Best of all possible worlds
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
ZA WARUDO! WWWRRRRRYYY!
I wanted to be in Iowa the 2nd week of July...but thats probably not happening since everyone will be gone or absent. *sadness*
Sinful Ways
Here's a link to the Iowa State Daily story on Andy's video, which ran as the lead story today. If you poke around the website, you can even find the student-written poem which has convicted me of my sinful ways! (hint: try the opinion section)
Monday, April 28, 2008
Goddamn Mormons
413 children. Seriously, Mormons are retardedly evil. It's like giving a Down Syndrome child chainsaw hands and releasing him/her at a Quinceañera.
By the way, Attic Leaches is still ...working? It is, as it's always been, a shitty suburb of the Attic Apartment.
By the way, Attic Leaches is still ...working? It is, as it's always been, a shitty suburb of the Attic Apartment.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Beaurocrats can go suck a fuck
Andy and Tim:
Did you mention the school by it's name? No.
Did you mention members of the faculty? No.
Did you defame the name of the school or the faculty or the graded curriculum? No.
A professor asked me these questions. You have nothing to worry about if these are true.
"Satire is strictly a literary genre, but it is also found in the graphic and performing arts. In satire, human or individual vices, follies, abuses, or shortcomings are held up to censure by means of ridicule, derision, burlesque, irony, or other methods, ideally with an intent to bring about improvement.[1] Although satire is usually meant to be funny, the purpose of satire is not primarily humor in itself so much as an attack on something of which the author strongly disapproves, using the weapon of wit.
A very common, almost defining feature of satire is its strong vein of irony or sarcasm, but parody, burlesque, exaggeration, juxtaposition, comparison, analogy, and double entendre are all frequently used in satirical speech and writing. The essential point, however, is that "in satire, irony is militant"[2]. This "militant irony" (or sarcasm) often professes to approve the very things the satirist actually wishes to attack."
I had a picture of Manbearpig and skunkape here...but these damn computers are failing me today.
I need internet back.
Did you mention the school by it's name? No.
Did you mention members of the faculty? No.
Did you defame the name of the school or the faculty or the graded curriculum? No.
A professor asked me these questions. You have nothing to worry about if these are true.
"Satire is strictly a literary genre, but it is also found in the graphic and performing arts. In satire, human or individual vices, follies, abuses, or shortcomings are held up to censure by means of ridicule, derision, burlesque, irony, or other methods, ideally with an intent to bring about improvement.[1] Although satire is usually meant to be funny, the purpose of satire is not primarily humor in itself so much as an attack on something of which the author strongly disapproves, using the weapon of wit.
A very common, almost defining feature of satire is its strong vein of irony or sarcasm, but parody, burlesque, exaggeration, juxtaposition, comparison, analogy, and double entendre are all frequently used in satirical speech and writing. The essential point, however, is that "in satire, irony is militant"[2]. This "militant irony" (or sarcasm) often professes to approve the very things the satirist actually wishes to attack."
I had a picture of Manbearpig and skunkape here...but these damn computers are failing me today.
I need internet back.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
The English department is out to get me
You may remember a video I posted on the blog about a month and a half ago. It was a satirical look at the English T.A. program that I've been involved in for the past two years. Well, I posted that video on YouTube in two parts (you can find them here and here) and somehow the Dean caught wind of it. I can't imagine how, considering the videos only received around 100 hits, but of course the Dean didn't like my videos and neither did the head of the English department. Monday I was called into a meeting with all of the departmental administration where they told me to take the videos down.
Initially, I caved. I didn't want to fight about it and, since I'm graduating in two weeks, I figured I could just put the video up after graduation without them noticing. I didn't feel good about bowing to their will, but it seemed like the best option at the time. Then, last night, someone changed my mind.
Neal Bowers, who teaches my Contemporary American Poetry class, had seen the video and really liked it. He happened to mention it last night and I told him about my meeting the day before. He was pissed. I tried to tell him it wasn't a big deal but he said, "Not a big deal that they trampled all over your right to free speech?"
I decided he had a point.
So with Neal as my 'consultant' I reposted the videos. He also sent an email to the members of the administration (or Spanish Inquisition, as he called them) letting them know what he thought of their censorship. The head of the department responded with the same line of bullshit about libel and lawsuits that he gave me. In his response, Neal revealed that the video was back up and that if anyone was going to get fired over it, he wanted to be first.
Not long after, the other T.A.s in the video started getting called in, Tim included. Charlie and Barb (the Spanish Inquisition) tried to intimidate them into turning against me. It seemed to work on Joe, who is now afraid the video will jeopardize his future as a college instructor.
I'm convinced I'm doing the right thing by leaving the video up. I think it is an apt satire of a broken system. The T.A.s in the English Department here are given a heavy workload and very little support. We are expected to teach 56 students, grade their papers, and still manage to keep up with our own classes. I found it nearly impossible. Of course, I'm pretty lazy, but I know some of the other T.A.s have been struggling as well.
I don't think I would be as irked about it if the students we teach appreciated the work we do. Most of the students wouldn't even show up to class if we didn't have strict attendance policies and the amount of work they put into their papers is nil. The class is just some bullshit they have to take to fulfill a requirement.
I finally gave up this semester. I quit teaching my class and I made that video in my spare time as a gift to the other T.A.s, to let them know that we all put up with the same bullshit. I also made it because I wanted the administration to see what I think of their program.
Unfortunately, they found out a little sooner than I had hoped. Oh well. I stand by the video and I hope the shit storm it has created will encourage the administration to rethink their T.A. program.
I don't know what's going to happen now. I think the administration is hoping that the other T.A.s in the video will pressure me into taking it down. I don't think they'll sue me, but good luck to them if they do. I'll make sure every major newspaper and TV station in the country gets wind of it.
I may go down, but I'm gonna get my fifteen minutes, by gum!
Initially, I caved. I didn't want to fight about it and, since I'm graduating in two weeks, I figured I could just put the video up after graduation without them noticing. I didn't feel good about bowing to their will, but it seemed like the best option at the time. Then, last night, someone changed my mind.
Neal Bowers, who teaches my Contemporary American Poetry class, had seen the video and really liked it. He happened to mention it last night and I told him about my meeting the day before. He was pissed. I tried to tell him it wasn't a big deal but he said, "Not a big deal that they trampled all over your right to free speech?"
I decided he had a point.
So with Neal as my 'consultant' I reposted the videos. He also sent an email to the members of the administration (or Spanish Inquisition, as he called them) letting them know what he thought of their censorship. The head of the department responded with the same line of bullshit about libel and lawsuits that he gave me. In his response, Neal revealed that the video was back up and that if anyone was going to get fired over it, he wanted to be first.
Not long after, the other T.A.s in the video started getting called in, Tim included. Charlie and Barb (the Spanish Inquisition) tried to intimidate them into turning against me. It seemed to work on Joe, who is now afraid the video will jeopardize his future as a college instructor.
