By popular request and the power of Greyskull

Been a while, eh!? I have but little time as I must go home and eating. But first, I would like to say that every time you think about cutting corners in your classes, this man frowns at you:

(Does anybody know who this person is?)

I'm happy, for you see, I've finally gotten a chance to rock out with the public. That's right, me and two friends is gonna play at a birthday party on Friday, and so long as we don't get pneumonia or bonus eruptus (a serious disease where the skeleton jumps out of the body), it'll be way awesome. I'll probably record it in some way, so that my posterity will know of my ability to lay down a solid groove.

I am the possessor of an Indiana Jones lunchbox. The fact that I've never really seen the movies doesn't deter anybody and everybody from saying "hey cool lunchbox dood!! hyuk hyuk hyuk!!" Personally, I wish they wouldn't. Is not a man greater than his lunchbox? And if we must compare the relative value of a man's possessions to the man himself, they could say "I like your stupid shirt that says 'World's Greatest Grandpa,' loser!"

Actually, they shouldn't say that either.

Slob Mode activated!

I wrote a new song. Woo! It's based on how I don't have any energy when I wake up, and oftentimes I decide to loosen my belt and not shower and... hey, you're guilty too; I can see it in your eyes! Anyways, it's called "Slob Mode" and should be rockin'. It isn't disco rock, nor is it "chaos punk," but it's kind of nice-sounding rock. (That's vague, semi-purposefully.)

I haven't written anything new on the blog in a while. This is because I've been too busy feasting on giant spider corpses and ...quiche. (At least one of these is a lie. Can you tell which one?)

Wizard needs haircut, badly.

Wizard needs food badly

A. Once upon a time, I rather liked Dilbert. I thought it was generally pretty funny and even applicable to me, who had never inhabited a cubicle. Yet slowly, like the, uh..."rainy miasma that darkens my soul," a haze of lousiness crept over it and made it not-funny.
Likewise, I recently watched via YouTube part of a recent Simpsons episode. For ten long minutes I stared at the screen, having little else to do. The animation was pretty good; I don't usually notice such things, but it's as good as it's ever been. The voice actors were familiar and I felt like I should laugh. However, IT WAS AS FUNNY AS A WEEKEND TRAVEL PACKAGE TO THE GULAG. Anyways, my point is that things deteriorate.
But not always. MST3K managed to stay funny until the end, probably thanks a lot to Mike Nelson. Futurama? Heck yeah. I haven't seen an unfunny episode of Space Ghost, though I have seen plenty that are outright malicious toward the viewer. And to complement Dilbert, we have the excellent Calvin and Hobbes.
Maybe the constant theme is that of dropping out or getting canceled before you grow stale.

2. Having listened to some songs recently (namely, "Take Me Out" by Franz Ferdinand and "At Least I'm Not Like All Those Other Old Guys" by Five Iron Frenzy), I suddenly have a burning desire to write a bunch of music that combines disco beats with rock vocals and guitars. This, friends, would most likely be awesome.
Is there any other examples like this? First off, I'd like to listen to more of this stuff, and also I don't want to make the raddest record in the world, then look in the papers and see that everybody's already jumped on the disco rock bandwagon.

3. I'm going to Las Vegas tomorrow. It's been a while since I last went, so I'm kind of excited. It's good to see my dad, anyways; I don't like the city itself that much.
I love all of you. Except Murray.

It's not unusual...

So uh, how's everybody doing? I have a Tom Jones song (or rather, a cover by Five Iron Frenzy) in my head right now...This is cause for rejoicing.

I just finished Catcher in the Rye today, so I'm whiny and unfocused like Holden Caulfield. This brings me to my next point: I knew a fellow who would often wear an MIT sweater. He wasn't Mormon, or even Christian (I think), so it irked him somewhat when people asked him if it meant "Missionary In Training." In my imagination, it's always some gray-haired patriarchal type guy that asks this, pretty close to retirement from his high-powered company where he meets with high-powered clients to discuss high-powered business deals over high-powered lunch. Despite bein' 60ish, though, he's got some booming voice and always dresses sharply, even when he jogs.

Anyways (not to take attention away from Father Abraham), I later learned that MIT sweater fella was gay. Uh, is gay. So, to use my amazing logic powers, wearing an MIT sweater means you're gay. Everybody at MIT wears MIT sweaters. Therefore, everybody at MIT is gay. So it's good that I didn't get accepted there!!!! Because I'm homophobic!!!!

In other news, I saw my good friend Genghis Khan yesterday. He just got back from his mission; were he to wear something that said MIT on it, it really would have meant "Missionary In Training." He's just as I remember him, though; he hasn't changed much since 5th grade, when we first became friends. I guess nobody changes too much, but rather they grow. And grow he has.

