All right, Parker, you can do this. This is your life now. This is adult swim. You can't let idiots like this scare you. You can't let them win. Stand and fight.
- Brian Michael Bendis, "Battle Royale"
"All Kids Out of the Pool"
Believe it or not, offending the eye like this isn't easy.
I've been planning this template switch since June, and it led to one quasi-frustrating weekend. I spent two days trying to turn this and this into this garish monstrosity. I'm sure that would have taken an html-wizard (or someone who used their computer for more than pirating and the other gooey and unsavory world wide webbery) maybe fifteen minutes, tops. But no. I'm the one mega-geek in America who doesn't have the useful, job-friendly obsessive computer knowledge to back everything else up.
My original plan was to use the same template as Colleen's blog, because all I was looking for was something blue, and I thought it'd be great if for a week, my ever-changing blog description said:
The diary of a woman, who much like Bridget Jones, is wandering aimlessly through life, in desperate need of a clue. "Am assured, receptive, responsive woman of substance. My sense of self comes not from other people but ... from ... myself? That can't be right."
because, I mean, how funny would that be? But no... Blogger got bought up by Google, and Google only offers some bloody awful templates now, which meant I had to schlepp my way half way across the goddamn world wide web and back, set up my Mizzou bengal server and open up Microsoft Publisher for the first time since I made that CD booklet for Danielle freshman year.
(Seriously. I've gone on about this for way too long now.)
One last note on the new format, which I'll be holding onto for the foreseeable future (read "until I get bored again," or "unless I get four comments that saying you hate it"): The other titles I considered going with include:
"Go and See Grimaldi"
"No Tiptoe Through the Tulips"
"Genus Araneae at Your Service"
"Why Did You Stop at a Red Light and Let Me Hit You Doing Eighty?!"
"Yours is the Only Head That Works, Takoon"
"I Don't Really Like Talking About My Flair"
"God is a Huge Star Trek Fan"
"Channel 39... Totally"
"Take Me on a Trip Upon Your Magic Swirlin' Ship"
"You Don't Understand... I am Grimaldi"
Ten bucks and a signed copy of the first issue of Kevin Smith's Spider-Man/Black Cat: The Evil Men Do -- I should clarify, however, that I signed it... with a crayon -- to whomever can place those quotes!
"Other Business"
Hank's bike might be the death of me... and how bad would Jeffries feel then?
Awesome.
"Latin 2"
I've been telling everyone this story about my Latin Professor:
So I get to my Latin class on the first day, and the professor walks in, and he's smoking this big old cigar, but he teaches class like he's not smoking this big old cigar... and it stinks! But nobody says anything about it. Then he comes in the next day and does the same thing. Still, nobody says anything. This goes on for like, a week, until this girl in the front raises her hand when he's up at the blackboard and says, "I didn't know you could smoke in MU buildings." My Latin professor just looks at her for a second, then blows this concentrated beam of smoke right in her face from, like, across the room. Then he looks around at the rest of us with this mad glint in his eye and says "Does anyone else have a problem with my smoking?"
I've been telling everyone this story, but it's not true.
My Latin professor is a bit of a Dawson's Creek fan, though. And this class is giving me a real appreciation for the wonders of grammar. That's pretty fucked up, right?
"Astronomy 1"
Just when you think you're done with Maria White forever, the School Schedule Gods put you in the stargazing class with her. I hope she buys the book. I don't want to.
"History 136"
Okay. Once upon a time in the Enlightenment, there was this German guy named Hegel. Apparantly, he formed a lot of the ideas that became the basis for Modern Western Culture. Hegel felt, however, that sub-Saharan Africa was populated with primitive people who didn't have any history worth studying until the Europeans came to the Dark Continent. And since sub-Saharan cultures -- the same cultures that were out forming civilizations while Hegel's pale ass ancestors were masturbating in caves -- were largely Pre-Literate, European historians didn't feel like finding alternative methods of discerning the history of people who didn't bother to write anything down, so they said, "Sure Hegel. You're right. Them darkies ain't got no history." And so, it can be argured that if you don't know a lot of African history, it's because you're the victim of what my history professor likes to call "learned ignorance."
