Shar, of Shar Blarg! and I occasionally get into Pun-off's, and they're the best. This is one from some who knows when o'clock is Hulk themed and pretty great. I'm the blue text.
SharBlarg:
we should over-dup a documentary about penguins
it'd be a smash hit
a HULK SMASH hit
Steinblogger:
it would make a lot of GREEN I bet
SharBlarg:
it would be a MARVEL
Steinblogger:
It'd probably BREAK lots of records
SharBlarg:
even my grandpa and GAMMA would enjoy it
Steinblogger:
yeah it can be even enjoyed by those of the WORLD WAR generation
SharBlarg:
we would have to ERICt a BANA proclaiming its awesome
Steinblogger:
If everyone CONNOLLY understand that the hulk is just very angry!
SharBlarg:
i'm [purple] SHORTS just a matter of time
Steinblogger:
I wonder if his shorts give him ARRAAAAAAAAASSSSHHH?
SharBlarg:
hahahaha
damn
you win
Steinblogger:
WOOOT
i may have post that
SharBlarg:
pretty frickin awesome
everyone would be jealous
they'd turn GREEN with envy!!!
ahem
Steinblogger:
i'm sure some would ROAR with delight
SharBlarg:
it would be INCREDIBLE
hulk
he he he
incredible hulk
mike says that he's sorry he forgot to give you the decembies thing
he hopes you forgive him. if not, tho, it's your [betty] ROSS
Steinblogger:
hahahahahhah
ITS A TIE
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Day 2: What...Is This Place?
Kirk and I woke up around four, mostly by accident. We stopped by a 24 hour 7-11 type place for food. The British really like a sandwich. There's about 40 different kinds all premade and packaged, cheap and mildly filling. Now, if you know anything about me, you know how happy I was made by this. I also made another interesting discovery: Cordial is not the brit way to say "juice," but is instead the bri way of saying "very thick syrup juice concentrate". I discovered this after taking a large swig of my Rasberry Cordial. It didn't mix with the falafel sandwich very well. Kirk passed out as soon as we got on the bus, so I busied myself with more Beatles and watched London go by. Our tour guide, MJ, introduced herself and talked for a bit while I stared at the countryside. I still don't understand how a tiny little island like that can have so many people and still have miles of rolling fields. We made it to the cliffs of Dover, which we would take the ferry over to France. I immediately put on The Decemberists "We Both Go Down Together" and gazed at the Cliffs of Dover, which are indeed so high you can't see over. After we arrived at the hotel outside Amsterdam, unpacked, and ate, then got back on the bus for a 20 minute ride into the city. Most of the group went on a canal cruise while Kirk and I wandered the streets. It is a beautiful city, clean and ornate, 17th century architecture and tall narrow buildings make it feel like San Franciso's cool older cousin. Kirk headed home, still jetlagged, while Bharvin, a indian South African student and I proceeded to indulge in a coffeeshop called The Grasshopper, which would have been fun had I known how to better roll a joint. Regardless, the White Widow, which is a Holland indoor I believe, was so strong that one joint later Bharvin and I were fast friends, marveling at just how otherworldly the Redlight district can be. Especially when you're really, really stoned. Bharvin, not I, wanted to peruse the women of the night, and although I would have been just as happy having another joint at another shop, I'm glad we did. The redlight district and coffee shops are a smoker's paradise--food from every corner of the globe, sex shops, head shops, graffiti, and beautiful women who will have sex with you (for fifty euros). Also, if we hadn't, it's likely we would have had no idea how to take the metro station to the free shuttle to the hotel, because we followed some other people from the tour (who had just got out of a live sex show) back to the hotel, where we fell fitfully asleep for about 4 hours before we had to wake up for breakfast.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
How To Be Invisible
It is easier than you think. Live alone. Shun tv, hot water, your stove. Graduate. Become lost, angry at and tired with the world. Keep irregular sleep patterns. Watch the circles under your eyes darken. Drink wine out of the bottle. Nap constantly. Lose your wallet several times in quick succession, creating a paper trail layers thick.