I'm convinced I'm doing the right thing by leaving the video up. I think it is an apt satire of a broken system. The T.A.s in the English Department here are given a heavy workload and very little support. We are expected to teach 56 students, grade their papers, and still manage to keep up with our own classes. I found it nearly impossible. Of course, I'm pretty lazy, but I know some of the other T.A.s have been struggling as well.
I don't think I would be as irked about it if the students we teach appreciated the work we do. Most of the students wouldn't even show up to class if we didn't have strict attendance policies and the amount of work they put into their papers is nil. The class is just some bullshit they have to take to fulfill a requirement.
I finally gave up this semester. I quit teaching my class and I made that video in my spare time as a gift to the other T.A.s, to let them know that we all put up with the same bullshit. I also made it because I wanted the administration to see what I think of their program.
Unfortunately, they found out a little sooner than I had hoped. Oh well. I stand by the video and I hope the shit storm it has created will encourage the administration to rethink their T.A. program.
I don't know what's going to happen now. I think the administration is hoping that the other T.A.s in the video will pressure me into taking it down. I don't think they'll sue me, but good luck to them if they do. I'll make sure every major newspaper and TV station in the country gets wind of it.
I may go down, but I'm gonna get my fifteen minutes, by gum!
"We must be careful about what we pretend to be."
15 Things Kurt Vonnegut Said Better Than Anyone Else Ever Has Or Will
For Tim, Sarah, Billy, and any other Kurt Vonnegut fans. If you haven't read any of his books, well, me neither. I bought Breakfast of Champions and I occasionally consider reading it, but, you know. So it goes.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Various words for penis are discussed in this post
I just spoke with a woman who could not fathom that my last name was spelled like the penises. This took place on the phone.
"Could you say that again?"
"Dicks."
"With an X?"
"Cks.
"Sorry, I'm having trouble with the Dicks in here." (She truly said this.) "You said that's Dix?"
After that the conversation stopped being hilarious.
I'm being driven insane by the bureaucracy that keeps us from graduating, and one of my students just suffered. He hasn't shown up in almost six weeks and I was supposed to meet with him today to discuss options but instead I just sent him a damning email. Why? Because I have to crawl around my apartment hunting for yet another carbon copy of some form to give the English Department.
Agh going insane.
Maybe this is a strange time to tell you this, but Sarah and I are moving across the country, to America's wang. I'll let you figure out where that is.
"Could you say that again?"
"Dicks."
"With an X?"
"Cks.
"Sorry, I'm having trouble with the Dicks in here." (She truly said this.) "You said that's Dix?"
After that the conversation stopped being hilarious.
I'm being driven insane by the bureaucracy that keeps us from graduating, and one of my students just suffered. He hasn't shown up in almost six weeks and I was supposed to meet with him today to discuss options but instead I just sent him a damning email. Why? Because I have to crawl around my apartment hunting for yet another carbon copy of some form to give the English Department.
Agh going insane.
Maybe this is a strange time to tell you this, but Sarah and I are moving across the country, to America's wang. I'll let you figure out where that is.
Monday, April 21, 2008
American Gladiators
So a few moments ago I was watching an old episode of American Gladiators with Shannon and two topics came up. Firstly there was a competitor named Wesley Berry(I know different spelling). Secondly we debated over what Shannon's gladiator name should be. I believe it should be Bonecrusher since her last name is Bonebright she doesn't like it. What do you guys think it should be?
Imma firin' mah Dawkins
Expelled suprised me because I haven't heard any more about it, or the fact no one besides me and Ali were at the movie (then again it was 1040 and a Sunday night...)
If anything, it's nice to see Ben Stein asking scientists "Why?" and not talking about dry, irritated eyes. Also, it may be a private viewing so you can neck on your "girlfriends". I'm looking at you, Amish (fuck you in the mouth).
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Recent dreams:
A couple of nights ago:
I was lost somewhere. Not sure where, but it was a forest in the late fall. I wander into a clearing. Lost as hell, when out of the woods comes Dave. He waves me over and tells me he's been looking for me. He turns around and I follow him into the woods. Where he was leading me was cut short by consciousness and my alarm clock.
Dave, where were you leading me?
Last night:
I dreamt that I was back in grad school, on a student teaching exchange with some small college in Texas. We (other grads who were in the same program) were being put up in this bar/apartments run by an old priest. We enter through the bar, filled with unsavory sorts. The priest leads us up to our rooms and we start to settle in. Over the next day we start to learn more about the history of the place.
There's an unsettling tendancy for one or more of the grad students who've gone to this school to suddenly commit suicide. We start to notice that the methods of death and the rooms (which we're now staying in) don't add up. Finally we add up that they are not suicides, but murders. Of course that's when we figure out that it's the priest, who then tries to make sure we don't tell anyone, sending the unsavory types in the bar after us. After a bit of creative hiding and running we manage to escape to a state fair...
Anyway, after a dry spell of weird dreams, these were the best I could do.
I was lost somewhere. Not sure where, but it was a forest in the late fall. I wander into a clearing. Lost as hell, when out of the woods comes Dave. He waves me over and tells me he's been looking for me. He turns around and I follow him into the woods. Where he was leading me was cut short by consciousness and my alarm clock.
Dave, where were you leading me?
Last night:
I dreamt that I was back in grad school, on a student teaching exchange with some small college in Texas. We (other grads who were in the same program) were being put up in this bar/apartments run by an old priest. We enter through the bar, filled with unsavory sorts. The priest leads us up to our rooms and we start to settle in. Over the next day we start to learn more about the history of the place.
There's an unsettling tendancy for one or more of the grad students who've gone to this school to suddenly commit suicide. We start to notice that the methods of death and the rooms (which we're now staying in) don't add up. Finally we add up that they are not suicides, but murders. Of course that's when we figure out that it's the priest, who then tries to make sure we don't tell anyone, sending the unsavory types in the bar after us. After a bit of creative hiding and running we manage to escape to a state fair...
Anyway, after a dry spell of weird dreams, these were the best I could do.
Labels: weird dream
Saturday, April 19, 2008
LATE NOTICE
SSBB is going on now. At a party. With my Wii. Call for details.
Also, happy belated birfdae Rominger. Too bad I have yet to get internet back at my own place to say so earlier.
Also, happy belated birfdae Rominger. Too bad I have yet to get internet back at my own place to say so earlier.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Old as Hell
Well, it's 12:19. I just woke up thinking it was 8 am due to the gray-tone weather outside and the sound of cars streaking by. I appear to have burnt through the last of the coffee and will never drink it again, at least until I eat lunch.
Rominger, what are you doing for the birthday? I'm guessing the handful of pills/pint of Wild Turkey/snort of coke off a toilet tank/sexual harassment charge filed by a stripper thing?
Rominger, what are you doing for the birthday? I'm guessing the handful of pills/pint of Wild Turkey/snort of coke off a toilet tank/sexual harassment charge filed by a stripper thing?
Again, ?
Good God, I am tired but can't sleep. I've been lying in bed since 12:30 in a Halo/grad school/future plans/Sarah delirium and all I want to do is brush my teeth. And floss. For some reason my teeth feel like they need it. Also my head hurts. I feel like I'm on meth.
