Wednesday, May 14
somewhere on a continuum between bad advice and bitter lamentation
I heard the other day that this kid who used to sleep on my living room floor is joining the Air Force. I used to care. Now if I think anything I guess I think a few years aiding and abetting Uncle Sam Incorporated won't do him too much worse than a few years smoking dope and bussing tables in between World of Warcraft sessions.
A lot of people used to want me to accept Jesus into my heart.
I might act like a friend or not, but I'll never again believe I'm going to save anyone.
Plenty of American microbrew isn't very good, in pretty predictable ways. It all makes sense: Everyone's still getting over the Milwaukee's Best* they drank in high school. Everything is a reaction.
America's sense of scale is problematic.
My mom hates TV. She's right.
If you let the dog out into the rain, he's going to come back smelling like a wet dog.
I never would have guessed this, but acidic liquids like spaghetti sauce will eat holes right through a piece of aluminum foil.
Jealousy is one of the most powerful forces in the entire catalog of human experience. If you don't understand this intuitively, just give it time. If you never get the chance, I envy you like I can't even say.
I like tea, but I've tried and I still can't shake the sense that it's not a real beverage. Coffee. Coffee is a real beverage. Coffee is a thing you drink when it's not the right time of day to drink bourbon.
Everything is better out of glass.
Listen to Democracy Now. That's all it takes. You don't need to subject yourself to the vile monotony of any more three-letter acronym network news to understand the scope of the problem. You soak up enough of that through your skin even when you think you're not looking. Just pay attention to Amy Goodman & co. for a couple of days and it will become obvious how badly almost every influential journalist in America is falling down on the job, how unrelievedly corrupt the institutions of journalism have become.
There's at least one good vegetarian restaurant in Budapest. Cheap, too.
In the general case, office jobs are bullshit. And everybody knows it.
Every cigarette is a little affirmation of your own mortality: Like the crack of a bottlecap opening, the cork coming free of the glass, the subtle sound of burning plant fibers in a pipe bowl, the crackle of a match, the ignition of your car, a gallon of kerosene in a plastic jug arcing through the air toward a smoldering pile of branches and scrapwood. A bottle shatters against a concrete slab, or shines perfect through its intersection with a minimum-maintenance roadsign, becomes a brief constellation of crystal fragments in the tail light backwash.
Rate of condom supply attrition due to expiry vs. rate due to use: It may be a flawed metric, but it has to be taken as an indication of something.
Pre-packaged microwave popcorn is total bullshit. It costs too much, it tastes like the cancer it's probably giving you, and it's not even faster than the real thing. Seriously: Put a little oil in a saucepan, turn a burner most of the way over to high, toss enough popcorn in the oil to cover the bottom of the pan one kernel deep. Put a lid on the pan and shake it every now and then 'til the popping pretty well stops. Toss your results in a bowl and salt to taste. Maybe grate a little Parmesan. Notice that somewhere around three minutes have elapsed, and your kitchen still doesn't smell like scorched polycarbonate. Be sure to drop a piece for the dog - he doesn't really like it, but he's not going to stop looking at you with those sad sad eyes until he knows for sure.
Like they say, you pay for what you get.
God dammit Rusty, the whole place smells like a wet dog.
This text brought to you by bitterness, Jolly Time Popcorn, and an $8.50 bottle of 2003 Egri Bikavér.