Uxbridge Beckons (But it's desolate cry falls on deaf ears)

Uxbridge. Ugh. Ugh, I repeat. After four months of intrigue and interest at Redeemer, I've been transported to primitive Uxbridge. I feel like Dwayne stuck in Thalia. Except Uxbridge isn't a dying Texas town. Uxbridge is incessantly expanding, until it becomes some super-centre like Markham; yes, much worse than dying, Uxbridge could become a mecca. Though, mecca is usually associated with some great place; Uxbridge is not some great place. Plus, I need employment, but who desires to slave away at some abominable summer job!? Oh, Loney, Dears. Tomorrow, I will awake motivated and actively search out a distant summer position in Nunavut, or another territory. I will be boarded. Although, I've been informed, that positions such as these offer measly pay. The odds of this happening anyway are slimmer than anorexia personified. Okays; so after I research distant employment, I will print off resumes and hit up stores, and maybe they'll hire me. Though I doubt it, as I will probably demand high pay. I'm feeling very qualified today, and probably will tomorrow and qualified people deserve high pay. Employers typically don't embrace high payrolls, which is quite unfortunate for me. Anywhoers, I'll procure employment somehow, someway. Uxbridge won't be thaaaaat bad, for my friends are solid people. That's a pleasant rarity.

Little Ado About Nothing (Though, I despise Shakespeare. What a hack)

Tomorrow is my final examination - Theology. The exam is simple - I must regurgitate the story of the Bible. I've studied somewhat and feel fairly prepared - should be a gooder.
Today, I had Jones Soda. I've heard amazing things about it's taste. But, it only tasted mediocre, though the fumes were magnetic.
I'm still unemployed. I also need an online course. I'm also hungry. For now, the Jones' fumes will have to suffice for our Sudan-like shortage of food.

Unemployment Looms

I will write my last exam (Bible Class) on Thursday. I best study for this sucker, for I failed my Bible quiz. This is my first significant failure at Redeemer, though it's only worth 10%, and I just barely failed. Regardless, my Bible knowledge is apparently very poor. I declared my failure of the quiz was due to "trivial facts," (such as how many times Peter denied Jesus) but my house was in disagreement. My housemates have been taken aback by my lack of Bible proficiency. Thus, I will begin reading my Bible daily, which could only improve my clouded life.

I will return to my homeland of Uxbridge on Friday; however, I will not be returning to a job!
I've only offered my employment to a few establishments but due to their idiocy, they have not called me. So, I must continue to apply to miser-like corporations for undoubtedly a measly sum of payment; the horrors of student life. But, I'm still hopeful that I may acquire some profitable position somehow, someplace. I will receive motivation and call around utilizing my under-developed networking skills and land some remarkable placement in a company with integrity. This is unlikely, of course. If you know of employment opportunities, do me a solid and tell me.

The Play. With Digression.

Before I begin, I must express my current physical ailment, which is occupying the larger portion of my mind: My stomach is aching, due to eating loads of pudding/cookies over top of ice-cream. Lesson learned: Don't act pig-like unless you wish to feel death-like. Aight...

I performed four shows in two days last week. In between shows I was nursing the plague, albeit a water-downed plague thanks to drugs. The play was entitled "The Problem"; a two person show about... Well, I lack skills of how to properly describe specific stories so, whatevs. The plot isn't necessary for your comprehension of my feelings.

Oh mys. I must digress for a moment. I just opened yet another Facebook e-mail with a photo comment. In this comment, my name is misspelled. It's Bryan; not Brian; got that? If I had a stone every time my name was misspelled by a "friend" I'd have enough ammunition to ensure this never happens again.

Sorry. Back to my tale. The first show flopped. The audience was sparse and the energy/synergy between us two actors was lacklustre (a rather appropriate word choice, considering the play was somewhat sexual). The second show was stronger. The audience was full, and the laughs were a dime a dozen. The energy that is gained from such laughter creates some indescribable feeling that may last hours after the show. The feeling is so fulfilling; so profoundly beautiful. The disappearance of this feeling is ultimately the cause of my post-show depression, I think. A unique moment in thesecond show: My partner forgot her line. Now, because we were performing on such a small set, no script-man existed. We sat in awkward silence for a solid thirty seconds. We just kind of stared at one another, searching for the words. We didn't panic though; we remained calm and in character. This moment was so eerily tranquil because this is an actors' greatest fear realized, yet neither of us were fearful. We embraced this moment as an opportunity to demonstrate the silliness of it all; the silliness of fear. The two other shows passed without error and were (in my opinion) greatly successful, but nothing compared to that moment; the moment where fear should of destroyed us. But we destroyed fear. This may be getting tacky, but it's the mood I'm in. Regardless, I believe this play helped me to grow and become stronger. Or maybe not. I thought being in a play may make me sociable, but that's not the case. I desire to be social, just not to the point where socialization is required. Sorry, I digress, yet again. My mind wanders sometimes.

