In Which Eric Remembers People From Another World

Nick Craig just set off a very bizarre chain of events.

1. I was in the bathroom taking a shit when my phone rang. It said nickcraig on it so naturally I thought "what the shit?" and then picked up.

2. Proceeded to have a half hour conversation with said nickcraig, he drunk, I still on the toilet unbeknownst to him. Highlights included:a recap of 5 year runion including tales of a nearly consumated convservative christian bigot vs. lesbian smackdown featuring Tiffany Mickleson and Anne Peters, good old FC nostalgia, a brief treatise on segregation and race relations in Middle America and the broader global community, and the obligatory State of the Joel address.

3. Here being where it gets truly wierd, this unexpected contact ignites an ill-advised and unquenchable desire inside of me to contact someone else I haven't spoken to in years. I hatch a plan to organize my own sort of 5 year reunion, but excluding all the people I wouldn't want to see.

4. I call Anne Peters. I apparently still have her correct phone number, she apparently still has my number listed, and she actually answers. We talk for a half an hour and highlights include: finding out that Ashlea Twait is moving to Seattle in a few weeks, discussions of Mindy and Sam and Carla, and coming up with the idea that my quest should take the form of a drinking game in which I become successsively drunker between each call I make. I would need to make a list of people, and order them appropriately so that the last person on the list is the one that would demand complete shitfacedness to contact.

5. I call Carla. She also answers. I find it absurd that this is working. I tell her about my strange night and the drinking game and we brainstorm about my list. We agree that Joel should be last. Or maybe Sam, but that I'd have to be too drunk, and would pass out before she answered. Geoff Lindsay has contacted her, as Sam has contacted me. When informed that Carla teaches preschoolers Geoff told her he would never trust her with his child. Carla is thinking about becoming a hairdresser, despite the fact that she gave me the worst haircut of my life, which I pointed out.

6. I ran out of steam. Ty, you would have been next even though you weren't in my class, but I know you're rocking out at Lollapalooza right now and I couldn't really bear to call anyone other than you. And I didn't really feel up to getting as drunk as it would have required. Nonetheless, one of the most enjoyably weird nights in recent memory.

Ty, I'm calling your ass soon.

To all Major Fractions...

I submit this conversation as redundancy that our triumvirate submit to a census. Also, as a pleading beacon that we concentrate this solution...though one mole of us remains constant, it gets split up between beakers...

Ludovic
awake, super magic awesome man!

Ic slǣpe on eorðscræfe
kablam!

Ludovic
I can only imagine what that resurrection sequence looked like...
what's the word, my friend?

Ic slǣpe on eorðscræfe
i just squeezed out a tastey blues jam...
if you haven't read it already, the mrs. and i will be heading your way in august

Ludovic
I have read it already and I am readily awaiting your arrival...are there any other guests travelling along?

Ic slǣpe on eorðscræfe
maybe noah parks.. that would be it.. and i kind of doubt it
no, i do doubt it

Ludovic
not to discourage, but I would be especially pleased if a reconvening were undisturbed by lesser fractions...

Ic slǣpe on eorðscræfe
so delicately worded

Ludovic
I take pride in my art...

Ic slǣpe on eorðscræfe
i hear you... this trip will be ideally filled with a lot of reconvening, as the lady will have been in europe for so freakishly long

Ludovic
oh yeah?

Ic slǣpe on eorðscræfe
will you have to work a lot?
like, at night and stuff?

Ludovic
early august? I believe that I will be unable to take any time off...it's a black-out month...moving season...though, I'll be done at 6:30 every night...

Ic slǣpe on eorðscræfe
ah, good.. i don't want to use your place as a motel
meaning.. i sleep there without seeing your shining face

Ludovic
I truly enjoy that our conversation is following along in the same vernacular as the absurdly bourgeois period film that I'm watching...
and yes, I would like to spend time with you when you are not rocking and/or sleeping...or when you are...doing either, I suppose...
so, yeah, anyway, I'm glad you're coming, fuck face...and I'm glad you're bringing your lady friend...I'll be glad to meet her...I hope that you can meet some of the talented and wonderful humans that I've encountered thus far in my Chicago adventures...

Ic slǣpe on eorðscræfe
we'll be ready

Ludovic
glad to hear it...

