Thursday, June 30, 2005

The one about Diver (mostly)

After winning a rousing "race to 9" tonight in pool by a score of 9-4, I was still not sated. Imagine that.

So, I decided to go to "Boheme," the only true cool place in this wacky city, looking for a beer and a sympathetic ear. I found one of the two, guess which. However, they were playing the entire "Demon Days" album by Gorillaz (which, with each listen, I become more convinced that the guy from Blur is a genius). I hung around for the entirety of said album.

While enjoying my Boulevard with an orange slice (for some reason, this is like the only bar/hangout in this city that has orange slices on hand, I know, I don't get it either), I was attacked from behind from a guy who only identified himself as "Diver."

By attacked, of course, I mean hugged. For an inordinate amount of time.

While turning around and giving my usual greeting that I give to males who are so bold to touch me without my permission ('Sup bro), Diver instantly realized that I was not who he had originally thought I was. He apologized profusely, so that was cool.

While driving home, I saw Diver on the street. He gave me the wave. I gave him a honk of the horn. How exciting.

In conclusion, everyone should listen to Bloc Party or die.

Sunday, June 26, 2005

Rap artists give "shout-outs" to various locations.

My 1337 setup is complete, and I know have my laptop running in the same room as my main machine, and I am using it to create shitty remixes of Nine Inch Nails songs. You see, they are now releasing all their singles in a different way than every other band is. It's kind of cool, but I suck at remixing things, so if I create something listenable, I'll post it here.

So, my golden (meaning 23rd) birthday has come and went, and I got a lot of stuff. I'm still waiting on a package from my sister and her husband, but that's because UPS sucks and they only try to deliver my package when I'm not home. If you want to see pictures of me drunkenly breaking balls on my birthday, go here, here, and here. I hope that MEARTBORKX doesn't destroy me for using a lot of bandwith/space, etc.

It's kind of depressing to realize that now I have no reason to look forward to my birthday ever again, since all of the "special" ones have passed. However, depression and I don't get along, so I'm going to look forward to them anyway, just so I can see the looks on your faces.

My new "get in shape fast to impress the women" plan is going pretty well. Last week got messed up because of my birthday and an excessive intake of alcoholic beverages, but I've taken like a half inch off of my waist and lost 5 real pounds in about 3 weeks. Considering that I'm also building up muscle mass (you can see the entry about meatheads for some WACKY stories about the gym), that's pretty good progress.

I saw a [personalized] license plate outside the admissions office today that said IADMITM. Once you figure that out, you'll realize it's the worst thing in the world, and you'll probably do what I did, which was crash my car into the nearest tree.

I am listening to Weezer for some reason, so feel free to shoot me in the left thigh.

The title of this post comes from here. I'll update more frequently from now on, I promise.

The above links actually work now.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

Who do you think you are? Frankie Valli or some kind of big shot?

Oh, what a night. That's how that terrible Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons song goes, right?

After spending the entire day at work feeling rather dejected about not being able to solve high school mathematics exams, I went home to sit around in my apartment with the lights low and listen to trip-hop music at inordinately high volumes. Just when I was expecting nothing to happen, something did. So that's totally fantastic.

After meeting the bartender from the only place in Ames that has drinkable beer in another bar playing pool with her housemate, we decided to

first: play pool at a nearby table;
then: accept their invitation to play doubles;
next: whip their asses in the 6 game series by a score of 5-1;
finally: follow them up to the "3 dollar cover, y'all" second floor, where it is basically a dance club.

You heard right, I was at a dance club. Luckily, I was sufficiently intoxicated, meaning that I didn't care that every six-foot-five-two-hundred-fifty-pound guy in the joint was thinking to himself, "What the fuck is that cracker [or 'crackah,' if you prefer] doing out there?" Due to this massive rush of endorphins to my brain caused by the wacky amount of physical activity so late/early, I accidently left a five dollar tip at the bar for a drink that cost me $3.50. Live and let live.

Then it seemed like a great idea to go back to the house of these two massively cute girls (who were 26 and 23, or much older, I forget) and play scattergories for an hour. I don't care what anyone says, when the category (or "scattergory" lol omg har har) is "people in uniform" and the letter is "P," the response "Police, Military" is completely acceptable and is different from "Policemen."

Then we went to Perkin's for some reason at 5am where some guy named Dante stroked my hand for about 10 seconds until I told him he couldn't possibly make me feel uncomfortable.

Then he moved across the aisle.

