About three days ago, I saw one human, one cartoon dog, and one gorilla walk out the Art Museum on State street togather. They had a frisbee and were clearly headed for the law quad. Their appearance was both bizarre and strangely casual.
One was dressed in the usual uniform that almost everyone in the world wears (frayed shorts, logo t-shirt, flip flops). The second guy was dressed in a gorilla costume. The third member of their party was dressed up as a yellow-spotted cartoon dog. They were chatting about something as they went to play frisbee. The normal-dressed one was clearly having a little trouble hearing the other two through their masks.
What was particularly strange about the costumed frisbeeists was how normally they were walking. Usually, if someone is in public wearing a costume, they work for some Chuck-E-Cheesesque or Disneyish corporation. And if that's not the case, then they are a zany person who likes the attention of dancing around in a costume.
But these guys were walking at a normal pace. No jumping around, no antics. Nothin. And now that I think of it, it's probably harder to behave normally in a cartoon dog suit than it is to behave like a cartoon dog. But this guy was doing it.
When they came up to cross South U. in order to get over to the Law Quad, a group of black kids on the corner started hollarin' at them. Their general sentiment was, "Holy shit! A dog!" They didn't really mock him, or his gorilla friend, so much as marvel at him. The way you do when someone wears a costume in public.
And the yellow dog turned his body to them in a way that said, "C'mon. You really gonna give me some shit about this." As much as person whose entire body is hidden under yellow-with-black-polka-dots felt can have an expression, this guy seemed wearied and resigned. As though he were some opressed minority that was no longer outraged or sad about being singled out, just exasperated.
The dog walked off into the law quad shaking his head, and the gorilla and the normal person patted him on the back. "It's ok man," they might have been saying. "Don't let those jerks get to you."
I imagine that the yellow dog just shrugged his shoulders and said, "I don't care. There will always be ignorant people. It's fine." And they played frisbee all day until the sun went down. It was probably really fun.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Madness
I don't usually go in for this sort of thing, but I thought I'd fill out an March Madness bracket. They have blank ones here at work and everyone else is doing it. It gave me that college basketball fever. Here it is:
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
I Have Solved St. Patrick's Day
I wore green today. I know, I know. Go ahead and judge me. But I swear it was an accident.
Amidst the slow and furious daze in which I get dressed for my 8:00 am shift, I was putting on shoes and at the last minute decided to wear my black and green pumas. Now I'm kind of participating in this day's bullshit, which I didn't mean to do. But, in my defense, I care so very little that I completely forgot that it was St. Patrick's Day.
STD (ST. patrick's Day) is annoying in the same way that football Saturdays are annoying. Though I don't hate the people that celebrate STD or football games on principle (not true but let's just say it is), I do hate it when they flaunt their horrendous lives in front of me all day and when they force me to interact with the fact that they exist.
It's a matter of cultural separation. Football-loving/fake-Irish people and I have almost nothing in common. But on a usual day we mostly stay on our separate sides of town, go to our separate bars, and ignore each other in the public mingling areas. But on STD (just like football Saturdays), they take over EVERYTHING. And they're aggressive about it too. The sweatpants-wearing pussies who on a normal day apologize in the elevator for no reason ("Sorry, but what floor are you going to?") have all grown a pair a green, beer-filled cojones that forces them to yell at me on the street.
Dude, listen, don't yell at me on the street. Because I want to keep things civil. And when you yell, "Where's your green?!" at me on the sidewalk, I'm forced to respond, "I shoved it last night up the un-Irish vagina you were birthed from." And I don't want to say it any more than you wanna hear it.
Last year, the guys I lived with decided to throw a STD party. At 8:30 in the god forsaken morning. If you recall, STD was on a Saturday last year and I had been out drinking the night before. Because, you know, it was Friday and I didn't feel the need to rest up for the next day's verdant retardathon. Anyway, Saturday morning, at 8:30, I couldn't stay asleep over the circle of screaming leprechauns gathered around a keg on the porch, which happened to be next to my window. I came out in my robe, which by an unfortunate coincidence is green, and they all cheered. I responded, needless to say, by screaming curse words as loud as my hangover would permit. But of course they didn't shut up or go home (both of which I had kindly invited them to do) but they went on with their nonsense. The real problem with STD, like football Saturday, is that people feel unapologetically justified about being their stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid loud selves at a time when I prefer to be sleeping.
At this point, you may think that I'm being a petty killjoy over a day of celebration that basically hurts no one. And at this point, you'd be wrong. However, we have not yet gotten to my List of Specific Grievances, so hold onto that thought.
