Today I took the first steps towards completing a project. One day I hope to take the last steps. It seems, though, that so often those first few steps come far easier than the final ones. As if each step is a weight that gets added to the next. A linear progression of increased labor as the work of the previous step makes the next harder to take. Ideally your experience with the project and understanding of its details would match pace with the increased difficulty, perfectly cancelling out the weight of all previous steps. Ideally. In reality it never seems to be so. Complexity fractals outward making the total number of steps infinite. No project is ever complete unless it is the project of us; growing, living, learning, loving, dying. And then it only completes because it ends, not because we got it right.
But all that aside, today was a productive day. I took many steps. Many of them were even in a forward direction. Tomorrow will see how much needs be erased.
Up, down, turn around, please don’t let me hit the ground. Tonight I think I’ll walk alone, find my soul as I go home.
The hot tub works. Yay!!!
(and there was great rejoicing.)
If Not I’ll Just Die by Lambchop off the album Mr. M
RE: My Lawn
Dear Homeowner’s Association,
I am writing in regard to the letter I received yesterday about how despicable my house’s appearance is. I moved into this house a short three months ago. Though the house was in decent repair, it had been empty for two years previous. A great number of things needed to be done in order to make it livable. As such, any money I may have had with which to re-sod my lawn was consumed like a gazelle at a cheetah convention.
Despite these circumstances, I tried to curb the revolting nature of my lawn and bring it from a state of deplorable to merely unfortunate. The first month after moving into this house, I received a letter from you stating that my lawn made your eyes bleed when you looked at it. I thought that perhaps mowing it regularly would help keep you from the optometrist’s office. Such was not the case.
The next month I received another letter from you, covered with the uncontrollable vomit the mere thought of my lawn must have induced in you. Attempting to aid your digestion, I had my lawn service trim all the bushes and plants, and edge around the pathetic excuses for flower beds.
Apparently my attempts only made it worse, no doubt akin to the nauseating smell of those Febreeze scented garbage bags when you have day old fish in them. I assume this because yesterday I received a letter stating that nothing short of replacing my entire yard with someone else’s yard could curb its vile nature. Unfortunately, this fix requires an investment of many thousands of dollars I do not currently have. It will take me another four to six months to raise that sort of money. In the meantime, perhaps there is something else I could do to save your constitution. Perhaps cover it with camouflage netting so you don’t have to look at it? Last week I started walking around the neighborhood and surreptitiously taking small patches of grass from my neighbor’s yards. I’m not sure how long I can do this before I am discovered.
If you feel I deserve additional punishment for my vile yard, I just ask that you do not harm my dog. I love him greatly and he has helped me through some hard times. It would be devastating to me if I came out one morning and found him impaled by weeds.
Reblogged from Found objects
I said, “You gotta pay me.” She said, “Well, everybody else is doing it for nothing.” I said, “Everybody else may be an asshole, but I’m not. By what right would you call me and ask me to work for nothing? Do you get a paycheck? Does your boss get a paycheck? … Would you go to a gas station and ask to be given free gas? Would you go to the doctor and have him take out your spleen for nothing? How dare you call me and want me to work for nothing?” “Well, it would be good publicity.” I said, “lady, tell that to someone a little older than you who has just fallen off the turnip truck. There is no publicity value in my essay, my interview, being on your DVD. If you sell 2,000 it’ll be great and what are people gonna say? ‘Ooh, I really like the way that guy gave that interview. I wonder if he’s ever written a book. Let me go and buy it.’ There is no publicity value. The only value for me is if you put money in my hand. Cross my palm with silver and you can use my interview.” She says, “well, all right, thank you.” And she hangs up. I’ll never hear from them. They want everything for nothing…
They always want the writer to work for nothing. And the problem is that there are so many goddamn many writers who have no idea they’re supposed to be paid every time they do something. They do it for nothing! Guh guh! They’re gonna look at me, I’m going to be noticed, huh huh, huh huh! … You’re undercut by all the amateurs. It’s the amateurs who make it tough for the professionals because when you act professional, these people are so used to getting it for nothing, and for mooching, and for being able to pass off this bullshit — I mean, they don’t even send you a copy of the DVD! You know, you have to call them, “where’s the DVD?” “Well, it’s been out for six months, you can go to the store and buy it…”
You can go to the store and buy it, motherfucker! You go to the store and buy it!
That’s ok, Hey baby do what you please, I have the stuff that you want. I am the thing that you need.
Many maltheists believe that God is dependent on the worship and adoration of human beings for its existence, and hope that if it is deprived of humanity’s worship, it will wither up and die,
If I had a blog, all my blog posts would be song lyrics and poop jokes. And sometimes poop jokes masquerading as song lyrics (“Just like me, they long to be, close to poo!”)
If I had a blog, I would tear the world apart with words, inspire rebellions and foment unions. I would make the Arab Spring more like the Irish Spring.
If I had a blog I would turn it into a money making marketing masterpiece of alliteration and farmed content and obscure references to World Music that no one actually likes but everyone pretends they like because it is so hip the Victoria Secret models in their giant left hip pose don’t have enough hip to stand up next to them.
If I had a blog all my posts would be numbered lists of things: the 10 Things to Blog About, the 8 Ideas I Just This Moment Had, the 152 Things I Didn’t List.
If I had a blog, you would weep.
Oh the things I would do.