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Death drives a white Honda Civic
I'm stuck at home right now waiting for a repair guy to come fix our washing machine. Also, I'm expecting a call from the mechanic for an estimate on repairing my car. Two expensive tastes that taste expensive together! But how are YOU, Livejournal? Do we have a When Harry Met Sally type relationship, at this point? Where we see each other once in between long stretches of time, and it's juuuust like old times, until something separates us again, until the next time? And then eventually we finally stay together, of course, but... I don't think it's at that point yet. I think right now, it's the part where we're in a bookstore, and I'm doing The World's Worst Job of Pretending I'm Reading A Book, and you're wearing RIDICULOUS glasses.

Anyway. Repair guy is supposed to be here "between 8 and noon." I should have called a cable guy to come out, too. That way they could both get here at noon.

My livejournal is ten years old. I really should have posted something on here on the very day, I guess, but whatyagondo? Holy crap, though, an entire decade! I feel like I should make a point to post in here more, due to that surreal longevity that this journal has, but then again... is anyone reading this? That probably shouldn't matter, right? But it does! Otherwise, I'd just make word documents and save them on my computer.

So, you know in movies where someone is cryogenically frozen, and they are finally revived, how they get up very slowly and stumble around a lot? Because it's been so long since they've used their muscles? That's how this post is.
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My friends list is a graveyard of deleted journals, but I think I can safely say that I will never delete mine, no matter how sporadically I post in it. I like the option of posting something every now and then. Like right now, for example, in honor of the month of October, and Halloween, I am reviving my journal. In order to haunt the internet! OOOOO-oooooo-OOOOO-ooooo!*

I had what I think is a GREAT idea for a Halloween costume, except it's really pretty much the worst idea. It would just make for the best-ever entrance to a party. The costume: a Chinese dragon. It would involve, say, twelve other people, and maybe four other auxillary people who aren't actually in the dragon. I mean, what an entrance, right? Someone answers the door, and BOOM, a Chinese dragon starts snaking its way through the party, with the four auxillary people festively lighting off flash pots, fire-crackers, and other classic Chinese fireworks! What a treat for all!

This summer has been pretty great; I'm a little bummed I didn't take the time to document some of it in here. Now it's cold, I'm wearing a long sleeve shirt for the first time this season, and if I want to look back in my journal, instead of memories of summer, I'll see some YouTube video and a really dumb post about cereal. Man, maybe I SHOULD delete my journal! No, maybe I should make better posts, is what I should do! Off to a greeeeeat start here, right?? Hoo boy.

Well livejournal, this concludes my first haunting of the season! See you in my next ghost--I mean, post!



*That's one of those battery-powered motion-detecting ghost decorations, if you didn't catch it. Next time, try to catch it; I don't like needing to make footnotes.
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"I'm your biggest fan. I'll follow you until you love me, Papa."
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Now, this isn't to say that my Friday night wasn't a shamefully brazen evening of decadent hedonism, but OH MY GOD, CHECK OUT THIS FASCINATINGLY EDUCATIONAL YOUTUBE VIDEO!





MAN! I count eight things that are SO AWESOME about this! How many do YOU count?Collapse )
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Kashi Heart to Heart Honey Toasted Oat Cereal

I think that a reasonable person would take one look at this box of cereal, and conclude that it is nothing more than a fairly direct copy of Honey Nut Cheerios. Maybe this reasonable person pictures taking the SATs, and answering a question that goes "Oreos are to Newman O's as Honey Nut Cheerioes are to ________" with "C. Kashi Heart to Heart Honey Toasted Oat Cereal." Why, just look at the picture of the cereal itself on the box! Those familiar 'O' shapes, interspersed with the fresh fruit that no one ever puts in their cereal [here it's raspberries, but we would also accept strawberries or bloo-beh-rees.] So as to not infringe on cereal copyright, there is also a smattering of cereal pieces that are shaped like hearts instead of o's. And yes! Speaking of hearts! There is an endorsement from the American Heart Association! Just like Cheerios! There are also many claims about how this cereal can "REDUCE CHOLESTEROL," and "SUPPORT HEALTHY ARTERIES" [side note: The dickishly-picky high school English teacher in me wants to circle this phrase with a red pen and write "VAGUE" in a severe-looking underlined cursive by the margin. Support them?] Finally, "PROMOTE HEALTHY BLOOD PRESSUE." [Better!] So alright, same look, same basic ingredients, same flavor, same intense THIS IS GOOD FOR YOUR HEART! cheerleading. Looks like our reasonable SAT-taker is one step closer to the dream of a 1600 score. But NO! Turns out the correct answer was actually "D. BreakfastTime Honey Hoops."

You see, lurking in the upper corner of the box, so close to the brand name so that one kicks oneself to have overlooked it, is the lettering "Now With White Tea!" Now, it's debatable whether this white tea will really affect anything, but it is definitely an ominous cloud that causes more questions than answers: now with... white tea flavor, too? A previous version of this cereal didn't have white tea? Why? Once you've added white tea, why not go all out and add something like spinach, too? Or...will this white tea not even be noticeable?

Now: once you pour a bowl of Kashi Heart to Heart Honey Toasted Oat Cereal[or KHTHHTOC], another troubling fact emerges. The cereal looks fully, unmistakably like dog food. I know, right? Visually, there's already such a fine line between dry cereal and dry dog food, and Kashi has absolutely crossed it with their weirdly thick, course-looking o's. I thought for a second that I made a mistake. I mean, I already totally missed that "Now With White Tea" thing that was right in front of my face; what's to say I wouldn't take another look at the box and see that the FULL name of the "cereal" is "Kashi Heart to Heart Honey Toasted Oat Cereal For Dogs?" [or KHTHHTOCFD]

The MAIN THING, though, is that... the texture of the cereal, once you pour milk over it, is SO FUCKING WEIRD. As it turns out, the few heart-shaped pieces are fully crunchy, which is fine. But the far-more-abundant o's are... chewy? Like little pieces of a sponge made out of seven whole grains. Picture cereal that is about to become soggy, but isn't quite there yet. It is, in a word, appalling. So appalling that I think the usually-too-gross-sounding term "mouth-feel" is fully appropriate to use here. Kashi Heart to Heart: bad mouth-feel! Also, where is the honey flavor? Anywhere? And is that... tea I taste? Just a hint? Just a hint to complement the horse-feed flavor of grains?

And that brings me to my final grade on the 100 point scale: 32. It is definitely, definitely not good enough to merit a 33, but despite me spending this entire review slamming it, I've managed to secretly and invisibly allocate the 31 additional points it needs to avoid receiving the scathing, unprecedented '1' rating. Nonetheless, avoid.
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Last week, in order to create green-tinted drinks for St. Patrick's Day, I bought a bottle of green Creme de Menthe. I think it's important to document this, because this is going to be the bottle of Creme de Menthe that I have on-hand FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. There is 750 mL of the stuff! What am I going to do with it but haul it out once a year and use a couple of ounces to turn everyone's otherwise-perfectly-good drinks green and minty? I mean, maybe I could get fancy and pour a teaspoon of it over a scoop of vanilla ice cream... and then realize what a mediocre dessert that is, and never do it again. Maybe add some to a cup of hot chocolate? And then drink a lot more hot chocolate? Maybe I could go insane, and use it as part of a lamb marinade! Yuck!

