Gore would have been a better president? Hey, I've been saying that all along, but who wants a nerd for a president when you can have a condescending, press flipping off, arrogant oaf? I believe you've answered my question for me.

Screwed up big time. This does not bode well for David. ...d'oh

Sorosis of the liver and melanoma sitting at the curb together

Never finished

The drive home from work is relatively routine; several drivers hit their

breaks relentlessly, shifting lanes without signaling, and just outright cutting people off. These things happen, but the most often thing, realistically, is the likelihood of seeing at least one twenty-something girl sitting at a bar stool, in a bikini, trying to entice customers into the 'drivethru' liquor store just down the street. They show off their asses in three-inch heels slowly moving from the stool and bistro table into the drive-through for water or more bronzing cream. Their skin makes their walk look like a deer in the urban woods, although less aware of its surroundings. Blond or brunette, Hispanic or white, they attempt to sure up sales by exposing themselves to the elements and gawking eyes of drivers. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that sexual harassment cases were ignored as they would cause a dip in sales for the day or week.

Today, I drove down Greenville to grab a burrito for lunch. The eleven

forty-five traffic dripped in comparison to the wash that would be in fifteen minutes, suits and business casual dart to get away from paperwork, telephones and computers. As I came upon the 'drive-thru' I noticed no one sitting on the stool at the table and three teenagers sitting on the curb perpendicular to the garage. A police car cooled as its driver questioned a mustache and an open shirt on the other side of the driveway.

On the way back the scene only looked worse with one of the men who was

questioned earlier sitting on the same curb the teens were at and the mustache speaking with two other officers. The operation looked closed down and another black police car sat, unused for a while. I still have no idea what happened, but it looked like a robbery and their eye candy had been told to go home.

The Longestest Road Deviates

The band I was in during high school, Bluebottle, is breaking-up at the end of next month. They've been a band for around eight years and are just now getting to the point where their music is incredible and artistically fashioned. Its too bad that a band like this can't be heard by the masses. If you feel like giving a few of their tracks a listen, go here.

Take care guys, I hope your new ventures are as incredible.

And the first thing the Japanese will do with the robot? Have sex with it.

Hail to the Chief because he's a hu-u-ge douche bag.

P.S. - Here's some more about the finger.

Today is 'Y'all Fest' here at the AHA. It's a day for team building and general comradely. It's also a time where temps get a half day because we're not allowed to go. HALF DAY!

My horoscope for this week:

"Virgo: (Aug. 23—Sept. 22)
You'll soon be so fat that, when you sit around the Morbid Obesity Intensive Cardiac Therapy Center at Mount Sinai, you sit around the Morbid Obesity Intensive Cardiac Therapy Center at Mount Sinai."

Karl Rove got angry because Doonesburry pointed out that the President's nickname for him is 'turd blossom,' and here is that very comic. Check out the third frame.

Funny...turd blossom.

And not just from papercuts, but from the content!

Silly Harry Potter, you're destroying our children by allowing them to use their imagination and giving them something positive to read, pulling them away from television. You're a jerk, and you will lead to a new version of the Salem Witch Trials to wash over the US.
Book burning? Sticks that resemble and can be used as imaginary magic wands crushed? J. K. Rowling punched in the stomach? You bet!

Hey kid...come smell this chloroform.

The Fauxhawk is pretty lame, but I'm not going to deny having one about a year back. Also, I'm not going to deny that it will go down in history as the next mullet.

Life less chaotic

I've decided to read previous posts for some inspiration. Some kind of road

map back to where I was mentally when I was able to post multiple times a day about a variety of subject matters. I haven't found anything yet.

This kind of thing happens fairly often. I look back at what I did over a

certain timeframe and I wonder why I'm unable to replicate it. Why can't I write poetry and get published like I used to be able to? Why is it that when I try to think of something to post about my mind goes blank? Many have suggested that this has something to do with where my mind is, where it floats isn't on the subject matter that I'm attempting to write about. Instead, removed from body over soy or corn fields, or jockeying for my place in line at a deli, congested coughing surrounding me. Lingering breath and all. I seem to think that's the problem, but when I attempt to form something about where ever my mind is I'm naked on a subway car, moving without applying myself, or sustained on a acoustic guitar, sitting on a bar stool in front of about twelve college students sipping faux blended coffees and teas.

