already, he's sealed his victory as pop-culture ass of the century

Do you remember, in the Naked Gun movies, how OJ Simpson's character would constantly bumble and get terribly injured usually by fault of Leslie Nielsen? And it was often pretty funny, right? Remember?
And do you remember how he drove home, innocent as he is, very slowly on the highway while being pursued by the police? And how he killed his wife and her lover? And how the glove didn't fit? Right?
Well, most people would happily fade into the farthest part of the collective consciousness. They'd think of their two kids, who still have to go to school with other kids. They most certainly wouldn't create a sketch wherein they try to sell a used Ford Bronco because that would be in terrible terrible taste.

I read something this morning that spurred this post, and all of the above is to get you in the right frame of mind. Or something.

However awful that was, surely (SURELY!) OJ wouldn't do anything on national television. Not during prime time certainly. Because you'd think that deep down, somewhere in a part that wasn't sold to Satan, OJ would think of his kids. This is, of course, assuming that he didn't do it.
Most of all, he wouldn't reconstruct the murders, explaining, step by step, how he WOULD'VE done it. If he had. Which he didn't. No, like Michael "I will not rest until I find the real molesters" Jackson, OJ "I will not rest until I find the real murderers" Simpson didn't do it.
But the fact of the matter is that's exactly what he's doing.
The next thing you know, he'll just dig up his wife with rusty shovels that he's scratched "INNOCENT" into and demonstrate how he would've killed her. But he wouldn't do it on TV. He'd do it in the park, every hour, on the hour.

Because he classy.

just so that when book seven comes out, i can say i said it before it did

R.A.B. is Regulus Black.

easily the most absurd thing he has ever said

There's an annoying guy in my Brit Lit class who, aside from turning around in his seat to stare at whomever is talking, says inane and incomprehensible things. Today he, during a discussion of Shakespeare, suddenly put forth that the Bard was gay to which the teacher (who deserves a medal for not killing him already) replied that those sorts of reports have been made although there is little concrete evidence. He also noted that there were several biographies of late that said similar things about other historical figures; such as Abraham Lincoln and Adolf Hitler. The latter was based primarily on a photograph where he is shown in a "gay" stance, and is thus hardly basis for an entire biography. All of this is set-up for the comment for which this post is named.
So, of course, the kid said that Hitler was gay because "he kept his moustache in such good condition."
Needless to say the class couldn't let this pass as we have for so many of his other comments and people began incredulously talking amongst themselves, which unfortunately made me miss his other reasons.

I was also busy laughing with Steve.

NOTE: I would've found the picture, but I don't really want to type "gay" and "Hitler" into Google Images.

like in terminator 2!

If my hands were hit by a hammer, they would shatter and then melt and reform into my hands. Except they would be on the ground and not on my wrists where they belong. So that would suck pretty hard.
I'm trying to say that I'm outside, waiting for the bus, after getting out of Rosemary's Baby for film class and listening to the Sufjan Christmas EPs. It's very cold.
Today's been about mid-way on the "Crappy?" scale for no particular reason. Just one of those days.
I guess that's about it.
I'll probably blog again later this evening, woozy on needing to sleep. It's the last day of my nineteeth year, which is mind-boggling to me.

UPDATE:
Day=Now going all right. In 20 minutes, I will be 20. I don't really have much else to say. I'm watching Scrubs? Good times there.

EDIT:
I just now noticed the link doesn't work. Well, it does now.

how cool is that?

I just want to give a little shout-out to my friend Bob, whose movies are getting closer to actually being flimed. If you have an hour or two, I'd suggest reading Elsie Hooper in its (so far) entirety. Even if you only read a little, you'll be able to see how awesome it is.
There's no comic for his other movie, The Man Who Killed Bigfoot and then Hitler. But it has a pretty sweet title and was published, in script and serial form, on his website for a while until he had to take it down.
So yeah, I'm pretty psyched about it. It'll be fantastic to see it on the big screen.

you know what hurts a lot?