Diagnosis: Death (With Some Laughter)

At semester's beginning, I impressed some audition person and was promptly cast in a play. An auspicious commencement for your protagonist. And so, I embarked on a journey leading to discoveries and truths of my character, and of myself. Following many rehearsals and battling many confusions regarding the purpose of this play, I finally was beginning to grasp the concepts of the script and the fundamentals of my character's rationale/persona. Then, on performance eve, it happened.
My throat was tender; my nose was mildly runny; and a slight feeling of death came over me. In the morning, the plague had struck in it's entirety. I awoke with my body feeling deader than most rocks. I diagnosed myself with dreadful death, but a normy (a normal person, probably like you) would diagnose my plague as a common cold. Nooooooooo! I had to perform! How could one properly perform with death-like illness? This would surely result in some major malfunction. Then, sudden-like, I was struck with an epiphany - drugs! I must procure drugs to alleviate my symptoms, therefore allowing for proper performance! I flung out of bed with new hope and manned the phone. I called twenty dorms (girl dorms, obviously. What man takes medicine? Unless of course, he's in a show). Some girls demonstrated concern and offered moral support; others were cold, bitter ladies, who were merciless to the sick and needy. Regardless, not a single soul had cold drugs! Madness! Does no one suffer sickness here!?
Terrible, unprepared people. Defeated, I retreated to my room, throwing on sweats and a sweater (inside-out, but who would care) as I entered into sick mode. I flopped on my bed, dreading my upcoming performance, a mere few hours away. Beat. TURNING POINT.
A voice downstairs beckons my presence. Fine. When the dizziness still had hold after the elevation change of walking down the stairs, I saw a blurred female. Angelic Jemica arrived, having heard rumors of the plague in our dorm. She offered six different medicinal options. Blessed day! I was saved. Immediately, I indulged in such (apparent) delicacies that cold drugs are at Redeemer. It tasted awful, but coated my throat with some euphoric feeling; healing, I must of been. But would my symptoms be alleviated enough for the play? And how was that play, by the way? Stay tuned.

Indie Hipsters are the New-Wave Intellectuals

To live is to listen; to listen is to live. Music is of death-like importance to me. It lifts me from my disturbed and confusing existence to a heaven-like place where I'm incessantly happy and eating carrots dipped in chocolate pudding. I enjoy music from various sources/genres; however, my tastes do not extend into the musical realms of straight-up mainstream pop, where singers are marketed for an audience of suckers - no flavor of the month "music" blasphemies like American Idol and other such travesties that plague and profane our already polluted and distorted western music scene. You gotta sift through that nonsense and get to the very core of music - the underground indie hipster scene. What is this, you ask? I'll use an example of a real living hipster - Mehran The Persian.
Mehran describes himself as ostentatious, belligerent and bad ass. Essentially, he's Tristan Tzara meets Pete Doherty. Let's analyze further into this mysterious character-type. He prefers his jeans on the tight side; not gay tight; indie hipster tight. His sweaters are stripped, he sports a beard, wears glasses, has slip-on checkered shoes and acts pretentious and speaks condescendingly towards people who he labels "philistines." He sifts through old record scores looking for underground records, which only he would know of - this is what he prides himself on. He seeks hidden magnum opuses, and refuses to give ear to anything he considers "minor Dickens" (weak works that fail to connect with his developed musical tastes). Simply put, Mehran is an elitist. He doesn't need your love, nor does he want it. Mehran is a new-wave snooty intellectual who listens to shoegazing/new rave/progressive rock while beating out his twenty page paper on the anatomy of a human entity. More than likely, this specific entity is an empty vessel of knowledge; an unfeeling robot who couldn't discover a proper beat if he wore headphones the size of a Cadillac. How do I know this? Mehran is in a league of his own. His opinion is the opinion. Everyone else is foolish and dumb as some green peace, tree hugging, gay worshipping, left-winged liberal. He may be a pompous prick but he's smarter than you so shut up and let him educate you.
From this description, you may be turned off from the underground indie hipster scene, and that's probably why you'll never amount to anything; you're too pansy to venture outside the mainstream. But the real world is outside the mainstream. You must find your own off-chute of mainstream society and run like hell with it. Otherwise you'll be normal and found forever. Striving for normalcy and a place in western society will grant you temporary happiness but it will murder your soul. You'll be a fake, a phony, putting on a facade for your friends and family.
What can you do to prevent this fate? Listen to Loney, Dear or Peter Bjorn and John and feel the beats and let the music into you. This may sound somewhat New Age but I assure you it's not. I'm a staunch Christian who just despises this fake society cut for Christians or "good people." I'm sick of this, "OH, I'M A CHRISTIAN, SO I MUST BE A CONSERVATIVE. I MUST FOLLOW BLINDLY BECAUSE MY LEADER IS CHRISTIAN, AND MY COUNTRY IS A CHRISTIAN NATION." Shut up, you know nothing. Neither do I. But Mehran does, so ask him for an explanation of my convoluted blog. Actually he'll probably just stare blankly at you and pray for your soul.

Conversion to the Blogging Life

I'm suffering from incessant boredom, today; therefore, I've decided to become a blogger. Whether I'll continue to blog after today is unknown. Some key information regarding my not-so lucid life.
I attend Redeemer - a diminutive Christian university in Canada. I am major-less and clueless upon a career direction. Yet, this is not of grave concern to me. I have many days to decide upon such (apparently serious) matters. What sicko wants their life planned out, anyway? No spontaneity in that I tell you. I will take online summer courses and graduate in three and a half years, to compensate for my erroneous wanderings during first semester. I've come to like Redeemer. The people are real swell and generally a solid bunch of folks. My courses are tolerable and I feel a keen interest may develop once my courses become more specific. I'm attending a Ben Folds concert, tonight. I look forward to this with great enthusiasm.