"Come on, take me to the mardi gras..."

It's Fat Tuesday, boys and girls! Yeah, I barely noticed either. I didn't even get around to going and buying paczkis or anything. Oh well, maybe next year. Ooh, now (21:30 EST) I'm suddenly feeling tempted to run out and buy paczkis right bleedin' now. Not even kidding. Just the thought of stuffing my face with a huge, custard-filled, powdered-sugar monstrosity makes me salivate at the moment. You know what? I'm going to. I'll be back.

"I wanna be wanna be wanna be Jim Morrison."

Don't we all? Sorry I've not been behind my promises to post more often, turns out that I've had a lot of schoolwork this week. Oh well. I guess that's what I get for going to college. I'm kind of shocked that it's already miterm season, I'm already behind on reading, and already spending late nights caffeinated out of my mind wondering why the heck I bother. Other than the craziness though, life's pretty good. I still get a chance to pick up my bass or sit down at my piano and play a bit sometimes, and whenever I step outside I can always look up and thank God for everything that I've received today. Speaking of thankful, today was the fourth anniversary of the death of the great Chuck Jones. Not that I'm thankful that he's gone by any means, great cartoons about greedy ducks and suave rabbits and overly optimistic coyotes are always something to be thankful for. Anyways, it's 1:00 in the morning, I've finished my paper, and I'm going to bed. I should be able to post something enlightening (I use the term flippantly) tommorow, I guess tonight's post is my inner teenager posting to his imaginary myspace. I guess that means that I should say something like "Love like you've never been hurt" and probably mention that I'm listening to the latest All American Rejects or Fallout Boy CD or whatever, and how it really hits me right where I'm at, yo. Yeah, that darn girl who broke my heart. Should I also be pissed at the 'rents for something? I'm no good at this.

My love is like a red, red violet. Wait, wait... that's not right. Magnolia? Daisy?

Hello again. Yes, it's been another week since I last posted, and that means that I should post again, lest my four readers cease their digital meanderings in my direction, and I never hear from them again. Sadly, or perhaps not so sadly, not too much of consequence has occured in the last week, just school and friends and music and what-not to consume the hours, although in far from equal porportions. This morning I checked my student email to discover that my inbox was full of junk emails that someone thought would be rather clever to send to the entire campus. Of course, once someone goes to the trouble of sending one to the world, thirty other people of equal maturity decided that they'd just hit "reply to all" and send along their little messages of annoyance to the whole campus. Yeah. After cleaning the rubbish out of my inbox, I considered reading through my deleted items folder, rounding up a posse, and giving each and every spammer (about thirty individuals, some with multiple emails to their name) a good, old-fashioned punch in the face, but I thought better of it when I considered that the average person could probably beat me at fisticuffs. I'm still pretty confident that they deserved it, though.
There, that's the rage and vengance segment of our program, and now we move on to a lighter subject: Poppyseed muffins. You may think them ridiculously ordinary, but poppyseed muffins are actually one of the most significant inventions of the last two centuries. Discovered entirely by accident one Sunday morning in Dorchesterbrigdeshire by a rather clumsy housewife named Mavis, circa 1824, the wholly remarkable phenomenon that is the poppyseed muffin can perhaps best be described by one word: Jellyfish Market. Alright, you caught me, that's two words, but I think that you can now begin to understand just how remarkably important a thing we're talking about. I mean, one doesn't throw the term 'jellyfish market' around lightly, good heavens above. Anyways, the poppyseed muffin remained in obscurity, its myriad benefits hidden from the larger world, until they were discovered by Emile de Chancoineaux, while vacationing in the English countryside in 1871 (although to be completely honest, he was vacationing mainly in order to get out of serving in the Franco-Prussian War, which would not suprisingly end badly for the French shortly thereafter). Chancoineaux introduced his own version of the poppyseed muffin in his Paris salon in 1873, where it was giddily consumed by the intellectual elite of the time, many of whom were hoping that it was a cheaper form of opium. It was of these very same muffins that novelist Guy de Maupassant was speaking when he uttered the now-famous words:"cette tarte me plait," or in English: "I like this tart." Indeed, poppyseed muffins had caught parisians so much by suprise that they didn't even have a name for them, and resorted to calling them tarts. Jellyfish market, indeed.
Whoah. Sorry, I have no idea where that all came from. I've spent the majority of the last two days in an armchair in my room, reading economics and french books, occaisionally getting up to plink a few notes on my piano or make a cup of coffee or tea. Yes, I'm afraid that my life is that uninteresting most of the time, although it's seldom unpleasant. I'm afraid that (as you can clearly see) I've very little to talk about at the moment, and for that reason I shall leave you until next time. I'll try to update in a few days rather than a full week, and maybe have something interesting to talk about by then. We'll see. Thanks for being yourself, I wish you the very best.

