Okay, I love my dentist.
ALTHOUGH
He did make some horrible jokes. Terrible in fact. ("You have very deep grooves in your teeth. One might even say that you were 'groovy'." That sound you hear is the pun-capacitor in my brain exploding.) And there was one point at which there was a literal cloud of tooth dust hanging over my head and bits of tooth on his protective glasses and there was this horribly acrid stench in the air... and he was singing along to a Journey song on the radio. And he shot me up with so much anesthetic that my entire mouth was numb for 4 hours after I left the office, ensuring that I would talk extra crazy for my client meeting. And instead of referring to it as "pain" he would only call it "discomfort." As in, "I'm about to jam this needle directly into the exposed nerve of your tooth, so you may feel some discomfort."
BUT
The first appointment was a rousing success, in that he was awesomely able to save my tooth without breaking anything, and we might be able to finish the entire process in just one more visit. Including wisdom tooth extraction and capping. Which is pretty sweet.
ONLY
Now my jaw hurts like a sumbitch and I've got some intense...discomfort going on in the bottom of my tooth as the magical medicine particles kill off whatever nerve endings are still left in the gaping maw that used to be my back left molar. I mean seriously, I am tearing up just sitting here not even moving my jaw.
BUT
My awesome dentist gave me a nice prescription for some tasty pain medication for the night, which I get to go pick up on my way home from work. Ah, delicious pain-numbing drugs, how I've missed thee.
ANYWAYS
So yeah, my dentist, he is awesome.
And everyone better be extra nice to me today, because I am a brave little trooper.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Monday, October 31, 2005
Reason #456 Why I Hate Everyone
Coworker on my floor: Wow, so are you, like, dressed up for Halloween? Neat get-up.
Jason: Um, what?
Coworker: Your costume? You're supposed to be one of those Mormon missionaries, right?
Jason: Uh, no. [pause] This is how I usually dress for work.
Coworker: Oh. Well. [pause] That's nice, dear. [pats Jason on the shoulder and walks away shaking her head]
Jason: [goes back to his office to bang his head against his desk repeatedly until the day is over]
---------------------------------
Have I mentioned lately how much I love Halloween? Or can you just tell by my tone?
[Secretly, I know this is just universal karma coming back for the Halloween I went dressed as a nun. But still.]
Jason: Um, what?
Coworker: Your costume? You're supposed to be one of those Mormon missionaries, right?
Jason: Uh, no. [pause] This is how I usually dress for work.
Coworker: Oh. Well. [pause] That's nice, dear. [pats Jason on the shoulder and walks away shaking her head]
Jason: [goes back to his office to bang his head against his desk repeatedly until the day is over]
---------------------------------
Have I mentioned lately how much I love Halloween? Or can you just tell by my tone?
[Secretly, I know this is just universal karma coming back for the Halloween I went dressed as a nun. But still.]
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Drilling
First off, check my pumpkin (Ignore Roommate Frank in the picture, all takin' credit for my hard pumpkin workings). Is that not the hottest thing you have ever seen? You have no idea how hard that was to craft, using only a pushpin and a steak knife.
-------------------------
So yesterday, after literally months of machinations, I finally made it to the dentist. Seriously, short of the financial aid office at SMU, I have never had a more complicated bureaucratic hassle than trying to find a dentist that is covered by my health plan. Only to find (6 weeks later) that the bureaucracy was totally for nothing, as I have the lame plan that pays for less, but I can use in any office I want.
In any case, I finally picked out my dentist, (who I later come to find is cool, young, and not just a little flamboyantly homosexual, (which is neither here nor there in relation to this story, but is included for the sake of color and my own amusement)) and made it to his carefully hidden office with time to spare. Weirdly enough, his office is in a house, which is pretending to be an art gallery, which also happens to have a dentist's office inside. There were several layers of odd involved, but the art was very pretty. Anyways, I get all strapped in and the cute dentist does the examination of my teeth of doom.
Doom being the operative word, as I need all sorts of painful and expensive procedures, now that my small tooth problem has become a brain-meltingly critical problem over the 6 week course that it took to find a dentist. Isn't irony delicious? Had I bit the bullet and just paid the full price for one visit back in the beginning, I could have saved something like 700 dollars and several extensive mouth-invasive procedures. Believe you me, I'm laughing on the inside.
This means I'm on an aggressive drug regimen this week to combat the tooth decay that is trying to worm its insidious way into my brain and next week will have to get all drilled into at least once, but more likely it will be three times - one for drilling, one for wisdom tooth extraction, and one for capping.
Which cancels out my beautiful plan for finishing off my apartment decoration by my birthday - financially crippling furniture purchases are pushed back in the face of financially crippling teeth issues.
Eh. At least my smile will be beautiful. It will compliment my hideously deformed hand nicely.
-------------------------
So yesterday, after literally months of machinations, I finally made it to the dentist. Seriously, short of the financial aid office at SMU, I have never had a more complicated bureaucratic hassle than trying to find a dentist that is covered by my health plan. Only to find (6 weeks later) that the bureaucracy was totally for nothing, as I have the lame plan that pays for less, but I can use in any office I want.
In any case, I finally picked out my dentist, (who I later come to find is cool, young, and not just a little flamboyantly homosexual, (which is neither here nor there in relation to this story, but is included for the sake of color and my own amusement)) and made it to his carefully hidden office with time to spare. Weirdly enough, his office is in a house, which is pretending to be an art gallery, which also happens to have a dentist's office inside. There were several layers of odd involved, but the art was very pretty. Anyways, I get all strapped in and the cute dentist does the examination of my teeth of doom.
Doom being the operative word, as I need all sorts of painful and expensive procedures, now that my small tooth problem has become a brain-meltingly critical problem over the 6 week course that it took to find a dentist. Isn't irony delicious? Had I bit the bullet and just paid the full price for one visit back in the beginning, I could have saved something like 700 dollars and several extensive mouth-invasive procedures. Believe you me, I'm laughing on the inside.
This means I'm on an aggressive drug regimen this week to combat the tooth decay that is trying to worm its insidious way into my brain and next week will have to get all drilled into at least once, but more likely it will be three times - one for drilling, one for wisdom tooth extraction, and one for capping.
Which cancels out my beautiful plan for finishing off my apartment decoration by my birthday - financially crippling furniture purchases are pushed back in the face of financially crippling teeth issues.
Eh. At least my smile will be beautiful. It will compliment my hideously deformed hand nicely.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Truck of Malfunction
In addition to my exploits in painful home improvement, this weekend also saw the advent of even greater depths of malfunction for my lovely TOM.
For the longest time I've been waging war on my truck to get it shipshape enough to pass a state inspection. As it is a TOM, this will never happen, at least in Dallas, because it cannot pass the emissions test. Not that it fails the emissions test, it's really very clean burning, weirdly enough, but the sensors on the engine that monitor such things are shot to hell.
And again, as it is a TOM, there is no easy way to get them replaced that does not require me pouring bushels money directly into every available orifice of the vehicle. Thus, I had the brilliant plan of taking the TOM outside of the city limits to get the inspection done, where people don't care about such things as "emissions," or "the environment," or "clean air."
So when I went home for the weekend, I took a side trip to the mechanic's for a little inspecting fun.
The mechanic rolls the TOM into the garage, turns it on and goes "Hmmm, what is that?"
It sounds exactly like the TOM always sounds - namely two seconds from an untimely death. I am unconcerned. Dude wheels himself underneath the TOM, goes "Uh oh."
Son of a bitch TOM.
The mechanic goes ahead and puts the TOM on the lift so I can see the full glory that is the TOM's malfunction: there is a big-ass gaping chasm in the middle of my muffler/exhaust system. It defies all rational attempts at description, but invoking The Grand Canyon will get my sense of largesse across. Thing is shot to hell.
So in the end, I still managed to pour money into the TOM, this time directly into the tailpipe as it were, as the mechanic sawed/blowtorched off all my exhaust system and muffler and God knows what else, and replaced it with nice, new, shiny stuff.
To his credit, the TOM sounds 80,000 times nicer now, and it is newly inspected, but for the love, how much more will the TOM require of me? I'm pretty sure next time it will skip all pretenses and just ask for a couple of pints of my blood.
For the longest time I've been waging war on my truck to get it shipshape enough to pass a state inspection. As it is a TOM, this will never happen, at least in Dallas, because it cannot pass the emissions test. Not that it fails the emissions test, it's really very clean burning, weirdly enough, but the sensors on the engine that monitor such things are shot to hell.
And again, as it is a TOM, there is no easy way to get them replaced that does not require me pouring bushels money directly into every available orifice of the vehicle. Thus, I had the brilliant plan of taking the TOM outside of the city limits to get the inspection done, where people don't care about such things as "emissions," or "the environment," or "clean air."
So when I went home for the weekend, I took a side trip to the mechanic's for a little inspecting fun.
The mechanic rolls the TOM into the garage, turns it on and goes "Hmmm, what is that?"
It sounds exactly like the TOM always sounds - namely two seconds from an untimely death. I am unconcerned. Dude wheels himself underneath the TOM, goes "Uh oh."
Son of a bitch TOM.
The mechanic goes ahead and puts the TOM on the lift so I can see the full glory that is the TOM's malfunction: there is a big-ass gaping chasm in the middle of my muffler/exhaust system. It defies all rational attempts at description, but invoking The Grand Canyon will get my sense of largesse across. Thing is shot to hell.
So in the end, I still managed to pour money into the TOM, this time directly into the tailpipe as it were, as the mechanic sawed/blowtorched off all my exhaust system and muffler and God knows what else, and replaced it with nice, new, shiny stuff.
To his credit, the TOM sounds 80,000 times nicer now, and it is newly inspected, but for the love, how much more will the TOM require of me? I'm pretty sure next time it will skip all pretenses and just ask for a couple of pints of my blood.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Shocking Genes
I inherited a lot of traits from my father: love of all things deep fried, a tendency to make jokes at the wrong time, and a weird appreciation for Barbara Streisand, just to name a few. But the most important thing I picked up from his side of the gene pool is my unerring tendency to injure myself.
Not just the normal clumsiness scale, actually my father is pretty adroit in general, but whenever there is something to be done, he will injure himself in the process. Sprain his shoulder carrying something, dislocate a finger fixing a car, slice open his hand during dinner preparations, whatever the event, he can hurt himself during it.
I've picked this same thing up, so when we combine forces to take on a project, it's like Wondertwin Powers, except instead of a water and animal form, it's horribly crippling injuries for everyone!
So this weekend I went home for my brother's (15th!) birthday. It was a pretty good time, there was relaxation and delicious food for 48 consecutive hours. And for his birthday, my family went in together and got him this sweet leaded-glass old-school Dr Pepper lamp to replace the light fixture in his room. Overall, it was completely awesome, but had to be manually installed, which meant that my dad and I went charging in there, tools at the ready.
You can already tell this is going to end badly, can't you?
So, we get the entire thing up and wired into the ceiling, with the only minor incident being a small electrical shock on my dad's end when the grounding wire was mislabeled. We turn it on and realize that what had looked like just a small line fracture in the glass before was actually a huge flaw that can be seen from space when the light is actually turned on.
Which means we're going to have to take the damnable thing back. I go ahead and start unscrewing the big outer metal faceplate that hides the actual mounting and wiring in the ceiling. I'm at this for maybe 45 seconds before there is something resembling an explosion. There is the huge bang and before you can say "disfiguring injury" there are gigantic Emperor-shocking-Luke blue electrical bolts shooting out of the ceiling and onto my hand. My hand, once so very beautiful, which is now suddenly resembling a blackened smoking husk. I break my cardinal rule of going home and let out a string of pirate-worthy obscenities before running from the room to get some sort of cooling agent on my now obviously withered and disfigured hand.
I'll shorthand the rest, because it's all downhill from here. Whoever the hell wired my parents' house was a complete wack-job, and somehow not only managed to mislabel all the wires in the bedroom, he also crossed all the wires and circuit breakers for that bedroom with the living room fixtures. So when we incorrectly wired the bedroom circuit, instead of flipping the breaker, the entire fixture exploded, literally ripping a hole through the metal plate covering the wires and arcing onto my hand.
The end result completely scorched the majority of the hair off the back of my left hand, put a huge angry, ridiculously painful burn covering my index finger, and left my middle, index finger, and thumb completely numb on the back side. Luckily all the blackened stuff managed to wash off, so it's just the hideous scarring to worry about, not the coloration.
So, y'know, score.
--------------------------
And on the bright side, now I have a nice and easy excuse as to why I am alone in the world - I'm Crazy Disfigured man. I knew I'd finally get my hook eventually.
Right, good times.
Not just the normal clumsiness scale, actually my father is pretty adroit in general, but whenever there is something to be done, he will injure himself in the process. Sprain his shoulder carrying something, dislocate a finger fixing a car, slice open his hand during dinner preparations, whatever the event, he can hurt himself during it.
I've picked this same thing up, so when we combine forces to take on a project, it's like Wondertwin Powers, except instead of a water and animal form, it's horribly crippling injuries for everyone!
So this weekend I went home for my brother's (15th!) birthday. It was a pretty good time, there was relaxation and delicious food for 48 consecutive hours. And for his birthday, my family went in together and got him this sweet leaded-glass old-school Dr Pepper lamp to replace the light fixture in his room. Overall, it was completely awesome, but had to be manually installed, which meant that my dad and I went charging in there, tools at the ready.
You can already tell this is going to end badly, can't you?
So, we get the entire thing up and wired into the ceiling, with the only minor incident being a small electrical shock on my dad's end when the grounding wire was mislabeled. We turn it on and realize that what had looked like just a small line fracture in the glass before was actually a huge flaw that can be seen from space when the light is actually turned on.
Which means we're going to have to take the damnable thing back. I go ahead and start unscrewing the big outer metal faceplate that hides the actual mounting and wiring in the ceiling. I'm at this for maybe 45 seconds before there is something resembling an explosion. There is the huge bang and before you can say "disfiguring injury" there are gigantic Emperor-shocking-Luke blue electrical bolts shooting out of the ceiling and onto my hand. My hand, once so very beautiful, which is now suddenly resembling a blackened smoking husk. I break my cardinal rule of going home and let out a string of pirate-worthy obscenities before running from the room to get some sort of cooling agent on my now obviously withered and disfigured hand.
I'll shorthand the rest, because it's all downhill from here. Whoever the hell wired my parents' house was a complete wack-job, and somehow not only managed to mislabel all the wires in the bedroom, he also crossed all the wires and circuit breakers for that bedroom with the living room fixtures. So when we incorrectly wired the bedroom circuit, instead of flipping the breaker, the entire fixture exploded, literally ripping a hole through the metal plate covering the wires and arcing onto my hand.
The end result completely scorched the majority of the hair off the back of my left hand, put a huge angry, ridiculously painful burn covering my index finger, and left my middle, index finger, and thumb completely numb on the back side. Luckily all the blackened stuff managed to wash off, so it's just the hideous scarring to worry about, not the coloration.
So, y'know, score.
--------------------------
And on the bright side, now I have a nice and easy excuse as to why I am alone in the world - I'm Crazy Disfigured man. I knew I'd finally get my hook eventually.
Right, good times.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Literacy
Screw it, y'all.
Each time I write an entry about books, I always promise that it's the last one. I'm no longer promising that, 1) because I'm about to do a new one, and 2) I just finally got around to getting my Dallas library card, so now my house is flooded with books.
I forgot how much fun random reading can be. Usually, whenever I get a new book, I have to be very into either the story or the author, since I'm actually buying it. A book is like a long-term investment to me. This could be sort of mitigated by going to Half Price Books, since the investment was remarkably smaller, but there was still always the thought "do you really need this book for the rest of your life?" And thus, my book collection was severely limited.
