And that's that

That wraps up the maintenance bit; from here out we return your to youre regularly scheduled blogcast programming.

Microsoft Word is literally more bothersome to use than a typewriter

That's not true, young'un! You'd know better, if you ever hammer those dang-blasted keys like we did in my day, and why, if you ever futzed up and made a typo, then you'd have to take the whole darn thing anFUCK YOU. Okay? Fuck you. I have a goddamn typewriter, it's set up right next to my goddamn Compaq tower. It's a Smith-Corona Skyriter, a non-electric portable that has a shift key and the caps lock function. There is no number one key, to make a 1 you hit the L key, and if you want to make an exclamation mark you have to type a period, backspace, and type an apostrophe. I have typed entire letters and essays on it, I frequently go back and forth between it and a keyboard, and yes when I go back to the computer I hit the keys too hard. When you fuck up, you backspace and lift the ink ribbon, there's a white-out strip and you just type the same key again. It does not take forever to dry, it takes exactly as long as the normal ink. It costs me six dollars a spool, and I have to order them from this one very esoteric, sketchy-looking site that takes about a month to ship them, probably because nobody wants goddamn typewriter ink ribbons. I do know what I'm talking about, and yes I feel that Microsoft Word is goddamn more frustrating than the technology it made obsolete sometime last goddamn century. The one single advantage that Word has is that it saves documents in a digital format, rendering it more practical than the "archaic" technology in the way that burning down towns with the plague used to be more practical than treating the infected.

Thing about natural beauty, is it's always trying to grab you or give you Lyme's disease.

I left the house yesterday, because as always our kitchen is a barren, god-forsaken place, and I needed food. Of course, since everything in Owings Mills is within a few miles, and it had cooled off considerably as evening was falling, I decided I’d hoof it, and enjoy a nice walk. Having neither a car nor a license had nothing to do with this decision.

I didn’t find food, but I did swing into the Best Buy to buy a new pair of headphones and this, which is much better than food anyway:








> Eating.














Out in the parking lot, I rolled myself a cigg – a new habit I’ve picked up that I’m particularly fond of. I popped in my new headphones – cheap ear-clips, nothing fancy with noise cancellation or bass boost (not that I wasn’t sorely tempted to opt for the latter) – and then, in a sudden burst of inspiration, I took them out again. Deep down, you see, I’m secretly a Romantic, and occasionally I just can’t help these urges to appreciate my environment – to “stop and smell the roses,” and all that nonsense. It’s what separates me from efficient, practical people who get things done and advance society.

I took the long way back, walking alongside Owings Mills Boulevard. Perhaps you’ve never walked along side a four-lane road, as cars sped by? The wheels, spinning along the pavement, intermittently accentuated by flashes of music or bits of conversations floating out of open windows – it’s not very unlike the lapping of waves against a seashore. And though there is human life carried in that river of movement, hearing the waves of sound and seeing, maybe, the white and red currents of light, you feel lonely and awed. On this particular stretch of road, that loneliness is accentuated, because the place really is barren; business complexes with sprawling, empty parking lots, shopping centers that have so few customers that after years of operation they look brand new, and massive, empty buildings with more being built… It was surreal, standing under that geometric skyline, while the setting sun reflected off shattered beer bottles and empty potato chip bags.

When the future comes, we’ll only miss trees because environmentalist pussies say we should.

Dear Apple Customer:

Recently, you contacted Apple support using Apple's online web support form. We're very interested in getting your feedback regarding your support experience.

If you have a moment, we hope that you'll take our support survey. The survey should take less than 5 minutes to complete.

Did you find Apple's Customer Support to be helpful?

[ ] Yes.

Do you have any additional comments you would like to make?

I recently sent in a complaint about a few iTunes purchases that would not work on my iPod, and promptly forgot about it, expecting that I'd get form response sometime that week.

I was surprised, then, when I got an email the next day from a human, detailing a concise, clear, and practical response (delete the songs from the library, sync, the iPod, download them again), along with another FAQ to consult in case that didn't work.

Years of working with computers and being beset by bizarre, inane, and stubborn difficulties has led me to distrust clear and practical tech support. I much prefer the branch of tech support that involves buying candles and pigeons. It never works any better than the practical solutions, of course, but it has its own merits - there's a kind of comfort that comes from making a sacrifice to some Dark God and getting no response.

(After going through the e-mail, I decided to just bite the bullet and restore my iPod. It didn't make the songs play any better, but it did get all the rest of that pesky "music" off my iPod, so there's that, I guess.)

