Everyday is Today

Happy Halloween, everybody. Is it the best holiday ever? Hell yes, my friends, hell yes.

BOO!

-Thomas

I'm Sorry I Aborted Our Baby, Really!

Dear Universe:

I understand the need for you to test the strength of my karma by having someone try to steal my bike, but please understand that I had to foil your attempt with my bike lock. In the future, when you dispatch your minions to punish me for my wrong-doings, please remind them that my bike will still be equipped with a lock when I am not riding it and that I would greatly appreciate it if they would be so kind as to re-attach my wheel properly after trying to remove it and thereby get around my lock. The most recent incident delayed me a good five minutes as I endeavored to correct the error your workers left.

Best Regards.
Thomas Kwong

Sometimes, you have to make a stand. This probably isn't one of those times, and I'm quite comfortable sitting, but sometime soon, I expect I will have to make said stand. There's no great challenge facing me (other than the usual, "we're all going to die," sort of thing), but rather a feeling of impending doom. I can't trace the sensation, it could be the advent of Halloween, it could be that I need a vacation really bad, it could be the creepy homeless gentlemen I accidentally bumped into yesterday who muttered something about a curse on my line (thank god he didn't say, "thinner..."), or it could be the amount of class work that's kicking my ass with patent leather combat boots.

I'm not sure which one those it is, but I have this feeling I'm going to have to drop my pants, moon the world, and then run like hell.

-Thomas

Shoogar

Oooh, fancy title.

Today, I didn't get to eat breakfast or lunch. Let's just say that my clock was not re-set properly and I almost missed a group presentation. Anyway, to compensate I went to the vending machine and bought some cookies. They were named Duplex cookies, which I thought was a fairly insipid name for sandwich cookies. Yet as I started to eat them and read the nutritional values I was blown away by the deal I had just scored. Yes, ladies and gentleman, a deal in the vending machine.

Seven hundred Calories, twenty-five grams of fat, five grams of saturated fat, zero miligrams of cholesterol (uh-huh feel the health benefits) five hundred and twenty-five miligrams of sodium, zero grams of sodium, fifty grams of sugar, ten grams of protein, a whopping forty percent of your daily iron, a total of fifteen cookies, and all the flavor goodness you've come to expect from generic cookies that have a white cream filling, vanilla cookie on side, and a chocolate cookie on the other. Yeah, suck on that puny two hundred and thirty calorie M and M's!

The one thing that brought any doubt into the choice was the tag-line.

Baked in Goodness"

Jigga-what? "Baked in goodness," what the fuck does that mean? You ground up some fucking kittens and babies and puppies and rainbows and sunshine and Jesus and angels and America and freedom and Bald Eagles and lolipops and gum drops and stewed your cookies in their ground up dust? That's sick, Duplex cookies, that's fucking sick. Seriously, I'm just unsettled by the phrase, "baked in [noun/adjective]," no real reason, it's just weird.

I got nothing.

Also

-Thomas

She Says, "I Don't Wear Makeup to Work Anymore Because Everyday I Cry."

How's that for a ray of sunshine? Speaking of which:

BAM and fucking BAM.

Those aren't approval ratings, hell, Bush probably wishes he had Nixon's approval ratings these days. Holy fucking mother of god.

I can't tell you all how happy this makes me, I really can't. I'm *sniff* I really *sniff* had y'know *sniff* lost faith in America you know?

Who am I kidding? I still don't have faith in America.

-Thomas

Innocent Holiday or Occult Celebration

I still don't know exactly why I do this. Sure, I can say it's my way of manifesting and dispensing with my loose, rambling thoughts that I used to pour into my best friend, but that doesn't reeeally get at the heart of the matter. I could just as easily go back to just writing bad poetry. Yes, Citizen Blog is in questionable status. I feel like a tolitarian state, questioning the existence of one of its members because I cannot explain it to myself. I feel like I started this because to comment on my buddy Jack's blog and then rationalized writing my own because, hell, surely somebody would find this interesting; surely my view-points are just as invaluable as the the person I just saw in the magical fairy land of NextBlog.

