Bodies With No Surprises

June 1, 2008

Last night I crashed at my pop-pop’s house after being scared out of my own home by the threat of those fucking crazy scattered lightning storms blacking me out while being home alone.  I was supposed to stay at my dad’s house, but I didn’t feel like trying to sleep on the couch of a house full of eternally young drunken 40-something year olds rockin’ 2 Iron Maiden (though I’m not necessarily against said rockin’) until five in the morning.

So my cousin Jared and I stayed up until the somewhat-wee hours of the morning watching Ron Schneider movies and playing Vector Man on my pop pop’s Sega Genesis.  Then Dave came to the party, which is always a pleasant surprise.

Anyway.  I crashed on the couch and woke up in the morning to Jared’s Cypress Hill ringtone.  We watched a little How High and I had some krimpets for breakfast and decided it time to bounce.  I’m here now, but not for long.  I have to go back at four to make little plastic wheels, and get paid $15/hr to do it.

I have court tomorrow.  Everybody keeps telling me to fight the fines, but the cop my mom is doing a mortgage for said that that was a horrible idea because that doesn’t always work.  He says if I just ask for leniency, they will probably help me out.  I mean, I was excruciatingly nice throughout the whole process thus far, and authority figures are super swayed by that.  Especially when they see it in teens.

Anyway.  I started Chuck Klosterman IV because I’m a damn dirty cheater and couldn’t help myself.  I’m not impressed with this book.  He starts it out with an intro of his friend telling him a story, to which he responds like a sarcastic, condescending psychologist and says something to the effect of “you’re an idiot.  You should read my books”.  I ripped those pages out because they pissed me off, along with those aforementioned critic praise pages.  They pissed me off too.

So I read into the first section called Things That Are True, which is a good place to start.  He was talking about interviewing Britney Spears and gave her a little run-down that was to the effect of a psycho-analysis of this person he hardly knows.  Of all people to pick apart, Britney Spears.  Somebody who probably doesn’t even know herself.

Anyway.  I’m putting this book in time-out, and that mostly means that I won’t read it for another year probably, if I ever decide to read for leisurely purposes again.

That’s all, I gotta go.


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