It’s like if the cameras had followed a guy on a fake handoff but OH SHIT THE OTHER GUY IS STANDING IN THE ENDZONE WITH THE SUPER BOWL WINNING TOUCHDOWN WAIT WHAT HAPPENED IS IT A TOUCHDOWN oh yes game over then.
Every morning, as the sun pours through my bedroom windows and spills across my bed, I awake, the promise of a new day stretching before me like a stupid thing that leads to some goddamn whatever.
Ugh, I think.
My head aches. My neck is stiff. My knees creak. But every morning, I make my way downstairs, and, rain or shine, cold or warm, I step outside, throw a leg over my bicycle, and head off for a ride.
It is the only way I have of clearing my head, of sweating out of myself whatever toxins I now regret having put into myself the evening before, of just, for a few blessed moments, not thinking. For a precious little while, every morning, I can forget about books, and writing, and the past, and the present, and the future; freedom, a true freedom, the freedom to be nowhere, to think of nothing but my breath and the road and the pedals under my feet.
And every morning, the same fucking dog chases me.
I’ve received a series of really bizarre evaluations from one professor this semester, and today I finished my final project for him. I fell asleep earlier and dreamt that when I got it back, the only comments were
Maybe don’t make me drop everything to go to Louisiana for a conference two weeks before the end of the semester if you’re going to get huffy every time I refer to it as “the all-inclusive vacation package that I won.”
I’ve looked at this from every possible angle, and the only way to get back at Charlie for watching “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” while I’m trying to grade papers is to puncture his eardrums with these knitting needles.
To pass boring office hours, respond to every single e-mail
Dr. (redacted) has expressed interest in teaching a course on manuscript studies in the Spring of 2010. The course would consist of equal parts of paleography and textual editing. This promises to be a rare and valuable opportunity to take a course not regularly offered from an accomplished textual scholar and medievalist. If you are interested in taking this course, please let me know as soon as possible. If you have any concerns, please don’t hesitate to contact me.
Thank you for this e-mail. I am concerned that I will be accidentally enrolled in this course, and that I will be somehow unable to ever withdraw from it. I am willing to do just about anything to avoid this very remote possibility.
Every time I see a Halloween candy display I have a confused moment where I’m like, “Shit! We don’t have Halloween candy yet!” Do people start getting ready for Halloween really early? It’s September. There are Christmas decorations set up at the back of Target.
We just got home from an English department party at the new department chair’s house. I was expecting drunks in bad sweaters but instead I got chandeliers and cocktail dresses and Bach playing softly in the background. I have never seen fewer lamp shades on people’s heads.
It’s awkward when freshman comp students come to the writing center with personal essays about how their Mom never really loved them or their best friend got hit by a bus or they just had their golden retriever put down.
One of my least favorite guys ever is Watchdog Devil’s Advocate Guy, who sneaks up behind you when you are complaining and waits for the perfect opportunity to jump in and assume the responsibility of providing a worthless counter to every perfectly harmless point you make.
I sent an e-mail to the English department secretary earlier today because I am cancelling a class on Monday. I have a really uncomfortable and tense relationship with her that I find endlessly baffling.
Instead of responding to me she sent out a cold mass e-mail to the entire department that began, “Effective immediately the new policy on cancelling a class is as follows…”
I couldn’t tell if she was trying to ask me for more information, so I just wrote back, “Have a fun weekend!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Tags: children, workplace etiquette, things to regret on a Sunday night
And you wonder why the little mom n' pop stores like Barnes & Noble are having a rough go
Barnes & Noble is really only handy when you need the book right this second and you can’t wait for Amazon. And then it’s only handy when you don’t have to drive 40 minutes to get there. And then it’s only handy when they actually have the item that their website says they have, which is in this case a 7th edition MLA Handbook, and no the 6th edition will not suffice even though you have eighty of them and they are all on sale for $4.99. Thank you though. I’ll be back in December when I need Christmas cards.
LOS ANGELES—Executives at Paramount Pictures announced Monday that production had finally wrapped on The Brothers Karamazov, a new film adaptation that concludes at the precise moment most readers give up on the classic Russian novel.
The 83-minute film, which is based on the first 142 or so pages of Fyodor Dostoevsky’s acclaimed work, has already garnered attention for its stunning climax, in which the end credits suddenly appear midway through Katerina’s tearful speech about an unpaid debt.
We are going to get into Lake Travis and stay there for a few days. I like to prepare myself for fun by doing really productive things, in this case reading obsessively about leeches. Who has two thumbs and a sound understanding of how to relax and have a good time?
Love, O love, let the birds happen to me. Let the wild, sweet voices remember me.
