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Friday, June 5th, 2009
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2:08 am - Pancakes and parables
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| Wednesday, June 3rd, 2009
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3:38 pm - Critters in my cheese
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| Friday, May 1st, 2009
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12:57 am - Parts of your document extend into your unprintable region.
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Music, without comment:
Ben Franklin has returned. More later.
current mood: agape
current music: Roman Candle - Early Aubade
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(D'you know what I mean?)
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| Thursday, April 16th, 2009
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1:27 am - Harold can't sleep because of all the wires.
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| Monday, March 9th, 2009
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11:57 pm - Sweep up.
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I've been listening to Elvis Perkins' "Shampoo" for months now, and I still feel a tingle of excitement when it starts up:
I'm not going to mention that there's nothing extraordinary about the song. I'm not going to talk about how there's not really even a chorus and I'm not sure why I like it. I'm not going to defend and backpedal and justify and reason. There's something about it that wrecks me, that leaves me panting and disassembled. What else matters?
current mood:  listless
current music: Chris Gaines - Main Street
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(D'you know what I mean?)
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| Monday, March 2nd, 2009
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12:17 am - That echo chorus lied to me.
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The TV and all the lights in my apartment are turned off. It's 11:30 pm, the blinds are open and for some reason the sky's lit up like dawn; a disconcerting, annatto dawn that looks like I think the night the world ends will look like. I assume the weird effect comes from the lights around here being reflected off the snow clouds that are draped over city like a flannel comforter, hovering in an overprotective sort of way that's not unkind. And I guess that same light is more easily bounced back up off the inch or so of snow that's on the ground. Maybe this sort of lighting scenario happens all the time in populated, snowy areas. Here, it makes me uneasy.
Why do I dread writing in you so much, Livejournal? The fact that I become worried and agitated by posting my thoughts on the internet (in an age where EVERYONE posts ALL their thoughts on the internet) deserves some serious examination--examination I'm loathe to do. Hence, the dread. Etc. It's like I have some sort of perpetual, self-replicating, navel-gaze phobia that feeds on itself. That I have no idea what any of that means is part of the problem.
The labored drone of the airplane I'm hearing now makes me want to get up and close the blinds, just so I won't see the muted flash on the horizon if it happens. I think I'll do that. Then, bed.
current mood: glambitious
current music: Elvis Perkins - Shampoo
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(3 yeah yeahs | D'you know what I mean?)
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| Saturday, November 15th, 2008
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3:11 am - Zoned for blight
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"Dude, I heard that gas was going down to $1.99."
"Dude, I heard that gas was going to be $1.80."
"Really? If gas goes down to $1.80, I'm buying a truck. And I'm going to put those big tires on it."
"Damn."
"Totally."
I made some miso soup today. It was pretty good, but I think I bought the wrong kind of seaweed. And instead of green onions I used Korean chives. My urine smells like the ocean. Great job!
Did you see where Scientists finally discovered how bleach kills germs? If you're like me, you're TERRIFIED that we didn't know that before. What are the odds that Science can cure any sort of disease or engage in successful space travel when we've just now figured out HOW BLEACH WORKS? ¡Ay ay ay! There are a lot of things that will never happen in my lifetime. Oh well, at least I'll experience 100% of everything that happens in my life. No sense being greedy.
I knew trying to write would finally make me sleepy! High five.
current mood: rhetorical
current music: The Dutchess and the Duke - Reservoir Park
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(3 yeah yeahs | D'you know what I mean?)
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| Saturday, October 11th, 2008
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12:33 am - According to our new arrival, life is more than mere survival.
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So in this dream, I'm attending the opening event for Ben Gibbard's art installation. He's giving everyone a guided tour through his "dark maze of art." He keeps explaining to each of us that we should close our eyes and "feel" his art, because he's a very textural artist. Overcome with a sudden furious jealousy, I unholster my revolver and shoot Ben Gibbard in the face. He falls to the floor dead. Fortunately, everyone has their eyes closed, and they seem to believe that the commotion is part of the exhibit, so I have some time to think. I recall a reddit comment thread about the best way to dispose of dead bodies, and I feel now is a good time to experiment with some of those techniques. As I'm loading Ben Gibbard's body into my trunk, I'm overcome with remorse and break down, contemplating suicide. I wake up and wonder if I could actually murder someone solely because his art was too "textural" for my tastes. I decide that, under the right circumstances, I just might.
