From July 25, 8:55 p.m.

I think I have to do that Torah slam book. Movies like Rize prove it to me. The vibe I get is that I'll enjoy sports writing, but be unfulfilled. Like a "Hey, so this is it, huh?" kinda feeling. Like it's cool and all and kind of a joke that you get paid, but you're not really doing something, you know?

Like them dudes in Rize — that shit's a movement. They've got nothin', but they got everything, na'mean? That's real. Sports writing's entertainment. Sometimes very well done entertainment, but you feel me, right? Don't get me wrong — I get a charge from sports writing, but I get a biger charge from the other stuff.

Like reading at that Muslim-Jewish Arts thing. I read "Tradition" straight off the paper, and people told me that was they highlight of the whole show. I'm not gonna get that from sports writing, because ultimately I'm working other people's accomplisments and goings on into new shapes, while keeping the same basic form.

That line from Anna Nalick's "Breathe" really sums it up. (Man, I'm officially gay.) "… cuz these words are my diary screaming out loud. / And I know that you'll use them however you want to." That's my real writing. The sports writing I just do.

This is really unappreciative. I just got chills thinking about UNC winning and watching Luther Head miss and Sean May rebound and typing so hard I wouldn't be able to life my hand up and cheer and … and … God, that was awesome.

I'm a lucky kid. Always have been. But now it's time for me to give something back to everyone else the only way I really know how.

I'm bout to pull a page out of my brother's book. This is not going to end well.

Grandstanding's a bitch. Sometimes you just have to respond, or else people are going to walk all over because they realize they can. Even if it's trivial or something that's totally not worth it, you need to hold it down. I tend to run this like a coach -- the first time I let it slide in front of everyone else, then give you a warning that that doesn't happen twice. You fuck up again and then it's on, in front of everybody, and I'm gonna say shit that'll make it fucked up for you even if I get my ass kicked.

More Instant Message Madness:

• Reasons I love Barbie simply for being Barbie, No. 53:
  

PhishFoode: haha- zach told me that you said i have crazy drunk stories
The Swill Barber: yup
The Swill Barber: guilty
PhishFoode: it was funny- bc the whole lab thinks i am a lush now
PhishFoode: hahaha
The Swill Barber: haha... you say that like you're not
PhishFoode: hahahahaha
PhishFoode: thanks
PhishFoode: im not anymore!
PhishFoode: tear!

• Signs the Padres were overmatched against the Mets this week:
  

BHooch15: game... set... match... write your running
The Swill Barber: ha
The Swill Barber: quantrill should just wear a white flag instead of a uniform

• Ways to defuse obnoxious comments, lesson No. 7:
  

The Swill Barber: i actually haven't had enough time to develop girl problems
The Swill Barber: haha
Rocheli5: yeah yeah.,...that equals, you are worthless and a loser and have no life
Rocheli5: :)
The Swill Barber: right
The Swill Barber: i forgot
Rocheli5: hahaha shuttup

• Signs I'm plotting to kill the other MLB.com interns, No. 27:
  

helios483: gosh
helios483: fight them
The Swill Barber: the closest one is in dc
The Swill Barber: fucker
The Swill Barber: haha
The Swill Barber: fuck
The Swill Barber: that pisses me off
helios483: wait you gotta travel?
helios483: god damn
The Swill Barber: only to beat his ass

• Things you can't say to a writer because he'll catch the grammatic potential, No. 63:

The Swill Barber: just watched eternal sunshine of the spotless mind
The Swill Barber: that movie is reeeeeediculously good
krisms10: i've only seen the beginning
krisms10: i was so confused i couldn't watch it anymore
The Swill Barber: the end makes it all completely worthwhile
krisms10: yeah that's what i've heard
krisms10: i still don't know if i could make it through though
The Swill Barber: find a boy and try
The Swill Barber: it'll pay off
krisms10: why a boy
The Swill Barber: or a girl if yer batting for the other team
The Swill Barber: it's that kind of movie
krisms10: haha i didn't mean that
krisms10: oh my benjamin

