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grrgoylWhat if everything around you
isn't quite as it seems?
What if all the world you think you know
is an elaborate dream?
And if you look at your reflection
is it all you want to be?
What if you could look right through the cracks
would you find yourself
find yourself afraid to see? - NIN
Chapter I
My MST obsession is coming along nicely. I found out the guy I chose to be my supplier actually isn't including the commercially-released eps (which I am certain was never stated in the eBay listing). This news brought with it frustration at my collecting scheme suddenly developing some speed bumps, but I admit a tiny bit of delight at facing the challenge. I started to look at eBay with an eye towards buying anything I could as cheaply as I could, before it occurred to me I might be able to just rent VHS/DVD copies and copy them (but you didn't hear that here...) I went to my local Hollywood Video (I haven't set foot in Blockbuster since writing my strongly-worded letter. By now I'll bet they're reeeeeally feeling the burn of my missing $4.08 a month, bastards). The problem with Hollywood is they have such narrowly-defined categories for anything that isn't a new release. I stood in the middle of the store, staring at the back wall blankly for a good minute or so. Where would they shelve MST3k? I started with the obvious location, Comedy, but no. Science Fiction? No. A bit of a stretch, but Mystery perhaps? Still no luck. It sure as hell wasn't Drama. Special Interest then. Nope. I FINALLY stumbled upon a lonely, cobweb-covered section for Cult Classics, where I found an ep I already had, an ep I didn't already have, and a copy of the film, all on VHS. I grabbed Mitchell as a good starting point (Joel's final ep). The punk-rock looking kid that checked me out told me how funny it was, one of his favorites, and that he hoped they would do a sequel to it. ....the hell? I didn't have the heart to break it to him that the show had been cancelled for some years now and probably would not be producing any new eps.
Bolstered by this small bit of success, I zipped up the street to the other local Hollywood in search of a different selection. It was much smaller than the other, so small it had no room for a Cult Classics section. I tried again searching other likely categories but soon noticed that not only was the store tinier, but also regarded the alphabet as more of a loose suggestion for displaying titles than an actual criterion. This didn't take long to piss me off so badly I had to leave.
But I am also enough of a freak that I went to Best Buy to get a sexy Body Glove CD binder to store all my soon-to-be-acquired lovelies, as well as sat down with a list and made a note of which disc would eventually go in which slot, so it will be a little like collecting trading cards or stamps. I suppose it's a good thing I don't have more days off like this.
Chapter II
As further proof that I am a certified Asshole Magnet in traffic, this happened to me the other day. Tery and I were driving to work, heading for the highway on the route both of us take many times a week. We were driving on S. Parker, as I've previously stated a secondary road commonly treated like a major freeway (posted speed limit: 45. Average speed: 60). Suddenly we saw Ms. Dangerous Idiot come careening across 4 lanes, from the far left to the far right (on-ramp to NB 225). Then, she wildly veered back across 2 lanes, apparently to stay on S. Parker. By this time I had come up alongside her just in time for her to change her mind AGAIN and start to veer straight into my lane, and when I say "my lane," I actually mean "me." I've drawn a helpful diagram (such as would be seen in the courtroom had this ended differently) to make this description clearer (no, she wasn't driving an AMC Pacer, but because it's one of the ugliest, stupidest-looking cars ever made I felt it was much more appropriate for her IQ level. I am the one in the more attractive, more sensible Honda Civic):
It wasn't until I lay on my horn with all the ferocity I could manage that she seemed to finally notice there were other cars on the road besides her, and she actually stopped and let me pass. (A note here about car horns: As much as I adore my Honda Civic, the factory-installed horn falls dramatically short of the intensity of emotion I am trying to convey with it. But until someone comes out with a horn that shoots searing hot plutonium death rays directly into the skull of the other driver, my tinny, whiny little substitute will have to do.) I agreed with Tery that sometimes when driving there comes a point where you have to face the fact that you are in the wrong lane and live with the consequences. In this case, the consequences are a bit more bearable when one takes into consideration the fact that there is another SB on-ramp about a block further up the road (note diagram), which this person obviously didn't know.
