Chocolate · Honey · Mustard

Every once in a while I freak out about the sheer number of electrical devices in my apartment. I was going to walk around the casa and count so I could give you a shocking exact number of electrical devices that it takes to maintain my specific level of comfort, but the tinfoil codpiece I fashioned to protect my gonads from "interference" gets all chafy when I walk around. The battery charger on my desk just informed me that it's "Looking for Sarah Conner". Battery chargers! I have so many battery chargers. I like to take the power out for a walk sometimes, y'know. Everything nowadays has a little led light on it to make sure you can tell at a glance that it's all powered up and ready to do some stuff. The dvd player has a little light to let me know that it's turned off. Fucking showoff. From what I can tell the only point of this is to help thieves find it in the dark. Really stupid thieves who would never think to look underneath the television.

Why cant I walk into a music store, give them a few bucks, plug in my ipod and download an album? I've been tempted to take my powerbook into any of the many stores that buy used cd's, buy a few cd's, rip them while standing there at the counter, and then sell them back right there on the spot. They'd still make a few bucks, and I'd save a trip. Funny thing is, as much sense as that makes, mostly I'd just end up looking like an asshole. I pretty much feel like an asshole anyway, whenever I pull the TiPBG4 out in public. I should add that I've only done that twice in the year and a half that I've had the thing. The only reason I bought it is because it has a really cool white led that pulses seductively when the screen is closed. The dvd player could learn a thing or two. I'm just saying.

I want to write a romantic comedy, just so I can include a scene near the end where the guy goes to the girl's house in the middle of the night, and confesses his love to her on the front stoop in the pouring rain as her sassily overweight roommate looks on encouragingly from an upstairs window. But intstead of being romantically swept off her feet by his admission that she makes him want to be a better man and kissing him passionately, she slams the door in his face and runs upstairs to update her online diary about what a creepy stalker the guy turned out to be. And then two days later the guy is hooking up with the roommate. roll credits, end of movie. One thing I've learned from romantic comedies, is that I'll never find true love until I get a wisecracking, cynical, less handsome sidekick. Preferably Bruno Kirby, or Jason Lee. maybe Jason Alexander if those two are busy. Or maybe I'll build a robot sidekick. With a led light in his forehead. Just so I know that he's on. Or off, whatever the case may be.