Without Me

The nil I've had to say for all this time has resurfaced, and if nothing else I make this post for my nonexistent following on my undetected web log.

On 10/15 on my way to work I saw a black SUV slam into the back of a bug on I-405, veer hard into the barrier, flip, slide for 40-50 feet and end up facing me. She had nearly hit us about a quarter mile earlier. What I've taken away:
1) Hollywood doesn't exaggerate everything.
2) My aversion to black SUVs has increased.
3) Environmental metaphors can be found virtually anywhere.
4) Timing is everything.
5) Elderly women are awful drivers.

In all seriousness, something seemed to have been wrong with her. One proposed theory is that she may have been having a stroke, as she was swinging widely from shoulder to shoulder. I may have seen someone die.

Speaking of dying, my computer's kicked it for the final time.

I'm still processing.

Haven and Tea

"I've been gone a while, no?"
"No."

I've got a rule that I need at least two jokes per post, and none of what I've tried to write of late has come close. Like, I couldn't even throw in non-sequiturs. It was all just obnoxiously heavy or introspective, and that ain't my aim with all this. Maybe I'll start a second blog for that stuff.

KurdstheWord, I have an idea who you are, but don't tell me if I'm wrong. That way, even if I'm wrong, I'm right. Success!

I haven't written about zombies in over a year. That's strange.

A few days ago I was sitting on a bench near the music building on campus and I heard a few people playing a song I recognized but couldn't name. After about their fourth time through I placed it: the theme from the Pokemon cartoon. I laughed for a good minute.

About twenty minutes ago there were some guys talking about the Brady Bunch movie. Not just tertiary conversation either; long-winded, circuitous, rambling railings about how it tied in to the series and what was good and what things were symbols for and obscure nonsense.

Is that comedy?

It's Like There's a Party in My Mouth and Everyone's Throwing Up

There was a kid (looked about 9-12) on the bus today that had a mullet. (The guy I'm assuming was) His dad was blind though, so it was party everywhere.

It was my neighbor's birthday last night. He's at the very least the fourth different person to have been living in that apartment since I moved in, the second to have a birthday party, and the first guy. Anyway, at 9:00 he informed me that he was having a party (as the basic 'hey, man, don't call the cops' (slightly less straightforward than that)), and by 10:30 people were slamming into the walls. Bemused, confused, and slightly annoyed, I went up to my door, looked through the whateveritis (I refuse to call it a peephole (wait... Dammit)) and listened to whoever was out there. After a while, the host staggered out, chasing (if you had seen the scene, use of the word 'chase' would be a lot funnier) a friend. Said friend was adamant that he had to leave, but he was no match for the host's wordplay. "Fuck you dude, it's my birthday. No, fuck you. Fuck you."

Inspired, no?

I should clarify that this rhetoric continued for a good thirty seconds. Moving on, I was fairly certain by this point that the aforementioned slamming into my wall had been this egregious behemoth, so I was satisfied with returning to the nothing I had been doing prior. Something actually fell off my wall at one point.

Fin

I Check My Email, I Just Don't Pay Attention

Kaki King's doing a free show at CD World on Sunday, and I'll be damned if I'm not there (please don't hold me to that, Satan).

House of Leaves was even better the second time around.

This is a brief post.

HPPD

"Huh? What's that?"

I feel I would be remiss if I didn't address something nobody had any idea I didn't address until they read this sentence. Near the end of Dead Like Me: Life After Death (the movie), one of the characters reads a poem that, despite being almost insufferably corny, is kind of heartbreaking in context and delivery.

"No, seriously, what is that?"

I read a bunch of stuff about cryonics earlier today for no raisin.

"Tell me what it is, dammit!"
"Look, quit being pushy. It's not like you're not me."
"What?"
"You know what it is. Or at least you would if you were real."
"Huh?"
"I banish thee!"

I'll now recount a dream I had last night.

I was looking out the front window of whatever house I was in when I saw a cat chasing a rabbit. The rabbit jumped on the car parked in the driveway of the house across the street from where I was and got its front legs into the gutter, where it just dangled. The cat vanished. Then the rabbit began to grow until it was bigger than the car it had jumped off of. During this process of absurd growth, the gutter basically exploded off the house.

That's it. How do you not realize that's a dream?

Nope, Not Gonna

I was just thinking about arguably the most disgusting conversation I ever had with Joel (as an aside, I'm curious if you remember what conversation I'm talking about, Joel). I only use the word arguably because maybe I forgot about something worse. I mean, it is me and Joel.

i'M NOT GOING ANY FARTHER ON THAT LINE OF THOUGHT.

