Dinner and Taxes

Snippet from a recent phone conversation:

Her (being a chick I dig): So, I know we had plans for me to come over tonight and have dinner and hang out. Can I ask another favor?

Me: (being me and thinking, well, duh, of course I'll take a shower first) Pssh, yeah, of course.

Her: Well... I was just sort of thinking...I don't have an internet connection, and you do, and I haven't finished my taxes yet...

Me: Wait. You're going to come over, I'm going to make you dinner, and you're going to... do your taxes.

Her: Well... yeah. If that's not too weird.

Me: Weird? No, that's not weird. That's not weird at all. Kind of reminds me of high school, actually.

Her: You helped your friends with their taxes in high school?

Me: Well, no. I was more a word guy. Not a math guy. I was pretty bad at math. Still am, it turns out.

Her: So...

Me: So in high school, I was sort of the Cyrano de Bergerac guy.

Her: You ghost wrote love notes for the jock who wanted to get with the cheerleader?

Me: Well, no, not exactly. I ghost wrote love notes for the cheerleader I had a crush on who wanted to get with the jock she had a crush on. It was all very John Hughes. I had a very John Hughes high school experience. Always the Michael Anthony Hall, never the Molly Ringwald. I guess that was the point of John Hughes. And high school, because I sure as shit have yet to use algebra in a real world situation.

Her: So...

Me: So, I guess I don't have to take a shower.

Her: What?

Me: Nothing. I'll see you in a bit.

The Best Part Of Waking Up Is Vengeance In Your Cup

     Natural Directions is United Grocers private label brand of organic products (their other, more recognizable brand of foodstuffs, at least in the Western United States, is Western Family, which is equally inexpensive with no regard to eye- catching packaging) and as such has the bland, generic appearance one might expect of budget- priced fare; the front panel is dominated by a white field and features slapped- on clip art, colors dull as safety scissors, uninspired typography, and a logo straight out of a lazy 7th- grade marketing class project. All of which is appropriate because if you're buying ND, you're going for the price point, not the pretty label. Which is exactly why I purchased this bag of coffee. Today, however, I noticed and felt compelled to point out the illustration on this package of Natural Directions French Roast because it is awesome:

      This image has nothing to do with coffee or its consumption, is unusually artful for what amounts to generic packaging, and seems to only tie in to the product because (judging from its posture) the depressed and anxious gargoyle (or emaciated devil rabbit) is glaring at the Eiffel Tower. IT HATES IT SO MUCH! and is waiting for the sun to set because it knows that as soon as the darkness closes in it will become free to unleash its rage upon the unsuspecting populace of Paris with its fiery breath. See, there's a pun here, but I'm not a fan of puns, so I'll let you figure it out.
   
     

I've recently changed my fb privacy settings due to... privacy concerns.
If you are not on my 'friends' list, here's what you may have missed:
- I cooked something. It was quite an event.
- Comic books are a thing I continue to enjoy, especially Batman and Batman related merchandise, although current comics are mostly crap. Bonus: a new album of my Batman merchandise collection.
- I noticed we had some seasonally/ regionally appropriate weather. I may have experienced it, or looked out the window at it, but my opinion of it was proportionate to its perceived affect on my mood. Also, I used 'affect' correctly. This means me a writer.
- That new trailer for that movie was uninspiring, but I'll probably see it eventually because I was going to anyway. Whatever, the book/ comic/ cartoon/ TV series was better.
- I used the 'f' word in response to a friends post, because I'm edgy as fuck.
- I linked to an internet article/ youtube video/ grumpy cat meme about a subject that is relevant to my interests.
- I linked to my own blog entry that is a copy/ paste of the exact same thing I just posted on facebook, as a comment to that post, after liking the post I just wrote. Because mustaches. And beer.

     Some day there is a house. In the basement of this house there is a black clad man, well in his cups, sporting indecisive facial hair and having no concern whatsoever in regard to starting a sentence with a prepositional phrase while working out rudimentary, out- of- key harmonica parts to old Pearl Jam songs and dancing around like a lurching jackass. This morning, however, there is only a nerdy apartment, a ridiculous and editorially offensive run- on sentence, and some pretty bullshit fiddling- around with tense.

The Five Stages of an Accidental Career

STAGE ONE: DENIAL

     It's only a job. It's just for right now. I mean, it pays the bills, right, and it's not gonna be what I do forever, so I'll just stick with it until I figure out what it is I really want to do. Which is play the bass.  I mean, how hard can it be to learn to play an instrument that has four strings? You only need like half the fingers it takes to play guitar and you still look just as cool doing it, which is exactly what it is that the chicks dig.

