just a minute of your time

I forgot that I made an entry yesterday, and I'd forgotten I'd written so much. I think I'm going to be a lot more succinct this time.

It's Sunday, or was, after all and I still haven't gotten properly dressed. I only left the house to go to the side house to do some laundry. I still love the smell of fabric softener, though I'm not sure exactly what it does. I think it's supposed to cut down on static electricity, right?

My soon-to-be former roommate is going to Burning Man, which is this huge art / nudity / happy drug festival in God-Knows-Where Desert, Nevada. I've always wanted to go, even though I don't create art, nor do I enjoy being naked, and I stopped doing drugs a long time ago (just alcohol now, I'm afraid). I've just always liked the idea of it, and I'm a sucker for anything that happens in deserts. Some times I entertain thoughts of moving to the desert, but I know they've got some crazy bugs down there; I hate bugs.

I get fascinated with the weirdest places--Greenland and Iceland are both examples. Maybe it's got something to do with the inherent ironies in both those names. I'm thinking that I'd like to visit both those places one day. Like deserts, I have a thing for arctic climates. I like the whole idea (well, I guess it's not an idea seeing as it's a physical actuality) of the midnight sun and the sun not rising for three months. They've got narwhals up there, and I've always wanted to see one. There's also something to be said for standing at the top of the world, but I think that's just my own ego talking.

oops...i did it again

So there I was at the local diner. It's called a diner, but it doesn't feel like one like The Diner does, but I suppose there's no better word for it. And at least it's not a Denny's. I wasn't hungry, and I was broke, and the girls who had said they were going to be there had already left--we'd seen them go--so there was really no reason for me to be there.

Roommate M (soon to be ex-roommate M; he's moving out on Monday) ordered himself some food to go; we were both giddy drunk. He ordered me two english muffins.

He had that look that people have when they're about to move on to the next stage of their life, but are forlorn about leaving the past stage behind. I know that look because I seem to have it monthly. ...

And before I can stop myself, I'm imparting my wisdom again. I dont' know where it comes from, but it seemed to help. It worried me. I would rather sound like a raving lunatic, I think. At least then I wouldn't feel so old.

I was really ranting and raving too--about going for the brass ring and fuck everyone else. You've got to go for yours, which I believe in to some extent. You have to go for what you want in life, because you don't get many chances...but I'm pontificating again. I don't advocate the gung-ho capitalist step on as many toes as you can along the way ideal; I just think dreams are important, and when you let them die, you die with them.

See? I'm like a fortune cookie with out the poetic turns of phrase. I'm a monster, and I need to be put down.

I got to play guitar today with roommate D and had a lot of fun. I swear there are moments when I think to myself, "yeah, I should do this. Start a band, get on stage, play the rock." But then I remember how deathly afraid I am of getting in front of people. I had to 'act'--I use the term loosely, because I didn't really act, I just repeated my lines in a very orderly and on-time fashion; there was no feeling or craft behind them--to help out a friend once. She offered to buy me a pizza and I only had five or so short lines, but I probably would have done it anyway. I knew my little part backwards and forwards, and then I got in front of the classroom, and I thought I was going to die.

In true Pavlov's dog fashion--which is how I do most things in life--I focused on the pizza and said everything when I was supposed to. I even got all the words right. The whole time, I felt as if my insides were hollowed out. I couldn't wait for those people to stop looking at me. It was an awful feeling, and one I hope to never have again; but the pizza was pretty damn good.

I got to see the Unicorns on Friday, and that was pretty damn fun. They played this gigantic venue on campus, opening for Ben Kweller. The room they played in can fit well over 1,000 people I'd imagine. It's like a giant high school gymnasium; it looks like a place that would host the homecoming dance. The venue has no personality other than its vastness. Of course, neither the Unicorns or Kweller are household names, but a good 300 to 400 people showed up, which is a good turn out; however, the venue still looked empty.

