Limited only by your limited imagination

Over at fluxblog I found this mp3 (right-click and "Save as ..."), which I would have found over at WFMU if I'd been paying attention. The Ed Shepp Radio Experiment is so completely insane that I can listen to only fifteen minutes of it at a time and at one-week intervals. But oh, this clip ...

I meant to write something along the lines of "If I could accomplish something like this only once in my life, I'd consider myself funny." I got laughs when I did my Magic Bullet Guy impression at the bar on Saturday, and I got a pretty good laugh when recounting it over the phone to someone who's never seen the infomercial, but that's not really "funny" in the way I'd like to be.

Does it even matter? I've shown no signs of wanting to be professionally funny (because that would go against my life-plan of turning my back on anything I might be good at); people seem to appreciate my company regardless; and people who say they're funny are generally less funny than people who don't advertise the fact. If I meet one more person who says, "People love my sarcastic sense of humour," I'll strangle them. Or maybe I'll just say, "People tolerate your terrible sense of humour because murder is illegal. As soon as homicide stops warranting imprisonment, yours will be the first body in a shallow grave. Hell, we'll bring a mickey and pass it around as we take turns digging, because I imagine there are a lot of people who would like to see you kick the oxygen habit."

If there's one thing I hate more than myself, it's people who think they're funny but aren't. And people who commit sex crimes. And Evangelical Christians. And fans of professional wrestling. And people who say, "You hate Kevin Smith movies? Well, I don't see you making better ones." And people who have so few social skills and/or outlets for self-expression that they need bumperstickers to be their personality surrogates.

And what's the deal with airplane food?

Maya Angelou wishes she could write like these spammers!

This morning I received an email pointing out the benefits of Cialis. I'm not one to be averse to point-form lists, so I gave it a look.

I know, I know, they misspell words so that spam filters will not block these pharmaco-entrepreneurial cries in the wilderness, but I'm just too impressed with the particular misspellings in this point:

- Haarder e-rectiiions and quick recharge

It'd be onomatopoetic, if that were the right word (which it's not). If you had a sudden erection thanks to The Miracle of Science and you wanted to verbalize the phenomenon, I imagine you'd say something like, "I've got a haard e-rectiiion." Or I dunno, maybe your erection is already being put to some use and that's why you'd say it that way. Yep, that's the case; if you're taking a pill to power your drill, you'll want to get into some action right away, and by that time you're borderline incomprehensible ... and as soon as the action's done, you're thinking clearly again and can communicate like a normal human ... "Quick recharge!"

What I learned from watching a weekend matinee of the new "Pride and Prejudice" with Keira Knightley:

1) Don't worry about finding a seat if you show up late, because the theatre will be nearly empty.

2) England is gorgeous if you have good location scouts and/or lots of money.

3) The mullet is at least 200 years old. If two centuries of breeding have not rid humanity of the mullet, then there is evidently little we as a species can control. (note to self: look into mullet as proof of "Intelligent Design")

4) All those times you spun around in a swing, you were not only inducing dizziness, you were also acting out a metaphor for the passage of the time.

5) Donald Sutherland has a huge head.

6) If you propose marriage to a young lady and she says, "Well then. Your hands are cold," that's sort of like "Yes."

What I learned from watching 45 minutes of children's television this morning:

1) You can strap a parachute to a dog and push him out a plane, and the dog will land safely and manage to unstrap himself once he lands.

2) Fruit is "sport candy" and my lifestyle is ruinous.

3) Some people are like the Littlest Hobo. And even if they're not, it's best to think of them that way.

4) Bowling is considered physical activity. Have the producers ever seen what professional bowlers look like?

5) If the government exiles you from town, you have to accept it and return to your flying fortress. Since when do good guys have flying fortresses? Yeah, I think children's tv is crazy. Proof? Try ...

6) If you escape from police custody, a canny dog can tell that you're being framed for murder.

Hurray, teeth!

Went to my dentist today. Paula, the really pretty hygienist, was on maternity leave, so Tara filled in. Tara is likewise really pretty. My dentist is also really pretty. How does that happen? I'm not complaining, mind you. Every dentist I've had previously has been a creepily clean middle-aged bore, regardless of gender. Now I go to the Pretty Young Gals dental practice.

The only annoying thing about going to the Pretty Young Gals dental practice is when the pretty young gals get mad at you for not flossing. Me, I don't enjoy the flossing so much. It was while Tara was giving my teeth the once-over that I figured out the solution to my dislike of flossing: hire a pretty young gal to come over every night and floss my teeth for me.

