The pointlessness of looking for work becomes blindingly clear when you are down to applying for jobs you were been turned down for 2 weeks ago, 3 months ago or 5 months ago.
But I feel great. Because of Christopher Guest. Because I know how much I'm going to love "A Mighty Wind."
Dave Niehaus is losing it. In reference to Alex's return to Seattle as a Ranger, he said, "three years ago." It was two years ago. He said "the most difficult weekend of his life" but it was actually a Mon/Tue/Wed series (the Mariners won the first 2, lost the last - all 3 games were decided by 2 runs). This is stuff I remember off the top of my head, but I wander around the parking lot for 15 minutes before I can find my car.
Financial situation is slightly brighter than I thought. Still grey and cloudy, with chance of snow flurries. Whatever that means. But I won't have to sell a kidney. For a few months.
Things I hate: the smell of pet food, the smell of liquor, being asked to donate money I don't have (thanks a ton, college!).
Subtle ignorances can make my day. Like seeing people tie bows around trees, but foregoing the traditional yellow ribbon for the "patriotic" red-white-blue stripe which looks exactly like the French flag and that is soooo anti-American.
Inspired by a somewhat rash decision a friend made a few months ago... using the typical 2080 hours per year, a first year military recruit will make less than $6.50 per hour. 2003 rates: $1,064.70 x 4 months + $1,150.80 x 8 months = $13,465.20. $13,465.20/2080 hours = $6.474 per, which is below the minimum wage level in six states. Yes, housing allowances and other (quickly disappearing) fringe benefits should be added, but I'm not that interested in doing it.
Cool: disappearing behind a smoke bomb's curtain when you leave. Or disappearing into a cornfield.
Actual rockstars don't do beer commercials.
"I guess it is childish. But when I was about 18 and my dad and I couldn't communicate about anything at all, we could still talk about baseball. Now that - that was real."
The ESPN spots about shelfball remind be of the game that Erik and I invented in 9th grade gen science class and continued playing through 10th grade biology, 11th grade chemistry, math and Spanish classes. Complex rules and tons of inside jokes that no one really understood. I'll tell you all about it when we're really bored.
By this point, you should've noticed that I have nothing interesting to say right now. I'm going to go get a Slurpee and kick some ass. Frank Black rules.
