Lorax1515's blog: "The Lorax Chronicles"

Running to the cell, my hands quiver like a dollar in a strip joint. Her lips curl at my approach. Our embrace synchronizes the pumping of blood, while the jailor's keys remain silent in the lock between iron bars. Her fragrance lingers among the jealousy of fatigued criminals like a fallen angel among deadly sins. Her glance reveals her intentions, as she returns my flask to my breast pocket. We stagger down the empty sidestreets intoxicated by the glare of a bipolar traffic light. Our Passions and clarity coalesce in the guise of a tumultuous rift of broken glass and rancid guttersnipes. My breath on her soft neck whispers my misguided lack of regret and screams my sincerest gesture of love.

Your Pornstar Name is: Xion Knight Take this quiz at QuizUniverse.com WHAT AN ENTERTAINING QUIZ....I THOUGHT YOUR PORN NAME WAS YOUR FIRST PETS NAME AND THE FIRST STREET YOU LIVE ON....IF THAT WERE THE CASE I'D BE CLEO MALLARD....

dark highways with naked shoulders speeding blurred with a clock set two minutes fast trepidation stashed away in the glove compartment. a whisper off your lips plays hide and seek with an anxious inclination to turn back. yesterdays bleed through tomorrow while shadows are cast beneath midnight soaked trees. when you wake i'll be home.

In a manner of speaking I have been sucked into a virtual world. Mock me if you must, but I have been thoroughly enjoying the addicting world of the True.com chatroom. I have stuck my finger in the proverbial outlet and have shocked myself into consciousness even if it may be a ginormous fraudulent endeavor. For the past few weeks I've been accruing these friends like scattered salt across the Thanksgiving dinner table, building an army of Loraxian minions hesitantly reluctant yet willing to do my bidding. If someone wanted to start a revolution and take over the world...or at least America, they could certainly do it through the internet. On another note ( possibly a C sharp), I have completed my Teach For America experience. Woo! If gas didn't cost so damn much money and I'd refill my teacher's tank and go for another year, but my fumes will carry me to Massachusettes to engage in collegiate debauchery with Corey. Jack and I will make our cross country trek in two weeks, with a highly anticipated pit stop in Missouri to see my lovely Karissa. My lover will have the weed, video games and condoms ready for my arrival...haha. I have plenty more to say, but I'd just like to say that I'm chomping at the bit to get back to the northeast. Jersey will be a blast this summer. I'm going to to catch an Orioles game at Camden yards with Sens. Aching to see my J-Moss, Machee, and all those other crazies in the city. Booyakash...Respeck. THe LoRaX ShAlL EnTrEaT UpOn YoUr WiShEs!!!!

The atomic clock keeps ticking like a metronome and the days fall off the edge of the earth the the fallout. These days I feel like I'm driving the streets of San Francisco. One day I'm winning beaucoup cash at the casino and falling into a new relationship, and the next I'm dreading going to school and losing a person I care about through no fault of my own. Nothing feels catastrophic, but I feel like the weather is mocking me and my fluctuating moods. Even though I've decided to remain in New Orleans for the next year, I will not return to teaching next year. I've checked out, burnt from the daily toil. I plan on entering a year of resurgence. I can regain myself, who I was through a coddling of my social life. The summer will cut off my excrutiating stress like a french guillotine. I'm intentionally being vague, because I feel ephemeral right now, like I'm floating. While my intentions are in no way cloudy, I like wading through this mist. I've catalogued the next few month weekend by weekend. As I scatter them in front of me, they seem to alternate between work and play. I can manage a flip-flopping April and May. I'm gonna go smoke a cigarette. I miss Corey.

