Oh, my stars and garters!

Kitty got shit to do.

Hey, look, everyone! Stinky's got a wrist list too!

Huh. Looks like he's got more going on than I do tonight.

I just spent $23 on nose flutes.

Who wants to learn to play the nose flute?

I have a nose flute and can play it fairly well if I practice for a few days. So when Joel was hunting online for an electric autoharp, he ran across some for sale at sillyasstoys.com and sent me the link.

I was all primed to buy 10 of the tootly little fuckers at $1.50 each, but then I saw that shipping was $10.95.

That's criminal, I thought, that's just madness, so I pulled down my order and sullenly tossed my wallet back in my bag. But then Joel found some more at kazoos.com, and they were only 79 cents each, plus shipping was only seven bucks. So I got 20 instead, and they'll be here within a week.

So then I was thinking I should pass these out to my friends and start a nose flute gang (I should warn you that if you don't visit this link, hit the "play" button in the upper-right corner, and listen to the entire thing, you're really screwing yourself out of a fantastic experience).

And then I thought even more and realized that my birthday is coming up in about three weeks, on May 21.

And then I thought the finest present I could receive would to be serenaded by a nose-flute rendition of "Happy Birthday." In my fantasy, it would be played by a large group of people all gathered around me, but a series of solo performances throughout the day would be completely amazing too.

If you're interested in making a little girl's magical birthday dream come true, let me know, and I'll give you one. The rest'll be up to you.

Well, here's something cool.

Eric got a used truck, also known as the redneck hearse. He hasn't had a vehicle in 13 years, so this is a pretty big deal. Now we can go camping, and race each other at stoplights. Rar!

AWOL

You might have noticed I haven't been updating as often or as cheerfully as I used to. This is because work has gotten very busy and is increasingly taking up more and more of my fucking-off time.  And since I'm spending most of my time and/or energy here, I haven't been doing very much lately. Even when I do have time to write, I simply don't have much to talk about. I mean, I like my job well enough, but it doesn't exactly lend itself to funny stories, or really any stories at all.

Eric and Roone get to come home from their job at the bar with tales of mad dogs, lecherous drunks, exhibitionist bimbos, and good ol' fashioned ass-kickings in the parking lot. But what's a proofreader going to say? Oh, man, ha ha, you're going to love this--there was this sentence that was a run on, so I totally put a comma before the coordinating conjunction! And then there was this thing that was clearly supposed to be in 12-point type, single spaced, but do you think it was? Hoo, boy, no, it was TRIPLE SPACED, and in TEN-POINT TYPE. Crazy, man. Crazy.

Yeah, I'm not going to tell anybody about all that. About the best we ever get around here is a "pubic" that should have been "public," and even that gets old after a while.

So no, not so many posts lately. But something cool is sure to happen soon, right?

 

It's a post-free Tuesday!

Recipe for disaster

Jalapeno juice + mucous membranes = Oochie owie hoooooooooooooooooo.

We're here because we love you.

My new favorite ritual on Sunday nights is to pour a stiff drink, open a fresh pack of cigarettes, and watch Intervention on A&E.

The show features two addicts per episode: they're into painkillers, crack, compulsive shopping, whatever. A crew follows them both around for a while, filming their colossally bad decisions (oh, like you never spent $20,000 on meth?). Finally the addicts get tricked into entering a room where all their friends and family are gathered to try to stuff them onto a plane and off to rehab.

The great part about the show is the way they match the addicts up. Usually one of them is fairly sympathetic, just a decent person who screwed up until things got way out of hand; it could happen to anyone. By the end you sincerely hope they get some help.

The other addict, on the other hand, is always some totally whiny shitbag, and it seems like their only salvation would be to have their people push them off a cliff into a pit of starving wolverines.

Unfortunately, this will never happen, so I'll probably get bored with the show pretty quickly. For now, though, I get to indulge in two of my favorite activities: drinking and hypocritically passing judgment on others.

Solitude

I was going to try to track down some friends tonight, but then I realized this is the first time I've had the house to myself in weeks. I feel like I haven't been alone in forever, and that wears on a person, you know?

So tonight I'm going to have a little Me Time, starting by removing my clothes, drinking juice straight from the carton, and taking a shit on the living room floor.

Ok, probably I'm just going to read and maybe work on a few unfinished projects; the point is I could do all that other stuff if I wanted to.

Oh, fuckity, someone just pulled up. Ahem. Never mind. Scratch all that, will you?