I don't see how that could be too expensive. At ten minutes a day, a year of flossing comes to just over 60 hours. Now let's say the pretty young gal charges $15/hour -- for the low, low, low-ish price of $900 per year, messed-up gums would be a thing of the past. Of course, the price of floss wouldn't be included, so altogether the cost would be ... $910? I don't know how much a year's worth of floss costs.

Yeah, that's still a pretty steep price to pay for my own laziness.

Wait ... "lazy"? Me? Impossible! I just finished putting a second bed in my bedroom. That's a lot of work, especially if you don't have room for the second bed.

This is just ridiculous. I don't have room for a second bed. There's a reason why most people limit themselves to one bed per bedroom: how many beds can you sleep in at once? I suppose if you toss and turn a lot, having a second bed will give you lots more room for your nocturnal gymnastics, but it's workable only if the beds are at equal heights ... which mine aren't. Egad, this is retarded.

It's arguable that in the time it took me to move all my shit around and put the second bed in, I could have completed half of my assignment. It's further arguable that in the time it took me to write this post, I could have completed the other half of my assignment.

But hey, look at my teeth! Squeaky clean and nary a cavity!

They call me "the Hammer"

So at this evening's 370 meeting, Stuart came out and said he didn't get any code done. Maybe when he said, "It'll be done by the end of the weekend," he meant some other weekend. Regardless, he was taken off the profile-creation part of the project. Since we each were assigned one part of the project, this resulted in Stuart working on zero parts of the project.

The question was posed: What part can he work on? During the ensuing uncomfortable silence, I looked at the other team members and saw they were looking anywhere but at Stuart, so I stepped up and said, "You didn't contribute any code. It would be inappropriate for you to work on diagrams because you still don't show any understanding of the system. Also, you don't have any 'ownership' of it -- it would be unfair for you to work on the diagrams that relate to code that someone else is working on. And I don't trust you to edit the manual; besides, that's been my job since milestone 1. So there's really nothing for you to do."

We spent another ten minutes discussing the implications of non-participation in the final milestone. We talked around it, but I think there was a tacit understanding that Stuart will get a free ride on the group mark and will probably end up savaged on the individual evaluation. Even if he gets zeroes on the individual marks for the project, he could still get an 80 in the class. Way to coast, brother!

Live it up

There are too many unhappy people around right now (hey, even one is too many; am I right?), so I'm posting this clip from Soul Train, circa 1974. It's less than three minutes long and the video is too blurry to get a good look at the outfits, but overall this clip never fails to delight me.

I won't leave it up forever because it's ginormous (26.8 MB), but I thought everyone should see what Mick Collins was singing about in the Dirtbombs' insta-classic "I'm Through With White Girls". Dayumn.

[EDIT: I took down the clip because it was too big to stay up forever. If you didn't get it but still want it, drop me a line. -- dyb, Nov 28, 2005]

Retardation: a celebration

Why is it so damnably cliche'ed that getting drunk is so wonderful? Sitting at thee bar with Justin and Megan was a chore because every non-conversational moment was spent in execrable reflection of where my life has gone wrong, but now sitting at home I am content and pleased. Put into drunken words, my relationships with others are clarified and finite: she's a friend, he's a brother, she's a doll. C'est facile!

err ... add a cedilla to that second 'c'.

Sitting on the cusp of 2am, I am torn: what should I watch? I just acquired a copy of Some Kind of Wonderful. I don't know whether that's a good movie. I'd argue that it's the best John Hughes movie, but such a statement could be a product of lazy definition (Hughes merely scripted and produced; the actual direction was Howard Deutch's) and nostalgia. I remember seeing Some Kind of Wonderful in its original theatrical release, when I was on the cusp of puberty and thus had only the dimmest understanding of how a tomboyish girl-drummer best-friend would be the answer to all of life's problems.

Could a kid born after Reagan's first term find the film as meaningful and heartbreaking? Here was arguably the last gasp of the Eighties: the unique fey artiness of the Eighties (Eric Stoltz) is ready and willing to "sell out" to hollow perceived success (Lea Thompson) but is ultimately reminded of its unbreakable kinship with working-class yet informed-and-cultured rock & roll (Mary Stuart Masterson). At the end of the movie, the Eighties are ready to graduate from high school and do the cover art for their girlfriend's new record deal while still keeping their Dexy's Midnight Runners albums in mint condition.