Biting your tongue really really really really hard. And not the side or the tip either, somewhere in the middle, but closer to the tip. You'd think that after almost 20 years with the same tongue I'd be used to it. Or at least I wouldn't bite it so hard it bled.
First thought upon biting tongue: "Holy crap, I just bit my tongue! What?!"

oh man oh man oh man

So. In the next week or so I'm poised to declare my majors, which is, let me tell you, pretty much terrifying. According to my advisor, I'm also supposed to start applying for grad school and graduation during my Junior year. Which is next year. Except I don't know where I want to go, and I only vaguely know what I want to do.
(Well, I know what I'd like to do and pretty much where I'd like to go, but the chances of me being able to do either is, at the moment, nil.)
This is madness, I'm not ready to be in the World yet. Who do they think I am? Some sort of person who is prepared for this?
Bah.

oook

So I was flipping around the televison and I came upon the Medical Marijuana Festival thing in Portland (or Seattle?).

I'll say this about the Medical Marijuana people: They are the reason their cause isn't really taken seriously. Yes, long-haired man with no shirt, even you. Yes, Sublime ripoff band, you too. And the speakers who appear to have dipped into their prescription before getting on stage, if you know what I mean, you're not helping either.
Actually, it's kind of sad. The guy up there now is either severely intoxicated or mentally challenged.

waiting for a customer with half a brain

SCENE: A bookstore, around three. There are many people in the store, milling about; there are several large boxes on the counter, filled with books in various degrees of disrepair. WALT is behind the counter, sitting Cratchet-like, and being pretty awesome. KATHY is off, stage right.
ENTER TWO WITCHES.

Witch, wearing sunglasses: Are you taking in books?
Walt (rising, while giving a purposeful look at the billions of other books waiting to be done): Yes, but only thirty at a time.
Witch (shocked): Thirty?
Walt: Thirty. We can only look at thirty a day.
Witch (to second Witch): They can only take thirty! (to Walt) I have more than thirty. They're from my mother-in-law's estate.
Walt (sigh): How many do you have?

The WITCH points to the largest of all the boxes.

Witch: I've got four of these in the trunk.
Walt: Well, we can only take thirty at a time. You can bring in one box and I'll count out thirty.

Enter, THIRD WITCH.

Witch (to third Witch): They'll look at a box.
Walt (with a hint of desperation): Thirty. We'll look at thirty.
Witch: Bring in a box.

Third Witch begins to exit.

Walt (strangled cry): Thirty at a time!

Enter FOOL, carrying largest box yet, overflowing with books, accompanied by THIRD WITCH. Because the counter for books waiting to be checked has absolutely no room, the FOOL puts the box on the cash register counter.

Walt: That's way more than thirty.

No one takes any notice of WALT.

Walt: So when do you want to pick these up?
Witch: What do you mean?
Walt: Well, there are (gestures to the piles of other books) quite a few people ahead of you. It's going to be a while until I can even get to these, maybe even not until tomorrow. So when do you want to pick them up? Tomorrow? The day after tomorrow?
Witch: Tomorrow.
Walt (setting paper down): Okay, I'll just need you to write your name, address, and phone number here.
Fool: I know how it is, man.
Walt: ...

FIRST WITCH, after writing her information down, removes her 2nd Look Books card; which baffles WALT, as he assumed that their flagrant disregard for what he was saying was a mark of a new customer. WALT begins cursing them all.

Walt: Okay, it'll be done tomorrow. (reaches for box)
Fool (smiling): Careful, it's heavy.
Walt (grinning, because you pander the insane): ...Thanks, I'll remember that.

EXIT, FOOL, WITCHES through the door and likely to the fiery depths from whence they came.

END SCENE.

...school?

