Thursday, April 9, 2009
Rejewvenated
Seth Rogen has betrayed chubby losers everywhere. Google image the bastard and you will see a new man: "rejewvenated." If he didn't give me so much pleasure i'd hate 'em; instead i've decided to let him inspire me. Seth Rogen has inspired me to find my inner thin douche. After I saw his interview with Jon Stewart on the Daily Show I vaulted to the nearest 24 hour fitness. Soon I will be a skinny asshole...i will have a skinnier asshole...you'll see, you'll all see! And then you'll pay, you'll all pay...to see!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Hey Daniel, Suck It Blogspot
This is what i see after reloading my page several times (the page being daniel's comment section for "one week in the grand scheme"):
Word Verification
Loading...
(this is space to type)
Finish (this is a button)
Ahhh! I typed in "Loading..." which blogspot didn't think was funny.
Well, this was my comment:
haha...i have to do this for journalism, but i want to do it for me. makes me sick when i realize how much time i spend with a computer, as opposed to a human being...aim, facebook seem like an illusion of human contact.
lets talk after we conquer this.
Word Verification
Loading...
(this is space to type)
Finish (this is a button)
Ahhh! I typed in "Loading..." which blogspot didn't think was funny.
Well, this was my comment:
haha...i have to do this for journalism, but i want to do it for me. makes me sick when i realize how much time i spend with a computer, as opposed to a human being...aim, facebook seem like an illusion of human contact.
lets talk after we conquer this.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
I Always Wanted Curly Hair
I'm not done with puberty...or is it that puberty is not finished with me? Either way, I have new arm hair (these ones are visible sans microscope). My grandma swears I'm taller, which is why she's my favorite grandma (remember the sick woman who let us watch Jaws and Halloween before we could subtract...that's her, Grandma Archie). Oh and my facial hair is still funny, and not Daniel funny, more David funny. There's nothing masculine about patches, it just sounds like a dog name...a generic one. I want a beard...damn Ramin...and Michael...and Jillian (haha kidding).
My hair distribution is weird, bordering on stupid. Chest? Nope. Face? Patches. Hands? Patterened. Ass? Bountiful. If i ever went bald, my subsequent hair transplant would come from my butt.
My hair distribution is weird, bordering on stupid. Chest? Nope. Face? Patches. Hands? Patterened. Ass? Bountiful. If i ever went bald, my subsequent hair transplant would come from my butt.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Coffee's for Closers
When i read exceptionally brilliant, heart-felt writing i want to delete my blog...
I imagine busting through the swinging doors of my writer's room, blunt weapon in hand, waiting for my blog writing staff's eyes to meet mine. The mace, candlestick, trident clinks and clacks against the floor as I let it slip from my small, delicate hands. I swagger to the closest window and glare, breathing heavy, building dramatic tension. And then i go there. I drop the Alec Baldwin speech on them like an A-bomb filled with kamikazes (think Glengarry Glen Ross monologue delivered with the vitriol of pig daughter voice mail). This goes on, blood trickling down their earlobes and splatting on their crisp, white dress shirts. Near the end of my tirade, i snatch one of the baby-faced writers by the pits and i shake him...a good strong shaking. A half an hour later, i release the sweating husk and he crumples into the fetal position. I wiggle my numb fingers and part with these words: "Write personally. Write profoundly. Write punly. Write better."
I also understand that brilliant, heart-felt writing is a process...haha that's a great word for it. So don't fret...this blog is safe.
I imagine busting through the swinging doors of my writer's room, blunt weapon in hand, waiting for my blog writing staff's eyes to meet mine. The mace, candlestick, trident clinks and clacks against the floor as I let it slip from my small, delicate hands. I swagger to the closest window and glare, breathing heavy, building dramatic tension. And then i go there. I drop the Alec Baldwin speech on them like an A-bomb filled with kamikazes (think Glengarry Glen Ross monologue delivered with the vitriol of pig daughter voice mail). This goes on, blood trickling down their earlobes and splatting on their crisp, white dress shirts. Near the end of my tirade, i snatch one of the baby-faced writers by the pits and i shake him...a good strong shaking. A half an hour later, i release the sweating husk and he crumples into the fetal position. I wiggle my numb fingers and part with these words: "Write personally. Write profoundly. Write punly. Write better."
I also understand that brilliant, heart-felt writing is a process...haha that's a great word for it. So don't fret...this blog is safe.
B-sides the point
Time to unclog the drain. I present to you my blog post junkyard; unfortunate entries that didn't make it past the creative process. Unedited, uncensored, uncircumcised, and unposted, until now...my b-sides:
And now they're gone...can't wait until i see each one, perhaps at the same hangout? haha...maybe.
9/23/08
if attractive people can find flaws with their appearances, what are the rest of us gonna do?
