This is Part One of a Two-Part Series

This is a rabbit with a parachute. I own this rabbit.


This is the Foresthill Bridge. I live near this bridge.

This is cause for celebration.

Swoon

Today I heard a song called "Help I'm Alive" by Metric on the radio, but I didn't know it was "Help I'm Alive" by Metric, I only knew that it was a trip, it had a funky beat, and you could really bug out to it, if you will.

I thought maybe it was from the new Silversun Pickups album coming out next week. Metric and Silversun Pickups don't sound a lot alike, but Brian Aubert of Silversun Pickups sounds like a girl sometimes, almost as much as Emily Haines of Metric sounds like a girl all the time, so I'm not ashamed of my initial impression. Emily Haines, though... Oh man, Emily Haines. Dang. (She's really good at the vox.)

So, in review, or things to do:

April 14: purchase Fantasies by Metric and Swoon by Silversun Pickups, and get to bed early so you'll be bright eyed and such for Tax Day, which is all day Wednesday.

The Pizza Man is Here

"It's the pizza man."

...a child's voice, barely audible through the closed front door, 10 seconds after I knocked... I don't think the doorbell worked...

"Mom."

...silence... I'm waiting, counting again, backward from 20 so the seconds won't feel like minutes...

"Mom! The pizza man is here."

...17, 16, 15, 14... remember to smile...

"The pizza man. The pizza man is here."

...5, 4, 3, 2... the muffled voice of an adult, confused... the door cracks open and now a kid is looking up at me... he's no more than five years old... shy, but excited because...

The Pizza Man is here.

"Hey buddy," I say, smiling.

A woman appears behind him and opens the door further.

"We... didn't order a pizza," she says.

"What? Isn't this..." double checking the delivery tag... "5238? Oh, I'm sorry. I'm supposed to be at 5239." dangit. dangit. dangit.

"That's all right," she says. She laughs, probably relieved that it really was a mix up and not a visit from The Pizza Man Ripper.

"I'm so sorry about that. Have a great day."

Still smiling, I turn around and start walking away. That was awkward, but it could have been worse.

The kid starts bawling.

I keep walking. And I keep smiling.

Greetings from Pizza Camp

Despite organized protests from my friends in the "globe-o-sphere," there are reasons that I haven't written about my experiences as a pizza delivery driver, and most of them are related to the idea that a potential employer might read my blog and discover, not that I hate almost everyone I deliver pizza to (which is a perfectly rational feeling for a pizza delivery driver), but that I hate everyone on a public forum (which is generally bad for business). However, a pizza delivery event occurred yesterday that has forced me to reconsider. I will tell this story soon, and likely other pizza stories will follow now that the pizza gates have opened, but right now it's 4:30, and that means I have to trade my pajama pants for big boy pants and live the lie called "I like working here, and I like these pants."

Late Night Musings from Earlier This Morning

Oh geez it's past 4.

I'm not gonna get any sleep. When do I have to get up? Not until 4 p.m., but... I'll probably wake up at noon anyway. Dangit. How much time does that give me?

Let's see... 9, 10, 11, 12... Only three hours?

Wait, where did I get 9 from? It's 4:45. That's 4, 5, 6... forget it.

YouTube Comment of the Year, Yeah it's Only February and I'm Calling it. And Yeah the Comment is a Year Old but I'm Still Calling it.

"Spokane is in WASHINGTON ho."

-PLASTICmoonFACEOFF

May I Just Say, "Yub Yub?"

The Jedi have (has?) returned. Ewoks are dancing. We have succeeded. All four of us, except for Kevin, because Kevin fell asleep. Kevin claims he did not fall asleep, but we all know that he fall asleep for a little bit because he asked "wait, I distinctly remember Luke getting in a shuttle and leaving the Death Star, but, did they edit that out?" But they didn't edit that out, because all the rest of us saw it, because the rest of us were awake for that part.

"And it's only 10:30." - Garrett

Kevin maintains that he did not fall asleep. But he fell asleep. Even if he didn't fall asleep, right now it's really funny to see how angry he's getting at the idea that I would lie about such a thing on my blog. But he shouldn't be angry because he actually did fall asleep for a little bit.

My Brain is Tired and I Don't Want to Anymore

Warwick Davis played Wicket in this movie. Wicket is the little Ewok. The cuddly one with the spear. Davis was also Willow in Willow. Or maybe the baby was Willow in Willow. I think there was a baby in that movie, and Wicket had to protect it. I'm online right now so I could easily double check, but instead I'll just keep, you know, doing this.

I want to say something right now and I need you to listen, okay? I need you to listen.

Star Wars. Star Wars man. It's great but, it's a movie, you know? I mean, it's just a movie. Movies are great, but... Do you know what I'm saying? Are you listening to me? No, stop, look... look at me man. Star Wars, man. They just, they have all these people, these people and they got them all together and they paid them and they had costumes and a script and copies of the script and copies of the copies and they were using, probably highlighters and stuff on them and making them up, and you know? I mean... that's not life. You can't, can't highlight, what you're going to say and like, add stuff in in post-production. You don't get action figures. There aren't action figures of going to the bank or, you know, vacuuming or for when you mess up or have a good idea or whatever. You don't get to rerelease and have deals with Taco Bell. George Lucas isn't going to be like "yeah, yeah I like that, role with that, we'll do that" and it doesn't matter what "that" is. It could be anything. Your life, or people or building a... house or a sandwich. In life you can't be like, "okay hang on, I'm making this sandwich." That's, how can people... who do people, I mean what do they even, where are we even going?

And you can't fight it. You can't fight it. What are you going to do? There's all these lasers flying everywhere and everything is blowing up. And you're throwing rocks at them and they're all rolling around on trees. Where'd that get us? We're no better. We're no better than the enemy.

Yeah, the Ewoks are all excited because they blew up an AT-ST, but what about the people... what about the people in that. I mean, that could have been me. That could have been you. That could have been both of us.

Return of the Jedi, the Sarlacc Pit

I'm missing The Office.

The Twelfth Hour

We're about to watch Star Wars Episode VI: The Empire Strikes Back. We just took a break and had frozen yogurt. We're arguing about how big the second Death Star is. We just took a break and had frozen yogurt. Bret is commenting that the alarm in the Death Star landing bay sounds like a Dewback lizard being squeezed. We just took a break and had frozen yogurt. We just took a break and had frozen yogurt.

Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back, Hour 11

"No! that's not true. That's impossible! ... No... no..." - Luke Skywalker

Six hours ago we were laughing uproariously at one other's jokes. Now we're all a bit on edge and easily agitated, and C-3PO keeps pissing us off. Where once there was laughing, now we're just saying stuff like "what are you talking about?" and "I'm pretty sure we've established that everything hovers in this universe."

DIRECTV's Log Line for Star Wars Episode IV

"Robots and other allies help a youth and a space jokey rescue a rebel princess and battle dark forces bent on intergalactic rule."

"I would rent that." - Brea

For Those Interested in Further Reading

Funny thing... I was searching for good B-Wing photos on Google Images when I happened upon Action Figure of the Day. They post photos of and info about a classic Star Wars action figure every day, and they've been doing it since November 2007.

