Fake as they come!

The titles for my last two posts are so desperate sounding. Those exclamation marks, they're so telling! Not only am I without emotion, but I am without wit. I rely on exclamation marks to feign feeling, which, upon this third offense, makes me a feigner of feeling. It's like when you're at a poetry reading and some acclaimed somebody is reading a lot of her poetic words--more than she needs to, if you ask me--and you are saying these other words in your head: hackneyed, cliched, trite, pedestrian, tedious, uninspired, and toilet paper. In these situations I become a regular feigner of feeling, an shameless exclamation-mark-abuser, one who applauds and nods in a yes, yes, this imagery is so fresh! fashion. Liars stink, but at least I shower every day and use deodorant.

Whazzzup, Cottage Grove, MN!!

This season of American Idol kicked off with the Minneapolis auditions (whazzzzup, Minneapoluss!) to show the world that that part of the country is only successful at breeding Red Bull and Vodka drinking Saturn drivers and HOT vegan burger flippin' hippies. Take for instance Jewel Minor from Cottage Grove who thought talent by osmosis was really possible. I think she needed to sneeze.

Stars will never hurt me!

I, for one, won't be discouraged by one-star reviews on Amazon dot com! Then again, I may receive them posthumously, and I'd be okay with that, I guess.

(Thanks to L.N. for the link.)

Dark Side of L.A.

Visit me here today:

Time
(Mason, Waters, Wright, Gilmour)

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way.

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.

So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in a relative way but you're older,
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.

Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I'd something more to say.

Going Out

My last post revealed a very angry side of me: Angry Sylvia. Angry Sylvia doesn't want to die during her daily commute because that would be going out with a whimper (totally weak!). Angry Sylvia does not want to be the reason traffic builds up when people slow down to look at accidents. Angry Sylvia is starting a petition to get this Toonces into prison.

1. Sylvia
2. 
   

Hey, I didn't catch your name!

To the person who cut me off and slammed on her brake to make a U-turn ALL IN SAME SPLIT SECOND on Jefferson Blvd. at 4:35pm today, please meet me for lunch at the S&W Diner in Culver City tomorrow so we can maybe spot a celebrity while sharing a patty melt and milkshake. I can make a few lighthearted jokes, flag down the waitress to refill your Coca-Cola, and ask you if you'd like to order a slice of pie unless you don't have room for dessert because you sure as hell don't have room in your brain to drive safely, you patty melt and milkshake fucker!

At the Automatic Teller Machine Machine (ATM Machine)

I tapped this dude on the shoulder with my cigarette and told him I wanted to fight. We were in front of the ATM. He was ahead of me in line, waiting for some other dude to get his cash and split. Instead of agreeing to fight me, he asked me to stay where I was and said he'd be quick when it was his turn at the ATM. I said, "Look, man, I don't care about that. I want to fight you." He was busy counting his cash. I noticed he was low on 20s and that this was the right place and right time for him to use the ATM, but I wasn't there to sympathize. I was there to fight. Well, to use the ATM and fight. I needed to fight him, but he didn't understand. All he could think about was how to get more money. Greedy bastard.

Lovely Poetry

Thank you, friend who expressed appreciation for me with attempt at lovely poetry:

So I came up with parody lyrics for you to Fergalicious (it's totally stuck
in my head and completely over-played on my iPod
now...)

Original
I'm Fergalicious
But, I ain't
promiscuous

New
I'm Sylvilicious
But, I ain't a
lesbian

Original
Baby baby baby
If you really want me
Baby
have some patience
Maybe then you'll have a taste

I'll be tasty
tasty
I'll be laced in lacey
It's so tasty tasty
It'll make you
crazy

New
Baby baby baby
If you really want me
Baby don't
be pretty
You don't even have to shave

Oh, be
artsy-fartsy
And have money money
If you're just a smarty
Please don't
be so nerdy

White or Wheat?

Everything depends upon white
or wheat bread, waiting
to be buttered on your cold restaurant dish.
Red wheelbarrow! Red wheelbarrow!

(There. My moronic moment of the morning.)

More than a Headache

When a group of words get together for one big mindless party, you get something called "More than a Feeling" by Boston. I have to apologize for this one, friends. I was overconfidently ambitious when I announced I was going to produce another one of my insightful "English Major" essays on these lyrics. Therefore, I invite my intelligent readers to offer some of their insight into this troublesome rant about non-feelings. My unintelligent readers can stay tuned for an upcoming Yes-or-No "quiz" about whether they prefer white bread or wheat. (I choose rye!)


More than a Feeling

I looked out this morning and the sun was gone
Turned on some music to start my day
I lost myself in a familiar song
I closed my eyes and I slipped away

It's more than a feeling (more than a feeling)
When I hear that old song they used to play (more than a feeling)
I begin dreaming (more than a feeling)
'till I see Marianne walk away
I see my Marianne walkin' away

So many people have come and gone
Their faces fade as the years go by
Yet I still recall as I wander on
as clear as the sun in the summer sky

It's more than a feeling (more than a feeling)
When I hear that old song they used to play (more than a feeling)
I begin dreaming (more than a feeling)
'till I see Marianne walk away
I see my Marianne walkin' away

When I'm tired and thinking cold
I hide in my music, forget the day
and dream of a girl I used to know
I closed my eyes and she slipped away
She slipped away

It's more than a feeling (more than a feeling)
When I hear that old song they used to play (more than a feeling)
I begin dreaming (more than a feeling)
'till I see Marianne walk away