Keeping Me On My Toes

So...I'm in the airport right now, ready to fly to visit my family and friends back east. My flight should've left 20 minutes ago, but we have yet to board, due to a delay. So I figured I'd blog. It seems I've broken out of my 1.5-year-long posting slump lately. Let's hope it lasts. To get to the airport, I took a cab. I call up the taxi company, order a cab, and try to figure out why the receptionist keeps calling me "honey." (It may have been a reference to how some of my friends in college called me Hunny, but that would be odd, since none of those friends work at the All-State Taxicab company.) So after a half day at work, I go home, gather and pack the last few things, and catch the cab waiting outside. The cabbie is nice and jovial and figures out without me telling him that I'm going to the airport. Nice. We set off at a nice clip, and almost hit another car, but that's ok, since my motto in driving is "a near miss is still a miss." (This being my second driving motto, my first being "The brake is on the left, stupid.") And then as we're going along, the car hiccups, like we ran over something, or the engine is coming down with the black lung. I raise my eyebrows. "What was that?" I ask. "Oh, the air conditioning isn't working." He rolls down the windows. Hmmm. Kind of confused here. "What was that?" I ask again. "I don't know." "You don't...?" "Yeah, I don't know. I am surprised too." This would've been an ok thing to say if he had said it in an adult-being-concerned voice. But no, he said it with a kind of wonderment, as if the car had just started dispensing free candy out of the broken air conditioning vents, and we were just reaping the benefits. Note to self: Design candy-dispensing air conditioning system for cars. Make millions and get a tummy ache. "Oh," I say, unable to properly respond to this. Then he offers some new information. "The check engine light is on....like always." Great. I am going to die. UPDATE: I did not die after all. I'll tell you my in-the-airport story soon, but I think we may be boarding now.

Yes, But Where Do I Find the Lawn Ornaments?

Want to have some fun? Walk into Bed Bath and Beyond and have the following conversation:

YOU: Excuse me, where is the Bedding Department? BED BATH AND BEYONDER: (pointing) Over there. YOU: And where are the bath items? BED BATH AND BEYONDER: (pointing) Right there. YOU: Thank you. And, uh, where can I purchase the beyond? BED BATH AND BEYONDER: I hate you and everything you stand for. YOU: So...you're all out of beyond? BED BATH AND BEYONDER: There is not enough fire in hell to express the rage I am barely containing. YOU: Hmmm...I guess I'll just look around then. I heard they have the best beyond in town in this place.

Listen Up

So a few days ago, I posted an audio post, expecting accolades, pats on the back, and a possible Presidential Medal. But alas, I forgot that few people read this, fewer would be willing to sit and listen to 5 minutes of me prattling about waffles and Monopoly and how every male citizen of the Republic of Tonga has a crush on the same girl from Liechtenstein (a country whose primary claim to fame is that they are the largest exporter of false teeth - no joke!), and even fewer would be so bold or generous as to actually post a comment or give me a backrub. No, I'm here, commentless and with an aching back. But I decided to invesigate why I had gotten no real response. I realized that though more people than usual had visited my site - likely due to the actual presence of a new post, of all things. But I don't think people actually bothered to listen to my audiopost because - get this - it was pretty boring. You had to wait till the middle just to get to anything halfway entertaining. I think maybe if I try another time, I should start with a song and dance. Well, you'd only hear the song, but the dance would be hella cool, I assure you. So it seems that instead of actually posting, I posted about how I should post. In other words, I blogged about blogging. It is a well-known fact that bloggers love blogging about nothing more than themselves, the narcissistic ingrates. Note to self: a fun side project/post-modern digital perfomance art: make a blog whose every entry is about why I'm blogging, how I should stop blogging, that I'm thinking about stopping blogging, why people blog in general, or why the sitcom Becker was never really given a fair chance. Find a way to make ridicuous amounts of cash money off of this blog - enough to purchase Gary Coleman, or at least rent him once a month. In the meantime, I leave you with an excerpt from my in-progress novel, Limestone:

Mac woke up and instantly regretted it. He concluded that waking up would just be the first of a series of bad moves that day. He had no clue just how right he was. He rolled sideways and off of the bed. He realized it was not a bed, but a couch. Craig’s couch. He was in Craig’s apartment, he decided, as that was the standard location for Craig’s couch. The word apartment seemed to hold some special importance. He wasn’t sure why. Finally pushing himself up to his feet, Mac decided it was as good a time as any to open his eyes, and tried to. Succeeding on the third try, he discovered that the normally level ground was writhing and twisting like a python, or like he imagined a python might, were it a hardwood floor with furniture on it. He realized that his stomach was trying to tell him something, something urgent. He ran to the bathroom and vomited with gusto. Deciding that he had had such a good time of it the first time, he vomited again.

Vomit jokes. Will they ever get old? No. No they won't.

Moving Into the 20th Century

So I'm trying something new: audioblogging. Listen, and all will be explained. Let me know what you think, whether you prefer text, etc.
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