I wasn't going to do a photo dump in this post, but then I thought,
( Whynot indeed )
Within the past week, I've made fudge, vegetable soup, and no-bake cookies. There's something about fall weather that makes me hyperdomestic. Not that I'm exactly feral the rest of the year or anything. A lot of the stuff I've made lately has been mostly organic. I say 'mostly' because I can't afford a lot of the organic ingredients I need to make things entirely organic (organic sugar for one, organic Worcestershire sauce for another). I'm still not entirely certain the whole organic thing isn't a big sham, like the food equivalent of bottled water, but I've decided to play along anyway for shiggles. I'm not sure what happened, but one day a few months back I suddenly decided that I was tired of jamming chemicals and dyes and industrial solvents into my cryhole. Right now, it makes a lot of sense for me to eat real, actual food. There are also some days when I don't feel like eating any sort of meat; I don't know any of this means, but I'm certain the phase will pass.
Once the economy finishes collapsing completely and the devastation seeps down to "Main Street" (ugh), when my job ceases to exist and I'm forced to either stand in a bread line or eat cold beans from a shoe with a stick, I shall retire to the countryside. My parents have a small parcel of land close to theirs that's earmarked for my use. It's there I'll make my stand. Fortifications will be erected, of course, but I'll need a good source of fresh water within the compound (otherwise the marauding hordes may penetrate the walls when I walk to the creek). I might be able to use a divining rod to find the best place to dig a well¹, but that'd still be quite a task with the tools I'd have at hand. As long as there's not a drought, I should be able to collect enough rainwater to get by on. I'll have to subsist mostly on vegetables unless I can find a suckling pig or a few prize hens before I seal myself in, but I'm okay with that. I may invite some of you to join me if you want, but you'll have to pull your own weight. And I'm not ruling out the possibility of cannibalism if things get bad enough, so only the most delicious of you will be allowed. PUT YOUR NAME IN THE HAT WHILE YOU CAN.
That's enough for now.
¹ No one would believe it, but I can actually do this. My dad can too. We once used this technique to find the best place to dig a well on some mountain property. A nearby lot had to dig 400 feet to get a water flow of 75 gallons/minute. When the well-diggers dug at our marked location, they were getting 100 gallons/minute at 75 feet. Not that this anecdote would convince you to believe my claim any more, since it breaks every rule of scientific procedure, but thems the breaks.
current mood:  groggy
current music: The Dandy Warhols - All the Money or the Simple Life Honey
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(3 yeah yeahs | D'you know what I mean?)
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| Saturday, August 16th, 2008
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1:44 am - Entry Method: Swiped
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I've discovered that the following statement (which I have centered, enlarged and bolded for emphasis) is absolutely, undeniably true every time it is written, spoken or thought:
"This is ridiculous."
I had a dream last night about washing dishes. Or, more accurately, about loading and unloading the dishwasher. By knowing this, you know everything you need to know about my life as it is.
Off to seafood and baptism!
current mood: refluxed
current music: Dr. Dog - Army of Accidents
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(4 yeah yeahs | D'you know what I mean?)
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| Tuesday, July 29th, 2008
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1:19 am - Go tell the nurse to turn the TV back on.
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There's something wrong with the clock on the bedside table in my grandparents' old bedroom. I've slept in this room for two nights before I notice. The minutes have turned into seconds--passing as seconds do--while the '12' sits there, unblinking and stoic. I get the feeling the 12 disapproves of the numbers beside it, casting grousy, sidelong glances in their unnecessarily rapid direction. I could fix the clock but I don't. I like watching the seconds pass. I like keeping the 12 unsettled.
After the arrangements, there's nothing to do but wait. Rudyard Kipling supposedly stopped by the funeral home as he was passing through town back in his day. It was a home of a different sort then. The ceilings are very high and the floors are very wood. It's spacious and pleasant inside. If I were a tired Rudyard Kipling, and the house were a regular home and not a funeral home, I can see myself stopping there for a rest and a drink.
I can see myself doing all sorts of things.