Ic slǣpe on eorðscræfe
i'm ready for an adventure.. it's hard to find a job when everyone else is loosing jobs because of a flood.. i have a lot of time to sit around and.. be ready for things

Ludovic
I know it gets old, having everyone try to convince you to be where they are, but I'm going to try...
Chicago is pretty rad...

Ic slǣpe on eorðscræfe
i'll give you a fair shot.. for now, it's time for me to read the silmarillion until i fall asleep

Ludovic
sleep well, man of awesomeness...and keep the boss fruit growing, for it is our fate...

Ic slǣpe on eorðscræfe
word, son

I'm still curious about this anthology...

Could we have an anthology?

hey boys... 

So, I'm bachin' (pronounced "batchin'") it this summer, and It's making me crazy in a number of ways. However, as usual, these lapses in material "happiness, comfort and love"-making potential get me riled in a most introspective text-hemorrhaging manner. Anyway, last night/this morning I ejaculated the following collection of loose signifiers that I intend to make into fiction of some length:

Writing Project Brainstorm:

short story topics --> the gap;

 rurality and urbanity;

my generation;

- how fucked are we? why?  

technology;

society, political identity (vs. personality);

heterosexual-masculinity;

animality/primitivism;

drugs;

time/ambulation as a biological classificatory device/botany;

geomagnetic reversal;

 I realize that the gist of this brainstorm is heavily obtuse and science-fictive and, for me, it has already yielded three fairly concrete short story ideas that I intend to germinate in the coming days.  What I propose is FICTION most speculative! For, while our existential rants give us candid access to our shared and/or unshared emotional landscapes in light of our individuated urban experiments as they stand, I feel as though some of the greatest mojo that the triad has ever mustered came from our wildest and most fleeting hopes, our joking attempts to glimpse the future in all its probable absurdity. It's going in the movie. 

Anyway... my tripartite proposal/promise/dare is that fiction is coming to minortriad this summer and you two, or anyone else who reads this b-log should come along as well. The task I set is to extract the "rain" and the "torm" from a good heavy brainstorm and leave ourselves with some pure BS. 

Fattening the Brain Magic (a Tyler list...)

A) It took me quite a while to realize it, but apparently Janine Turner was a major sex symbol for me. I didn't know until just now when I saw an ad for some workout contraption featuring TA-DA!! Chuck Norris!...and a bunch of other random celebrities who don't have careers anymore...the last of which was TA-DA!! Janine Turner. At which point I thought...wow, she's...she looks familiar...she's...Maggie O'Connell?
3-I think I dated Jada Pinkett Smith...in high school...except she was white...and kind of a bitch. Yeah, tell me there's not a resemblance...
D. Getting really drunk makes me want to watch Waking Life. Inexplicably. I just want to ride in a boat car and listen to Speed Levitch pontificate on Golden Gate suicide until the Wiggins stop dreamin'...and I don't understand why...I think it's because I've never seen that movie sober...because it never seems like a good idea until I'm relieved of my judgement...
two!! putting relatively rare things online makes me happy, so, starting with the past, here comes Rock & Rule...the future holds KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park...hopefully followed by Andy Warhol's Frankenstein...

Thursday's Deep Thought Cache Dump... (a new list)

1. "Everybody Sees, and Everyone Agrees": The new Raconteurs album is certainly not bad, probably excellent, and definitely growing on me. It's so many shades of black.

2. Today I replaced my now former facebook photo with a photo of three of me on my living room couch engaged in some of the archetypical actions which comprise the living room and its identity. Upon looking at it again, I now notice that the picture is also chock-full of waldo-esque items. See if you can spot all of the weird bits in there!


3. Lyrics are fruity. These are some of the ones that David wrote yesterday and I'm recording in the hydra-facebook-photo I mentioned.

soft white hands lite pitchers of cream
fold napkins, polish silver, poach eggs, boil water and wait
Great lucifer's screams and oak tables ignite

at the awakening...
of the human skin dream
at the awakening...
of the human skin dream
pressing labor tired heaving beasts for meats
naked on pristine sheets of steam
her empty carapace ablaze and sips tea all night

at the dawning of the feast...
feast of the human skin dream
dawning of the feast...
feast of the human skin dream

4. Media from the Month gone by:

There will be Bud - a fine flv that should be googled, especially by anyone who has seen There Will be Blood, anyone who enjoys a good Daniel Day Lewis impression, and/or anyone who wears sweaters.

