Don't play with knives, kids!!

OUCH!!

I just smashed my right thumb a few minutes ago. I was closing the door after parking my car at LexCorp, and didn’t notice that I had left a finger in the way. At first, it didn’t really hurt, I just felt jammed. For a fraction of a second, I even laughed at my clumsiness. Nevertheless, as the door slowly began crushing my thumbnail, I realized this was no joke. Frantically, I managed to open the door and pull my finger out in about two seconds flat.

The pain was unbearable. The desire to scream and curse like a sailor, irresistible. But no matter how justifiable, this impulse had to remain miserably unfulfilled, as I was in a public space and really didn’t want to bring attention upon myself. All I was left with was clutching my maimed limb and trying to somehow contain the primal scream that was hatching in my lungs. My face was red, my jaw was locked, my eyes swollen. To a casual observer, I must’ve looked like I was simply holding my breath (and my hand) forcefully. On the inside, however, I was seeing red all over.

As time passed, the pain reduced to practical extinction. It only hurts when I bump my thumb into something. The thumbnail feels kinda numb. The space above the cuticle is red, which means it will probably turn blue over time. And of course, my nail will grow crooked after this.

Why was this so funny when it happened to Elmer Fudd?

So many missed chances!

I've been thinking that if I was closer to the computer all day, this blog
would be filled to the brim with at least five times the content it has
now!! Countless ideas and comments have been lost because they happen to
come into my mind at times when I have no way of recording them.

But considering the kind of half-baked crud that does manage to get in here,
maybe less of it is in everybody's best interest.

Ugly on the inside

I distinctly remember a little nursery rhyme I read once, about a very beautiful child, who had awfully improper language. The last line on it was, "Pity this child: so beautiful, yet so ugly!"
I keep that rhyme in mind because it never fails to shock me when an exquisite example of the female gender uses foul language that would put a truck driver to shame.
Just last night, I was having dinner at my parents-in-law’s, and one of the guests –a stunning model/actress/dancer- started talking irately about some women who were after her man. The word bitch was employed ad nauseam till my mother-in-law had to intervene. I can’t tell you how my image of this lady was deteriorated right then and there.

My take on cursing

I think that people forget the purpose of having curse words: they are special words, that when used scantily are able to shock and insult. But when used all the time, their impact is severly dilluted till they just happen to be mere words. Some think that casual cursing makes you cool, but the necessity to employ curse words in everyday conversation only reflects a lack of culture and vocabulary. Ask any job recruiter and they’ll tell you that having a potty-mouth isn’t a sought-after skill.  
I admire those who manage to go the longest time without uttering a single curse word. My mom and my granny have maybe cursed five times in the 28 years that I’ve known them. My dad was a little more profane, mainly when driving. But everybody knows swearing behind the wheel doesn’t count.

Not my best week

Ivy got sick on Wednesday night. Her white cell count had dropped dramatically, and had to be checked into a hospital for observation. After her tests came in, it was clear that she had an infection and needed antibiotics. When I went to see her on Thursday, she had been put under sanitary isolation, and every visitor had to wear masks and robes. Let me tell you, if the sudden news of her hospitalization hadn’t been harsh enough, having to bear cumbersome hygenic measures was really tough to bear. Luckily that was dropped by the next day. And Ivy herself got released on Saturday.

But it wasn’t over yet

While at the hospital, the medicines -and being practically bedridden for three days- caused Ivy pain in her knees and lower back. This pain started to grow and grow as time passed. On Saturday, the pain had turned unbearable. When I went to see her at her home, she was really anguished. She just couldn’t find any position in which she could really relax. Sitting, standing, lying down: nothing worked. The painkillers weren’t working either. That was devastating, to see her so distressed and to not be able to do anything. I managed to convince her to take a little ride in my car, and I drove around and around till she was able to doze off at least a full half hour.

The pain starts to give out

Luckily, the pain killers started to work by Sunday, and she was able to sleep that night. Little by little the pain seems to be going away. But the fight is yet from over. There is still pain, no matter what she does. But it is more tolerable than what she had on Saturday. She is feeling a bit better now and it shows. She has longer episodes of recovery. She can stand to sit or lie down for longer times. Today we watched a movie at her house: Serving Sara, with Matthew Perry and Elizabeth Hurley. Lemme tell you, it was lots of fun.

