Chunky, phlegmy pieces of blog

A correction to my previous entry: I got free Subway. I got free Subway. You don't have no Subway. 'Cause your mom's on welfare.

I took a walk through the bound periodical section at UTA's Central Library. I felt like pulling my shirt over my head and playing with my nipples, I was so excited. My old university had canceled subscriptions to may journals to cut costs, so naturally I was titilated to see the selection here. On a whim, I picked up a bound copy of Canadian Journal of Earth Sciences, just to see if I could find anything by a former prof of mine. The journal had three editions: January through March of 1994. January's edition dealt with carbonates in Labrador, so no U of M profs could be found. I was about to give up, until I got to the last paper in the March edition, co-written by J. T. T. -- Jimmy the Devil, himself! I feel the need to do a sausage test.

I get free pizza. I get free pizza. You don't have no pizza. 'Cause your mom's on welfare.

As February draws to a close, I let my mind wander. Among the things that I consider: how much I do not miss Winnipeg winters...yet, how much traffic will suck when construction starts on Cooper St. (in Arlington, my route to school), whether or not INS will get off their asses and process my green card application, whether or not Southwest Bell will get off their asses and add more DSL ports at my apartment, how much of a raise I can expect next month and if watching the Texas Rangers this year will be as comical as I think it has the potential to be.

I also wonder if anybody bothers reading this.

I am in the process of writing a new rant, one that will give me a chance to flex my geopolitical brainiac muscle. As for the Rants page, I have a few plans in store. I think I'll write a short intro to the page, just to make it more accessible. I may move the Favorites rants to their own page soon. We'll see...

Fungushead got her cast off, and the prognosis looks good.

I wish I didn't have to go to work. Goddamn customers. Pay your bill and we won't turn off your cable converters. And quit your whining. And no, I won't waive the reconnection fee, bitch. Oh, if I could only say things like that.

Fungushead gets her cast off later this morning. Whee!

Bloody 'ell! UTA's network went down in the middle of my update half and hour ago. At least I got my rant done. "Rant?" you say? Yes, I posted the Crappy Ex-Flame Rant #11 earlier today.

As for the UTA, I haven't quite figured out the blackboards here yet. Actually, I should say brownboards. Or tanboards. It's certainly not the most ideal color for white chalk. Thankfully my chemistry lecture hall uses honest-to-goodness blackboards.

Some things that differentiate this blog from most others:
a) I prefer not to use Blogger or Blogspot. I don't want to give an outside site FTP access to my Web accounts (and with WorldNet, it wouldn't be able to get past the firewall anyways). Plus, it'd just be one more site to maintain, which is a pain in the ass considering that I can do everything that Blogger does myself, using raw HTML.
b) I don't use a miniscule Arial font. Or peach/purple/white color combinations. I prefer my blogs readable, thank you.
c) In a related area, I prefer to use proper English spelling and grammar (wherever possible). I'm not saying that this makes my blog better, just perhaps more accessible. Two-and-a-half years of writing for a newspaper does that to you.

There are, however, a number of well-written blogs that I find myself visiting on a regular basis. I will provide links soon.

Against my better judgment, I dragged my wife to see Britney Spears' "Crossroads" this aftenoon. It wasn't quite the train wreck I expected, but I'd be lieing if said that no twisted metal was involved. It was like "Dude, Where's My Car?" -- which I saw during its opening weekend -- a necessary pain.

I must compliment the SLOC on tonight's closing ceremonies. I doubt I could have done a better job: KISS, robot dancers and Vespa scooters! My memory flits back to the opening ceremonies of the 1988 Seoul Olympics. They released thousands of doves, many of which decided that the Olympic Brazier would be a nice place to roost. Oops.

There's something strangely cathartic about watching two of your countrymen win Olympic medals in the same short track speed skating event -- a sport which you have never seen live, or at all excepting the Olympics -- on a tape-delayed broadcast.

I just may change my name to "Yang Yang (G)."