With my library card, there's no risk (everything is free) and the selection is much cleaner than the Half Price Books, which always give off the vibe that they're carrying some sort of book-transmitting plague-like disease. Throw in the fact that my new couches are absolutely perfect for curling up and reading on, and I'm right back in old bookworm mode.
Just to give a quick taste of the flavor of my life now - I've had the card since Saturday. Number of books read since then: Four. Doing the complicated math, that's basically a book a day, if you count Saturday as a full day. Madness.
Anyways, I get to blather on about them because it is my birthright:
Bag of Bones, Stephen King - This one sort of doesn't count, because I was already half way through it when the counting started, and already owned it. I've actually read it a couple of times (read: 4) because it's a very satisfying and weird read. It's nice and pretty creepy in the right places. I always enjoy me some Stephen King and this is my favorite one to pick up if I need to pass some time with an inconsequential book. It's not too scary (like, say It, which continues to haunt me) and it moves pretty fast for an 8 billion page book. Plus the ending is pretty harsh and still sort of moving on repeated readings.
Brimstone, Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child - The ultimate example of popular thriller popcorn books, these two guys have written something like 8 different books in this series about an unstoppable FBI agent and his various plucky sidekicks. The first one, Relic, was actually really well done and pretty unique. Over the series they sort of wandered out into complete randomness and varying degrees of badness. But I've still stuck with them because overall they're just great, gory, pulp books. Which, y'know, I dig.
They finally hit a nice high point again with Cabinet of Curiosities, a book that actually disturbed me greatly (but in a good way). In hindsight I probably should not have read it while out working in a summer camp with limited amounts of electricity and long walks in darkened woods. In true form, though, they followed it up with my least favorite book in the series, Still Life With Crows, which was concentrated suck and completely put me off the whole set, enough so that I didn't even pick up Brimstone when it came out.
But now that I've got this no risk library card, I grabbed it off the shelf figuring that there wasn't any harm in it. And it turned out to be pretty good, at least much better than I expected, if a little off-the-wall. It advanced the overall plot pretty well too (there is a sort of long term story arch about the FBI agent's family that hides in the background) and has piqued my interest enough to go ahead and get the latest one that came out back in June.
Geography Club & The Order of the Poison Oak, Brent Hartinger - As I've stated previously, I am a sucker for cheesy gay lit. All of it, I devour it whole. It speaks to a place not-so-deep inside me, that is still a dorky gay high school boy. These two books are actually a step or two above cheesy, so of course I am all about these books. They're written in the traditional YA Fiction style, set in a sophomore year of high school, and they just make me smile. RoommateFrank makes fun of me, because I really dig the style of the author - very directly conversational, narrating jokes and talking to the reader, even if sometimes it comes off as trying a little too hard.
It sounds ridiculously conceited, but the writing reminds me a lot of something I would write (if infinitely better), especially the pacing on the jokes and the in-text digressions about metaphors and what have you. Sometimes the obvious themes are a little heavy-handed (burn victims are just like victims of homophobia, y'all) but on the whole, they're just great quick reads that make me generally happy. Also, they made me laugh out loud several times, which RoommateFrank will not abide and he now mocks me incessantly. Whatever, I respond to books, especially good ones. If I didn't think it would scare off every reader I ever had, I would go into a lengthy examination of these books, because I'm a dork like that, but I'll just stop and say: very good.
------------------
Now I still have a Chuck Palahnuik to get through (God, so creepy, but so good) and the new (okay, 7 month old) Chris Rice gay-thriller-written-in-the-style-of-the-old-south novel, something I always hold near and dear to my heart, because come on, talk about hitting a target demographic.
Each time I write an entry about books, I always promise that it's the last one. I'm no longer promising that, 1) because I'm about to do a new one, and 2) I just finally got around to getting my Dallas library card, so now my house is flooded with books.
I forgot how much fun random reading can be. Usually, whenever I get a new book, I have to be very into either the story or the author, since I'm actually buying it. A book is like a long-term investment to me. This could be sort of mitigated by going to Half Price Books, since the investment was remarkably smaller, but there was still always the thought "do you really need this book for the rest of your life?" And thus, my book collection was severely limited.
With my library card, there's no risk (everything is free) and the selection is much cleaner than the Half Price Books, which always give off the vibe that they're carrying some sort of book-transmitting plague-like disease. Throw in the fact that my new couches are absolutely perfect for curling up and reading on, and I'm right back in old bookworm mode.
Just to give a quick taste of the flavor of my life now - I've had the card since Saturday. Number of books read since then: Four. Doing the complicated math, that's basically a book a day, if you count Saturday as a full day. Madness.
Anyways, I get to blather on about them because it is my birthright:
Bag of Bones, Stephen King - This one sort of doesn't count, because I was already half way through it when the counting started, and already owned it. I've actually read it a couple of times (read: 4) because it's a very satisfying and weird read. It's nice and pretty creepy in the right places. I always enjoy me some Stephen King and this is my favorite one to pick up if I need to pass some time with an inconsequential book. It's not too scary (like, say It, which continues to haunt me) and it moves pretty fast for an 8 billion page book. Plus the ending is pretty harsh and still sort of moving on repeated readings.
Brimstone, Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child - The ultimate example of popular thriller popcorn books, these two guys have written something like 8 different books in this series about an unstoppable FBI agent and his various plucky sidekicks. The first one, Relic, was actually really well done and pretty unique. Over the series they sort of wandered out into complete randomness and varying degrees of badness. But I've still stuck with them because overall they're just great, gory, pulp books. Which, y'know, I dig.
They finally hit a nice high point again with Cabinet of Curiosities, a book that actually disturbed me greatly (but in a good way). In hindsight I probably should not have read it while out working in a summer camp with limited amounts of electricity and long walks in darkened woods. In true form, though, they followed it up with my least favorite book in the series, Still Life With Crows, which was concentrated suck and completely put me off the whole set, enough so that I didn't even pick up Brimstone when it came out.
But now that I've got this no risk library card, I grabbed it off the shelf figuring that there wasn't any harm in it. And it turned out to be pretty good, at least much better than I expected, if a little off-the-wall. It advanced the overall plot pretty well too (there is a sort of long term story arch about the FBI agent's family that hides in the background) and has piqued my interest enough to go ahead and get the latest one that came out back in June.
Geography Club & The Order of the Poison Oak, Brent Hartinger - As I've stated previously, I am a sucker for cheesy gay lit. All of it, I devour it whole. It speaks to a place not-so-deep inside me, that is still a dorky gay high school boy. These two books are actually a step or two above cheesy, so of course I am all about these books. They're written in the traditional YA Fiction style, set in a sophomore year of high school, and they just make me smile. RoommateFrank makes fun of me, because I really dig the style of the author - very directly conversational, narrating jokes and talking to the reader, even if sometimes it comes off as trying a little too hard.
It sounds ridiculously conceited, but the writing reminds me a lot of something I would write (if infinitely better), especially the pacing on the jokes and the in-text digressions about metaphors and what have you. Sometimes the obvious themes are a little heavy-handed (burn victims are just like victims of homophobia, y'all) but on the whole, they're just great quick reads that make me generally happy. Also, they made me laugh out loud several times, which RoommateFrank will not abide and he now mocks me incessantly. Whatever, I respond to books, especially good ones. If I didn't think it would scare off every reader I ever had, I would go into a lengthy examination of these books, because I'm a dork like that, but I'll just stop and say: very good.
------------------
Now I still have a Chuck Palahnuik to get through (God, so creepy, but so good) and the new (okay, 7 month old) Chris Rice gay-thriller-written-in-the-style-of-the-old-south novel, something I always hold near and dear to my heart, because come on, talk about hitting a target demographic.
Monday, October 17, 2005
Circles
In my continuing sporadic efforts to gain (regain? maybe.) some fitness of body, I've taken up a daily running routine. Considering that it's been a full 8 days that I've managed to chain together, this may actually be something I keep up with.
Only, I am crap at running. Utterly. It's like my body rejects any full body movement. I get this really unhealthy flush about my head, and the odds are pretty good that I'll throw up immediately following, assuming I don't grievously injure myself during the process. As such, I am very paranoid about all forms of running.
Once upon a time, I was in high school. And in that time, my friend Brint and I thought it would be a lark to try out for the track team our senior year. Would shake things up, plus we were thin and fast - should be easy, no?
Because of our other geeky obligations (Hello Mock Trial!) our first track practice had to be late on a Monday night, rather than immediately following school like everyone else. (This turns out to be very lucky in just a second here) The first exercise after the stretching was 10 quick 100 yard sprints. Just something to warm up before the actual practice began.
Maybe 30 yards into the very first sprint, running as fast as possible down the track, I manage to trip, fall, and skid another 10 yards before coming to a bloody halt and ending my track and field career at exactly 27 strides taken. The end result was that a good 10th of the entire surface of my skin was removed - mostly from my left side, arm, and leg. I still have a visible scar on my hip from the worst portion of it (where there was practically no skin left) and the emotional scars remain with me to this day.
In terms of clumsy accidents I've had, this was probably the most damaging one, by blood loss counts at least, that I ever had, and as such, I have taken many precautions never to let it happen again. Now whenever I have need to run, it is always at a nice leisurely pace and never a crazy dash. Plus, y'know, I try not to run.
Which sort of flies in the face of this whole running program I've got going on now.
Anyways, it's been going okay, so far I've only thrown up on one occasion after the running which is a remarkably low number, all things considered.
On Sunday, midway through the run I got a cramp in my side and somehow during the near-fall-and-body-mangling managed to rip my iPod off my body and lob it backwards a good 10 feet into the bushes. BUT I did not fall down. Which, yeah, is a little disconcerting, over all. 8 days of running without serious or even mild injury?
I hardly know who I am anymore.
Only, I am crap at running. Utterly. It's like my body rejects any full body movement. I get this really unhealthy flush about my head, and the odds are pretty good that I'll throw up immediately following, assuming I don't grievously injure myself during the process. As such, I am very paranoid about all forms of running.
Once upon a time, I was in high school. And in that time, my friend Brint and I thought it would be a lark to try out for the track team our senior year. Would shake things up, plus we were thin and fast - should be easy, no?
Because of our other geeky obligations (Hello Mock Trial!) our first track practice had to be late on a Monday night, rather than immediately following school like everyone else. (This turns out to be very lucky in just a second here) The first exercise after the stretching was 10 quick 100 yard sprints. Just something to warm up before the actual practice began.
Maybe 30 yards into the very first sprint, running as fast as possible down the track, I manage to trip, fall, and skid another 10 yards before coming to a bloody halt and ending my track and field career at exactly 27 strides taken. The end result was that a good 10th of the entire surface of my skin was removed - mostly from my left side, arm, and leg. I still have a visible scar on my hip from the worst portion of it (where there was practically no skin left) and the emotional scars remain with me to this day.
In terms of clumsy accidents I've had, this was probably the most damaging one, by blood loss counts at least, that I ever had, and as such, I have taken many precautions never to let it happen again. Now whenever I have need to run, it is always at a nice leisurely pace and never a crazy dash. Plus, y'know, I try not to run.
Which sort of flies in the face of this whole running program I've got going on now.
Anyways, it's been going okay, so far I've only thrown up on one occasion after the running which is a remarkably low number, all things considered.
On Sunday, midway through the run I got a cramp in my side and somehow during the near-fall-and-body-mangling managed to rip my iPod off my body and lob it backwards a good 10 feet into the bushes. BUT I did not fall down. Which, yeah, is a little disconcerting, over all. 8 days of running without serious or even mild injury?
I hardly know who I am anymore.
Friday, October 14, 2005
My Most Unfortunate, Yet True, Statement of the Day
"Why on Earth would I stop doing something just because it made me throw up? Do you know how many regular activities I would have to cancel?"
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Sprawled
I love my office at work. I actually have two of them, one is a professional office with a desk and a big chair and everything, and one is a workroom office with the copier and supplies and what have you. I don't spend a lot of time over in the real office, because so much of my time is devoted to working with the files, it just makes sense to base myself out of the workroom.
As such, I've got a pretty nice set up in there, with two computers, the copier, two phone lines, and the mail machine all within arms length, or at least within rolling distance on my office chair. Because I do tend to maximize the rolling functionality of my chair, we have set up several of those carpet protector mats all over the floor in the office, so's I don't destroy anything or leave unsightly marks all about. These mats are carefully placed to allow maximum coverage where I roll, while still looking tasteful. I mean to say, I have given excessive thought to their placement.
Over the long weekend, the cleaning crew at the office (who are awesome, in general) decided to be extra thorough and they did a full vacuum/shampoo of the whole floor, or at least our wing. Which apparently included pulling up all my mats and later replacing them. I was unaware of this when I came in on Tuesday - to give you an indication of how good they are, I couldn't even tell their mat placement from my own.
That is, until about 1:15 when I made a big move to roll across my office to answer the secondary phone. Because they did not replace the third mat where it usually was. Instead, there was a big overlap at one point, and no mat at all at another point. Which would never be a problem, unless you are lazy like me and tried to roll across the length of the office.
I hit the overlap first, which caused me to spin halfway around in the chair. At the time, I was holding a huge file folder in one hand and a stack of papers in the other, so I couldn't properly reach out to steady myself. Following the half spin, the chair hit the absence of mat and promptly sent the chair and myself flying, backwards mind you, in a brilliant somersault that left the upper half of me lying outside the door to my office, and the bottom half smashed into the copier, with the stack of papers in disarray around me.
Have you ever heard the sound that someone makes when they fall out of a moving chair with their hands full and slam knees first into a copier? Because it is earth-shatteringly loud. I work basically by myself, I have no co-workers in my office, just other people at the far end of the hall who work in a different business but on the same floor. The noise of my fall sent all of them running down to my office, certain that some sort of mail bomb had gone off. Instead, they found me on the ground, covered in paper, holding my knee, next to an overturned rolling chair.
I know exactly what you're thinking, and yes it was completely awesome, thanks for asking.
As such, I've got a pretty nice set up in there, with two computers, the copier, two phone lines, and the mail machine all within arms length, or at least within rolling distance on my office chair. Because I do tend to maximize the rolling functionality of my chair, we have set up several of those carpet protector mats all over the floor in the office, so's I don't destroy anything or leave unsightly marks all about. These mats are carefully placed to allow maximum coverage where I roll, while still looking tasteful. I mean to say, I have given excessive thought to their placement.
Over the long weekend, the cleaning crew at the office (who are awesome, in general) decided to be extra thorough and they did a full vacuum/shampoo of the whole floor, or at least our wing. Which apparently included pulling up all my mats and later replacing them. I was unaware of this when I came in on Tuesday - to give you an indication of how good they are, I couldn't even tell their mat placement from my own.
That is, until about 1:15 when I made a big move to roll across my office to answer the secondary phone. Because they did not replace the third mat where it usually was. Instead, there was a big overlap at one point, and no mat at all at another point. Which would never be a problem, unless you are lazy like me and tried to roll across the length of the office.
I hit the overlap first, which caused me to spin halfway around in the chair. At the time, I was holding a huge file folder in one hand and a stack of papers in the other, so I couldn't properly reach out to steady myself. Following the half spin, the chair hit the absence of mat and promptly sent the chair and myself flying, backwards mind you, in a brilliant somersault that left the upper half of me lying outside the door to my office, and the bottom half smashed into the copier, with the stack of papers in disarray around me.
Have you ever heard the sound that someone makes when they fall out of a moving chair with their hands full and slam knees first into a copier? Because it is earth-shatteringly loud. I work basically by myself, I have no co-workers in my office, just other people at the far end of the hall who work in a different business but on the same floor. The noise of my fall sent all of them running down to my office, certain that some sort of mail bomb had gone off. Instead, they found me on the ground, covered in paper, holding my knee, next to an overturned rolling chair.
