Random Fiction Post. 99% of you can ignore this.

My best friend was excited that summer. He met his perfect mirror image in female form. I, conversely, was less than thrilled. The summer those two spent together meant that I pretty much had to take a back seat to the shenanigans. I suppose it is not fair to say that I had to, though I did.

Letting my best friend take the wheel was much easier on me. Specifically, considering that even if I do not concede, he would consequently drive from the proverbial back seat.

My memories of the events were patchwork at best but I was able to place a few things together over the four or five month span. May became July and July became September. The things missing were apparently not important. They never did come back to affect much of anything. A few key points along the way were all I knew. Points that were relayed to me through various channels: my writing, her or friends and of course, news broadcasts, police reports and court dates. Our myth, our legend nearly became greater than our deed.

I can still remember the first words out of my mouth when I saw her, “who invited the surly bitch over there?”

Stomping around as if mid temper tantrum, she was talking loudly and holding an Old Style beer in each hand. The beers sloshed side to side as she shouted and danced, her microcosm unfettered by the drunks milling around her.

My friend, almost always leaning over my shoulder, said, “I am pretty sure I am in love with that bitch.”

Not in the mood, I completely ignored him. I am still unsure of the forces which compelled me to approach her.

Ultimately, I found something beautiful about her. She carried herself with such a swagger but seemed unhappy about it. Her nearly flawless features were masked by a complicated working of tattoos, all haphazardly place across her figure. If I could have fixed her or possibly saved her were the questions that entered my mind. I wanted to either save her or to have some fun with her. The latter seemed the more likely since a man who can not get the things that go bump in his mind under control, could not possibly save some—

“Tattooed bitch,” the first words snarled at me were, in fact, snarled. Lip pulled up, spoken through gritted teeth. I stood stunned, not exactly sure what she meant or how to respond. “Yes, there is a tattooed bitch here with all your frat boys. Get over it.”

More stunned. “I…um….eh….you…” It was not my most eloquent moment.

“Save it polo-shirt. I need another beer.” She said, sinking into the masses of the Friday night bar scene, meshing with every sad soul requesting a drink.

“I’m not even wearing a polo!” I tried to shout after her as she sunk into the crowd, shoving aside all the drunks that stood between her and her next drink.

“She will be mine,” my best friend chimed in, once again, right over my shoulder. I rolled my eyes. I refused to humor him and break my pace.

The thing was, once I started drinking, I had a tendency to never stop. I intended that night to be different, as I always did at the beginning of the night. Starting slow, I would have three or four pints over the course of three hours. Eventually though, as my best friend began to nag more, as little reminders of the path I had chosen popped up, the beers began going down much more quickly.

Soon the beers would become shots and eventually, it was my best friend's coming out party.


My best friend's name was Id. He was everything about me I hated. He was my hate, my lust, my desire, my impulses. Id was everything ugly about me, melded down, brought into one existence. He was the worst thing to happen to me.

Careless, clumsy, trying hard to make right by himself, he was a space heater in a wax museum. Without much effort, he destroyed and disfigured everything beautiful that came near. He did not necessarily do it out of ill will. Instead, Id operated on a simple pain versus pleasure principle. If something made him happy, he did not care if it made someone else unhappy. If that meant stealing a car and me waking up the next day somewhere in Winnipeg, so be it (a story for another day, I promise you.)

Id was a toddler, a large toddler that drank and fucked and fought. I suppose not a toddler at all. Simply, he possessed the moral compass of one.

Typically, I contained Id. He would stand around next to me, invisible to all others, suggesting the selfish childish impulses of every person. As long as I was in control, he was ignored.

However, as my life took less fortunate routes, he found opportunities to take advantages of this and brought trouble. I had a less than secret hatred of Id. Unfortunately, he was a figment I could not conquer. In fact, I often drank, feeling sorry for myself because I could not control him, only for him to once again set out to ruin my life. While his commentary was almost always humorous in one way or another, if I could kill one part of me, he would be first and I would do it without mercy or regret.

