Wednesday, August 6, 2008

internet mourn

I jumped from platform to platform this morning. I don't know what people used to do when their friends died, but I guess we post on myspace and facebook these days. I don't know if a spot of my blog will do anything for your spirit and I know that you're not somewhere else browsing the interweb, but I think if you saw this, you'd like this picture of yourself.

Rest in peace, Katie. I don't know what to say except that I am so, so sorry and I hope that you feel better.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

contrast and compare

I don't know if this is exactly a stroke of genius, but I just had this idea. These are the pluses and minuses of summer.
1) sleeping in.
I'll let you in on a little secret: during high school, I woke up at 5:15am. That just sounds unholy. I am really not sure of how I functioned, being that I am a moderate work a holic that will stay up as long as it takes to memorize however many flashcards I made. Now that it's summer, my wake up time varies from 6AM when I have to work to whenever I want. My forced status as an early bird hasn't worn off, however. What I refer to as "sleeping in" usually means about 9:30am. This is okay to me, because then I can walk around the house in whatever I slept in and watch shows about babies on TLC or The Dog Whisperer.
2) fishing.
As much as I might deviate myself from my homeland of Shelbyville, Indiana, I'll never be able to deviate myself from the edge of your seat sport of fishing. I will cast the line farther than you and I'll probably snap the line on a twig or something. There is something about fishing that I can't shake. I'm not sure if it's the mosquito bites or killing time in Shelbyville, but fishing is a default hangout activity. 
3) increased use of my Nalgene.
Thanks to a friend of mine, I have been notified that Nalgene bottles do NOT cause cancer or obesity (I'll leave that to P-lites and tortilla shells). So, I can again tote my purple Nalgene around wherever I go; the living room, the gym, my car, the bathroom can all cause thirst. A plus of this plus is the existence of Crystal Lite ON THE GO, which allows me to spice (or sweeten, in my case) up my water but still pee a lot.
"Lightening bugs, lightening bugs. CHOO CHOO CHOO, the lightening bugs." I'm not sure where I learned this little song/chant, but I am sure that lightening bugs are a huge part of why summer is great. I was never one of the creepy kids that tore the lighter parts off and smeared the lighter goo on my face, but I did capture as many as possible and set them loose in the house. I wish that there were as many lightening bugs as there were mosquitos, but I'm sure that there would never be sufficient darkness for drive in movies (waaaah daylight savings time boo hoo). Is it possible to frown when looking over a lawn to a field of bugs that SPARKLE? I think not.
4) church carnivals and county fairs
I could go on for hours about what I love about church carnivals and county fairs, but let's stick with some superficial ideas.
+ funnel cakes
+ rides that make me throw up funnel cakes
+ "The Little Lady from Haiti" at the Bartholomew County fair. This is actually a little cruel, sideshow like, but it's interesting to see who will pay a dollar to go look in her tiny living room and maybe shake her tiny hand. The saddest part is, if, in a fit of relentless compassion, you make one of your friends tell her "Je veux aide toi," she will respond "Aidez moi." I'll leave that up to you to translate.
+ 4-H projects (like BUY AN OUTFIT!)
+ being hit on by white south african carnies (Shelby County Fair 2008. beat that)
+drunk priests gambling
1) my job.
I work at a kennel. A huge part of my work is cleaning up dog poop. Believe me when I tell you that there are some dogs that poop bigger and more often than you. Even you. Though this is no glamourous task, the task is easier to stand when this poop is frozen, even frosted over. But no. Imagine cleaning up huge piles of poop at 4PM in July in Indiana. Did you remember the flies? Did you remember the "poop in the microwave" effect? Did you remember that you're getting $7 an hour to do this? 
2) never being able to find a smoothie.
On hot summer days, all that I really want is a huge smoothie made with mango, banana, and raspberry. Why is this so hard? I don't think I'm even in the same state as a Jamba Juice and the smoothie nasty things at Starbucks are terrible. Where else is there to look? My local Cuppies advertises the presence of smoothies, but they also advertised "fresh hot chocolate" (which I quickly discovered was fresh from a bag). No trust in that relationship. I broke my household blender A LONG time ago, smoke and everything, so I don't have the prospect of making my own smoothies. Really, what could  be more refreshing, yet so out of reach?
3) not being able to afford summer music festivals.
In addition to not being able to afford Lollapalooza or Bonnaroo or the high waited paints required to Pitchfork, I don't know which summer music festival crowd I could comfortably be a part of. I don't have the contacts to not have to pay for a hotel in Chicago for Lollapaloozaand my bangs are only sort of asymmetric (I also don't care fore PBR). I don't smoke nearly enough pot for Bonnaroo and don't own a tent. I don't have the cash for coke and Pitchfork tickets, which automatically eliminates me from their target audience. What music festival can normal kids, but kind of cool but a little more awkward, attend comfortably? Can I cement the presence of Motorhead, Ryan Adams, Rilo Kiley, Iron and Wine, Bob Dylan, and The Libertines? Will they give me a place to stay? Can I pay less than, oh, $75? If such a place exists, please stop keeping the secret.
4) feeling like I have to tell about my dreams
Any time I start a sentence with "Guess what I dreamed last night!" you're going to be disappointed. Because I can sleep more during the summer, I have more dreams and am more likely to stumble over my descriptions and embarrass myself from trying to explain what my mind made up. You're going to appear insensitive while I'm rambling about spanish spices, so why not just leave the situation and try to divert my attention? Don't think that this means that I want to hear about your dreams. They don't make any sense either and I'll pretend to understand.
It's summertime, kids! Live it up!

