(16 Dec. 2011)
So, at what point exactly have you stayed up so long that it's no longer worth it to go to bed? I haven't gone to bed before about 3am in weeks but haven't often actually been up long enough to see sunrise. It's 7am--am I actually even ALLOWED to go to bed now or am I pretty much obligated to change clothes and go on with my day?
Geezis fucking christ we wore ugly clothes in the 90s, didn't we? Why does it take a good few years for the reality of your horrible fashion choices to dawn on you? I could swear it didn't look quite this aggressively stupid fifteen or twenty years ago. Tangentially related, I sort of feel sorry for kids growing up now and within the last few years--it used to be that your mom's embarrassing pictures of you sitting on the toilet with your feet eighteen inches off the ground and your neon leggings down around your ankles (photos for which there is absolutely no reason to have other than to deliberately embarrass your children in future--which makes you a total asshole) would be safely stored away in a stack of photo albums that were almost never brought out for others to see. These days with digital cameras and camera phones and Facebook and shit parents are pretty much documenting their kids lives by the NANOSECOND and preserving it for posterity on the internet where presumably they will be easy for other people to find when it comes time for the children to explain to the American people why they would make a good President. Their embarrassing baby pictures will haunt them for life like a bad case of herpes.
The only thing worse than having a cold is the god-awful drained and miserable feeling you get two or three days before the rest of the symptoms manifest--you basically feel as tired and lousy as you do when you're sick, but without the sense of justification or entitlement for pity that comes from actually being visibly unwell.
I have a running list in my head of awesome and funny things I've found while looking for something completely unrelated. Almost all of them were found with the aid of the internet since it's so very easy to get completely sidetracked, but one of my favourites I found was a book in my parent's house about ten years ago. It was a pictorial history of train wrecks in the United States--when I remembered it earlier today I actually had to go look it up on Amazon just to prove to myself that the book actually exists and that I wasn't imagining it and it really does (though it's out of print). It was nothing but page after page of the results of train derailments. While I'm aware there's nothing funny about disasters that happen on mass transport, I was endlessly amused by this book. Two pictures I distinctly remember were of trains that not only derailed completely but managed to crash into buildings--proving that bad driving has existed for a lot longer than the automobile itself. One of the photos depicted a train that derailed, crashed into a station, and then KEPT GOING so far that it burst through the other side and sat teetering half in the building and half over the fifteen-foot drop to the ground on the other side of it. (In a stunning reminder of the timelessness of human amusement, I scanned a few of the pictures and put captions to them in image-macro fashion years before I would even learn what an image macro was.) I remember the train wreck book to this day but have no idea what it was I was actually trying to find to begin with.
While it's pretty impressive and surprising that Shakespeare is credited with coining--or at least being the first to use and record--some two thousand words and phrases in the English language, he was hardly unique for his time and place. Between 1500 and 1600, about ten thousand or more words and phrases were added to the language.
Two songs I hate more than anything else in the world: Sir Mix-A-Lot's 'Baby Got Back' and Lou Bega's 'Mambo No.5'. The former because everybody in the universe feels the need to sing it at me when I walk by, because lord knows I probably don't already know that I have a butt of such proportions so as to probably legally count as an independent entity. The latter because it's a fucking stupid song and also has my name in it--for whatever reason people feel like they have a duty to remind you of a song if your name happens to appear anywhere in it, like you might have been somehow unaware of its existence until then. PROTIP: if you meet someone whose name appears in a song that was at any time popular, don't sing the song or mention it to them. They're probably pretty fucking sick and tired of it.
Also, I seem to have a bit of an earwax problem in my right ear. And by 'problem' I mean I'm producing an excessive amount of slimy wax that essentially blocks off the entire canal and renders me even more profoundly deaf than I normally am.
Geezis fucking christ we wore ugly clothes in the 90s, didn't we? Why does it take a good few years for the reality of your horrible fashion choices to dawn on you? I could swear it didn't look quite this aggressively stupid fifteen or twenty years ago. Tangentially related, I sort of feel sorry for kids growing up now and within the last few years--it used to be that your mom's embarrassing pictures of you sitting on the toilet with your feet eighteen inches off the ground and your neon leggings down around your ankles (photos for which there is absolutely no reason to have other than to deliberately embarrass your children in future--which makes you a total asshole) would be safely stored away in a stack of photo albums that were almost never brought out for others to see. These days with digital cameras and camera phones and Facebook and shit parents are pretty much documenting their kids lives by the NANOSECOND and preserving it for posterity on the internet where presumably they will be easy for other people to find when it comes time for the children to explain to the American people why they would make a good President. Their embarrassing baby pictures will haunt them for life like a bad case of herpes.
The only thing worse than having a cold is the god-awful drained and miserable feeling you get two or three days before the rest of the symptoms manifest--you basically feel as tired and lousy as you do when you're sick, but without the sense of justification or entitlement for pity that comes from actually being visibly unwell.
I have a running list in my head of awesome and funny things I've found while looking for something completely unrelated. Almost all of them were found with the aid of the internet since it's so very easy to get completely sidetracked, but one of my favourites I found was a book in my parent's house about ten years ago. It was a pictorial history of train wrecks in the United States--when I remembered it earlier today I actually had to go look it up on Amazon just to prove to myself that the book actually exists and that I wasn't imagining it and it really does (though it's out of print). It was nothing but page after page of the results of train derailments. While I'm aware there's nothing funny about disasters that happen on mass transport, I was endlessly amused by this book. Two pictures I distinctly remember were of trains that not only derailed completely but managed to crash into buildings--proving that bad driving has existed for a lot longer than the automobile itself. One of the photos depicted a train that derailed, crashed into a station, and then KEPT GOING so far that it burst through the other side and sat teetering half in the building and half over the fifteen-foot drop to the ground on the other side of it. (In a stunning reminder of the timelessness of human amusement, I scanned a few of the pictures and put captions to them in image-macro fashion years before I would even learn what an image macro was.) I remember the train wreck book to this day but have no idea what it was I was actually trying to find to begin with.
While it's pretty impressive and surprising that Shakespeare is credited with coining--or at least being the first to use and record--some two thousand words and phrases in the English language, he was hardly unique for his time and place. Between 1500 and 1600, about ten thousand or more words and phrases were added to the language.
Two songs I hate more than anything else in the world: Sir Mix-A-Lot's 'Baby Got Back' and Lou Bega's 'Mambo No.5'. The former because everybody in the universe feels the need to sing it at me when I walk by, because lord knows I probably don't already know that I have a butt of such proportions so as to probably legally count as an independent entity. The latter because it's a fucking stupid song and also has my name in it--for whatever reason people feel like they have a duty to remind you of a song if your name happens to appear anywhere in it, like you might have been somehow unaware of its existence until then. PROTIP: if you meet someone whose name appears in a song that was at any time popular, don't sing the song or mention it to them. They're probably pretty fucking sick and tired of it.
Also, I seem to have a bit of an earwax problem in my right ear. And by 'problem' I mean I'm producing an excessive amount of slimy wax that essentially blocks off the entire canal and renders me even more profoundly deaf than I normally am.
No comments:
Post a Comment