Can you tell I only got 2 hours of sleep last night?
isn't quite as it seems?
What if all the world you think you know
is an elaborate dream?
And if you look at your reflection
is it all you want to be?
What if you could look right through the cracks
would you find yourself
find yourself afraid to see? - NIN
Chapter I
My MST obsession is coming along nicely. I found out the guy I chose to be my supplier actually isn't including the commercially-released eps (which I am certain was never stated in the eBay listing). This news brought with it frustration at my collecting scheme suddenly developing some speed bumps, but I admit a tiny bit of delight at facing the challenge. I started to look at eBay with an eye towards buying anything I could as cheaply as I could, before it occurred to me I might be able to just rent VHS/DVD copies and copy them (but you didn't hear that here...) I went to my local Hollywood Video (I haven't set foot in Blockbuster since writing my strongly-worded letter. By now I'll bet they're reeeeeally feeling the burn of my missing $4.08 a month, bastards). The problem with Hollywood is they have such narrowly-defined categories for anything that isn't a new release. I stood in the middle of the store, staring at the back wall blankly for a good minute or so. Where would they shelve MST3k? I started with the obvious location, Comedy, but no. Science Fiction? No. A bit of a stretch, but Mystery perhaps? Still no luck. It sure as hell wasn't Drama. Special Interest then. Nope. I FINALLY stumbled upon a lonely, cobweb-covered section for Cult Classics, where I found an ep I already had, an ep I didn't already have, and a copy of the film, all on VHS. I grabbed Mitchell as a good starting point (Joel's final ep). The punk-rock looking kid that checked me out told me how funny it was, one of his favorites, and that he hoped they would do a sequel to it. ....the hell? I didn't have the heart to break it to him that the show had been cancelled for some years now and probably would not be producing any new eps.
Bolstered by this small bit of success, I zipped up the street to the other local Hollywood in search of a different selection. It was much smaller than the other, so small it had no room for a Cult Classics section. I tried again searching other likely categories but soon noticed that not only was the store tinier, but also regarded the alphabet as more of a loose suggestion for displaying titles than an actual criterion. This didn't take long to piss me off so badly I had to leave.
But I am also enough of a freak that I went to Best Buy to get a sexy Body Glove CD binder to store all my soon-to-be-acquired lovelies, as well as sat down with a list and made a note of which disc would eventually go in which slot, so it will be a little like collecting trading cards or stamps. I suppose it's a good thing I don't have more days off like this.
Chapter II
As further proof that I am a certified Asshole Magnet in traffic, this happened to me the other day. Tery and I were driving to work, heading for the highway on the route both of us take many times a week. We were driving on S. Parker, as I've previously stated a secondary road commonly treated like a major freeway (posted speed limit: 45. Average speed: 60). Suddenly we saw Ms. Dangerous Idiot come careening across 4 lanes, from the far left to the far right (on-ramp to NB 225). Then, she wildly veered back across 2 lanes, apparently to stay on S. Parker. By this time I had come up alongside her just in time for her to change her mind AGAIN and start to veer straight into my lane, and when I say "my lane," I actually mean "me." I've drawn a helpful diagram (such as would be seen in the courtroom had this ended differently) to make this description clearer (no, she wasn't driving an AMC Pacer, but because it's one of the ugliest, stupidest-looking cars ever made I felt it was much more appropriate for her IQ level. I am the one in the more attractive, more sensible Honda Civic):
It wasn't until I lay on my horn with all the ferocity I could manage that she seemed to finally notice there were other cars on the road besides her, and she actually stopped and let me pass. (A note here about car horns: As much as I adore my Honda Civic, the factory-installed horn falls dramatically short of the intensity of emotion I am trying to convey with it. But until someone comes out with a horn that shoots searing hot plutonium death rays directly into the skull of the other driver, my tinny, whiny little substitute will have to do.) I agreed with Tery that sometimes when driving there comes a point where you have to face the fact that you are in the wrong lane and live with the consequences. In this case, the consequences are a bit more bearable when one takes into consideration the fact that there is another SB on-ramp about a block further up the road (note diagram), which this person obviously didn't know.
Can you tell I only got 2 hours of sleep last night?