New Gnarls
{ What do you think?}
New We are Scientists

5. Okay, so I wrote this list on thursday, but it's now Sunday... Not as though anyone is actually checking the triad for updates urgently enough for this to fuck with anyone's day, but I thought I'd clarify things for those of you who enjoy thinking that time ought to make sense.

6. Doc Ellis is everyone's favorite baseball player. Or at least he should be.

7. For Tyler's Eyes Only: I can't upload albums to the ftp. Or at least, not the way I've been trying to do so; that is to say, in a folder and into the music folder.

#8. For Eric's Brain Only: Hannah Thompson

9. I've just been be-face-friended by Ryan Holtan. This is perhaps the most depressing profile page I have ever seen. I encourage you to be-face-friend him just to witness this trainwreck (like, the kind little kids have in their mouths) and then to have a good laugh/cry/sneeze-gasm along with me and our only current (herpetic) mutual friend katie dakken. :D

10. And Finally---> I would like to offer an apology (socratic style) which pertains to the month-or-so-long gap that preceded this post. I had been assured sometime, perhaps in february, that there would be an incoming eric post, which would shock and molest us just how we like it. I liked the idea of this post so much, in fact, that I nearly decided to simply wait forever until it came, so that I would not hold three posts row-wise. Apparently, I got over it. And I'm sure, given his current face-status, that eric will chime in with something insane here right quick.

"Ours go to" 11. I might get flown out to Ioway for the graduating of Siri. Wanna meet up??

A Scenario:

I want to know a girl who is attracted to me for a very businesslike reason. I want her to be mortally dependent upon receiving my warmth. Not to say that it's going to require anything particularly out of the ordinary, maybe a night spent accidentally locked in a workplace freezer/fridge. I guess, actually, I want a girl who has good reason to believe that she is mortally dependent upon receiving my warmth, but does not necessarily have to be. We'd be in this goddamn freezer (did I mention she has HUGE eyeballs) and she'd get real worried and right there at the top of the list of precautions to be taken immediately would be "Body-Heat-Preservation and Reinforcement". However this went down, it would involve one sitting very close to this freakishly beautiful girl and getting to notice all the finer movements of humans without having to look at oneself in a mirror. The curl of the lip, the twitch of the eye, the whizzing exhale of the nose.... okay, apparently I'm also feeling kind of lysergic in this scenario, but I swear i'm not actually tripping at the time. No, we'll say it's one of the really unfortunate aspects of the situation that my stash happens to be just outside the freezer in my backpack.

Oh, but the point being, that i have no idea how people get together without history (a long string of common prior events) or the shared delusion, what I'll call fantasy (inspired by intense coincidence/luck/physics?). I guess I thought the whole "need for warmth" concept would be a pretty indellible coincidence. This is certainly a weird time for history-building. Currently my most up to do date auto/biographical knowledge is contained in some late-night digital scribblings for those eyes which should fall upon this blog, and in the mind of an only child who has come to consider me something of a surrogate brother. All the female perspectives on Peter Johnson that I can imagine right now are pretty odd, pretty disjointed, and pretty vague. A good stiff coincidence could clear that right up... Vivan the shared delusion of significance and the willing mutual suspension of disbelief!

Get Ready For Super-Ultra-Gigantic Megapost!

So... I'm suddenly flush with goods fit for blogging, so rather than give you that unfortunate backward in time effect that blogs are so good at, I thought I'd just slam them all in one space. Thus this post will be list like, though ridiculous in this capacity, because the list contents will be no more than temporally and authorially related and all a great deal too long for the standard list format.

First: Required Viewing

First Book of Armaments 16:1 And then Peter took the holy disc from the great singularity and blessed it. First, he gave thanks to the singularity, appealing to its oneness and threeness alike, and he was filled with knowledge of the goodliness of his action. Then he spake unto his two companions, holding the great disc, a rarification of so much ephemeral and human, aloft and pleading: "Take this brothers, for these representations have resonance wherever we exist and are rightly a part of our canon. Play this in the rememberance of three. And be it a covenant in our life, everlasting, Amen". And so, the men partook in the sharing of this absurd delicacy... not so great within itself, but the key to much that memory and the spirit normally withhold. And they were quenched.