Today gets a shoulder shrug. Part of it was okay, part of it (the unbearably pretentious film professor, who, rather than saying "watching movies" says "have screenings"; the bus schedule changing for the worse) was not. Thankfully my other professors don't seem bad, which is always a blessing --nothing makes a class harder to go to than a terrible teacher.
Today we "screened" Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which I always enjoy; except the last fifteen minutes which succeeded in reminding me that not only do they seem supplementary, but they also meant I missed the 3 o'clock bus. What sort of madman ends a class at 3:15?! The next bus isn't until 4! I'll tell you what kind: The kind that wears all-black suits, has a shaved head (with bald-stubble), dual earrings, and assigns ridiculous (for that kind of class) amounts of reading. But it might be par for the course? How much did your film teachers assign you to read?
And the days I get home at 5 are the days that I have off. Not the days that I get home at 3. No, those days I get to go straight to work.
(The owner died yesterday morning; though it was no big surprise, it does put things a bit higher in the air. We'll probably hear from her daughter, who took over the managing a week or so ago, in a day or two. Payday's not for another 10 days, so I'm not concerned.)
But it is the first day of school, so things may look brighter in a week or so.

i couldn't find a dry towel either!

Ok, I'm writing this down so that, if I find it I'll know I didn't go mad.
What am I talking about? Laundry.
I went downstairs this morning to put my clothes from the washer to the dryer for obvious reasons. I could see that no one else had switched them as there was no pile of my laundry on the ground. This is something that always thrills me: finding my clean clothes in a wad so that I have iron anything I want to wear. If there was a puddle of water I'm sure whomever it is that does this would make sure they soaked it up. I mean, if there's someone else's clothes in the dryer when I want to use it, I fold them. The last time this happened, all of my clothes were stuffed into a shirt.
But back to the story at hand. I opened the dryer. Nothing. I opened the washer to pull them out and nothing. They weren't in there. They weren't behind the washer. I want to say they weren't in the freezer, but it just occurs to me I haven't checked. They aren't in the freezer. They weren't in my laundry basket. Ditto for in the laundry room, the basement, the first floor, anyone's room, the stairs, etc. My clothes have vanished.
Thankfully, I still have a couple of clean shirts, shorts, and boxers. They weren't wiley enough to go into my closet. However, I am on my last pair of clean socks. And there's no one home to question. This goes beyond inconsideration, and unless I find my clothes hanging up, having been dry cleaned and pressed, I'll just call it malice. Why would they do something like this? It's ridiculous.

And no, they're not outside, strewn in the bushes.

EDIT: They were neatly folded. In a room I hadn't checked. Of course.