It was one of those moment of Id encouraging me to do something against my better judgment. The tattooed bitch was gone and I had forgotten about her. Id reminded me.

“Follow her to the bar,” Id shout at me. He was now dancing around, swinging his arms from side to side, skipping, “I think I’m in looooooooooove.” He put his hands over his heart and swayed back and forth with the same smug grin he always wore.

“Fine,” I shouted back. “ But I’m only going to go tell her this isn’t a polo shirt and I’m the farthest thing from a frat boy,” I tried to justify what I was about to do. Truth was, I never cared if someone had the wrong impression of me. Fuck them. It was the major contributing factor to my younger brother being my only friend. He had the same attitude, which is probably why he lived in isolation and only sent me letters from PO boxes in whichever town he happened to stop in on the journey he set out on years prior.

Determination. I stomped to the bar full of it. Not determination, shit. I wished it had been the former. I walked up, pulled up beside her at the bar. She was leaning on the bar, cursing at the bartender for “taking too fucking long, you mother fucker.” I leaned over the bar and caught her attention. Her gaze met mine. Her brown eyes searched my face, obviously trying to figure out who I was.
Before she could, “My name is Joshua Mansfield,” I said, “I am not a frat boy. In fact, I am quite the opposite. I work at a book store and am a college dropout. I hope to someday be a travel writer and this is not a fucking polo.” I paused for effect, “now, can I buy you a drink?”

Good, assertive, well spoken. God damn it would have been awesome had I said that.

“Um….uhh….” Oh God I’m starting to lose her, I thought as I watched her start glance around behind me. “Jesus Christ you’re pretty,” were the words that came out. “Want to get drunk with me?”

Cue sigh of disgust. She glanced down the bar and made eye contact with someone she knew. Watch her walk away. Story of my life, I thought.

“How are you not a virgin?” Id was less than sympathetic and right over my shoulder. “Honest to God, I’m pretty sure if you said that to a hooker, a hooker you had already paid, you would get a refund and a handshake. You must have gotten really good at masturbation over the years. Sometimes, I would just like to see you get laid. Not actually watch by any means. Okay maybe a little bit of me would like to watch. I bet it is all clumsy and awkward.”

I had already stopped listening to Id berate me. Disheartened, I snagged another beer from the bartender and drank it before I walked away from the bar. Then I ordered another.

“Thats right, get primed mother fucker.” Id said, slapping me on the back, laughing obnoxiously. “Not like you need to worry about your dick working tonight.”

I sat down at a table a little less by myself than I would have liked and kept drinking. I was mid-swig when the tattooed bitch sat down across from me with two pitchers of beer and no glasses.

“Do you know how to macho mug?” she asked me.

I nodded and she handed me a pitcher. “Then get to it,” she said through a grin. “And this is a yes, I would like to get drunk with you. We're sharing a drink called loneliness but it's better than drinking alone.”

“Billy Joel,” I did everything but put it in the form of a question. I recovered from my excitement in finding a connection, “I pretty much love him.”

“As everyone should,” she raised her “macho mug” for a cheers. We tapped pitchers and just before we took our first drink, “oh yeah, and you’re damn right I’m pretty. I’m fucking gorgeous.”

“I think this may be the start of something fucking awesome,” an excited Id resumed his dance from earlier.

“I’m Josh,” I said leaning over the table to shake her hand. She slapped my hand away.

“Name’s Doreen. I’m the most bad ass chick you’ll ever meet. Congratulations.”

It was sometime in mid-May.

Police Seeking Sandwich Bandit

I made this post a week ago. Apparently Blogger decided it was not appropriate to post or something. So now I'm posting it for reals. A week later.


Time Travel back to one week and some change ago:


Last night, I stood in the most frigid room I've ever entered. I wish it had been a literal cold. Instead it was the less favored figurative cold.