Yesterday (today?) I drank a great and astounding amount of coffee, and also ate part of a coffee-flavored chocolate bar that cost three dollars at Hy Vee. Don't worry, I bought it for a special occasion.
If you're looking for something to read, here are some things I've found great recently:
Dogwalker, by Arthur Bradford. Short stories featuring bizarre and shiftless characters in rough situations. One features a character named Catface who has a catface disease.
Sirens of Titan, about a rich earth playboy who is fucked over by fate and a time- and space-traveling megalomaniac.
Tree of Smoke, about Nam, where Kevin was conceived.
Candide, one of the most brilliant and funny and true and short books I've read. I really do think you would like this one, particularly Bil and Martin and Morgan, probably because it uses a more weighted and cynical but also hopeful and capable wit that you might enjoy. This is the best book I've ever read in a single sitting.
Monday I rode to Des Moines to sell a towering stack of books to Half-Price Books. After the horrors of past moving experiences, I decided that my next move would involve only what would fit in my car, and now my library is much smaller. At Half-Price Books I carried box after box to the sell desk, and then wandered around the store till they'd analyzed my bundle of junk. They handed me sixty-one dollars. At the desk, the clerk told me she was excited to check out my stack. "We get excited whenever somebody young comes in here," she said. "Everyone else just sells us Danielle Steel." "There's good stuff over there," I said, but then got nervous because I'd kept all the really good stuff for myself. "You should check it out. I'm a writer guy." "Oh!" she said. "From where?" "Well...Ames." "Oh." "Yes." "The nice thing is, here we're all writers." "I applied here once," I said, "but something came up." Really what came up is the manager asked why I didn't have higher ambitions. He had a large head. I drove back to Albia that day, in summer of 04, and probably called Alyssa or went over to Garrett's apartment to play CTF on Sidewinder, and eventually was hired to research laws governing private development of meatpacking businesses and the physical requirements of professional dog groomers.
Now it is April of 08 and I can not tell you how very old I feel. If you people who are older than me feel anywhere near as old as I do, I can only wish you were here right now to eat a steak or some fish with me and talk about it. I don't know why it is, but I regularly feel about 65. Actually, I do know why it is: 1) I live in a town where everyone I see is at least two years younger than me, and usually more like seven. Every time I go to Des Moines I feel restored, like I've swum through the fountain of youth to get from Ames to Kevin's apartment. 2) People I used to sit around playing the Ninja Turtles game on NES with are now married and likely going to be teaching history at ACHS next year. I'm referring to Meagan here. 3) I'm 25 and my current sources of income are paychecks from the English Dept. and the student loan I took out this year. 4)I still sleep on a mattress on a floor like a damned hobo. The first fucking thing I'm buying when I move out of here is a real bed. I swear to almighty dog that it's going to be stuffed with golden feathers or the hair of virgins or something equally decadent and expensive.
Here are some story ideas I've developed, either by myself or in conjunction with other brilliant people, and abandoned, usually at bars or breakfast counters:
1)To quote directly from the note I scrawled while drinking coffee at Borders: "Recipe for an immortality cocktail: mix the blood of these ten cute animals; drink. Unicorns. Koalas. Kittens. Caribou. A virgin male human. (This last one was struck through.) Penguin. Hippo. Exotic bird. Mountain goat. White owl. Three-weeks dead vulture."
2)Story where man's dead girlfriend, who he choked out with a shoelace, helps him solve a mystery. (?)
3)Story about drilling holes into a bar. (again, ?)
I have ridden a great wave of production in the past few weeks, pumping out short fiction like a wave pool pumps out kiddy vomit, and the reason is that I've started writing stories based entirely on dreams. Seriously, it's very useful for adding a certain attractively surreal quality to otherwise stolid fiction.
Dave, I hope you will direct Allison to this: Last night I dreamt that she was an investigative reporter and I was for some reason at a press conference with her. I was confused but showed signs of being useful, if there would be a scuffle.
Again, ?
Let me tell you a little story about our apartment. The story is, the people who live around us, meaning both up- and downstairs, used to be loud fuckers. If you've stayed here, you know what I mean; the music, which started every night around 2:10, after cars pulled into the parking lot, smashed through the walls and sounded as if it were being played in your very head. This was annoying on the weekends, when I was awake and people would be over and we'd be sitting around playing Halo, but was horrible on the weeknights, when I'd already have forced myself into bed and would be barely able to close my eyes anyway.
New paragraph:
This changed a few months ago, when at 3:30 or so Sarah, who had come down for the night, still could not sleep due to the rave in the basement. Goathead went down to have a friendly chat with them and I, who almost never fly into a rage anymore, went down and punched the door until they opened. They looked like fish in a bucket after about three m-80s had been dropped in. They were obviously stoned. Something acidic was said regarding police. The music stopped. I immediately felt bad but was also able to go to sleep, and for once this year didn't have to fall asleep next to my girlfriend feeling too impotent to create a quiet environment at 4 in the morning.
The next day I slipped a note under their door apologizing for punching their door, explaining that I likely wouldn't call the police, but that I would appreciate it if they would be quiet after two. That was it, until that weekend, when I hosted a party of my own. Several lit and ex-lit majors were here, as were Cricket and a crew of graphic designers. I was sitting on my desk talking to Krystal and Lauren and Joe when one of Cricket's friends answered the front door and a basement dweller came in. Maybe he came to give me fish, to use Goathed's terminology, but the place was bloated with large and angsty-looking people. Anyway, he was lovely and thanked me so many times for not calling the police that it was obvious he was high. I gave him a Modelo and it was as if I'd handed him a cup of ambrosia. I was reminded of a time earlier this year, when I'd given a Killian's to the guys upstairs after asking them to shut the fuck up, and they reacted as if I'd poured them a glass of cellar-aged wine. These people are used to swilling fermented sweat out of tin cans.
I've become a fairly good amateur chef, and like the difference in the Modern English song, I'm getting better all the time. Really, I'm pretty good. Goathed is probably better, because every few weeks he'll brandish a wok and mix together a bunch of dead creatures from the sea and produce something delicious, but I'm not bad either. Here are a few recipes:
1) Breakfast slop, alternately referred to as the Eggy Mess:
Find your ipod. Pause whatever you're watching on the expensive and foolishly-purchased tv. Heat oven to medium-high and dump in hashbrowns and veggie sausage. Eight minutes later, forget to stir the skillet of food. Two minutes after that, violently curse god and rush to the kitchen without socks. Dump in sliced onions, tomatoes and peppers. Finally, three egss, beaten. Salsa. Alternately, ktchp & mstrd. Stir up and experience orgasm in mouth. Seriously delicious. There's enough food here for you and a date. Wish you had more friends in town. Wish your girlfriend were around. Eat enough to sastify two people while watching a Six Feet Under DVD.
2) Disturbing Eggs
Nearly the same, but instead of hash browns, black beans. Turns the eggs gray. Put it in a colorful tortilla and think about eating brains.
3) Heart of Darkness
No real recipe here, but this would be a badass name for a dinner.
