It seemed as though that the subconscious part of the mind had become vindictive and decided to destroy things for everyone. The mind didn’t have an answer when the body cried, “Do you see what you just did to us?” The mind chews the body’s cuticles for this reason: people who chew their nails or pick at their split ends have more endorphin receptors, it has been suggested, so the brain becomes addicted to happy feelings that come from issuing a smarting jab to the nerves. The brain also loves to keep itself occupied, because then there’s less opportunity for it to cycle endlessly wondering why it needs a body in the first place.
I think the brain wants to see what would happen if the body didn’t matter. I think the body likes to remind the brain that it’s the boss of you. Any time the body sends this message, the brain and the body meet in a bleak conference room to remind each other that they are bound for life.
Okay, look. This is going to sound terribly strange, but I’ve been following her odd writings for a while and have come to the conclusion that I want to make out with Tess Lynch’s mind. I mean yes, she’s also pretty, but she keeps saying things like this and it’s like: oh, damn.
Two things have now happened to me on Facebook that I had been spared up until now:
A friend request from someone who was basically a high school enemy, inasmuch as I could have had enemies back then. We didn’t roll in the same social circles, we didn’t like each other at all. For what reason was this request even sent? Baffling.
A friend request from out of the blue that resulted in the following internal monologue: “I have no idea who this is. I don’t recognize the name, and this profile pic is too small to really tell me anything, but the ‘mutual friends’ point to someone from high school, although I wish I had more than four data points for confirmation. Well, let’s accept it anyway, why not. All right, there’s another profile pic, let’s see who OH HOLY LIVING SHIT” I hope I’m not alone in having had a crush during high school that seemed to define the shape, border, and texture of my entire life at the time? This was she. Her second profile pic was so very clearly her that it actually made me say “Holy fuck" out loud. Life seems to have treated her well; she got married in November, it looks like. Good for her; I’ve wondered every few years whatever became of her, but never thought to go looking.
3 . 1 4 1 5 9 2 6 5 3 Hey , I want a fully memorable pi poetry which has 5 8 9 7 9 3 2 newly arranged sentences whereas mnemonics for pi, 3 8 4 6 2 6 4 3 3 8 the standard well trusts in verses that are not implying 3 2 7 9 5 the pi, however available words.
When I stop to consider that there are men out there sending girls messages like these on okcupid, should I be
Amazed at the bounty of possibility that a world like this represents? Imagine, someone survived past the age of 18 with this kind of brain. What else does this planet contain?
Relieved that these idiots are making the rest of us, specifically me, look like an amazing genius by comparison?
Annoyed by the fact that people like this must be fucking the signal:noise ratio with a custom-built nuclear-powered nonsense dildo?
Suicidal at the fact that even in a universe where people like this exist as comparison, I’m not up to my eyeballs in dates with eligible women?
This list is missing an item at the end, which is:
When reading coverage of this set after the fact, if the author has spelled the man’s name as “Jeff Magnum,” it is considered acceptable — perhaps even required — to poop in an envelope and mail it to that author’s house, or perhaps the author’s parents’ home, in an effort to provide some measure of correction to one or more responsible parties.
I’ve had the “Dinosaurs” drawer in my desk for nearly five years. I have never needed the space for paperwork or office accessories.
I wanna be this cool when I grow up.
I had one of these filing cabinets at my old job; literally 80% of it was snacks. I had weird Japanese candy, dried pineapple, granola bars, and emergency Pop Tarts, as well as an assortment of Ziploc containers for taking home leftovers from Friday lunch. Good times.
Soon it will be time once again for the Splendid Bowl
I don’t remember where that joke comes from; I admit this up front.
And actually, ever since I made the realization that football is a turn-based strategy game, I’ve come to greatly enjoy watching it. I’m just constitutionally incapable of following teams, or knowing about players and stats. I’m not sure I could name five current players in the entire NFL if you held a gun to my head.*
All this to say: is anyone doing anything for the Super Bowl? I can bring a snack and enthusiasm for the game as well as the commercials and movie previews. And the Puppy Bowl. Are they still doing that?
* My theory on this is that whatever part of my cortex would normally care about that stuff is busy caring about Star Trek and comic books. I can’t name any football players or tell you their pass completion percentage or whatnot, but I can tell you the ship classes of the Enterprise A-E, or name the Green Lanterns of Earth’s sector of space past and present. The line between comics nerds and sports nerds is probably much thinner than anyone thinks.
A ball of gas and dust may roll down the side of a volcano at a speed of more than 160kph (100mph). This phenomenon (called by scientists a nué ardente — glowing cloud) is red hot and moves too fast to be outrun. Unless there is a strongly-built underground shelter nearby, the only chance of survival is to submerge under water and hold your breath for the half-minute or so it will take to pass.
That’s right. The SAS Survival Handbook has tips for you on volcanic eruptions. That is preparedness.
I will believe this only when I see it with my own eyes (probably on YouTube). Jeff Mangum is less a man to me than a legendary phantom who phased into our reality just long enough to give us an amazing album of music* before discorporating.
* I’m aware there are two Neutral Milk Hotel albums, but the first one just doesn’t do it for me.
Either I’m getting a new cold, or the old wimpy one I had adapted to my immune system and came back for another round.
I had half a chicken carcass in my freezer, along with certain vegetables and herbs. The crockpot on my counter is now busy, and tomorrow I’ll have fresh homemade stock with which to make a batch of ass-kicking soup. Gonna try some things.