The Unicorns perhaps looked more out of place than any band ever to grace the stage--Pedro the Lion included--and appeared much like some shitty band that had wandered in off the street after playing their living room a couple of times. There was something unbelievably charming about it, though, and I didn't realize how much I liked them until they were gone. It took a little while for them to warm up to the crowd--horribly beautiful college (university, S.) freshman girls, freshman dudes who looked like they couldn't wait till snowboarding season started, bro, and the tragically hip and dorky--and vice versa. About four songs into the set, they'd finally hit a stride. The three of them were hilarious and they played their jerky little songs with so much conviction, you could have sworn they were classics, and some of them are. The crowd started to laugh at their jokes, their crazy behavior and head bob to the songs, but about two songs later they were given the sign to stop, and some became rather disappointed. They ended with "Sea Ghost," which made me happy, but I really wanted to see them play more; their set only went about 25 minutes to a half-hour.

Ben Kweller made me fell really old, and his pants were far too tight, but the kid could play, even if he did look like this generation's answer to Danny Bonaduce. His songs were all really basic, but the crowd was stoked on him; duded who would have picked on him in high school pumped their fists, and girls who never would have talked to him back then were writhing about and saying how cute he was. There was this one dude in front of me who stunk of liquor and kept pumping his fist or hopping up and down, which is what you should do when you like a concert, and then turned around to look behind him as if to see if anyone else was doing it; like he didn't want to be the only one rocking out. It's okay, dude. Go on with your bad self, bro.

asleep at the wheel

Today was one of those days that just links one to the other; I guess they're all like that really, but this one was so unremarkable, maybe that's what made it remarkable.

It's really hard for me to keep track of anything really. I can't believe how fast this week went by, but the same could be said for the month, the summer and the year. I've got to start saving up for Christmas. Maybe If I put $20 away from each pay check--just put it in a jar in my room or something--I'll be able to buy gifts.

I dont' know why I thought of that just now; I think it's lack of sleep. I keep hoping to go to bed early, but 2 AM can really sneak up on you when you're not paying attention.

Roommate M was smoking a joint out here by the computer. He took a hit and put it down. I picked it up off of my desk--a plump and tightly rolled little thing. It looked good and smelled better. It made me think of all the times I rolled joints and how much fun I had smoking them. It feels like another lifetime ago now. I was really close to taking a puff, just to see. It's been so long now. I was another person back then, and I'm not sure that guy would have liked how he turned out. Maybe I'm not really all that different. Maybe that's why I didn't do it.

Tragedy and Comedy

I had something I wanted to write down, but I can't remember what it was. I guess that's the ephemeral nature of ideas, huh?

It's not that I plan out everything that I'm going to write here--just some things, and I realize that's sad--but I figure as long as I use this space rather frequently, I may as well put it to some good purpose.

Anyway, something popped in my head that I thought would be beneficial to me if I wrote about it, because this is a cheap form of therapy, after all. I hopped online with a sense of purpose, and quickly wandered down the bright, shiny roads of the Internet, which effectively brainwashed me. Maybe it will come back if I start at the beginning.

I woke up with my glasses on, my lights on, and still fully dressed. As luck would have it, I wasn't on the couch this time, but actually in my bed. A local legend performed his last concert before moving away last night, so that was as good a reason as any to go out and party on a Tuesday night. I wasnt' planning on drinking too much, and I didn't, but along the way I forgot to eat, so three Guinness felt more like six, and that last MGD didn't help matters.

I had a great time, and left the bar feeling fine. I was smiling to myself, for whatever reason, and just generally happy to be alive. I stopped off at the 7-Eleven to get a rank microwave burger that tasted like heaven as a power-walked home, which is something I do when I'm buzzed, for some reason. I opened my door an headed straight for bed, feeling fine.

The next thing I remember was the sight of my room's fluorescent light fixture blaring down from above me...it may have been 7 am. I chucked my glasses and fell back asleep. I woke up again at the sound of my alarm and it felt as if somone had jammed a crowbar into the base of my skull and forgot to remove it. I fell back asleep. Finally, I got my shit together and made it to work--on time even--and proved useless for three hours as I was gripped in the throes of my worst hangover ever. I figured I had to be coming down with something because I hardly had anything to drink the night before and began looking up info on the West Nile Virus, scrutinizing it's symptoms, which are oddly enough, quite similar to those of a hangover.