Hour Nine

Something walked into the apartment toward the end of Episode IV, something that bore remarkable resemblance to a human, only somehow different looking. What is that, Leia? I thought. Oh yeah, one of those.

Hour Eight: Delirium Sets In

Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, still.

We just finished laughing for five minutes about what it would have been like if Yoda were hiding inside R2-D2. It might have gone on longer if Garret hadn't pointed out that we'd laughed for five minutes about what it would have been like if Yoda were hiding inside R2-D2.

Question of the day: "Is it possible to feel accomplishment and shame at the same time?" - Kevin

Bret, on the Millennium Falcon Getting Caught in a Tractor Beam

"Too bad they don't have phase modulation. The Enterprise would never get caught in something like that."

Star Wars vs. Current Events

Watching Episode IV: A New Hope. Almost halfway done with my Fat Tire. If I pretend to be chewing it, rather than drinking it, it's less gross.

When Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith came out, I thought it was a commentary on the War on Terror. Who could hear Anakin's words to Obi Wan, "if you're not for me, then you're against me," and not think of President Bush when he said to the world... "if you're not for me, then you're against me," I think.

But watching all the movies in a row is giving me a new perspective. A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away... the greedy Galactic Trade Federation got itself entrenched in politics for economic gain. Then we have a few wars that seem to be going on with no clear causes or goals other than showing off how far special effects have come since Who Framed Roger Rabbit (read: military-industrial complex). Then we have Episode IV. Set some 16 years later, the ships are slower, the weapons are less effective, touch screen and hologram technologies have been predominantly replaced with simple flashing buttons and levers... the signs of a galaxy-wide recession are clear. Bravo, Lucas, bravo. If only we had listened.

Who Works on a Thursday?

Hour 5, Episode III: Darth Sidious is droning on about something to Anakin. Something about midichlorians.

I just found out that one of our number, who has been on his computer since 9, is actually clocked in at work right now. He's working remotely. At first I was upset.

Attack of the Clones

Today I am having my first beer. It's a Fat Tire, and I'm told it's good, but I think mine is actually some kind of antiseptic or disinfectant. My hope was that it would be enough to help me forget, or at least enjoy, Attack of the Clones. Turns out 5.2 percent is not enough.

"I always wanted the worst movie I ever worked on to be called 'Attack of the Clones.'" - probably some guy responsible for naming Attack of the Clones

"We decided to call it 'Attack of the Clones' because there are clones in it. Yeah, the 'attack' doesn't happen until the end of the third film, but... Shoot. Yeah I'm not sure what we were thinking." - probably some idiot

Kevin to Bret, After Bret Turned Off the Sound While I Showed Everyone a YouTube Video

K: "Did you pause it?"

B: "No."

K: "Good."

Bathroom Breaks, a Reflection from a Former Star Wars Fan Club Member

We have finished The Phantom Menace and are now watching The Clone Wars.

"So this is when you're invited back to the restaurant and everyone's starting to feel indigestion." - Garret

Fun fact brought to you by Yahoo! Answers: The average adult bladder can hold 500 ml. before "you absolutely have to pee like a racehorse."

When Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace came out in 1999, I was excited because Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace hadn't come out yet, and therefore I hadn't seen it yet, and therefore I was excited. I bought my ticket days in advance, left school early to wait in line and guarantee a good seat at the midnight showing, and gladly paid eight dollars for my 64-oz. commemorative cup. I finished my 64 ounces of Root Beer before the movie started, and I noticed that I needed to pee right about the time Jar Jar decided to do a triple flip into shallow water (right about the time I was getting worried about Jar Jar).

Fun fact brought to you by metric-conversions.org: Sixty-four fluid ounces is 1,892,705.92 milliliters.

I usually watch the credits after movies, but as soon as the closing music started I jumped over the railing behind the handicapped section, ran to the bathroom and peed for about 3 minutes.

The next day I saw the movie again (in a state of denial that lasted about a year), bought another commemorative cup, and did the exact same thing.

Today I look forward to bathroom breaks as a legitimate excuse to leave the room and shut the door.

"We Don't Have Time for This, Captain"

"Hey mom, did I tell you about my exciting Thursday plans?"

"No, do you have a job interview?"

"Nope, even better. I'm attending an all-day Star Wars marathon."

"What!? Drew! I raised you for more than Star Wars!"

A sampling of other reactions:

Jon: Cool, um... I'm at work so I've got to get going.

Johnny: Hey, Drew, this is Johnny, uh... I just want to let you know I am 100 percent in support of you and look forward to reading your blog and pinpointing the exact moment where you start to hate yourself. I'm guessing about halfway through movie three.

Lindsay: I think you need to rethink your definition of "exciting."

Bret and Kevin at 9:44, While Anakin is Hitting on Padme

B: "Does anyone want a beer?"

K: "It's 9:45."

B: "All right, if nobody else wants one..."

Episode I is Getting Worse

Anakin to Padme: "Are you an angel?"

Padme: "A-what?"

Garret to me: "Have you seen Jizzed in My Pants?"

Concerning Jar Jar, by Garret and Kevin

G: "They've been trying to redeem Jar Jar in the Clone Wars, but he's still Jar Jar. It's like you went to a restaurant, and after you ate, you had explosive diarrhea, and you were vomiting uncontrollably, like... you were vomiting more than you had eaten..."

K: "Like your stomach had traveled into the future and consumed food you hadn't even eaten yet."

G: "Exactly. And then the restaurant invited you back, and they were all, 'don't worry, the food is the same, but that won't happen again.'"

Episode I: The Phantom Menace

We're less than 10 minutes into the first film and I already want to leave.

We should be farther along by now but some of us were held up in traffic from all the people who go to work in the morning. Admittedly there's a lot of cool lightsabery in the first 10 minutes, but I still feel like I should have been taking notes for an economics quiz.

2009: It's Just a Number or, Mark Your New Calendars

Here we are almost more than 12 days into 2009 and someone thought it was plausible that I would have wanted to acknowledge that fact with a new blog post just after noon this afternoon. But the jokes on him/her (let's face it, probably him or her), because I haven't even thought about wanting to blog since more or less four, five, or three posts ago, present post excluded.

In light of that person's comment/impersonation on my final post of 2008, I think I/he/she owe(s) him/her/you/me an explanation. I'll go first. For the past two weeks I've been nerding out on Morrowind, the very game I ridiculed in two out of three of my last three posts. While writing a faux Christmas letter, I foolishly allowed myself to enter the mindset of a Morrowind addict without establishing an exit strategy or telling anyone what I was doing in case something went wrong. The result was a lot like in The Lost Weekend, only for twice as many weekends and without the drunken hallucinations or (go figure) the love story, and just with me playing Morrowind for nigh on a fortnight, completely sober but still running from my potential (so, yeah, that was a good example).

To celebrate the end of my weeks-long nerd binge, and to live up to my position on some of your bookmarks bars, I have decided to attend a Star Wars Eps. I-VI marathon this Thursday and blog about it as it is happening. (That "as it is happening" part is in italics within italics, which is why it doesn't appear to be italicized. To read that sentence properly, please get more excited as you go.)