Steaming the potatoes before I put them in the soup, so they’ll already be cooked and ready to go;* steaming them will take less time, too, since steam can get hotter than liquid water
Using a shallot instead of an onion, dicing it very fine and frying it in a little olive oil with a couple cloves of garlic at the bottom of the soup pot before pouring the stock in
I found tiny star-shaped pasta at the grocery store on the way home from band practice; tiny stars! FUCK YES
I’ve been putting a dash of cayenne pepper in the soup, but I think I’m just going to squirt some sriracha in there instead, unless someone persuades me this is a terrible idea
Let’s see what tomorrow brings, men and women.
* I’ve had the suspicion for a while now that putting my potatoes in raw was what was sucking up all the liquid in the soup pot on previous iterations, so now I try to pre-cook ‘em. I use waxy yellow potatoes, not starchy russets.
Apparently, one of the trending topics on Twitter right now is #howareyouathug, which I misread for just a second as “how are you at hug,” as though Twitter was being taken over by inquisitive, affectionate Hulks. HOW ARE YOU AT HUG? HULK NEED TO KNOW
The fact that a reporter had to write this at all says something horrible about the clip level of political discourse in this country. Also, dude, grow some fucking balls and just say it: birthers are crazy. They’re a bunch of crazy fucking morons. A six-year-old could tell you this. News agencies should be forced to hire one small child to run every story past before printing.
We’re starting the year off right: by playing at Bottom of the Hill two Fridays from now! If you missed us at our release shows, well, we’re sorry for you. But now you have a chance to make up for it by coming to see us at one of San Francisco’s favorite venues. We’ll be there with She Beards,…
This is happening. If you didn’t know before, now you know.*
* Specifically, that I am the undisputed king of this disco.**
** Sorry, that song is basically always floating around near the top of my head.
This is one of those dreams where I just watch events happen; in this case, it’s Sigourney Weaver being chased around an enormous, decaying, labyrinthine, warehouse-like building by a single huge, monstrous creature. Eventually, she finds herself on the path to freedom, with the xenomorph gaining on her, when all of a sudden the Ghostbusters appear to give her backup, opening fire with their proton packs. I’m so distracted by how amazing this is that I don’t actually know whether or not she found her way out; I do know she definitely avoided getting killed, thanks to the Ghostbusters. Add one more to the list of reasons why proton packs are great.
Twitter, if I click on a username, can you just tell me right off the bat who follows the both of us? Like, all of them? I know you have this information; you tell me three followers-in-common when someone first starts following me, but why can’t I have this data at all times? I know there’s probably some janky-ass third-party web app I could go to that would OAuth me in, but it seems dumb to have to do that when I know you have the data onhand for those “___ is now following you on Twitter” emails.
While I’m at it, I would also like you to display for me on demand the date and time when I first started following any given user. Thanks. (These two items were brought on by a conversation with a friend earlier)
Apple: I like to look through my iPod by scrolling through all the artists on it. However, sometimes I put mixes on my iPod, which results in me having a lot of artists that only have one song. When I’m in the mood to listen to a full album, which happens, it’s annoying to click through an artist’s name, only to discover I only have one song by them on my iPod. And so: when I highlight an artist’s name in the listing, can you put a little number on the right-hand side of the selection highlighting that tells me how many songs by that artist exist on the iPod? That way I don’t have to click through to discover whether or not I’ve only got one song by them. It’d save me some time and annoyance. Thanks.
As long as I’m going to talk about samosas, I might as well share an idea I once had for a restaurant that was based around dumpling-type foods. It consists of a space with several different stations set up, and each station has a chef who makes a dumpling-like food particular to their region.
Miniature Irish pasties
That Russian(?) stuffed bread thing whose name I can’t remember
All food comes in one of those cardstock paper boats like the ones that hold In-n-Out fries. At the front and back of the place are a cash register and scale, where you pay for your boat by weight, or maybe they just count how many units of food you have. I additionally had the helpful notion of having each station’s chef dress in their nation’s traditional folk garb, just because I thought it’d be fun. What I also like about this idea is that it can easily expand to encompass other countries’ dumpling-like foods if there are any that I’ve overlooked, which I’m sure I have.
I could never think of a good name for this joint until fairly recently: THE BUREAU OF DUMPLINGS. In my mind, the logo looks like the United Nations emblem with the different foods superimposed over their countries of origin, and a crossed fork and deep-fryer spider where the crossed garlands would go at the bottom.
* I know that pot stickers, gyoza, and mandu are essentially the same thing, but I swear to you there’s a taste difference — mandu in particular just taste Korean to me, and I can’t explain it at all.
Later on, the event organizer sends a message about the event to people who are on the invite list
I do get that email
I realize I’ve been invited to an event on Facebook
What’s that all about? Surely this can’t be expected behavior. It’s extra strange because it only happens for some events, not all of them. Or did Facebook introduce new “stealth invitation” functionality? “Secretly invite people to events without their knowledge! It’s the new ‘slipping a note into their locker at school while they’re not looking’!” Clever. Clever, indeed.
Another one of these dreams. Two adjacent box canyons on a jungle planet are infested with the usual menace; this time, the facehuggers are compact, almost like horseshoe crabs, and harder to spot. My team happens upon a small group of burner sysadmin types, and we begin the hike out of the canyon to escort them out of danger. One of them keeps hitting on the pretty redhead in my squad (who I’ve never seen before IRL), calling her “the girl of his dreams,” which is strangely fitting, given that it’s happening in a dream. I wish he’d get eaten, but he doesn’t.