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!