STAGE TWO: ANGER

     You have got to be fucking kidding me. Have I really been working here for five years already? Do they seriously expect me to still work on weekends and all minor holidays? Come on, am I not better than this? I have friends, I have a life, I have... aspirations. This bullshit is really starting to cut in to my creative time. Maybe I'll just pick up the drums, because right now I really need to beat the shit out of something.

STAGE THREE: BARGAINING

     You know what? It's cool. Maybe I can cut my hours down a little, grow a sweet beard, still get at least some benefits, then I can focus on what's really important to me. Sure, things' ll be a little tight but come on, it's only money, right? I mean life is about so much more, you know? Like finding The Balance. So, okay, fine. I'm willing to compromise. I'm willing to sacrifice. Maybe I'll take up the banjo because does anyone even need to take lessons to play one of those things? For real, what's the commitment here.

STAGE FOUR: DEPRESSION

i hurt myself today, to see if i still feel. i focus on the pain; the only thing that's real. Well, another thing that's real is tapping a metal triangle on a string with a stick. It wold be even better if i could keep time. Jesus, i can't even spell 'would'. i sukc. Aw, DAMMIT!

STAGE FIVE: ACCEPTANCE

     You know, maybe this isn't so bad after all. It's a steady income, at least. I've got medical insurance. I've got a vision plan. I've got cable. Maybe it's all gonna work out. I mean, ain't none of us getting any younger, right? The sun sets, options narrow, and I have some pretty serious things to think about these days. Like my mortgage. And my kids' college funds. Retirement. Besides, I can always pick up the harmonica in my spare time, I guess. It's pretty much just whistling through a diaphragm anyway, right?

Dear IKEA,


     Although it was inexpensive compared to other leading brands, your toothpaste with the red crab image on the tube is the most unpleasant oral hygiene product it has been my misfortune to use. I have not been so disappointed in a dentifrice since, as a child spending the weekend with my grandparents, I squeezed something called 'Preparation H' onto my C3PO toothbrush after assuming the 'H' meant 'Halitosis'. I would make the same suggestion to you now as I did in my letter of complaint to the American Home Products company back then: Needs. More. Mint.


Sincerely,


Robert Holladay

Down With The Quickness

This isn't much of a selling point, and may even rank up there as one of the worst opening lines of all time like if I said you had a nice body would you hold it against me, but here it is: I really have nothing to say. I'm listening to some very fast music that makes me want to type very fast and you, my friends, are missing out. It's fast as shit, this typing that I'm doing. I should put it up on youtube. It's that good. It's like a typing speed run. Hardly any typos or anything.

But I don't really have anything to say.

As you may have noticed.

If you made it this far.

So my fingers are dancing tapping jumping percussively almost convulsively over and across the keyboard like the legs of a couple over- caffeinated multiple- amputee spiders who are very busy not putting Baby in a corner. I'm pretending the keyboard is a musical instrument. My shoulders are getting into it. I'm doing that twitchy thing with my mouth like those guys in bands do. If I had long hair it would be dark and sort of curly and hanging down over the keyboard. Waving back and forth. Bouncing up and down. Because I am that into it. Also, leather shorts. I've always wanted to be able to play something really fast and very accurately that would make people go, 'Holy shit! That guy is really fast! And he's also very accurate! I can't help but groove because DAMN it! I must buy him a beer afterward and say some complimentary thing that he'll ignore and not because he's a jerk but because lots of other people here want to buy him a beer and say some complimentary thing that he'll ignore and not because he's a jerk but because he's in some sort of trance from that crazy shit he just did that was SO. AWESOME. and wait, is he checking out my girlfriend?'

And of course I would be. Because I like the idea of girlfriends. If I had one, she'd be pretty cool with the whole super- fast typing thing. In fact, that's probably what drew her to me in the first place. But after a few weeks she'd be all, 'Dude, seriously, could you put that god damned keyboard down and come to bed? You don't have anything to say anyway, and besides, I have a meeting with an important client in the morning.' And I'd be all, 'Baby, you just don't get it, man. This is my ART, man. This is how I EXPRESS MYSELF.' And then she'd say, 'Did you know that when a lactating mother uses a breast pump she's 'expressing' herself?' And I'd say, 'oh yeah? Well... hang on. I'm gonna go brush my teeth. I'll be there in a minute.'