I moved in to this apartment, I can’t help but notice the accumulation of my hair on my bathroom vanity cabinet and sink. I can’t really tell if I’ve always lost hair at this rate, considering I have lived with seven other guys for the last three years. I think that during those years all of our habits and daily routines melded together into one big blur so that none of us could differentiate our own repulsive habits or (in this case) loss of hair. I can’t help thinking that this is just a natural process of growing, that I’ve always lost hair but I’ve never noticed it. And maybe a contributing factor is that I have been under a lot of stress ever since moving here. Naturally I’m far too lazy to actually research the subject, but I’m sure that stress in one’s daily life contributes to hair loss. But even still, I can’t help thinking about my genetics.

Everyone tells me that I look like my mother. I can’t help but agree, it’s true. And you know what? I’m OK with that. To the fairer sex, I would venture to guess that a slightly more feminine, rather than masculine, appearance would appear more approachable, let alone accessible. I have seen pictures of my mother as a teenager and young adult and I must say, in a completely platonic way, she was a very attractive young lady. But I am not a male carbon copy of my mother, that much is quite apparent when you break it down.

I look like my mother. I have her hair color. But my hair is not thick like hers, that gift was given to my brother. He will never go bald, ever. Me, I have hair like my father. While he does not have a full head of hair, he is certainly doing well enough for his age. There are plenty of men his age with no hair at all. Even though I may not have my mother’s gift for thick and everlasting hair, I am glad that I have either one of their genes.

Heritage is a funny thing. I can’t help dissecting and analyzing my attributes and how each one is attributed to different sides of my family. I am just like my father in personality: I am an introvert, I am shy, I am not personable, and although I am amiable, I generally hate people I don’t know. I look like my mother: I have her eyes, I have her hair color, I have her allergies, I have her medical conditions (I could go on forever about my nosebleeds as a child, and lets not forget my allergy to penicillin or cats), and last, but certainly not least, I have her entire family’s propensity towards liquor.

When I consider my last point, I am afraid. Some people say that it takes a lot to admit that you’re afraid. But I thrive on putting myself down, so just call me Captain Deprecation and assume it’s easy for me. I am afraid. My mother’s family has a history of alcoholism, psychosis, and heart disease. I can’t help thinking that I am extremely prone to these conditions and that my current lifestyle is doing nothing but contributing to it. My grandfather died in his early 50s from his fifth (someone correct if I’m wrong on this?) heart attack. He had a drinking problem. I have a drinking problem. I stopped drinking for about a month and after that I pretty much took a nose dive into the bottle. I am on my third glass of Patron (really good tequila for you layman out there) after I don’t remember how many other drinks (I think four, but who’s counting anyway, right?).

I can’t help thinking that I am heading down the same road the my grandfather took. I never met him. Maybe I won’t ever get to meet my grandchildren? Hell, maybe I won’t even live long enough to get married and have kids of my own. I know this is a bit extreme. I do exercise regularly so I don’t think I have to worry about keeling over any time soon, but I think to live a long and healthy life without requiring a liver transplant, I need to consider my lifestyle and I need to consider what I’m doing with my free time. The reason I quit drinking for a month was because I spent the entire summer drinking by myself and someone close to me asked me to. Now I’m right back where I started; drinking by myself.

A friend of mine told me yesterday that I have been on a self-pity streak for the past week or two and that I needed to break out of my funk. I never really thought about it like that, but once she put it that way, it became very clear to me that that was what I was doing. And after I came to the realization that she was absolutely right, I resolved that I would try my hardest not to do that. What I write here isn’t a cry for help. What I write is simply a projection of me. Of my thoughts, my fears, my weaknesses, my eccentricities, my strengths, my time feeling sorry for myself.

Even after my resolutions, I find myself writing this post and feeling sorry for myself. The past few paragraphs have been structured exactly the same as the entirety of my past few postings, and this disgusts me. This is not the point of my blog. This space is not a crutch for me to lean on and use to make excuses why I am not being proactive about my life. This is where I unload my stress and insecurities about my day to day life. Sure, I can see how it’s easy that the two can bleed together, but I’d like to think that I’m sufficiently self-aware to realize when I wasting time feeling sorry for myself.

For the first time in a while, I felt good about myself today. I was satisfied. I went to the gym and had a really intense workout. When I got home I wasted a few good hours being exhausted just sitting around watching TV and drinking tea. I know I should have spent the day doing research for one of my final projects, but I just felt so surprisingly upbeat that I didn’t want to ruin it by doing something so uncharacteristic of me like concentrating on a paper earlier than a week before it’s due. For some reason, I like to take a long time to mentally plan out any paper I write, but that’s another story.

