'nuff said (woof)

nevermore

Man, everybody is making it in the movies.

in the hands of

I was driving this morning to work, contemplating the reduction in my circumstances. At the stoplight governing our entrance to the freeway, I noticed a car with this legend upon it:

R ANGER OVER

Our anger over? I considered what this could mean.

happy birthday to the suavest motherfucker ever

Ever since I quit (forever?) Facebook, I do miss have having a daily log of what I'm eating. I could do the same thing here on this goofy blog, I suppose; but that's oh so much more effort. But shouldn't things you love take effort?

Eating this took effort.



I was eating this because it was this suave motherfucker's 23rd birthday.



His name's Lovie. And we love him.



Happy Birthday, you suave motherfuck!

my favorite iPhone app

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahha

up

Even before I got depressed, I would walk around staring up at the sky. I first started doing this because I had read the description of Socrates in Aristophanes' The Clouds, where Socrates is carried around on a couch so that he could stare at the sky that much more effectively. Now this is a way of transport I can get behind, I thought, particularly since I'm not particularly fond of moving anywhere. So I decided to walk, anywhere, everywhere, and stare at the sky while doing so, traffic be damned.

I'm put in mind of this because I've been depressed as of late, and I haven't moved anywhere; I'm reminded of that direction, that ghostly country of hope, up, because of a drawing that my darling Kelli's just given me:



And opening it up (ha, that word again), there's this:



A better use of office materials I've never seen.

Nevertheless, while I am moved to the quick by this unlooked burst of highlit color in my day, I still feel remote and detached. Perhaps if you look up in the sky above your head, you can see a small fat black dot buzzing against the vivid static of the sky, a hollowness filled with wind, a kite. That might be me, hot air and canvas bag, spiraling up and away from you.

That finger

How I love this girl.

Quietly Flows The Office

It's Good Friday. Hell, it's Great Friday. A couple hours ago, my office-mates began sneaking off, trickling out into the sunshine, rubbing their fists into their sun-stabbed eyes, marvelling at the colours, their thin and puny chests heaving with unaccustomed fresh air. Now it's basically me tethered to this computer, listening to the quietness, feeling every second flicker like feathery hope across my paper-thin skin -- until 5 pm comes and the weekend begins. And what shall I do this weekend? Sleep!

John Turturro

So Elena is watching the second to last episode of Flight of the Conchords and dancing along. She has a crush on Bret McKenzie, which makes her unique in the internet. When Bret and Jemaine dress up as hobbits and sing, "Frodo, don't take the Ring," Elena screams, "HE IS SO CUTE!" And then she screams, "I've thrown out my back! WITH JOY!!!"

When the credits roll, I see John Turturro's name in the credits.

"Who did John Turturro play?" I ask.

"He was in the Lord of the Rings thing," Elena says. "I think he played Waldorf."

I throw out my back screaming. With joy.

Live on Mars!

Oh Google, oh Virgin! The two corporate behemoths have joined forces in a new endeavour, Project Virgle, whose awesome name can only speak to a goal of equal awesomeness, to wit: the building of a high-fiber information superhighway and interplanetary travel hub on the third-world planet Mars.

To aid and consume their products, Virgle is also establishing an Earthling colony on Mars as an ancillary concern. They're looking for volunteers. Sensibly, they seem to be looking for endomorphs (such as Yours Truly) who, let's face it, are the people you think of when you think of Pioneering Space Cowboys.

Oh Food

All my passions, enervated, extirpated, revolve solely now around food. In my old age, I try to remember what it was that energized me in my impoverished youth: a zeal for social justice and the righting of all wrongs, a restoration of some cosmic balance out of whack, a burning patience that my life will be consumed in an endeavor of some meaning and profundity. Now I look forward to my nightly bowl of pottage and consider myself content. I wonder if it's the way for all humankind, or if it's just the way for fat sexless eunuchs like me.

Monetize!

Okay, so this is now post #3 on this goofy blog. Clicking about randomly on the internet as I do (which, by the by, is how I spend much of my workday, and you should as well), I found this tab on this blogger page saying "Monetize." "What an odd verb," said I to myself; and, always curious, and, always not thinking things through, I curiously not thought things though and inadvertently monetized my poor and innocent blog.

What does this mean? I don't know what this means. Superficially, this means that now there's ads scattered all over the place, messing up my beloved layout. Sub-superficially (I guess this would be ficially), this means I've sold out, and all those unique visitors to this site will be limning my pockets with dross, at the expense of my ever-living soul.

I guess I'm okay with all that.

How To Give Jose The Finger

This is Jose.

As you can see, his smug demeanour practically begs to be given The Finger.

"What is The Finger?" you may ask.

Given that there are many guides to giving The Finger on the internet, many of them contradicting one another, let us now ascertain the One True Way of giving Jose the Finger, using a variety of lovely finger-models.

1. Thrust fist out with straight arm.




2. Extend the middle (third) finger up while curling the second and fourth fingers.



3. Screw you, Jose!

Facebook badge!

Hello, 21st century. I opened this blog so I can put my Facebook badge upon it. Cute, am I not? Now admire me.