An Inquiry Into The Nature and Causes of The Sloppy José

"Don't piss on my leg and tell me it's raining," as a certain professor of mine is fond of saying. By the same token, don't give me sloppy joe meat in a flour tortilla and try to tell me that I'm eating a taco. Unfortunately, that's exactly what they do at the cafeteria which circumstances more or less beyond my control force me to seek "nourishment" from. The good news is that no food consumed there is likely to remain in my body for any more than half an hour, so its immediate adverse effects tend to be short lived. The long-term effects are harder to guage, but include a significant loss of faith in mankind, as well as a propensity to starve one's self rather than subject one's intestines to another barrage. To think I used to complain about the food at home. To think that I was home-schooled, only to be subjected to cafeteria trash as a college student. Dear heavens, what did I do wrong? There is something rotten in the state of Michigan, indeed.
The weekend was fun, I went up to visit Lindsey for Saturday and Sunday, hopefully without being too much of a bother to her. Linds was a great hostess, and even cooked--twice! She never ceases to amaze. She did however point out the font Copperplate everywhere she saw it over the weekend (on 20+ distinct products, nonetheless), which was really pretty funny until I started noticing it too. It now may drive me insane. I'm really not the kind of guy who notices fonts much (except MS Comic Sans, whoever uses that will be first against the wall when the revolution comes), so hopefully the madness will be short-lived.
The superbowl was about the same as it always is, funny how the ultimate championship in pro football is seldom the most interesting game to watch. It wasn't bad, but there was nothing to imply that it was any kind of clash of titans, as they say. It's also the one time of the year that we actually eagerly await the commercial breaks. Funny how that works. For the record, "brown and bubbly" is the worst slogan for a diet cola in the history of the world. Sure, diet pepsi is in fact brown and bubbly, but so are a variety of other things that one really doesn't want associated with one's product. Things like poop. There, I said it. Poop. Come to think of it, "brown and bubbly" would be a pretty effective slogan for a sewage hauler. It's humorous, and what can you do to distinguish yourself from other sewage haulers? That's right, make poop jokes. Actually, maybe they all do that already. But enough about sewage. So I was watching congress on CSPAN the other day...
Well, that's all for now. I'll try to update again in a few days, and hopefully by then your expectations will be lowered to the point of being amused. Have a good week!

If only I could put in words the music that I hear...

Hello again. Not much to report of late, I'm afraid. I'm already behind on reading for all of my classes, and need to frantically catch up before it piles sky high. Oh well, I'll manage. Alan Greenspan's been replaced by Ben Bernanke, Sandra Day O'Connor's been replaced by Samuel Alito, and (as is not unusual) the only Oscar category worth following is the Best Animated Feature Film Category, a three-way race between Hayao Miyazaki's Howl's Moving Castle (I haven't seen it yet, but a Miyazaki film can hardly be anything but brilliant), Tim Burton's Corpse Bride (also haven't seen it, and I'd be willing to bet that Burton does more acid than Jimi Hendrix did, but still I hear good things), and Nick Park's Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were Rabbit (I did in fact see this, and it's great). Of course, this still won't entice me to watch the Oscars any more than previous years' film offerings have (which, by the way, is not at all), but I'm still interested in who wins, because whichever film does win is likely to merit a longer run in theatres (as happened with Miyazaki's Spirited Away, some years back). Dramas continue to dominate the Best Picture category, which I still think is lame (then again, I'm talking about the Academy of Motion Pictures, or whatever it's called). I mean, do you really want to spend nine bucks (assuming that you buy no popcorn or drinks) to cry in a theatre full of strangers? Yeah, me neither. Anyways, I'll stop blathering on about this and let you get on with your life, which I'm sure is full of more important things. I'll try to at least mention something that I care about in passing next time around. Peace and love and what-not to all of you, good night.