No, this bottle of Creme de Menthe and I are in it for the long haul! Man, I can just see myself now, packing it up for yet another move... Then years later, my kids find it and ask me what it is, and I tell them it's something I bought to turn drinks green. "Why wouldn't you just use a coloring laser?" they'd say, "Or... well, some kind of food coloring, anyway." I probably wouldn't remember why I didn't just use food coloring, but I can tell you right now that it's because I think it's more fun to try to arrive at a desired color by only using ingredients that affect the flavor of the drink, rather than, say, making a vodka tonic and putting food coloring in it. That's why when I temporarily invented* The Purple Rain, it was made of vodka, cranberry juice, and a little Blue Curacao. Oh, Blue Curacao: another bottle I'll have the rest of my life! Maybe this post will also document the moment I decided to just fucking use food coloring. Actually, Blue Curacao is much easier to get rid of. I'm just going to add a little bit of it to every drink I make until it's gone. It'll be my signature! "Does my whiskey look slightly blue?" you may ask me, if you're at my place. Yup! I added a little Blue Curacao to it. Bottoms up!

Obviously, I can't perform that technique with Creme de Menthe, so there it will remain in the liquor cabinet, like an hourglass marking my remaining days. Now I'm picturing a montage of Important Life Events; "Sunrise/Sunset" from Fiddler On the Roof is probably playing, and a bottle of Creme de Menthe fades in and out of the screen. Married! Mostly full bottle! Kids! 3/4 Full Bottle! Sunriiiiiise! Kids graduate High School! 2/3 Full! Kids graduate college! 1/2 Full! I finally make Senior Partner! 2/5 Full! Grandchildren happen! 1/4 Full! Suuunset! Retirement! 1/8 Full! And then finally there's only two ounces left, and Missy and I are reminiscing about the old days one night, and I find this old bottle of Creme de Menthe, and Missy says to me, "Have you ever just had that straight?" No, have you? "No." And we decide to pour each other shots, we drink them, and then... we pass away. Together! So sweet, everyone will cry. It'll be just like in The Notebook! Only mintier.
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If it wasn't for that pesky Bradley effect, Obama would have had all 538 electoral votes.

Also: I seem to remember there being vice-presidential acceptance/concession speeches in the past. Have we done away with them? Or is this a one-time special treat omission, like maybe a previously-agreed upon condition that an Obama victory is a mandate for Sarah Palin to shut the fuck up for one night?
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Now is the time to try to take away Charlton Heston's gun!
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I have reason to believe that my gym magically transports me to the early 1900s whenever I go there. For one: yesterday, a white-haired man who looked EXACTLY like Mark Twain held the door open for me as I was entering the gym. Really, it was uncanny! Bushy mustache, weirdly-wild-yet-somehow-kempt hair, suit [seersucker?], and everything except the bowtie. And Haley's comet, but now that I think of it, I never did look at the sky. Maybe it passed over right at that very moment, because after I walked through the door, I turned around to get another look at him, and he was GONE.

Secondly! Today, there was a man at the gym who can be no one other than The World's Strongest Man Circa 1904. He has: a longish mustache, which I imagine he must groom into a handle-bar shape when he's not in the informal setting of daily gym conditioning; very short hair, with a part so straight and impeccably close to the scalp that it could only result from the use of hair tonic; an odd tight-fitting one-piece A-shirt/shorts combination garment; an old-timey and well-broken-in brown leather wrestling belt around his midsection; and of course, a classic turn-of-the-century-bodybuilder's muscular-yet-narrow physique. Hoo boy, was he also wearing dark-brown-leather high-top shoes with white mid-calf length socks, or is my memory making that up to complete the image?

Anyway, clearly it's true that I've been transported to the turn of the 20th century by my gym, and it may even be possible that I'm still there! After all, have you seen or heard from me lately? So if this post shows up, I think it's safe to say that I've safely returned to 2008. But if all that appears in my journal is morse code, then · · · — — — · · ·
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Man oh man alive! I was looking through the cereal aisle at the grocery store for some granola bars that might have an outside chance of tasting good, and here is what I found: Nature Valley Granola Bars. Flavor: "Apple Crisp."

Now: DO NOT FUCK WITH ME, NATURE VALLEY! Have you TRULY done what I hope in my heart of hearts you have done, and fashioned the inarguably most wonderful part of apple crisp into a granola bar that is "best if used by Oct 2008?" [That's... kind of conceivable, right? Because granola and the "crisp" part of apple crisp are pretty much the SAME EXACT THING, only apple crisp is delicious.] Or is this some fantastical marketing in order to trick me into buying "apple cinnamon" granola bars, which everyone knows would be HORRIBLE, due to everything that is supposedly flavored as "apple cinnamon" having a completely identical and unacceptable flavor? Who likes Apple Cinnamon Cheerios? No one! That's why they don't sell them anymore! [Or do they not sell them because they've been found to cause cancer in lab rats? WOULDN'T SURPRISE ME!] How about Apple Cinnamon Quaker Oats? Blech!

No, "apple cinnamon" flavor probably comes from some sulfur-spewing factory deep in the bowels of Pittsburgh, where it's referred to by its industry name, "Apple Flavor #3." "Christ, Chuck, I'm exhausted," says one grizzled factory worker to his long-time co-worker/friend. "Never thought we'd fill that big Nature Valley order for AF3. What do they want with so much of that stuff anyway? They think some asshole's gonna buy granola bars with that flavor? Yuck... Ah, fuck it, though, let's go get a drink." And then they go to the same tavern that Robert DeNiro, John Cazale, and Christopher Walken went to in The Deer Hunter.

Point being: I am that asshole. Also, I accidentally typed "apple crips" an AMAZING amount of times. What a great title for an updated sequel to Disney's The Apple Dumpling Gang.

Lastly, I give you a link, as [I promise] the final reference in this post to apple crisp.
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Hoo boy, so I've been reading old journal entries lately, and I kind of can't believe how many times I referenced going to the gym. It really began to embarrass me; not because I was lying, or had some lame ulterior motive, but because WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY MUSCLES, THEN? Clearly I was doing something wrong that entire time, even though I thought I had a pretty good handle on what I was doing. Which brings me to the following hilarious confession: I'm totally meeting with a personal trainer at my new gym on Monday evening. It's one of those "Hey you joined, so here's a complimentary session with a personal trainer" things, which I'm sure will most likely be an extended pitch for signing up for additional money-costing personal training sessions. But... it actually seemed fairly on the up-and-up, so why not? [I'm sure I'll find out]

But man, the trainer... just... ok, if there was somehow a Smallville-esque prequel to Toy Story, this guy would definitely play twenty-something-Buzz Lightyear. I think he might even have the EXACT same smile. No, I mean it! I think Pixar made his mouth! But that's cool, I mean, this is pretty much what you want in a personal trainer, right? In the same way that you want your hairdresser to have good hair, and your tailor to be wearing a well-fit suit, etc. So he's hardcore, good! But it also puts some pressure on me: for example, I'm supposed to "identify" my "fitness goals," presumably in terms that aren't retarded. And I'm not really sure that "Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke" is going to register with this guy. Maybe... "a happy medium between Popeye and Bluto?" Or probably more something like "I want to condition train while also crosstraining in musculoskeletal management, refocusing caloric intake for an optimal metabolic response." Which I obviously just made up and makes no sense. But I love "musculoskeletal management," that... sounds like a well-paying career.

