I Mean Like You Know?

Wait, what? None of my past hundreds of posts have gone through? That is just so weird. Considering I did write them, and did publish them, and that they did exist. Do exist. Should exist around here somewhere.

I'll have to do some digging. Hold your breath until I post them.

Natural selection, do your thing.

So. How have you been? Life been treating you well?

Good.

I am afraid I don't have anything to say. I used up everything there was to say over the course of the last several hundred lost posts.

I may never blog again.

Weathervane or Not, I Am Pretty Good-Looking.

I'll have you know that the titles of these last several posts have been lines from songs by my favorite band. If you simply must know who it is, you ought to take to Google, and quickly. You only have so much time left in your life not to be in love with this band's music. Clock's ticking.

How about this weather, right folks? I mean, hot, cold, which is it? Pick a direction. Here are my rules: if it's cold, there has to be snow. If it's hot, it's not allowed to be hot anymore and must find a different temperature range to be. I'm a simple man with simple tastes and grandiose vision of my abilities to control global climate control. Incidentally, climate change is my fault, and I am sorry but I just have too much homework to deal with it right now. Let me take care of midterms and I'll see what I can do.

Honestly.

Howling on the Radio.

I spent the bulk (read: all) of the evening last night at the Arby's a couple hundred feet away from my house, writing an endless number of papers with bad eighties songs I only know from parody music videos on YouTube playing on the radio. As you can tell by the way my run-ons run on, I'm kind of stretched thin at the moment, mentally, but gracious me, are those mint-chocolate twist shakes good and sanity-saving. Insanity-delaying?

Have I ever mentioned to you guys how it haunts me that I think I used a word incorrectly several weeks ago? If I haven't, then I won't. Just keep on thinking I know what I'm saying.

Seriously, my computer keeps popping up all of these windows. I think it's time for a spring cleaning to clear out the miscellany that launches at startup. If anyone's hacking my computer and using any system processes in the background, please stop. Worse, if any of these programs have developed sentience (a word I learned from reading Animorphs in elementary school, I'll have you know), please lose it and go back to your bloated automatic non-compliance so I can delete you. I'm looking at you, iTunesHelper.exe.

Okay. Okay okay okay. Okay okay okay okay okay!

Come and Waste Another Year.

I am 100 percent positive (nice AP style there, huh?) that if Daylight Savings was a national holiday, everyone would remember it. The world over. Those not of our nation included. People who want to sleep in regardless exclusive.

Obviously, you don't need to remind everybody of both of them. I'm always pretty excited about and latch readily onto “falling back;” it's the “springing forward” that activates the selective memory sections of my brain (read: all of it). Also, the names are either deceptive or I am slow to understand. “Springing forward” sounds so exciting, so thrilling, like a burst of new energy. Be not deceived as I, fellow-citizens; it is not.

So I guess what I'm trying to say. Make today a national holiday and we'll all remember it. Okay, actually it's always between Saturday night and Sunday morning, isn't it? Well, then we will have to make the Friday before and the Monday following both national holidays. This is the only reasonable solution. And reasonable it is. Get on it, Congress.

What's It Like?

What's up, morning? Oh it's a beautiful you! Oh it's a beautiful day! I've got a wonderful feeling, that tonight's going to be a good night! There you go, team. Black Eyed Peas-folk music mashup coming at you. I'm taking it on tour next weekend only. Get your tickets now.

I don't have anything to say. No, I know I've said that in the past and I've ended up with something to say, or at least with something being said afterward, but this time I really mean it. There's nothing to say. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Double-"n" triple-"z." Doesn't exist. Syntax error; does not compute. Not. A. Thing.

Anybody else go to bed at night thinking the next day is going to be just so productive, and then, contrary to your real expectations, it is?

Soup and Salad.

Uh oh. Spaghettio's. Speaking of which, I learned just the other day that Chef Boyardee was apparently a real person once. I'll leave the tertiary research to you. Look it up on everybody's favorite open encyclopedia that anybody can edit, because I have to go play Smash Bros. with my roommates.

Oh, by the way. Sis played her violin concerto up north a few nights ago to critical acclaim at the Capital. She did such a good job. She's getting so famous. Soon she'll be able to say hasn't dealt with anything so common as money in years.

May I Eat It, Too?

Another day, another dollar, team. The semester is clipping by at an impossible rate. Time has been roughly going at the rate of three actual minutes to every one perceived minute. That ratio is reversed when I'm in class or reading or working on homework. But so it goes.

If anyone wants, they can bring me a cake at the end of the semester. I'll likely be in my apartment. If that doesn't work for you, feel free to just drop it off anytime. I'm hyper-willing to accommodate cake-droppers all the day long.

I've got a good attitude about everything. Attitude is just a lot better with cake. Either birthday party-flavored or completely chocolate, if you please. Yes, I'll hold.

Operation: Sudden Reappearance.

Hey everybody. This is me, and this is my blog.

I haven't updated in quite some time. I decided the world wasn't ready for my cutting insight or the political intrigues in which I take part daily. Upper-crust society. What are you going to do. You're definitely not going to abbreviate that into "gonna." That would be giving in.

So how are you? How have you been? Yeah? That's great to hear. Mmhmm. You're kidding. Wow. Hey, listen, I've actually got to get going, but we should totally catch up sometime. No, no, let's not ruin it by planning it. Just let it happen. You're breaking up.

Crinkle crinkle click.

Raise Thy Voice.

This one's going out to my dear friend and roommate, the one with documented aviation proclivities and unproven (though unasserted) communist sympathies. The one with the good hairstyle that cursed his peers by making them wish they were more outdoorsy and their head shapes more inclined to scruff and a shaved head. The proto-typical sunshining woodsman of the dark. I found out he on fact reads my blog and receives all notifications as posts by email. What a peach, team, what a pair. Indeed, the title of "pear" is the highest honor that I, the "peach" can bestow upon his readership. Let the woodsman speak: does he accept my appointment, yea or nay?

In other news, I have not failed to convince myself not to marathon all three Lord of the Rings movies' extended editions all day long tomorrow, as background work while we go about the rest of the day. The odds are looking good, but a lot depends on whether I feel like it'd be fun. We'll see about that.

Friends, Romans, Countrymen.

Okey dokey. Nothing to say. Tried to get everyone's favorite pop-country crossover sensation to tweet me happy birthday, but my advances have so far been ignored. That's okay, I'm playing the long con here. Her resolve will fall. Why does she have resolve about this? Rude.

School. School. School, school, school. Yee-haw, diddly-fraw, ding-dong ding-dong bang.

Thank you for your time.