I know exactly what you're thinking, and yes it was completely awesome, thanks for asking.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Housekeeping
Little things that I want to write about, but don't warrant their own post because they are boring:
- New all-consuming video game: Castlevania - Dawn of Sorrow. I don't know why I am compelled to buy every new iteration of Castlevania, they're all the exact damn thing, just in a new cartridge. That said, it's always a good time-waster and brings out the nostalgic in me. And I enjoy the new soul system so much more than the card thing from a couple of games ago. The DS touch additions annoy the crap out of me, though. If you only use the stylus for 1/1000th of the game, why make it during the only hard 1/1000th?
- New all-consuming DVD set: Firefly - The Complete Series. (Can you tell I just went to Best Buy over the weekend?) I'm still trying to figure out how exactly I missed this series for so long. It has everything in the world that I love - science fiction, Joss Whedon, cowboys, fun dialogue, cute boys, and homoerotic undercurrents all in a neat package about questionable morals and shooting people. But it had its run on Friday nights during my drunken college years and thus was marginalized by alcohol. To the ruin of everyone. Saw Serenity last weekend (in a word: Awesome) and it was enough to get me to put down the big money for the box set. Entirely worth it. I'm in full-on fandom mode, just in time for the spectacular final flare-out, as the movie might barely be lucky enough to gross $30 mil. domestic. But yay for something new to fuel my fanfiction fires. It has been so long.
- Weekend was awesome - 1) Firefly, pizza, and Corona on Friday night, 2) Football, old high school friends, and absolute drunken antics in downtown Dallas Saturday, 3) Food shopping, video game night, and Animated Pig Movie with college friends Sunday, and 4) A No Pants Monday of rest. I love long weekends.
- I finally cancelled my World of Warcraft subscription, ending the 10 month thrall it held over me. I realized over the weekend that I had logged only 2 hours of gameplay in two full weeks and a long weekend. No longer is worth the investment. Don't know how I got over it, but it is nice to be out. I feel like I should be going in to rehab to make sure I don't have a relapse. I think it's a testament to my inability to stick to anything - my character list at time of cancellation: Level 49 Orc Hunter, Level 36 Human Mage, Level 35 Tauren Shaman, Level 24 Troll Priest, Level 24 Human Paladin, Level 23 Undead Warrior, Level 18 Gnome Warlock. 209 Combined levels and not a one even into the 50's. LAME.
- Today the second season of Arrested Development drops on DVD. I hope to forestall any additional purchases by picking it up at Target, rather than making the pilgrimage to Best Buy. I am very weak willed. Especially when Veronica Mars falls on the same day. I am not made of stone, people.
- I got the NaNoWriMo email and went ahead and reactivated my account even though I doubt I'll do it. As spectacular as flaring out at 10,000 words was last time, I'm not sure I want to even pretend to try this year. Failure is just depressing. But I love the concept in theory, and my life lacks structure, so we will see. Plus, I already have a story picked out, which makes me worried that I might actually be considering it again. I am a glutton for punishment and lofty ideals. Someone needs to talk some sense into me.
- Started up an exercise regimen. Already, I am sore in every place and my knee is swollen up to the size of a grapefruit. I hobble everywhere now. Why do I keep imagining that it's okay to try to run? I am the least athletic person in the world. Also, we are working out of the gym at our apartment complex, because we are both cheap and lazy, and it is the tiniest gym that ever was. It's like working out in a broom closet, only without the reassuring smells of cleaning agents. But I am shallow, and I want to look better, so to the broom closet I go.
Little site notes: If you scroll down all the way to the bottom, you'll see a new Google search bar where you can try to look up things on the site. It is woefully inaccurate, as the site is never trawled, but it sometimes works. Updated Elsewhere links, also. If I'm missing anyone, let me know.
Better actual entry coming, maybe later.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Solidarity
I know that I am not the only person who does this.
Okay, so you know that moment when you can suddenly tell you're about to sneeze? You get that half tickle in your sinuses, your eyes sort of water and you make that really weird and unattractive 'about to sneeze' face. This is de rigueur for every person who has ever lived, right?
Anyways, that's not what this is about.
So, sometimes when I'm about to sneeze, I sort of get stuck in the 'about to sneeze' mode, and can't get out. It's a very frustrating and unsatisfying state. Your body was wanting to sneeze for a reason; that it didn't leaves you unbalanced. Not to mention you're stuck with this really creepy look on your face.
When it is me, in these occasions I just turn and look into the nearest light source. Because I am incredibly sensitive to bright lights, looking into one is almost always enough to push me over the edge into the sneeze. (As I've said before, I think this is a trait that is drawn from my computer science degree - as soon as you are certified in computers, your body begins the process of rejecting all natural light.) It's just how I'm trained at this point - can't sneeze, look at a light.
Okay, so that makes sense, right? I mean, other people have to do this too, it's not that weird. Yeah, go with that.
Today at work I was standing in the lobby talking to a client when the urge to sneeze overwhelms. I hold up a finger in the universal sign of "hold up, I'm about to sneeze" and turn away. The sneeze doesn't come, and I am stuck in unattractive mode, so I turn more and angle my face to where it's under the nearest wall sconce lamp shade. This allows me to look at the bulb, which in turn allows me a very satisfying sneeze.
I turn back to the client, and am met with a horde of astonished stares. Not only is the client looking at me funny, so is the receptionist, the UPS guy, two randoms who are just in the lobby, and the floor manager (who already thinks I'm insane based on previous experiences).
Now, okay, maybe it looked a little odd, how I turned away to find a light to look into. And yes, it might have been compounded by the fact that I had to take a couple of steps to find a light I could reach. And yeah, I might have been in mid-sentence, so the holding up of a finger may have been interpreted as "hold on for a second, I need to go stare into a naked light bulb."
But.
BUT!
I really needed to sneeze! And I told them to hold on for a second! With my finger!
Whatever! It's not weird!
No one understands my pain.
Okay, so you know that moment when you can suddenly tell you're about to sneeze? You get that half tickle in your sinuses, your eyes sort of water and you make that really weird and unattractive 'about to sneeze' face. This is de rigueur for every person who has ever lived, right?
Anyways, that's not what this is about.
So, sometimes when I'm about to sneeze, I sort of get stuck in the 'about to sneeze' mode, and can't get out. It's a very frustrating and unsatisfying state. Your body was wanting to sneeze for a reason; that it didn't leaves you unbalanced. Not to mention you're stuck with this really creepy look on your face.
When it is me, in these occasions I just turn and look into the nearest light source. Because I am incredibly sensitive to bright lights, looking into one is almost always enough to push me over the edge into the sneeze. (As I've said before, I think this is a trait that is drawn from my computer science degree - as soon as you are certified in computers, your body begins the process of rejecting all natural light.) It's just how I'm trained at this point - can't sneeze, look at a light.
Okay, so that makes sense, right? I mean, other people have to do this too, it's not that weird. Yeah, go with that.
Today at work I was standing in the lobby talking to a client when the urge to sneeze overwhelms. I hold up a finger in the universal sign of "hold up, I'm about to sneeze" and turn away. The sneeze doesn't come, and I am stuck in unattractive mode, so I turn more and angle my face to where it's under the nearest wall sconce lamp shade. This allows me to look at the bulb, which in turn allows me a very satisfying sneeze.
I turn back to the client, and am met with a horde of astonished stares. Not only is the client looking at me funny, so is the receptionist, the UPS guy, two randoms who are just in the lobby, and the floor manager (who already thinks I'm insane based on previous experiences).
Now, okay, maybe it looked a little odd, how I turned away to find a light to look into. And yes, it might have been compounded by the fact that I had to take a couple of steps to find a light I could reach. And yeah, I might have been in mid-sentence, so the holding up of a finger may have been interpreted as "hold on for a second, I need to go stare into a naked light bulb."
But.
BUT!
I really needed to sneeze! And I told them to hold on for a second! With my finger!
Whatever! It's not weird!
No one understands my pain.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Maturity
I'm almost, to the day, one month outside of turning 24 years old. On the edge of a quarter century old. And I've just had the worst acne break-out that I've had since I could still call myself a teenager.
It's so bad that words don't really do it justice. It feels like it needs its own extended metaphor, something involving pizza or rough road. But maybe not, since everyone knows how a really bad break-out feels, right? When you can actually feel, in your bones, where the next blemish is going to appear, like some sort of human dousing rod of disfigurement? The general throbbing unpleasantness that comes with it and the complete knowledge that the cool kids are mocking you? It's all right there, like I never left high school. Although now there are fewer cool kids around, but the ones who are left are vicious.
Suddenly I'm 16 all over again. And just like then, nothing helps. I've got my two different kinds of face wash - exfoliating and oil removing, which I use religiously (naturally - I am a conceited gay man after all) but my face is indifferent to my ministrations. Angry red spot that defy the natural order of both size and frequency all over my once not-unpretty face. Probably stress related, which was the order of the day back in high school too, but I wouldn't put it past the approximate 14 pounds of sugar I ingest daily to have played some small part.
It's quite the blow to one's self esteem, especially when, like me, you place a lot of stock in appearances. Why, oh why couldn't I have learned to value what is inside a person rather than the asthetics? I knew it would eventually come back to haunt me. And for that matter, why can't my moral lessons ever be presented in cool ways - prophetic dreams like in A Christmas Carol, or with hilarious antics followed by a nugget of wisdom like on The Simpsons, or even with sappy overwrought dialogue delievered by Bob Saget to one of the Olsen twins like on Full House? No, instead? Red spots, all over my face. God does not like to give me the easy options.
Although, I suppose I could have been more horribly disfigured than a bout of acne. But where's the fun in whining about pimples if you can't blow everything ridiculously out of proportion? I think it's one of those teenager things.
Don't look at me! I'm hideous!
There, I feel better.
It's so bad that words don't really do it justice. It feels like it needs its own extended metaphor, something involving pizza or rough road. But maybe not, since everyone knows how a really bad break-out feels, right? When you can actually feel, in your bones, where the next blemish is going to appear, like some sort of human dousing rod of disfigurement? The general throbbing unpleasantness that comes with it and the complete knowledge that the cool kids are mocking you? It's all right there, like I never left high school. Although now there are fewer cool kids around, but the ones who are left are vicious.
Suddenly I'm 16 all over again. And just like then, nothing helps. I've got my two different kinds of face wash - exfoliating and oil removing, which I use religiously (naturally - I am a conceited gay man after all) but my face is indifferent to my ministrations. Angry red spot that defy the natural order of both size and frequency all over my once not-unpretty face. Probably stress related, which was the order of the day back in high school too, but I wouldn't put it past the approximate 14 pounds of sugar I ingest daily to have played some small part.
It's quite the blow to one's self esteem, especially when, like me, you place a lot of stock in appearances. Why, oh why couldn't I have learned to value what is inside a person rather than the asthetics? I knew it would eventually come back to haunt me. And for that matter, why can't my moral lessons ever be presented in cool ways - prophetic dreams like in A Christmas Carol, or with hilarious antics followed by a nugget of wisdom like on The Simpsons, or even with sappy overwrought dialogue delievered by Bob Saget to one of the Olsen twins like on Full House? No, instead? Red spots, all over my face. God does not like to give me the easy options.
Although, I suppose I could have been more horribly disfigured than a bout of acne. But where's the fun in whining about pimples if you can't blow everything ridiculously out of proportion? I think it's one of those teenager things.
Don't look at me! I'm hideous!
There, I feel better.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Multimedia, Bitches!
Because I won't stop yammering on about it, I feel like I should give a more visual representation of all the new stuff in the apartment, so you know exactly where I'm coming from these days. Mad props to Frnak, who's camera I have stolen in order to document my apartment living.
This is my apartment door. It is very dusty. And dented. We come under siege often. Repells the natives beautifully. (I swear, I don't live in that much of a warzone, it just totally looks like it.)
This is the new couch. Notice, the hot pillows, the very adult Art on the wall (a Monet print, in a frame), and that kick ass lamp. Ignore the fact that the lampshade is as ugly as sin. And that the couch is the size of a medium sized sedan. As a bonus, you can see the built-in shelves, full of my books, DVDs, and multitude of stuffed beavers. It's like a window into my psyche.
This is the "chair" that goes along with the couch. It is the size of my bed and could probably seat 4. But it is a chair. The woman who sold it to me told me so. Other things include: more Art, the companion lamp, and the tiniest door that ever was, which houses the wrapping paper and vacuum cleaner.
Here we see: The prelit fake tree, my huge-ass TV (I love Medium) and my fedora that I still have left, now that Paul has absconded with the other (Damn you Paul!!!). Notice the overwhelming number of entertainment devices - DVD player, VCR, Gamecube. I need my accessories.
Sadly, that's pretty much the whole new tour. I would show you my bedroom, but we hardly know each other. And the kitchen is just scary. Documenting the Black Plague that will eventually result from it just seems like bad form. Perhaps some day later we will venture further into the depths of the apartment and confirm the existence of the legendary "roommate," which supposedly walks the halls and watches a lot of reality TV.
I'm very much the photo-documentarianist, which is totally a word.
Bye Everybody!
This is my apartment door. It is very dusty. And dented. We come under siege often. Repells the natives beautifully. (I swear, I don't live in that much of a warzone, it just totally looks like it.)
This is the new couch. Notice, the hot pillows, the very adult Art on the wall (a Monet print, in a frame), and that kick ass lamp. Ignore the fact that the lampshade is as ugly as sin. And that the couch is the size of a medium sized sedan. As a bonus, you can see the built-in shelves, full of my books, DVDs, and multitude of stuffed beavers. It's like a window into my psyche.
This is the "chair" that goes along with the couch. It is the size of my bed and could probably seat 4. But it is a chair. The woman who sold it to me told me so. Other things include: more Art, the companion lamp, and the tiniest door that ever was, which houses the wrapping paper and vacuum cleaner.
Here we see: The prelit fake tree, my huge-ass TV (I love Medium) and my fedora that I still have left, now that Paul has absconded with the other (Damn you Paul!!!). Notice the overwhelming number of entertainment devices - DVD player, VCR, Gamecube. I need my accessories.Sadly, that's pretty much the whole new tour. I would show you my bedroom, but we hardly know each other. And the kitchen is just scary. Documenting the Black Plague that will eventually result from it just seems like bad form. Perhaps some day later we will venture further into the depths of the apartment and confirm the existence of the legendary "roommate," which supposedly walks the halls and watches a lot of reality TV.
I'm very much the photo-documentarianist, which is totally a word.
Bye Everybody!Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Give a Hoot - Save a Tree
With the new furniture and the removal of all my "tacky" belongings from the living room, it has been looking a little bare, despite the huge overstuffed furniture crammed against every available wall. As such, I've been getting some nice, tasteful wall coverings to class up the joint a little bit. Two new framed pictures give the room some much needed color, and distract the eye from my slovenly nature and tendency to leave empty Dr Pepper cans strewn about the place.
The primary problem I have now is that the entertainment center looks woefully undersized, now that the end tables are no longer flanking it. Particularly the one corner, where all the wires live. It's very computer-science-white-trash, right now with all the coaxial cables and what have you. So yesterday when I was out getting the Art (the Art is capitalized because it is both serious and adult) and I happened upon an artificial tree on clearance, I snapped it up faster than you could say "plastic ficus." What better way to hide unsightly cables than with a fake tree in a pot? No better way, I say.
Now, I don't know if you've ever tried to transport a five and a half foot tall artificial tree out of a store, across a parking lot, into a truck, across town, and then into an apartment, but if not let me be the first to tell you, there is no way to do it gracefully. You can't put it in a cart, because it's too tall for the doors, and you can't just carry it by the trunk, because you'll pull the base out of the pot. Instead, you have to carry it by the base and sort of squat and angle the plant each time you traverse a door. And when you walk through the parking lot, people look at you really funny-like.
