Lars Raars to The Maximum

I got back from visiting the wonderful Eva Cohen yesterday with the necessary reminder that, yes, she exists. It feels sometimes like she is a voice on the phone, some words in a letter and a picture by my bed and nothing more. Without actual contact it's hard to see her as anything but a dream, and that is not pleasant. It's weird to think sometimes that maybe I just invented this girl, that she is just in my imagination. All that was tossed out the proverbial window when I arrived in Providence. I had an incredible time just spending time with her in the flesh. I can't think of anyone else I have so much fun with doing just anything, even if it be nothing.

We, by the way, are the most hardcore motherfuckers ever. I'd like to see any of you assholes last over 3 years together when a large chunk of that is not actually spent together. And through all that we've got nothing but stronger together, bitches, so you and your pid-diddly "we've been going out for almost fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive weeks" bullshit can step off. The cynic in me has turned its doubts from the futility of our love to the pettyness of yours, non-particular reader. Don't fuck with this. We're talking 80 year olds on the porch sippin' wine with a dozen cats kinda shit. We're talking romantic cruise where we run into the contestants of Shipmates and cold slap them in their lush faces. We're talking cinema-style happy endings where love conquers all and you secretly delight in the fact that everything sappily worked out in the end. We're talking cinema-style sex scenes, where hot button celebrities finally let a little nip show and where entire rooms shake by our sheer choreography. We're talking Shakespeare sonnets and shit, all iambic pentameter and shmancy-ass affluences. Our love is the final boss of Mushihimesama Futari: confident in victory, frustrating to geeks everywhere, and suffocatingly purple.

I Did Not Wanna Switch To The Google Account But The Bastards Made Me I Hate Them

I began my amino acid study today. I am a guinea pig for Research now; this is where my inexorable lack of money has led me. Not really so bad, actually: I sit there on a bed for a couple hours as they take my blood and I read a book. Read and bleed, easy 200 clams. Pretty sweet actually.

So I walked in today kind of excited about the prospect. Not only will I be able to pay rent next month, but I'll be doing it with minimal effort on my part. I walk into the VA Medical Center this morning with the first positive outlook on my financial situation I've had in months.

First thing I see as I walk through the oversized revolving doors (which are presumably intended for hospital beds and ailing pacederms) is a picture of the 43rd President of the United States. The shit-eating grin and that empty gaze reminds me that, yes, this man is just as evil as we've always given him credit for. Suddenly I got nervous. But W's soulless smirk was just a precursor to the gigantic American flag I saw in the center of the building. This thing was ridiculous. It was literally 4 stories tall, cowering and lording over all like a dark cloud. This was the biggest flag I have ever seen and ever hope to see. A single star was probably as big as your average flag. This thing could've been its own damn country. Where was I? I understand this is a veterans hospital, but my God! Most of those veterans would break their neck simply trying to look to the top of this thing. Who knows, this is probably what sails at every H.U.B. down in Texas, adorns every freedom-loving gas station and 24 hour diner in Kentucky, serves as wall paper everywhere on t'other side o' the Mason-Dixie. My little Union heart was trembling at the sheer size of patriotisms artilery. Before, I wasn't the least bit nervous about getting my blood drawn every 10 minutes for 3 hours. But suddenly, fear and paranoia wafted over me like I was wrapped in the stars and bars: What were they actually doing this study for? Where was the cyborg-alien robot army that was going to be using my blood for nefarious secret operations in the Middle East? THE GOVERNMENT IS TAKING MY LIFE-FORCE!!!

I calmed down and told myself if the goverment wanted blood, they were going to get it somehow or another. I might as well get some cash out of this. But then I started to feel like I was selling myself out to the evil fascist government. Then I simply reminded myself: "You're 21 years old. You grew up on The X-Files and The Sex Pistols. Of course you're going to think that. Besides, do you really think the current administration is possibly smart enough to pull off the conspiracy shit to the extent you're imagining?" Actually, I mainly just reminded myself that there was money involved. I turned away from the flag and went to go read and bleed for cash. Blood money.

I admit I'm not actually that paranoid. Just, Jesus Christ, that was big ass flag. It actually frightened me. Why on Earth need it be that big? Is it really more patriotic if it's bigger? Is there a competition between this and some other veterans hospital? Is some sort of medal or large cake involved? I know what country I am currently in. I know who is president. The constant reminders are daunting and unnecessary. Besides, and perhaps I am looking at this from a different angle than most of the folks who will be chancing upon this flag, but that symbol does not evoke pride and patriotism. It represents for me war, death, lies, racism, slavery, religious zealots, homophobia, sexism, classism, and abhorrent nationalism. The larger it is, the more it serves to stand for America's overbearing desire for control and assimilation of other countries and its own people. It's sad, really, that the symbol of our nation conjurs up tinges of fear in me. I would love to be able to look at a flag of America and conjur some pride. But for what seems to be my entire life, it has been associated with scoundrels, crooks, evil men and women, THEM. Maybe I am paranoid. But, Christ, a flag that large just screams "fascism". We are large and powerful, we are right. I hope it brings a tear to the eye of veterans because I, as one who has not fought in a war, has not been through the depression, has not seen what many of these men have seen, get a little ill in its presence. I'm sure these folks would disagree vehemently with my judgement. But with what the red, white and blue have come to be associated, it's hard to look at sometimes.