This will at least make for a good story, right?
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Hey, look at this! I was cleaning out my desk, and I found this old livejournal I used to write in...

Psh, just kidding! Livejournals can't be found in desks! They can only be found... right here [you can't see, but I'm clenching my fist and lightly tapping my chest]

There's actually several things I've been trying really hard NOT to write about, mainly because I don't think they'd make very fun entries at all. But every time I open up this window to post something, those very things that I don't want to write about are first on my mind. SO, maybe I'll just write a quick few sentences about each one. I mean, the first post after not having written in awhile always sucks anyway, right? It's like making pancakes... Anyway, I bet you are sure RARIN' to read this by now! Nonetheless, away we gooooo....


iTunes Movie Rentals

A few years ago, there was a commercial for a frozen pizza-bagels. The song went like this: "Pizza in the morning, pizza in the evening, pizza at suppertime! When pizza's on a bagel, you can have pizza anytime!"

First of all, having pizza in the evening or at suppertime isn't unusual or notable. Secondly, why does pizza need to be on a bagel for you to have it anytime? I feel like iTunes' movie rental model should just take that song as its commercial: "Movies in the morning, movies in the evening, movies at suppertime! When movies are on a computer, you can have movies anytime!" I guess that's a useful service if you're on a plane and have a laptop with you. But... that's gotta be just about it, right? I've never watched a movie at home and thought to myself, "You know, this is nice and all, but what would REALLY be great is if it were playing on a way smaller screen from a laptop placed awkwardly on the coffee table in front of the couch." I mean, I get that everyone loves computers, moreso than ever before, but I think this is maybe something we can admit that they aren't particularly useful for.


Most Hated Movie Concept Yet

I was reading movie reviews on PopMatters.com, when I noticed a photo of what appeared to be an angry-looking Napoleon Dynamite dressed in a blue blazer and pointing a gun at the camera. Turns out this was a production still for a film that tracks the activities of John Lennon's murderer in the several months leading up to the murder. Based in part on the killer's prison diaries! And... WHAT are we doing here? I mean, I don't think it's in any way wrong to presume that making a movie about him plays squarely, perfectly, motherfucking EXACTLY into the killer's motive. It's in his diary, a few lines of which I'm unfortunately familiar with, thanks to having read the review of the movie. And amazingly, there is even a SECOND movie in production about this exact same subject. Starring, as the murderer, Jared Leto, for fuck's sake! [I mean, of course! George Clooney and Tom Cruise are too old for the part, Jude Law and Matt Damon are already shooting other projects...]

Just... really unbelievable.


Idle Political Talk That You Can Totally Skip

The Republican party lives in a different world than than the one I live in. This is a conclusion I've arrived at steadily but gradually, so when I read an article like this one, and everything's right there in one place for me to look at and think, "I don't relate to ANY part of that," it's pretty staggering. The article's really short, by the way. Just an AP blurb, really. But the concept of a "dirty trick" being something like saying the other candidate supports a timetable for withdrawing from Iraq? Really? That's something to deny? That your plan isn't "stay indefinitely?" Also, the idea that "success in Iraq" is some kind of concrete event. What constitutes success in Iraq? If it can be defined, can't we also identify the steps that need to be taken to achieve this success? And therefore, can't we identify a rough period of time that each of these steps would progress over, and if they don't in fact progress over this period of time, maybe re-evaluate the process? What's so objectionable about this? And then there's the invoking of Ronald Reagan like some iconic, Abraham Lincoln figure of ultimate presidential excellence, which is just comical to me.

But this different world is still a little bit larger, I'm afraid.
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I'm pretty sure that I will die a heavy-handedly ironic death. I have a definite gut feeling about this. It's partly why I'm not an oncologist, because that would GUARANTEE death by cancer [other reasons why I'm not an oncologist: not intelligent, disciplined, nor brave enough; but really, these are far secondary reasons]. So! When I opened up a bottle of multivitamins to discover... THE very hugest multivitamins of all [and really, if multivitamins are the SUVs of pills--like, say, the average multivitamin pill is a Ford Explorer-- then these pills are... a Boeing 747. (Mixed metaphor or bait-and-switch? You be the judge!)] I pretty much made a decision: these pills are not to be consumed by me unless Melissa is around to give me the Heimlich maneuver. [Holy crap, that last sentence kind of looks like a math equation. Replace the semicolon with an equal sign, and there you go. What a mess.] Ha, and seriously, due to our schedules being completely different, these multivitamins have gone pretty much untouched. But today is the day I overcome my fears! Well, kind of. I decided to cut the pill in half, to reduce it to the size of a Hummer [that's for all you "mixed metaphor" voters!]. There! See, easy. I'm so ridiculous, why didn't I think of that earlier? So, I took a gulp of water and swallowed it and--no WAIT, I DIDN'T swallow it; it nearly instantly became COMPLETELY, DISTURBINGLY stuck in my throat, a second adam's apple above my adam's apple! Many glasses of water did nothing to dislodge it--ultimately, five frantic minutes later, eating a piece of bread did the trick. But, unbelievable! As it turns out, that pill was so enormous that cutting it in half created a sharp 90-degree corner that presumably scratched my esophagus. Thank you, jagged mid-sized pill, for nearly realizing my seemingly unfounded fear. Man, Mark: you-hoo, you-hoo, you-hoo oughtta know!


There's a certain kind of guy who calls everything a "bad boy." As in, he'd preface showing you his classic car [and he's definitely also the type to have a classic car] with, "Take a look at THIS bad boy!" And... I can't quite decide how to handle this type of speech. I'm torn between faking that I think he just called ME "bad boy," OR, responding by calling ensuing mundane objects bad boys. Like, in this situation, we'd probably be eating chicken wings and drinking beer, or something, so I could point to a stack of napkins and say, "Hey could I have some of those bad boys?" Maybe point to a pepper shaker and say, "Could you pass that boy boy over there?" Hold up an empty can of beer and ask, "There any more where these came from, bad boy?" Oh, whoops, I just accidentally did what I was going to accuse him of in the first option. So I guess that's probably out. What do YOU think?
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I am OVERJOYED to report that Michael Jordan has come out of retirement! Again! Yes, THE Michael Jordan is now once again acting in commercials. This is fantastic! See, because, commercials featuring Michael Jordan are a very special brand of comedy. There's even a certain formula! Michael Jordan will usually show up at a surprising time within the commercial, OR even from surprising angles of your tv screen. Look! There he is popping in from the side as he eats a delicious Ballpark Frank. Whoopsie daisy! Now he's coming in upside down from the top of your screen!

Also, if there are other actors in the commercial along with Michael Jordan, you can be sure that they and Michael have a weirdly adversarial relationship. Although... not in a purely antagonistic sort of way, but it's as though they're just sort of competing with each other. For sport. In a way that's... kind of like.... [this next line requires nodding your head as you turn to give an understanding look to the person next to you, who's figured this out at the exact same time as you] what Michael Jordan does every day on the basketball court! Plus, Michael Jordan of-fucking-course always emerges victorious in these adversarial situations, and when he does, it leads to my ABSOLUTE favorite thing: The Michael Jordan look, which is a mixture of "What, Me Worry?", some garden-variety smugness, and "Well, I can't help myself, I'm Michael Jordan!" Yes, anything you can do, he can do better. And then he would enjoy the spoils of his victory.