You got it? No? Read it again. Got it now? Good. That wasn't too hard to wrap the old noodle around, was it?
Then why have I had to listen to this man repeat this to me for two weeks?
"English 302"
I'm terrified of my creative writing class. It surely didn't help when the teacher said that comic books are low brow as point of fact on the first day. And when the kid next to me said that his writing style wasn't really about "characters" or "plots," I realized his stories were going to be a bitch to read.
Here's an example of how scared I am: The professor told us the first week to come in the next class with a short oral story --Mind out of the gutter, kiddos. God. Grow up, already! -- to tell the class, and I just about wet myself. Now, if you've known me for half a day, then you know that I am a man who does nothing but sit around and tell long, boring stories, and doesn't even care if you want to hear it. And yet, this class had me sweating bullets for a week trying to come up with something to say.
Me. Speechless. Can you believe that shit?
In the end, I wound up telling this story about my Latin teacher who's been smoking since the first day of class... And I think my fiction-writing, award-winning professor actually believed me.
"Cry, the Beloved Tin-Tin"
Justin came to The Barrio for the weekend, and a good time was had by all. At a time when things seem to get awkward with people after about five minutes, it's great to have that one friend with whom you can always pick up right where you left off.
That, and we watched my tapes of every episode of MTV's Spider-Man (except for "Sword of Shikara," which I don't have on tape, but totally sucked masturbating monkey ass anyway, and couldn't even be saved by a John C. McGinley Factor of 10. I mean, let's face it people... That episode was basically a Kraven the Hunter story with some lame ninja chick substituted for a real staple of the Spider-Rogues Gallery. And what's with MTV showing episodes out of order? Max Dillon turns into Electro, murders a fratboy, and vaporizes in the first episode they aired, but two weeks later, he's in Psych class and sipping coffee and no one says shit to him? What the fuck?!)
I'm a simple man who seeks simple pleasures.
(I bet you're wondering why you missed my rambling, stupid blogging now, aren't you?)
NEXT:
Loeb meets Loeb in Blue...
- Brian Michael Bendis, "Battle Royale"
"All Kids Out of the Pool"
Believe it or not, offending the eye like this isn't easy.
I've been planning this template switch since June, and it led to one quasi-frustrating weekend. I spent two days trying to turn this and this into this garish monstrosity. I'm sure that would have taken an html-wizard (or someone who used their computer for more than pirating and the other gooey and unsavory world wide webbery) maybe fifteen minutes, tops. But no. I'm the one mega-geek in America who doesn't have the useful, job-friendly obsessive computer knowledge to back everything else up.
My original plan was to use the same template as Colleen's blog, because all I was looking for was something blue, and I thought it'd be great if for a week, my ever-changing blog description said:
The diary of a woman, who much like Bridget Jones, is wandering aimlessly through life, in desperate need of a clue. "Am assured, receptive, responsive woman of substance. My sense of self comes not from other people but ... from ... myself? That can't be right."
because, I mean, how funny would that be? But no... Blogger got bought up by Google, and Google only offers some bloody awful templates now, which meant I had to schlepp my way half way across the goddamn world wide web and back, set up my Mizzou bengal server and open up Microsoft Publisher for the first time since I made that CD booklet for Danielle freshman year.
(Seriously. I've gone on about this for way too long now.)
One last note on the new format, which I'll be holding onto for the foreseeable future (read "until I get bored again," or "unless I get four comments that saying you hate it"): The other titles I considered going with include:
"Go and See Grimaldi"
"No Tiptoe Through the Tulips"
"Genus Araneae at Your Service"
"Why Did You Stop at a Red Light and Let Me Hit You Doing Eighty?!"
"Yours is the Only Head That Works, Takoon"
"I Don't Really Like Talking About My Flair"
"God is a Huge Star Trek Fan"
"Channel 39... Totally"
"Take Me on a Trip Upon Your Magic Swirlin' Ship"
"You Don't Understand... I am Grimaldi"
Ten bucks and a signed copy of the first issue of Kevin Smith's Spider-Man/Black Cat: The Evil Men Do -- I should clarify, however, that I signed it... with a crayon -- to whomever can place those quotes!