• Susan Bryson, again coming through in the post-game clutch:

The Swill Barber: sent the previews
SusieB129: swilly man! checking
The Swill Barber: cool beans
SusieB129: u sent today's game fot mets
SusieB129: and for braves
The Swill Barber: whoops
The Swill Barber: haha.
The Swill Barber: wrong folder
SusieB129: put.. the bong.. down
The Swill Barber: haha
The Swill Barber: no bongs on the job
SusieB129: make it interestng, no?
The Swill Barber: yea
The Swill Barber: they wouldn't let me bring in the stadium
The Swill Barber: haha
SusieB129: damn fascists

From July 18, 5:32 p.m.

That homeless lady was either truly desperate or one hell of an actor. Or both. I guess you lose by not helping either way, because if she's for real and you don't, that's a dick move. (God, that was raw emotion.) But if she's buggin enough to roll through that act car after car, she's probably in a bad enough spot to deserve help.

That's what kind of sucks about being from New York -- instead of being genuine all the time, you learn to be indifferent. I feel like I'm a good person, and I want to believe in people. I really do. but I've seen too much to proffer the benefit of the doubt. I mean, I'm still floored when people are complete assholes and don't realize it. Maybe it's fucked up that I care about people I don't know as long as I've been there or see opportunity to act differently, because in truth, you have to work to be a dick. For real.

But maybe I'm naive to zone out on the subway bums because I think they have other options. They proly don't if they're trolling cars for cash. I'm luck I'm never gonna be there. Too many people care too much and maybe that's fucked up toward them homeless dudes, but it's true. And in truth, that's a beautiful thing that I've got family and friends like that.

With support of that nature a given, I had free reign to do whatever the hell struck my fancy -- assuming I went to college; because that was what people in my family did. But you wanna go into sports writing? Cool! Sports PR? Why not? Com Sci? Sure -- just fix my laptop when it breaks.

That's awesome and I hope they know I appreciate it. I'm covering the Mets at 21. I can do anything I put my mind to. You can, too, but will you try?

From July 12, 10:57 p.m.

What was that line from Garden State?

"Maybe that's all a family is ... a bunch of people who miss the same imaginary place."

It's to Sam's credit that her answer was "maybe". It was exactly what the comment deserved: an acknowledgement of plausibility if not actual truthfulness. I feel like I'm filled with those and I'm searching for a girl to keep me in check. P--- was good at that, calling me a goof or letting it go or forcing me to explain myself without ever really putting me on the defensive. B----- was not.

Continued July 13, 9:54 p.m.

She was evil. Probing in ways that hurt and left me not knowing whether I was a better or worse person for finding out. I felt honest around her -- see the confessional after revealing I didn't like her at first -- but also deceitful. I mean, there were times when I think I striaght up hated that girl. But a lot of times I can't tell if that's frustration or actual malice. I don't gauge the two very well.

I'm glad that fell off, because it's a relief not to have to deal with it, but I miss it because that was a special kind of closeness I don't always allow myself to enjoy. Which is probably why I hung on too long. Same thing with L-----, I guess. It's not fair that I have to do all the work, but I don't want to let her go, so I keep trying. And she keeps making it difficult. I'm never getting [that DVD] back. That's the excuse I can use. And do.

I get mad at her for being attractive to me and that's probably not fair. I need to learn how to focus my efforts in the proper directions. Like picking up girls. That Asian chick [at a Balkan Beat Box concert -- ed.] was totally diggin' on me. And I let it go because I was just enjoying the and absorbing the situation and knowing that all I'd have to do is say something and it'd be done.

Because I know it would be. Once I strike up a convo with a girl, if she's not interested, it's her fault. I've got a cool job, cool history, some stories to tell and an easy sense of humor that's cocky in all the right ways. So if you don't like me, fine. I'm probably too cool for you anyway. Skank.

*Note: Names are not only hidden, but masked so they're not blatantly obvious. If you know, you know, but that's how it go. And I've lent out many a DVD, so that might not be you either.