Whoops. Started typing that and didn't realize caps lock was on. I'm leaving it like that though. Now I'm like Johnny Truant!

After barreling my way through the actual series of Dead Like Me some months ago, this weekend I sat down and watched the movie. The first half was fucking awful. Seriously folks, next to nothing about it was redeeming. The second half was actually fairly funny and, through some strange feat, made the first half bearable. Here's my big problem though: two actresses are entirely different. Sure, one of them was only the alternate appearance of the main character (watch the show (or don't)), but the other (somewhat) constantly assaulted my vision with her insolent visage and her indolent acting. Basically there were three similarities: female, blonde, and cast in the role of Daisy. I really enjoyed Daisy in the actual series; here, I just wanted to slaughter this actress that so capably slaughtered the character (perhaps a truer kind of character assassin). Also, Mandy Patinkin was gone too, but they just entirely replaced his character (with Henry Ian Cusick), so that was at least acceptable, if not too bad.

That was long. Well, for this stuff anyway.

Sweet She-Cattle of Seattle!

A lot of my titles are exciting, aren't they? At least, they're excited.

Try this, kids at home! (Kids at home, don't try this.)

I insufflated a packet of salt once for $1.37 and some laughs. It was a Wendy's, vaguely early, and an awful memory. Salt burns.

The weather's nice now, and I'm glad. I'm tired of bad weather, or at least seasonally-inappropriate weather.

Is it weird that I use small-talk in my blog?

Maybe.

When you count with your fingers, do you start on the index finger or the thumb? I used to start with the index finger, but now I start on the thumb. I think it looks more interesting.

I'm Burnin' To Death!

Meet Boris Policeband (or don't. It's not like he's here). He was a musician that nobody knows about from a movement that even I can barely call music. That's right folks: No Wave.

Little to nothing is known of Boris. A former roommate said that for the two months they lived together, he had spaghetti with a jar of Ragu for dinner every night. He played with the NYU symphony orchestra, but he always had a police scanner strapped on.

Do you care? No. Did you just read the post anyway? If you're reading this, yes.

A panther can carry twice its body weight into a tree.

Now THAT'S science!

I Wanted To Call You Stupid, But I Thought It Would Be In Bad Taste

You know who you are.

Wait. No you don't. Are you even real?

Is this real? I mean, like, seriously, man, yeah. What's reality anyway?

Dig it! All you fitting in this box is like seriously freaked up.

The weather was absolutely crazy yesterday. First it was just cloudy, then it drizzled, then it rained, then it cleared up, then it rained and hailed and stopped and started again and got windy and the rain got stronger and stronger and stronger and stronger and then it stopped.

Whew, I'm out of breath.

(I'm actually not, but don't tell anybody. It ruins the illusion.)

I miss you, GOB.

So That's Why You Said You Had To Meet That Ghost

After yesterday's blog, I spent a lot of time reminiscing. The first thing I went to was the time Nic Bettis, Jomar, someone else and I were sitting under the stairs in the arts building. Jomar had a deck of cards and told me to guess what card he would pull out of the deck. I guessed the jack of diamonds, and lo and behold he indeed drew the jack of diamonds. Bettis started calling me a witch after that.

Then I tried to think back and access earlier memories (as I've said many times to basically everyone, I remember next to nothing from before freshman year). The best I could do was remembering that in fifth grade I was on the news (although you'd never know it). They were doing a piece on the swale we so poorly constructed. Katie Ward was being interviewed, and I was way in the background, demonstratively kicking mud off of my shoes.

I also spent some time remembering the first time I met people, so I guess it's a good thing I have virtually no friends left from elementary and even middle school. Wait! This just made me remember something earlier. It was either first or second grade (first, I think) and I did a really short martial arts thing that Taylor was also in. Everybody was disappointed with the instructor because he wouldn't break any bricks, even though it was one of the first things he talked about being able to do.

Huzzah memory!

(Angry part of a Rage Against the Machine song)

I'm rereading House of Leaves. Woo! Tell your friends about me. Or don't, if you're ashamed of being my friend.

But This One Had a Live Raccoon Inside!

Kudos if you know the reference.

I got to blow a guy's mind yesterday. I was hanging out with Dylan and some of his friends at one of their houses. One guy looked familiar, but I couldn't place it. We were watching Pineapple Express when Dylan got a phone call, and although he extended the invitation to McMenamins for happy hour, nobody was very hungry, or was broke like me (actually, I was the only one that was broke). So Dylan left and I sat and watched for a while longer before I decided I was way too hungry to not be at home.