Is it never so easy to get back to the form you once had or the unwillingness

to try? Or even the idea that perhaps I don't want to change back. Associations with different negative events lined up to get into a movie that I don't want to see with my undershirt sticking to my back would explain some of it but not all. With a focus on those negative things, without releasing them in a creek or river or landmass other than this, they labor on and on, and linger without stopping. That may just be the real issue. The inability to let go over mistakes and regrets and lost time laying on my make-shift bed in a wedge room in a futile conversation. Those are the days I wish I could blow away. I'm not accustomed to it though, releasing. I've always been more concerned with squirreling away as if for the apocalypse or a flood; which, at this point, doesn't seem all that impossible. There's always a day when it all just runs out and spills over onto the tiny creatures building castles on the shore. I'm wondering when that day will be for me. When I can let go, and be that boring guy sitting in a overstuffed red armchair, in front of a fireplace or open window and let the sounds of the city provide far less a distraction than other things as I read a book?

I suppose that's less of a rudimentary question. Nearly tipping into the ideas

of who we are and how we shape ourselves. And that'll require another post. Another point where I'm calmly sitting here, thinking about eagle statues guarding gardens surrounded by broken red clay chips. Who knows when that will be?

The weekend floated and fell

This morning I cut myself while shaving. It’s been bleeding ever since. Every

once in a while I need to replace the torn sheet of tissue paper with a new one to prevent a bubble of dried blood to form on my left, upper lip. That’s about how the weekend went as well. Sat around, paid bills, cleaned, slept. Payam found out he has mono; I’m still getting over the coughing and sore throatness of the asthmatic bronchitis, and I’m regretting things. I’m thinking about where I am right now and why I’m incapable of being happy. Why people, and myself, deem it necessary to try to force me into relationships. Is there a void that needs to be filled with someone new already, or does the imprint remain fresh as the sag on the right side of my bed? I may just need some more time to feel things out.

Friday ended by celebrating Ray’s birth. Before that we went to a Fireside in

Colleyville and saw The Island at Grapevine Mills with Vafa and Ray’s cousins. We ended up talking on the way to the movie about what happened with the last person I was “interested in.” About how I never really was interested and how I projected a completely different person on her; how much I missed someone. It’s just a tricky situation; nothing to be taken as lightly as a whether or not to watch the game, go to the movie or have shredded cheese on a Caesar salad. It’s like asthma; taking deep breaths before you’re ready to do so, leaving you choking and coughing, sputtering out like on an oil slick. Because I’m not ready, and I’m not sure I know when I will be. Right now, it’s been 6 months and all I think about as how comfortable I was 8 or more months ago. Standing next to a hospital bed, making sure that you’ve fallen asleep before I could let go of your hand and follow people to where I would be staying. Providing the comfort that you provided to me.

I guess I’m just tacky and unnecessarily standing in the wind or rain or

whatever trying to figure myself out before I can breathe rightly again.

Another day of hand cramping from ctrl+c, ctrl+v living. The stretching of fingers from one place to the other in a constant stream. Its funny that typing this post hurts less than the repetitious actions I’ve just completed.

My horoscope for this week:

"Virgo: (Aug. 23—Sept. 22)
For the next year, you'll be haunted by the sickly, ghostly, jolly specter of those 110 pounds you had surgically excised in May."

Lumbering through the day

Within the next hour I'll be sitting in the Human Resources Department here

at the American Heart Association interviewing for the position of Manager, Editorial Development. Don't ask me what the title means as I'm not sure anyone knows, but it would be a huge step up from what I've been doing. The life of the temp has dragged on for over five months, and I fear that my legs have completely lost all feeling in them (toes maybe?). Moving from desk to lunch to desk and back home with little more than pay in my pocket has left me with an understanding as to what garbage men must feel like. Taking care of the important work but being completely overlooked. Also, being thought of as "just the temp" isn't too great to hear day in and day out. Especially when I receive mail and the postman they have here has no idea where I am, I have no name tag on my cube, so he brings everything downstairs to sit and collect dust until I'm alerted to their being there. If only someone would please think of the mail. The pointless mail that I will look at and throw away just as quickly.

Regardless, the interview's standing as "terrifying moment of shear

terrified...ness" remains true as I sit in my chair taking a break from the reports I've been compiling all morning. Copy, paste, copy, paste has become the day's mantra and the fear of that running into my interview still lingers. So, I suppose I'll just attempt to ignore my previous activity, ignore my increasing hunger (due to the pharmacy closing early last night and not opening until nine this morning), and the persisting cough and phlegm building in my throat to pave the way for the interview.

