Also, add this to my christmas list

Record your vinyl or cassette tapes to CD

My dad said he is getting me a piano. Not a real piano, stupid. An electric portable type piano. I can't wait. I'm going to be able to make some really great songs. I'm much better at piano playing than I am at guitar playing.

So I don't need a piano. Also, you can cross this off your list of possible presents for me because this guy on the internet from England who I don't even know is going to send me one:

Silicone Vibrating Mould A Willy Kit

Here is what was said:

apants said...
You could make one of your penis and your mom's vagina and play out all those incest fantasies you've been having. Or they should make famous cock molds that you could put on your own penis and you could say "Baby, tonight you're getting done up right by Tom Hanks," or "Mom, tonight you're getting fudged by Sean Connery." His would come in silver.

In any case you should definitely put on the christmas card "Hope you like my yule log."
30 November 2007 21:16

apants said...
Oh, and I forgot to say, I totally want one. Sign me up!
30 November 2007 21:18

Frank Morgan said...
you're on the list Amanda Pants!!

I think I'll send you a red one

used or unused - your choice x
01 December 2007 00:59

apants said...
red and white striped like a candy cane!

I also want that rufus wainwright cd/dvd of the judy garland show. Because I am a gay man.

Also, I wrote a great poem.

gramma, you look so pretty in the dark.
gramma, you are just like rose from golden girls

i can't remember when I said those things
but my grandmother was mad both times

the first because it implies that the darkness
covered up her faults

the second because she thought I meant she was dumb
since rose on the golden girls was really dumb

but I meant it that she was pretty, the first time
and the second time I meant it too
because she looks like betty white

Some people cannot take a compliment

What is this? What is it? Is it golden? Is it rock? What is it? Jeez.

I've been reading a lot of stuff lately. I've just been reading and reading and reading but I've not been reading any novels. I've been reading a lot of short stories and a lot of blogs and a lot of magazines and a lot of newspapers. I'm not sure about this kind of reading. Is it real? Does it count? These are the questions that I think about when I'm reading these things. I don't know what it is supposed to count towards but there are a lot of books that I haven't read that I feel I should. At least for dinner parties. I go to a lot of dinner parties.

I'm going to do a project now. I'm going to put together all my books that I own but haven't read. I mean, that's a good place to start I think. I watched a documentary about Helvetica, yeah, the font (or typeface I guess), and there was one scene where these design people where talking about designing stuff (by the way, I think Steve, Marigold, Justin, and Alicia and maybe Frank would really really like this documentary even though it sounds like the most boring thing in the world). In this scene there was a quick shot of a book shelf and all the books were stacked on top of each other, rather than side by side, and they were arranged by color. I'd like to do this with my books. It looked really cool. But first I have to organize them in order of books I own but haven't read. Right next to me, within arms reach, are these excellent books I own but haven't read:

Native Son - richard wright.
A Confederacy of Dunces - john kennedy toole
The Woman Warrior - maxine hong kingston
The Corrections - jonathan franzen (I actually read about half of this and then lost it and then found it and never started it again)
Orlando - virginia wolf
Women in Love - d.h. lawrence

And that's just on one small bookshelf. There are more on the other bookshelves. Not too many more but I think that one is too many. Not to mention the books I want to read that I don't own. Not to mention the books that haven't been written yet. Not to mention the books in other languages that I'll never read because I can't read in very many languages.

Marya! Before I forget! Tell Alex thanks for putting Liz Phair on my laptop a year ago. I really love her and I want to marry her and I just remembered that he put two of her albums on there. I couldn't remember before.

Oh, and fucking Marigold is fucking knocked up like a dirty whore again. While here I stand barren. I'm going to start telling people I'm barren when they ask if I want to have children. Or when they say, "I love children." Or when they say "Hello, how are you today?" "Barren," I'll reply.

No Country for Old Men is really really good and so is Steven King's The Mist. I was left by Mr. King with a big wide open mouth, mouth agape, Agape Agape, at the end of His The Mist. I'm glad I didn't read the novella before I saw the movie. I'm glad I didn't know how it was going to end. Also, I thought Marcia Gay Harden was so great and it was the best advertisement for why religious people should be shot dead and should not be allowed to just be considered harmless old crackpots that everyone agrees to just ignore because they aren't hurting anyone. They are very hurtful. They are hurting all of is. I've been watching a lot of videos on stumbler from Sam Harris and besides the fact that I want to marry him because he is totally cute I also think he's got some great arguments against blithely accepting and tolerating, being tolerant of, religion and religious people and also against people who consider themselves moderately religious. Moderates are the biggest enemies of democracy, or Sam Harris might have you believe. And god help us if the moderates decide that questioning Mitt Romney on his bizarre religion is rude or somehow intolerant. Because there are some serious concerns. Serious concerns. Sorry, mormons who might be reading this right now. Actually, wait, no. Not sorry, mormons who might be reading this right now. Romney is dangerous.

Get on Board, Doctors.

I'm with Doctors With Borders. We mostly take care of the ill who live in our apartments. Don't get out much, us.

I'm going to go see Steven King's The Mist. I read a review of it that mentioned how silly it is to call it Steven King's The Mist. There is a word for that. Putting the The in the middle like that. I don't know what it is but in the review, which was actually on that site where people who haven't seen the movies review the movies, they said that it would be like if Steven Spielberg had called Schindler's List, Oskar Schindler's The List. I'm hoping that The Mist is a lot like Schindler's List. It starts at 6:25 and I am killing time between now (6:07) and then. I'll tell you what I did today.

I slept for a long long long time. I went to sleep late so that's probably why I slept until 11:45. I woke up with a feather between my lips. Now I have avian flue or bird aids. Then I tried to get onto the internet to see what was shakin' but nothing was shakin' except for everything outside my apartment because it has been windy all day. Windy Windy. Like, way way windy. The internet wasn't working, I think because of the wind. Last time it was this windy the internet stopped working for a week and a half and I was very frustrated. It isn't my internet, see, so I can't just call up and tell the internet that they'd better get crackin'. So then I watched a movie. I watched Talk To Her. It was really great. Then I took a bath and read this book that I've been trying to read for a year. Then I took a shower. Then I just piddled around and got dressed and stuff. Then I drove to the campus with my laptop and parked in the parking lot and read my email and some other stuff. Then I went to eat some food because all I ate at home was a banana. I didn't mention that I'd eaten a banana. I had a banana and two cookies, actually, and a cup of tea.

So then I ate at the mexican restaurant up the street from where I live. I had flautas with chicken. Then I came back to the campus and checked my email again and decided to write this while I waited for the movie to start.

My life is so boring.

Shit I won't get around to ever

I was going to compose an interesting poem using the craigslist responses I've gotten but I got bored of it and it is so sad. I'll have to work on that for another day.

I was also going to compose an interesting poem using the google chats between Marigold and I but every single thing we write or say is perfect and golden that I couldn't edit it and it went on for too long.


I was also going to tell you all about how much I liked No Cuntry for Old Men. This is a movie about how hard it is for Old Men to get young lady sex in America. Tommy Lee Jones tries through the whole movie just to find one lady that will have sex with him for no money, just for the fun of it, and he can't find a single one in all of America. Josh Brolin too, and he isn't even an old man. Javier Bardem can have sex with anyone he wants in America and even he can't get any in this movie. Woody Harrelson is also in it and he doesn't even have sex. There is no sex in this movie and it is so difficult to watch. I really feel sad for those old men.

I liked it though. You should see it.

I'm bored at work right now. Portobello Mushrooms, fried, and on top of a spinach salad is like shit, fried, on top of a shit salad. I've had someone to entertain me but it was just an electronic correspondence like Sam Pink. Pam Stink.
or like Marigold.

Portobello Road! Portobello Road! Street where the riches of ages are stowed.
Anything and everything a chap can unload.

When is aunt tuney going to put up her movies and pictures from thanksgiving? I need to know. Jesus I'm bored at work. Jesus!

I too cool, pool rules, fool, no tool, goul.

I asked Angelina What should I write in my blog?

And then she said, Do you think something something something (things I can't repeat here) and I said, Um, yeah probably. Better not.

And then Angelina said, "There should be a sign in where you have to sign in to read people's blogs and stuff" and I told her that you can already do that if you want.

And then we talked about my stocking last year that was so pretty and made out of office supplies.

I want to make another one out of office supplies this year. If only I didn't hate everything.

And then I asked Angelina, "Did you sign up for Secret Santa" and Angelina said NO! And she asked if I remember what happened last year. Yeah, I remember. And the year before. Yeah, I remember.

I never sign up for Secret Santa and I always have to explain why. One of the reasons I give besides "Bah Humbug" is that I always forget to get a present and so I have to go like the day that it is due and half-ass it and then it feels like homework and not like Christmas spirit.

My mom doesn't like that I made some of my fonts bigger like the part that says "fucking you painfully in the facehole," etc. She liked it better when it was smaller and more elegant. Hey mom, I'm in jail. I like it here. It is elegant.

At jail we eat on fine linens.

I told my boss today that I am looking for a new job so, heads up, I said. I applied for a job today. It is as a charge capture specialist. I can do this job. I hope they don't google me. Or specifically I hope they don't google Amandapants. Actually if they do google me it is doubtful that they'll find me because the 'rents gave me a very common name. Thanks parents.

Writing class is done. I'll never write anything good again, likely as not. I want to marry Jeremy Scahill with his darting eyes and his swaying and his writing books about blackwater.