4) Fishparagus
Dump some butter into a pan. Medium-low heat. Filet of tilapia. Get excited. The smells are like being a kid. Dad's home from the reservoir, has sat around his desk with a knife gutting a stringer of fish, and is now in the kitchen frying the fuck out if it. While overcome with nostalgia, put asparagus and butter into another skillet. Wonder if you washed the asparagus enough. Wonder if you're supposed to eat the weird parts on the tip. Think about how it looks like a skillet full of deformed and tiny penises. Eat and feel vaguely happy, but also unsettled.
5) Chinese pizza
Call John Vorwald. Fulfill old curiosity.
You may wonder what I'm listening to as I write this. The answer is, 89.3, the Current. This is a Minneapolis station that I'm listening to on internet radio. It's a kickass station. Strange to visit a town that has its shit together regarding its publicly-funded radio stations. Here in Ames you can listen to classical all day and jazz for about three minutes at night and NPR programs in between. Right now it's disturbing because the DJ rarely cuts in and when she does she says the strange and vaguely desperate things DJs say when the only people listening are insomniacs and, presumably, trash men. It has me thinking how hideous it would be to work some early-morning job. God help me if I ever have to be awake now in a professional capacity.
Some of you may remember when we called Lazer from Garrett's apartment, around five AM, during the Halo all-niter years ago. It is one of my favorite memories. Andy was back and bought a bottle of ten-dollar whiskey and I thought, this man must have found El Dorado. At the time I was having intense soul-searching private battles over whether or not I could afford to drop 4 dollars for a Veggie Delite at Subway.
...
There is a strange thing going on with grad school here. Last year at a breakfast meeting I asked Krystal, who was a year ahead of me, if I would be able to enjoy my second year at all. My fear was that, as my education neared its end, I would be overcome with anxiety about leaving Iowa, finding a job, etc. Krystal told me I would be fine and she was right. There is so much paperwork and so many obscure portals to find and then crawl through that now the end of this donkey show seems to be a glittering oasis at the end of a long stretch of hell. My inbox and my bag are full of student papers, I've got a sheaf of official forms in my drawer, and when I think about a real paycheck again I almost hemorrhage dollar bills in anticipation.
This happened last time I graduated from college. It's nice to be back there again, in the heady and idiotic days of late spring, with a future both bright and terrifyingly empty opening up. There's a feeling I had both then and now, that things are going to work out for the best, even though intellectually that seems ridiculous. And in retrospect, it was; after I graduated I lived in my parents' house for months and was without a job and sank into a bitter funk and sent resumes to the most ridiculous of places. The thought of being in that place again is miserable. But it's nice to feel the electricity of possibility again, even if it's shocking and dangerous.
I have this plan to cheer me up about this bout of insomnia by eating pizza slices for lunch, at this place downtown.
I have already enacted this plan to cheer me up about this bout of insomnia: canceling office hours tomorrow. Nobody comes anyway. Office hours, if you're unfamiliar with that terminology, are the hours when you, the instructor, sit around your office waiting for students to show up and ask you about class. In the past year, someone has only come twice, and it was the same student both times. The first time I wasn't there. The second time she came in and started crying about the impact of her fiance's suspected unfaithfulness on her ability to complete homework assignments.
Now, inexplicably, she has dropped out. I keep thinking I should check with her but it seems unfair to the other students who have dropped out and who seemed so disengaged that I didn't bother emailing them.
The worst thing about teaching freshmen, if you're wondering, is that they force you to care about the things you don't want to care about. For example: I care very little about the moral obligation for a student to be mentally present in class. If a student wants to daydream for fifty minutes, it's fine with me. (I myself have probably killed 50+ hours of my academic life mentally imagining different scenarios in which I struggle to survive a biplane crash.) But when that student starts actively fucking with you, you have to either back down or stand up for some idea of authority that you barely even associate with. For example, today during student presentations one girl would not stop click click clicking around on her computer. I had asked previously that everyone either log out or just not fuck around online while their colleagues were talking at the front of the room. I decided to be cool and ride things out, but then computer girl started printing. Printing! It was a loud debacle. I gave a speech about how clicking around is rude and disruptive and pisses me off. I am usually benevolent like a fat Santa Claus and when I swore they all looked like I'd executed a puppy at the front of the room.
. . .
Rominger, happy birthday. I dedicate this unwieldy post to you.
. . .
update
Hi, me again. This installment of Dinosaur Comics had me thinking about how adding "in bed" after a phrase can not only enliven fortune cookie fortunes, but also elements of this last blog post. (If you don't understand what I'm talking about, you don't understand how to fully read Dinosaur Comics.)
For example:
The recipe for Chinese Pizza becomes "Call John Vorwald. Fulfill old curiosity. In bed."
My bitchy rant about students becomes "they force you to care about the things you don't want to care about. In bed.
That's enough of this juvenile behavior.
I can't figure out how to shut off this bold.
Yesterday (today?) I drank a great and astounding amount of coffee, and also ate part of a coffee-flavored chocolate bar that cost three dollars at Hy Vee. Don't worry, I bought it for a special occasion.
If you're looking for something to read, here are some things I've found great recently:
Dogwalker, by Arthur Bradford. Short stories featuring bizarre and shiftless characters in rough situations. One features a character named Catface who has a catface disease.
Sirens of Titan, about a rich earth playboy who is fucked over by fate and a time- and space-traveling megalomaniac.
Tree of Smoke, about Nam, where Kevin was conceived.
Candide, one of the most brilliant and funny and true and short books I've read. I really do think you would like this one, particularly Bil and Martin and Morgan, probably because it uses a more weighted and cynical but also hopeful and capable wit that you might enjoy. This is the best book I've ever read in a single sitting.
Monday I rode to Des Moines to sell a towering stack of books to Half-Price Books. After the horrors of past moving experiences, I decided that my next move would involve only what would fit in my car, and now my library is much smaller. At Half-Price Books I carried box after box to the sell desk, and then wandered around the store till they'd analyzed my bundle of junk. They handed me sixty-one dollars. At the desk, the clerk told me she was excited to check out my stack. "We get excited whenever somebody young comes in here," she said. "Everyone else just sells us Danielle Steel." "There's good stuff over there," I said, but then got nervous because I'd kept all the really good stuff for myself. "You should check it out. I'm a writer guy." "Oh!" she said. "From where?" "Well...Ames." "Oh." "Yes." "The nice thing is, here we're all writers." "I applied here once," I said, "but something came up." Really what came up is the manager asked why I didn't have higher ambitions. He had a large head. I drove back to Albia that day, in summer of 04, and probably called Alyssa or went over to Garrett's apartment to play CTF on Sidewinder, and eventually was hired to research laws governing private development of meatpacking businesses and the physical requirements of professional dog groomers.
