Irksome

I'm convinced environmentalists go around to various public restrooms and tighten the toilet paper dispensers so no one can get a sufficient amount.  

Even if I wanted to, I couldn't spare a square.

Does frontal male nudity mean it's rated R or PG-13?

I was flashed. A few days ago. It was awful.

I'm standing at the register being my normal awesome self. I'm efficient. I don't dawdle. I get people through the line without being too cheery. Some people call me mean and not very personable, but I call it being genuine. When people ask, "How's it going" I say, "Eh, I'm at work." Most understand.

My point is, I'm innocent. Standing there doing my job. This bro is at the counter with his sagging jeans and screen printed hooded sweatshirt. The total is something like $3.02. He gives me a five dollar bill.

"Do you have two cents?" I don't want to give him 98 cents in change.

"Uh, I think so. Hold on."

He reaches deep into his pockets to search for coins. While doing so, he pulls his pants down so far that I can see nearly every bit of his manhood. I'm shocked, I assure you. I actually audibly say, "uhhh" as I look up at the ceiling listening to that awful music they insist on playing until he discovers a couple pennies.

"Here you go."

"Uh, thank you. Um..." I complete the transaction. Although when I'm giving him his change I feel like I'm paying for a peep show.

Needless to say I was very distracted from being awesome at work for at least five or ten minutes. It was horrible.

Not sure why I felt the need to divulge such information. I guess I wanted to express another reason why I should find another job, one that appreciates the fine work I do and doesn't repay me with unwelcomed nudity.

Bek

This is my website you won't understand because it's a class project, unless you happen to study the French literary theorist Jacques Derrida....

However, you should still check it out cause it's awesome and I worked hard on it.

gracias to dustin lemos

On the Subway Eating Leftovers and Being Really Happy About It

Do you ever drive with the radio on and realize that you have been listening to a song for a few minutes that you really wish you weren't listening to? And you would have changed the station, except you were deep in thought about nothing in particular?

I'm driving home at almost one in the morning and as I'm getting off the freeway, or the Autobahn as some would have it, I realize I've almost finished listening to "That's the Way I Like It" in its entirety. As it finished out, I drove the rest of the way to my apartment laughing hysterically. Not sure why. Maybe because I'm a little cooky from finals week. I didn't change the station though. You'd think after I heard such a ridiculous song I'd switch it. But I don't really like the sound of changing stations. There's no continuity. It is so flustering to change stations mid-song. I'm also apprehensive because I think it's kind of rude, as if I'm offending the artist whose song I cut off.

I'm glad I didn't change the station though, because as I was pulling into the parking lot, I heard the first few seconds of "When A Man Loves A Woman." Great song. Sad to turn it off. But at least I didn't have to hear "uh huh, uh huh" running through my mind as I go to sleep tonight. Although now that I'm talking about it more, I probably will be singing it in my sleep...and tomorrow.

Some of the best moments I have with myself are in my car. First of all, I dance like there's no tomorrow, and like there's no seat belt, nearly every time I drive. And also, I just crack myself up. I'm sure you have those moments. Who sits there listening to "That's the Way I Like It" by themselves at 1 am without singing or dancing along? Just sitting calmly with one hand on the wheel thinking about where they'd just been or where they are going...That is what made me laugh.

My favorite laughing in the car moment happened about a year ago. I was driving home from work rather mindlessly when I saw the most hilarious bumper sticker: "CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF PISTACHIOS." Of course, started laughing, slapping my knee and the whole bit. What does that even mean? Do people really get attached to a particular nut? Do pistachios have some sort of cult following? Do Pistachio Groupies talk trash on Peanut Groupies because they're not really nuts, they're legumes? Or what about Brazil Nuts? Do people who have Brazil Nut bumper stickers get slashed tires because, come on you morons, a Brazil Nut is a seed!? I had to know the answers.

I followed the guy. I finally got up next to him at a stop light for the perfect opportunity to discover the story behind the sticker. I make the motion of rolling down a window.

"I love your bumper sticker!"

"Thanks!" He's a middle aged white guy who looks like a surfer.

"Where did you get it?"

"I grow pistachios!"

"Oh, no way."

"Yeah, I sell them. Go to my website."

"Okay!"

The light changes and I get behind him so I can memorize his web address. I went on it when I got home and it was down due to construction or something.

I kept laughing at the sticker, though. Throughout the week I'd think of it randomly and let out a weird noise from my attempt to contain my laughter. When someone would ask what I was laughing at, I'd tell the story. They wouldn't get it.

If I had been in the car with someone, I guarantee I wouldn't have laughed as hard as I did that night. I guess I'm just a really fun person to be around if I'm by myself. Which I know doesn't make sense. But it's the truth.

Moral of the pointless stories I just told? Uh, drive by yourself late at night.

I feel like I should put some pictures up so this post isn't so boring. You're more inclined to read something if it has pictures. Maybe I'll put pictures up of something irrelevant, yet intriguing. You'll read this entire post trying to figure out what the pictures are connected to. You'll read through my story about listening to a song and my story about a random bumper sticker, then you'll read this paragraph and discover the pictures meant nothing. Except they meant something to me: to get you to read this.

Okay I need to sleep. It's been a foreign activity to me in the past week.

Bye

Those Who Hate Poetry, LOOK AWAY

Being the dedicated Lit major that I am, browsing my awesome Norton anthologies has become one of my favorite ways to kill time. I have discovered many new poets and authors by simply flipping through pages. Several names that I have never seen introduce themselves to me and I'll read a bit of their works, musing, "Well that's nice. Very anthologizable." But none has caught my eye quite like Stevie Smith. What's unique about her is that I can't get her poem out of my mind. I'm really not that into poetry. I have one poem that I'm obsessed with (Victor Hugo's "Elle avait pris ce pli") and a couple that I love (T.S. Eliot's "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" and "The Waste Land"). But I don't drool over poetry the way some people I know do. I just don't really get it, honestly. Except for those rare moments when everything aligns, the poem makes sense, and I know that those words were meant to be written for some specific purpose, that they have some sort of transcendental quality.

Stevie Smith's poem "Not Waving but Drowning" struck that chord in me recently. If you know all of the poems that I listed above, then when you read this one, you'll know that apparently I am only drawn to morbid poetry. So it goes...

Not Waving but Drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man,

But still he lay moaning:

I was much further out than you thought

And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking

And now he's dead

It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,

They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always

(Still the dead one lay moaning)

I was much too far out all my life

And not waving but drowning.

From reading the introduction to Stevie Smith, I learn that she illustrated many of her poems with line drawings, which she called "doodles." This particular poem is accompanied by one such sketches. Since I cannot find it online, (one of the only times Google has failed me) it is lucky that I pride myself in my ability to explain visual objects through words. Imagine a flat-chested 13-year-old girl staring smugly with squiggly lines across her bellybutton area signifying water. Her hair is combed in front of her face looking a bit like the infamous young lady from the horror flick The Ring. I don't know what else to say about this poem, since I am really awful at analyzing poetry. But only, I like it. I wish you could see this sketch. It's a bit freaky.