Self-conscious and shallow for two hundred, Trebec. This one is awkward. I remember writing this after a gym outing with Ramin...he was commenting on his physical flaws, and the whole time i was stabbing him with telepathic knives...blunt ones.
10/31/08
5/20/08
Dear God, thank you for this wonderful day. Help me have no bad dreams, no Jaws dreams. Bless the food that we eat and enstrength our bodies. Bless mommy, daddy, peter, natalie, me, and everyone else in the world. In your prayer, amen.
I haven't said these words, in my head or out loud, in years...at least six or seven.
This is the prayer i'd repeat every night before sleep. Mom created the base of the prayer and, every night, my sister would inject "Jaws dreams" at the mentioning of bad dreams (probably because my grandma would let us choose whichever VHS we wanted when we spent the night...sick, sick woman.) I thought the prayer was magic. It was like a nightly incantation we'd all chant in unison to ward away the bad omens. I never really took to organized religion...sorry mom.
5/20/08
People that have taken me six years to befriend:
Albot.Liz.Jimmy.Leah.Alyssa.Andrew.Michael Hsiao.Kristen.Dhivya.Melanie.Dear God, thank you for this wonderful day. Help me have no bad dreams, no Jaws dreams. Bless the food that we eat and enstrength our bodies. Bless mommy, daddy, peter, natalie, me, and everyone else in the world. In your prayer, amen.
I haven't said these words, in my head or out loud, in years...at least six or seven.
This is the prayer i'd repeat every night before sleep. Mom created the base of the prayer and, every night, my sister would inject "Jaws dreams" at the mentioning of bad dreams (probably because my grandma would let us choose whichever VHS we wanted when we spent the night...sick, sick woman.) I thought the prayer was magic. It was like a nightly incantation we'd all chant in unison to ward away the bad omens. I never really took to organized religion...sorry mom.
5/20/08
People that have taken me six years to befriend:
And now they're gone...can't wait until i see each one, perhaps at the same hangout? haha...maybe.
9/23/08
if attractive people can find flaws with their appearances, what are the rest of us gonna do?
Self-conscious and shallow for two hundred, Trebec. This one is awkward. I remember writing this after a gym outing with Ramin...he was commenting on his physical flaws, and the whole time i was stabbing him with telepathic knives...blunt ones.
10/31/08
My shitty paper recieved an A-...shut up.
It made my day. And i had an awesome day, besides the paper. I saw Role Models with theresa, which was hilarious in its own david wain way, and i finally washed my filthy car. But then the sun went down, my tired thoughts wandered, and i decided to choke the joy out of my day. It's a nightly chore, to wring out the day's events in my mind like a dirt-soaked rag. I'm dry now.
I am particularly drained by my inability to enjoy anything. I dont really do anything except write. I am a collection of words, not experiences. I'm done talking
Yeah, and i'm done writing this post (no period here...because i'm just that over it)
Yeah, and i'm done writing this post (no period here...because i'm just that over it)
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Brush Away Your Tears
Fresh from the magic, rectangular box that prints out fines and tickets, I hold in my hand a lime green envelope. (Not literally, i'm typing genius. It's in my back pocket.) An oddly stylish lime green envelope. In fact, if it were not for the bold, all capped, size forty-eight words PARKING TICKET emblazoned on its side i would have assumed it housed a jamba juice gift card or was the invitation to a lavish dinner party that dissolves into a murder mystery i have been waiting for since i was nine (a purple velvet suit owner with an assorted collection of lead pipes can dream can't he?) But it does not and is not(...and never will be). Instead a digital receipt is nestled in its folds.
So what? Your first parking ticket. Before you get all gushy on me about how i'm growing up and with great power comes great responsibility, cool it uncle ben, because this is how it went down. I turned onto my street and lazily passed our friendly neighborhood streetsweeper. I thought nothing of his presence as i parked my car, rather gracefully, on the quaint and empty street. That is until i had taken seven and a quarter steps to the mailbox, emptied its contents into my bosom, and watched a piece of junk mail flutter to the sidewalk. I bent to save the gutter-bound flyer, an obvious suicide attempt as it is inevitably trash-bound, and as i wrenched up he was already there. His squat, yet surprisingly nimble, fingers worked the enchanting ticket contraption. I witnessed the event with a Twilight Zone filter; everything was three shades darker and the ticket man unleashed a jagged toothed cackle as he worked.
"Here you are, sir."
The "nee noo nee noo" flickered away, and i was left clutching the lime green envelope. I think i said yeah or uh-uh, something lame and weak. The fact that he waited for me to park and then eight seconds later pounced on me like a middle-aged puma was fucking ridiculous but beside the point: no one calls me "sir." I've still got millage left in the "chief," "sport, "big guy," "champ" tank and i am not ready for this sir bullshit. If anyone is a sir, my good sir, its him (...yeah, you tell 'em vincent). So jeeves piles into his car and drives off. I flop into mine, ready to slither into the driveway. End of story.