I've gotten lots of great responses to my craigslist ad. Here is one from the other day.

hi baby
call me at 227-3929
i will bring all the information you asked for when we meet
i would love to meet you and please you very soon
jon
yes my cock works great and i have a high sperm count

You guys should call him. I mean, his cock works great. What are you waiting for?

My Thanksgiving Holiday By Amanda Murphy

This was a very fun Thanksgiving Holiday. I had a great time this Thanksgiving Holiday. I hope that all the Thanksgiving Holidays will be more like this one and also like the ones of the past. Thanksgiving Holiday is so so much fun. Thanks for Thanksgiving Holiday. I really liked it. It was really fun. Thanks for it. I hope it was fun. It was fun. I liked it. I liked it lots. I hope you liked it. My family had Thanksgiving Dinner. It was really really fun. It was so so good. I liked it a lot. We played lots of games too. That was really fun. I had fun. It was really really fun. We had fun. I hope you had fun too!

First, on Thanksgiving morning I made crescent rolls. I made three rolls of Pillsbury crescent rolls. It was fun. I had four rolls. I only made three rolls. I ran out of room in my crescent roll container. It was orange. It contained three rolls of crescent rolls. That was about 24 crescent rolls. That was a lot of crescent rolls. I got myself ready to leave to stay the night on Thanksgiving night. I prepared clothing and other necessities. I thought about which underwear I wanted to bring. I thought about which socks I wanted to bring. I brought my thickest socks. I had to wear my loose shoes with them. I wore my loose shoes. I brought my hairbrush. It was fun to get ready to leave. I brought my strawberries. I was worried they would go bad. I drove in my car to my parent's house for Thanksgiving Dinner Day. I got to my parent's house. I ate all my strawberries. I had some coffee. I needed coffee to wake up. I had risen early that morning to prepare myself and to make the crescent rolls.

My cousin was walking down stairs from having just woken up when I walked into my parent's house. I was listening to my iPod. My aunt was there and also there were my parents, both my mother and my father. We all sat down and talked. My mother and my father and my aunt and my cousin and myself all have laptops. We all sat on our laptops. My mother finished making and preparing things to eat. We ate some snacks like oysters and artichoke hearts and olives and carrots and broccoli and cauliflower and a special kind of dip made from canned milk, cream cheese and horseradish. We talked and chit chatted. Soon my brother arrived. My brother arrived with his dog, Chachi. Also, I forgot to mention that my aunt and my cousin brought their dogs Gina and Koda to visit on Thanksgiving Dinner Day too. Gina is Koda's mom. Chachi is my brother's dog. Chachi is Gina's baby boy dog. Chachi is Koda's brother. Chachi and Koda are brothers. My brother has a dog that is my aunt's dog's brother. My aunt has a dog that is my brother's dog's mother. The dogs played and fought and snarled and crashed into one another. Gina is a girl and Koda and Chachi are both males. We were concerned and spoke briefly about which might be the dominant male. Gina is the dominant one I think. Gina is sort of gimpy because she had an accident and was paralyzed. My aunt has to stick her finger in Gina's butt every time Gina needs to go poop. Gina has an acupuncturist and a dog neurologist. Gina walks pretty well for having been paralyzed from the dog waist down.

My brother and my father and my mother and my cousin and my aunt and I all talked and chatted and ate snacks. We made jokes and sang songs and played the piano and the guitar and the banjo and looked at stuff on our computers. My brother doesn't have a laptop but he has a fancy new computer at his home. My brother talks all the time about downloading stuff illegally off of the Internet. Every other sentence he said on Thanksgiving Dinner Day began or ended with, "I download this and that illegally off the Internet." He is really proud of all the stuff he's downloaded illegally off the Internet. He is going to give us all illegally downloaded DVDs and CDs for Christmas. My aunt wants him to make copies of Kolchack: The Night Stalker. My brother named his son Kolchack after Carl Kolchack: The Night Stalker. We all call him Jack. He was with his mom this Thanksgiving Dinner. My brother made a list of things my family wants him to illegally download for Christmas presents. I told him I wanted all of the Sopranos. He said this was no problem at all because he already had the first six seasons. I told him that I could just start with that and then watch the rest through legal means and then I wouldn't feel bad.

My aunt and I argued about how Baby Boomers are ruining the world. She thinks they aren't but I think they are. My brother egged us on and said bad things and made jokes in poor taste. We talked a lot about stuff on the Internet and movies and t.v. shows. My aunt admitted that for a long time she thought my brother had named his son after the character that David Hasselhoff played in Knightrider. We all laughed at her but now that I've thought about it this might not have even been as ridiculous as naming your child after Kolchak: The Night Stalker.

Soon my grandmother and uncle came. My aunt and uncle are my mom's brother and my mom's sister. My grandmother is my mother's mother. My cousin is my mother's sister's daughter. I also have a sister. She has a family. They weren't there. My uncle and my grandmother brought pies. We now had a turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberries, dressing with onions, dressing with no onions, gravy, broccoli, 24 crescent rolls, pumpkin pie, cherry pie, apple pie, pecan pie, and other types of snacks like the ones I mentioned before. I said, "How come I like oysters out of a can but I don't like oysters in a restaurant?" and my aunt said it was because I am snooty white trash. My family often refers to themselves as Snooty White Trash. The wi-fi connection that my parents now have in their home is named "SNOOTY." My sister called it this when she set up their wi-fi for their matching laptops that have their names on them that my sister created with a label maker that I think she has at her office. One says, "Gerald" and one says "Nicole." Those are my parent's names. That way, they won't get mixed up because their laptops are identical. My laptop is the same but older. My aunt has a macbook. Her screen is really big.

We talked some more and yelled and argued and sang songs and ate and made jokes for a while after my grandmother and uncle arrived. We had to make sure the dogs were all outside when my grandmother arrived because she is 89 and can be knocked over when one of them so much as sniffs her, let alone three of them jumping all over her and trying to lick her all over as they do. They are three Labrador retrievers. I don't think I mentioned that before. Gina and Chachi are chocolate labs and Koda is black. Chachi and Koda's father is a yellow lab. Labs are competitively obedient. These labs are mostly just wild wild dogs.

I shot some video with my camera and so did my aunt. Then we all sat down to eat. Everyone started eating even before my mom had sat down. I thought this was rude but then she said to go ahead. My aunt recorded all of us saying what we were thankful for. I can't remember what I said. Something flippant, most likely. My family never takes things seriously. My dad pretended to do some Latin catholic prayer and made fart noises with his mouth. We talked at length about a podcast that both my aunt and I had listened to from Slate.com about whether or not Thanksgiving is a religious holiday. Most of us thought that it wasn't because we thought the thanks we were giving was a general thanks to people and stuff and we also thought that the original Thanks were given to the Native Americans who helped the pilgrims not to starve to death but my dad, who was raised catholic, said that was all a bunch of crap and that the pilgrims were thanking God and that Thanksgiving is a day when you thank God for all of your blessings and that the pilgrims wanted the Native Americans to convert and thank their Christian God and that we are all crazy for thinking Thanksgiving is a secular holiday like the Fourth of July. We agreed to disagree. I can't remember now if my dad is an atheist or not. It is easy to forget.

I tried to record the whole Thanksgiving Dinner conversation on my laptop but I forgot my microphone and had to borrow my dad's and it didn't work right but I didn't know until I checked later and saw that it didn't record anything really. Only about 30seconds was all. It was for the best though because I think my mom would have been mad that I recorded everything without telling anyone.

After Thanksgiving Dinner was done my cousin Maggie and I drove to the store to get mostly white things and one sparkly thing. We had to memorize what we were to get because we were too full from eating to find a piece of paper and a pen. It was a fun game to remember the list. I still remember it. We remembered by remembering that they were almost all white things except for one thing that was sparkly. It was paper towels, one half gallon of non-fat milk, one half gallon of whole milk, vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, and two bottles of sparkling cider. The paper towels we got were called "Sparkle" paper towels and we thought that was funny. No one else thought it was particularly funny. We also got gum at the check out. My mother had given me twenty dollars and Maggie's mother had given her twenty dollars. They told us to keep the change. We got 16 dollars and some change back. We were going to split the change evenly between us because this is also kind of funny but we got a ten and then a five and a one back so I just took six dollars and let Maggie have the ten because she is only 20 and she needs the extra cash for her drugs or whatever 20 year olds do these days.

When we got home everyone ate pie. Maggie got out the chocolates that she had brought from her job. She works at a chocolate factory. It is actually just a chocolate shop but they make chocolate there so it is sort of like a factory. They make delicious chocolates. One was spicy, she told me, but I didn't want that one.

I can't remember what happened then. I think my aunt and my uncle and I argued over who gets more hits on our respective blogs and websites and my uncle won. Also, we argued about who had the weirdest search phrases that will link to our sites. My uncle won that argument too. My uncle and my aunt played cribbage. She won but she almost didn't because my uncle tried to cheat her by implying that he won at the very end without actually counting the points of his last hand. She didn't bother counting either. I think he felt bad though because he gave her the dollar they were playing for. My aunt and I played cribbage the next day, on a side note, and we also bet a dollar, as is the usual bet in my family when we play cribbage, except when we play cribbage and bet a dollar we call it a skoot. I won and she never paid me my god damned dollar. She is a dirty welcher.

Everyone kind of just lounged around uncomfortably and moaned for a while then. My mom and dad took naps. I talked to my grandmother. I took a lot of pictures. The dogs played and ran around. Hours passed. We all lost track of time. My sister called and we talked to her on the phone about her Thanksgiving Day with her family.

