A made a comment...

On JSC's blog Its a Tricky World Out There...

again...

About alcohol violations and their significance...

jamiescottcummins.blogspot.com/

Made a comment...

On JSC's blog "It's a Tricky World Out There."

About (G)Obama and the election.

jamiescottcummins.blogspot.com/

Salvia: A Youngster's Hallucinogenic

I would bet that Salvia is something most parents, adults, and generally speaking, “people of authority” don't know about. 

Most High School students know about Salvia. (Or at least they know the effects of Driving On Salvia)

Salvia is a hallucinogenic substance that can be smoked much like tobacco or marijuana, and is known to produce vivid trips on par with LSD. 

Heres the catch: It's legal.

I went to Puff 'N Stuff the other day and bought 25x strength Salvia.

Later that night, for about 5 minutes, I thought I was in a golf cart riding down a red, blue, and yellow brick road when my friend fell out of the cart. 

It was funny at the time, but wow. That sounds like LSD tripping stories. The only difference is my keys didn't 

Smoke shops carry it, ninth graders smoke it to feel rebellious, and I lost my mind upon its use. 

It's a mint-genus plant with roots in divining and Shamanism of  Central and South American Tribes... but so does Marijuana, right? 

The effects, however, of smoking the drugs are drastically different. 

Salvia, according to Salvia.net, a major player in the fight for its legality, lists the effects as such:

Loss of physical coordination

Uncontrollable laughter

Visual alterations or visions

Experiencing multiple realities

A contemplative sense of peace

Sense of profound understanding

Dream-like veneer over the world

Sense of total confusion or madness

Seeing or becoming part of a tunnel

Loss of sense of awareness as an individual

Experiencing a “non-Euclidean” geometry

Sense of flying, floating, twisting, or turning

Feeling of being immersed in an energy field

Feeling of being connected to a larger “whole”

Feeling of being underground or underwater

Appearing to travel to other places and/or times

Becoming inanimate objects (a wall, stairs, a couch, etc.)

Viewing patterns or shapes that are tube-like, snake-like, or worm-like...

Hell, on the package (Literally a package, like buying spices at a grocery store), it recommends having a "spotter" nearby during use. 

A spotter as in a friend to make sure you don't go insane.

Yet Marijuana is illegal?

Yet after all the research done on Cigarettes and its harm, they're legal?

According to CollegeDrinkingPrevention, over 97% of rape on a campus involves Alcohol. 

Yet Alcohol is legal? 

Perhaps Salvia is still legal as some obtuse anachronism that authorities have yet to research and crack down on. 

After all, apparently it doesn't cause Kidney, Liver, Brain or Lung Cancer.

If I can't destroy my body using Marijuana, because its illegal, Thank god Cigarettes, Salvia and Alcohol are readily prevalent for me to abuse. 

Can there really be no effects on the brain if you're “tripping balls” for 10 minutes in a fashion similar to LSD?

What do you guys think about Salvia?

Harmless Hallucinogenic used by Eighth graders that haven't been able to meet a Marijuana dealer?

Or is it a mind-altering drug that is self-destructive, but due to a lack of research by a Government that can easily tax and manage the drug, the negative effects go unnoticed. 

(Sorry to go all conspiracy theory on you.)

After all, just YouTube "Salvia."

People make pretty funny videos of its effects... God forbid the Government cracks down on laughter too =)

The Hookah Chronicles Part One.

Why does Sin attract company?

Why do people feel the need to get shit faced in order to have fun whenever they "go out?"
That's totally true by the way, try going out to a Frat house, party, whatever completely sober. It's hard. Goofy drunken antics are only fun when you can counter with goofy drunken antics of your own.

Then again, maybe that's just me.

The cool kids smoke. They drink. They pick fights and tussle like some bullshit MTV reality show.

And hell, that's chill.

A week before I came up here, I bought a Hookah. A hookah... is for lack of a better way to describe it... a Middle-Eastern-esque Bong used to smoke Flavored tabacco.





It's not marijuana. It's not illegal. It's apparently super bad for you, as much if not worse than cigarettes, but it tastes good and brings about a certain level of clarity and calm that is needed in an overworked, underfed, under-exercised (The Sheeshah certainly doesn't help) college student.