(I got kind of carried away with that... if you're able to pick it out from within that vaguely lutheran-flavored queef, one or both of you is smarter/crazier than I have yet imagined. The gist of it is that tonight I'm uploading the Darjeeling Limited to the FTP [it leaked yesterday, Fucking FINALLY], a movie whose numerology and Wes Anderson stamp make it an irresistible force for triumvirate nostalgia. It's taking me back to the life aquatic on a cold Edina night as I type.)

Second: Retarded Reading
This next one is a little more straightforward at first, and consists of only official act thus far as a technical Waldorf Alumnus: my pseudonymous submission to the lit-rag whose name has changed this year from the Muse to the Crusader, if my reports are correct. I'm not sure whether I like this one, but Laura told me that she did, and that it was compelling writing such that her co-editors might not get it... Hell, if she hadn't liked it I would have posted it on MinorTriad anyway.

Fear and Loathing in the Gap
by "Brad Rowncliffe" '07

Graduating from college is a whole new kind of death. For many it can be felt as a subtle end in the process of translation from the life of protected kinship to the life of the experimental, liberal individual.

I remember, vaguely, walking around in a robed horde of black-capped, beaming initiates. We were under fire; battery-fuel filled capacitors snapped, daze-inducing as we crept into the gigantic tent. I felt like an asshole. It isn't the kind of magic that people seem to like to invent when they talk about graduation, or when graduations are dramatized. There's an effervescence they try to depict, an idealized clicking and whirring of new social mechanisms set into motion by this event and a clear new momentum that thrusts these newly licensed thinkers out into the myriad tributaries feeding that bountiful current that is American Progress. But really, it isn't there.

All of those plastic smiling gazes and leaking tear ducts and bottles of champagne, what are they for? I don't think they're all that deep. They're the swiftest and surest sign of a dubious undercurrent that tugs at the Baby Boomers. For someone who has spent four years reorienting his or her thoughts around a framework of rational, self-referential, critique this kind of symbol floats in on a nauseating breeze and ruins the cake. There is hope strewn all over the place, but it is a stupid hope, a shored-up, bootstrapped vision of a future in which we apply ourselves wantonly to the task of Horatio Alger protagonism and everything comes out Hollywood.

So, what is the point of all this hoping, longing, planning for easy integration? Do our parents long for a world in which we assume all their baggage, their parents baggage? I suppose that would figure. A generation whose rebellion was easily as effective as the war in Vietnam, which it sought to quash, has been jaded into a more legalistic, cog-like lifestyle than even that of their depression-era parents. The "60's" is pure camp sold back to them and bought for their children, a goofy era that was the beginning and end of an ultimately silly counterculture. The world they live in is immovable and the idea that their children will bring or even witness great and radical change is both rhetorically powerful and safely laughable to them.

I think we are a generation divided. On the one side there are the privileged and the willing. Their parents have been carbon-copied, thus their "important" traditions carried on, albeit with an oblique artificiality that bespeaks this preservation, a new generation of brats is squeezed forth. I don't know what these people think of life on earth, life in the United States, but I hope they damn-well love it.

The other aisle is filled with catastrophists, catastrophists simply waiting for catastrophe. We live with a sincere wish for something authentically defining, an event which would stab into the softness of the ever-billowing boundaries that confine and proscribe our lives, which would lay bare the power relations that hobble our thinking and then violently explode them, leaving us with a clearer, messier, more visceral understanding of what the human animal needs and should value in life. We want something so inhumanely sublime in its scope, schedule and magnitude that there is simply no resisting the symbolic force of its many contexts. Something that mangles devastatingly and excretes communities whose task is to negotiate the form or to sputter and drown.

We understand, though perhaps we do not all think about it in these terms, that to be human, to be even an aborted fetus or retarded quadruple amputee, is to be among the luckiest and most improbably constituted matter in the universe. People are the side effects of raw atoms and energy and often they are way too worried about preserving that tiny, comprehensible slice of existence within which they can feel purposeful, meaningful and reasonable.

