09/20/2004: "Sister Christian"
So yeah. Welcome to my life.
I don't mean to get all introspective (because god knows, there isn't much else to find) but I've just been thinkin' about stuff. About how I'm a total asshole and no one seems to care. Which is neat I guess...
Sometimes I worry though, that I'll grow up and be this bitter old man that hates the world. and still works at the dry cleaner. You know? How much would that suck? A lot, I think. Like I see people doing genuinely nice things, and think to myself "I'd never think to do that ever in a million years because I'm to caught up in my own crap." Does that make me a bad person, or just a distracted one?
I wish I knew. (This is what I get for listening to Ben Folds while trying to blog. Like I said, sorry about the mushy bleh-crap.)
In other news, Bill O'Reilly is a total fuckwit. I clipped this thing of him from the Kansas City Star a while ago, where he's quoted as saying "What they want is strong opinions about the news they already know. They don't need a feature about people making candy canes in Wisconsin." Now, if I were a candy-cane-maker happening to reside in the grand state of Wisconsin, I'd be mildly pissed.
So I did a little internet searching, and came up with [This Place]. They're some giant candy conglomo in Wisconsin. I've written them the following letter:
To Whom It May Concern,
I was browsing my morning paper as I typically do in the morning, and I stumbled upon a small article that I thought may interest you. A semi-accomplished journalist, if you would even call him that, named Bill O'Reilly said something I found to be somewhat offensive.
"What they want is strong opinions about the news they already know. They don't need a feature about people making candy canes in Wisconsin." -"Journalist" Bill O'Reilly
Having a vested interest in the Wisconsin Candy Industry, this made me somewhat angry. The nerve of Mr. O'Reilly, who proclaims to be a proud American, to go and defile the candy confection industry that makes up the very backbone of the American economy. How dare he! I've enclosed the clipping of the article itself, so that you may see it in it's full context.
Perhaps I'm simply being hyper-sensitive about this entire ordeal (It wouldn't be the first time), but I simply thought it my duty as a companion of yours in the Candy Cane Industry to inform you of this attack on the importance of our Wisconsin district.
End quote. I changed my mind about the bitter old man thing. I've decided I want to be an "eccentric" old man. Because crazy old men are just that much cooler.
On a food-related note: I had to clean out the family room a few weeks ago and I found this coupon that came with our copy of "Rudolf the Rednosed Reindeer". Mind you, I love christmas, and I love that movie even more, but the coupon was just asking for it. [I Couldn't Resist]
I got a flat tire the other day. I was kinda pissed. And it didn't even flatten in a cool way, like with a blowout or something. It was some stupid slow leak, which is not exciting at all. The Firestone place had to redo it three times before it stopped leaking. Just my luck, huh?
On a car-related note: Paula and I were going to get Hank a while back, and I was turning onto some major street, totally legitimatly, and some lady comes speeding through, almost hitting me and honking the horn and shit. Whatever, I don't really care. She pulls up alongside us, and Paula does the "I'm sorry Tom's such a crappy driver" wave. The bitch flips us off. And it was an old woman too, to boot. I was astounded. Paula and I both just let our jaws drop. Literally. In shock. And then we went to Chubby's.
In my clever random-ness I thought of something: Signifigant figures, like in science and math and stuff, totally lame. Everyone knows that though. But think of all the numbers that "Don't Count". The "insignifigant figures", if you will. If they all banded together and staged a massive protest of math, they could totally get rights and stuff.
They could have clever bumper stickers too:
"Insignifigant =/= Non Existant"
"How'd you like me to round you off!?"
"Some other crappy math joke plus curse word!"
And so on.
Speaking of stupid stuff that was supposed to be clever. We had a lesson in "Numerology" in Prayer and Sacraments on thursday. It broke down as follows:
1- Unity (single entity)
2- Witnessing (someone to give credit to your bullshit)
3- Trinity (duh)
4- World (four corners of...)
5- Humanity (this made no sense)
6- Satan (comes between 5 and 7's sybolic meanings)
7- Perfection (also arbitrary)
10- Completeness (full set of numbers)
12- Wholeness of people (12 Apostles)
40- Fucking Lot. (40 days, 40 nights, 40 virgins, 39 condoms. What to do?)
