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October 14th, 2005
How appropriate that on Friday, a day where office workers around the world desperately attempt to escape the confines of the office — WFME longtime pal Hilary obsesses over this gem of an obsession (which is really, now c’mon, not an obsession at all):
“I have an idea for Words For Your Enjoyment — Paper towels and the idiot co-workers who can’t tear a sheet correctly, thus leaving you with a partial piece of paper towel; and leave the empty roll on the holder instead of replacing it with a new roll…”
Ahem. Somebody seems to be a little too concerned, to the point of lunacy, about this whole paper towel tearing scenario.
Posted under WFYE, Work. | 21 Comments »
October 13th, 2005
drugstore cowboy | drug, stor ‘kou, boi | noun 1 a man, typically one who herds and tends products sold in a drugstore, esp. in western U.S. chain stores like Rite Aid and as represented in Sunday paper fold-outs and novels.
If only the drugstore cowboy was real.
Maybe then there’d be a real-world solution to finding products in hastily organized chain drugstores where things like toothpaste are stored next to powerbars and where the toy aisle represents a really bad garage sale. Maybe then there’d be a way to rope up those products you needed withing ten minutes versus the forty-three minutes it normally takes to find Q-tips. Maybe then, the rock’em sock’em lawlessness of the old West would come in handy, allowing hired hands to assist you in finding the three-ring binder that’s shelved in the personal diaretic aisle.
Posted under Shopping, Stream of Consciousness. | 11 Comments »
October 12th, 2005
You see us as you want to see us… In the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions.
But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain… and an athlete… and a basket case… a princess… a criminal…
…and a guy who accidentally shot an arrow into his head, which just missed his brain but can never be removed, and sits there going in through his left eye and out the back of his skull…
That’s who I’d be if I was the sixth kid in The Breakfast Club.
Posted under Film, What If. | 23 Comments »
October 11th, 2005
Barber. Haircutter. Stylist.
Whatever you call them and whatever they charge you and no matter if they store their black combs in flourescent blue liquid or clear water, they all have one thing in common.
Talking to them, is often, worse than a first date.
That is why it saddened me this week when I realized that, once again, as I have changed personnel on my Official Hair Cutting Tour 2005 — I have absolutely nothing in common with my hair stylist.
Posted under Fashion. | 30 Comments »
October 10th, 2005
There ain’t no ocean in this shell.
I suspect you know there ain’t no ocean in this shell yet you go around asking people to put their ears to it in an attempt to hear the friggin’ ocean when it ain’t in there. You make this wow-face (where your eyes bug out and your mouth forms a big “O” and you stand bouncing ine one place) so others will believe that there’s an ocean in the shell, but if you know anything about how the world works you gotta know that the ocean couldn’t fit in there.
Posted under Overheard. | 19 Comments »
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