People tell me that I'll do fine, that there's nothing to worry about, but I

would have to disagree. There is plenty to worry about. After all, I'm a temp right now, with zero responsibility other than to complete the task for the day or week. Its depressing seated on the floor above where the rest of my "team" resides, listening to the new Foo Fighters CD and daydreaming of a new cube with a view of the parking lot. And maybe a plant or two.

Children as firewood

Apparently, I have developed asthmatic bronchitis again, and I’m finding

myself taking several (Three) medications to ensure that I get better this time. I woke up late yesterday as my appointment was at 10, deciding to go to work afterwards. The office was new white with infants walking, smiling and collapsing to the short carpeting as their mothers and fathers looked on making the ‘uh oh’ face. There I sat as the only adult to be seeing the pediatrician, a friends’ dad. It was truly a proud day, or some junk.

That dog don't hunt, monsignor.

I don't like the way people are using lines from his character as taglines for articles about his life. So disrespectful. R.I.P. James Doohan.

Bring Forth the Precious Hatemail

It’s not as much a vile display of negativity, but an observation of what happens during the summer

The office has become a wash of laughter and general, ruckus behavior since

summer’s broiling rays descended on the city. Women carry on loud conversations about reality show plots and prattle numbingly the unfairness of their outfits and shoe collections. They have brought in more food to ensure that at no moment will their mouths ever be empty, especially while giving presentations, loudly, and lumbering about talking about their ballooning waistline. Where does this leave me? Well, as I’m in the center of this clustering of social overactivity, I’m stuck to sit and watch them move by with their third slice of cake or several boxes of Lean Cuisine stacked like their towering cholesterol. When will the fall come to present unto me fewer complaints about their sheets sticking to them while they slept or their broken air condition or fans? I think overeating has something to do with erratic sleep patterns. Sleep patterns that this summer has brought on these people. That or they just love to eat or something.

I was thinking about driving around clubbing them to death, but this sounds like a far more viable option.

Number 3,000!

He may have prostate cancer and be in his 80's but he's not going anywhere anytime soon.

Pretty frightening.

From the Matthew Sprague center for Futurama references and funny names

Title: "Hail, hail Robonia; a land I didn't make up!"

From ESPN.com:

HARARE, Zimbabwe -- A Zimbabwean court has jailed a man masquerading as a female athlete, court officials said on Thursday.
Samukeliso Sithole -- a triple jumper and runner who competed as a woman at several international sports events -- was convicted on charges of impersonation and offending the dignity of a woman athlete who undressed in his presence, unaware he was a man.
"He was sentenced to four years imprisonment, but six months were suspended. Effectively he will serve three-and-a-half years," said a court official in Kwekwe, central Zimbabwe, where the case was heard.
Sithole won a gold medal at a regional tournament in Botswana in June last year and won five medals at a youth championship in Mauritius. He also competed in javelin and shot-put competitions.
Sithole told the court at his first appearance that he had both female and male organs and that he lived as a woman after consulting a traditional healer. A medical examination showed that he was a man.

There are two very funny things about this article. Very funny. For some reason I have a feeling Scott Van Pelt had something to do with this article.

Misty and my conversation.

Me: "You should be blasting 'Raining Blood' by Slayer while you drive up. And point and call people bitches. Its more fun that way."
Misty: "Sure, I can let them know I mean business!!!"
Me: "'Raining Blood' / You will murder someone after listening to that song. Murder someone…in true softball form."
Misty: "Kill Kill blood makes the grass grow!!!"
Me: "It sure does."

Note, her name is Misty. Does that freak you out a bit? It does me.

The surrogate holding pattern…

…is where I am. Do I wait or do I land? And who knew I was a pilot?