For example, Michael Jordan in a Fruity Pebbles commercial would go like this: Barney plans an elaborate ruse to swindle Fred Flintstone out of a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, and of course succeeds. HOWEVER, he would have also made the mistake of, I don't know, maybe standing on the lower end of a teeter-totter as he eats the cereal and chuckles at Fred Flinstone's 9,356th lament of "Baaahney, my Pebbles!" And there's a basketball hoop directly above the upper end of the teeter totter, so when Michael Jordan swoops in from out of nowhere to sink a trey from motherfucking DOWNTOWN, the ball lands on the upper end of the teeter totter, which sends Barney and bowl-of-cereal into the air. The bowl of cereal lands in Michael Jordan's hands. The camera would cut to Barney, who has landed in the basketball hoop, and back to Michael, who gives a Michael Jordan look, and then takes a bite of cereal. You better eat your Wheaties! Or Fruity Pebbles!

No, Michael Jordan and his commercial costars can never be on an even keel. You would never see a commercial featuring Jordan and several friends emerging from a limousine towards what appears to be a trendy nightclub in the midst of an incredibly suave night on the town. THAT is a situation for a Derek Jeter commercial. See, I'm not sure Michael Jordan even HAS friends to fill his limousine. It's lonely at the top. All that constant winning can get on other peoples' nerves, and that, I think, is the theme of Michael Jordan's COMEBACK commercial.

So it goes like this: Michael Jordan and Kevin Bacon are roommates. Kevin Bacon is a big fan of throwing things into receptacles basketball-shot style. As in, if he has to crumple up a piece of paper and throw it away, he's going to pretend the piece of paper is a basketball, and shoot it into the can. He's definitely never going to walk over to the garbage can and simply place it in. Wait a minute. No, he most certainly IS going to walk over to the garbage can and place it in, because EVERY SINGLE TIME he tries a shot, Michael Jordan emerges from out of nowhere [see: paragraph one, Michael Jordan Shows Up At Surprising Times/Angles] and REJECTS THE SHIT out of his shot. Because if there's one thing that Michael Jordan was best known for, it was his oppressive shot-blocking ability.

This continues, until finally, Kevin Bacon is alone. He looks eeeeverywhere for Michael Jordan, and Jordan is nowhere to be found. Probably in a limousine somewhere downtown with friends. So, the time is right, and Kevin Bacon attempts his shot. NO! Michael Jordan ISN'T in a limousine downtown with friends, remember? He swoops in from out of NOWHERE, and once again REJECTS Kevin Bacon. "BOOYAH, MOTHERFUCKER, AND YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE? NOW IT'S SIX DEGREES OF ME, MICHAEL JORDAN!" No, he doesn't say that, but he does look at the camera for a Michael Jordan look! And allll is right with the world. Also, you should purchase Hanes brand underwear.

Although I love this commercial [which, I should point out, I've only seen once], I do wish that Michael Jordan was in fact nowhere to be found, so Kevin Bacon was free to make an unobstructed shot. And then he'd just miss it. It'd be poetic! Maybe they're saving that ending for when they film a commercial for Oh!Henry candybars.
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Ladies and gentlemen: tomorrow, Goodbye Victoria will be playing at the Mars Bar. The show starts at 9pm, costs $6, and also features Aaron Mannino and Eric Miller, who you will totally love if you like Nebraska-era Bruce Springsteen, M Ward, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's Howl, the demos from Elvis Costello's My Aim Is True, and, obviously, Bob Dylan. I would love to see yous there!

Heh, my brother is going to be playing drums for a production of The Rocky Horror Show in January. Some one-off University of Washington production. I... words fail, my friends. Words fail.

Holy shit, my mother, you guys, has been RUNNING AMOK. She and Melissa went shopping together, and my mom actually uttered the following words: "I can't wait until you and Mark have babies." Until we have... right. GOOD ONE, MOM! FEEL FREE TO SKIP RIGHT OVER THE DISTURBING-ENOUGH "WHEN ARE YOU AND MARK GETTING MARRIED?" AND HEAD STRAIGHT FOR PROCREATION PRESSURE! THAT'S PERFECTLY NORMAL! I totally wish Melissa would have said, "Well, actually... I wanted to tell everyone at once, but since you brought it up, I'm due in July." BOOM, REVERSAL!

I can only imagine what's coming out of my mom's mouth in regards to my sister and her new husband. Probably a bunch of opinions on where they should send the child-that-my-sister-isn't-pregnant-with to college.

Every single day, without fail, there is the same advertisement from Comcast in my mailbox. This makes me feel like maybe I'm in the movie Memento. Like, at the end of the day, I'm going to realize, "GOD, this digital cable, internet, and digital voice package is SUCH a great deal, and I'm going to FORGET ABOUT IT tomorrow! Mailman! I... I know this sounds crazy, but could you have this advertisement sent to me every single day of the week? Maybe somehow, I can then piece it together that I'm supposed to order this package..."
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Whoa. I just brushed my teeth with Tom's of Maine orange-mango toothpaste. A weirdly disturbing experience, because I am used to "minty freshness." And there is no "mint" in orange-mango [my junior high football coach used to yell that constantly]. It was as though I accidentally put a tropical skittle on my toothbrush instead of toothpaste.

Anyway! In much more exciting news, my new band, Goodbye Victoria, is playing at the Sunset Tavern tomorrow! I would like all of you to go! Since you can't always get what you want, I know that not all of you can go. BUT, turns out, if you try sometime, you just might find you get what you need [thirty or so British schoolchildren told me that], and that would be for SOME of you to show up. Because it's not as fun to play for a crowd of strangers! Anyway, show starts at 9pm, $6, and a dollar off if you dress in costume. [Which is a mediocre amount off, if you ask me, but I don't make the rules. No, W.T. Sunset III makes them]

Speaking of costumes, boy am I uninspired to dress up this year. Which I guess isn't surprising, since this has been by far my Least Creative Year Ever [I do, however, keep coming up with BRILLIANT livejournal entries while at work, only to forget about them by the time I get home. I do remember that they truly were brilliant, though. That part sticks.] What are you guys dressing up as? I have one idea, but I fear that it's too difficult to do it well, and if I'm not going to do it well, it won't work. Anyway, let's hear 'em!

Hup! Time for work! And this entry was about to get brilliant, too...
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Hoo boy, I'm trying to write a journal entry without beginning with the boring and obvious fact that I neeeever, eeeever write journal entries anymore for some annoying reason [to be discussed later! Unless I decide not to discuss it!], but I just can't seem to do it. Not mentioning it would be like being in a room where a white elephant gift exchange is happening, and not mentioning all the white elephants. In any event: Journal Entry #4 of 2006, here we gooooo...

