2009-08-17 - On Our Next Episode . . .
2009-06-12 - RetroReflectionReaction
2009-04-13 - The Me Decade
2009-03-03 - Super Powered Sounds #3
2009-03-02 - Super Powered Sounds #2QUOTES! V.1QUOTES! V.2QUOTES! V.3QUOTES! V.4
Arts Alive In '85!
2003-01-31 - 11:29 p.m.
Mood: Tired & Guilty
Listening To: Beck, 10,000 Maniacs, Jack Johnson, Phish, Phantom Planet, Radiohead
Quote: "You know what makes this chicken pot pie so damn tasty? It's the red potatoes." - Ben
Ok kids. The Arts are Alive and kickin' in honor of my 85th entry! It seems like just yesterday that the stinkbugs drove their miniature mopeds into my cranium in a cruel attempt to crash my 75th entry. Bad stinkbugs! But here we are, asking what in god's name is the point behind a new Klutz rack that serves to showcase fewer Klutz books. Well, at least that's what I was asking. And now, without further or dew point, despite T.C. accusing me of breaking my promise, I bring you this last entry of January. An entry that will astound you. An entry that will try to tie up some loose ends. An entry that, at the end, will have you looking crosseyed into your milk and asking, "What are all those colored bars with words in them that say things?" Trust me.
Second things second. I'm in the process of giving Stuff & Things a minor face-lift. No big sweeping changes. Just gradual tweaks, in a Joan Rivers type of way, so it won't be until I'm 107 that you'll notice that I look like a cybernetic sugaring mollusk gone wrong (if ever such a thing could go right). I figure, as I'm approaching 300 days on this baby, and with the big 1-0-0th entry coming into focus, it's the least I could do to spruce up the ol' girl. #1 - The Notify List in the Upper Left corner of the screen. Not new. But my mastery of it is. I apparently zigged when I should have zagged when I first wrote the HTML code for it into my template and that's why it never worked. Well, it's all fixed up. So just pop your ol' e-mail address in there and click JOIN and you're ready to roll. So now, instead of waiting forlornly by your autogyro for word that I've added a new entry, only to blow a whole night of fun by staring at the heartless automation whilst your friends live it up at the local VFW, you can just get a handy dandy e-mail from me alerting you to the presence of a brand new steaming pile of my blathering. And it will even have a fun little note attached to it as well - perhaps a haiku! But don't hold your breath for the haikus. And remember, cheese can't dial phone. #2 - Those things with the stuff on them up by the date/time/title. It's pretty self-explanatory, but for those of you that have trouble with explanatorying things to the self, (we'll call you Monique and Fred), "Mood" covers my mood as I'm writing the entry. If you know me at all, expect to see far more of "tired", "smelly", "itchy", "surly", "torpid", "ductile", and "viscous" than such mood ring flavors as "jubilant", "glowing", "pregnant", "remorseful", "sanguinolent", or "Lucretia Mott". "Listening to" will more commonly refer to what I'm listening to on the stereo at home while I write, or the headphones at school while absconded in the MUB cluster. Or, if sadly, no music is available, I may say something like, "the melodious sounds of plump thighs rubbing together coming from the fat red-headed girl seated to my left" or "the cheerful, yet forboding chirping noises of the katydids that hope to dine on my innards by dawn." You know, something mundane like that. "Quote" will just be something that I heard in the last 24 hours or so that struck my fancy. Ben's solemn reflection on dinner found above for example. My fancy was struck by that. #3 - The Diaryrings. Found below my sign off at the end of each entry can now be found the DiaryRings I belong to. All it means is that I'm connected to other online journals (or diaries for lack of a better word) throughout Diaryland. With either those that also love Talking Heads, or bow at the altar that is Clue: The Movie, or sing the praises of those rascals of the sock persuasion, Sifl & Olly. The links on each Ring banner will either randomly send you to someone else on the ring list ("random"), systematically send you through the list in order ("next"), or bring you back to the main list index ("list") or to the Diaryland homepage ("home"). Some of them try to be clever by replacing those words with such things as "Miss Scarlett" or invisible Talking Heads lyrics. But they all do the same thing for their individual ring. Everybody clear? Sadly, there is yet to be established a NewsRadio ring, Maura Tierney ring, or Chipmunk Adventure ring. Soon. Soon. #4 - Random Shit. I'm expecting to rehaul my links page (which can be found right above the DiaryRings banners). I'll be keeping all the links I have and adding more. I know. You people can sleep soundly at night now. Now that I have plans to update the links page.