I know a lot of people hate on Scoop Jackson, but truth is it's because they don't get it. I present his close to Diary of a Sole Brotha (Part III):

When people who don't "get it" say to me that I'm too old to still have this "hobby," I always tell them that it's not a hobby, it's my life. As long as Tinker Hatfield keeps designing and Nike keeps manufacturing kicks, I'll be in 'em.

Same for other companies, including Timberland, Etu Evans and Mauri.

It's a shoe thang.

Because ain't nothing gonna be like going to visit my sons at Howard University and having sneaks that none of their friends (or them) can get. Love the kids, but in 15 years I still gotta be able to hurt their feelings.

Sick, huh? I know.

People call me a "sneakerholic." I correct them.

"I'm a connoisseur, yo. I don't go to meetings."

If you're reading this blog, and you can't appreciate that, don't take this the wrong way, but you're NEVER going to fully "get" me. And it's not something you're going to be able to change, only that you can accept. That kind of sucks, but you're going to have to deal. So shake your head and disapprove if you must, but realize we're not the same people, you and I. Be easy.

BROOKLYN, whut!

I'm sitting here, thinking I should type or write, or whatever you want to call it, but have nothing to say. I've been writing stuff of late that would be too awkward or embarrassing to let loose on the world. Or at least the people involved. But so it goes.

I wrote a platonic poem about someone, and I think it might be the saddest thing I've ever written. The weirdest part is that I think I can recite it to everybody except the girl it's about. Or I could, but it would force an evaluation of where our relationship really stands instead being okay with the abstract construct it currently consists of.

Haha ... look at me alliterating. Sometimes I have way too much fun with words. That's why I'm a writer I suppose. I lost focus. Any case, I don't know what to do with this poem. I want to get it out there, because it's art and I like this one and usually other people seem to feed off that. But I think it hits too close to home for me to risk the subject just seeing it someday.

I'll figure something out. And maybe she'll get to see it. Sometime soon. Or later.

Another installment of Instant Message Madness:

• Things I inspire girls to say (sort of out of context, but not really), No. 1 of 2, courtesy of A-Lo :

rajah1333: Dude i keep missing you!

• Things I inspire girls to say, No. 2 of 2, courtesy of Ms. Bost:

laeliz30: so i met this mysterious "ben cRouch" that i've mentioned to you today, and he looks nothing like you
laeliz30: i was most disappointed
laeliz30: but then again, it would be difficult for anyone to match the physical prowress and perfection that is you; ben c_ouch

• A random burst of conversation closing craziness, courtesy of one Rachel Foreman:

mistressraychel: sweet
mistressraychel: nap tme
mistressraychel: luv ya
mistressraychel: do u have girlfriend yet
mistressraychel: u should get a hot redhard or sumthin
mistressraychel: red head
The Swill Barber: haha... nope
The Swill Barber: redheads are evil
The Swill Barber: i'm quickly learning that

• Another lesson in things you're not allowed to do on AIM, courtesy of Lily Shoup:

lilipad642: well i'm going to go get my car (there is NO parking here..)
The Swill Barber: ouch
lilipad642: in fact i think i'm going to sell
lilipad642: it
The Swill Barber: really?
lilipad642: i feel so UNamerican
The Swill Barber: very metro of you
lilipad642: my dad had a heart attack
lilipad642: ha
lilipad642: okey doke
lilipad642: bye babe

• Ways to get kept in your place by your boys No. 173, courtesy of Alex Nonas-Barnes:
  

The Swill Barber: me and juan were talkin about that the other day
helios483: haha
helios483: what about?
The Swill Barber: just you pullin the ultimate cake job and movin to the lou
The Swill Barber: hahahahahaha
The Swill Barber: k... sorry
The Swill Barber: (well, not really)
The Swill Barber: haha
The Swill Barber: it's all good
The Swill Barber: just sayin how funny it is that you reason the whole shit out loud to us
helios483: hahaha
helios483: you're right....i should let people think whatever the hell they want
helios483: but y'all ain't mad i'm in St. Louis for the year
helios483: at least you aren't
helios483: cause you may not be in NY after october
helios483: you just want me there for the summer
helios483: haha

