Pardon me

But I’m messing with the site, so if anything weird happens, like someone reading it, I apologize. For the reading. If it doesn’t work, well, you’re probably better off.

In unrelated news, the dentist trip was easy and smooth like punting a puppy. I am actually looking forward to the followup I have coming in a couple weeks to finish everything off. Although there’s still a suture in there that needs to be trimmed off or something because it’s all over the place. I have a weird plastic cap on the back two teeth while they’re builing my crowns. I’m going to have cyborg mouth soon. I wonder if they’d put a USB tooth in there for me to store data. That would be cool.

And tomorrow I die


That’s what it feels like anyway. I have extreme anxiety about this thing, which makes me feel really dopey. It’s a dentist, not a guillotine. Right?

How many people die from dentistry anyway? I can’t find a satisfactory answer via cursory and disinterested google search. Doc Holliday practiced dentistry. Clinton is accused to have ordered someone killed in a dentist chair by the lunatics in the world. Moe Green was in a barber’s chair, but still, it’s kind of close.

There is no reason for me to be flipping out. I will chill. Nothing is happening tomorrow anyway. I am going to jump rope and practice mime. I am not doing anything mouth-related at all.

Oh boy.


In honor of the death of the White Stripes, at least until their triumphant & lucrative reunion tour in four years. Or if not a tour, at least Coachella.

The White Stripes

Hotel Yorba

I was watching
with one eye on the other side
I had fifteen people telling me to move
I got moving on my mind
I found shelter
In some thoughts turning wheels around
I said 39 times that I love you
to the beauty I had found

Well its 1 2 3 4
take the elevator
at the hotel yorba
I’ll be glad to see you later
all they got inside is vacancy

I been thinking
of a little place down by the lake
they got a dirty little road leading up to the house
I wonder how long it will take till we’re alone
sitting on the front porch of that home
stomping our feet on the wooden boards
never gonna worry about locking the door

Well its 1 2 3 4
take the elevator
at the hotel yorba
I’ll be glad to see you later
all they got inside is vacancy

You’ll prob’ly say I’m silly
think childish thoughts like these
but I’m so tired of acting tough
and i’m gonna do as i please
Let’s get married
in a big cathedral by a priest
coz if i’m the man you love the most
you can say i do at least

And its 4 5 6 7
grab your umbrella
grab hold of me
cause I’m your favorite fella
all they got inside is vacancy

days and nights

To me life tends to vary between a glorious upward soaring ecstasy and the sensation of a large emotionless creature slamming my head under murky, chemical-filled water over and over again, holding it down a little longer with each repetition.

This has been an interesting week so far, of validation and overestimation and further procrastination. I hope to be out in the woods within a few weeks, enjoying my redneckery without reservation. Literally.

I think you should make a shirt that says “My Freak” on the front, so you can tell people you have to get your freak on, then go to your bedroom, then come back wearing it, and everyone will hate you to death.

The sickness

Today my teacup broke in two. For no good reason. I was lifting it to take a sip, and half of it fell off. I luckily didn’t have it over my laptop. It fits together with no gaps, so it didn’t shatter. Just broke. I think my tea hates me. Fuck you, tea.
Desi’s been sick all week, and I’m taking care of her. I hope she gets better soon, I’m not a good caretaker.
Does anyone else, upon seeing molten lava on TV, become seized with a desire to touch it?

What the fuck.

There’s some christian group flooding my television screen with ads late at night. They show various attractive teens running around, drinking beer, laughing, dancing, having a general good time. Then it cuts, inexplicably, to one sitting alone in his car, and looking bummed out, again, for no reason. A voiceover actor then takes time out of his busy day to inform you that “god offers more” or something. ALSO that “spiritual coaches” are waiting, RIGHT NOW, to talk to you.

First of all, what the fuck. I mean really. It’s not like they show the kid smoking a crack pipe and blowing a guy for a ride to his baby-mama’s house where he pays the rent by getting his dick smashed by the buckle end of a belt. He’s running around getting wasted with hot chicks. He does a keg stand. I can imagine it would be a bit shameful to be involved in something so dude-bro douchey, but still, it’s beer, going in your facehole. That’s a good thing. So what the fuck does he have to be all introspectard about? I thought it was a “don’t drive drunk” commercial at first, and I thought “Don’t do it, guy!” and then when they revealed what that shit was I did this:

Because their premise was BULL. SHIT. It’s like showing a 7th grader who’s depressed because he fucked a teacher. That has never happened.