Lately, since about 3 weeks ago, I've smoked Sheeshah (The actual name for the Tobacco) with one of the best friends I'll ever have several times a week.

We've got our schedule down pat:

9PM: Go to a frat house.

11PM: Go to "the bar."

12:30-1:30-2:00AM: Come back to Campus.

2:00-4:30-6:00AM: Smoke Hookah. Relax. Share. Listen to Music. Meet people.

Frankly, its incredible. I've met so many people and have so many stories just from hanging out into the wee hours of the morning.

In the next couple of days I'll share these stories, and what I've attempted to learn from them.

Some are sad.

Most are happy.

A few are fucking hilarious.

But before I write 'em down... I'm just curious as to why people seem to bond over smoking? Or drinking? Why is there a certain "no-strings-attached-self confidence" that comes from this? I've had deep conversations with people while drunk. I sure as hell remember them, as do they, but when we pass on the Boulevard, or when we make eye contact in Umphrey, all that remains of our influenced companionship is an awkward Oh-Christ-...-do-they-remember kind of glance.

And awkward meeting of eyes that quickly ends.

Then again, there's a few people I've met while drunk or smoking or whatever that I'll never forget. And that's what matters.

What do you guys think about this? Why are we obsessed with this need to "get fucked up" in order to have fun?

Made a comment

On A Brave New World's rant about money.

Behold.

Expect an Epic Post.

Tomorrow.

It'll be all about the professor plums.

(That's a clue reference to purple.)

Day Three

Of Chilling to the Nth Degree.

I'm feeling really good.

I am chilling really hard right now.

I don't even know why.

Megatron can step off.
Jazz can sod off.
Starscream can (be and will be) piss off.

And I can fly like Optimus Prime.

This is the intermediatory piece before I start writing argument driven pieces.

FID

and please, under no circumstances...

do not get it twisted.

F.I.D.

I've been up at college now for almost two months, and shockingly enough, I've gone through enough drama to give MT shitty reality show material for years.

I spent four years in my Cathiscopalean school being told that College would be a challenging place for me to grow both academically and socially. I'd mature into an intelligent, balanced adult, all under the safe watch-full eyes of faculty, friends, and SMUPD (hah).

Which fucking College did I end up in?

I made the jump from High School right to Middle School again.

I watched a friend of mine get asked to leave a frat party because the frat guy wasn't "feeling" what my buddy was wearing. I've seen girls embarrass themselves over the safe guise of alcohol and attention. The fact that people post on Juicy Campus bllllllllllllows my mind.

I've been walked on, stomped on, and torn.

But hell,
FID

Fuck it, Dude.

Literally, fuck it.

It doesn't matter.

Once upon a time, I saw a guy explain this philosophy to me. This is a pretty cool story.

He was a street skater, like the aggressive inline stuff, not skateboards, and was staring down a huge stair case. He wanted to jump it. He looked and was I'm sure terrified. Right before going he said, “Fuck it, Dude...” and went.

He missed his landing, tore his leg out of his socket, and sent his shin bone straight through his knee.

People ran expecting to see a grisly accident and a long night at the hospital.

FID.

He was fine. He propped himself up and watched people run towards him. He didn't cry, he didn't panic, he looked at his mangled leg and said, “Eh. FID it, man. I went, I failed, so what? Fuck. It. Dude.” Then he laughed as his friends tried to put him into the back of an ambulance.
I've never been able to forget that.
And he's right.
It doesn't matter.

Don't wear Oxford button downs and multicolored khakis if you don't enjoy looking like that.

Don't wear sun dresses all the time if you don't feel up to it.

Don't contort yourself to fit into some minute social gap because that's the only spot in the wall you'll feel comfortable in.

Pull your head out of your ass for two minutes to see that you're surrounded by walls, and niches, and clicks, and groups of people that will judge you for not being like them.

Don't --
Or do all of that. It doesn't matter.

Fuck it, Dude.

Seriously.

The only thing that matters is you.
And if you're happy, awesome.

If you're not,
FID.

Because you will be. And deserve to be.

Don't comment on this post, its just ramblings. I've been told this week that I must start writing argument driven pieces.

