What’s better than reading books about oil resources, war and destruction? What uplifts your intellect? What makes you better understand the world in which we live?

40 Awesomely Bad Love Songs

Yeah, I could be reading. I could be writing. I’m behind in all such activities. But fuck it.

I’ve also, I think maybe possibly, got all my photos back online. There’s this gallery here, which has just about everything in no particular order.

You can look at the same shit here. It’s the same damn thing, but it’s all fancily blended into this page. Meaning, you get a dee-rob banner. Whee and whoop-de-do.

Which reminds me, isn’t this AWESOME?

I have been too fucking lazy by a long fucking shot to write up to fabulous episodes in my thoroughly uninteresting life.

One involves skinning my knees and getting caught on the work surveillance system. (I just lobbed a softball for dvae to write something obvious and crazily sexual about being on my knees at work.)

The other involves the best-dressed, most disarming, strangest encounter with a self-described “beggar.”

Soon. Exciting stories. Thrilling anecdotes. Humor. Comedy. You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. You’ll wet yourself in some manner in your nether regions.

For now, here’s the more boring reality. I signed up for a continuing ed class called something like “Mixed Blessings: Oil and War in Developing Countries” at a university called something like “Stanford.” It’s interesting and underlines what I already felt in my loins — The world is a fucked up place, and we’re hellward bound.

It was my floating effort to determine if I should maybe sign up for a Master’s program in the evening, which they have an OK program that caters to working grown ups. Here’s the thing, though, I’m already fucking behind in my reading, and I actually find this shit interesting. So fuck that edumacation bullshit, too hard.

Seriously, what’s not to love about learning the data to make slamdunk arguments against our currently fucked up foreign policy? I mean, in the unlikely circumstance that I end up at a cocktail party with true-blue Bush believers, I’ll be able to thrust and parry like a motherfucker. You know, party banter.

At least I know what the books I should be reading look like. I’ll start a new intellectual trend, just describing the outside cover for people to judge for themselves. It’s kind of like Fox news “We report, you decide.” One book is all swirly, oily black and has “paradox” in the title. I bet it’s interesting if challenging to read.

But, I did take the day-long getting yourself published workshop. My favorite part was hearing all of the shit people are working on in their little home offices and whatnot. Some guy just likes presidents and is gonna write about the six best. A chick married a geek who likes machines with gears and buttons and doohickies, but no computer chips. They’re going to make something with words and pictures.

Damn, I wish I were that nice and that devoted if I were to marry a geek. I’d just make fun of him.

A couple of guys with brainiac sounding jobs and no doubt some federal contracts in their pasts, our getting their Clancy on and writing some kind of espionage, world collapse kind of thrilling prose.

And, me, I’m planning on writing self-indulgent drek that is worthless than the gears, buttons, doohickies AND computer chips I’ll be using to express it.

I’m humming the song from “The Jeffersons” and calling myself Weezy.

In M.’s current company, he’s been learning a lot and rising to the next challenge. It looks like the next challenge may be an air of legitimacy. Instead of fighting the good fight of hoping a start-up takes off, he got an offer from a rather more established place. One that actually appears in business mags, rather than wallowing in obscurity and praying for annointment by a VC or angel.

He’s gonna have a fucking office.

We might have to celebrate Chiney style, given that tomorrow is the 15th day of the 8th lunar month. You gotta eat cake, with which I’m down. But, wikipedia.org provides the following:

Yup, check me out, I’m going to be dancing around with a citrus fruit chapeau. Partying like it’s Moon Festival FEVA!

What can I say, when bits and pieces of the website break, I follow suit. Maybe it’s allegorical somehow, but I can’t lay off until I fix the little shit on this here mentally tiny shit website.

I installed totally different photo gallery software. I used “Gallery” before, but I think I’m digging “Gallery 2” way more. Especially, since I can get it to integrate with my Mac iPhoto gallery. From my camera to my ‘puter to the web in three steps, I’m hoping.

I can still embed. Now I just have to re-fucking shoot me-upload a shit load of pictures and possibly, if I feel like it, stop pressuring me, fix all of the old posts with pics.

In the actual news, my favorite story of the week — the drunk? queer? diddling? (or maybe just hoping) former Congressman Mark Roberts. He’s even giving possible pedophiles a bad name.

My favorite, and by favorite I mean, what the holy fucking god on christ are you doing? part of the now floating the web and news channels transcript of the Instant Messages is:

Maf54 (7:54:31 PM): where do you unload it

Maf54 (7:55:51 PM): cute butt bouncing in the air

Um, not even two words, I have two letters — ew. Just Ewwwww.

Ann “the Cunt” Coulter and Sean “I’m not psychotically angry I’m political” Hannity used the revelations as an intro to whining about Clinton yet again. Let’s see, banging a willing 22-year-old, on the one hand, and creepy old man drooling on cyberspace, yeah, right, I can see how they align.

I guess the big issue is, in Watergate-ese, what did Speaker Hastert know and when did he know it and did he only get a hold of the G-rated conversations. All right let’s break that down a little. First, um, roomful of lawmakers, so maybe they should like know about legal shit and figuring out the lines. Some teenagers who work in this place for reasons of a 300-year-old tradition slip you some printouts from the old PC saying they’re from one of your guys.

Let’s say Hastert only has the light-weight, “Hey, when you coming back to DC,” not lecher version. Still and all, aren’t you scratching your head and thinking, “What the fuck is this 50-something shmoe doing tap, tap, tap in that little AIM chat window?” Maybe I’m wrong, because I don’t actually know any 50 or so year old Congressman, but are they big IM’ers? Do they all have cutesy handles and chat up teens? That would seem unusual to me.

Then, let’s say as Speaker of the House, you’re kind of supervisory. Somewhere in the hallways of the fucking House of Reps, you overhear a page saying “There goes FFF,” because apparently the hip name behind Foley’s back was “Foley the Florida Faggot,” or something with Foley, Faggot and Florida. Presumably, you’re not a total dumb guy, as Speaker, although Commander in Chief is a different job description, somewhere this comment registers. As a perceptive grown up, you say, hmmm, what’s up with the pages knowing about Foley’s little secret?

And you worry and look into the deal with the IMs. Or you give the secret GOP handshake and figure “aw, fuck it.”

Nice

Because ne'er-do-wells abound in the virtual world, I upgraded my photo gallery and weblogging software for needed security.

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