Monday, February 27, 2006


It has come to light that Ryan once purchased a $100 cheesecake.

He may explain to you that:
  • The $100 was part of a $500 graduation lagniappe (so, you know, it's not like it was real money or anything).
  • There was a lady companion involved.

Given the seriousness of this new and important information, it is imperative that we alert the community to Ryan's dastardly cheesecake ways.

Ladies of Charlottesville: if Ryan tries to buy you expensive dessert items, be not deceived by his sugary ruse. He may harbor ulterior motives.

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Smokey (not the Bear)

For shame. These hooligans really went out of their way to subvert the legal proscriptions against the cultivation of plants with narcotic properties.

(hat tip: Unfogged)

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

I hear through the grapevine that Stanley is taking work off this week, ignoring his girlfriend, and buying new, expensive, Italian slacks because he's playing drums in a high school performance of HMS Pinafor and has decided to take it more seriously than anything else currently happening in his life, or, for that matter, ever. Is this true?

Follow up: If so, need I point out how many years ago Stanley graudated from high school? College, even?

Follow up: (really I don't know which direction to take my questioning in. My options here are nearly limitless, and all based upon whatever lies and excuses Stanley thinks up for my first question (which is undoubtably true (grapevines don't lie)) and I need Stanley's response before I map out my course of interrogation. But either way, HMS Pinafor sucks and I hope, at least, that I've got the play wrong. Guys & Dolls? My Fair Lady?)

Monday, February 20, 2006


Money quotes (in no particular order):

  • "I feel bad for the first time in my life."

  • "I would date anything that walks."
    --Jon Blaze

  • "You just gossiped about the quality of somebody's potato salad."

  • "Man, my ass is so sweaty. Literally, I was standing and my boxers froze to my butt."
    --Jon Blaze

  • "I just want to see people ice-dance."

  • "I got communijty service at 4:00 . . . "
    --Jon Blaze

  • "Tot-ology."

  • "If I were a girl, I'd let R. Kelly pee on me."
    --Jon Blaze

  • "I think the energy we add will affect the taste . . . in a sugary way."

  • "I've had sex with ten women---some of them more than once."
    --Jon Blaze

  • "My dad loves Sparks."

  • Jordan: "What about eggs?"
    Jon Blaze: "I've tried it, dude. It doesn't work."

  • Stanley: "So you think little kids are like retarded adults?"
    Dana: " Yeah, basically . . ."

  • "I like organic stuff. It makes me feel happy about the planet."

  • "I should have just crapped in my panini."

  • "How long ago did you make me start responding to you?"

  • Stanley: "Hey, he'll do it."
    Jon Blaze: "I'll do anything . . ."

Saturday, February 18, 2006

A Man, A Plan, A Canal: Panama

THE OTHER DAY we all celebrated STANLEY (of the not-in-any-way infamous WRY & STANLEY)'s 24th birthday, with wine and food and friends and a lot of standing around talking and laughing and going outside to smoke and cheese eating and a small expensive pizza and much talk of the benefits of a good French Press coffee maker. It was swell. For the evening, about sixty of us went to see SHARON JONES & THE DAP KINGS (webpage of which I would link were I the type of person who knew how to do that) and the SATELLITE BALLROOM (again, same link thing), where our friend BETH (yes, again) pretends to work but really just sits in her office brainstorming creative ways to woo me. The concert was wonderful. I drank a lot.

Working at the Ballroom, picking up empty bottles and stuff, was an EX-GIRLFRIEND (no doubt I would link something funny here if somebody were to teach me this) of mine who I had not seen in a few months and who, if she ever reads this, will decide it is one more reason (of many) to hate me. Anyway, it was good when I saw her and we danced a bit and talked a little and everything was fine and cordial yet still intimate in a way that only people who have spent a lot of time together can be, even after not seeing each other for many months, even when they can't decide if they should hate each other.

So everything was fine and I left the concert and went home and hung out, not wanting to sleep because of the innate funk reverberations courtesy of THE DAP KINGS, and I decided, you know what, fuck it, I think I will call EX-GIRLFRIEND and tell her that it was really nice to see her, and that I am sincerely glad she seems to be doing well. So I did that. But she didn't pick up so I left a message. Then I hung up and ever since I have realize that that was the stupidest thing I have done in a long time.