After expending even that option, I read through the e-mail again, hoping that maybe there was another suggestion in there, somewhere. There wasn't, but there was a line saying to reply if my problem persisted - and I planned to, really. But then a friend showed up with some tickets to a show, and then I had work the next day, and then there were those Christmas cards I've been meaning to write...

So in the end, I just gave up, and bought a book instead - "Villa Incognito." It's okay, I guess, except a printing error left about a hundred or so pages out of my copy. I'm pretty sure if I read and listen at the same time, my technical difficulties will balance out and I'll come out of the experience having done a whole pastime somewhere in there.

Cheers.

Thanks for your feedback! We're totally going to read all that, we promise. Just, uh, quick thing, though, if you could summarize that really quickly...

[ ] Apple is Awesome, I love Apple.


Thank you! The information you provided will be used to improve our product support and future offerings. We will not use information collected via this survey to sell you products or services. If you have additional questions about how Apple will use this data, please consult Apple's privacy policy at http://www.apple.com/legal/privacy/.

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Sincerely,

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So I'm making a list of things I hate, and it's Yonkers, NY.

So, I heard a little rumor that today was Halloween.

And don't you start with me on that "But it's after Midnight so it was actually yesterday" bullshit. Half the clocks I own have automatically reset themselves for Daylight Savings, and the other half are waiting a week because they're linked up to a different clock that won't reset until next week sometime. So don't even get me started on time being a completely arbitrary concept, and we'll leave it at it it Halloween until I see the motherfucking sun rise.

Anyways, I heard it was Halloween today when I went in to work - at a Halloween shop - and it was Halloween. Imagine that! By the way, protip: don't shop for a Halloween costume on Halloween. There are no costumes left, you look like a huge idiot, and it makes me hate you. So I guess I'll add that to the list; Yonkers, NY and people who Halloween shop on Halloween.

So I show up and throw on a priest outfit, catering to one of my deep dark fantasies - the one where I slay vampires, not the one where I betray the human race and and sleep with an evil sorceress. Or maybe both, actually. (One of the little perks at working at the shop is that you get to wear any costume. Also you get to play with the toy scythes in the back room.) So that was fun. I felt like a badass during my break, chillin in the middle of the shopping center, rocking the collar and shades while I had a cigg.

But motherfucking Yonkers, man. Let's get beyond how much I hate being associated with a place called Yonkers. Yonkers. Jesus. Do you know they have a tattoo parlor here? Could you imagine that? Getting a tattoo and then having to tell people you got it in Yonkers? I'd fucking lie.

"Sweet tat, man, where'd you score that?"

"I don' fucking know, man, I was drinking at this party and I passed out, and when I woke up I was strapped to this chair with a fucking beartrap on my face, and I had this ink of a unicorn goring Santa Clause while trampling his gnomish slaves as a redheaded virgin straddled his back and held up the bloody severed head of rudolph."

"Oh. Actually I was talking about that one."

"Thor smiting Mecha-Hitler? I picked that one up on a trip to Sydney. Yeah, I knew you were talking about this one, I just love telling that story."

Not that the people who live here don't deserve it. I swear to God, I had this conversation with just about every parent who came into the store today.

"Ooh, are you Harry Potter?"

Why no, I would respond, trying to stay cool and suave while not punching them in the face. Then I would point subtly to my collar and say, I'm a man of the cloth.

"I don't know what that means, but can I give you a hug?"

No, because I took a vow of celibacy and you're a fucking idiot.

And then I would give their children candy, which I liked to think was a metaphor for giving them shotguns, and make the sign of the cross above them, and tell them "May the Light of Lights go with you," which I liked to think was a metaphor for telling them "Your parents are zombies. If you kill them and everyone you know, God will forgive you."

I should take this opportunity to bring up that when the three people who did recognize a priest tried to confess to me, I would have none of it because I really didn't want to know about their lives. When the fuck did being a priest stop meaning that you carry a revolver loaded with silver bullets? All I wanted to do was burn witches, man. That's all I fucking wanted. Burn witches, stab vampires, shoot werewolves. I just wanted to be a good priest, the kind from back when being a priest meant you weren't a pussy.

Whatever. Who had a good Halloween? I did. I had a posse! I'm waiting on pictures, I'll throw them up first chance. Whatever, I need a cigarette, I'm leaving.

A noise outside my window, and Portal is the best thing that ever happened to me.

