wordsandmorewords

*time listed next to the date is the time the entry was started and then finished.

June 29, 2026. (10:01pm EDT - 11:41pm EDT)

Well shoot... making this part of the website was a lot more hassle than I thought it would be... Anywho, first blog post entry!

Here's the thing right? There's only one of two ways this could go. I could either:

A.) Do this consistently for a longtime and actually make something of this website.
or
B.) Do this like... one or two times and then never touch this website/blog ever again.

I'd like to think that this website is gonna last a long, long time. I mean... This is the side of the internet that I loved and continue to love so much. I'd love to be a part of it. And on top of that, as I'm writing this blog post into the code, I'm way too lazy to write it as one long thing (lazy because I would need to scroll left and right to see the whole thing). So I end up needing to manually hit enter like a typewriter to keep it all in one neat lil' paragraph thingy. WHO DOESN'T LIKE TYPEWRITERS!!!

Anywho, I hate McDonald's. At least in this season of my life I do. Well... I like the history of it. The Founder is one of my favourite movies of all time. Friggin love The Founder. And like- I love some of the classic McDonald's commercials like Mac Tonight or those classic Ronald "Mcdonald's is Our Kinda Place (*CLAP* *CLAP*)" No you see, my hatred of McDonald's can be traced back to the Fall of 23'. (*LIGHTNING STRIKE SFX*) For that was the time I started...

WORKING THERE. (AHHHHH!!!!! SCARY!!!!)

I believe in the beauty of humanity and that we can truly be a force for good. I firmly believe that the vast majority of people mean well. Yet there isn't anything that has tempted me towards the bitterest sense of misanthropy quite like working at McDonald's. It almost feels like the job is specifically made to be as uncomfortable as possible. For one, it's hot. REALLY hot. At least at my location it is. So you get incredibly sweaty, AND THEN get covered in a myriad of different things: grease, soda, iced coffee, sweed tea, sauces... And it's unavoidable. You could be working the drive thru. But throughout the air is this airborn mixture of McDonald's substances. So you're going to end up covered in this stuff no matter what. Meanwhile, not going into detail, but putting it briefly, it's the equivalent of someone constantly trying to talk to you while your mouth is full of food. And they'll get VERY angry if you don't respond. All this and- AND- OH LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY SCHEDULE. SO. SO. SO.

It USED to be that I would work from 5pm to about 2am or so. Sometimes even earlier. I mean... it did mess up my sleeping schedule which made it really hard to stay on top of schoolwork (something I am already INCREDIBLY bad at). BUT. It was at the very least DOABLE. But one of the night managers (she was a really nice manager. I miss her )':) quit. And so I ended up having to take her place little by little. 2am became 3am. 3 to 4. Then 5. And now as of late... I find myself having to serve in the afternoon AND also the ENTIRE NIGHT SHIFT plus maybe 10-30 or so minutes into 6am... And this is already on top of the whole 11-12 hours of working being very physically demanding and incredibly stressful and unpleasant. All this... Because They never... EVER replaced that night manager with someone who could take that spot permanently. And I'm leaving out so many other details because I do kinda feel bad for complaining this much about my job on the internet.

I panic about it a lot... I think it affects my health. Both mental and physical. There have been a few concerning times when it felt like i was gonna fall over. Not from exhaustion. I'm not quite sure how the heck to describe the sensation. And the worst thing of all is this feeling of isolation throughout the job. A terrible job like this wouldn't be bad if I felt like I belonged. I don't. Not that my coworkers are bad. I love them all. They're friendly to me. So are the managers I'm under. But... there's something about McDonald's... the way it's run... The environment of it... the ENDLESS barrage of useless changes to the way things are done that do nothing but make the job even more difficult to do... But also in the aura of the place like a terrible spirit that looms over the establishment. It feels like a manifestation of every thing that has ever made me feel isolated. I don't quite know how to describe what I'm talking about... But in matters concerning things outside myself, I also feel it is the perfect representation of the enshittification of the world. It's cold and corporate, and there's something grotesque about the whole thing.

Maybe that's why I'm seeking solace here before I head in to work tomorrow-- Oh yeah, btw, that's why I'm typing this. I'm going to work tomorrow.

...shoot where was I? Oh- right *ahem*

Maybe I'm seeking solace here before I head in tomorrow, because Neocities feels like the opposite of McDonald's to me. Like a beacon into a world that is still filled with care. A place more warm. It's nice here. Still... every second I sit here typing this draws me closer and closer to that front enterance.