There I was, rubber gloves gripping my talc covered hands, desperately avoiding scratching the itch on my nose, washing the dishes, when it happened. My dedication and desire to continue to update myy blog slipped out of my hands and whirred down the drain. To make matters worse, I accidentally flipped the wrong switch and set off the garbaged disposal tearing my "blog consistency" into a million pieces. You can imagine my surprise when I heard a knock on my door. I apprehensively opened it to find my lifelong idol, Punxatawny Phil. I staggered back and whispered, as if the FBI were ready to converge from their sting positions, "Phil! What are you doing? I thought the Groundhog's Day post-party lasted at least a week?!" He glanced to his left. He glanced to his right. "The heat is coming down on me Garrett. Apparently even a mild winter is more disturbing than Judge Alito and an Iranian Nuclear Holocaust combined! I had to get the hell out of Pennsylvania." He then proceeded to ramble on about teenagers wielding mousetraps, a misguided horny pitbull, and an old woman who mistook him for a hat. With the help of a trucker named Oscar, he managed to begin his annual February vacation a bit early. He was pissed about missing Mardi Gras last year and had heard through the Grape Vine that I was in La Place. He then handed me a briefcase. I looked at him confused. "What's in it?" I asked. "The fucking Mohammed Cartoon that's enciting riots in the Middle East. It's your inspiration to get back on the blog bandwagon, you moron!" He smacked me upside my head. "Ouch! Why do you have to be so hostile Phil? I already apologized about the hoodie you gave me that got 'moldified' in the flood." I held up the (now) multi colored hoodie. "I don't care about the hoodie, " he grunted "I just want to know what the hell is going on with you these days. Are you staying in New Orleans another year? Have you gotten any booty yet? I'm gonna bag me some southern poontang." He ripped the hoodie out of my hands, took out a bic lighter and set the cloth aflame. I was aghast. Phil was right. I had buried myself deep into a mysterious hole and that is unlike me. I mean, shit, I love being the center of attention and I was cutting myself from any potential audience. SO........WITHOUT FURTHER ADO.......... A brief dissertation on my most recent exploits: I sreturned to the struggle of my future plans. After having decided that I would absolutely return to my school next year, I hopped gingerly back on the fence. The direction of my school set me into a panic. I was floundering with my students. While many of my kids were making incredible gains in their education, the ones that chose not to embrace the value of school were spinning out of control like the bad guys dressed in black leotards inprisoned in that two dimensional square mirror from Superman. I felt like I was letting them down. I had chutes and ladders throughout my classroom and each day another student was sliding down a chute. The last week, I've begun to adjust my outlook. I invested heavily in the Positive Behavior Support Committee which has decided to address the gigantic communications gap between the administration and faculty at my school. We held a workshop both yesterday and today to orient the staff to our new school wide behavior plan and also to gather feedback on the major concerns they've been having with the students and the administration. I took copious notes and sat down with my principal. The two of us discussed the issues at length and she was positive and open to the faculty outcry. The morale had been down and problems had begun to fester. I explained to her that even though she would not be able to solve every problem that she confronts, it was necessary for her to communicate to the staff what she was doing and how she was trying her best even if it was becqause central office was tying her hands. The meetings that allowed the teachers to vent have lifted a great burden and I believe the next steps will prove to be positive and vital to continued growth of our community. Being a part of the process has reinvigorated me to commit to my school. While I won't claim 100% allegiance to returning next year, I am being pulled to that side of the fence by a bunch of cows (not that I'm implying my fellow teachers are cows....haha). The past two weeks, I've been establishing a fruitful routine with healthy eating and sporadic exercise. It's not perfect, but it's a start and it's made me feel generally refreshed. I even hit up Urban Outfitters and restocked my wardrobe with some really cool work clothes and a stellar brown hoodie. The one tragedy about the hoodie though is that it makes me looke like Dan Akroyd in an SNL coneheads sketch. Therefore the hood part of the hoodie will be non-functional as much as an aesthetic accessory. This past weekend I went to Rock n' Bowl for the first time in my New Orleans' career. I bowled like shit, but the stylings of Kermit Ruffins gave my example of ineptitude some much needed flare. Jake's birthday was a blast. I love that guy. I watched the Super Bowl on Sunday. While the officiating was not their finest performance, Seattle Fans should shove their whiny lamentations up their you know where. I'm immersed in the fifth season of 24. I enjoyed the four previous seasons on DVD and I can't fucking deal with waiting an entire week for each epsiode. It is torture. My roommate made a funny joke about how if Kiefer Sutherland ever hosted SNL, they should have a sketch where Jack Bauer has to take a dump that lasts ten minutes and have the 24 clock and the sound effects running the entire time while he continues to emit farting noises and yelling, "I'll be out soon," and "I shouldn't have had Taco Bell for Lunch." Funny Stuff. I have a lot more to get off my chest, especially the world politics situation with Iran and Palestine, but I will save that discussion for the near future. Also the State of the Union speech got me riled up. Alas...so it goes. Until we meet again. Now if you want some encore material write a fucking comment! No harm intended.