I had to give my last speech for my speech course. It was not received nearly as well as I had hoped. My topic: The Unconstitutionality of Teaching Intelligent Design in Public Schools. So already, a super exciting topic.

Essentially, I took a paper I had written earlier in the semester and translated it into a speech. Plenty of credible sources, I even quoted the constitution and legal briefs. Rock solid.

My speech had three sections. First I explained what intelligent design was, then I explained evolution and how the rigor tested theory of evolution was superior to ID. I even went as far to explain the scientific method and how ID was based on faith. Since faith cannot stand up to the scientific method, it is not science. My logic train was going down a fairly safe path.

That is when the crowd started to turn. In fact, one guy in particular took it upon himself to scowl and shake his head at me through the entire speech. I'm not sure what he was trying to accomplish, except make me annoyed. It is important to note, this is the same guy who gave his first speech about how we need to power down the Large Hadron Collider because God created the heavens and the earth and we won't discover anything; God won't let us.

While something like this would waver the confidence of most, I simply became a little bit more into it. I wasn't pounding the pulpit by any means (maybe I should have) but I continued on. I explained the Endorsement and Lemon Tests (which I have talked about here) and then explained how time and time again ID has been proven unconstitutional to teach in public school, in particular I talked about the case in Dover, Pennsylvania.

I never got the crowd on my side. It was the first time I had ever spoken to a hostile audience. Adrenaline rush, yes, fun, absolutely not. Mostly because walking away, I felt I had not changed anyone's mind. It is just frustrating when an issue is so cut and dry to me, yet people still feel the need to disagree. I am so used to be surrounded by people who share my life-view, it is sometimes hard to understand why anyone would dissent.

Though, their dissension may have been a good thing. It has taught me to think harder about my stances. I gave an audience analysis before the speech and I found even before I gave the speech that the class would be a bit hostile to my stance. Most of them identified themselves as Creationists or ID proponents. This caused me to have to think my argument out much deeper than if all of them had been completely on board with ID being complete anti-science (which by the way, where the fuck did this 'don't trust scientists' movement come from? post for another day i guess).

For example, there is an acquaintance of mine who has an extremely far right stance on just about everything. As of late, whenever I take a stance on something, he is e-there to e-counter my stance. Most of my friends comment on his dick-headed-ness or asshole-ish-ness, however I find it useful. While I don't agree with him and I know I never will, he does force me to think about my stances.

If people didn't disagree with me from time to time, I would not take the time to rethink and reevaluate my stances. If this never happened, my awesomeness would wane. While I am right 100% of the time, if I do not stay sharp on being able to demonstrate my awesomeness, some lesser minded people may mistake me for being wrong.

So this really is just a thank you to everyone who is wrong about stuff. It makes me smarter. Keep it up.


As for the title, Firefox for some reason auto-filled it. I do not want to argue with Firefox.

The Beginning.

To say Nikola was a bad roommate would not be fair. He was actually the contrary. Rent was always on time, dishes washed, public spaces clean, personal spaces respected. Nikola was the perfect roommate while simultaneously being the worst. He wasn’t loud – not often at least. When he was, though, it shook the house, rattled windows, essentially scared the living shit out of me. Nikola spent every waking hour in the garage, the garage in which I had been forbidden to park my van. This did not bother me because I didn’t have a nice van and it meant I had to pay less rent. Moving day, when he suggested the idea, I was all for it. I may have been a bit more reluctant had he been a bit more specific about his motives.

On one particular Sunday afternoon, I was watching basketball, being lazy. Essentially I was doing what I always did on a day off -- biding my time before I could start drinking without feeling guilty. The noise started out low, so low in fact that by the time I noticed it, it was already too loud to speak over it. At first, I simply thought the television was quieting. I jammed on the volume button, pressing it as hard as I felt I could without breaking it. I have since learned that pushing buttons harder does not make them more effective. Eventually, the hum had completely drown out the sound of Dick Vitale screaming yet another trademark, “Yeah, Baby!” for which I was actually somewhat grateful.