My uncle and grandmother drove home. The rest of us tried to decide what game we were all going to play together. Usually we play Scattergories or Taboo or a card game like Hearts or Thirteen. My brother tried to get us to play the Lord of the Rings Risk game that he had gotten at the Good Will. He set up the board and the pieces and we looked at the map and talked about the differences between the regular Risk game and the Lord of the Rings Risk game and then I put it away while we were removing the leaf from the table. I've never liked Risk much. Takes too long.

I tried to get everyone to play Headbanz because it is a really fun game but some people didn't want to. I promised that it was the most fun game and so we started to play it and then we had the most fun. First, it is fun because you get to wear a red headband. Second, it is fun because everyone gets to see the card stuck in your headband except you. And then you have to ask questions to guess where or what or who is represented on your card. One of the cards that I got was a Mermaid and it took me forever. Another one that my brother got was Atlantic City and it took him forever. My dad got Pizza and quit because he couldn't get it. He started playing again when we were all having fun and he got bored. My mom gave obvious hints instead of just answering yes or no questions and I got mad at her. No one would answer the questions in a straightforward manner. We became frustrated and then we would laugh and laugh. It was the best game ever.

My brother and his dog Chachi left after that. My mother and father and aunt and cousin and myself all started to play the initial game. My dad went to bed because he was too tired to play. The four of us played the initial game for a long time after that. The initial game is another game my family plays all the time. It is fun because you can play it anywhere just to pass time. It is easy to play. You just think of a famous person and say his or her initials and then they have to ask you questions about your person to determine who you are. One that I had that took people a long time to guess was M.S. After this is over you can ask me questions and I'll answer them and you can try to guess who M.S. is.

We were all very very tired then and we all went to sleep. Thanksgiving was over. Thanks.

Guess what my new porn name is?

Rudy Fuckstable. Dudes would totally pay to see Rudy Fuckstable get boned. We had such a great time on Thanksgiving Day yesterday. First, we ate pumpking pie and turkey. Then we ate some other things. I can't remember all of it.

Then we played Headbanz for like 27 hours. I love headbanz! Back in my old college days I played it a few times with my pals. Proof of that came when this card was came up:



That is my friend Steve's name and his phone number when he lived in Arcata. Those were the good old days.

We also played the initial game for a long time and that is a lot like headbanz only backwards.

I wanted my aunt to play cribbage with me but she won't so far. My brother wanted us all to play his Lord of the Rings Risk game but we wouldn't. I also wanted to play scattergories or Taboo or Goddamn you to a bloody hell for all eternity but noone will play with me. Maybe later.

Happy Thanksgiving, T. Hank Sciving.

Dear T. Hank Sciving,

Happy Thanksgiving.

I was going to put up the story I wrote in class yesterday about eating a baby but I will spare you this on this most eatingest of Holidays because I wouldn't want to spoil your taste for flesh.

I will instead transcribe for you here the lyrics of my now famous Thanskgiving Song.

On Thanksgiving day there are thrilling pilgrim stories,
How the Indians helped that first Thanksgiving day.
How I love it so eating pumpkin pie and turkey.
Let us all give thanks on this bright Thanksgiving day.

Bright Thanksgiving, Bright Thanksgiving, Bright Thanksgiving day.
Bright THanksgiving, Bright Thanksgiving, Bright Thanksgiving daaaaaaaaaaaay.
Ah Cha Cha

Don't scroll down.

Glasses and Bustards

I really like my new glasses I really do don't get me wrong. But sometimes I freak out and think, Ahh! I'm going Blind! The diabetes finally got me! Ahh! But then I realize, oh, my glasses are just smudged. For some reason, even though they are great for protecting against glare (not glares of people though), my new glasses really smudge easily. People glaring at me doesn't make it harder to drive at night though. Or does it? I'm not so sure now.

Here is a one sentence poem thing or whatever that my writing teacher made me write through assigning an assignment. It was really fun. The teacher man said it was "brilliant" but I'm not trying to toot my own horn here or anything. I think he probably writes that on a lot of crap. He is one of those people who uses really big words to describe things but then reverts back to the same old words over and over again when he obviously just likes something because he likes it and not because he has ascertained through close critical analysis that it is any good. Words like, "brilliant," for instance.

Anyway here is my thing. I call it, Blood Letting and Bustards and Beaks.

This train will not stop and I am trying to sleep, giving me nervous turning and erectile dysfunction and a train is so giving, a train is, because it just keeps going from town to town giving whatever it is that trains carry these days (grain? toys?), but right now this train is taking from me an important thing which is my sense of calm and nighttime and crickets and blood and my own, this damn train, damn train, and so I get up and have a snack which is a small meal that people often have between meals and sometimes too late to be considered between meals or even a small meal and so is mostly referred to as a "midnight snack" but it is three a.m. damn train, damn it, so the turkey that I decide to snack on is so thinly sliced that I think why don't turkeys, pheasants, and their allies fly, since their meat is so light and airy and since their average life span is just 10 years, but then I remember then that not all 10-year-olds fly, just the ones that I think of from books and movies with kids in them and most of those kids are actually Australian Bustards and not turkeys at all, and I am made unsurprisingly less hungry for turkey by this discussion of turkey meat being like child meat and child meat being like bustard meat and bustard meat is only found on trains in Australia, I suppose, although I've never been and I only know that when you gut and bleed out a bustard, even in America, its blood runs down the drain counterclockwise even though the Coriolis effect doesn't actually affect the way that juices flow down drains, but the blood of a bustard isn't like water down the drain, like money, it's more like a hurricane, more cyclonic in nature, and so bustard blood flow is changed by the position of the moon and by its proximity to Australia and also by its female friends, these three things together being determining factors in which direction bustard blood will flow down the butcher's drain during the blood letting to keep the Aussies waist deep in thinly sliced bustard meat and their trains filled with grain to take to the bustard farms and toys to take to the emu farms and sand to take to the ostriches so that the burgeoning tourist commerce is kept flowing and growing in the "funny picture taken of an ostrich with his head buried in the sand" picture taking business, bad business, all this business, it's no good, I say, very bad business indeed, for the ostriches should have their long legs leashed, their necks wrung, their bodies splayed, hung, good business, since they have the best feed to weight gain ratio of any land animal in the world and the strongest commercially available leather so you've got to skin its skin, save its skin when you let it, the blood, but just above your garden so that the excess blood might fertilize your garden grows, with silver bells and cockleshells, and sexy French maids all in a row, but the MOST viable business plan would read "For Sale: Pets or Meat" not "Take Pictures of Pets or Meat, Tourists," because that would be very bad business, berry bad business indeed, because you can sell a bird as a whole for one price, say, one hundred dollars, or you could sell the feathers (the farming of Ostriches for their feathers does not harm the bird) for a fancy ostrich feather duster for your sexy French maid outfit (Good Business!) and then you could sell the hide for your leather bars, and other useful byproducts are eggs and offal, both of which can be used for hilarious pranks, hi jinks, terrorist hijacks, and ostrich-chip throwing contests, leaving the meat to eat and eat and sell and all of that could double your money or more which is much better business and also we can say that we are more environmentally sound because we used all the parts of the birds like the Indians and the buffalo but we'd have to find something to do with the beak and I think maybe jewelry would work, trinkets we could sell to the aborigines for their desolate land to build train tracks on so that each car on the train could be filled to the brim with one car having the ostrich legs, stacked on top of stacks and another car having hundreds of feather dusters, and then beaks, and eyeballs, and toes, and necks and so on and so on forever on this damn train, damn train.

By the way, you might feel bad that you don't read my things and stuff but my mom and dad do, so you can just go F-off! And when my mom and dad die I'll honor their wishes but probably not yours. I won't even be at your funeral!

Just kidding, America.

I want a Kindle.

I want a Kindle Baaaad. When is it out? I want one. When will it be cheaper? I want one. I want one bad bad. I never want stupid gadgetry things until years after everyone has one. I want a Kindle. I want to stand in line at stupid stores like a nerd and get a Kindle. I want a Kindle. Bezos, you have kindled in me a fever. A fever for Kindle. Damn you Bezos!

Kindle story

Bezos was talking about it on Charlie Rose tonight. There are pros on cons in the article I linked to. I might wait it out and see if someone does it better. But golly gee, I think I want one.

Podcast #8, Don't Preach Hate.

Gabcast! Eighth Diapantscast Pure and Simple From the Eighth Dimension

GanksThiving Podcast, AKA Delicatesticles, AKA Good Good Podcast.

Email every day for 30 days.

I decided to pick people to email every day for thirty days. I first picked my friend Andy Rydzewski because I'm not too good at keeping in touch with him. Next I'll probably pick Becky for the same reason and maybe then Will. I have some rules I didn't tell them. My only real rule now is A#1. No emails about stupid life stuff. Like what I did today or what movie I saw or whatever. So far this has meant a bunch of sort of stupid things with no reference point or meaning really. But it has been fun. Except for the days that I forgot to write anything. Actually, first it was an email every day for a month but I fucked up so now it is an email every day for 30 days and if I skip a day or two then I just continue from the last number. So I guess that is Rule A#2. Let me know if you want me to do this too you. Most likely you don't. I don't care. I will still just pick someone. Actually, email me if this is something you DO NOT want me to do to you. I think mostly you'd like it since I am kind of funny a lot of the time.

It should go without saying that if you want to do this to me, go ahead. My email is mandymurphy@gmail.com.

This poppyseed muffin tastes like cotton candy! These pretzels are making me thirsty!

Oh Gee! Justin just sent me this link NYtimes article re:Saturday Night Live, no cameras, at UCB theater, because of writer's strike.