There's a pot of homemade vegetable soup on the stove that the pastor's wife has made. It's a very good pot of soup (all the vegetables are fresh from the pastor's garden), but it's not as good as my mom's vegetable soup. There are too many onions, and I develop heartburn. Fortunately, there are two gallons of milk in the fridge. Six loaves of bread, fourteen liters of Coke, five pounds of sliced ham (deli and otherwise), chicken casserole, green beans, cornbread, cobbler, Little Debbie cakes, and three old bananas. The bananas were probably there when Ma-Maw was alive, but that was two days ago, and today is today. Today I'm eating a strange woman's soup. Today I have heartburn.
My suit no longer fits me comfortably. I am squeezed most considerably at the waist and the neck. My dad punches a new hole in my belt with his pocketknife. I try to button my neck-button a number of times before succeeding. No one makes a wolf-whistle when I walk out into the living room after changing into my suit. At some point in my life, I'd gotten used to someone doing that. Back at the funeral home for the viewing, and I don't know these people. It's difficult to muster the energy I need to talk to strangers. I try to wander around aimlessly, but it's hard to wander in this suit, and it's hard to be aimless in the same room as my grandmother's open casket. Eventually, I sit on an uncomfortable couch in the corner with cousins who are close to my age. We laugh about things because we are self-conscious, then we feel bad about laughing. I am the only grandchild who didn't buy a flower arrangement. I didn't know.
There's Bojangles' for breakfast, then reading A Cook's Tour in Pa-Paw's old recliner. The talk of what to do with "all this stuff." It's not my concern, and I've learned not to worry about things that don't concern me. Relatives drop by and talk. I try to file the stories away to document later, but I can't remember them like I want to. I guess this is why writers carry notebooks. More suit, more service, more food, more strangers. While stopped at a gas station during the nine-hour drive back, my car alarm goes off and refuses to quit. A fifteen-year-old kid in a Hollister t-shirt swears at me. Although I understand he's trying to impress the two gangly, bucktoothed girls in his pickup truck, I'm not in the mood.
I'm not in the mood.
current mood: convicted
current music: Elliott Smith - For No One
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(7 yeah yeahs | D'you know what I mean?)
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| Wednesday, June 25th, 2008
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12:02 am - Give my chance a plan to work.
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My thoughts come in speech these days, and none of them desire to be printed. I save no secrets for the internet. The Coke machine stole my money; I blame high gas prices.
Here's what happened: art, hot dogs processed like words eaten beside miniature schizophrenics. Memories of elementary school, that new Italian place on the corner, dogs barking on the balcony, trains that disconnect my screen. Free books, caffeinated Snickers, low budgets, Seeqpod, microbrews. Self-doubt, 90's weekends, hairy laps, macro functions, wikiholes, pulse and glide, scattered showers, ice cream for bees. Euro 2008, declined invitations, ticks on the body poof, Lost, imaginary testaments, Hamburger Helper, Dallas Egbert. Jeopardy!, wearing cows for food, Tim Curry records, wanting to help but never really trying, helping to try but never really wanting, trying to want but never really helping.
You get the picture.
current mood: even
current music: The Mountain Goats - Pale Green Things
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(10 yeah yeahs | D'you know what I mean?)
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| Tuesday, April 8th, 2008
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12:21 am - I buried my ballast; I made my peace.
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I sent the following letter to Hardee's the other day:
Dear Hardee's,
This morning I decided to take advantage of the current promotion that offers a free order of hash rounds and a coffee with my purchase of a chicken biscuit. I ordered two chicken biscuits, one egg biscuit and a gravy n' biscuit. This showed up on the confirmation screen as:
2 Chicken bis
1 Egg bis
1 Biscuit N Grvy
I confirmed that this was my order and pulled forward. When I was handed my order, it was lacking both coffee and hash rounds. I said something like, "aren't I supposed to get a free coffee and hashbrowns with my chicken biscuits?"
This query was immediately met with an (inexplicably) angry response by the employee at the window, who said that she confirmed my order and that I didn't "say nothing about no hashbrowns or coffee."
I replied that I thought the free items were automatically included with my order of a chicken biscuit. The employee reiterated, somewhat louder, that I DIDN'T SAY NOTHING ABOUT NO HASHBROWNS OR COFFEE. The drive-thru window was then shut, which, I assumed, meant the conversation was over. (In the employee's defense, I was told to have a nice day before she shut the window. However, I'm not sure the sentiment was sincere.)