Of course, this may have had something to do with the fact that my artificial ficus came 'pre-lit for [my] convenience' with little white Christmas lights, so not only was I carrying a huge fake tree through the Best Buy parking lot, I was doing it with unseasonal white-trash-style Christmas lights brushing against my face.
And of course the plant does not fit inside the truck of malfunction. No no, I must stick it in the bed for all the world to see that I see to be confused on several levels - that a) it is not Christmas and b) even if it were Christmas, that is a ficus, not a Christmas tree.
But now it is in my apartment and it looks pretty good. Frnak says that it re-tackifies my living room after all that hard work removing the swirling Madonna and rainbow mirror, but I think it's a very serious, very adult plant. I mean, come on, it's pre-lit for my convenience!
The primary problem I have now is that the entertainment center looks woefully undersized, now that the end tables are no longer flanking it. Particularly the one corner, where all the wires live. It's very computer-science-white-trash, right now with all the coaxial cables and what have you. So yesterday when I was out getting the Art (the Art is capitalized because it is both serious and adult) and I happened upon an artificial tree on clearance, I snapped it up faster than you could say "plastic ficus." What better way to hide unsightly cables than with a fake tree in a pot? No better way, I say.
Now, I don't know if you've ever tried to transport a five and a half foot tall artificial tree out of a store, across a parking lot, into a truck, across town, and then into an apartment, but if not let me be the first to tell you, there is no way to do it gracefully. You can't put it in a cart, because it's too tall for the doors, and you can't just carry it by the trunk, because you'll pull the base out of the pot. Instead, you have to carry it by the base and sort of squat and angle the plant each time you traverse a door. And when you walk through the parking lot, people look at you really funny-like.
Of course, this may have had something to do with the fact that my artificial ficus came 'pre-lit for [my] convenience' with little white Christmas lights, so not only was I carrying a huge fake tree through the Best Buy parking lot, I was doing it with unseasonal white-trash-style Christmas lights brushing against my face.
And of course the plant does not fit inside the truck of malfunction. No no, I must stick it in the bed for all the world to see that I see to be confused on several levels - that a) it is not Christmas and b) even if it were Christmas, that is a ficus, not a Christmas tree.
But now it is in my apartment and it looks pretty good. Frnak says that it re-tackifies my living room after all that hard work removing the swirling Madonna and rainbow mirror, but I think it's a very serious, very adult plant. I mean, come on, it's pre-lit for my convenience!
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
9 Reasons Why Flightplan is Nothing Like Panic Room
(Rampant, Rampant Spoilers ahead, for every movie Jodie Foster has ever starred in, particularly Flightplan and Panic Room, but possibly even the original 70's version of Freaky Friday and that horrible Nell. Don't say I didn't warn you.)
This weekend Flightplan, starring the irrepressible Jodie Foster, opened at #1 in the box office, taking in over 24 million dollars in its first weekend. Despite this impressive debut, many laypeople have scoffed at Ms. Foster's latest theatrical offering, calling it nothing more than Panic Room on a Plane.
I must admit, even I may have been tempted to such comparisons. The two movies may at first glance seem very similar - Jodie Foster as a single mother protecting her young daughter in extraordinary circumstances in a claustrophobic atmosphere.
But I am here fresh off a viewing of said Flightplan and I must make it known that the two movies couldn't be more different. In fact, I now present 9 Reasons Why Flightplan is Nothing Like Panic Room:
This weekend Flightplan, starring the irrepressible Jodie Foster, opened at #1 in the box office, taking in over 24 million dollars in its first weekend. Despite this impressive debut, many laypeople have scoffed at Ms. Foster's latest theatrical offering, calling it nothing more than Panic Room on a Plane.
I must admit, even I may have been tempted to such comparisons. The two movies may at first glance seem very similar - Jodie Foster as a single mother protecting her young daughter in extraordinary circumstances in a claustrophobic atmosphere.
But I am here fresh off a viewing of said Flightplan and I must make it known that the two movies couldn't be more different. In fact, I now present 9 Reasons Why Flightplan is Nothing Like Panic Room:
- In Flightplan, the daughter Jodie Foster is protecting is only 9. In Panic Room, the daughter was, like, at least 12.
- In Flightplan, one of the bad guys is Only-Okay-Looking-But-Really-Good-Actor Peter Sarsgaard. In Panic Room, one of the bad guys was Really-Good-Looking-But-Only-Okay-Actor Jared Leto.
- In Flightplan, the daughter goes unconscious due to drugs unknown. In Panic Room, the daughter goes unconscious due to insulin shock.
- In Flightplan, there is overt racial stereotyping of Arab-Americans as terrorists. In Panic Room, the racial stereotyping is more of an undercurrent and it focuses on African-Americans as burglars.
- In Flightplan, Jodie Foster clocks a bad guy in the face with a fire extinguisher. In Panic Room, she uses a sledgehammer.
- In Flightplan, Jodie Foster's husband is thrown off a roof. In Panic Room, he just gets tied to a chair and beaten to a bloody pulp.
- In Flightplan, the bad guys are after 50 million dollars to be wired into an offshore account. In Panic Room, the bad guys want 22 million dollars in bearer bonds. That's a difference of 28 million dollars!
- In Flightplan, when Jodie Foster causes an explosion she incinerates the bad guy. In Panic Room, Jodie's explosion only incinerates the bad guy's dreadlocks.
- At the end of Flightplan, when Jodie Foster and her daughter walk away unharmed, the screen fades to white. At the end Panic Room, when they walk away unharmed, the screen fades to black.
See? Totally different movies, y'all.
Also, keep your eyes open for Jodie Foster's next totally different movie, Habitat, in which she and her 6 year-old daughter are trapped in a futuristic underwater habitat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and are terrorized by, ...lets say Asians (Led by BD Wong - Good Looking and Good Actor) who want 100 million dollars in gold doubloons. Little do they know that Jodie is a brilliant scientist who designed the habitat herself.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Pointless
About five weeks ago, I went initial furniture shopping. I took the illustrious Frnak with me, so I would have someone there with a modicum of decorum. Primarily to stop me from buying the most immediately tacky and awesome living room set imaginable. Because I tend to love me some tacky.
But this is a serious and adult purchase that I will have to spend the majority of my life (or, y'know, 10 years. A long time, is what I'm getting at) with. I've been saving up for months for this, it has to be perfect. This is my bid for adulthood, actual real furniture, not a 20 year old couch with stains on it older than the majority of my friends and futon that has seen the rise and fall of dynasties.
Back on that old 5 week ago adventure we went to 6 different stores in our quest for the best furniture. I had something very specific in mind - dark, but not too dark, modern but not outlandish, soft and comfortable, yet not painful on the eyes, and within my price range. Sadly, the best option we found was the very first set we laid eyes on in the very first store. It was a bit lighter than I wanted, and a touch higher than my price range. So we moved on, but never found a set that really met expectations.
Cut ahead to this weekend. I've finally gotten everything else in the world squared away, it's time to actually get to making some huge, financially crippling purchases. I once again collect the Frnak (now only 1 room away) and off we go. I want to hit the same stores as last time, only now I'm prepared to lower my standards, and I've got an exact monetary figure in mind. I will get this thing done.
We go back to that first place of lo those many weeks ago. They are having a tent clearance sale. I come within 4 minutes of buying a remaindered bright red couch that would be able to stun small birds just by looking at it. It is soft, and would look okay in my living room. However, it has light stains already, and is covered in leaves. We decide to check inside real quick, just for parity.
An old woman who can speak no louder than a whisper leads us through the store, initially to the most tacky set of furniture I have ever loved, but Frnak is able to steer me away ("You will have to live with this for the next ten years. Will you still be tacky 10 years from now? Okay, maybe you will, but still.") Suddenly we are back in front of that original set from a month ago. It looks even better than last time. And it's now 10% off. Which puts it exactly 50 dollars below my price range.
In a shocking turn of events, I sign up and buy the whole thing in about 10 minutes. I guess that is considered growing up, I didn't have an aneurysm and spend 2 hours bemoaning the situation. We even got to pick the furniture up the same day (Thank God for my truck, even though it is a malfunctioning piece of malfunction, it still gets shit done). Moving the stuff into the house was hideous, as was moving the old stuff elsewhere, but the end result is undeniably sexy. Following the acquisition of some Art for the living room and the removal of a blanket from the wall, my living room will be entirely adult. there's not a tacky thing left in there, unless you count the faux fur curtains, which aren't so much "tacky" as "awesome."
Of course, this means that my bedroom is now tacky in concentrated form. Just peeking inside is enough to blind someone of good taste for life.
So, um, anyways. Very adult, going art shopping this afternoon, living room is awesome. And on a personal note, ow, ow, OW I am sore from moving all that furniture. I have got to start exercising more.
But this is a serious and adult purchase that I will have to spend the majority of my life (or, y'know, 10 years. A long time, is what I'm getting at) with. I've been saving up for months for this, it has to be perfect. This is my bid for adulthood, actual real furniture, not a 20 year old couch with stains on it older than the majority of my friends and futon that has seen the rise and fall of dynasties.
Back on that old 5 week ago adventure we went to 6 different stores in our quest for the best furniture. I had something very specific in mind - dark, but not too dark, modern but not outlandish, soft and comfortable, yet not painful on the eyes, and within my price range. Sadly, the best option we found was the very first set we laid eyes on in the very first store. It was a bit lighter than I wanted, and a touch higher than my price range. So we moved on, but never found a set that really met expectations.
Cut ahead to this weekend. I've finally gotten everything else in the world squared away, it's time to actually get to making some huge, financially crippling purchases. I once again collect the Frnak (now only 1 room away) and off we go. I want to hit the same stores as last time, only now I'm prepared to lower my standards, and I've got an exact monetary figure in mind. I will get this thing done.
We go back to that first place of lo those many weeks ago. They are having a tent clearance sale. I come within 4 minutes of buying a remaindered bright red couch that would be able to stun small birds just by looking at it. It is soft, and would look okay in my living room. However, it has light stains already, and is covered in leaves. We decide to check inside real quick, just for parity.
An old woman who can speak no louder than a whisper leads us through the store, initially to the most tacky set of furniture I have ever loved, but Frnak is able to steer me away ("You will have to live with this for the next ten years. Will you still be tacky 10 years from now? Okay, maybe you will, but still.") Suddenly we are back in front of that original set from a month ago. It looks even better than last time. And it's now 10% off. Which puts it exactly 50 dollars below my price range.
In a shocking turn of events, I sign up and buy the whole thing in about 10 minutes. I guess that is considered growing up, I didn't have an aneurysm and spend 2 hours bemoaning the situation. We even got to pick the furniture up the same day (Thank God for my truck, even though it is a malfunctioning piece of malfunction, it still gets shit done). Moving the stuff into the house was hideous, as was moving the old stuff elsewhere, but the end result is undeniably sexy. Following the acquisition of some Art for the living room and the removal of a blanket from the wall, my living room will be entirely adult. there's not a tacky thing left in there, unless you count the faux fur curtains, which aren't so much "tacky" as "awesome."
Of course, this means that my bedroom is now tacky in concentrated form. Just peeking inside is enough to blind someone of good taste for life.
So, um, anyways. Very adult, going art shopping this afternoon, living room is awesome. And on a personal note, ow, ow, OW I am sore from moving all that furniture. I have got to start exercising more.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Calling All Ideas
I need some help. Moreso than usual.
I'm working on getting a domain name and a hosting company. I've been toiling away in the secret of night getting my website up and working with actual code and prettiness and graphical fantastic-ness and whatnot. I'm no where near close to completion, but I think getting the domain registered will spur me onwards.
But I've got to find a good domain and I'm without ideas. I let my old one lapse and now it's gone forever to the wind. belligerentandnumerous.com is too long and hard to spell. I've got no good creativity working anymore.
This is where you people come in.
Think think think.
And then comment and let me know.
I'm working on getting a domain name and a hosting company. I've been toiling away in the secret of night getting my website up and working with actual code and prettiness and graphical fantastic-ness and whatnot. I'm no where near close to completion, but I think getting the domain registered will spur me onwards.
But I've got to find a good domain and I'm without ideas. I let my old one lapse and now it's gone forever to the wind. belligerentandnumerous.com is too long and hard to spell. I've got no good creativity working anymore.
This is where you people come in.
Think think think.
And then comment and let me know.
Trucks, Gigolos, Prayers
I was defeated in my attempt to repair my Truck of Malfunction.
The latest in TOM issues are fivefold: no windshield wiper fluid, broken passenger side wiper, weird oil problems, broken left turn signal cover, and expired registrations. The fluid and the wiper were fixed without issue, as was the oil problem after 7 frustrating minutes when I realized that you should unscrew things to the left. The registration stuff is getting done on Saturday when I have daylight hours to work with. My main issue was with the turn signal cover. I got the replacement part without issue, have had it for ages, actually, but can find no way to get it attached to my TOM.
Yesterday I could practically taste victory, as I had managed to locate and remove every screw that held it in place, removed the bulb and could actually feel the broken piece begin to move. However, I believe it is physically impossible to remove it entirely, because the light fixture is permanently attached to the wires that go to the battery. Short of ripping the plastic housing off the wires, I see no way for success.
That doesn't mean that I didn't spend 65 minutes trying in the middle of my parking lot trying anyway, looking more and more hysterical with every passing second. I HATE working on cars. I feel utterly ridiculous, trying to look like I know what I'm doing, yet perfectly aware that every passing person can tell that I am in fact a completely incompetent, extremely pale homosexual in a poorly fitting muscle T-shirt poking ineffectually at the innards of a car with a screwdriver.
Anyways, I've decided to just screw it all and let the mechanic give it a try before he does the safety inspection. Of course he will replace the entire thing in exactly 13 seconds and make me look incredibly foolish, but after my Car Drama Hour (a play in one act) performance yesterday, my pride is ready to take that hit.
----------------------------------
My boss is in complete terror of the hurricane barreling down on Texas. She is in full End-Times-are-nigh freak out mode, complete with frantic stockpiling of batteries, bottled water, and gasoline. But I admire her resourcefulness, particularly when all the gas stations in the area started shutting down and she managed to fill her own car up and get me and my TOM to the location and topped off by the sheer force of her personality.
While this fill up was going on, the attendant (of course it was a full service gas station. We are high class in Highland Park) asked me if she was my girlfriend. Now, not to hate on my boss, who is awesome in her own insane way, but I am literally half her age. There are many ways to take a question like that: A) I look really old, B) She looks really young, C) the attendant is blind, or D) I look like one of those young, shiny, kept men that you see.
I decided to go with a mixture of B & C, along with a bit the secret answer E) that the attendant was sort of flirting with me. Because A & D are just too depressing to even consider.
In any case, I've got a full tank of gas, 50 tea light candles, and a bag of Oreos with which to wait any storm out. I think I'm prepared.
------------------------------
Latest projections on the storm have it making landfall directly over Orange. I can get hold of no one down there by phone. Are you kidding me with that "Due to that hurricane in that area, your call cannot be completed" shit? I am reduced to blindly hoping everyone is safe down there. I feel remarkably afraid. Seriously y'all, be safe.
And I swear to God, Brint, if you try to go stand out by a window during this storm, I will punch you in the face myself.
The latest in TOM issues are fivefold: no windshield wiper fluid, broken passenger side wiper, weird oil problems, broken left turn signal cover, and expired registrations. The fluid and the wiper were fixed without issue, as was the oil problem after 7 frustrating minutes when I realized that you should unscrew things to the left. The registration stuff is getting done on Saturday when I have daylight hours to work with. My main issue was with the turn signal cover. I got the replacement part without issue, have had it for ages, actually, but can find no way to get it attached to my TOM.
Yesterday I could practically taste victory, as I had managed to locate and remove every screw that held it in place, removed the bulb and could actually feel the broken piece begin to move. However, I believe it is physically impossible to remove it entirely, because the light fixture is permanently attached to the wires that go to the battery. Short of ripping the plastic housing off the wires, I see no way for success.