That's right kids, I'm going to kick off my video gaming recovery with an irony-laden 12-hour Star Wars blogathon. This Thursday. Unless I have work. Get ready to giggle.

A Candy Situation that Demands a Verdict

Situation: there is one piece of See's Famous Old Time Candy left in the box. That piece of candy is cut in half. That makes two pieces.

Question: Can I have both?

Merry Christmas 2008 from the Hutchinsons

As I sit to type this letter my hands still quake from the excitement of battle, for I have just completed a most dangerous quest in which I slew a pack of foul rats in the basement of commoner Drarayne Thelas. Thelas is a dark elf (or Dunmer, in her native tongue) and it is my hope that the completion of this quest will soften the cold reception I have received in Balmora, if even the smallest bit. Otherwise all I will have to show for my peril is a few pounds of rat meat, which has no effect on Wood Elves whatsoever and for which I can find no other use, not even the proverbial relief of fatigue. Neverthelater, life goes on. “Such,” Nalcarya of White Haven would say, “is the life of a Witchhunter.”

Indeed much has happened in the land of Vvardenfell since last Christmas (a holiday which is not, might I add, celebrated anywhere in Morrowind), but I am reminded that many of this letter’s recipients spend no part of their lives in that realm and that still more maintain that my expanded existence as Drookox is... not worthy of the time it requires. Being that as it is, not the case, I am yet amusedly reminded of the lesson recorded in The Homilies of Blessed Almalexia, which Sotha Sil learned from the scribs while casting stones in the egg mines, namely that “The idle amusements of one may be the solemn tortures of another.” Therefore, as I am sure your interests lie more in the adventures of my non-virtual family, and as I am by this time well enough recovered from my skirmish with the rats, I will do as best I can at my current level to impart to you some knowledge as to the happenings of my wife and child.ren

Megan is still happy at her job at the hospital, which isn’t as a nurse but still involves answering phones and provides free childcare. As there are no children in Morrowind I am not proficient in the care of children and we’re all very happy about the free childcare. Megan also still likes to do different things outside like walk and drive around to places. Sometimes she leaves for days at a time for something about her dad, and by the time she gets back she hardly recognizes my avatar and is too busy feeding the kids at all hours of the day to fully appreciate my upgraded stats. The new Daedric weapons I can conjure mid-battle amaze even myself and have made quite a stir in the forums that are still active (for some reason, whenever a sequel to a game comes out, that’s all anyone wants to talk about even if it isn’t as good as the first, or the third in this case).

Most of you already know about the newest addition to our family, little Justin Eärendil, who was born on July 25 (a date I will always remember because I had to miss Max Brooks at Comic-Con 08). Justin is like his brother Denethor was at that age (who, I remind you, was named after the canonical character of the books, NOT the abomination in Peter Jackson’s three-part crapogy) in that he basically sits around and always needs stuff when Megan is at her parents’ house. Sometimes he can be a real handful (I’m constantly having to save), but what I lack in willpower and agility I more than make up for in endurance. Denethor is usually quiet and enjoys his ant farm.

Now, as my time allotted for writing this letter is coming to a close (as once more the thirst for adventure spurs me on to greater things), I would like to leave you with an excerpt from Saryoni’s Sermons as collected in the Hierograph by Archcanon Tholer Saryoni, words I find particularly applicable at Christmas time. From The Grace of Humility, “Thank you for your humility, Lord Vivec [read: Jesus]. I shall neither strut nor preen in vanity, but shall know and give thanks for my place in the greater world.” Amen.

Great News

I found out last night that I don't hate life enough to enjoy playing Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Game of the Year Edition, even when I'm trying to justify its purchase.

A Thanksgiven Menu

Pumpkin pie for breakfast. Turkey for everything else, ever.

A Facebook Chat that Just Happened

TG [11:15pm]
hey how come you look like that lady? that's weird and so are you


Matthew [11:15pm]
thats my sister

bits


TG [11:16pm]
her name is bits?

as in, kibbles and?

if I'd only known, I could have started calling you kibbles a long time ago


Matthew [11:17pm]
no

sorry

my sister's name is martha

I don't know why I typed bits

Oh Hey Hole in the Crotch of My Jeans

Oh, hey hole in the crotch of my jeans, when did you get here?

Were you planning to say hello, or were you just gonna see how long it took me to notice?

Uh huh, and how long did it take?

For a lot of reasons, hole. Just tell me.

Well I thought I'd hear you coming, for one thing. Does anyone else know you're here?

How is that a weird question?

Okay, okay, forget it. So... was there something you needed or...?

Well, yeah sure, but I've got to go get a new pair of jeans, so you'll have to come along.

Seriously, hole, how long have you been here?

Okay, fine, forget it.

Say Hello to the New Title

Because "Oh yeah, I just remembered."

Don't Buy Fundraiser Chocolate Bars for a Dollar

They are gross. Just donate the dollar. Dollars are cheap.

Do the Apricot Jam

Apricot jam on my hand.
On my hoodie, near the zipper.
On the counter.
On my hoodie, again, right pocket.
Left shoulder, too.
And once more, on my hand.
Where else, on my hoodie,
Apricot jam?

A Misunderstanding at Work: Ordering Boxes

"That girl who takes your order, she can be pretty scary."

"She seemed nice to me."

"Yeah, okay maybe she does on the phone, but I'll tell you this, she's covered from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet in tattoos. When you get there you'll see what I mean."

"Oh, well, I was just gonna have them deliver. Where are they located?"

"Uhh... I've only seen the ones that are exposed."

You Must Not Know 'Bout Me

Facebook,

We all know that you glean personal information from my account profile and use it to target advertising directly at me. But seriously, "Are you tired of jeans?" Come on, Facebook, you know I'm not in a relationship.

Breaking the Silence

The worst part about accidentally peeing on yourself is the pee.

An Awkward Conversation at WinCo with the Shampoo I Forgot to Use this Morning

Oh, hey there. Uh... how've you been?

Yeah? Good. That's great, Shampoo. Uh... can I... what are you looking for?

Really? Ha! What, do I have gum in my hair or something?

Oh, and jelly? That makes sense.

No, I totally agree. You can buy whatever you want. It doesn't all have to be about me, or... anyone else.

Milk. Yeah, we're almost out of milk. Do you... drink milk?

Seriously, Shampoo, I really didn't see you this morning. Believe me, if I had, I definitely would have washed my hair because my hair feels like crap right now. It's seriously gross.

No, I don't doubt it. I'm sure you were right in front of me. It's just... sometimes you just get really busy doing other--huh? I mean, I meant you, as in me... sometimes I get really busy.

Uh... I'm not sure. Probably, you know... soaping up.

No, I guess I didn't...

True. Well, like I said, it really was a mistake.

Yeah, yeah. I hear you. Definitely. No I'm really sorry.

Listen, are you doing anything tonight?

Oh.

Well... can I see you tomorrow?

Caution

Consider yourself warned.

Not Looking Good So Far

All I wanted was for the cat to hold still for one lousy picture.

More Minutes, Please

"Because safety is a priority, 'You Got 30 Minutes' is not a guarantee, but an estimate. You may get more."

I wish AT&T was more like Domino's.

