Postage, baby
Yup. Watched Stomp last night. Twice. Have concluded: 1) Need more things to bang on. 2) Need more things to bang things with. (Pretty soon I'm not even gonna have fingerprints.) 3) I am hopelessly in love with Luke Cresswell.
Mitch Hedberg died recently. I had been completely unaware of his existence until this happened, but now that I am, I'm sad it's come about. In honor of his passing, here are a few quotes.
"I got my hair highlighted, because I felt some strands were more important than others."
"I hate turkeys. If you stand in the meat section at the grocery store long enough, you start to get mad a turkeys. There's turkey ham, turkey bologna, turkey pastromi. Some one needs to tell the turkey, man, just be yourself."
"I like refried beans. I wanna try fried beans, because maybe they're just as good and we're just wasting time."
"I got into and argument with a girlfriend inside of a tent. That's a bad place for an argument, because I tried to walk out and slam the flap. How are you supposed to express your anger in this situation? Zipper it up real quick?"
"I was at this casino minding my own business and this guy came up to me and said your gonna have to move you're blocking a fire exit. As if, if there were a fire, I wasn't gonna run. If you are flammable and have legs, you are never blocking a fire exit."
"I'm sick of following my dreams. I'm just going to ask them where they're going and hook up with them later."
Hm. It's strange to mourn with humor.
Pretty damn funny though, huh?
Heehee.
Anyway. Let's see. I suppose that can't really count as part of my 300 words, so I better get cracking. It's almost midnight, too. Dammit. I could be watching Conan right now if I weren't so effin' lazy. Because, yes, typing 300 words about my immediate surroundings is just THAT HARD. When faced with such a task, what can I do except put it off, let Pants on and go knit while watching King of the Hill?
On that subject, I resent people who criticize me for being boring past eight o'clock. Hell, even seven. I mean, throughout the day I attempt to at least pretend to have some semblance of a life, but after a certain hour you really just can't ask any more of me. I mean, criminy. What am I supposed to be doing? Out gettin' my funk on on some dance floor? Out, like, what, goin' to a POETRY SLAM or somethin'? Pff. That's for people who can drive. I mean, cut me some slack already. If I'm sittin' at home watching sitcom reruns and working on a baby hat shaped like an upside-down boysenberry, it's only because I don't have the freedom to do anything more interesting. Really it is.
Mitch Hedberg died recently. I had been completely unaware of his existence until this happened, but now that I am, I'm sad it's come about. In honor of his passing, here are a few quotes.
"I got my hair highlighted, because I felt some strands were more important than others."
"I hate turkeys. If you stand in the meat section at the grocery store long enough, you start to get mad a turkeys. There's turkey ham, turkey bologna, turkey pastromi. Some one needs to tell the turkey, man, just be yourself."
"I like refried beans. I wanna try fried beans, because maybe they're just as good and we're just wasting time."
"I got into and argument with a girlfriend inside of a tent. That's a bad place for an argument, because I tried to walk out and slam the flap. How are you supposed to express your anger in this situation? Zipper it up real quick?"
"I was at this casino minding my own business and this guy came up to me and said your gonna have to move you're blocking a fire exit. As if, if there were a fire, I wasn't gonna run. If you are flammable and have legs, you are never blocking a fire exit."
"I'm sick of following my dreams. I'm just going to ask them where they're going and hook up with them later."
Hm. It's strange to mourn with humor.
Pretty damn funny though, huh?
Heehee.
Anyway. Let's see. I suppose that can't really count as part of my 300 words, so I better get cracking. It's almost midnight, too. Dammit. I could be watching Conan right now if I weren't so effin' lazy. Because, yes, typing 300 words about my immediate surroundings is just THAT HARD. When faced with such a task, what can I do except put it off, let Pants on and go knit while watching King of the Hill?
On that subject, I resent people who criticize me for being boring past eight o'clock. Hell, even seven. I mean, throughout the day I attempt to at least pretend to have some semblance of a life, but after a certain hour you really just can't ask any more of me. I mean, criminy. What am I supposed to be doing? Out gettin' my funk on on some dance floor? Out, like, what, goin' to a POETRY SLAM or somethin'? Pff. That's for people who can drive. I mean, cut me some slack already. If I'm sittin' at home watching sitcom reruns and working on a baby hat shaped like an upside-down boysenberry, it's only because I don't have the freedom to do anything more interesting. Really it is.