• Reminders I didn't need from Sash, No. 721:
  

helios483: yeah that sucks (that you can't visit that girl -- ed.)
helios483: cause whenever you have the sex convo
helios483: it means you're in
helios483: cause people don't just talk about their sex lives without interest

• Ways editors let you know you need to slow your roll, No. 534, courtesy of Susan Bryson:

The Swill Barber: all rightie... all my stuff's in i believe (save for wherever marty's at on that benson sider)
The Swill Barber: anything else i can do for ya besides stop sending things and go home?
SusieB129: that's the best thing u can do for me right now... u working tomorrpw night's game?
The Swill Barber: yeap yeap yeap
The Swill Barber: with bryan hoch
SusieB129: k... i shall see you then. now get out before the muse strikes u again

• Ways I'm good that other people (i.e. Sash) realize way too late:
  

helios483: oh
helios483: and just to let you know....i see you on your visionary skills
helios483: i'm hoppin on the Jessica Alba bandwagon...finally
helios483: saw Fantastic Four last night
helios483: and i've decided I have to meet Kerry Washington
helios483: anyway....gotta run so i'll holla about it later

• Things I can get away with in conversations, simply because I'm me, No. 396:
  

Rocheli5: it's ok that youre a dork
The Swill Barber: haha
The Swill Barber: yea... in some ways
The Swill Barber: i know this
The Swill Barber: but it makes cool
The Swill Barber: cuz i'm versatile
The Swill Barber: how many people can design web pages, sports write and do slam poem d'vars?
The Swill Barber: :-P
Rocheli5: COCKY MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Rocheli5: COUGH COUGH
Rocheli5: VOMIT
Rocheli5: hahah you are one crazy kiddo
Rocheli5: but yes, i dont know many people who can design web pages, sports write and do slam poem d'vars
Rocheli5: HAHAHA
Rocheli5: other than me
Rocheli5: i can do all of that
The Swill Barber: hahahahahahahaha
Rocheli5: you have met your match
Rocheli5: HAHAHAHHAHA
The Swill Barber: and in case you missed that
The Swill Barber: hahahahahhahahahahahahah
Rocheli5: YOURE A DICK
Rocheli5: hahahahaha
The Swill Barber: wait... almost done
The Swill Barber: hahahahahhahahahahahaha
Rocheli5: SHUTTTTTUP

• The Blankman finally comes to terms with the current state of the Yankees:
  

Beakman516: and unit is a piece of shit
The Swill Barber: haha... he's pitched pretty decent -- just not for him
Beakman516: what do they have now?
Beakman516: unit, moose...
The Swill Barber: may, redding and ...
The Swill Barber: and ...
The Swill Barber: brown? maybe?
Beakman516: holy shit
Beakman516: thats brutal

• The second time I can remember Sash actually biting back when clowned:

helios483: nah i feel you
helios483: i mean for me everyday i'm just home
helios483: haha
helios483: wakin up early to take vince to work, then pickin him up
The Swill Barber: aww that's cute
helios483: yeah thanks
helios483: jackass
The Swill Barber: do you lube your ass too?
The Swill Barber: haha
helios483: yeah right after i'm done with your mom

• More unprompted female appreciation, courtesy of Rachel Foreman:
  

mistressraychel: haha i got u here
mistressraychel: 5
mistressraychel: 4
mistressraychel: 3
mistressraychel: 2
mistressraychel: 1
mistressraychel: ok im signing off bye bye i love u

• Susan Bryson -- not mad at me for mistakes, but instead curious about the SN:
  

SusieB129: fret not... there will be no floggings tonight, i'm too tired
The Swill Barber: phew
SusieB129: u didn't answer my question, tho
The Swill Barber: eh? i might have missed it
SusieB129: SusieB129: and i'm sorry, but i have to ask... what the F is a swill barber??
The Swill Barber: haha
The Swill Barber: my two favorite players on the new york giants
SusieB129: i know barber...
SusieB129: swill?
The Swill Barber: Shaun WILLiams
SusieB129: there u go... now i can sleep

And so can the rest of you. Don't say I didn't tell you what it meant.

