Actually, it only meets three of the criteria for hooptie-dom set forth by this reputable source. (Must open door at drive-thru because window won’t roll down, blinkers won’t work, and tape deck eats all tapes, for those of you keeping score at home.) But tonight my car threw me for a loop. I was leaving work and noted how chilly and damp outside it was, and how the last time my window ever rolled down…
I just got up an hour ago and I need a shower something fierce, but not before I do what’s really important and post random bulleted items to my beloved internet web log. • The first season of Flight of the Conchords is going on sale Nov. 6. This is perfect timing because it gives me the entire holiday season to memorize plenty of references to quote throughout 2008. It’s time I expanded my pop-culture-reference…
My alma mater just beat the Memphis Tigers at the Liberty Bowl. And I have no derned group of drunken Blue Raiders to celebrate with!
When I got this computer in late 2004, I had no idea I’d be taking a shit-ton of pictures every day, with a camera that outputs very large files, even on its smallest file setting. Which means that I am now within 3GB of filling up my hard drive. Which helps explain why the damn machine has been running so slow lately. I spy an external hard drive/photo archive system in my future.
It’s finally jacket weather. I don’t know how long it will last, but I’m doing my best to savor every second of it before the requisite late-October-backlash, during which them temps will creep back up into the 90s. Or at least the high 80s, with plenty of humidity. I’m drinking Woodchuck Draft Cider (Granny Smith). I’m trying to work my way up to beer, which I have always really hated. I’m not sure why I’m…
Don’t take your 10-year-old to see Superbad. It is not, shall we say, a “family film.”
I’ve got new neighbors. Stuff is appearing on the balcony: A white wicker bench. A poinsettia (?). A small outdoor table. And that draws to a close the Era of Walking Around In My Underwear With the Blinds Open. It was over nearly as abruptly as it began.
Just now I sat out on the balcony for fifteen minutes, thinking about stuff, as usual, and listening to the wind, and damn near fell asleep in my chair. It takes an amazing night to do that to me.
[for Sunday, Sept. 9] When a group of people get together, it’s inevitable that conclusions will arrived at. Last night we conjured some universal truths, including: • Britney Spears’ comeback popped and fizzled out the instant the camera focused on her crusty-ass hair extensions. And the world was simultaneously saddened and relieved, not unlike the feeling you get after vomiting, that she has lost all her mojo and will surely be dropping off the face…
It’s hot in my apartment. I accidentally shut Jack in the closet today while I was out running errands. I think he secretly enjoyed it. Friday night Sarah and Brandon came calling and we stayed up until the wee hours, drinking Boone’s Farm (yes, Boone’s Farm; Fuzzy Navel if you’re keeping score at home) and smoking Marlboro Menthol Lights out on the balcony. We kvetched. We danced to Justin Timberlake. It was therapeutic. Some people…
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