I guess I figured, like most people, that this thing would become a bouncing pile of dust, one I would stumble over one evening and laugh at myself over (CD's I, "released," in freshman year of highschool come to mind as a good comparission).

On a related note: this is the perspective on why people should blog that I agree with.

-Thomas

Calls at 2 AM Should Be, "I Need to Have Sex." Not, "This Party Sucks."

I've always beena great admirer of Calvin and Hobbes. To be percise I've always been a huge fan of Calvin's outlook on life. Maybe not the stupidity, but the sheer power of imagination and impromptu life-style. Probably one of my favorites is the one where he's complaining that his homework is impossible and then he sits up in one of those, "oh, wait," moments, you know with the exclamation point over the head and everything, and he springs up saying, "nothing is impossible for STUPENDOUS MAN!" That's the kind of random mind-set I strive for.

That said, I always feel like I'm not that random. My friend, Jack, is just shits wierd sometimes and it's amazing. Me? I'm just wierd. I always feel like I lack a certain element of spontanaeity (much like the future itself) to be as off-kilter as I wish I was.

I figure it's just an over-active imagination that doesn't come out as much as I'd like it too. Stupid life.

-Thomas

Why the Fuck Do All These Guys Named Herman Keep Sending me Emails About Pills?

I hate my job sometimes.

-Thomas

I'm Sorry I Forgot to do that One Thing I Obligated Myself to do When You Asked Me, What More do You Want?

I am constantly in awe of the human body. Not in the sense that it can do amazing, although that's true, but more in the sense that it transforms itself from a not stinky, not greasy, albeit dirt-coated sack of flesh, to the polar opposite. Puberty? I get that, my body can get fucked up during that point, but post? What the hell? How did I not need anti-perspirent for my entire childhood and then need to rub, basically soap, under my arms for the rest of my life?

Albania.

I think in order for life to spontaneously appear, a combination of several things must occur:

-A party
-Free food
-Free booze

I hate sports bars. In concept, pratice, and appearance. To be percise I hate crappy bars near campus. May they die in response to their patrons attending bars of quality.

Are you having a bad day? I hope not, but if you are may you take power in this:



Isn't that better? Found Magazine hopes so, and I do too.

Sorry, I'm in an odd mood this morning.

Albania.

-Thomas

Asinine Prick-Hole

Tom DeLay's indictement filled me a warm fuzzy feeling when it first broke. I can think of few modern examples of a man getting a taste of his own medicine that are quite so appropo. That said, I cna't shake off the feeling that he could be right.

I haven't seen the full indictement, but there's a chance DeLay could be innoccent. I guess I just like watching the little tool squirm.

In other minor news: Deftones, Around the Fur, hells yes, again.

-Thomas

I Am A Bad Blogger. I Wish I Were Dead. Boo-Hoo.

Yeah, lofting dreams of regular updating are getting eaten by busy work.

I was cruising the internet at work this weekend and ran into a quiz. Like I do for most quizes I mocked it's puiny existance and made it ask what it wants from life; basically weant all Happy-Time Harry on it. I continued this until I saw one brilliant question that has stuck with me. The question?

"Name three perfect albums."

So, it's not even really a question, but it's been haunting me.

What get's me the most: I can't do it. I can't pin down three records I consider, "perfect." Massive Attack's Mezzanine has moments I'm not a big fan of. Tool's Laterelus drags in some places. Front Line Assembly's Tactical Neural Implant has a couple parts that I routinely skip. Pig Destroyer's Terrifyer, intro and track 6, not so much. A Whisper in the Noise? Ides of March is pretty damn close, as is 2d, but even there, I find myself going, eh about bits of it.

The more I think about it, the more I can't stand it. It's been apparent to me that I'm a hyper-critical music-snob, but I can't even declare some of my all-time favorite albums as perfect. Maybe that's a good thing, I really don't know.

What kind of dick-face can't even figure out, what albums they consider perfect?

-Thomas