Have I grown? It's been six months and change* since I returned from my own mission. And six months ago, I would have unequivocally said "Yeaaaaaaahhh!!!" But now I'm not so sure; I have to wonder if I have regressed a bit. For one thing, I tried to make myself a lot more emotionally open and honest, particularly when I was about to return. However, somehow or other I've thrown up my walls, and it's difficult to communicate again. At least I've figured some stuff out, and figuring some stuff out is fifty percent of the conflict!!!! Wahahaha!

Thank you for your read my rambling blog entry.

P.S.: I hope somebody's computer gets fixed way soon.

*Specifically, $47.59.

Things are going well. Thighs are also going well.

Car update since I sure haven't told anything about it!!! At all!! My car, sweet, virtuous MacGyver, has suffered a grave injury to the main gasket. In other words, everything is wrong with it now, and I have to offer my first-born child* to the mechanic to even get him to try and fix it. Luckily, I've pried enough cash from the filthy clutches of my company to be able to pay for repairs and trade it in for something else. In other words, drinks all around! Or rather, ...aw heck, drinks all around! I'm probably going to be getting much the same car. Four door little thing with A/C and CD (but not an AC/DC) player, good gas mileage, and strong cheekbones. It doesn't need to be the most powerful thing in the world, so long as it can contain my winning personality! Does anybody have any advice or suggestions? I'm new to the high-stakes and high-danger world of used car sales, and I don't want to run afoul of dealerships with hordes of slope-faced thugs and overflowing secret graveyards.

I would write more but a Japanese lady stole my soul with a 30-minute phone call. Gahh!!!

But otherwise thighs are going well.

* Given my first-born is half-baby half-gold. I can accomplish this by either marrying a solid block of gold OR walking up to some random woman with gold bullion (not boullion) and saying "Hey toots, wanna make a baby? ...from gold, of course? Look, I have the sculptor's tools right here and...oh come on, can't we agree to disagree about the semantic ambiguity of that phrase? I contend that 'to the pure, all things are pure' and that 'make,' as a word, has a richer, broader history in describing creative production into ordered existence than it does as a euphemism for procreation. Granted, the tone and body language of the speaker are also important, yet I believe that my delivery, though somewhat awkward and frankly chilling, should not completely hide my good intentions..."

The kettle is a regular Billy Dee Williams

I made the mistake of falling asleep on the couch last night. Maybe this has something to do with my feelings of silent desperation and hockey hair. (No, I don't have feelings of hockey hair. I got in enough trouble from feeling Mr. T's hair.)

Some of you may appreciate this, which I briefly mentioned at a Happy Pirates practice some time ago: Pay particular attention to elements T and Tv.

Let's questioning. What does everybody do when, even though everything is outwardly going well, you feel like you need to unleash a Mighty Headbutt (tm) on the world? I have this feeling of unfulfilled-ness and discontent despite all the cool stuff that's going on. Maybe it's a midlife crisis. Maybe I just need to throw a brick through somebody's window. Could it be yours? Eh, I'll settle for mine.

I'll change the mood from self-pity and try not to make it saccharin: "I know that I'm not alone / The treasure of my heart is calling on the telephone / I've got my friends around me, they don't seem to hate me yet / My family lends me cash and they're not strict about the debt." I like rock 'n' roll bands that can package a real good message in a reasonably weird ...uhh, package. Pain is one of those bands, and I wish I could write like that. I guess I have written like this a little bit, with my ill-fated song "VCR Nomad." But Pain makes it seem effortless to talk about drawing half-boy half-rhinoceri and apply it to our own lives without hammering the idea into my skull.

Happy Pirates was good-like. My mind decided to tell me "Hey, you totally had an off night!", which may be true, but it does no good to dwell on it. So I punished my mind by drinking a few gallons of Drano. Sure, it maybe caused some serious liver damage, but to that I say "acceptable losses!" The next time you see me, I'll likely be a lovely golden color. If any of you try to pan for me, though, I'll likely find it highly inappropriate. Or, I don't know, mildly amusing, depending on who you are.

I felt the power of the PHANTOM MULLET today.

She got distracted in the meat department...

I don't have too much to say other than a) some things are just awesome b) other things are jawesome, as W.S.M. has reminded me c) you can dance if you want to; you can leave your friends behind.

There was originally a bit more of my half-baked philosophizing here, but suffice it to say that the good in my life is drowning out the bad. Or, as I like to envision, clubbing it in its shins and using, I don't know, the Jumping Jack Attack to go in for the kill.