Writing Well

i have been mulling over this post for a while now. in fact, i believe i told Rooftop Media i wanted to write a post on this--this being good writing--a little more than a week ago. but i can't lie. good writing being the bombdotcom.com is just a distraction from my actual motivation: haterating on the over-use of the exclamation point.

i've been on a one-man crusade to destroy the exclamation point since my writing class in high school. as my teacher put it, "your writing should be enough to convey excitement, exclamations points are in themselves superfluous." this statement may be slightly aggressive, but the first half is undoubtedly true. it is the job of the writer and the function of the words to convey excitement or suspense or relief. during college i came to the conclusion that society agreed with me and my mormon high school teacher. i thought the exclamation point was dead and rightfully so. but in the last year i've discovered the exclamation point is not dead. the exclamation point has invaded our offices and taken over e-mail communications.

what finally inspired me write this piece after so many years of frustration was a Slate article. the article is about a book about e-mail communications. the authors of the book staunchly support the use--nay, the abuse--of exclamation points for adding spice or some such shit to e-mails.

the authors correctly point out that exclamations points are more often than not used to give the illusion of enthusiasm or politeness. but people need to realize (as the authors did not) that they're not fooling anyone when they write, "Can someone please send me the TPS report for this week, i assume it is similar from last week's... Thanks!" this person doesn't even have motivation or enthusiasm to properly punctuate the end of their request. yet somehow they're really fucking excited by the end? don't feed me this shit and don't pretend like a piece of punctuation is helping anyone hide their disdain for me and/or their job.

another sort of exclamation point abuse is what i call the torrent effect. this can occur when what you're writing is so pointless you have to spice it up with a shit load of exclamation points and various emoticons to give it the illusion of value. example: "Good Morning Everyone!!!! Happy Thursday! Can you all please tell me who’s not going to be in today???? Thanks a ton! :)" this e-mail also contained a clip art image of the sun smiling, which i consider an emoticon. counting only actual punctuation, this e-mail boasts a 2.1:1 word to punctuation ratio. shocking. including the two emoticons, there are fewer than two words for every piece of punctuation (1.75:1). i didn't know what to say when i first read this e-mail and i don't know what to say now. it's just fucking ridiculous.

unjustified abuses of punctuation such as this are the reason why writing well is the bombdotcom.com. if you're able to choose your words appropriately and convey your message accurately, you won't feel the need to spice up your shit e-mails with exclamation points and emoticons. no one will think that you hate your job ;-) because you don't use emoticons. no one will think you're rude because you don't say thanks! at the end of every e-mail.

but sitting here, writing this, i realize that my frustration is not with the exclamation point itself but rather with many people's use of the exclamation point to cover the truth. so on that note, i leave you with one of the most brilliantly punctuated pieces of writing i have read in a long time:

The Pranksters named her Sensuous X, glowing girl friend resolutely going...Further...Kesey laid eyes on the Sensuous horizon--loved it! On the bus. Next, she became Zonker's sensuous X--lost her! One the bus. At first Zonker's mad, feels he's been had--affront! But then thanks to his feeling for the Prankster expiriment, he sees nothing to resent. There can be no hard feelings when one is dealing totally out front on the bus.

-The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, Tom Wolfe

Summer Beverages

23.5 ounces of Arnold Palmer, available at most local bodegas and gas stations, is the Citizen Kane of nonalcoholic canned beverages. It is truly the bomb.com.

I fail again

This morning I woke up on my couch, naked, with my laptop at the splash page of xtube. I fell asleep while waiting for the page to load. My roommate said he was weirded out when he came home and found me. At least I didn't hurt myself...

Neck Pains - A Story

**I don't find this story that funny, because I lived most of it. Hopefully you find amusement in my misfortune. And sorry to write about my whacking off tendencies - I know it's gross, but the story might be funny to you.**

Before I went to bed the other night, I thought I might have better chance of getting to sleep if I relieved a little tension. Unfortunately, things seriously backfired...

