Saturday, March 20, 2004
Waiting for the inevitable.
So I'm sitting here, waiting for my mom to arrive. I've cleaned the apartment, put all my junk away, even mopped the kitchen. Somehow, I fear that this will not be enough, and I will be reprimanded for living in anything short of an Intel clean room, completely with bunny suits. On the other hand, I just might shock her for managing to keep the place relatively disease-free. We shall see. In the meantime though, I wait. I wait, and I try to think of something to talk about.
Futility, Inc.
I'm re-written this post twice now, and this is the third revision. It seems anything that I want to say just isn't working right, so I'm giving up and moving straight to the links and such. Perhaps more inspiration will await me there.
The Cheeseburger Bill. Surely you've heard of it. Personally, I think that it's a good idea, but not really implemented very well. People do need to start actually taking responsibility for what they do and not sue their way to a better life, but I think an outright ban is a little bit too much of a firestomp reaction. More thought and actual reform of the legal system would be far better, but I doubt that would happen anytime soon.
How the world works, really:
This scares me. In fact, I am tremendously glad there are not more pictures, since if there were I would likely go look and then I'd have to try and expunge negative images out of my brain.
You know the Prince from Prince of Persia? How he can run across walls and jump his way up passages and in general be a total ninja? People can actually do that. To quote a fellow Force Monkey, "what's the point of living if people can just go all PoP on you?"
What the hell, one more should do. If you think you've ever had a stretch of bad luck, just watch Farm Sluts. I always though Meet the Parents was the best example of the proverbial "bad day", but this tops it by a mile.
So yeah. Lousy post, but there's still some entertainment to be found. Now I'm going to continue waiting for my mom to come and take me to dinner. Ciao. ¶ 2:43 p.m.
So I'm sitting here, waiting for my mom to arrive. I've cleaned the apartment, put all my junk away, even mopped the kitchen. Somehow, I fear that this will not be enough, and I will be reprimanded for living in anything short of an Intel clean room, completely with bunny suits. On the other hand, I just might shock her for managing to keep the place relatively disease-free. We shall see. In the meantime though, I wait. I wait, and I try to think of something to talk about.
Futility, Inc.
I'm re-written this post twice now, and this is the third revision. It seems anything that I want to say just isn't working right, so I'm giving up and moving straight to the links and such. Perhaps more inspiration will await me there.
The Cheeseburger Bill. Surely you've heard of it. Personally, I think that it's a good idea, but not really implemented very well. People do need to start actually taking responsibility for what they do and not sue their way to a better life, but I think an outright ban is a little bit too much of a firestomp reaction. More thought and actual reform of the legal system would be far better, but I doubt that would happen anytime soon.
How the world works, really:
This scares me. In fact, I am tremendously glad there are not more pictures, since if there were I would likely go look and then I'd have to try and expunge negative images out of my brain.
You know the Prince from Prince of Persia? How he can run across walls and jump his way up passages and in general be a total ninja? People can actually do that. To quote a fellow Force Monkey, "what's the point of living if people can just go all PoP on you?"
What the hell, one more should do. If you think you've ever had a stretch of bad luck, just watch Farm Sluts. I always though Meet the Parents was the best example of the proverbial "bad day", but this tops it by a mile.
So yeah. Lousy post, but there's still some entertainment to be found. Now I'm going to continue waiting for my mom to come and take me to dinner. Ciao. ¶ 2:43 p.m.