Reunited

Woohoo! The rubber naked mole rat made it from Germany to Michigan this week. This has to be the happiest picture I've ever posted.

Psyops

I have decided that from now on I would like to be referred to as "Awesome Joolie."

This bold rebranding strategy will ensure that even if I am acting like a total skeeze, public opinion will remain skewed in my favor. I am, after all, Awesome Joolie; how could anyone have anything less than total faith in my awesomeness?

A few skeptics, nitpickers, hipsters, crybabies, and people who pay even cursory attention to what's going on around them might not buy it, but I've found that those people are in the minority. I never expected to win those naysayers over anyway.

I told you it was evil.

I have to say, this week has been slightly on the shitty side. Humid, grumbly, achy, sour, tedious.

There's nothing really wrong, exactly, so I was wondering why.

Then I realized: The woodchipper has cursed me.

It's not a major curse, like all of a sudden I wake up with a third arm jutting out of my stomach, or I get run over by a succession of buses, or I can only talk through my anus. No, nothing like that. This is just a funky, grubby, low-level blah curse.

Seriously, this all started when the woodchipper first showed up on Friday. Since then, every day that it's been in my neighborhood has been a bad one.

But I think Eric might have broken the spell. Because a man coming home to you with a backpack full of peonies can only portend good things, right?

Whisper Chipper, my ass.

What's the matter, Sad Joolie?

Seattle prattle

Well, damn, I'm not going to be able to take the Austin Museum of Art's drawing boot camp for the third year in a row. Work, missed enrollment deadlines, it's always something.

Although this time it's something really good: We bought tickets to Seattle yesterday for the first week in June.

We will be doing such things as attending the opening for Eric's art exhibit at the cool record store, getting Receptionista to show us the best of her city, and taking a million pictures. Choo's going, Dan's going to meet us up there, and we're trying to talk Roo (who really needs to update his blog) into coming up too.

I can't wait.  I love visiting a place for the first time, and it's so great to have something to look forward to. If Seattle people have any suggestions about where to go and what to do, I'd love to hear them.

Oh, and the wood chipper woke me up again today, but this time it happened right around the time I needed to get up anyway. Plus it didn't actually chip any wood, just paused briefly by my house and kept going. So really it did me a favor. Way to be, wood chipper!

That fucking wood chipper is ruining my life.

How much wood must they chip? This is the company that has the city contract to come in and artlessly hack up trees to make room for the power lines. They cut gorgeous pecan trees in half or lop off most of the branches of huge live oaks, leaving nothing but a towering trunk and three or four small, sad limbs. Then, when they're done butchering, they park their smelly diesel wood chipper right outside my bedroom window at 10 a.m. and grind everyone's lovely trees into oblivion.

I am tired, and my neck is sore from my semiconscious, morning-long attempt to maintain the fetal position while twisting and burying my head under as many pillows and blankets as possible. I hate the wood chipper.

Do these pants make my vagina look big?

I always feared it would come to this.

Roone finally fused into the couch today.

Luck, no skill

I am a pinball wizard, if only for one night. Saved balls, extra balls, multiballs, free games, insane bonuses. Seventeen million on Simpson's Pinball Party; 21 million on Junkyard. I impressed the guys playing next to me so much they bought me a game, and I know that wasn't drunken flirting because I was clearly with Eric. I played for probably forty minutes on two dollars, all the while warding off Otto the bus driver, the Junkyard dog, and tipsy coworkers. Hi. That's nice. Can't talk. Playing pinball.

I probably shouldn't crow too much; the all-time high scores were in the neighborhood of 170 million. But usually I crap out almost immediately on ball after ball, patting myself on the back when I break 500,000. Something rare and wonderful must have been going on with my brain's electrical current or something.

Vicarious thrills

Check out the site I found through a Dallas Observer article on urban exploration. The gallery page has a bunch of great photos. There are some pretty good stories and a little historical context for some of the sites, too.

I haven't had time to look through all of them, but I especially liked the abandoned elementary school and the slaughterhouse.

Noises that woke me up at various times this morning:

1. Phone ringing
2. Alarm clock
3. Garbage truck
4. Recycling truck
5. Wood chipper

Nnngh.

John: Post Number Seven of a Seven-Part Series

Q: What's your favorite clean joke?

A: Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson go on a camping trip.  After a good dinner and a bottle of wine, they retire for the night, and go to sleep. Some hours later, Holmes wakes up and nudges his faithful friend.

"Watson, look up at the sky and tell me what you see."

"I see millions and millions of stars, Holmes" replies Watson.

