Tag Archives: Ungratefulness

Newspapers

30 Mar
ny post

ny post

Newspapers are folded sheets of thin paper with advertisements, articles and pictures printed on them. Thought I would explain because, apparently, no one buys them anymore and people are upset about this. Without newspapers, who will hold the government accountable? What will happen to the AP? What content will stupid bloggers link to? WHAT WILL WE DO WITHOUT THE STYLE SECTION?! Others, like Jack Shafer and the rest of the U.S. population, could care less.

I have my own concerns though, and I don’t think they are being widely addressed by the MSM (that means “mainstream media” which, ironically, will soon mean bloggers). Newspapers play a much larger role than simply informing us of what’s going on in the world or when the Clinique counter at Macy’s is offering a six-piece gift set. For instance, will my next-door neighbors start stealing things even MORE valuable than the Sunday Times? What if they take Mazall or our funky postmodern holiday wreath?

Continue reading

The Internets called and we picked up. Deal.

23 Mar

The only thing I’m going to say about this weblog before I talk about hamsters is that every week, Evan will be joining us for a Q&A session. So unless you are God, or Evan, or the homeless man who sneezed on me, I don’t see how you could turn that down. Even in the 30 minutes it took me to burn my hand with soup, tell Claire about it, and then start a weblog, plenty of questions arose.

What are leeks anyway? Do burns cause wrinkles? Why was the soup so hot? Why does my bottled water taste like shoe polish? Is Claire having an allergic reaction to pigeon sex? How did hamsters hurt my mom’s back?

Here’s the thing. Claire thinks she is excused from choosing the most common dog name ever (ugh. Molly.) because she once named her hamster Caligula. But the only thing hamsters are going to do is hurt you. Take my mother for example. A harbinger of protection; a vessel of grace and love. All she wanted to do was check on Fluffy. How was she supposed to know the damn lab rat was going to go rogue and leap out of the terrarium to scurry under the couch? I don’t know how they do things in Chicago but in Atlanta, when someone provides a nestle of wood shavings, feeds you nut-bricks or lettuce from the garbage, all the while making sure the silver roller-ball at the end of your water bottle is working, you don’t just catapult yourself into the living room. What? Was she supposed to NOT jump up at the sight of a rocketing gray furball flying at her face?

And that’s how pinched nerves happen, people. I don’t need Evan to explain this one.

sigh.