Thursday, February 16, 2006


A brief list of things I apparently enjoy doing when I take a day off work:

  • Eat crêpes and talk to Jordan
  • Discuss Oxycontin with Allison
  • Stare menacingly at armored-car drivers
  • Overhear the doctor's receptionist repeat the phrase "her yearly pap" to the patient's husband on the phone, when she has to explain what "her yearly pap" entails
  • Shop for bikes
  • Finish mix CDs
  • Discuss Oxycontin with Beth and Peter
  • Take the trash and recycling to the curb

In case you were curious.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

I made $7,000 in twenty minutes

Today, when sending my 1040EZ (that's right, I make less than $100,000; I own no stock (actually I do own stock, but whatever, I can never figure out the 1040A forms so I pretend I don't (no harm, no harm)) tax form to Atlanta, GA, where it will no doubt be opened by a human being (who doesn't care that I have no dependents), briefly looked / laughed at, put into a pile of some sort, moved around a bit, checked off by a supervisor, moved around a bit more, (maybe) briefly looked at by another human being (who overlooks my favorable math errors (hooray for refunds!)), translated into binary numbers, looked at by a computer (who is incapable of caring one way or the other (or is it?)), electronically filed with the millions of others . . .
Today, when I was sending my 1040EZ tax form, I overpaid the postage by 7 cents.
Somewhere, somehow, in some way, to some people, that is profound.

"Do you have a flag?"

Yesterday, I arrived home from work to the usual tedium: throw in some laundry, open the mail, lament the offerings of Adelphia digital cable.

Then, I came across a surprising piece of mail. My credit-card company had sent me---unsolicited---a new card. Same number. Same name. No noticeable changes.

No changes, that is, except the fucking enormous American flag emblazoned across the card's face.

Setting aside the flag thing for a second, I decided to call the credit-card company. I see enough fraud everyday to make me a leetle beet paranoid. (Common scheme: get ahold of someone's personal data; order a new card for an existing account; intercept new card in the mail as it arrives; buy televisions and subwoofers.)

Deftly navigating my way through the various menus (through the cunning and repetitive use of the "0" key), I reached a human being:

Maryanne: This is Maryanne. How can I assist you, today?
Stanley: Um, hi, Maryanne. You guys sent me a new card. I wanted to make sure there was no funny business---that no one had compromised my, um, information.
M: Nope, no funny business. Just a new card with better security in the magnetic strip. Would you like me to activate that card for you today {and then offer you a bunch of other shit you don't want either}?
S: So you guys want me to use this card now. . . .
M: Mm-hmm. That's right.
S: I see. . . . I'm not really fond of the, um, aesthetics of the card.
M: [Awkward silence.]
S: [Awkward silence.]
M: You mean the flag?
S: Uh, yeah, . . . I mean, I liked the old card. It was really simple---elegant, almost.
M: Oh . . . Well, I can send you out a new one.
S: [overly ecsctatic] You can?! That'd be great!

In sum: the credit-card company may have violated the law. And, after my snub of Amuricka, I've probably been placed on the list for FISA-free surveillance.

Seventh-circle bastards . . .

Saturday, February 11, 2006

60 x 12 = Bliss

Last night I slept for twelve hours.

It was everything I hoped for and more.

Tonight I went to a party where I ran into a girl I knew in high school, who is now six or seven months pregnant, living with her parents and boyfriend, and working "in an office, doing computer stuff." Actually I didn't "run into her." I knew she was going to be at the party (stupid party, by the way; college kids, flip cup (played my first game ever (and lost)), girls making ridiculous eye contact with nothing interesting to say, bad beer -- all in all, actually, it wasn't a bad party, per se, but the type of party I am less in the mood for these days, with the type of people (not to peg everyone there in a hole) but with the type of people I don't have the patience for -- great eye contact, everyone's either attractive or drunk, dancing, singing, nothing to say, nothing to say, nothing to say) . . .
So I knew I was going to run into my friend from high school, LISA, who is now pregnant with bags under her eyes and a sad look, as well as another friend from a long time ago, MICHELLE, so I went to this party.
So MICHELLE was great to see. Last time I saw her was maybe six years ago. Looks just like she used to (gorgeous), not older at all. Is now in grad school at Chapel Hill, doing Speech Therapy, with great roommates, whom I talked with for a while. That was all fine. She was great to see, and made me smile.
Then I talked to LISA, who, like I said twice already, is pregnant. She did not seem to be doing so well. I don't have a whole wealth of experience around pregnant girls who I used to run track with, but I thought I did okay. I used words/phrases like "the most important thing you'll ever do, unless you save the whales" (she laughed) and "beautiful" and "extraordinary" and "mind-boggling" and I looked at nothing but her eyes and I smiled and smiled and smiled and we talked for a while and I tried again and again to make her laugh and feel important and she did not seem to be doing well. She told me she doesn't like her job and isn't up to much (I was flabbergasted - she's fucking pregnant, how is that "not up to much?") and she looked away when I asked her how she was doing "in the grand scheme of things." Her boyfriend was there, next to her, the whole time we talked, but she didn't introduce him, and he didn't introduce himself, and at the time I wasn't sure if he was the boyfriend or not so I didn't want to assume.
Anyway, I found myself feeling bad for her, and feeling fake because of how excited I was acting over her pregnancy (not so say that I wasn't excited, but I was both excited and worried for her).
I found myself thinking of "Beach Week," our senior year in high school, when we all went to Myrtle Beach and everyone was drinking and laying on the beach and drinking and hooking up with one another. She had a boyfriend at the time (not the same guy as now) and still we hooked up, a few times, once in the bathroom, I remember, when she said she wanted to show me her glow-in-the-dark bellybutton ring. At the end of the week, I remember walking on the beach with her and her friends, and they were talking about cheating, I guess, or some variation thereof. And somebody said how wrong it would be to cheat on your boyfriend.
And LISA said, "I know. I would never do that. That would be so wrong, right Ryan?"
And I said yes.

