NYR

Sleep, Pray, Plan, Sweat, Study, Vibrate, Connect, Eat. Every Day.

Sorting...? De-confusing...? Internal Monologue Review

I have a weariness of spirit, a heaviness of heart, and a drag in my step that are at once totally familiar to me, extremely comfortable, but leading me more deeply into a lonely, null state. I've been depressed before, I think about things too much, and reach paralysis from fixating on regret, poor choices, my flaws, you know the cocktail.

Aerating these concerns among "loved ones" (have I ever even loved?) has been met with some combination of "I don't understand," "Do goals," or "Medicate." As someone whose goal system has been ruptured seemingly beyond repair from a set of factors outside myself (video games), and as goals are arbitrary, meaningless constructs used to distract ourselves on an increasingly desertifying planet, that leaves medicate and I don't understand.

Well, I don't understand. I don't want to be here. I don't have the energy to force myself into something I don't care about, and I don't care about anything. I have every blessing one could ever imagine (love, sex, nourishment, friendship, entertainment, talent) but I just never saw the fucking point. It's easier to be lazy. I don't have that impulse, that spark, that need to mobilize and motivate and create, but I similarly despise being prodded out of stasis by external forces, having my focus interrupted and redirected to someone else's arbitrary concerns. I don't derive enough satisfaction from accomplishing. I derive too much self-scorn from stumbling.

Medicate seems unwise. I was largely healthy, spirited, ambitious, ego-maniacal and satisfied with life at many points and the malaise that has beset me is a sign, a warning, a trigger that something is wrong and must be righted. I don't need to smooth those feelings over, they serve an important function.

Function for what? I despise myself for my lack, my flaws. I am an example of adult boyhood. I have not exited the womb I was raised in and instead have looked to transplant myself directly into another womb. Or at least, that's the pattern I've observed without there being any sort of underlying directive or motive: seek more pleasure, more comfort, more novelty. Where that falls flat are these periods where I sit back and examine the whole structure, find it wholly dissatisfactory, and become profoundly immune to pleasure. I wholly reject living out my life jumping from high to high in my privileged shell, but only the most determined saplings break their nutty enclosure to face the reality of the cold, dark without. Yet they are the ones that get to evolve, reproduce, transcend.

I want to spend more time bemoaning my latest rupture with a woman. She truly is a lovely partner whom I was blessed to have adore me. But I hate myself, so when someone loves me it seems increasingly glaring and contrasting and disingenuous and scorching for someone to feel about me a way I don't feel I deserve. I'm sorry. I don't hate her. I love her. I hate myself for not being a person whom I can admire and thus relish the soothing she would apply liberally to my soul. I hate myself for choosing to invite her walls down when I knew that behind mine were the same noxious, rotting beliefs that would undermine any connection. I hate setting up expectations that I'm some semblance of centered, whole, growing, and healthy, only to let those illusions fade whenever I get tired of maintaining the illusion. Also, I knew I wasn't growing. Nevermind everything else, my track wasn't aligned, my face wasn't forward, I wasn't surging so any temporary wind in my sails would slowly fade without progress points to reach and all that reinvigoration jazz. Of course life would stagnate. What a cruel fate to bestow upon a vulnerable, inviting, courageous person trying to live in connection.

The worst part is that every belief I hold about life is that connection is the only consistent, healthy way of a satisfying life, yet I push people away at the slightest vulnerability. What was it about finding myself off track that necessitated boxing her out? It didn't. But my vulnerability about being this lonely man-child combined with her rejection of that omnipresent culture made it easier to shut her out, the worst hurt I could throw in her direction to match the self-laceration I gave myself under her gaze. But what if I could grow out of that true moral failing? Especially if I saw it so clearly? What is it about being spurred on to new efforts from friends I trust and care about causes me to reject their influence and further bury myself in isolation and sorrow? Iunno. Probably some fucked up daddy issues, I guess.

I dunno what caused me to resurrect this diary, perhaps just the hopes that someone will read it (because the number one thing a narcissist does best is manipulate an audience's emotions for attention and gratification). Life is for the living, and they've made dozens of dystopic movies about the slow, living-death of the masses eking out their existence masturbating, watching Youtube, eating cookies.

How has your New Year been so far?

Why I love Die Hard, and why I hope Bruce Willis never dies

As far as Die Hard fans go...  in my opinion, the filmmakers cast the roles perfectly, and plotted the movie exactly, to make the audience feel every moment of this poor man's night.

Allow me a paragraph to gush (eh, it actually turns into 3). Recall that John McClane doesn't like air travel, so he's feeling really anxious and one of Holly's associates recommends he take his shoes off and exercise his toes on the carpet to help him relax. This little detail comes back in a huge, gritty way, because all the action takes place without his shoes on, shattered glass and all.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention that his wife had assumed a different name while out in LA. These aren't the people of his city he feels duty-bound to protect: he is a fish out of water protecting people who don't even care that he exists. He was off-duty, the local authorities don't want to help, a stupid salesman gives up McClane's identity; in short, every moment of the film conveys the burden of being the only man willing and able to do something about a life-threatening situation for a lot of people. Only Carl (or Al as he's called in this flick), the greatest TV family man and cop, sees the body on his car's roof and decides to do something to try to help.

The icing on the cake, the comedy. Bruce Willis set the mark for how to deliver a one-liner in that film, and I honestly don't think that anybody else these days has the swag to pull it off (maybe Jason Statham, actually, but his talents are really underused, at best). McClane has a twisted, brutally comical view of things, so much so that he decides to imagine himself as a TV dinner. Or that, since it's Christmas and all, he would deliver to Hans Gruber a dead terrorist's body with "Now I have a machine gun, ho ho ho" written on the sweater in blood. I couldn't ask for a more suitable man for the job than Bruce.