there were no other people to witness the stupidity

I had to work my shift alone today, which isn't that big of a deal, but it did seem to bring out my share of crazies. The following is true, though their names have been changed because I didn't get them.
A man and wife came into the store with reasonably sane looks on their faces.
"Donnie": "Who's in charge?"
Now, right here they could be any number of things. See if you can guess: (a) Potential buyers, (b) Money collectors, or (c) Narcissistic Idiots. If you are reading this, you'll know that the answer is (d), Absolute Morons With Short Tempers. Let's see how long it takes those tempers to burn out, shall we?
Me (as I am alone and pretty much the senior employee anyway): "I am."
Muscle-Shirt Donnie: "Oh, great."
Faithful readers and/or people who know me will be able to visualize what's just happened in the time it took him to say Oh, Great: Donnie's stock has plummeted. If you're a jackass, I will probably not help you as much as I would. But anyway, back to the story.
Me: "Can I help you?"
"Marie": "Who's your manager?"
Me: "I am."
More shaking of heads. I can see that part of them is incredulous that some young kid is the head of this particular shift and the other part is thinking that they can push me over. Had they been nice before or had become nice as this goes on, I would've helped them out. But no.
They tell me what the problem is. I won't give you the line by line because honestly I don't remember it all, but I'll give you the main points.
1. Marie gave the store a list of books she wanted.
2. She went to Alaska.
3. Her husband, while she was in Alaska, bought two books for $4.80 each.
4. She already has those books.
5. "I don't read these kinds of books, I read car manuals."
6. She did not give us a list, she told us a list and some lady wrote it down.
Me (after #6): "When you give us a list, or however else we get a list, we put your name and number on the book on the computer and throw the list away." Of course this does not matter nor penetrate their skulls. They want us to be able to read their minds and to stop them when they buy multiple copies. The books, she tells me, weren't even on the list.
I realize that I'm shaking. I shake when people are pissing me off and I'm trying to keep my voice even. It's one of my less useful traits.
They go on about how they don't want a refund (then why are they doing this? I also hate it when people say they don't want credit or a refund or something of the sort, but they clearly do). They say a bunch of other stuff, and mention that they've called and talked to someone who said that they can't help them. Gee, I don't know why, they're so personable. Donnie goes out to get the books after I say that I'll look and see if we can take them for credit.
Marie echoes that they have two copies and don't need two copies and that he (her husband) bought the erranious copies while she was in Alaska. She asks for the owner's name. Every fiber in my being is saying: Say "What??!" very loudly and walk away or do something less pleasant. But what I say as steadily as my shaking will allow is:
"I don't see how this is our fault."
And her mouth drops open. I can see in her eyes that she would like to throttle me. She inhales to say something that would probably be unprintable. So I cut her off with:
"Fine, you want the owner's name; fine, here it is."
Meanwhile, Donnie comes in with the two copies of the two books. Did they think I wouldn't believe them? Whatever. I check to see if we can take them. Karma is sweet: not only do we already have two copies, but they haven't been sold since August 18th. I say that we can't take them, but they can try again some other time. Donnie laughs in that absolutely annoying way that people who are used to getting their way and suddenly don't and they don't believe it laugh.
And because I'm getting riled up just thinking about it, I'm going to jump right to the end.
They storm out and Donnie says "The word is out" like he's threatening to tell all his friends. Oh no, we're going to lose all of our key block-head demographic! I end up shaking for a while longer, but calm down eventually.
And...scene.

it's about par for the day, actually (i can't wait for work!)

Well. This probably entitles me for some kind of Blogger Least Likely To award, but the forementioned pictures won't be up until tomorrow. I don't really have a good reason except I need to finish cleaning my room, which also requires me to recover from the explosion that is my siblings staying here for extended periods. I'm going to try to get it done before I go to work so I can get them done tomorrow morning, and if I get into a real frenzy, maybe even long enough before so that I can take them before and then upload when I get home.
Is this the most boring entry ever? Perhaps.

In other news, Gilmore Girls Season 4 got here today with two Disc 5's and zero Disc 6's. After looking at the Best Buy site, it seems that I'll have to warm up my incredulous voice as they do not accept opened DVD returns.
"I wouldn't have opened it, except my psychic powers are a bit rusty lately, and I wanted to be sure."
"Yes, I bought two copies and Disc Six is just so much more superiour to Disc Five that I didn't even want Five any more, even though it has twice as many episodes."

And I get to work Sundays now because the girl who was going to work only Sundays got fed up with the check thing and quit entirely. Yes! Seven days a week! Let's start betting on how long it'll be until I throw someone complaining about the prices through the window, Western-style. We're having a sale, I give it a week.

EDIT: I have to work 3.5 hours earlier than I thought tomorrow. Which means my plans for the pictures are once again in limbo! Damn you, work!

up here, the air is cleaner, the air is thinner

I'm going to try something new. You can try it too, if you want. But I'll go first.
That's right, I'm going to review an EP and then give you the link to download it. Because that's just how I roll.