And then it happened: I remembered where I knew the guy from. He was the other trombone player in the pit from the random production of Les Mis I did two years ago. I informed him of this, and it blew his mind. I know it did. He told me so.

Incidentally, Mason's boyfriend was also part of the cast.

Talking about being hungry made me hungry. Or maybe that's just because I haven't eaten today.

Crazy, right?

I Don't See Any Method At All, Sir

Boy, it sure is hot today - if by hot I mean windy and by today I mean today.

I was supposed to get away from wind when I left the gorge, dammit. You've disappointed me in every possible way Eugene, even though I like you and you really haven't let me down all that much. It's just not working out.

Happy National Pretzel Day, everyone. I don't have any pretzels, though; only pretzel sticks, and everyone knows they're evil because they're vaguely remiscent of a phallus. To the stake with pretzel sticks! But wait - the stake is also vaguely remiscent of a phallus.

...To the stake with the stake!

I got rickrolled by Dollar Tree on Saturday. I don't know how to feel about that.

Good News Everyone!

After a week of awful weather, today it's fantastic and everybody's busy. I guess I'll go for a walk. But first, I'm doing this.

Any of you big enough Futurama fans to have read the title in Professor Farnsworth's voice?

I don't have internet or cable in my apartment anymore. It's frustrating.

There's a flier for a restaurant called Spaghetti Warehouse that's free of spelling errors in all but the one place that actually matters.

What?

In all seriousness (no, seriously), I have no idea why I suddenly got back in the swing of making posts. Last time was because I was bored and it looked like if I went anywhere there'd be a reenactment of The Wettening from Invader Zim (get a body bag; the seriousness of this paragraph didn't make it. I'm sorry). I doubt you read this (you certainly don't follow) Peter, but I will get that back from you, along with my still mysterious 2008 Christmas present. But today's not like that. Maybe I'm still bored. Seriously you guys.

I always thought having an eidetic memory would be fantastic. Then I realized that I'd rather stay away. You get to figure out why. Or (why) not.

I tried to make three labels of Orange on this post, but it wouldn't let me.

Orange.

Subspace Fractures and You

I deleted the poetry I put on here. A blog is no place for poetry. Technically, a blog isn't even a place.

I woke up at 8:00 this morning and I haven't eaten all day. That's not good, but I'm tired of making sandwiches, and I don't have any cereal. Well, I do, but it's awful, so I'm not going to eat it. I guess I could make chicken or eggs (or both, for the ultimate culinary quandary!), but I probably won't.

Are you bored? I'm taking a survey, but don't tell anyone. It's a secret.

Living alone is making me a bit crazier. I mean, it's just boring. I talk to myself when I walk anywhere. It's more just trying to process things externally, but I'm sure I seem crazy to people in my wake.

"Did you see that guy?"
"I'm blind, you jackass."

Have you ever tried it? It really works, or at least it does for me. Seriously. Although the whole not stopping when you pass people thing is optional - optionally required, that is.

Did you know Alex Cason shaved?

Are you bored now?

Two Drunk Men

(Two drunk men are rifling through DRUNK MAN #1's basement.)

DRUNK MAN #1: Wait, what are we doing again?

DRUNK MAN #2: We'rr lookin' for somethin' to play russian roulette with.

DRUNK MAN #1: Oh. Right. Was that my idea... or yours?

DRUNK MAN #2: I think it was yours.

DRUNK MAN #1: Mine?

DRUNK MAN #2: Yeah. Yours.

DRUNK MAN #1: Oh. Okay.

DRUNK MAN #2: What?

DRUNK MAN #1: Well, it's just-

DRUNK MAN #2: What?

DRUNK MAN #1: I don't think I have a gun.

DRUNK MAN #2: You don't?

DRUNK MAN #1: No, I don't.

DRUNK MAN #2: Well dammit, what'rr we doin' here? I've got a gun at my

house. In my attic, in fact.

DRUNK MAN #1: Well sorry... I'm a little high right now.

DRUNK MAN #2: Yeah? I just did a bit of blow.

DRUNK MAN #1: Will this work? (He holds up a crossbow.)

DRUNK MAN #2: Sure, that'll work.

END SCENE

FRTSOAE

Oh my god. To what end do I invoke god? The end of describing Fionn Regan's new album, Shadow of an Empire. It's amazing, in an entirely different way than The End of History. For, you see, Mr. Fionn Regan has Bob Dylan'd faster than Mr. Zimmerman himself. I more than anything suggest you look up the song Violent Demeanour. You'll know what I'm talking about. Really though, it's another gem.

Also, a note: Fionn is now the proud owner of an afro. Be warned.