In light of this experience, I believe Hardee's should stipulate that the free hash rounds and coffee are "available upon request" for the remainder of this promotion, so others like me don't assume that the items are automatically included with their orders.
If possible, I would like to save others the confusion and hurt that I experienced this morning. My confidence in the promise of "free" food items from Hardee’s has been forever shattered, but I will somehow press on.
Best regards,
Jonathan
Today, I received this very nice (form) reply from a customer service representative:
Thank you very much for taking the time to inform us of the experience you had at our restaurant in Greensboro, NC. We extend our most sincere apology to you for the unsatisfactory impression your visit left on you. We are very sorry.
At Hardee's, we strive not only to provide a delicious meal with great guest service, but we also make every effort to create a safe, clean, and friendly dining experience. It is obvious from your comments that we have fallen short of the high standards we have set for ourselves. In failing to live up to our guests' expectations, we have not only tarnished our reputation, but more importantly, we are in danger of losing an important guest.
I assure you that every effort is being made to correct this situation. I have contacted the District Manager regarding your experience.
I would like to invite you to try us again, on us! If you would, please reply to this email providing us with your mailing address so that we may send you some Second Chance coupons good for either a free 1/3 lb. Thickburger or a Chicken Sandwich. I know there is really nothing that can excuse or make up for the situation you described, but we would love the chance to regain your trust.
I appreciate the time you have taken to express your concerns. It gives us the chance to learn where we need improvement. It also allows us to resolve any problems that may arise from time to time. Guests like you, who make us aware of these problems, are our most valued guests and we would hate to lose you.
Although I have no intention of giving out my mailing address for a free sammich, I am pleased with the way Hardee's handled my complaint. My righteous indignation has been sufficiently quelled, and I will conclude this episode by letting the internet know about my satisfaction.
See ya! (I actually might wanna be ya.)
current mood:  satisfied
current music: Tokyo Police Club - Tessellate
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(4 yeah yeahs | D'you know what I mean?)
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| Tuesday, November 13th, 2007
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11:43 pm - If that’s movin' up then I’m movin' out
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Here’s what you’ve missed out on since my last post:
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep, tacos, work, sleep, work ,sleep, weight gain, work, sleep, Netflix movie, work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep, oil change, work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep, BBQ Festival, Nightmare Before Christmas in 3-D, work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep, Halloween, work, sleep, work, sleep, more weight gain, work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep, think about updating my Livejournals; don’t, work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep, work
And so on.
The one event that somewhat breaks up the monotony of the week is Wednesday Trivia Night at a local drinking establishment. Heather and I were first invited to attend earlier this year by my friend and co-worker Josh, since his team had dwindled down to three people (you can have up to five). So far, our team (The Stabbin’ Hobos) has a healthy lead over the other teams in this particular 10-week tournament. There are only two or three weeks left, so I’m pretty sure we’ll manage to take home the grand prize. Last time it was a kayak, but we’re not sure what it will end up being this time. Hopefully something other than a kayak.
In between rounds, there’s a "quick fire" challenge, which means someone reads Trivial Pursuit questions and the first person to yell out the answer wins… something. This has netted Heather and me some fairly unimpressive bar prizes (Yuengling frisbees, cozies, bottle openers, etc.), but Heather managed to win a Negra Modelo mirror (that looks like this one) a couple of weeks ago. Initially, we were pretty excited about this development, but it turns out Negra Modelo mirrors are way cooler in theory than in practice. And they’re not all that cool in theory. Basically, we don’t have any use for the thing at all so I’m going to give it to Josh, who’s going to give it to someone else, who’s probably going to give it to someone else, and the circle of the Negra Modelo mirror will carry on thusly.
I’m thinking about submitting a song to the Sufjan Christmas Xchange thingy as a lark, but I need to submit it under a good name (there’s no way I’m attaching my real name to whatever I come up with).
Poll #1088309
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 3Please help me select from the following: List other
I have five days of vacation time left, so I’m choosing to take every Friday in December off (and one Thursday). Hello four consecutive three-day weekends. Nice to meet you. I’m also excited about the prospect of $10 flights to all these locations starting next year. At that price, I can afford to just fly out to places for the weekend. Heck, I might fly to New Orleans for a meal and back -- you never know. (This will undoubtedly not happen.)
