Currently Listening Not Too Late By Norah Jones Little Room see related

Naked pictures of Cody Ziler

     Limited time only! Don't miss your chance to see Cody Ziler naked! Go to www.shotshotphotography.com/codyziler

for these once-in-a-lifetime pics!

Currently Reading The Road By Cormac Mccarthy see related

The Recommendation: Ode to Lobe

     I'm not quite sure why I have recently adopted a subtle yet sexual fascination with the human ear. Don't consider me a traitor to the face: Eyes, lips, nose, chin...they're all good. Lips are still one of the first physical attributes that command my attention, but ears have been recently challenging the mouth for the top spot on my radar. Perhaps its the overlooked intricacy, a twisting and turning pathway to the most powerful sexual organ, the human brain. The soft lobes are like fleshy, soft pink pillows, paradoxically encouraging any activity but sleep. The back of the ear provides a sensitive anchor while also providing easy viewing of the back of the head, a staple in my more lust-oriented perceptions. Longer hair falls freely against and along the rims, outlining and accentuating the curious shape. Words are proposed with a hush, a close proximity that allows for pillow talk even when no such privacy is available.

     Experience reminds me of the chill that weaves down the spinal cord when the perfect tongue stroke meets a particular corner of the ear. Although never reciprocated, the feeling of giving can rival that of getting. Having the ability to make someone shiver with audible delight is enough to get me drunk.

     Of course, like any other fetish, there are opponents, a certain few who shudder at the thought of something sexually foreign. Many consider the ear to be dirty, but that's not necessarily true. Ears are certainly just as clean as the mouth, and I've yet to cross paths with anyone harboring a hardy qualm against open-mouth kissing. It's just different, a new way to tell that certain someone "Can you spot me a bit? I left my wallet in my other pants."

     Try it. I encourage everyone who reads this to embrace the ear for everything it is and all it can be. Don't be intimidated; it's nothing more than excess skin, elegantly adding horizontal appeal to faces everywhere. Just clinch your fists, stick your tongue out, and dive in.

                                        Much love, Cody

P.S. And to anyone vying for the author's attention, a pair of clean, well-trimmed (not manicured) hands are pretty God damn sexy, too.

Currently Listening Sound-Dust By Stereolab The Black Arts see related

Collegiate decisions, penile hibernation, and that thing you do with your mouth

     Indecision must be my birth right. It can't be...this is college. This is your life. Although I have seduced my brain just enough to lessen the emphasis on the undergraduate experience (which was before crippling my nerves), I still need some sort of intervention to keep from making a big mistake. The plan of action goes a little somethin' like this: Stay in Ohio for Undergrad (As of now, Miami is my top...err...only choice);  Then for Grad school shoot for the most brilliant star I possibly can (Perhaps somewhere in the Columbia galaxy). According to THE FRANK, Miami's English department is strong, and a Creative Writing major is a hard thing to come by, that is, in an undergraduate school. Plus, I have much respect for many of their current students. An early evening telephone conversation with Alex Robbins may have left a bittersweet taste in my ass, but you have to give it up for that campus. You know...the one I've yet to visit.

     Staying on this side of the prison bars that are the borders of Ohio may not have been my first ( and shallow) choice, but there are numerous benefits--Proximity to friends and family, a reasonable tuition (and, therefore, happier parents), and a Hell of a lot less driving. Who knows? Maybe I'll get the opportunity to reconnect with some of my Essex brethren. And I hear that Abby Brothers chick might go there...What I wouldn't give to just...

     This six weeks kinda sucked. Let's try to work on that.

     On another, more genital-related note, I'm not getting any. What's with that? My hair goes uncaressed, my skin goes unkissed, my eyes go unlooked into. I try to use the opposite sex to vent my sexual frustration, but you're not being very agreeable. Juliana won't let me kiss her. Shannon doesn't like my tongue in her ear. Natalie seems indifferent to my touch. I'd probably have better luck with Tom Cruise. Speaking of Crazy McLoon, details concerning the wedding ceremony of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are NOT "Breaking News." Far from it.

     I'm certainly not vying for the title of "Mr. SpreadHappy," but I feel I deserve a good ravishing as much as the next sex-obsessed teen.

Much love, Cody

     Seriously though...If I don't get fucked in the next 48 hours (preferably by the Spanish actor to your right), I'm raping a baby. 

Currently Listening Ta-Dah By Scissor Sisters She's My Man see related

John was half naked and LuLu was crying

       Your author takes careful sips of his hot apple cider. His tongue is particular in its movement, being all-too-careful to avoid the scolding properties of microwaved liquids. Steaming inside a mug depicting cheerful snowpeople, personified within an inch of their seasonal lives, the brew presents the backdrop of the season; an autumnal face is peeking out from each drop. I take a deep breath, trying to inhale every ounce of Fall from the swirling steam. The leaves, the briskness, the colors...I try to capture it all inside my nostrils. All of it belongs to me. I've paid my dues, and these months deserve the inside of my pocket, taking their rightful place beside an old tube of chapstick and an Indiana state quarter. My eyes drift to the cover of my latest copy of Esquire, on which a blonde goddess squints her rich eyes and pouts her famous lips, glossed within an inch of their life. Scarlett Johansson is the sexiest woman alive. Uhh...

     October's vices remain a fixture in my daily life, and the vice grip that is routine has already achieved a powerful clasp around my balls. Poor things...they've gone through so much. What troopers. I guess me duties to the Jon Jee may have diverted much needed attention from the optimism having its way with my vulnerable person. I was fully aware that this year would seem to fly by, but I wasn't, however, expecting to feel so numb to it all. During band practices I whole-heartedly battle apathy, cross country meets are merely means to exert pent up sexual frustration, and my school days consist of spurts of fleeting effort and moments of near-fatal self doubt. The home stretch is still miles ahead; I haven't even left the gate. I'm still alive, though. There are those who inject my welcoming forearms with the recommended dosage of tangible existence. Yeah, you. 

