On the Unsuitability of Mullets for All but a Select Few

The only person for whom a mullet works better than normal fucking hair is Brock Samson.

On Religion

Once a year I make a pilgrimage to Disneyland, drop acid, and talk to the characters. They are my gods, though they probably don't know it. None of their advice has yet steered me wrong.

Today I cleaned the kitchen out of spite.

Huh.

DID Rosa Parks ever buy a car?

http://mcsweeneys.net/links/librarian/12conference.html

On Talking About Race

A lot of prominent authors like to say that we need to talk about race issues in order to end racism. Or at least, the ones on the Colbert Report do. Every time this comes up, I wonder about it.

Because, it seems to me, that maybe, a kid who is raised to believe that Blacks and Whites and Asians and Hispanics and Arabs and all these other races are treated differently is more likely to believe that they are different, versus a kid who is raised without anyone mentioning race at all. It seems to me, that the latter kid is going to grow up thinking dark skin versus white skin or almond eyes versus round eyes are like brown hair versus blond or brown eyes versus blue. They're just different ways for people to look.

Admittedly, it would be difficult to reconcile this with preserving cultural identities, if kids are raised without thinking about races more specific than the human race, but as far as I can tell, the less we keep talking and talking about race and how racism is such a problem, the less racism we see (now that we have civil rights and everything. Of course it was different back in the 50's when discrimination was institutionalized rather than a personal matter).

If we want our kids to judge people based on the content of their character rather than the color of their skin, let's stop making such a big damn deal about the color of people's skin.

This is a gramatically correct sentence. Ya rly. Look it up.

Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.

On God

When I go to bed, I always spend the time between lying down and actual slumber praying to a god I don't really believe in to give me things I don't deserve, and which it wouldn't give me even if I did deserve them because they are outrageous requests. But I beg seriously to wake up with these gifts, and as such I begin every day slightly disappointed to be the same.

On Music

Whenever I lose interest in my favorite band and pick a new one, I feel as though I am betraying the old band.

On Childhood

When I was in preschool, we went on a field trip to mini-golf. There was an arcade there. I only got four tickets, which could buy me this little orange plastic soldier guy who didn't do anything. I was so disappointed, when I was on the bus I threw him away. Later, I came home, and I realized how sad he must be, and how I could never get him back. Filled with regret and remorse, I went into my closet with all my stuffed animals and I cried. My dad found me and I don't remember what he said to make me feel better.

Today a man in a green Honda Civic honked and waved at me as though he knew me.

First post

I've been wanting to learn to play the guitar for several years. I even own one, and some beginner's music books. I know how to read tabs. But I can never seem to get past F# notes, and chords are not taught very well in the book I have. So I can play Ode to Joy and Amazing Grace and Yankee Doodle Dandy. I guess I'll never be in a band.