December 29, 2005

ohhh box

Watched Logan’s Run last night. I do believe that this movie set a low point in special effects that has yet to be bested. Also, apparently no people of color survived whatever catastrophe befell mankind, either that, or in this version of the future, the Nazis won.

December 19, 2005


I recently saw a day calendar called “2006 Golden Retrievers” while christmas shopping. Well, I counted the suckers and there were only 365. That’s false advertising.

you can call us aaron burr from the way we droppin’ hamiltons

For those who think SNL isn’t funny anymore, I suggest you watch The Chronicles Of Narnia rap by Andy Sandberg and Chris Parnell.

It’s exquisite.

December 15, 2005

every paragraph larger than the previous. that and poetry

Walt WhitmanI don’t really like poetry very much; I apologize if you are one of those for whom poetry is an important aspect of your life, but I know what I dislike, and poetry has traditionally fallen into that category.

Now, I should clarify: I have no rationale for disliking poetry other than the fact that, on a case by case basis, I’ve discovered that over ninety percent of it doesn’t hit me on a gut level upon first reading, as I have come to expect from music, film, photography, and even the depravities that are web comics.

It is understandable then, that I was caught off-guard during our recitations for ENGL 253 when a poem was recited that my immune system did not violently reject! Not only did I not mind hearing it at that moment, but I in fact wanted to hear it again and perhaps, time permitting, a third just to make sure I had fully grokked the short text.

Now, in place of this post, I had originally hoped to have the content of said poem, but I ran into a bit of a problem, specifically, the author remains among the living. This shouldn’t surprise me, but honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve been exposed to a poem that wasn’t A) Written by a friend, or B) Written by Walt Whitman. Our author’s pulse has proved problematic, specifically because it means the copyright on his work is still valid and, more importantly, legally binding.

Now, far be it from me to criticize the author of a poem for trying to make a living off of his work, but it had simply never occurred to me that I would ever need to pay for a poem. The Sky is blue, the Pope wears a silly hat, USC is going to humiliate Texas, horses are hung like Chuck Norris, and any poem worth sharing is written by a dead guy with expired copyrights. And this is as it should be, not the dead guy part, but the expired copyright part. As little sense as poetry makes in the first place, having poetry that you can’t discuss is right at the top of my list of pointless things, right after Aluminum Socket Cover and Razor-Edged Sheath.

All ranting aside, if you’d like to read the entirely excellent “How I Came To Own The World”, I suppose you had better buy/rent/steal When People Could Fly: Prose Poems by Morton Marcus.

December 14, 2005

sick as a dog

It makes sense, after all.

Weeks of studying and test induced stress, followed by two graduation parties and Joel coming up from Camarillo meant my body let down its spandex-tight defenses right about the time I inundated it with alcohol.

So I shouldn’t have been surprised when I woke up sick Sunday morning, but I’ll be damned I was. You never expect to be sick, what I expected included going to the gym, scaling mountains, working on my Vespa, reading ahead for next quarter, and in general saving the world. I simply don’t have time for this water-torture like dripping from the nose combined with the exhaustion and the watching of bad movies.

Well I’ll tell you what. Come tomorrow, I’m just going to ignore it. I’m going out. I’m gonna start studying. I’m not going to watch Tron again, no matter how amazing Jeff Bridges is. With the Internet as my witness, I SHALL BE PRODUCTIVE.

To tomorrow!

sickly dog

December 7, 2005

the associates

Recent studies have led to the discovery that the size of ones testicles and their intelligence are inversely related.

This explains quite a bit. Look at Iraq, John Bolton, and most recently the Harriet Myers debacle; whether or not you agree with him, it’s quite obvious that dubya has huge balls. Enormous. Along with the great wall of china, our president’s balls are the second major landmark to be visible from space. I’ve heard rumors that the CIA developed a cloaking device with the sole purpose of making los juevos primeros less visible and therefore less of a target. It’s true.

Now, I’ve forgotten where I was originally going at this point, but that shouldn’t surprise anyone who normally reads my blog;

I too, have huge balls.

‘scuse me, while I kiss this guy*

No shaving ’till after finals.

It’s more than a credo, it’s practical. When people see my scraggly half-ass neck beard, bleary red eyes, and the sweatshirt that I clearly haven’t taken off for a week (After 2am, I just call it a blanket), they don’t screw around. They know I have things to do, and lack both the time and the patience to be harassed by extra-curricular activities such as paying bills and showering.

It’s also a clear signal to my friends who are done with finals and/or graduating: NO, I cannot go to Spike’s with you, and if you ask again, come Saturday you won’t be walking across that stage, you’ll be rolling, Holmes.

All right, there’s more to say, but my sister reminds me it’s time to get back to paper writing, so happy finals everyone!

*The title is a common misinterpretation of a popular Jimmy Hendrix song. Name that song for a chance to appear in the comments section of this very blog!

December 3, 2005

1337 h4x0rs love the jump rope

(21:05:00) Travis R: I don’t think he gets the humor of the club
(21:05:25) Travis R: like we’re playing double dutch, and he tried to slide-tackle the jump ropes.

The club he speaks of is The Cal Poly Linux Users Group, of which I am the Treasurer. We play double dutch surprisingly often.

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