Autumn

In the dewy grass of early evening
Autumn sun has been retreating
Lay with me and watch the stars come ‘live
We don’t have to change each other
Let’s just lay here and not ponder
The ways we’d fuck up each other’s lives

Take your hand, place it in mine
If you won’t, I guess that’s fine
But I find my fingers lonely without yours
Watch the leaves are falling down
And still the skies a golden brown
Ive never been so sure I was unsure

Let’s not answer all the questions
Don’t tell me that its depression
Sometimes I like to know that I don’t know
Let’s not cross those bridges yet
I’m happy here, you too I bet
I guess sometimes it’s best to be on hold

And as it darkens and stars appear
I’m really happy with you here
You lean over and softly kiss me
I’m left to wonder, do you miss me?

Glue (Pick Up the Pieces)

Drunk again; give me the keys, I’m climbing in
Its late at night; hands on the wheel, flashing lights
Step out of the car, should have known that you’ve gone too far
High tonight, got caught asking for a light
Got the shakes; tell us, what did you take?
We’re going to make the call, man you’ve scared us all

It looks like I’ve done it again
What will my parents think? Where are my friends?
Oh, it looks like I’ve gone there tonight
Raised to think this is cool, that all this is alright
Who will love me when I can’t love me?
Who will take me when I can’t take me?
Who’ll have the glue when all this shit breaks me?

Alone again, she left me now I’m suffering
Used tonight, but hey I’m not surprised
I guess I just don’t check for lies

Rolling in, and I’m cold again, and I’m holding in
All this pain that I’m feeling tonight
And I don’t know, no I don’t know
What can make this shit ever be alright

Looks like I’ve done it again
What will my parents think? Where are my friends?
Yeah, it looks like I’ve gone there tonight
The sad part is I’m not still not surprised
Who will love me when I can’t love me?
Who’ll take me when I can’t take me?
Who’ll have the glue when all this shit breaks me?

How Not to Write a Blog, and a Few Lessons About College Living

Today, I’d like to give an ironic tutorial, but let me explain first so the irony is not lost on the audience. I’m going to explain to you how to keep a blog. Bear in mind I have never had a blog in my life, I’ve managed to now miss most if not all the due dates, and with my poor organizational skills and tardiness, I’m arguably the last person on earth who can tell someone who to write a blog.. With that said:

It happens from time to time. A professor may decide to have you keep a journal, and you’ll make your entries and at the end of the semester hand it in for what should be an easy grade. Well, in the modern era professors can finally save the paper (you’re welcome trees), and have you keep a journal online. This form of journal is referred to as a blog and crazy as it seems, blogs are pretty legit. In fact, some writers and journalists started their careers in the blog circuits; it may take luck and patience, but that could happen to you.

However, for now and for the sake of simplicity, let’s just focus on the grade. Real quick though, here’s a story:

Welcome to my first semester at Westfield State University; I’m only taking four classes this semester but I assure you the workload is no joke. Accounting and Economics have me strapped, my total inability to understand computers has left me at a loss for Software Apps, and worst yet what should have been my favorite class (English, of course the one I don’t major in…) has unfortunately taken the fall in the face of courses that apply more directly to my majors and require much, much more strain on my mind (so to the extent that in the week before any Accounting test, I have stayed up all night for days at a time in preparation and still pulled high C’s at best). That said, my English class is somewhat of a release. I love English and writing and the class structure is great: read some goods books, write some papers, learn a thing or two. It was fairly easy going until I heard that fateful word: Blog!

To reiterate, I am computer illiterate. So this word set off some pretty early alarms in my head and this may even be the case with you, my fateful reader(s). But fear not! I’ve always said mistakes are the only way to learn (anyone who tells you they learned something without screwing something up is lying to you), and I’ve made more than enough to share my experiences here. The assignment was simple; set up a blog, email the link to my professor, write 6 entries, one from each of four categories, and two of my choosing. The dates weren’t flexible, but they were spread out and the individual posts were dramatically shorter than the writing I usually do on my own (professor, if you’re reading this…I apologize if my posts are on the lengthy side… I love to ramble). The whole goal was to maintain a consistently posted blog throughout the semester, which was and still is a relatively relaxed “easy A” assignment… but mistakes can be made. So follow me and try to learn a thing or two.

What not to do when keeping a blog for a class.

First, don’t forget to email the link to your professor. How can a professor check the status of your blog if they have no idea where to find it? It may seem impossible to make this mistake but I assure you one minute you’re telling yourself it’s late and you want to go to bed so you’ll just shoot the email out first thing in the morning… next minute it’s two weeks to the end of the semester and you’re realizing you completely forgot. Also, if you can’t figure out how to set it up or link it, then please don’t hesitate to ask. I hesitated to ask and this may sound surprising but… I ended up forgetting to ask. We’re all capable of forgetting huge things (how many guys forget their anniversary year after year after year, despite that the date never changes?), but try not to let this be the case with you as it was me; nothing more embarrassing then the “beg for forgiveness” email I’ll be writing later, I assure you. “…Dear Professor, I’m a moron…” is not how you want to end the semester.