"And what do you deduce from that?"

Watson ponders for a minute. "Well, astronomically, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets.  Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo.  Horologically, I deduce that the time is approximately a quarter past three. Meteorologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. Theologically, I can see that God is all powerful, and that we are a small and insignificant part of the universe. What does it tell you, Holmes?"

Holmes is silent for a moment. "Watson, you idiot!" he says.  "Someone has stolen our tent!"

I took that joke verbatim from the website where I first saw it. I encourage you to read the other jokes on there, great stuff. 

Q: Please tell the filthiest joke you're willing to tell.

A: When I was in 7th grade I knew a lot of filthy jokes and used to tell them to 8th grade girls in some odd attempt to gross them out/charm them. Why did I think it would do both?

Anyway... A woman and a man are fooling around in a car late at night. The man starts to slide her skirt up, but she stops him.

"I'm on my period," she says.

"Oh," he replies, "What if we just use our hands?"

She bites her lip, thinks for a minute, then agrees.

A couple minutes later, a cop walks up and taps on the window. "What's going on in there?" he asks.

The man sits up and says, "Uh, just eating pizza officer," while licking his fingers.

Q: Please draw a self-portrait and send it as an attachment.

A:

Technically, my mouth should be open and spouting an opinion (an informed one, but still) or a bit of trivia rather than apologizing for looking simian.

Thanks for doing this Joolie! It's made me get contemplative.

Well, that's it. We did it. That's six posts in one day (and seven in a 24-hour period), all about John. Thanks, John, for your thorough and entertaining answers.  Also, that joke was positively revolting.

Vickie's up in the next week or so. Until then, I recommend you keep it here, compulsively refreshing your browser like a lab monkey hoping for crack.

John: Post Number Six of a Seven-Part Series

Q:  Do you have any pets?

A: No. I'm not a pet person. I don't dislike animals, just don't feel the need to have one. I'd much rather spend pet food and vaccination money on traveling (people food and vaccination).

Q: What's your favorite color?

A: Medium-dark blue. Cornflower from the Crayon box actually.

Q: You juggle more activities than anyone I know. Seriously, when do you sleep?

A: I know people much more busy than me. And I used to do more when I was involved in politics. Right now, I don't sleep as much as I should so end up crashing out for a whole day regularly.

Q: Do ever you have trouble sleeping?

A: Yes. When my roommates cat yowls at night. Grrrrrr.

Q: Do you ever want to leave Austin?

A: Yes. I love it here so much, it's a big part of my identity, but I need to see the world. When I get out of school, I will have been in Austin for almost 15 years and so will move on. I'll come back of course.

Q: What are you most looking forward to right now?

A: Short-term: the end of this semester. Long-term: going on a mission for Doctors Without Borders.

Next Post: What John thinks he looks like, a filthy joke, and more!

John: Post Number Five of a Seven-Part Series

Q: Why did you decide to go to nursing school?

A: After having been laid-off twice and lacking career direction, I copied my sister who was already planning on nursing school. When I starting thinking of the benefits - actually helping people, travel opportunities, good pay - it just made sense. After I made my decision, I got tons of support from co-workers, friends, and family which made me more confident that it was the right decision and that I'd be good at it.

Q: What's the most interesting thing you've learned learned in nursing school?

A: I'm not very far along, but one of my present classes is about anatomy and physiology. So now I can trace the biochemical response to various stimuli in excrutiating detail. For instance, photons that have bounced off an object, say a statue of a monkey wearing a fez, enter my eye and strike the retina. There, rhodopsin in rod and cone photoreceptor cells changes confirmation which alters a G-coupled protein which causes transducin to convert cGMP to GMP. The lack of cGMP causes cation channels to close which hyperpolarizes cells causing them to temporarily cease neurotransmitter release. These signals set off action potentials in the bipolar cells which travel through the ganglion cells to the optic nerve which, after traveling through the optic chiasm where some neurons cross to the contralateral side, synapes in the thalamus with another nerve which carries the signals to the primary visual cortex where I perceive the statue of the monkey wearing a fez. I'd trace the path from me recognizing the monkey wearing a fez to smiling, but your eyes are entirely glazed over. I'm telling you, this kills at parties.

Q: What's the most dispiriting thing you've learned in nursing school?

A: Some nursing students smoke. I mean come on.

Q: Please explain what a murse is. (I just want to hear you say it.)

A: Male + nurse = murse

I stole it from the great TV show Scrubs and have taken it to heart.

