My eyes are melting.

I had planned to clean out the fridge after work, but my cab ride and the frustration of the car situation kind of shut me down, so after Ganglebot left for the 48 Hour Film Festival showing, I decided to kick around a bit online to sort of relax. I have now spent more than six hours straight at the computer, mostly archives and Steve, Don't Eat It! on The Sneeze and pranks and "How Much Is Inside...?" on Cockeyed.com (oh, the love I bear for those guys). If you, too, need to kill a few hours, here are some places to start.

Brandon Bird's paintings. I really enjoy Brave Cone Dog, Bad Day on the High Sea, The Anguish, and Lazy Sunday Afternoon (and, in my nerdy little heart, Signifier and Signified).

Then I followed his album art, which has the cutest ankylosaur ever,


to The Aquabats, where I laughed out loud a few times to this video:

Has anyone heard of these guys? I think they're fun.

Another web show, thisisaknife:
http://www.channel4.com/entertainment/tv/microsites/T/thisisaknife/index.jsp?id=35
(the embed wouldn't work)

A sitcom/blockbuster generator:
An opera singer with nothing to lose woos a gardener who works for the CIA. Stars Jim Backus and Lisa Kudrow. Genre: Action

Some pretty awesome bent wire sculptures from www.bentobjects.blogspot.com (this one's called "Spit, Don't Swallow"):

And, of course, there are always robots and donuts.

I meant to ride down to the store, but it's dark now, and I'd have to go into the scary basement to get the bike. After dark, it's really a scary basement, not just a place I go for white elephant presents, but a place where the lights don't quite cut through the murk and where there's an overturned chair in a crawlspace that may or may not have been used to imprison/murder someone (or multitudes). Plus, there may be spiders. Eeek.

Well, I guess that's enough. Fridge, verily I say unto you, you shall be clean.

all bets are off.

Come on, car. You've got to be kidding me. A week and a day?



Well then, car, in accordance with Atalanta's comment, your new name is Motherfucking cocksucker.

Don't call my Escorts whores!

My car has no ding button for when I'm getting low on gas. Ivanovich's did; this is the only thing I miss about that car. I had a dream the other night, though, that my car dinged at me while I was driving - this was my subconscious' way of saying YOU'RE RUNNING OUT OF GAS, DIPSHIT. Because of this organic alarm system, I got gas just in time today. Thanks, subconscious! See, my gas gauge doesn't really work, and neither does my gas tank hole - it spits gas out at me and makes the autostop on the pump trigger, which means that I have to stay outside, holding the gas on its lowest setting, trying to find that sweet spot where I can bring the speed up to an eighth and sometimes even up to the first notch where I don't have to hold the handle any more. This is even more fun in the winter, especially without gloves! If I run out of gas, it works for a week, and my gauge tells me the correct amount of gas in my tank instead of lying to me and then laughing behind my back while I walk or flag down a ride or call AAA. I've heard it, but I never turn around in time to catch it in the act. Damn gauge. But once I get enough gas in my car to drive more than, say, four or five miles, everything stops working again. For those of you who followed that, you get a gold star and an ice cream bar. I'm all about rhyming prizes.

The other day, way back when my car was still dead, I popped the hood and stood staring down into my car's guts while the Indiana Dribbler fiddled with fuses and did other things that boys do when they don't know how to fix something but don't want to admit defeat. Now, I'm no mechanic, but as I poked around the innards, I found myself recognizing certain parts and figuring out what they do. For instance, I'm fairly sure that my car has an "engine," as well as some "belts" and a number of "wires." And they all connect to things! Surely it must be a simple process to make my car go. But it is apparently a very difficult thing to keep it going. I hope it lasts more than a month this time. I'll start a betting pool; sign up with your prediction and ten bucks. There are no winners - I'm gonna keep all the ten bucks for the next time it quits on me and then push it off a cliff and go drinking. With all you betters, of course. I'm not a total clod.