Second, don’t miss the due dates. And if you do miss the due dates, don’t miss ALL the due dates. I’m sure this sounds incredible to some. You might be thinking “but Will, how did you manage to miss every single due date?” and my answer to you is simply I don’t know. I could have easily written down the due dates at the beginning of the semester, stuck it on my wall and set up some reminders on my phone. In fact, I suggest YOU do these things. I’ll even learn to do them myself; after all, these are MY mistakes we’re learning from here. So somehow I’ve now missed the due dates, but because I’m mindless, not lazy (and cause I really do love to write, but don’t tell anyone or they’ll always ask me to write things), then I have still completed the assignment, late as it may be. Better than nothing? Who knows… but I’ll sleep better at night knowing I’m forgetful, not a slacker.

Third, don’t underestimate the assignments. Maybe you’ll think “oh that’s easy, I’ll worry about it later”. This will be your first mistake (trust me, it was mine). I underestimated the assignment and once I had put it out of mind… it stayed that way. Remember, every assignment worth even 1% of your grade is as important as any other assignment and deserves the same attention. Learn this lesson before the last two weeks of the semester and you won’t find yourself in my shoes. Trust me, It’s not fun in these shoes; you don’t get a lot of sleep when you cram a semesters worth of work and attention into such short time. I wouldn’t lie to you after all!

Lastly, and this is a big one, don’t, and I repeat do NOT blame anyone but yourself if you do make these mistakes. It’s not the professor’s fault; the assignment makes sense, stretches your writing legs, and gives you a chance for some easy course credit. It’s not your friends fault; just because they want to go out and play, doesn’t mean you HAVE to blow off your work. College is about responsibility and learning to manage your own time; people stop holding your hand once you hit this age, get used to it sooner rather than later. It’s not your roommates fault, not the TV’s fault, not the computers fault, not social media, and not other classes. This one is on you, as it’s on me. Learn to take responsibility early on; people will like you more.

So those are all the things I’ve learned this year. I’d like to thank my English class because frankly, these lessons are actually pretty crucial to me (if you hadn’t noticed, this was the only entry thus far that wasn’t written in a satirical, humorous format), and writing them down just now really helped me out (should have guessed, writing is one of the only ways I can get through to myself). To leave you with a little more advice about blogs and writing assignments, some more things I picked up on. If you don’t like writing journal entries, make them entertaining for you. Make them humorous; invite your voice into your writing. In an informal setting, it’s actually better to let people really believe you are speaking to them, not talking at them. This isn’t a research paper after all, have fun with it! I did.

Maybe you already forgot about it like most people have, but I personally am still not over the short lived and incredibly cruel lockdown that the poor residents of Courtney Hall had to suffer in the past month. I know, it may seem like a reasonable punishment to remove our visitation rights and our noise, but don’t we pay for the damages we accrue anyway? In fact, I’m sure we only pay for the damages because nothing has been repaired since I’ve been here, so I know I’m not going to see Courtney Hall restored in my time living here. Isn’t living with contaminated bathrooms and buttered doorknobs punishment enough? I think so.

Furthermore, when taken into account that this is our home for the year, and we pay for the damages, and we spend most of our time in this building, I don’t think it’s too much to ask for us to get comfortable. Maybe some of us don’t like using toilets? Maybe some of us don’t like t put the seat down? Maybe some of us think that the doorknobs aren’t buttery enough? Can’t we be allowed to make such decisions about our living conditions; isn’t a puke-stained flight of stairs really just a sign that we want new bathrooms located more conveniently for the partying set? Bet they never thought of that. And maybe when that TV got ripped off the wall, the person simply wanted to clean it and put it back? They never even asked.

I couldn’t be more outraged about the prolonged psychological effects my residents have had to endure, and feel as though a punishment as controversial as quiet hours and resident-only halls was cruel, and uncalled for. Everyone else may have moved on but this analyst will never forget the Courtney Hall Lockdown of 2011.

Disclaimer: The views represented in this hopefully obviously satirical review of cigarettes do not in any way shape or form reflect my views on cigarettes, smoking, cancer, human beings, or anything other than my notoriously dark sense of humor. I ask that the following article be read with a grain of salt and preferably a good mood. I’ve decided to compose a review of cigarettes with a mindset towards cigarettes of someone from decades prior, but the knowledge of cigarettes and effects of smoking from someone in modern times. I ask that you not judge me.