     Marching band...where to start. The show's progress is slow but sure, and contained in the right corner of my brain is the struggling expectation to qualify for State Competition this Saturday at Meadowbrook. I really feel we're better than we/Mr. Hudson would like to think. Nowhere on the field is it possible to get a good feel about the overall sound or look of the show. I think we may just surprise ourselves this weekend. No matter the outcome, I know we're gonna surprise ourselves. Show aside, the inevitable drama echoing against the band hallways continue to tickle me, the latest of which seems to involve yours truly. It would seem my sexuality is being called into question. I love it. 

     The process of researching/finding/applying to colleges continues to terrify/nauseate/torment me.

     My self portrait in Art IV is coming along a lot smoother than I would have ever expected. My lips are still giving off some major Elvis vibes, but Mrs. Kennedy seems to like them. That little Geyer girl is impossibly adorable. I think it's safe to say I fancy her greatly. Flag football with Kara and the Dum Fux is great. I may have found my true calling. That's right...Cody Ziler, wide receiver. Must do community service. NYU? Senior fall athlete collage. Must be cuter. Cuter! Sell yearbook ads. Buy a paper Friday. Do it. Shannon's smile...Captain Hard-On..Macbeth.Sixteenth runsThe 22nd AmendmentSportsStoriesCollegeRUNNING3.1MILESREALLYFAST

sourpatchkids

BATHINGBEINGEDITORGETTINGSOMESTARBUCKSSCARLETT JOHANSSON                               And as always, that thing you do with your lips. That smile that forms from the corners of your mouth. I love that.

Much love, Cody

I miss my brother.

Currently Listening Pieces of the People We Love By The Rapture Don Gon Do It see related

      The following ran in Friday's issue of the Jon Jee. However, since the papers didn't necessarily fly off the shelves, and due to the fact that I'm currently experiencing a drought of things to base a Xanga update on (other than topics to which the confines of Xanga may or may not be appropriate), I present to you that column in its entirety.

Before diving in, please heed my warning: There are blatant and possibly offensive examples of school spirit and scholastic pride. 

Cody Ziler                                                                                                                                                      Jon Jee Editor-in-chief                                                                                                                                        

Admittedly, the following was intended to run in the first issue of the Jon Jee, but due to circumstances beyond my control (an emergency appendectomy, to be exact), it was shortly delayed. I offer to you my sincerest apologies.

However, there may be a solution: please disregard this entire week. Mentally be where you were exactly seven days ago. Once this is achieved, please proceed.

I gave ample thought to the timing of my absences, and I concluded that missing seven straight days at the near opening of school was both the best and worst possible situation. Although it hindered my gentle slip into the routine of high school education and provided me with plenty of makeup work, most of which was review, the week off gave me the chance to catch the entire first week of the U.S. Open. Not only this, the attention-worthy scar on the lower right region of my stomach still provides for some animated reactions from my peers, ranging from sheer admiration to unrequited horror.

But the thing that really toasted my buns was the effects it had on my extra curricular endeavors. As a member of the cross country team and marching band, I was banished to the metaphorical sidelines, forced to watch my teammates and friends do things that, at the advice of medical professionals, were off-limits to me. I missed marching in the first two football games and sat idly during my first four cross country meets.

It was like eating at Olive Garden without the endless salad and breadsticks. Yeah, it was that bad.

Many a lonely night and awkward Thursday afternoons were spent imagining and planning the entire course of my senior year. Incidentally, having a rotten vestigial organ removed from my lower abdomen wasn’t on the list.

My initial reaction to my plight was simple—my fall is over, nay, my year. All of my dreaming came tumbling down from the heavens, bringing with it a wholesome diet of chicken broth and orange Jell-O.

Now if it sounds like I’m complaining, venting about a situation that could have been a lot worse, then you wouldn’t be far off. Indeed, my recovery period could have been prolonged greatly had my appendix been allowed to fester much longer. That said, this is my column; if you got a problem, stop reading and return to what I’m sure is a provocative lunch table conversation concerning the anatomy of “that girl in the lunch line.”

Much like yourself, I was sitting in a crowded gymnasium last Friday afternoon, listening to 10 nervous girls give speeches to an unsettled student body. And although their speeches were as varied as they themselves, there ran through the words of each girl a common thread. In response to the abstract question, “What does being a Muskie mean to you?” almost all agreed on one thing: It means nothing.

Stop wiping your eyes; it said what you thought it said. Simply being a Muskie, or anything for that matter, means nothing. There are those who simply drift through their days at JGHS, completely unaware of all that surrounds them. They merely exist here, ignorant of their own place at this school.

As each anxious girl spilled her guts to sometimes critical ears, all touched upon the things that really make a Muskie—a pride in one’s school, an appreciation for the spirit that becomes a part of you each time you go through those front doors in the morning. After every vote is counted and tallied, it is the actions of a Muskie that truly distinguish it from the fish content to simply float with the current, those who never even consider fighting the tide.

As editor of this year’s print Jon Jee, I, along with a dedicated staff, will provide you with the stories, columns, editorials, pictures and everything in between that relay what it means to be a Muskie. Every week, we will remind you that you are a part of this school. Every week, we will reaffirm your spirit and intensify your pride. You provide us with the actions; we'll do the rest.

 Much love, Cody