Yes, number four. Jesus. Anyway! Has anyone ever set foot inside of a Jamba Juice? Me either! In fact, I can safely say that I've never even considered going to Jamba Juice for any reason, nor do I know of anyone who's ever been there. And yet, they abound. They're everywhere a civic debate about gentrification is raging [which is a long way of saying "everywhere"], so clearly they have a lot of customers. But who are these people? [Besides Buster Bluth] Do they have times of the day where they're really busy? Juice rushes? When would this be? Morning? Are Jamba Juice customers wacky health-nut-types who are substituting coffee with juice? Or are Jamba Juice brand juice smoothies [oh god, they probably call them something different and annoying, like Jamba Bombas, or something--not that "smoothie" isn't 100% annoying] considered more of an after dinner beverage, a digestivo? This is a serious mystery, and pertinent because I have a little bet with myself that my prediction of a Jamba Juice appearing on the bottom level of the new condos on 24th and 57th will be woefully true. I also think there will be a Subway, a tanning salon, and a Starbucks. Usually the last one would be a payday loan place, but all the condos here are really striving for this whole "upscale" thing [which should mean "big," but almost always means "swinishly bourgeois"], so Moneytree simply wouldn't do.

Speaking of "upscale," is "flipping" real-estate the present-day equivalent of 1920s stock-market speculation, or what?

And speaking of "speculation," I do believe it's time to end this entry. An entry which has turned out kind of like the first pancake in the batch...
[A "batch" of pancakes? You know what I mean...]
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NOTICE OF PROPOSED LAND USE ACTION

Construction of 88 square mile multi-purpose condominium and townhome structure between NE 145th St and Martin Luther King Way. Additional use: underground parking garage, retail space at ground level.

Project Name: Seattle Condominiums. In a nod to the rich history of the area, structure will be named after the metropolitan space that formerly occupied building site.
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1,398. The Back of a Box of Smart Start Cereal by W.K. Kellogg

This morning, I noticed many images of Sela Ward on the box of cereal I was about to open. Sela Ward's headshot on the side panel; a larger photo of Sela Ward lounging on a sofa with this look of...I don't know, "Let's be frank. But in an elegant way." [i.e. she was resting her chin on interlocked fingers]. There were also quotes about women's health printed in what was supposedly Sela Ward's handwriting. These quotes were in reference to womens' heart health. Something about supporting it, maybe? I mean, what else would it be? Sage medical advice from Dr. Ward? I don't know, but I do definitely support heart health for women. Yessir, definitely anti-heart attack when it comes to women. Anyway, this all led me to conclude for a second that I had accidentally bought a box of Special K when I went to the store last night, instead of the deliciously maple-y and brown sugar-y [but apparently also Sela Ward-y!] cereal I had intended on getting. [Because, man, Special K is the Lifetime Network of cereals.] My heart sank, until I actually poured a damn bowl, and all was well. [Special K would have been UNACCEPTABLE]. Anyway, oh my god, is that all I've got for this paragraph? This morning's breakfast? Oh! Did I mention that I've read WAY more books than you have so far this year?

Hoo boy, so I joined a gym here in Ballard. My gym plays music! The YMCA never did that! This means that I get to hear many hits from five years ago, and 80s music. For some reason, that is what music ends up being in every gym everywhere. How much can YOU bench to Santana and Rob Thomas' "Smooth?" Weirdly, though, every now and then, there's a total surprise song. Like "This Charming Man," which brazenly violates the rule that if you play a Smiths' song, it has to always be "How Soon is Now?" Also, "Raw Power!" Oh man, waaait a minute: I am realizing that these song titles take on THE CHEESIEST OF MEANINGS when played in a gym. Today, for example, I actually just started laughing when "You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet" came on. It was too much! A bunch of people lifting weights while a big guitar booms out and a singer says that you ain't seen nothing yet, I mean, obviously in terms of the muscles we're all building! But they're all like that! Check out the Raw Power that I am exhibiting while lifting! I sure am a charming man! A charming man who is also smooth! JESUS! Are all the songs chosen on the basis of possibly tying into personal improvement? I'm going to have to pay closer attention. That'd be quite an accomplishment of mix-making. And subliminal encouragement! And TOTAL HOKEYNESS!

Also: I think we should all come to an agreement to never use Brokeback Mountain's "I wish I knew how to quit you" line as a joke eeeever again. That's... it's not only jumped the shark, but it's jumped a shark that is jumping another shark that is jumping over shark-infested waters.
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I just accidentally discovered that I can do a MEAN Louis Armstrong impression. It was in the midst of making fun of The Lovin' Spoonful's "What a Day For a Daydream," which I am forced to hear at work an average of five times a day, causing a progression from "Tolerable song that I wouldn't choose to listen to" to "Supremely Irritating Travesty." I particularly take issue with the second verse, where the singer coos, "What a day for a daydream/custom made for a daydreaming boy," which, holy christ, is either the HOKIEST thing that I ever did hear, OR a sign that this guy is The World's Biggest Narcissist. I prefer the latter; obviously this bozo thinks he can just waltz into a day store and special-order a day custom-fitted to his daydreaming personality, anyone else who might have work to do be damned! And the guy at the day store probably even tells him, "Well, we don't have all the parts in stock for that, so it'll be about 4-6 weeks." And Mr. Lovin' Spoonful probably hands him an extra grand to put a "rush" on it, and leaves the store whistling. WHAT A DICK.

And was this song really a hit in the late 60s? Where the worst thing you could be was a SQUARE? I mean, I bet "What a Day for a Daydream" was the first song after intermission of a Lovin' Spoonful concert; like, they ended their first set with "Summer in the City," and everyone goes wild, the curtain goes down, and then... a little bit later, it comes back up and The Lovin' Spoonful is dressed in red and white-striped suits and straw hats, and the singer is twirling a cane around as he sings. [There's probably an old guy with a banjo on his knee, and a couple unicycle-riders, too, for good measure] And the crowd, man, would they ever boo the living shit out of this spectacle, except that they all dropped acid during intermission, and now the cane twirling is making fascinating and beautiful trails.* OR, everyone thinks the song is hopelessly lame, BUT (and here's where Louis Armstrong comes in), due to the singer's gravelly-voice affectation, they all suspect that this may be an obscure Louis Armstrong cover, and boy should they ever not let on that they don't know this! Like, it was probably right after Louis Armstrong's Hot Fives, but just before his Hot Sevens--obviously The Lost Hot Six or something, right? Anyway, three cheers for The Lovin' Spoonful and their adept old-timey cover!

Oh, and the Louis Armstrong impression? You can totally do it too--it's not just the gravelly voice. I mean, it's MOSTLY the gravelly voice, but if you can manage to also make it sound unmistakably like you're smiling, as you're doing the gravelly voice, then BOOM. Plus, vibrato.

ANYWAY. So check this out: I am now totally living in Ballard [which is a "neighborhood" in Seattle] with Melissa, which has been nothing but awesome. Housewarming will ensue, as soon as we fix our weird furniture shortage; i.e. I coulda sworn we both own more furniture than this, but I guess we're both pretty much moving from studios into this here two-bedroom. [One bedroom for each! so we don't live in sin, right? BA-DUM CHING!] MAN, any Seattle people have any recommendations for furniture stores [other than Ikea] that aren't either A Sea of Trashy Recliners, or Land of $2,000 End Tables?

Hup! Time for work, and I haven't written enough to make a call-back to the Lovin' Spoonful. Oh, also:

* I just basically made a "[something] on acid" joke. Wah wah waaaaah.
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As I was leaving my car at the repair shop, for what seems like the fifth time in as many months [but is more accurately the still-annoying third time], it spoke to me in a gruff and sardonic tone:

"What an excellent day for a car repair."
I raised my eyebrows. "You'd like that?"
"Intensely."
"But wouldn't that mean that I could drive you out of here?"
"It would bring us closer together."
"You and me?"
"Your bank account and me."
Then, nauseating-looking split-pea soup shot out from the heating vents.