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

As a nearly 19 year old with most of my close friends in other states (let's hear it for summer leadership programs!), I have made some summer plans. 

1) Write a letter to Andrew W.K.
I watched some of Andrew's four hour lecture at NYU on YouTube and have decided that we are going to become best friends. In his lecture, Andrew discusses coincidence, the paradox of partying, the last time he cried, and suddenly bursts out in dance.
Maybe this is me being too optimistic, but I'm under the impression that Andrew W.K. is a nice guy. Aside from his career as an inspirational speaker at colleges, he has also spoken at the opening of a Paul Frank store as well as in opening of last year's Bamboozle festival. As a classically-trained pianist, Andrew chooses to write music about the aforementioned paradox: partying ("Party 'Till You Puke," "Time to Party," "Party Hard," etc). Because of Andrew W.K.'s combination of getting that people need to tear their dress shirts and throw some chairs and the nice needs performed  by Andrew on his MTV2 show "Your Friend, Andrew W.K.," maybe Andrew will write back. He went to the gym with some guy after helping throw out Little Debbys and threw a birthday party for a 30 year old, so why not? 

2) Decide if I'm anti myself having tattoos or not.
I'm sure that anyone reading this knows that the current fad for the 16-30 crowd is tattoos. Thanks to TLC, there are plenty of Kat VonD hopefuls strutting around (they will never look as nice in leather pants) with tattoos that seem like an excuse to get tattoos. I've considered the possibility. I've got a job, I've got asymmetric bangs, is a tat next in line? The only thing I can really think of is KOWABUNGA on the inside of my bottom lip, but the logical part of me reminds myself that such a tattoo would last about six months. Nothing has happened to me that I need to make permanent on my body. I have a mind for that. The only design that I would seriously consider is an anchor, you know, because I'm a tough sailor. The only spots I would consider are my achilles tendon or ribs, both of which sound unnecessarily painful but could be hidden when I actually need to be taken seriously. (this is quickly turning into a mindmap) Couldn't I invest in something else to make friends? 
Sidenote: My recent trip to an amusement park made me decide that I am anti myself having tattoos. Let's be realistic.
It looks like I achieved my goal!

I'm going to go ahead and post this now because I'm running dry and I'm hungry, but maybe I'll come back to it.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

rEbEl sPiRiT!!!!

In order to best clarify what I'm about to say, I need to give some sort of description of my former high school. We'll call it Poncalli because I've heard that my diploma can be taken away for 90 more days. Poncalli High School is all white, all Catholic, and all about itself. And no, we did not have cute uniforms.

Student Favorites:

-Kenny Chesney
-Dave Matthews Band
-Larry the Cable Guy
-trucks. not the kind for skateboards.
-American Eagle
-basketball shorts
-synchronized dancing/clapping/cheering

Administration Favorites:
-busting student parties
-pretending to be your friend but really just ratting you out and suspending you
-mimes at Good Friday services
-khaki Old Navy cargo pants

I think that my previous description gives a pretty accurate representation of what it's like to walk to Poncalli halls. After four years in the Poncalli halls, I can present some valuable high school lessons.

