This just in.

Unfortunate realization of the week: Penn State freshmen are now in town for summer session.

Is it somewhat snobbish to look down on new freshmen because I'm a local? maybe. It's probably prejudice to a point but well founded nonetheless. This is one of the rare instances each year when my usual inferiority complex is suspended just long enough for me to feel overconfident and cocky when putzin by a young flock of frosh. They're not especially hard to spot either. A coed group of 10 kids fresh out the nearest dormatory -girls who have yet to obtain their ugg boots and black northface jackets, and guys who have yet to realize that the "I go here" look of penn state basketball shorts and shirts (with a welcome week drawstring bag on their back) is not going to give them an advantage over the 40,000 other guys who also "go here", with making it with the ladies. It's also weird this year because I'm the same age as all the new freshmen- this either makes them look younger , or me feel older. I'll accept both and further inflate my self esteem bubble. I've also realized that the only time in a kid's entire teenage years that you'll see them walking in public with both parents and no siblings is on a college visit/move in day.

Potentially very poor life decision of the day: deciding to go to college my self.

Unless The Kings College will accept "I owe you"s written on post it notes, there could be some hang ups when it comes to actual payment. I've always been good at keeping a low profile though, so I'll simply tip toe along the sides of the hallway, try not to raise my hand too often, and always wear a pair of running shoes in preparation for a quick getaway when approached by an administrative looking person. My papers will be written under the alias Carter Fairwetherford: child of New England rich, upper-class status. with a credible line of tuition payments, a reliable source of funds, and a mean back hand in tennis.

Fantastic discovery in the past 3 hours: Generically branded, monstrously large, bags of cereal at the end of the isle.

I'm talking a dog food bag's worth of corporate free, bulk quantity, cheerios for less coin than a regular box. Great jumping statues of Budha! it was a good day for grocery shopping.

"turn up the tv, my food is crunching too loud in my mouth."

I'd like to take a moment to acknowledge Post Cereal on new "Honey Bunches of Oats with just the Bunches". Now for clarity's sake and in response to a recent facebook post, this does not mean bunches, minus the oats and honey. As the literal interpretation of the name suggests, a "bunch" consists "of oats" with honey as a binding element of the overall cluster. This new cereal is without any of the flakes and such, leaving the consumer with only the clusters or "bunches" (it's basically a granola cereal). I give Post two thumbs up for taking the initiative in a new direction. This former "old person cereal", as the wise Tommy Bruce once put it, has now been reduced to a more youthful and exciting quality. More satisfying crunch, less soggy heartbreak. It's a shame more companies don't catch on to the "why didn't we think of this before?" trend as perpetuated by a few standouts. One might allude to positive innovations such as Smuckers Uncrustables pb&j sandwiches (without the crust) that gained a following in the early 2000's ,or the late 90's sensation of Gogurt yogurt, a real light bulb idea that generated much talk in the portable snack sector.

...I only wish I could have been there for the corn dog.

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"I come from a land down under... something something Hear the thunder"

At work today a costumer pulls up, I say "hello", he reciprocates, handing me the money, I put the money in the drawer and then say "hello" as I give him his change. He just looked at me with a more than perplexed look on his face. Quickly, he regained composure of his expression, although his face easily betrayed the feelings of laughter and weak pitty being directed my way. I felt like a goldfish or Dori from Finding Ne... And then the gut-bustingly funny rest of the paragraph that was written past this point was unexpectedly deleted. Special thanks to Dell for making a fine product. I was going to rewrite it but instantly lost all enthusiasm with the previous topic at hand (rest assured, I was going somewhere with the finding nemo bit..and there was lip service paid to the childhood memory loss/alzheimer's connection that lied in the wake of my already stated blunder).....and so inspiration can be as fleeting as that kids. Maybe I was being handed a lesson: live in the moment and act on impulse because you never know when you may lose your train of thought and find your self left with a blank slate. Probably not... there's nothing even funny about what I'm saying at this point. On a more serious note...





... I just finished the fourth season of LOST. Sweet mother of Gandhi.

