you know you make me feel so good.

so there I was at work, stocking some yogurt, when the following tune hit my eardrums:




naturally, the first thing that came to my mind is "HOLY SHIT, THIS IS SAMPLED IN THAT MA$E SONG." for those of you who don't remember (and therefore were probably a total bummer to hang out with in the late 90's), here it is, complete with shiny fucking green suits and all:

(does puff drive mercedes? you better goddamn believe he does.)

I ran up to the counter and excitedly tried to pull my co-workers into my little world of nostalgia. "HOLY SHIT, DO YOU GUYS REMEMBER THAT SONG THAT MA$E AND PUFFY DID?!"

naturally, they did. then one of the girls said to me, "did you know that Ma$e is a minister now?" my jaw dropped to the floor. NO. WAY. from Bad Boy to Man of God?

surely enough, after some extensive research (6th hit on my Google search) it would seem that indeed, for five years, from 1999-2004, Ma$e went down South for some q.t. with g.o.d.


but, dear friends, this seems to be old news! apparently upon his return, he released a re-entry album in 2004 (appropriately titled "Welcome Back"), he appeared at the 2005 VMA's, and even attempted a comeback THIS YEAR, inspired by Michael Jackson's death.



I feel so detached from "popular culture" right now. first, I find out that Justin Timberlake has been filming Facebook: The Movie, RIGHT AROUND THE FUCKING CORNER FROM ME, and I had no idea? and now I realize that my favorite Bad, Bad Boy is trying to revive his career and I haven't had a clue? note to self: sign up for Perez Hilton's RSS feed, immediately...

unattended children will be shot.

this makes me want to own an establishment so I can get really creative. same goes for a-holes on their cellphones, those who don't tip, and people whose face I just plain don't like. (via passive-aggressive notes)


***


unattended children will be shot.: "
as previously discussed, this hamfisted attempt at wit remains the scourge of retail establishments the world over.



as it turns out, the umpteen-million variations are even more hilariously clever!

for example, while the original version merely confuses a lot of people, this one just seems like a bizarre incentive for child abandonment.



quickly, however, things start to get very un-p.c. (and also…very creepy.)



this version, in fact, is almost as popular as the original. (other examples here and here and here and here and here and…is that a machete?)



child slavery? now that’s comedy gold. but really, why stop there? why not “unattended children will be trafficked into child prostitution”? “unattended children will be sold to pedophiles”? or anally probed? or…







hilarious, right?

related: the “your mother doesn’t work here” of the hospitality industry

"

my parachute is the color of failure.

so I recently checked out a copy of What Color is Your Parachute: A Practical Manual for Job-Hunters and Career-Changers (full title included here for dramatic effect). yes, it has come to that. as it stands, I find the idea of a sudden, inexplicable death far more appealing than having to make another turkey sandwich for another self-important academic type who is pursuing three simultaneous degrees yet doesn't understand the concept of tipping.

"so stop blogging, asshole, and get on craigslist," you might be saying to yourself right now. ah, but see, I would rather be making hummus and avocado nightmares for pimply Harvard first-years than sitting at the desk of some corporate gang-bang in an itchy button-down get up, answering phones in my best fuck-me voice.

in short, I hate my current job, but far prefer it to taking yet another "this will do for now" position just to keep myself afloat. so! the time has come to do some reassessment. what are my skills? what are the skills I enjoy using the most? what would my "dream job" be? what are the steps I should take to get there? and so forth.

the first step in what will certainly be an arduous - yet ultimately rewarding! - journey is making a list. Richard Nelson Bolles (the author of the parachute thing) calls it "THAT ONE PIECE OF PAPER" (caps added for dramatic effect). it is, very simply, a list comprised of "everything you know about yourself". later, important and pertinent information will be extracted from this list. but to begin, it's simple. write what you know. about you, wonderful you.

I have been adding to this list for a few days now.

I am on number 46.

#47 - I have a tendency to procrastinate.


really, dude? I've lived with myself for 26 years, and all I can come up with are FORTY-SEVEN little tidbits, little soundbites about what makes me beautiful, unique me?

this is going to be a lot harder than I thought.

ways to reconnect with my muse...

...that don’t actually involve writing.


1. hire a P.I. to find her exact whereabouts, then follow her home from work, knock her kneecaps out with a baseball bat and stuff her in my trunk

2. stare at blank Microsoft Word document for hours until eyes tear up and brain threatens to evacuate (NOT RECOMMENDED)

3. read work done by other people, realize I am a million times more talented, feel smug

4. go on psychedelic drug trip, disappear in the urban jungle for a few days, come back with a fresh spiritual perspective and sense of self-righteousness

5. have nervous breakdown and run screaming into the nuthouse; enjoy a highly medicated vacation

6. drive loved ones to nervous breakdown through excessive whining and self-pity

7. fake death, flee country (and debt)

8. strike self upon head repeatedly with classic works of literature (paperback versions only)

9. fall asleep with books on writing instruction under pillow, hope for absorption of knowledge through osmosis

10. accept the fact that maybe I’m not meant to be a writer, consider alternate methods of artistic expression (interpretive dance, experimental noise bands, suicide, etc.)

coagulated dairy! yes!!