1) Freshman girls will have terrible self esteem.
I've done this and I've seen so many other freshman girls do the same thing. You're in an unfamiliar place surrounded by people who have already passed their "awkward stage," making you all the more uncomfortable. You got a new hair cut just for high school but it's really hard to maintain during the day. Really, you're just trying to fit in. Miraculously, this low self esteem brings about a sort of blurred vision regarding potential mates. People that date freshman girls are either:
-very lucky 8th graders
-25+ years old
-creepy upperclassmen that cannot get a date otherwise
And somehow, these freshman girls are charmed by the wit and finesse of their aforementioned suitors. Now, the same girls will hopefully go a little farther into puberty and realize that their new boyfriends are lame or will just continue to date their boyfriends until their boyfriends go to college, jail, or become underclassmen and the whole romantic notion just fizzles out.
2) You will have to sit by what could be the stupidest person on Earth.
In Poncalli High School and probably every other high school, there is a cornucopia of people that, in this stage of life, are stupid. While the exoskeletons of these creatures vary, most of whom I speak of at Poncalli have fade haircuts, two cubic zirconia earrings, and "dress up" in an Abercrombie polo. This classmate will sit next to you in a class that demands some sort of participation, be that a class about literature or trigonometry (Eliminate the possibilty of calculus. He's not in that class and neither are you.) When such a person does participate in class, he contribues something along the lines of being able to identify a noun or is talking about how much he got laid last weekend (don't believe him). In the everyday world, you may call this person a "bro." I recommend looking up BRORAPE on youtube.
3) Unless you're a bro (see above) or an amazon woman, gym class is terrible.
I'll admit it in the beginning, I am not and never will be athletic. I am the spawn of a triathelete and a runner, but somehow missed out on their genes. For people like me, NORMAL PEOPLE, gym class is torture (especially if your school is poor and you have no air conditioning). The male teacher of your class will be a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen and the female teacher will be better at every sport than you will ever be. The teachers know this. You know this. Tough shit. By the end of the year, I still could not run three laps around the circle in front of the school without walking a little. The male gym teacher asked me if I tried to throw the shotput wrong (because believe me, I did). However I formed tight bonds with my fellow nonatheletes. We long jumped very short distances together. We hopped our high jumps. We struggled through the biannual mile. We watched a bro fart while trying to do more pull ups. Though gym class will make you feel like a total outsider, you'll find a little home amoungst the other outsiders.

4)As much as you might want to burn down your high school at some points, just finish it so that you can look back and laugh.
I would describe my entire high school experience has love/hate. I made some great friends and hated some people. I packed some great lunches and hated the school's mozzerella sticks. I slept in a lot of classes and disrupted others with excess enthusiasm. For as many times as I've wanted to poop in the hallway, I've gone out on the weekend and laughed until I had to scream that I was going to throw up. I doubt that any 8th grader will ever read this, but if one does, just grit your teeth through the hard parts and enjoy the fun that you do have.

Is this when Green Day should play?
No, just Peaches. Loud and in front of the principal.

Friday, May 23, 2008

by popular demand...or 1 person

Okay, let this sink in before I start:
Ladies and gentlemen, Nick Pitera.

I don't really know how I'm supposed to analyze this. The first time I watched this video, I laughed,
but this was after right after watching a video about lepruchans in Atlanta, so maybe I wasn't in the
right spirits. I'm actually sort of impressed. Can I sing as low as a tenor? No! Maybe Nick Pitera has
some legitimate talent. He could also probably save Disney a lot of money but allowing them to
hire only one singer for a film.

Here's the original version of "A Whole New World"
Does anyone else notice Aladdin's lisp? Not to make a sweeping generalization, but I don't think that
he's really interested in Jasmine. Jasmine's hair gave me unrealistic expectations for my own hair as a
child. Not that I'm bitter. I'd say that the only things that could improve Nick's performance are
1) escape from a tiger in the beginning like the original version!
2) sing while riding on a magic carpet. Don't pretend that such an image wouldn't be magical.