Every time I yawn ( which is a lot; I bore easily), my jaw hurts like hell. It hurts so bad that every time I do yawn, I have a sudden urge to kill somebody. I’m yawning too much, so I better call it a night before I break something.

Covet that Which You Hate

Song of the Day: “New Faith” by Slayer

I believe one of the 10 Holy Commandments is that thou shalt not covet something something. Honestly I never really cared enough about church or the seemingly incessant string of Sunday School classes to actually memorize the 10 Commandments. I was very young during the period when my parents forced me to go to church, so I don’t remember very much. What I do remember is the candles they would light once a year, at the end of which there would be a holiday (I think it was Easter), constantly day-dreaming during mass, absolutely hating the fact that I was given homework for Sunday school and the fact that I still had to ask my parents how to spell my own name, and last, but certainly not least, the fact that my father would either leave mass 20 minutes early or simply not come at all. I don’t know how that has effected me as I have become an adult, but for some reason or another that memory has stuck with me. Maybe it is because I didn’t want to be there just as much as he didn’t.

I am an Atheist. I don’t believe in God. I don’t believe in the story of creation. I don’t believe that there is some higher power that put us in the place that we all find ourselves in. I believe in science, biology, and evolution. When I really think about it, I use this fact to make myself feel superior to those people who believe that higher power which I so vehemently disdain. I find myself ridiculing those people who have such naivety to actually believe that there is a master to all of creation. But I know in my heart that that’s not right. It’s not right to disrespect someone who has a different belief structure as yourself. Isn’t that how the Crusades started? I know that evolution happened, it is a scientific fact. But to the next person, the church-going, bible-hugging wayfarer, that is not the case. This person knows that God is a real entity in one way or another, and despite all of the scientific evidence to the contrary, to this person perhaps there is some missing part to the equation that is the presence of God. You can’t be prejudiced towards people just because they believe something you are totally convinced is not true, despite how ridiculous it may seem to you.

The one thing that I absolutely hate about religion, and have to qualms about admitting so, is the organization. I simply cannot fathom why anyone would need a priest, or a pastor, or a father, or what-have-you, to stand up on a dais in a silly robe and read a book to you and interpret it to you. This spoon-feeding of the “gospel” is absolutely ludicrous to me when the main attraction of any religion is personal salvation. I emphasize that: personal salvation. How can you have this when someone other than you is describing to you what you are reading in a book. I have no problem with personal religion, it’s just that as soon as there is a middle man involved that potentially distorts the message being delivered and spoon-feeds it to you like your an infant that doesn’t know up from down, that is where I draw the line.

Enough about religion. I get bored too easily, I think. For the past three paragraphs I was all worked up and vehement and angry, and now I got nothing. I think I just don’t have the energy to stay angry for that long; it’s too much work. So why do you covet that which you hate? Is that necessarily true? Is it always true? When you finally achieve or obtain something which you’ve been coveting, does it make you happy, or does it just make you want more? Do you find that the driving force behind your desire to obtain that which you covet is not really that you want that particular thing, but you just desire the achievement. The proverbial end of the road. I think, for the most part, this is the case. It doesn’t really matter what you are striving for, because afterwards what really makes you satisfied is that you reached that plateau.

When I was a junior in high school, I was denied the position of Editor-in-Chief of my high school newspaper, and I was crushed. I actually put a few good slices in my bedroom door with a sword to vent my anger. But one of the advisers for the newspaper really put it in perspective for me and changed the whole way I looked at the situation. I pulled him aside at one point and asked him about the decision, and he told me that journalism wasn’t my career and my driving force, whereas the two new editors-in-chief had this force behind them. For me, it was just that I wanted to wear the Captain’s hat because I put blood, sweat, and tears into that paper and I felt like I deserved the recognition and the pat on the back. And he was right. When I really thought about it, I didn’t care about being in charge of everything, I just wanted the feeling of success after putting in so much hard work. And to be perfectly honest, I probably would have been a poor editor-in-chief considering my near total lack of motivation to do anything requiring responsibility. After that conversation, I was a changed man. Sure, I didn’t put in as much time or work as hard as I used to, but I came in, did my job, left, and wasn’t bitter about it.