That turn around past the cash registers to the right, where we keep back up sweet tea, past the oven, and the sink that has the most unpleasant odor, and the backdoor next to the trash wheelbarrow, feeling whatever comfortable coldness my body slowly leave, and then putting on the hair net (that does) not contain my hair, and pressing my thumb up against id machine to clock in, and looking at the time and realizing you are now the furthest you'll be from home.

I wonder if I'll one day look back and be nostalgic. Even for a time like this. That's the thing. You can assume (if you read the about page ( which you don't have to do TvT)) that I look upon my childhood with fond regard. As a matter of fact, the background of this blog is literally the kitchen at my childhood house. My grandparents and cousins from the Philippines live there now. But I had my fair share of bad seasons throughout my life at the house as well.

There was middle school. No one likes middle school. Not while you're in it. Not while you're out of it. Just as Greg (well... when he gets out of it). Believe me I hated it. I wanted nothing more than to leave it. It was just one big isolating popularity contest, as my 13 year old self put it. I hated the walls, the atmosphere, and every part of me longed to be home. Yet... all these years later... I still wouldn't go back to that point in my life. But everything that was good about it comes back to me every now and then. The very building I said I would never set foot in again... that building was one I wanted to drive by and see while on a drive with my Dad. Those walls went from a cold blue to a cozy pastel. The atmosphere, electric. It feels, in memory like every day something new was going on. I remember throwing berries at a friend (and he back at me). I remember the 8th grade trip to New York, and sitting there in that charter bus, with everyone giggling and having fun, and for once, truly feeling like I was part of that group. And then realizing... wait a minute. I WAS a part of it. It wasn't a popularity contest at all. At least in the back of memory it wasn't. Every second I type this takes me further away from leaving the two glass doors, into my Mom's car, into forever.

One day, I'll clock out of that McDonald's for the final time. I hope that moment comes sooner than later. But I wonder. Maybe one day, I won't live here anymore. But I come back for whatever reason. Maybe one day, I might even enter that very building I swore I would never go to again. Maybe order a coke at the Kiosk, and wait behind the person coming back because the plain sandwich he ordered didn't have ketchup. And I'll look over his shoulder and see that entryway into the kitchen. And mentally walk down and make a right where I'll see where they still keep the back up sweet tea, past the oven, and the sink which smells the same as it ever did. And I'll see the backdoor next to the trash wheelbarrow. And I feel any sense of coldness of current reality slowly melt away. I laugh to myself, about how the hairnet doesn't fit... And I'll head up from the basement, and look at where I used to scan my finger in and realize that after a long, long time, I've finally returned home...

Or maybe this job actually does suck. And I'll do while I'm here is get out of the car and spit on the sidewalk leading to the enterance.

Psh Idk...

- RadioGuy

June 30, 2026. (7:04am EDT - 7:13am EDT)

Everything going onwards. I need to learn piano, or I'm gonna be feelin' real sad next year.

- Radioguy

August 10, 2026. (1:37am EDT - 3:06sam EDT)

Well it's 1am as it says as the header for this. I'm at a hotel in a white bed with stripes on it in a sort of shade of grey I'm not quite sure is blue or brown leaning. 'Least not in this lighting: that being the white light coming from the sort of half drawer half mini bar. You know, the kind with the tiny keurig machine and the ice box that I'm sure hasn't been used since the hotel opened. I'm listening to Beach Boys' Party (in stereo.), with my Dad in the other bed to my right.

It's a very nice room. Not high end by any means. But for what it is, it's pretty nice I gotta say.

Hotels are kinda funny. You kinda have to realize for a second that EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THESE ROOMS HAS A BATHROOM IN IT. And we don't question what a technical marvel that is. I mean... REALLY THINK ABOUT THAT. Think about all those rooms. All the plumbing that goes into it. And these rooms are side by side! How do they come up with this stuff.

And you go through those hallways with the different rooms. And it feels small. And you see all those different doors and they are insignificant. But then there's that feeling when you open that hotel room door for the first time, and it feels like a portal into a room suspended in space and time.