The Mountain Goats Jack & Faye
The lead singer of The Mountain Goats reminds me of what would happen if you were to meld Stephen Colbert and Jason Schwartman into a single guitar-strumming person. However, he sounds more like Colin Meloy and Ben Gibbard. But enough with the comparisons! Put them away with all of your misplaced socks.
Listening to Jack & Faye is like finding a book that someone wrote FOR someone else but it's been long forgotten; sitting and gathering dust among other books FOR people, personal personal works that embody a time and place completely. It was recorded in 1996, which is the tip of the tail end of their lo-fi period, and rightly has some of that dust on it. His voice is a little shaky in some parts, most notably on "There Will Always Be an Ireland" without drawing away from the song itself. If you've heard any live Colin Meloy recordings, you'll know what to expect in that respect.
The songs are plains of grass, ancient ruins that have grown over with ivy and bush. Every now and again the music will swell and a backup singer will follow him. You're standing on a hill in the plain and the swell hits you and you follow the wind of it with your eyes down into the valley to the river there. It's a little chilly, but you wore your windbreaker, and that helps.
Maybe you'll find something there you weren't expecting.

[the EP and many more songs, along with ones I haven't listened to, can be downloaded here.]
Also recommended: "Cubs in Five," "Get Lonely" and "Sometimes I Still Feel the Bruise," which are available on request or on iTunes.

If I do end up doing more of these, I'll aim for one every week or so. If only to keep my mind off of the insane people I have to deal with earlier in the day.

who were you before the fall?

I officially hate my work.
Why? Well, let me tell you why...
I'm sure I mentioned the whole "Having to Pack and Move a Storage/Former Bookstore Extension Area in 48 Hours." But John came into work drunk as a skunk this morning at 11 and was driven home shortly afterward by a customer to whom I will be forever indebted. I was going to have to tell him to go home when it got slow. I really wasn't looking forward to it. And the customers don't help. If one more customer comes in with shit books and acts like they're bestowing a gift upon us and then gets mad when we don't take them all, I might have to relocate some teeth. And of course nothing relates to the destruction of moral or the skunking of John more than not getting paid and having the owner seemingly disappear. Working seven days a week for a non-existent owner who does not want to pay overtime and yet has a lack of wanting to hire anyone else isn't so hot on the not becoming frayed.
I'm not even twenty. I shouldn't have to feel worn thin by my work already. Unless I was a Doogie Howser, I guess then it'd be understandable.
[/rant]
Sheesh, I can't not complain, eh?
(i was a singer, saw the future laid out in dominoes; now i hunt the buffaloes)

Holy crap, Steve Irwin, so the preview for the news has just told me, is dead. Crazy. And not by crocs either.

That's right, my blog: come for the complaining but stay for the slightly morbid announcements of celebrity death.

flickr?

I'm posting this here mostly so that I, myself, remember to actually do the deed, but I shall FINALLY update the ol' flickr account the next time I have a day off. Which might be as soon as Sunday?
That's right, I use valuable valuable blogging space as Post-It Notes. It'll be like Cribs (Cribz? I don't really know) but with less of me in a doo-rag and a trucker hat flashing gang signs and saying things like "yo" and "word" and more "this is [name of thing]."
Mark your calendars! For an indeterminate date!

EDIT: I actually don't have Sunday off, but I do get out early. So I'll shoot for Sunday.
Why must my schedule be "Days that end in Y"?

EDIT EDIT: Camera=not in the house. I'll get to it as soon as humanly possible.

unintentionally humorous book of the day:

Slipcover Chic: Designing and Sewing Elegant Slipcovers at Home

Apparently covering your furniture with various flowered fabrics is the "in" thing to do. Oh, and ruffles!

now what do we call mickey's dog?

As you've no doubt heard, Pluto is no longer a planet.
There are now eight planets. It must have been an adjustment back in the day when it was inducted into planet-dom, but now it's no more. Well, it's still there, out in the "Trans-Neptune Belt", but you know what I mean. (What about when it orbits in front of Neptune?) I don't know, Pluto never really affected me, I can't name its discoverer, I never did a school project on it; but it was always there: a small ball of ice floating out in the nether-reaches.
What next? Will there be only eleven months? Should February begin locking its door at night?
Like I said, it's not, in the greater Cosmic Sense, huge. Our tides aren't controlled by Pluto. It certainly can't be terraformed.
But those of you who read old scifi in your childhoods will know what I'm talking about. A rose by any other name wouldn't smell as sweet. [Forgive me, I really hate how cliche that sounds, but I can't think of anything else. Look at the posting time.] No one's going to stop and smell the snarglebargin. [Oh man, I clearly need to go to bed.]