List of Specific Grievances about St. Patrick's Day:
So I was standing outside work this morning on break. There were all the kids in green and the tri-delt sorority across from the Business School where I work started playing bagpipe music. I don't know why, but that was enough. I started fuming internally, "BAGPIPES ARE FROM FUCKING SCOTLAND! Is this whole day just an excuse for people to show what idiots they are?! Why do all this?"
And then it hit me. St. Patrick's Day is genius. You see, throughout history, all the Irish immigrated to this country during the potato blight. And the Anglo-Saxons and Aryans that had been living here for a generation (or less) insisted that this wasn't a country of immigrants. So they mocked the Irish and degraded them in pubic. From this tradition we get such classic jokes as calling a fart an Irish kiss, calling bricks Irish confetti, or saying that a man holding a drink in each hand is wearing Irish handcuffs.
But as those potato-luvin lushes gained prominence in society, so much that a lot of people now have "a little Irish" in them, it became less and less acceptable to degrade the Irish people in public. So, not to be gotten down, the racists hatched a plan. They decided to take over the most sacred Irish holiday. And instead of honoring Irish tradition on STD, everyone would dress like a cartoon leprechaun. They would get tremendously drunk and pretend to be the worst Irish stereotype they could think of. Like improv discrimination. It's a little like if we started celebrating Cinco de Mayo by taking naps, or wearing the traditional Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day blackface (that may have been too far). If the Asians had a holiday then we could all celebrate by actually getting done everything we planned to do that day.
How does it honor Irish culture to give everyone a free pass to act out its worse stereotypes? It doesn't. But since there are so may of "them" now, it's the only way we can get away with mocking them. Erin go braugh.
Amidst the slow and furious daze in which I get dressed for my 8:00 am shift, I was putting on shoes and at the last minute decided to wear my black and green pumas. Now I'm kind of participating in this day's bullshit, which I didn't mean to do. But, in my defense, I care so very little that I completely forgot that it was St. Patrick's Day.
STD (ST. patrick's Day) is annoying in the same way that football Saturdays are annoying. Though I don't hate the people that celebrate STD or football games on principle (not true but let's just say it is), I do hate it when they flaunt their horrendous lives in front of me all day and when they force me to interact with the fact that they exist.
It's a matter of cultural separation. Football-loving/fake-Irish people and I have almost nothing in common. But on a usual day we mostly stay on our separate sides of town, go to our separate bars, and ignore each other in the public mingling areas. But on STD (just like football Saturdays), they take over EVERYTHING. And they're aggressive about it too. The sweatpants-wearing pussies who on a normal day apologize in the elevator for no reason ("Sorry, but what floor are you going to?") have all grown a pair a green, beer-filled cojones that forces them to yell at me on the street.
Dude, listen, don't yell at me on the street. Because I want to keep things civil. And when you yell, "Where's your green?!" at me on the sidewalk, I'm forced to respond, "I shoved it last night up the un-Irish vagina you were birthed from." And I don't want to say it any more than you wanna hear it.
Last year, the guys I lived with decided to throw a STD party. At 8:30 in the god forsaken morning. If you recall, STD was on a Saturday last year and I had been out drinking the night before. Because, you know, it was Friday and I didn't feel the need to rest up for the next day's verdant retardathon. Anyway, Saturday morning, at 8:30, I couldn't stay asleep over the circle of screaming leprechauns gathered around a keg on the porch, which happened to be next to my window. I came out in my robe, which by an unfortunate coincidence is green, and they all cheered. I responded, needless to say, by screaming curse words as loud as my hangover would permit. But of course they didn't shut up or go home (both of which I had kindly invited them to do) but they went on with their nonsense. The real problem with STD, like football Saturday, is that people feel unapologetically justified about being their stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid loud selves at a time when I prefer to be sleeping.
At this point, you may think that I'm being a petty killjoy over a day of celebration that basically hurts no one. And at this point, you'd be wrong. However, we have not yet gotten to my List of Specific Grievances, so hold onto that thought.
List of Specific Grievances about St. Patrick's Day:
- There is nothing that great about Ireland. They were the Mexicans of the 19th century, and everyone tried to keep them out. And in the 80s they supported terrorist activities against Great Britain. Mass immigration and terrorism; basically what all those green-beer guzzling Americans fear most in this world. Also Ireland's food is gross. Their beer is too heavy. And U2 sucks but for some reason everyone pretends they're good.
