(no subject)
Not to call out Kermit the Frog or anything, but I haven't heard any songs about rainbows and what's on the other side.
Is part of being a frog being painfully unaware of the state of popular music?
On an unrelated note, whenever I see posts on facebook or myspace about people needing phone numbers or addresses, for a split second I think about how much it sucks that they've become homeless. Then I realize what they really mean.
The other evening, my mother and I were out on the town (it was a big night) buying a file cabinet. I waited in the car while she went into Staples and a few minutes later I heard a tuba. It was too clear to be just...in my head and it was definitely coming from outside of the car. I looked in every direction for this walking-bass-line-playing phantom tubist, not wanting to get out of the car because lately MoCo has turned into a rain forest. So after about a minute of this...this mockery, I think the only thing that any normal, red-blooded man-about-town would think: I must be the last cylon. As it turns out, unless cylons have sciatic nerves which can be mysteriously irritated, rendering them motionless for the next half-week, I am not a cylon. Still...I'd like to find that tuba player and box his ears.
My trainer wants me to shave my head, get it tattooed with flames a la Bam Bam Bigelow and become a professional wrestler. I didn't think he was there to help me lose dignity, too. I think he was kidding, but...there's a 50-50 chance he wasn't. Scary.
Is part of being a frog being painfully unaware of the state of popular music?
On an unrelated note, whenever I see posts on facebook or myspace about people needing phone numbers or addresses, for a split second I think about how much it sucks that they've become homeless. Then I realize what they really mean.
The other evening, my mother and I were out on the town (it was a big night) buying a file cabinet. I waited in the car while she went into Staples and a few minutes later I heard a tuba. It was too clear to be just...in my head and it was definitely coming from outside of the car. I looked in every direction for this walking-bass-line-playing phantom tubist, not wanting to get out of the car because lately MoCo has turned into a rain forest. So after about a minute of this...this mockery, I think the only thing that any normal, red-blooded man-about-town would think: I must be the last cylon. As it turns out, unless cylons have sciatic nerves which can be mysteriously irritated, rendering them motionless for the next half-week, I am not a cylon. Still...I'd like to find that tuba player and box his ears.
My trainer wants me to shave my head, get it tattooed with flames a la Bam Bam Bigelow and become a professional wrestler. I didn't think he was there to help me lose dignity, too. I think he was kidding, but...there's a 50-50 chance he wasn't. Scary.