This part is important: There will be moments, no matter how hard you try to avoid them, of human connection. A lady who smiles genuinely at you, an old man who says hello on the street, children. You must be vigilant, and resist the need to reciprocate. They’ll be hurt, but the alternative is far worse. The more you reject these moments the more you sever the things which truly make you who you are.
Pay in cash. Get a cellphone. Never answer it, and let the voicemail box get full. Drop and break it. Have your email account frozen for violating homeland security codes. Let the electricity go off in your apartment. Eat at the Cambodian deli and get sick. Avoid eye contact. If you must converse with others, stick to scripted responses. The attached scripts are for reference. Meditate on becoming an optical illusion. Try to position yourself in people’s peripheral vision.
You may also feel the need to understand what you are doing. Wrong.
Doing so means you think about yourself as existing, and this is a clear violation of the whole process. While you still labor under the illusion of your own tangibility, you will never achieve it. Ignore your neighbors. Stop dreaming. Curl up into a ball, slowly. Let yourself slowly rot from the inside. Take all mirrors out of your apartment; try to forget what you look like. If your hand becomes translucent, if your feet are suddenly see-through, it is working.
Keep friends at a distance, become horribly undependable. Fall in love, end it abruptly. Get a puppy, give her up for adoption. You must become numb to all emotions, to forget they are even there. If you cannot see them they cannot see you. Alienate your parents, old friends. Project such a terrible energy that strangers become visibly uncomfortable near you. Soon, all phone calls will cease. This is good.
You are becoming invisible because you are a poison, radioactive and deadly. It is not your fault, but you secrete it from your pores. Medical science can’t detect this creeping blackness that seeps from you, but nevertheless, it is lethal in high doses. The courteous thing to do is to quarantine yourself as you begin to fade away, as you cannibalize your own lymph nodes, cells, and organs. If you wish to save those you love, you must never ever let them see what you are now.
This part is important: There will be moments, no matter how hard you try to avoid them, of human connection. A lady who smiles genuinely at you, an old man who says hello on the street, children. You must be vigilant, and resist the need to reciprocate. They’ll be hurt, but the alternative is far worse. The more you reject these moments the more you sever the things which truly make you who you are.
Pay in cash. Get a cellphone. Never answer it, and let the voicemail box get full. Drop and break it. Have your email account frozen for violating homeland security codes. Let the electricity go off in your apartment. Eat at the Cambodian deli and get sick. Avoid eye contact. If you must converse with others, stick to scripted responses. The attached scripts are for reference. Meditate on becoming an optical illusion. Try to position yourself in people’s peripheral vision.
You may also feel the need to understand what you are doing. Wrong.
Doing so means you think about yourself as existing, and this is a clear violation of the whole process. While you still labor under the illusion of your own tangibility, you will never achieve it. Ignore your neighbors. Stop dreaming. Curl up into a ball, slowly. Let yourself slowly rot from the inside. Take all mirrors out of your apartment; try to forget what you look like. If your hand becomes translucent, if your feet are suddenly see-through, it is working.
Keep friends at a distance, become horribly undependable. Fall in love, end it abruptly. Get a puppy, give her up for adoption. You must become numb to all emotions, to forget they are even there. If you cannot see them they cannot see you. Alienate your parents, old friends. Project such a terrible energy that strangers become visibly uncomfortable near you. Soon, all phone calls will cease. This is good.
You are becoming invisible because you are a poison, radioactive and deadly. It is not your fault, but you secrete it from your pores. Medical science can’t detect this creeping blackness that seeps from you, but nevertheless, it is lethal in high doses. The courteous thing to do is to quarantine yourself as you begin to fade away, as you cannibalize your own lymph nodes, cells, and organs. If you wish to save those you love, you must never ever let them see what you are now.