- St. Patrick, like almost all saints, was about 12 different guys that got rolled into one historical figure. And all 12 of those guys were Christian missionaries who purged the island of the Druids and their religion. The Druids were known by Christians as demon serpents, thus the legend about ridding Ireland of the snakes that hadn't lived there since the Ice Age. Not nice guy/s. I know that, like Valentine's Day, the saint isn't really the point. And neither is being Irish. But I thought I should at least point out some of the bullshit that it's supposed to be about.
- The green that the St. Patrick's Day Marketing Department has chosen for all their merchandise is hideous. Green has its place (like in a forest) and some green clothing looks cool. But this shit is awful:
If you're going to die something publicly and in a big way, maybe you should go for something a little more like this:
And the thing is that the color of St. Patrick isn't even green. I'm serious. Until the 20th century (long after even the American STD got started), the official color of Patrick: Patron Saint of Ireland, was always the color blue. So it's blue, not green, But if you're going to pick a random ass color and annually shove it in my face, could you please pick one less abrasive than Lime Jello? - Getting day drunk is almost always a bad idea. Before even 4:00 pm rolls around, it stops being fun and becomes something you have to endure. You can never carry it over into the night, even with a nap. The only time it's a good idea to get day drunk is when you're near a whole bunch of water, like an ocean or a lake. You can get away with a big pond, but only if you're fishing. Otherwise it turns from you hassling me on my way to work into you puking on me as I leave work. And speaking of...
- Drinking all Tuesday is a clear sign that Daddy's picking up the tab. Obviously this isn't true of everyone that celebrates STD, but I'd bet a pot of gold that it's the majority. Maybe you should be getting tips behind the bar instead of stumbling around in front of it. This is a bigger issue than I need to get into here, but sack up and find a way to pay for your own indulgences. (Hint: it doesn't have to be a real job).
- What the fuck is up with Irish Club dancers jigging around the Diag? Since when do we let such flagrant acts of nerdery go completely unwedgied? As a nerd who does his geeking in private, so as to get more laid and less ass-whooped, it seems like a goddamn double standard.
So I was standing outside work this morning on break. There were all the kids in green and the tri-delt sorority across from the Business School where I work started playing bagpipe music. I don't know why, but that was enough. I started fuming internally, "BAGPIPES ARE FROM FUCKING SCOTLAND! Is this whole day just an excuse for people to show what idiots they are?! Why do all this?"
And then it hit me. St. Patrick's Day is genius. You see, throughout history, all the Irish immigrated to this country during the potato blight. And the Anglo-Saxons and Aryans that had been living here for a generation (or less) insisted that this wasn't a country of immigrants. So they mocked the Irish and degraded them in pubic. From this tradition we get such classic jokes as calling a fart an Irish kiss, calling bricks Irish confetti, or saying that a man holding a drink in each hand is wearing Irish handcuffs.
But as those potato-luvin lushes gained prominence in society, so much that a lot of people now have "a little Irish" in them, it became less and less acceptable to degrade the Irish people in public. So, not to be gotten down, the racists hatched a plan. They decided to take over the most sacred Irish holiday. And instead of honoring Irish tradition on STD, everyone would dress like a cartoon leprechaun. They would get tremendously drunk and pretend to be the worst Irish stereotype they could think of. Like improv discrimination. It's a little like if we started celebrating Cinco de Mayo by taking naps, or wearing the traditional Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day blackface (that may have been too far). If the Asians had a holiday then we could all celebrate by actually getting done everything we planned to do that day.
How does it honor Irish culture to give everyone a free pass to act out its worse stereotypes? It doesn't. But since there are so may of "them" now, it's the only way we can get away with mocking them. Erin go braugh.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
5 Questions You Must Ask Yourself Before Leading a Happy and Successful Life
Congratulations! By purchasing this book, you have started down a five-step process to a happy and successful life. You may be asking yourself, "How can only five questions bring me something that great?" Well, stop it. That is not one of the five questions.
Human culture has searched for the key to a happy and successful life for thousands of years. But where religion, philosophy, and pharmaceuticals have failed, a simple list of five questions will be successful (and happy). But don't take my word for it.
On second thought, take my word for it. And I'll tell you why. I not only thought of the five questions, but I've also provided answers that you can pretend you thought of yourself. What could be better? (For the record, I was being rhetorical. That is also not one of the five questions. But if it were, the answer would be 'nothing'). So let's not delay. You probably don't want to live even one more minute with your unsuccessful and depressing shell of a life. I assume that's how you feel. I wouldn't know because I not only thought of the questions AND the answers, but I was also born into an affluent and good-looking family, so life's been pretty easy for me. Here we go:
Question One:
Did I actually buy this book?