Now it is April of 08 and I can not tell you how very old I feel. If you people who are older than me feel anywhere near as old as I do, I can only wish you were here right now to eat a steak or some fish with me and talk about it. I don't know why it is, but I regularly feel about 65. Actually, I do know why it is: 1) I live in a town where everyone I see is at least two years younger than me, and usually more like seven. Every time I go to Des Moines I feel restored, like I've swum through the fountain of youth to get from Ames to Kevin's apartment. 2) People I used to sit around playing the Ninja Turtles game on NES with are now married and likely going to be teaching history at ACHS next year. I'm referring to Meagan here. 3) I'm 25 and my current sources of income are paychecks from the English Dept. and the student loan I took out this year. 4)I still sleep on a mattress on a floor like a damned hobo. The first fucking thing I'm buying when I move out of here is a real bed. I swear to almighty dog that it's going to be stuffed with golden feathers or the hair of virgins or something equally decadent and expensive.
Here are some story ideas I've developed, either by myself or in conjunction with other brilliant people, and abandoned, usually at bars or breakfast counters:
1)To quote directly from the note I scrawled while drinking coffee at Borders: "Recipe for an immortality cocktail: mix the blood of these ten cute animals; drink. Unicorns. Koalas. Kittens. Caribou. A virgin male human. (This last one was struck through.) Penguin. Hippo. Exotic bird. Mountain goat. White owl. Three-weeks dead vulture."
2)Story where man's dead girlfriend, who he choked out with a shoelace, helps him solve a mystery. (?)
3)Story about drilling holes into a bar. (again, ?)
I have ridden a great wave of production in the past few weeks, pumping out short fiction like a wave pool pumps out kiddy vomit, and the reason is that I've started writing stories based entirely on dreams. Seriously, it's very useful for adding a certain attractively surreal quality to otherwise stolid fiction.
Dave, I hope you will direct Allison to this: Last night I dreamt that she was an investigative reporter and I was for some reason at a press conference with her. I was confused but showed signs of being useful, if there would be a scuffle.
Again, ?
Let me tell you a little story about our apartment. The story is, the people who live around us, meaning both up- and downstairs, used to be loud fuckers. If you've stayed here, you know what I mean; the music, which started every night around 2:10, after cars pulled into the parking lot, smashed through the walls and sounded as if it were being played in your very head. This was annoying on the weekends, when I was awake and people would be over and we'd be sitting around playing Halo, but was horrible on the weeknights, when I'd already have forced myself into bed and would be barely able to close my eyes anyway.
New paragraph:
This changed a few months ago, when at 3:30 or so Sarah, who had come down for the night, still could not sleep due to the rave in the basement. Goathead went down to have a friendly chat with them and I, who almost never fly into a rage anymore, went down and punched the door until they opened. They looked like fish in a bucket after about three m-80s had been dropped in. They were obviously stoned. Something acidic was said regarding police. The music stopped. I immediately felt bad but was also able to go to sleep, and for once this year didn't have to fall asleep next to my girlfriend feeling too impotent to create a quiet environment at 4 in the morning.
The next day I slipped a note under their door apologizing for punching their door, explaining that I likely wouldn't call the police, but that I would appreciate it if they would be quiet after two. That was it, until that weekend, when I hosted a party of my own. Several lit and ex-lit majors were here, as were Cricket and a crew of graphic designers. I was sitting on my desk talking to Krystal and Lauren and Joe when one of Cricket's friends answered the front door and a basement dweller came in. Maybe he came to give me fish, to use Goathed's terminology, but the place was bloated with large and angsty-looking people. Anyway, he was lovely and thanked me so many times for not calling the police that it was obvious he was high. I gave him a Modelo and it was as if I'd handed him a cup of ambrosia. I was reminded of a time earlier this year, when I'd given a Killian's to the guys upstairs after asking them to shut the fuck up, and they reacted as if I'd poured them a glass of cellar-aged wine. These people are used to swilling fermented sweat out of tin cans.
I've become a fairly good amateur chef, and like the difference in the Modern English song, I'm getting better all the time. Really, I'm pretty good. Goathed is probably better, because every few weeks he'll brandish a wok and mix together a bunch of dead creatures from the sea and produce something delicious, but I'm not bad either. Here are a few recipes:
1) Breakfast slop, alternately referred to as the Eggy Mess:
Find your ipod. Pause whatever you're watching on the expensive and foolishly-purchased tv. Heat oven to medium-high and dump in hashbrowns and veggie sausage. Eight minutes later, forget to stir the skillet of food. Two minutes after that, violently curse god and rush to the kitchen without socks. Dump in sliced onions, tomatoes and peppers. Finally, three egss, beaten. Salsa. Alternately, ktchp & mstrd. Stir up and experience orgasm in mouth. Seriously delicious. There's enough food here for you and a date. Wish you had more friends in town. Wish your girlfriend were around. Eat enough to sastify two people while watching a Six Feet Under DVD.
2) Disturbing Eggs
Nearly the same, but instead of hash browns, black beans. Turns the eggs gray. Put it in a colorful tortilla and think about eating brains.
3) Heart of Darkness
No real recipe here, but this would be a badass name for a dinner.
4) Fishparagus
Dump some butter into a pan. Medium-low heat. Filet of tilapia. Get excited. The smells are like being a kid. Dad's home from the reservoir, has sat around his desk with a knife gutting a stringer of fish, and is now in the kitchen frying the fuck out if it. While overcome with nostalgia, put asparagus and butter into another skillet. Wonder if you washed the asparagus enough. Wonder if you're supposed to eat the weird parts on the tip. Think about how it looks like a skillet full of deformed and tiny penises. Eat and feel vaguely happy, but also unsettled.
5) Chinese pizza
Call John Vorwald. Fulfill old curiosity.
You may wonder what I'm listening to as I write this. The answer is, 89.3, the Current. This is a Minneapolis station that I'm listening to on internet radio. It's a kickass station. Strange to visit a town that has its shit together regarding its publicly-funded radio stations. Here in Ames you can listen to classical all day and jazz for about three minutes at night and NPR programs in between. Right now it's disturbing because the DJ rarely cuts in and when she does she says the strange and vaguely desperate things DJs say when the only people listening are insomniacs and, presumably, trash men. It has me thinking how hideous it would be to work some early-morning job. God help me if I ever have to be awake now in a professional capacity.
Some of you may remember when we called Lazer from Garrett's apartment, around five AM, during the Halo all-niter years ago. It is one of my favorite memories. Andy was back and bought a bottle of ten-dollar whiskey and I thought, this man must have found El Dorado. At the time I was having intense soul-searching private battles over whether or not I could afford to drop 4 dollars for a Veggie Delite at Subway.
...
There is a strange thing going on with grad school here. Last year at a breakfast meeting I asked Krystal, who was a year ahead of me, if I would be able to enjoy my second year at all. My fear was that, as my education neared its end, I would be overcome with anxiety about leaving Iowa, finding a job, etc. Krystal told me I would be fine and she was right. There is so much paperwork and so many obscure portals to find and then crawl through that now the end of this donkey show seems to be a glittering oasis at the end of a long stretch of hell. My inbox and my bag are full of student papers, I've got a sheaf of official forms in my drawer, and when I think about a real paycheck again I almost hemorrhage dollar bills in anticipation.
