“Can we DVR it?”
Read, notate, analyze, read, notate, analyze, think, read, notate, blah, blah, blah… “this agreement shall be governed by, and construed in accordance with, the laws of England…” (WTF? @#$$%&$#!) (pop) (head explodes).
Even things that change remain the same.
You can’t change the plot after the book has been published.
In one of those “only in 2009” moments, Juan taught his daughters to do the Time Warp.
It’s funny how $20 found tucked in last year’s jacket or a $5 bill found in the gutter of the street have so much more value than the same amounts sitting in one’s bank account.
eBay is like sex: The foreplay is interminable (but necessary), and then it’s the last eight seconds that count.
Just three hours into his first ride, Rick gained new appreciation for the phrase he’d previously used rather too blithely, “that really chafes my ass.”
There’s a good reason the cook always pours his own cup of cowboy coffee right away instead of politely serving others first.
Hey wordlovers, if “anthropomorphism” is attributing human characteristics and emotions to animals, objects, and so forth, then what is it called when I attribute my camera’s ability to take pictures to the little guy inside with an easel, my car’s ability to go fast to the hamsters running on their exercise wheel under the hood, etc.?
Looking back on things I wrote, I sometimes can’t believe these thoughts were actually mine.
My anthropomorphic headache keeps calling and showing up at all hours of the day and night, claiming how much it loves me and can’t live without me, but our relationship has always been dysfunctional and I’m having a hard time convincing it that not only do I not share that love, but I’m not sure I ever even liked it in the first place.
Yesterday’s question was for word lovers, today’s is for math lovers: If Juan has 154,945 songs on his iTunes, what are the odds that on random play The Pointers Sisters “Neutron Dance” will play on February 2, 2009 and play again on February 3, 2009?
Fender’s origami cranes were indistinguishable from his origami crawfish, but no one was confused by the origami boulders.
“I have some love letters that I’ve always said I wanted to be buried with,” Carlson says. “But they’ve all faded. I had no idea they wouldn’t last that long, and that I would.”
Any reading that uses the words “datasets” and “framework of dimensional indicators” on a regular basis is officially and irrevocably “boring,” I’m afraid.
As inspired by: actually pretty much plagiarized, but not quite guest-scrine: Terry Prachett
And just like that Juan achieved that state attained after a lifetime of meditation or 30 seconds with an illegal substance.
If I’m going to be this much of a roiling, seething ball of nerve, I should at least be able to produce electricity.
As inspired by: a friend telling of all the drama of finding high school friends via her new Facebook account
So basically Facebook is all the drama of HS all over again, without the good drugs, free time, hormones and cute bodies?
Harold took one look in the mirror and knew that one would have to go—either the chest hair or the bikini.
The squirrels around here know a lot more than you think.
“Poor bastard,” said the lieutenant, looking ruefully at the bullet-riddled body of the undercover agent working deep cover in the turf wars among the Madagascans, Mexicans and Tahitians, “…if only he had made it to the extraction point on time.”
I wish the stimulus package would create 10,000 new jobs for people willing to take turns holding their hands over Lou Dobbs’ mouth to keep him quiet.
On the one hand, I’m not all that keen to live in a world without Lux Interior, but on the other hand I’m kind of curious to see if he can rise from the dead and sing at his own funeral.
In the darkened, dusty little office, Ted had finally uncovered proof not only of the existence of centaurs, but also the origins of their creation, but it was too late when he finally heard the footsteps of the pipette-wielding grey-haired assassin.
“I’m not sure I’m going to play in the inter-department softball tournament this year,” said Coffee Cops’ best player, Sgt. Dark Roast, “Last year Spice Cops’ new pitcher, Officer Vanilla, was intentionally throwing nasty bean-balls.”
I think it may explain a lot that the only two songs I remember my dad singing to me were, “Can’t Get No (Satisfaction)” and “My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink and I Don’t Love Jesus.”
Later, my stepfather had a wider repertoire, but I particularly remember John Prine’s “Flashback Blues” with its classic line, “Spent most of my youth out hobo cruisin’ and all I’ve got for proof, is rocks in my pockets and dirt in my shoes,” which, now that I think of it I’d like to nominate for official Scrine theme song.
The thing I love most about today is the soft humming of the sun as she lulls us all to contented sleep with a Brazilian lullaby.
Solution: beer.
Apparently the chatbox has expired, but I checked very closely and it doesn’t smell funny at all.
My first exposure to John Prine was this song, which made me cry when I was six, still makes me cry now, and makes tougher people than me cry every day.
“You are a needy little bitch.”
I was going to make some pithy announcement like “determinative facts can bite me,” but looking at my issue statement in the memo I’m writing for Monday morning, I’m pretty sure that they already have.
