Hey, I'm cleaning out Word tonight, so I'll post anything I find worth sharing, like this:

Ian Fahey, Chris Johnson, Bronwyn Thomas, and Kristen Wedge

Chapter 19 ½: Our Tasmanian Devils and Us

Part 1: How to Put the Tasmanian Devil Inside of You Into Its Cage.
If you wish to redirect your anger by punching an inanimate object that won’t be hurt by your aggression, you should use a pillow, stuffed animal, punching bag, or Al Gore. If you happen to be an angry celebrity, please feel free to hit a late-night talk show host. Not only will your aggression be expressed in a positive manner, but you’ll also be benefiting everyone else.
Another good method is to hold your breath and count to ten. You can count over ten if you like. Passing out isn’t a bad thing. Remember what the famous philosopher, Confucius, said: “He who is unconscious is not angry.”
Talking with someone is a great help with aggression. We suggest talking with a psychiatrist or one of your fellow inmates. You should also try to talk to Ross Perot. We assume he is a good listener because of his large ears.
Keep yourself occupied. Try hunting rabbits, squirrels, pedestrians, postmen, and lawyers. Well, maybe not lawyers, because they may get you first. You could take up a hobby like skyscraper building, full contact Yahtzee, and even underwater basket weaving.

Part 2: The Consequences of Releasing the Tasmanian Devil and Why They Aren’t So Bad

First, if you kill someone there is a possibility of lifetime imprisonment, but don’t worry. The inmates can be very friendly. Also, the execution is usually sooner than you think.
If you don’t think prison life is good enough for you, than you can also become a fugitive. Think about it. Travel, exercise, and the exciting locales like alleys, shacks and sewage pipes. You could be just like Harrison Ford in that movie.
If, there’s a lawsuit, no need to fret. You’ll be famous, just like O.J. You’ll also drive many people into their own aggressive insanity when your trial is the only thing on TV.
Possibly the best part of all is the cool car chase. Of course, you could die in a horrifying crash and be stuck in a flaming mass of twisted metal, but at least you got a great rush! By the way, go for a Ford Bronco, preferably of a lighter color.


Please do not take any of this seriously. Aggression is a terrible thing in today’s world and has been the cause of many violent crimes. From bullying in school to murder in the streets, the aggression is causing more problems.




How about that final disclaimer, huh?

Well, today was another investment in future. I got up this morning, went to the pool for a bite, stopped by Best Buy to binge on media again, and then went to Staples.

Now, out of those three stops, one might not think that Staples would yield the most profound thoughts, but as I was in there for the purpose of shopping for college, it did seem to make the impending chaos of moving a little more real. I mean, how depressing is it to be purchasing things specifically for the life I will live at Georgetown, to spend a good hour of my rapidly depleting summer on preparation for the time when I will be without my close friends?

Ok, I know, that’s really melodramatic. Come on, it was a shopping trip. I did find it funny, however, when I realized a few days ago that, “Wait a second, college still requires school supplies.” So, it was kind of a different experience. I spent a lot more time deciding what I wanted than I would for high school, because if you’re missing something in the first week of high school, that same Staples is still right down the road. However, some weird mental block has me thinking that a college campus will have no means of providing me with things I’ll need for college.

One of my important buys was an assignment book. I say this because in my 7 years of middle and high school, I have never used my agenda beyond the first month of school. I just wasn’t prone to that sense of organization, which of course meant that I had my fair share of Monday Morning Freakouts when Daniel or someone would say, “Hey did you do ?” and there were audible cataclysmic explosions going off in my head, and usually those of others because in our group, there were always a few people whose minds had slipped. A far better example of my organization, however, was remembered by Hanley, who reminded me of the time I had a to do list written on my hand and spent an entire lunch period trying to decipher one of the items. I don’t remember what it was, though I am fairly sure I eventually figured that out. Anyway, in college, organization will be very important, I believe, because the classes are almost all of actual importance to me and therefore I wouldn’t want to forget any assignments.

One of my biggest quandaries was determining what sort of binder/notebook system I wanted to have for my classes. It would have been interesting to hear a tape of my internal monologue during the whole ordeal. “Do I want notebooks with pockets? Do I need a binder for each class? Where will I take my notes? Where will I keep my notes once taken? Wait, why am I in the pen aisle?” I just can never seem to figure out how I want to structure my class work. Inevitably, it will all be strewn about anyway, so I’m really only deciding how my illusion of organization will look. I ended up buying a notebook for each class, with pockets in the front. Along with those, I plan to take the binders I had in high school, so then I’ll have a few if I actually need them. So much concern over such a trivial issue.

