Thursday, March 25, 2010
I don't care how cool and detached you think you are, when you get defriended, it's like getting a punch in the boob. Not only do I NOT have anything awesome going on in my life to brag about in my status updates, but now i've got these big time "friends" whose profile pictures are their head shots who don't seem to want to count me among the 5,000 other r-tards they pretend to like on the Internet. Not that I care. I've got other stuff going on anyway. Like...my knitting. I've been knitting this penguin and...dammit. See? I told you I was boring.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
For such a teeny tiny population (about 9.2 million according to the Oracle), Sweden sure manages to churn a disproportionate number of genius musicians out into the world: ABBA, Roxette, Miike Snow, The Perishers, The Hives, Europe, International Noise Conspiracy, and, of course, Ace of freakin' Base. Maybe it's the universal health care? HAHAHAHA! Just kidding, friends who oppose our country's recent healthcare developments! Please, don't stop loving me....
Do watch this, though.
Amazing, right? What's Naruto? Who cares?! Do you hear this guy's voice? He's combined the two loves of my life in a really long, but really cool youtube video.
In a related story, I spent too much money at IKEA yesterday. That place is as awesome as Disneyland, if not more so. It's organizational products make it so our tiny hobbit hole feels less like a doll house and more like a real live place to live. Also, I got to overhear at least 3 couples fighting. Why do couples always fight when they're shopping for furniture? IKEA: where relationships go to die. I guess that's Sweden's flaw. Tearing American couples apart. You have to admit, it's a small price to pay for 7-minute TV theme song medleys and expedit shelves.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
There are a lot of misconceptions about where I live. Some people think Silver Lake is just one of the obscure L.A. neighborhood where all "the gays" are. Other's think it's made up exclusively of ironically mustachioed hipsters. The bulk of the people I run into like to tell me about how it's populated by pot-smoking, organic food-eating, hippie socialists. That's usually when I whip my Communist Party membership card out of my hemp messenger bag*. I keep it next to my locally-made, vintage bong**. Shuts them up pretty quick.
Actually, I just tell them the truth about Silver Lake. Which is that it's awesome! I, for one, am a big fan, anyway. I love all the diverse families and organic eateries and the close-knit community atmosphere. It's a pretty traditional neighborhood. We've got a park across the street where the kids play soccer games on Saturdays. We've got my friendly neighborhood 7-Eleven just down at the corner. Everybody's got a kid or a dog or no kids and two dogs or whatever kid/dog combination works best for them. They have conversations about where the best public schools are or what the new library's like. Pretty regular stuff. Except it's better than your neighborhood because our propane tank thingies look like robots.
Some days, though, neighbors leave scraps of paper under people's windshield wipers.
Over the past few years, I have noticed the unfortunate recurring theme of the passive agressive Silver Lake car note. Although this note is a little more aggressive agressive, what with the threat of the ominous follow-up warning. What happens on the 2nd warning, I wonder? A call home? And a parent conference after the 3rd warning? Can you tell I've had my share of experience with "warnings"? I'm not sure if it's unique to this area, I just know I haven't really seen it anywhere else. I guess it's what happens when you give the power of the pen to an angry hipster. (Wakka wakka!)
This does prove, however, that anonymous ranting exists independent of internet message boards. For some reason, I find that comforting.
If you enjoy reading/receiving passive aggressive notes, boy do I have a website for you.
*My messenger bag really is made of hemp.
**I don't actually have one of these.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
I only have things to complain about. Which I do almost constantly. It's part of my charm. Rob was the lucky winner of my soundboard competition due to his eternal patience and incomprehensible adoration of me. Even I have to admit that my psychotic breaks can be pretty endearing. I had roughly 17 of them last week. I can't remember what they were about, just that they were carefully thought-out, reasonable, and well-communicated. (Everyone knows that weeping and sniffling through your elliptical argument can only add to its credibility.)
They don't cancel classes due to PMDD, so I still had to go learn about literary theory last week. On my way to the car after class, I checked my e-mail on the phone. There was this one from Rob:
It reminded me that even while the earth and heavens conspire to twist my undies up in bunches, my face has not been shredded to ribbons by a chainsaw bear. And isn't that all that really matters?
Monday, March 8, 2010
These are my friends. They're in a band called Fictionist. You can buy their album on iTunes. Lasting Echo, it's called.
Now, I have no reason to be as proud of these fellows as I am, but I prefer to bask in the glow of other people's success than hide in the shadows of my own crippling doubts and fears. It's warmer. The Jesus-looking one, that's Brandon. He and I were boone companions back in high school days. Now he lives so very far away. But someday, when these guys are super famous, I'm going to say, "Me and the Jesus-looking one? We gave a speech at our high school graduation. Neither of us remembers what was said in it, but we have the vague memory that it was in rhyming couplets and intended to be humorous."