We’re having baked potatoes for lunch. ;)
Homework is to Saturday like Hitler is to blank.
Henry felt misled by the survey he’d read that’d convinced him to purchase a new iPod because while 9 out of 10 monkeys probably were happier listening to music when performing basic tasks like testing spacecraft and washing dishes, the survey had failed to say anything about the joy they found in throwing feces at people, an activity, Henry realized too late, he could do almost any time for free.
There is a very well worded, smart and racy scrine out there with that title, but I’m afraid that all I can think about right now is this cat.
Schrodinger’s cat explained that catnip was all the proof one needed that a benevolent God existed, but Einstein felt that if God truly existed it would be hard to reconcile his benevolence with RuPaul’s Drag Race and if, upon death, Einstein found himself confronted by his maker as to why he didn’t believe the intrepid physicist would feel obligated to echo the words of the late Bertrand Russell – not enough evidence Lord, not enough evidence.
If congress would only give our economy some of the steroids A-Rod has been taking everything would get back to normal – except our nuts would be a little smaller.
Oh, guys…Blossom Dearie is gone.
The gusty wind whined its way around the door frames and rattled the roof until they all started to go stark raving mad.
Sometimes, the memory of a good friend is nothing more than that, mixed neatly with a small measure of hope.
“Look, just because there are five of us, and just because we’re female and have a band, does not give you the right to call us ‘The Five-Spice Girls,’ asshole—we’re ‘The Red Hot Chilli Peppers,’ and we’re gonna set the department picnic *on fire* this year.”
“I am about as useful in this room as a houseplant,” announced Bronwyn, only to be reminded that houseplants release oxygen into the atmosphere, rather than merely sucking it up.
As inspired by: 'mouse's The Band
“So, ma’am,” said the officious PLA detective “you say this fiend just absconded with your license for no apparent reason?”
Ever since The Hard Drive Burp of January 2009, I have found it hard to swallow around the lump of sadness at Keith’s brief mention that the Wordshadows Archives were among the losses, but today it occurred to me that many of those words have been retained by the Web which never forgets—or at least doesn’t forget everything. (Archives begin around 8/29/2004)
One of the strangest things I’ve learned from my wife is how to eat a pear by biting off the stem and then eating it down from the top instead of eating it around the core apple-like as I learned when I was a child.
Tomorrow is Charles Darwin’s birthday and you are all invited to a little soiree that I am throwing and, yes Mouse, there will be cake and Dim Sum
Every time she wrote “Sepulveda” in her return address she imagined that it was probably a dirty word in Spanish.
She barely believes herself as she writes the letter. Her fingers are stained with ink and her heart is stained with regret. She bites her lips, holds back tears, and signs the letter with a postscript that reads ‘Please, remember to forget me.’
Insignificant thoughts of a significant nature crossed his mind as he donned his taj.
When Juan was young he dreamed adulthood would provide freedom.
She felt like one of those weird eggs without shells she would occasionally find in the henhouse, with nothing but a thin membrane separating her angry mind from the outside world.
Read, notate, analyze, read, notate, analyze, think, read, notate, blah, blah, blah… “this agreement shall be governed by, and construed in accordance with, the laws of England…” (WTF? @#$$%&$#!) (pop) (head explodes).
Nothing squawks indignant like an unfed bird.
Alone and without Internet, Henry sat in the dark with his keyboard, quietly making modem sounds, hoping no one would walk in and catch him.
Muriel had always found it impossible to do homework she’d brought from the office; in her 40s she decided to promote this as a clever time-management strategy in hopes she’d feel better about it one day.
Whenever Arnold the pest control guy crawled under a house to inspect for termites, he marked his territory - nor was he the only one, he surmised by the smells he encountered.
Only after many months did anyone notice “doug” had not come around in a while, which was just the way “doug” liked to be remembered.
The chief pathologist walked about the room, nodding approvingly as the junior forensics examiners carefully folded whipped cream into various crushed fruit mixes, when suddenly she shrieked, raced across the room, grabbed the wrist of the new doctor who held a dime-sized cluster of red filaments over a bowl of pureed apricots, and declared in a low, ominous voice: “Because you’re new here, I will say this once, and only once: I do NOT saffron fools gladly.”
Tammy hoped that if she ever ended up in a state that involved walking around town speaking random phrases out loud, she hoped she would at least have enough sense left to wear earphones (plugged in or no).
Tonight at midnight I shall be blind folded and inducted into the Loyal Order of Haiku, but only if I can commemorate the moment with the perfect haiku otherwise I will have to fall on my sword.
I know that a “fee tail” is a form of present estate in real property, and not a kind of shortbread, but now I can’t stop thinking about shortbread.