From July 14, 2:48 p.m.

I think I might want to join the police. I'm at that stage where you can try shit out for a year, right? The only thing that worries me is that I don't think my conscience would let me pull away when I needed to. But that's awful far in the future, ain't it?

That chick in the subway had a harp. A HARP. In the middle of the 42nd St. / Bryant Park tunnel to the 7. Maybe she's there more often, but it was the first time I'd seen her. I respect that gangsta. Cuz she had to carry that P.o.S. from wherever she came from.

But you know what? I bet you she makes out well. That's a unique hustle. There are mad homeless people, but probably only one subway tunnel harpist. She probably doesn't even have to be good on that kind of novelty tip. Not to mention that it seems like it'd be difficult to play the harp and not have it sound pretty. It just seems like an instrument incapable of making bad music.

Ever find it weird that good sex is "sweet music"? To the two people, having sex, yes; to everyone else, it's just an awkwardly loud reminder that their sex lives aren't up to par with the neighbors. And that's the kind of shit that can make you feel real good about yourself.

But that's life in the States, ain't it? One big contest to see who can stand atop a mountain, yell, "Fuck you!" loudest and make the greatest amount of people feel bad they aren't the one yelling. The American Dream is being so impressive that you make everyone else feel shitty about themselves. Great country, this one.

Yeah, so I've had three days off, which is enough time for me to do things like get angry reading an article (Josh Binstock's We Fired Scott Layden for This?) on realguysports.com (which I string for) and write a researched rebuttal (Cut Isiah Some Slack).

From July 12, 10:20 p.m.

Why am I writing right now on the train? / It gives me something to do that's never the same. / Memory recall's not enough to create / a single thing the same as it once was / which you can get enough of / because once is enough, even if you love / something as much as you can / you need to give it a new look, change up the old plan.

I've had it up to HERE with these ignant mofuckers on the train who sit there, cell phone in hand, going through their ring tones like the rest of us are too deaf to hear or too numb to care. That's just disrespectful.

I mean, come on — the whole mission you undertake when you get on the train is to keep to your own damn self. It's one of them unwritten rules everybody just knows and doesn't need to be reminded about. There are very limited exceptions, listed as follows:

1. You're a tourist and know no better.
2. You're a child and of an age where doing shit like spinning around the pole one-handed while emitting a low-pitched wail is still more cute than ingratiating.
3. You're lost and/or baffled by the subway and obviously in need of help. Then, I'm going to help you. But only really well if you're cute.
4. You're kicking game. In that case — and only in that case — I give it up to you for breaking protocol, like that dude last month who ran a 20-minute convo and got the girl to exchange numbers and agree to a date. That was gangsta.
   
5. Reactions to crazy/stupid/annoying shit on the train. When that happens, you become an audience, and it's a shard experience. So share. But mostly knowing looks, not speech. Unless the situation merits it. That's your call.
6. You're going to say something substantial, like asking a writer about writing, and their writing specifically. Because we love to talk about our shit. Or at least I do. Beacause it's good.

Hmmm ... That's all I got. I guess if you were gonna rob someone, you could talk, but that's already kind of a fucked up situation, so I don't believe it's really real in the context of this list.

I got nothing else. Really. Really real is from a Skye Sweetnam song, and in that context it doesn't even seem a little ghetto. It's just her teenage way of songwriting.

Speaking of teenage songwriters, am I in trouble with Alexz Johnson (Instant Star)? I totally think I'm crushing. I'm a total sucker for cute underage nubile prepackaged pocket poppers. Say that three times fast, while I go take a shower for both of our sakes. Alexz has got that unique fucking "look at me" charismatic spark, because she's the only thing that keeps me watching that show. And I can't take my eyes off her.

Maybe I'm just a sucker for artists because I haven't been with one (well, who writes or sings anyway) and I'm really fucking curious about that whole kindred spirit deal. I mean, I'm not weird for thinking that Avril writes the songs I would write were I a girl and could sing, right? Well, maybe that's a little weird and kinda creepy.