The sound was similar to the sound of driving with every window down at eighty miles per hour. Added to that, roughly every second I felt a thump. The thump was felt in my chest and in my ear drum -- a thump of a pressure change, not of an actual noise. It made it feel as if my heart would stop if it continued much longer. I desperately threw down the remote, only for my dog Gatsby to promptly grasp it in his jaws and begin to chew it to bits. My dog’s poor upbringing was not on my mind. Stumbling my way to the basement, I felt my knees buckle slightly with each thump.

After struggling for a few moments, I finally reached the garage and threw the door open. I had opened a gate to another world. A world ruled by Nikola himself. In the center of the room stood a narrow metallic tower about four feet tall with silver tubing spiraling up its center. It rotated a song to me. A large ball of what looked to be tin foil was poised on top of this structure. The remarkable part was not the fact it looked like Nikola had stolen a prop from the set of Lost in Space, but the head piece of this prop had arms of electricity snapping, flailing in every direction. They licked the floors, walls and ceiling, reaching in every direction, as if searching in the dark for something to hold. With each second, they pulsed and magnified in brilliancy, causing me to shield my eyes each time. They filled the room, almost blocking out Nikola in the corner.

Behind his glorious creation, Nikola stood at a table with a series of switches, levers and controls which he was attentively owning and manipulating. When he looked up and saw me, my roommate simply did what he always did when he saw me: flashed a middle finger and went back to his work.

That bastard taught him that. I fucking hate him, I thought to myself. There was no other way a Serbian inventor would have any other way of knowing how to flip the bird.

Fed up, I decided to head to the bar to meet up with my best friend. Having a mad scientist turn your basement into his personal laboratory was plenty of reason to start drinking early. The whiskey sour was completely guilt-free.

My best and only friend was already three deep.

A Rant On Prop 8 About Two Weeks Too Late For Anyone to Care Anymore

An elderly couple in their mid-80's have been informed their marriage is no longer valid. They have been told the person they have been devoted to for thirty years is no longer their spouse. They are reassured there is another separate institution for them – something different from marriage. Holding many of the same rights, the state assures them this institution will be just as good. Their union simply will not be recognized in other states and traveling abroad. Their not-quite-a-marriage would also require them to hire a lawyer to acquire durable power of attorney. Also, some of their social security payouts, in the extremely likely event one of them dies, would not go to the other. Other than these few oversights, they are told, they hold the same rights as anyone else.

This situation would be an outrage to the common person. An American being denied something most take for granted. This exact thing has happened to Del Martin and Phylis Lyons. After the California supreme court decided to allow same sex marriage under California Constitution on the grounds of equal protections, they were the first same-sex couple to be wed.

Their happiness was short lived. Proposition 8 was passed this November due in part to heavy financial backing from a number of large religious institutions. Proposition 8 added a new piece to the California constitution: only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California.

The majority voted it in and now it is law. However, it is unconstitutional on a few grounds. It takes a little background to understand this, but I hope to use my sometimes burdensome intelligence and eloquence to make a bit more sense of this complicated issue.

I've had exactly one person come to me and complain that to overturn an amendment is to drown out the voice of the people, defeating the purpose of voting. Something important to note is the constitution exists almost solely to prevent the majority from doing stupid shit. It does not defeat the purpose of voting. Conversely, it holds the majority accountable. The constitution is the last bastion of defense for the minority. When the majority is wrong, it is an aegis behind which the oppressed can stand. It is my opinion that this is the constitution's most important function. The vast majority has favored many ill-conceived ideas. Think hard enough, I know you can come up with a few.