Consider this my transfer.

I made a comment!

On J.R. Blogger's blog.

I let my thoughts flow
like time in a day,
and made a response to his
metaphorical "Stairway

........................to heaven."

goingtospace.blogspot.com

Materialism: My Fight and My Defeat

I just wrote a personal essay on this, so I apologize in advance if this either A) Seems trite or pretentious, and B) some obtuse form of plagiarism because I'm trying to pass off an essay as my blog topic. Hopefully neither of those are the cases. I wanted to expand on the essay, and tell a few more stories that the pages of the essay couldn't really hold. This isn't some lame 

e-confession - I've never really been able to take seriously people that pour their hearts out online. Theres just something I've got to say (hell, get off my chest) and if I can impart some infinitely wisdomic lesson in the process... awesome. If not, be entertained by a story of douche-baggery that knows no limit: A story of death, metal, racing gloves, and little red blue-tooth ear pieces.

The story starts with a friend of mine (Who, for the sake of having a name, shall now be called Jasper). Jasper received a Porsche Boxster for his first car. His daddy bought it for him. I say that with the utmost cynicism and yet ultimately hypocrisy, but we'll deal with that later. Daddy. Daddy. It was supposed to be a unique form of father-son bonding over fine automobiles. Instead, it turned into the worst case of materialism I've ever seen.

He bought treadless racing shoes. From Puma I think. They were these... feminine little white leather shoes designed solely (pun) to help moronic people feel better about driving moronic cars. 

(Side note: I'm all for Porsches. But a Boxster is not a Porsche. To treat it like one is a lie to yourself. It's like owning an Altima but treating it like a Nissan GTR. Maybe not that extreme... but there's definitely a certain "gap" between Boxster and the next car up the "Porshuh" chain.) 

The shoes weren't enough. He needed gloves. A blue-tooth earpiece the same color as the car (Red). An expensive as hell set of designer aviators so his hair could flow ever-so-slightly when he zipped around town with the top down. 

We used to make fun of him. He was my friend, and I liked hanging out and doing stuff with him. But when the shoes came on... when his hand slipped into his glove... What happened? He turned into the biggest jack ass ever.

About 5 months after he got his car, I traded in my old Tahoe for a 350z. I paid for most of it through Scottish tax-free summer jobs with family members. The exchange rate kicked serious ass back then. But Daddy did help pay. It just irritates me to no end when someone asks what I drive (I mentioned my high school in an earlier post. It was all Houstonian River Oaks elite kids that drove stupidly nice impractical cars) and assume my Daddy dearest tossed me the keys one day with a pat on the back and a sparkle in his eye. 

That's some stupid leave-it-to-beaver new bike scenario.

I became Jasper. I could spend twenty paragraphs talking about nonsensical bullshit that would end with "I became Jasper." I never bought blue tooth earpieces, or leather gloves and shoes, or anything even remotely as vain or narcissistic as that. Without a doubt though, I had my own version of that going on.

I once went 166 down Highway 59 during the middle of the day. I thought I was going to die.

I've over taken people on the wrong side of the road. Not like country roads where you over take tractors that are going 10 mph, I mean real city roads. Where the speed limit wasn't fast enough, I couldn't weave to get by, so I went the other direction. 

I've raced a guy with neon lights on his car on the Houston 610 loop just for the hell of it.

I don't even know where to begin with Neon lights. Nothing says Ricer Idiot like a good set of pink strobe lights underneath your car. 

I was involved in a race that ended with me bonding with a guy named Juan because we both nearly killed ourselves. 

When you're a prick, and you care even less about the lives around you than your own life, and you drive a quick car, you live for the race. You live for the shot at humiliating another prick at his own game. 

You drive up, and pull up next to him. You then accelerate, then slow back down to his speed. You can do this a few times if you want, it doesn't really matter. If he doesn't respond the first time, chances are, he's not an idiot and won't want to endanger anyone to take a self-worshipping ego trip. If he reacts at ALL: Honk. Then level out to his speed.

Honk three times.

And go.

On April 12th I hit another woman breaking from 90 in a 30. The accident was bad, it was the basis of my personal essay. I should of died, and frankly, if the accident had not happened, I would have eventually. And what's worse, is I probably would have had someone else in the car.