I’ve done a wee photo-dump of some pictures here. Also, here are some pictures of my time in Florida back in May. I never did write that trip up, and it looks like I never will.
I would sum up my state of being as good but, I don’t know, generally crestfallen. And it looks as though this is it (unless I have children, which I shudder to even entertain the thought of doing). I guess I’ll be working and sleeping my way through the next 35 or so years. If I’m lucky, I’ll have a house and a car in my name by the time I retire (assuming social security still exists), at which point I’ll spend my time puttering around, eating Little Debbie cakes and spending way too long in the grocery store at the beginning of each month. I always assumed that I would be working toward something more than that, but I’m not sure why.
current mood: what it's all about
current music: Billy Joel - Movin' Out (Anthony's Song)
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(11 yeah yeahs | D'you know what I mean?)
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| Thursday, June 21st, 2007
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11:44 pm - My lip gloss is cool. My lip gloss is popping.
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So Heather and I go out into the parking lot last night on the off chance that we might be able to see the ISS and space shuttle pass overhead, when we're approached by a stocky man in an untucked polo shirt and jeans. Trying to ignore him, we continue to gaze skyward. Then, without warning, he pulls out a badge that he's wearing on a CHAIN around his NECK.
"Hey, I'm Officer Huttendewy with Homeland Security. Do you guys know anything about the guy living in 7-A?"
With our brains unable to process what just happened, we respond, "Um, ah, I mean... there's a guy you say? 7-A?"
He eyes us suspiciously. "Yeah. Do you know of his whereabouts?"
Still trying to comprehend what's going on, I stammer, "No, not really. I mean, not really as in 'no.' I've never seen the dude."
This seems to satisfy him. "Well, have you seen his car around here lately? It's a Camero with a vanity license plate."
I had seen that car around before, but not lately. "I've seen that car around before but not lately," I say.
This seems to satisfy him even more. "Well, this guy's a ghost to us. We're trying to track him down."
Then he walks off. Thus ended our one somewhat exciting episode of the week.
I am officially mired in the slough of adulthood. I'm bogged down in the wake, work, eat, sleep pattern from which there appears to be no return. It's a pleasant yet mildly depressing existence; one that is easy to shrug off. In recent months I've entered a phase where I want to experience EVERYTHING. I want to go everywhere there is to go and eat everything there is to eat. I want to make fast friends and vicious enemies. I want to own a gun. And a house. And that impractical sports car I've wanted ever since I was 16. I want everything I can possibly experience to come crashing down on me from all sides at once, and I want to smile and cry and dance while I drown in the overwhelmingness of it all. And I know this sounds a bit too "Kerouac," but this is how I feel. I would normally classify myself as "timid" if I were forced to self-classify. But now I'm scared more than I am timid. I'm scared I'm going to get old and be forced to look back on a life that's only half-full. Or worse: that I won't get any older and what I have is all I get. OH INTROSPECTION! NOES CRISIS!
On a good note, there's a new air bus service that offers $10 flights to Columbus, OH. So I'm thinking Heather and I might spend the weekend in Columbus, OH sometime soon. Why not? I've never been to Columbus, OH and it'll only cost me $10 to never have to say that again.
I'm going to update (with pictures) about my recent Florida trip this weekend. You have to hold me to this, otherwise the details, like the sands in an hourglass, will be buried under other sands like the sands in the same sandy hourglass.
In closing, what do you think the chances are that I'm not going to have the following picture printed, framed and hung over my bed?
Answer: The same amount of chance that I don't have the maturity of a 6th-grader. Impetus for this entry provided by the unsinkable T. E. H. and ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) degeneratemite, who requested updation. And by readers like you.
current mood: marsupial
current music: KISS - Strutter
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(7 yeah yeahs | D'you know what I mean?)
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| Thursday, May 10th, 2007
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12:12 am - Get out of my offive.
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Work is going well. I would say that I have the whole photo editor thing down pat except that I don't. It's pretty much an entirely different process for every book, depending on the subject matter. I've probably read roughly fifteen or so biographical manuscripts since starting, which, translated in Real World Terms, means I can answer roughly three more Jeopardy questions per night than I used to. That alone is worth going to work. I also have a much firmer grasp on copyright law and what is and isn't in the public domain now. Which I'm sure may come in handy at some point. And, with almost five months of picture searching under my belt, I've inadvertently come across a lot of pictures that are the jant. I keep meaning to send these picture to myself so I can post them in my livejournals, but I always forget. Maybe one day.
