Only In Dreams
Only In Dreams
GWAR covers Billy Ocean at The Onion A/V Club
It’s impossible to quantify just how much better this cover is than the original song.
I regret not taking an opportunity to see GWAR at any of their many stops in Rochester. Sadly, now I’ll never get a chance. Farewell Dave Brockie, aka Oderus Urungus. Hopefully the return trip to your home planet won’t take too long.
I have a certain set of towels in my house that shed an enormous amount of lint in the dryer and I get excited when it’s time to wash them. Coincidentally, I put them in the wash before I left for work this morning. AWWW SHIT! LINT PARTY TONIGHT! WHAT WHAAAAAAT!
I was thinking about polar bears this afternoon and then I remembered making this and it still makes me laugh.
Suzy tagged me in this thing.
Here we go.
1. Would you rather take a test of 100 math problems or write a dozen essays?
Math. All the math.
2. Would you rather have a crab hand + a normal hand, or very large webbed feet?
Any non-human hand would make it difficult to play pretty much any musical instrument, so I’ll… take the feet. That’s probably the first and last time I’ll ever ask for feet.
3. Would you rather have one hoe in all the different area codes, or lots of hoes in one area code?
What’s the terrain like in these area codes? I mean, 25 hoes in 1 rocky-terrained area code ain’t doing me much good. But 1 hoe in each of 25 different agriculturally-rich area codes… well that would be more useful. Wait. You’re not talking about farming. Nevermind.
4. Is it better to buy used furniture for cheap and spend time + money making it exactly how you want it, or to spend a little more on furniture that doesn’t require any work but maybe isn’t 100% what you were looking for?
This is the type of shopping-dilemma that really frustrates me. Furniture is something that you’re going to have and use for a long time, so I really don’t think it’s a good idea to buy something you’re not 100% satisfied with. It also depends on what type of furniture you’re looking for; I’m not about to buy a cheap couch and think I’ll be able to make it suit my needs, because I’m not a goddamn couch designer, but I guess with enough time I could figure out how to improve a cheap coffee table or something.
5. What would you wear if you had to put on the funniest outfit you could make with clothing you already own?
Long johns. Underwear on top of those. Nothing else.
6. Would you rather be able to shoot laser beams with your eyes, or shoot fireballs out of your hands?
Is this a Cyclops scenario where I’d always have to wear goofy goggles just to make sure I wasn’t inadvertently igniting everything I looked at? Because that would suck. I’ll take the fireballs and I’d get angry anytime anyone tried to say it was magic and I’d tell them it’s an illusion… then I’d shoot fireballs at them with my hands.
7. If you could be a historical Vice President, who would you be? Uncle Joe Biden doesn’t count as he is the current and best VP.
Andrew Johnson. Fast track to the presidency!
8. Would you rather fart glitter or be unable to tell the difference between the color brown and the concept of increasing?
I’d rather fart glitter than so many other things. I’d rather fart glitter than be able to tell time.
9. Name the first country that pops into your mind. Now tell me its capital. Thanks. Will you write a report on that country for me? It has to be 3 pages long, double spaced.
Djibouti. Djibouti City. Nope.
10. What time is it?
11. Do you have a best friend? Describe them using only 5 words.
She’s an alien like me.
12. Do you want fries with that?
Of course. Make ‘em crispy.
Madam, it has been fifteen minutes since you wronged me and the hurt remains so intact that I see no option but to commit to posterity my displeasure with you.
You rang in my order of coffee and a chocolate chip muffin. You took my money. Then, in blatant shirkage of your baseball cap-appointed duties, you instructed me to stand to one side and wait for my order.
Madam, for generations the responsibility of retrieving the baked goods section of a Tim Hortons order has belonged to the person at the cash register. This is the way it is and this is the way it shall be. But you, you in your hubris, you in your immodest pride, you chose to break this covenant between server and servee.