Fate has a funny sense of humour

Just when it seemed that Ivy was winning her fight... her skin has started to turn yellowish. Her eyes are yellow as well. The symptoms indicate liver malfunction. It could be a temporary thing, caused by all the medicine she has had to take in the last 5 days. Or, it could be Hepatitis.Or it could be catastrophic liver failure. We won’t know for sure till she goes to the doctor, tomorrow morning. Boy, It just never gets boring in here.

My old radio

Back in the Mesozoic Age, when I was in sixth grade, I started having trouble sleeping. It would seem that all the sounds I’d heard throughout the day would start coming back to me, playing in my head over and over throughout the night.It was maddening.

After a couple of nights like this, I did the logical thing: I asked my mom. She decided it was time to give me my first radio. It wasn’t new, but it was better than new. It was a Toshiba, late 70’s model, back when listening to the radio was still cool, before people had cassette tapes and 8-tracks. It was solid black, and it had dials and knobs up the wazoo. Beside the usual volume, tuning and bass/trebble controls, it could pick up AM, FM, and about seven different frequencies I had never heard of. I loved how the dial lit up in green hues. And here was an interesting feature: it had a timer. You could turn on the radio and set up the timer to shut it down anywhere from 5 to 60 minutes. Conversely, if you set up the timer with the radio off, it would turn it on when the time ran out.

Right now, I can’t fathom the logic that was behind my mom’s solution, but she was right. I don’t remember ever having trouble sleeping anymore. But I remember a couple of sleepless nights toying with the knobs on that cool radio of mine.

The Cheat Sheet

Just now, as I was cleaning up my Mac, I came across a really old Word file. As I started reading it, memories flushed to my mind.

The year was 2000. I was young and single. I was meeting new people all the time, so I decided to start a file on the girls I was seeing.

Fast-forward to the present. I can’t place most of the girls on the list. And the one I can remember, I’d rather forget. But what is rather amusing about the file is the shallow little comments beside every entry: “Eats a lot”, “Loves the X-Men”, “Talks with a Mexican accent”. My favorite: “Her last boyfriend cheated on her and she is still willing to go back with him. Definitely not very bright”.

Wonder what they had to say about me.

Good Ol' Details

For a while now, I've been an off-again, on-again reader of Details magazine. I first approached the magazine during Mark Golin's 1999-2000 tenure as editor. His previous job had been at the helm of another famous male publication: Maxim.

Maxim

If you’ve never seen Maxim, basically it’s a male-oriented, babe-infested, macho-fest of a magazine. Booze, women, cars: that’s the core of the Maxim creed. Think of it as testosterone turned into a glossy periodical. But also, there’s the humor: wacky, void of any respect whatsoever. They make fun of Bush, the Pope, anybody. Even the captions on the photos are funny. Whenever I feel my IQ is soaring excessively high, I run to the newsstand for a copy of Maxim and balance my system with the dose of macho it sorely needs. It’s dumb, brainless fun: I totally love it!

However, my love of Maxim doesn’t extend to the Latin American version of the magazine, which is published in Mexico, like most of the mags we get in Kzanderallia. Their attempts to try to replicate the essence of US Maxim are depressing. Despite reusing a lot of material from the American edition, it still comes off as cheap, vulgar and crude publication that ultimately seems to be written by a bunch of monkeys with typewriters. Overpaid monkeys.

Mark Golin’s Details

Back then, Golin tried to apply the same formula that had served him so well at Maxim, toning it down a little bit. Not as many scantily-clad women, not so much booze. The funny photo captions did cross over, which I remember were a hook for me. Also, he put babes on the covers. (That was a bit confusing. Many people approaching the magazine for the first time –me included- thought it was a ladies’ mag) The magazine still looked after the metrosexual male of the new millenium with lots of fashion spreads and features on quirky (and pricey) accessories for the man who had it all. The writing was fast-paced, always interesting. They took a lot of risks. The design was fresh and exciting. The comedy was very sofisticated, and you had to be in-the-know to get all the jokes, which wasn’t easy.

This is where nostalgia kicks in. This was 2000. Before 9/11, before the digital bubble burst. Lots of people were making money off stocks and thought “Bin Laden” was some sort of new trendy spa. New Yorkers were cocky and loaded with cash, and wrote that way.

My first time

I had never seen a magazine quite like Details, and loved it right away. I vividly remember the place I bought my first Details at: a drugstore that isn’t around anymore. It was one of the few places carrying American magazines. I remember they only had the February issue, so I had to go to a warehouse downtown to get the January issue. Then I kept on buying Details monthly.