Like that fan letter I wrote. I think there's a reason I got no response. I'm such a dork. I had never done that before. I couldn't tell you what it was that made me write and send, either, simply because I don't know. I just got caught up in her music and actually needed to open a dialogue with the artist, even though fan mail's obviously a monologue. That's how that goes I guess. Maybe I wanted her to respond. To my letter. Because it was that good. Maybe I thought she would. Maybe I'll do it again.

I officially got sucked into using MySpace. Check me out at http://www.myspace.com/swillyb. I have only Rachel, the All-Star Break and my own boredom to thank.

From July 5, 9:41 p.m.

That list yesterday (of kissing memories and misses, not posted for everyone's sanity and comfort) was out of control. I only say that because I can see the page and I'm already starting to wonder if I missed someone or can name someone else.

The B train sucks. It rocks side-to-side and makes it friggin impossible to write without ending up all over the place. Let's get some new ones on the B. They replaced all those dumb red ones (Twos?) This is like a retrofitted newer version. Go figure.

It's all good. Ish. Are these really the kind of things that irk me? Yes. It's hard to maintain a flow when I'm rocking back and forth like a Hasid at shul. Jew reference. I think I'll go eat some bacon and cheese burgers to even my ante. Haha. I'm such a food goy.

But I love me some gefilte fish and kugel and latkes. Gosh. Those are like the highlight of every Jew's year. Out of control. Everyone hates eating them because they're so bad for you, but they taste so good, it's impossible not to have any and fuck Lay's, but you know you can't have just one.

Kind of like heartbreak. They talk about that first love deal. But it's all BS. First is only good untilyou realize that you've got no basis for camparison and when you get your ass kicked once, you want to just lay there and let the ref call you out on the standing eight. But then when it happens the next time, it's a little easier. Not because it hurts any less, but because you've been through the process before and you know what to expect; you know how the stages develop and fade and what to do even if you're not going to do it or listen to anyone when they tell you to.

And that knowledge … that lets you truly fucking appreciate how bad you just got beaten down by love's strongmen and know how long you'll be checking in at the Heartbreak Hotel. Perspective is a beautiful thing. Because that first one happens, and it's the end of the fucking world. But when that next situation goes smackdown and lays you out cold on the carpet, you think, "Hey, this time I really got my ass kicked." Or maybe, "Hey, this one isn't so bad at all. She didn't mean that much to me. That's great news!"

Shit, I could rank every one right now, with a recap of the cutdown moment. Top Five Breakups, in chronological order:

1. Haha … Sorry folks, Nick Hornby beat me to that one.

High Fidelity's good stuff at least. That, my friends, is the male equivalent of The Notebook (which I'm stubbornly sitting out, much like I've done with Dirty Dancing. Tthat might end up being one confusing deathbed request, asking to watch those two movies. That couldn't count then.) It's a definite date movie, but also one guys can watch together comfortably. Well, except for that bit at the end, maybe. So it goes.

From July 4, 7:44 p.m.

See, now I'm at that point where I need to figure out what a female friendship is, because right now I just do different levels of the same shit and dial up or down depending on the situation. Maybe that's all it is, because I dial it up -- sometimes way up -- when I'm supercomfortable in a situation like with say, ---- or -- even, you know? But I think the two of them are just weird.

Any case, I need to figure out how to meet cool people and not have it be secual. Beacuse that's how my female relationships work -- sexual tension. Maybe my ability to blow good bubbles with any gum relative to its pliability is an outward physical manifestation of my ability to do the same with female relationships -- stretch them until they hit a breaking point and blow up all over my face. Well, maybe that's a talent. HA. But anyways, you see what I'm saying, right? This makes sense to you? Does it? DOESN'T IT?

It better. Because it makes perfect sense to me and I obviously know what I'm talking about. So you should understand, RIGHT? Right. Yup. Yuppers. Yupperoo. Yes, sir, I'm with you. I'm definitely not disagreeing. No -- not with myself. I'm saying if I were you, I'd understand me, because I'm making sense to myself, if not everyone else. And I'd be you, so you'd have to understand me if I were you. Unless it was a trade instead of a displacement, in which case, you'd be me and we'd be right back where we started and, well, you get the point don't you?