Moving on, California, along with the 49 other states, have their own constitutions. Article VI of the United States Constitution states “[the US constitution] shall be the supreme Law of the Land; and the Judges in every State shall be bound thereby, any Thing in the Constitution or Laws of any State to the Contrary notwithstanding.” Essentially this means the United States Constitution trumps the California Constitution. If California passes a law that violates anything in the United States Constitution, it is void. This is known by constitutional law scholars as the Supremacy Clause.

Why would that matter? To tell one group of people they are allowed to do something, but another group cannot is pretty explicitly prohibited in the 14^th Amendment. It states “No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.” Key phrase, equal protection. Therefore, to tell one couple, Mozoltov! While telling another couple, “I'm sorry we can't let you do that,” is blatantly unconstitutional. Also, I know the California constitution has something similar written in it, however, I don't give enough shits to look it up. The US constitution wins all arm wrestling contests, sort of like Sly in Over The Top.

But wait, there's more. I know you're saying, “wait a minute, this amendment doesn't violate just one part of the US Constitution, but two? How did this gobbledigook end up on a ballot?” You've got me. Money helps. Ignorance helps more. I know it sounds cliché but honestly, I can't think of any other reason.

So secondly, the first Amendment of the Constitution has the Establishment clause. Essentially saying, “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof...” We all know it. It is nothing new. My home-boy, Thomas Jefferson, described the establishment clause as erecting “a wall of separation between church and state.”

This part of the constitution was fairly loosely interpreted until it landed in the lap of Chief Justice Warren Burger, my second favorite Warren. Second to, of course, Warren Sapp. I couldn't see the Warren Burger w/ cheese sacking fools. And I'm sure he's was not nearly as light on his feet as #99.

Anyway, in Lemon v. Kurtzman, Justice Warren Burger Deluxe blew everyone's mind by coming up with the Lemon Test to decide if a law violated the establishment clause. The Lemon Test has three prongs. The three prongs are: a law cannot be religiously motivated, a law cannot explicitly benefit or hinder religion or the lack thereof and a law cannot cause excessive entanglement between religion and government.

Initially, Prop 8 fails the first prong. The proposition was clearly religiously motivated. For example, Mormons make up 2% of the population of the state of California. However, they were attributed with more than half the money put forth for the movement. The Church also did the majority of the canvasing, telling people that Prop 8 would hold up “God's plan for marriage.” If that isn't religiously motivated, I'm not sure what would qualify.

The law also offends the second prong since it would further fundamental Christians attempt to paint the gay community as different and even as abominations. Their words, not mine.

Ultimately, as great as it would be to invoke Article VI and drop the 1^st and 14^th Amendment on them, it is unlikely to happen. They do not want to legally challenge the Prop based on the above two arguments (though they are spot on) because it would escalate it to the US Sup. Court. If this happens there is potential to have gay marriage banned nation-wide. Opponents of the proposition don't want to take that risk. So the route they are having to take is pointing out that such a large change to the state constitution is not an amendment, but a revision, since it is in contradiction with California's own equal protection clause. Therefore it cannot become law without the 2/3^rd vote from state legislature. Their defense of this is shaky at best, and I'll be honest, I don't know much about the California state constitution.

Either way, I am just absolutely baffled as to how anyone could see this law as just or constitutional. I am not usually one to have trouble seeing the other side of an argument. In fact, anyone who knows me knows that I will actively seek it out, just to start a fight.

The argument that somehow the state of California has to enforce a morality is against everything the country was founded on. I know that is a tired argument but it is true. The claim is that gay marriage somehow cheapens straight marriage. Gay marriage somehow ruins the family. However, no one can produce numbers to prove that children of gay couples are any worse off than children with straight couples. I would like to see some clear empirical evidence that suggests that gay marriage breaks children. I want a control group of single parent households, straight couples and then gay couples. I bet the results will surprise the prop 8 supporters. The reason we never hear about studies like this is because -- once again not trying to be cliché it just sort of happens -- this has never been about protecting marriage. It has never been about the children. It is about hate. No matter how against gay couples, no matter how you think they will burn in hell, no matter how hot your hate burns for their sins, any good Christian knows that we are all sinners.