Come home 6:30am, crash, wake up at 11, shower, go to work after 2pm. Why after 2pm?

The world may never know.

Oh, and now I'm infatuated with The White Stripes. I only just realized how brilliant Get Behind Me Satan truly is. This is probably one of those records I'm going to have to buy. I'm so in love. "I'm Lonely (But I Ain't That Lonely Yet)" is probably the best song ever written about dealing with getting tossed aside by some girl. And finally, if you see Chevelle around, tell them to stop making music because they're terrible at it.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

She says she's been a Republican "for a couple of days."

It's days like today that make me wish I weren't a smoker. I don't say that as one of those "I've tried to quit a million times, I just don't have a mind of my own because I fail" types of people. However, when I'm so dehydrated but don't realize it and go to smoke a cigarette, and I can feel the bile rising in my stomach until it's in my mouth and my teeth begin to rot at the drop of a hat, cigarettes begin to taste like death. Then my lips feel thinner than Pastor Cady's hair (omg, a total HCS reference, did you, like, catch it and stuff?). Of course, this is nothing that a bottle of water or two can't fix, but hell.

If you want to really torture someone, wait until your subject is dehydrated, then force him to smoke 2 American Spirit Lights (TM) back to back. Taking notes, Abu Ghraib/Guantanamo Bay lieutenants?

Don't get me wrong, I love smoking. I love the feeling of smoke entering my lungs, and the inahale/exhale action is better than sex (either that, or I'm doing something terribly, terribly wrong). Plus, smoking looks crazy/sexy/cool. I would just rather not feel like my stomach is emptying its contents into my throat while I'm doing it.

"Batman Begins" was an amazing movie, and everyone should see it. Christian Bale and Christopher Nolan need to team up on more projects, and save Hollywood from things like this.

The title of this post comes from this. What a crock. Stop allying yourselves with groups who happen to share a few of the same ideals, and start using that mushy thing behind your eyes. Politics is just another organized religion -- but that's a topic for a different entry.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

An open letter to failures

Alright, general populace, we need to have a discussion about highway driving. I know they don't teach it in Driver's Ed (because I had that class too), so I guess I'm your final hope for any sort of information on the topic.

Firstly, whatever speed you want to drive is fine -- so long as you stay in the right lane. The instant you get in the left lane, you are forced to either drive the speed of the people behind you or get back in the right lane. If you're not comfortable driving 90 miles an hour in your car that was made back when you still thought girls had cooties and that's what made them "girls" (like my car was), then you just need to get out of the left lane.

When you can easily see someone in your rearview bearing down on you, get out of the way.

Next, there is to be no varying of your speed at any time. Most cars nowadays have cruise control, and unless you're obviously driving a car without one, I will not accept any variation in your forward velocity. If I decide to pass you by continuing at my 81 miles an hour, I don't want you suddenly accelerating to 83 miles an hour just to make my life miserable.

Thirdly, there is a thing called merging. It's not pleasant for anyone, but everyone has to do it. Just speed the fuck up, and everything will take care of itself. None of this slow business will be tolerable.

Fourthly, blinkers are mandatory. I don't care if no one is around for miles. On the highway, things happen quickly. You need to let everyone around you know what you are doing so that one of them doesn't go from singing an awesome song by Blur to screaming obscenities at the top of his lungs and proclaiming various voodoo curses against you. Not that I would know from experience or anything, but I'm just warning you. You don't know who you might upset with your lack of skill at being a decent human being.

Finally, semi trucks are the gods of your travelling path. When you upset them, they get upset at cars in general, and in turn, me. Therefore, do not pass them on the right, and when they turn their blinkers on, let them in. They're coming anyways, there's nothing you can do about it.

In music news, I've come to terms with Gorillaz (mainly because I found out they were fronted by two of my favorite musicians of all time). Chicks on Speed and Autechre have been standard fare in the past couple days as well. Listen to them and become a better person.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Gap: whatever/shirts?

Target would be just fine

So, last night I was walking back from a friend's apartment after enjoying some delicious beer and I found something on the ground. Something astounding, something amazing, something just out of my mind.

I found the summer budget of someone who I can only assume is a sorority girl.

Something like this is a rare find. Let's take a moment to examine exactly what is going on here. On the first line, we notice that she needs to buy "suit/shoes" from a place called "Dillards." (Of course, being the astute person I am, I totally thought it said "Billiards," so I assumed she must play pool professionally or something. Looking more closely, I can definitely attest to the fact that it is "Dillards.")

