hatelife is headphones that randomly emit very high frequency 120 dB noise into one's ears. (this noise is so loud that, even though it is emitted through headphone speakers, it causes one's wife to turn down the television and inquire what that horrible noise was.) hatelife is subsequent specific-frequency hearing loss.

hatelife is the second helping of excellent food that is served approximately two minutes before the first helping hits the gut. hatelife is needing to ask for a to-go box for a homemade meal at a friend's house.

hatelife is being immediately pegged as 'the guy to beat' in a friendly game of speed-scrabble. hatelife is having to use lower-scoring words to prevent one's friends (and spouse) from being mad.

hatelife is being not mentally aware enough to focus on a conversation with: 1) sister; 2) friends (in person); 3) friends (on phone); 4) nearly everyone else.


however.

hatelife is not a lazy sunday at home.

hatelife is not sweet earl gray tea and toasted english muffin. with honey. with a blanket and a good book.

hatelife is not a four-month-old quarter-bobcat kitten (though it might be the manifold scratches on fingers received as a result of playing with the beast).

hatelife is not a newly employed spouse.

hatelife is not recent hatelife activity.

but hatelife is still hatelife.

query: why is it called fasting if it goes so slowly?

har. I really just needed an excuse to tell you I'm fasting. here's why: a week ago I was at the beach working on becoming a fat hippo, and I nearly succeeded. I've worked a few figures and have determined that between friday lunch and sunday breakfast I consumed the recommended weekly caloric intake of, roughly, asia. and so to bring balance and confusion to my stomach, I am making it pay.

<stomach> I NEED OVERTIME PAY OR I'M GOING TO GO ON STRIKE
<matt> I'll show you 'overtime'
* matt starves self
<stomach> SUCK IT, FATTY! QUIT STALLING AND GIVE ME THE 'SPOOKY' LUCKY CHARMS
<matt> you be quiet and stop rumbling or I'll cut you in half like evil jared
* stomach falls silent


explanation: it has been brought to my attention (by her) that evil jared—from the subway commercials—had gastric bypass surgery. it wasn't that he ate nice healthy subway sandwiches and went on an exercise regimen, NO NO, it's that his stomach couldn't hold anything so it didn't bloody well matter what he ate. you disgust me, fraudulent corporate whore evil jared. you are my new swear word. (along with dentist)

in my dreams I write as well as neil, but in the morning I can never remember how.



amends: I apologize for what I wrote below. much as it pains me to admit, it was a moment of angst. hopefully a rare moment of angst. we generally try to do better than that.

ugh. you ridiculous demanding people, being all ridiculous and demanding things and such.

since last we spoke, I have: gone on a camping trip, run the batteries of the camera down in three pictures, built fires, put out fires, slept in a freezing tent with a too-small sleeping bag and no proper pillow, caught a three-inch fish, washed my hair in a river, driven through a town with its own logo, seen mountains and valleys aplenty, been sick, had headaches, rearranged the contents of my living room, done the dishes, been kissed by a dog, visited old friends, sat down in a bookstore, purchased a future sound of london (link warning: evil flash and less-than-evil noise and lights lie ahead) album, written some conspicuously overdue emails and procrastinat'd many others, sold a laptop computer on ebay whilst simultaneously avoiding internet fraud, watched football (american), watched football (unamerican), been visited by a canadian cousin, eaten ice cream and more ice cream, touched the pacific ocean, thrown a frisbee, watched movies with many friends, eaten homemade quesadillas after midnight, eaten and eaten and eaten, played games and games and games, read books and books and books, not gotten a job, and stayed mostly out of trouble throughout. so I can see that it has indeed been a while, for which you have my apologies.

I have also been thinking of what to give you in the way of photos. since I cannot in good conscience delay this any longer, I might as well get right into it.

well, let's see. in the order they were received:

1 (requested by dan) - dinner (or the aftermath thereof):

stir-fry and ex-brownies.