I think about that time in my life, and I think of now. I sit here, now, in my apartment, typing this nonsense, and I can’t help thinking I’ve managed to put myself in the same position I was in all those years ago. My wall is covered with painting, pictures, and craft-work. Some of it absolutely beautiful, some of it unique, and some of it just, well, “interesting”. But who cares? There is no one here to see it and no one comes to see it. I stare at the things on my walls and remember all of the great times I had acquiring them, and I find myself hoping that someday some person will be here and notice all of the unique items I have acquired from around the world, and actually care enough to ask me about them.

There are two distinct directions this train of thought is going, and neither of them are very good. The first is that my favorite times are traveling the globe, seeing all the things that not many people get to experience. This inevitably boils down to the fact that I am not particularly satisfied with my current sedentary life of being alone in Philadelphia and only leaving my apartment to go to class or the gym. Considering this, I feel like I am taking a nose-dive into the 9-to-5 suburban hell that was the focal point of the opus American Beauty. And this scares the hell out of me.

The second train of thought is that I’m pining for someone to take an interest in me. I guess I’ve always felt like I’m second chair instrument to the cool kid in the band (if there is such a thing). I’ve always felt like I’m not worth while; that when it comes down to it I’m just wasting my time because I’m not going to amount to anything. This makes me think that the things on my walls validate me, they are a testament to the fact that I have been somewhere and I have seen something that not everyone gets to see. While it is true that I have done these things, it does not make me happy. Because how can you really be happy if you rely on material things to validate your own existence? When it comes down to it, it’s all just junk. I could light it all on fire and no one would care except me, because that burning pile of junk is me. I think it’s a pretty sad day when you define yourself by a giant bonfire that has nothing to do with the fire.

I’ve never been able to not compare myself to my brother. All my life, he was the popular one, he was the smart one, he was the motivated one, the bigger one, the stronger one, the more athletic one, the better-looking one, the more successful one, etcetera etcetera. And even now that our lives have diverged so far apart I can’t help doing it even more. While he is off traveling the world and living a life of his own, something I so desperately wish I could be doing, I am stuck here in school. While he went to one of the best engineering schools in the country, let alone the world, I went to a state school with a bunch of retards and jock straps looking for a party. Sure, I am getting my masters degree, but I think that will just put me barely on a even keel with him. Even still, I don’t think not having a masters degree would ever stop him and even if it did he would find a way around it. I look at him and I think that he could do anything and nothing will ever stop him from being successful. While I have always been stuck in his shadow feeding off his bread crumbs and making up excuses for why I haven’t tried as hard as he has to obtain a life that doesn’t so closely resemble hell. I’ve always made excuses for my many short-comings and failures, and I don’t know why or how I live with myself afterwards.

My brother is my superman. Sure, I constantly berate him for not owning a pair of balls, but that’s only because he gives me so many opportunities and it’s an absolute shame not to do so. But like I said before, I’ve always compared myself to him and he always seems to take the cake which such ease and finesse. I feel like I’m constantly two steps behind him in everything I do. Maybe I just need more time to mature and become the man I will be for the rest of my life, I don’t know. But part of me can’t help feeling left behind. He’s half-way around the world living a life he wants to live, and I’m in the middle of the road choking on his dust cloud. I know that I have my parents and that they would do anything for me, but that most likely cannot amount to the type of companionship that I need to get me through this transition period in my life.

But that’s not really the problem. There have been hard times in my life when I’ve turned to my brother, or my parents, or my friends for help. And sometimes I’ve gotten help, and sometimes not. I can only remember one distinct time when my brother asked me for help and that was regarding a girl (which I never thought would happen considering our relative relations with the fairer sex). And the problem appears like a light bulb in front of me. I have needed help from people more often than not lately considering my life and the pressures of school. But no one needs me. No one wants my advice, no one asks my opinion, no one turns to me when they have problems of their own, no one that is important in my life validates my position in theirs. The absence of reciprocity is the most painful truth of all.

Am I invisible? Or have I just dug my own grave? I know I have serious trust issues, so maybe the fact that there are very few people I let get close to me is in turn the reason why no one actually feels close enough to reach out to me for help? Or maybe I’m just upset by the fact that the people I do consider close to me don’t, or rarely, reach out to me. The whole reciprocity thing, right?

I’ve totally lost my drive to continue writing. I think I’ve successfully gotten that whole spiel out of me. A bottle of tequila is calling my name, so I must be going. Until next time.

The Reigning Champion

Song of the Day: “Overkill” by Colin Hay

“I can’t get to sleep, I think about the implications.

I’m diving in too deep, and possibly the complications.