I went to my favorite site these days: xtube.com, navigating my with my left hand, because my right hand was covered in Aveeno Positively Radiant lotion. When I had moved into my current apartment, the girl who lived there before left five bottles of lotion. The Aveeno was my favorite one. She also left a large tub of petroleum jelly. I thought about using the Vaseline as my lube, but then I remembered that she had a raging cold sole, which is probably what she used the Vaseline for, and I didn't want to risk having her cold sore germs festering in the lube for me to slather all over my junk - I threw it away so I wouldn't be temped to use it when I was drunk. To this day, I've never jerked off with petroleum jelly.

I sat on the edge of my bed with my computer set up on the edge of my desk. I was already pretty hard from seeing all of the teaser pics while navigating to my favorite video: "college hidden cam sex." It was 11:00 pm, and I think a lot of people needed to blow off some tension that night. It was a Tuesday and the video was taking fucking forever to download. I used this time to adjust the tilt of the screen of my white iBook that I had got for Christmas two years earlier. With the screen finally tilted I tried to get comfortable as the video started to play.

Sitting straight up, I realized that my whole genital area was sunk into my stomach. What was certainly a full on boner was reduced to three inches past the creases in my midriff's skin.

I paused the video; I had a solution. Using my free hand, I pulled my futon from couch to bed position - holding my right hand high in the air so as to avoid accidentally sullying my comforter. I picked up my laptop, swung it onto the bed and adjusted the screen. Laying down, I couldn't get a good angle; the contrast was all off. I managed to get a good picture by laying in a semi-supine position with the screen tilted in an acute angle. While in my stance, which reminded me of an ab exercise the girl's squash team used to do after practice, which made me a little bit harder, I suddenly noticed that my socks were still on. I thought about that scene in the movie Mallrats where they talk about making woopie when the girl has her socks still on. I think of Brodie, the character played by Jason Lee. I think of Scientology. I am less hard.

I take off my socks using the pinky of my left hand. I return to my awkward position, glad that I have strong enough abs to hold myself up, and also somewhat embarrassed that I know that I'll get myself off before I am even close to getting tired. The movie is six minutes and twenty two seconds long. I've never made it through the whole thing without stopping to gather myself. That night, I was really into the video; I wanted to see it all the way through. I repeatedly stopped myself on the verge of climax to take long, deep breaths, to think about Kevin Smith movies, to wonder whether when I start having sex again, my stamina will continue to be a problem. The latter thought is the one that really calms the stallion within. Very quickly after I resume the video do I have to start wondering when I am going to need to pause again. That night I stopped and started 8 times.

When the time had come, I was starting to feel a little burn in my stomach, I held my breath as long as I could and when I finally exhaled, my neck snapped backwards in my brief seizure. After a few long breaths, I returned to consciousness, to find that now both of my hands were unavailable to close my computer screen should my roommate come home while I took my requisite shower. I leaned up and felt a sharp pain in my neck. I tried to move my head around to stretch the muscles, but they were so stiff, I couldn't look up. I was forced to look down at the mess I had just made.

The next day my neck still hurt. People at work asked why I turned my head weird. I lied to each and every one of them (with exception to the tech guy who owns slutfuck.tv - he naturally related to my misfortune). Each time I told someone that I had slept wrong, I felt a little more guilty. I started to get angry at people who asked why my neck hurt, because it seemed like the only logical answer was that I slept wrong. When the questions didn't stop, I started to think my confidant had sold me out. From then on, each person that walked by my desk and smiled, I was convinced was drawing up an image of me covered in Positively Radiant, slightly paralyzed in the neck, hoping my roommate doesn't walk in.

I was able to overcome my paranoia by coming up with a lie to tell people. Nobody else asked why my neck was stiff for the rest of the day, but if they had, I would have recited the quote: "her legs were pressing against my ears so tightly that I didn't hear her father come into the room. He grabbed my hair and he pulled me way back, hard."