Unfortunately for me, I learned of Details about half into Golin’s run, from Jan to May 2000. But I will cherish those five issues forever.

Current Details

However, my affection for this flavor of Details was not shared by many. This period is considered by many as a lowpoint of the magazine. Long-time readers hated this Maxim clone, and wanted their old magazine back. Golin was fired and the next creative team sobered up the magazine dramatically. It even changed the size, making each page bigger. Gone were the ladies on the covers, the fratboy humor. The fashion stayed. Most of the writing staff didn’t.

Epilogue

Well, it wasn’t easy to realize that my beloved magazine was gone forever. I purchased the new Details, but didn’t really like it at first. I missed the wackiness, the easygoing spirit. Then the stock market crashed. The attacks happened. The era was over.

I haven’t really found any magazine like my old Details. There’s a few traces left of it in Maxim but the more brainy Details has managed to grow on me. Its writing style reminds me of GQ, which is another magazine I really like. But that’s a whole ‘nother story.

The traveling shutterbug

Those who know me as an avid photographer won't be surprised when informed that I managed to take over 2500 photos in my two-week trip. You think that’s too much? Whilst in Europe, I took 3300 pics in three weeks! That makes about one photo every 8 minutes. I must admit, the hardest part was waking up at night every eight minutes to take that damned picture.

Storage issues

Of course, when you take 2500 photos, you have to store them somehow. Since all I took for the trip was a couple of memory cards totaling about 280 megs, I had to buy myself another card. Not just any card, but a 1 Gigabyte card! As you can imagine, I filled that one in less than four days. So I was always on the lookout for places where I could download my pictures to a CD and wipe the card.  Being on a schedule, I couldn’t be too picky as to where I could go to download my pics. Stationary stores, pharmacies, photo labs... Any place was good! Those circumstances led to the fateful situation I am to tell you about.

Photo tragedy

(Act One)

While on the second leg of the trip, New York, I was quite anxious to empty my brand new 1 meg card. So I walked into a drug store and asked to put my photos on a disc. The usual person wasn’t there, but a very young guy said he could do it. That right there was Warning Number One. He popped the card onto the photo machine and downloaded all the photos to a disk. It took a long while, almost 10 minutes. That was Warning Number Two. At the end, he handed me just one 700 Megabytes disc where he had fitted 1000 Megabytes of images. That was my Third and Final Warning. But I chose to ignore all three.
 

Photo tragedy

(Act Two)

Confident that my photos were all safe on a CD, I proceeded to erase the card.
(Cue ominous music here)

Photo tragedy

(Act Three)

Back home I started to download all the photos onto my computer. When I came to the disk that drugstore guy made me, i noticed the download was fast. Too fast. I checked the folder where those photos were and it read 290 Megabytes. Confused, I checked out the images themselves. In utter horror I discovered that the MORON had shrinked ALL my photos to less than a third in size!!!! So instead of a 1200 x1600 pixel image, I had a 580 x 623 thumbprint. I thought I was gonna convulse, puke and pass out all at the very same time. I wanted to cry, I wanted to die. Only by sheer force of will did I prevent my bowels from losing it completely. The photos became utterly useless. Not only did the guy reduce them, but he erased the metafile data (the part of the image that says when the image was taken, if flash was used, if the image is vertical or horizontal, etc.). Even the original names were erased.

Now, what?

Well, obviously murdering that idiotic drugstore guy is out of the question, now that I am back here in Kzanderallia. So I’ve had to concentrate on making peace with the fact that most of the photos on that card will be lost permanently. There is a bit of hope, however.

The obligatory library analogy

Just like a computer disc is never fully erased, a memory card always retains a bit of info after erasure. Think of the disk as a library that has program files instead of books. It also has a couple of drawers with all the files sorted by title, genre or author. Imagine that you set fire to the drawers, but the files stay intact. That’s what happens when you erase a hard disk or a memory card. The books are fine, but searching for a particular title now requires a lot of extra work.

Hackers to the rescue!

I’ve asked a hacker friend to help me out. He is a major computer geek.
If he can’t get them pictures, NO ONE WILL.
So hopefully, by next Friday I’ll have some of my photos back and maybe my homicidal thirst toward drugstore employees will be satiated.
Or not.

I'm back!!!

After two grueling yet fun-filled weeks, the Kzanderall USA Tour 2005 has come to a close.
Stay tuned for the full story, coming soon to a blog near you!

Truly disturbing

Isn’t this the creepiest photo of a kiss you’ve ever seen??
(shudder)

The Kzanderall USA Tour starts today!