Finally, I’m trying my hand at fiction. I got an idea in my head today, though I can’t recall when or where, and now I want to write it. I’m going to see how it pans out, especially since I never thought I’d be the kind to write fiction. My writing always seems more like a watered-down version of High Fidelity, to me of course, more personalized rantings. I think this might work though. Who knows?

It seems like forever since I simply updated my journal, but life as of late seems to require less writing and more living appreciation. However, as I do enjoy putting my thoughts down every so often, I figured I’d proffer a brief synopsis of my current existence.

I think I’m going to get along with my roommate next year. He seems like a fairly interesting person. He hails from Tampa, but currently he’s at Georgetown doing a summer program. He’s going into the business school, which means we probably won’t see much of each other in class, but I think that’s more of a benefit than anything. I’d rather have a roommate who is a bit different from me than have one of my close friends be my roommate. If any of my friends were to go to college with me, I think it’d be best if we roomed separately and then we could have two new friends almost immediately, instead of rooming together and finding it easier just to hang together. I guess the fact that I’ll be on my own at Georgetown means I’ll have to go outside myself to make friends, which I really haven’t had to do for about two years.

As for my classes next year, I managed to botch that process royally. Somehow, I got it into my head that there would be no need to check the availability of the classes I selected in pre-registration. Not only that, but I was so convinced that the upper level Math and English classes would be free that I chose alternates under the assumption that one at most would be needed. Thus, they all overlapped and did not function as a completely separate schedule. Once I’d realized my error, I contacted a dean and was told to submit a new schedule and he’d get it processed for me. I have since done so and now I have a schedule that, though not nearly as perfect as it was originally (Shakespeare class and the better of two math teachers), it still should be somewhat rewarding. All I need now is a way to take all of the philosophy classes before I graduate. Every single one seems interesting.

Well, considering that introduction concerning the state of my present life, I’ve sure been talking a lot about the future, but I guess it’s just been on my mind a lot lately. I mean, the present is really only made up of either work or reading during the day and the possible outing with people in the evening. Not to downplay the fun I’ve been having with my friends, but it’s been more about the people then the activities, as it’s always been.

For instance, this past Monday, I randomly ended up at Meghan’s pool with her and her family. It was sort of surprising because I didn’t wake up thinking “Hey, I think I’ll just hang out with Meghan today.” It was all good, of course, because I always get a peaceful, easy feeling with Meghan, to quote the Eagles a bit. Life just seems a whole lot brighter having people like her around, and yet our friendship also makes it so we’re comfortable and can talk about just about anything, which makes me feel all the more justified when we talk about nothing important at all…which we do…frequently.

We just sort of chilled by or in the pool, having frequent conversations interspersed with creative pool games. After a while, Hanley stopped by to say hello and we all sat and enjoyed the afternoon together. After Hanley had left, Meghan and I decided to continue Random-Ian-and-Meghan Day by catching Bad Boys II. This was actually my second viewing, and I’ll remark on my summer movie obsession shortly. I had such a great time seeing the movie with Kramer and Sterling Saturday that I couldn’t resist another round.

After the movie, which was once again really, really funny, Meghan and I met Joe for a late dinner at Chili’s. This is where we realized that I’ve probably spent over $100 on movies this summer. Here’s the breakdown: 3 X2, 3 Matrix, 3 Finding Nemo, Charlie’s Angels, Hulk, T3, LXG, 2 Bad Boys, and yes, 4 times at Pirates of the Caribbean. Yep, assuming I got a student price every time, which isn’t the case, that would come to $114, and yet I only saw movies multiple times that I thought were worth seeing multiple times. Actually, I probably could have done without the 3rd Matrix viewing, along with the money I want back from Hulk, Charlie’s Angels and LXG. Pirates, however, is probably one of my favorite movies ever and thus was worth the four times I went to see it.

After the rest of dinner, Joe, Meghan and I decided that since the night had a few hours left, we would take a drive around Alpharetta. Now, Alpharetta’s no Vegas strip or anything, but for a good conversational drive, it worked quite well. I can’t remember all that we said, and I don’t think I need to. It’s not that important, really. What is important is that once again, we had a very cool experience while doing absolutely nothing at all. To steal one of Joe’s favorite lines: “Time I enjoyed wasting is not wasted time.”