It feels strange realizing all those other doors are magic portals too. Y'know hotels are pretty freaking funny. Like- there's always a smell to them. There's good smelling hotels and bad smelling hotels. But beneath the good and bad smells there is a certain trademark smell of a hotel. It's a scent I describe as "beachy". Or could it be described as beachy because I associate some hotels with beaches. I mean... I ain't ever seen a beach them smells like this before.

Smells are very evocative y'know? I think it's the most evocative of sensations. You can hear things and be transported to a different time. But it's the smell that touches the most abstract, and indescribable recesses of the mind. And some of those recesses hold a LOT of untouched information. It's probably why it's so intense.

There is a particular scent that has come up in my life as of late... I call it the smoke-machine-scent. Mainly because that's what it smells like (or at least I think that's what a smoke machine smells like). I've mainly smelled it during concerts. I'd love to talk about some of those concerts some time. Especially a Rehash concert I went to a little bit ago. Anywho, smoke-machine-smell. It isn't just the smell I smell in a concert. It... follows me. Like a ghost. It's a smell that I just sorta smell when I feel something is... really happening, y'know? It's a scent that makes me thing "things are really happening". No, not a realization that things exist. It's this sort of sensation of feeling like something real is happening in front of me. Or that this is the start of something new. A new era. Usually smoke-machine-scent signals something good ahead.

As of late however... hotels have signalled something bad. Many of the really bad seasons of my life were preceded by being in a hotel. The brain is quite the funny pattern-making machine. Considering, I'm in a hotel right now, I do feel a slight fear of what's to come once the semester starts. It's a fear I always get right before a semester starts. I always cry at least once during a semester. At least I remember that I do. But I am in the calm before the storm. And it's a sensation that I have grown to be very familiar with as of late.

It's been an hour into writing this, and already stopped listening to Beach Boys' Party (mainly from my buds dying out on me).

For the past couple times in those hotel rooms I became absolutely paralyzed with fear. And suddenly a darkness loomed over everything.

I remember Atlantic City. It's a place I'd like to reminisce about in detail another time but it's a place that meant a lot to me as a kid. I recently went there again last year. The place was already run down when I first went (heck it was run down and FARRRR past its prime by the time I was born). But going this time filled me with a particular sadness that I think akin Bourdain's experience eating a terribly sad burger at Johnny Rockets (not that I knew for sure what that must've felt like, but at least his description of it resonated with me).

It was like seeing your best friend on a hospital bed. The friend you snuck out of your bedroom window to hang out with at 2am and who you told everything to, and who told everything to you. Someone who represented such fun and comfort to you. And here they are. Lying there. That body who used to run so so fast while playing tag with you reduced to a stationary and barely responsive husk that is growing colder and colder, as the friend who is slowly becoming the friend who was, and the suffocating thought in your head is of the ticking clock before you look into your friends eyes for the final time still seeing a beautiful soul inside.

I felt that looking out the window of the hotel room at the slowly dimming dark, navy blue sky that looked over the beach where me and my family made sandcastles in the rain that one time. The rest of the trip was misery, and incredibly stressful, with practically zero moments of actual fun being had... and I felt it had gone. This place I knew was gone. But looking out through that window, I could still see it. My friend who was a memory in my mind for years who laughed with me. The friend who sheltered me under the warm glow of those boardwalk lights, and charmed me with a building whose facade pretended to lean onto passerbys and had a globe in its center.

I couldn't tell if that faint whisper in the dark was a reassuring 'Hello' or a tender 'Goodbye'. And I couldn't tell if that broke me harder than if I had looked out the window and seen its soul already long gone.

The following months were not easy. I felt a lump in my chest most days, and was so desperate for any sort of relief that I literally resorted to ChatGPT as a therapist. Yes. It got that bad. And I'm ashamed for doing that (doing that honestly made my feelings worse actually).

But today, I heard a piece of advice. In these areas of dreading what's to come, I usually would spend my time clinging onto as much comfort as I could, and braced for the impact. And not in a particularly healthy way, I think. It just made the incoming pain much worse. But today, I heard that when buffalos see an oncoming storm, instead of running away from it, they run straight into it. It seems counter-intuitive, but think about it. When you run away from a storm, you're simply delaying the inevitable. Run into a storm, and the storm will last much quicker.

It's a piece of advice I wanna carry with me into what awaits me outside these hotel walls. And I guess right now it's pretty easy because... I honestly don't feel the dread right now. Not yet.

And the funniest thing of all about this hotel, is that it isn't even far away. It's close to home.

- Radioguy