Jerry Spiderman's Shoe Emporium

I was trying to be thoughtful just now and reflect upon slavery, but this is as far as I got. Oh well.

One more because they're so good.

So smooth. I can go for this.

I freakin' love this song. A Crystal Castles remix would make my day.

Canceled trip to Vegas. Replacing it with moving to the Upper West Side and trip to Minnesota State Fair.


This shit is bananas!

Not going for sure; I am still determining if the benefits of seeing live farm animals, canoeing, and eating fried everything outweigh the costs of plane fare and having a few less days to get settled in my new room... Actually, fuck it. That sentence pretty much made my decision for me. If I can drink a bottle of wine and eat a fried Twinkie while on a canoe with a lamb, I'll be golden. After coming ashore, I would probably roast that lamb and have a beer. State fairs sound too good to be true, but then again, all of America between Hoboken and Los Angeles blows my mind.



Holy crap, there's a lumberjack lumberjackin' it show. I obviously have to go to this. I'm so excited, I'm so excited, I'm so...scared!

Speaking of scared, I joined OkCupid because I wanted to take some quizzes, but then I filled out a profile since it almost seem as if I were doing actual work. I'm happy to report that aside from having a very confusing conversation with some 19-year-old from, like, Florida, nothing scary has happened yet. This is nothing like the time I tried to join MySpace back in the summer of 2005.

After dinner, my friend Lil got really excited for chocolate and I was like,"Mang, I don't want no fuckin' chocolate!" but I went with her to the store anyway. I'm really glad I did because while she was picking out chocolate, I was picking out some random ass candy for her to buy me for dessert. I handed her what I wanted and then I pointed to something on the counter and said,"These sure look like eggs. Get me one of those, too." I thought they were toy eggs since they were in a basket with some Kleenex, but apparently they were real. I was slightly drunk, so I was just like, "Yeah, Lil. You know you want some fuckin' eggs," but Lil knowing better and being more or less sober asked the (really sketchy) dude at the counter,"Uhh...are these...eggs?"

Dude: Yes. They are hard-boiled eggs.
Lil: ...at the counter?
Dude: Yes.
Lil: ...is that the best idea, them being on the counter?
Me: Yeah, it's a real good idea. You can get an egg and then a pack of Kleenex to clean yourself up when you're done.

Then we left and didn't discuss it. In short: WAT. Who the hell sells eggs (cooked or not) at the check-out counter of a bodega? I mean,I know who does--that dude does--but it doesn't really make any sense to me. I guess you'd be standing around picking up gum and a pack of condoms and maybe you'll get kinda hungry? The store was near my job, so maybe I'll go back tomorrow and ask them how much they are. They can't be more than 25 cents.

In a fit of laziness, I decided to eat a bowl of rice for dinner. I didn't even make it--it was just there-- but I'm going to criticise it anyway because that's what the internet is for. Then I'm going to watch this here video of Alicia Keys just because she's, like, the bangin-est chick ever, and go back to sleep. Way to go, Thursday.

---

Severely lacking in both flavor and little red bits, IBERIA brand yellow rice has way too many little green bits, so many that I'm starting to think that they taste like something, possibly scallions. It also has an after-taste not dissimilar from CRUSH orange soda; I assume that it is the taste of Yellow, numbers 5 and 6.

Also, IBERIA lies, lies, and then when they're done, they lie some more. Even though the box says "Microwaveable", you should know that it is not, despite the rice being parboiled. Vegetarian consumers should also know that despite appearing to contain nothing but rice and food coloring, IBERIA brand yellow rice is not vegetarian-friendly as one of its ingredients is "chicken flavors" (I didn't know that there was more than one chicken flavor...which one tastes most like chicken?). It is possible that these are simply the flavors of chicken and not their slaughtered carcasses, but we can't take a chance with things like this! The folks at IBERIA clearly have no scruples.

Lastly, I'm mad that their serving suggestion is--wait for it--on a plate. With a fork. And a sprig of PARSLEY!? Really, IBERIA? If my broke ass is eating a two-dollar box of "microwaveable" insta-rice, why would you suggest that I go buy some fresh parsley to go with this sham of a meal? According to the ingredients, this shit already contains dried parsley, so why would I go and add some more? Maybe to cover up that yellow after-taste.

Someone said that Jeff Goldblum was dead and that was not cool because he is not. Actually, it's just rude.


Farrah Fawcett remains off of my radar or, at most, a measly 5% on my "Percentage of Rat's Ass Given" pie chart. (See Figure 1.)


For the record, Cleopatra Candy's gummi bears are the most delicious gummi bears in existence. Why? Because they come in what appears to be about a dozen or so distinct flavors (including GRAPEFUIT! and KIWI! and BUBBLE GUM!) and are the chewiest and freshest tasting. If only they sold them in other places aside from the Western Beef near my house... I'm almost inspired to write a letter to Cleopatra Candy to ask them for a lifetime's supply in exchange for an appropriate amount of internet peddling. The word must be spread, but I don't work for free.

I find the lack of concern people have for the true ramifications of Michael Jackson's death a little shocking. Yeah, it sucks that he died and it also sucks that he will no longer make any music or do any shows, but on that same token, he hadn't been putting out anything good for a while now. Speaking as a cold consumer of music, his death does not concern me in that regard. What does concern me presently is his unsettled spirit.

I pity the fools who have double-crossed Michael Jackson at any point during his life. His ghost is going to haunt them like whoa. Can you imagine getting in your car to go to work (or wherever...financial crisis...) and MJ suddenly appearing, fucking up your shit, then turning into a panther and walking away. Because he can do that now. He already blew up the internet in his passing.

Godspeed, Jacko. I hope that you strike fear in the hearts of your enemies. Now let's enjoy what is still my favorite music video of all time:




Fuckin' awesome.

A priest is taking a stroll down the street when he comes across a little boy with one hand in his pocket and the other carrying the bible. He decides to chat with him, "Young man, in one hand you hold a very powerful tool in life. What’s in the other?" To which the little boy replies, "A book".

Courtesy of Jeanine.

I noticed earlier this week that, in celebration of my dad and a couple of the other Owners winning spots on the co-op board, someone is organising a potluck in the lobby. There's a sign-up sheet that remained more or less blank until today. Of course my dad signed himself and my mom up for "TBD." (Mmm, I love TBD.) This means that I can't squirrel my way out of this most un-glorious event; I might have to go anyway since they scheduled it for a time when, if I were trying to leave for the afternoon, I'd probably run into it anyway since there's no other way to leave the building. Unless I left early in the morning, I'd have to leave very late given that this thing is probably during that not-quite-late-lunch-not-quite-early-dinner. I'm mostly just hoping that I don't run into a certain someone I will refer to as Resident Evil, an avatar of whom can be found here.

I've come to realise that no one in my building is single, attractive, or interesting, which kind of defeats the purpose of me attending a potluck mixer. So, I'll be going, but I'm signing myself up for "haterade" because that's really all I'll have to bring to this little brouhaha, especially since my request to join the co-op's Yahoo! Group was denied¹. Haterade goes really well with "TBD," I hear. Don't worry -- I will also bring ice cubes.

To balance out the bitterness, I will mention something good: . . . I got nothin' -- oh wait! One of my co-workers brought back a teeny, tiny glass penguin from Venice and a little thing of Nutella for everyone in my department. It complements the teeny, tiny glass cat that I bought for my ex in Venice, but which I took back after we broke up.

I think right about here is a really good place to end this.


¹Presumably because my answer to the question, "Why do you want to join this group?" was: "Because I live there...?"