Leave It

I'm taking care of my friends' dog while they're out of town for a few days. Consequently, it isn't weird that I watched a dog pee this afternoon. The dog's name is Silas, and the session went a little bit like this:

"Buds, go potties" ("Buds" is short for Silas).

Silas dashes to the lawn, sniffs around for a suitable location and does the deed.

"Good Buddies. Come on."

Silas walks away toward the edge of the property and sniffs in the grass by the front gate.

"Silas, come here."

He sniffs some more, then picks something out of the grass with his mouth and looks at me apprehensively.

"What'cha got there Buds? Leave it."

He sets the object on the ground without breaking eye contact. It looks like a piece of bark. I pick it up and toss it over the fence into the road.

"Come on Silas. Go inside."

Silas hesitates. He looks back at the spot where he found the piece of bark, then looks back at me. I don't have anything new to say, but the silence is awkward and I'm ready to put in a couple hours on my friends' Playstation 3, so I more or less repeat myself until he decides to listen and goes inside without a word.

Part 2: the good part

Inside the house, I find that my friends have taken the Playstation 3 with them on their vacation, which makes perfect sense. I set down the game I rented and search for any instructions they may have left, like "please water the lawn every other morning," or "please sit around in our empty house bored out of your mind." There's no note, so I opt for the latter.

Sometime later one of the culprits calls to check in and, among other things, asks me to pay their rent for the month. I start to wonder if I accidently joined a cult when I offered to take care of the dog until she clarifies that I'm supposed to use one of her own checks and forge the signature. Okay, good, because that was getting shady.

"Oh yeah," she says, "and there's some poop by the front gate that Silas was interested in yesterday, so make sure he doesn't eat it."

A Flaw in the System

If you woke up at 3 a.m. and someone had set your alarm clock to military time, how would you ever know?

What I Learned Today

Nothing good can come from playing with your mustache and a binder clip.

Regardings Your Job Offer

Editor's Note: The following conversation is presented in its entirety. The names have not been changed because neither/none of them are the actual names of the parties involved, except maybe Mick D William/Williams/Williamson... one of those, anyway. The Hotmail alias "BobbyGeneric88" is indeed a reference to the character of the same name from the 90s cartoon "Bobby's World" and is used without permission. Should FOX and/or Howie Mandel seek legal recourse, we at This Guy ask that they start with the jerks who took "BobbyGeneric" and all the BobbyGenerics numbered one through 22.

Part 1: sacramento craigslist > media jobs
Job Offer/Stress Free Apply Now
Reply to: job-752091721@craigslist.org
Date: 2008-07-12, 8:38AM PDT

Job Offer/Stress Free Apply With Resume.

Compensation: 400
This is a part-time job.
This is a contract job.
OK to highlight this job opening for persons with disabilities
OK for recruiters to contact this job poster.
Please, no phone calls about this job!
You may contact job poster about other services, products or commercial interests.

PostingID: 752091721


Part 2: Stress Free Application
From: Bobby Generic (bobbygeneric88@hotmail.com)
Sent: Sat 7/12/08 11:17 AM
To: job-752091721@craigslist.org

Hi,

I saw your job offer on craigslist and it sounded really interesting. You will find that I am already more than qualified for the described position and would be a great asset to your company/household/workplace/whatever it is you're looking for. I do however, have a question about compensation. What exactly would I be receiving 400 of, and how often?

Thanks,

Your Favorite Applicant

Resume

Objective: to get a stress free job

Education: a college one time

Major coursework: 135

Employment History: some jobs

Job Related Skills: aplenty

Other Interests: stress free recreation, stress free volunteer work

References: people I know (they’re great)


Part 3: Regardings Your Job offer as an Executive Trustee

From: Mick Williamson (m.williamjobtile2@netscape.com) [You may not know this sender. Mark as safe|Mark as unsafe]
Sent: Sat 7/12/08 10:15 PM
Reply-to: mick.williamscarpetsuk@hotmail.com
To: m.williamcarpetsuk@inc.net

Hi,

Thanks very much for the response. I must say it’s highly appreciated.
The job does not entail much. All you would be doing is receiving these payments in form of Money Orders/Check or Bank Wire Transfers, which would be coming from clients of mine in the United States via courier e.g. FedEx or UPS.

So when you get these Funds all you have to do is have them cashed and deduct your share (10%) and wire the rest down to me here in UK or anywhere our correspondent is in the world via (Western Union Money Transfer) or (Money Gram Money Transfer).

I would also need some proof of Identity. So I have attached an Employment form for you to fill and send back to me via email.

Vinyl Carpets vary in prices but most purchases range from about $3000 and above. Well you would be receiving funds ranging from over $3000 and you are meant to take out 10% from the funds you received and then forward the remaining balance as instructed via Wire Transfer. You are likely to be receiving these funds every week and possibly twice a week, so you are meant to take 10% out of every Transaction processed.

With this offer, you'll be earning at least $300 a week.

NOTICE: This is strictly a legal offer and your Private personal information is not needed e.g. Social Security # or anything that can be of adverse effect to your personal security and privacy.

APPLICANT INFORMATION NEEDED FOR EMPLOYMENT CONFIRMATION

FIRST NAME…………………………

LAST NAME………………………………

HOME ADDRESS (* NO P.O. BOXES*)
…………………………………………………………

CITY……………………………………..

STATE…………………………………..

ZIP CODE………………………………..

COUNTRY……………………………...

PHONE NUMBER (S) CELL ……………………………………

HOME ………………………………

WORK.........................................

GENDER……………………………..

MARITAL STATUS (OPTIONAL)……………………………

AGE (OPTIONAL)…………………………………..

NATIONALITY (OPTIONAL)…………………………………..

PRESENT PLACE OF WORK…………………………………………………………

ATTESTATION
According to how you have been briefed earlier. You are required to receive payment on behalf of the above-mentioned firm. You are to deduct 10% of all funds processed on a particular order & forward the balance payment via Money gram or Western Union to any of the company’s regional warehouses that will be given to you later.

You will notify the company a week ahead if eventually you want to discontinue this job. This will enable us stop any payments coming your way and it would also reduce conflicts.

You will not be held liable for any issues arising from shipping errors you will also not be accountable for funds not collected and all order implementation errors. My instruction will be followed to provide the best possible service for both parties and the Client in Question

In agreement to this kindly append signature below.

………………………………………

As soon as the form is signed and returned to us you will receive an email from us accepting or declining your application within 24 hours. Note in the event that your application is turned down it will not be as a result of any of the optional data supplied those are just to enable us know you (our employee) better.

Thanks.

M D Williamson Carpets Ltd,
12B Norwich Road,
Fakenham, Norfolk,
NR21 8AX
Email: mick.williamscarpetsuk@hotmail.com
VAT Registration No: 787 4632 80

MD Williamson tm 2008

Dude

This chick totally checked me out at Safeway tonight.

This Phrase Needs to Go

Seriously, who avoids the plague?