That doesn't mean that I didn't spend 65 minutes trying in the middle of my parking lot trying anyway, looking more and more hysterical with every passing second. I HATE working on cars. I feel utterly ridiculous, trying to look like I know what I'm doing, yet perfectly aware that every passing person can tell that I am in fact a completely incompetent, extremely pale homosexual in a poorly fitting muscle T-shirt poking ineffectually at the innards of a car with a screwdriver.
Anyways, I've decided to just screw it all and let the mechanic give it a try before he does the safety inspection. Of course he will replace the entire thing in exactly 13 seconds and make me look incredibly foolish, but after my Car Drama Hour (a play in one act) performance yesterday, my pride is ready to take that hit.
----------------------------------
My boss is in complete terror of the hurricane barreling down on Texas. She is in full End-Times-are-nigh freak out mode, complete with frantic stockpiling of batteries, bottled water, and gasoline. But I admire her resourcefulness, particularly when all the gas stations in the area started shutting down and she managed to fill her own car up and get me and my TOM to the location and topped off by the sheer force of her personality.
While this fill up was going on, the attendant (of course it was a full service gas station. We are high class in Highland Park) asked me if she was my girlfriend. Now, not to hate on my boss, who is awesome in her own insane way, but I am literally half her age. There are many ways to take a question like that: A) I look really old, B) She looks really young, C) the attendant is blind, or D) I look like one of those young, shiny, kept men that you see.
I decided to go with a mixture of B & C, along with a bit the secret answer E) that the attendant was sort of flirting with me. Because A & D are just too depressing to even consider.
In any case, I've got a full tank of gas, 50 tea light candles, and a bag of Oreos with which to wait any storm out. I think I'm prepared.
------------------------------
Latest projections on the storm have it making landfall directly over Orange. I can get hold of no one down there by phone. Are you kidding me with that "Due to that hurricane in that area, your call cannot be completed" shit? I am reduced to blindly hoping everyone is safe down there. I feel remarkably afraid. Seriously y'all, be safe.
And I swear to God, Brint, if you try to go stand out by a window during this storm, I will punch you in the face myself.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Creative Death
As God as my witness, I refuse to keep resorting to movie reviews to take up blog space. I will post something witty and insightful for once (Lies!) and ignore all the movies I went to this weekend (Broken Flowers, very good, very awkward. Cry_Wolf, much better than I expected, still supremely lame.)
Instead I'm going to discuss food. So I've been completely remiss this week in actually getting up early enough to make up my little lunch to put in a little paper sack to bring with me to my little workplace. I now get up 10 minutes before I need to leave the house and then spend wads of money going out to lunch, a practice that will no doubt bankrupt me at the earliest opportunity.
But this has left me with a very intimate knowledge of all the fast food restaurants within a 15 minute radius of my office. There are few life lessons to be learned from this, but the ones that I've gathered are very close to my heart.
Instead I'm going to discuss food. So I've been completely remiss this week in actually getting up early enough to make up my little lunch to put in a little paper sack to bring with me to my little workplace. I now get up 10 minutes before I need to leave the house and then spend wads of money going out to lunch, a practice that will no doubt bankrupt me at the earliest opportunity.
But this has left me with a very intimate knowledge of all the fast food restaurants within a 15 minute radius of my office. There are few life lessons to be learned from this, but the ones that I've gathered are very close to my heart.
- The Cabo Chicken Sandwich from Quiznos might be the single most delicious sandwich on the entire planet. And I have eaten a lot of sandwiches. This thing combines basically everything that I love in sandwich-form: chicken, guacamole, bacon, melty cheese, and tangy spicy dressing all housed in the exact portion that I can eat the entire thing and feel exactly full. I know I'm gushing about a sandwich, but I don't care, because it is that good.
- Wendy's is nice and ridonkulosly cheap, but I seem physically incapable of going in there without making a fool of myself. It's either a trip and fall with all my food, or I run into the pull door thinking it's a push, or I get distracted and order a "Sour cheese baked potato" or what have you. I almost never go there anymore, out of sheer superstitious fear.
- McDonald's houses every manner of crazed wacko that you can find in a restaurant, all day long. However, there are always a lot of lone people reading books there, just like me, so I feel very at home among the wackos. Plus, I swear their fries have actually gotten more delicious over the past 3 months. When they do my autopsy, I feel confident that my cause of death will be listed as "Whole McDonald's french fry lodged in his aorta." And I'm okay with that.
- Taco Cabana is easily the least hygienic restaurant on the face of the Earth. I clean my kitchen at most once every 8 days and by that final day I usually get to it by remarking "This is exactly how the Black Plague got started." And yet, Taco C makes that place look like a sterile lab. Still, the food is delicious and features the best food-to-money-spent ratio of all the major chains (Taco Bell not included, as there is not one within my 15 minute radius).
- Subway is sort of gross, yo. But it gets the title of Chain Closest to my Office, so I go there most often. I don't know what alleged-genius came up with that whole toasted sub thing, but that toaster oven in Subway is basically the exact opposite of what makes Quiznos' toasted subs good. Everything that comes out of that half-microwave/half-toaster spawn of Satan tastes the same, sort of metallic and crunchy, like old croutons that have been exposed to too much iron. Blech.
That's all I got, although I'm gonna go ahead and put out a notice - everyone in the world needs to try the Southern Catfish from Good Eats that they have on special on Monday nights. It's the goddamn best fish that's ever fished, anywhere. Tastes like awesome.
Friday, September 16, 2005
B&N - Now with Inappropriate Cursing
Turns out I'm not the only one in my company with a distaste for morale building days. There's a whole seething pile of resentment out there, just waiting to spill out.
I just talked to a guy in a different office who ended our coversation with the bon mot "motherfuckin' employee recognition, my ass."
My name is Jason and I approve of this message.
I just talked to a guy in a different office who ended our coversation with the bon mot "motherfuckin' employee recognition, my ass."
My name is Jason and I approve of this message.
Anywhere But Here
I would rather be anywhere else in the world right now than in my office. Edge of an active volcano, the middle of a herd of goats in Idaho, on a raft somewhere in the Pacific Ocean with no companion other than a volleyball - anywhere.
I will give no specifics because I like being able to work at my company, but they are having what is literally the stupidest employee morale day I have ever come remotely in contact with. And in that I'm including the time that I worked as a temp for the employee day up in Plano where grown men were basically forced to engage in carnival games and beat on each other with foam bats.
It combines everything I hate about corporate culture, fake sentiment, really stupid slogans, and bad t-shirts into one complete horror of a day that makes me just want to curl into a tiny ball under my desk.
And I swear, if one more person says the slogan to me today there will be dire consequences.
--------
An update - before I even managed to post this, two different people called me and chirped the slogan into my ear. I hate people. This day cannot end fast enough.
I will give no specifics because I like being able to work at my company, but they are having what is literally the stupidest employee morale day I have ever come remotely in contact with. And in that I'm including the time that I worked as a temp for the employee day up in Plano where grown men were basically forced to engage in carnival games and beat on each other with foam bats.
It combines everything I hate about corporate culture, fake sentiment, really stupid slogans, and bad t-shirts into one complete horror of a day that makes me just want to curl into a tiny ball under my desk.
And I swear, if one more person says the slogan to me today there will be dire consequences.
--------
An update - before I even managed to post this, two different people called me and chirped the slogan into my ear. I hate people. This day cannot end fast enough.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Asleep at the Wheel
Did you ever have one of those days where you decide to go to bed, but then you can't sleep so you get up and start writing something instead because your mind has been wandering around an idea for a story for a week and then you think it's going very well so you keep at it much longer than you should and end up not getting to bed until well after 2:00 and thus will be utter crap and possibly late for work the next day and then you get to the end and go back to read it all over and realize that it makes not a damn bit of sense and was an utter waste of time?
That may be a little specific, but it's very applicable to me. And it was followed by absolutely disturbing dream wherein I was going on a month long trip to Europe with my friends, except I arrived at the airport with no tickets, no passport, an empty backpack, and was forced to start turning tricks to make my way on the trip.
So today I am utter crap and can't seem to focus my mind on any one task for longer than 7 minutes.
--------------------------------
I am so easily startled these days. A couple of nights ago, I has just gotten back from the store and was parking my truck behind my apartment. I went to get out of the car, but turned back to grab my cell phone from the passenger seat. When I turned around to step out, there was the guy from upstairs right there walking his dog. I was so surprised that I went "Yeargh!" and hit my head on the doorframe. This sent the dog into a mad barking spiral and further cemented my neighbor's conviction that I am the weirdest person in the world.
Yesterday at work I had to take three big boxes downstairs. They were basically empty, but huge, so when I was carrying them they blocked my field of vision and towered slightly over my head. I hopped in the elevator and swiped the ground floor button and leaned against the back wall. When I heard the ding that signaled the doors were opening, I turned sideways to be able to make sure the doorway was clear before I walked out (don't want to run into anyone and cause an embarrassing scene, you understand) and found myself face-to-face with a huge guy in overalls who had apparently gotten on the elevator at the same time I had. As I had been thinking that I was alone, his presence in my immediate vicinity caused me to go, and I quote, "Ha-Yeerr!" and overbalance the boxes so they started to fall. I tried to walk forward to compensate and catch them before they hit the ground, and managed to slam myself into the wall of the elevator, hitting every single floor button, along with the big red one that makes the alarm sound.
When I finally got out of the elevator, I found that my antics had been witnessed by about 9 people waiting to get on the elevator, each of whom shot me a nice long dirty look when they realized that due to my incompetence they would now be stopping at every floor on their way up.
And just to make the day complete, the guy in overalls turned to me and said "Well you're a skittish one, aren't'cha?"
this is me in grade nine, baby, this is me in grade nine.
That may be a little specific, but it's very applicable to me. And it was followed by absolutely disturbing dream wherein I was going on a month long trip to Europe with my friends, except I arrived at the airport with no tickets, no passport, an empty backpack, and was forced to start turning tricks to make my way on the trip.
So today I am utter crap and can't seem to focus my mind on any one task for longer than 7 minutes.
--------------------------------
I am so easily startled these days. A couple of nights ago, I has just gotten back from the store and was parking my truck behind my apartment. I went to get out of the car, but turned back to grab my cell phone from the passenger seat. When I turned around to step out, there was the guy from upstairs right there walking his dog. I was so surprised that I went "Yeargh!" and hit my head on the doorframe. This sent the dog into a mad barking spiral and further cemented my neighbor's conviction that I am the weirdest person in the world.
Yesterday at work I had to take three big boxes downstairs. They were basically empty, but huge, so when I was carrying them they blocked my field of vision and towered slightly over my head. I hopped in the elevator and swiped the ground floor button and leaned against the back wall. When I heard the ding that signaled the doors were opening, I turned sideways to be able to make sure the doorway was clear before I walked out (don't want to run into anyone and cause an embarrassing scene, you understand) and found myself face-to-face with a huge guy in overalls who had apparently gotten on the elevator at the same time I had. As I had been thinking that I was alone, his presence in my immediate vicinity caused me to go, and I quote, "Ha-Yeerr!" and overbalance the boxes so they started to fall. I tried to walk forward to compensate and catch them before they hit the ground, and managed to slam myself into the wall of the elevator, hitting every single floor button, along with the big red one that makes the alarm sound.
When I finally got out of the elevator, I found that my antics had been witnessed by about 9 people waiting to get on the elevator, each of whom shot me a nice long dirty look when they realized that due to my incompetence they would now be stopping at every floor on their way up.
And just to make the day complete, the guy in overalls turned to me and said "Well you're a skittish one, aren't'cha?"
this is me in grade nine, baby, this is me in grade nine.
Monday, September 12, 2005
A Christmas Miracle
So we won.
And it was awesome.
--------------
Wait, let's back up and go through this whole thing sequentially.
We went to a matinee of The Constant Gardener. Theoretically this left us a full hour to go home and putz around before heading over to campus to meet up with everyone and get there in time for the pregame show and get good seats in the student section. The hour comes and goes. Frank asks if we really have to leave right then. I get ready to beanie slap him for his impertinence, when I realize that we don't have to leave at that moment. We have seen pregame before, we will see it again. We decide instead to mosey on over when the urge strikes us.
(There is even discussion about leaving after half-time. Or perhaps just showing up for half-time and skipping the first half entirely. We are apparently not keen on the prospects for this game. They beat Oklahoma for God's sake.)
We leave the house with 20 minutes until kickoff. I fully expect to be jammed in traffic for the entirety of the first quarter. Instead, it is completely smooth sailing, and my usual spot for parking is open. While in transit to the stadium, I make my weekly prediction on the score: 28-17, SMU winning, I say. Frank scoffs, but refuses to commit to a number. We make it to the stadium and into the bowl before pregame is even finished. However, the student section is already filled and they are directing students up to the upper deck. I'm willing to just go with the flow, but Frank insists on good seats, by God. We snake our way over to the alumni band section and join the ranks of the unaffiliated band alumni without instruments. We all are wearing the exact same shirt. It is precious.
First quarter goes by. My constant question of "Are we winning yet?" is met with continual negatives. But we are only down by 3. A 44 to 0 loss is not out of the question, but is at least unlikely.
Second quarter comes and it's pure insanity. While the guys in the band are gone, SMU marches down the field and scores. I don't think I've ever seen SMU have a drive that lasted the entire course of the field, but there it was. My voice gets a nice long workout. As the quarter nears the end, I see the first ever successful play-action pass for a touchdown in my SMU career and it was so beautiful that I almost wept. Voice is relatively gone, but that does not keep me from yelling during halftime. Once again, sitting on the student side makes me miss the best song from the band. Oh well.
Third Quarter starts out with TCU running back the opening kickoff. There is a sense of inevitability about the whole thing, but we bear it well. We're used to this sort of thing. JL comes by the unaffiliated alumni section to remind us "No matter what, we've already scored more points on them than Oklahoma." Spirits slightly brightened. Suddenly, it's the end of the third quarter and we're still winning by 4. At this point I still firmly believe that there is no hope. I am well conditioned in "the glass is three-quarters empty and about to be crushed under the heel of a 100 yard kick off return" school of philosophy.
Five minutes or so into the fourth quarter, SMU scores again, by freaking running it up the middle. That doesn't happen. Ever. I think it's right around here that my voice became useless. While I continued to yell, there would be periodic stops to cough up a lung, or to wait for my vocal cords to stop throbbing. From here on in, it's just like nothing can stop the eventuality. Devon tries to jinx us by invoking an ancient evil curse. I spit upon the ground and swear a blood oath that I will end her life if she has screwed this up for us. TCU misses, like, 17 consecutive field goals. We miss, like 6, but each time I thank God because I don't want them to get a chance to run back a kickoff for a touchdown. The crowd starts celebrating at 7:00 left. I once again beg the world to stop jinxing us. I run out of saliva to spit for the curses. At 4:00 I look down into the band crowd and Sean gives me a look that sums up every feeling I had at the moment, which in internet speak is something like OMFGWTFBBQ, only moreso. I turn to Devon and say "We've lost surer things than this. I still don't believe it's possible."
We're down to almost exactly 1:00 left. At this point, SMU recovers another interception at our own 15 or so, and TCU is out of time-outs. This officially means victory and I turn to Frank and say "WE WON" and proceed to freak out.
Then they pop up a notice that the play is under review. At this point I realize that God is just toying with me, had just been waiting for the point that I gave in and thought we were actually gonna pull it off. They're going to come back, give the ball back to TCU, they will score on the next play, onside kick and score again all in the last 15 seconds, just in time to so thoroughly crush my spirit that I will be an unrecognizable blob with tiny, tiny little pony ears.
