Monday, June 19, 2006

You can’t have your pony and eat it too.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

The Xbox 360, scion of that whose charms I’ve resisted for years, continues to sing its potent song at a fever pitch. All my rationalizations are still in full effect: money would be better spent on something like real estate, I lack the hi-def television needed to truly enjoy the console, and the lunar calendar–yea, day planner of my ancestors–forbids me from purchasing this particular entertainment. Ever.

And yet, I can feel my resolve evaporating with each passing level of Halo. This is my yearly outing, fourth time through the game, difficulty cranked up to very, and every grenade tossed is a compelling reminder that there is but one logical way to finish the story. Sure, I could wait for Vista to hit, wait some more for episode two, build a new computer, then proceed to wait for the third episode to make its way to the PC, but eternity isn’t something I’ve blocked out on my calendar.

Besides, my computer refuses to die, and it must perish before I will replace it. For now, it runs Halo a few notches north of ugly, but those are its limits. This is a conundrum, understand. It’s said everything in this clip is genuine. What if it’s true? What if it’s true?

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Every Saab allegedly includes a blonde pre-installed, but where precisely those greasemonkeys hid her is a mystery, because I’ve searched the car thoroughly. The trunk was the first place I looked without success, then the glove compartment, and heaven knows the ashtray was about as useful as a mime in outer space.

One prominent feature of my car is its newfound ability to attract bird poo with little provocation. I tell you, any avian surprises were warranted in the past, whether because I parked under a tree or because I wrung the everloving shit out of a crow. Such comfortable causal relationships, however, have given way to completely unreasonable coincidences.

I’ve made sure to park in open lots and garages, far away from any kind of perch, and yet I have Woody Woodpecker’s leavings on my windshield, roof, hood, and both sides of my car. There are sinister forces at work here. The sensible thing to do would be to bite the bullet and spend the eight bucks at an ineffectual car wash, but in the spirit of continuing yesterday’s theme of frugality, let me suggest it’s going to rain soon.