Especially at night, I worry over situations that I know will be all right.

It’s just overkill.”

I listen to music a lot. In pretty much anything I do that requires concentration, I like to have music playing in the background. Right now as I type this, I have music playing. I’ve found that music influences and inspires me in specific ways. And therefore, I’m going to begin every one of my posts with a “Song of the Day” to bring to your attention the current song that has struck a chord in me somewhere, or a song that I am just really enjoying. Hopefully you, the reader, will investigate the songs I write about and experience some emotion from it. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to feel how I feel or try to be in my shoes or any crap like that. It’s just that I feel something strong when I hear these particular songs, and I want you to feel something too. I want you to experience the emotions that each song evokes and perhaps even get a picture of where I am at emotionally and mentally. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not an optimist or an idiot (maybe the same thing?), I don’t think that just by listening to the same song as I am listening to will put you in my shoes. But maybe you can get an idea of where I’m coming from.

The excerpt from “Overkill” that I transcribed does not give a perfect picture of what the song is about, but I enjoy it a lot. But when I think about it, I can’t help thinking that it’s not what specifically the artist wanted to portray in his or her music, it’s about what the music means to you. It’s about the message or the emotions that you extract from a song; that’s what is important. To me this song is about being alone. One stanza begins with “alone between the sheets, only brings exasperation”. Mr. Hay creates a juxtaposition between the unfortunate truth of being alone in the world and the fact that obsessively worrying about it is pointless and just makes it worse, hence overkill. As he says, “day after day, reappears. Night after night my heart shows the fear.” At the end of the day, when you are lying in bed, you can’t help thinking about what is wrong with your life. But the morning always comes and that’s a fresh start.

I feel emotionally tied to this song, maybe because I can’t help thinking recently that I am alone, and that sucks. Sure I have my family and friends, but I don’t have anyone to share my life with and I don’t really know anyone I can spend time with on a regular basis here in Philadelphia. I guess I am just feeling lonely. Maybe the the pressure and stress are just continuing to build (due to my midterm on Thursday) and I’m subconsciously diverting it to other areas of my life that are not so much in the “sunshine and pretty flowers” category.

So this past weekend I went up to Vermont for the annual Diplomacy tournament, Carnage on the Mountain. In case you can’t guess from the headline, I won for the second year in a row. I felt like in the first and second rounds I played great as I was the leader on both boards. My third game I played poorly, but the combination of all three rounds gave me enough points to be the winner. I am ecstatic about winning again, let alone winning any other tournament. I guess now I might have to consider stop denying the fact that I’m actually an above average player.

All my life I’ve dealt with low self-esteem. Until recently, I’ve never taken compliments well. I’ve always instinctively, and maybe subconsciously, tried to distance myself from people that show an interest in me. I’ve always found that the path of self-deprecation is just the easier route. I like to think of myself as just not being a braggart. But I don’t think that is the case. I certainly have the ability to gloat and boast about something, and put myself on a pedestal. I enjoy the act of self-aggrandizement because it just seems silly to me, the irony being that one who puts little value on himself usually does not present the image of being self-absorbed.

Anyway, Carnage was a great time. As always the best part of traveling to tournaments is getting to see my friends that I only see on these occasions. I think that is the main reason behind my drive to travel to tournaments, I get to hang out with my friends. This tournament is hosted in my favorite venue of any tournament I have ever been too. Why is this? Because we played Diplomacy in a bar. The bar is literally 10 feet away when we are playing. Needless to say, I got drunk. Friday night was an absolute blast. I dominated my board (I think, it’s still a little fuzzy), I got drunk, and we had great after hours drinking in the hotel room. A couple bottles of wine, good friends, and raucous conversations was probably the highlight of the weekend for me. That is, of course, besides winning the tournament. Below is a picture of me with the awards I won. In my right hand is the plaque for winning the tournament last year (don’t ask me why the present it the next year) and in my left is the Best Austria and Best Turkey awards I won. Behind me is the big board that was presented to me as a result of winning the tournament. Pretty sweet, right? That will definitely be a fantastic addition to HuskyCon VI next year. That board will look great on the dinning room table at home.

So I sliced off a sizable chunk of my index finger cutting off a piece of lemon for my very tall glass of vodka and it’s starting to hurt to type. So I’m signing off. Sorry about the lapse in posts it’s just that things have been a little hectic here. My midterm will be on Thursday and then it’s smooth sailing. Therefore I should be back with my posting schedule so look forward to another entry this Friday.