Why didn't someone tell me Nothing Painted Blue made a song about their love of office supplies? Oh, Frank Bruno. I would assume we would be made for each other if you hadn't written a love song using the dreaded hypodermic needle as a metaphor. I hate needles! But I LOVE office supplies. I go into Office Max, and I get a girl boner. Okay, it's not quite that bad. I don't jerk off to office supply catalogs (I save that for DWR catalogs), but I do want to "sit in your office" and "play with your office supplies." And, really, "Why sit still when you can spin in a swivel chair?" It's the most reasonable questions I've ever heard asked. In a song. No, in life! Period.
I'm in a happy mood today. Did you notice? Things are going well at the volunteer job, things are going well at the real job job, I have a friend who works at Kaplan who is giving me GRE prep help for free, the boy and I are getting along. Shit. Everything is going well. Does this mean a hurricane is going to come along and wipe us all out? I hope not. The tropical storm was bad enough. My neighbor's roof is caved in from a tree that the wind bent in half. I shouldn't really complain, though, and neither should my neighbors. They're assholes and voted for Bush and honk their horn in the morning in order to awaken their bratty kids, one of whom received a drum kit for Christmas. THANKS! I really need to listen to your kid butcher drum fills while I'm trying to relax and read. But we shouldn't really complain because we have our health. Yeah. That won't stop me from complaining, will it? No.
Speaking of reading, I bought a bunch of Philip K. Dick books. I started his final trilogy, the VALIS one. I'm on the second book, The Divine Invasion. I really liked the first one. And I love Kevin and his dead cat. "'There's something in the Bible about falling sparrows,' Kevin said. 'About his eye being on them. That's what's wrong with God; he only has one eye.'" That's funny, is what it is. My mom showed me something from the New York Times magazine on the artist Richard Prince. His work goes for millions of dollars because I guess some critic liked him or he knows someone or some collector likes him and so other people decided they like him, and I guess I'm being a little cynical. Anyway, the article was accompanied by a picture of a stack of Philip K. Dick books. It's from a new project of his called "the library." I have a stack just like the one in the picture. Great minds, huh? Yeah.
Oh, I have to go now. This guy is tapping at my window:
That's a crested bulbul. He taps at my window, and his girlfriend (who always accompanies him) chatters away at him. I imagine she's telling him, "Honey, quit it. That's just a tinted window. You're looking at your reflection, you dummy. You don't have to spread your wings and pretend you're bigger than you really are. Yes, I know that bird you're looking at is also spreading his wings and asking for it! It's because that bird is you, you 'tard! Oh, for christ's sake, why did I agree to mate with this loser for life?" (Don't bother to correct me. I know that's a misnomer and that we now know that many brids do not mate for life, as was previously believed. In fact, many birds are chronic-adulterers. They'll stay with one bird, and and then they'll nip off for a nooner with some bird while they're main lady [or gent, as the case may be] is sleeping. Oftentimes, though, they'll only cheat if they know they won't be caught. It's dangerous business, being caught, because birds are often co-dependent on each other for the survival of their off-spring. It takes two to keep the little juniors safe. And I think my bulbuls have a nest, because cardinals used to tap on my window like that, and they had a nest nearby. And this parenthetical aside should have stopped several sentences ago. Because the birds have flown away by now. They'll be back.)
Oh, parenthetical asides. Why must you wrap me up in tangential wormholes? Wormholes! I like Farscape. I'm almost done with the fourth season DVDs. "S! This girl is slow. Again with the Cookie Monster." I love Muppets in Space. And I love Rygel.
I just Googled for pictures of Rygel, because you assholes only look at entries if there are lots of pictures. I found these pictures:
I don't know.
I don't like him like that.
I'm in a happy mood today. Did you notice? Things are going well at the volunteer job, things are going well at the real job job, I have a friend who works at Kaplan who is giving me GRE prep help for free, the boy and I are getting along. Shit. Everything is going well. Does this mean a hurricane is going to come along and wipe us all out? I hope not. The tropical storm was bad enough. My neighbor's roof is caved in from a tree that the wind bent in half. I shouldn't really complain, though, and neither should my neighbors. They're assholes and voted for Bush and honk their horn in the morning in order to awaken their bratty kids, one of whom received a drum kit for Christmas. THANKS! I really need to listen to your kid butcher drum fills while I'm trying to relax and read. But we shouldn't really complain because we have our health. Yeah. That won't stop me from complaining, will it? No.
Speaking of reading, I bought a bunch of Philip K. Dick books. I started his final trilogy, the VALIS one. I'm on the second book, The Divine Invasion. I really liked the first one. And I love Kevin and his dead cat. "'There's something in the Bible about falling sparrows,' Kevin said. 'About his eye being on them. That's what's wrong with God; he only has one eye.'" That's funny, is what it is. My mom showed me something from the New York Times magazine on the artist Richard Prince. His work goes for millions of dollars because I guess some critic liked him or he knows someone or some collector likes him and so other people decided they like him, and I guess I'm being a little cynical. Anyway, the article was accompanied by a picture of a stack of Philip K. Dick books. It's from a new project of his called "the library." I have a stack just like the one in the picture. Great minds, huh? Yeah.
Oh, I have to go now. This guy is tapping at my window:
That's a crested bulbul. He taps at my window, and his girlfriend (who always accompanies him) chatters away at him. I imagine she's telling him, "Honey, quit it. That's just a tinted window. You're looking at your reflection, you dummy. You don't have to spread your wings and pretend you're bigger than you really are. Yes, I know that bird you're looking at is also spreading his wings and asking for it! It's because that bird is you, you 'tard! Oh, for christ's sake, why did I agree to mate with this loser for life?" (Don't bother to correct me. I know that's a misnomer and that we now know that many brids do not mate for life, as was previously believed. In fact, many birds are chronic-adulterers. They'll stay with one bird, and and then they'll nip off for a nooner with some bird while they're main lady [or gent, as the case may be] is sleeping. Oftentimes, though, they'll only cheat if they know they won't be caught. It's dangerous business, being caught, because birds are often co-dependent on each other for the survival of their off-spring. It takes two to keep the little juniors safe. And I think my bulbuls have a nest, because cardinals used to tap on my window like that, and they had a nest nearby. And this parenthetical aside should have stopped several sentences ago. Because the birds have flown away by now. They'll be back.)
Oh, parenthetical asides. Why must you wrap me up in tangential wormholes? Wormholes! I like Farscape. I'm almost done with the fourth season DVDs. "S! This girl is slow. Again with the Cookie Monster." I love Muppets in Space. And I love Rygel.
I just Googled for pictures of Rygel, because you assholes only look at entries if there are lots of pictures. I found these pictures:
I don't know.
I don't like him like that.
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
estrada:
I look at entries with or without pictures... but I can't read. 
waldo_____:
Nice bulbul 