Justin and I both wish we could have been there.

The Hung and the Restless

I am so bored and restless lately. I need a few different hobbies. I need to get a can't put it down book or find a can't stop playing it game or start an all consuming project. All I've been doing lately is looking at people's blogs, commenting on people's blogs, reading on-line newspapers, commenting on on-line newspapers, watching videos on-line, and occasionally getting up to walk around and around while my mind races. Maybe I am finally becoming bi-polar like I always thought I would. That should make me a little bit more of an interesting person. At least for a few months out of the year. Right? Anyway, I know, this is my third post of the day but I'm at work and I'm going crazy out of my gourd with ennui and there is nothing to do so here is my Keats poem that my teacher said was "Inspired" whatever the fuck that means. Inspired by your assignment, teacher man. We had to rewrite Keats' poem "Ode on Melancholy" Here is the original.

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

She dwells with Beauty - Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

And here is mine. It is a lot better than stupid Keats'.

Nay, Nay! Do not travel to one of the several rivers of Hades that may lead to complete forgetfulness, don't squeeze
Arnica Montana, taught-stemmed, for its sickening juice;
And additionally, do not drudgingly allow the whitey-white top of your face to be pecked
By Solanum, which possesses a diverse range of alkaloids that can be toxic and is also known as the red water-berry of The Roman goddess of springtime and wayside flowers;
Construct not your neck-wreath of Taxus Baccata, having bright red berry-like structures called arils, which are they themselves not toxic even while the rest the plant surely is,
And do not let the sheathed wing insects, nor the Death's-head Hawkmoth be
Your baleful mind-mistress, nor the fluffy flying cryptid aid and abet your boo-hoo strangities;
For slight darkness to dim daylight will arrive exceedingly sluggishly,
And asphyxiate the alive, awake, alert, and enthusiastic pangs of painful angst of the self-aware essence of your being.

But at such a time as might come to pass as the seizure of sadness may plummet
All at once from the cloudy god-land kingdom as if it were a crybaby thunderhead,
That waters the mopey-crowned blossoms, each one,
And conceals the lime colored land form with a summit in a wetting more characteristic of the fourth month on the Gregorian calendar;
At this time, jam-pack your blues by pigging out on the early daytime blossom of the flowering shrub of the genus Rosa,
Or on the many colored illusion of the tides,
Or on the riches of orb shaped herbaceous perennials;
Or if your lady friend lover and dominatrix is pissed, jail her velvety mitt and permit her to rant,
And suck hard, hard on her organs of vision that detect light and have no equal.

She keeps a domicile with Prettiness -- Prettiness that must expire;
And Mirth, whose claw is always stuck up against his mouth rims
Saying So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Goodnight; and hurty jollies near in time,
Resorting to toxins while, simultaneously, the Western-Honey's pie hole slurps;
Yes, in that exact shrine of weeeee!
Thinly covered Cry-baby-lady holds her own temple,
But nobody else has seen this except this one dude whose muscle bound lingua
Can bust Mirth's water-berry right against the ridge of his awesome velum;
This dude's self-aware essence will suckle the mirthlessness of Cry-baby-lady's stronghold,
And hang on her wall in the heavens, favorite among her winnings.

I totally kicked Keats all over the map, right?

Strongbad

So Salon has a list of Sexiest Man Living 2oo7. That is a funny name for a list, I think. Especially when they include "Men" like Strongbad. I'd never heard of this before today. So great. Click on this link:

Strongbad - Dragon

Don't J your J.

I need a new job. I've J'd my J, as my dad would say. I thought this was a real expression. Turns out, my dad says he made it up. My sister sent me an email recently where she said she likes to end with "Turns Out" whenever she can but that someday she might graduate to "Come to find" or "Long story short." I like "Come to Find." So come to find, my dad made up "J your J" which stands for Jeopardize your Job. Don't J your J. Never J your J. I J'd my J. So now I need a new Job. Get me one! ASAP, punk punk.

Remember the time in Arcata when that old man called that young man a punk for jaywalking across the street and the young man said "Punk? Punk? That's the sound of my dick coming out of your ass! Punk Punk Punk!" Priceless.

I still have my job now. I didn't jeopardize it so much. But I did tell my boss that I'd need to work full time hours now or I'd need to look for another job. Yesterday she gave me my new schedule and, come to find, I now have fewer hours than I did before. So I must be true to my word. I must be true to it, punk punk punk.

Pop Quiz for Cribbage Players, hot shot.

So my mom is so naive and innocent. I want to know from my family members and anyone else who might have heard this expression, although I think it is mostly a family thing, if you think the phrase, "Old dirt road" means anything more than the last stretch on the cribbage board. Keep in mind that at one end of "old dirt road" is the "stink hole" or the "skunk hole." And keep in mind that when my grandfather or father or various other cribbage playing family members ever said "I'm headed down old dirt road" they would often giggle knowingly.

I can't believe she never figured this out. Is she the only one? She doesn't think Tuney knows.

I also explained to my mother about rusty trombones and dirty Sanchez's and Cleveland steamers today. This is how "old dirt road" came up into conversation, in case you were wondering.

Yreeeeeeeeeka.

Visiting Yreka makes me feel good about myself. I am smarter, stronger, better looking, more charming, better educated, funnier. I talked to several toothless idiots today. My dad and I had lunch at a local pizzeria quaintly known as "Round Table Pizza" There are pictures of knights and medieval things all around. I think "Round Table" is a reference to the fabled knights of the round table. There was a man there who looked like a manager. He was older, probably in his forties. He told the girl taking our order at the counter to be nice to my dad because "If it wasn't for him I wouldn't know how to read." I told my dad that if he had been a better teacher then maybe all of his ex-students would not have ended up working at shitty places like Round Table well into their 40's. My dad said, "Shut up you dirty Jew bitch." My dad often calls me "Jew girl" or "Jew Bitch" or "Little Anne Frank" because he thinks I look Jewish and he thinks it is funny to use ironic anti-Semitic slurs in public. He also talked for some time today about how Jewish people and Asians are smarter than white people. Sometimes he isn't a racist, sexist, homophobic asshole but most of the time he is. That's when I like him best. He is at the Elk's Club now with his friend Tommy boy getting drunk. He has two friend, Dick and Tom. His name is Jerry. You do the math.

My dad and I recorded my Thanksgiving song for my special Thanksgiving podcast. It is going to be really good. I guarantee it. Also, on the actual Thanksgiving day I'm hoping to interview some of my family members for another podcast. My aunt has been wanting me to interview her for weeks. I think it will be better once we are all drunk.

I talked to Marigold on the Google talk machine today for a little bit of time. It was pleasant. She is coming over to my house to watch all of the episodes of Six Feet Under because she's never seen it and I own all the seasons (except for the last one but I'd buy it if Marigold and Steve came over to watch all the episodes with me.) Marigold lives in L.A. with her husband and baby so I doubt that she is seriously going to come to my house to watch Six Feet Under. I wish she wasn't such a lying Philippina. It is unbecoming. Huckleberry laughed and screamed. Oh that reminds me, my dad told me to tell Marigold that when I told him about Huck he said, "Fuck?" and I said, "No, Huck, like as in Huckleberry." and then he said, "Fuckleberry?" And then he laughed and told me to tell Marigold that he called her baby, "Fuckleberry." There you go, Marigold.

I love visiting Yreka.

*UPDATE*

Later I said, "Tomorrow Mom and I are going to Walmart!" and my dad said, "Oooooh, what are you going to get there? Deodorant and Lipstick?" And I said, "I'm going to get a whole bunch of tampons and shove them up your ass!" And he said, "That doesn't make any sense." And I said, "It'll make more sense once you find out why your butt is bleeding."

I love visiting Yreka.

I wish we could have killed them all.

I don't know what any of this means but I thought it belonged taken out of context and posted on my blog for no good reason.

Gerard Jones Says:

November 11th, 2007 at 5:04 pm
Why is it that nobody talks about the half million dead A-rabs, just the three thousand Amurikans? Or the two million dead Gooks, just the 50k Amurikans, not to mention the 27 million dead Ruskies?

marbledog Says:

November 11th, 2007 at 5:56 pm
Cuz I cudn’t find a website that sayd how many Gooks was kilt.

Gerard Jones Says:

November 11th, 2007 at 6:00 pm
And all them dead Ruskies is just WWII. A hundred times more people than just “our” boys get killed and this Burns kid slops together some stock footage of Mobile, Alabama in the forties and thinks he told the story of WWII? The Civil War, fine, whatever…but “The War?” I don’t think so.

Gerard Jones Says:

November 11th, 2007 at 6:05 pm
If you think my dead dad liked High Noon better than Sgt. York you’re crazy as a loon.

marbledog Says:

November 11th, 2007 at 6:10 pm
Well they don’t do movies about them dead Ruskies and Gooks and A-rabs. Would would watch?

And who on earth says my dead dad liked High Noon better than Sgt. York? Although, to be honest, I never knew that.

LR Says:

November 12th, 2007 at 3:04 am
I am a VETERAN, and damned proud of it. Didn’t want to interfere with a family discussion earlier, but I must be allowed to retort now.

Gerard, I don’t know you, and please take my comments in the spirit in which they are intended. You seem obsessed about these other people getting killed.

First of all, you must know that it is my very strong opinion that WAR SUCKS !!! Sometimes they are necessary to protect our Country, most times they come as a result of thoughtless politicians pursuing their own personal agendas.