In conclusion, you're creeping me out a little, Nick Pitera. I feel like you could be both my brother and
my sister. However, you also have a useful gift. Want your mom to talk to your "girlfriend" on the
phone? Easy squeezy, Japaneesy. Want to join Curves? No problem. Want to order the latest Micheal
Bolton cd? No need to be ashamed, my friend! Though I'm a lot turned off by the fact that you sound
EXACTLY like the original Jasmine but wouldn't fit in her underwear, I like you.

Which voice would he sing the National Anthem in?

Saturday, April 26, 2008


This isn't even a real post.
Actually, it's probably funnier than anything I could ever write.
I present: what my e-wanderings resulted in tonight!

This is sort of like when I watched Borat and felt genuine sadness when his producer stole his passport and left him. I know that this lolcat isn't REALLY having a party, but you know, maybe I see a little bit of myself here. Maybe you should remember that lolcats(Reillys) have feelings. Maybe you should've thrown the lolcat a surprise party so that he or she would not have known that there was a disappointing turnout. Maybe you should've just let the lolcat keep his or her passport but not talk to him or her when they get home.

Maybe you should just love the lolcat like he or she deserves!

All that I have for this the fact that I did in fact laugh out loud in the dark alone in my living room when I saw this.

Thursday, April 3, 2008

extravangza EXTRAVAGANZA!! pt. 2

The cumulus clouds in my brain have cleared and I've got some more of my favorites to share! Let's get to the important stuff.
Not Just Popcorn!
Located in Edinburgh, Indiana, this store is for people who like to taste...anything. If you want to spend $75 on 6.5 gallons of gourmet flavored popcorn, this is also your place. Not Just Popcorn has your normal flavors...caramel...I feel like that's the only normal popcorn flavor. Some of the other flavors include "autumn splendor (what the hell)," "cinderella (what do fairy tales taste like?)," mai tai, bacon and cheese pizza, dill pickle, blueberry cheesecake, creamsicle, and Tom Collins (HUMAN FLAVORED?!). I've been into Not Just Popcorn once and honestly, it's sort of a dreamland. Everything there is locally grown except for the dark chocolate (the woman that works there told me this quite enthusiastically). Oh, and if you want to purchase pounds and pounds of kernals, Not Just Popcorn sells those by the pound.
One thing about Not Just Popcorn sort of weird me out, and that is the flavors that are more like actual food. By food, I mean an entree, not a desert. Blooming Onion, Mesquite Bar-B-Q, Nacho, and Cajun seem sort of weird. Earlier, I mentioned Bacon and Cheese Pizza...and now I wonder what you use to flavor something like bacon. I don't think I'm into bacon fat on my popcorn. This is a litter Berry's Every Flavor Beans to me. Be really careful or you might get vomit flavored.
I'm not doggin' on you, though, Not Just Popcorn! I love myself some Poppycock-flavored popcorn now and then!

Paranomral-Themed Television
Now, when I say "paranormal-themed television," I mean ghost shows. Paranormal State, Ghosthunters, and Most Haunted, more specifically. Foremost, I'll highlight the characters that stand out to me.

Steve Gonsalves
Steve here is the tech manager on the Sci Fi Channel's show, Ghost Hunters. Come on, look how dedicated he is! TAPS hat, TAPS factory shirt, TATTOO OF A GHOST (check out that forearm)?!
NOTE: I don't know if that's a ghost or not. It's probably his niece or something. Calm down.
I really just think that Steve is cool. He hangs out in front of the computer while the other two guys on the show (and sometimes Brian, the one that everyone hates) slink around and freak out a lot. I mean, Steve doesn't even get out of the TAPS van sometimes. If I had Steve's job, I would use those walkie talkies to my advantage. "WATCH OUT BEHIND YOU!!" But you know, Steve's above that. He takes this stuff seriously. TAPS is not "a glorified 1-900 number for paranormal activity" (that was a quote from the bald TAPS guy) and Steve upholds that reputation, one really boring hour in the van at a time.

Yvette Fielding

Or should I say LIZA MANELLI?