The review goes in SMU's favor. The world implodes as hell ices over and my voice reaches gravel status. Final score 21-10. The general feeling is pure euphoria tinged with complete disbelief. I call everyone who is not there, in order to yell nonsense into my cell phone. We wander our way across campus to Devon's apartment randomly chanting derogatory slogans about TCU as if we are drunk (we are not). Where the guys are too, indeed.
My old man status is confirmed as we skip any sort of party and instead hang out at Devon's with a movie and a box of Pocky. But yeah, anyways.
So we won. And it was awesome.
And it was awesome.
--------------
Wait, let's back up and go through this whole thing sequentially.
We went to a matinee of The Constant Gardener. Theoretically this left us a full hour to go home and putz around before heading over to campus to meet up with everyone and get there in time for the pregame show and get good seats in the student section. The hour comes and goes. Frank asks if we really have to leave right then. I get ready to beanie slap him for his impertinence, when I realize that we don't have to leave at that moment. We have seen pregame before, we will see it again. We decide instead to mosey on over when the urge strikes us.
(There is even discussion about leaving after half-time. Or perhaps just showing up for half-time and skipping the first half entirely. We are apparently not keen on the prospects for this game. They beat Oklahoma for God's sake.)
We leave the house with 20 minutes until kickoff. I fully expect to be jammed in traffic for the entirety of the first quarter. Instead, it is completely smooth sailing, and my usual spot for parking is open. While in transit to the stadium, I make my weekly prediction on the score: 28-17, SMU winning, I say. Frank scoffs, but refuses to commit to a number. We make it to the stadium and into the bowl before pregame is even finished. However, the student section is already filled and they are directing students up to the upper deck. I'm willing to just go with the flow, but Frank insists on good seats, by God. We snake our way over to the alumni band section and join the ranks of the unaffiliated band alumni without instruments. We all are wearing the exact same shirt. It is precious.
First quarter goes by. My constant question of "Are we winning yet?" is met with continual negatives. But we are only down by 3. A 44 to 0 loss is not out of the question, but is at least unlikely.
Second quarter comes and it's pure insanity. While the guys in the band are gone, SMU marches down the field and scores. I don't think I've ever seen SMU have a drive that lasted the entire course of the field, but there it was. My voice gets a nice long workout. As the quarter nears the end, I see the first ever successful play-action pass for a touchdown in my SMU career and it was so beautiful that I almost wept. Voice is relatively gone, but that does not keep me from yelling during halftime. Once again, sitting on the student side makes me miss the best song from the band. Oh well.
Third Quarter starts out with TCU running back the opening kickoff. There is a sense of inevitability about the whole thing, but we bear it well. We're used to this sort of thing. JL comes by the unaffiliated alumni section to remind us "No matter what, we've already scored more points on them than Oklahoma." Spirits slightly brightened. Suddenly, it's the end of the third quarter and we're still winning by 4. At this point I still firmly believe that there is no hope. I am well conditioned in "the glass is three-quarters empty and about to be crushed under the heel of a 100 yard kick off return" school of philosophy.
Five minutes or so into the fourth quarter, SMU scores again, by freaking running it up the middle. That doesn't happen. Ever. I think it's right around here that my voice became useless. While I continued to yell, there would be periodic stops to cough up a lung, or to wait for my vocal cords to stop throbbing. From here on in, it's just like nothing can stop the eventuality. Devon tries to jinx us by invoking an ancient evil curse. I spit upon the ground and swear a blood oath that I will end her life if she has screwed this up for us. TCU misses, like, 17 consecutive field goals. We miss, like 6, but each time I thank God because I don't want them to get a chance to run back a kickoff for a touchdown. The crowd starts celebrating at 7:00 left. I once again beg the world to stop jinxing us. I run out of saliva to spit for the curses. At 4:00 I look down into the band crowd and Sean gives me a look that sums up every feeling I had at the moment, which in internet speak is something like OMFGWTFBBQ, only moreso. I turn to Devon and say "We've lost surer things than this. I still don't believe it's possible."
We're down to almost exactly 1:00 left. At this point, SMU recovers another interception at our own 15 or so, and TCU is out of time-outs. This officially means victory and I turn to Frank and say "WE WON" and proceed to freak out.
Then they pop up a notice that the play is under review. At this point I realize that God is just toying with me, had just been waiting for the point that I gave in and thought we were actually gonna pull it off. They're going to come back, give the ball back to TCU, they will score on the next play, onside kick and score again all in the last 15 seconds, just in time to so thoroughly crush my spirit that I will be an unrecognizable blob with tiny, tiny little pony ears.
The review goes in SMU's favor. The world implodes as hell ices over and my voice reaches gravel status. Final score 21-10. The general feeling is pure euphoria tinged with complete disbelief. I call everyone who is not there, in order to yell nonsense into my cell phone. We wander our way across campus to Devon's apartment randomly chanting derogatory slogans about TCU as if we are drunk (we are not). Where the guys are too, indeed.
My old man status is confirmed as we skip any sort of party and instead hang out at Devon's with a movie and a box of Pocky. But yeah, anyways.
So we won. And it was awesome.
In Which I Continue to Hate On All Things Matt Damon Related
Since I spent the majority of my weekend inside darkened movie theatres, it would be a shame to let all that movie experience go to waste. In no important order, weekend movie roundup.
The Exorcism of Emily Rose - good, but not all that scary. Very lawyerly and full of Satan. The director was a big fan of hallways. I'm impressed by the trailer people's ability to make the previews universally appealing to the masses on such little available material. Very rarely can you go into a movie completely unaware of the two lead actors in the movie. But seriously, if you haven't seen the movie, how many of you know that Laura Linney is the star? Or that Tom Wilkinson will have the majority of the screentime? Anyways. There were no yell out loud actual scares, but the tone of the movie is very nice, and the pacing is perfect all the way through. Also, a random inappropriate Rachmaninoff piece makes for a really nice unintentionally hilarious moment, for me at least. Can you tell I have no consistent review of this movie? Just random bits that float out at me. Was good though. And I now have an easy way to scare the bejesus out of Frank in the middle of the night. Good times.
The Constant Gardener - I was expecting more. It was really good, but so methodically paced that it almost felt like dragging. Seeing as it's LeCarre, I expected more spies and excitement, but instead it was a very steady reveal. I should have felt a lot more tension by the end, but the bottom seemed to drop out for me. The acting was completely top notch though, and all the camera work was very pretty (it's blue because he's sad. And it's also raining, because he's very sad.). Rachel Weisz continues her perfect record as actress who has never been in a movie I didn't at least like. And I was a little shocked at how pleasant it was to have a movie not feel the need to constantly hit you over the head with the plot (except once or twice, just to make sure everyone was on the same page). It makes me feel vaguely literate and urbane when there are subtleties to be found in a movie. Worth seeing just for the acting.
Also: Brokeback Mountain trailer. I mean, seriously, I can feel this movie ripping my insides out. The story is only like 10 pages long, but it's the saddest thing in the world. In movie form with Heath Ledger, I will be a mess. And it will be awesome. Oh, and I know the movie is ruined for me because I've read the story and all, but could you maybe not show the ending during the trailer? It makes me look weird to get all choked up at what looks like absolutely nothing. I just can't get over this movie - gay cowboys, Michelle Williams(!), and Jake Gyllenhaal. The only sad thing is that it doesn't actually come out until December. It's best to prolong the agony, I suppose. Anyways, yeah, awesome.
The Brothers Grimm - I....what? Seriously, what was going on there? Let's go for a quick rundown of the errors, starting with most egregious and working our way down.
The Exorcism of Emily Rose - good, but not all that scary. Very lawyerly and full of Satan. The director was a big fan of hallways. I'm impressed by the trailer people's ability to make the previews universally appealing to the masses on such little available material. Very rarely can you go into a movie completely unaware of the two lead actors in the movie. But seriously, if you haven't seen the movie, how many of you know that Laura Linney is the star? Or that Tom Wilkinson will have the majority of the screentime? Anyways. There were no yell out loud actual scares, but the tone of the movie is very nice, and the pacing is perfect all the way through. Also, a random inappropriate Rachmaninoff piece makes for a really nice unintentionally hilarious moment, for me at least. Can you tell I have no consistent review of this movie? Just random bits that float out at me. Was good though. And I now have an easy way to scare the bejesus out of Frank in the middle of the night. Good times.
The Constant Gardener - I was expecting more. It was really good, but so methodically paced that it almost felt like dragging. Seeing as it's LeCarre, I expected more spies and excitement, but instead it was a very steady reveal. I should have felt a lot more tension by the end, but the bottom seemed to drop out for me. The acting was completely top notch though, and all the camera work was very pretty (it's blue because he's sad. And it's also raining, because he's very sad.). Rachel Weisz continues her perfect record as actress who has never been in a movie I didn't at least like. And I was a little shocked at how pleasant it was to have a movie not feel the need to constantly hit you over the head with the plot (except once or twice, just to make sure everyone was on the same page). It makes me feel vaguely literate and urbane when there are subtleties to be found in a movie. Worth seeing just for the acting.
Also: Brokeback Mountain trailer. I mean, seriously, I can feel this movie ripping my insides out. The story is only like 10 pages long, but it's the saddest thing in the world. In movie form with Heath Ledger, I will be a mess. And it will be awesome. Oh, and I know the movie is ruined for me because I've read the story and all, but could you maybe not show the ending during the trailer? It makes me look weird to get all choked up at what looks like absolutely nothing. I just can't get over this movie - gay cowboys, Michelle Williams(!), and Jake Gyllenhaal. The only sad thing is that it doesn't actually come out until December. It's best to prolong the agony, I suppose. Anyways, yeah, awesome.
The Brothers Grimm - I....what? Seriously, what was going on there? Let's go for a quick rundown of the errors, starting with most egregious and working our way down.
- This movie was edited by a 10 year old child who was off his ADHD medication for the day. Quick, bizarre cuts during action scenes, endings of scenes abruptly cut off, or just cut off in the middle of the scene for that matter, or hey, just missing outright. 3 characters will be at different places in a haunted forest, then suddenly they're in a group together running through a nearby field. Chick opens her mouth to respond to a line from Matt Damon, and CUT. Yes. Of course.
- Complete character reversals, lack of any characterization in the first place, stock caricatures anywhere else. Snooty French general? Check. Beautiful angry heroine with a heart of gold? Check. Fat man / skinny man comic relief duo? Yes, please. Just go down the line. They're all there. And for no good reason. The only person who remotely gets a pass is Heath Ledger, who plays his character so completely over the top, either for laughs, or just to chew the scenery, or because he was bored that day of shooting or whatever, but he was fun. And impassioned and a little goofy. Everyone else? Not so much. Also, shut up Matt Damon. You no longer are on my list of potentially good things. Your face continues to anger me.
- Plot? I see what they were going for, but no. There was a good movie hiding in there somewhere. The characters could have been compelling. The storyline is utter crap, but could have been focused in a lot and salvaged. Instead, they keep piling more crap on even as the movie is heading to the climax, and barely stop to roll the credits. I get that it's a riff on fairytales, it's not gonna make perfect sense, but it could have been so much better had they nailed down what they were going for ahead of time. Combine the plot with the editing and all you have is a headache and a half.
- Okay, this is getting a little vitriolic, so I'll pull back here. Last quick note: what was the tone they were looking for here? They keep playing for some huge obvious laughs, then hop back just as quickly into another dark confrontation on the whole magic beans debacle. Not that tones can't shift, but at least keep your focus within the same set of lines.
Some good things that came out of this:
- All of the Heath Ledger stuff, I can't emphasize that enough. The only real saving grace in the whole thing.
- The little kids getting taken scenes. Excellently creepy and overdone, it's in these scenes where you can tell that this movie could have been really good. The setting and the feeling during all three of them were perfect. And the bit with the mud and the gingerbread man was absolutely just disturbing. Had I been a small child, I would be scarred for life. So, bravo there.
- The music, which was some really nice riffing on old lullabies and what have you. Sufficiently creepy when needed.
Wow, that was a lot of talking. Anyways, unrecommended, but it wouldn't a bad rental for a movie night. Especially if you have access to some nice drinks.
In related news, I'm now the palest thing on the planet and can no longer function in direct sunlight. How was your weekend?
Friday, September 09, 2005
The O.C. - The O. Suck, same difference
Have I mentioned lately that The O.C. is dead to me?
Dead to Me!
I was all relatively excited, a not that bad season finale, some good looking previews for the premiere, and an early start date so there's nothing to compete with? Sign me up.
And then...it's crap. Marissa neither goes to jail for shooting Trey, nor does she get stuck with a shiv made from an old toothbrush while in said jail. Which is primarily what I was looking for in the opening of season 3. Instead, we get someone in a coma from getting shot in the shoulder, who then is able to wander out of the hospital 2 days after he wakes up. Bravo, indeed, writers.
Other bits included just to piss me off, apparently:
Dead to Me!
I was all relatively excited, a not that bad season finale, some good looking previews for the premiere, and an early start date so there's nothing to compete with? Sign me up.
And then...it's crap. Marissa neither goes to jail for shooting Trey, nor does she get stuck with a shiv made from an old toothbrush while in said jail. Which is primarily what I was looking for in the opening of season 3. Instead, we get someone in a coma from getting shot in the shoulder, who then is able to wander out of the hospital 2 days after he wakes up. Bravo, indeed, writers.
Other bits included just to piss me off, apparently:
- Kirsten's alcoholism is all based on her father, and has nothing to do with the fact that she's married to an asshole. And that chick from Star Trek is stalking her in what might be the most overly dramatic way possible.
- Seth knows nothing about Ryan? No hobbies, no movies, apparently he is regulated to standing around offering lame one-liners and going along with nonsensical plans. Best friends/brothers. For the love of God, where is the dynamic that was the whole reason for the show in the first place?
- Sandy apparently still sucks, both as a lawyer and in his relationships (didn't he used to like Jimmy? I have vague recollections...)
- Of course no one believes that Marissa shot Trey. There could obviously never be any forensic evidence that would indicate the truth. Do they think that their audience has never seen a single episode of, say, CSI, or L&O? Just....arg. I'm not saying I need realism, but there are 140 different ways you could have gone with this story, and the one you picked might possibly be the worst one, unless you count the options that include the return of Jess, or possibly Oliver.
Small saving graces:
- Julie Cooper is still awesome and evil, which I must respect, even if it was a bit much. That part with the pink high heels? Priceless.
- Beach frolicking - very cute.
- Every word uttered by Rachel Bilson.
- The scene at the end where Ryan was all sad and leaning on Sandy. (Which was ruined by the huge Welcome to Newport sign in the background. I know light symbolism has never been your strong point, but come on.)
I don't think I can take this season for very long. In other news, that Reunion show was just ridiculous: bad acting, anvils raining from the sky, predictable plots, and the return of Hailey from The OC. That said, I am much more invested in that than The OC. Cute boys! Illegitimate love childrens! Graham from My SoCalled Life! Awesome '80s soundtrack! Very vaguely promising.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Out of Breath Posting
Just in case you were thinking anything had changed, my truck is still an oven. Ugh. I am literally out of breath, from doing nothing except driving in my truck with the windows up. And my teeth are throbbing. Sucks.
I have nothing of substance to say. I just want to make the observation that the high that I get from submitting a perfect file in the mortgage processing business is only about 1/8th of the high that I used to get from a perfect 1st compile when programming.
And yet, it's still damn good.
But still, just imagine the possibilities.
(Confession: I sort of miss programming. Who would have ever guessed that would be true? Not me, that's for sure.)
I have nothing of substance to say. I just want to make the observation that the high that I get from submitting a perfect file in the mortgage processing business is only about 1/8th of the high that I used to get from a perfect 1st compile when programming.
And yet, it's still damn good.
But still, just imagine the possibilities.