I've become pretty flaky about posting. I don't like it. I don't like it one bit. I use to be a complete scaredy cat. Rollercoasters terrified me ever since my parents tricked me into going on Space Mountain in Disney World when I was six. I had nightmares just from a television trailer for the Fly II. I hated being in the presence of bees, spiders and snakes. As I got older, my fears dissipated kinda like the dead armadillo in my driveway. Before long, I was seeking out the biggest amusement park rides. Speaking of which, Six Flags New Jersey can cut off your favorite amusement park's head then make him/her eat it! I even developed a desire to go sky diving. Haven't done it yet though. I recently invested in the first season of the television show Tales From the Crypt. I remember with a great sense of nostalgia having my friends sleep over and staying up till 11:00 to see the horrifying tales. Sometimes I feel pity for antiquated horror movies. Of course I'm referring to those dependent on blood and guts. Horror flicks can easily be classified into two genres: " Blood and guts" and "suspenseful horror." The latter can easily outlive some of the greatest dramas or comedies. Alfred Hitchcock still floats around in America's psyche. Hence even the classic Twilight Zone shows still hold resonance for us. But blood and guts just can't cut it a decade later. The ones that become immortal cult classics do so not for their gneuine fear inducement, but almost as a pastiche of an outdated mode of entertainment (see: evil dead, Child's Play and Hallowee). If you disagree embrace the debate. Anyway, I was watching my Cryptkeeper with a sort of sympathy or even pity. The episodes, directe by Robert Zemeckis and even Steven Spielberg were beyond salvaging but over a decade later they lacked the terror they evoked from me in the first place. I found it a bit saddening, like innocence lost or something. Just a piece that floating on my mind. I gottdo something insane this weekend. I don't know what it is, but if I was a fortune cookie, I say something like, "You are going to do something insane this weekend" If you got that fortune cookie would you be thrilled or anxious? Happy or sad? Up or down? Speak up. Speak out. Let me hear your voice.