As far as the gooks, I wish we could have killed them all. The Germans killed millions of Russians, although not as many as Stalin did. They went on to martirize millions of Eastern Europeans. The “A-rabs” that you refer to were nothing but a bunch of thugs that had illegally invaded Kuwait, and were raping and pillaging it’s citizens. My only regret is that I didn’t kill more of them while I was there.

I hope that I didn’t overstepped my boundaries. If so, please let me know, Marble, and I’ll cease and desist.


You know, I've got lots of regrets. Lots. I guess I'm glad that one of them isn't that I didn't kill enough people when I had the chance. Also, I'm very glad that that isn't my ONLY regret.

I've killed just the right amount.

Jimmy Jams, Slam Camera Dancing.

I took all those pictures of the birthday party:

Party Cakes Party Cakes

This one is my favorite I think:



Boys like Bionicles. Yes they do.
And Bi-focals.

And Bi-curios for their curio cabinets. But that is later when they've become men.

I just watched the whole first season of Mad Men on iTunes. I payed for it. I usually feel like a good person when I pay for things. Not so much lately. Now that I know that all the money that I righteously pay for in a good and correct consumerist manner goes to the fat cats instead of the writers. A lot of it, anyway. Like when I watch things in iTunes or when I watch things on-line. Which is a ton of stuff because I work nights and don't have cable. So what are you going to do? Pay those fucking writers, bitches. There are some good little videos up on youtube explaining the whole writers strike in an amusing and infotaining way. You check them out. I'll see if I can get some links here.

The badly titled: Voices of Uncertainty

and

Why We Fight

The point of the points is that I really liked Mad Men. I think my mother and father would like it because it is all in 1960 and that was their time. They were 15. So maybe it wasn't their time. But it feels like it was their time to me more than the late 60's do. My grandmother might also like it. My auntie and sister and brother would for sure like it lots. Hitler would like it. Darn Hitler!

This morning I went to breakfast at that bear restaurant with Angelina. I told her the sack story. She asked right on queue, "What was in the sack????" Very concerned-like. I told her and we both laughed and laughed.

I changed all the 7-11 signs in three towns today to say 11-11 using duct tape and spray paint and cop's blood.

Cop's blood is the hardest to get out of suede. I think because it is pig's blood on cow skin and that is like oil and water. I try not to ever buy clothes made out of animals but my sister gave me a cast off brown suede jacket with a warm unzippable removable vest liner thingy and it is very warm in the winter time. All the rest of my clothes are made from the tears of children in India or China so I guess a little cow skin isn't going to hurt me.

Politics, I swear.

Today I went to my nephew Kolchak's fifth birthday party and boy was it great. I'll put up some pictures later tonight. I got him a Lego pirate treasure chest thing with Legos and pirates. A match made in heaven. The opposite of pig's blood and cow skin.

Happy Levin Levin! Happy B-Day Kolchak Jack Russell Terrior Heironymous Smith-Jones.

Mama's little baby, Went to the Doctor, Shortening Bread, Doctor Said, "No More Shortening Jumping on the Bread!"

A couple of people think I am a pussy for not reading my stories out loud in story class. Sometimes it is because I'm chicken. Other times it is because I am embarrassed to read what I've written out loud. I'm embarrassed to even post this one here but I figure if I can't put it here and I can't read it out loud then what was the point of even writing it in the first place, right? I know, right? So this content is probably not appropriate for 89 year old grandmothers although I don't know why everyone always feels like they have shelter 89 year old grandmothers who went through world wars and depressions and had a bunch of kids and stuff. Whatever.

Deloris She Comes Standard.

I say, "Baby! Baby Please."
She says, "I'll give you a head start."
"Baby, come on, baby please!"
"30 seconds"
"Baby, baby please, I'll try harder, baby."
"29"
"Oh baby, shit, you don't even know how to use that thing."
“You not knowing how to use your dick doesn’t stop you from sticking it in any passing pussy, fucker. 28.”
“You’re gonna hurt yourself, baby.”

She flings the shotgun forward from where it had been settled on her shoulder and fires a shot half a foot from my toe. "27, shithole." She turns her back to me, shotgun back on her shoulder standing like some kinda gay soldier, one hip jutted out, left hand on the other, and she keeps on counting down.

Damn. I turn on my heel as I hear her cold, dead, far away voice start on 26. Fuck! Take a breath. Run. The short dirt road ahead seems the longest ever. This gravel like ice under my boots, sliding around like a hot car peeling out. But then I see it, I see her, at the end of the road, there she is, my beautiful baby, my sweet, sweet Camaro, my 1982 silver Berlinetta, my salvation. Jesus lord let me feel your black custom cloth interior so soft on my skin just one more time. Jesus Lord. I can't hear her counting anymore. Don't turn around. Keep your eye on your baby. My baby, Deloris. Rhymes with clitoris. She, that bitch, she once said, "Does her last name rhyme with Can't Ever Find It?" But I found it alright. She came. Goddamn Mother Fuck! Keep your eye on your baby. Oh, I'm coming Deloris, just hold on baby. Please start, please start, when at long last I get to you my sweet, sweet baby, please start.

My baby, Deloris, she came, she came, she came standard with the 2.8 LC1 V-6. A little bit closer now. Deloris she came standard with her own unique 14x7 finned aluminum wheel with gold accenting and `Berlinetta' center cap, her own lower body pinstriping, and her fucking solid ass gold "Berlinetta" badging. A little bit closer now. There is the scratch I gave her, my poor baby, doing donuts, throwing up gravel, there it is, I can see it. I'm so close, she is coming into focus, there she is, my silver sweetheart. Her big beautiful headlamp pockets are painted in an accent color, gold, and her tail lights have a gold and black horizontal divider bar. Her interior came, it came standard with custom cloth interior, black, rear storage well cover and additional carpeting on rear wheelhouses. I want to feel myself inside you baby, so bad, just one last time. Jesus Lord, help me. She came standard with additional body insulation, full instrumentation and her own unique steering wheel with `Berlinetta' badge.

Hold on Deloris baby, I'm on my way. Please Please Please. I'm coming, baby. Please. I reach out, my hand so close, so close, I'm so close baby, to the door, my left hand creeping back to my pocket for my keys, my keys, my keys. Fuck. My keys. I stop short. I hear a jingle jangle coming from behind me. I turn and see that big fat smug grin and my key chain dangling from her small dirty fingers.

Jingle Jangle, "3"

Jingle Jangle, "2"

Goodbye my dear Deloris. I will always love you. My baby.

I forgot to get you in on Part 2

Part 2 of the Question Girl Podcast can be listened to By clicking on or around this area here.

The 2nd part is where I really take off. I use the F words, the A word, the B word, and the C word (cunt).

I also drop the phone in anger. And I look back in anger. I miss when I used to live in an apartment that had oasis stickers everywhere, one that collected a lot of crap on it's exposed sticky corner that was affixed to the toilet bowl. Good times.

Across the Unitardimous Jones.

I liked Across the Universe because of the music. A lot of the music was by this one band called "The Beetles." They are from, like, the sixties. The turbulent sixties. On the one hand, yeah, it was good because of these great songs by this band I mentioned before, these "Beetles" but the plot was the lamest thing I have ever heard of. I cried like four or five times though, mostly because of the very nice and emotionful music by this band from the sixties. Also, I laughed many times and I liked the strawberries. I could look at strawberries all day long!

On the other hand, it made me sick to see these young and beautiful and talented people (evan rachael wood has an EXTREMELY lovely voice) acting out this FUCKING BABY BOOMER MASTURBATION MOVIE! Just stop it right now! The Beatles music ALREADY WAS THE SOUNDTRACK OF A GENERATION AND OF AN ERA!!!!! Why not try out telling a new story with it? Maybe try not talking about FUCKING VIETNAM ALL THE FUCKING TIME. Maybe try not asking OLIVER FUCKING STONE TO WRITE YOUR FUCKING MOVIE WHEN YOU ARE JULIE FUCKING TAYMOR AND HAVE MORE INGENUITY IN YOUR RIGHT NUT THAN OLIVER STONE HAS IN BOTH HIS TESTICLES COMBINED!!! (Oliver Stone didn't really write it, it just seems like it)

Selma Hayeck was great. The two main guys were great. Evan Rachel Wood was blank faced but good. Everybody was great. Even Bono was great and I hate Bono. Fuck Bono up the ass. Joe Cocker was Extra Great. I loved Joe Cocker. And Prudence! The actress's name is T.V. and she was kind of a sucky actress but she had a very interesting voice. And anyone named T.V. is okay in my book. And I want to see Eddie Izzard in Julie Taymor's "The Music Man." Now THAT would be a crazy show to totally revise and make interesting to revitalize the movie musical. (Nothing will ever revitalize the move musical, woe is me)

You know what this movie was? This movie was like if Disneyland had a "SixtiesLand" or "HappyHippyLand" or "LSDLand" and used every single stupid cliche and stereotype about the sixties and hippies and The Beatles and the Baby Boomers and Vietnam and painted it all in loud colors and made it all into overblown shapes and sizes like Toon Town. That's what this movie was like.

But like I said, I really liked it.

BUT THE BEATLES TRANSCEND THESE CRAPPY FEW YEARS OF BULLSHIT!!!!!!!!!!

Jesus Christ Almighty.

New Podcast for You from Me.

Gabcast! Podcast Lucky Number Seven

Question Girl Update, Podcast Ideas, Emails from Uncle Daddy, a Song from Uncle Daddy, and, as always, a special surprise ending.