Washington State

i am, in may ways, a product of Portland. Portland was my home during those defining years of 4th grade through high school. i experienced many of the great "firsts" in Portland and navigated the streets of the city as i simultaneously navigated the streets of adolescence and young adulthood. despite these formative experiences, however, a large part of me is still a washingtonian and an eastern washingtonian to be specific. it takes a lot of courage to say something like that given the stigma that goes along with Eastern Washington, Northern Idaho and Western Montana. these places are home to some of the remaining vestiges that could be considered "the wild west." this region--the Inland Empire to those who know it--is home to radical isolationists, some of the most stunning territory in the united states, but also a more subtle culture--a culture that is the bombdotcom.com.

recently for work i read through the opinion pages of most newspapers with a daily circulation over 20,000 in the Western United States. while looking through these i came upon an interesting article in the Tacoma News Tribune. now, maybe to all of you this is not such a big deal, but to me it is. granted, this is but a single tree in the forest, but this particular tree is very indicative of the forest in question. things are, for the most part, different "out west" than they are "back east" (which we actually say) and i think this woman's experiences and the attention they received in the local press is a sign of that. the comments section is also fascinating (but i warn you, it takes a wild and unpredictable turn circa comment #4).

now, some of you may say, "but colin, you're talking about the Inland Empire but you're including an article from Tacoma which is just south of Seattle in the west. what gives?" you have a good point, but this perfectly illustrates just how the culture is different. things are slowed down, a little more old fashioned, and a little closer to, well, nature. the entire state hasn't yet boarded the train for the 21st century and that article is a sign of just how far the "modernized" areas have to go.

In Case You Were Wondering

I'll stop waxing about people and places you all don't know after this, but having mentioned him in my last two blog posts, I thought I'd share this story I had written for my writing group about the time I met Eduardo.

***

Every ball seemed to pop out of the pocket that night. I tried to blame it on the dim lighting. I pretended I was distracted by the discolored projection of the NBA finals game splayed eight feet tall on the wall behind the table making each Black player a shade of purple and each White player a shade of green as they coursed down a red court. I had begun to profess an illogical argument that took attention away from the game of pool that I was losing and onto what race relations in Mars might be like. I think that's when my opponents thought I might have just been too drunk, it turned out might have just been too sober.

I lost my first game against Eduardo game sinking only one ball, the cue ball off the break. Even the ever-flexible canon known as "bar rules" says that's the end of the game. Luckily my friend Alex was failing in his pledge to quit cigarettes, so the NYC smoking ban worked in my favor. Skip Alex (both an addict and a sucker), it was my turn again. Alex wasn't even done with his cigarette when Eduardo, my opponent, only had two balls left against my full set. At my next turn, my leave was perfect. A 45 degree angle from the pocket, cue and 5-ball in-line, each a mere two diamonds apart and three to the pocket. This shot would be gimme for most players on any night, for me on that night, I decided that it would be the barometer of whether I should crawl into a corner commit seppuku for shaming my family with my terrible pool prowess. Eduardo had moved past being bored with the game, to feeling pity on me, the ultimate insult in barroom pool.

In his slurred speech that was a mixture of him being very drunk, and him having a accent, he declared 'IF you make this shot, I'll buy you a shot of Wild Tomurkey"

I wasn't sure if Tomurkey was a strange shooter from some country of which his accent I had been trying to decipher, so I simply stared at him as if he were an inebriated foreigner acting erratically.

"That's what we call Wild Turkey in Baltimore"

pause as I thought to myself "Baltimore?"

"Actually, that's what I call Wild Turkey in Baltimore, if you ordered a Wild Tomurky down there, the bartender will probably fuck you up."

I nod as I lean down to take the shot that would lead to so many more. I gently pushed the cue stick into the cue ball, and waited until the 5 disappeared into the pocket. You'd have thought that Eduardo just won the U.S. open of every applicable sport simultaneously, he was so excited.

"A round of Tomurkey!"