Yvette is the star of Most Haunted, which is the British version of Ghost Hunters. Think of it at the English vs. Brit versions of
The Office. It's better in the sense that the humor is dry and Yvette's eyes look sweet in night vision. I like that Yvette uses Ouiji boards a lot and thinks up politically correct names for the spooks (i.e. ASTRO BEINGS circa last year's Most Haunted Live). Overall, Yvette is extreme in that she gets attacked by ghosts all the time and has an easy Halloween costume (Liza Minelli, duh).
For me, ghost shows are a great way to kill a boring Friday night (no pun intended) and creep yourself out needlessly. A lot of these places that are investigated are obviously frauds, but others are quite historically interesting. Most Haunted investigated the castle of Vlad the Impaler as well as the no-Cal hangout of the Rat Pack. With the invention of HD television, ooooh crap. Now when they talk about faces in orbs caught in really dusty rooms, which is shady, if you don't watch ghost shows, I can pretend to see the faces a little more accurately. They're cool. Paranormal-themed television in general? Let me sum it up. Small groups of people go into really old places with weird construction and plumbing. They've already been told how haunted the place is and that they're going to shit a brick before they leave. They freak out over every sound. EVP is awesome.

This Event:

It's been a while since this happened, but I remember certain things. Devin decided that he wanted his lip repeirced. Josh volunteered. Devin called me explaining that "JOSH JUST SAID THAT HE'D PIERCE MY LIP! IF I'M GOING TO TRUST ANYONE, I TRUST JOSH!"
"Um. Okay..."
So then Josh did what you see to the left. Devin quickly found that nothing else fits in the hole the size of a safety pin, so he went to Texas Roadhouse.
This didn't turn out quite as colorfully as it appears in my mind, but think about it. And Josh, if you ever read this, I think I'd trust you to do something like this too.

I've got a little notecard of things I like, but see, it's all the way upstairs. I'll update this subject periodically (aka when I feel like it), but for now, let's move forward.

Yvette is the star of Travel Channel's Most Haunted, which is really like England's version of

Saturday, March 22, 2008

extravangza EXTRAVAGANZA!! pt.1

I think I've got it! Question: What's the easiest thing to write about? Answer: Yourself! I credit my inspiration for this particular blog to the paragon of narcissism, Oprah. Every year, Oprah holds a special edition of her self-titled show known as "Oprah's Favorites." Sadly, I don't have enough money (or the cloning ability) to give one of each of my favorite to a certian demographic that I happen to like this year. I will, however, dedicate this blog to my momentary favorite demographic:

Japanese Rockabilly! I don't really get it. American Rockabilly is acceptable...I like hair gel and stand up bass. I feel like the Japanese may be getting too involved. It seems as though they let themselves get too wrapped up in their current trends. Remember how much they freaked out about EVERY SINGLE BOYBAND? Slow down, guys.
Okay, let's cut to the chase. My favorites are in no particular order, but should be taken to the deepest corners of the heart.

Leslie Hall

Iowa superstar. Keeper of the Gems. Owner/operator/founder of the Gem Sweater Museum. Lady Rapper. 200 pounds of FUCKING AWESOME.
It's hard to find words for Miss Hall. There's a lot to talk about! Her band, Leslie and the Ly's, features Leslie herself as well as two other girls who really don't matter (I think one's name is Reba, as mentioned in the lyrics to the song "How We Go Out.") Aside from the fantasitic "lady rhymes" that Leslie presents during a Leslie and the Ly's performance...
There's nothing better then a pair of gold pants; skin tight fabric and enough room to dance.

Leslie shows off her one of a kind dance moves. And when I say one of a kind, I mean scissor kicks, jumping, yowling, flailing, and rapid shaking of the entire body. I can't resist. Leslie Hall is truely a multimedia experience:

In addition to her role as lead singer of Leslie and the Ly's, Leslie maintains The Gem Sweater Museum. This museum features over 300 gem sweaters that Leslie has specifically named. These names include Gypsy Leather, Brown Bear Looking Glass, and Goblit From Bethleham (sic). Here's a quick sample of the gallery featured on

Now, I could continue to ramble on and on about my favorite internet celebrity, but let's move on to something a little more personal.

