I WANT YOUR MONEY

Apologies, all of my dollars are tied up in a porcelain bird pyramid scheme so I’m not doing anything too wild. I’ve been reading a lot. Working on motivating a technological revolution. Working on understanding the consequences of virtual identities and Facebook.

Tumblr is simple enough; we can be anyone we want. I could have six blogs with six different personalities. Heidegger predicted this compulsion some eighty years ago.

AND THAT’S OK. Because we’re all becoming something—even if that something turns out to be a shape shifting robot with animal desires and human anxieties.

Maybe we’re becoming mighty morphing power rangers.

Derek

I went to my first home.

I went out to Ruby Tuesdays with a few friends to watch Monday night football. I didn’t watch much of it. There were a few cute bartenders; I tried to entertain them. They gave us free wine.

Halfway through the game I stepped into the bathroom and dropped half a hit of acid. I remembered that my buddy Sam just got off the Appalachian trail and shot him a text. An invitation to Ruby Tuesdays doesn’t count for much, but I wanted to see the guy.

He showed up as I started peaking off the half hit. We started talking about nature and California and the future of agriculture. I told him about airplanes and revolutions. Heidegger talked to us both a little about Facebook and the Turning. The free wine had me spinning and the acid had me floating. I did a floating spin into the bathroom with Sam and divvied up the rest of the acid. We were the only shits in the bar at that point.

11:30pm and my birthday buddy Stephen gives us a call. Half an hour and a twelve pack later we’re in a condo somewhere smoking pot and screaming about everything. Revolution, revolution, revolution! I keep texting the bartender from Ruby Tuesdays that I’m far too drunk to be texting her. Another of my friends is trying to understand the rationale behind creating a system that has a Prime Mover besides finance, but I have no truths to give him.

Sam, a sunrise-on-the-side-of-a-mountain kind of guy, seems to be taking the acid in stride. It was his first time, and it seemed like he was really, really enjoying himself. He pledges himself to a new future. He wants his farm and he wants his land. Other than that, he just wants the love that he has always had. Truly, he is one of the sanest people I know.

I get back to my parents’ house around two-thirty and start snacking heavily. My father comes down and starts talking to me about his business ideas. Technology and society, society and technology. Philosophers spin through my head and little dinosaurs start constructing themselves out of the kitchen utensils—mechanical reminders of an extinction far great than any that we might face.

My mother comes down because she hears talking and wants to join. It’s nearly three am. My little sister comes out of the woodwork too. We talk about art, science, and the revolution. I’m tripping balls. I talk about my education, my autodidactic aspirations.

I’m trying to be sane in an insane world; if I can’t, I’m going to try to be my own kind of insane. We stop talking at six in the morning and I’m still tripping. I hug my parents and my little sister and lay down to rest.

I dreamt of crashing in an airplane and telling my ex-fiancé that I was ready to say all of the bad things that I couldn’t hold still long enough to stay before.

When I woke up, everything was peaceful. Four years of being on my own. Four years of being outside of my comfort zone and I’m finally comfortable with that fact. It took a long time to trust the person that I am—but in a world like this, where airplanes have seatbelts and everything is plastic…what could go wrong?

or Breakfast of Champions.

The landlord sent a leafblower to haunt our apartment because we’re too lazy to pay rent. I exorcised a check out of my roommate and it promptly returned to the underworld.

Ben Folds asks to accompany us on this unusually early morning. As an accountless Grooveshark user, I get a bizarre spread of untargeted advertisement. Victoria Secret has come out with their “Miraculous” push up bra, reputed to increase the girth of a woman’s bosom by two sizes. The world is no longer a safe place. Who is really winning here? How would it feel to get picked as a model for breast enhancement advertisements? What is it like to date a woman who takes off her boobs every night? Answers to these questions and more, right after the break.

The private concert was swell. They played for a grand total of 30 minutes (~$1.34/minute), and the musicians, Clark and James, seemed to be far more interested in the forties I bought them than football or music or anything else.

They played a folk-rock all original medley…or at least jammed out on the same song with six or seven different chord progressions until I stopped listening (slightly more impressive than jamming out on six or seven different songs with the same chord progression). It isn’t easy to make it as a musician—they were politely resigned to that fact. I don’t think they had played together before yesterday.

Actually, I think the whole situation made them uncomfortable. When the world does something unexpected, when it wants to have fun and give you something unusual for a reason peculiar to yourself…relax and ENJOY.

Sha-mon,
Derek

I know that I said I wouldn’t spend any money today. I did.

I had my coffee and my notebook and was trying to sit as suavely as possible. I had the notebook open, my pen was in my hand, and I was pensively staring into the dark, intellectual beyond. A couple guys came in and were setting up to play music. They played a warm up song and I approached them. I asked them how much they were being payed to play music—40 bucks. This, of course, is a steal—Sunday or not. I said I had to leave, but that I would like to pay for a private concert later. I invited them over for forties and Sunday night football. That just ended.

I’ll just write about it tomorrow. The walking dead is on.

I know a lot about me; you do not know a lot about me.

Childhood: I had a lot of female siblings. My parents are philosophers.

Adolescence: I got angry with my parents a lot for not letting me go on road trips to see long distance girlfriends I met at summer camps. They were cool with having an asshole/renegade son because I was 3rd or 4th in my HS classes.

