Take your pie to work day.

Enough people complained about discrimination so it became take your dessert to work day.

“Did you just write ‘comprised of’? Because I guarantee you meant ‘composed of’. I mean, I guarantee it.”
Did you just write “composed of”? Because I guarantee you meant “composed of”. I mean, I guarantee it. (Which is technically even still valid.)

The only way to make an awkward situation more awkward is to acknowledge it.

There are shredder people, and there are copier people. And I think you’re a shredder, except my mind just Scrubs-tangented into you being a TMNT villain.

Medical show.

The new Scrubs takes place in a teaching hospital. And there's a character that Dr. Cox only calls by number. And another character with an exaggerated Australian accent.
Hubs, or Scrouse?

“When it's over, then I cheer / I'm glad it's only once a year…“

I like listening to Christmas songs only in months that don’t start with D.
(One day in, already sick.)

“…I hate Christmas…”

(Hot + bubble) x (teas + baths)

Things to be thankful for.

[What a Person at a Thanksgiving Table Wouldn’t Say]

Helen Keller : Apples to Apples :: Tyrannosaurus Rex :: Jewish Apples to Apples

When you’re composing your analogies, do you ever wonder whether to do abcd or acbd?
I always wonder that. I’m not just making fun of you.

laguja
the human body is sacred

Saw Pirate Radio. The futility of trying to legislate taste by anything other than direct expression of preference wedges music within the morality and practicaliy of property, the futility of and the desire for containment. And yet, the conflict is juxtaposed with a Truman Showlike ensemble voyeurism, with music merely an accompanying melody, love and freedom to a syncopated jig. Yo, ho, ho.

Woman Key
The Bombing Begins in Five Minutes

Hyperzen.

Around Which Leaves Fall
This wasn’t supposed to be an Away Message. It was to be an IM, or an e-mail, or a monologue. But IMs require the audience to not log off in the pause between the last letter of my last word and the enter key. E-mails- with that Christmas morning of finding a present under the tree, having a subject line, a movie trailer that hypes interest, demanding that the message live up the promised premise- e-mails require investment of a reader, who must bate their breath and click to open. Monologues require enough shame to read a script, enough trust to give a script over to an alien performer.

There are so many media, all of them different: e-mails, mass e-mails, IMs, texts, phone, voicemail, facebook, basement. But sometimes the timing just doesn't fit, the medium just doesn't match. It's a shame about the message, but there's nothing to do, except acknowledge and accept it.

I think I like this message after all. Enough to give it an evocative title and cast it into the air, into whatever medium may receive my words, around which leaves fall.

Before they even know how to take turns and stop squirming, they know how to open apps, snap pictures, load slideshows. The iPhone may be instinctive to use, and yet that is not the inclination of humanity.

They're not used to dealing with adults. I want to just sit them down.

Travel, adventure, enchiladas, opportunities, free food, kind words.
There are enough awesome things that I’m not even upset about the $50.

All I ask is for undeniable proof.

“Something in the way…”

“I don’t want to do something” and “I can’t do something” are 2 different things.
Unless “something” is “what I can’t do”.

“…Stick around, and it may show / But I don't know, I don't know…”

Thinking about something.

“…You know I believe, and how…”

“Pillowman” descends vertigo-inducingly from a set, as unbalancing as its characters, both too humored and too real for a dark comedy. Combined with an inevitability reminiscient of “Postman Never Rings Twice” and “Dead Like Me”, intermission wonders how the play could ever be viewed completely through, much less multiple times, until after it’s over the wonder of the horror is not only accepted, but understood.

“I’m busy. Whatever. Heck yes, just let me know when!”

Formidable proponent.

The gift which keeps on being ungiven.

“Let me take a picture of you 2.”
Because I didn’t date you.
“What? We never dated.”
Right. I never took you out for dinner 3 times. I didn’t bring you red roses when you were stressed. I didn’t cook you any special dinner last week to show how much I love you.
“I don’t get your jokes.”
No, you never did.
<finally smiling> "I’ll see you around.”
No, you won’t.

What unexpectedly encountering the past, what does one say? Perhaps direct metaacknowledgement: "Hello, Past, I'm afraid I don't quite know what to say to you." Perhaps introduce to the future: "Past, this is Future. Future, this is Past. I'm sure you have lots of things in common that you'd love to talk about." And then they can go off together into another room, leaving one alone.

“How did it go?” does not ask “How will it go?”. It is either good or bad. It is not fair to it to assign optimism or pessimism to it. For the past is the past, the future is the future, and the burden of one should not fall upon the other.

Fun Theory
Something as simple as fun is the easiest way to change people’s behaviour for the better.

“What would you think if…”

Unconditional.

“…I’m going to try with a little help from my friends…”

“Mystery of Edwin Drood” is satisfying because one can walk into it knowing exactly how it will end, even if Dickens didn’t. Our mutual friend S[] was obviously the killer.

“It’s never the person who you most suspect or the person you least suspect. It’s the person I most medium suspect.”