The five questions have no ranking of importance, each one is vital to a happy and success life. That being said, this one is really really important. That's why I put it first.
Buying this book is key to leading a happy and successful life. If you checked this book out from the library, you have done so expressly against the author's wishes. Apparently you can't get your own book banned from a public library. But if you ever attempt to, I recommend you not use the word "freeloaders" to refer to library patrons because it makes the librarians angry. That's not part of the answer to the first question. That's bonus advice.
So no libraries. But even if you borrowed this book from a friend or are reading this in the bookstore without intending to buy it, you have still already answered the first question incorrectly. Don't panic. I'm going to help you through this.
If you are at the bookstore, carefully follow these instructions: walk up to the cashier, show them this book, slowly set your wallet on the counter, and then leave the store without saying anything. Hopefully they will take the price of the book out of the contents of your wallet. If not, it still sends a powerful message that other people might see and say to themselves, "Maybe I should get that book." If there isn't enough money in your wallet, then you just made me look pretty bad. Thanks a lot.
If you borrowed this book from a friend then drop it like it's burning your hands, scream, and slap that so-called friend across the face. Tell the asshole that he (or she) was warned that this would happen. By the way, some more bonus advice: don't lend this book to a friend.
Now that you have a legally obtained a copy of this book (using libraries, browsing in bookstores, and borrowing from friends are all illegal; I looked it up), you have successfully answered the first question. Aren't you happy? You should be, but not too much. You're only one fifth of the way to a happy and successful life. You should be 10% happy and 10% successful, which adds up to 20%, which is equal to one fifth (I also looked that up). Now that we're ready, let's get on to question two...
Question Two:
Why are there five questions instead of four?
Wow. Excellent question. You sure are smart. It turns out that publishers outright refuse to print a self-help book entitled, "4 Questions You Must Ask Yourself Before Leading a Happy and Successful Life." Even if you tell them that four questions are all that are really necessary, and that it took you several afternoons of zoning out just to come up with that many so you'll be damned if you have to think of anymore, they'll still insist on five. It's some bullshit marketing thing. You know, I have an agent that I pay good money to stand up for me on shit like that. Whatever. So you've answered number two. Congratulations and blah, blah, blah. Moving on...
Question Three:
So is Question Two just filler?
No it is not. Next...
Question Four:
Wait a minute. If you told me in Question Two that you had four questions and then added one, how is it possible that Question Three references Question Two?
Allow me to answer your question with another question. Put your finger on this page to hold your place, close the book, and look at the title. Does it say "5 Questions You Must Ask Yourself Before Becoming a Fucking Smart Ass"? No it does not.
In fact, you're burning through these questions pretty fast. Why would you waste one on a clarification? That's like wishing that the genie reveal why you only get three wishes. Who gives a fuck? Your first wish is that the genie tell you the best possible wish you can make, your second wish is whatever he tells you, and your third wish you keep in the kicker for a rainy day. Everyone knows that, dumbass! So why are you badgering me with your crazy logic?
Remember all that bonus advice I gave you before? C'mon. Be cool.
Question Five:
I really just picked up this book to learn how to get rich because I assumed that's what you meant by "happy and successful." And since I only have one question left I guess I'll get right to it. How do I get rich?
See how far you've come? Knowing what you want and how to ask for it are two vital parts of confidence. And confidence is vital to getting people to believe whatever you say. And if people believe whatever you say, then a world of opportunity opens up to you. Is that true? Maybe. But I wrote it with confidence, and you believed me. Even if you didn't, you bought this book and now I am happy and successful. See? All it took were five questions.
AFTERWORD:
It occurs to me that you might interpret this book as a recommendation to write your own self-help book. If you do that I will sue you. I don't need a bunch of competition out there. Find your own thing and back off mine.
Human culture has searched for the key to a happy and successful life for thousands of years. But where religion, philosophy, and pharmaceuticals have failed, a simple list of five questions will be successful (and happy). But don't take my word for it.
On second thought, take my word for it. And I'll tell you why. I not only thought of the five questions, but I've also provided answers that you can pretend you thought of yourself. What could be better? (For the record, I was being rhetorical. That is also not one of the five questions. But if it were, the answer would be 'nothing'). So let's not delay. You probably don't want to live even one more minute with your unsuccessful and depressing shell of a life. I assume that's how you feel. I wouldn't know because I not only thought of the questions AND the answers, but I was also born into an affluent and good-looking family, so life's been pretty easy for me. Here we go:
Question One:
Did I actually buy this book?