Someday I hope that the sinners can sin, the saints can pray and everyone else can go about their business.

At the Request of Kathleen "Never STFU" Kenney

Kathleen has been nagging me from roughly 1600 miles away. I didn't think it was possible. I prayed it wasn't possible. Unfortunately though, she becomes more annoying the further away she gets. Lord help us if she ever moves to Europe or becomes an astronaut.
The worst part about the nagging: it is about blogging. It is not "remember to do something with your life." "Remember to use that topical ointment the doctor gave you for those sores." Nope, apparently blogging is the most important thing on her mind. Since blogging is so important to her, I will borrow her blog format. She is the only one reading this, so I figure I'll make it easy on her.

Lets blog it out.

My life in five points.

1. No Shave November. My roommates and I have made a pact that none of us will shave for the month of November. I'm not sure why I agreed to do this. I have never attempted to grow facial hair. The longest I have gone without shaving has been the five days I was in New York City and forgot my razor. Being reminded now of how scuzzy I become after two weeks of not shaving, it has taken all of my will power to not shave it off.
Not only do I look terrible, I can't even remember the wager we made. There is a pride factor involved, manliness being a key component. I've never claimed to be manly though. The only reason I am still participating is because I know my roommates will crack before I do.

2. I am a single white male with a drinking problem. As they say, a recipe for hilarity. When I say I am single, this translates to I am a drunken shitshow, terrifying women throughout the Omaha metro area. Get excited ladies. Just think, you may get the chance to have an extremely intoxicated man make a pass at you. He might even invite you back to his bed, despite an absence of you showing any interest in him.
Luckily, I have learned to own my faults instead of trying to pretend they don't exist.
The only reason this is even an issue is because the people in my life have made it an issue. My younger brother is talking about his wedding. My older sister has been married for coming on two years here. My younger sister is, at least in my parents mind, right around the corner from having a serious boyfriend (I have been informed by my kid sister that this is in fact not true.) Because of all this, my parents have started henpecking me about when I will settle down with a nice lady. My answer to this: fucking never. I am a misantropic son of a bitch. The chances of me finding someone I don't hate about ten minutes into talking to her are pretty slim.
In summation, I'm alive and alone and there has never been a better time to be this way.

3. Men should not have muffin tops. Some background: when I was 19 I weighed 310 pounds at my heaviest. By the time I was 22 I weighed 190. 120 Pound swing. Not bad for simply walking 3 miles a day and eating healthier. Two years later, I do not have time to go on walks or to the gym -- I am paying 40$ a month membership for a gym that I visit less frequently than the dentist. Now at 24, I weigh 220. A 6 foot 2 inch frame at 220 isn't huge but is by most standards overweight. I am a little disappointed in myself but I also realize I am still at a 90 pound net loss. So now I have laid out a plan, much like I did when I initially lost the weight. I have a monthly weight-loss goal. For example, by the end of this wonderful No Shave November, I plan to be down to 215, a loss of 5 pounds. Five pounds of facial hair.
I plan to chronicle my weight loss here, much like Mellow chronicles his running fetish. And yes it is a fetish.

4. College is a whole hell of a lot easier when you attend class. The first time I attended college, I left with a 0 GPA. Now, an older, wiser, better looking me has decided to try it again. This time around I am attending classes (I've missed one because of the previously mentioned drinking problem), I am checking in with my teachers and I am studying. If I finish out the semester with the grades I currently have, I will walk away with at least a 3.5. My black lit class is up in the air because my professor does not feel like letting any of us know our progress. I'm assuming this is because he doesn't even know. I have a feeling I am going to put my transcript on the cork board in our dining room just like I am in grade school again.