That's where I sit, right now. I do seemingly insane things every day in the service of systems that were broken before I was born. I am ultimately subjected to the whims of anyone who bears enough of the pure, rarified human agency of currency. I have no de facto recourse, even to reclaim the smallest bit of my biological habitat. I am a prosthetic beast whose ultimate happiness lies not in my ability to do good works or fulfill some other absurd criteria, but in my ability to somehow festoon all the aspects of my life, my body, my dare-I-say soul, so that I might incidentally feed my head with enough love, comfort, respect, excitement, suspense, ire... or some complex of emotions such that I continue respiration. I know there are better ways for me and for a whole lot of other people to get our biologically mandated jollies here on this planet. I am already way too lucky for this bullshit, and so are you.


Third: Zoom In
This is what happened when I ran out of Craigslisting for the day..... It kinda bugs me, but it's a little more personal than the other one, and it seems like stuff I'd joke about with you guys, or the conversation that I would manage to not have with my mother.

A Slice of Life:

I'm sitting here today with nothing to do but wait on answers which will likely never come. The arrival of any of these replies will signal that I have now progressed to any number of squares one, many of which are frankly quite exciting, but others of which lead down a path of belabored inquisition that ultimately terminates in an oddly arranged new schedule of drudgery. It is only via securing this sort of obligation that one of no means such as myself is able to remain free and alive.

For some reason, this experience also makes me want to write passages like the above.

I walk around, sometimes purposefully, in pursuit of one or more of these answers, other times just to get a new perspective on Portland. This was something I did during college, but not with any necessity and not often enough to scratch the surface of Portland's many views.

I haunt the Internet. Looking for anything that appears to have a job at the other end of it. I painstakingly craft Facebook status updates, they emerge in a range that should only be characterized as encompassing the involuntary utterances of the retarded - or perhaps autistic - to the mildly cannibalistic, schizophrenic. Recent entries have included my current address, which under the new Facebook status formatting conventions comes out to be something like "Peter apt. 8 4107 SE Gladstone St., Portland, OR, 97202."; entries which vaguely illuminate the nexus of my simultaneous longings for food and companionship, such as "Peter forages for interesting protein..."; and entries in which I make non-attempts at inside-humor with myself, like "Peter wishes he had more tea... ".

Specifically, I wanted some more of the shroom tea that I drank from a Nalgene bottle at a really fun party, and thought that the perfect way to assuage these feelings would be with a little foppish quip about me needing more tea displayed to the Faceworld. Beneath which, there would be me, the me that is hyper-present in the psilocybin-tickled brain, the me who feels no more at home than in an early fall garden: naked, hairy, panting, hair touching the back of my neck and shoulders, breath sharp and falling out in moist white tufts. I love being shocked at the number of fruits I can collect with two hands. My translucent skin, the flesh, bone and gristle beneath, suspend these juice filled bodies in a perfectly tight and delicate grip as I gallop around...

Anyway, today I need something for the status that makes it clear that while I am waiting for something, I'm not busy and I crave interruption. Not because I think anyone reads my Facebook status, but because I'm probably also going to vote in November, so I must believe in bullshit.

Be Kind, Please Rewind...

Embracing this new toy, if for nothing else, as a way to more easily control your brains through cinematic suggestion, I present to you (via the ftp) Animation:

The Point
-A silly little ditty from Harry Nilsson (yes, that Harry Nilsson) narrated by Ringo Starr.

Rock & Rule
-Find of the year, I tell you. Though it was last year that I found it...on laser disc...and just now got around to popping it into my giant laser machine. A surreal trip into an absurd future where bipedal house pets bring forth demons with the dark magic of rock 'n roll. Celebrity singing voices!

This second one I had to lovingly transfer and compress myself, which proved problematic (and the quality was pretty shitty to begin with), but now I think I have a system down, so there will be more obscure films to come when I find them at my place of employment as polite society does away with the rotting magnetic abomination that is VHS by giving them all away to the less fortunate. Personally, I enjoy the ghosted images and twiddling with the tracking. Also, I never actually pictured myself hunkered over a laser disc, a toothbrush in one hand and a cloth wipe in the other, painstakingly polishing away the scuffs. Not that I regret it, I just never thought I'd let things go that far...

My brain will be remaining on standby for the insertion of pretty, pretty pixels of your devising as well. Left to my own devices, I will otherwise end up filling my headhole with such nonsense as can be currently found in the shiny donation cup that is Videodrome...I like to picture it as one of those big red vortexes at the mall that you drop a penny in and watch it roll around and around and around until ffzZZOOOOOOMMMmClink! If I could go back in time, I'd shove my little fist in there every chance I got and pretend I thought it was a giant Take-A-Penny-Leave-A-Penny. One of these days, I may actually get around to looking up how to link directly to files on the ftp from here...maybe...