Yes, once again it’s  time for me to dust off my suitcase and passport and leave my beloved homeland for new sights and adventures. This time my destination will be Land of the Free and Home of the Brave. Yes, I am off to the United States of America.

As usual, I will be visiting my world-hopping sister and do a little wandering around on the side.  This particular tour will take me to the wonderful cities of Cinncinatti, Chicago and New York. In this opportunity, my younger sister couldn’t come along, so my mother is taking her place.

Ok, I think that’s about it.

AMERICA, I’M READY!!


Are you?

Long car trips: THEY'RE GREAT!!

Some people hate long car trips. I don’t. Specially if I don’t have to drive and am able to chill while somebody else has to deal with crazy bus drivers and maniac truckers.

Reason to like long car trips #1: The scenery

I enjoy gazing out the window. I like how the panorama seems to remain the same even though I know it keeps changing every fraction of a second. The distant mountains turn into small villages, a patch of wilderness or maybe a surreal sunset. It is a continuous slide show that throws color and scenes at me in a way that can never be fully captured by painting or video.

And going thru cities is almost more fun than driving in the country. Whenever you go into a populated area, a million little stories unfold in front of my eyes at brisk speed. A couple walking down the street: she is carrying all the bags, while her male companion carries nothing. What does it mean? Is it that he’s macho scum? Or maybe he has a bad back? What would it be like to be him? To be her? When did they meet? What’s their story? How will it end? The possibilites are endless. Multiply that for every man, woman and child in the street and you see how the world can be quite entertaining for the alert voyeur... I mean, observer.

Reason to like long car trips #2: The music

When you travel by car, you get to enjoy some musical amusement. You are exposed to the driver’s musical tastes, which may or may not concur with your own. In the second case, you are faced with music you would never pick by yourself and, who knows? it may be music that you may end up adding to your own playlist. Or it could be hours of neverending torture... It all depends.

But if you have a say in what the music is gonna be, then it’s your opportunity to share your personal musical predilections with others. You get to be a DJ for a few hours. Be warned, however, that some people may not agree that the Enrique Iglesias is God’s gift to music.

Reason to like long car trips #3: The conversations

A lot of car trips consist of two people and two people only: the driver and the co-pilot (also known as “That Lazy Sonuva That’s Just Sitting There Lookin’ At The Window And Playing With The Radio While I’m Driving My Butt Off”). It’s a great setup for a deep, meaningful talk.   

It’s in moments like these when two friends are able to deepen their bond as they discuss the profound themes of the universe, like What do women want? and What’s the shortest LEGAL way to get into their pants...WITHOUT paying for it?
You know, all the stuff that has troubled Man since the beginning of time.

The pros and cons of being a confessor

I’ve always loved it when people become so comfortable with me that they allow themselves to open their hearts to me and tell me things they have buried deep within, things they can’t tell to their families, coworkers, or other friends.

When somebody tells you a personal secret, it is a grand feeling. It makes one feel ultra-special. I am always overwhelmed by the trust that has been placed on me and my discression. I think to myself, “Nobody else knows that, just me!!” That’s ultra cool.

However, sometimes folks come and tell me things that are just way too juicy. Those bits of information are the ones I really struggle with, for the primal urge of telling secrets is very, very powerful. In those cases, I begin wishing my memory was able to be wiped clean at the push of a button. Sometimes I have to make such an effort to keep my mouth shut that the veins in my neck start to bloat and they feel like they’re gonna burst at any given moment. It’s just like passing a kidney stone, but without being able to expel the damned thing out.

Lucky for me, I’ve been provided with a lousy long term memory. So even if a secret has given me a bit of trouble to keep, it eventually gets deleted a little while after it enters my brain. It’s a real blessing.

When cushy ain’t kosher

I came in contact with cushy toilet seats about three years ago, at my girlfriend’s house.

In case you don’t know what I’m talking about, picture a toilet with a soft pillow shaped like a toilet seat.  That’s a cushy seat.
Back then, I remember it was such a different experience, at first I didn’t quite know what to think. I also remember it was quite comfy yet odd.

I even tried unsuccesfuly to convince my folks to get one.

A little while later, I forgot about the whole thing.

Some time later, my mom replaced one of the house toilet seats with a cushy seat. I tell you, it wasn’t pleasurable. After being so accustomed to a hard seat, sitting on that thing is eerie. It feels too soft. Obscenely soft. It wasn’t a problem at my in-laws, ‘cause it was a new toilet and everything. But this is one hard toilet seat I knew and loved. You can’t just go and change stuff on me all of a sudden.