Food, water, and two ibuprofen made me feel somewhat human again.

All this living is certainly catching up with me. I'm not as skinny as I was; I feel achey; it's hard for me to concentrate. I guess all these things come with growing older, which I guess means that it will get lot worse in years to come--something to look forward too. I suppose I should take better care of myself, but I think I would if I wanted to; I've just always had hang ups about my own body. Not my looks, really--though I have those too--just my physicality. My body always seems to get in the way of things. It's like I've never properly learned how to use it or something; I can move it around and all that, but there's such a gap there between body and mind, and I've never really figured out how to bridge it. I bump into things. I never know how to stand, or move, and I really can't dance. Some times I wish it wasn't there. I have a free membership to a gym through my job, but I haven't used it yet. I think I'd like to...I was enrolled in a gym once, and I wasn't crazy about it, but it would be nice to trim up, but I feel too embarassed to go--anything that draws attention to my physical person makes me uncomfortable. Maybe it's because I'd rather watch than do, blend into the crowd, be a fly on the wall...that sort of thing. I'd feel like going to the gym would kind of be like admitting that I have to improve myself; that I realize I have to be in better shape; that I need to make myself into something I'm not; like people would think that I'm trying to make myself into the stereotypical handsome male, and thus make me the butt of jokes. "Did you see J at the gym, jogging, etc. Who's he trying to kid?" I guess that's just me being paranoid...and a bit dramatic.

I don't know if that makes any sense. I'm probably just lazy, but I've become increasingly more hands off with people. I prefer to just wave, though I realize that in the real world, you're measured by your handshake, so I have to make that concession to get ahead. I used to be kinda huggy with my female friends, but I've tried to back off that with the new women I meet now, because I have a problem mistaking friendly affection from a woman from romantic affection and vice versa. It's just so confusing, I'd rather not have the stress--does she like me, doesn't she like me? You know, all that high school bullshit. You'd figure I'd be over that by now.

I was amazed at the show yesterday how many people I've come to know in this town, and how little we really know each other. This is a place full of acquaintences; it's the kind of place that people become so known by their nicknames, that their real names are quickly forgotten.

Maybe I'm being a lot dramatic.

oh, the guilt

Pulled in another long Monday, but the office was really quiet most of the day because everyone was on campus slanging our magazine.

I've spent most of the day in varying levels of discomfort. I'm not sleeping well lately--not that I ever do--and a mosquito got into the house, and it has a voracious apetite for me and me alone it seems. The little fucking bastard has gotten me real good, and in all the wrong spots. One right under my knee cap, one on the top of each foot one on each ankle, one on the arch of my foot, two on my left elbow, and a painful one on my left middle finger--all of these are spots that are easily irritated, and all of them have been taking turns driving me crazy. I hope this mosquito is stocking up on bad karma so it comes back as something even more miserable in its next life. A politician perhaps.

They say the West Nile mosquitos have made their way to my area. It's like they're following me across country. We had them in New York, but it wasn't that big a deal. The poison they were spraying in the air caused more of an uproar than the mosquitos. Here in California they tend to worry about that shit more. Here every mosquito bite is scrutinized, and people keep react concerned when I tell them I've been feasted upon. I guess I'll find out in a couple days whether or not I should have been concerned too. Good thing I just got health insurance.

I couldn't find my check book tonight, and I was supposed to pay my bills. I did find it eventually, but not without getting myself in a frantic sweat. My life seems to be an exercise in frustration and clutter--an experiment maybe. I suppose I should organize things a little better--a lot better--but nine times out of ten, I can find what I'm looking for. I guess that's a pretty good ratio.

The only enjoyable part of today was that I finally got to see The Office: Season One. At one point I think I laughed myself to tears. It's the best television show I've seen since Dead Like Me, which is on Showtime. I don't have TV, really, so I have to watch programs on DVD. I might have to wait forever to watch them, but at least I get to see them all at once and without commercials.

keeping the sabbath holy

In accordance with tradition, I've spent this entire Sunday lazing about like a great big sack of sloth-burger. It's nice, because I like days when I don't have to do anything. I wasn't entirely useless today, though. I cleaned the kitchen and drove my roommate's car down to the pizza place to pick up dinner and a twelve pack of beer, which I'm drinking now (not all twelve, mind you).