Well, you should. Oh, you do? That's good then. You're starting to catch on it seems. I know this can be overbearing but I think you can handle it. You can, can't you? You can. I feel it. I've got the faith -- like a redneck in the Bush administration. You're only Republican if you're uneducated or rich. Nothing else makes any sense.

Because if you don't know any better, you won't worry or truly worry or even feel some real obligaton to other people's situations. And if you're rich, you can't reconcile them spending money they could be giving back to you on all these poor fucks who are too little to even count as little people or pull themselves up in this ladder-infested country we call America. Fucking commies.

They're a waste of space and a fucking germ faarm. Three cheers to crack and letting them kill each other off. Sounds fucked up with I put it like that, huh? Doesn't it? It gets worse, you know. Just think about how little they'd care if it actually happened. It'd be one of those national tragedies everyone expresses true remorse about for like a good day before resuming their idyllic life in the suburbs.

That's how 9-11 was for me. That wasn't real. That was television. I've seen better effects in a comic book movie. And sure people I know were affected -- it was real for them and maybe that makes it real for me by association but that's all that is. Association is not the same thing -- six degrees is pretty fucking far.

Just because every movie star can be linked to Kevin Bacon, it doesn't mean they know what it's like to act with him. And maybe they've met him and talked about it since, but that's not the same, is it? And you know it. That's the worst part of this -- it's all one big charade. You can do what you will, but it's not genuine unless you're experienced on the same terms as whoever themselves.

And I'm not talking about six months foraging with nomads in the desert. I mean stuck at the border with no papers, half your family dead, the rest missing, desperately trying to get into an overcrowded refugee camp so you can starve less, all while the one country that can help is picking fights to make sure that everyone else in the global schoolyard knows it's going to get its ass kicked if it messes with Texas. And they should all know not to because it's on a fucking t-shirt, so there.

From June 30, 10:15 a.m.

Pickup line? You want a pickup line? I'll give you a fucking pickup line. Just not right now. Maybe now. Nope. Oh, wait -- could have done it then. Bah, moment's passed. Now we're stuck in that awkward stage where we both want it to happen, but it's no longer socially acceptable.

You're officially dumb for not saving me at that point. It's on you. Oh crap. Totally missed the open door. Well, more like a window -- car window, at that. A childproof one that stops three-quarters of the way down because one too many idiot kids couldn't sit still in the car. I probably would have been one 30 years ago, but still. I'm just saying.

So I've come up with an idea to compensate for the lack of content updates of late: I'm going to give you a look inside my head. For the last week or so, I've been writing these 2/3 page stream-of-consciousness manifestos on the train rides to and from work. I'm going to start posting them here in excerpted form, so you miss the babble and get the cohesive(-ish) part. That's not to say I'm editing the part I'm posting, only putting up a selection of a larger piece. If that's not sufficient, and you want to see the whole, uncensored mess of it, then Let Me Know. Here goes.

From June 29, 1:46 a.m.

I don't know why I was so adamant about the draft. I think it might have been a way of lashing out at not being able to go see it with people for the first time in a few years. Since I wouldn't get to enjoy it with anybody and share in the twists and turns and catharsis, I wanted it to be something intensely personal, like the way RFR was for me because I didn't know anyone else who had seen or enjoyed it as much as I did.

I wanted to absorb the shit out of it and nt be able to explain it properly because they lacked context and I lacked the proper vocabulary. I want to know more about it than anyone I know and know it better than them as well. I'll hold this with me and love it and feel cheated when I find someone on my level because I thought I was special and connecteed with it in a way no one else could.

I'll be bitter and I'll wrestle with their reasons and appreciation and mutter to myself when I'm in their presence, overanalyzing the details and jumping on every perceived reference or allusion, even -- especially -- the ones that aren't there except in my head. Replaying them on loop like animated GIFs until I know them backwards and forwards and in ways that don't necessarily exist, but that I need -- want -- them to because they fit into the structure of the fallacy I've created.