GIVE ME BACK MY HARD SEAT!!!

Caller’s remorse

I just called a friend long distance to her cell phone. The conversation was very nice and we had a good laugh. I just hope I can at least chuckle when the phone bill gets here.

I don’t want to know THAAAAT!

My boss down at the Culture Publishing House is very concerned with his health. Flu, indigestion, sores, allergies, you name it, he’s got it. Some people would say that he borders on hypocondria, but even if he is, that’s ok with me. Everybody is entitled to a hobby, right? The ugly part is that he likes to narrate every symptom to the smallest detail.

I really wish he didn’t. I mean, c’mon…  telling your coworkers about your fifth bathroom break is not endearing.
Not by a long shot.

Mother's Day

Fun fact: unlike the American holiday, which is fixed on a day (2nd. Sunday of May) in Kzanderallia it’s fixed on a specific date. So for us, May 10th is always Mother’s Day.
 
This is a date when folks try to convince other people (and themselves) they aren’t totally lousy as sons. Most try to achieve this the material way, buying gifts left and right. The wealthy get appliances, vehicles, jewelry or clothing. The underprivileged like me go for candy, flowers or balloons, depending on each one’s own sense of guilt. I went for all three.
 
This year I sent flowers to my mother-in-law, my granny and my mom. My granny and my mom got balloons and chocolates. My mom also got an authentic KzanderCard©.
 
A bit much? Perhaps.  But I have a philosophy regarding Mother’s Day:
“A man who spens too much on his mother is emotionally sick, but not as sick as the man who doesn’t spend enough.”

 
Checking up on the Flaviuses

Remember Flavius?? After he and his delightful wife came back from their honeymoon, they moved into an apartment a few blocks from where I live.  Last night, they invited me to dinner.
 
I felt like I was walking right into an IKEA catalog. It’s amazing: everything looks modern and stylish. Very few frames are placed on the walls, giving the room a very spacious feel.
 
However, appearances can be deceiving. The whole dining set (dining table, 5 chairs, two little shelves) cost them about  $250, total. Apparently, some German teacher got her contract revoked and had to sell all her furniture to get some fast cash. Now that is some bonified good luck.


 
Sometimes UNRATED is a real warning

Fully aware of what stuck-ups censors can be, I have eagerly looked forward to the release of UNRATED versions of  my favorite movies. There you can see the stories in their unadulterated splendor. Finally, I can see the humorous scenes that had to be left on the cutting floor just because some prude thought they were unappropriate.

It was with this mindset that I got myself a copy of Team America: World Police... UNRATED!!.
Bad idea. You know what? Lemme say that one more time with bigger and bolder letters:
BAD  IDEA.
This spoof on puppet shows featured the gross out humour, celebrity bashing and trucker language South Park creators Matt Stone and Trey Parker are famous for.
So far so good, right??
However, without warning, I was treated to some unmentionable and gag-inducing sex scenes. I mean, I considered myself a connoisseur of amatory cinema, and yet I was ready to throw my lunch all over the place. Now I am actually considering getting a lobotomy to purge those images from my tender, innocent brain.
If you haven’t seen Team America yet, kids... do yourself a favor and get yourself the ‘R’ version.
You will NEVER regret it.


The fun of translingual faux pas

I was chatting with a friend in Spanish and wanted to express laughter. And how did I write it?? Hahahahaha. Then I realized that laughter is written with a ‘J’ in Spanish: Jajajajajaja.

Oh, this has gotta be my lamest post ever.

Flavius

Flavius and I have been friends almost since I can remember. We met when we were both 5. We went to the same school until the sixth grade, when he switched. But we never stopped being friends, even after we started to see each other less and less and our lives started to grow apart.

I hadn't spoken to him in over a year when he popped up with startling news: he was getting married!

The indecent proposal

When the invitation arrived, however, it was just my name on the card. My mom was crushed, for she considered herself to be friends with Flavius's folks. So this seemed a slap in the face for her. Although I tried to explain to her that it could've been a mistake in labeling, she refused outright to go.

I was put in an awkward position. Should I stick by my mom and not go? Or should I stick by my friend and go?

I had a talk with my mother and resolved that I shouldn't mind her feud and go cause Flavius was my friend and he wanted me to be there.
Only after getting her blessing, I attended.