It's been a weird past couple of days with the rap show and all, but also the weather's been a little strange. It's been increasingly breezy, and the gusts are blowing the walnuts off the trees in my neighborhood. The walnuts are everywhere. I never realized that a walnut is actually the pit of a fruit, the flesh of which is green and not very deep, but they get all rotted and gross once they fall of the branch. When cars drive over them, they make a popping noise, and since there have been so many of them falling to the ground, every car that comes down the road sounds like it's driving over a long strip of giant-sized bubble wrap.

Also, tomorrow is the first day of class at the university here in town, and while that doesn't really affect me all that much--because I'm old--the town has changed completely over night. As I walk up the Esplanade from my office to my house, I can see people in the windows of apartments that were empty just the night before. It's like I've moved to a completely different place without going anywhere. A lot of the locals complain about the students, but I like it when they're here. ...It gives me something to write in my blog about.

It's strange living in a place that's so dependent on a school. New York has plenty of colleges, but that's just a small part of the day to day life, they're pretty much insignificant. This place wouldn't exist as it does now if it weren't for the school. It's kind of like living in a sports arena would be like, I think--a lot of down, then suddenly it's chaos...people come in, take it over, then leave.

how can i help?

The sky's getting brighter. I didn't even realize that it had gotten so late that it's early. I watched Kill Bill 2 with my roommate and his girlfriend. I thought the first was pretty good, but not spectacular, and the second one seemed to drag on a lot. I wonder why he had to do two movies to tell such a cut and dry story. At least Tarantino didn't try to go for a trilogy like the Matrix guys.

Maybe I didn't realize the passage of time because I didn't roll out of bed until exactly 1:11 PM this afternoon. I don't remember what time it was when I got home Friday night / early Saturday morning. I know I took a cab, because I remember noticing that the cab didn't have a meter, and I was worried the driver was trying to pull a fast one on us. He didn't, but my roommate J paid for it anyway; I was out of money. I got inside, poured myself a glass of water and contemplated what to eat since all I had for dinner was the scant remnants of a left over burrito. There was no food, so I took the glass of water with me over to the couch. I took two sips before I passed out. The couch, technically, is only a love seat. When I lay down on it, my a good portion of my legs dangle over the edge (and I'm only 5'9"), but for some reason, it's the perfect place to fall into drunken beddy bye on.

I dont' think I realized how drunk I was until I was in the cab. I hadn't had all that much to drink--at least I didn't think so--but then I remembered the two beers at work, the double Captain and cokes, the cans of Natty Ice (it's gotta be the most toxic and potent beer ever. Drink it fast, because it's only good for getting wasted...but if that's what you want, look no further), and things started to fall into place. I wasn't even that toe up, mind you. I've been worse; not that I'm proud of that. I passed out on the couch and was torn awake at about 9:30 AM when my alarm clock went off. I heard it all the way from my bedroom, which is on the other end of my house (which, granted, isn't all that big). I hopped off the couch fine. It wasn't till three steps later that the hangover kicked in.

It was nasty; it was like something vomited and then died in my mouth. I shut the alarm, made an extended stop in the bathroom, then waddled back into my bed where I, again, passed out till the afternoon.

This whole day was wasted, though I did finish writing my article for the magazine in San Francisco. I think it turned out okay. I started writing it at 3 PM, after an emergency stop at Carl's Jr, and didn't finish it up till about 10. I guess I was taking my sweet ass time about it, but I felt like an old man all day.