Dirty, Almost Gross, Peculiar-Looking Lead Singers
I think that what trips my trigger (Leslie Hall reference!) about this small, yet elite group of menfolk is their ability to mutate from obviously inebriated to quite acceptable. Let's compare and contrast. No Venn Diagrams needed.

God save the Queen, it's Pete Doherty! Lead singer of The Libertines and Babyshambles, this famed everything addict can go from enjoying a post-8 ball drink with Kate to looking adorbale in his rugby polo. Cheers, Pete!

Here comes Jack White, a jack of all trades. For some reason, Jack did nothing to clear up whether or not Meg White was his sister, wife, or both (she's actually his ex wife...AWWKKWAAARDD). Despite this little tiff, Jack has married a model, had 2 children, produced a Loretta Lynn album, and acted alongside Jude Law and Nicole Kidman. This resume proves that our present culture isn't that focused on overall appearance. I take that back. Maybe they haven't seen the darker side of Mr. White.

There's a point that seperates reinventing yourself because your emotional changes must reflect your outward appearance and when you've just been smoking a mix of heroin and cocaine and every clothing item you see looks like the technicolor dreamcoat that you've gotta have. This means YOU, Ryan Adams. I know, I know, he's cleaned up, but let's think back to ah-hem, pre 2004.

I need to make a few notes on this one. You'll understand why Ryan Adams is obviously inebriated in Music In High Places: Ryan Adams if you watch it. The title is more suiting than you'd think. Secondly, Ryan Adams is approximately 5 foot 7. Aw!

Insulting to the feline species or cute? I'm not sure. I am positive, however, of my love for this website. Though it is not updated as frequently as I'd like (because I can't get enough!!!), icanhascheezburger features pictures of cats doing funny things. Already fantastic, right? It gets better. These pictures have captions written in internet lingo! 4W350M3 (AWESOME)!!!111! Just as every rose has its thorn, icanhascheezburger features stupid pictures of stupid inanimate objects like chairs from time to time. These faults aside, this website hailing "lolcats 'n' funny pictures" is an easy way to waste a solid three hours. We all want to be in the loop, so here's a quick rundown of some icanhaszheezburger inside jokes.

  • Ceiling Cat is God. He lives in the ceiling (obviously), which is heaven, and periodically condemns bad cats and any dogs to the basement. Ceiling Cat also appears in the clouds sometimes. Like they say, Ceiling Cat works in mysterious ways. Think of it as an internet version of Narnia.

  • I don't know the origin, but on icanhascheezburger, walruses love buckets. They will do anything to find "teh bukkit." They tell colorful tales of "teh bukkit." For me, this is the joke that you don't get until you get a lot older.

  • Cats are mimes! It's pretty obvious when you see it, but on icanhascheezburger, cats are constantly doing invisible things. Invisible putting on pants, invisible beer, invisible segway. At first, these cats appear to be running from something or are in action; do not be mistaken. They are performing acts that will either bring them close to or farther away from Ceiling Cat.

I'm sure that you're wondering what I'm talking about. I'll close this entry with exhibits of icanhascheezburger and then a closing.

I like more than just these things, which is why I plan to continue this blog! So, I'll call this extravaganza EXTRAVAGANZE!! (thank for your helpnot) pt.1 until further notice. Teaser? I think yes!
To come:
wedding showers
my dog
the "cuffed jean" trend

Friday, March 21, 2008

I'm writing about how I don't know what to write about.
All I have so far is that I want the title of the blog to end with the word EXTRAVANGZA!
So, I think maybe seven people tops read this. If you are one of those seven, begin to conjure a brainstorm.

Thursday, February 21, 2008

i don't get you and i don't know why you're so appealing

Earlier this week, I ventured to one of my favorite places in the world, the airport, to pick up my grandma. Because of some sick complusion, I arrived at the airport with my dad about 2 hours ahead of when Granny's plane was scheduled to land. Of course, we indulged in airport foodstuff (T.G.I. Fridays...WILD!!) and then studied every item in every silly airport store. The ultimate consumers, I know. I bought the latest issue of Spin because of the cover, which I found repulsive to the point that I was charmed.