A few lines down, we find out that she plans to purchase her ideas from what is only described as "Furniture Store." Below that, we uncover her frontrunners for her summer career as eye candy, where we learn that "Target would be just fine."

However, at the top of her list, we know that she really wants to work for ISU, and she should call "Cjidem's contact." If you can figure out what nationality that name is, please tell me.

Then we come upon what I believe to be the most disturbing aspect of her budget. She plans on spending 1000 dollars in the month of August on clothes. Now, she better be some fashion star with extreme style that blows my gourd or I'm going to freak out.

In other news, The White Stripes are the biggest tease in the history of the world. Their lead single is pretty rockin' awesome, but the rest of the album leaves me wanting. Damn.

Monday, June 06, 2005

Wow, you, like, totally hit it.

I have to post, because I've just seen the worst commercial in the history of mankind. I'll try to properly set the scene for you.

We have two bikini clad women on a beach, in the middle of a volleyball game. Only they aren't women. They're computer generated cel-shaded characters. The ball comes in the direction of one of the two women, and one of them lacklusterly hits it with an underhanded stroke, using one arm, to which her friend exclaims:

"Wow, you, like, totally hit it."

Obviously, there is some confusion going on here. Of course, there is no way that these two women would be caught dead playing volleyball, as per the previous comment after the ball was first struck. In her defense, the returner explains to her friend and the head-scratching audience:

"What? I've got a fruit buzz."

So, naturally, the audience is interested to know what this "fruit buzz" is. What drug could be so wonderful as to make one of our two cel-shaded protagonists care about volleyball?

Apparently, it's what one experiences after eating MacDonald's new calorie packed way to enjoy fruits. Great.

My reaction to this commercial was a little tame at first. I simply thought to myself, "What the fuck?" Then, roughly 3 seconds later, I made audible my disdain for the commercial. After about 4 more seconds, I began to freak out and I struck myself repeatedly on the head with my own hands, trying (in vain, no less) to rid my memory of ever having seen the advertising atrocity.

Please, don't buy these "fruit buzzes," or whatever they might be. You'll make MacDonald's think that these commercials are working, and they'll make more, and I can't afford to smash my face against the television screen...yet.

Sunday, June 05, 2005

Blinking lights and other revelations

So I won again at cards last night, which was in the amount of 30 dollars. This puts me at roughly plus 150 dollars on the year, so I'm sitting pretty. Now I just need a way to save my money instead of spending on food, cigarettes, and CDs.

Something strange happened to me yesterday. I was driving around normally, minding my own business on a beautiful sunny day on one of those thin roads where people are still allowed to park on the side of the road for some reason. Anyways, another car is coming towards me, and flashes his lights at me, which I think is telling me to move over, but I already was over, and there weren't any cars parked there at the time. I ignored him.

Then, I was driving down "Main" street (which is Ames' poor excuse for a downtown area), and the same thing happened. I was baffled. This street has yellow dividing lines, I definitely was not in his lane. I can only assume that my wheels are falling off or that I was asleep or something.

So, that story sucked terribly (or wonderfully, whichever one fully expresses the suckiness of it). I'll come up with something better later in the week. As for now, I need to go to my office and blah, blah, blah, and etc.

Oh, and I just realized that this site doesn't really render properly in Internet Explorer. So, if you're using that still, you fail. Furthermore, these fonts look like garbage on any computer not using anti-aliasing for the fonts. I don't know if windows has that, so if you are using that, you fail again.


Saturday, June 04, 2005

Meathead is a word.

I'd hate to make this another cliched (albeit time tested) rant about jocks, but I'm afraid that's what it might degrade into.

I've taken a liking to working out recently. I look healthier, feel better, and my mind is sharper. Exercise can do wonderful things for both the body and the mind, if you do it right. However, most of the denizens of the ISU Rec Center have completely neglected the latter.

It's time we talked. I'm not insane about working out, but I definitely want to get in *slash* stay in shape. Therefore, I'm going to have to be at the gym with you. We're going to have to get along peacefully.

No one cares that your arms are so pumped up that you can't even let them hang at your sides naturally. Please stop, because your stomach is kind of fat anyways. You should probably work on that.

I would also prefer it if you stopped shooting me confused glances. Yes, I have long hair; yes, I am lifting weights near you; no, I'm not interested in you, don't worry; no, my arms are not bigger than my life; yes, meathead is a word, look it up; yes, etc.

On a completely different note, I would probably totally love the Gorillaz if their name/image didn't make me want to smash my face repeatedly into a brick wall.

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