This happened last time I graduated from college. It's nice to be back there again, in the heady and idiotic days of late spring, with a future both bright and terrifyingly empty opening up. There's a feeling I had both then and now, that things are going to work out for the best, even though intellectually that seems ridiculous. And in retrospect, it was; after I graduated I lived in my parents' house for months and was without a job and sank into a bitter funk and sent resumes to the most ridiculous of places. The thought of being in that place again is miserable. But it's nice to feel the electricity of possibility again, even if it's shocking and dangerous.
I have this plan to cheer me up about this bout of insomnia by eating pizza slices for lunch, at this place downtown.
I have already enacted this plan to cheer me up about this bout of insomnia: canceling office hours tomorrow. Nobody comes anyway. Office hours, if you're unfamiliar with that terminology, are the hours when you, the instructor, sit around your office waiting for students to show up and ask you about class. In the past year, someone has only come twice, and it was the same student both times. The first time I wasn't there. The second time she came in and started crying about the impact of her fiance's suspected unfaithfulness on her ability to complete homework assignments.
Now, inexplicably, she has dropped out. I keep thinking I should check with her but it seems unfair to the other students who have dropped out and who seemed so disengaged that I didn't bother emailing them.
The worst thing about teaching freshmen, if you're wondering, is that they force you to care about the things you don't want to care about. For example: I care very little about the moral obligation for a student to be mentally present in class. If a student wants to daydream for fifty minutes, it's fine with me. (I myself have probably killed 50+ hours of my academic life mentally imagining different scenarios in which I struggle to survive a biplane crash.) But when that student starts actively fucking with you, you have to either back down or stand up for some idea of authority that you barely even associate with. For example, today during student presentations one girl would not stop click click clicking around on her computer. I had asked previously that everyone either log out or just not fuck around online while their colleagues were talking at the front of the room. I decided to be cool and ride things out, but then computer girl started printing. Printing! It was a loud debacle. I gave a speech about how clicking around is rude and disruptive and pisses me off. I am usually benevolent like a fat Santa Claus and when I swore they all looked like I'd executed a puppy at the front of the room.
. . .
Rominger, happy birthday. I dedicate this unwieldy post to you.
. . .
update
Hi, me again. This installment of Dinosaur Comics had me thinking about how adding "in bed" after a phrase can not only enliven fortune cookie fortunes, but also elements of this last blog post. (If you don't understand what I'm talking about, you don't understand how to fully read Dinosaur Comics.)
For example:
The recipe for Chinese Pizza becomes "Call John Vorwald. Fulfill old curiosity. In bed."
My bitchy rant about students becomes "they force you to care about the things you don't want to care about. In bed.
That's enough of this juvenile behavior.
I can't figure out how to shut off this bold.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Amish and Wes...making out on the train tracks
Now that I have your attention... My internship! Many have inquired. I work at this place called Commotion. The best part? They don't pay me! Aside from that, last week I messed with audio files and this week I'm doing storyboarding for a couple ads. It is the bee's knees straight from the vendor!
Other news: I will have internet back hopefully later this week. This will be nice because i have missed a fare share of things on both the blog and on -EBAUMSWORLD-. The other Ebaumsworld, you know...the good one.
For now: Fuck you, Amish. Despite what you may say in response, fuck you first. In the mouth.
Other news: I will have internet back hopefully later this week. This will be nice because i have missed a fare share of things on both the blog and on -EBAUMSWORLD-. The other Ebaumsworld, you know...the good one.
For now: Fuck you, Amish. Despite what you may say in response, fuck you first. In the mouth.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Sad day, and a pick me up.
I've had glasses since I was in the 4th grade. My math teacher noticed I was squinting at the board. Since then, I've bent and scratched up a number of different glasses. Not once though have I ever broken a pair of glasses.
Today that changed. I got home from work, groceries in both hands, laptop bag slung over my neck, sunglasses on, I walk to my apartment and set everything down. That's when I remembered my glasses were hanging from my collar, and were being crushed by my laptop bag's strap.
I release it to find my glasses are now a unique pair of monocles. Swearing fills my home.
I've had those frames since I was a freshman in college. It's like a part of my identity is broken. I now look freakish in old wire frames. Or more freakish depending on your point of view.
I tried a bit of triage and super-glued the halves together, but the world feels a bit... Wonky. Wonky = Nauseating.
To make me happy:
Today that changed. I got home from work, groceries in both hands, laptop bag slung over my neck, sunglasses on, I walk to my apartment and set everything down. That's when I remembered my glasses were hanging from my collar, and were being crushed by my laptop bag's strap.
I release it to find my glasses are now a unique pair of monocles. Swearing fills my home.
I've had those frames since I was a freshman in college. It's like a part of my identity is broken. I now look freakish in old wire frames. Or more freakish depending on your point of view.
I tried a bit of triage and super-glued the halves together, but the world feels a bit... Wonky. Wonky = Nauseating.
To make me happy:
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Pssst.... Still here...
Hello all, I've managed to find my way back to the blogger, and recover through the depths of the internet my password and all that other jazz. I'm still in the Navy, and living out in California right now, for the next month or so. I'm almost done getting Russian fire-hosed into my brain, and wouldn't you believe it - I'm among the best in my class.
I'm heading out to Maryland on 12 May to start working for NSA, and that should be cool. Unfortunately, I can't ever really write anything about my job, because I'll go to prision for some horrendous crime or breaking articles of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. But anyway, here's a little run-down of things that have been going on.
As I said, in CA, have been since March of last year, and am learning Russian in Monterey, CA. I acquainted myself with many people here, and am actually (unofficially) engaged, to Aaron, who is going to be an Arabic linguist. I tore up my rotator cuff and a bunch of tendons in my shoulder, so I was in physical therapy forever with that, but am finally better and can get back to swimming and regular working out which makes me happy.
I have met a lot of really neat people here, and yesterday I got to meet a Admiral who was in charge of the Pakistani relief operations after the huge earthquake a few years ago, and works in the Pentagon and is all important and stuff. (I also almost ran over him on my run yesterday which would have been bad)
But other than that, things have been pretty quiet. I'm applying to go to med school 0r get my counseling psych degree in Washington, DC when I get there this summer. Things are going well, but I miss you guys, and apologize for not keeping in touch as much as I should have, but this school is so intense, and that along with military responsibilities keeps me pretty busy. However, I can't wait to hear from you guys and see how everyone is doing. I promise to write more on this now, that I have recovered my access to here.
P.S. Tim (or anyone else for that matter) I just read a book that I think you would really like, it's called "Death's Acre" it's about the body farm in TN, and how it got started and all sorts of cool, macabre things. Also reading "The Lobotomist" which is shaping up to be a good book.
That is all for now :)
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Ads and zombies
Found this and thought of the blog: Puppet Zombies! I especially like the initial infection scene. That's how I imagine things in my blood.
Also, as I found out how many 5-year-olds I could before being taken down, I noticed the ads that were generated at the bottom of the screen.
I realize that the test fails to take into account the health of the children. Hell, I could possibly take out more of them if they've succumb to the obesity "epidemic" just by being able to out run them then kicking the crap out of their weezing asses.
Also, as I found out how many 5-year-olds I could before being taken down, I noticed the ads that were generated at the bottom of the screen.