I was proud of myself, and Eduardo reinforced it. We did our shots, and then went to take my next shot. With the burn of Tomurky still choking my esophagus, I dropped the blue two ball, then the green six, the three and then the four. I missed at my first attempt at the seven. Still celebrating my comeback with eager fist pumps and exclamations in what I later learn to be Portugeuse, Eduardo hastily took his shot missing the fourteen with the cue ball landing on the far side of the table where my last was only one diamond from the end-rail. I leaned over, and then Eduardo leaned over me, his beard wet with sweat and whiskey grazing my neck as he told me where to aim the cue. I had known the man four minutes and I was already comfortable with this intimacy.

Doing exactly as my opponent has recommended, I kissed the seven on the left edge with a lightning hard shot, and stepped back as my last ball rolled where the correct application of vectors would have it. I walked around the table to where the cue was waiting for me, and finished the game by sinking the 8-ball, corner pocket.

Alex finished his cigarette as Eduardo was holding me against his chest, bobbing me up and down.

"Have you met my friend Alex?" I say with a wavering inflection caused by my crushed diaphragm.

"Nice to meet you Alex, Tomurkey for everyone."

Somehow, I haven't lost my job because of Wild Tomurkey. I will knock on wood for now, but I will be in the clear in mid-September when Eduardo moves back to England with his family, a fact that not only leaves me stunned that I am already losing one of my favorite new friends, but also, more confused about his regional identity as a British-Brazilian-Baltimorian.

"I wish we had met over a less expensive whiskey" I said the most recent time I saw him.

"I agree, but that's what fate gave us, so let's just be glad it wasn't Jameson or even some terrible Zambuca based shot or something," he aptly noted

Palais Royal

I actually almost cried at the bar last night. No, I didn't have my heart broken by a girl, but instead I was living the nostalgia of a place that has defined my New York experience. It's often difficult to pin point why a bar is better than another bar, but this one definitely better than its peers, even despite the fact that the music is never loud enough for me to dance. By the way, it's closing within a month.

The most obvious thing that makes Palais different than most other places is that there is a free pool table. What I don't understand about it though, is that almost no one plays it. Mind you, it is the most fucked up pool table I've ever played on in terms of a warped slate, but since it's my table I have adjusted my game to accommodate for the 30º slant to the far right corner. I usually win again people who are just stopping by for a drink. They don't know what hit them.

However, I rarely play against people just stopping by. It seems like everyone there is a regular of sort. It's uncommon that anyone on the table doesn't know the names of the bartenders, and have some story about some guy they met while playing pool there (and about half the time, that guy is Eduardo). There is no beef on this table, just a lot of Wild Turkey.

Palais has over 30 bottles of bourbon. They only have 1 beer on tap (Bud Light). I have not ventured too far into bourbon land, I stick to the Wild Turkey. That shit fucks me up. Due to the impended closing, when they ran out of the normal 80 proof stuff, they didn't order anymore. 101 Turkey hurts so good.

Tonight is Sammy's last night. She works at Palais six nights a week. I once thought saw her at a party in Brooklyn, but it turns out it was her twin sister. We've been cool ever since. I know the next bar Sammy is going to work at, but I don't think it will have the same vibe. I'm sure a lot of Palais regulars will follow her to King-Size, but I checked the place out - they play the music too loud.

These reviews of the place echo my sentiments perfectly.

I Drink Too Much Whisky

Dear Colin, Eduardo, Julia, Ian, Carter, Mike z, Evan, Pam, and Michele:

You are my post-college new friends and you are very important to me. You are within a group of people that I have not met because we grew up in the same small town or because you we took a class that time together, we became friends through mutual close friends, or I met you in a bar where, out of the hundred other people in the place, we started talking, and we have made it a point to see each other again. Or in the case of Michele, we worked together, and developed a bond by joking about smoking crack.

You all bring out the best in me. You are spontaneous, absurd, outgoing, smart and generally have pretty good taste in music. I often wonder why any of you are my friends, I only strive to be the things that I just described you by, and I think I only achieve those qualities on my best days - and rarely all at once. Frankly, most of the time, I think I'm love-obsessed over-analyzing prick akin to Woody Allen during those years when he made shitty movies.