Breakfast Sausage

Most people, and by most people I mean all people, either agree that breakfast sausage is not a tasty meat or are wrong in their opinion about breakfast sausage (And yes, opinions can be wrong [And yes, your opinion that my opinion that opinions can be wrong is wrong ((should you have such an opinion)) not only supports that my opinion is, if not right, at least valid, but certainly invalidates your own.] including opinions of personal taste, if such things even exist. [And no, as I will soon explain, I don't think they do; and yes, you can start a sentence with and; and no, you shouldn't do it very often, and, yes, that's the same as saying "and yes, you shouldn't do it very often" as long as it answers your question]). There are no exceptions to this rule. None. Not even my roommate, who eats breakfast sausage almost every day and who just yesterday used breakfast sausage as the primary, if not the sole, meat component of a meat loaf unbeknownst to me and to my eternal detriment. And no, that wasn't a complete sentence.

What foul, Hellborn, most assuredly twisted and rheumatoid hand first penned such a recipe I know not, yet I count such ignorance a blessing most sweet. Should I ask my roommate, he would probably answer "my mother," and might take issue with some or all of the adjectives in the previous sentence, but I cannot take them back, for I have tasted the meat loaf, and the loaf has spoken. "Well, I like it," he might say in defense of his disgusting meat loaf, but that's not good enough. Because of his choices, stemming no doubt from his so-called "personal" opinions,  I was encouraged to have some of the meat loaf for myself today. I've since brushed my teeth and still I taste it.

This horrible, horrible taste of breakfast sausage.

Imagine that a wild boar has come to the end of his life and now wanders through the jungle. Once strong and proud, he is now weak from years of struggle and a lingering disease. His eyes are glazed and see nothing until a harsh light awakens them to their purpose. He sees that he is no longer in the jungle but now stands in a clearing. The boar's first thought is to run back into the jungle, but he is too tired to run, too tired to even turn around.

He scans the clearing for danger but finds nothing but an open box of romaine lettuce. He approaches the box and sniffs a leaf. Unharmed, he takes a bite, then a second. Instinct shoots powerful electrical messages to every part of his body telling him to eat—eat until the food is gone. Soon his powerful jaws tear at lettuce and box indiscriminately. The boar slips into a blind frenzy and does not notice that beyond the top layer of fresh romaine the lettuce is wet and rotten and only barely covers a giant block of putrid beef fat. He gorges on the contents of the box. His stomach becomes distended with rotten lettuce and fat, then bursts, and the boar, too maddened by his frenzy to feel any pain, lies down on the unfinished pile of putrid fat and dies.

Now there appears a man who has come to check on his trap. Indeed he has caught and killed a mighty beast of the jungle. He knows that a catch this size will have to be left out to stew in the sun for at least a week before it is ready to grind, but soon he will have a bounty of breakfast sausage to sell in the market. This summer, his family will have all that it needs.

This is more that just an unpleasant and pointless tangent, it is probably a true story. If nothing else, I think it accurately describes the taste I'm dealing with right now, still.

A Song Called Gift Cinnamon Bun

I actually started this song a month ago but never finished it. Today I decided it was done. It's called Gift Cinnamon Bun. it's about a gift cinnamon bun.

Gift cinnamon bun

(Whoa cinnamon bun)

What gives, cinnamon bun?

(Dry cinnamon bun)

You're a bad cinnamon bun

(Yeah cinnamon bun)

But you're a gift cinnamon bun

(Thanks man I owe you one)

This Guy is Always Looking on the Bright Side

The best thing about working at a job where I get a lot of tips is that now, if I ever get mugged, I stand to really make someone's day.

Agian

Done and done.

Yes, Definitely. Is It All Right that I Only Speak English?

"Are you a personnel who would love to be marked by a concentrated expenditure of involvement, concern, or commitment to services and products?"

-A Craigslist job post

May Day, the Number One Day in May

This May Day I celebrated by changing my calendar from March to May. Hooray.

"Where Even Our Food is Fried"

Yesterday I walked into a KFC/A&W, a combination of, you guessed it, KFC and A&W. The idea for the merger came a few years ago when the last A&W went out of business in a mall food court somewhere and they still had hot dogs and mustard packets left over.

"What can I get for you, boss?" says the guy behind the counter.

After taking a few minutes to look over the menu (and a few seconds to laugh about having been called "boss"), I say, "I'll have a hot dog, a small thing of potato wedges, and a root beer float."

"Do you want me to make it a combo?"

"Um... you can do that?"

"Yeah."

(Well, that explains the offer.) "Sure, whatever's easiest."

"All right, so you want a hot dog, potato wedges, and what to drink?"

"A root beer float."

I watch my order come up one selection at a time.

HOT DOG (1)
POTATO WEDGES SM (1)
AQUAFINA (1)

"Um, I actually wanted a root beer float."

"What?"

"I ordered a root beer float, not an Aquafina."

"Oh, don't worry about it, it's the same thing."

"Uh..."

"They cost the same, but we like to drink the Aquafina's when we're working, so this helps balance everything out when we do the inventory."

"Oh, working the system..." (a wording choice that implies, "you could get fired for this").

"Yeah, it helps work out the system." (a wording choice that implies, "it's technical, but you seem to understand").

"All right."

"I can change it if you want."

"No, don't worry about it."

"Okay," he says," what's your name for the order?"

I almost say "the only customer in here," but settle on "Drew."

"Drew? Okay Drew, here's your cup and I'll call you when the rest of your order's ready."

He walks away and I'm left looking at the cup.

"..." (That's me looking at the cup.)

"Did you need something else, boss?"

"Um... actually I wanted a root beer float."

"A root beer float? Oh, that'll be a dollar extra."

Something that Happened in March, a Four-Part Series Concluded in Five Parts, with an Editor's Note and a Title, which Itself will Conclude Presently

Editor's Note: The following conversation is presented unabridged and unedited with the exception of the contact information of both parties, in accordance with the arbitrary privacy policy of This Guy. We hope the fact that neither party managed to spell koi correctly any more than 17 percent of the time will not distract you from the heart of the conversation. We also hope you will notice that the owner of the pond was the first to misspell koi, and that I'm spelling koi correctly now, so I obviously know how to spell koi.


Part 1: sacramento craigslist > labor gigs
I need leaves and branches cleaned out my pond
Reply to: [email address removed]
Date: 2008-03-14, 3:44PM PDT

Must have own tools for the job, I have a koy pond that is 10 by 20 give or take a few, just moved in and need to have it cleaned out this weekend sometime. email me your bid and I'll contact the best bid. I have more work available as well but want to start with this job for now

Location: Auburn
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
Compensation: best bid

PostingID: 606487099


Part 2: Subject: craigslist, cleaning koy pond
Sent:Fri 3/14/2008 11:10 PM

Hi,

That sounds like something I would do for $40-$50. If that seems ridiculously high, maybe I'm just not picturing it correctly, but I'm picturing a lot of mud and algae. I'm probably willing to do the work for whatever you think is reasonable.

What tools do you think would be needed? A pool net and a small rake, plus some trash bags? Would I be able to wear shorts and wade in the pond. or is the process somehow more involved than that?

Anyway, if it's a job that's possible to do with the tools I have, I know I will do it well.

You can call me at home or on my cell. I live in Auburn too. I can do the work anytime Saturday or Sunday.