By the time the Eighties become the Nineties and have kids ... yeah, I dunno. John Hughes' next movies included Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, She's Having a Baby, and Uncle Buck; these are not optimistic signs. If the Eighties continue on the path we'd like, the best we can hope is that they became cool parents who work office jobs to survive above the poverty line while still volunteering off-days at WFMU. Ultimately the Eighties are gradually stripped of influence in popular culture. Where once Philip Glass was the musical guest on Saturday Night Live, now we've got Ashlee Simpson. And that's OK -- SNL sucks anyway; might as well watch a good flick from back-in-the-day instead.

Just another Saturday

Same as it ever was.

Internet survey!

Which card is better?

Card A:




Card B:



superstar -at- dybushnell.com

I'm living on the wrong damn continent

"European delivery only" ... psh.

For the slightly less nerdy among you ...

Reason #4 billion why Firefox is better than Internet Explorer: The Abe Vigoda Status extension.

Download/install it, and it will keep you up-to-date on the status of beloved actor Abe Vigoda. Is Abe still among the living? The Abe Vigoda Status extension for Firefox will keep you informed!

When Firefox starts up, this extension automatically fetches Abe Vigoda's current status, and displays it in a small panel on the status bar. It periodically does so again every so often, so that you always have relatively recent information on Abe Vigoda's status.

Of course, sometimes, "relatively recent" is simply not good enough. There are times when you absolutely need to know Abe Vigoda's status in an up-to-the-minute fashion. In such cases, you can click on the extension's panel in the status bar, which will bring up a popup menu. One option on the popup menu is "Recheck Abe Vigoda's current status"; selecting this will cause the extension to immediately fetch Abe Vigoda's status.

The popup menu also includes handy links to various web-based sources of Abe Vigoda-related information.

I don't see anyone writing similar extensions for Internet Explorer. Oh wait, I don't see anyone writing any extensions for Internet Explorer; IE doesn't allow extensions.

I don't care if you love me, or love to hate me, or love to be indifferent to me; just try Firefox.

When Computer Scientists Collide!

So, the program for our CMPT 370 group project had some features that weren't assigned to anyone; these features were "Delete User Profile" and "Edit User Profile". In the grander scheme of the program, these were relatively minor features -- "want to have" as opposed to "need to have".

"Need to have" includes things like "Create User Profile", "Generate Forecast", "Enter Daily Data", and "Generate Report". The last one was my responsibility for the most recent code submission. I didn't get it entirely done, as there was a lot of statistical analysis involved; this analysis is still being hashed out a week-and-a-half later. I did get some code done, but I wanted to do more, so without consulting anyone I took on the "Delete User Profile" function; everyone else had lots of work to do, so I figured no one would have a problem with me doing it.

Ends up, no one did have a problem. Because it was a "want to have", no one even cared. I'm cool with that.

So, then we get a look at team-member Stuart's submission. Stuart didn't submit any code. When "I have a full-time job" didn't pan out as an excuse, he tried "I have four kids." (Unsaid went the rebuttal that he already had the four kids at the start of the semester; dude, budget your time.) Though lacking in code, Stuart's submission did include lots of [outdated] diagrams, including one for deleting user profiles.

Stuart didn't mention the overlap of our submissions in this area; considering he was using models that were almost two months old, it's doubtful he even looked at my submission.

This evening we had another group meeting. Stuart had volunteered to finish the "Create User Profile" function, and I was impressed with his initiative ... I would have been even more impressed if he'd finished that function a week-and-a-half ago, when it was supposed to have been completed initially. Because he's never coded in Java (!), I figured he had enough on his plate, so to be a good team member I said:

"Stuart, according to your last submission, you had "Delete User Profile" under your purview. If it's alright, I'd like to take that over."

You'd think a guy who's in over his head would appreciate the offer. Here's how Stuart showed his appreciation:

Stuart: "Why?"

Dave: "Excuse me?"

Stuart: "Esplain." [sic]

Dave: "I don't understand ... "

Stuart: "Esplain [sic] your rationale for taking over that part."

Dave: "Well ... I already started coding it. I coded most of it. According to your submission, all you had were use case diagrams or something."

Stuart: [cheerily] "OK!"

It's like he argues just to argue. Why should I have to "esplain" my rationale? Does the fact that he has yet to write a single line of code mean anything? How about the fact that he doesn't even know the language in which we're coding? How about that he has yet to turn in anything on time, and we've got three weeks to get all of this done? I should have said, "My rationale is that you have four kids."

