The Last Unicorn character that I am most like is Prince Lir. Who knew?

"You are most like Prince Lir. Nobel, gentle, kind, and naive to a fault. You see the world through rose-coloured glasses, and you are quite the romantic. You try to see the good in everyone around you. Your kindness and sincerity makes you well liked, but your trust in the good of everyone could lead to people taking advantage of you. If you are hurt, it probably takes you awhile to recover. Though you are generally care-free and lighthearted, you can also be very serious. People truly respect and love you."

Sweet! Which The Last Unicorn character are you most like?

If this seems unusually esoteric, I apologize in advance; this is my response to Yoosuk's weblog in which he gives you his cynical take on soulmates. I take a more optimistic view, because, essentially, I still have faith in fate-- faith that it will carry me to exactly where it is that I am supposed to be. Yoosuk is wonders how he can be sure that any given lady, out of the 3 billon or so properly gendered people, can be the One. With those kind of odds against us, it would seem like finding the One would be like finding a needle in a writhing, moaning haystack. And even if he could find her, there are no guarantees: he figures she could always slip away... More accurately, I should say, he figures that she already did.

But if you believe in the One With Whom You're Meant to Be, you must also believe in fate, for without fate there can be no One. Fate, you see, is a binary proposition; things are either destined or they are not. And there is nothing that can be done to alter destiny, for if it can be altered it was not destined. Something simply cannot be meant to happen and yet not happen. Likewise, if something does not happen-- if things don't work out in a romance, for example-- than this is irrefutable proof that, for the moment at least, it was not meant to be.

If you believe in destiny or fate or whatever you want to call it, then you must also believe that every moment in your life, even the miserable ones, is just a thread in your tapestry. And this is true even if you utterly doubt the existence of any intelligent design to that tapestry. Take physics-- as our awareness of the gears that turn our world grows more precise, we are able to detect the mathematical outcome of more and more events with absolute certainty. Where there is absolute certainty, there is fate because that's what fate is. And to this you may say, "Chaos theory," because you have seen Jurassic Park, but I say that, until chaos makes two mutually exclusive things happen simultaneously--until I exist at once in two places, for example--there will only ever be exactly one possibility for the present-- the one that is.

Simply, that what must be, will be, and all events follow a course which cannot be diverted. As such, at every moment, as I have said, you are exactly where you are supposed to be. (At this moment, you are apparently supposed to be reading my weblog.) If you are with another person, than you are meant to be. And when you part, you are meant to part. And, eventually, you will find the One and the call to part will be silenced. Of course, that's the problem with the One; like all possible outcomes to your life, it is only in retrospect that it is can be seen to have been so clearly inevitable.

You may, of course, balk at all this talk of fate and destiny, and you may see life as nothing more than a cascading series of random branches. And I must admit that, despite everything, I probably hold so tightly to this belief because it seems to me as if it should be true. For so many people seem to find love and find the One without any special effort. And that kind of love-- the One kind--seems to me to be one of our last saving graces as humans. Wait, and fate will lead you to perfectly to her, whoever she turns out to be. But this is not a belief for the impatient nor for the kind that feels the urge to control or the will to dominate. And to that end, I wish I were suited to ascribe to it more than just when I'm pondering, for a fate is not something that binds you, it is something that frees you from fear and uncertainty. For the universe grants you one, and only One, choice: to abide by its will.

Well, i've had some time to recover but not nearly enough. To some of you, I'm sure this is nothing, but for me this has been alot of a chaos. Although it's not neccessarily that which I'd pick to fill up my life, the sheer amount of drama / trauma that surrounds me ensures that while I may be sick, overworked, and generally fatigued, at least don't have to ever worry about being bored.

Ugh, last night's entry is now perversely and doublely true, like a twisted mirror-universe version of yesterday. What a weekend! I mean that in almost every sense of the word.

So, to celebrate, I give you the lyrics off a great jazz song by Everything But The Girl from their way-rad early jazz era. The song is called "Goodbye Sunday." If you can, you should download it, because there just aren't enough delicate jazz songs about the last hours of the weekend.

