|
Last night I dreamt that I shot Paul Martin in the side of the neck, but he didn't die. He wasn't even hurt. He just kept on making sandwiches.
I was just sitting there, watching him, wondering 1) why he didn't die, and 2) why I'd stuck around after shooting him, when the cops showed up. I could no longer remember actually shooting him, but I knew that I had, and that the physical evidence was overwhelmingly against me. I woke up before I was charged with anything because the phone rang. When I woke up I was trying to figure out what I should admit to. If I told them I blanked out, could I get off with temporary insanity?
I told Phil, who was on the phone, about my rather unsettling dream and he laughed, "I guess you're not voting Liberal!"
Now that I'm awake and have thought it over, I think PM didn't die because he was a cursed, immortally undead pirate.
How to Cook and Eat in Chinese
China's most famous foreigner is Canadian.
Personally, I am cheering for the Czech Republic to win the Euro soccer football championship. Or Denmark. Actually, I just really want Greece to lose in the semi-final because I cannot take the honking. They are driving all over town waving Greek flags and honking their fucking horns off, but it is especially bad here because this is a Greek neighbourhood.
I felt the dread when the honking began while I was at work. Then the honking followed me all the way home on the Parc bus. Seriously, the traffic was awful and it was mostly Greeks going in both directions, honking at each other. For an hour. While we crawled from stop to stop and they passed us, horns blaring. Now they are driving by my apartment and honking. So to recap: three straight hours of honking. The head-in-a-vice-grip image comes to mind when trying to describe my current headache. Give it a rest, honkers! You have no sense of propriety. You should be in a bar getting plastered, not driving around honking. What is wrong with you?
Please Czech Republic, I am counting on you. I am pretty sure there are no Czechs living anywhere near here.
I've seen 88 of the movies on the New York Times 1000 Best Movies Ever Made list. I guess this isn't a lot, but it's more than I was expecting. I mean, I didn't think some of those 88 movies were very good. Maybe they are the bottom 8% of the barrel. The running gag in my life is Name A Movie And I Probably Haven't Seen It, so for the record, I have seen at least 88.
I just looked over and there was a bug crawling up my arm. That was... weird. It looked like some kind of a beetle. I killed it, because I am the insect murdering type of vegetarian.
I voted today. By mail. I wrote a name on a ballot and sealed it inside an enveloppe which I sealed inside a bigger enveloppe which I sealed inside a third enveloppe which I put a stamp on (What the fuck? Shouldn't voting be free?) and dropped in a mailbox on the corner, making sure no one was watching me.
It all felt a little overdramatic, but I was just relieved to get it over with. I can now go back to ignoring the conflict between my belief that it's important to vote and my belief that my vote will make absolutely no difference. Holding two contradictory beliefs is one of the most difficult and exhausting things I've ever experienced because it is MAKES NO SENSE WHATSOEVER and I like to think of myself as a logical person.
Today I discovered, after finishing my file, that a co-worker and I had been assigned the same one by the completely inept management and that I had just spent two days working for nothing.
Now, I like getting paid to waste time as much as anybody possibly can, but I would like to have known that I was so that I could have enjoyed it a little more.
By the same token, billing the company for time spent waiting for someone to send me work to do is fine with me in principle, but it happens at the worst possible times. First thing in the morning, when I could be home in bed, if only I had known there was no work to do so come in later; and last thing in the evening, when I am just counting down the minutes before I can permit myself to leave and would prefer to be absolutely anywhere at all rather that at work listlessly checking my email every two minutes.
What would be best, I think, would be if I could bill the company, on principle, for hours I would have spent at work had there been any work for me to do, but instead spent sleeping, or at the movies because there wasn't. This seems perfectly fair to me. I don't mind doing the work -- well, okay, I mind, but I will still do it -- but what I resent is having to be in the office doing nothing, when I could be out doing any number of other things that actually need doing.
My time should be worth more than this.
Hey, the olympic flame just ran by my apartment!
That was unexpectedly cool, dude.
How to dispose of a dead body without getting caught.
I personally think the best thing to do would be to kill the person on a remote part of your property, say, a cabin in the woods, far away from any neighbours. This is good because you have business being there and no one else does, so there is no danger of anyone discovering the body before you have finished disposing with it -- unless you come under suspicion, so work to avoid that. There should be no link between you and the victim and especially no link between them and your cabin in the woods -- no physical evidence, no witnesses.
Then burn the body. Build a bonfire and keep it going for several weeks, until you are certain that absolutely all trace of a body has disappeared, and it just looks like a regular bonfire. And then, most importantly, never tell anyone. Even if you are suspected of murder, with no body, it will be impossible to prove.
Trident's new citrus fruit flavoured gum tastes rather strange, but I like it. When I walked into work chewing it, S. started sniffing the air and said, "Do you smell that? It smells like fluoride. Were you just at the dentist's or something?"
The definition of useless: both of the faucet handles on the sink in the bathroom at work have C on them. One stands for "chaud" and the other for "cold" but there is really only one way to tell which is which.
relativity
The best part of my week was probably the two-hour lunch I had with my father on Monday as he was passing through town.
He spent most of those two hours telling me about my aunt and uncle's new house that they've just finished building. They designed it themselves and have been planning it for thirty years and their goal is now to outlive the mortgage. The house sounds awesome and they sound really happy and proud. The house is their baby.
Which is good, since it probably helps to take their minds off what colossal failures their real children are. The older one still resents them for hospitalizing him back when he had that schizophrenic episode and has cut off all contact with them. The younger one, who is 28, is living off disability, in a trashy apartment with his teenaged girlfriend. Well, I am assuming the apartment is trashy, based on the rest of it.
Hearing about my cousins' lives certainly makes me feel better about my own, and I think it makes my father feel better about me and my sisters, too. We have issues, but my sister freaking out about applying to med school, for example, or me being in denial about having to pay back my student loan seems quite sane and healthy by comparison. I said to my dad, "See, you should be grateful that I have a job and can support myself, instead of criticizing me because you don't think my job is good enough."
He said, "I am. I am grateful. I would just be more grateful if you were doing something more worthy of you. You deserve so much more."
I love my father.
The best part of the special features on the Say Anything DVD is the extended version of the scene with Corey and Joe in the garage, after he tells her he wants to get back together because Mimi's going away to college. And then he says, "Have sex with me."
And she says something like, "No, you probably have a disease."
And then he takes something out of his pocket and says, "Here, I made this for you when I was on shrooms. Even though I don't take them anymore."
It's too bad they cut that part out of the movie because it's fucking hilarious.
|
|
|
about
"The mind of the thoroughly well informed [person] is a dreadful thing. It is like a bric-a-brac shop, all monsters and dust, and everything priced above its proper value."
archives
credits
|
|