I realize that the test fails to take into account the health of the children. Hell, I could possibly take out more of them if they've succumb to the obesity "epidemic" just by being able to out run them then kicking the crap out of their weezing asses.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Government Cheese
Dave's comment suggesting I subsidize the Snake Eyes sword with government cheese got me all excited. $600 would keep me neck deep in strippers and booze for like . . . a whole week or something, even after I buy the sword.
Unfortunately, I will probably only get enough to immerse myself for a few days. The breakdown goes something like this:
Examples of how the Economic Stimulus Act of 2008 may affect taxpayers who are single and either childless or do not have children who qualify for the child tax credit:
1) Individual with wages of $4,000, no federal income tax liability.
Individual rebate is $300
2) Individual with no wages, veterans’ payments of $2,000, social security benefits of $2,000, no federal income tax liability.
Individual rebate is $300
3) Individual with no wages, no social security benefits, veterans’ payments of $4,000, no federal income tax liability.
Individual rebate is $300
4) Individual with no wages, no social security benefits, no veterans’ benefits, AGI is $10,000, federal income tax liability is $125.
Individual rebate is $300
5) Individual with AGI is $12,000, federal income tax liability is $325.
Individual rebate is $325
6) Individual with AGI is $35,000, federal income tax liability in excess of $600.
Individual rebate is $600
7) Individual with AGI is $80,000, federal income tax liability in excess of $600.
Individual rebate is $600
Phase out reduction is ($250)
TOTAL is $350
I'm not totally sure what all that government mumbo-jumbo means, but the odds seem to favor a $300 rebate for us single folk.
That's still $200 more than I need for the sword. Thanks W! My local liquor store and strip club thank you as well.
Unfortunately, I will probably only get enough to immerse myself for a few days. The breakdown goes something like this:
Examples of how the Economic Stimulus Act of 2008 may affect taxpayers who are single and either childless or do not have children who qualify for the child tax credit:
1) Individual with wages of $4,000, no federal income tax liability.
Individual rebate is $300
2) Individual with no wages, veterans’ payments of $2,000, social security benefits of $2,000, no federal income tax liability.
Individual rebate is $300
3) Individual with no wages, no social security benefits, veterans’ payments of $4,000, no federal income tax liability.
Individual rebate is $300
4) Individual with no wages, no social security benefits, no veterans’ benefits, AGI is $10,000, federal income tax liability is $125.
Individual rebate is $300
5) Individual with AGI is $12,000, federal income tax liability is $325.
Individual rebate is $325
6) Individual with AGI is $35,000, federal income tax liability in excess of $600.
Individual rebate is $600
7) Individual with AGI is $80,000, federal income tax liability in excess of $600.
Individual rebate is $600
Phase out reduction is ($250)
TOTAL is $350
I'm not totally sure what all that government mumbo-jumbo means, but the odds seem to favor a $300 rebate for us single folk.
That's still $200 more than I need for the sword. Thanks W! My local liquor store and strip club thank you as well.
The Sword of Snake Eyes
It's been a while since I considered dropping a large sum of money on a sword. I wish I could say that poverty has made me practical, but considering all the cash I've blown on strippers and booze, well, it'd be a hard argument to make. In about a month I'll be graduating though, and maybe, if the economy still has a place for me, I'll be getting a real job again.
If I do, the first $100 of my paycheck is already spoken for.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Featherproof Books
While looking for publishers to peddle my fiction to, I came across this one, that does something with short stories that I think Cricket would enjoy. In addition to putting out traditional artifact-based novels, they also let you download free mini-books, that you print and fold yourself for free. And no, I haven't read any of them. Maybe they all suck horribly.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Strange conversations
As fall hit up here, I noticed a strange object under the flowers that are planted next to my front door. Apparently, one of the previous tenants liked dead animal parts, because it was an animal skull. Never really knew what it was and I kind of assumed it was a fawn skull (kinda like a deer skull, but smaller).
At any rate, my Dad and I got to talking about the skull and had a small conversation about what the skull had originally belonged to. He guessed dog, again size of the skull came into play. But, the teeth ended half-way down the snout. We argued about it for awhile, maybe a goat or sheep, nah. Teeth to pointy. So we're to a point where my front door is decorated with the skull of a mythical beast.
Mythical.
At any rate, my Dad and I got to talking about the skull and had a small conversation about what the skull had originally belonged to. He guessed dog, again size of the skull came into play. But, the teeth ended half-way down the snout. We argued about it for awhile, maybe a goat or sheep, nah. Teeth to pointy. So we're to a point where my front door is decorated with the skull of a mythical beast.
Mythical.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Summer movies
Why is the summer movie lineup so weak this year. Pineapple Express, Iron Man, and a Indy are the only movies I care about this summer. Maybe I was just spoiled by how wonderful summer of '07 was but I am really unhappy with this years crop.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Oh lawd iz dat sum voice talents, boss?!
Okay kids. One of you lucky sumbitches gets to do the voice of this hombre...
He is El Piñatos. Galactus and King of the Cosmos jammed into a giant piñata. He's a jerk and has an excuse for everything. He also believes he can turn any world into candies to fill his giant piñata body.
Here is the dialog:
Awaken, my Luchador de Plata... it is time. The Hambre de Galáctico again stirs within me. This planet is perfect yet no different from the countless thousands before it… Turn their civilization of steel, plastic, and concrete into a banquete of dulces, chocolate bars, salt water taffies, jawbreakers, pennies, sugar skulls, and other assorted juguetes de fiesta…. ¡Vaya! Bring this pathetic rock to its knees before they bow to El Consumer de Cosmos… ¡Soy El Piñatos, y tengo hambre!
Send me a .wav file (stereo uncompressed 16bit 44mhz) and it has to be LESS THAN 54 seconds. PLEASE! Know how to Moonspeak spanish before you even attempt to send it to me. If I hear "Ham Bray" you will be disqualified. I'll be lenient on the .wav if you give me a mono file. My email addy is davidpwells at the gee male. DEADLINE IS TUESDAY APRIL 8 AT 1PM.
Good luck to the winner. This is going in my reel. Also, thank you for whoever does it. When I come back in July, I will have cake.
He is El Piñatos. Galactus and King of the Cosmos jammed into a giant piñata. He's a jerk and has an excuse for everything. He also believes he can turn any world into candies to fill his giant piñata body.
Here is the dialog:
Awaken, my Luchador de Plata... it is time. The Hambre de Galáctico again stirs within me. This planet is perfect yet no different from the countless thousands before it… Turn their civilization of steel, plastic, and concrete into a banquete of dulces, chocolate bars, salt water taffies, jawbreakers, pennies, sugar skulls, and other assorted juguetes de fiesta…. ¡Vaya! Bring this pathetic rock to its knees before they bow to El Consumer de Cosmos… ¡Soy El Piñatos, y tengo hambre!
Send me a .wav file (stereo uncompressed 16bit 44mhz) and it has to be LESS THAN 54 seconds. PLEASE! Know how to Moonspeak spanish before you even attempt to send it to me. If I hear "Ham Bray" you will be disqualified. I'll be lenient on the .wav if you give me a mono file. My email addy is davidpwells at the gee male. DEADLINE IS TUESDAY APRIL 8 AT 1PM.