[contact information removed]


Part 3: Subject: Re: craigslist, cleaning koy pond
Sent: Sat 3/15/2008 12:13 PM
Attachments: koi pond.jpg(151KB)

about 10 x 20




Part 4: Subject: Re: Re: craigslist, cleaning koy pond
Sent Sat 3/15/2008 12:53 PM

Huh... that came across a little rude. Let me know if you want to communicate in complete sentences, and we can talk about your koy pond.


Part 5: Conclusion
response: none
condition of koi pond: unknown

On-Again Off-Again

My car could use a check check engine light light.

Oh Yeah, March... How 'Bout That?

The thing about March was that... Well, you see, March is a really busy time of the year for me, what with Daylight Saving Time, St. Patrick's Day, Palm Sunday (and everything that went with that), Purim (on the first day of spring, no less [seriously... could've used a little calendar space to pencil in my Thursday appointments, Jews]), the new moon (pretty lackluster this month, to be honest)... shoot... what am I doing... okay, here's the deal, this is the truth now... Basically, what happened with March is, I fell in love. I fell in love with hating Malaise. Maybe not Malaise, exactly, but everything Malaise had to say, at the very least. My love was deep and my love was pure, like if you put "Ode on a Grecian Urn" through a Brita filter, or something... then, what would happen is, the poem wouldn't taste so much like metal, or... sorry for that. Probably you didn't need an example anyway.

(Here I pause for you to say "what in the?")

Let's start from the top. I feel as though I may have lost you. Easter was in March this year, we should probably start with that. A few days ago I was in Barnes & Noble (just one place) and the couple at the register was talking to the... registrar about how they didn't know why Easter was always moving around (or, that, rather than how [the whole point being that they didn't know how, ((or why, for that matter)) or else they wouldn't have been having the conversation ((unless, of course [[however unlikely]], the whole scene was a ruse))]), why, I don't know, but anyway I chimed in and told them (why, I do know) that Easter is always on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox (I didn't say vernal, though... it was an understood vernal) and that ended that. What I'm getting at is, that and other things happened in March, but I couldn't bring myself to share it and them with you and yours because I was so wrapped up in waiting for another post from Malaise that I'd forgotten (perhaps 've forgotten) how to blog. Part of what's ridiculous about all this is that Easter really only moves once a year, tops. And as cheesy as that may be, the fact remains that I'm brimming with this crap, but it's a good kind of crap, like how there are good bacteria, and if you could see them you'd be grossed out but without them you'd get sick all the time, only this blog is the other way around, sort of, and with commas instead of cilia... that kind of thing.

Okay, I think I said what I needed to say. So, I guess this is goodnight america (sic).

Look What I Found

Out That Someone Else Found. Um... here.

I Am My Co-Pilot

On my way to a friend's house last night I remembered that I owed my friend money, so I stopped at a nearby Safeway figuring I could buy a candy bar or something and get cash back. I settled on a 12-ounce bottle of Tropicana orange juice and stood in line behind a guy at the 10 items or less register. Nothing about the guy in front of me is important to this story except to note that his grocery needs were limited enough that the bagger finished bagging his groceries before the guy was done paying for them. My expressed motivation for entering Safeway is also not important, nor is the fact that it was a Safeway in particular or a Tropicana, specifically, but I'm not going to go back and edit out that information, and you've already read it, so just thank me for the clarification and let's move on. The only things to keep in mind at this point are that I was purchasing a single bottle of orange juice and that the bagger was present for the entire transaction.

After a short wait the checker rang up the orange juice and, bypassing the two-foot conveyor belt to the bagger, handed it directly to me. I swiped my card, hit debit, swiped my card again because I shouldn't have the first time, entered my pin, OK'd the amount and asked for $20 back in fives. The checker counted out the fives to me, handed me my receipt, and told me to have a good evening. I said the same to him and turned to leave as the bagger asked...

"Would you like help out with that?"

Huh.

Today I got a call on my cell phone from an unknown caller during my lunch break. I decided that the mystery caller could maintain his or her secret identity all he or she wanted but he or she would have to leave a message if he or she really needed to reach me because I don't like talking to people who waste my time withholding valuable, time-saving pronouns. A minute or so later my phone buzzed to tell me that I had a voicemail, so I checked it.

"Hi," said a man's voice (about a paragraph too late), "I guess I have a wrong number [then I guess you shouldn't have left this message]. I'm trying to reach a friend but I must have an old number for him [yep, must], so I'm just leaving this message so you aren't left hanging about why you had a missed call from someone you didn't know [huh, that was polite, maybe I should go a little easier on people in the inner monologue department].

"Anyway, we'll talk to you again soon, okay, bye."

If Irritation Persists...

I bought a can of dust remover spray at RadioShack today. The guy who rang me up had to ask for my date of birth. You have to be over 18 to purchase dust remover spray. He'd have to ask me even if I looked 60. Company policy.

That's a good policy—limiting the purchase of dust remover spray to adults and dishonest minors with a working knowledge of the Gregorian calendar system and first-grade arithmetic.

Sorry I Just Now Came Up With This

Maybe China Took My Camera

Good thing I ate a fortune cookie this morning.

Recommended Reading, List

My name isn't Dan Liebert, so I didn't write this.

Read it. Learn to laugh again. Be melodramatic. Stop telling people what to do.

Thirteenth Part of a Twenty-Six Part Series

Part Fourteen*:

M

"M" stands for malaise, which means "a vague feeling of physical discomfort or of uneasiness." Sadly, it could be mistaken for either "Malaise," which means "someone who struggles to group words into sentences" or "magaise," which means "an ironic thing to call someone who insists on calling other people 'gay' even when unprovoked." To avoid confusion, it is best not to write in a public forum if your name is Malaise or if you are magaise.

*knock on wood

Apparently, this is a Cleaver Comment

"Be not an idiot."

It's a riddle... I guess.

Sweeps

1 entry found.

Main entry: sweeps

pl. n.
Not short for "sweepstakes." <if your name is Chetan, don't email me about "this sweeps where you can win something awesome," because "sweeps" is not short for "sweepstakes.">

Probably Not the Best Naming Decision

Twelfth Part of a Twenty-Six Part Series

Part Twelve*:

L

"L" stands for "l," which means "the 12th letter of the English alphabet." However, it could be confused with "I," which means "the ninth letter of the English alphabet." To avoid confusion, it is best not to start sentences with words like "illicit" or "illadvised." The word "Illinois" should be avoided whenever possible and can be substituted with "Land of Lincoln" in most contexts.

*Twelve, as defined by Webster's New World Dictionary, means "two more than ten." The word "ten" is defined as "one more than nine."

A Readership Poll Inspired by Malaise (the Person, Not the Emotional State).

Am I done with the monologue?

What I Saw at the Mall Today

A Commercial to Believe In

Once upon a time, RadioShack commercials consisted of Teri Hatcher demeaning Howie Long in between episodes of "Cops." They didn't inspire me to shop at RadioShack, but they also didn’t inspire me to not shop at RadioShack.

This is where the fairy tale ends.