Also, the reports of my musical death have been greatly exaggerated. I believe I have about half an album's worth of solid songs now (culled from about twenty songs overall). This means I have to write approximately twenty more songs before I have an entire album of material that I'm not ashamed to let other people hear. My lifetime goal is to make an album. Just one. I want to record it by myself in a professional studio with someone who really, really knows what he's doing. I want all the songs to be (in my opinion) listenable, creative, hummable songs. I want this album to have a full color booklet filled with lyrics that I'm not ashamed of and art that is fantastic. I want to have a thousand copies of this album pressed, and then I want to dole them out like secret treats only to people I think will appreciate the kind of music I make. Is the goal obtainable? Who grow the trees?
I only have enough money to go to one concert next month. I'm definitely leaning towards the Avett Brothers concert (more like semi-erect towards, due to their disproportionate amount of magnificence) but Feist will be performing at the Carolina Theatre, which is a splendid place to take in a concert. Please advise:
Poll #982047
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 4Should I see Feist or the Avett Brothers?
The next entry from me that you see on your friends page will have pictures. These pictures have been on Heather's camera for months. I don't even know what half of them have to do with anything anymore. And so forth.
current music: Elvis Perkins - Sleep Sandwich
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(6 yeah yeahs | D'you know what I mean?)
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| Thursday, March 22nd, 2007
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12:27 am - Talking to yourself while you're scrubbing the sink.
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 A few Saturdays ago, Heather and I decided to just jump in the car and start driving. We headed north, just to see what was going on up there. Here is a list of what we encountered along the way:
A gas station that serves biscuits. As in, there was a tiny kitchen beside the pay counter that existed for the sole purpose of biscuit-making. It was not a gas station/cafe; it was a gas station/biscuit factory. I was tempted to get a liver mush biscuit (because I am a liver mush junkie), but I didn't.
A McCafe (the first I've ever seen in real life)
A church that advertised "TALKING MURALS TODAY! BE BLESSED!" This sounded interesting, but as I have never particularly wanted to interact with a mural, I chose not to stop.
The restaurant where Jamie Lynn works
A truck advertising SNACKMANIA.COM
A store called Big Bird's Leather
A ceramic dinosaur with a saddle on its back (as Heather put it, "There's a dinosaur!... with a saddle!")
The smallest tunnel ever (this is where a picture would be nice, but we forgot the camera)
A bumper sticker that read, "Catechism is an indirect form of boasting." I still have no idea what this means.
A store called Wob Nob Gift Shop
A popular stopping place in the mountains called "Lover's Leap." The view was beautiful, but the graffiti was downright effulgent. I'm not normally one for the desecration of natural beauty, but this graffiti was so prodigal and fulsome that it exceeded common vandalism and managed to exist as a massive piece of communal folk art. As I was standing on the retaining wall admiring the view, I noticed something written in compact, tiny script at the toe of my right foot. It said, "I like biscuits." Fair enough.
A hot pink trailer on a road named Hooker Circle
A styling salon called The Best Little Hair House in Vesta
A ceramic dinosaur with the American flag painted on it (as Heather put it, "No one can ride America.")
 A church marquee that advertised Sunday's sermon as "Ozzy & Harriet living life in a Bonnie & Clyde world" (this is only worth mentioning because Roger Miller's "Where Have All the Average People Gone?" was playing when we passed this sign)
A large sign nailed to the side of a garage that said PREPARE TO MEET THY GOD!
Thus our adventure ended. The following night, one of my tires EXPLODED as I was driving on a somewhat desolate stretch of highway. I now have new tires.
I feel as if my life would be significantly more enjoyable if I had a wok and a Netflix account. Or at least one of the two.
current mood: platform double suede
current music: Forever Thursday - How Can It Be
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(1 yeah yeah | D'you know what I mean?)