* 8, 9, 11, and 13-37 have no special meaning and have since joined the union of Insignifigant Figures Against Irresponsible Rouding (I-FAIR)
Case in point: Mr. Koester should not be allowed access to the internet, because that was totally ripped from some shitty angelfire site run by Fred Phelps or some other comprable idiot.
Homecoming was yesterday. I wasn't particularly psyched, as I've had issues with school dances in the past. The tickets didn't help either though. They had this creepy sketch of two like 4-year-old-kids both sipping out of the same cup, with the apt dance theme above them reading "Amazed".
Yeah, I was "Amazed" they couldn't think of a lamer theme. I was also "Amazed" the creepy kids on the front weren't freaking out because they were probably drinking eachother backwash. "Amazed" was the condition I found myself in upon realizing what idiots the theme-choesers are. Were I any more "Amazed" I'd probably slip right into "CATATONIC".
I mean come on. Yeesh. I kinda needed the ticket to get Lizz and I in, or else I would have kept it and scanned it in and photoshop the crap out of it. I might still be able to get one. I'll check.
The actual dance itself was ok. I totally got into it when they played "What is Love" by Haddyway (Night at the Roxbury theme), and quickly got out of it when they played the theme, "Amazed". I was completely "Amazed" when-
[Voice In My Head: Hey, Tom!
Me: Yes, VIMH?
Voice In My Head: Dude, cut it out with the "Amazed" crap.
Me: Why? What's wrong.
Voice In My Head: It isn't funny you idiot!
Me: No way. That shit is gold.
Voice In My Head: Trust me on this one kid.
Me: The fact that you don't like my jokes is leaving me quite "Amaz-
Voice In My Head: *shoots Tom in the face* I'll take it from here.]
Hank ended up saving the whole damn thing by his masterpiece of a dance to Thriller. There were... no words that can describe the orgasm of the eyes that it was. Kyle Kovitch and some comprable fat white person tried to horn in and steal Hank's thunder. The Hank was willing to succeed the floor, but the crowd was not. We booed kyle and his fat friend and began chanting Hank's name over and over again. Now with Paul Shapger, Hank retook the floor and finished out the number in all his raging glory. Miami Vice Not Matching Blue Suit and all.
It made up for every crappy dance I'd been to EVER. I mean that too.
We round out today's entry with t-shirts.
Those crazy bastards actually did it.
Independant of my knowledge, t-shirts bearing my own name were manufactured and distributed to random people of high calibur. Who were not really random because they ordered the shirts themselves. Regardless, in addition to my own name, the school's initials "BMHS" are in small print on the back of the neck. This therein makes them elligible for qualification as a "spirit shirt". And so yesterday, on a spirit day, there were some 10 people milling around the school in shirts with my name on it.
AND that would be one thing.
I've got crazy friends who do crazy things. I accept and enjoy that.
What was truly terrifying was the number of people who wanted them. Even stranger were the people themselves. People I don't even know, and people who I make fun of because they're idiots want to wear my t-shirts, in additon to the numerous faculty who want their own, and rest of my closer friends who missed out on the first batch.
to which I reply: WHAT THE CRAP
I don't understand what I did. I mean maybe if I'd killed a dragon or something, then I'd deserve shirts, but all I do is sit around and bitch. Anyway, I still like them, and am not above offering you the opportunity to purchase one. If you're interested, leave a comment and we'll add your name to the list of people who want one out of the second batch. (The more people that order, the cheaper they are apparently.)
So yeah. Anytime I ever feel down, I now have two things to say to make me feel better:
People like me to the point that they will wear my
name around on a shirt they paid real money for.
And at least I'm not on fire.
So ends a long overdue entry, but I hope you enjoyed it none the less. Next week: Tom and Hank run away to canada and make a show about elves:
hank344: "Our next guest tonight is five times our height, Tom."
hank344: "That's right Hank. Everyone give a round of applause for Danny Devito!"
hank344: "Mr. Devito, how's the weather up there?"
hank344: ::Applause sign goes on::
hank344: "Thank you Mr. Devito for that wonderful interview. Tune in next week for Rudy Ray Moore, star of films such as Dolemite and Dolemite 2."
Cowboys can dance if they want to.
They can leave their friends behind.
Because cows don't dance
And if they don't dance
They'll be no friends of mine.
[I'm "Amazed" you're still reading this crap...]