I dunno how to describe it. I am certainly not the authority on that specific movie, my friends and I all like it a bunch, but I guess what I'm trying to convey here is that I really love great films, not just good or okay ones. Not films that earn a lot of money at the box office, necessarily, but films that come together down to every insignificant detail to make a complete product that totally sucks you in, and spits you out glad to have experienced it. Die Hard absolutely was a great film, and even though most people watching it just get taken in with the dumb jock swag and explosions (which are admittedly excellent), it's the smart features that really make it worth remembering. Although, I feel this strongly about all of the films in my personal "top 10," not just Die Hard.

Start to the Holidays

Well, I'm sitting here at my computer, and it's 12/12, and all of everything school-wise will be decided by 6pm on 12/14.

I'm nervous and excited, because I think that I should get good grades this semester. I've done all the projects and homeworks and papers, I didn't fall behind from day one. I have this final paper due that's completely distracting me and overwhelming and scary, but I can only imagine if I fart around here for long enough, I'll produce something by the last minute. It's intimidating as fuck though.

You see, I was supposed to be doing the paper last night, but I had a fairly powerful experience. You see, this blog stopped being updated and I stopped doing lots of things because (delete any reasons or excuses because it's hard to demonstrate causation: there was truly a lot of circumstances pressing on my time). Last night, though, instead of blasting through my stack of work, I listened to 4 albums back to back simultaneously with my best friend Johnny. We just traded off recommendations, 2 from me, 2 from him, and let our thoughts and feelings flow as we listened together over AIM. I spotted new details and wonder in the music I had already known, and was able to experience new music from him, guided by his own experiences. We not only appreciated the specific beautiful details of the music, but we also let the intangibles of the music guide our feelings, becoming nostalgic, dreadfully sad, hopeful, encouraging, and we just bonded very strongly by being able to spend time together.

My experience last night helped to remind me what it's all about; this time spent together with a best friend is the kind of thing that I live for. In addition, it was so much more special because I have been really busy and caught up with trying to "get things done" and "make the grade." It encourages and reminds me to cherish the friends I have and the time I can spend with them. It's cheesy to mention the holidays, but the gift I will give to Johnny will pale in comparison to the times I spend with him; the same fact applies to all of my relationships with my friends.

Thought I've been deeply regretful this semester about disappearing off the radar to most of the friends I had (my apartment boys, some college friends I've made, some dorm friends), last night reminded me how incredibly joyful it is to have the few close friends that will stick with me, no matter where our roads lead. JJ and I may have grown up quite differently since college began, developing different passions and tastes and schedules, but being able to spend 4 hours a late Saturday night on the internet demonstrates to me how strong our bond has become.

While some nights I come home and regret the choices that led to my current life situation, last night I was reminded how rich my experiences are and how bountiful my life truly is.

Thank you to those who make that true.

Dear Sir

I think the title of your blog is funnier than its contents.

Sincerely,

Yourself

Publishing

This is a document that was submitted as an introductory assignment for my English literature class this semester.

"While I'm not sure if the rest of the class would be interested to read this, my self-introduction will illuminate myself and my goals to anyone involved in English 417. My name is Mike Yanus, and like the Professor of this course, I have spent a few years dipping in and out of academic probation. Unlike the professor however, I could not single-handedly lift the short bus that carries me to school every morning and to work every afternoon. About my life's journey, college is definitely a part of it. I am in my 4^th year of college, have a junior's standing in credits, and entered as a freshman with 24 free credits from advanced placement courses. I aced the math portion of the SAT, had a great high school grade average and many honor rolls and national accolades to my name. Even in my early youth I was targeted by magnet programs and advanced curricula in order to give me the best chance to succeed. Since then, I've spent the last 3 years of my life avoiding as much work as I can possibly muster without my parents and college cutting me off.

And this summer, I was cut off.

I took a job as a customer service rep at a (somewhat) local Honda dealership. After a few pay periods of customers cussing and screaming at me for things I had no control over, I decided that my life could be better spent, considering I spend my free time salivating over Wikipedia articles about abandoned NASA projects from the 1950's and 60's. My passion for knowledge and curiosity for the secrets beyond mankind's reach are powerful, but my naivete, work ethic, and time-management follies are equally powerful. I'm back this final semester, requiring 12 credits and a grade average of 3.2 for the University to decide I'm worth keeping. I'm working 40 hours per week to pay for the adventure, and sleeping little more than that. My goals are far-reaching, and nobody expects me to succeed, but that just takes the pressure off of myself and allows me to slam-bang this cocksucker of a college ride once and for all. I'm in my darkest hour, but under the greatest of stresses come some of the greatest successes the world has seen. Or I could just fade away, and have a reasonably productive life doing things I hate with people who don't interest me. I think you'll find out very quickly whether I'm going to impress you.

And for the record, I've probably seen much of this literature in the other classes I've taken, but I never read or went so I can't do much more than name-drop Oliver Goldsmith, and Garrick. I've not heard anything about the Professor in the past either, except for his massive grunts from the gym a few towns away."

The Movie Post

I suppose after video games, I will post the movies that I make a habit of seeing constantly and often.

-The Empire Strikes Back

-Blade Runner

-2001: A Space Odyssey

-The Terminator

-Rocky

-Dumb and Dumber

-Anchorman

-Toy Story

-Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade

-First Blood

-Die Hard

-Happy Gilmore

This blog is getting kinda lame, huh.