Six Eight

My hairdresser is omniscient. In her infinite knowledge, she stated, "You must have a girlfriend, because you're such a handsome young man." I was utterly awestruck (aweterly uttstruck. Sounds better) with this display of insight. Having never realized my loneliness, I was unable to react! The logical action, of course: Drown my sorrows amidst a triple shot macchiato. A little grainy, but it makes me feel masculine. Or slightly less effete.

I wonder what animals resort to when denied by the opposite gender. Pabst Blue Ribbon, perchance? The stars are out. Scratch that. The humans are out, mimicking stars. Even better.

I have to wake up tomorrow morning, along with some 6.75 billion others. There have been 160 billion humans living on this earth since the dawn of Man. And every step has been trod countless times, for good or ill: We're trampling burial mounds as we meander towards our own. Well, what can ya do? In the words of the immortal Truman Capote, um... Something about a bad third act. I forget; I was too busy watching Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader. Turns out I am. Huh.

I'm probably living above the hubcaps of a 1957 Studebaker owned by an insurance representative who had 2 boys named Christopher and Stephen. He probably died of heart disease. As a matter of fact, 34 seconds ago someone died from heart disease. I wonder if they disliked the body style of the 57 models. Most likely. I personally enjoy the aggressive styling and the chrome fetish. Reminds me of a time when car manufacturers weren't such pussies.

Three Six Nine Point Four Two

Stardate something or other. The Large Hadron Collider. The Manhattan project for the Europeans. Apparently it's not as harmless as first stated. Endorsed by Stephen Hawking and various other smart/disabled people (Uncalled for? I should chide myself), but it will create a miniscule glob of black hole-ness (Fill my cup and make me whole, but don't suck me into a hole. Amen. Now where's that potluck...) that will sink into the earth and gather as much mass as possible, hopefully replete with Hugo Weaving's eyebrows and Billy Mays' beard.

The Worst Case Scenario Survival Handbook may be the single best piece of American literature ever penned. Honestly. I just learned how to perform a tracheotomy and land a plane. I'm going to finish this later. All of this world endy-ness has got me a little too excited.

Da mihi cogitatio
Et sanguis viperetis
Ashes to ashes, bones to paste. Horses must have cartilaginous bones.

Additionally, Gillian Anderson may very well be the sexiest woman on the planet, without being sexy. Yeah.

One

I am half-conscious, sick with the flu, and under the influence of Tom Waits. How poetic. Don't know what I should put down right now; I'm just going to write. This winter weather is uninspired this year. Some kind of carbon copy of the season. I need to get out of Northern Virginia.

I thought about train hopping once. It seemed so perfect and solitary. Realistic, no. But nothing worth living for is realistic. I was going to hop to Maine. In the summer, of course. Braving the winter in Maine wasn't realistic. Eh.

Last words are implied.

Something about television is romantic. Obsessional. Dedicated viewers, returning every week. The television never responds to the gestures. Ah, unrequited love.

Politics has become less concrete over the years. But in a society with all of the necessary accoutrements, I guess it was inevitable. Maybe I should become a politician. I'd leave the abstruse to the citizens. The New York Times bestsellers this week include such subjects as How To Succeed, liberals, freezing cats in libraries, and Denis Leary. I recant my aspirations.

I need sleep. Sometimes Lamictal causes vivid nightmares. I have yet to be impressed. Lysergic acid is derived from grain fungus. Now stick that in your pipe and smoke it... Ba-da-bing! Delirious and over comical. I'm just batting a thousand, aren't I? I do enjoy FireFox. Now I can really stick it to Microsoft. See, Bill? I am using a third-party Internet browser because I am a rebel! Now I'll go buy a Mac and wear stylish jeans and become enamored with indie bands!

It is almost twelve. Perhaps I should sign off. This has done nothing. By 2020, my Land Rover will be unfit to drive in the state of California, due to its horrendous gas mileage. Maybe Pepperdine should move to Montana. I hear they have great lattes, and the WiFi networks are strong. What is the secret to the human consciousness? At this rate, I'll be a veritable Swiss Army Knife of pointless facts by the time I hit 18. Tick, tick, tick....