So is it a self-portrait if you take a picture of a photo of yourself? No? Didn’t think so.
At any rate:
My hair has aged 18 years since this photo was taken. So has the rest of me.
Also, by the time I got rid of that Batman shirt, it had gone heather-grey from repeated washings. That remains my favourite shirt ever.
If you’re trying to get tech support, don’t talk to sales. Just don’t. Nice guys and all, but it just ain’t their forte.
Also, this is a relief. (You may have to check the URL to get the joke.)
So a while ago I wrote two episodes in a semi-continuing series on ficlets, and tonight I wrote the third. The story is far from over — in fact, in all candor, I have no idea where it’ll wind up — but it’s been fun to write it so far.
Here it is, to date.
Jenny, who is a dog, came into the living room, sat down on the floor, and spoke. “What supper?†she said, tail thumping on the hardwood.
I stared at her. “Beg pardon?†I was shocked enough that I actually responded. To a dog. You see the state of mind I was in?
“Supper. Food. What?â€
“Uh – †I’d been making my own dog food, these days. Jenny was old, and store-brand food wasn’t doing her any favours. “Liver and rice, for you,†I said. “I think pizza for me.â€
“Good. Liver good,†she said, and trotted off to the dining room.
Continue reading
Tonight, flipping through my channels, I came across this listing:
Cast your mind to The Road Warrior. Who comes immediately to mind?
I know, I know. It’s these two guys, right?
It must be, because they’re the ones listed first. Last billing goes to this unknown actor, Melvin Something-or-other…
What ever became of him, anyways?
Or is it Category 7?
…the perfect internet celebrity would be a somewhat slow-witted centaur. In a Darth Vader outfit.
If you’ve never had poutine — if you don’t know what poutine is — it’s a French Canadian food, consisting of French fries, gravy, and cheese curds.
I never thought I’d eat a food that made poutine seem light in comparison, but that’s because I’d never had a “Chicken Bake” from Costco before tonight.
Yikes. I ate less than half the thing and I still feel like I may never be able to eat again.
This may be the nerdiest thing I’ve written here yet:
I got tuned in to a piece of tech news by a webcomic:
So I got this email just now:
By the time you read this, your manuscripts will have already been rejected.
There’s no sense in asking me why or what you could have done differently, because I’ve already moved on to other stories.
It wasn’t you. It was me. I — Awww, who’m I kidding… it was partly you. You didn’t make me feel like you were really interested in making this relationship work. I didn’t feel any sparks between us. You didn’t make me laugh.
This story wasn’t a match made in heaven, but the next one may be. Submit again. If you don’t, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon. And for the rest of your life.
Sincerely,
On the Brighter Side [the magazine I submitted to --Ed.]
PS: I’m keeping the ring.
I like when I get amusing rejection letters*. But nothing has yet topped being called “Ms. Johanneson” by the now-defunct scifi.com.
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* By which I mean, if I must be rejected, I prefer to be rejected by someone with a sense of humour. (Though I must say that constructive criticism trumps laughs.)
“Margaret?”
“Yes, luv?”
“Next time you buy tissues, would you be so kind as to buy the kind with the lotion in ‘em?”
“And why’s that then?”
“See, luv, when I get a cold, usin’ them regular tissues is kind of like usin’ sandpaper to blow my nose.”
“Oh Hubert, you exaggerate so.”
“I ask you, wife of mine, do I look like I’m exaggeratin’?”
“Oh my.”
IMG_0463.JPG discovered in Elliott les yeux grands fermés‘s Flickr photostream.
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TV: Coming up next on NBC: Amnesia, the game show that tests the memory — of you!
Me: Should I trust the writers of a program that couldn’t come up with a tagline that scans better, like, say, “the game show that tests your memory!”?
That, by the way, is a rhetorical question.