"Other Business"
Hank's bike might be the death of me... and how bad would Jeffries feel then?
Awesome.
"Latin 2"
I've been telling everyone this story about my Latin Professor:
So I get to my Latin class on the first day, and the professor walks in, and he's smoking this big old cigar, but he teaches class like he's not smoking this big old cigar... and it stinks! But nobody says anything about it. Then he comes in the next day and does the same thing. Still, nobody says anything. This goes on for like, a week, until this girl in the front raises her hand when he's up at the blackboard and says, "I didn't know you could smoke in MU buildings." My Latin professor just looks at her for a second, then blows this concentrated beam of smoke right in her face from, like, across the room. Then he looks around at the rest of us with this mad glint in his eye and says "Does anyone else have a problem with my smoking?"
I've been telling everyone this story, but it's not true.
My Latin professor is a bit of a Dawson's Creek fan, though. And this class is giving me a real appreciation for the wonders of grammar. That's pretty fucked up, right?
"Astronomy 1"
Just when you think you're done with Maria White forever, the School Schedule Gods put you in the stargazing class with her. I hope she buys the book. I don't want to.
"History 136"
Okay. Once upon a time in the Enlightenment, there was this German guy named Hegel. Apparantly, he formed a lot of the ideas that became the basis for Modern Western Culture. Hegel felt, however, that sub-Saharan Africa was populated with primitive people who didn't have any history worth studying until the Europeans came to the Dark Continent. And since sub-Saharan cultures -- the same cultures that were out forming civilizations while Hegel's pale ass ancestors were masturbating in caves -- were largely Pre-Literate, European historians didn't feel like finding alternative methods of discerning the history of people who didn't bother to write anything down, so they said, "Sure Hegel. You're right. Them darkies ain't got no history." And so, it can be argured that if you don't know a lot of African history, it's because you're the victim of what my history professor likes to call "learned ignorance."
You got it? No? Read it again. Got it now? Good. That wasn't too hard to wrap the old noodle around, was it?
Then why have I had to listen to this man repeat this to me for two weeks?
"English 302"
I'm terrified of my creative writing class. It surely didn't help when the teacher said that comic books are low brow as point of fact on the first day. And when the kid next to me said that his writing style wasn't really about "characters" or "plots," I realized his stories were going to be a bitch to read.
Here's an example of how scared I am: The professor told us the first week to come in the next class with a short oral story --Mind out of the gutter, kiddos. God. Grow up, already! -- to tell the class, and I just about wet myself. Now, if you've known me for half a day, then you know that I am a man who does nothing but sit around and tell long, boring stories, and doesn't even care if you want to hear it. And yet, this class had me sweating bullets for a week trying to come up with something to say.
Me. Speechless. Can you believe that shit?
In the end, I wound up telling this story about my Latin teacher who's been smoking since the first day of class... And I think my fiction-writing, award-winning professor actually believed me.
"Cry, the Beloved Tin-Tin"
Justin came to The Barrio for the weekend, and a good time was had by all. At a time when things seem to get awkward with people after about five minutes, it's great to have that one friend with whom you can always pick up right where you left off.
That, and we watched my tapes of every episode of MTV's Spider-Man (except for "Sword of Shikara," which I don't have on tape, but totally sucked masturbating monkey ass anyway, and couldn't even be saved by a John C. McGinley Factor of 10. I mean, let's face it people... That episode was basically a Kraven the Hunter story with some lame ninja chick substituted for a real staple of the Spider-Rogues Gallery. And what's with MTV showing episodes out of order? Max Dillon turns into Electro, murders a fratboy, and vaporizes in the first episode they aired, but two weeks later, he's in Psych class and sipping coffee and no one says shit to him? What the fuck?!)
I'm a simple man who seeks simple pleasures.
(I bet you're wondering why you missed my rambling, stupid blogging now, aren't you?)
NEXT:
Loeb meets Loeb in Blue...
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