Technology: 1, Me: 0

So, yeah, something was up with Blogger and it wouldn't let me add new posts. I think I fixed it.

In other news, new and cool things are coming to C:tB, so stay tuned for details.

New and Exciting Pinnacles of Laziness

So, since I'm too lazy to write actual posts, here's a conversation that I had with the internet (amélie):

amélie: good even, sir
me: Lo.
amélie: and how are you on this fine day?
me: Not too bad.
me: Yourself?
amélie: rather alright
me: Excellent.
amélie: indeed
amélie: but for the fact that you have not posted *stern look in your general direction, that being assumed east*
me: Yeah, yeah.
me: Not posting is so normal for me that it's just like posting.
amélie: true
amélie: but you taunt me with saying i'm in the background of a nonexistant picture.
amélie: and the most recent post's title always makes me think you're slowly killing the blog
me: Actually, the game pictured in that picture is mostly responsible for the blog's slow death.
me: It's not like I actually do anything worth writing about.
amélie: i used to laugh, mr. kanter
amélie: deprivation of laughter is a serious offence.
me: I'm not afraid to go back to jail.
amélie: no? that's convenient
amélie: and then you'd have interesting blog material to post about
amélie: huzzah
me: Actually, I'm probably just going to post this conversation.
me: Thanks for writing half a blog post.
amélie: you're quite welcome
amélie: what would you do, after all, without the internet stalking you?
me: Retire to a desert island.
amélie: well, thank goodness i exist then.
me: Indeed.
amélie: unless it was a dessert island..
me: Mmm... Dessert.
amélie: quite right
amélie: so what have you been up to lately?
me: Not much.
me: Work, sleep, work, sleep worksleep
amélie: work where?
me: At a doorknob factory.
amélie: really?
me: Yeah.
amélie: that sounds so cool
amélie: is it boring?
me: Pretty much.
amélie: i figured. that's sad.
me: Indeed.
amélie: did the tantalizing thought of dessert distract or deter you from discussion?
me: Yeah.
amélie: sad.
amélie: i made fudge the other day
me: Mmm... fudge.
amélie: and cookies.
me: Mmm... fudge and cookies.
amélie: yeah, happy fourth indeed.
amélie: speaking of the fourth, i burnt holes in a rogue beach ball to mark the occasion.
me: Cool.
amélie: what'd you do?
me: Nada mucho.

That was easy.

-Me

A slow death

This shows about how my internet connection is right now:

Ouch.

The Thrill of Defeat

Here we are once again, kids: The "I haven't updated in a while, so apologizing for not posting for awile is almost as good as a real post" post.

So, umm, yeah. I haven't posted in a while.

I hope that apology is as good as a real post.

Bye now.
-Ben

P.S. I'm almost done with school for this semester, which is kind of cool, but kind of not, because I'm going to miss all my college peeps, and my girlfriend will be several states away instead of being a three minute walk away and run-on sentences aren't very cool.

P.P.S. I am not very funny.

P.P.P.S. But, then, you already knew that.

P.P.P.P.S. It's really your fault, you know. You knew this would likely not be very funny, and yet you read it anyway. I mean, you really have no one to blame but yourself.

P.P.P.P.P.S. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you like that. Seriously.

Insomnia 2: Electric Boogaloo

I think I've figured it out, guys. I think my insomnia is related to stress. I always seem to have these wonderful sessions of insomnia soon after bad days. Last time I got a night's sleep between the day of stress and the night of no sleep, but this time no repreive was given. Crappy day. *BAM* No sleep.

This leads me to one inevitable conclusion: My subconscious hates me.

I figure the only solution is some sort of bloody coup in my brain, which mostly sounds like a really cool metaphor for a bad headache that I'll have to use sometime. (I'll have to use the metaphor, not the headache. Sorry, unclear antecedent.) Where was I? Oh yeah, so the resistance forces are meeting umm... resistance. This is likely because they're figments of my lack-of-sleep addled brain. However, in their defence, they only exist to combat that very brain, which doesn't really seem like a positive on their part, because I would think that anything who's sole purpose is to destroy the thing that makes it exist is unlikely to live a very fulfilling existence.

So, umm...

This post make no to less than that sense.

But, you already knew that.

And, you probably expected it, too.

I think the Electric Boogaloo reference might have tipped my hand.

Open Letter to Hoobastank

(Considering how popular this blog is, I'm sure Hoobastank reads this, but just in case they don't, could someone who knows them just pass it along, thanks.)

Dear Hoobastank,
If you were me, then I'd be you, and I'd use your helicopter to get to the top.
You can't stop me no matter who you are.
Love,
Ben

In which our hero proves how truly uncool he really is

Man, have you ever done that thing where you are listening to music and then you leave, and when you come back and turn the music back on you can't believe you had it that loud? I just did that. It was wild.