I am a kid in withdrawal. The emptiness I'm feeling at not being able to feed my addiction for never ending, and unexplicably contrived drama , I think, should give me some form of credibility with even the most unruly addicts of the drug culture. Heroin dependency is a serious thing Josh. Well so is Lost. It's like the visual intepretation of crack ( I also think I may be on to uncovering a well kept conspiracy that would lay to rest any disputes about the fact that there are indeed addictive narcotics in every Mcdonald's double cheeseburger- see previous post for further background). I'd gotten so used to there always being another episode to watch online that when I reached the end, the world instantly became a very cold place. Granted, it's not the end of the series, just the season, but still unsettling.

Also, I'm becoming more and more convinced that the writers of Lost secretly own the world's only time machine that they use to jump ahead weeks at a time to see what they've already written, and then return to the present to plan and write accordingly.

ba da dah dat dah...

confession: The E True Hollywood story of Josh Cunningham, were it to be made, would reveal, on any given working night between the hours of 12:00 and 1:00 am, me in the throes of a paralyzingly gripping addiction. It's a vice that crushes every bit of resistance I try to throw at it, ever diminishing my confidence that I am in control of my life.  I think I have a grip; I tell my self "never again" and bite my lower lip with seething determination only to fall victim to my pattern driven, masochistic ways.  "Just a taste, just to level me out until morning, and then I'm cutting it off cold turkey," I tell my self right before drifting into a taste induced euphoric coma of flavor and delight...Let me introduce you to my struggle.  Let me introduce you to the insidiously irresistible McDonald's double cheeseburger.

If there was a fast food infrastructure established 2000 years ago, there's no doubt in my mind that the double cheeseburger would have been sitting ring side for the last supper....or at least it would of been a close second to unleavened bread and wine as chosen by our Lord and Savior.  Inside every "dcb" is a perfect congress of craft and character.  Each one is pregnant with endorphin releasing flavor that draws the body into a rapturous event of ecstasy, made possible only by the working hands of the Mcdonald's late night shift staff.  That might be the key.  To receive the best product, you have to go after hours, where the undistracted and otherwise unbothered late night workers ( I can only imagine) sit diligently, perfecting their life craft, like DaVinci on the canvas, or  Shakespear on the script, one bun on top of burger on top of burger on top of bun at a time.  And I am there to give testimony to their efforts, to be a witness to the gluttonous yet virtuous? creation they call cheeseburger... and it is good.  

Dear Diary,

... Last night the intervention happened.  Everyone was there along with a man who I would find out is my new doctor.  His name is Tom and it turns out he's a lifetime recovering Taco Bell 1/2 lb-cheesy-bean-and-rice-burrito addict!  He's really nice and seems to understand me even though he was into a different franchise scene.  

Things were awkward at first when I entered the house, I had just come in from another errant midnight run to the local Mickey D's.  The bag was still in my hand and everything.  No excuses to dig myself out of that hole but I think now that it was for the best.  Tom and I talk a lot and he says I'm making great progress. I think I am too.  I have to go now though, it's scrabble night in the lounge.

-josh

"were not gonna take it"

If anyone sees Karen Cunningham in passing, lobby her to let me get a tattoo. Any and all forms of persuasion are welcome, but don't be scared to be direct, "Mrs. Cunningham this bunt cake is deliciousletjoshhaveatattoo. Did you do something differentlyhe'sturning18?

I will, no doubt, be doing my part. Excessive nagging ("Johnny Depp has them so why can't I?"), subliminal messaging, finding impromptu ways to foster discussion on the importance of self expression through art, hunger strikes, overabundantly well placed postit notes to further facilitate the nagging strategy, leaving messages written in ketchup on my plate after dinner, blaming everything that goes wrong in my life on my lack of a tattoo and then faking a catatonic state until she caves, and blaring "we will overcome" Nelson Mandela speeches at 3:00 am from my room.

"would you like some fries with that shake?"