The five questions have no ranking of importance, each one is vital to a happy and success life. That being said, this one is really really important. That's why I put it first.
Buying this book is key to leading a happy and successful life. If you checked this book out from the library, you have done so expressly against the author's wishes. Apparently you can't get your own book banned from a public library. But if you ever attempt to, I recommend you not use the word "freeloaders" to refer to library patrons because it makes the librarians angry. That's not part of the answer to the first question. That's bonus advice.
So no libraries. But even if you borrowed this book from a friend or are reading this in the bookstore without intending to buy it, you have still already answered the first question incorrectly. Don't panic. I'm going to help you through this.
If you are at the bookstore, carefully follow these instructions: walk up to the cashier, show them this book, slowly set your wallet on the counter, and then leave the store without saying anything. Hopefully they will take the price of the book out of the contents of your wallet. If not, it still sends a powerful message that other people might see and say to themselves, "Maybe I should get that book." If there isn't enough money in your wallet, then you just made me look pretty bad. Thanks a lot.
If you borrowed this book from a friend then drop it like it's burning your hands, scream, and slap that so-called friend across the face. Tell the asshole that he (or she) was warned that this would happen. By the way, some more bonus advice: don't lend this book to a friend.
Now that you have a legally obtained a copy of this book (using libraries, browsing in bookstores, and borrowing from friends are all illegal; I looked it up), you have successfully answered the first question. Aren't you happy? You should be, but not too much. You're only one fifth of the way to a happy and successful life. You should be 10% happy and 10% successful, which adds up to 20%, which is equal to one fifth (I also looked that up). Now that we're ready, let's get on to question two...
Question Two:
Why are there five questions instead of four?
Wow. Excellent question. You sure are smart. It turns out that publishers outright refuse to print a self-help book entitled, "4 Questions You Must Ask Yourself Before Leading a Happy and Successful Life." Even if you tell them that four questions are all that are really necessary, and that it took you several afternoons of zoning out just to come up with that many so you'll be damned if you have to think of anymore, they'll still insist on five. It's some bullshit marketing thing. You know, I have an agent that I pay good money to stand up for me on shit like that. Whatever. So you've answered number two. Congratulations and blah, blah, blah. Moving on...
Question Three:
So is Question Two just filler?
No it is not. Next...
Question Four:
Wait a minute. If you told me in Question Two that you had four questions and then added one, how is it possible that Question Three references Question Two?
Allow me to answer your question with another question. Put your finger on this page to hold your place, close the book, and look at the title. Does it say "5 Questions You Must Ask Yourself Before Becoming a Fucking Smart Ass"? No it does not.
In fact, you're burning through these questions pretty fast. Why would you waste one on a clarification? That's like wishing that the genie reveal why you only get three wishes. Who gives a fuck? Your first wish is that the genie tell you the best possible wish you can make, your second wish is whatever he tells you, and your third wish you keep in the kicker for a rainy day. Everyone knows that, dumbass! So why are you badgering me with your crazy logic?
Remember all that bonus advice I gave you before? C'mon. Be cool.
Question Five:
I really just picked up this book to learn how to get rich because I assumed that's what you meant by "happy and successful." And since I only have one question left I guess I'll get right to it. How do I get rich?
See how far you've come? Knowing what you want and how to ask for it are two vital parts of confidence. And confidence is vital to getting people to believe whatever you say. And if people believe whatever you say, then a world of opportunity opens up to you. Is that true? Maybe. But I wrote it with confidence, and you believed me. Even if you didn't, you bought this book and now I am happy and successful. See? All it took were five questions.
AFTERWORD:
It occurs to me that you might interpret this book as a recommendation to write your own self-help book. If you do that I will sue you. I don't need a bunch of competition out there. Find your own thing and back off mine.
Monday, February 9, 2009
25 Facts About Chris Larson
Chris Larson, age 29, opened up a facebook account using a gmail address four days ago and two hours later posted the following note:
1) I live life rough! I got lots of scars but absolutely NO tattoos.
2) I'd rather dip my french fries in mustard than ketchup.
3) I only recently moved to the area and do not know many people. Friend me!
4) When I was a kid, I used to have an alarm clock with a little plastic dog that barked to wake me up but my father destroyed it.
5) I've been reading facebook and a lot of it makes no sense to me. I do not know what l.o.l. means. I know right? I am so "out of the loop."
6) I have a lot of dreams but I'm taking it one day at a time. Within a year I hope to be able to describe my life without using the word "shambles."
7) I will not use a blue pen under any circumstance. I am SUPER serious about this.
8) My blood tastes a little like old cherries, but you have to drink a lot of it.
