Dang it All
Trials and Travails of a 20-something
Saturday, April 22, 2006

Endurance is frequently a form of indecision.
~ Elizabeth Bibesco

The bathrooms we have at work are small affairs, two urinals and two stalls. Nine times out of ten, there's nobody else in there when I visit. But occasionally I'll actually have to share the space with another person answering nature's call. If that person is ensconced in a stall, the same thing almost always happens. I'll go about my business, do my thing, wash my hands, dry them, and there won't be a peep from inside that stall, as if the space were inhabited by a defecating mime. But as I make my way to the door and squeak it open, a sonorous, moist fart will erupt from the toilet hermit behind me, pent up and finally released by the stall's grateful occupant.

It's not like I'm going to be staring in there to see who's flapping their butt cheeks. Why do people need solitude to fart?

Saturday, April 08, 2006

A life without cause is a life without effect.
~ Barbarella

So I've been watching a few stand-up comedians lately, on Comedy Central and on DVD. And I've noticed that my blog, and others, tend to share a lot of similarities with comedians' monologues.

There's the familiar tone that entries are written in -- dropped names and informal language -- that struggles to make this something readers can relate to. Like some comedians, I also have a habit of starting with 'So,' as if I'm continuing a conversation already in progress: 'So what's the deal with newspapers?' (My Jerry Seinfeld impression is horrible in person. It translates even less well to the written word.)

And like comics, my goal is to let you into my life just enough to amuse you, but not enough for you to really see what's going on. I pick and choose the parts that are the most interesting or the most amusing. Nobody would read this if I detailed my search for the perfect pair of shoes. Unless I happened to be there on the same day as a belligerent midget who kept stepping on my toes.

If I truly narrated my entire life, I'm sure you'd find it incredibly boring. But on the off chance that I'm wrong, perhaps I'll try it a little bit here:

9:00 a.m. - Wake up and roll over on top of the cat. Wonder if I should get up and squeeze in a game of Madden '06 before taking a bath or sleep in another half hour.
9:30 a.m. - Wake up again. Roll over on top of Kelsey. We convince each other to get out of bed.
10:00 a.m. - Take a bath. Kelsey has gone back to sleep, pooped by our recent long walks on the beach.
11:00 a.m. - Venture outside for a short zip around the neighborhood. Slip down the dirt road to see what the construction crews are up to. Stomp past the golf course and giggle at the players who suck.
Noon - Toast some bread. Surreptitiously lick the knife after buttering the toast. Use the same knife for the peanut butter. Put the now germ-laden peanut butter back in the cabinet. Hope Kelsey doesn't come down with dysentery.
12:30 p.m. - Check e-mail and find that I've been missing out on free male enlargement aids.
12:31 p.m. - Get depressed that the Internet gods think I need male enlargement.
12:32 p.m. - Kelsey assuages my male ego.
1:30 p.m. - Watch the tail end of The Thomas Crown Affair. Wish that I had a nifty bowler hat like Pierce Brosnan.
2:00 p.m. - Clean up the kitchen. Wonder why all the dishes in the dishwasher came out crusty.
2:05 p.m. - Realize we forgot to add soap before we turned dishwasher on.
2:07 p.m. - Reload dishwasher. Add soap.
2:30 p.m. - Head for work. Sing along to Weezer, 'Say It Ain't So.' Make up idiotic head bobs and hand motions to complement my awful singing.
2:45 p.m. - Arrive at work. Get serious. Wish there was more coffee. Make some 'Lemon Verbena' tea instead.
4:00 p.m. - Bemoan weakness of tea. Try to convince Neil to make a ruckus and grind coffee beans. It's a no go.
4:30 p.m. - Dead whale reported on scanner. Fantasize about headline: 'Blubbering follows death'
5:00 p.m. - Start writing blog. Decide to be insanely detailed.
5:05 p.m. - Giggle when I read this in my flip dictionary: "testicle pouch: scrotum"
5:30 p.m. - Cross fingers and hope somebody comments.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Rene Descartes walks into a bar. The bartender says, 'Hey Rene! How's it going? Would you like a nice cold, tasty beer?' Descartes says, 'I think not.' And then he disappears.

Yes. I know I'm a nerd.


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Days since Dan entered into wedded bliss:




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