I apologize for the infrequent updates as of late, but you have to understand that during the summer I can only do one thing per day. For example, last Sunday I checked the mail (I forgot it was Sunday) and on Monday I watched a show on the Discovery Channel about roller coasters. These things occupied my time quite neatly, and I didn’t have the energy to do anything else, so I just sat on the edge of my bed the rest of the time, mentally preparing myself for the next day’s activity--which in today’s case is updating eKarjala. Tomorrow I plan to either get a job or eat a bagel.
You know, as I walk by people downtown, I’ve been noticing how retarded their conversations are. If you pass by people and they’re talking with somebody, nine times out of ten they’re going to be saying something really stupid. This one guy said to the person he was with, “There’s no ‘R’ in [some French word that sounded like ‘bavari’].” There’s no ‘R’ in bavari? What the hell does that mean? Granted, I didn’t hear the context it was being used in, but I don’t think knowing that would have given this guy any added credibility. Was the girl he was walking with asking him how to spell bavari? Was he regaling her with a story about some sort of bizarre French spelling bee he had participated in? Either way, chances are that this guy is kind of an idiot for saying something like that. If I ever said “There’s no ‘R’ in bavari,” I’d expect everybody in hearing distance to laugh in my face and say, “Bavari? What the hell are you talking about?”
What we’ve been doing lately is, after passing by people on the street and overhearing their conversations, we comment on what they’re talking about in an audible, semi-sarcastic tone. For example, after passing the Bavari guy, I said, “There’s no ‘I’ in team” really loudly. None of us looked back at him, but you have to imagine that he had to be sort of thrown off by this statement. As he should be--how dare he talk about there not being an ‘R’ in the word bavari. Or maybe I just need to get some sort of a real hobby, like bass fishing or collecting old-fashioned radios. Something dumb like that.
My favorite part about getting my wisdom teeth pulled is that now there aren’t those bothersome teeth in my mouth. My least favorite part is probably ... hmm ... that’s a tough decision. However, I guess I’d have to say that it’d have to be the insane, mind-numbing pain from hell that’s associated with it. Yeah, that’s definitely it.
Actually, it isn’t that bad. This may be the Vicodin talking, but once you get over the fact that you’re constantly swallowing blood, your cheeks are puffed out like a little chipmunk and you can’t eat anything other than applesauce and soup, having your wisdom teeth pulled isn’t that bad. You really get a lot of time to relax. For example, yesterday I slept a total of about 21 hours. Even my cats, who sleep almost all the time, are looking at me like I’m lazy. They said, “Christ, are you going to sleep all day? You’re freaking pathetic.”
Changing the subject a bit, does anybody remember freestyle walking? This may have been a regional thing, but about four years ago a lot of young people went through a phase where they thought it was really rad to do tricks with their feet. This entailed them jumping off of benches and then twirling around in the air and then giving their friends high-fives afterward. It was kind of like skateboarding, only without the skateboards or the dignity. I wish I was kidding, but people actually thought that they might look cool by jumping up in the air and then spinning around. Could they not afford Rollerblades? Were they unable to ride a bike? If so, why would they do this in public? I mean, Screech from Saved by the Bell could have walked by these kids and have rightly called them a bunch of losers.
Speaking of Screech, did you know that the actor who played him is now living in a small house with his father, the very person who swindled all of his money several years ago? That is so like Screech.
I’m going to go get my wisdom teeth pulled out next Monday. Thanks a lot, evolution, I really made use of those extra teeth. As I understand it, they’re going to knock me unconscious, violently rip out all four of wisdom teeth using the latest in ripping-teeth-out technology, steal my wallet, and then let me wake me up in a world of newfound pain and anguish. You’d think they’d be able to just use laser robots or something to get the teeth out, but this isn’t so. I may as well just use an ice cube and a pair of pliers and save myself the trip over there. You see, the world’s scientists are too busy trying to figure out how to stuff more cheese inside of Pizza Hut’s Crazy Crust to invent new ways to improve on any kind of dental procedures. They can fit cheese, breadsticks and even tiny little villages inside the crust now--I’m actually updating this site at the moment using Domino’s Internet-Equipped Compu-Crust. But for all of this crust technology, dental surgeons are still pulling out teeth the old fashioned way--by pulling them out. Now I know why they call them “wisdom” teeth--they’re really, really stupid.
Because the Breslin Center doesn’t pay very well, they decided to give us special incentive gifts if we ushered a lot of events. For example, if you work 20 events you get a very, very special glass. That may not seem like much, but you have to understand how very special this glass is. “Hey, my paycheck didn’t provide enough money for me to purchase even a single text book, but look! A glass!” Personally, I had received an email a couple of weeks ago which notified me that I had qualified for the level 2 incentive gift, which meant that I was eligible for my choice of either a mountaineer knife, a CD case or a travel mug. You can imagine my excitement! I practically raced down to the Breslin Center to claim my prize. As I was walking down there, I had decided on the knife, so that I could then threaten the person working there with it and make him give me the CD case and the travel mug also. As far as I could tell, it was a perfect plan. There was only one problem: The guy said that I was one point short of qualifying for level 2. I said, “But--but the email! The--the knife!” The guy just shook his head.
I’m alright, now. After failing to attain the magical mountaineer knife, I was emotionally damaged for several days, but now I’m fully healed, and I have even begun to look for a summer job. The question is, where should I get that job? I’ve already eliminated all jobs that relate to sales, food services or doing any kind of real work, but that doesn’t really leave much left. In fact, it doesn’t leave anything left. That’s why I might just have to go get a job at a random place. But where?
A little known fact about me is that I have recently sold out. The pressures of remaining a unique individual had become too great, and so I decided to just go ahead and sell myself out to The Man. That’s why now I sometimes where a shirt that says “GAP” on it, and that’s why I listen to Top 40 music nonstop. That’s also why I might get a job at the Briarwood mall, because where else could I work that would express my newfound conformity? However, I’m not fully committed to work there yet, mostly because I always get lost within five minutes of entering the mall, and I’d never be able to locate the store that I worked at. So I may also get a job at a video store, or maybe a movie theater--somewhere dumb like that. If anybody out there can think of a better idea, feel free to notify me. I strongly dislike looking for jobs.
Did you know that the Monopoly game piece you prefer is revealing of your personality? According to this chart I made instead of studying for my finals, it is. Do not argue with my findings—I have spent a very long time making these careful guesses and random, unfounded claims. Because I like Monopoly, and I’ll tell you why: It’s so realistic. In real life, when you own a hotel or a house, people have to legally pay you money when they’re just walking by. Also, most people’s main source of income is passing Go. This level of realism is in contrast to the board game Life, where I can’t drive half a foot without having three goddamned children. By the time the game is over (at which point I guess your peg dies), I have so many kids that there’s not even holes for all of them in my car, and I have to just precariously set some of them on the roof and hope they don’t fall off. I feel bad about that, but what can I do? They don’t let you buy another car. They don’t let you do anything in Life. Life’s a bitch.