9) I love getting mail. I now have a gmail account so I can get even more!
10) Chris Larson is not my real name.
11) My apartment has been kind of a mess since I bought a third pair of pants. I'm finding out that house cleaning is REALLY hard!
12) For some kind of crazy reason, I love the smell of the public keyboards here at the library.
13) For the moment, I have to use the computers at the library because I don't have one at home. Doh! And because I have to be reeeeeealy careful not to let this facebook account be traced to my home address.
14) I want to be a private detective and am taking a class online to become one. I'm SUPER excited!
15) I'm really annoyed that it is strictly forbidden by the conditions of my parole for me to have an account on a social networking site. (Thus the alias Chris Larson.)
16) That being said: if I had been allowed to, I would have voted for Obama. He is the greatest.
17) I love Jesus. And actually, on second thought, Jesus is the greatest.
18) The first movie I've seen in a long time was "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button." What the fuck is that thing even about?
19) The craziest coincidence of my life was when I was "born again" two years ago, and several days later I received news that my father had finally goddamn died. Nice work Jesus!
20) My father would not have voted for Obama.
21) In fact, if left alone in a room with Obama, my father probably would have made him drink all the blue ink out of a ballpoint pen; his favorite punishment to administer.
22) He probably would do the same to Jesus.
23) Whoa! This is getting a little intense. I need some new ideas for facts so I just "surfed" the web a little bit and found urbandictionary.com. L.O.L. means Laughing Out Loud! Awesome! Also most of the prison terminology on that site is completely wrong.
24) I just found http://www.digg.com/. This site is awesome! It has everything!!! Finding things on the internet is the greatest.
25) https://www.neighborhoodscan.com/FamilySafetyReport/lp/007-nu6e/?sid=GUSFS404
Hey what the fuck is this shit? This cannot be legal! I'm fucking calling my P.O!!!!! The internet is bullshit.
Chris Larson's profile got 13 friends before a request by the a local neighborhood watch group caused the facebook admin to take remove his account from the system.
1) I live life rough! I got lots of scars but absolutely NO tattoos.
2) I'd rather dip my french fries in mustard than ketchup.
3) I only recently moved to the area and do not know many people. Friend me!
4) When I was a kid, I used to have an alarm clock with a little plastic dog that barked to wake me up but my father destroyed it.
5) I've been reading facebook and a lot of it makes no sense to me. I do not know what l.o.l. means. I know right? I am so "out of the loop."
6) I have a lot of dreams but I'm taking it one day at a time. Within a year I hope to be able to describe my life without using the word "shambles."
7) I will not use a blue pen under any circumstance. I am SUPER serious about this.
8) My blood tastes a little like old cherries, but you have to drink a lot of it.
9) I love getting mail. I now have a gmail account so I can get even more!
10) Chris Larson is not my real name.
11) My apartment has been kind of a mess since I bought a third pair of pants. I'm finding out that house cleaning is REALLY hard!
12) For some kind of crazy reason, I love the smell of the public keyboards here at the library.
13) For the moment, I have to use the computers at the library because I don't have one at home. Doh! And because I have to be reeeeeealy careful not to let this facebook account be traced to my home address.
14) I want to be a private detective and am taking a class online to become one. I'm SUPER excited!
15) I'm really annoyed that it is strictly forbidden by the conditions of my parole for me to have an account on a social networking site. (Thus the alias Chris Larson.)
16) That being said: if I had been allowed to, I would have voted for Obama. He is the greatest.
17) I love Jesus. And actually, on second thought, Jesus is the greatest.
18) The first movie I've seen in a long time was "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button." What the fuck is that thing even about?
19) The craziest coincidence of my life was when I was "born again" two years ago, and several days later I received news that my father had finally goddamn died. Nice work Jesus!
20) My father would not have voted for Obama.
21) In fact, if left alone in a room with Obama, my father probably would have made him drink all the blue ink out of a ballpoint pen; his favorite punishment to administer.
22) He probably would do the same to Jesus.
23) Whoa! This is getting a little intense. I need some new ideas for facts so I just "surfed" the web a little bit and found urbandictionary.com. L.O.L. means Laughing Out Loud! Awesome! Also most of the prison terminology on that site is completely wrong.
24) I just found http://www.digg.com/. This site is awesome! It has everything!!! Finding things on the internet is the greatest.
25) https://www.neighborhoodscan.com/FamilySafetyReport/lp/007-nu6e/?sid=GUSFS404
Hey what the fuck is this shit? This cannot be legal! I'm fucking calling my P.O!!!!! The internet is bullshit.
