Music: Led Zeppelin - No Quarter - The Very Best Of
Mood: Aquatic
Imagine getting in a car, driving through Friday-night traffic to West Hollywood, getting lost and asking for directions countless times, somehow carving your way to the Troubadour, thirty minutes late, pay for parking, cross the street, only to find out that the concert you were anticipating had been cancelled.
Bummer.
It's 11:43 PM and I have the sudden and intense urge to go swimming.
I'm reading a new book called How Soccer Explains The World [an unlikely theory of globalization], which was bestowed upon me by my consigliere George. So far it has yet to dissapoint.
In fifteen years, I predict that a fascist state will outlaw jeans as an "unrealistic and ridiculous symbol of personal independence that we just can't afford to propogate".
Really guys, three more years of George Bush. Are you serious?
I really can't stand girls that dress like gypsies. For more information on the subject, visit gofugyourself.typepad.com
Still waiting on that Eurythmics album. Or at least a tribute band, whichever comes first, I'm not picky.
Chuck Klosterman needs to write a new book.
Bill Simmons needs to write a new book.
You would think that graduating would be cause enough for celebration. But, truth be told, that's just not the case. Even though you're academic career is over, you're still technically on the job. See, while everyone you know is out getting plastered and physically exhibiting the symptoms of jubilation from the hours of 8 PM to 4 AM, they're spending the hours of 9 AM to 5 PM working the phones, interviewing, and whoring themselves out to the largest companies on the block, trying desperately not to be the last one of their friends to find a job. You'd hate yourself to be the only one of your peers to be unemployed three months after leaving school.
I will go to Merill Lynch on Monday and officially sign the offer sheet. I feel like an unrestricted free agent who managed to find a mid-level exception on a championship contender just before the trade deadline expires. In essence, I'm Brent Barry, minus those hellacious pork-chop sideburns.
I own a Paul Weed Smith.
You never can tell what the person sitting next to you is thinking, so it's best to ask rather than pretend to know.
Lucky Number Slevin and Brick are the best movies of 2006, and I haven't seen either.
Add A Scanner Darkly to the above list on both counts.
Midnight. Midnight. Midnight. Midnight. Midnight. Midnight. Midnight.
Mood: Aquatic
Imagine getting in a car, driving through Friday-night traffic to West Hollywood, getting lost and asking for directions countless times, somehow carving your way to the Troubadour, thirty minutes late, pay for parking, cross the street, only to find out that the concert you were anticipating had been cancelled.
Bummer.
It's 11:43 PM and I have the sudden and intense urge to go swimming.
I'm reading a new book called How Soccer Explains The World [an unlikely theory of globalization], which was bestowed upon me by my consigliere George. So far it has yet to dissapoint.
In fifteen years, I predict that a fascist state will outlaw jeans as an "unrealistic and ridiculous symbol of personal independence that we just can't afford to propogate".
Really guys, three more years of George Bush. Are you serious?
I really can't stand girls that dress like gypsies. For more information on the subject, visit gofugyourself.typepad.com
Still waiting on that Eurythmics album. Or at least a tribute band, whichever comes first, I'm not picky.
Chuck Klosterman needs to write a new book.
Bill Simmons needs to write a new book.
You would think that graduating would be cause enough for celebration. But, truth be told, that's just not the case. Even though you're academic career is over, you're still technically on the job. See, while everyone you know is out getting plastered and physically exhibiting the symptoms of jubilation from the hours of 8 PM to 4 AM, they're spending the hours of 9 AM to 5 PM working the phones, interviewing, and whoring themselves out to the largest companies on the block, trying desperately not to be the last one of their friends to find a job. You'd hate yourself to be the only one of your peers to be unemployed three months after leaving school.
I will go to Merill Lynch on Monday and officially sign the offer sheet. I feel like an unrestricted free agent who managed to find a mid-level exception on a championship contender just before the trade deadline expires. In essence, I'm Brent Barry, minus those hellacious pork-chop sideburns.
I own a Paul Weed Smith.
You never can tell what the person sitting next to you is thinking, so it's best to ask rather than pretend to know.
Lucky Number Slevin and Brick are the best movies of 2006, and I haven't seen either.
Add A Scanner Darkly to the above list on both counts.
Midnight. Midnight. Midnight. Midnight. Midnight. Midnight. Midnight.
quite an update haha.. on a side note, hoorah for the partners in fug!
ha i know its schizophrenic but somewhat efficent. by the way, make sure sahil gives you the new chili peppers album...it will rock your world.