Amelia Earhart was a childhood hero of mine. Of course by childhood, I refer to a period of time that stretched well into my early twenties...but I'm growing up now.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Installment #37 in a Continuing Series of Queries Concerning Men’s Restrooms

Does a men’s room stall have a hook on the back of the door for personal articles (e.g. handbags)?


Tuesday, March 15, 2005

This one time, I went to this place and did some stuff, and it was fun…

This is my official solicitation for ideas for interesting LA activities. Consider this your middle-school-style essay prompt:

My most favorite time I ever had in Los Angeles was when I was at/doing ___(blank)____.

Note: Answers in the form complete sentences and limited to experiences enjoyed while sober are greatly appreciated.

Just in case you find this blog entry a bit stranger than usual, perhaps you’d like an explanation for my sudden fascination in LA happenings. Well, perhaps I would also like an explanation as to the current whereabouts of exactly one half of all pairs of socks I own, but there are some things we will never know. But then, maybe the first two sentences in this paragraph were really just a ruse for me wanting to explain my essay prompt, but not wanting to seem too excited about it, so I tried to trick you into thinking it was your idea. Oh, I am so sly. But I tell people about it, so that’s cool.

Anyway…my lil’ bro’ is coming into town for his spring break tomorrow, so I’ve been trying to rack my brain for ideas as to what he might like to do while he’s here for the next week and a half. See, I pretty much only do two things anymore: bowling and karaoke. And sometimes I eat things…(food things)…(things that are food). Obviously I need other ideas – i.e. things that cannot be done in every small town from Washington to Rhode Island.

Current suggestions include trips to: Magic Mountain, Roscoe’s, Amoeba, Roscoe’s, Venice Boardwalk, Roscoe’s & the San Diego Zoo. Additions or deletions to the list are welcome.


Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Manuel Towers, how are you? Is nice today. Good. Goodbye.

Things have been a little hectic here at the Hotel Crazygonuts…er, school of education. And this is how I know it’s starting to get to me: I spent 10 minutes freaking out looking for my file cabinet keys this morning. And I found them…in my trash can! It’s a good thing I put things away where I can find them.

(It’s also a good thing I keep a big can of Lysol at my desk.)


Wednesday, March 02, 2005


(Estimated Time of Arrival: Six To Eight Weeks)

Because there obviously has not be enough plagiarism in this blog already, I present you with this passage from Chapter 22 of The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, by Douglas Adams, being otherwise known as the second book in the five-book The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy trilogy:

The problem with most forms of transport, [Arthur Dent] thought, is basically that not one of them is worth all the bother. On Earth – when there had been an Earth, before it was demolished to make way for a new hyperspace bypass – the problem had been with cars. The disadvantages involved in pulling lots of black sticky slime from out of the ground where it had been safely hidden out of harm’s way, turning it into tar to cover the land with, smoke to fill the air with and pouring the rest into the sea, all seemed to outweigh the advantages of being able to get more quickly from one place to another – particularly when the place you arrived at had probably become, as a result of this, very similar to the place you had left, i.e., covered with tar, full of smoke and short of fish.

I had been intending to include this quote in a blog entry for some time, but now it seemed especially appropriate as the passage was on my mind recently when I fell ill and had to drive myself home from work in a rather woozy state. Ordinarily, I love driving, although I am fully aware of the evils that it unleashes on the environment, and so I try to use my bus pass whenever it is both possible and safe to do so. On the particular day that I refer to, it was not possible to utilize the bus system, because I had mistaken my alarm for a herd of wildebeests sporting bullhorns stampeding though my bedroom, and had thought to myself, “Goodness me, they do get up quite early in the morning, don’t they?” – and went back to sleep. The rather groggy realization that February generally isn’t bullhorn season for wildebeests in California came to me in time avoid being late to the office, but only if I drove. So later, when I had to make my sickly journey home, I felt a bit trapped in my air-contaminating conveyance, realizing that for the next 45 minutes I was stuck, and that even if I had taken the bus so I wouldn’t have had concentrate on the road while ill, I would have been stuck at least a half hour longer, breathing in the surrounding exhaust and body fumes. Somebody let me know when the telekinetically equipped office I ordered from that infomercial last night arrives. If you need me, I’ll be under my proverbial rock in my proverbial cave chewing my proverbial thumb.