Q: How much did you say I could earn by submitting to a results-free pap smear for the school of nursing?

A: Well it's not really the smear, it's being a "model" for students to practice pelvic exams. I think it's around $50 for three times, though it's all hazy now.

Q: In your opinion, is that enough money to allow strangers to peer at my cervix, even if it is a public service in a way?

A: Hard to say. Is your cervix impressive? Then by all means, share it with the world. Mind you, I have no idea what would constitute an impressive cervix. I mean there's no Rate My Cervix, yet.

Next Post: Oh, you know. This and that.

John: Post Number Four of a Seven-Part Series

Q: Please list every single job you have ever held.

A: Roughly in order:

1. Volleyball & softball referee

It is enormously pleasurable to throw loud-mouthed asses out of intramural games. Especially because these tend to be the same testosteroney jerks I've detested all my life. Also, blowing a whistle as part of your job? Not as much fun as you might think.  

2. Concessionaire/usher/ticketseller at a movie theater

A glorious first real job; fun co-workers, free popcorn, that time we all adopted fake accents and weirded out the patrons. Good times. Hmm, I think I might have to blog about that. Thanks for a mental kickstart Joolie!

4. Pharmaco guinea pig (off and on for the next three years)

The worst thing about Pharmaco is having to eat everything they serve at exactly the time it's on your chart. The best thing about Pharmaco was the money. A close second is the time I started the totally bs rumor that they would pay $10,000 for people's big toes, and then had the same rumor repeated back to me as if it were true a year later. Score.

There's more....

John: Post Number Three of a Seven-Part Series

Q: What was the single most interesting thing you learned in an RTF class?

A: What postmodernism theory is and how it applies to pop culture. The year after that, I had to not only define postmodernism to my literature class but defend it as our teacher was stuffy and didn't care for it (granted too much early postmodern fiction was high-falutin' nonsense).

Q: Who was your best interview at The Daily Texan?

A: Wayne Coyne of the Flaming Lips. What was supposed to be a 20 minute interview about the Zaireeka album turned into a two-hour, wide-ranging conversation about all sorts of things out of which came articles for The Daily Texan and Pop Culture Press.

Q: Who is the dumbest person you've interviewed?

A: Ooooh, that's difficult. How about me for agreeing to interview the non-frontperson members of Skunk Anansie just so I could see The Rollins Band for free and take pictures of a shirtless Henry Rollins? That's pretty dumb.

Q: Did you know I wrote for the Texan briefly in the mid-90s and knew of you for years before I actually met you? (Who is this mysterious "John St. Denis?")

A: Uh, no. Really? Now I feel silly for not recognizing your stars and garters.

Q: Do you think I should keep this interview in Q&A format, or painstakingly weave it into more of a summary?  The thing is, I'm leaning more towards Q&A because I like your writing style but I'm getting increasingly self-conscious about the Q part.

A: Good questions so let's stick with it.

Next Post: Every job John has ever held, plus my disgusting habits!

John: Post Number Two of a Seven-Part Series

And now, the interview.

Q: What's your earliest memory?

A: The color of the carpets and walls of various rooms in our house in Maryland. I was three at the time. My mom didn't believe me until I correctly listed them: pink for my older sister's room, blue for mine, and beige for my baby sister's room. Hideous, but that's the '70s for you.

Q: Where did you grow up?

A: Mostly in Dallas (blech), a little bit in Houston and Gaithersburg, MD. At the time Gaithersburg was fairly rural; our house backed up to forest full of deer and raccoons. As we later found out, those cute mammals that we fed off our porch were rampant with Lyme disease ticks.

Q: Please tell me two prep-school anecdotes.

A: Oh geez. I've already told a couple of the best here and here. There's a great one, but it's very long and I need to work out how to tell it. Here's a couple that just popped into my head.

Prep school anecdote number one: A football player's parents called the coach to complain.

Parents: We're concerned with how late our son gets home from practice.
Coach: He's out of here by 5 PM.
Parents: Well he told us he doesn't get out of practice till 8 sometimes.
Coach: He's out of here by 5 PM.
Parents: Well then where is he?
Coach: Do you want to know where your son is?
Parents: Well, yes.
Coach: Your son is going over to [some other kid's] house to drink and play poker.
Parents: How dare you, our son would never do such a thing, why I never, I'm going to have you fired (and other similar phrases).

The coach was not fired, though he was cautioned by school administrators that the truth is hard for the parents of spoiled children.