Less Than Jake is cool.

Umm... I have no real reason to post. I mostly am just hitting some hardcore writer's block on this Shakespeare paper I'm writing. I have a killer title. (I rule at titles. (Fun Fact: Last year I won the Elmer Schpederman Memorial Award for the best title on a paper in Literature and Writing II. True story.)(Addendum to fun fact: The title was: "my mind is a hunk of irrevocable nothing: The Thought Provoking Poetry of E.E. Cummings" Yes, that capitalization is correct. If you don't understand why, read some Cummings. It will hurt your brain in the very coolest way possible.)(Yes, I like poetry. No, I don't like Dickinson. Don't even ask. Dickinson sucks. Seriously.)(I'm wondering how many parentheticals I can string together here. (probably lots) These are really just devices for artificially extending post length, which is cool by me.))

myself, walking in Dragon st
one fine August
night,i just
happened to meet

"how do you do" she smiling
said "thought you
were earning your living
or probably dead"

so Jones was murdered by
a man named Smith and
we sailed on the
Leviathan

- "206" E.E. Cummings

Inquiring Minds Want to Know...

Overall on a scale from 1 to 10, where 1 means “completely unsatisfactory” and 10 means “perfect in every way”, how would you rate your and your household’s experience with the following fruit juice and fruit drink brands?

Repeat the Swelling Strains

Ahh... Spring. That time when a young man's fancy turns to burning down all the trees on earth.

Stupid pollen spreading punks.

In other words, I hate allergies. Stupid things make me feel like I have gravel in my eye sockets, and my throat contantly feels dehydrated, no matter how much water I drink. Today the allergies brought a new weapon to the battlefield that is my immune system. They somehow managed to make my lip swell to inhuman size. This was rather annoying. I was just sitting in class, and zhoomp my lip ballooned right up. So weird. At first I thought that maybe my mutant powers (aside from the extra nipple) had finally arrived, but, alas, it was not to be. Superfluous nippleality will have to be my only power for now.

Most of these allergy problems seem to have been solved by the application of generic allergy medication. For only eight dolllars I can diminish my allergy symptoms for ten whole days! Hooray!

I hate allergies.

We'll Get the Blog to Kill the Pods!

Hello, interwebs!

I'm almost tempted to pretend like I never left. But, I won't, because giving into temptations that you almost have is the epitome of wrongness and weakness of spirit.

Besides, by being not very funny at all, and making random obscure references to random obscure things in my post titles it's like I never left.

In any case, I missed you internet. (Yes, even you, you crazy stalker. (Fun fact: In the original version of my profile photo you can actually see my internet stalker in the background.)) So, I will now return to my regularly scheduled program of updating intermittently and then half-heartedly apologizing when I return.

Also, sometimes I will be funny, but mostly not.

The really funny part about this whole post is that it's written as if I almost believe that someone still reads this thing. Whatever. I'm going to stick it in my IM name and redesign the site, and hope for the best.

Love ya, you crazy interweb monkeys, you.

Excuses, excuses

So, if you've been wondering where I've been the last two months, the answer is probably "sitting here, not doing anything." However, the answer I'm going to go with is that I've been working with my crew over at www.gamer-station.net. You guys should check it out, yo. We at GS promise to deliver at least mediocre gaming information on a semi-regular basis. w007!

I Must Destroy This Man, And Steal His Existence

So, I'm listening to The Corrs today. (Yes, I listen to The Corrs. Yes, I'm comfortable with that.) And, as I was doing so, I looked at the cover of the album. (VH1 Presents: The Corrs - Live in Dublin; I'm not sure what VH1 has to do with anything, but they did present this CD to me, so I suppose I should be grateful for that.) Anyway, I realized that the luckiest man alive is the one guy in The Corrs. Seriously, that guy hangs around with three good looking Irish ladies on a regular basis. If any of you out there in interweb land know me, you know that that is pretty much my dream existence.

I mean, I like the ladies. I like the Irish. I'm somewhat fond of the number three. Three Irish ladies? That's just freaking sweet.

You'll notcie that I didn't spend the time on this post to look up the name of that guy from The Corrs, because that would just make taking over his very existence that much less challenging, and thus that much less rewarding. However, I am lazy, so I will instead probably just listen to more Corrs.

Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday.

Who can hang a name on you?

I mean, seriously, come on.

Time for my "I haven't posted anything in a couple weeks" apology post.

I'm sorry.

Pfft. Not really.

