What the fuck?

A studio boss whose studio at the time released 3 Winona Ryder movies is sitting on the jury for her shoplifting trial. He claims that he could still be an impartial juror, and the dumbshit prosecutors bought it.

Yeah, a man who understands the plight of other studio heads who have money riding on movies with a star with publicity trouble in them is really going to be impartial. Riiiiiiiight.

You know this wouldn't have happened if she worked at Einstein's or something, and her ex-manager ended up in the jury pool.

Only in college...

...is it acceptable to a) use free beer as an excuse to get up early on a weekend and b) drink before noon simply because the alcohol is free.

One last thing...

...and then I swear, I'm going to study for my Italian midterm.

Fun With The Rock, from Alex Lin, but stolen from Sarah's website.

Must...stop...procrastinating...

Revenge Of The Appetite

I was so stressed out after my looooong weekend, that I basically didn't eat much at all from Sunday night until last night.

For me, this is a clear sign of stress, because anyone who has met me can tell immediately that I really like food. A lot. Probably more than I should. Thus, not eating anything should have been a clear sign I needed to relax.

So Wednesday night, I was sitting at my computer after, well, basically unwinding all night. I went and got coffee with Megan, then I went to a movie and then ended up talking to my friend Jon for an hour. I came home and screwed around for about two hours, instead of actually getting anything accomplished.

Then all of a sudden, at about two a.m., it happened.

gggrrrrrrrrrooooOOWWWL!

My appetite came back, and all four days of not eating right at once. My stomach was practically screaming "FEED ME!"

I pretty much jumped up from the computer to go get food from the kitchen. Then I had a decent sized lunch, but when dinnertime came tonight, it wasn't just the traditional low rumble, but what sounded like cattle stampeding.

I was seriously afraid my stomach was going to get up and go to the kitchen without me. I managed to hold that off by promising it ribs at Merle's, which held it off until I was able to actually go and get said ribs.

However, I fear that all the control of my appetite that I had been gaining for the few weeks before last weekend may be gone, since now I just want to eat everything in sight, including plastics.

Oh well. Now where the hell did I put those cookies?

The One Where Ellen Nicknames Everyone

I think my life is turning into some sort of bizarre episode of Friends.

Why? Nicknames.

I have, over the last few months, taken to doling out nicknames to people that my core group of friends doesn't know so I can just plug in the nickname instead of explaining who the fuck I'm talking about every time I mention the name of someone they don't know.

It was pointed out to me that I probably picked this up from Friends. They nickname all sorts of minor characters: Ugly Naked Guy, The Morning's Here Neighbor...and I hadn't watched the damn show in 3 years up until earlier this year!

Anyway, it's been a convenient shorthand, especially because I hadn't actually gotten anywhere with any of the people I had nicknamed (since they were mostly girls that I found attractive, and a couple of sketchballs I wouldn't have touched with a 50 foot pole).

However, problems seem to be arising with the latest person I have bestowed a nickname upon, Rugby Chick, because contrary to my usual practice of sitting on my ass and lusting after someone and never doing anything about it, I actually asked her out. And she said yes.

And things went well. And we went out for coffee again, and that was cool.

But now the problem arises. When I say to my friends, "Megan and I went out again Wednesday," they give me a blank stare, and occasionally make the "Yuh?" noise popularized by Tim Allen in Home Improvement.

But when I clarify, "Rugby chick...," I suddenly get recognition. Shit. I need to start identifying people by their actual names and stop bestowing people with silly nicknames.

I'm hoping that things continue to go well with her, and if they do, this is going to end up being a much bigger problem than I bargained for.

And I thought I was nuts

This guy makes flash animations of kittens playing popular songs of the day.

The shit you find out about when avoiding your work like the plague that it is...

No.

This is not a parody, this is an official production of the Republican party.

I fear for this country now more than ever.

I hope the Superman people sue the Republican National Committee for several billion dollars.

IM has ruined me

Instant Messenger has become the death of my conversational ability.

I'm so used to having at least a bit of time to come up with witty responses to questions, that I've started to freeze when I have to come up with them on the spot.

I'm also not as good anymore at filling gaping holes in a conversation, mostly because they don't really matter on IM, since you know whoever you're talking to is probably carrying on three simultaneous conversations anyway.

I've never been good at small talk, but I have found myself grasping at straws during awkward pauses in conversation. This happened before I became a serious IM addict, but it's been quite a bit more acute ever since.

I'm sure that writing this weblog hasn't particularly helped either, since I generally tend to go through and edit everything at least once before I post it, even if I'm just giving it a once-over.

The ability to edit myself in my communcations with the outside world has become something I've taken for granted, and the art of simply talking to someone is something that I really need to relearn.

Especially when it's someone cute and I'm having to try my damndest not to trip over my tongue and/or make an ass of myself in the first place.

Alas, this is a problem that can only be solved by two things: 1. Tearing myself away from the computer and 2. Practice. Which means, oh darn, I'm just going to have to keep going out with Megan (aka Rugby Chick) until she either sleeps with me or tells me to fuck off.

As with most things with me, the word "fuck" will be involved somehow.

(ducks flurry of objects thrown at screens across the universe...or Evanston, to be a hell of a lot more accurate).

Pump jockey's perspective

Of all the coverage of the crazed sniper fucking with my hometown and its surrounding metropolitan sprawl, I think I've finally found the most interesting one (through ObscureStore, of course).