So thanks everyone for being you. We have a long life to live and even if I don't see you for five years at a time, I think our friendship will always remain very strong. Sounds cheesy, but hey good friends are hard to come by.

To all my friends that I've known for a long time. If we've talked in the past 2 months, I think that says something about keeping friendships alive, and there is something there. To all those I haven't talked to in two months, I guess I'll see you at the reunion of whatever thing we are reuniting for.

Local Brews

I'm not talking micro-brews or some 90 minute IPA with a picture on the label of a bear riding a salmon down Niagara Falls while a caricature of a brewmaster (some bearded man in thick glasses and a flannel shirt) holds one of his testicles with a French Glove and cools the other with a Chinese fan. Yeah, I'm not gonna hate on those, they have their place, and I'll drink'em if there's a special. But when I talk about local brews, I mean something different.

Chicago has its Old Style, Pittsburgh has Iron City, and Milwaukee has, well, where to start? These beers are cheap, they taste like water with a hop thrown in, and they get you drunk on the real. These drinks, they're uniters. The hipsters drain'em along with the union guys. The Camel smokers along with the Newport Smokers. Local Brews, you are the bomb.com.com.

Bashing Democrats

partisanship is for suckers. democrat, republican, you're all the same. washington is an ugly place with ugly people and it's only getting worse. that's why i think intelligent critiques of democratic leadership is the bombdotcom.com.

too often do we accept our fate, our shotgun wedding with the democratic party. as intelligent, progressive individuals they really are our only option for legitimate political participation in this country. and this is a fucking shame. who else are we going to vote for? nader for the twelfth year? probably not. after all, he's the "reason" the republicans won in 2000 and also the reason Lincoln was assassinated and the reason bad things happen to good people and the reason puppies die. so if not nader, then who? these fools? they were cool in high school, but i don't think they'll cut it.

the problem with democrats is that they have been playing a losing game of catch up for as long as i can remember and probably longer. republicans are good at what they do--namely hating mexicans and controlling southerners and midwesterners. the democrats are losing because they're not fighting back. as a reactionary party you'd expect them to come out of their shells and lob a few tomahawk cruise missiles (not literally, of course) at the republicans. but they haven't. instead, nancy pelosi--aka, skeletor--has given bush the green light by being too much of a wuss to impeach him or cheney (article here).

bashing democrats is the bombdotcom.com not only because it is satisfying, but also because it's necessary. these suckers need to be reminded why they got elected and what's more, they need to be told that if they don't do the job they were hired to do, they'll get fired. there are too many moderates and swing votes who are ready to jump back on the "R" band wagon and start some wars.

let's do this thing. no more of this bi-partisan bullshit. how about some action. the time is now.

9/11 Mayhem

This 9/11, shit is going to blow up. I am not posting any sort of conspiracy theory and even implying that there will be new attacks on US Soil (nor am I making a poorly masked acknowledgment of the fact that shit is blowing up in Baghdad every single day), I am talking about the simultaneous releases of both Kanye West's new album, Graduation, and 50 Cent's new album, Curtis.

With Paris, and Lindsay and Nicole "cleaning up their act" (emphasis on the "act") the tabloid news has been slow. All I can pray for is a Tupac and Biggie style feud with smart-ass Kanye up against legitimate thug $0.50.

While Bushie-poo and Turd-blossom didn't know about what was coming their way in 2001, the shit is already hitting the fan as x [where $1.00/2=x] has declared to quit his solo career if Kanye outsells him on the release date.

I am guessing that as the polls close, 57.3131591 ¥ is going to fake his own death or maybe even actually kill himself as a way to ensure that his album sales will pull ahead of Kanye's. If Kanye still outsells him, the artist formerly known as Curtis Jackson will be relagated to releasing a series of duets with other best selling posthumous musicians such as, Ray Charles and Tupac, though it's possible that he may be featured on Britney Spear's new album which might already be dead.