Almost two weeks have passed since I last updated my blog and I am ripe like a fruit. This post may seem tainted because I am in a strange state of mind at this moment. I have just watched a movie that I found randomly when browsing movie trailers on apple.com. The movie is called Chumscrubbers, an unfortunate title. Described as a dark comedy, the film rehashes many thematic cliches that explore the consequences of subrubia. How the desire to attain a cookie cutter life with a nuclear family and financial success leads people to ignore the chinks in the armor and develop emotional holes that lead to behaviors that affront "normalcy." The tone and the odd characters left a disturbing taste in my mouth and yet I thoroughly enjoyed the film. I grew up in two different types of suburbia: the big house suburbia where you don't actually know any of you neighbors but they know you and the town house suburbia where you know your neighbors, but they don't know you. The former occurer pre divorce, the latter post. Both felt incredibly isolating, and when I had lived in college surrounded by others and even now when I was living in a city I did not feel capable or didn't know how to breach that isolation. I react to people in three types of ways. There are people I am obsessed with, mostly girls I am attracted to and could spend countless hours on end with them doing anything. I would be content to have them mow the lawn while I watched. Then there are those people I enjoy spending time with a great deal but in a moment I can become bored or "finished" and need to leace their presence. I would have difficulty staying in the same place for a long period of time unless I was thoroughly entertained. Even when I was entertaining people at my house I'd get up and leave briefly to satiate my need for a social respite. Finally there are those I cannot stand and cannot be around. As I have gotten older, the numbers in this category have significantly decreased, but when it occurs, my personality changes and I'm not my usual kind self. I might be resulting to hyperbole or oversimplifying, but when I think about it, this seems to describe my true primal feelings. People can change categories at the drop of a hat. Even people very dear to me. It happened with my best friend in tenth grade for a period of three months. With my mother it happened an entire year. I have regrets about how I treated them, but at the time it felt so strong and I couldn't deny how I felt. I feel a bit apprehensive about posting this, but I announced my disclaimer about how strange I feel tonight... A week back at school and I feel like the Stranger in Albert Camus' most famous novel. I've been induldging in a societal taboo. Talking at length with a person I shouldn't and yet I'm getting more sucked in every night. I'm being drawn by the emotional connection. I need to click and isolation is starting to wear on me. My principal has had difficulty in connecting with our staff. She is unaware that she separates herself from the teachers to an extent that she doesn't understand them. Others have made comments that she's not a people person, but I don't know if that's true. Even though she walks around presenting an air of professionalism, every now and then she'll let down the drawbridge and reveal a vulnerable scared side of herself to me. I appreciate it. And I want to help her. I want to take the initiative in making my school better and nurturing the environment, but I get scared about teking on such a huge responsibility. When it comes down to it, even though I've come a long way, I still hate responsibility. Part of it has to do with a malaise I've grown accustom to. I shirk responsibility. I procrastinate it. While I know many people also suffer from procrastination, it doesn't suit a teacher. There are consequences to being unorganized. Time seems to be passing quickly. I live my life looking ahead to the next event on my calendar: a school vacation, a dinner with a friend, a birthday, a weekend. These events are coming at me at the speed of light. Even though there are no major deadlines weighing on me, nothing pressing, I feel like I'm running out of time. I don't understand why this feeling of impendingness(is that word) is bothering me, but it feels like it's poking at my brain. Disaster seems to be looming like a guillotine and I want to nip it in the bud before it can get the best of me. I know I sound vague, but my feelings are just that, indistinct. Last week I remembered almost all of my dreams. I think this was because I was staying up later than usual and cutting off my sleep mid R.E.M. cycle. The most fascinating dream placed me in the back of an open air train car. In the center, there was a large green felt table with poker accoutrements scattered across it. There was varely any room along the edges from the table to the car rail, but about nine men were cramped around playing cards. I was in a "specator" car behind it, nut my car didn't really make any sense because the only people who could see the game were those in the front row. Midway through the game, I was invited to participate in the tournament. I was honored, because the game was sponsored by Abraham Lincoln who I knew was in the presidential car of the train three cars ahead. I didn't ever see Lincoln, but I knew he was there. It was a great dream, but astonishingly weird. I have Monday off for Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday. I wonder how he would react to our current social establishment. Would he be amazed by everything that's been accomplished since he began his mission, or would he see how far we still need to travel. Would he have an opinion on the way middle easter citizens are being treated in our country now? If he was alive now, how would his "dream" be different? Would he need a month or a year in order to fully understand where the problems still lie, or a day? Corey left for London two weeks ago. I miss her. I can't call her so we've been communicating through emails. We've never used this medium to communicate before and it's extraordinary because she's the same in some ways. Her tone seems different though. I guess we express ourselve differently in our writing compared to our speech. I have more to say and update, but this will suffice for now. Is anybody out there? Let me hear you scream! or laugh...

