English, Juan. Oh, Juan.

February 9th meant back to school for my second semester of Jr. College. First class was English 101, which I’m so far not crazy about because the teacher is going to need my opinion on things from time to time, and I’m more than a little rusty when it comes to expressing my opinion on just about anything in a public setting.  At some point over the last year, it started to  come off as kind of rude to me.  Opinions are like asterisks, in that they’re shaped like assholes dripping with footnotes.  And as I have only one asterisk*, I’m pretty sure I also have only one opinion, and it probably has something to do with music these days, and how I’m  probably not too crazy about it.

Anyhow, I’m supposed to be stretching my reading muscle and my writing muscle, not to mention my asterisk muscle, so it’s time to show a little love to Bloggy Magoo over here yonder.

I’m telling you right now, I don’t like this.  Also, it might just be the ayahuasca talking, but is it raining economic collapse outside?

Stay tuned.

nothing to blog home about

I’m so lucky to have Diablo Cody writing my headlines for me.

At some point when I was a kid, my mom taught me how to type.

She had a customer service job back then, a lot similar to my job now, only she was in the software biz, and I’m rocking the heavy-duty business appliances.  While I halfheartedly combat those misrepresentin toner pirates whereabouts they dare, my mother answered directly to Queen of Qwerty herself, Mavis Motherfucking Beacon.  Mavis Beacon.  You who guide lost ships that drift in the Sea of Clumsy Fingerpecking.

My manager imparts wisdom on me on at least a weekly basis, most of which can be applied in some part to some inane bureaucratic function within my daily work day, but Mom was able to take some element of her job home with her.  Specifically software.  A lot of it educational, most of it lousy, and all of it on four to seven five-and-a-quarter inch floppy disks.  Mavis Beacon was my private tutor.  Not counting the actual private tutor my parents hired when they couldn’t figure out why I never ever ever wanted to do homework.

I guess my point at the end of the post is, it’s my mother’s fault.  She’s the one who told me that, when typing, end every sentence with a period followed by a double-space. I’ve only recently learned that that’s not actually how you’re supposed to do it, and now I’m trying, often, awkwardly.To change the error of my ways.

blog hard.

I have to admit, I’ve been distracted by things and such in the past week.  Well, any little thing can usually get me wandering off from what I’ve been doing, but this week the diversions have been ever-so shiny:

• The New York Times Crossword Puzzle game for my magic Game Boy Deluxe DS.  It’s like magic.  I write out the letters on the little stylus and the damn thing knows what letters they are!  It makes me think what a long way we’ve come since the Apple Newton.
• When You Are Engulfed In Flames, the new David Sedaris book, was on the shelves today.  I got my copy.  Pristine book jacket, especially shiny.  I’m sure the words within are excellent and, if they chose the right font, probably shiny as well.
• Hey, when the Apple Newton came out, was there already a cookie called that?  Someone check Wikipedia for me.
• Oh, and cable TV.  What is up with this shit?
• Humberto texts: “Hey jealousy! Gin Blossoms are playing Pershing Square @ 8 on August 20!”  Sometimes I underestimate his sense of humor.  Usually I grossly overestimate it.

All for now.  Gotta get more organized here.

i’ve had this thing for a couple of days now and i’m not quite sure what to do with it.

Things will come to me, I’m sure. Here are some vague plans I have:

• “FILMS!!!” is what I’m going to call my barely-regular movie review feature. When I watch a film, there’s absolutely no valid reason for me not to write down what I think of it, Fucking Damn It.
• “Kitchen Adventures” is almost certainly not what I’m going to call my probably-more-regular kitchen adventure segment. I like to bake and cook things all the time, and I can take pictures of those things that I bake and cook, and you can look at them and maybe you’ll want to bake and cook them too.
• I assume there will be the odd ramble or rant — or the occasional complaint about my awful, awful, awful job.
• At some point, a redesign. Seriously, I didn’t choose these arrow bullets. They come with the theme, and I have no idea how to change them.

Here’s what’s going on now: My roommate is watching the Laker game in the living room. I’m told it’s an important one. I’m thinking about getting something to eat only I’m sick of everything, except maybe macaroni and cheese with broccoli, with an italian-style dinner salad and dessert of apples with honey and peanut butter. But what kind of magical restaurant in the sky serves exactly that?

really, a blog? just like that?!

I’m not sure what’s going to become of this. I’ve set up an account, and selected a theme apparently inspired by Windows Vista. I assume that at some point I’m going to design my own page with my own graphics, but in the meantime, I invite you to gaze upon me, and gaze upon my words. Gaze upon my own little spot on the internet. Ha ha!

Now look away! Augh! I’m unbearable! Avert your eyes! Go to worthier bellogs-on-Internet: lovely Andrea’s lovely cozy hilarious and amazing Plinky? Plinky!. Or funny Ry’s funny, actually not very funny, actually way over my head so I should just Grow Up.

Oh god. Stay tuned.