I am almost done with school for the year. That's pretty cool. But, it also means that I'll have to be home with my family and working at Sentry. Yeah, that's not fun. However, Scott and I are going to go to a Bascom Hill show. They're a really good local band from Madison. They seem to be on the verge of breaking out into the national musci scene, which is pretty crazy, because that never happens to any of the crazy little indie bands I like. And Basom's one of my favorites, especially since my mom used to work with one of the guys from it, and I've been a fan since waaaay back when they called themselves Tasty Wanton. The guy from the band that my mom knew let her have one of their demo CDs, and I've been hooked ever since. If you get a chance to see these guys, go for it.

Well, that's all the barely funny tripe I'm going to subject you all to this time.

Have fun with whatever it is you do.

Are you pondering what I'm pondering?

Following the emo crap that was my last post, raelien enquired as to whether or not survival was a rquirement. As we've always been open for questions here at Crap: the Blog, I will now field that one, and I will use lots of quotes to do so, so as to lessen my own work.

Woody Allen once said, "I don't want to achieve immortality through my work, I want to achieve it through not dying." However, it was Collete who said, "The total absence of humor renders life impossible." A conundrum. Therefore, since I cannot die, and we need humor, we must go on to Mel Brooks: "Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you walk into an open sewer and die."

Priceless.

"Defining and analyzing humor is a pastime of the humorless."
- Robert Benchly

P.S. I'm in Macbeth this weekend. Please wish me many broken limbs.

Two and fifty of the mornevening

Yeah, so I should be writing a paper right now, but i can't make myself do it just yet, so, here I am.

Allow me to wax philosophical for a bit. (I do this at this time of day.) I find it amazing how much abuse the human body can actually take. I'm pretty sure I'm chronically deprived of sleep this week, and yet I continue to be able to make my body forge forward through yet another all-nighter. I churn out word after word, paragraph after paragraph, papers flowing from my mind to my fingers to the keyboard to the screen. Hours of this. Listening to my music. Dashboard Confessional resounds while I analyze the poetry of E.E. Cummings. My desk lamp casts strange shadows on my keyboard, and outside the circle of its light everything is blurred. I am the center of the sphere of light that is my universe. Zen poetry. Images from my evening or morning or whatnot: MountainDewAcetaminophenWristwatch. A thirty sided die reflects the the glow of a Light Emitting Diode on the keyboard of the computer I'm using to write a paper about poetry. I blog it.

I am Pangeek.

Now all I need to do is be funny.

Did you know that somebody reads this crap?

So, it turns out I get an average of ten page hits a week that aren't me!

That means that like two people read this!

Maybe even three!

Or four!

I love you guys.

But seriously, what the heck. Now I feel all responsible for updating and stuff, and being all funny and whatever. Man, the nerve of you people.

Go home.

Oh, and rae, I refuse to acknowledge that you're stalking me.

Crap!

Spring Fever - Diagnosis: Botulism

So, it's spring, which entails several interseting things.

Some of these things I like, like pretty girls in warm weather clothing. (See: not much!)

Some of these things I do not like, like said warm weather gear clad females sucking face with guys who are not me. (Ho-hum.)

And now, I shall cease to whine.

Enjoy your silence while it lasts.

P.S. Ladies, you know where to find me.

So I said,

"If geekiness were Kool-Aid, I'd be breaking through a wall shouting, 'Oh yeah!'"

Once again, too long.

Far too long between posts once more. Meh, it's not like I actually care. I'm just kidding. But, seriously.

So, events recap since last post:
1. My birthday. I'm nineteen. This means nothing. I did get a microwave.
2. All clothing for a quarter sale at Treasure Haus. (New Ulm's own thrift store) Pretty sure fulfilled one of the better fortune cookie fortunes of all time: "You will get some new clothes."
3. St. Patrick's day. As #1 means squat, and I'm not at home ot get Irish dinner, this pretty much wasn't that cool. I wore a "Kiss me, I'm Irish" button all day, and no one did.

Now is the part of the post where I usually make some keen sarcastic observation. Or something. It might just be gas. That's it, light from a weather sattelite reflecting off swamp gas. I knew it! I blame Sputnik! That foul commie metal basketball of doom!

Now is the time is the post where I make a random comment, and sign off.

You loser.

Long time no update, hey folks? Only 4 shopping days left until my birthday.

Things I would like:

• A million dollars
• My own spaceship
• To be able to come up with jokes that I didn't steal from Strongbad

Today I went to some thirft stores with Tyler Petersen. I bought a shirt that says "Marko" on it. It's a polo. It's Marko's polo. It's a Marko Polo. In related news, I linked TP's website over on the side there.

You waited a long time for this update.

Don't you feel bad that this is all you get?

You loser.