Hello

This is my new blog.

I am going to stop being emo right now.

... unfortunately, that doesn't leave me much to write about. I don't really have many interesting stories that aren't depressing. Sometimes, it just seems like everyone likes the dirty stuff.

Fortunately, I'm also a Plumbline Editor. For those of you out of the loop, that's my school's joke newspaper, made from recycled paper and the tears of infants. I wrote an article about trying to run while shitting, and it was terrifying enough to make my sphincter clench in fear. Don't worry, I was fine after taking some Metamucil.

So why the new blog? Well, if you've ever seen my other one, it's dark, black, full of woe, and just all-around depressing. I used to convince people the black was for functionality - it's easy on the eyes! - but the content just kept getting more and more depressing until I couldn't even stand it myself. Just looking at my blog made me want to (figuratively) cut open a few veins and cry in a corner.

Not to say that I've changed at all. No, I just think that I could do with two blogs. That way, the happy posts are separate from the depressing ones, like salt from pepper, or Charlie Sheen and Denise Richards. It reduces the chance of an odd overlap, like, "what is this happy post doing on such a depressing website?", or "oh my Gandhi they are killing each other now there is so much blood!"

I think I'm going to start off with something recent. I just got my cousin's wedding invitation in the post, alongside the multiple bills and usual junk mail, which of course made it stand out like a diamond in a bucket of fish urine. I haven't seen my cousin for a good 10 years, not counting that time we ran into each other at a restaurant in Malaysia, and we were both too awkward to say a word to each other (me because I was a teenage hormonal volcano, with the constant threat of my voice cracking like I just got sacked, and him because he was sitting next to a teenage volcano whose voice was liable to start sounding like Mickey Mouse with every word). Unfortunately, the wedding is on Valentine's Day (how sweet), which coincides with the beginning of my midterm hell week. We'll see how it goes. Perhaps my school will be swallowed up by the uprising of the mole men, who thereafter invade the surface world, enslaving us all and breeding with our women.

People need to start mailing letters more. I know it's hypocritical of me, since I'm the biggest tech geek you will probably have the misfortune to meet, but I like getting snail mail. It's the surprise at receiving a personal message in the midst of the taxes, then the anxiety as you carefully (or haphazardly) tear away at the flimsy envelope (although some nowadays seem to be made of titanium; must be that anthrax thing), and extract the letter, possibly containing money, from inside. Personally, I use a letter opener, one shaped like a tiny samurai sword, since it makes me feel sort of cool - and if you've ever met me, you'll agree I need all the cool I can get. If I manage to get the letter out unscathed by wild ninja chopping, it's actually a pretty cool feeling reading it, knowing someone took their sweet time to write, instead of typing up an email.

I also sniff the letter sometimes. All that air has been sealed up from when the sender wrote it, and depending on where that was, the air contains a certain smell. A lot of the letters I get, for example, are from Malaysia, so all the envelopes smell like humidity, fruit, and open sewers. Hey, I never claimed it was a pleasant smell, just interesting. Also note that I never claimed I was entirely sane. I have it on good authority that sane people don't usually sniff their letters. Just be glad I don't eat it. Unless it's from my contacts in the government and I'm required to dispose of the evidence. No, I don't have to eat it, it self-destructs eventually, but they use a really special kind of official document paper that tastes uncannily like spaghetti.

Oooookay! I think it's time for me to pass out in my bed. Remember people, tomorrow is another day, and with another day comes another sunrise, and hopefully the sun won't explode and fry us all, leaving everyone exposed to burn while the survivors cower in the arctic circle, forever fleeing from that fiery line of destruction that comes with the day... yeah, I don't know where I'm going with this. PEACE OUT (as that popped-collar douchebag on YTV would say).