Everybody Smooch Comcast! Now, Wash Your Mouth!

I dunno, maybe they wear nice lip gloss....

S0 first, Juno.  This movie is odd, uncomfortable, something megan would force tyler to watch while sunning-in his curly locks... thus, delightful. Don't pay monies to cronies for your viewing experience: take a dump on those arcane business models and fuckin' grab that shit from the FTP! I've completely traded in that new media, crinkly wrapper, over-stickered, over-packaged, plastic smelling high that comes from "legitimate" intellectual property procurement for a new kind of glee. This feeling I want to pin down is the deep-spinal arpeggiation I feel when worthless suburban bandwidth finds form and meaning in my waiting hands. With every byte I upload, still more with each imaginary byte that you and they download, I fill with bits upon bits upon bits of ethereal pirate fairy dust. I don't need to scrape up my pennies for extra plastic widgets and make lemonade out of a fairly gross, wasteful situation which only the music makes tolerable, reasonable; I piss a wide stream of it down a laser tube and into your awaiting mout... i mean minds... Anyway, I ramble...

How about some SCARY DEPRESSING SHIT!

1. This is another list. Just making sure you noticed. 

2. Computers are scary. The past is repeating itself. 

 

http://209.85.173.104/search?q=cache:LyWM5zIgLnMJ:www.eurotrib.com/story/2008/1/12/191247/981&hl=en&ct=clnk&cd=1&gl=us&client=firefox-a 

3. This is slightly scarier, though, at least there will be women. Ha ha, suckas!

http://www.govtrack.us/congress/bill.xpd?bill=h110-393&tab=summary

4. This is ridiculous... 

http://blog.wired.com/27bstroke6/2007/10/bush-quip-might.html

5. This is disturbing. Not the events so much as the fucking commentary. (I also kinda wish that digg wouldn't give away my punchline like that.)

http://digg.com/world_news/Dad_Sodomized_A_Hole_Teen_Stepson_Who_Raped_His_Daughter

Thanks ladies and gents. Try not to sever thine own pretty heads, goodnight. 

Widening Out My Internet Habitus....

A list, for listing's sake.
A list, also, for a new year and renewed triad.
A list, mostly, to pass the time and to record the most recent path of my internet pacing, my digital mantra of late.

1. Apply for jobs --> constantly craigslisting
2. Look for housing --> somewhat less pressing craigslisting
3. RLSlog.net --> No one seems to have more insight into the great empire of the pirates
4. Mininova.org --> Maybe rlslog missed something?
5. isohunt.com --> you gotta be fucking kidding me... there must be a torrent for that!
6. shareminer.com --> maybe some music then
7. facebook.com --> oh jesus, nevermind... wait, holy shit! what is that tiny photo of? they're MARRIED!?!?
8. funfail.com --> gotta be able to search out some tunes somewhere...
9. sordo.freehostia.com --> alright, fine, let's see what these assholes seem to think is worth downloading...
10. boingboing.net --> no, i'm not going to watch boingboingtv!!
11. digg.com --> this is composting at its finest, all the raw informing power of the net ground up and packaged in a sophomoric candy shell...
12. achewood.com --> ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hah ah ah ah ah...
13. wunderground.com --> check the weather... of course using the page that pays homage to the group of lunatic acid freaks who sprung timothy leary
14. edition.cnn.com --> just in case i want to see what paris and lindsay are up to
15. sparksfromflint.blogspot.com --> reminds me that i miss robby... and wish he wrote more... and am glad that he's no longer a member of the waldorf isolation great bloggers club...
16. andcomfort.net --> i wish i knew more about php... I need a blog template with a rotating background image like that...
17. minortriad.blogspot.com --> serious internet longing/ecstasy/inspiration with every view
18. tvokay.com/tv-links.cc --> they ain't tv-links.co.uk, but they are the gold standard in non-bittorrented video content these days...
18.1 ninjathis.net --> veoh download frontend --> vivá la liberación
19. convergent.blogspot.com --> candy!
20. Finally, when i'm really out of shit to do, i visit the vacant lots: most notably the as-yet-unused thingstodoonacid.blogspot.com --> classy!