The great Perseids Meteor shower is just 7 days away so polish your telescopes and get your late night beverages ready. This shower is one of the biggest (if not the biggest) meteor shower around so it would be foolish to miss it. The show starts on the 12th around midnight but the show stopper will be at 4am when the earth passes through a field of comet dust left by Comet Swift-Tuttle back in 1610. WOW! The thick filament concentration will mean and estimated 200 meteors per hour may be visible. If you know what’s good for you grab your lawn chair, head to a dark park and sip a cold one while watching meteor after meteor light up the sky. Enjoy!
Apparently, the victim was playing with a box of matches at his residence in Williston late last night, when he accidentally burned himself and reacted suddenly by flailing his arms, causing a nylon windbreaker to fall from a couch onto a heating element. While the victim was soaking his finger in a mudbath and drinking several bottles of beer, the windbreaker became intensely hot, melting itself and starting the carpet on fire.
The fire spread quickly through the shoddy carpet. The apartment was equipped with smoke detectors, but the batteries had not been replaced since they were installed, and subsequently did not work.
For this reason, the victim did not notice the fire until it had charred most of his right leg. He then became alarmed and spilled his beer onto an electric outlet into which was plugged a free-standing halogen lamp. The liquid caused several sparks to erupt from the top of the lamp. These sparks then ignited the highly combustible tapestry cloth that was hanging directly above it, furthering the already blazing fire. Electrical shortages also spread throughout the victim’s apartment at a rapid pace, since the dwelling had not been re-wired or safety-inspected since 1956.
According to local fire authorities, the apartment burned to the ground before they even arrived. Several pets perished in the flames.
It didn’t end there, however. The victim, his right leg scorched and smoking, lurched out of his apartment just in time and headed for his vehicle, intending to find help. He neglected to look both ways before crossing the street, however, and was not wearing proper reflective equipment for being on the street at night. He was hit at least twice by passing cars.
A tiger shark is spotted swimming away from a seaside accounting practice. Several months later, more than 250 tax returns from the firm are audited and found to be grossly fraudulent. The shark cannot be located or held accountable.
You know how I feel about Love You Forever, right? Creepiest fucking book ever written. It’s like Stephen King’s Misery, but for toddlers. In fact, it’s not even for toddlers. It’s an enabling work for possessive parents with abandonment issues. I always imagine the title being whispered in a sinister, possessed voice over windchimes tinkling in a minor key. “Love You… FOREVER….” That mother is psychotic. I’m not trying to be funny here, people. Someone seriously needs to institutionalize that woman.
Marilyn and Elliott are my in-laws. I stayed with them for a week while Charlie was in Oklahoma for work. Elliott needed some screens for his pipe and decided it would be an interesting cultural thing to take me to a head shop. He broached the topic over dinner.
"They have sex toys in there," Marilyn said.
Elliott dropped his fork. “Marilyn. I’m not going to the head shop to look at sex toys.”
Marilyn said, “I realize that, I just don’t think that it’s the kind of thing that any woman likes to be surprised by when she walks into a store with her father-in-law.”
For the next few days, every time Elliott mentioned going to the head shop, he’d add, “You know, they have sex toys there, but I don’t look at them. That isn’t why I go there.”
When I was a kid we spent a year living on an island off the coast of eastern Canada. On that island there is a tree. One day I grabbed hold of a loose branch that was located somewhere near the top of this tree. Down I went, face first through the air. I landed directly on my head, on a teeter-totter.
Then I was in the hospital, wearing a neck brace. I spent at least one night and I had the worst dreams. I dreamt in slow motion. There was a television on the wall with no speakers. My mum made a speaker with a styrofoam cup and some earbuds so we could watch The Price is Right.
Now, as an adult, talking to mum about childhood injuries:
“You ran full speed into the corner of a cast iron stove. Caught yourself right in the forehead, scared me half to death.”
“Remember when I fell out of the tree and landed on my head on the teeter totter?”
“Mom, I spent the night in the hospital.”
“You spent the night in the hospital because we thought you had Meningitis.”
My fondness for all-things espionage is most faithfully reflected in my taste in workout music. I first heard this mashup when it was used in The Sopranos, and I think you’ll find that it can really compliment any perfectly normal exercise routine.
Like if you are in the habit of going for long runs in the dead of night, dressed all in black. If you — like me! — reject the humdrum ponytail archetype in favor of a simple ski mask, perfect for keeping those pesky bangs out of your eyes as you crouchingly sprint from bush to bush, pushing the limits of your cardiovascular endurance.
Look. We all know how tough it can be to stay motivated. Sometimes, when you are zig-zagging around the track, pretending that you are in the cross-hairs of a sniper rifle, you need that extra push. The perfect soundtrack to your adrenaline; something to help you go that extra mile. And hell, why not mix in a good old fashioned tuck-and-roll? This move is doubly beneficial as it will increase your agility while simultaneously making you look extremely cool. Always maintain proper form as you tumble into an alert stance behind any lamp post or dumpster.
Additionally, it is worth noting that this song comes with enough built-in angst to compliment any 10-15 minute casual breather in the shadows outside of your ex’s apartment building.