But seriously, folks... Apparently, the transmission [or, "tranny"] is allll messed up somehow, and it will cost between $1700-$2200 to fix AND that just happens to be my car's blue book value, and also would bring the Total Amount Of Completely Irritating Car Expenses Since June to about $2800-$3100 [or "so very much more than I'm willing to spend just to keep driving the same car that I always drive"].

So, I don't know. I'm trying to think of a way that I can take this car, and make car-ade from it. Like maybe I can find a 70s Lincoln that has automatic transmission [one plus], and is black [so it looks like a mobster car, another plus OBVIOUSLY.] THEN, when I have enough money to spend on a new car [which will be "never," but let's just say for the sake of argument...] I can then in turn find some OTHER foolio who just wants a car that looks like maybe a mobster drives it, sell it to him, AND LAUGH ALLLL THE WAY TO THE BANK!

I don't know! For now, goodbye, 1993 Nissan Altima. You were a fine second car, and I can drive a stick because of you. Which, it now occurs to me, your current problems might just be you getting revenge for that learning period, years ago. If so, then I take back my goodbye and say "Good riddance, you grudge-keeping asshole!"
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...No witnesses have been able to produce definite evidence proving the existence of the Slutty Black Cat, save for the oddly-shaped condom found in the alley on that fateful Halloween, so many years ago. Since that night, reports of Slutty Black Cat [or "SBC," as the locals affectionately call it] sightings have been few, with accounts of its slutty-ness varying wildly in both degree and credibility. Still, to this day, many of America's young females take to Halloween parties, dressed as their interpretation of what this legendarily promiscuous feline could look like. And while no one knows for sure when, or even if, the Slutty Black Cat will return, a new American Halloween folktale lives on in costumes across America.

NEXT, on Discovery Channel's Halloween: Unmasked... there once was a concept SO offensive, that no one was able to fashion it into a Halloween costume. OR WAS THERE?
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I love it when Ebert and Roeper give a movie "two thumbs way up." It's great! They're not just talking in the black-and-white terms of "up" or "down" anymore; now the height of the thumb matters! I hope they expand on this. For example, maybe when the next Austin Powers movie comes out, Roeper will say, "I give it a thumbs way down, Roger. And I'm talking, like, I'm almost bending over to do it, too. My arm is fully extended downward, so the thumbs down is well below my waist. Almost to my kneecaps! This was just not a good movie." And Ebert chimes in, "Well I agree with you, Richard; this was not a good movie. In fact, I hated every minute of it, and I especially hate that "Shagadelic" and "Yeah baby" and Dr. Evil impressions are finally out of our popular culture, and what do we get? Another Austin Powers movie to bring them all back again. And this concept was bone-dry after the second movie. So, thumbs way down. But Richard, I'm crouching. I mean, this was bad. I've gotta say that the tip of my thumb is touching the ground; that's how 'way down' my thumb is. I'm hoping that there isn't an American Midlife Crisis, American Retirement, and American Funeral entry in the American Pie series*, otherwise I'd probably have to use my thumb to dig a hole in the ground."

"And there you have it, folks. Austin Powers Four: License To Overkill: two thumbs way down, and we mean far down. Join us next week when we examine Sean Penn's latest, which will surely have us raising our thumbs up so high that we'll be jumping up and down, as though trying to grab something that's just barely out of reach."


When I was on my way to work yesterday, I almost got rear-ended by a crazy-driving hearse. The fact that an accident didn't occur surely spared me from having no choice but to make several very hacky jokes about getting into an accident with a hearse. So I'm going to make several very hacky jokes about why a hearse was driving recklessly, instead. For example: I'm sure the passenger was just in a hurry! But seeeeriously foooolks! We finally came to a stoplight, and I ended up next to the hearse, so I looked over, and... IT HAD NO DRIVER! Seriously folks! Any pot smokers in the audience? Folks? Paris Hilton Donald Trump Martha Stewart American Idol GOODNIGHT!

A couple days ago, I remembered an idea I had at a totally inappropriate time [that is, several months from Halloween], wherein Melissa and I would give each other one Halloween present. And this present would be the creepiest thing each of us could possibly find that's available for sale somewhere. [The "available for sale somewhere" part is there so that you can be assured that we won't be giving each other, I don't know, severed pigs' hearts, or something as halloween presents. It's also there in order to commercialize Halloween just like Christmas!] Anyway, at the time I had this idea, I completely assumed that I'd forget about it when it actually got close to Halloween, but we're totally going to do it and it's totally going to be AWESOME. Also, did I get this idea from some Halloween episode of Roseanne? No matter!

Oh, and Sleeping Beauty by Stanley Burns is totally off-limits, in that it would end the whole enterprise before it even begins, in a hydrogen bomb-like explosion of You Will Never, Ever Top This For Creepiness. [Sleeping Beauty is a collection of Victorian photos of corpses. Because living people in Victorian-era photos don't look enough like corpses]. Stanley Burns has got to be the most devoted goth EVER. He would probably make an entire goth convention scream "THAT IS WAY TOO MACABRE, STAN." Sleeping Beauty is more goth than Bela Lugosi's actual corpse becoming re-animated, and singing "Bela Lugosi's Dead."

Anyway! Uh oh. This post is long. So now it's time to give you the secret of the asterisk [it was at the end of the first paragraph] which is: *Because you know how the first two movies were about pie?

Also, did you spot the reference to Real World 3 in this post? [That's rhetorical!]
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Man, apartment hunting. I need to dig out my Apartment Ad-English dictionary to brush up on some vocab, because it's been awhile:

Cozy = Tiny
Close to busline = On an extremely busy four-lane street
Charming = Dilapidated
Sunny = Blindingly sunny
Old World Charm = 1. A totally awesome vintage apartment that you can't afford, 2. See "charming"
Clean = The best we can say about this apartment is that there is currently nothing in it.
Great Location! = Apartment For Rent!


Towards the end of summer, I always think that I'm looking forward to fall. But then when the weather changes and it starts getting dark way too early and everything, I get all weirded out. I don't think it's Seasonal Affective Disorder! [Eeeveryone thinks they have that!] No! It's this: so autumn USED to be the season of New Stuff Happening, as in school starting. Right? Thirteen years of school starting in September, beginning at age four [I wasn't a second year senior! I'm counting kindergarten, duh!], and THEN followed by five years of college [ok, so I was a second year senior there!] has totally conditioned me to expect something new every September. But other than school, Fall isn't famous for being The Season of Newness. So it's like a conversation between me and Planet Earth where Earth says, "Hey pal, what's new?" and I say, "Maaan, Earth, nothing." And Earth says, in its best Eeyore-like tone, "Awww, saaaame here. Eeeverything's old and dying." Wait a minte. What is Seasonal Affective Disorder again? [NO!]