Time for the awaited New Year's Eve exploits of one Garrett P. Sussman. After bumming the day away, I drove to New Orleans to Andy and Jake's house. There, we enjoyed a delightfully well prepared pre-bash dinner of salad, butternut squash soup and a brilliant apple pie for dessert. Jake happens to be an excellent cook. The guys live pretty close to the French Quarter, so it was no time before we found ourselves amidst the hectic neon lights and precarious bead tossing of Bourbon Street. Our first drinking game involved predicting how many underage children were present among the destitution that triumphed the glory of the street. Needless to say, we were hammered only three blocks in. When he had our fill of the debauchery of tourists beckoning drunk sorority chicks for a brief flash, we headed towards Jackson Square. Jake and Andy were taken by the extensive mist that hovered in front of us, but I felt strong feelings of Deja Vu, considering the weather was much the same last year. The silver lining was that it was quite warmer. As we approached the stage the beams of purple and green stage lights created an atmosphere of carnivale. It was almost as topsy-turvy as Crew Du Vieux, but not quite. There were no men walking around with pizza boxes filled with giant stuffed penises. We arrived at the tail end of a set break and were thrilled as Arlo Guthrie took the stage. He emerged in full glory, decked in his cowboy apparel and his long gray wispy hair. His choice set consisted of three songs which seemed a little weak, but he was solid. Our second drinking game involved surveying fluffy boas throughout the crowd. We encountered a few raving drunks desperate for conversation. One guy told us an epic story about how he stared at a woman for two hours, claiming that she was the MOST beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He then detailed his dismay when he learned that she was 59 years old. He was about halfway through a two liter bottle filled with half orangeade and half vodka. 2006 arrived with a exuberant countdown by Mayor Nagin. He got his publicity shot then disappeared into the darkness. We meandered back towards the house and came upon the coolest spectacle of the evening. A man established on a street corner was banging away on the most incredible contraption. It looked like one of those carts that had every instrument imaginable on it, including a giant bass drum, but this one was purely percussional. He had a ravishing beat puttering along and was surrounded by an entourage of drunk hipsters who had found a long whit rope and were participating in a hilarious game of limbo. Everyone was involved, dancing and clapping and falling on the ground as they tried to go under the rope. We remained as passive observers for the better part of an hour. When we got back to the house, Andy immediately passed out. Considering it was only one o'clock at this point, Jake and I were not ready to end the night. We went to a vacant parking lot across the street and set off the remainder of our fireworks. We took turns trying to hit an empty wine bottle with out roman candles. When we ran out, I realized that I was not drunk anymore and decided to head back to La Place. I walked in the door to find Jon and Karen playing drinking games with the girls passed out on the couch. I joined them for a few rounds of high-low, got thoroughly wasted and finally scampered off to bed. This was a good new years. On the GPS scale, I'd give it a solid seven out of ten.

