Wow.

Wow.

I finally went and picked up Fight Club from the library. You know the old axiom about the book always being better than the movie. Who could’ve guessed it would still hold true? The book is everything the movie was and more. Wow. I came home from the library, plopped down on my bed and started reading. Two hours and 208 pages later I close the finished book and drop it beside my bed.

I am Joe’s expanded consciousness.

You could almost hear my brain making chewing noises as I tore through the book. Definitely one on my “must buy” list. Looks like I’m going to be getting all three of his books rather soon.

In the meantime, it’s off for my own personal fight club – hockey. Too bad my opponents can’t understand that I’m liberating them each time I knock them to the ice. Perhaps tonight the refs will understand. Or the player will understand and knock me down just as hard, returning the favor.

Maybe I should just sit on the bench tonight….

Since I’m sick, this is a good enough time to bitch about it as any. Now, I’m all for multi-tasking and against jumping on bandwagons, but most people just aren’t smart enough to talk on a cell phone while they’re driving. I’m not sure what exactly throws the “stupid” switch in their head, ’cause you’d think that talking on a cell phone would be equivalent to talking to your passenger. I guess when some people have a disembodied voice in their ear, they have to really concentrate to keep it focused. They need to learn to be like me – after awhile you get used to the disembodied voices. then again, maybe it works for me ’cause I don’t own a cell phone.

Regardless, at least the beloved Max Cannon has a solution for us.

Okay, I started off the morning sick, now I’m just depressed. Maybe I should just go home now.

Can I die now? I think if one more drop of snot congeals in my sinuses, my head’s going to EXPLODE.

Now how’s that for a lovely picture?

I went and saw the Hollow Man yesterday, but forgot to mention it. Shows you how good it was. The effects were spectacular, but the plotline deviated to the standard slasher pic fare. You know the type – “We only have an hour’s worth of semi-believable plot, so let’s have everyone lose their common sense in the second act so we can drag it out for another hour.” I won’t give away any of the… uhhh… plot, but let’s just say that if you’re being threatened by a psycho and you have a crowbar, don’t just hit him once. Smack him like a piñata until you can’t smack him any more. I wound up leaving the movie angry, but at least I got to “Oooo” and “ahhhh” over the effects for awhile. I’d say it’s definitely a rental/matinee movie.

One little thing that made me chuckle – we occasionally get these first-person shots in the film where we’re looking through Kevin Bacon’s eyes. He’s invisible to everyone, yet he’s still hiding behind things when people hear a noise and look his way. I guess old habits really do die hard.

You know, I shouldn’t be allowed near a computer when I’m having sinus problems. Otherwise, weird things happen. I think I’m going to bed.

Dig me – I finally ditched the frames and made the page look like I wanted. I rock! Now I just have to go and fix a bajillion links. Oh, and I think I have my bi-annual sinus infection starting up. Ugh.

Thank God the gang at the Onion is keeping an eye out for us in these blistering times.

Can I get an “Amen!” brother?

So what’s more annoying than a BurfDog? How about a really big barking dog? At least really big in proportion to the BurfDog munchlet. Not only is BigDog constant and annoying, his barking has the effect of causing the requisite burfing from BurfDog. My world is a happy and quiet place.

Barking dogs bring to mind parenting skills. Well, some barking dogs do. At least the ones who bark “But MOOOM!!! I WANT A CANDYBAR!!!!” Oh wait – that would be the kids. What’s happening to parenting common sense anyways? Has it been overrun by the PC militia (is it PC to call PC people a militia? Are they going to start walking around in teal or chartreuse overcoats? Maybe seafoam green.)? Is this just a sign of the eventual downfall of civilization? No wait, that would be the resurgence of Pro Wrestling’s popularity. What’s next around here – vomitoriums?

I was in line at a post office a couple of weeks ago (in line at a post office? Surely you jest! Post offices are quick and efficient!) and there was a little family ahead of me – Mom, Dad, Son and Daughter. Four people isn’t really a “little” family, but they were all pretty short.

Anyways, this post office has one of those “please take a number” creatures whose tongue you pull out and rip a little piece off of to find your status in the post office hierarchy. “Now serving 43” proclaims the flashing digital (Oooo! Digital!) screen above the lackadaisical postal employees. My flat piece of tongue says I’m 56, but I don’t feel a day over 50. I’m standing there nonchalantly, cunningly peering at my fellow patrons with the benefit of my way cool Matrix shades and making up little stories about them. Picture a guy with shifty eyes in dark glasses standing by two large boxes and giggling occasionally. It’s a wonder that I wasn’t strip-searched by postal security.

So I’m standing there taking in the human condition and I slowly start to focus in on this family. Mostly because the little boy (3? 5? 37? I’m bad at guessing ages.) had walked up to me to try to peer into my soul and learn my dastardly secrets. The shades foiled his evil plot. Not to mention the whiny voice of Mom “It’s not nice to stare, dear.” His evil plot foiled, he decides to torment our ticket creature by ripping out a couple of pieces of its tongue. Dad scolds him (“It’s not nice to do that.”) and tells him to drop the tickets.

The child (eventually) obeys after a very dog-ownerish round of “Drop it! Drooooooop it! Drop it!”. I kept waiting for Dad to pull out a Scooby Snack or some Snausages. He doesn’t. I wait for Dad to tell the kid to pick up the dropped tickets. He doesn’t. I wait for Dad to pick them up himself. He doesn’t!
Did you know that people stare at you when you growl?

Eventually Dad did pick up the forgotten ticket. Someone else had taken a ticket from the creature, after which Dad wandered over, picked up the ticket and handed it to that person with a shrug and a mumbled “My son took this one.” And then the post office counter blew up.

Okay, so it didn’t blow up, but I realized the ending was pretty boring and decided to spice it up a little. Creative license, you know.

Hmmm… feeling quirky, so I’ve changed the name of the blog in the blogger.com world. Wonder what that’ll do to my stats for the day? Interesting.