Thief, mess, junkie, charmer, artist? You've got my $4! I know that there has to be icky British teeth behind that nonchalant smug and a pale, pale complexion beyond the black and white photography, but my intrigue is powerful. After reading the article about Pete's house that he rents unfurnished that he furnishes with dirty clothes, blankets (but no mattresses), kittens, and kitten poop, his lies about getting sober that even the journalist caught him in, his manic tendencies, and how to actually pronounce his last name (Dock-erty), I had to know more. Oh, and his music, imagine that, popular culture! I don't know why I'm drawn to Mr. Doherty...probably the same reasons I have that crush on Jack White. He's dirty and weird and writes dirty, weird rock. I googled the fellow during newspaper and eventually moved to video search, at which point, I found this gem: .
Copy and paste is being weird, sorry. Here's a list of what I want to point out:

  • Pete's outfit for the acceptance speech.
  • Pete's face and body languge while reading the poem that says "I'm really blazed, that's why I'm this enthusiastic."
  • The unenthusiastic behavior of...that other guy and how obvious it is that reading this stupid poem was not his idea.
  • Pete going in for one on the lips.
  • The sound Pete makes at the beginning of the song.
  • The sound Pete makes at 3:57.
  • How Pete is obviously inebriated but manages to put on a shirt and pull off an impressive guitar solo.
  • That Pete repeats the 3:57 sound at 4:30.
  • How adorable/innocent the bassist is!

But I mean, he's still lovable, right? Come on, look!

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

my morning commute

After driving about half an hour to school for the last six years, I've learned a thing or two about the interstate. There are very specific subsets into which most drivers fit. I'll start off with the most obvious:

The BMW/Lexus Assbag

The speed limit is 70. If you're going between 70 and 80, you've not a problem. However, the BMW/Lexus Assbag ignores the rules of nonfatal driving. This driver puts special work into making sure that everyone knows that his car costs more than a semester's worth of Ivy League education by pulling a solid 90mph and agreeing to only slow down once they have come within three inches of the bumper ahead of them. This threatening proximity is rivaled only by the ability of the BMW/Lexus Assbag to swerve all over the lane in which they are trying to advance. This is a sort of reminder to the car three inches from the BMW/Lexus Assbag and that Assbag is still traveling at hyper speed and will use the add-on in the BMW/Lexus that turns this luxury vehicle into a luxury monster truck. Regardless of the sex of any particular BMW/Lexus Assbag, they are sure to increase their apparent insanity through the continuous use of a Bluetooth headset. If one holds the horsepower to momentarily align with the BMW/Lexus Assbag, they will at first see the BMW/Lexus Assbag having what looks to be a very important conversation with his/her self. After the BMW/Lexus Assbag passes this driver on his or her other side, the driver will then realize that the BMW/Lexus Assbag has complimented their irrational driving with something more distracting than their diamond-plated navigation system: hands free communication! If you come in contact with the BMW/Lexus Assbag, accept financial inferiority and get out of the way. At least your pants are a little more snug.

The Grand Prix Challanger

The Grand Prix is a type of race controlled by the European-based racecar league, Formula 1, with contending sponsors including really European things lie Ferrari, Mercedes, Porche, Vodafone, and Redbull. While there is a Grand Prix race in Indianpolis, these races mainly take place in places such as Monte Carlo, Budapest, and Valenica. Not only does the Pontaic Grand Prix look nothing like a Grand Prix competitor, the drivers of the Pontaic Grand Prix do not present the image of someone hoping to catch the race via satellite from Bahrain rather than Daytona. These drivers channel their inner Ricky Bobbys by making sure that they arrive before everyone else to anywhere because we all know that if you're not first, you're last. The Grand Prix Challanger is the blue collar BMW/Lexus Assbag, driving in a painfully aggressive manner that just so happens to be at or after your off ramp. The Grand Prix Challanger has a harder time maintaining speed than the BMW/Lexus Assbag, however. This could either be the result of a lowered level of intimidation (you're not afraid that it's your boss) or because the driver can't find the song on their Brooks and Dunn tape that gets them the most fired up. Either way, the logic of the Grand Prix Challanger is skewed. Mistubishi Galants don't come with full length mirrors. Dodge Caravans do not typically travel is large groups across the desert. The Grand Prix Challanger somehow missed the mark on not taking the model name of your car seriously.

That's all for the moment. I've got more drivers to attack, but need to do some brainstorming and ignite my inner cynist.