Friday night was the de facto social event of the season--though there seems to have been two this summer--at the bar outside of downtown. A couple rappers from the Bay came up to perform with a local crew that has a large following; even my roommate J, who has immortalized my name in a song, was going to rap a couple songs. The show itself was great, and got better as the night went on, and my critcal mind was drowned in more amber beverages. After the show, there was this annoying prick outside who was heckling the people leaving the bar. I'd also saw him walk near the stage during the show to spray the performers with a shaken up beer bottle. He didn't know what he was doing though and the beer just kinda fizzed out limply. The guy stole a CD from one of the rap guys, who chased down the annoying prick and beat him up or something. I think he took his wallet, too. I don't know nothing though.

After the party was the after party. We all went to 'the ranch' to chill out and drink some more presumably; well, I did anyway. I sat at a table with one of my co-workers and we joked about how people just trickled in over time; everyone came in with a story too. The guys who rent the place left the door open, which attracted a team of young randoms; I don't think they could have been at the show because they were all under 21, but that hadn't stopped them from drinking themselves toasty before they got to the after party. I couldn't figure out if they knew anyone, and I guess it didn't matter. Their crew was either five or four, but could have been as many as six; it was really hard to tell. I remember passing local wisdom on to one of the girls in the group. She was probably 18, a freshman in a surprisingly modest tight top and miniskirt; tall and lean and I did my best not to notice. She started talking to me while I was half asleep on a chair outside--she couldn't find her friends--and ended up asking me about the town.

This si something I've been doing a lot of lately--imparting my wisdom on to people, even though I'm admittedly short on the stuff. Granted, a lot of my friends are younger than me, though now not as many as before, and I've always taken a little bit of pride in being my group's de facto patriarch. I used to get asked for advice and things of that nature all the time, and though I don' t think I'm qualified, it was nice to feel needed and respected. Now that I've gotten a little older, I realize how little I actually know, I try to be more careful about saying anything really; being talkative can only get you into trouble I think (was that more wisdom? Do you see what I'm talking about? I'm like an addict). But lately, I've been offering nuggets of wisdom like I'm Yoda or something. The girl was asking questions and eager to hear about her new environment, but seriously, I have to get over myself.

save us save us save us save us

Soon, we're to move out of our office to another location, because they're building a swanky hotel in the building we're currently next to, and the owner has sold the space we now occupy to the hotel for some disputed purpose. Some say ballroom, some say conference room. Whatever the reason, in a month or so's time, we'll be somewhere else, and it won't really matter anyway. Right now they have scaffolding on the small raised alley between my window and the skeletal hotel. Workers scurry back and forth on the platform all day and call out to each other. It makes me feel like I have an office in the lower levels of Mordor, without the chanting.

I met Ash for lunch today, which turned out to be my only meal of the day. I really need to go food shopping. Lunch was nice. I tried to pass down wisdom about post-graduation life. I don't really have any wisdom, but some people look at me like I do, and she's one of them. I don't mind. It makes me feel important. She's moving back to her hometown on Friday, and I'm sure I'll be torn up about it. Good thing there's a show that night that's required attendance, so I should be able to get really drunk and forget about it. I'd be really torn up if I thought I'd never see her again, but I'm pretty sure that's not the case. I'm just getting tired of saying good bye to people, though the farewell parties are always fun.

School's almost back in session, and it's nice not to see the same ten people out all the time. There are plenty of new faces, which is nice, because I don't have to say hello to them all. It's easier to shuffle into the crowd when the students get back, though as new young faces appear, i'm reminded that it was a decade ago that I was in their shoes. It's funny because it seems longer than that.

shhh...quiet

There's no one home but me, and it's kind of creeping me out. I'm up later later than I should be, again, and am unwinding from doing some writing from work by doing more writing.

I'm doing my best to do this every day, even at times like this when I don't have much to write about. I'm sure that if I keep going, however, something will pop up. I've found that I've started analyzing the events of my life to determine whether or not they're blog-worthy, and that makes me sad.