By the way, you might have noticed a new link on the right called "Diapantscast" this is a page I set up just to put my podcasts on. So if you listen to this one and you want to go back and listen to all of them again or for the first time you can click on that link and it will take you to my Diapantscast page. Try it and see!

Question Girl is Number 1!!! Numero Uno!!!

You can listen to half of the fruits of my laborings over becoming question girl here:

First of two Question Girl Podcasts

Some reviews are in:

My aunty tuney balooney says:

BRILLIANT.

AND she managed, in 36 minutes, to mention Ailsa, Asher, Jack, Myles,
me and Grandma. AND Yreka!

She totally rocks.

The link isn't on the blog yet but as soon as it is, Mandy or I or
Mawa or someone who knows how to find it will send it.

It is on iTunes if you subscribe to the podcast.

As Beatrice Hunsdorfer said:

"MY HEART IS FULL!!!"

And my mother says:

I just finished listening to Mandy's podcast and she was delightful in her
short robe -- although I guess she needs to get angry from time to time to
appease her legions of fans. GOOD WORK my darling daughter!!!

Ill Conceived Complaint and also untimely, premature.

I was whining and complaining about not getting any feedback about my story and then I checked my email today and I got 7 messages from people telling me that they either like it a lot, like it a little, are indifferent to it, or sort of were annoyed by it. If I were to do a poll, it would like like this:

Please mark whether or not you 7-10 LIKED IT A LOT, 4-7 LIKED IT A LITTLE, 1-4 WERE INDIFFERENT TO IT, or 7-10 WERE ANNOYED BY IT.

1--2--3--4--5--6--7--8--9--10

There would not be a HATED IT numbering system and those who liked it a lot and those who liked it not at all and were annoyed would be indistinguishable. That is why I am not a professional pollster. I heard about non-professional pollsters this afternoon on the McLaughlin Group. They were saying that the Zogby Poll is not done by professional pollsters. I was so offended because I bet Zogby worked really hard on that.

Roundhouse Kicks and Groin Boing Boing, Razzamatazzzz!

Happy 41st Wedding Anniversary, Parents. Also, my sister's Barfday is the day after tomorrow. Someone get her something for me, alright? I'm in no mood. What does she want? Also, I know none of you will ever read my story and that is okay. I won't go to any of your funerals so we're even, fuckbunches.

Also, pregnant lady at work had her baby last night. Congratulations to that baby for getting born out of pregnant lady at work. Good job!

Mirthless Short Story, Lacking in Mirth, AND BETTER THAN EVER!

REVISED, BITCHES.

An incidental character is called Air. As in, the air around us. The wind that shakes the barley, that sort of air. Its name is Air. But the air won't be personified so don't try to figure out what the character of Air is a metaphor for or how Air is like people because Air is just air, like the wind that shakes the barley, that sort of air. You are always wanting to anthropomorphize my characters. A rock is just a rock until it says or maybe does something to reveal its character. And then that still is not personification. That is just the way that rock is, that rock's personality. The rock character, which is totally hypothetical right now, might say something like, "I hate Air" and you might think the rock is a grumpy character. Maybe a hardened type of character, hating the air for all its erosion and smoothing over and shit. But notice I did not give the rock lips or a trachea or vocal chords or a face, expressionless or not, so this rock is not anthropomorphized and the fact that it hates air has nothing to do with people. It isn't "grumpy" because that is a human state of being. It is just a rock and it just happens to hate Air.

Happenstance healed horseradish, radish.

If I had to make my incidental character called Air more human for you, relate Air to the way people are, I guess I'd say Air was always coming and going as it pleased or that Air was like a two year old with out parents or guardians. An orphaned toddler is Air. An Aids Orphan.

Orphans in literature.

Jenna Bush might write a book about Air and we would feel so bad and privileged and when we wouldn't finish all the food on our plates we'd think of the poor Aids Orphan named Air.

Bereft through death, disappearance, abandonment, desertion by, or separation/loss from, both parents

If I had to, that's how I'd humanize Air for you. Because you can't handle my Air character being just air. Even though you see air all the time, you feel air all the time, you breath air all the time and you pass air out of your ass all the time. You feel better knowing that Air is like an Aids Orphan because it fits in your construct of character. Construct this: my character called Air.

Airily cried, “But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey's swell rang out through the foggy dew.”

There, among radishes, a whip-smart fourteen-year-old boy called Air with too-long bangs sat reading. As he read he had to stop and think to himself, “Here’s a nice turn of phrase.” He relished his time reading in the field, the radishes nearby. Nobody could understand this. His mother was under the erroneous impression that she totally got him. She liked to read herself, especially as a girl. But Air knew that the escapist books that his mother sped through were not like his own books. She read books no longer than three hundred pages. He imagined her in a field like he was then, except instead of radishes her field grew berries. Berries that she could pluck by the handful, gather in a basket, and devour quickly along with her books. Air sat in a field that grows radishes, unplucked. They were nothing alike.

Alack, Sinner, we’ve nothing. Empty Stables.

His mother worked out of their home as a transcriptionist for a physician. The physician was an obstetrician. Twice weekly she would go to his office and pick up the small tapes he used to dictate his notes. She would listen and type easily along with the happy, mundane, and uneventful office notes describing a healthy pregnancy and she would worry over the notes dictating sorrows. Despite the sorrows, and not necessarily because of the happier notes, she enjoyed the time spent at her desk with her headphones and her keyboard and the obstetrician’s voice forever under-enunciating through her fingers and onto the screen that brightened the space in front of her face. When he would cough or burp or eat while he dictated she would think she needed a cough drop, or she would say “Excuse You!” or she might feel she too needed a snack. She enjoyed eating berries while she transcribed, dipped in cool whip. It was the manner in which she worked ever since she quit smoking seven years prior to this day. Sometimes it was carrots but that was a cliché. She had gained 13 pounds in the first three months after quitting but just five in the years intervening. When she was a girl her mother rarely had berries in the house. She would often sit looking out the window of the large apartment building she grew up in and wish she lived nearer to nature so that she might gather berries herself and make pies. She also wished often for an easy bake oven. She got that one Christmas and was fairly disappointed. She had an Airedale named Dale who chewed the pink corners of the oven.

The ovens at Dachau, stately.

Air never asked his mother about her childhood. He never asked his mother about money, or whether or not she went to college, or what her parents were like before they died, or anything really. His ears perked up on the infrequent occasions that she supplied the odd fact. She didn’t know that he would have liked to hear more. He didn’t know she was waiting for him to ask. That was why she believed with most of her mind that she and her boy were nearly spot-on the same. It was the same reason that he believed they were not. Not even close.

Not even Glen Close.

Air said aloud now, “That truly is a nice turn of phrase; I need to write that down.” At the same time his mother said aloud, “Sensational, that’s not right!” Laughing, she typed out the correct phrase, “Gestational Diabetes.” She often found her typos to be interesting and amusing. “Sensational Diabetes!” She laughed again. She began singing a song as she typed. She often sang songs without realizing, using medical jargon and often mixing the terms up with advertising jingles or Christmas songs. “Eat your Wheaties, Eat your Wheaties, or you’ll come down with Sensational Diabetes…do dee do dee doo, la di da, Sensational, Gestational Diaaaaaabetes! Ah cha chaaaa”

Although it is increasingly popular to call the dance cha-cha, it is really cha-cha-chá.

Air rolled his eyes as he slammed the front door. He didn’t have a pen with him. He’d decided to run home quickly to get something to write with. He was about to take off toward mom’s office but once he heard her singing he couldn’t bear it. It was always the same. Jingle Bells Palsy or Tubaligations at Taco Bell. What a freak. Some mornings when he has slept too hard and has had dreams that woke him up feeling like a different person in a stranger’s home, unable to muster up memories of himself or what day it is or what happened to the world he was just in, he hears the tinny sound of his mother singing “Pop, Pop, Fizz, Fizz, spotting at eight weeks it is, it is,” traveling up the stairs, into his bedroom. This brings the world spinning back round in front of his face and he can remember whether or not he has to go to school or if he can sleep another hour or two.

It takes two to tiptoe, Major Margaret J. "Hot Lips" Houlihan.

When the boy’s mother hears her own singing she is often caught unawares. She believes this happens a few seconds after she begins but often it is a half an hour or even longer later.

Longer Litterbox, Lull, Lull!

When the mother’s boy reads his books in the field among the radishes he often finds a turn of phrase to be interesting and writes it down. When he has no pen, he usually dog-ears the page so that he might return to it later and write out the phrase. What he didn’t realize was that he also always puts the phrase into a familiar melody, usually a T.V. theme song, and sings it over and over again, repeating it until he has written it down in his journal of interesting phrases or sometimes repeating it still, until he has come across another phrase that he finds irresistible. Air was singing such a phrase aloud to himself as he walked up the stairs to his bedroom to retrieve a pen. “I’m pilot-major of a dead fleet,” he sang along to the theme of theme of the X-Files.

Porn Addicts are triple X-philes.

He was making his way through Shogun, James Clavell’s novel of Japan, and while he was reading it he thought at every turn of the page that he might not be able to finish it. He also felt with every turn of the page that he is the only boy his age he knew who would attempt it and this made him feel very superior. Not superior in a bad way though, just better than everyone else his age. Better and smarter and more hardworking.

Saint Hardworking Toikey, chucken.

Air’s mother spent most of her childhood feeling the same way until she met the boy’s father and she realized that there were so many people far better and smarter, faster, leaner, less obvious, cleaner, and with more poise and cunning than she had. She had a child with his father because he made her feel bad about herself. When he died, despite herself, and despite her grief, she began to feel slowly better about herself again. Her son had begun, just prior to this day, in his newly teenaged years, to make her feel worse again.