They'll fall in line like Domino Rally even though some of them fall out of order and in unanticipated ways but those are small parts of a big picture event and fuck you if you don't think so.

PS (3:33 a.m.)

I extend this theory to Jessica Alba -- it's totally against the rules for everyone else to adopt my celebrity crush. I still like her, but I almost feel hurt that she let herself be found out. It's yet another reason to hold onto Avril.

Tidbits from IM convos I've been meaning to post:

• A comment I don't know if I should find sad:

Sara601: hey
Sara601: i just heard avril lavigne singing im with you on SNL and thought of you

• A post-NBA draft discussion about dry heat between me an Mr. Blank:
  

The Swill Barber: so here's a question
The Swill Barber: after the humidity of nc and ny, and the dry heat of arizona
The Swill Barber: which is worse?
Beakman516: oh, az
Beakman516: nc and ny can be pretty bad, but you at least can stand going out
Beakman516: here its like walking into a blast furnace
The Swill Barber: but it's dry so you don't sweat right?
Beakman516: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH AHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Beakman516: and in case you don't get the picture
Beakman516: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH AHAHAHAHA
The Swill Barber: haha
The Swill Barber: got it
Beakman516: its the first place i've been where i feel i need to wear sunscreen at night
The Swill Barber: that's like the eternal last hope myth of every humid heat sufferer
The Swill Barber: geez
The Swill Barber: that's just rugged
Beakman516: yes it is
Beakman516: yeah i've definitely had the thought that anyone who tried to reassure me by saying "but it's a dry heat" deserves a punch in the face
The Swill Barber: haha
The Swill Barber: any victims yet?
Beakman516: nope...until i can get my arms to stretch 2500 miles there won't be any
The Swill Barber: well... you can't make the nba
The Swill Barber: you're obviously not long enough
Beakman516: if i had a 5000 mile wingspan, i think i'd be set
Beakman516: there's any number of jokes to be made right now, but for decency sake...
The Swill Barber: haha... you mean no talking about your tremendous upside potential and non-character-affecting tattoos?
Beakman516: yeah, we'll leave it at that

• Ruminations on the college life with Kristin Michelle (not Marie, like some of us previously thought because, well, we're dumb):

krisms10: is this a full time job
The Swill Barber: yeap... bout 45 hours a week
krisms10: geeeez ben
krisms10: you're so grown up now
The Swill Barber: haha... now?
The Swill Barber: always
krisms10: yeah but even more now
The Swill Barber: haha... i guess...
The Swill Barber: i still don't know what i'm doing after though
krisms10: after the summer?
The Swill Barber: well the baseball season, but yeah
krisms10: hahaha that's what i meant
krisms10: do you miss chapel hill
krisms10: or were you ready to go
The Swill Barber: both
krisms10: yeah i don't know how i would feel
The Swill Barber: both
krisms10: thank you ben for telling me how i would feel
The Swill Barber: i'm just sayin
The Swill Barber: because you'll feel like it's time to move on, but at the same time you miss it b/c it's awesome
The Swill Barber: and you'll realize how awesome after you're out
krisms10: i know i was kidding
The Swill Barber: oh... haha
The Swill Barber: whoops
krisms10: it's ok that was a nice little speech
krisms10: special place in my heart

• A sign I've been covering one too many Mets games:

Beakman516: my wireless just totally disappeared on me
The Swill Barber: that's always fun
The Swill Barber: mine was in and out at shea like kaz ishii's focus

• Dan Blank, ever the cynic:

Beakman516: congratulations, the knicks picked someone who won't be dunked over by vince carter in the olympics
Beakman516: no bonjours in the clubhouse

• Invitations I don't know can be rightly turned down, courtesy of hottest girl in the world Hilary Elizabeth Vaughn Marshall, Class of '08:

alwaysahilbilly: you hafta call when your visiting unc
The Swill Barber: hahahhahahaha
The Sw