Day 1: Please Mind The Gap
I slept for about 90 percent of the plane ride to London, where we'd leave from. We pondered our way out of Heathrow, and were on the right metro to our hotel. I decided that listening to The Beatles was the only appropriate thing to do, so Lennon was reminding me that nothing is real while row after row of brick buildings sped by us. There wasn't a stucco building in sight, a very strange thing indeed for two LA kids. British signs are very wordy, "Way Out" instead of Exit, "Please Mind the Gap" in white and blue all over the inside of the car and on the loudspeaker. I liked them, and the fact that there were signs, big signs(!), for books! People were readining in their spare time! It warmed my heart, it did. My blood went cold when we got off and saw the plaque commemorating the victims of the July bomb attacks in 2005. In retrospect, it might not have been my blood, but it was definetly my toes. I was dressed in sandals, jeans, and a tee shirt--which might have been fine had it not been raining the coldest rain I've ever been rained on by.The streets make spiderwebs and rhombuses from the air, but we managed to get to the hotel, to our tiny room with the most broken down mattress i've ever slept on. Thankfully, I was too tired to give a shit. We were to be up and at the Contiki departure site at 6 in the morning, then it was several hours on a bus and a ferry to France. Kirk conked out fully clothed, jet lagged as all hell, but I, having survived a collegiate sleep schedule, went to bed a few episodes of Supernanny later.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Europe! Exactly Two weeks late!
I wanted to blog while I bus-toured around Europe, but for lots of reasons, I couldn't. But I did write it down! I'm going to post a blog for each day of the trip, roughly two weeks late but in chronological order. Should be fun, especially when I get pictures. I think i'll start tomorrow...i've been up for 36 hours and i'm starting to crash. Oh jet lag, you're the best!
This is a has a lot of things you want to know in it. For Reals.
Here are some things you wanted to know, and their answers:
She doesn't.
He thinks you should, but won't say.
Don't even think about it.
That's your responsibility, not his.
Sorry if you don't like it, but that's how it is! Anyways....
Hi there! I'm back from Europe. It was a good trip, top to bottom. Kirk and I took something like 800 pictures, drank and fought and laughed a lot. But that's for later. During this trip (which was by bus) I had lots of time to think, which was nice, but not to write, which wasn't so great. But: I have decided what I want to do with this blog (with other stuff too, just that it's not relevant here). I haven't posted much because I feel like something has to be of a certain level of quality for it to be public, which this blog is. However, that's a high standard. So instead, I'm just going to post things as I write them and then edit them the next day or so. I'm putting this in the about section because there is now a bit of a flood of things to be posted and you might not have believed the title of this blog.
Here is the scoop:
I need a place vent more publicly, and this blog is it. I think you'll like it, but still, I feel that I should warn you. Also, leave comments on people's posts. Not just mine, but everyone's! They are are nice to read.
Thanks!
She doesn't.
He thinks you should, but won't say.
Don't even think about it.
That's your responsibility, not his.
Sorry if you don't like it, but that's how it is! Anyways....
Hi there! I'm back from Europe. It was a good trip, top to bottom. Kirk and I took something like 800 pictures, drank and fought and laughed a lot. But that's for later. During this trip (which was by bus) I had lots of time to think, which was nice, but not to write, which wasn't so great. But: I have decided what I want to do with this blog (with other stuff too, just that it's not relevant here). I haven't posted much because I feel like something has to be of a certain level of quality for it to be public, which this blog is. However, that's a high standard. So instead, I'm just going to post things as I write them and then edit them the next day or so. I'm putting this in the about section because there is now a bit of a flood of things to be posted and you might not have believed the title of this blog.
Here is the scoop:
I need a place vent more publicly, and this blog is it. I think you'll like it, but still, I feel that I should warn you. Also, leave comments on people's posts. Not just mine, but everyone's! They are are nice to read.
Thanks!
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