Something I learned yesterday: If you’re having a meeting in a demo room with a giant flatscreen television, don’t turn the television on until you absolutely have to, otherwise the attendees will get sucked into The Price Is Right and commercials for the Hoveround and Diabeetus drugs.
That being said, if you are one of the attendees, pray that the speaker is too dumb to realize this.
“He left home at twenty and moved up north to the highline. He got a job outside Havre feeding cows through the winter, while the rancher’s family lived in town and the kids were in school. Whenever the roads were clear, he rode to the nearest neighbors’ for a game of pinochle, but mostly he was snowed in and alone. He had plenty of food, and good TV reception. He had some girlie magazines that he got to know better than he’d ever known an actual person. He spent his twenty-first birthday wearing long johns under two flannel shirts and his winter coat, warming up soup on the stove. He got afraid of himself that winter; he sensed something dangerous that would break free if he kept so much alone.”—Maile Meloy, “Travis, B.” (available in full here)
“The question is have I learned anything about life. Only that human being are divided into mind and body. The mind embraces all the nobler aspirations, like poetry and philosophy, but the body has all the fun. The important thing, I think, is not to be bitter… if it turns out that there IS a God, I don’t think that He’s evil. I think that the worst you can say about Him is that basically He’s an underachiever. After all, there are worse things in life than death. If you’ve ever spent an evening with an insurance salesman, you know what I’m talking about. The key is, to not think of death as an end, but as more of a very effective way to cut down on your expenses. Regarding love, heh, what can you say? It’s not the quantity of your sexual relations that counts. It’s the quality. On the other hand if the quantity drops below once every eight months, I would definitely look into. Well, that’s about it for me folks. Goodbye.”—Love and Death
Sometimes I just think it'd be better if someone cut off my arms and legs
I’ve had a patch of of eczema on my foot for… oh, 6 or 7 years now. It gets worse and gets better. Mostly it’s just unsightly. I’ve had people ask me if it’s a bad burn before. This year, though, in addition to the patch on my foot, I have some on my ankle, my other foot, both of my hands, and one elbow.
And I’m not even joking, but I think I’m about to scratch my skin down to the bone. It’s so itchy, I’ve resorted to the following over the last few weeks:
Putting ice packs on my feet
Taking freezing showers
Taking burning showers
Applying lotion 5 times a day
Using some insanely rough sugar-pistachio-exfoliant thing
Using Class I topical steroids that are hundreds of times stronger than hydrocortisone
So I think that it might be time for me to make a new doctor’s appointment and get some steroid injections. It’s the only thing that definitely works. Also, they usually give me some very nice sleep aids in order to make sure I don’t scratch my feet off in the middle of the night, so there’s that.
I, for one, am an only child. I have no potato brothers.
But seriously. THIS GUY. THIS FUCKING GUY. I’d be offended if he made any sense whatsoever. I’m waiting for Ariel Pink to write his exegesis, take some highly experimental hallucinogenics, and then claim to be the reincarnation of a fictional character.
I’d pay with my gold-encrusted, diamond-studded, DIRTY FUCKING JEW MONEY to see all that.
I’d say that my reaction is all WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME? And the answer would be something like, You are a failure of a human being, no doy. But I’ve also decided that this is the worst kind of narcissism (sidenote: can there be a “worst kind of narcissism?) in that it makes what could potentially be an honest-to-god problem with another person into some kind of reflection of me, so I’m making an effort to not be so self-absorbed.
Self-wallowing translation that completely contradicts what I was trying to say up there: I’m a pariah.
I like the Outback Steakhouse version of “Wraith Pinned to the Mist” better than Of Montreal’s original. Don’t get me wrong, both Outback and Of Montreal suck (and the song isn’t that great), but the Outback version is so much jauntier.