what the fucking fuck

Remind me never, ever to have sex in Maryland.

Update: more analysis. I'm going to go throw up now.

don't forget

Also, I love The Office and my hair is now X-Men blue. Talk amongst yourselves.

yes yes yes

Thank you, Sofia Coppola, for reminding me of this song.

I found out this evening that an ancestor of mine, one Basil Montagu, totally broke up Wordsworth and Coleridge. That fucking bitch.

la jetée

If you care to watch the 26 minute long French film by Chris Marker which inspired Twelve Monkeys, you can see it here. I should possibly mention that this is a film consisting almost entirely of still images. I hardcore recommend it, though the image quality at Google Video does give me pause. If you think you know French and want to be pretentious, you could try here, where the image quality is no better, but you'll get a more authentic experience. I made out the word "cicatrice," so there's that.

Marie Antoinette is also highly recommended. Shosh didn't like it overmuch, but I loved it.

Now I'm going to go listen to New Order.

one-liners: it's been a while

• Remember that episode of Fishing With John where the narrator was all like, "This dude has a wooden leg... and a real foot"? Sigh. Wouldn't it have been funnier if I had built up to that a little bit? Well, I'm sorry, I couldn't, because the internet can't remind me of who the dude was with the wooden leg and real foot, or who the guest fisher in that episode was (Dennis Hopper maybe?), or where they were, or what was going on at all. What the internet can do is tell me that that's a Steven Wright joke. Here are some more Steven Wright jokes. Some of them can get to be pretty funny.
• Me too, Able.
• As you do.
• I love this: copy and paste some text, and this site will tell you whether it is more likely to have been written by a man or a woman. For the record, every sample of my own that I've plugged in comes out as masculine. Like, wicked masculine, bra. Wut-oh.
• I know this fruit is hanging seriously low, but come the fuck on. "I don't have any hard ideas on why I feel so strongly that I am in a very vital way a dire wolf."
• I love The Danielson Famile. Listen here. Deedle deedle deedle.
  
• Hey, that was nice. I mean, I enjoyed saying something nice, you know? It's nice to be nice, isn't it? How long do you think I can keep it up? Let's see, what else do I love. Baby echidnas. Poetry. Beer. Soybeans with lemon juice and salt. These pants. Crap! That last one was insincere and snarky, which is definitely not nice. Baaad Piehat. You get a spanking, but we'll hold off until you buy those pants, because they seem like they would make a totally excellent noise.
• One final note: people, earlier today I noticed a typo in an old entry here. It's fixed now, and no damage appears to have been done, so hopefully we can just forget that it ever happened. But I am very disappointed in you all for letting something like that go on for so long. Please do better next time.
  

attention japan

I am going to come in your nose.

just answer the question

Cat biter.

Bored at work, I just picked up the Independent from last week and read my horoscope. Which told me I should "expose [my]self to concentrated doses of poetry this week." Done, and done. Do y'all know about this Wordsworth cat, by the way? Holy crap.

But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind,
With tranquil restoration: — feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love.

My other horoscope tells me that I should invent a trumpet that can be used as a flame-thrower while it's being played. Well, okay, that's already been invented, so I guess I'd have to try for something similar in spirit. A flugelhorn that shoots ninja stars every time you hit a low E? A violin bow that transforms into a lightsaber, allowing you to fiddle, slash, and stab merrily all at once? Ah, weaponized musical instruments. As if music itself couldn't already hurt us badly enough.

Seriously, though, I really love the idea of going undercover as a trumpet-player into a situation that might require the use of a flame-thrower.

I know I said that one time that I would never talk again about what Google searches people have used to get to my blog, because it's the stupidest possible use of blog space, but the last few days have been so unbelievably awesome I can't resist any more. I mean, I'm aware that I'm the only one who cares. But fuck you guys! It's my blog, and I can bore you if I want to. You'll keep coming back, because you like me. Or at least you like what I do for you. By which I mean bring you puppies. Anyway! I hereby suspend that silly old rule for the next ten seconds in order to bring you the following:

• school is stupid
• "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOUR MOTHER" [okay, this one's a classic, but it never gets old]
• "sleep pretty in pink"
• Ikea Thong shot
• moztard
  

Still no "eat a bag of dicks," though.

And okay, here's some puppies, for good measure (pay attention, Shosh!).

Over and out.

i love heresy

Hey, Idler! We should totally hang out when we both get to The City of Dis. Anyone else going to be there?


The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	High
Level 2 (Lustful)	High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Moderate
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very High
Level 7 (Violent)	High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Low

ups and downs, mostly downs

Hi there, folks! It's been a while. Nice to see you stuck around! Did you stick around? Okay.

So, today in class my pre-1800 English Lit professor talked to us about his mid-life crisis.

Then I came home and worked on my paper about Andrew Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress," which is a really spectacular antidote to last week's Spenser and Fatal Attraction blues. The poem, not the paper, though the paper isn't bad either — I have what seems to me like a strong thesis, and I'm actually excited about it, except for the having to write it part. The particularly awesome thing about this paper, though, is the fact that sometime around the third hour of work tonight, I found out that I've now been given two extra (weekend!) days to do that bit. Aaaand of course, in accordance with the laws of my nature, as soon as I found that out, I decided to sport me while I might.

However: I regrettably chose to do so by watching Battlestar Galactica [spoiler!~~~ ha ha, sorry Idler, there is no way to capture that hand motion in print], and I just watched the episode in which the President decides to outlaw abortion, because, hey, the survival of the species depends on allowing parasites to hijack the bodies of the handful of women out of 40-odd-thousand who get pregnant and don't want to be — even the ones whose parents are going to kill them for being pregnant. But it's okay, because guess what flavor of genitalia every single person who is opposed to the President's decision has? Yes! Penis!! And, more importantly, guess what flavor of genitalia every single person who is in favor of the President's decision has? Uh, I'm not allowed to use that kind of language!

Three steps back, one step forward, one step back. Keep going until you're backed against the wall, then get punished for stopping. And that's what it's all about. Hey!