Prep school anecdote number two: Many years ago, an art collector alumnus of the school decided that he would display a big part of his collection at the school. As a freshman, it's a bit strange, but you get used to being surrounded by art in the hallways, courtyards, even the lunchroom. When you get to junior year and take art class, the teacher takes the class around, pointing at various pieces and noting some of their value. That painting? $10,000. That statue? $25,000. And so on. We had a Chris Bell sculpture, Francis Bacon and Roy Lichtenstein paintings, a Dale Chihuly glass thing, and numerous Amado Pena prints. Even so, being a constant presence, the art really fades into the background.

So you can understand their surprise when two students who were wrestling in the hall (all boys school, par for the course) poked a hole in a painting. The boys were apologetic, and it was repaired with the owner very "boys will be boys", but the students reportedly became quite ashen when later told that they had reduced the value of the painting by several thousand dollars. Also, one time professional art thieves stole three paintings from the school on a Saturday.

Hmm. That second story wasn't as good. How about the time the swim team arrived at the school (they practiced at another school) around 7 AM to find a classmate pounding one out in the shower?

Q: Did you learn more in high school or in college?

A: Hard to say, I learned such different things. Even though I learned tons about film and radio in college, I have to say high school. It taught me how to think critically and taught me the necessity of helping other people, both valuable lessons for living a good life.

Next Post: College!

John: Post Number One of a Seven-Part Series

Ooh, I'm so excited about this.

Last week, I promised I would conduct an interview with--and then write seven posts about--anyone who would send me an award for writing a ton of posts in one day. My friend John, aka St. Murse, fearlessly stepped up to the six posts in one day (or seven in a 24-hour period) award challenge mere hours after I issued it. I sent him 28 questions by e-mail last night, which he fearlessly answered this afternoon. John is fearless, people. Fearless.

So this is the first post about John. For a little background, John is a nursing student at The University of Texas at Austin, and has a radio-television-film degree from there too. Before that, he went to prep school in Dallas, I forgot to ask him which, but I think Jesuit. He writes for the entertainment section of the UT newspaper, and every year he does something crazy to his hair in honor of SXSW. I met him through my friend Dan at various parties and Queer Eye gatherings. Also, it's his birthday in nine minutes.

So happy birthday, John! The next twenty-four hours are devoted to you!

Whee.

If you have a chance to ride your bike around in the middle of the night in the next few weeks, do it. It's just a little cool out, there's no traffic, and everything smells so incredibly good right now. Soil, grass, the occasional whiff of pot smoke or dryer sheets, and does anyone know the name of the little flowers are that are out everywhere right now?  Because I think they're excellent.

I think I've had too much oxygen.

Wispy

Yesterday's naked mole rat excitement made everything that happened today look like a pile of stinking turds. Not that today was bad, just sort of pale and flabby in comparison. As a result, I've got nothing but two not-very-compelling observations: I sure do like me some peach-flavored fruit bars, and I don't much cotton to men who wear too much cologne.

And they all got their naked mole rats and lived happily ever after, the end.

If you've been following the naked mole rat saga and want to hear the happy ending, keep reading.

If you haven't been following the naked mole rat saga but want to know what the deal is and hear the happy ending, read this first and then keep reading.

If you could care less about the happy ending to the naked mole rat saga, then I don't know what to tell you.  Check back later.

The weekend in pictures

The high, shrill screams that accompanied this scene were priceless. Fortunately, they got the moonwalk back up in no time, and no one was hurt. The Maplewood Elementary Spring Fling on Saturday was a blast, even though I didn't win jackshit at the raffle.

 
Roone finally got his scooter. The horn is great. It sounds like either a duck or an old lady's doorbell, squalling, low, and abrasive.

A tiny backhoe! Aww.

You need a bad joke.

Q: What did the Buddhist say to the hot dog vendor?

A: Make me one with everything!

Wrist list

I think this is still the best system for me. If I kept a PDA or a day calendar to remind me of the few things I need to do on any given day, that would be just one more thing for me to maintain and remember to take with me.

My stepmom was appalled last year when she asked me to bring (of all things) my dad's PDA to him when he was in the hospital. I took out a pen and carefully printed "PDA" on my wrist. She asked me why I was still writing on myself at 28. I tried to explain that this system had worked pretty well for all that time, I'm not a busy person, and I'm not terribly concerned with my personal appearance, so why switch now? Gawd, quit hasslin' me,  you don't have to make a federal case of it, I'm going out, just OUT, ok?, you don't run my life, I didn't ask to be born, etc.