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| Sunday, March 4th, 2007
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1:48 am - Here but not remembered
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I am not good at eating sushi. And you know what? I'm not even sure that I really like sushi. I am sure that I'm not good at using chopsticks, and I don't have the patience or desire to get any better, which is why I'm not good at eating sushi. Whenever I eat sushi, I use either a fork or my fingers, depending on how comfortable I am with the other people at the table. Using my fingers is, of course, preferable to using a fork, because whenever I use a fork I inevitably drop the sushi into the soy sauce and then I just end up with a SOY BOMB instead of a delicate piece of fish. So why do I eat sushi when it's so much trouble and I'm not even sure if I like it? The same reason I listen to the Libertines: it makes me feel cool while I'm doing it. Sometimes feeling cool is more important than liking what you have to do to feel that way.
I bought some granola bars the other day, and they were packaged so that there were two granola bars in each wrapper. The nutrition information said that one bar had 90 calories while two bars had 190 calories. I don't know what to make of this.
Two Things Thrust to the Forefront of my Realisation This Week:
1. Variety, either in practice or in concept, makes me rejoice.
2. I don't like to talk to people while I'm peeing. Do not assume I am automatically your friend just because you're peeing beside me. Also, if I'm in a gas station bathroom, and you're in one of the stalls, don't say something like, "Yo, you lookin to get some?" Chances are, I'm not looking to get some. Especially not from you. Especially not in a gas station bathroom. Chances are, I'm going to finish expelling liquid waste from my yummy junk, then I'm going to wash my hands and walk out without even justifying your query with a response. Chances are.
I have more things to talk about sometime other than now.
current mood:  thirsty
current music: The Films - Black Shoes
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(4 yeah yeahs | D'you know what I mean?)
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| Wednesday, January 17th, 2007
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12:54 pm - Perfect for people who want quality coverage.
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After almost four years of trying, I have finally procured a job in my career field. Starting Monday, I will be an assistant editor at a small book publishing company. There's a 60-day probationary period, so I can't really breathe easy until I've worked there a couple of months, but I'm fairly confident I can do a good enough job to retain my position. I didn't know what this job would pay until today (and I expected the worst), but as it turns out, the salary and benefits amount to quite a bit more than I was expecting. I am, in a word, ECSTATIC. Well, in two words, CAUTIOUSLY ECSTATIC. When you've been trying to get a certain job for four years and it finally happens, it doesn't seem real. I'm half-expecting them to call me between now and Monday to tell me they've changed their minds. If that happens, I'll let you know.
I just finished reading Chuck Klosterman IV: A Decade of Curious People and Dangerous Ideas, and it lived up to the quality of writing I've come to expect from Chuck Klosterman. Included in this book were some of his famous hypothetical questions. As I did before¹ with some of his questions from Sex, Drugs, And Cocoa Puffs, I'd like to post a few of these questions in poll form to see how ya'll respond:
Think of someone who is your friend (do not select your best friend, but make sure the person is someone you would classify as "considerably more than an acquaintance"). This friend is going to be attacked by a grizzly bear. Now, the person will survive this bear attack; that is guaranteed. There is a 100 percent chance that your friend will live. However, the extent of his injuries is unknown; he might receive nothing but a few superficial scratches, but he also might lose a limb (or multiple limbs). He might recover completely in twenty-four hours with nothing but a great story, or he might spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. Somehow, you have the ability to stop this attack from happening. You can magically save your friend from the bear. But his (or her) salvation will come at a peculiar price: if you choose to stop the bear, it will always rain. For the rest of your life, wherever you go, it will be raining. Sometimes it will pour and sometimes it will drizzle -- but it will never not be raining. But it won't rain over the totality of the earth, nor will the hydrological cycle be disrupted; these storm clouds will be isolated, and they will focus entirely on your specific whereabouts. You will never see the sun again.
Poll #908554
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 7Do you stop the bear and accept a lifetime of rain?
¹ I'm too lazy to look back and reference-link to the entries where I did this, but I wish I wasn't.
current mood: employed
current music: Tres Chicas - Drop Me Down
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(14 yeah yeahs | D'you know what I mean?)
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| Saturday, January 13th, 2007
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3:07 am - If I had a pony, I'd ride him on my boat.