Goodbye Sunday (Thorn/Watt)

Slowly runs the lazy river /
and in it I pitched all my dreams, /
and all the things I ever wanted, /
and watched them eddy slowly downstream./

For I have learned that such things fade, /
like photographs and family holidays, /
and every Monday Is goodbye Sunday./

I guess you'd like me to throw away /
that box of diaries and old letters, /
for they do nothing but feed my memories, /
but really you should know me better. /
For I am too fond of the past,/
but I think I am learning at last /
that every Monday is goodbye Sunday./

Yes it's true that I cling to things that I should leave behind,/
as if those were golden days. /
well I just hope that you really don't mind./

For I am too fond of the past, /
but look I'm happy at last, /

and every Monday is goodbye Sunday./

Well, this has been a good weekend so far. Thursday was, like, 59 degrees, so naturally we rolled around in a Jeep Wrangler with the sides taken off hooting and hollering like Zoolander and crew. Plus, to put my own stank on it, every time we came to a stop, I jumped out and got into a pick-up truck, drawing, alternately, "yo, what a crazy fool" and "man, what a retard" looks from the crowd. Then I purchased the best thing ever: a mirrorball. That plus my rad new haircut makes me irressistable to women.

Next up on the docket was Friday which featured hitting the bars with Z., although it did ultimately result in trouble. Trouble which included, but was not limited to, getting my very best shoes and shirt covered in another man's vomit. But otherwise it was a good time.

Today, so far, I just ignored my obligations to this stupid tcomm group project (IU Tcomm School's motto: Groups = Great!) and slept in. Next, I lounged with the aforementioned (and recovering) Z. while his mother phoned him every 20 minutes to make sure he's "okay." And now, I am snowed in but trying to get over the JAC. The roads are harsh, but as some of you may know, I don't ever want to let that stop me.

So here at IU we?ve got this Kinsey Institute. This is some sort of anniversary year, so if you?re in Bloomington you?ll probably soon be inundated with promotional material talking about how special this is. I know this? because Tyler knows this. No? I know this ?cause I read about it in Time. See, Time magazine reports on things at IU before they even happen, meanwhile just two issues ago I read about this ?revolutionary? trend of smoking street-side hookas at UCLA, which I was doing, like, three years ago. And they say there?s no liberal bias in the media!

So Kinsey, apparently, is still controversial, right? So I?m here at IU and I don?t see any controversy. So maybe this is one instance of Time trying to wag the dog as far as news is concerned. But, I have no doubt that Kinsey was controversial, back in the day. After all, he was seriously into watching people fuck. So, just think, without this pioneer, today there would be no Internet as we know it. We?d probably all be typing in German, jah?

I had an English professor once who was so perceptive about language that in his spare time he was an expert witness in trials, testifying about whether or not someone had written something based on the words that were used, the style of punctuation, etc. This guy told me that writing about people fucking was one of the hardest things for a writer to do, on account of the fact that, if you write about it objectively, it seems really animalistic but if you make it seem otherwise it?s not really accurate. It?s a lot easier, he said, to write about just afterwards because everything is more lucid.

But Kinsey didn?t really take the easy way out. He was concerned with people actually doing it, and to that end, he must have thought that people are pretty bizarre animals. Both from a design standpoint?i.e, given the way we walk, who would have thought to put the genitals there?and from a social perspective?the origin of the term business-like sex, for example. Or the fact that yesterday I was part of a posse that engaged in an impromptu supply-gathering ?dildo run? to the local adult bookstore. But just maybe the weirdest thing would be that some people have turned sex into video games.

You know you're busy when you begin to count lesiure activites as part of your obligations for the day. Such was the case last night when I simply had to attend WWE Smackdown in Indianapolis. Partially, I wanted to see Hulk Hogan one last time before he retires for good, but mostly I wanted to go because I had said that I would. But I paid for it today, as my plan of "Wake up, go to class, come home, nap, shower, put on suit, go to class, go to class, go to class, cut out early, beg university for $70k" turned into "Wake up, go to class, nap, nap, shower, nap, put on suit, go to class, cut out early, beg university for $70k." (Author's note: I can't figure out what that's supposed to mean either.)

Then, of course, I had several unexpected events happen to me, including getting roped into a conversation with not one but two of my former French instructors who insisted on asking me questions that I don't know how to answer. Then I discovered that Penn Station now accepts American Express, which could have easily turned out to be dangerous for me except that I wasn't really impressed with the sandwich as much as I have been in the old cash-only days. They still don't get it that when I say I want lots and lots of bananna peppers that means I want lots and lots of bananna peppers. And then I went to Texas Roadhouse and had a few, which means I am currently very tired and want to take a nap, making it number four for the day.

But I figure it's okay, because I have now switched from regular napping to power napping.