…waited at every corner, while Boredom stood at every bus-stop.
Eggs are funny and pun-worthy as they are, of course, the beginnings of the notoriously amusing Chicken.
Polly absolutely loved it when fairy tales turned to nightmares.
I hope you choke on a truffle.
At his worst he was a creep, and at his best, boring.
The biscuits of the night loomed guiltily in her mind.
She sighed as she looked at the pile of laundry that was looming over her and calculated how long she could keep wearing these jeans without changing them.
I love taking some chocolate covered strawberries and a two pound Hershey kiss to my girlfriend’s house and having her mom want to talk to her for twenty plus minutes about PDA while I sit in the living room trying not to listen to their conversation.
It’s taken me years to admit that “Star Trek Voyager” is something that consistently makes me feel comfortable and contented.
It is only after four in the morning that a night truly begins to settle down and call it a day.
Now Boston, why don’t you seattle on down, and tell Austin that you’re sorry.
…forgetting you’re here, but finally returning.
Monday mornings are always a great time to begin perfecting your sardonicism for the week ahead.
Forensic Scatologist is about the strangest internet degree I have seen thus far as I continue wondering what exactly it is I want to “doo” with my life.
When his name appeared in other people’s confessions, Henry felt just like the baby Jesus, but without the beard.
My sister called again, with another half-remembered tidbit from my past, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her again that I didn’t have any idea what she was talking about.
She brought hummus for starters and cupcakes for afters, and decided to stay for a while.
“It’s a good thing I’m a lawyer and not a doctor,” mused Juan, whose hands sported six Bandaids after a weekend wrestling with his home plumbing project.
“I really don’t even want to speculate what that stuff is underneath my fingernails,” continued Juan.
Alone and scared, McCormack sometimes worried that when he eventually went mad with loneliness, he’d begin teasing himself about being the worst xylophone player on the island.
Sarah Rae Walker stood alone in her blue Sunday dress at the counter where mom always used to stand (where she stood when she heard the news about daddy) cutting wholes into halves only to take up her blunt Oneida knife to halve them again – making these beautiful crafted ham and cheese sandwiches into neat little isosceles triangles that fed our hungry mouths, and the light that shone through the kitchen window behind her beautiful head of brown hair made her look like a god making things easier to hold, making every bit of bread taste like her slender fingers.
Ted Nugent’s signature anthem was originally titled “Ass Scratch Fever” because of an unfortunate case of anal itching that he experienced while composing, however, his label suggested the double entendre “Cat Scratch Fever, believing the it would sell more records and, thus, history was made.
Although he was a persuasive man, it had taken McCormack a full three days to convince himself to tear apart the boat and use the stave’s to construct the xylophone.
The demands of my current engagement with heaving piles of biomedical education and the attendant handling of various cellular whatnot are currently stripping away both time and energy that might better be devoted to writing drivel concerning international travel and/or dog poop and, frankly, it’s starting to really get me down.
The novelty of living alone wore off within the first week, and she found herself answering the solicitation calls just for someone to talk to.
Rufus thinks that the pursuit of all things scientific is a complete waste of time, but my friend Schuster reminded him that the ultimate goal of science—a penicillin-based love potion—was so close to being discovered that he shouldn’t be so quick to judge.
There was no question that Fender would skip the local Twitter meetup; he liked his Twitter follows exactly as they seemed: imaginary.
“Think of the boxcar as a woman’s love,” The Hopeful Hobo said during one of his impromptu campfire seminars; “There will be times she welcomes you with open arms, taking you to places unimaginable, times when she locks you out cold, and other times, if you’ve smooth talked your way into some off-limits boxcar, when the doors will fly open and some man comes in cussin’ and screamin’ and will knock the livin’ shit out of you if you don’t skedaddle.”
god never gives you more than you can bear until he does and then you die.
The more he called, frantic, in the middle of the night, the harder her heart became.
At first Juan worried that he could remember every detail of any given day 35 years ago but couldn’t remember yesterday, but then he got distracted by the pretty memories and forgot that he was worried.
Jackalopes are notoriously hard to track.
is working in an office full of women and misplacing your pms calendar
The fragrance of her baby’s head sent an unadulterated shaft of love through her; it was followed almost immediately by pure fright, and after that a fierce, armor-plated jealousy, which was to linger for days in the form of evil glares at the nurses.
If they didn’t think of something soon, the owners of the Elk Snot Deli would have to close up shop.
After years of being told she was stupid, Sally ran away to live on a Greek island, hoping desperately that no one would find out she was a cretin.
McCormack believed firmly in the power of xylophones, and knew in his heart that a properly composed symphony, played to perfection, would most certainly attract a rescue boat, or at the very least, earn him some much needed favor with the island’s pesky monkey population.