That’s really the only mildly exceptional activity of which I have partaken in the course of the last week, besides renting Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels. Fear and Loathing was a trip. I don’t mean that to be cute; the movie really gets you into that drugged up state of mind. What was really bizarre was that as I was watching it, I had a flashback of the Junior Beta Myrtle Beach trip when Thomas and Drew did an impersonation of Raoul Duke and the valet guy, and no one had a clue as to what they were talking about. Now I know. As for the other movie, it’s got some of the best lines ever, or at least they seem that way, because the actors are all British and, therefore, if they read a book on the history of the powdered wig in modern society, it would seem cool.

And now, the next installment in the Jersey Series...
When last we left our crew, they were making the drive from my uncle's house in the Jersey 'burbs out to his house on Stone Harbor.

Stone Harbor is a small beach town along the Jersey Shore. I’d describe it anew, but I have already written a description that captures the beauty of being in the self-contained Utopia, as I see it.

“I always love going to Stone Harbor. I have always enjoyed the ride to the shore because of the way the scenery crept up on me. I would always be reading with my head down, having last seen some simple highway, when suddenly I’d look up and we’d be in a whole new world. The Jersey shore is one of the most beautiful places one can visit, being both visually and culturally fantastic. I used to visit my Uncle Frank there about once a year every year to go to the beach and just generally chill with my cousins. My cousin Erin is 6 months older than me and, being the first two McCarthy young’uns, we’ve always been close. Her brother Steve is a freshman in high school now, yet he too was our companion around the town once he was old enough. Stone Harbor is perfect for kids; you can walk to the beach, the movies, the stores and just about anywhere else. It’s paradise in my mind. I don’t really know what it is that sets it apart from the world I know. I think it’s a lack of trees. To clarify, there are many beautiful examples of Atlantic flora in the town, but there aren’t any enormous pines and such. Thus, each house is exquisitely set against a backdrop of clear blue sky, making it seem like the town is sitting simultaneously on top and at the end of the world.”

This is the atmosphere my three friends and I rode into late Saturday night. Sterling, I believe, was the first to look out the window on 96th street, the main road of the town and say, “Wow, this is probably the coolest town I’ve ever seen.” I smiled proudly as we drove on, passing the quaint little shops and eateries, as always stricken with awe at the serenity and peace that the setting brings.

We soon pulled in front of my uncle’s house, where I have spent countless days and nights enjoying idleness in a way only possible in places like Stone Harbor or Lake Burton. We quickly removed our luggage from the car and brought it up to the attic, where the four of us would be staying. The attic is the very definition of cozy. I don’t know if it’s the warmth or the fact that the ceilings slope down with the roof, causing people about my height to get literally beat over the head with coziness. Regardless of my head injuries, I probably wouldn’t be happy staying anywhere but in that attic during my visits. It has a certain feel to it that welcomes you when you come in at night, but then makes you want to venture outside in the morning. Like everything else there, it’s perfect in my mind.

We didn’t stay too long, however, as the beach called to us. The four of us stepped out into the desolate streets, in the first of a few nocturnal adventures, and set out for the beach, which is only a block away. To set the scene, it was midnight, completely dark, and if there were any stars, a deep, low fog masked them from sight. In fact, the fog was so dense that only a few square yards were visible at any given time, providing a decidedly solitary feeling. I couldn’t tell if there was a wind, or just a general chill in the air due to the fog. The ocean could be heard all around, making it unclear where the water began, until we simply stumbled upon the wet sand beneath our feet, which we had quickly freed from the confines of our shoes. The water was frigid, refreshing, revitalizing, so long as one’s feet were all that they touched. The four of us all went our separate ways for a bit, as the particular nature of the moment required personal appreciation. Michelle took pictures, Sterling seemed to meditate, and Kate interspersed dancing with strolling, all simply getting a feel for the magic of where we were. I, on the other hand, stood amazed at the perfection of what lay before me. I had come to that beach about a hundred times, and never had I seen it so beautiful, both in the combination of its natural elements, and the people who graced its sands in that moment.

Eventually, we all broke our separate trances and decided to walk down to find a supposed pier. After coming upon a few breakers, which had to be explained to some as not being piers, I decided that the pier seemed to be too far to find that night and led my friends back up to whatever road we’d walked to. The great thing about Stone Harbor is that it’s one of those towns where the streets are numbered, so distance calculation only requires a bit of subtraction or addition. We got back on at about 105th street and turned back towards 99th, where my uncle’s house sits.