Mass Transit

The Oregonian published an article yesterday citing a study that found mass transit and shorter commute times save the local economy $2.6b. much of this savings is due to the use of mass transit--which, by the way, is the bombdotcom.com.

mass transit is the bombdotcom.com for numerous reasons. first and foremost, you don't have to drive/walk. this allows you infinite freedoms, most notably, being able to get stinking drunk and and get home quickly while not risking a DUI or near-fatal car accident on the drive home. mass transit is also a much, much more efficient mode of transportation. it is efficient in production and in operation. cars are legit, don't get me wrong, but each person being moved around in their own 3-ton vehicle is fucking ridiculous. fuck people and fuck steel too. not only does this take up absurd swathes of land for roads/highways/junkyards but it requires more energy too, and that totally sucks. so transit is not only awesome for being able to get shitfaced, it's also more efficient and, apparently, able to save an economy billions of dollars that would either go into the pockets of houston cowboy beverly hillbillies or detroit. this money is better spent in oregon--on hemp ponchos, of course--or in your home town, wherever that may be.

Enrico Fermi: Watch me, haters

" About 40 seconds after the explosion the air blast reached me. I tried to estimate its strength by dropping from about six feet small pieces of paper before, during and after the passage of the blast wave. Since at the time, there was no wind I could observe very distinctly and actually measure the displacement of the pieces of paper that were in the process of falling while the blast was passing. The shift was about 2 1/2 meters, which, at the time, I estimated to correspond to the blast that would be produced by ten thousand tons of T.N.T."

Diary of Enrico Fermi, July 16 1945, discussing first atom bomb test in Socorro, NM.

Hair Cuts

In old fashioned times, barbers performed minor surgeries, attached leaches, and bled customers to release "vapors". But hey, I don't go to a pastry-chef to get my car fixed - just buzz the jew-fro.

...01.18.08 (cont.)

I want to see the movie. That is basically where the genius of that movie lies. JJ + crew have made a concept movie and accompanying marketing campaign designed to make a shitload of money. While I don't think that this movie is going to be half as good as a Pirates, or Spiderman, those movies cost a ton of money - yet earned a ton of money as well. However movies like The Island cost a ton of money, and did not make a ton back - largely because of a sucky movie with a sucky ad campaign.

Who knows if 01.18.08 is going to be any good - based on the trailer I bet I'll be throwing up from motion sickness, however, by filming with unknown actors, and with all consumer handheld cameras - this special effects driven movie was made for $30 million. A pittance of what big-action films usually cost. And most importantly to the men whom I hope to someday become - suckers like me are will to shell out $10.50 to see it.

I am sure that the second this concept was pitched, it was greenlighted. There was no way this movie wasn't going to make a ton of money...and my god is this movie going to make a ton of money. I guess the point of this post is that 01.18.08 might be the most business minded film made since that one about camping.


I need to come up with something brilliant like this to make me feel better about myself.

The Phone Hasn't Rang

For those of you who don't know this is the poster for the untitled JJ Abram's project codenamed 01.18.08 - the date of release. Cool and intriguing poster, but far more impressive is the trailer of the film.

Ill hang out and wait while you watch it...

ok b bak latr kthanxbai!

Http://automatedbeacon.net/

http://automatedbeacon.net/

check it.

The words displayed are actually being searched for at that moment. There is a program projecting the same feed in 12" letters across a wall in my office.

When it first started, we knew we were in for something terrible when "flappy granny pussy" was splayed across the wall. Like the website, our office has now censored the searches. While we now have less insight into how truly sick people are on the internet and thus, in real life (or IRL which is a webism that is picking up steam), there are still plenty of poignant opportunities to peek into the otherwise private Global Village. My favorite searches include "Abortion Clinic in Austin" "Symptoms of Gonnaria" [sic] and "Why do my parents hate me?" At that moment, someone was ashamed and wanted answers. Google is the new Jesus. Automated Beacon is the Birdie in the Priest's Confessional Booth.

I'm so proud

Stasis

It's a slow morning, so I've had the opportunity to click...wait...click...wait, open new window, click...wait...

