Please pardon the interruption.
Service will resume momentarily.

Mar 6, 2003

Yeah, so today's stupid argument was over (drumroll please) the width of parking spaces.

Actually, that's not technically true. You know the little striped boxes between handicapped parking spaces? We were arguing over the width of those.

Even "arguing" is a misnomer. I wanted to go into the frickin' Arby's and buy a sandwich. Dad wouldn't let me because he wanted to finish yelling at me about the width of the spaces between handicapped parking spaces.

It all started when we were walking into the Arby's and Dad started talking about the way the parking lot was laid out. You see, there were three handicapped spaces, which means two little striped spacey things. The spacey things were different widths. Dad wondered aloud why they were that way. I wasn't really paying attention, because I was wondering whether I wanted a roast beef sandwich, or a roast beef sandwich with cheddar. Just to be sociable and add something to the conversation, I said the only thing I knew about stripey handicappy spacey things: "They're for people in wheelchairs to get between the cars, right?"

Dad freaks out. He was a traffic engineer for a zillion years or something back in Tucson. He knows a hell of a lot more than I do about designing parking lots. He can't believe that I could be snotty enough to tell him something so blatantly obvious. Who do I think I am?

This ends up being like a 20-minute ordeal. I keep telling him that I don't care about the goddamned space or traffic engineering or the handispaceystripes -- I just want a sandwich. I'm hungry. He insists that I was intentionally insulting him, that I was thinking something along the lines of "aha, I'll use this opportunity to cleverly undermine his authority with a biting comment about the width of the striped boxes between handicapped spaces!"

Ugh.
Nick ::: 11:00 PM ::: 0 comments

Mar 5, 2003

The Very Secret Diary of Darth Vader
Part One: Little Orphan Annie

Day One: Built robot who serves no purpose other than bumping into things and talking in poncy British accent.

Day Two: Found wires in my breakfast. Poncy British Robot must be shedding.

Day Seven: Built "pod." "Pod" is actually flying racecar held together by purple lighting and forgiving physics of computer animation. "Pod" will only be useful in event of v. tenuous plot twist.

In meantime, have it set up on cement blocks in backyard.

Day Ten: Starting to wonder how slave mother paying for poncy robots, flying racecars, etc. Also wondering about "virgin birth" story. Suspect answer right under nose, but cannot hear self think with Mom's centurion friends making all that noise upstairs.

Day Eleven: Boss overheard me call him "Blue Fairy." Was not mad, but said I was wrong child actor starring in terrible science fiction movie.

Still swear gigolo droid came in for repairs a week ago.

Day Twelve: Tenuous plot twist arrived in form of refugee queen escorted by militant religious fanatic and giant retarded animated dog.

Day Thirteen: Could not sleep last night, on account of Militant Religious Fanatic poking me with small metal cylinder. Insisted it was for "tests." Suspect Militant Religious Fanatic may be Pervy Sith Lord Fancier.

Day Fourteen: Got to race "pod" today. Several vital systems smashed in act of sabotage, had to dramatically pull little lever to fix it. Beat several other "pods," none of which looked even remotely pod-like.

Giant Retarded Animated Dog and Poncy British Robot spending altogether too much time together. Could they be...? Surely not.

Day Fifteen: Left Mum on Tatooine after onerous goodbye scene. Think she is making too much fuss; will have Poncy British Robot and lots of centurions to keep her company.

Ugly Horny Goth Punk waylaid us and had slappy fight with younger Militant Religious Fanatic -- apparently there are two. Think this pair must have some sort of S&M history. "Obi-wan" can't stop murmuring about how hot it was. Well, duh, it's a desert.

Older Fanatic livid. May have something to do with tall, dark, and ugly's lightsaber, which is twice the size of his.

Day Eighteen: Arrived on Coruscant. Wanted to spend more time ogling hottie Queen, but was subjected to rigorous "testing" by entire bloody Jedi Council. Pointy Lightsaber Trick, amusing at first, starting to lose its charm.

Think Yoda may have the hots for Obi-wan. Qui-Gonn will kill him if he tries anything.

Day Twenty: Ended up on Naboo. Just what we needed: a planet chock full of giant retarded animated dogs. Remind me why we're trying to save this place?

Day Twenty-One: Ugly Horny Goth Punk showed up; promptly fell into bottomless chasm. Apparently idiot Trading Spaces designer thought bottomless chasm would make Queen's family room drop-dead fantastic. Half right, anyway. Never even bothered to warn guests about potentially lethal decor. Older Militant Religious Fanatic also dead; only one left to keep me company.

Woe is me.

Think I went into space, but am trying to suppress memory -- as are millions of fans worldwide.
Nick ::: 10:42 PM ::: 0 comments

Mar 4, 2003

I got accepted to Tulane!
Nick ::: 7:27 PM ::: 0 comments

Mar 2, 2003

STOMPE update!

Holst - Mars: I've been using this song in imaginary trailers for about four years, ever since I first heard it. X-men 2 affirmed a long-held belief that it would rock. Go me!
Led Zeppelin - The Immigrant Song: I feel like I'm from a foreign country sometimes. Filling out fin-aid forms is one of those times.
Strong Bad - Everybody to the Limit (Fhqwhgads!): If you haven't been here, you should go. Now!
Blur - Song 2: It wasn't easy, but nothing is. Woohoo!

Nick ::: 2:07 AM ::: 0 comments