I take serious issue with sour cream commercials.

first of all - there is absolutely nothing appealing about someone running a ridged potato chip through a vat of straight-up sour cream with a few chives sprinkled on top. or, even better, some bland-looking white dude spooning a vast amount of the stuff onto a fajita and grinning like he can't possibly imagine a more fortunate scenario.

also, the word "dollop"? a) there are only so many times a human being can hear that word repeated in a 30-second period of time before wanting to tear their own ears off and b) when does anyone ever actually use that word in colloquial conversation? imagine your lover crawling across the bed to you, looking as sexy as humanly possible, then purring in your ear, "baby, I'm going to give you a dollop of my love tonight?" I actually just puked a little bit, thinking about such a thing. gross. fuck you, sour cream.

who will love you, who will fight, who will fall far behind?

I don't know why I always insist on listening to bon iver this late at night. that motherfucker only makes me crazy nostalgic, especially when I'm alone in bed. and through the achingly clear lens of sobriety, no less.

okay. so. I have been effectively single for over a year now. and pleased about that fact, mostly. but in this past year, I have had some of the worst dating experiences of all my 25 years on the planet thus far. which I get it, it's part of the whole "dating" package. and yes, okay, most of these specimens I have gotten involved with I have chosen to get involved with. I'm not escaping accountability here, trust me.

but seriously. I have met some of the worst dudes.

there have been some of the most self-involved, egotistical douchetards I have ever known. I have entered colossal spheres of drama without even realizing it. I have held men as they cried about their absent fathers, and at the time, have seen nothing at all wrong with that. I have woken up in rooms that look like crack dens. I have been propositioned for threesomes, by people who weren't even slated to be involved in said tryst. I have had some of THE WORST sex of my life.

I have also stooped to new lows. I have posted missed connections. I have checked the missed connections. obsessively. I have gone after the friends and co-workers of exes, even when said exes were in the same room. I have traveled long distances on a whim and full of hope. I have dated dudes older and younger, with about the same results.


now, at the same time. I have met some of the sweetest, most honest and most promising dudes. and each time, that mindfuckingly unfair paradox has applied: the ones I'm not interested at all are the ones making themselves available (sometimes excruciatingly so) and the ones I actually do show interest in are the ones running in the opposite direction. I exaggerate not, every SINGLE time, either of these constraints apply.


still, I trudge on. this isn't a "OH GOD WOE IS ME I AM GOING TO BE ALONE FOR THE REST OF MY MISERABLE AND MEANINGLESS LIFE" kind of thing. as tempted as I am to sink into that familiar, comfortable nest of self-pity and old, worn emo-kid tendencies.

no, no. I am fairly confident that this string of consecutive disasters and utter failings will continue, as I will continue to put myself out there. because, here's the deal. it's not that my standards are low...STOP LAUGHING, RIGHT NOW. it isn't.

the way I see it - I'm just willing to take chances. my most successful relationship to date was with someone I normally never would have gone out with, so I guess you can just never know for sure. plus, if that day ever comes that I find the one person who is utterly batshit insane enough to kick it with me for the long run, well...at least I'll know for sure that I looked goddamn everywhere else first.

blame it on Twilight.

this story got sent to me earlier. it's breaking news. it's actually the most e-mailed on boston.com right now. are you ready?


WAIT. before I link to anything, I'm just going to show you the lede real quick:

A school administrator wants to set the record straight: There are no vampires at Boston Latin.

yup! that's right! vampires.

ok, quick. all of those jokes you're composing in your head? get them out of your system. in fact, if you scroll to the bottom you will see someone - a lot of someones - have already gotten there.


now, we must point fingers. who is to blame for this?

it's not the economy this time. or media seizing on non-news stories and blowing them out of proportion to fill the gap caused by slashed budgets and/or journalistic laziness. no, we won't even go so far as to blame this on, say, teenage girls acting like the cruel, shallow, hateful sacks of hormones that they are.







nope! it's that damn Robert Pattinson's fault! with those bright eyes and those cheekbones and that smile and that...tousled...hair...

and...


...what was I saying?

right. to sum: kids are cruel, adults are gullible and panicky, local journalism is using its last dying breaths to choke out a load of swill, and teenage boys are way hot.


goodnight!