Complete sentences, complete sentences!

People! C’mon already. Honestly.

What the F? Needs. For class, just a quote. Yes, just a quote. But noooo….

What interview? What survey? None.

A dozen answers, no complete thoughts.

Complete sentences make journalism so much easier. So please, people, when answering a question, please include both a noun and a verb, even if it is only “I suck.” This has been a public service announcement brought to you by the Pix Capacitor.

Last Year: New Forgiven Person
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Inferiority Complex

There’s a definite advantage to having a specialized blog. Namely, the lack of a feeling of inferiority.

I never feel that.

Sometimes, I think this blog is the exact opposite of specialized. Generalized if you will (or specialised and generalised to the zed haters amongst you).

When I go to a political blog, even if their post quality and frequency sucks, I feel ashamed to post, for fear that they’ll come to my site, see my lack of seriousness, and think less of me.

When I go to philosophical blogs, the same thing happens.

On the other hand, when I go to whimsical, amusing, or funny blogs, I also feel bad posting for fear that they’ll come to my blog expecting hilarity that I will not have delivered that specific post.

It’s a real problem.

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Four-saken

In 2000, my brother and his friends Gilbert, Sergio, and Richie moved into an apartment together. Six months later, my brother left the house and only remained friends with Gilbert, who also moved out.

In 2002, my friends Miguel, Pamela, Leia, and Katherine moved into a house together. Six months later, Miguel and Pam moved out and Leia and Katherine moved out, each pair not speaking to the other for the next year or two.

In 2004, my friends Sarah, Kassidy, Jesus, and Manny wanted to move in together. I begged them not to. I told them that they would never be friends again. I pleaded with them to no avail. They moved into a small apartment together. Four months later, Jesus moved out in anger and refused to speak to them. Kassidy tried to reason that my so-called ‘curse’ had been broken and the only casualty was Jesus.. two months later, Kassidy and Manny– boyfriend and girlfriend (respectively) for four years– split up and stopped speaking to each other.

My former roommate/hallmate/buddy Trumpet Rob’s brother Patrick is now planning to move in with his three friends.

I wish people would listen to me. If you like your friends, don’t move in with them. I don’t think that there’s a legitimate curse, but it’s hard enough to find one person you can get along with enough to see daily, let alone three.

If all of your potential roommates don’t fit the following qualifications, forget about it:

• Similar tastes in music and/or music volume level.
• Equal levels of cleanliness and expected cleanliness.
• Financial means.
• Friends you can tolerate.
• Respect for each other’s opinions, beliefs, and mannerisms.
• Roughly similar schedules or belief in the importance thereof.
• Compatible attitude, sense of humor, and intelligence/athletic ability or compatible beliefs in the importance thereof.
• Roughly equal ethicality/measure of importance of money/utility usage.
• Not a back-stabbing, snide bitch from hell.

I’ve been lucky to find 3 out of the past 6 roommates who fit all nine characteristics.

Oh, and I almost forgot the most important one:

• Communication.

Friggin’ A is communication important. I mean, haven’t you ever played the Sims?

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nabµf #3 of 29

Young Pixel stares down the desolate stretch of desert, wondering when his next customer will arrive.

Young Pixel is angry. He is also hot. So he fishes in his pocket for a quarter and buys a glass of lemonade from himself.

He feels mildly cheated, but cannot explain why.

A man in a three-piece suit walks by, but is too busy holding his suit together to buy any lemonade.

Nevertheless, it is exceedingly awkward for the both of them: Young Pixel had stared at his silhouette for the past six minutes, hoping he’d come down the road and buy some lemonade and the man in the suit had been steadily keeping his eye on the road and refusing to make eye contact.

And they both knew it.

Young Pixel grew even more angry.

The man walks by and Pixel stares down the road for the next forty-five minutes as cars drive by and nobody stops to buy any lemonade.

“This business venture is rapidly proving itself to be a bad idea.” Young Pixel remarks to nobody in particular.

Nobody in particular replies, but Young Pixel is too distracted to listen to even the most random personification of an idiom.

There! In the distance, a figure approaches, with a gun and an empty sack out. For five minutes, Young Pixel stares at this would-be robber. Then, deciding he doesn’t owe his life to his lemonade stand, he runs away down the road.

The ground opens up and swallows him whole. Nobody in particular is sad.

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ickh

ickh ickh

Note: The preceding post was typed by my friend Miguel while messing with my computer’s dashboard and the “Word Press Dash” widget. Despite all outside appearances, it is not a statement of my great dislike for elderly people or blonde Scandinavians.

Even though I do.

Last Year: Indiana, Pennsylvania
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