I did have this dream last night where I was offered a job back home, something that would pay me 45k a year and would allow me to be closer to my family. I agreed to take the job--it wasn't exactly what I wanted, but close enough--but when I did I remembered I made a commitment to my current boss and was torn on whether or not to take the new gig. Yesterday, I got my healthcare card--I have benefits now for the next year. I dont' know when or how or even why it happened, but I suddenly have a life out here in California. I feel like I've gone past that point where moving back home is now harder than it is to stay here. I do kinda like it here, so that's not a problem, I guess. I only planned to stay out here for two years, and now it's more than three, and it feels like I just got here. This is the kind of place where ten years can go by in the blink of an eye; it's an easy place to get stuck. That is cause for concern.

The only thing that really worries me is that at this point, all I really have is my job. I have some friends and acquaintences, but most of the people I've known since I've gotten here have gone. Two more are leaving this week. Sometimes I feel that the rest of the world is just leaving me behind--taking one step closer to the finish line. Maybe this is as far as I go.

I'm a pervert, really

My friend prefaced his visit to town with a simple text message: "Strip club on Sunday. Be ready."

Right off, you never really have to twist my arm to go to one of these places, and the one just outside of town here is rather good--a lot classier than it appears from the outside, but still raunchy as fuck. Some times I put up a fight about it; some times my financial status--just above the poverty line--gets the better of me and I decline, but really, I'd go whenever if I could. It's something I enjoy, and even if I should feel guilty about it, I really don't.

The fact of the matter is I only go two or three times a year. I realize I'm rationalizing.

We headed out to the club, and it was an extremely slow night--only five girls working as one of the dancers informed me. "Sunday," she said, "is our slowest night." The group at the club was rather ragtag: a couple of old guys, a strip club rookie who asked me how to get a girl to give him a lapdance, the creepy fellows who lurk in the back, and this group of college-aged youths (guys and girls) out for a good time, though they seemed rather shady. The place was uncharacteristically dark inside--it's never really bright, but the lights were even more dim tonight, it seemed--and our mood was just as mellow (one of my friends was kinda stoned). Even though the music was bumping loud, it still felt quiet, and that gave me ample opportunity to consider the surroundings, while, of course, a nubile young woman thrust her crotch in my face.

I never know how to react to that. Some times I try to look unphased--my usual blank expression--some times I smile, but I've always worred about whether or not I have a creepy smile. I know these girls pay about as much attention to me as they do to every other loser who happens into the club, but I still don't want to be the creepy guy. No one wants to be the creepy guy.

Some times, even, my eyes wander to what else is going on. Even though she's on a stage, with lights pouring all over her, I still feel it's impolite to look, what with her being naked and all. I leave my dollars on the rail like I'm supposed to, and I say "you're welcome," when they say "thank you."

I ponied up the cash for two private dances in the VIP room, which isnt' very VIP...this isn't Vegas champagne room stuff. They had sisters working, of all things, and I ended up getting dances from both of them. The first was wonderfully gentle with rings in both nipples, and she smelled real nice. Somewhere along the way, the heavy perfumes associated with strip clubs had been replaced with more natural vanilla-y smells. The second--she looked like the older of the two, but maybe only by a year--shook my hand and introduced herself as "Paris," and informed me about Sunday nights. We talked for a couple minutes before she said, "I'm sure you know the rules." I did. And then she hopped on my lap and said softly, "Just let me know if I hurt you." before proceeding to use her tiny body as a projectile and batter me against the back of the bench. At one point, she jammed her knee into my clavicle. It hurt, well most of it did, but much to my surprise, I didn't mind so much. I guess you can learn a lot about yourself at a strip club.

Unfortunately, there was a creepy guy at the club that night--one of the bouncers. Usually, the bouncer for a VIP room stands at the entrance. The typical body type is big, like really big, like you've gotta be a fuckin' idiot for fucking aroudn in there big. Just his presence as the entrance of the room is enough of a deterent. The girl will check with him as you walk in, and he stays at the doorway while she does her thing in one of the booths. Occasionally, he will make a sweep to make sure none of the guys (or girls) are doing something they shouldnt' be. However, this bouncer was a little more involved in the process. As the first sister wrapped her leg behind my head and did her best to make it look like she wanted me, and I had just given in to the fantasy of the moment, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the bouncer...and he was staring at us. It was gross, but my friends and I cracked up when I told them the story, and the night became much more fun after that. Thanks, creepy guy.

