Diablo Cody. Just start rolling your eyes now.

This opening sentence from an AP article - "Diablo Cody has a tough-chick reputation -- the tattooed, punkish sex blogger wrote a book about her year as a stripper, and the name of her blog is too risque for family newspapers." - kind of sums up why this woman (she wrote Juno) deserves a fate of Braffian proportions. And the fact that you'll find any combination of the words "whimsical" and "sardonic" in reviews of the movie she wrote. I read some of her blog entries some time ago, and just, ugh. It calls to mind the self-regard and fake attitude of girls who join roller derby. Anyway, Ms. Cody has joined Miranda July high atop my shit list, a little bit below Dane Cook and Carlos Mencia, a little bit above Bill Simmons and the 1998 Utah Jazz. All I'm sayin' is I know some fabulously talented women who happen to write, and they'll likely never get opportunities like Cody because they won't change their name to something so retarded and wouldn't spend a year fucking stripping (I'm sure she found it a very expressive medium, though). At any rate, I'm sure she'll have a few stories featured in Tin House this year, and I'm sure it will have nothing to do with her prior career.

The best nickname ever

I heard someone tell this story, and though I hate this show, I thought this was hilarious. The person was watching "To Catch a Predator", and in this segment, a very fat man with a neck beard and camo pants walks in through the door, and the first thing Chris Hanson says to him is, "So, you're 'Meat Rocket'?"

Forsaken by my consorts

Yea, for they went caroling and were supposed to call me afterwards so that we might all get blitzed. Oh, they got blitzed alright, but here I am, at home, sulking, contemplating drinking some beers by myself because my consorts are such selfish lushes, and evidently sang their Wentzesclauses or whateverthefucks and then went their merry way.

So I went to Borders and bought Superbad for myself, and was grinning like a stupid bastard when I took it to the checkout lane for reasons I will not tell you. I'll probably watch that tonight and not think about the movie the entire time. Awesome.

Save me

My little brother watches nothing but MTV shows and reruns of America's Funniest Home Videos, and I just cannot handle it anymore. He sits rapt, chuckling often. I swear to God, it's like sitting in a room with an extremely autistic kid who reacts to things that you don't see. He listens to only three different bands and claims hip hop is no longer socially relevant. He refuses to read fiction, claiming it's a waste of time. He claims that no one who matters uses MySpace anymore. Thank God I have to go to work every day.

NFL Commercials

I really hate those Joe's Diner NFL commercials and it's all basically the fault of the zen Patriots fan. Although, it is a public service by the NFL to remind us all why it's so easy to hate that team and its fan base. For exigent purposes, I'll pretend that the Pats fan is a real person. He's like a mix between Cliff Claven and... well, that's pretty much it. He's a 2007 Cliff Claven. Why do I hate him so? In one commercial, he talks about how zen he is about the Patriots chances, but what that means to me is his wife just left him, his two teenage kids hate him because he spends his rare sober moments talking to some schlub and a washed-up Joe Montana (who is apparently laying low in some northeast town because the boys in the mafia found out he was gay or some shit) about pop culture and football as opposed to spending time with them. But everything's okie-dokie for him because the Pats are good, and this is what gives him his totally evident and completely artificial sense of superiority. It's a bleak commentary on the day-to-day life of a Boston-area fan who can't bring himself to shower, shave, or even wake up before noon on weekdays, but who has watched "Tombstone" fifteen times and thinks other people who like it are poseurs.

Thinkin about stuff to keep my sanity...

It's not that bad, is it? Well, maybe not, but then again, things are going poorly when I talk to myself like this. I'm trying to keep my mind on non-personal stuff for now because I'm kinda sad, which means it's all applications and writing, all the time. So, for programs we're looking at Rutgers, Ole Miss, Colorado, Georgia, Purdue, Bowling Green, Old Dominion, Arkansas, Oregon, Washington, New Hampshire, Colorado St., UNC Greensboro, UNC Wilmington, Indiana, Virginia, SIU Carbondale, Idaho, Wyoming, Montana. I've been gorging on cigarettes and caffeine, I can't tell right from wrong, and for now my capacity to do evil is that of a low-level Bush employee. My IQ has temporarily dropped ten to twenty points due to anxiety, but I'll make up for it with moxie and pornography-watching. Looking into my future is particularly difficult due to the discomfort of the present, but it's something my pounding headache is telling me I have to do. Christmas lights give me vertigo. I'm about as rational as Tracy Jordan, only I don't have an ankle bracelet that detects any alcohol in my system, so I'll take that as a win. My ability to spin hyperbole has never been matched.

Ugh

When I was first depressed and thinking the absolute worst things about life, my dad told me an old Rodney Dangerfield joke. A man tells his doctor it hurts when he bends his elbow. The doctor says, "So don't do that." Then the man says he wants a second opinion. The doctor says "You're ugly."