I worked today:


car pulls up to the booth-



me: Hi, how're you doing today?

lady: I think you should know how terribly designed this parking garage is!

me: Ma'am I'm absolutely flattered that you would pin me as having the credentials necessary to design such a structure.

lady: I mean do they really expect people to park here?!

me: Certainly not miss, the "garage" was contructed by the psych department to conduct human-scale labyrinth experiments.

lady: What's tuition cost these days? you pump in over $30k a year per head and they can't manage even the seemingly rudimentary task of providing adequate parking. They have to erect some half-brained, ill conceived monstrostity.

me: You know, just picture the ol' mouse sniffing out a piece of cheese through the maze, getup. Only they used people and such. The 60's were a wild time for the world of academia. They had to shut it down though, something about embittered women coming by and whining about not being able to find their way through.

lady: and I should have you know I was almost late for a meeting.

me: Makes you wonder though. Even with the plain, in sight, directional signs posted and hanging from the ceiling, you'd think they were making the maze too easy.

lady: Gah! and now I'm expected to pay a dollar per hour. what a rip off.

me: Today it stands more as an school commemorated historical landmark. A few years back some joker even labled it "Parking Garage". I guess that's some ironical humor. All in good fun though.

lady: So it's 6:30 now, I got in here at 2:30 so it should be four dollars.

me: What was that? Oh yes, right. Well, actually make that five dollars, it's now 2:31 which means you're now on to your fifth hour. Nice chatting it up though. People are so reserved these days, you can't make quaint conversation.

five minutes and a woman scorned earful later...

me: have a nice day!

car drives off-

Rise up, ye peons

Well, I'm off work but it's raining in State College today.  Now any fellow SC native may be inclined to say that a generous helping of cloud cover is more than common in this overcast ridden town.  That is true, but that's just about all it every amounts to.  In reality we actually dodge the ever-seemingly imminent rain shower and are left with a middle-earth type, uhoh Frodo's having another existential, epileptic episode so lets blot out the sun for the rest of the movie for dramatic effect, view of Happy Valley.  I think it's been said that SC is like the third cloudiest city in the country.  I would not put it past us.  I also wouldn't put it past Elijah Wood to ruin every movie he so flamboyantly trounces upon (If anyone's seen Green Street Hooligans- kind of like 300, meets angry Jude Law, meets Fight Club, meets Warriors, meets a shot to the hip of pure testosterone, meets Elijah Wood asking if anyone could use some neosporin and maybe a few minutes to just talk about feelings rather than throwing fists).  The rain's somewhat refreshing though so I can't complain. 

I  recently watched Charlie Bartlett.  Not a bad movie, kind of a hybrid between a 90's smoking in the boys room and a modern 2k feel, but what made the viewing significant was that it was my first teenage high school movie that I've watched since no longer being a high school student.  I was only about 10 minutes into it when I was about to scathingly cast a verbal assault on the many injustices of high school, when I remembered that I was breathing freedom's air and so reposed my angst and left the battle front I once so knowingly loved, for the next generation. good luck. sucks to be you.  I will continue, however, on the occasional pass by the high school, to bite my thumb with bitter indignation. let us never forget.

"where's the Bryce Stadium?"

If a tree falls in a forest and no one's around to hear it does it make a sound? I'm wondering the same thing in regards to this blog. But regardless of the, perhaps, futile nature of my current endeavor, I figure why not. It's summer, I just graduated, and I spend my working hours, one of which I'm earning right now, sitting in a glass box called a parking garage kiosk, watching cars enter and exit alll night. 80% of those exiting have either an electronic transponder which makes the gate go up automatically or a hanging tag that still allows them to park for free but leaves me with the task of lifting my index figer and pressing the F1 button on the computer causing the gate to go up once a again. Every once in a while a rogue visitor to the garage comes out and needs to be charged money throwing off my otherwise established zen. I grin and bare it for the 30 seconds lost as I make the money exchange, and then promptly regain my post in front of the penn state provided computer, slowly but surely burning out my retina as I search for any and all forms of entertainment on the world wide web. The result to date is three and a half seasons of LOST permeated through my consciousness, along with the fourth season of House md, (I think) the fourth season of Hell's Kitchen (whaat ah ya blahty duin?), a disgustingly unmeasurable archive of watched youtube videos the majority of which probably made me, uh dummer, or at least set me back four school grade's worth of maturity, an online login to the newyorktimes.com, enough books read to seriously diminish any chance I might have had of one day being cool, a small cast of broadway quality shadow puppets, and an ever growing confidence that if I ever get trapped in an elevator with a buddha statue, it would lose composure first.

And of course the most recent byproduct of my seclusion being this blog site. I've always liked the idea of having a blog, mostly because I usually unload my mental baggage on the nearest unfortunate ear anyway, but writing it down seems more pretentious. oh well. My dinner break is near approaching and so I must be signing off. until next time.