Noteworthy... ...notes...

Maybe spring is coming early this year! Yes, because of global warming (here in Denver it has been Summer all Winter. You don't hear me sarcastically complaining though. I like the beach, and if the apocalypse is the result of naturally occurring climate change (and is, therefore, beyond my control) then that's a load of my shoulders), but also, by rough groundhoggian logic, because something good happened to me that is marginally related to spring:

Twas the night before daylight wastings time and all through the bed,
a sleepy young lad had let it slip through his head
that the clocks must be set an hour forward, and thus,
he would be late for work after missing the bus!

But then all of a sudden, beyond meter and rhyme,
I was feeling extra groggy that morning and in an unwise and only partially conscious attempt to set my alarm forward an hour, I actually changed the clock instead. My failed attempt to sleep in caused me to be on time for work. I WAS MYSTIFIED. It was the first time in my life that anything extraordinary and related to my alarm clock hadn't contributed to my hatred of said doom clock. Perhaps it was a sign of a new era, wherein clocks and right hemispheres will reach across the aisle and finally say to each other, "It's time to put aside our petty differences, find our common ground (like the temporal lobe?), and move forward together... as a whole:" as an alarm clock lodged in a brain.

Right now, that's what you are to me, GOP (if I may change the subject). You are a stupid effing alarm clock lodged in the brain of America, and not as a metaphor for driving home responsibility but as a symbol of brain damage. Why can't you just pay a tiny bit more tax to let me effing sleep for an extra hour?! Or, more seriously, at least your indoctrination campaign is rendered more tolerable by your absolute impotence, the result of futile, shameless clawing at the world to maintain the status quo and the accompanying loss of worldly support. Your role in the 111th Congress is clear: you are assholes and you suck. ...But not you, reader. You're cool.

Awwwww! Did we just antagonize someone together? I hope you feel as close to me as I do to you, because I am, in fact, the same distance from you as you are from me. But, shhh! Don't let the literal interpretation take this moment away from us.

So I got a new used guitar. I replaced the Peavy Predator I've been playing on since 7th grade... with a Guild M-75. Meanwhile, I no longer suck at guitar. Coincidence? I think not. Now see here: the correlation between correlation and causality seems to suggest a causal relationship between correlation and causality, right? Duh, I know. Thus, the axiom: you don't suck, your guitar sucks. But really. You know how people that suck lay blame on the things around them? Maybe they do suck because of the things around them. Now that I have a better guitar, I don't suck, and I am no longer one of those sucky musicians who complains about how his guitar sucks. Maybe we should stop being like, your life doesn't suck you suck, and help the poor people who actually are mired in suckiness. If you don't, then you suck: if there is suckiness, your failure to eradicate suckiness translates into your own suckiness. If you don't want to suck, then help someone who sucks not suck, now. It's your only chance. I, for one, don't really care either way...

{Sigh}, in resignation to my new goal of at least sometimes attempting to write things that are true, I should clarify: I really do think suckiness sucks. I just thought that saying "I don't care" after that whole big schpiel would be a funny thing to do. HOWEVER, I realize that I am a role model for most of you (humans) and I don't want you to confuse the reality of your idol's beliefs with his satirical side. He's a jokster. Speaking of which, here are some other funny things that I recently thought of or came across:

My genre of music:
I play bleus. It's an acquired taste.

My imaginary funk band:
Kung Fusion

Spoiler for the critically ignored novella, Sandwich:
The term "Flingchiste" is actually a mispronunciation of "Felicia Stick", the name of Philliam Penn's perennially slim mistress. Designing the sandwich to fatten her up, Philliam penned his creation for his skin and bones lover. In time, however, people would come to call the sandwich after him instead; hence, the common misidentification, Philly Cheesteak. By the end of their adventure to recover this information, having unraveled the vast Quaker conspiracy to obscure the origins of the sandwich, John and Jan had fallen in love. Today, they are considered the world's most prominent researchers in the field of sandwich origination, and are currently studying the sandwich development potential of higher primates worldwide (while staying one step ahead of the mercenary Jesuit assassins).

Some things I said:
"Oh, I'm sorry, you tall folks all look the same to me."
"The world is your oyster. I hope you like oyster."

Something my mom said:
"But if I die, then how will I pay the mortgage?"

Oh yeah, also, I finally posted some recordings on myspace. It's just some crummy stuff, you know, mumble, kinda sucks, ...bullocks..., you can listen though if you want. Hell, if you read this you've already been screened for any lack of tolerance. Oh, also, I mixed these songs in headphones, so listening to them through speakers will only cause you unnecessary pain. Anyway, here is a link. See if you can find some redeemable aspect.

That's all for the day, and not a moment too soon. I tend to regret my sleep deprived interactions with the World Wide Web!. I have a feeling this post is bound for the hill outside rome.