[For the record, I know he had sequence diagrams and user contracts in his submission, but saying he had "use case diagrams" was a way of cutting down his contribution. Considering how little he had submitted, there wasn't much for me to cut down in the first place.]

He indicated that he'd have "Create User Profile" done by the end of the weekend. Direct quote: "end of the weekend". Anyone wanna take bets on whether this happens?

I didn't think so.

Were it not so, it wouldn't be my life

To save $150 on my flight from Saskatoon to Tampa, I accepted a layover in Toronto. This means that I'll have to get a hotel in Toronto, which I can accomplish for $90. Hey, I still come out $60 ahead!

"Hey, Dave," you say. "Why are you getting a hotel in Toronto? Don't you have friends in Toronto who'd be delighted ... nay, thrilled ... to have you crash at their places?"

First of all, stop talking out loud at the internet. Second of all, yes, I do have friends whose semi-annual contact with me occurs solely because of their conveniently located homes. And oh, how I'd love to take advantage of their obligatory hospitality! Alas, my flight into Toronto arrives at 11:59 pm on a Monday and my flight out of Toronto leaves at 11:15 am the next morning. For my friends with jobs/lives (ie all of 'em ... way to go, people!), this makes for the most inconvenient hang-out time imaginable. As such, here's a little letter to all my friends in Toronto:

Dear friends,

I suck.

Try the veal,
Dave

I suppose this letter also works for all my friends outside of Toronto, as well as various family members, mortal nemeses, ex-lovers, and potential employers.

No, really ... try the fuckin' veal.

The Nutellito -- THIS IS NOT A DRILL

1 - Take a tortilla.
2 - Slap on a dollop of Nutella.
3 - Stick a few marshmallows on there for good measure.
4 - Fold it up.
5 - Stick it in the George Foreman Grill for a minute.
6 - Forsake love, personal fulfillment, material wealth, and spiritual enlightenment. These will all disappoint because they have the misfortune of being compared to the Nutellito.

Well, that's one more available parking spot downtown

This was taken right outside my building on Thursday afternoon. By the time I saw it, firefighters were already dousing the flames (actual flames!) coming out from underneath the hood.

I'm curious: is there a point at which you realize your truck is about to burst into flames, and is it at this point that you decide to get the hell out? Was the driver of this vehicle aware that his truck was likely to ignite, but he decided to press his luck anyway? Looking at the picture, you can see that the truck is in the crosswalk, but it's hard to tell that it's also in the middle of the street -- it would appear that the driver had faith until the last possible moment, else he would have pulled over before he got into the intersection.

Me, I always know when getting into a truck whether it's likely to burst into flames. It's kind of lame as far as superpowers go, but look at Green Lantern: he's a superhero only because he wears fuckin' jewelry. Why do they call him "Green Lantern" anyway? He gets his powers from a ring. I could respect him if he at least made the effort to carry around a clunky lantern. Bad guys would be all, "Y'arr, he gets his powers from that lantern! If I could only get me hands on it!" (I missed the issue where it's explained why all his nemeses are pirates, but they are, so deal.) And then the bad guys would get the lantern and think, "Y'arr, he be defenseless now!" but it's only a trick -- the lantern was just for show so bad guys would think, "'Green Lantern' ... 'lantern' ... he must get his powers from the lantern, and not from that tacky ring. Yo-ho, it must be true, or next ye'll be tellin' me that Wonder Woman gets her powers from those trampy earrings she wears."

I have nothing but the utmost respect for Wonder Woman, but the gal dresses like a floozy. You don't don an outfit like that and run for Congress, that's for damn sure.

As a Computer Science student, this is the kind of email I get:

Microsoft Student Flash - Discover Your Inner-Geek

What's an "inner-geek"? I know what an "inner geek" is -- he's the Dave that knows a girl is coming over, so he hides the 13 dvd's containing various re-edits of Star Wars -- but the hyphen just throws me off. Why the hyphen? What does it add?

It adds nothing!

It's all rather vexing.

Kids these days, I tell ya!

I'm a copy editor at the Sheaf, the U of S student newspaper. What this means is that I go into the Sheaf office for three or four hours every Tuesday and mark up their paper with a red pen. I don't get paid, but getting to hang out with people who aren't in Computer Science, even for a few hours, is reward enough.