Coughs for the doctor/ex-girlfriend

The doctor’s office was cold under the blue paper/clothe robe. A low A/C breeze ran up my leg as I lied on the examination table having my stomach questioned for tenderness then my feet for reflexes and a “feeling” test with the other side of the hammer; to rule out nerve damage or loss of sensation. She noticed the flat, red injection points on my stomach like never disappearing wounds as she asked where I give myself shots day-to-day. The breeze crept in on the right side. I discussed my apprehension to inject into my rear after a doctor nearly missed six years ago causing sciatic nerve issues down into my big toe on my right side, but how recently I had decided to do it anyway. She nodded as she propped me up, lowering the extender from the table and applying pressure to my lymph nodes and the tips of my shoulder blades. Asking if I felt discomfort, the breeze ran down my invisible hairs on my back. With a tongue depressor to hold open each ear and the otherside to view my throat for the second time she mentioned a red stripe at the top of my mouth moving down. I told her I had been coughing a lot, and was beginning to notice a discomfort when swallowing. She told me it was probably nothing, I guess I agree.

Love the Masked Man

"That's all well and good for sheep, but what are we to do?"

Nothing to write about when things are negative. Sorry to whomever actually reads this. All…none of you.

Always the cheer-upper

A friend of mine made this comment after I told her what my and her The Onion horoscope's were.

“Me: BAM!
“Maryam: i don't like these horoscopes / they're just funny / not accurate.
“Me: that's what the Onion is all about.
“Maryam: well look up other vegetables.”

Look up other vegetables indeed. The conversation continued in kind.

“Maryam: yeah...i'm cute like that.
“Me: indeed you are / even that rash you gave me was cute.
“Maryam: hahahaha
“Me: all shaped like a carrot / or is that a ice pick
“Maryam: ewwww
“Me: YOU STAY AWAY FROM ME!”

Virgo: (Aug. 23—Sept. 22) Friends are good at making you feel better after your horoscope reads: “The stars would love to take credit for guiding you to your fated destiny, but Occam's Razor and plain common sense point toward your turning into a colossal asshole.”

Wonderful!

Thoughts and prayers go to the people of London.

After the accident, the President was quoted saying, "Hehe, chicks dig the scars. Right?"

That Statue of Liberty is a Killing Machine

This morning London was named the site for the 2012 Olympics, a few days ago President Jacques Chirac was an ass when talking about English cuisine, and New York lost the race because of the worst design for a logo ever.

Give it a note under the image. I'm going with either "New York is Sure," "New York Hooray," or "New York, even the Statue of Liberty gets mugged." Any other suggestions?

David does not like bears one bit.

Leather wearing, weirdos.

“Hell ya, they explode”

Things exploded in the sky last night in a small town north of Dallas, Sherman.

Oddly named firework carcasses like ‘Climbing Panda,’ ‘Crowd Pleaser,’ and ‘Barrel of Fun’ littered the backyard and sent the five dogs in doors. Stomachs packed with meaty gunpowder running from sparking wicks and yanking kids out of the way to the delight of those who sat on the porch with sparklers as twisting parachutes gracefully glided down onto the pond. BB guns were shot but not in anyone’s knuckles and a two car fireball had us conversing about the burning tar smell and drivers who, at a standstill, managing to piss everyone off. Home by 1:30, bed by 2, awake at 7. Remind me why I don’t drink twelve gallons of tea in the mornings.

Holy crap, this is cool!

From ESPN.com:

"NEW YORK -- Major league baseball is going international for its Home Run Derby on All-Star weekend.

"Instead of having four players from each league, the commissioner's office said Friday it will have eight players represent their native countries at the July 11 event. Major league baseball plans to formally launch plans that day for its first World Baseball Classic, a 16-team event during spring training next year.

"This year's Home Run Derby is at Detroit's pitcher-friendly Comerica Park, where the All-Star game will be played the following night.

"The top four players in the first round advance to the semifinals, and the top two in the semis move on to the final."

I think he's a potato.

Punk is an ideology not a fashion trend.

The news as it were

Right time, wrong judge.

"Why I never"'s heard the world round.

But don't worry, they're planning on sending a ship out to destroy the asteroid as it will undoubtedly decide to attack the Earth after dealing with the probe.

Hey, it worked on both Star Trek and Star Wars, we thought it would work in real life...for some reason.

FART!

I left work early yesterday after receiving a phone call from Rahul's funeral.

Just hearing about it shut me down completely. The time alone at home really helped. Tears and prayers leave you with an understanding that he's in a better place and that God is watching over him. Takes away the guilt I was feeling for not being able to be at the funeral to hear all the kind words of friends and family. I'm feeling much better now though, functioning a lot easier instead of remaining in neutral or on some automatic conveyer built on an assembly line. We'll all miss you Rahul.