We all climbed upstairs and mutually crashed together around the girls’ bed. We talked a bit, nothing too serious, and just sort of relaxed for a few hours. At one point, Sterling and I realized how easily manipulated we are by Kate and Michelle, causing us to say, “At exactly five to one in the morning, Ian and Sterling became bitches,” which, for the rest of the weekend, was revisited by simply saying “Timestamp.” After that, the next distinguishable event was a deep slumber, temporarily interrupted when I decided that Sterling and I would be best found in the morning in our own beds.

The next morning, I was awoken by a shout from Mom. Apparently she and Pam were already awake and were on their way out to breakfast at Uncle Bill’s Pancake House. We groggily arose and showered, about midway through which Mom called to find out where we were and got Sterling, who informed her politely of the difficulties of waking four teenagers after a late night. After we were all prepared, we strolled out the door and towards town. Strolling is an acceptable pastime in Stone Harbor. In fact, it should be mandated that you must stroll around town, because it really is the best way to enjoy yourself. Though we were late for breakfast, we took our time walking towards 96th street and turned up into the now-bustling center of town. The smell of fudge floated through the air, a harbinger of the excessive spending to come, though it was at this point mostly ignored as we made our way to the pancake house. Despite our best efforts, we arrived late and the two adults were finished eating. Despite my own best efforts, they decided to stay with us through our meal, so we sat down and had a pleasant breakfast with impeccably quick service. I introduced our less informed guests to the wonder that is scrapple, a breakfast meat which is best described in Michener’s Centennial.

After breakfast, we split up again by age and I took my friends across the street to all of my favorite shops. We first stopped in one of the many random beachwear/tacky crap shops, mainly because Kate and Michelle walked in and Sterling and I followed, provoking a timestamp. We then stopped at “Lighten Up,” which is basically a toy store for smart people, with all varieties of logic games and puzzles. It had enough Rubik’s Cube variations to occupy Chris Kramer for…maybe a week, as well as supplemental cards for Apples to Apples, which provoked a high-pitched celebration from Mic. When we ventured upstairs, we found ourselves amidst the brightly-colored kite collection. Not wanting to miss the chance to make ourselves a cliché by flying a kite on the beach, we purchased a rather easy looking kite, not knowing that we were actually buying an hour or so of calamity.

We went straight back to the house after that, taking a break while Michelle and Sterling assembled the kite. Now, just because we got the kite together does not mean that we knew at all how to fly it. Upon our arrival at the beach, we immediately set about the fruitless task so futile that Charlie Brown would look upon us with pity. Try as we might, we couldn’t get the kite to do anything beyond flying straight into the sand. After a good 30 minutes working at the task, during which both Michelle and Kate lost interest, Sterling and I, already mildly perturbed at our failure, were approached by two young ladies in hooded sweatshirts adorned with the label “Beach Patrol.” They kindly informed us, smiles beaming, that you’re not allowed to fly kites along the beach. Sterling and I waited until they were gone to rant about the absolute stupidity of such a rule. First of all, kites and beaches were made for each other, or I suppose kites were made for beaches. Secondly, we bought the kite in the middle of a beach town. Hence, logic would suggest that the store supplies kites for beach flying. However, logic seems to not apply to the beach patrol, and I was simply left contemplating whether or not the hooded sweatshirts were lined with some sort of common sense blocking agent.

After dumping our kite near our previously discarded stuff, Sterling and I perused what Kate and Michelle had been busying themselves with. Michelle had been taking pictures of the ever-picturesque setting and Kate was digging a hole with her feet. By the time we reached her, the hole was quite a formidable blemish on the otherwise smooth beachfront, deep enough for one to sit on the edge of it comfortably, which we all did. Then Michelle made the mistake of asking if it’s possible to find crabs along the beach. Considering myself an expert on all things beach-related, I began digging holes in the wet sand, searching for crabs or clams or some other sign of sea life. Eventually, after I had created a veritable constellation of holes in the sand, a wave washed up beneath my feet. As it pulled away, I caught a flicker of movement and caught a small crab just before it burrowed into the beach. Holding it by its shell, I subjected it to a cleaning by the next wave and presented it to my friends. As soon as Michelle asked, “What should we call him?” our Nemo-addled minds immediately clicked and we all exclaimed, “SQUISHY!” After a while, Squishy was returned to the ocean and, after a failed attempt on the part of the males to flood Kate’s hole, we decided to head in for some pizza in town.

More to come...

Hey guys, not much going on. Buncha college stuff came in the mail today, so that's really the only thing happening at my house. The puppy's gone, the house is quiet, and I've posted the new Chapter of the Book of Ian, concerning conformity. Check it out and let me hear what you think.