The chain of events that begins with my stepping forward at your behind-the-counter beckoning and ends with my exiting the premises, beverage and treat in hand, was broken. Broken, snapped, destroyed. By you.
My coffee arrived, the beverage preparer on your station still adhering to her duties despite any bad influence from your part. She paused as I asked about my chocolate chip muffin. If I ordered a chocolate chip muffin, she no doubt thought to herself, then I should already have a chocolate chip muffin. That is how things work here.
But I had no muffin. And my order indeed included a muffin.
Do you see her hands, oh Tim Hortons Cash Register Lady? Those are not muffin-retrieving hands. Those are coffee making hands. Those are the hands that pour, that stir, that write ‘DD’ on the lid when you buy a double-double. Those are not hands suited for the delicate removal of bready dessert from a rack and careful placement into paper bag. Do you see how her hands shake? Do you not feel responsible?
Do you see how she pauses in front of the baked goods racks, oh Tim Hortons Cash Register Lady? See her uncertainty? She does not know by heart the locations of all muffins, from Fruit Explosion to limited-time Red Velvet. Nor should she. This is not her domain. This is your domain.
Do you see her now that she has realised there are no chocolate chip muffins? Her confusion? What would you do in this situation? Would you come back and ask if I wanted a different type of muffin? I’m sure you would. She would not, though. She would go into the kitchen, find a chocolate chip muffin just baked, put it in a paper bag and give it to an unsuspecting customer, one who, in his immense desire to eat this muffin, would burn his fucking mouth on it.
But no, this is not her fault. This was not her error. This, oh Tim Hortons Cash Register Lady, was your mistake. And I can assure you, you have made a worthy nemesis this day, mark my words.
This speaks to my soul.
The morning after.
Music by Van Halen: Spanish Fly
10 second intervals.
Roughly 40 minutes.
6 frames per second.
1:02 of video.
March 12, 2014 Blizzard Time Lapse
Music by György Ligeti: Adaptations for Player Piano - Etudes pour piano - XIVa. Coloana fara sfârsit
30 second intervals.
Roughly 11 hours.
20 frames per second.
1:04 of video.
Bless me father, for I have sinned.
I bought this box of Wegmans Fruit & Frosted O’s cereal several months ago and kept it sealed in my cabinet until I finally opened it tonight to indulge myself in a quick and painless dinner.
Unfortunately, upon opening the bag and popping a few pieces in my mouth, it became immediately clear that I had been too optimistic in regards to the ability of the sealed box and bag to keep the cereal free from moisture for such a long period of time.
I understand that there can be no penance for such a sin and I accept that I shall be forced to eat nothing but stale cereal while I burn for eternity in the fiery pits of Hell.
Delivering junk mail in a literal blizzard. Living up to their creed. (He then proceeded to get stuck and spend a minute spinning his wheels and reversing before finding enough traction to get going. Truly an American hero for doing what he does in such a shitbox of a RWD vehicle.)
Police say the groups involved in the fight knew each other.
So this happened while I was in the mountains. As you can tell from my commentary, I know a LOT about bear behavior, especially their climbing abilities.
This post is several years old but I find myself thinking about it very often, so I finally went back and found it.
Shandon’s commentary is excellent, particularly:
“Don’t jump bear. Don’t do it. You’ve got so much to live for.”
Those words spring into my mind anytime I see anyone or anything climbing dangerously, be it a child or a squirrel or an insect.
Traditional flamenco is a singer’s art, born in the cradle of Roma culture in Spain. De Lucia was neither a singer nor Roma, which makes his accomplishments all the more extraordinary.
The world just lost a true guitar hero. I’m barely familiar with his work outside of the amazing performances on the Friday Night in SanFrancisco album, but I’m entirely certain that the man was a true master of his art and one of the greatest guitarists who ever lived.
Thankfully he leaves behind a large catalog of recordings for us all to enjoy, remember him by, and use as a completely realistic, albeit unfair, measuring stick for other guitarists.
That’s to say… her head shape scares me.