The Army had half a day

I submit that this episode of Arrested Development is the funniest bit o' comedy ever created. God, that show was perfect.

That's okay, that's all right

I didn't get the University of Wisconsin Fiction Fellowship again this year. Poo. Congrats to those who did. May my dreams make you as happy as you could ever be. 

Who was it who said that success eliminates just as many options as failure does? I think it was Tom Robbins. The Googlebot tells me it was someone called M. Scott Peck, whose picture sucks the life out of a great notion for the heartbroken to mantra-ize.

I'm more hungry than heartbroken, though. On a scale of nuggets to tenders, I'm a tender hungry and a half-nugget heartbroken. I just wish I had my $20 reading fee back. I could do laundry, which might make me feel clean and whole again. My hallway looks like my closet puked up a breakfast buffet. The colors!

Tag-a-lagged like it's hot

Thanks for the stuff, PT. The dark alley does your complexion justice.

The instructions are to staple one word of my choosing directly outside the colon. I'm supposed to tag seven of my peeps, but everyone I know has already done it. Go!

You're feeling: peckish
To your left: plate
On your mind: Homer
Last meal included: chocolate
You sometimes find it hard to: think
The weather: gray
Something you have a collection of: flats
A smell that cheers you up: fire
A smell that can ruin your mood: excrement
How long since you shaved: tomorrow
The current state of your hair: shellacked
The largest item on your desk right now (besides computer): plumeria
Your skill with chopsticks: intermediate
Which section you head to first in the bookstore: fiction
And after that?: poetry
Something you are craving: miso
Your general thoughts on the presidential race: hope
How many times you've been hospitalized this year: zero
A favorite place to go for quiet time: ocean
You've always secretly thought you'd be a good: psycho
Something that freaks you out a little: time
Something you've eaten too much of lately: chocolate
You have never: conceived
You never want to: scream

It was the chair

Perhaps this confirms me as a disgrace, but Scary Movie 3 is really funny. I have a special place in my heart for genre spoofs. My sister and I spent many weekend nights sleeping over at my grandma's house and watching The Naked Gun movies, just the three of us smacking on bowls of sherbet.

Uuuggh, that makes my heart ache. I hope that Heaven turns out to be a wonderful reliving of moments like that, one after another. The time and place and smell -- you know, the essence -- would be the same. And I would have to be aware of it on a level higher than my 8-year-old self could recognize. Barring the fact that we can never seem to capture our presents as they're unfolding in the same potent, wistful way, Little Me probably doesn't have thoughts like this because she's just a child. Still, if Heaven is a solid idea and doesn't change with each individual's imagining, wouldn't my 8-year-old self be aware of what Heaven holds because I'm still relatively close to the primordial soup?

I can't imagine Grandma sitting here with me now, watching Scary Movie 3. I could never ask her to sit on a couch as scratchy and lumpy as mine. That would never do. She deserves a big-screen and an overstuffed L-shaped sofa with classy floral pillows. And the finest sherbet.

Sexy can I...

Turner, ever since we went to Hawaii, I can't stop watching Home Improvement. I don't seek it out or anything, but what was once completely absent from my flippin' list is now one of the top ten things I'll watch if I'm trying desperately to avoid writing. In today's episode, Mr. Binford has died. I don't know who that is, but it's sure sad to watch Jill cry.

:::

This is my new favorite website. A father thought up this program as a method for helping his son study for the SAT test (which, you may or may not know, shares many vocabulary words with the GRE, which, you may or may not know, I'm currently studying to take on June 14). It bloggles my mind that America, one of the wealthiest countries in the universe aside from the planet Richenlork in the Diamonds and Pearly Way, only donates about 17 cents per earned $100 toward impoverished countries. It's crazy to think that one bout of diarrhea can and does constantly kill little kids whose bodies are so malnourished, they can't get over a splinter. One bout of diarrhea. Do you know how many lives I've had? Have another triple-stacked Gardenburger, dickhead.

My other new hobby is looking up song lyrics (I'm glad to know that Ray J is saying "Sexy can I / just pardon my manners" instead of "Sexy can I / just park my manhood") and going here to read the endings of movies I'll probably never see. Especially horror films, as I told my class today. I don't like horror films, uh, at all, ever, but I do want to know how they turn out. This site's perfect for someone like me. I feel a sense of plot from watching the commercials, followed by a sense of climax as I read the film's ending. Nice! And the magic happens without a single nightmare or mangled cuticle.

In this post, everyone wins. Except for the children and Binford.

White men can't jump out of office fast enough

There are times (for instance, tonight) when I'm overwhelmed with joy at the thought of watching the first female or black president take office as I approach my late twenties. Here's hoping the Universe doesn't snuff me out, 'cause I'm interested in watching America slowly recover from the brutality the last eight years have seen.

I believe Obama would be an amazing leader and look damn sexy to boot, but I'd be happy to see anyone get the ball rolling on the separation of Circus and State.

Now, I'm off to recite my nightly mantra of 10,000 Obamas, followed by 20 minutes of McCain-based voodoo play, followed by five minutes of applying lip gloss and kissing my Obama poster, followed by several hours of praying that Texas make it up to us, already, and do the right thing.

Fudgery.

Snooooooow!

It's really coming down out there. I'm digging the coziness of my apartment right now. If a witch planning to feed me a poisoned apple were to peer inside my windows, she'd see my cat stretched out on the radiator and me sitting at the computer with a steaming cup of Chai and a comforter bunched up to my neck. And a major tea stain on my sweatpants, but that's just an aside.

I wish I could snap a picture of Maevis. She's the epitome of winter warmth right now. She's Vogue Magazine's Best Dressed Winter Honey Bunny of the Year. Alas, my significant other has borrowed the camera to capture an example of the services his new business provides. We're a coupla go-getters, we are. Me with my incessant typing and he with his functional entertaining. Perhaps we'll be millionaires. We'll donate money to a worthy cause, like the foundation for erradicating serial killers or something. Or, you know, boob cancer. One of those.