At the church

Ivy and I arrived about fifteen minutes before the wedding ceremony ended. We had to stand, for all the seats were taken. I got the chance to see my childhood friend standing in the isle, his black smoking filled to the brim with equal parts of shock and excitement. The bride looked beautiful, like a princess all dressed up in white. After the ceremony, the couple ran, not walked, to a green Mercedes that was waiting for them.

What followed was a mad dash for the hotel where the reception was being held. You know how crazy Friday Night traffic can be, and the place was about four miles away. Luckily, we got there rather fast.

At the hotel

The hotel was decorated in an elegant and sober style. Ivy and I found a table that was just the right distance between the dance floor and the exit. If we either wanted to party down or run away, we were nicely positioned for both.

Then the new couple walked in and stepped onto the dance floor. They looked just as elegant they had back in the church. The music started to flow from the twelve man orchestra. As they started to move, I know the whole audience shared a single thought: "Oh God, why didn't anybody think of dancing lessons??"

The case of the uptight bride

The couple invited everyone to make a toast and then proceded to visit each table and have their picture taken with every one. Around halfways into it, I could notice the bride was frowning quite a bit. She seemed quite stressed, in fact. I guess after a while of carrying that humongous (yet beautiful) wedding dress, I would be grouchy as well. Oh well, she’ll have time to relax. That’s what honeymoons are for, right?

Aftermath

The rest of the wedding was uneventful. Ivy and I chatted with the rest of the guests seated at the table. The gentleman seated at my left turned out to be a close friend of Flavius’s folks, and regaled us with wonderful anecdotes and stories. He told us how he and his wife have been together for 41 years (6 as a boyfriend and girlfriend and 35 as a married couple). Ivy and I had a great time. We danced a bit and the food was great (due to our splendid location, we were one of the first to reach the buffet). I got to say hi to my friend, take a photo at his side, and wish him godspeed in his new journey as a married man. We slipped out a little before the wedding cake was cut. I was getting kinda tired and Ivy had classes early, so the both of us had to rest. But I bet Ivy stayed awake all night thinking about how her own wedding’s gonna be like.

Guess what I'm eating!

No, nothing fancy like caviar.
No, nothing odd like monkey brains (They looked tasty in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom!)

Ok, give up??

...I'M EATING SOGGY JELL-O!

No, my fridge isn't out of order.
No, my granny hasn't rebelled and stopped making me food.

The thing is that I was kinda pekish when I came in tonight and didn't want something dry like a muffin or heavy like pie. So I started diggin thru the refrigerator and found this bowl of semi-solid gelatin, which my granny warned me not to eat cause it wasn't ready yet. But I'm such a freaky eater that it didn't matter to me that it was soft and soggy and so I took out a spoon and proceeded to clean up the whole gelatin bowl. It was cranberry-flavored. Yum!

Now don't look at me like that.
I already told you I'm a freaky eater.

Late night deliveries

It happened again.

I came home, looked at the clock and realized:

A.- That I had totally forgotten to take back DVDs to the video store
B.- That I had 11 minutes left to reach the shop before I had to pay about $10 in late fees.

So I ran down the stairs, dashed out the door, got into my car and drove off like the Devil himself was chasin' me. I must've set a new record for Most Traffic Violations in 5 Minutes. Lucky me, no cops were around, and managed to make it with about 2 whole minutes to spare. Then I realized I had gone to the wrong video shop!! So I revved my car and took off. Once I got to the RIGHT store, I sprinted past the door, turned over the DVDs to the clerk and allowed myself to gasp for air.

This always happens to me. Every time I rent videos, I end up forgetting to return the movies, and end up taking them back at the very last minute. This sucks.

However, after I've succesfully handed back the videos, I am usually overcome by such a rush that it makes the whole thing worthwhile. It's like I'm an adrenaline junkie or something.

Tonight I rented a couple of more videos. What can I say? I need my fix.

Super cookie!

My girlfriend baked me a cookie today.



Have I ever told you how much I TOTALLY LOVE this woman??

I had forgotten about this

After you neglect your blog for a while, you forget about how it is: the frustration of the delays in publishing, the problems when editing posts and the anguish of comments.

What can I do? I like feedback on the stuff I do. Does this mean I'm insecure? Heck yeah!

And while I'm coming off clean, I'd also like to state for the record that I don't like piña coladas OR getting caught in the rain.

How could you not like classical music??

It's not that I don't like classical music, but I never felt enthused by it, you know what i mean??
No more!! Check out Bond. These four English ladies have managed to put the adrenaline back into a fiddle!!