How funny is the beginning of the song Age of Aquarius? I imagine the singer on a ladder about to lose her balance, swaying back and forth. What is old people's obsessions with little crystal figurines? I was in a random truck stop driving home from New Orleans the other night and saw an entire glass case of such figurines. There were a variety of dolphins, small animals, medieval swords, dragons and guitars. Who goes into a truck stop and sees the case and says to myself..."Oh my Lordy! I've been searching truck stops across America, from Chatanooga to Alberquerque, for that little porcupine with the beady black eyes! Here it was all along, sitting in this glass case right outside of La Place, Louisiana! Thank my lucky stars. You know that at some point in that individuals lifetime, there will be a comical event ivolving some uncoordinated doof taking an awkward step and instantaneously smashing the priceless/worthless collection of little figurines. I must admit though, the crystal porcupine feels so cool, all prickly-like in your hand. It's better than those chinese soothing yin-yang balls. Let me tell you! The New Orleans Saints will be returning to the city for the 2006 football season. The ten Saints fans who still live in the city were exstatic. They even went as far as erasing "Owner Tom Benson is a black- hearted, glue-sniffing, soul sucking, douchebag cock sucker" from all the refridgerators still lining the sidewalks. I sadly predict the Saints will be relocated by 2007. Honestly, how can a devestated city support a professional football team? Say it ain't so, but so it goes. I once was the pig who built his house of straw. Now I am the pig who builds his house of bricks. After I saw the movie Jaws, I was terrified of stepping into a swimming pool let alone the ocean! First that thirteen year old phenom gets her arm bitten of and is back on the wave the second her rehabilitation finished. What a soldier! And another guy, when being threatened by a shark, punched the fish in the nose. Damn, don't mess with a surfer...um...don't mess with a surfer. That doesn't sound right. Unless he's Patrick Swayze from Point Break. If I robbed a bank, I'd definitely wear a mask with the likeness of Dubbya, or Cheney. I lost the volume increase button on my Laptop due to Jack. He also ate my cell phone charger. Dog's are expensive. But even when he's biting my arm, he's too damn cute. I'm just waiting for the hormones to kick in. I hope he's not one of those dogs that humps people's legs. Identify me...The only celebrity I've been told that I look like is Jason Schwartzmen ( the guy from Rushmore). I've also been told that I look like I come from Italian heritage. I am pure russian, baby. My Great Great Grandfather was a blind clarinetist. My Grandfather was the second best ping-pong player in America. My dad is the greatest Jewish Pimp with perpetually tanned skin in America. What will be my legacy? I was given a Nintendo Entertainment System when I was three. I just finished my game of LifeForce yesterday. I used to have to go to the bathroom and then hold it. Sometimes I couldn't hold it, but I didn't stop to go to the bathroom. I remember one of my favorite movies in the eighties was the movie "The Wizard." Fred Savage played the older brother of aseven-year-old autistic Video Game prodigy who ran away from home to join a gaming tournament in California. The two highlights of the movie were as follows: Lucas, the thirteen year old villain, who used "The Glove" to kick ass in the game Rad Racer...and second, the final competition in the tournament using the video game Super Mario Brothers 3 BEFORE it came out for distribution across the country. I was mesmorized. I tried to save my favorite article of clothing, my Punxy Phil hoodie from the grasp of Katrina mold. It was soft. It was blue with yellow writing. It was one of those pieces of clothing that everyone commented on. I got it in Punxatawny, Pennsylvania on Groundhog's Day in 2003. Rest in peace hoodie. You did not survive. I will never forget you. I have yet to induldge in the latest craze of the podcast, webster dictionary's word of 2005. Are they entertaining? Please tell me. Have we figured out what to call the decade we're living in yet? If smell-o-vision was technologically possible, would there be a demand for it? Do you actually want to be able to smell most of the stuff we watch on T.V.? I think not. Do you think Bronze has an inferiority complex to Silver and Gold, or is it one of those rare metals that doesn't care what other people think of it? I find it a bit frightening that nanotechnology will be the next step in computer chip functionality. It will not be long before people will hear the suggestion of getting a computer chip implanted into their brain and not cringe. I believe we are truly moving towards an Orwellian state. The next presidential election will greatly impact the future/direction of our country. We've been living in a Bush world for so long that we've forgotten about what used to be "normal." Alcohol should be illegal. Period. Cigarettes should be illegal. Period. Fast Food should be illegal. I know this is a free country, but I would be so greatful...Then again, pot is illegal and that hasn't stopped me, just made me poorer. "Yo, man, where can I get a Big Mac?" I said. "Dude, shhh, not so loud, you know how rare those things are these days?" "I'll give you fifty bucks for one." Can't do it man. The NSA have been coming down on everything fomr McNuggets to McFlurries. They're probably listening in right now. It'll cost you one hundred." I wish there was a cartoon town like in the movie "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" I'd like to meet Apri from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles...and Michaelangelo for that matter. Even though I've always been partial to Donatello, Mikey always seemed like more fun.