Time: 4:04 p.m.
so I just figured out why they call it 'game'. by 'they', I mean the entire american male population besides me over 16 years of age, and by 'game', of course, I mean this whole notion of interfacing with girls. I realize that it's thoroughly laughable to have only just figured this out right now, at the age of 24, but whatever. sometimes, you're just laughable, and by you I mean me. yessir.
so bleah, yeah, I figured it out. I used to be all averse to the whole idea of 'game', that is, treating dealing w/ females like some sort of 'sport'. I don't really play sports, I got picked last in gym class, blah blah all that nerdo shit. yeah. so the idea never really sat well with me, but that's cuz I had it all wrong. ALL WRONG, I tell you. yes.
the deal, as far as I can ascertain, is this: it's not a game, like where you get points and try to 'win'. it's like: when I first moved up to troy, I sucked at ping-pong. I would play and get my ass whipped in the most elementary fashion every single time. throughout my life, I've historically simply copped out of any sort of 'sporting' shit like this that I couldn't just sorta step up to and achieve competency with out of the box. sad, right? right. but so yeah ping-pong: for some reason I found the whole idea of ping-pong fascinating, so I played it at every opportunity, and in fact I got into this thing where I kind of enjoyed getting my ass whipped by people who were much better than me, cuz once I'd gotten past the stigma of losing, I could, like, see exactly in what manner they'd whipped my ass, and how I could integrate such ass-whipping strategies into my own tactics and strategies.
'does this have anything to do with girls?' you may ask at this point. 'is this some kind of macho awakening? did you watch fight club on acid or something lame like that?' the answer to this is: yes and no. awakening, yes. macho, not terribly, I'm afraid. it all hit me the other day when I innocuously made a playlist that happen to have 'fight test' from the new flaming lips album on right before 'phony game' from quasimoto. the synergistic combo of the lyrics of these two hits provided what was, for me, nothing short of a total face-melting epiphany. like fucking literally: I pushed myself back from my desk on my chair with the wheels on it and was like "OH SHIT."
cuz, like, the thing with 'game' is that the whole female-interface deal is all about PRACTICE. like it's a real good thing to go talk to girls all the time and attempt to win their hearts, etc, esp. when you know it's seriously not going to work, for whatever reasons, and ESPECIALLY when you (and of course this whole time I'm like 'you' I'm really thinking 'me' but yeah yeah) think it's not going to work cuz of some internal shortcoming of your own, like "it'll never work cuz I'm a geek", "it'll never work cuz I'm funny looking", "it'll never work cuz my recalcitrant misanthropy has poisoned my psyche for all of humanity", etc, that sort of bullshit. just motherfuckin' RUN THAT SHIT. the whole thing is much easier if you think of it like a game. not like one w/ a score and a ref in a zebra shirt and whatnot, but one wherein you need to practice to figure it all out.
I'm sure that for most people, this all comes as no suprise whatsoever, or maybe it's offensive in some way, or something like that. well like I sez, I'm still learning about all that. the subject of girls is the subject that has the most wack personal-interest-to-progress ratio of any other subject in my repertoire. so if you want to correct the everliving shit out of me and my possibly skewed perceptions, then by all means have at me. I'm all into that.
bleah. in other, non-internal-perceptual-management news, I got my car unfucked. apparently, the going rate on a fan belt and the doohickey that holds it in place is 200 bucks, with towing and personal strife extra. that was something, ho yes.
also maqui called me last night at 2:30, out of breath, after some punkass kid tried to rob her. that was superwack. she said he just came up behind her when she was like a block and a half from her place (she lives on metropolitan, in bklyn, 1/2 way between bushwick and wberg) and just tried to grab her bag off her shoulder, shouting 'GIVE IT UP! GIVE IT UP!' she said he was unarmed, so she seriously screamed (and she does indeed have quite a set of lungs, yessir) and he ran off. superwack.
but yeah she was ok, which I was grateful for. plus I was glad I was the one she felt compelled to call, which is painfully solipsistic I guess, but true. yes.
now I'm going to slice and dice the living shit out of a massive pile of video. the BATTLE ROYAL is tomorrow (scope kevin luddy's abuse of some of my ill vectorfist graphics here) and I gots to move. word life. I(HEART)U-4-EVA!!!!