(Confession: I sort of miss programming. Who would have ever guessed that would be true? Not me, that's for sure.)
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Gah.
Just a small note to end the day: Do you have any idea how many paper cuts I have gotten on my two hands today?
Do you?
DO YOU?
Well I'll tell you.
Seven.
7!
And they all hurt like hell. Stupid sharp paper.
Do you?
DO YOU?
Well I'll tell you.
Seven.
7!
And they all hurt like hell. Stupid sharp paper.
This Just In...Walmart = Redneck
I'm not entirely sure when I became an elitist snob. Maybe it began when I started spelling theater "theatre." Or maybe when I started to openly mock people who like Jessica Simpson. We can never be sure.
But, oh yes, I've become a snob.
Case in point: Yesterday I had to go get a key to my apartment made so that Frank would have some way to enter the apartment that did not involve an unlocked door and a flashing neon sign that said "Door's Open, Please Come On In And Steal My Huge TV." Despite living in a city that is larger than some northern states, the only place that makes keys in Dallas is Walmart. And the nearest Walmart is outside the 635 loop, which means it's a fullblown roadtrip to get out there from my house. I, of course, chose the path of least resistance and brainpower, choosing to make this trip from my office, at rush hour, when I get off work. Which meant that the 6 mile trip from my office to Walmart manages to take just over 37 minutes and I get flipped off twice in the process (returned only once, because I am a gentleman).
I get to the store, walk in the door, and it's bedlam - sheer redneck insanity purified, distilled and capped into a single enclosed warehouse space. Tiny children run barefoot across the plains of the clothing section. Two teenage boys, each wearing a pair of pants that could easily house at least two of them within the waistband and drooping down somewhere near their knees, are throwing a football across the jewelry section. Someone has crashed a cart into a display of Sam's Club soda, leaving a huge sugary, fizzing lake blocking off an entire thoroughfare.
I carefully pick my way back to the camouflage/sporting goods/gun section where I assume the key making machine is. After waiting in line behind one of the largest individuals I have met in real life, who purchased one of the largest knives I have ever seen (possibly as a dinner knife. This guy was huge.), I get to an associate who can make me a key.
Only Walmart is out of normal keys. All they have are their 'wacky' keys, which are keys that have been painted with some form of decoration that covers the entire length of the key. At this point my faith in Walmart breaks down. Because apparently Walmart's target market is the deeply ingrained southern redneck.
All available selections in their "Wacky Key" line:
But, oh yes, I've become a snob.
Case in point: Yesterday I had to go get a key to my apartment made so that Frank would have some way to enter the apartment that did not involve an unlocked door and a flashing neon sign that said "Door's Open, Please Come On In And Steal My Huge TV." Despite living in a city that is larger than some northern states, the only place that makes keys in Dallas is Walmart. And the nearest Walmart is outside the 635 loop, which means it's a fullblown roadtrip to get out there from my house. I, of course, chose the path of least resistance and brainpower, choosing to make this trip from my office, at rush hour, when I get off work. Which meant that the 6 mile trip from my office to Walmart manages to take just over 37 minutes and I get flipped off twice in the process (returned only once, because I am a gentleman).
I get to the store, walk in the door, and it's bedlam - sheer redneck insanity purified, distilled and capped into a single enclosed warehouse space. Tiny children run barefoot across the plains of the clothing section. Two teenage boys, each wearing a pair of pants that could easily house at least two of them within the waistband and drooping down somewhere near their knees, are throwing a football across the jewelry section. Someone has crashed a cart into a display of Sam's Club soda, leaving a huge sugary, fizzing lake blocking off an entire thoroughfare.
I carefully pick my way back to the camouflage/sporting goods/gun section where I assume the key making machine is. After waiting in line behind one of the largest individuals I have met in real life, who purchased one of the largest knives I have ever seen (possibly as a dinner knife. This guy was huge.), I get to an associate who can make me a key.
Only Walmart is out of normal keys. All they have are their 'wacky' keys, which are keys that have been painted with some form of decoration that covers the entire length of the key. At this point my faith in Walmart breaks down. Because apparently Walmart's target market is the deeply ingrained southern redneck.
All available selections in their "Wacky Key" line:
- NASCAR keys, at least 5 unique kinds were available, each sporting a name and number of the particular racer of your choice. (Show your love for driving around in a circle - With a key!)
- America keys. These included the American flag (by itself), or American Flag with Bald Eagle head, or the Sept. 11 commemorative key with the American flag with that goddamn crying eagle on it. (Show your love for hilariously creepy over-the-top patriotic sentiment - With a key!)
- The Dale Earnheart commemorative key, special edition, done in (of course very tasteful) black with some sort of in memorandum message on it, I didn't get too close. (Honor the famous dead - With a key!)
- The camouflaged key, done in either your choice of brown or green foliage, for those times when your key needs to blend into the background before taking out a deer. (Kill woodland creatures - With a key!)
The only thing I can think of that they were missing were the Bud Light commemorative key designs, or perhaps one featuring women with very little clothes on.
In the end, I went with the green camouflage, so that the next time I drop my key into a pile of leaves, I will never ever find it. The trip back to the checkout was an adventure in itself, capped off by the fact that when I got through the line to leave, the cashier remarked "Wow, that is one awesome key! Where'd you get that?" I did not answer, in the hopes that she may one day figure it out for herself, considering SHE WAS RINGING IT UP RIGHT THEN IN HER OWN STORE.
My brain. It hurts.
Also, turns out I am an elitist prick. Who would have guessed?
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Influx of Insults
Scene One
So on Sunday when we were out picking up the movies for the party, I got a nice little jab to my ego at the checkout counter.
Cashier: Credit? Can I see your ID?
[Jason flashes the ID]
Cashier: [looks up at Jason, gives him the eye] Uh. Okay. [Goes back to typing] That doesn't really look like you.
Jason: ....?
Cashier: I mean, don't take this offensively, but it looks like someone much younger.
Jason: [dies]
Cashier: No! I just mean....like...the facial hair. Yeah. Totally.
Frank: [explodes from the combined total of the irony of the situation and his no-commenting]
---------------------
Sigh. It's just not fair. It wasn't even my birthday! Frank is the old one! Do these people even know what kind of funk a comment like that can throw a homosexual into? A pit of despair out of which there is no escape.
---------------------
Scene Two
[Today at work. Jason is washing his hands at the sink in the bathroom. Guy he knows walks over to the other sink, also starts washing.]
Guy I Know: Hey.
Jason: Hey.
GIK: Have a nice weekend?
Jason: Oh, you know, pretty good. You?
GIK: [finishes washing, turns to grab a paper towel, turning in Jason's direction] Oh yeah, good stu...[catches sight of Jason] Oh! So, wow. Your hair.
Jason: [The fuck?] Hmm?
GIK: I...uh...no. It's just, your hair has sort of reached...crisis proportions, hasn't it? [upon Jason's look of bewilderment] Or, you know, maybe that's what you're going for? I gotta go. [Runs off]
-----------------------------
I....what? I will give him huge props because he accidentally quoted one of my favorite lines from Daria, but the fact remains. He called my hair a crisis. Okay, maybe it's a little long on top. And maybe it's pointing straight up in the front. And maybe it adds 3.5 inches to my height at its apex. Still. Crisis proportions? Really?
In conclusion, this is why I don't talk to people.
So on Sunday when we were out picking up the movies for the party, I got a nice little jab to my ego at the checkout counter.
Cashier: Credit? Can I see your ID?
[Jason flashes the ID]
Cashier: [looks up at Jason, gives him the eye] Uh. Okay. [Goes back to typing] That doesn't really look like you.
Jason: ....?
Cashier: I mean, don't take this offensively, but it looks like someone much younger.
Jason: [dies]
Cashier: No! I just mean....like...the facial hair. Yeah. Totally.
Frank: [explodes from the combined total of the irony of the situation and his no-commenting]
---------------------
Sigh. It's just not fair. It wasn't even my birthday! Frank is the old one! Do these people even know what kind of funk a comment like that can throw a homosexual into? A pit of despair out of which there is no escape.
---------------------
Scene Two
[Today at work. Jason is washing his hands at the sink in the bathroom. Guy he knows walks over to the other sink, also starts washing.]
Guy I Know: Hey.
Jason: Hey.
GIK: Have a nice weekend?
Jason: Oh, you know, pretty good. You?
GIK: [finishes washing, turns to grab a paper towel, turning in Jason's direction] Oh yeah, good stu...[catches sight of Jason] Oh! So, wow. Your hair.
Jason: [The fuck?] Hmm?
GIK: I...uh...no. It's just, your hair has sort of reached...crisis proportions, hasn't it? [upon Jason's look of bewilderment] Or, you know, maybe that's what you're going for? I gotta go. [Runs off]
-----------------------------
I....what? I will give him huge props because he accidentally quoted one of my favorite lines from Daria, but the fact remains. He called my hair a crisis. Okay, maybe it's a little long on top. And maybe it's pointing straight up in the front. And maybe it adds 3.5 inches to my height at its apex. Still. Crisis proportions? Really?
In conclusion, this is why I don't talk to people.
Exhausted Travelogue
I've just received my very first death threat concerning blog posting. Namely that I will be killed if I don't do it more often. Which means that I've finally arrived in the world, so to speak. In any case, it's a sign that I should finish up my write-up on the weekend exploits.
There are only three things of note to discuss from the long weekend, but I'm in a very verbose mood right now.
Saturday = Football game: I went to the SMU opener on Saturday, because I believe in supporting the band in all its endeavors, especially when those endeavors happen to occur after the sun sets so I don't get an unsightly sunburn. As usual, the team managed to lose all steam heading into the fourth quarter and defeat still tastes about the same (slightly bitter, a little tangy, but somehow comfortingly familiar). I learned that I have no staying power anymore without the conditioning that the band provides, in that my arm was actually sore from throwing up the pony ears for 4 straight hours, and my throat was exhausted within 2 hours, and still kinda hurts. Soft spoken and unathletic is my new way of life. I'm not sure where I went wrong.
All that said, man the TCU game next week is gonna be awesome, in that fresh hell sort of way. They beat Oklahoma. We lost to Baylor. (PS to all you Baylor people - why you gotta be all parking in my spot? Do you know how far I had to walk to get to the stadium? I could have just walked from my apartment and made better time. Also, your smack talk sucks.) I envision a game much like my freshman year, only instead of losing by 64 points in the freezing cold and losing my voice entirely yelling Click 125 times, it will be mild and breezy for our upcoming trouncing, with little to no chance of ruined vocal cords.
Sunday = Party: New partial roommate Frank made his move-in on Friday, and Sunday we hosted the extravaganza that was his birthday party. Delightfully low-key and successful, critics reported, despite the glaring fact that I forgot it was a Sunday and thus had to make do with very limited alcohol reserves, and despite the fact that the movies Frank chose for the night were Honey and The Wedding Date. (Bitch, how you gonna play me like that, indeed.) The food was good, the drinks were good, and the Sponge Bob and Darth Vader party hats were sheer brilliance. Even clean up wasn't that bad. Although I may need to auction off a kidney or two to pay off all the ridiculous debt I've ran up in the course of the last two weeks, it was a doubleplusgood time.
Monday = Not a Damn Thing: Monday was revised to No-Pants Monday and I did nothing all day but watch like 12 consecutive hours of Law & Order. The fact that I had seen every single episode before at least twice did nothing to slow me down. I also played hour upon hour of Advance Wars and may indeed love that game more than any other ever. I left the house only once, and that was to go onto the patio to shoo away the damn rogue cats that have set up base camp on my property. I am not swayed by their cuteness, or their tiny-ness, or their adorable little kitten faces. They are a menace and must be dealt with accordingly. Any reports that you hear about me buying cat food are spurious lies created by the propaganda machine that is the kitten lobby.
After the finely tuned hell that was last week, I expect this work week to be sunny and mild with only a 12% chance of me quitting in a righteous huff of indignation and ire.
I like those odds.
There are only three things of note to discuss from the long weekend, but I'm in a very verbose mood right now.
Saturday = Football game: I went to the SMU opener on Saturday, because I believe in supporting the band in all its endeavors, especially when those endeavors happen to occur after the sun sets so I don't get an unsightly sunburn. As usual, the team managed to lose all steam heading into the fourth quarter and defeat still tastes about the same (slightly bitter, a little tangy, but somehow comfortingly familiar). I learned that I have no staying power anymore without the conditioning that the band provides, in that my arm was actually sore from throwing up the pony ears for 4 straight hours, and my throat was exhausted within 2 hours, and still kinda hurts. Soft spoken and unathletic is my new way of life. I'm not sure where I went wrong.
All that said, man the TCU game next week is gonna be awesome, in that fresh hell sort of way. They beat Oklahoma. We lost to Baylor. (PS to all you Baylor people - why you gotta be all parking in my spot? Do you know how far I had to walk to get to the stadium? I could have just walked from my apartment and made better time. Also, your smack talk sucks.) I envision a game much like my freshman year, only instead of losing by 64 points in the freezing cold and losing my voice entirely yelling Click 125 times, it will be mild and breezy for our upcoming trouncing, with little to no chance of ruined vocal cords.
Sunday = Party: New partial roommate Frank made his move-in on Friday, and Sunday we hosted the extravaganza that was his birthday party. Delightfully low-key and successful, critics reported, despite the glaring fact that I forgot it was a Sunday and thus had to make do with very limited alcohol reserves, and despite the fact that the movies Frank chose for the night were Honey and The Wedding Date. (Bitch, how you gonna play me like that, indeed.) The food was good, the drinks were good, and the Sponge Bob and Darth Vader party hats were sheer brilliance. Even clean up wasn't that bad. Although I may need to auction off a kidney or two to pay off all the ridiculous debt I've ran up in the course of the last two weeks, it was a doubleplusgood time.
Monday = Not a Damn Thing: Monday was revised to No-Pants Monday and I did nothing all day but watch like 12 consecutive hours of Law & Order. The fact that I had seen every single episode before at least twice did nothing to slow me down. I also played hour upon hour of Advance Wars and may indeed love that game more than any other ever. I left the house only once, and that was to go onto the patio to shoo away the damn rogue cats that have set up base camp on my property. I am not swayed by their cuteness, or their tiny-ness, or their adorable little kitten faces. They are a menace and must be dealt with accordingly. Any reports that you hear about me buying cat food are spurious lies created by the propaganda machine that is the kitten lobby.
After the finely tuned hell that was last week, I expect this work week to be sunny and mild with only a 12% chance of me quitting in a righteous huff of indignation and ire.
I like those odds.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Not Dead...Yet
Until about 15 seconds ago, I entirely believed that today was Friday. And it felt good. The crushing truth is that it is Thursday morning and there are still miles to go until the long weekend.
This has easily been the worst week in recent memory. There are eminently writable thing to write, but my soul feels as though it has been sucked out of my body through my nose. There will be no writing of anything good until I recharge.
So things anyways:
This has easily been the worst week in recent memory. There are eminently writable thing to write, but my soul feels as though it has been sucked out of my body through my nose. There will be no writing of anything good until I recharge.
So things anyways:
- I bought a Nintendo DS. It is pure awesomeness and gives me lots of nice mindlessness time once I get home and fall onto the couch all night long. Too bad it is massively unwieldy and I can't take it anywheres without looking like a dork.
- A while back some moron tried to stop midway through a left turn on Hillcrest and backup into oncoming traffic. Unfortunately I was directly behind him and he crashed into my TOM. It was generally unscathed, but the turn signal cover was cracked. It finally broke on Friday, and so I got a new one over the weekend. Only, I suck at car repair and am physically unable to replace it myself. All I have to show for my efforts are my thumb, which is sliced to hell and back, and the tiny little cuts all over the knuckles on my right hand. I'm gonna have to give up and take it to a mechanic, because I can't replace a light cover. I am the lamest lame that ever lamed.