Friday, February 10, 2006

An (Incomplete) Account of the Evening of Wednesday, February 8th

6:40 Home from work. Shower. Feel like shit. Attempt nap (fail). Drink lots of water.

7:29 Jenkins begin planning what to wear to our "costume party" show, knowing damn well that we should have thought about this earlier (as in, maybe a day before the show? maybe even TWO days before the show?) I want to be the main character from Jurrasic Park (the guy with the cowboy hat), but I don't know how I can get it across to the audience. I can't find my Jurrassic Park velociraptor shirt (that I used to wear in sixth grade) either. Sorry fans, no free T-shirt!

9:05 Free food and beer for the band! Good thing, because I forgot to eat. Everyone (including the waitress) calls me a "pussy" for ordering water, and not six Guinesses. I drink my water and order another. Both are delicious. I have really been digging water lately.

11:03 Jenkins are dressed as: Mormon, 'Nam veteran, gay cowboy, strange Indian God, ??? (I have no idea what Rob was dressed as . . . possibly Eminem after six days of coke and bar fights, possibly a skinny white kid with a tore up wife beater and sweat pants.) We begin to play.

12:09 Set break. First set not good, but everyone is having a good time. Fans are dressed as: mimes, Thor, pirates, Ninja Turtles, gay cowboys (I don't understand how this became a trend), et cetera. I start drinking.

12:56 Rob forgets the chords to AFTER CIGARETTES, and we have to stop playing it and apologize to the crowd. This is the second time this has happened, in all Nice Jenkin history.

1:50 Stop playing. Second set not good.

2:11 Stanley runs around trying to convince the Jenkins that his band, TRUMAN SPARKS, should play after us (as opposed to before us) on Sunday, at the big show with THE EXTRAORDINAIRES. Jenkins say "whatever" when really they mean "we'd rather play second, but if you're going to be a dick about it . . ."

2:28 I take pictures with a mime.

2:34 I take pictures with a pirate.

2:40 I have long conversation about hair cuts. I need one. I make a date to get a hair cut in the morning, as long as I cook the hair cutter breakfast (waffles with strawberries). She agrees.

2:45 Pack up. Drink more. Blond Girl halfway falls down stairs and breaks one of her high heels. I didn't know heels had lots of little nails in them. They do. Someone could get hurt. I try to fix it. No luck. Suggest a good cobbler I know. Blond Girl and I laugh and say "cobbler" a lot. Laugh some more.

3:00 Jenkins drive bus aimlessly around Charlottesville looking for Blond Girl's house, when really she wants to come to our house, but she won't say it, and we all find the situation amusing for some reason (possibly we are drunk (not the driver, Mom)). We drive around a lot, singing along with the radio.

3:15 We find Blond Girl's house. She is not happy. We are in hysterics.

3:30 Home. Bed. Sleep. Dream.

An (Incomplete) Account of the Evening of Wednesday, February 8, 2006 [all times very approximated]:

9:45 pm - rode bike (why the fuck is it so cold?!) to the Bistro to tune Adam's new snare drum.

11:02 pm - Is Jordan . . . an Afghani woman from India?

12:09 am - The Nice Jenkins take a break; conversation with a pirate and Dana; pirate conversation topic: a turtle shell; more specifically, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle shell.

2:11 am - convinced the Jenks that Truman Sparks should probably play second rather than first, provided Truman Sparks does the much famed "S w i t c h ."

[Ed. Note: I don't think the "S w i t c h" is ever really going to work, but I agree to these conditions, nonetheless. ('Cause I'm a dick.)]

2:47 am - bike ride home.

3:05 am - Belle and Sebastian.

3:55 am - to the bus station; Departures, not Arrivals.

5:07 am - more Belle and Sebastian; a forgotten dream or two.