But it wasn't over. Nope, after my self-delusions failed to extinguish the bitter absurdity of this sting operation i did what any other level-headed person would do. I tailed his ass. I had pressing questions that demanded proportionally poignant answers. I didn't have to wait long. He pulled up behind his next victim only twenty yards away from my house, collected the information for the fine-n-go, slipped it under the windshield wiper, and proceeded to follow the massive sweeper. We trudged on, the three of us, for a couple neighborhood streets. Until i witnessed him sidle out of his car to inspect a scraggly length of branch hidden among a heap of dead leaves resting in the opposite gutter. He rifled through the pile and unearthed his prize for further scrutiny. After a few moments of contemplation he decided not to fine the branch. I couldn't take much more of this. Besides he had answered my most urgent question and the cat-and-mouse-and-sweeper high was wearing off. The question being: was this guy's sole job description tailing the streetsweeper and passing out fines? My answer, not so: he had added waste inspector to said resume.
So by now the pettiness should be palpable. But honestly, the short time i spent following the ticket man, i couldn't help but empathize with his state. This isn't some backhanded "i'll be the bigger man" bull. I'm sure he hates his job, dealing with nutjobs worse than me constantly bitching about their thirty dollars and the like. I mean if you simply have a passion and knack for tailing people, be a detective. But Damn. He stares at the back of an over-sized Swiffer, crawling through the vacuum of his life. Haha bigger man my ass...
On a sidenote, i am more excited for Spring Awakening than any man should be...can't wait. Oh last note: i have a shaving related gash on my chin. Please if you notice, which you will, don't bring it up or i will hack an inspired replica of it on your forehead...forewarned.
So what? Your first parking ticket. Before you get all gushy on me about how i'm growing up and with great power comes great responsibility, cool it uncle ben, because this is how it went down. I turned onto my street and lazily passed our friendly neighborhood streetsweeper. I thought nothing of his presence as i parked my car, rather gracefully, on the quaint and empty street. That is until i had taken seven and a quarter steps to the mailbox, emptied its contents into my bosom, and watched a piece of junk mail flutter to the sidewalk. I bent to save the gutter-bound flyer, an obvious suicide attempt as it is inevitably trash-bound, and as i wrenched up he was already there. His squat, yet surprisingly nimble, fingers worked the enchanting ticket contraption. I witnessed the event with a Twilight Zone filter; everything was three shades darker and the ticket man unleashed a jagged toothed cackle as he worked.
"Here you are, sir."
The "nee noo nee noo" flickered away, and i was left clutching the lime green envelope. I think i said yeah or uh-uh, something lame and weak. The fact that he waited for me to park and then eight seconds later pounced on me like a middle-aged puma was fucking ridiculous but beside the point: no one calls me "sir." I've still got millage left in the "chief," "sport, "big guy," "champ" tank and i am not ready for this sir bullshit. If anyone is a sir, my good sir, its him (...yeah, you tell 'em vincent). So jeeves piles into his car and drives off. I flop into mine, ready to slither into the driveway. End of story.
But it wasn't over. Nope, after my self-delusions failed to extinguish the bitter absurdity of this sting operation i did what any other level-headed person would do. I tailed his ass. I had pressing questions that demanded proportionally poignant answers. I didn't have to wait long. He pulled up behind his next victim only twenty yards away from my house, collected the information for the fine-n-go, slipped it under the windshield wiper, and proceeded to follow the massive sweeper. We trudged on, the three of us, for a couple neighborhood streets. Until i witnessed him sidle out of his car to inspect a scraggly length of branch hidden among a heap of dead leaves resting in the opposite gutter. He rifled through the pile and unearthed his prize for further scrutiny. After a few moments of contemplation he decided not to fine the branch. I couldn't take much more of this. Besides he had answered my most urgent question and the cat-and-mouse-and-sweeper high was wearing off. The question being: was this guy's sole job description tailing the streetsweeper and passing out fines? My answer, not so: he had added waste inspector to said resume.
So by now the pettiness should be palpable. But honestly, the short time i spent following the ticket man, i couldn't help but empathize with his state. This isn't some backhanded "i'll be the bigger man" bull. I'm sure he hates his job, dealing with nutjobs worse than me constantly bitching about their thirty dollars and the like. I mean if you simply have a passion and knack for tailing people, be a detective. But Damn. He stares at the back of an over-sized Swiffer, crawling through the vacuum of his life. Haha bigger man my ass...
On a sidenote, i am more excited for Spring Awakening than any man should be...can't wait. Oh last note: i have a shaving related gash on my chin. Please if you notice, which you will, don't bring it up or i will hack an inspired replica of it on your forehead...forewarned.
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