This is sort of picking up in the middle of a train of thought

which appeared initially on my twitter and then surfaced briefly on facebook, and then once I'd gotten that much mileage out of it I figured it couldn't hurt to try actual paper, and then finally this blog that no one reads. So I guess if I wanted to contextualize this I'd probably link to my other pages or else include the text, but like I said no one reads this and I know damn well where to find the rest of it so fuck that.

***

I thought about knocking on the door at 1810, where he said he lived, but it was two hours past the five minutes he'd claimed his scissoring would take and also a bit after one, and I was feeling like it might be rude. The thought also crossed my mind that he perhaps did not live in 1810 and I would therefore be knocking on some other strangers' door, sort of indignantly demanding they give me my scissors, and all the self respect I'd lose over that conversation was a bit too much to handle.

Then I got to thinking about what that would mean, if he didn't live in 1810: that he was some kind of bro-ey scissors bandit who had cleverly infiltrated U Towers and then unscissored me and presumably other unsuspecting victims. Or else he is feuding with the tenants of 1810 and he wanted to soil their good name to their neighbors.

Once I'd considered those two possibilities I decided it was best not to spoil my new potential realities with facts that contradict them, and since I didn't want to get all... stingy (I of course mean "Jewish") about a pair of scissors which came in a 3 pack of various sizes, from ACO Hardware, which sometimes sold for as little as 10 cents, and which I had stolen, in 2004, and lastly because it meant not leaving the sofa or my whiskey behind, I decided I could simply accept the loss and write about it instead.

***

It's been a while now since I wrote this, but I forgot to "publish" it, so I guess I can give the rather disappointing update that a mere two days after borrowing my scissors for five minutes, the scissors bandit gave them back. I might have asked him what took him so long but he slid them under the door.

I guess when it's between doing and saying horribly stupid things and later recalling, or never getting any recollection back at all, I'll take total blackout any day.  But why the hell is it between those two things?

At 1:15 last night I was drunker than I've been in, oh, four or five days.

So here's to getting an early start on the day.

So remember how I said I hate it when old people use new internets?

Yes, web 2.0 is obviously for people in their 20's, but whatever, old people are never hip to these things so they always fuck them up.  

My great-grandfather is now on facebook.  Yea, how about that.  And he wrote this status update:

Allan Rosenberg So many of you facebook friends and relative challenge me to take the I.Q. test.Took the testbut i have no cell-phone.Tell me how i can do it without a cell- phone and i will be glad to take the test as a 90 yr. participent.

Who would have thought that old people were easily scammed?

Ho hum.

There probably isn't a good way to start this, or a good way that I can think of right this second, so:

I use igoogle as a homepage, and one of the applications on my page is a list of free itunes downloads currently available.  

Who knows, it might one day prove useful, but it has thus far done me no good: I took a look at the list of free music today, and discovered that someone has decided to offer John Cage's 4:33 for free.  But actually not the entire thing, just the first movement.

Thanks itunes.

Briefly, I just wanted to share this with you.

I was trawling the internet today, as I am want to do, and found myself for some reason looking through the filmography (which Microsoft word suggests in the autocorrect as “flexography” – oooh and those fuckers just autocapped Microsoft) of Eric Balfour, whom trivia tells me played Satan in a 2002 car commercial.  He was also in a film called Lie with Me (2005), and I was a touch curious what this film was about, and so made my way to the page full of plot summaries on IMDB.  Thus, I have this to share with you, a plot summary written by the ingenious Matt Patay.  Please note that the principal characters in this film are named Leila and David.  

“Lelia (Lauren Lee Smith) is a happily unattached, sexually voracious young woman who satisfies her instable appetite for sex with a host of young male bed partners. But all that changes when a chance encounter has Lelia meets and beings an affair with David (Eric Balfour) an artist looking for a committing relationship. David is just as sexually aggressive and ravenous as Lelia and whenever they get together, they grow more hopelessly entangled, both physically and emotionally.”

Perhaps this is not comedy gold to everyone else, but in this room here it positively kills.

As a side note, this is not something that happens often, but I really enjoy it when Word puts a green squiggly line under something I have written, and then when I right click it the line disappears.  It’s sort of like I’m going “What?  You got a fuckin’ problem?” and Word’s like “Uh, no man, it’s nothing.” and I’m all “Fuckin’ right it’s nothin’, punkass bitch.”

p.s. my husband is soooo gay.

From Drop Box

A Consistent Habit of Sharing Too Much Information

What exactly would possess me to share with my father the fact that I have a blog, lord only knows. He was a little down my throat theo ther day about accomplishing nothing with my life, and so, hard pressed for any accomplishments, I told him I'd started writing for the internet, at least a little. 

Examine that idea with me for a little bit if you will: my father semi-accuses me of being a do-nothing loser, and I come back at him with "Oh yeah? Well I have a BLOG!" 

Thankfully, he's terrible at the internet and I think therefore believes there is some sort of prestige to blogging (quick example of his internet prowess: I later emailed him the text of the laptop pizza post and his most pressing question was "what does IM stand for?"). He's still in the chain email forwarding phase of internet use, so I'm unsure if he has any idea of the sheer scope of this "world wide web" or not.

At any rate, he was excited by my blog achievements and thus pressed me for more details, such as the url. I dodged the question, but I suspect if he is even mildly resourceful and half as curious as he indicated that he was, it is highly probably he'll find the blog and ruin my day. NOW HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BITCH ABOUT DADDY ISSUES AND MY OVERUSE OF NARCOTICS* WITH HIM LOOKING OVER MY SHOULDER?

It's always seemed to me like an unwritten rule that who I am with friends and/or the internet is not the same person as who I am with my parents or said friends'/internets' parents. By extension of this it has always seemed hugely inappropriate to me when friends' parents have facebook profiles or myspace pages, and then take it one step further by adding their children to their friends list. Is it seriously that difficult for baby boomers to accept that technology has passed them by and the internet is simply no place for their kind?

Crawl across the web with your wheelchairs and walkers if you must, old people, but please do it in a different corner of the internet. I am almost certain there is a virtual Obituary page you can go read to find out that everyone as old as you is dead or dying. Stop trying to be so savvy, it creeps me right the fuck out.

*ha ha dad, got ya, didn't I?