Cigarettes, what are they good for? We’ve all seen them. The yellow filters spot our city streets, sprinkle our grass, and clog up our gutters. The sweet smell of fine tobacco, rat poison, and paper; the subtle hiss and crinkle of a slow, careful drag; a finger flick, a falling red ash desperately sucking up oxygen as it rolls against a curb and meets an end underneath gum-stained sneakers. Never seen this? Unlikely. It’s hard to imagine walking out of any building, across any parking lot, into any field or the backroom of any club without these sensations being a part of life. As natural as a smog-stained ozone, mechanical bulls or a tomato with fish genes, cigarettes are a staple in everyone’s life; like it or not.

You might e wondering, how is it that cigarettes are still so popular? You hardly see the advertisements (unless of course you’re well versed in product placement, where most of the work is done). Companies and the government spend countless loose change on aggressive smear campaigns pointed at the cigarettes, the tobacco companies and the faithful smoker. Doctors have taken a firm stance and independent research has made sure that the harmful effects of smoking cigarettes is common knowledge to everyone. So how are they still thriving in this society?

There is no easy answer to this question. However, I think as a first example it makes most sense to acknowledge the most well known fact about cigarettes, the fact that has managed to underdog victory against even the most intense circumstances, the key to the entire tobacco marketing strategy; well known “secret”: Cigarettes make you cooler.

That’s right. Sure, you may die of lung cancer if you smoke cigarettes, but you won’t die without having lived a full life. That’s always worked for rock stars, right? Why shouldn’t it work for the common man? Simply put; it does work for the common man. Smoking cigarettes is a well known cause to the elusive “cool factor” in a person. Nothing more attractive than leaning up against a wall ripping on a butt, smelling like your grandpas pickup, displaying proudly your inner angst and depth. You might be the nerd of the school now, but a few puffs on one of these death sticks and you’ll become the suave, dangerous man that woman desire and men envy. Simple fact; if it was cool in the 50’s, it’s cool today (did leather jackets ever go out of style?).

So be proud of your smoking habits. In my review, I give cigarettes two thumbs up. Not only is the most proven successful cure for getting old (I assure you if you keep smoking, you’ll never see old) but it’s the easiest, least expensive lifestyle change to ensure a sufficient cool factor. So in conclusion, thank you cigarettes, for all the great things you’ve offered society in the hundreds of years you’ve simply refused to go away.

Summer can’t last forever. In the hot August sun, I found myself firmly gripping the slippery sweaty surface of a tire iron, loosening the last lug nut on a freshly flat tire. Beads of sweat rolled down my face, dropping from my chin and simmering on contact with the hot pavement. I rubbed sweat furiously from my brow with my shirt, removing the tire and throwing it aside. “I don’t know if this will make us late or not.” I said, “What time is it?” I tried not to sound too frustrated.

“The radio isn’t working right Henry.” Sara responded.

I stood up, stretching my legs and peered into the vehicle. “Yeah, it’s broken. What time is it?” I said, more frustrated as I headed back to the rear of the car and pulled the spare out from the truck.

Sara opened her door, and stepped out. “It is 2:30,” She ran her fingers through her short brown hair.

I shook my head, “No, no. That’s not right…we left at 2:30. The clock is wrong. Must be at least after 3 by now,” I knelt back down with the spare tire, wrestling with it. “This tire thing might delay us but you won’t miss your flight, don’t worry,” I said, emphasizing the last few syllables.

She sighed, “Henry can you please stop? I’m going to school. You should be proud of me.”

I didn’t respond, only continued struggling with the tire. A cloudless blue sky allowed the brilliant rays of the sun straight to my backside; I struggled to maintain focus in the brutal heat.

“Henry, can’t we even talk about it?”

I struggled to tighten the lug nuts of the spare, but the tire iron was slippery and not making the job any easier. Cars drove by, mindlessly passing me as I struggled. Five miles from the airport, and that stupid blue sedan had to get a flat.

“Henry please…”

My hand slipped off the tire iron, and came crashing down into the pavement. A searing jolt of pain shot into my knuckles as they bled, and I wrapped my shirt around the hand. “What?!” I said, no longer hiding my frustration. “What is there to talk about? You’re going one way or the other and not a damn thing I do or say makes a difference.”

“I just wish you wouldn’t be so upset.”

I remembered the days at the beach. Tires never went flat then, the radio worked, and the time was right. The damn time was right then. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m upset. I’m not going to not be upset.”

Sara knelt down beside me, looking me in the eyes; her soft green eyes welled up with tears. “I don’t want to say goodbye either, but I’ll see you again.” I wanted to believe her.

“Let’s just go.” I said, standing up. I threw the tire iron and flat in the trunk and slammed it shut.

We sat in the car in complete silence, and I turned the key. At first, nothing happened. I turned it again, it started. At least it still starts.

“If you love me, you have to let me go.” She said.

“I do love you.”