- "Remember me? I had drills for hands! Drills! For hands! That's all."
Ok, that was a lot of shit I just typed about agenda items that most people were just like, "um . . . ok." about. Whatever. I know if I didn't say anything I'd be getting a phone call from Monique at 3 in the morning telling me the new colors scared her and are giving her nightmares and why was Lou Grant so evil on ER and steal Carter's money, and I didn't want to have to deal with that. Real World / Road Rules Challenge? Ellen's ass kicking that we've been promised from day one? Seems like a big cop-out storyline that's being stretched over a whole fucking month since MTV didn't actually film anything more exciting than Ay-hyena-a mooning over "Come On Be My Baby Tonight" David. Sigh. I had a dream about being on the challenge and these mean blond twin girls took these two pieces of bread I had and covered them in mayonnaise. And I hated them all different shades of bitch. And Melissa wrote me a "friendship poem" on Hello Kitty stationary. And the rain smudged the words a little, but I was very appreciative. When I woke up, I was going to post a message on her website telling her I appreciated it. But then I got more oxygen in my brain and the earwig midnight shift took off for home and I regained my tenuous grip on sanity for the morning. I should be struck down by God above for being attracted to Jisela in this latest Challenge. I can't control it people! Hell, we all know that at one time I even thought Kendall was worthy enough to force me to watch Mad About You.
I'd like to think I made a little Armenian boy all the way across the country very happy this week. No, I didn't send a Crisp 'N' Tasty Fed Ex to San Diego. But I did send him some of the new Lego NBA series we have at the Wallakers. I made sure he got Pierce and Iverson, and whatever else came with them was just a bonus. The only stipulation was that he not allow Marshall to play with them. Well, the Pierce and Iverson ones. The rest of them Marshall could dress up as Scuba Steve for all I cared. When Coty called me to tell me they arrived, he said he would have made that rule anyway. He said he'll hold the rule in effect especially proceeding Marshall's visits to KFC buffet. As we all know, nothing carbon-based should be allowed near Marshall after a trip to KFC.
[Oh the bitter temptation to make a "Lego Maniac" joke at my own expense]
And then there's McLaughlin. I'm not sure what to say here that will do justice to his situation. McLaughlin was shipped out last weekend to points unknown (by us at least) for an undetermined amount of time. He is by all accounts now in the Middle East. Again, where and for how long are your guess as good as mine. I'm just glad Tim, Ben, and I were able to talk to him before he left. If anyone will be able to scheme up a dastardly plan in the Middle East it's Spleen. And no, the irony of following the lego paragraph with one about McLaughlin is not lost on me. Godspeed little Spleen, Godspeed.
So Ben's birthday. That's what you all want to know about right? I'm afraid there's no big story here. Oddly enough, as I write this on Friday, Rich has no intention of coming down here for the 4th weekend in a row. So hopefully there'll be no rascally run-ins with Dexter Grove this weekend. Rich seemed to only serve as one of the many threads in the tapestry of frustration last weekend. I met Brooke at the Wallakers after her customary 2 1/2 drive from LA to here. She followed me back to the house and we waited for Ben to get back from Salem to see if he wanted to eat. He didn't. Then Jimbo showed up. Before he came in I shut the lights off and when he walked in I yelled, "Surprise!". He wasn't impressed. I did this every single time he came inside. Which was a lot considering he smokes more than Ms. Risley did when she was a Chimney Sweep in college! ["Ah, I wouldn't call $500 an hour a 'chimney sweep'." - Ed. "You're right. I'd call it a damn fine chimney sweep!" - Zach] Also, morphing it into, "Surprise Bridget!" (Rich's idea) didn't seem to further endear James to the joke. So as the people arrive and the cars pile more and more into the driveway, Jimbo, who was going to go to the store to buy mixers and stop somewhere for Brooke and I to grab something to eat decides that he doesn't want to drive anymore because, surprise, surprise, ZACH SHOULD DRIVE SINCE HE DIDN'T HAVE HIS LICENSE FOR SO LONG. Oh ha. Ha he he ha. Who ha ha ha. I love it. But all the cars are blocking me in. Who cares?! If it means watching and gawking as Zach drives into the sunset all the better! So after "accidentally" almost nicking all of the cars in the driveway and forgetting to turn my lights on, Brooke and I made our way towards Papa Gino's. And part of me felt guilty for partaking in the Papa with Tim Curtis so far away. So then we have to go to the grocery store with Jimbo's gorcery list. And then Ben calls. Rich forgot to bring beer and can we pick some up for him. Sam Adams preferably. Son of a fuck. After an hour and half we FINALLY get back to Rollinsford, only to get the last parking space in the driveway with Chad & Mackenzie and Jeff & Amy still on their way. And I kept wanting to make it Ben's problem, but he was the Birthday Boy so I made it my problem instead. Argh. But we still had fun. Even if there was a lot of car chess going on, and lots of battles over there being 3 - 4 (out of 5) Tom Waits CD's in the stereo at once, and ceiling panels removed and spastic sleeping arrangements. The final tally was: Ben, Aaron, Neil, Nick, Brooke, Rich, Hannah, Jimbo, Chad, Mackenzie, Jeff, Amy and myself. And even Kristen and Peter called to join in on the phone telephonically. Even if Ben has no memory of it whatsoever. And we spent the morning at Robin's Place. As usual. Mmmmmmmm . . . breakfast.