Chris Larson's profile got 13 friends before a request by the a local neighborhood watch group caused the facebook admin to take remove his account from the system.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Take Yo Pants Off
It is such a nuisance to be interrupted. When I am focused in on a heavy "work sesh," the last thing I want is an interruption to inject entertainment or amusement into my very busy schedule. Unfortunately, sometimes when I am diligantly TCB, I am entertained or amused and forced to acknowledge the event with a smirk or, even worse, a laugh. There was such an incident in my apartment just the other day.
I wasn't doing anything but working hard on my computer and just minding my own business. Actually, come to think of it, I was working hard on my computer by doing social research on facebook, so I wasn't minding my own business so much as specifically minding other people's business. But that is neither here nor there. I was minding someone's business and did not want a distraction.
But as I was checking how the 'Interests' of an ex-coworker's ex-girlfriend had changed in the last ten minutes, I heard a strange little melody. I looked up, but I didn't see anything and the noise stopped, so I went back to my work seshing.
Then, about twenty seconds later, I heard it again. With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, I set aside my computer and got to investigating. I put on my detective hat (I'm not being figurative; it is a literal hat that I had to stand up and get out of my closet) and went to work. I knew just where to start this investigation.
"Brendan, are you fucking singing?" I yelled from my closet.
My suite sidekick responded with the same pot-addled nonsense that he usually speaks in. It took a while to get him to talk about anything other than Tio's milkshakes and ambient machine music, but I was relentless. After leaning on him for information (also not figurative) and adjusting my detective hat a few times to make it seem more 'jauntily inquisitive,' I was able to get some answers. He had been singing a little song to himself under his breath while doing some homework (or whatever the hell he does when he's not talking to me). It went like this:
And I guess that would be fine, except that it literally only has two lines. So once you're singing it to yourself, you're stuck with the same two sentences over and over and over and over. Being the proactive sort that I am, I have written several more verses to make it a little easier to have it stuck in my head all goddamn day. It took a little consulting from the lyric writer's cheat sheet, but I came up with the following. Enjoy:
So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to do just that. Please try to keep it down.
I wasn't doing anything but working hard on my computer and just minding my own business. Actually, come to think of it, I was working hard on my computer by doing social research on facebook, so I wasn't minding my own business so much as specifically minding other people's business. But that is neither here nor there. I was minding someone's business and did not want a distraction.
But as I was checking how the 'Interests' of an ex-coworker's ex-girlfriend had changed in the last ten minutes, I heard a strange little melody. I looked up, but I didn't see anything and the noise stopped, so I went back to my work seshing.
Then, about twenty seconds later, I heard it again. With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, I set aside my computer and got to investigating. I put on my detective hat (I'm not being figurative; it is a literal hat that I had to stand up and get out of my closet) and went to work. I knew just where to start this investigation.
"Brendan, are you fucking singing?" I yelled from my closet.
My suite sidekick responded with the same pot-addled nonsense that he usually speaks in. It took a while to get him to talk about anything other than Tio's milkshakes and ambient machine music, but I was relentless. After leaning on him for information (also not figurative) and adjusting my detective hat a few times to make it seem more 'jauntily inquisitive,' I was able to get some answers. He had been singing a little song to himself under his breath while doing some homework (or whatever the hell he does when he's not talking to me). It went like this:
Take yo pants offApparently, his boss at the liquor store where he works made the song up and sings it all the time during the many idle hours they stand behind the counter. It has a Marvin Gaye-esque little melody to it and, if you hear it a few times, you will never get it out of your head. It's just below The Song that Never Ends, and just above that "oooooo child" song, on the addictometer.
Take yo pants off
We're gonna have a romance off.
And I guess that would be fine, except that it literally only has two lines. So once you're singing it to yourself, you're stuck with the same two sentences over and over and over and over. Being the proactive sort that I am, I have written several more verses to make it a little easier to have it stuck in my head all goddamn day. It took a little consulting from the lyric writer's cheat sheet, but I came up with the following. Enjoy:
Take yo pants offAt this point I start to run out of ideas, so it gets a little weird...
We're gonna have a romance off
This is a dance off
Try to shake them implants off
I'mma 'bout ta blast off
So take yo pants...
Take yo goddamn pants off
My approach ain't hands-off
On you like white on pilaf
Don't make this a standoff
Take yo pants off
We're gonna have a romance off
Take yo goddamn pants off
Our country's in a finance troughThis has been an excellent work sesh. And now that I have a few more lyrics to sing, I can concentrate on my other important work again. Phew.