Good luck to the winner. This is going in my reel. Also, thank you for whoever does it. When I come back in July, I will have cake.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Fail
Okay, so I failed at coming up with anything to really post. The only thing I've come up with, is that I need to create stickers to put over my standard issue business cards... I'm a graphic designer, how can I possibly be satisfied with the standard cards the university gives us?
Have you watched 300?
Now this is acceptable violence!
Hope you enjoy!
Frisko
P.S. - I've been playng quite a bit... I got a 22Mbps server running. If u r into CS let me know!
Hope you enjoy!
Frisko
P.S. - I've been playng quite a bit... I got a 22Mbps server running. If u r into CS let me know!
Political Ravings
Clinton is such a lying whore. I knew it long before her Bosnian patriot games were exposed. I knew it when she didn't divorce Bill the minute his presidency ended, like any sane, self-respecting woman would have done. Oh yeah, you fucked Monica with a cigar huh Bill? Yeah, as soon as we're out of the White House I'm divorcing your ass. Chelsea was grown up, what the fuck was the point?
Image. Simple as that. Her marriage is a lie, her family is a lie, and I'm pretty sure she's batting for the other team. She and Nancy Pelosi would probably still be bumping bagels, but they couldn't agree on who got to wear the pantsuit.
Seriously though, I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't realize she was lying about the sniper fire, she probably has a tough time distinguishing between truth and fiction after the past twelve years in American politics. I don't blame her for that really, I think its a special brand of insanity that politicians develop over time. Like soldiers who have been in the shit too long, they just can't separate fiction from reality any more.
So yeah, Obama '08!
He probably isn't the golden child, salvation of America I occasionally fantasize about, but he's a damn sight better than the alternatives.
I mean, I'd vote for McCain over Hillary, and what does that say, really? He sucks, but she is suck squared. Sure, he thinks the economy is a crappy apartment, but he's got that defense thing covered. And, let's face it, the economy is probably f'd no matter who we elect.
She has no business claiming any defense capability. A woman president would encourage the terrorists to attack. After the election, when they finished laughing their asses off, the terrorists would hop on every seaworthy vessel they could find and sail for our shores like viking raiders, I guarantee it. They would probably be successful too, considering she would be too busy munching her intern's muff to pick up the red phone.
If you doubt McCain's defense capabilities, just look at his mom. No seriously, isn't she the baddest 96-year-old woman you've ever laid eyes on? I think that bitch would give Grandpappy a run for his money! If the terrorists showed up, granny McCain could probably beat their asses back with a flyswatter.
Image. Simple as that. Her marriage is a lie, her family is a lie, and I'm pretty sure she's batting for the other team. She and Nancy Pelosi would probably still be bumping bagels, but they couldn't agree on who got to wear the pantsuit.
Seriously though, I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't realize she was lying about the sniper fire, she probably has a tough time distinguishing between truth and fiction after the past twelve years in American politics. I don't blame her for that really, I think its a special brand of insanity that politicians develop over time. Like soldiers who have been in the shit too long, they just can't separate fiction from reality any more.
So yeah, Obama '08!
He probably isn't the golden child, salvation of America I occasionally fantasize about, but he's a damn sight better than the alternatives.
I mean, I'd vote for McCain over Hillary, and what does that say, really? He sucks, but she is suck squared. Sure, he thinks the economy is a crappy apartment, but he's got that defense thing covered. And, let's face it, the economy is probably f'd no matter who we elect.
She has no business claiming any defense capability. A woman president would encourage the terrorists to attack. After the election, when they finished laughing their asses off, the terrorists would hop on every seaworthy vessel they could find and sail for our shores like viking raiders, I guarantee it. They would probably be successful too, considering she would be too busy munching her intern's muff to pick up the red phone.
If you doubt McCain's defense capabilities, just look at his mom. No seriously, isn't she the baddest 96-year-old woman you've ever laid eyes on? I think that bitch would give Grandpappy a run for his money! If the terrorists showed up, granny McCain could probably beat their asses back with a flyswatter.
Tell my wife I love her very much
I intended to do some work this afternoon, but I've been slugging away at my coffee pot and feel full of brilliant electricity. Which isn't to say that I can actually think of anything brilliant to write, just that I'm having trouble actually aiming my fingers at the keys.
In response to Kevin's question about how to revitalize the blog, here are a few suggestions:
Post a Nude Photo of Yourself Day
Post a Nude Photo of Someone Close to You Day (stand by for this one later this afternoon)
Post a Video of Yourself Getting into an Incoherent Argument with a Shopkeeper Day
Post a Video of Swarming Insects Day
That last one reminds me: maybe I posted about this already, but there was a morning, about eight months ago, when ants attacked my desk en masse. I used to have the thing shoved up against the window, and I'd left an empty can of Rock Star on the front right corner. When I woke up ants were streaming in through a hole in the window screen and climbing the Rock Star can as if it were a holy tower.
I smote them all with righteous vengeance.
. . .
I have come across nothing good on the internet lately, except for this trailer that I already posted on the Review of Cats, for the RL Stine biopic.
In response to Kevin's question about how to revitalize the blog, here are a few suggestions:
Post a Nude Photo of Yourself Day
Post a Nude Photo of Someone Close to You Day (stand by for this one later this afternoon)
Post a Video of Yourself Getting into an Incoherent Argument with a Shopkeeper Day
Post a Video of Swarming Insects Day
That last one reminds me: maybe I posted about this already, but there was a morning, about eight months ago, when ants attacked my desk en masse. I used to have the thing shoved up against the window, and I'd left an empty can of Rock Star on the front right corner. When I woke up ants were streaming in through a hole in the window screen and climbing the Rock Star can as if it were a holy tower.
I smote them all with righteous vengeance.
. . .
I have come across nothing good on the internet lately, except for this trailer that I already posted on the Review of Cats, for the RL Stine biopic.
I Will Stab You with Bullets
My room mate did not pay the Internet bill, a whopping $36 introductory offer from the last time he didn't pay the internet and it got DC'd, so I am unable to post regularly, Kevin. I usually put some sort of effort into these things, but that effort is really seen in the amount of punctuation I now put into things. This basically means that I bought Smash Bros to play online with you folks and it isn't happening now.
I should graduate June 13th. A road trip would do you all well, and you can see the Giant Bear that is at the Convention Center where we have our graduations.
Also, whoever is spelling my name as "DavO" is getting a backhand when I find them. I have my suspicions who it is, this person who has habitual spelling errors and poor grammar. I am not talking about Amish, because to him the internet only exists for pornography and spank bank deposits. He can spell, too. Not to.
I should graduate June 13th. A road trip would do you all well, and you can see the Giant Bear that is at the Convention Center where we have our graduations.
Also, whoever is spelling my name as "DavO" is getting a backhand when I find them. I have my suspicions who it is, this person who has habitual spelling errors and poor grammar. I am not talking about Amish, because to him the internet only exists for pornography and spank bank deposits. He can spell, too. Not to.