- Work is utter rubbish and completely exhausting and so mindbendingly moronic that I have had to hang up the phone and walk down the hall to cool down on 3 different occasions this week to make sure I didn't just quit, and then bolt in the night to Kentucky to start my life anew.
- New roommate comes in on Friday, old roommate has only begun to move stuff out. I foresee a Saturday of driving the TOM across the metroplex with no air conditioning because she needs her bed moved for her. Which sucks on many levels, from discomfort to doing things on a Saturday, to gas prices and moving things. At least new roommate comes with nothing but a computer and torn cardboard box half filled with clothes. Not too much effort involved there.
- Party for new roommate's birthday is on Sunday, which means I need to have place cleaned tomorrow, so the moves won't be too destructive, because Saturday is the SMU game which leaves little time for actual party preparations. And I totally know zero people to invite. If you know Frank, by the by, you need to come. And let me know, so I can adequately prepare. There will be cake, and ice cream, and mixed drinks for all. Also, pointy hats.
- All the stress, along with all the heat, has caused me to break out like a 15 year-old after a pizza party. Combine that with the fact that I'm wearing my Mormon outfit to work today, because I forgot to iron anything last night, and the dark circles around my eyes, and you have the least attractive I have been in the last 4 years. And in that statement I'm including 4 days unshaven/hungover Jason with the bad haircut that I used to rock during senior year. It ain't pretty, people.
- Oh, and I've dropped 4 pounds since last Friday. I'm officially on the final hole on my belt and my watch is practically threatening to fall off my wrist. Difficult work situation = Anorexic Jason, all of a sudden.
Theoretically everything will get better once the weekend hits, work will slow down, the Labor day sales will go up and I will finally get around to making my big fall purchases (living room furniture and washer/dryer). We will see how it goes.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Under Pressure
So, like, when large, scary things happen to you that require immediate action, theoretically you're supposed to learn a lot about yourself. When such a situation presented itself yesterday, primarily I learned that I suck under pressure.
I could make excuses. Thousands of them. But mostly it came down to my needing to make a big decision, and instead I hyperventilated and pulled at my hair until it scared small children. And then I made the decision, only it turned out to be nothing at the last minute. And so I should feel disappointed, or relieved, or happy, but mostly I just feel sad that I'm crap with stressful situations.
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On lighter notes, I walked into the break room in my office yesterday and had the most violent allergic reaction that I've ever had in my entire life. The secretary from the main desk was making a fresh flower arrangement in the sink. The simple act of me walking into the same room as those particular flowers caused me to go into near convulsions and I could not stop sneezing. And my eyes watered so badly that I couldn't see, and I ran into the table during one particularly violent sneeze and had to be physically guided out of the room by an elderly woman. Now, I am not allergic to flowers. Those particular flowers did not care, however, and proceeded to kick my ass for the rest of the morning.
As the day progressed, things became more and more stressful and I slowly degraded into my psychotic state, there were many random little things that drove me to near insanity:
I could make excuses. Thousands of them. But mostly it came down to my needing to make a big decision, and instead I hyperventilated and pulled at my hair until it scared small children. And then I made the decision, only it turned out to be nothing at the last minute. And so I should feel disappointed, or relieved, or happy, but mostly I just feel sad that I'm crap with stressful situations.
--------------------------------
On lighter notes, I walked into the break room in my office yesterday and had the most violent allergic reaction that I've ever had in my entire life. The secretary from the main desk was making a fresh flower arrangement in the sink. The simple act of me walking into the same room as those particular flowers caused me to go into near convulsions and I could not stop sneezing. And my eyes watered so badly that I couldn't see, and I ran into the table during one particularly violent sneeze and had to be physically guided out of the room by an elderly woman. Now, I am not allergic to flowers. Those particular flowers did not care, however, and proceeded to kick my ass for the rest of the morning.
As the day progressed, things became more and more stressful and I slowly degraded into my psychotic state, there were many random little things that drove me to near insanity:
- I had to drop off a document at Neiman Marcus. I got caught in the middle of the perfume/makeup section lodged between two huge bachelorette parties and managed to get in the cross-fire of no less than 4 different shots of perfume. This started up a second wave of sneezing, very reminiscent of earlier that day.
- While in the parking lot of the post office, I saw something long and thin and moving on the ground in front of me, out of the corner of my eye. In my altered state, my brain assumed it was a snake. I freaked out to hell and back, complete with shrieking and arm flailings. It turned out to be a discarded hair ribbon. There were so many witnesses to this freak out that I'm pretty sure I will never be able to go anywhere in Dallas without people pointing and whispering "Isn't that the guy? The one who is scared of hair accessories? Let's throw barrettes at him."
- My battle with no air conditioning in the TOM finally reached a head, on the hottest day in my recent memory. When I got home from work, I went to change out of my work clothes into something more suited to my unwell mental state. When I pulled my shirt off, it made the same sound hitting the ground that you get when you throw your bathing suit on the ground after a vigorous swim. A very wet thwap-splat. Dallas = oven. Jason = gross sweat factory.
- Oh, and I walked into 4 different sets of doors over the course of the day, never quite thinking to check for the difference between a "Push" and a "Pull" set-up.
----------------------------
What else? I have now seen The Red Eye twice in the course of two days, and both times it was very good. Rachel McAdams is awesome. Cillian Murphy is hot in a very menacing i-wear-a-burlap-bag-on-my-head-and-plot-assassinations sort of way. The movie gets fairly ridiculous by the end, but it's sufficiently nerve-wracking enough that I don't have biteable fingernails anymore.
I'm really starting to loathe the Cityplace movie theatre, though. For the love of little green apples, if you aren't going to have stadium seating, at least make sure your surround sound works completely. Only the left rear was active, and it bugged the bejesus out of me.
And a final note: Any day, no matter how bad, can be improved by hearing the song Faith by George Michael.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Et Tu, Best Buy?
Man, okay, Best Buy and I have the most extreme love-hate relationship going on. I mean, in general, it's just a store, right? Every other store has the exact same merchandise, why this fixation? I could say it's the bright colors, the nice layout, the friendly people, and the sheer amount of electronics available.
But those are all lies of varying degrees. The reason Best Buy owns me is because they are ridiculously cheap on items that have just been released. My Friday trip saved me $21 bucks over going to, say, Target instead, because everything I bought was a new release. And so, I will always go there, despite the occasional completely clueless salesperson, or the fact that they charged me an extra dollar on the Nickel Creek CD over the sticker price. It's just too good to pass up, overall.
Oh, but now we've hit another block. So after my public whinging about potentially picking up a Nintendo DS on Monday, I did some soul searching and decided it was a much better idea to, y'know, not and instead put the money towards things that further my life, like food and electricity. This was a mature decision and lasted all of 20 hours.
Because I found out that Best Buy dropped the price on their DS's by $20 bucks. And nothing speeds up my rationalization process like a price cut on something I really want. So I gave in last night and ran to the store to pick up what would rightfully be mine, all tiny and video game like.
Only, I get to the store and they are all out. Sadness reigns supreme and once again I curse Best Buy and all their blue-shirted minions for getting my hopes up. I finally drag an associate away from their new gaming setup (They have, like a living room set up in the middle of the video game section. It apparently exists so that the blue-shirts can beat small children at Halo, or whatever that game is where you shoot people) to find out when they're supposed to get more in.
I will recreate the entire conversation here for maximum effect.
Jason: Hi. So you're out of these Nintendo DS's, huh?
Blue-Shirt: Yeah, we had a bunch earlier. (pause) But they sold really fast. (pause) Once we lowered the price.
Jason: Oh, yeah right. So when do you think you'll be getting more in?
Blue-Shirt: (scratches head) Well, probably not for a while. (pause) They aren't very popular.
Jason: (boggles) But...you're sold out. And you just said that you sold a bunch of them. Quickly.
Blue-Shirt: Yeah, but they aren't popular. (pause) So it might be a while. (pause) Before we get more. (pause) Of the system.
Jason: So even though you lowered the price and they sold out, you still don't think of them as popular? Even though people are looking for them, and want to buy them?
Blue-Shirt: Well yeah. (pause) Because they aren't popular.
Jason: (defeated by his implacable logic) I....I....okay.
So yeah. I think I'll make the trip out to Best Buy - North Campus after work on Thursday to see if they have any, because 20 bucks is 20 bucks. But somehow I think it makes a lot more sense just to go to the Target 28 feet from my apartment and get one there. I know they've got them, I have seen them with my own eyes.
...See what you have done, Best Buy? I'm actively considering paying full price for an electronic device! For shame!
But those are all lies of varying degrees. The reason Best Buy owns me is because they are ridiculously cheap on items that have just been released. My Friday trip saved me $21 bucks over going to, say, Target instead, because everything I bought was a new release. And so, I will always go there, despite the occasional completely clueless salesperson, or the fact that they charged me an extra dollar on the Nickel Creek CD over the sticker price. It's just too good to pass up, overall.
Oh, but now we've hit another block. So after my public whinging about potentially picking up a Nintendo DS on Monday, I did some soul searching and decided it was a much better idea to, y'know, not and instead put the money towards things that further my life, like food and electricity. This was a mature decision and lasted all of 20 hours.
Because I found out that Best Buy dropped the price on their DS's by $20 bucks. And nothing speeds up my rationalization process like a price cut on something I really want. So I gave in last night and ran to the store to pick up what would rightfully be mine, all tiny and video game like.
Only, I get to the store and they are all out. Sadness reigns supreme and once again I curse Best Buy and all their blue-shirted minions for getting my hopes up. I finally drag an associate away from their new gaming setup (They have, like a living room set up in the middle of the video game section. It apparently exists so that the blue-shirts can beat small children at Halo, or whatever that game is where you shoot people) to find out when they're supposed to get more in.
I will recreate the entire conversation here for maximum effect.
Jason: Hi. So you're out of these Nintendo DS's, huh?
Blue-Shirt: Yeah, we had a bunch earlier. (pause) But they sold really fast. (pause) Once we lowered the price.
Jason: Oh, yeah right. So when do you think you'll be getting more in?
Blue-Shirt: (scratches head) Well, probably not for a while. (pause) They aren't very popular.
Jason: (boggles) But...you're sold out. And you just said that you sold a bunch of them. Quickly.
Blue-Shirt: Yeah, but they aren't popular. (pause) So it might be a while. (pause) Before we get more. (pause) Of the system.
Jason: So even though you lowered the price and they sold out, you still don't think of them as popular? Even though people are looking for them, and want to buy them?
Blue-Shirt: Well yeah. (pause) Because they aren't popular.
Jason: (defeated by his implacable logic) I....I....okay.
So yeah. I think I'll make the trip out to Best Buy - North Campus after work on Thursday to see if they have any, because 20 bucks is 20 bucks. But somehow I think it makes a lot more sense just to go to the Target 28 feet from my apartment and get one there. I know they've got them, I have seen them with my own eyes.
...See what you have done, Best Buy? I'm actively considering paying full price for an electronic device! For shame!
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Engineer!
I got home from work yesterday around 7:00 pm. (I did not, as previously expected, buy a Nintendo DS, but instead was a proper adult and went to the grocery store and bought food. Stupid responsibility. And having to eat.) My plans for the night were quite complex: cook dinner, eat dinner, and watch Primer, which was left by Sean over the weekend as required viewing. Theoretically there was also available on the agenda, time to: get some writing done, play some Warcraft, and speak to the multitudes of people online who are now back in town.
Alas, in the end, only one of these many goals was accomplished. Because I never got around to dinner (cooking or eating) and my internet went down for the majority of the night. Do you have any idea how dependent I am on my dedicated cable line into the internet? Well for one, without the internet Warcraft is impossible. And writing becomes out of the question, as I can't sit in front of my computer to type without having a distraction of the AIM window up and an internet browsers going at all times. I'm just too fidgety.
So all that was left was Primer, which was excellent. Very....engineer. Not that I understood anything in the last 25 minutes or so. And considering the movie was only like 70 minutes long, that is quite the while to be confused. But it was a fun ride, while it lasted. And just a little bit very creepy.
I then spent roughly 4 hours on the phone with various family members - parents, siblings, etc, and one very drunk friend, which, it's a Monday night man, for shame. During this multitude of phonings, my internet reappeared and I tried gamely to do both IM and cell phone at once. Believe you me, it's utterly impossible, at least on this end. One handed typing while trying to keep three threads of conversation going? No. I assume the majority of people I spoke with last night figured I was on some sort of debilitating medication, based on such stellar responses as "Umm, yes?" and "Huh?" and the every illuminating "Uhh...."
It was a long, strange night and by the end I was almost certain that the movie was real and my double was biding his time just out of sight. Sleep was restless, to say the least.
Oh. And all the finality of the apartment situation was thrown out the window, and we get to start fresh again today. I love making decisions at the last goddamn moment. Keeps me feeling alive.
And I didn't even get any dinner. What's up with that?
Alas, in the end, only one of these many goals was accomplished. Because I never got around to dinner (cooking or eating) and my internet went down for the majority of the night. Do you have any idea how dependent I am on my dedicated cable line into the internet? Well for one, without the internet Warcraft is impossible. And writing becomes out of the question, as I can't sit in front of my computer to type without having a distraction of the AIM window up and an internet browsers going at all times. I'm just too fidgety.
So all that was left was Primer, which was excellent. Very....engineer. Not that I understood anything in the last 25 minutes or so. And considering the movie was only like 70 minutes long, that is quite the while to be confused. But it was a fun ride, while it lasted. And just a little bit very creepy.
I then spent roughly 4 hours on the phone with various family members - parents, siblings, etc, and one very drunk friend, which, it's a Monday night man, for shame. During this multitude of phonings, my internet reappeared and I tried gamely to do both IM and cell phone at once. Believe you me, it's utterly impossible, at least on this end. One handed typing while trying to keep three threads of conversation going? No. I assume the majority of people I spoke with last night figured I was on some sort of debilitating medication, based on such stellar responses as "Umm, yes?" and "Huh?" and the every illuminating "Uhh...."
It was a long, strange night and by the end I was almost certain that the movie was real and my double was biding his time just out of sight. Sleep was restless, to say the least.
Oh. And all the finality of the apartment situation was thrown out the window, and we get to start fresh again today. I love making decisions at the last goddamn moment. Keeps me feeling alive.
And I didn't even get any dinner. What's up with that?
Monday, August 22, 2005
I feel the cold hand of an impulse purchase around my throat
Someone needs to stop me right now, before I go buy a Nintendo DS and this. Because I just got my monthly bonus, and seriously, the temptation is so great right now that my brain is about to start leaking from my ears.
There are only like, what, three games total on the system that are worth owning? What is my deal? I know this is a bad idea. But as of this second, I would give excellent odds that I will be stopping by Target on my way home and I'll have yet another high priced toy that I should have saved the money on, I don't know, for food?
I am the most irresponsible person on the planet.
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Oh. And something entirely unrelated: Go read this WIP. Is it just me, or is this insanely good? I love her other writing so much, but this is very interesting and new and tasty. And ridiculously long, which is what I look for, in terms of writing to occupy my day. A shiny new cookie to anyone who actually gets all the way through. Let me know what you think, I am intrigued.
There are only like, what, three games total on the system that are worth owning? What is my deal? I know this is a bad idea. But as of this second, I would give excellent odds that I will be stopping by Target on my way home and I'll have yet another high priced toy that I should have saved the money on, I don't know, for food?
I am the most irresponsible person on the planet.
----------------------------
Oh. And something entirely unrelated: Go read this WIP. Is it just me, or is this insanely good? I love her other writing so much, but this is very interesting and new and tasty. And ridiculously long, which is what I look for, in terms of writing to occupy my day. A shiny new cookie to anyone who actually gets all the way through. Let me know what you think, I am intrigued.
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