But I just give it a glance-scoff
Don't need Rogaine for an enhanced coif
Does human pollen make plants cough?
So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to do just that. Please try to keep it down.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
My Stamp of Dissaproval
True story:
I wrote a thank you note to my grandma at work this morning. As a graduation present, she paid for my plane ticket out to San Fransisco for spring break. And because I'm trying to save money for after I graduate, I might not have been able to go on a trip if she had not given me such a nice gift. So I wrote her a thank you note and sealed it in an envelope because my grandmother does not own or known how to operate a computer, so I couldn't write her a "thank you email." Plus everyone likes getting letters, older people especially.
So when I got a break off work I went to the post office. At the service desk I asked for one stamp, paid for it, and peeled it off the backing. I was just about to stick the stamp on the envelope (like you do) when I suddenly realized what was on it:
This caused me to hesitate.
'Well, it is just a stamp,' I said to myself. 'It doesn't matter what's on it. Grandma probably won't even notice.'
'Are you fucking kidding me?!' I replied to myself. 'It's a picture of a sad old lady who can't remember who her friends and family are. DO NOT put that on a thank you note to your grandmother.
'Also, the implication that your grandmother would be too confused to notice the square inch color picture on an otherwise completely white envelope is a little insensitive considering you're fully prepared to send her a reminder of her own impending senility.'
"Excuse me," I said out loud. "This may seem a little strange, but may I have a different stamp?"
Alas they wouldn't let me exchange it because I'd already peeled off the backing. Luckily they cost only forty-two cents and I'm not from 1914, so that doesn't strike me as a lot of money.
Now I know that this was an unfortunate coincidence, but does it not seem a little shortsighted on the part of the post office to mass-produce a stamp that just says "Alzheimer's" on it, accompanied by one of the sadder pictures I've ever seen. Not even "Support Alzheimer's Research." Or maybe that's a little long. At least it could say "Alzheimer's SUX!" or "Remembering RULES!" Anything would be better really.
I'm sure that whoever designs stamps sees every one as a little opportunity (or maybe he is fully aware that no one is paying attention) but WAY more old people use the mail than young people. I don't think that they need their stamps to be a harrowing reminder of the realities of growing older. And on a somewhat related note, what's with those clouds and tiny sun? Does she have Alzheimer's on Venus?
The folder's getting a little crowded, but I'll think I'll file this in my brain under 'W.T.F.'
I wrote a thank you note to my grandma at work this morning. As a graduation present, she paid for my plane ticket out to San Fransisco for spring break. And because I'm trying to save money for after I graduate, I might not have been able to go on a trip if she had not given me such a nice gift. So I wrote her a thank you note and sealed it in an envelope because my grandmother does not own or known how to operate a computer, so I couldn't write her a "thank you email." Plus everyone likes getting letters, older people especially.
So when I got a break off work I went to the post office. At the service desk I asked for one stamp, paid for it, and peeled it off the backing. I was just about to stick the stamp on the envelope (like you do) when I suddenly realized what was on it:
This caused me to hesitate.
'Well, it is just a stamp,' I said to myself. 'It doesn't matter what's on it. Grandma probably won't even notice.'
'Are you fucking kidding me?!' I replied to myself. 'It's a picture of a sad old lady who can't remember who her friends and family are. DO NOT put that on a thank you note to your grandmother.
'Also, the implication that your grandmother would be too confused to notice the square inch color picture on an otherwise completely white envelope is a little insensitive considering you're fully prepared to send her a reminder of her own impending senility.'
"Excuse me," I said out loud. "This may seem a little strange, but may I have a different stamp?"
Alas they wouldn't let me exchange it because I'd already peeled off the backing. Luckily they cost only forty-two cents and I'm not from 1914, so that doesn't strike me as a lot of money.
Now I know that this was an unfortunate coincidence, but does it not seem a little shortsighted on the part of the post office to mass-produce a stamp that just says "Alzheimer's" on it, accompanied by one of the sadder pictures I've ever seen. Not even "Support Alzheimer's Research." Or maybe that's a little long. At least it could say "Alzheimer's SUX!" or "Remembering RULES!" Anything would be better really.
I'm sure that whoever designs stamps sees every one as a little opportunity (or maybe he is fully aware that no one is paying attention) but WAY more old people use the mail than young people. I don't think that they need their stamps to be a harrowing reminder of the realities of growing older. And on a somewhat related note, what's with those clouds and tiny sun? Does she have Alzheimer's on Venus?
The folder's getting a little crowded, but I'll think I'll file this in my brain under 'W.T.F.'
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