Jesus Christ, I think the Earth's sound card is corrupted. It's like twenty fucking degrees out, and I've got an industrial fan running to try and drown out this noise that I think is a lawn mower, and a car alarm, and a baby getting pounded by a sledgehammer all at the same time. Christ.

I'm taking an Econ course this semester. And a poli-sci course. And of course a nonfiction writing course. Also I have a job at the Haloween store (which is technically a lingerie shop, which is still a step up from, say, a porn shop), where I spend all my free hours. Why would I ever do this? I hate doing work.

Oh, but I do so love money.

And Haloween.

And this bitchin' mp3 player and headphone combo I just picked up.



But that's enough about that; now let's get down to a more serious matter. You all have known me for some time, now, so I think it's only appropriate that you all are the first to know: I am running for the Presidential Office in 2008. I know, I know, it seems a bit late to announce it, but the playing field seems ripe for a new contestant, and I think I've got a real shot at this. I've already ordered up a companion cube as my running mate, and as we speak I've got posters being printed out by the hundreds: Rob, '08: Putting the sexy back in power.

Now naturally, what I hope will be the key to victory will be keeping my campaigning platform clear and concise, none of this jerking the public around with political jargon bullshit. It would be unacceptable if, as a hopeful leader of the country, I made a practice of deliberately baffling the public with confusing and unnecessarily verbose words like "consolidate," or "economy." So the pitch? "The other candidates are all dicks. Especially Hillary."

Eh? Now is that clever, or is that just plain sly? It's clear enough to connect with the common everyman, yet thought-provoking and controversial enough to ignite thoughtful and meaningful discussion.

Of course, we all know that campaign platforms mean nothing, and that I'm going to win by virtue of fairy tales and lies. What really matters is what I plan to do when I'm in the office, and since I trust you guys, I'll give you a little glance at the "coming attractions."

First off, I'm going to cut off the secret CIA prisons. With that out of the way, I'll have valuable CIA resources at my disposal, to start my true plan: I'm going to pick at random a family living out in the Midwest, and have CIA agents tail their 8 year old son for months. Every time he litters, every time he pushes a girl at his school, every last transgression, no matter how trivial, will be reported back to me. And then, come next November, I'm going to stand up in front of the cameras on live national television, and deliver this message:

"Bobby Myers, who lives on 15 Jonas avenue, Ohio. Can you hear my, Bobby? I hope you're listening, because I've been watching you, and you've been a bad boy, Bobby. Yes you have. Why, this week alone, when you threw away your can of Sprite, you watched it bounce out of the trash can, but did you go pick it up and put it back in, Bobby? No, no you didn't. You thought no one was watching you, and so you just walked away. And it doesn't end there, does it, Bobby who lives on Jonas Street in Columbus Ohio? How about just yesterday, when you lied to your mother about playing World of Warcraft instead of doing your homework? Did you really think you would get away with that, Bobby? Did you think that know one would know? Well guess what, Bobby. I know. And do you know who else knows? Santa. That's right, Bobby, Santa and I have been discussing your behavior lately, and frankly? We're both appalled. Disgusted, really. So much so, that Santa doesn't even know if it's worth leaving the North Pole this year, and you know what? I don't blame him. and in fact, I'm making the decision for him: There will be no Christmas this year. That's right: I'm canceling Christmas."

And then I will step off the podium before the press can ask me any questions about Iraq.

But there's more to this ploy than just avoiding irritating questions, of course! You didn't think I would cancel Christmas just to avoid a potentially awkward or even slightly uncomfortable press conferrence, would you? No, my plans are far greater than that: I plan on projecting the pent up frustration, anger, and hatred of America all on the Midwest, ultimately to gain support for my secret "Horseshoe America" plan, which I'll reveal shortly thereafter: To keep the East and Western coasts of the United States, along with Texas and Louisiana and the other Southern states, and lease out the middle of the country to china, everything between Illinois and Canada. The rent money would pay off the National Debt, the Midwest isn't ours anymore, and China brings all our outsourced jobs techinically back into the country. Everybody wins.

Oh, and also I'm going to Drill Alaska dry of oil, and then trade it out of the Union and establish Puerto Rico as a state, so that we can get Puerto Rico but still have 50 states, so we won't need to change the flag.



By the way, some of you assholes need to message me up on TF2, so's I can shoot you in the face. And by "shoot you in the face" I clearly mean "run at you with fire until I explode," because I suck very much at TF2. I got a kill once. It was with a turret. It was cool.

Some general maintennance

The next few entries are consolidated archives of other blogs that I'm backing up.

So, archiving starts... now.