I decided that if I made more windows open trying to load up the US News and World Report website, I would have a better chance of getting the page to load - kind of like buying tickets on ticket master, you want as many of your friends calling at the same time, so someone will get through - I'm not sure if the same logic works on the internet, but all I know is that I finally got through...

I can't be happy, nor can I be disappointed. #11. Again. Therefore there can be no sense of loss, nor can there be any sense of accomplishment. I guess I don't really care if Wes ranks above Vassar or something, I guess all that I care about is that Vassar sure as fuck isn't ahead of the Tech.

Well Wesleyan is in a 4-way tie for #11. Vassar is in there too. While I still think that they are a bunch of pussies, at least they can't say they are better than us. And that's fine with me. So to friends in the top 10 liberal arts college ahead Wesleyan...I never like you anyways, and I think you should go to hell, and frankly, I don't want to talk to you anymore...at least until I have a job that is equally as good as yours.

Sci Fi Art

The tragicomedy of a capacitor;
charges flash naturally towards the other
the spin of their particles
on a level impossible to seperate matter and energy
the perfect compliments
blocked by the physicality of a non-conductor.

But that energy dissipates only into the universe
powering man-made suns and high-velocity particle accelerators
like the one in Switzerland
that also crosses into France.

I saw you from my spaceship
a Nebula that exists only in the seeing.
In truth, you are only gas and particles
reflecting the spectrum of deflected wavelengths and stuff.

The Onion News Network

The Onion came out with a video news network. as you would expect from The Onion, they abide by only the highest journalistic standards of fucking hilarious and the bombdotcom.com.


Time Releases Annual List Of Least Influential Americans

USNews and World Report: Get Your Shit Together

The us news and world report gets a F in my book. I worked my ass off through highschool for this very day of the year. I want to know what my alma mater is ranked goddammit. While wesleyan was already voted the most obnoxious college in the country, I need more more more gratification. I hate the suspense. The little spinny thing in my browser has been just what it's name implies, spinning, for like 5 minutes. I am sure that other people are as insecure about their education as I am and are also trying to make themselves feel better about their lives by remembering that they went to a relatively good school and that at one point in time, they had some sense of accomplishment other than being able to jerk off without hurting themselves (post about this coming later).

update: the page has officially timed out - i'm considering calling my school's alumni office or sending an intern to the story across the street to check it out for me.

Does anyone know when the grad school listings are coming out, I'm considering taking the GRE's, but I need to know where to apply, so I can be sure to not have the same sisyphusian crisis of graduating and still feeling worthless...

The Economist

i am pretty busy at work. i don't have a lot of time to spend wasting. i also, however, have a subscription to The Economist. now you would think that this would create a problem with no solution. thankfully, i also have to shit.

reading The Economist on the can is the bombdotcom.com. i frequently take 20-30 minute shits just so i can read about global market trends, the trials and tribulations of Shinzo Abe's presidency, or what George Bush should do for the Palestinians in the final term of his presidency.

i value this time. i enjoy this time. and it's the bombdotcom.com.

Keeping them honest

The man currently suing Michael Vick for several billion dollars has also filed suit against President Bush. Here is an excerpt from the filing: (highlights highlighted)