Young Adulthood: I went to college. They gave me uber-honors and tried to make me feel like college wanted me a lot, so that I should want it too. I tried to care about classes for a bit, but then I tried to spend most of my time having sex. I got engaged to make that easier. I thought it was a really, really, really good move at the time (not just because of the sex). No regrets.

Right before Now-ish / More Young Adulthood: I spurn the restrictive structures imposed by whatever and hoo-wah and resolve to keep myself an approximately free agent for most of the remainder of my life. Or, at least, until I change my mind.

Now: I make this blog so people can fund the endeavors of a FREE AGENT. I resolve to remove the donate button forever should I ever go back to school, get a boss, get married, or generally just become a sucker in any conceivable way.

However, I do not plan on supporting myself like this. I am throwing myself into my writing career with every ounce of energy available to me, and I don’t expect to make anything from it. SO, I am also working on my pilot’s license and, using my extensive engineering background, developing an impressive array of business plans to show rich people and go crazy about.

Once I am rolling in cash and can do whatever the hell I want as a free agent WITHOUT your donations, I will begin taking applications for a replacement. I will continue writing and spreading the love, of course.

BACK TO ME

I am a Caucasian with short blond hair. Male, if that was not obvious. I’m five foot ten, medium build. I don’t know exactly how much I weigh, but I do know that I need to eat about 3500 calories a day if I have any interest in gaining weight. Some people say that I look like NPH. I apparently look like a bunch of other people too. I’m 21 right now. Sometime within the next 12 months I’ll be 22…I’ll let you know.

That should provide you with enough background and a fair mental image for the coming stories. The coming stories will give you a twisted and entirely fucked up image of myself, I am sure. So have fun.

Cheers,

Derek

Ahem, yes. Though it is Sunday and I am resting, I would be remiss if I did not remind you to give me money. It is important for your health. It isn’t as important for my health as it is for yours, but it is important for the health of this blog. We’re just starting out. We could really go places together.

That’s right—you and me. Benefactor and young adventurer.

It would be like Great Expectations, except a hell of a lot more interesting. I wouldn’t bother with that evil little rich girl and I certainly wouldn’t spend all of my days in some stinky mansion with someone else’s grandmother. Truly, that book is bizarre.

I’ll write another book and a screenplay and give you a free copy and movie ticket once I’m done. You can show it to your friends and they will all have a lot more respect for you because you’ve found something that is actually interesting to do with your money. C’mon! It’s foolproof.

Sunday is my day of rest. It is a day of austerity and asceticism. I slept in until almost three PM. My Dreams were sexy. I battled (ran from) a herd of Yeti. (If anyone knows the proper term for a herd of Yeti, please make a blog about it).

I resolve to not spend any money today, except maybe for a cup of coffee. I met a beautiful young woman a few days ago and she looks like she might into be into tea more than coffee. I drink my coffee black to ensure rock-star status (or at least potential) in any casual group of coffee drinkers. I’ll try to take her out later and let you know how it goes.

I have friends who drink their coffee with milk and cream. People who drink coffee around me a lot will often try to drink it black, with varied results. I have never seen a black-coffee drinker who bothers with cream or sugar, however.

THAT WAS SOMETHING OF A TANGENT, I APOLOGIZE.

Unless one of my friends cooks a meal or I find ten or fifteen dollars hidden away in a wayward, couch ridden sock, I probably won’t eat today. Fasting is good for the soul, and it’s damn convenient when you don’t have any food in your house.

Simple honesty, a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor, devilishly high doses of affection (given and received), and a constant and incorrigible infatuation with the female form—ah, yes. It’s easy to take life a little less seriously when the only serious concept I can access is daylight savings time.

Those unfamiliar with my lifestyle, goals, parents, ex-girlfriends, taste in socks and other undergarments, hardware, and food tastes may very well be wondering WHY they should give any money to me.

I’m not here to scam you. In the end, you must find that reason for yourself—in your own heart. Bunny rabbits won’t die if you don’t give me money (althought a part of yourself might). I will introduce the rationale by degrees.

YOU HAVE TOO MUCH MONEY

You don’t have the things you want and you don’t want the things you have. Your monetary habits are foolish and you rely far too heavily on your finances to bring you security and happiness. It’s a crutch.

WHY HAVING TOO MUCH MONEY IS A REASON TO GIVE IT TO ME AND NOT SOME CHARITY OR HOMELESS PERSON OR WHATEVER

I don’t believe in money. I think it has lost its meaning. That being said, I find that it is fun to play around with. I am young and have very little to lose. I take people’s money and find creative and interesting ways to squander it. I am part of the solution to America’s surplus problem. I’m like Las Vegas—without the STDs or divorces.

Since I started spending other people’s money, I have had a pretty absurd time. Recently I have been keeping written and photographic records of my financed adventures and sending them to my benefactors. Sometimes I take suggestions (true vicarious living, no?), but most of the time I just follow my nose. I will take my best/worst/most outstandingly mediocre adventures and submit them to the blog community for entertainment.

It’s a hell of a lot of fun. I deal mostly with upper, middle, lower, middle lower, and upper middle class citizens. Non citizens are also encouraged to donate. Remember—every penny counts. Especially in the hands a professional money spender. Live long and prosper, earners!

Hello friends,

I have created this blog in response to the overwhelming number of people who want to give me money every day but can’t find an easy way to do it. The cash was becoming burdensome, and I’m really not comfortable giving out my bank account number online.

A fresh blog and Paypal donate button seemed appropriate.

Enjoy,
Derek