Education has taken many things away from me: my self-esteem, my bliss, my creativity, my fashion sense, my innocence about addiction, my car. But most of all I miss my notebook. That prick stole my notebook.
09:48 PM part of personalVery bad sentences to put in a book you are trying to sell:
I remember the first time that I realized that my memory was fallible. As a child I watched 'Flight of the Navigator' and at one point a very large man says something funny outside of a gas station where the alien spaceship is stopping for gas. I watched the movie again at some point and was suprised to find that the man was not very big at all and was wearing a plaid shirt and overalls, not a white shirt like I had remembered. What he said was different as well. I can't remember when I saw the movie the second time, or where I was, or how long after the first viewing it was. I don't remember the scene from the movie or what the man said or what any of the characters are named. In fact, the white versus plaid shirt is only an example; I don't remember the real difference that allowed me to realize that not everything I actually recall happened as I recall it. I only remember that I didn't remember very well. This realization could, in fact, have been retro-active. Somebody could have told me as a child that you don't always remember things as they are and I could have thought "Yeah, like in Flight of the Navigator''. I don't remember.
03:34 AM part of personalI hope that I can still laugh at this over the next few years.
But it looks like it may not be funny anymore:
The USA Patriot Act changes some of Americans' fundamental legal rights in the name of the war on terror, including:
[via Wired]
I am now going to create a new word that will soon sweep the nation. Be sure to start using it before any of your friends lest you be left behind. It is built out of another word that is very popular right now, but it takes it to the next level. You will soon hear this word spoken on the streets by all sorts of people, all of whom have felt its expressive power and use it with pure joy at its ability to capture the essence of their feelings. The word is fatherfucker. It is a little more naughty than motherfucker, with the added benefit of the sing-songiness of the inevitable fafo form to match mofo.
If this word takes off I am going to introduce a new line of curse words such as brotherfucker (brofo), which has a nice ring to it in my humble opinion, and lizardfucker (lizofo). There are many others, but they are trade secrets. These words will soon be used in combination, so don't be suprised if you find yourself saying:
Aw, motherfucker, the brotherfucking bills haven't been paid and the lizofo machine has all these messages from sisterfucking collectors. I am going to fatherfucking kill my roommate just as soon as that brofo comes tricyclefucking home.
I wonder what my first impression of books was. Ah, yes, that they were delicious.
09:09 PM part of personalWhen I graduated from college I took my printer out into my in-laws driveway and beat it hard and repeatedly with a golf club, I believe it was a 7-iron, until a couple of springs from one side shot up and glanced my eyeglasses. At this point I realized that I could be blinded or otherwise permanently injured by this and so I stopped, wishing to avoid a potentially embarassing trip to the ER or, even worse, a lifetime of telling people why I have a scar under my eye shapped like fusilli pasta.
I remembered this story because somebody keeps calling me at very weird times on my cellphone, about three or four times a day, and I have tracked them down and found that it is, in fact, some sort of fax machine/printer/scanner combination, no doubt seeking revenge.
On his way back from a refill of coffee he accidentally sits down at the wrong table. Since he has his book with him he doesn't really notice but after sitting there for about thirty seconds reading he gets an idea and looks up to find his laptop is on the wrong table and has been replaced by a young purple-haired girl who is hunched over a small journal writing furiously with a very large caligraphy pen, which only allows her room for about two words per page so she is constantly turning the page to write. She does this with one hand, the other holds the pen out still pointing in, waiting for the clean page to appear. He stares at her too long and she looks up.
"Hi."
"Isn't that your table?"
"What are you writing about?" he says while taking a slow sip of coffee even though it is much too hot, really only touching the cup to his lips.
"Nothing to do with you asshole" she says and gives him her best 'I am a pycho' stare until he gets up and leaves.
"Can I ask you a logistical question?" he says upon arriving at his destination, which suddenly seems almost comically close to her's whereas a minute ago they didn't even notice each other. "How much money do you spend a month on those little journals, you must go through like two a day the way you are writing about me".
"I use disappearing ink, and I am not -"
"Ok, that is all I wanted to know, nice talking to you."
She rolls her eyes and hurries to replace 'cute guy' with 'world-class prick' before the ink fades.
There is a little piece of plastic on the screen of my cellphone that has been there for months. They put it on new ones so the screens aren't scratched in shipping. I have kept it on to avoid the inevitable scratching of the screen. I wish everybody had one of those, a whole world covered in a thin sheet of plastic to protect our emotions, our pride - laminated from the initial pain of life.
But the other day I dropped it and the plastic thing was scratched so I took it off and was suprised by how greenish the screen was underneath. I had always thought that it was more gray than anything, but I guess the plastic was hiding its color.
09:07 PM part of inspiration