Man, though! If I can find an apartment, that will officially be new and exciting! Especially since... well no, I don't want to jinx it. Does anyone else have Livejournal Superstition? I totally have this fear that if I write about how great something in my life is, then The Ghost of O. Henry will conjure up every spirit of irony and totally ruin the great thing I wrote about. Or maybe it's Greek gods that will ruin it, because crowing about something in livejournal strikes them as hubris. I don't know! But I do know that Greek gods totally read livejournal. It's the Roman gods who have abandoned it for MySpace.
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Man, I can't believe how much I can simulataneously feel like I'm so busy, and also that I'm not doing nearly enough. How can both things be true? They certainly seem to be, though.

I think Ticketmaster.com's computers sense that I'm all discombobulated right now, because I just received an automated email REMINDING me that I have tickets to see Brian Wilson this Sunday. YEAH, TICKETMASTER, I KNOW I'VE GOT TICKETS TO THAT! And I've got the gaping hole in my wallet to prove it! Did they really think I'd forget? I guess I wouldn't blame them, due to last year's horrible, horrible Prince Concert Debacle. Let's just say that an email from ticketmaster stating, "Reminder: You have tickets to see Prince. Also, these tickets were accidentally thrown away by someone in your house, and are located in your upstairs recycle container!" would have been helpful. Ma-ha-ha-haaaan.

My brother, Pat, and I need to think of a name for our new band. We've needed to think of a name for months, now, but it's just not happening. Months! All three of us are tired of thinking of stuff, only to find out that it's already some band's name, or realize a day later that the name sucks. Hilariously, we all thought Hurricane Lanterns would be a good name, until coming to our senses a couple days later. It really doesn't matter that much, though. I mean, there are some truly terrible band names out there, and no one seems to care. Like, I can't believe that everyone in The Bravery and The Von Bondies agreed on those names. So, could it get much worse? What if we named ourselves after people I knew in high school, but haven't thought of/heard from since? Let's see:

Laurie and the Thompsons
The Eric Boyd Trio
Nitty Gritty Joel Springer Band
Colleen Kelley and the Too Hot For You (And You!)
The Melissa Setzer Experience
The Jesus and Mary Spiekerman Chain

Aaaand that's enough! By the way, hello and welcome to all of you who've googled your names! Let's go Cougars!

Oh man, I need to write one more part to bring this entry home, but I've gotta leave for work. I am 120 hours away from benefits! Aaand considering my schedule, I should have that by the end of the week. Woo!
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Special report! Right now is a pretty incredibly ridiculous time to be awake and getting ready to go to work! Also, what you don't know about ballpoint pens could be harmful to your family's health. And is there a link between breakfast cereal and twelve different kinds of cancer? The answer may surprise you! All of this and Helicopter Dave with traffic and weather, coming up at 6am, which is still almost two god-damn hours away!
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I have this weird desire to have The Cosby Show on DVD. Season One is out, and on sale everywhere, yet... maaaan, what a silly purchase that I truly shouldn't make. Plus, it would no doubt disappoint me. What they really should do is go the Disney route, and release some separate sets where all the episodes revolving around one particular character are collected. I would buy the shit out of, say, The Chronological Theo. Because that's really what I want The Cosby Show on DVD to be! And that's why Season One will disappoint me, because there are probably a grand total of four or so hilarious Theo episodes. AND THAT IS CLEARLY NOT ENOUGH! The Chronological Theo would be packed with Theo's greatest hits, from "Theo and the Joint" (on Season One!) to his later awesome dating problems, spastic attempts to be cool, and zany hijinx with Cockroach. [This method definitely has its flaws, though; mainly because it would leave all the other characters hanging. The Chronological Sandra would probably have to be, what, like a bonus single V-CD cellophane-wrapped to the package of limited-edition copies of The Chronological Denise, available exclusively at Best Buy. And who would buy The Chronological Olivia? Certainly not ME! I hated that arrogant bitch.]

You know, "Christmas In July" is such an arbitrary thing, but it's so weirdly established now [as in, you can definitely count on a number of insipid advertisements referencing this surreal concept every single year once July rolls around, without fail], that I believe there might soon be a new danger: Christmas In July In August. "Have we gone nuts? NO! It's Christmas In July at Buy-n-Save Mart! Are we STILL going nuts? Not at all! It's Christmas In July In August at Buy-n-Save Mart, let's all STILL put on Santa hats and sing impossibly annoying Christmas songs! Save big on toilet paper, which is a popular present for Christmas In December! Take an additional 25% off all Tide laundry products! Ho ho ho! Buy one bottle of Scope mouthwash, get the second bottle that you won't need for a minumum of four months later at HALF OFF! Meeeeerrry Christmas In July In Auguuuuuuust to all! And to all a good night!"

Anyway, I read about something truly amazing, while searching the World Wide Web to figure out just what the hell molasses is, anyway. [I mean, what its components are... not like you'd show me a bottle of molasses and I'd be all taken aback and exclaim, "What is THAT? I've never SEEN such a substance!"] Please, though, allow me to get to the point, which is: there was a Molasses Disaster! An actual tragic event that involved molasses and death, and it happened in Boston on January 15, 1919 [right about primetime for surreal events, I figure. You had to be ON YOUR TOES if you lived during the 1880s up through the 1930s; ANYTHING could happen, from whole cities being burned to the ground on account of a single cow, to dams breaking, near-plague-worthy outbreaks of the FLU...]. Apparently, a large molasses tank in the North End neighborhood burst, sending a wave of molasses rushing through the streets at an estimated 60 km/h, which killed 21 people and injured 150 others. Death by molasses. Unbelievable. Not only that, but how the hell big was this molasses tank, anyway? About the same size or bigger than a water tower? And not only THAT, but this thing happened in JANUARY, of all months! A month where molasses is NOTORIOUS for flowing especially slow! But 60km/h... maybe if the tank exploded in June, it would have been 120 km/h, and many more people would have met a gingerbready death. Not to mention many more injuries. I like to imagine that in the 1990s, there was one lone survivor of the event, who locals would call Molasses Jim. He was reclusive, and only few claimed to have ever seen him. Local legend has it that during a few scattered days in January, Molasses Jim would show up at a near-empty bar in the wee hours of the morning, the aroma of molasses preceding his entry. He would order a couple beers, and maybe an Old Fashioned, and tell anyone willing to listen the tales of that fateful day; how molasses claimed his right arm, and his true love. Then, when the bartender and the one-or-two other customers turned their heads for a moment, the smell of molasses would suddenly vanish, along with Molasses Jim, seeming to disappear into thin air. And he would not to be seen by anyone until the next January.
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For some reason, lately I've noticed a lot of typos involving the possessive form of the word you. What's happening is that people are typing sentences like, for example, "Give me you phone number." Or, "Check you email." These mistakes are becoming rampant, so... I don't know, why don't we just have a quick little review of how to write using possessive forms?

INCORRECT: Give me you phone number.
CORRECT: Give-a me you phone number.

INCORRECT: Check you email.
CORRECT: Check-a you email.

INCORRECT: I've got you cannoli right here.
CORRECT: AY! I've got-a you cannoli right here, pal! [extend middle finger]

Not to be Mr. English Teacher, but that's just a bit of a pet peeve of mine. Remember the 'a' after the verb, people!