Last weekend, I caught the tail end of the latest RadioShack commercial. It looked so much like a Hallmark commercial that I almost tuned it out—something about a lonely old woman finding joy again in the angelic voices of her caroling grandchildren—but the ending caught my attention. “This holiday season, don’t just buy stuff. Do stuff.”

How inspirational. Thanks RadioShack, for that selfless holiday reminder. Oh but wait, doesn’t your latest slogan ring a bell? Why yes it does, and how it rings. Let us follow that joyful reverberating sound, guided by the ghost of Holiday Advertisement Past, all the way back to November of 2005. Don’t worry—he means us no harm.

Is this where you are leaving us, ghost? Here in the 2005 holiday season? He nods and points to the back of the room, to a dark corner beyond a crowd of holiday merrymakers warming themselves by a roaring fire. Howie Long lies hiding ever so quietly under the piano bench, peeking out expectantly. Now I see… RadioShack pulled the ol’ “let’s play hide-and-seek” trick on Howie and replaced him with random people sitting in a red chair and telling us what they want for Christmas. A man tells his wife about the perfect phone, a child begs his parents for an RC car, an elderly woman struggles to remember all the features of the computer she wants. The ‘05 marketing slogan: "This holiday season, don't just get a gift. Get the right gift (at RadioShack)."

Ahh… the holiday season, the glorious celebration of that one time when baby Jesus bought everyone digital cameras... Or, wait… was it the time when baby Jesus fried up some latkes for the innkeeper? Between these conflicting messages, will we ever find the true reason for the season? Foul specter, why have you shown us these things?

Perhaps we’d find more clarity if we looked at RadioShack’s 2006 holiday message. The ghost shakes his head. He will take us no farther. Unfortunately, all I really remember about the HS of ’06 is that someone named My Brother threatened to punch me in the face in the middle of Best Buy because I told him to shut up, so I don't recall RadioShack's '06 advertising campaign. Probably more of the same, but the important thing to remember here is that I was shopping at Best Buy.

Of course! When have I ever shopped at RadioShack? I mean, for crying out loud, the name of the store is RadioShack. As an electronics store, they really ought to keep that on the down low, don’t you think? I’m not even crazy about Kozy Shack. About the only shack I've ever been in complete support of is the snack shack at summer camp. Gummy worms, fun dip, ice cream cones: these things can come from a shack. Cell phones, CD players, wide screen TVs: nuh uh.

Come to think of it, the last time I shopped at RadioShack was when I wanted to connect two short coaxial cables into one medium-sized coaxial cable, and I don’t remember why. I just remember that they had what I needed. It's called a coupler—basically a threaded cylinder that’s less than an inch long, and it costs about $5 because, as they say in the industry, "you don't know how to make one.” I went to RadioShack last night to see if they had the same type of coupler. They did not.

So, unless I need some batteries but don’t want to see anything from Duracell or Energizer (so help me God), I don’t really see myself needing another RadioShack, which kind of sucks, because now I have no idea where to turn for the meaning of the season.

Cranberry Sauce is Good in Cottage Cheese

I was just about to write some ridiculous, worthless post just to say I'd written something this week (working off of the Spanish calendar week), but I really have to pee right now so... urine luck.

Quote of the Night

"The couch should not smell like poo."

-some lady

Quote of the Year

"Why do you have a case for a plastic flute?"

-a guy named Josh

This is What Yu'r Missing if You Don't Read the Comments

"I hate when someboys toss me beers to drink. Piss me off. Plus, they should make 'shake me' on the opening 'kus no one would drip it down thier pants.

I like yur blog."

-malaise

In Conclusion:

Take Note.

an exhaustive list of things I hate

1) this: <3

2) that

Out to Dinner with the Folks

Mom: "Was your cioppino as good as it was the last time you had it?"

Dad: "It was good, but I'll have to get something different next time. The pot roast looked good."

Me: "Yeah?"

Dad: "Well, I didn't actually see it, but it sounded good."

Me: "Well, you didn't hear it either, so..."

Dad: "True, but it does sound good... pot roast."

Me: "Pot roast. You're right, that does sound good."

Dad: "Doesn't it? Pot roast. Yeah, it sounds pretty good."

by special request: This Might Be a Rebus

Nectar, Take Note

I don't know who's idea it was to put non-carbonated beverages in cans—honestly, I don't—but I doubt it was a group decision. I have come to feel this way because whenever I am about to twist off the top of a bottled beverage, be it plastic or glass, and even before I insert straw here, I usually pause to think, hmm... I wonder if I'm supposed to shake this, and subsequently, no, it does not appear that way, or, ah yes, it says here, "shake well," depending—but replace that bottle or box/carton with a can, and that thought process is replaced entirely by the much simpler (though still poised and articulate) oh boy, here goes nothing, and I certainly am not alone in this.

That's right, whoever came up with putting non-carbonated drinks in cans must have been the single person on earth to make it to adulthood without being conditioned to believe that all beverages in cans, when shaken, gain horrible destructive powers—that there are safer ways of running with scissors than there are of running with Pepsi-Cola(s)—that only very stupid people ever say "hey broskie, throw me a beer," and that said beers thrown to said people are usually not their first of the heretofore unmentioned afternoon.

Somewhere, probably in a desert untouched by civilization, a butterfly (presumably a nomadic butterfly) flapped its wings in just such a way that the shifting winds of the earth somehow shielded a solitary person from this common knowledge, and that person went on to market nectar—yes, nectar—in cans. If anyone should have known this would happen, it was the butterfly, who should have known better and who was an idiot. The butterfly's victim, I can only regard as tragically sheltered, because anyone who would dare add copious amounts of sugar to the juice and puree of everyone's favorite fruits in the world (that's right mango, I'm talking about you... you too papaya... alright banana, you can come too, as long as you bring your friends) and offer it to the masses for less than the price of an expensive cup of coffee demands our respect.

However, how many more untold thousands must pick up cans of nectar, usually on vacation or over at a friend's house, and open them cautiously before realizing that (oh crap) this is the solitary canned product in the universe that you're supposed to shake, before we look past that respect and see a problem that needs to be fixed? How many faceless, nameless, thirsty people will be forced to improvise a method for shaking an open can before we gather together and do something about it? How long before it isn't just some guy on the street corner or some friend of a friend? How long before you find yourself with a little bit of nectar on your thumb, and a little dripping down your hand—before some of it ends up on your pants? How long, people? How long?

I Just Won a Game of Solitaire...

...and thus ended a 10-game losing streak. As an optimist, I'd say the glass is one eleventh full. As a realist, I'd say that I shouldn't play solitaire in the desert.

This is What Dead Cats Look Like When You're a Special Agent

This is What Lamps Look Like When You're a Special Agent

More Like, Silver Full of Its

They say you can only kill a werewolf with a silver bullet, but that’s ridiculous. If you shot one with say, 28,000 bullets of the non-silver variety, wouldn’t a werewolf at least bleed to death? Has anyone ever tried explosives on a werewolf? I mean, have explosives really been ruled out? How about poison? If you locked up a werewolf without food or water for a year, wouldn’t it starve to death at some point? Couldn’t you strangle a werewolf? Couldn’t you cut off a werewolf’s head?