"On April 12th, those shoes were ripped off, the gloves yanked away, the ear piece destroyed, and my teeth kicked so far back in my throat I could chew my tonsils. It's been the best lesson I've ever had to learn."

I liked that line in my paper. It felt... real I guess. Hell, it was honest. I had become exactly what I spent months mocking. I did a really good impression of him too. I mocked him, and yet almost a year later, I was exactly what I had spent so long making fun of. 

I am not my car. 

It took me 6 months of intense introspective thinking and a near-death experience to realize that.

You are not your car.

You are not the huge diamond ring your lover gave you to make up for lack of personality.

You aren't your designer purse. Your designer sunglasses or your make up.

I lost sight of who I was and what I was becoming. As a result, many, many people nearly died.

I was once under the mind set that people like myself - Men and women that drove fast just for the jollies it provides - don't cause accidents. Old people do! Teens do! Women on the phone, applying eye liner, and blow drying their hair simultaneously do!

No.

Bullshit.

Wrong.

I do.

I did.

I would have caused more.

I'm just thank full that I was able to pull my head out of my ass, see myself for what I once was, what I had become, and who I am now. 

.......

.......

.......

No idea how to end it, or wrap it up.

......

Have you guys ever LOST SIGHT OF YOURSELVES in a material object?

....

Sorry for the long post. Hope you didn't mind reading it.

Enjoy your weekends!

Made a comment...

Posted a comment on J.R.blogger's blog "Serial?" About his description of Fate / Emo wanderings.

http://goingtospace.blogspot.com/

Made a comment...

Made a comment on Jessie531's blog "Unknown" about the college room mate situation.

http://myblogs45.blogspot.com/

Death Spiral?

I write this knowing full well what will happen tonight...

I write this knowing full well what will happen tomorrow night.

And still I will go out. I will go out way too late. I will come home way too late (or early depending on how much of a morning person you are...).

I will probably indulge in underage alcohol consumption. 

I am 18 years old, a first year student, and, for the past two weeks, a social-butterfly of a man-child.

And I'm having the time of my life.

I spent four years in high school with the same friends I had made since sixth grade. I loved those guys, and I still do, but there was definitely a "rut" developing towards the end of our time together. 

We went to a small, personal college prep Catholic school (it may have been Episcopalian come to think of it, but that word doesn't play up to the stereotype quite like Catholicism) where everyone knew everyone. My schedule was straight forward: School - homework - bed for 5 days of the week, with little difference on the weekends. After my first two weeks here however... I am shocked at what I've become. 

Shocked, but completely okay with it.

This past Tuesday night I came home at 1 A.M. This was an early night. This was THE early night. Since about Thursday last week, I have completely wrecked my sleep schedule and time management skills. I do work before classes now. I haven't seen my room mate beyond walking into his sleepy little face tucked into a nest of blankets and pillows. 

Yet School goes okay. I've dealt with quizzes and writing assignments. I've (maybe) studied a tad, but I can't help but feel like this is not what its about. "It" being the shining gates of academia --  A studious four years ending with the presentation of a big-fat-diploma and a "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here" kick-in-the-ass out of the main gate. I'm living every stereotype that's ever been portrayed in a low-budget teen comedy.

And hell, it's fucking awesome.

I've met so many people and learned so much about not only myself, but about the way the world works. Cathiscopalean School was fine... but, spending four years in a bubble isn't the way to prepare "kids" for life. I needed to have gotten drunk. I needed to kick someone's ass. I need my own teeth kicked in. 

And the next lesson that must be learned is probably (at the risk of sounding like a PBS after school special) the most important of all: priorities.  I've come to the conclusion that it's okay to go out, but I've got to learn how to control it.

I can't live on 5 hours of sleep a night. I can't spend this next semester trying to fix what I messed up my first month. My death spiral, which has got to be what this is, needs to end.

I can't be the only one dealing with this...

I know I'm not the only one circling the drain...

In the mean time though, fun is to be had. Tonight, Friday night, Saturday night. 

Sleep and rest can come Sunday. 

"I'm trying to find a balance, trying to build a balance."

Tring to Find A Balance - Atmosphere