Anyway! I really want there to be a movie where dental floss is used as a weapon. And I don't mean like in a wacky kitsch way, I mean dental-floss-is-to-some-character-as-playing-cards-are-to-Gambit. Because dental floss will CUT! You could probably pull out a huge string of floss, run really fast at someone, and fucking CUT THEM IN TWO! Well, I mean, assuming that person was made out of gums, or something. Man, would dentists be up in arms about that! I think that'd be kind of great; maybe there'd even be some dentist protests outside of that movie's premiere. They'd bring signs, like "Unfair portrayal of flossing!" and "People aren't made out of gums, anyway!" And its companion, "And they're certainly not made out of UNHEALTHY gums!" There'd be a chant, too, because what is a "This movie offends me!" protest without a chant? That'd be a tough one; there aren't a lot of powerful or inspiring adjectives that rhyme with "floss." Anyway, Hollywood, there's some good controversy for you. Consider!
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Ha, maaaan. So I'm thinking of "upgrading" my cellphone, right, and it occurs to me that this might be kind of insane, because... has anyone in the entire world EVER been fully satisfied with their cell phone/service? I mean, 100% "I can't really think of anything significant that could be better about this phone." NO, right? There's ALWAYS something shitty about every single cell phone that's ever existed. So then, is there such a thing as upgrading? You're basically just paying money in order to be annoyed by a different shortcoming of your cell phone. I hope to maybe go from "candybar phone with nice bluetooth feature but mediocre reception, useless camera, and way-too-quiet ring" to "flip phone with good reception, halfway decent camera, audible ring, but no bluetooth, not enough memory, and poor battery life." WHAT, ONLY $130 FOR THAT AWESOME IMPROVEMENT? SIGN ME UP!

So, I don't know. But I have learned that maybe websites should do away with "user reviews," because are those helpful at all? Pick any product in the entire world, and you will find just... a completely INSANE array of extreme opinions that lack any kind of nuanced thought. Actually, I think that there are only three types of user reviews, and it might even be true that there is just a script that was developed by someone that will generate these three types of reviews over and over again, on several websites:

Not just the best phone ever, but the best THING ever!
Review by: TechStriker85

10 10 10! This is what I give this phone forevermore! The best reception ever! And it looks so cool! And there are a lot of features, so many that I haven't even gotten to all of them in the two hours that I've owned this phone so far! DID I MENTION THAT THIS PHONE IS AWESOME? If it was woman, I would definitely marry it many times, and I'm not even that into the concept of marriage!! SO THAT JUST GOES TO SHOW! IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR THE BEST THING EVER, YOU SHOULD BUY THIS PHONE DUE TO THE FACT THAT IT IS THE BEST THING EVER!


The Adolf Hitler of Cell Phones
Review by: HarleySteve

This phone is terrible. Terrible reception, terrible features, terrible terrible terrible. It even smells terrible. That might be because I store it in my leather biker jacket, but even that is a maybe because this phone STINKS! Using this phone makes me hate myself, as well as the world. Also, as the subject says, this phone is much like Adolf Hitler. Actually, if Adolf Hitler, Pol Pot, Josef Stalin, Ted Bundy, Charles Manson, and Jeffrey Dahmer had a kid, and this kid turned into a cellphone, it would be THIS cellphone. Because this phone KILLS people! I give this phone a -10 rating, not just a zero! DO NOT BUY THIS PHONE, IN FACT, IF YOU HAVE THE CHOICE BETWEEN BUYING THIS PHONE AND DEATH, CHOOSE DEATH!

Terrible Service
Review by: Phil_Vortman

I ordered this phone from Amazon.com, and they said it would ship in 2-3 business days. Well, four days later, it STILL wasn't there, so I called Amazon, and they said it was still shipping! I had to wait a total of SIX days for a phone that was supposed to be here in 2-3 business days! Therefore, I give this phone a 1 out of 10, because for some reason I am unable to seperate the problem I had with Amazon.com from the performance of the actual phone itself. I will never order from Amazon.com again!
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Whoops! I forgot how busy June was going to be. Anyway, DARE I bore you with Tales From Work? DARE I? Actually, that reminds me: there's a hair salon on the way home which has a sign reading, "Dare to have big, sexy hair." It's a reminder that you should always choose "truth." I'm a little confused by the inclusion of the word "sexy," though.

Anyway, because I don't want to be "Livejournal Person Who Gets a New Job and Now That's All They Write About" but also because it's kind of impossible to write when the first thing on your mind is "Don't Write About [something]," here are my work's Greatest Hits so far...

* Drink sizes there are small, medium, and large. This is great. You'd think it'd get confusing/annoying, with everyone insisting on "tall" things and "grande" things, but... people just make up what they want "tall" and "grande" to mean anyway, [and I don't blame them, because what the hell? There's no implicit difference in those words--you can get an "old-timey slang for large" coffee, or a "large in a different language" coffee], so it really doesn't matter. I just enjoy the underlying aspect of "Sorry, ONE part of your esoteric drink order is just going to have to sound normal."

* Most people are regular customers, though, and 99% of the regular customers are very nice people. But a lot of them expected me to know what drink they get off the top of my head after my second week there. This made me want to retort, "I work at two different locations, it's only been two weeks, and I'm SURE NOT AUTISTIC." Dudes. Considering I check my back pocket every ten minutes to see if I didn't forget my wallet somewhere, remembering what a couple hundred people tend to drink in the morning is just not! going! to! happen! I'm trying though, and most people aren't toooo irritating about it. If they are, they're just there until their drink is ready, and then they're gone. Easy.

* Making drinks is weirdly fun.

* However, sometimes [especially when I'm getting lunch at some popular quick-lunch-break restaurant and almost everyone else there is dressed up in their Awesome Job Clothes] I wonder just what the hell it is I'm DOING, anyway, and how exactly I got here. Didn't I just graduate college, uh, yesterday? Isn't wearing Awesome Job Clothes to an Awesome Job still in my future? Is it... not, anymore? Oh yeah, but there's my music, which... I haven't written much of, at all. Man. Before this paragraph gets TOO depressing, I'll get to my point which is: sometimes, serving coffee to people who have way higher-paying jobs than me feels juuuust a little too hierarchal.

* But there's always a solution. Like, for instance, I could open up a sex-shop/coffee shop, so that whenever someone orders some sort of coffee "with whip," they'll actually get a couple lashes. Bad-um ching! [I like elderly people; they never say "with whip." They don't even say "with whipped cream." They say "with hwipping cream," all correct-like. And I meant to reverse the 'h' and the 'w' for phonetic effect. Know what I mean? Hah-wipping cream. Awesome.]

* I'm learning how to close now. Starting on Thursday, I have three days off in a row. This is NO DOUBT in order to butter me up for the woebegone softball-preventing 4th of July closing shift I'm surely going to be stuck with. Man.


ANYWAY. I think that's all for now, because now I'M bored. But now that this obligatory-feeling post is out of the way, I am freeeee! Free to write whatever I please!

OH man, one more thing, while I've totally lost your attention, I want to say to JUSTIN that I had a hilarious dream that you found Tommy James and the Shondells Anthology at a record store, and were all excited about it because you thought it was out of print. And then I in turn was excited because I think that Tommy James and the Shondells RULE [true in real life too!], and didn't know that you liked them, too. In this dream, the fact that we both liked Tommy James and the Shondells was a very awesome thing.

Seriously, though: if you [and this goes for EVERYONE] find Tommy James and the Shondells Anthology at a record store, you really should buy it, because it is very awesome.

THE END.
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