Sushi Issues, or Sushues.

Try as I might, I'm not sure I'll ever love the sensation of an exploding fish egg.

Embrace mediocrity!

New blog name. Revel in its ironicism.

Poll

In the past twenty-four hours, I've had two meals both consisting solely of some sort of wrap, one a chicken shwarma and one a chicken burrito. Does this make me:

A. Fat
B. Unamerican
C. Racist
D. Both

Physics

Grappling with a new water bottle, I've managed to spill a substantial amount of liquid on myself after only two drinking attempts. More as it happens.

Sometimes it feels as though things are going up in flames right before your eyes. Putting on the news doesn’t help, because usually more often than not you’ll see some type of smoldering inferno that had been ablaze just hours before. But is it the hurried just-missed-it timing of the news crew that itself spares us from a more violent, absurd and upsetting display? The Act itself, instead of its aftermath? Sure you see small disasters every day. They’re the origins of stress: a middle finger in traffic, a fight with a loved one, a task you’d rather suicide bomb than complete. And they’re giant. The biggest hardships known to man. Or at least a man. Because nobody else understands. How can they? They’re your shoes you have on. But nobody’s rushing to the scene just as you’re finishing your less than stellar lunch or when you embarrass yourself in line at a supermarket. Then why does it feel they should? HEADLINE: Man Trips Over Crack In Sidewalk, Curses City. HEADLINE: Cabinets Full Yet “Nothing to Eat”. HEADLINE: Man Safe and Warm in Apartment, Still Furious. This is the real news, the day-to-day news. The news nobody sees. The news nobody should have to see, because unlike a smoldering pile of dusty, beige ruins, it’s entirely personal, unaffecting and unimportant. Sure there are “inner battles” and “personal turmoils”, but in reality the most risky thing we do every day is step outside or drive a car or (God forbid) fly. I think Arnold Schwarzenegger said it best (Schwarzenegger by the way was in spell-check oddly enough) when he turned to a crying five year old in Kindergarten Cop and grunted, “Get ova it”. He could have run his entire gubernatorial campaign on that gem and still won I think. At least I would have voted for him. Of course, then I’d have been living in California, and who knows what my life would have been like. Probably a HUGE disaster.

The Stillness That Precedes the Great Clash for Power in the Sky

NaNoWriMo is fast approaching with it's key clacking, heavy lidded, maniacally creative little legs. It's an exciting thing, partly because I think I might have an idea to write. Problem is I never finished last year's. And if I want to consider myself a self-respecting Wrimo, I'll finish it...before November 1st. I think I had just surpassed 40,000 words last year. Which if I do say so isn't too bad for a noob.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about, it's this:
Insanity.

Basically it's a bunch of literary inclined masochists that thirst to write something meaningful and need an excuse to do so. Or maybe that's just me. Any way you slice it, my November '09 will be holed up, spaced out and full of adjectives. I apologize in advance.

ADDENDUM

I've located my progress chart from last year. It's not pretty:



I'm going to blow this up and put it on my wall. Nay, my CEILING!!