I'm just glad I'm not a teacher and I don't have to scramble to change my lesson plan.

tidbit?

Am I the only one who's really excited about The Science of Sleep?

Because I shouldn't be, if I am.

In other news, it is close to 100 here in the daytime. And my family is at the boat all week while I work, which sounds worse than it is.

yadda yadda yadda

Ok, I didn't want this to into something that should probably be titled "Walt Bitches About Stuff & Occasionally Makes a Snide Remark", but I've been working for most of this week and will be working for a good portion of next week, so it's going to for now at least. Like crappy B-sides this entry shall be marked "For Completeists Only."
At work, we have a little list of rules for the books we take in. I know I've mentioned them before, but here they are again, in Handy List format:
1. Have fewer than the maximum amount of the title
2. Not be in crappy condition
3. Not too old; if a Romance, or a cook book, or something we haven't had in before
4. Not a textbook or a magazine
Those are easy enough to follow, which leads us to my first complaint. For the love of all that is holy, why did the owner replace two excellent with two people who have absolutely no experience. In bookstores, I could see. Using the cash register, I can see that too; I didn't have either of those when I started. But I mean No Experience. With retail or retail-related fields. With basic motor functions. With not taking in third and forth copies. New Hiree #1, whom I will call "Gail" because that is her name, I have the most problems with. Why? Because she is as to making things easy as a cyclone is to keeping things neat. I could write pages about that, but I don't want to because I would end up in a corner weeping. Just take my word. I know she can't help looking almost constantly confused or like the last bulb has just blown or those gawdawful pigtails. You're late forties/early fifties. Stop with the pigtails. And what's with wearing aprons? The books rarely explode and only occasionally secrete poisonous substances. Unless those shirts are really expensive. Then why are you wearing those shirts?

Ok, done with that.

New Hiree #2 "Jo", because it is easier/faster to spell than Barbara, has the same deer-in-headlights look as Gail. She also is a closer. Which means that I don't have to. But it doesn't help when I have to go and help her close. Which is, of course, directly related to Gail's muck ups. Oh well, except for easily-freakout-ability which seems to be very In right now, I don't have much of a problem with her.
Now, it's time for my Handy List of How to Get More Books Taken for Credit, as created and used by Walt:
1. Do not, ever, ever come in with a huge box of books less than a half-hour before closing
2. If you are annoying or walk away while I'm looking up a book you wanted to know about, don't even bring books in an hour before closing
3. Because then you are an ass
4. If you are Guy Who Acts Like We Are Buddies But We Totally Aren't, Guy Who Brings In Books Two Minutes Before We Close, Guy Who Brings Books Ten Minutes After We Close And Then Knocks On The Door Until I Ask You What You Want And Then Tells Me A Sob Story, Woman Who Smells Strongly Of Onions, or Guy Who Sits In The Chair And Orders His Daughter(s) Around And Me Too To Get Books Even If I Am Clearly Very Busy Or If The Books Are Right Downstairs Go Down There And Get Them Your Damn Self Or At Least Pretend To Be Polite, I will take as few of your books as humanly possible
5. If you complain about the price, I will stab you. In my mind. If you have a history of complaining you get less than 10% of my attention. Because the rest of my mind is thinking about stabbing or something far less violent, like how long it is until we close or what to get for lunch
6. I lied, the other less than 10% is not paying attention, I'm either thinking about how long until we close or what to get for lunch. Or stabbing
7. Ok, you can bring in a big box of Romances if we've had them in before and I don't have to enter them in the computer. Because those things are hilarious

I'm done with that, and I solemnly swear that I won't talk about work again unless it is a humorous story. If you actually read through this whole thing, I will bake you cookies or something.