Well, the long and arduous process of reinstalling all of my applications is almost done. BPFTP is working, though it's being a twat about uploading an Excel document. It could be WorldNet that's being the twat, but that has yet to be determined.

A quick aside to my post from a few days ago...good for Sarah Hughes. Good for ISU judges. Boo on the Russian Olympic Committee. And those dirty old men out there, have faith. I know you're upset that the cutest two of the three Americans missed out on the gold, but look at what four years has done for Tara Lipinski. You'd nail 'er, now. And, once the rest of those hormones kick in, you'd nail Hughes, too. Pigs.

Just for the record, I am Emmitt Smith. And I grill with George. And I'm falling in love with Rachel. Fucking NBC.

There are two reasons I've let the page go unattended in the last week. Firstly, my in-laws were in town. Secondly, I decided to reinstall Windows (Win2K again, seeing as how WinMe blows goats. Nasty goats that smell. And bite.) and have yet to get BPFTP reinstalled. That should happen tonight, probably while my wife is watching figure skating.

On a related note, wouldn't you just hate to be a member of the ISU International Skating Union) board right now? So much for that holiday in the Riviera you booked bucko, you have judging controversies in figure skating *and* short track speed skating to worry about.

And call me nuts, but wouldn't it be pretty damn sexy to see a Kwan-Cohen catfight sometime in the next few days? We'll start with a mid-ice collision in which both skaters are bruised, but determined to compete. Both then lose a narrow decision to Slutskaya, and then ravage each other in the press for knocking the other off their game. Finally, the two meet by chance in the airport next Monday, get into a fight in a secured area and cause a complete shutdown of the airport, stranding thousands of international travelers. Man, that'd be hot. (Emphasis for sarcasm.)

"Sweep the leg, Elvis!"

I think I know too much about figure skating for a self-professed heterosexual. You decide.

My belly's full of Cracker Barrel beef stew. It's both a good and bad feeling at once...

I retract my previous comment about Russian judges. Let me now add this: Fucking French figure skating judges.

It's Valentine's Day (does anybody call it St. Valentine's Day anymore? Will St. Patrick's Day become just Patrick's Day? I digress...) again, and strange things are afoot on the UTA campus. I saw a string of inflated pink condoms decorating a table and a trailer unloading llamas. Sweet Jesus.

I just noticed how "Blog. Blog." looks like "bling-bling." (I assume it's hyphenated...) There you go...this is the first blog thought to be decked out in ghetto gold while driving its Escalade to the club.

Fucking Russian figure skating judges.

Since Southwest Bell and my apartment complex can't seem to get their shit together about getting me hooked up with DSL, I'm just going to use the UTA network and a CD-RW for my MP3 needs. I'll let you know how it works...

Things seen on the way to school today...

• A sign reading "Cash for Baby." Judging how the sign was sitting an a yard full of clutter, I can only surmise that the sign's owner was having a yard sale to help finance a new addition to his/her family, rather than auctioning off the fruit of his/her loins.
• A car with a sticker featuring the word 'ARMY' in a black stenciled font over top a rainbow background. I'm not sure if this person is violating Clinton's 'Don't ask; don't tell." policy, or if they just support gays in the military. Beside this sticker was another with 1st Lieutenant's bars, so I'm leaning to the former.
• A car with a Nova Scotia licence plate. It's nice to know that I'm not the only Canadian here, and especially not the one with the longest drive home.

God bless the wackiness of North Texas.

Yes, I have neglected the page for a couple of weeks. Yes, my last blog entry was a Tragically Hip lyric. So what? I suck, okay?

I'm also tired. Exhausted, in fact. I plopped my ass down on a couch at school after my Oceanography class and had a nap. I'm sure people thought I was a vagrant. With the state of my hair -- mussy, with that "I wore a hood while napping in public" look -- and my five-day beard growth, I probably look as if I've crawled out of a BFI bin. I just smell (slightly) better...