5. I fucking love the Phoenix Suns. I love them. I saw them play the Bulls when I was in Chicago last weekend. Even with the mustachioed magician D'Antoni gone, they are still a wonderful squad. I know they will have another great regular season. I just hope they can get some playoff magic going. My roommate, an adamant Lakers fan (BOO!), and I ordered the league pass. I plan to watch every Suns game I can. Even ones against teams like the Bobcats. Why? Because I fucking love the Phoenix Suns.

There you are Kathleen. An update on my life. I hope it was everything you hoped it could be. I hope you left with a feeling of satisfaction and this garners me a nag-free weekend.

September 30th, 2008

Even if your voice comes back again maybe there'll be no one listening. - Andrew McMahon, Jack's Mannequin, Glass Passenger

New music Tuesday is my third favorite day of the week. First is Pool League Thursday and second being New Comics Wednesday. Essentially the middle of the week I am over-stimulated, caffeinated, boozed up, shooting stick and rocking steady.

This week marked the release of albums from three of my favorite acts: Jack's Mannequin, Ben Folds and Bayside.

Quick words on Jack's Mannequin's Glass Passenger. This CD: I was so excited, I ripped the cellophane off with my teeth while driving. This album was worth getting excited about.

I know many of you will say, "I've had this album for three weeks from Limewire." First, you use Limewire? Ha, you suck at stealing music. Two, I have been on a kick of buying my music lately. Not because I think there is a moral imperative or because I feel am robbing the artists by stealing their music. I could give a shit about morals and convictions. As I have stated before and will again, I don't really have any convictions. I just got sick of not having something tangible. That is pretty simple. I like to hold stuff, usually soft stuff, but occasionally, a polycarbonate disc.

Getting back on track: this album is simply wonderful. I tried to take a completely objective look at it, however, I could not with all things in consideration.

Andrew McMahon's resume is as follows:
Start an awesome power-pop band and release a few very good albums: check!
Start a second just as awesome, just as successful power-pop act: check!
(this is where it gets impressive)
Kick the ever-living shit out of acute late-stage cancer and then return to release another awesome album: double-fucking-check!

Aside from all that, this album contains some of his best song writing to date, all carefully crafted with heartfelt lyrics, blah blah blah, normal CD review jargon. However, the one track that stood out to me is American Love. Not because it is the best song or because it has the most penetrating lyrics (because it doesn't, "big hearts are made to be broken", yeah, no, that is going to be on every 14 year old girls' myspace for at least the next three months) but because it sounds like an 80s rock anthem with 2000s pop-sensibility (see 'tone down the synth dude'). The song should be in the closing credits to Karate Kid or Goonies. I probably hold the world record for most times listening to that track. Go me.

I haven't even bothered to listen to the other two albums yet. However there is no chance they will beat this album out for my pick of the week. So there it is. Sorry LL Cool J. Maybe next time.

Other than that, no dogs pissing on me since last time. Hopefully this trend continues.

September 28th, 2008

It is not everyday one is peed upon. At least I hope...

I loathe people who keep dogs. They are cowards who haven't got the guts to bite people themselves. -August Strindberg

Or in my case, piss on their roommates.

We are finally moved in. My room is nearly all set and I am loving it. The process of moving in was actually much smoother than I anticipated. Though I have to live in the hot attic, up steep stairs, I have the largest room. Also, I have the lowest ceiling. Once I have a chance to post pictures, I will.

Today was the first day we tried to have both Pete's dog Rofl and Joe's dog Scooby in the house at the same time. Both are small dogs with Scooby being the smaller, weighing in at less than ten pounds. While I was enjoying a Sunday football game, Scooby decided to hop on my lap. I let him because he had spent the majority of the day barking at me and I assumed it meant he had finally taken a liking to me.

He had not taken a liking to me.

At least Rofl would never pee on me.

Schooling is going well. I am anxious for my first exams. It has been three years since I have even seen an exam.