2 (requested by nmrboy) - something around my house that strikes me as being decidedly out of place:

note the products of intelligentsia on the right side and the products of literati on the left. har.


3 (requested by louise) -
a. my bookshelves:

I have too many of these. they also qualify for part 3c below.


b. my favourite (local) place that makes me feel like getting back to nature:

the wallowa mountains.

is that water clear? the answer is yes.


c. the item(s) I cherish most (wife excluded):

ash nazg durbatuluk.

the future of muzak.

cromulent.

cromulent, with majesty.

d. my wife:

sadly, according to my wife, this is not allowed. this is the best I am allowed do:

4 (requested by lisa to whom I've unfortunately never been introduced) - a girl driving an unbroken black pontiac bonneville, or any other fortunate event I might witness:

this was a toughie. it rather required my carrying the camera about from place to place, and also required lightning-fast reflexes, which I'm told I do not have. the specific item mentioned does not exist in my town, so again, I had to settle for 'the best I could do.' here:

this arrived in the mail today, from my mum. even though it isn't an event per se, you can't ask for more fortunate than this.



this was fun. for me.

p.s. the new recommended daily allowance of future sound of london is now 'yes.'

it's not just you. we all (at one point or another) desire peanut residue- covered- salt- covered- chocolate- covered raisins.

I am the proud owner of a brand new pleasantly nice Kurt Halsey print AND a brand new pleasantly nice original Kurt Halsey drawing. AND I just consumed the world's best fried egg sandwich.

mmm. sammitch.


now: you may not think so and you might be right, but I believe these events are sufficiently important to warrant their own post.

taco bell items ordered yesterday.

1 small pepsi
1 cheese quesadilla
1 nacho cheese chalupa
1 crunchy taco


taco bell items received yesterday.

1 small root beer (no straw)
1 chicken quesadilla
1 nacho cheese chalupa (sans nacho cheese)
0 crunchy taco


number of dollars I was overcharged for the above taco bell items.

0.67

I hate the practice of tipping, and I'll tell you what I mean.

You go to a restaurant, possibly wait in line, or get seated immediately if you're lucky. You sit down and are given glasses of water and menus (running total number of waiter/waitress interactions: 1). You choose what you're going to eat/drink. You order your food/drink (2). Your food comes (3). You begin eating. Server comes to check on you to make sure everything is all right (not guaranteed, but I'll call it 4). You finish eating. The bill comes (5).

So you see your server roughly five times. Say the cost of the meal is $25. If you are proper and polite and tip the expected 15%, that's $3.75.

At an average of one minute per visit, your server is at your table for roughly five minutes. For this, your server earns a rate of $45/hour.

Is this really worth it?

A tip should be voluntary, you ridiculous food service fascists. A tip should be given from delight, not from necessity or expectation. A tip should reflect the level of "Wow, thanks for giving us such great service this evening; here's something extra for giving us something extra" you felt during your meal.

This is a matter of grave importance to us all. Someday, some selfish bastard is going to wake up and decided that he deserves a tip for what he does, too. And justifiably so: why should we tip our waiters/waitresses and not, say, a commercial airline pilot, who could kill us all at will if he so desired? What if auto mechanics decided they needed to be tipped? What if your bus driver came to the realization that he could extort hundreds of dollars from his passengers by threatening to take them all to the middle of a desert unless they all tipped him 400% of the cost of your bus ticket, claiming that was the "expected tipping value?"

I'm fascinated by the idea of negative tipping. If I get really lousy service—which happened to me tonight at a restaurant I love—I should be able to give my lousy waitress a negative tip. I should have been able to say "Even though this meal cost us a total of $24, I'm going to make my lousy waitress cover $2 of that because that's just how lousy she was tonight." And I should be able to write -$2 on the 'Tip:' line of the credit card receipt, and authorize the restaurant to debit only $22 from my card, forcing the lousy waitress to cover the remaining cost of the meal. Because that's just how lousy she was tonight.

I'm going to try it someday. See if I don't.