This last Tuesday I was wearing an Elephant 6 t-shirt, which was my silent protest against the Arcade Fire and their rip-off ways. The editor-in-chief saw my shirt and informed me that Neutral Milk Hotel frontman Jeff "Magnum" is allegedly writing material for a new release. I didn't have the heart to tell the kid that the guy's name is actually "Jeff Mangum".

Anyway, one of the editors got it out of me that this blog exists, so if you're reading this, Sheaf staff, let me say, "Welcome." Let me also say, "I pressed my genitals against one of the computer monitors in the office."

What's weird is that I'm great at finding mistakes in newspaper articles, but I suck at finding those same typos in my programming code. I guess it's not that weird; I'm an expert at the English language but merely a beginner at [insert any programming language here]. I think it's more annoying than weird. Also annoying? Not having anything to write about. Not a thing. Did you read my last few posts here? If you haven't, go ahead and do that now; I'll wait.

Oh, you're back. I wasn't expecting you to return after reading the tiresome blather that I've tried to pass off as "blogging". In the scum-topped swamp that is "blogging", I think I've dredged up a new level of crap.

Hey, that means I'm ready to write for the Sheaf!

(That one was for you, Sheaf-ists.)

Curryoke is like karaoke, but with curry

What I have is leftover eggplant curry from Maura's curryoke party.

What I don't have is a desire to make rice.

What I have is a stack of large tortillas.

What I don't have is a fear of food-puns.

So what I have ... are curritos. They're like burritos, but with curry inside. They're kick-in-the-teeth tasty, is what they are.

If I run out of curry before I run out of tortillas, I'd like to try making rotitos (like burritos, but with rotini inside) and, for dessert, Nutellitos (like burritos, but with Nutella inside). I think you get the idea. Perhaps someday I'll go crazy and make burrititos, which are like burritos, but extra burrito-y.

Actually, I might try making a Nutellito right now. Goddamn, is there anything Nutella can't do?

Busy Doin' Nothin'

I had to fix a lot of things this morning 'cause they were so scrambled, but now it's okay. I tell you, I've got enough to do; the afternoon was filled up with phone calls.

What a hot sticky day! The air is cooling down.

Take all the time you need; it's a lovely night. If you decide to come you're gonna do it right:

Drive for a couple miles.
You'll see a sign and turn left for a couple blocks.
Next is mine. You'll turn left on a little road (it's a bumpy one).
You'll see a white fence. Move the gate and drive through on the left side.

Come right in and you'll find me in my house somewhere, keeping busy while I wait.

I get a lot of thoughts in the morning. I write 'em all down; if it wasn't for that, I'd forget 'em in a while.

And lately I've been thinking 'bout a good friend I'd like to see more of. "I think I'll make a call!" I wrote a number down, but I lost it, so I searched through my pocket book. I couldn't find it, so I sat and concentrated on the number and slowly it came to me. So I dialed it and I let it ring a few times. There was no answer, so I let it ring a little more. Still no answer, so I hung up the telephone, got some paper and sharpened up a pencil and wrote a letter to my friend.

Now you!

Wookin' Pa Nub

Through a convoluted series of events, my tv is at Maura's house right now. Normally, this would not be a big deal, but if it's 1:23 am on a Saturday night ... er Sunday morning ... that means it's time for Saturday Night Live. I don't care about the new episodes -- it's the late rerun that's important. I can get still get audio thanks to my stereo-out. At 1:30 we'll find out what the late rerun is; I'm hoping it's a post '95 episode -- once you reach the age of twenty, episodes of SNL are largely disposable, and I'd hate to miss the sociological value that comes packed with every early 1980's-era SNL.

(The episode on right now seems to be a "Best of SNL commercials" special. They just played the "Buckwheat Sings!" commercial. You know: "Wookin' pa nub in all da wrong paces ...")

Where was I?

I was walking home late this evening and I passed a construction site. I was vaguely tempted to break into the site and climb the five-story crane and dive to the concrete below. Some dude did that when Alysha was crushing on him (she was 17? 18?) and she was screwed up for most of the next decade. I thought about that and thought that it'd be nice to screw up ... whom? I dunno. Somebody who's crushing on me. There is the possibility that Maura likes me in that way, but there is the equal possibility that she's a sociopath and I'm misreading her damnably sociopathic signals. I've known gals like that. They're trouble. I was listening to the Clash on my iPod as I passed the tempting suicide crane and "Janie Jones" came on. You know:

He's in love with rock and roll, woah.
He's in love with getting stoned, woah.
He's in love with Janie Jones, woah.
He don't like his boring job, no!