Finnegan, your tumor is benign again, illoncologically.

They were a dead fleet and they were co-major-pilots. They had quite a few days ahead of them just like this one. Things were predetermined and running downhill.
Maybe I’ll name her Rock. Or Twig. Willow. Will-o’-the-wisp. Clown. A-Wave-Upon-the-Sand.

How do you catch a moonbeam in your hand?

So I am not able to read my stories out loud in my writing classes. I wish that I could have a writing class tutor and not have to have all the other people in the class. The reasons I don't want to read my stories out loud are many and complicated and mostly just bullshit but that doesn't change the fact. So, I really hate to do this because I think that people who post fiction on blogs are kind of losers but I've been purposefully going out and finding more and more sites where people do this and I've found such a broad range of examples that I am no longer disgusted by this practice. That being said, and because I can't read my stories out loud in class, I really would like to get some feedback. I know my friends and family might feel weird about this or they might not and then I'll just not take their opinions seriously because they are my friends and family. But there are people who read this blog who aren't my friends and family. I know this because my sitemeter comes up with places like Portland Maine and Calgary and Burlingame and many many other places belonging to people I don't know (but who I secretly, or not so secretly since I was telling Angelina this same thing yesterday, wish I knew and was friends with). So if you are one of those people and you either hate my stories because they are trite and derivative and fall completely apart in the third act, I would really really really love your feedback. Be anonymous. Make up a name. Or email me at mandymurphy@gmail.com if you don't want other people reading your comments.

Have a Scaaaaaary Chanukah!

So here's the deal. I'm working more hours, which is great, I'm writing a lot for my writing class, which is double great, The internet, not my internet, but someone nearby with the internet I've been using for some time now, is down, which is double double dumb ass on you shitty AND SO as a result, I have not been able to work on my podcast. I wanted to do a special halloween podcast and I had intended to put the real life audio from my favorite show ever in the world The State into the podcast. But I'll just have to settle for this transcript. I've put this transcript up for the last three Halloweens here, I think. It never gets old. Unlock your mom's vagina. That shit gets old fast. But it only takes a minute anyway.

(Edit: I of course meant to say "Unlike your mom's vagina" but I didn't notice this error until several hours later. I am loathe to change it. Unlock your mom's vagina is such a great mandate.)

Mike S: Hi. You know, sometimes with all this holiday hustle and bustle, it can be easy to forget the true meaning of Halloween. We observe Halloween to celebrate the birth of Christ. And in celebration of his birth, many traditions have been handed down through the years.

Ben: The hiding of the eggs.

Kevin: The annual pilgrimage to Mecca.

Mike S: Halloween is a day to bring your daughter to work.

Ben: Or your secretary.

Kevin: And it's the biggest shopping day of the year!

Mike S: But most of all, Halloween is a time for young people to gather together spreading holiday cheer by lighting bags of their own crap on fire, ringing the doorbell, and running away. So America, Happy Halloween, or as we like to call it, Chanukah.

All: Have a scary Chanukah!

And you too, you out there, you have a nice nice very nice scary Halloween, alright?

Lies

The thing I said about searching for cognitive behavioral therapy books? That was a g-d lie. Woopsies.

Baking and Partying and Blowing Your Mind.

I baked brownies today. Horrible, horrific brownies. And I added yellow and red food coloring to frosting and squeezed out the word Boo! on several of them. On a few more, I drew orange pumpkins. Pale orange pumpkins. I got tired of trying to add more dye to make it more orange. Half of the brownies weren't cooked all the way through. Those went into my refrigerator for refriger-later. The rest rest atop a gaggle of "autumn" themed dark chocolate M&Ms with a paper towel betwixt the two snacks. This is for a Halloween party I am going to tonight after work. I also bought beer because the invitation I got said "BYOB" which is some sort of code word suggesting that you provide your own libation as the host and hostess are obviously cheap bastards. I hope they read this. Hi Angelina! Hi, Casey!

Baking is fun but always sort of stresses me out because it never turns out right. I am a horrible baketress.

I have been obsessively playing Black & White 2. God I love it. I liked the first Black & White game but there were aspects of it that really annoyed me. Like the fact that it was sort of hard to figure out how to play and what the point was. They fixed a lot of that in Black & White 2. And lord how I love it. Lord love a duck, I love this game.

I've been dog sitting this past week. It is a been a hassle but a rewarding hassle because Chachi Wachi Roy is the best doggy dog in the universe and he is so sweet and nice and he only bothers me a little bit. As long as you pay constant attention to him until he gets tired and decides to sleep, he is a great dog. It was mostly my fault when he ate my sandwich anyway.

Work has been kind of crazy lately. People coming and going and quitting and getting hired and rehired. I don't know who I am anymore. Just kidding. It is not really that existential of a problem. Just ch-ch-ch-changes like David Bowie would say. It bothers me when Ricky Gervais pronounces it Bowie rhyming with Howie but then I think, he is English, he is probably pronouncing it right. But is he? I don't know. Maybe he is doing it just to bother me. I got my aunt hooked on Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant's podcast (aka, the Karl Pilkington show) and now she too understands the brilliant radiant mind power and hilarity of Karl Pilkington. When will the rest of you listen to me?

What else. So much has happened in the last couple of weeks! I am planning an extra special Halloween podcast to be recorded and edited Monday and Tuesday. I hope you like ear orgasms because that's what you're in for. Scary.

Peace Out, Fuckwads.

Roman Numerals and Bullet Points and other things

A#1 - Check this out:

Daily Show Archives available for free!!!

I'm so excited. I'm going to watch all of them from time immemorial. I wonder if the Craig Kilborn episodes will be up there. I don't think I ever saw it when he was hosting. Maybe once or twice.

Bullet Point 2 - I watched Gone Baby Gone yesterday. Ben Affleck directed it and it sort of stars his brother. Morgan Freeman and Ed Harris are in it too. It was pretty good. I actually feel like I should recommend it. It is little more than a suped up Law and Order Special Victims Unit episode but it is really well done and well acted, etc. So there you go. Also, one thing that I liked about it is that although Casey Affleck is pretty much the star there is actually a lot of weight put into the standard girlfriend part. I wish there had been more. It really could have been a movie with this couple as the two main characters like a buddy movie or a romantic comedy except in the vain of a sort of thriller drama. It didn't really take this far enough but it was still an interesting change.

Roman Numeral III - I watched the first season of Friday Night Lights and am now all caught up with the new season. Everything that people say about this show is true. You aren't watching it for whatever reason. You don't like football or you don't like high school teen dramas or you don't like television hour long dramas in and of themselves. You probably like this show though. You just don't know it yet. I was telling someone recently that I actually like it despite the football because I am not a football fan in the least. This show is so good, however, that I realized that I don't like it despite the football. I actually like the football. So watch it. You can watch all the episodes from season one on NBC.com or on Netflix. And then watch the new season on Friday nights. I think it is on at 9 or 10pm on NBC. Do it.

Heads up, Seven Up. Milk, Milk, Lemonade. Round the Corner...

I just read this great piece at Slate about the Up series. Has anyone else who reads this seen any of the films? You've probably heard of it. It is this series of films that interviews a bunch English people every seven years starting with the first interviews at age 7. So there's 7 Up, 14 Up, and so on. I'd been trying to keep up with them all ever since I watched the entire series some time before 2000. I think it was 1998. Anyway, the newest film, 49 Up, is out now and I guess it was shown on PBS recently. I watched it on Netflix last month. I recommend checking out this series. Here is a link to the Slate article.

Growing Up Observed
The irresistible appeal and pathos of Michael Apted's Up series.

And if you've seen the others but not this newest one, do you remember Neil? The guy who became a total mess and sort of a schizo and homeless? He is doing much better. It is worth watching just to see that he isn't dead in some ditch somewhere.

Winners, Whiners, and Weiners.

So I won. I'm a winner. Thanks to everyone who voted for me. I really, really, appreciate it. At this point, I'm not exactly sure what the game plan is. I might be question girl on the podcast through a teleconference which is not my first choice but which may be the most convenient in terms of logistics and the time/space continuum. If it were up to me, I'd drive down there the first part of November and visit my sister and do the podcast then. I'm not sure if it is up to me though. We'll see. I'm just worried that if I do it on the phone there'll be a lot of awkward uhs and ums and people cutting people off and people not be able to hear people, etc. But I don't know if they want to wait until November. I'll be old news by then. Old old news.

Also, I moved this week! No more floods, no more slugs, no more teacher's dirty hugs. I love my new apartment. It is lovely. I wrote a poem expressing my feelings toward my new shower.

Oh Shower, Oh Shower!
The way in which your mighty spray
Issues from your thick, strong head
Tis the freshest way to start the day
If only you were in my bed

See you on the flip side, numb nuts.

Oh wait, I'm not done yet! I almost forgot to say that you can listen to the podcast wherein I am mentioned as the winner of the contest HERE. If you get to the part where Question Boy makes fun of my blog and points out a typo then you'll understand why I added a short note to the blurbs below my title here on the blog. For the record, I actually enjoy Question Boy and it makes me feel so horrible when I hear such mean spirited vitriol aimed at me just because he feels threatened. I hope some day we can come to an understanding. I hope some day he'll realize that my quest to be Question Girl was never meant to be a personal attack on his abilities as Question Boy.

Up From The Ashes...

Up from the ashes, grow the roses of success! Disaster didn't stymie Louis Pasteur! Edison took years to see the light! Quite Right!

Etc.

