New day

Our hero woke this morning with an odd sensation. The dragon was gone. He would not have to fight it today. In fact, he would no longer fight this particular dragon. He would move on to other lands and other vanquishable creatures.

This morn, he instead fought with an otherworldly machine forcing ones legs into an oval, elliptical pattern. Halfway through he realized he was becoming part of the machine, a cyborg. He was not fighting with the machine. He was fighting with himself. Could he really last 20 minutes per day three times per week?

Like a stuck pig


I drive to work in the smog, windows down. There is an accident on the freeway. I listen to “Let Down” and “Karma Police.” I feel stuck. I feel connections disappearing. I never go out. I think about just taking the exit to Las Vegas and driving for a while.

I read an article about host bars in South Korea in which women pay men for companionship (and perhaps more).

I sit at lunch with a coworker in the break room. I eat macaroni salad with Ritz crackers.

I pore over OK Computer liner notes trying to pull out all the meaning:

  • I live in a town where you can’t smell a thing.
  • We hope your rules and wisdom choke you.
  • A heart that’s full up like a landfill.

I am “fitter, happier, more productive…A pig, in a cage, on antibiotics.”


Query as folk

11 October 2011

Blah. Ick!

Hello friends and loves and prepubescent plankton.

As I alluded to at some point (I think), I am spending most of my time at work or traveling for work these days, leaving a small amount of time for other pursuits including writing this here blog.

Consider this a warning that all content up until November 8 will most likely be drivel (more drivelous than usual) and incoherent (more incoherentous than usual).

Let’s play a game:

I’ll give you sets of words and you make a question with those words and leave them in the comments section of this post. I’ll give you an example to get you started:

Example set: hummingbird capture what tapestry jive cellophane Morrissey the avocado

Answer: What jive cellophane tapestry capture the Morrissey avocado hummingbird?

Here we go!

Set 1: Space human tires flail a an if can oxygen Wellington

Set 2: Decaffeinated orange run type kill pumpkin mansion are the flights

Good luck.

Where am I?

6 October 2011

Hello loves.

I’m sure you noticed my absence.

Didn’t you? Didn’t you?

I have been working a heaping helping of hours at work and have had little time for hilarity.

Here are some things to consider:

  • Please listen to Army Navy’s version of “Right Back Where We Started From”
  • Tomorrow night, GF and I will go to the BlackCat in DC to watch The Lemonheads perform It’s A Shame About Ray in its entirety.
  • Tonight I rushed home from work to watch Grey’s Anatomy. I do not understand myself.
  • I have not been able to let you know the story of the latest Cone Alone, but they will return soon. They must!
Here is a picture in the meantime.

Three insignificant incidents

8 August 2011

Reasons I do not want children: #1 My love of junk food.

I watch a lot of television. I saw something on television where a parent was trying to feed healthy food to a child. I would be such a poor parent for a child. I enjoy junk food. I would probably order takeaway for my child every night and it would grow up eating Kung Pao chicken, pad Thai and egg rolls.

Today, I experienced three insignificant incidents.

A. I arrived in the Metro station barely after 8 AM. I did the quick-jog-that-is-trying-not-to-look-like-a-quick-jog down the final stairs so I could catch the train into work. I often rush, and see others rushing, into work. I never see anyone rushing to get home or to the bar or to a pizza place. I know it probably exists. But seeing it would disprove my point about a great human truth.

As usual, all the humans crowded in the doorway rather than moving to the center of the train car (as the humanized robot voice instructs us to do). I refused to be stranded on the platform because some overdressed politicos are not afraid of authoritarian androids.

I shove in the car, much to the grunting chagrin of the other passengers. Then, for three stations (with much pausing in between because of a “backup” at the next station) my bum was pressed against the bum of the passenger directly behind me. His was a gigantic bum. A bum that seemed to conquer the entire world in its enormity. Hindsight is 20/20, but this bum could have hit a moving target from two states away. So we stood there, bum against bum, shifting uncomfortably. At first, I wasn’t even aware of the pressing. But then, at the second stop, I was hyperaware. Nothing else existed but our butts. Like constantly hi-fiving sports aficionados at a game that is “going our way.” Then, the big-butted stranger exited the train. And my butt was free to wiggle on its own.

B. After a day of work, to which I rushed, I walked back to the Metro while eating an apple. I like eating apples while walking. I actually like eating anything while walking. Well, not anything. But I do like eating foods like bread, hotdogs, hotdogs in buns, apples, popcorn, pears, peaches and peanut butter & Nutella sandwiches while walking. (While I am walking, not the food.) Eating while walking is comforting. “Hey world, I’m comfortable enough to eat while I’m walking. I’m not even paying attention to you or to what you think of me. It’s just me, my mouth and this apple. You can’t hurt me world.”

I throw my core in the trashcan (rubbish bin for our UK readers) and continue on to the Metro (Tube). I am riding and hearing a child scream. I stand next to a seat where a young boy child (age 3?) and a young girl child (age 5?) sit, squirming like young children do. Suddenly (as everything is) the boy child topples forward headfirst between the seats. With reflexes that would make a snake jealous, the male parent/guardian figure (seated in the seat behind the seated children) reaches forward and grabs the boy child by the overalls before the boy child’s head hits the hard carpeted ground. I tried not to laugh at the child’s tears, but the entire scene was too humorous. I looked around at my fellow passengers to see if I could make eye contact and share the joke but no one looked at me. I settled for a self-satisfied smirk.

C. I exited the Metro, on the way home now, and found myself, as usual, on the sidewalk (after walking a bit). I looked up and saw a shirtless, sweaty man doing pushups on the sidewalk. He was red like Santa Claus’s suit.