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Prior to this morning, I thought the best way to start your day would be to have a butler (or a lover) enter your bedchamber carrying a bed tray filled with breakfast delights. And when he or she entered you'd roll over and mumble something like, "Hey, muffinbritches," or, in the case of your lover, "I like my eggs scrambled, not fried." But I was wrong; this is not the best way to start your day. The best way to start your day is to answer your cell phone and hear the melodious voice of a collection agent on the other end. This collection agent is sorry to inform you that you will have BAD CREDIT FOREVER because you haven't paid a delinquent medical bill that you didn't even know about. Not that it would matter if you did know about it because you're unemployed and, no matter how badly you've been craving Chinese food, you can't even afford the $4.25 Chinese lunch special at Wok 'N Roll much less the $400 bill for some arcane test administered in September that proved, once and for all, that you don't have the vapours. That's the best way to start your day.
Ever since I've moved into this apartment, I've thought the same thought every night before I go to bed. Namely: Someone is going to break my door down and kill me tonight. This thought is not based on any sort of logic or reason, but it continues to exist. After I think this thought, I'm forced to think a lot of other thoughts before I can get to sleep, the most important of these being: How can I stay alive when someone breaks down my door and tries to kill me? Then I run through every possible scenario I can concoct (and there are hundreds), but the following is my favourite and brings me the most peace. For the purposes of this scenario you will need a visual of my floor plan:
I awake to scratchings at the door. Someone is outside with a crowbar and, possibly, a 9mm pistol. My deep slumber has clouded my brain, but the sound of splintering timber immediately plunges me into a state of alacrity. I snatch my Louisville Slugger from the corner beside my bed and creep through the closet area into the bathroom. My apartment is dark and I can see the vile thug poised a few feet from where he entered, waiting for his pupils to dilate. Seizing the opportunity, I leap from my hiding place and drive my bat into his ribs, not having room to properly swing.
He cries out in shock but still retains the wherewithal to bring his crowbar crashing down onto my wrists, causing my bat to clatter to the floor. I immediately dive into him, driving him against the fridge. At the same time, I grab the cleaver from my knife block (I've memorised where it is) and back into the corner of the kitchen, ready for action. Stunned, he staggers toward me, then he notices the cleaver. I've chosen the cleaver not because it's the best weapon in this situation (it isn't), but because it carries with it a high intimidation factor. If you advance on someone who is wielding a knife, there is a good chance you will get cut or stabbed. However, if you advance on someone holding a cleaver, there is a good chance something that belongs to you will be CLEAVED. He still has his crowbar, but he is less than certain how to proceed. I stand taut in the corner, ready to remove any part of his body that crosses over my predetermined line of demarcation.
At this point, the imagined scenario varies nightly. In one scenario, the scofflaw decides I don't own anything worth losing an arm over so he rushes out of my apartment. I give chase and memorise his license plate as he is pulling out of the parking lot. The police promptly apprehend him and he is sentenced to live out his days in the penitentiary. In another scenario, he decides to advance and, well, I won't go into the details, but I basically dismember him methodically (and at no point does he claim to merely have a flesh wound). In yet another scenario, he simply pulls out his 9mm and empties the clip into my corpulent frame. This scenario ends with a close-up of the blood-smeared wall as I slide out of view.
The thing is, I rest just as easy regardless of which scenario plays out in my head. Sweet relief.
current mood: unctuous
current music: Billy Bragg - Waiting for the Great Leap Forwards
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(4 yeah yeahs | D'you know what I mean?)
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| Monday, January 8th, 2007
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2:36 am - I whisper secrets that I want told into the ear of a thing that hates to tell them.
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I couldn't get to sleep tonight, so I started rifling through some of the old word processing files on this computer. For some reason, at this moment, it seems like a good idea to post a couple of the highlights in my Live Journal. I will regret this later, but I won't take the time to delete this entry because it doesn't really matter that much. The snippets below were found in a file named "songthoughts82004":
All these words they make me sick
Every victory seems Pyrrhic.
So I'll sit here swaying quietly in the click clak car
Until I can flick you away like the booger that you are
I want to put you on display in a museum,
on a pedestal,
under a glass dome
like a lone
slipper signifying
escape.
Roving roundabout the countryside,
milquetoast in concept but purposeful in deceit
Our love teetering on precipice edge, like a coupon, half-off
An 8mm montage of hope and the Grand Canyon
And now you have a better understanding of why the majority of my songs never get lyrics¹. Feel free to respond with similarly embarrassing things from your computer when you have time.
¹ Hint: It is because they would be too BRILLIANT for humanity to bear.
current mood: awake
current music: Syreeta - Harmour Love
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(D'you know what I mean?)
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