It’s like a swollen summer

March 24th, 2011 § Comments off § permalink

Every time I read something I wrote in the past, I feel as though I was smarter back then. What the hell is that about? Am I getting dumber as I age? Or is my inferiority complex just growing stronger by the day?

I suppose it could be both. Oh, dear.

Resolved: Quit making resolutions

January 7th, 2011 § Comments off § permalink

A nice post from Merlin Mann on the problems with New Year’s resolutions, and a more sensible path to self-improvement. (Kindly ignore the Seinfeld references.)

It’s the little things

December 25th, 2010 § One comment § permalink

I am currently going nuts because I can’t figure out how to make WordPress say “Nine comments” (for example) instead of “9 comments.” You’re probably thinking something like “who cares,” but goddammit, I want my weblog to use proper English, not this “4 comments” nonsense! What’s become of this country, the debasing of the English language, anarchy in our schools, etc., etc.

All of which is apparently my way of saying “Merry Christmas.”

What the whole ballgame is about

January 9th, 2008 § Comments off § permalink

At the end of the documentary I Like Killing Flies, New York restaurant owner Kenny Shopsin crams a year’s worth of talk therapy into this monologue:

This is, like, another one of my half-baked philosophies. The first duty of everybody in life is to realize that they’re a piece of shit. They’re selfish, they’re self-centered, they’re not very good. And that you’re willing to sacrifice 20,000 people in another country just so that you can go to a Wings concert. [to the director:] You’ll sacrifice the lives of 100,000 Chinese female babies just so you can rent this fucking camera and do your stupid art project.

No problem! You’re a piece of shit. Once you realize you’re a piece of shit, it’s not so hard to take. Because then you don’t have this feeling that you’re a good person all the time. And lemme tell you something: Feeling that you’re a good person all the time is like having a brand-new car with no scratches on it. It’s a real responsibility which is almost impossible to live up to. Being a piece of shit and then occasionally doing something that’s good and true—it’s a much easier place to be.

I think that’s really important, and I always tried to raise my kids to understand that they’re not that terrific. And that not being that terrific—that’s okay, ’cause most people who say they are terrific—Bill Clinton, Cardinal Egan—anybody you want to talk about, they’re not so terrific. Martha Stewart! They’re not so fuckin’ terrific either, and there’s nothing wrong with being not so terrific, you know. In fact, it’s what the whole ballgame is about, is about being not so terrific and accepting it.

I am not Shakespeare, nor was meant to be

September 26th, 2007 § One comment § permalink

I cannot say how long this has been so, but lately I have found that when I think,
my thoughts are in iambic—what’s the word? Pentameter; that’s it. And I am vexed
by all the sing-song thoughts that I must think because of this affliction most bizarre.

How can I keep blank verse out of my head? I’d be most grateful, readers of my blog, if you could help me end this nasty curse.

I do it to myself, I do, and that’s what really hurts

September 23rd, 2007 § Comments off § permalink

A coworker walked up to me as I stood in front of our office’s supply board, writing an order for yellow legal pads. She noticed that I was taking the time to copy the appropriate product number from the supply catalog, which, in theory, we are always supposed to do and, in practice, almost nobody ever does.

“Do you need a special kind of legal pad or something?” my coworker asked me.

“Well,” I told her, “if I don’t specify which ones to order, I find that we usually wind up getting white legal pads, or legal pads printed on really crummy paper.”

She stared at me for a moment before saying, “Sometimes it must be really hard to be you.”


June 18th, 2006 § Comments off § permalink

In the past two weeks, three of my friends have told me that they saw an almost-exact double of me somewhere in San Francisco. I have no idea what to make of this trend. Do I have a heretofore undisclosed identical twin who lives nearby? Is the Bay Area converging upon some sort of Hipster Event Horizon, at which all middle-class, twenty-something, skinny white males take on a single appearance? And is Wikipedia correct to say that these doppelgänger sightings may “bring bad luck, or indicate an approaching illness or health problem”?

My best guess is that San Francisco was hosting a convention of Louis Theroux impersonators.

Seventeen pounds of crud

June 25th, 2004 § Two comments § permalink

I had the bright idea of examining my blender’s blade to make sure all its nooks and crannies were clean. Suffice it to say that they were not. The blade is now soaking in hot, soapy water, where it will remain for about a thousand years.

Rocking 2004 like an old wooden chair

January 5th, 2004 § Comments off § permalink

Happy New Year to one and all. I made numerous resolutions for 2004, none of which I will share with you, my beloved readers, because I don’t want to be mocked when I fail to fulfill most of them.

I got my first haircut of the new year today from a very crabby woman. She was so crabby, in fact, that the next person waiting for a haircut decided to wait for the next stylist rather than deal with her. (Or maybe my haircut was so bad that he was scared off. I honestly don’t know; I wasn’t that happy with it, but I dislike my hair even when everyone else says it looks fine. Sometimes I dream of hacking it all down to stubble, but the result, I suspect, would frighten small children.)

My brother and I went to Vancouver between Christmas and New Year’s, so maybe I’ll post something about that in a few days. I’m waiting to see if any of my pictures turned out decently. One never knows with a Lomo.

Projectile magnet

April 21st, 2003 § Five comments § permalink

If you are one of the many people who have not thrown anything at me recently, let me take this opportunity to thank you for your kindness.

If, however, you are the sullen young man who tried to drop a water balloon on my head in the Haight a few weekends ago, or the guy who hurled a handful of change at my head in Santa Cruz on Sunday, or the person who threw a lit firecracker in my general direction in Sunnyvale tonight, I have a question: Why me? Am I just having a run of bad luck, or am I doing something that causes total strangers to lash out at me?

Where Am I?

You are currently browsing the Neuroses category at pinchy dot org.