She wasn't convinced, but sure enough, I remembered to bring the PDA. And if I don't get to the gift shop, the bank, and the phone store tomorrow, it'll be because I'm lazy, not because I forgot.

Maybe I should just get "TO DO:" tattooed under my left hand. It would cost about as much as a PDA, and it would last forever.

I won uh other award!

From Vickie! Woo-hoo! It's very fancy.

Now, how the hell am I supposed to interview my best friend?

Q: Hey, Vickie, remember in eighth-grade American history when Mr. Reeder confiscated the note we were passing that said "shove a plum up your twat?" That was pretty funny, huh?

Well, I'll think of something. Thanks, Vickie! You're too kind. Let's do the e-mail interview in the next several days.

I won uh award!

St. Murse, who has apparently transcended the need for sleep in the service of blogging, journalism, medical science, and now award design, sent me this in response to my request last night.

The funny thing is that I do sometimes move my lips when I read, but I nevertheless accept it with gratitude and thanks.

Look here for an exclusive seven-part interview with the inimitable St. Murse in the next few days. Folks, it's going to be wall-to-wall St. Murse coverage around here. All St. Murse, all the time. Stars and Garters: The St. Murse source you can count on!

Also

In the interest of six posts in one sleep-wake cycle (or seven in one 24-hour period), I'd just like to say one more time how much I love the Rude Pundit, especially the pope coverage.

Hey, you know, that is so many posts in one day. So many that I think I should get an award. If someone were to send me an award--a nice one, suitable for framing--I would write six posts in one day (and seven in one 24-hour period) all about that person. I would conduct an e-mail interview, and then I would post a seven-part series. Anyone? Anyone want to read seven posts about him- or herself?  Is there anyone you want to read seven posts about? Then pressure them to send me an award. If you're interested, click the "e-mail me" link conveniently located to your left to hash out the details.

(And when do we get an acceptable gender-neutral third-person singular pronoun already? Because the person who gives us that will totally get an award too, and I will write many laudatory posts about him/her. Possibly as many as seven in one sleep-wake cycle (or eight in one 24-hour period).)

Gratuitous

Wow, a computer sure runs fast without a bunch of, like, programs and shit loaded onto it.

I didn't really need to say that. You didn't really need to read that. I'm just excited that the computer's back up and, in celebration, thought it would be fun to do five posts in one day. Six in 24 hours, really, although I guess I'd define a day as one sleep-wake cycle. Jesus, are you still reading this?

Don't fuck with me, fellas. This isn't my first time at the rodeo.

I can't help it. I will never get tired of Mommie Dearest. I've been catching it from time to time on cable nearly all my life, including tonight. The best, though, was seeing it in a raucous, mostly gay audience on a double feature with Mildred Pierce at the Paramount summer film series.

More night shift

It's potentially a bad sign when you see the people who work upstairs dragging sleeping bags and pillows into the office.

I got to bed at eight this morning. It's hard to go to bed once the sun's up, especially on a clear, pretty morning. It always feels like I could just stay up, make a pot of coffee, sit on the porch, run a few errands, and seamlessly continue with the day that started the previous afternoon. But that would be suicidal, so I don't.

Besides, there's something deeply satisfying about shutting down right as everything else in the world is starting up for the day: Enjoy your sunshine and your traffic and your doughy, overly sweet Krispy Kremes, suckers! Have fun with your hangovers and your grating, unfunny morning zoo shows! I'm going to pull the shades and go to bed.

Of course, right now I'm sitting here breathing stale office air, while you're probably drinking a beer or walking the dog. Or maybe you're climbing into bed with a book or a hot date or something. So yeah, eat it! Who's the sucker now, bitches?

Oh, wait, that'd be me.

The problem

I'm still at work. It's five a.m. and I estimate that I will be out of here by 5:40 at the latest. As I haven't eaten in seven or eight hours, I'm very hungry. I don't think there's much in the pantry, and I desperately want a breakfast taco from Mi Madre's, which is five minutes away from work, but doesn't open until six. That leaves me with fifteen minutes to kill. Fifteen minutes seems like an eternity right now.

My calculations leave me with the sad conclusion that my breakfast/dinner (brinner? dreakfast? dickfest?) will consist of a Heineken and tortilla chips. Hard times, baby. Hard times.

Lightning 'n' shit

We've had some pretty decent storms this season, but so far I haven't been able to get any good lightning photos. Tonight was no exception, but there's not much you can do with a digital camera, cloud-to-cloud lightning, and a deskful of work on your conscience. Maybe next time.

Lightning:

'N' shit: