not battlestar galactica but still badass

Quick question as I sit and read "Introduction: Toward a Critique of Postuman Futures" by Bart Simon, from the winter 2003 Cultural Critique;

Is it possible for me to audibly discuss the meaning of humanism without sounding like I should get kicked in the nuts?

Chris Salewicz's "Redemption Song: The Ballad Of Joe Strummer" is the nicest gift I've gotten ever. Well, barring the better half making me vegan baked goods once, because quite frankly, nothing can really top that so it's in a class unto itself as a gift.

Apparently Strummer called Salewicz "Sandwich" a lot. I don't say "Sandwich", I usually stammer out "Sangwich" because well, I'm from Queens and that's just how we roll up in here. On occasion, I manage to be a wiseass and say "Sammich". I also say "cawfee".

I'm like every character in "The Sopranos" rolled into one guy wearing an

In recent news, I'm unashamedly anticipating seeing "Iron Man" on Saturday. Maybe it's all the explosions. I do feel that I was wrongfully denied a childhood grooming towards blowing up neighborhood animals with quarter-sticks of dynamite and later on, foreigners, through the scope of a rifle firing explosive depleted uranium rounds.

Or...it could be all the comic books I insist on reading. Corruption, violence, extended adolescence, blah blah blah...the fact that it's basically all rubber science even I could make up and good-looking Californians is secondary, of course. I really, really don't know what it is.

I managed to somehow miraculously get enough sleep last night and even beat the alarm clock this morning. It's like Jesus finally decided to stop shitting on my chest every time we'd make love and I'm crying for him to stop, I don't think it's sexy and it burns and leaves a ras...wait, nevermind, forget you read that.

There's a Post-It attached to my computer screen here at work that says I applied for a copyediting job somewhere else, since as I recall, I forgot to CC myself when I applied for that job and thus, when I eventually get the "no thanks you suck" email, I'll remember. Trying to get any sort of (copy)/editing and writing jobs these days outside of economics and music are almost impossible for someone who can't even be bothered to care that he looks like he should be shooting a family heirloom AK-47 from a mountaintop in what used to be Persia, at some poor kid from Milwaukee or whatever, who just wanted to get out of the 'hood and make something for himself in This Man's Army.

1. Alec Bourgeois showin' up and takin' questions. Hot damn! Who doesn't like having the hero of the book swoop in to help school the yunguns? And to be able to thank Dischord personally for, ummm, existing? Shit. It's like this night is the entire reason I wrote the book.

2. Sherry in the parlor. Seriously. They serve sherry in the parlor at the Kolarama Guest House, so I drank some. I believe it is an entirely new experience for me, never having been in a parlor nor tasted sherry before, and I like it so much I am beginning to wonder if I am someone's secret gramma.

. . . so after the show we drank whiskey (Where did you go Steve? Why do you hate whiskey so much?) and then watched a Korean revenge movie which I swear to god was about this dude with kidney disease and then another movie which I swear to god should never have been made but sometimes it's just nice, watching movies. Then I got to go to Meredith's cool house and hang out with Rusty the cat and then Allegra came over in the morning and we went to a reptile zoo where they inexplicably had chinchillas, which I guess are sort of like reptiles but slightly fuzzier and we went to Meredith's v. cool art show and then Mike came over and we went to the woods where we found *actual treasure* hidden in the woods and also a small house and then drank tea.

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Dragon Wars? Monsters destroying buildings? In theaters now? How did I make it through this entire year without realizing this awesomeness was to come?