The long and the short of it is that I am totally kicking major emmereffing assssss all over town in this competition. I thought to myself recently, I thought, "They like me, they really, really like me." And also, "Let's face it. If the mothers ruled the world, there would be no God-damned wars in the first place." I just hope I remember to thank my lawyers and Jesus in my acceptance speech.

If you want to see how things are going, click here

Big Fat Loser. Oh Well- UPDATE

I don't think I'm going to win this thing after all people. Turns out, all my lobbying and sucking up to the guy who I thought was going to make the decision backfired because now it is a fucking popularity contest. Ask me how many popularity contests I've won.

"Hey Mandy, how many popularity contests have you won?"

None. None Popularity Contests.

That's how many. I guess I was just a little to Tracy Flick on their asses. A little too much tenacity, not enough likability. A little to much Paris Geller, not enough Rory Gilmore.

But you know what? I'd rather be Paris than Rory any day of the week.

Vote for me here:Question Girl Vote

New Podcast! Question Girl Contest, Emails from Uncle Daddy, New Jingles, and More!

Gabcast! Diapantscast #6 - There's a contest comin' and Amandapants aims to win.

Amanda's bloodthirsty quest to be number one puts her in a dangerous position.

Soon, my pretties. Sooooon

So the podcast will go up tomorrow night probably late. I have gotten some really great feedback. Thanks to Marigold, Zach, Aunty Tuney, and Becky for recommending me highly. I think I'm gonna win this contest. I really wanna win that car. There isn't really a car, that is just a quote from The Census skit with Christopher Walken on SNL. It isn't too late for any of you who still want to be on my podcast or want to recommend me to be a special guest on another podcast. And Sonofabastard, feel free to call in to the actual show! That would be so great!

Exclamation!

In fact, if you want to leave messages for the actual show, you can. You just won't get to be heard on my podcast since I won't get to hear your messages. But the number is 1-888-SFC-TVTM That's 1-888-732-8886.

We're gonna win this thing, people. You and me. All the way, sweet cakes. Candy ass.

New Podcast coming soon but I need your help!

No time to explain. I am involved in a contest. A very heated contest. I need YOU, dear reader, to either leave me a google voicemail (mandymurphy@gmail.com) or a telephone message (email me for my phone# if you don't have it as I am understandably wary about printing that here. The email was dangerous enough. I'm talking to YOU, stalkers!) and tell me why you think I should win the contest. The winner of the contest gets to be Question Girl on a podcast that I listen to all the time which is about TV shows. So you should not only say why you think I should be on the podcast (or why you don't think I should be on the podcast because that would probably be funny too) OR why you think I would be good at reading questions or good at bantering and blathering on about t.v. shows. Show your work! Actually, just leave the messages. I will then compile them in my next podcast to be recorded and edited over the next few days. Please, help a brotha out!

Chris Crocker - defeat depression!

Let's Awaken Our Souls!

Seriously. I'm sure that in a few months or a year or in some future time I will look back on posting this with some degree of shame but I cannot express exactly how I feel about this Chris Crocker fellow and so all I can do is show you bits of what I've seen and loved. I wish he was just a couple years older. Being 19 and getting all this fame, albeit flash in the pan internet fame, will sully his completely genius sense of performance art. I mean, if this guy isn't the reincarnation of not only Andy Warhol but everything Andy Warhol ever said or did, I don't know what is.

Glom on to the Long Arm of the Law, Glom on to it.

So my aunt and my cousin and I spent several days in San Francisco/San Jose last week and it was enjoyable to a degree befitting the situation. My aunt tuney-balooney wrote the following account and I have added a few notes where I found her description to be lacking:

I have been on vacation for the past 9 or so days with my little daughter Maggie and my little niece Mandykins. We went to visit my other little niece Marya and her little babies Ailsa and Asher. And we had SO MUCH FUN!!!!! We took Hwy 1 down the-

I have to stop her here because we actually took Hwy 3 over to the coast from Yreka and drove briefly through Arcata (stopping to eat at Stars, remember Stars?) and then continued down 101 to Garberville or thereabouts and then cut over to Hwy 1. We then stayed the night in Fort Bragg in a fairly cheesy motel with a typed sign that said something funny in Engrish. I wish I could remember it but it was something like, "You will be charge $100.00 if you bring pet into room without telling us" I remember the "You will be charge" part. I think I'll have to email Maggie to remember the exact verbiage and how it was presented on the page.

coast through Mendo and Sonoma and I got wet in the ocean and then we had lunch in Bodega Bay and this is after we stayed Fort Bragg for the night and a homeless fisherman told me I was beautiful and anyway then we drove over the Golden Gate Bridge into San Francisco whilst Judy Garland belted out “San Francisco, Open Your Golden Gates” on the iPod

My iPod and only after I forced Tuney to let us play it and she said things like, "Is this really necessary?" and I said things like, "um, yeah, I think it is." And then of course she was so glad.

and then we visited the babies and such and then we went to Happy Hollow and that was lots of fun and then we went to Flyshacker Zoo which isn’t Flyshacker anymore and then I got drunk at the Cliff House and then I worked while they played and then Maggie and I visited my college roommate in San Carlos and we laughed a lot and then we went to San Francisco and we went down Lombard Street and then I got lost and then I got more lost and then I got lost some more and then we went to Haight Ashbury and met the funniest

Not the funniest. Really lame, actually. They thought he was cute, I didn't. But later Maggie said he was cute but that she wouldn't "Hold hands with him or kiss him or anything" because he was sort of gross like a sort of semi-dirty semi-hippie with a raging semi. I'm not sure about that last part.

comedian in San Francisco and he told a really stupid joke and that was at the Ben & Jerry’s on H-A and then we went to the Japanese Tea Gardens and I risked my life climbing the bridge

Tuney has an irrational fear of bridges. Good thing she doesn't live in San Francisco or another area of the country where there are a ton of bridges that you have to use all the time to get around (like,say... the Seattle area?).

and then we got lost some more and got in a big huge fight and then a bad bad man in a red Ford pickup truck honked and honked at me and I wanted slit his throat and I still do and then we parked and walked from Pier 1 to Pier 39 against the 80MPH gust of wind which stopped us in our tracks and then we ate clam chowder and such and then we wandered and finally got to Ghiradelli Square but didn’t have time to look around because we had to stand in line for a cable car

But we did have time to have a Mint Bliss sundae. Both Maggie and I enjoyed Mint Bliss chocolate sundaes at Ghiradelli Square and they were delectable. Maggie works in a chocolate store so she quite enjoyed seeing all of the famous chocolate making machinations and I enjoyed making Agustus Gloop jokes which came in handy later when we were playing the initials game and my aunt said A.G. and the answer was Agustus Gloop.

and there was a crazy douchebag man who was with a young boy who he claimed to be the mentor of "I happen to be his mentor!" and he got in a fight with the cable car conductor and a nice singing troubadour who sang a Willie Nelson song for the ladies in front of us and they loved him and then rode the cable car to the end of the line and then caught a cab with a Moroccan cab driver who hates China and says “It’s all over”

I asked him where he was from and he said I'm Moroccan but when you say that fast and with a Moroccan accent it sounds like "I'm Iraqin" and I said, "Iraqi? From Iraq?" and he said "No, I'm not from Iraq, I'm from Morocco" and then I felt stupid and American but I recovered by making a joke involving something like don't come moroccan when this cab's iraquin.

and then met Marya and went to Chinatown for the best dinner in the world and then bought a bunch stuff and then went home and then they slept in and I did not and then I got my computer fixed and at yummy things at the mall yummy fancy things and then played with babies all the rest of the day and played the initial game for 3 hours and then drove to my old house in San Mateo and my old elementary school and it all looks exactly the same and that made me happy and then ate cheeseburgers at Carl’s Jr. in Williams and accidentally let 180 flies in the car and then got home to my sisters house and ate artichokes and now we are at my mommy’s house and tomorrow we go home and soon I will post pictures, as will Mndykns.

And I did. You can view them on my flickr page. Flick This!

So when I was on vacation the whole Chris Crocker thing broke with his youtube video emotionally and vehemently defending Britney. This is genius. If you haven't seen it, you should. I'm not going to post it here because it has been everywhere but I've been looking at a whole bunch of his other youtube videos and I think I am in love with him. Here is one of my favorite quotes of his that I've already posted on another blog:

"I'm about to lose my manners and my mind. It's on for real now. Ya'll done did what you shouldn't have done. Ya'll done made me get huffy. And when I get huffy I get in your face, I get in your mind, and I get under your skin. Okay?...Keep it cute, or put it on mute."

He is the it girl right now.

A Reminder for Dorks

Dear Dorks,

Don't forget! Tonight at 8pm and 10:30pm on your local PBS station Ken Burns' The War begins. I will be tuning in. Will you?

Things better left unsaid

Things I need to address:

1. My new apartment

2. My old apartment

3. My vacation

4. Other news and happenings and general goings-ons, i.e. movies watched, television programs enjoyed, books perused and/or read, and things on the internet that have been enjoyable such as Britney and O.J.

Neve Campbell is on Medium right now. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Things I will address:

Nothing.
I'm too tired. I'm too tired to even link to my aunt's blog even after she summed up the trip we all recently took. "We" being my cousin, my aunt, and myself. But I have to work for 10 hours straight tomorrow and by work I mean sit around for 10 hours straight tomorrow so maybe sometime during that long long day I'll write something of substance here.

You Fill Up My Senses. Mostly The Senses That Sense Stink.

I've got nothing to say about anything and I haven't for weeks. I'm speechless!