It’s one thing to have a weakness against silver bullets—that I can believe—but to be otherwise invincible is absolutely preposterous. If a meteor the size of Vermont collided with Earth on the night of a full moon and happened to land directly on a werewolf, am I really expected to believe that the werewolf would swim up out of the magma-filled crater and die only the next morning when it transformed back into a human and choked to death on the ashes of a dead world? Come on, let’s get serious.

Way Too Serious

Today I was an only child.
Wait...
I don't even know what that means.

things that the internet at work is slower than at the moment

1) hell

Sci-Fi Free Verse Epic Poem Part 5

Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. The point is
That Sam was a freaking loon. You could even say it this way:
“That Sam was a freaking loon,” so it doesn’t even
Matter if you pause unnecessarily at every line break
Like so many do.
(It’s hard not to.)
But here I am just rambling on and on (and on and so forth) etc.,
When I could be telling you about the episode with the puppet.
Well, I’ll get there soon I promise, It’s just that
I need to finish out this stanza before we can get started.

list of things that dried white peaches make me want to do

1) puke
2) have another

a(n im)partial list of things that dried white peaches look like

1) human ears poorly preserved in formaldehyde

This Title Thing is Going to Get Boring Pretty Soon, So...

So, to clarify, what Sam really said when he woke up was
“Dude, it was right here a moment ago.”
There’s nothing wrong with that wherever two or more are gathered,
But… Sam was all alone, so it was a bad sign, at least in hindsight.
Greg, on the other hand,
With the whole “Shooter" thing,
Well… Greg was an all right guy. Sure, he might have said
Things like “Whoa Shooter, keep away from the pastry,”
But when you’ve been alone for two years
It’s okay to be afraid of pastry. Especially lemon bars.

Know What I Mean?

I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you
That Greg and Sam didn’t go by "Greg" or "Sam" anymore.
Heck, they’d been the only two people alive for two years,
And there weren’t a lot of people around to say
“Hey Greg,” or
“Hey Sam.” You
Know? So they’d both taken to thinking of themselves
By different names. Greg called himself “Shooter,”
And Sam always thought of himself as “Dude,”
But, like, he really thought of himself as “Dude.”

...So Now's My Chance to Get a Head Start

Greg peddled to a nearby mall and stocked up on supplies.
He found a better backpack and a pair of running shoes.
At some point Sam woke up and found his bike was gone.
“It was right here a moment ago,” he said—alone in his head,
Though in a sense his head was right,
Maybe for the last time,
For Greg had long since found the bike
And ridden far from town.
If ever again their paths should cross
Then Fate obviously doesn’t have anything better to do.

In the Future, Anything Will Pass as Poetry

At the end of our age, only two men survived the plague.
Their names were Greg and Sam because, why not?
But they both thought they were the last one alive,
Which explains why, after two years of wandering the earth alone,
Greg stole Sam's bike
While Sam was asleep.
The chances of that happening probably aren't very high,
But anyway that's what happened.
It was the highlight of Greg's life
And the start of when Sam went insane.

written for my newspaper internship

Monday night at Hennessy’s Bar and Grill in Carlsbad, a few men and women begin trickling in at the back patio around 7, shaking hands and trying to remember one another’s names. After too long of a debate, they decide to pull two small plastic tables together. Twenty minutes later there are 10 people around three tables and it doesn’t look like anyone else is coming. A man on the end passes out articles on scratch paper—politics, religion or science on one side, old multiplication worksheets or tips for preserving fruit on the other. No one looks too interested in reading just yet.

“Are we eating?” one wants to know. He doesn’t get a definitive answer, but orders the fish and chips anyway. A few others order something to eat or drink, and then, now that everyone’s here, it’s time for introductions again. It’s understandable that they don’t all know each other because they only meet once a month, and they can’t all make it every month.

This is a meeting of the Brights. Their common bond is that they are all atheists, or is that right? Technically, a Bright is someone who does not believe in anything supernatural. The Brights started in Sacramento in 2003 and have spread to almost 100 countries since then, but it sounds like the terminology is still being hashed out. The group around the tables launches into a discussion about the difference between atheist and agnostic, agnostic and ignostic, skeptic and secular humanist. From there they talk about religious texts, presidential canidates, faith and belief, corporations, morals and ethics, good books. But a lot of what they talk about is just how nice it is to be able to talk at all.

“I have a wife and two children, and they’re religious. Just for family harmony, I’m not going to go on and on,” says the man with the fish and chips. It’s a common sentiment, but some say it more strongly.

“We have family that are religious and we’ll go to Christmas and Thanksgiving with them, but we have friends and family members who have found out we were nonreligious and now they don’t want to hang out with us,” says Paul Wenger, 53. Paul has been the president of the San Diego Association for Rational Inquiry for 2 years. He’s got brochures in his car if anyone is interested, but he’s really just here to talk.

So is Eve Daniels, 70, a trained concert pianist with a master’s degree in human development who has met with the Brights off and on for the last 9 months.

“We all need to be able to talk. We all need to have a place where we know we can talk and what we say is valued, and that also allows us to hear ourselves, and you can say back to me what I’ve said, and the idea gets polished.”

Eve says this to Anne Adams, 68, a retired secretary and proud grandmother who once considered herself to be a Christian. She had difficulty pinpointing exactly when she changed her mind about religion.

“I’ve been what you would call a freethinker my whole life. I just didn’t know what to call it,” she says. “I miss being part of the church, you know, the closeness, the camaraderie, but not the other…” she waves her hand to sum it up. Anne says she hasn’t ruled out the existence of the supernatural, but that she does need to be true to herself about what she thinks.

“The thing of it is—we don’t know.”

That’s when the man with the handouts chimes in.

“I disagree, we know thoroughly.”

His name is Lambert Bertrand Halsema, but “Bert” is good enough.

“I’m a Buddhist, so I’m an atheist with a future,” he introduced himself earlier. Asked how old he is, he says he’s not old, he’s a classic. He moved from Florida to California when he joined the Merchant Marines 53 years ago, and he probably wasn’t young then.

Bert has a doctorate in cultural geography from the Nation Autonomous University in Mexico City, he keeps up on his reading, and he isn’t afraid to express his opinions. His t-shirt reads, “God needs no help starting holy wars. Keep church and state separate.”

They all have plenty to talk about, and the topics are as varied as the people around the tables. No one gets up to leave until 10:30, and even then, saying goodbye is a 30-minute process for some.

Nutrition (fun) Facts for Said Sunflower Seeds

serving size: "1 package"
servings per container: "about 1"
me: "...?"

Note Scratched into the Wall Next to a Neglected Bag of David's Sunflower Seeds

It's been, how many weeks now? Each day fades into the next, fades into the next.

Leaving Work at the Office

According to AP style, the correct abbreviation for electronic mail is "e-mail," and this is a "Web site."

Amazing Tattoo Idea #4

An angry goat-like creature whipping an email account that timed out and lost a very long email in progress. The whole thing would be on fire, only the goatman would be unharmed, as would his whip. But, to clarify, it would be a fiery whip made out of chain link. Also, there'd be a kid on the other deltoid popping bubble wrap, just to make the scene painful and annoying. Bonus suggestion: have the goat thing also be kicking the email account with its cloven hooves.