(2) the plaintiff “seeks 299,000,000,000,000.00 Trillion dollars backed by gold or silver delivered by United States Postal Service to Federal Correctional Institution, Salters, South Carolina,” from the defendant; (3) President George W. Bush “is in a vast conspiracy of Uniform Commercial Code ‘UCC’ followers[,]” which include President Bush, the Queen of England, Chubby Checker, the Dalai Lama, Hillary Clinton, Bloods and Crips of Detroit, the trench coat mafia, Senator Arlen Specter, the Gambino crime family, Senator Trent Lott, RFID tracking devices, and radioactive chemicals released into the air by airline pilots; (4) the Federal Reserve System is a fraud and federal reserve notes “are backed by nothing of substance[;]” (5) President Bush has failed to build an anti-UFO defense system around FCI-Williamsburg and has released staph infections into the water system at FCI-Williamsburg; (6) the plaintiff has been subjected to microwave testing on a daily basis; (7) President Bush is secretly selling prisoners’ DNA to the Hitler Socialist Party; (8) President Bush is a “voodoo witch doctor involved with transforming Humans to Animals sometimes plants[;]” (9) FCI-Williamsburg has “robotic guards” made from President Bush’s NASA partners; (10) on January 4, 2003, President Bush stole the plaintiff’s identity; (11) on “April 20th 2002, George Bush Joined alliance to Al qaeda[;]” (12) “October 31 2001 George Bush is spelled hsub egroeG backwards[;]” (13) the Fourteenth Amendment was not ratified properly; (14) President George W. Bush is a “time traveler” who conspired with the Duke of Normandy at the Battle of Hastings in 1066;1 and (15) “George H. W. Bush is his front father [who] contracted with secret Wiccan’s [sic] to pervert America citizens via www world wide web.” In his prayer for relief, the plaintiff seeks a restraining order against President Bush because he (the plaintiff) comes in peace. The plaintiff also seeks a restraining order against “air force one.”

Read more for yourself: http://casedocs.justia.com/south-carolina/scdce/4:2006cv00442/139089/4/0.pdf

Maakies!

Thank you, Tony Millionaire. We are all better people for your vision.

Objectives and capabilities

12. Life in the oceans must be sheer hell. A vast, merciless hell of permanent and immediate danger. So much of a hell that during evolution some species - including man - crawled, fled onto some small continents of solid land, where the Lessons of Darkness continue.

Walker Art Center, Minneapolis, Minnesota April 30, 1999 Werner Herzog

Caller ID

i'm not going to lie. i screen probably 60% of my calls. not because i don't want to talk to the person who is calling. oh no. i screen calls for reasons of propriety and respect. i don't like answering phones calls when i know i have bad service. who wants to go through those painful 20 seconds when you just really hope the network will come through? i also don't answer my phone in bars, where there is noise, or when i am with a group of friends. i consider this rude.

thanks to Caller ID, i can know exactly who i am inconveniencing and i can decide to politely excuse myself from conversation and call them back, wait to call the next day, or disregard it completely depending on the situation. this is a gift that is so great i never could have contemplated its stupendessness before i had it. Caller ID is undoubtedly the bombdotcom.com.

O-Bomb-a.com

It was only a matter of time.

Myspace antics

I fought the Myspace craze for ages. I'm judgemental and wholeheartedly convinced that my preferences should dictate the way that other people live their lives. Myspace was stupid no matter who was doing it. Having since become a space junky, I have no idea why I ever resisted. It facilitates a lot of relationships and arrangements that are easily classified as the bomb.com.

Try this on. Here's a message I got from an girl on myspace this morning.

Date: Aug 14, 2007 3:46 PM

"So, look, I'm gonna make this really simple. I work way too long of hours these days and I haven't been in town on a weekend for over a month to go out and find other options if you will. So... I just want plain and simple sex. I know you, it's close and it's easy. So if you have a spare hour, let me know. Is that straightforward enough? :O)"

You've gotta respect the gangster.

It's definitely the bomb.com that things like myspace have cleared a space where even the most reserved of us can craft totally edgy, sexual and fairly streamlined relationships around whatever our needs may be. We can vet people we find attractive without ever even meeting them in person and define the terms of the relationship without ever having to navigate that awkward moment when you're looking at someone across a dinner table.

We should all, guys and girls, be more selectively slutty. As long as we're careful, I think we'd all be a lot happier.

That's undoubtedly the bomb.com.

TV Links

for when netflix just isn't fast enough. or for that matter, when you don't have an account.

TV Links' motto is "better than a remote control." you know what? they're right.

and what does being better than a remote control make them? the bomb.com.com, of course.

Mirror

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror. But you are eternity and you are the mirror.

Khalil Gibran

bomb/not bomb

KFC/Taco Bell amalgam on 14th street. In the heady hours of Saturday night, I couldn't imagine a more delicious confluence of flavors.

Passing it on Tuesday afternoon was like running into a bad one-night-stand 3 weeks later.