It's all true and simultaneously not true.

(The late rerun is a late 80's episode. Tom Hanks is the host. I saw this episode when it first ran. I == old.)

(Mmm ... "Change Bank" commercial. I remember seeing that when it was first run. I remember feeling so wise and weary in the ways of SNL. I guess it was all downhill after that. Downhill at age 13 -- can you imagine? You must!)

Where was I?

I was walking Maura's dog while she napped. We went to my place. Winston was largely unimpressed once we got to my place. He missed his mom. I need more bones in my fridge.

Where was I?

I was singing "My Way" in front of a dozen people I didn't know. It went well. I was the oldest person in the room, so my "My Way" had an undeniable validity. Was it all theatricality? I don't know -- perhaps indeed I have done it my way. If "it" is "a life of dissipation and lacklustre decision-making", then yes, I have done it my way.

Earlier in the evening it was nice to recognize that I had the attention of a half-dozen people, so I used my classic line:

So how did I end up in Saskatoon? The way anyone ends up in Saskatoon: a series of poor life decisions.

I think Chimpy's wife is a flesh-eating robot

I can't sleep.

Here ...


Click image for enlarged terror

Now you won't be able to sleep, either.

Makes you kinda nostalgic for the days of Nancy Reagan, doesn't it?

I saw this picture earlier this evening. Heretofore I thought I was unable to sleep because I was still fixated on:
1) a particularly vexing problem on an assignment;
2) trying to figure out the best schedule for seeing both Grizzly Man and Jarhead in the next week;
3) what to get Rebecca for her birthday;
4) this evening's Trading Spouses, and how Southern Baptists are scum;
5) and ... you know ... stuff about girls;
but I'm starting to think that the Laura Bush Death Stare is almost wholly to blame for my sleeplessness. There's another picture in the series which could suggest that she's got the "hungry for babies" look because Prince Charles is goosing her, but that would be too easy a justification; clearly, the First Lady is just jonesing for some human flesh, and the poorer the better.




Psycho.

The perils of delicious pizza

Something I hadn't considered: when you have delicious pizza in the house, it is very difficult to keep oneself from eating all the delicious pizza in one gluttonous sitting. Similarly, it is borderline heartbreaking when you prepare individual slices of delicious pizza in anticipation of bringing them to school (for lunch ... or show & tell) and then forget them at home.

In other "Dave News You Can Use", I like to read The Village Voice. I haven't gotten to this week's Savage Love -- that's the last thing to read because it's the best -- but this week there was a halfway good piece by Nick Sylvester titled "Were the Beatles Really That Important?" Apparently they were. What if the Beatles never existed? Here are some of Sylvester's findings:

• Instead of people saying, "Hey, nice Beatles-style haircut," they'd say, "Hey, you sort of look like an asshole."
• The dudes from Interpol would be really successful investment bankers at a firm owned by Ian Curtis, who is the most emotionally stable person in the world.
• Here is a conversation that might happen if the Beatles didn't exist:
  -Hey do you want to see the Beatles tonight?
  -No.
• Here is another conversation:
  -Hey, so the Beatles are playing tonight.
  -(nobody is listening)
• Instead of me fooling around on a drumset and my dad coming in and saying, "Who do you think you are--Ringo Starr?" my dad would come in and say, "Who do you think you are--a guy I have never heard of?"
• All the baseball stadiums that play the Beatle's "Birthday" when birthdays are announced at the seventh inning stretch would only use the traditional version of "Happy Birthday." Alternatively, nobody would celebrate birthdays, or be born.
• The Country Music Awards would happen every day.
• John Lennon and Paul McCartney on the street:
  -Good day, sir.
  -Good day.

Pizza: The Most Important Meal of Your Goddamn Life!

I made a delicious pizza this evening. Also ... hmm, there doesn't appear to be an "also".

I rocked my Software Engineering midterm, but it's worth only 10%; in the face of my delicious pizza, that's inconsequential.

I had a quiz in Stats today. It was worth 10% ... but considering my Software Engineering midterm was worth 10%, you could say my Stats quiz was really more like a midterm. Either way, I completely forgot how to do Standard Normal distributions. That kinda sucked. I drew lots of diagrams, though. And did I mention the pizza? Yeah. Pizza. Mushroom, sausage, green pepper.

Oh crap, it's 1 am. Oh crap, this post sucked. In the grander scheme of delicious pizzas, though, it means little.