I'd like fries with that

I finally decided to read Fast Food Nation. It was one of those impulse buys at the airport. Airports always seem like good places to buy books; maybe it's because they have a book stand every twenty feet or so, which is refreshing, I guess.

I bought it on the way back from New York, where I was visiting my family for a couple of days; even though it's time off from my job, it's still a lot of work--running around and making sure I see everyone before I go. It could be worse; when a lot of people go home to see their families, they have to go to shitty places like Fresno or Anderson. I get to go to the greatest city in the world.

I had a really good time--enough of a good time that it made me realize how much I miss the place, and how every other town (that I've been to at least) is just kidding itself. On a ferry ride back to Staten Island, I was reminded that there was a time, when I was a kid, when I didn't believe that anyone lived anywhere else but New York. Now that I'm much more worldly and have seen places all across the country, I know people do live elsewhere. I'm just not sure why.

I saw Fast Food Nation on a pile of Grisham novels at one of JFK's many book stores and figured I'd give it a try. I'd heard so much about it--mostly to the tune of "once you'll read it, you'll never want to eat fast food again." Maybe that's why I picked it up; I could certainly do without fast food. When I was a kid, I could eat anything and stay rail thin. Now, it seems that it all collects in a lump in my abdomen. It's kind of disheartening. I'm not sure how much of the book is accurate, but the author (I know the name, I just don't have it in front of me) writes so well and is so convincing, I find myself reacting with "oh god," "you're kidding me," and "how do they get away with this" on almost every page; I've always been a bit impressionable. I'm only 60 pages in and haven't gotten to the particulars of how the food is prepared yet, but all the social and economic implications are fascinating--whether they're slanted or not--and the author certainly seems as though he's put a lot of work and thought into it. I feel totally used by corporate America, but that's to be expected.

As for entertainment that makes me feel good about myself, I checked out this flick called Shaun of the Dead, which may be the funniest zombie movie parody I've ever seen, and easily one of my top five favorite zombie movies, period. It was nice to see a movie made by people who took the typical Night of the Living Dead premise and still made it fresh and new with clever writing and vivid characters. Plus, it was a UK movie, so everyone had swanky accents and spoke with that unparalleled British slang. Sarah, not only will I have to live vicariously through you for taking Japanese, but for being English as well. Have a "spot" of tea and some cucumber sandwiches in my honor. No crusts!

wait...isn't that antarctica?

Summer blockbuster movies are always a tricky proposition. Even if they suck, the best way to view them is on the big screen. Tonight i had the misfortune of seeing Aliens vs. Predator or AvP but no matter what you want to call it, it blew. It's not like I was expecting all that much either--good times, ass-kicking aliens, explosions. But the movie was only rated PG-13, which cut down on the violence, and failed to deliver even the most mindless, drool-enducing thrills.

I'd break down the story, but there wasn't one. Instead there was all this talking by all these characters, none of whom were worth caring about, and entirely not enough fighting. The whole thing took place in Antarctica, which could have been cool by itself, but there was only one penguin--and even he seemed embarassed to be a part of this one.

When I got home, I watched The Perfect Score, which was much more entertaining, but I fell asleep at the end and didn't bother to go back and find out what happened. I'm guessing the characters all got what they wanted, even if it wasn't how they expected, and more ore less everything was all happily ever after. Scarlett Johannson's lips were impossibly full throughout, but unfortunately the sounds of my roommate having sex with his girlfriend ruined my Scarlett oggling. I swear that if I ever get laid in this house, I'll pound on the walls and holler like a madman just to make up for all the grunts, moans and slappy noises that I've had to put up with over the last few months.

I guess I'm just being bitter, but i think sex would occur far less if everyone had to hear other people doing it--well, maybe not.

i ate at the best restaurant in town today--a soulfood kitchen. It's this little hole in the wall, and the owners seem incapable of letting you leave with any room in your digestive tract. Since, I've felt like my insides were two sizes too big for my skin. It was so worh it, though. I have yet to find anything on this planet that's more satisfying than a good meal--certainly not AvP.