This just in from Florida. Right off the wire from Peter D. Farmer. No seriously, this is an actual excerpt from an e-mail I received from Peter this morning, after he read tale of my getting my license: Zach, I'm still in a relative state of shock about your driving prowess. I'm not going to say that "it's about time" like everyone else. I think that you should have tried to milk rides off of other people for a few more years. Driving is not a privilege, it is an evil curse no doubt cast on all of us by Francis Rowley's mom. So there we have it. Peter is the one 'thumbs down' against a sea of 'thumbs up'. He makes some solid points though, I can't deny him that.
The Super Bowl was decidingly unSuper. It was boring because it was too fucking low scoring, and then it was boring when it turned into a blowout. But at least the Bucs won. The Raiders suck skunk ass, so I'm very very glad they didn't win. And while I've never been to Tampa Bay I have been to Oakland and let me tell you friend - you sleep with one eye open in Oakland. The game was such a dud the highlights for me were the Hulk and Daredevil trailers. But even better, yes better!, was the special Super Bowl Alias that was on later that night. Seriously all you Clydes. I cannot stress how fucking good this show is. I am very harsh about what I like on TV. That doesn't mean I don't watch tons of shit. Kate and I have both been known to blow entire weeks watching back-to-back marathons of FX's "When Animals Attack Specials". She's actually taunting me over I.M. as I write this because she's watching one and I'm missing out. But seriously, Alias rocks the bomb party that is the mad phat hiz-ouse something-izzle. Seriously. Alias will go down as one of my Top Ten shows ever. What it will knock off the list I haven't decided yet. Probably NewsRadio. Yeah. Right. Clyde . . . please. The Maura Tierney Smile Fun Time Variety Colgate Hour couldn't knock NewsRadio off the chart. Although it would make me buy a lot of Colgate. But back to Alias. That show just kicks serious fucking ass. And anytime a "surprise evil clone" storyline can serve to jazz up a jaded old comics fan like me is pretty damn impressive.
Is this Evil Clone Francie? Or Good, albeit dead, Francie? Only the mad scientist that created her knows for sure. . .
Why guilty? I feel guilty because I was going to go see Justin's show in Seabrook tonight but I kept doing shit right up until the time to leave and then I didn't go. A mix of having had a few beers, being lazy, and my knees leaking fluid stopped me from going. I feel bad. I didn't promise him I was going, but I made it pretty clear that I was leaning towards going. Ugh. Next time. I already told him I'd try my best to corral such Wallakers superstars as Andrea, Kate, AlYson, and myself to meet him for drinks one night. Tut, tut Becca and Hayley, you still be younguns, so none for you!
I keep running out of room for the things I want to talk about. Not that I have a set amount of room. But I have to get to bed. I have to get my ass to work in the morning, and with two broken knees and a shattered elbow it's gonna be hard enough. Ok, I exagerrate. Slightly. Still, I feel like more robot than man. If only a tiger-bot, if only a tiger-bot. Oh well, I'll just leave the mix-tape talk, the campus run-ins, and how I became a robotic shell of a man (moreso) until next time.
It's been real,
Zizzle to the Quizzle
ps - to those who were sucked in by a title that seemed to promise Marilyn Coffin, said Coffin's hair in a bun, shopping carts, apple-head dolls, the Belknap Mill, and other assorted artistic displays associated with 1985, all I can say is I'm sorry. False advertising.0 comments so far