This guy works as a "gas station attendant," which, as he readily admits, is a fancy resumé term for a cashier. He's also a student at the University Of Maryland, and wrote an article about his experience in that school's newspaper, and I think his is a really interesting perspective.

Is this whole sniper ridiculousness simply a theater of the absurd? After all, the odds of getting shot by this crazed fuck are about as good/bad as your chances of winning Powerball. But if it is, why does our intrepid gas station attendant freak out when he accidentally breaks a coffee urn?

I'm not sure how I'd be reacting if I were in D.C., because I had almost gotten used to the idea that you could be shot pretty much randomly before I left home. A teacher and a janitor at my elementary/middle school were killed by stray bullets in seperate incidents, and one of my best friends from home had her dad and her stepmom murdered when we were in seventh grade, in a random home invasion.

The idea of random terror was not a terribly novel one to me, with bomb threats constantly being called into that same school during the Gulf War because the kids of the Kuwaiti ambassador went there. I realized at a young age there are a lot of sick fucks out there.

However, it's a lot easier for me to say that I wouldn't be afraid, sitting 900 miles away in Chicago, where I'm simply one of the idiots trying to determine what the mystery substance is on my dipstick.

For all my bragging about how D.C. has made me a hardass, I'd probably be ducking behind my car like it was the Showdown at the O.K. Corral like everyone else.

I do hope they catch this nutjob soon, mostly because it really sucks that he's killing a bunch of innocent people. But I'm also growing somewhat weary of Cheif Moose's cryptic, circular pronouncements.

"We have researched the option you stated and found that it is not possible electronically to comply in the manner you requested. However, we remain open and ready to talk to you about the options you have mentioned," was one of today's choice lines.

I'm sure he wouldn't make bizarro statements like this if he didn't think it was absolutely crucial to catching the sniper, but still, it really only serves to employ more pundits to try and figure out what the fuck he's talking about.

And the punishment that punditry inflicts on the American psyche should be self-evident.

But really, it comes back down to the gas station attendant, watching people in their zigzag pattern walk of fear, when you want to talk about why this psycho needs to be caught. The terror of the ordinary is often the most powerful.

Just ask anyone who was afraid to take a shower after Psycho or go to the beach after Jaws.

In all seriousness

I'd like to be serious for a minute.

Don't laugh, I actually am serious every once in a while. I hereby apologize in advance for any "Afterschool Special"-type sentences contained herein. I also apologize for the somewhat jumbled nature of this post...it's been a long couple of days.

That being said:

If you are feeling depressed, please, do not try to hide this from the people who know you. Pretending everything is fine only stops you from getting help when you need it.

Depression is nothing to be ashamed of. Millions of people fight it every day, a hell of a lot more than you might think.

But the first step to getting better is realizing that you need to get better. It's one hell of a big step to take, but it's one you have to take when you're depressed. It takes a lot of guts to do it, beacuse a lot of people still feel like they're admitting something shameful when they acknowledge they're depressed.

It is never a bad thing to say that you need help. Ever. It doesn't make you any less of a man, or any less independent. It just means that you are looking out for yourself, and the people around you.

If you know someone is depressed, please do not try to keep this from your friends. You don't have to broadcast it to the whole world, but it is a lot better and easier to head off depression before it gets really serious and starts to affect that person's relationships.

Why is this getting posted now? Because I just had to put one of my roommates on a plane to back to California because he refused to acknowledge that he needed help until things got really bad.

I'm really glad he finally acknowledged it, because now I know he's getting the help he needs. But I wish I had known more of the extent of what was going on so I could have helped sooner.

You can always see warning signs when you look back, hindsight being 20/20 and all. But he hid a lot of stuff that was bothering him from almost everyone, and that made it really hard to see how much he was hurting.

So please, if you or anyone else you know is having problems with depression, please, talk to someone about it. They will not think less of you, they will not be angry at you, they will not pity you.

They will help you get better, and that is the most important thing.

And I promise, the amusing posts will be back tomorrow.

Weekend plans foiled

Man caught stealing $183 in condoms.

Thanks again to ObscureStore, my favorite place to waste time on the web.

Speaking of insane Southerners

Also courtesy of Coop: Yahooing Beer.

We need to get this poor boy out of Atlanta.

It's funny because it's true

Cooper on the fine art of communicating with Southerners.

Bowl-a-rama

I went bowling tonight, and it was really great.

And, yes, I have acknowledged several times previously that I'm a big giant nerd.

I also went ice skating, which reminded me why I no longer ice skate (because it hurts my legs like a motherfucker), though it was still fun to almost fucking kill myself like eight times when I ended up spinning in a circle instead of going...anywhere.

Bowling, though, kicked ass.

I used to bowl a lot when I was a kid. I had one babysitter who was a semi-pro bowler, and who rolled 200 games on a consistent basis. She actually taught me useful things, like technique, so for a while I could roll around 125, 150.

However, it's been a while. There are no bowling alleys in Evanston, and various sources attribute this to bowling being illegal here, though I'm not really sure that's actually true. I haven't been bowling since at least four years ago, so I was a bit rusty.

I did, however, manage to win the first game, and roll a decent second game, and Team Single (i went with two couples...or at least quasi-couples...don't ask...and 3 guys) won both games in the team vs. team count, so all was well about that.

It's nice to actually go out and do something different for once, as much as I enjoy sitting around and drinking.

Of course, then I came home to my roommate and a large number of his friends, drunk off their asses and watching Office Space, so I had to join in.

Oh come on, like you wouldn't have.