February 2nd, 2007


Okay, campers, rise and shine, and don't forget your booties 'cause it's cooooold out there today.

It's coooold out there every day. What is this, Miami Beach?

Not hardly. And you know, you can expect hazardous travel later today with that, you know, that, uh, that blizzard thing.

That blizzard - thing. That blizzard - thing. Oh, well, here's the report! The National Weather Service is calling for a "big blizzard thing!"

Yessss, they are. But you know, there's another reason why today is especially exciting.

Especially cold!

Especially cold, okay, but the big question on everybody's lips ...

On their chapped lips ...

On their chapped lips, right: Do ya think Phil is gonna come out and see his shadow?

Punxsutawney Phil!

Thats right, woodchuck-chuckers, it's:



Unless I'm able to successfully download the movie Groundhog Day and perform my annual tradition (two years now and running strong), or unless I'm able to find it at Hollywood Video and rent it after work, then I'm in severe danger of BREAKING my annual tradition that's gone two years now and running strong.

Really, I have absolutely no opinion on this holiday. Generally, an obligatory Day Off From Work will automatically pin any National Holiday in a positive light, though the absence of said DOFW doesn't necessarily downgrade. I'm sure it's jolly good fun for the people living in the sticks, for the people who have absolutely nothing else to live for except to see a giant rat pulled out of a cage and hailed as a Meteorological Nostradamus, but I don't live in the sticks. And, in spite of this year as being hailed An Early Spring, I'm staring down the barrel of some frigid fucking temperatures in the coming days and weeks.

Do you think it makes Steve Pool's pubes turn white with rage at the conception that a fucking burrowing rodent knows more about the weather than a guy who presumably has a degree in something scientific?

There's a reason why I don't write about Groundhog Day every year.


Four days of running this week. I'm proud of the output. Today was just especially brutal because it WAS the fourth day in a row, not to mention the shit sleep I've been getting this week. As long as I'm the first person going to bed every night, I'm stuck turning my fan's setting on high, but it doesn't drown out everything.

You know when you wake up in the middle of the night and, for an instant, you think it's time to get up and go to work/school? You're in a panic and you're disoriented and you're shutting off an alarm clock that isn't on and you're running around thinking you're late, but then you plug in your Christmas lights and look at that clock and realize that it's only 12:30am and you've only been asleep for MAYBE two and a half hours so you just pee in the toilet and go to bed. That happened to me last night, only I had the added satisfaction of scaring the piss out of Liz who was walking through to go to her own bedroom.


I'm not really one of those guys who lets the weather affect my mood. I read a nonsensical article in the online version of the New York Post and in it they said that January 22nd was the Most Depressing Day of the Year. The reasoning behind it is that the realization has set in that Christmas is over, there aren't any significant holidays for a while, people are already starting to blow off their New Year's Resolutions, and indeed, because it's sofa king cold outside.

Seasonal Affective Disorder (S.A.D.), how clever. Read this Onion article for more information. One of the main reasons I moved to New York was because I wanted to experience the Changing Of The Seasons (C.O.T.S.), not just 5 months of Sun, 5 months of Rain, and 2 months of Nothing, with a Fahrenheit differential of 30 degrees the whole fucking year like in the Pacific Northwest (of course, as we all know, they've been hit with a heavy dose of reality this year to debunk that previous statement - figures). I just don't see the point in letting a cold spell or a dark spell ruin your winters.

Of course, S.A.D. is bullshit. First of all, if you don't like it, then move to San Diego. If every jackass who supposedly suffers from Seasonal Affective Disorder were to take this medicine and move to San Diego, it would be the world's most populated city. And, the most depressing. Because the REALITY of the situation is, these people - these S.A.D. people - are already depressed to begin with. 365 days of 70 degree weather won't suddenly cure the fact that they hate their jobs, or their families are burdenous, or they're overweight and lack the will power to change their diets, or they're failing their economics class, or they don't have a girlfriend/boyfriend and don't know how to cope with being single, or, for whatever reason, they're always just fucking bummed out all the time. Either buck up and fix what's bothering you or wallow in your sorrow for the rest of your life, but don't blame the fucking climate. Next thing you'll try to tell me is that obesity is a disease rather than a life choice brought on by overeating and rampant laziness.


I threw a little cheese on the pasta yesterday. Tonight, I'm going full boar: grilled cheese sandwich. Only, the wrinkle here is gonna be Shredded Mozzarella on 100% Whole Wheat Bread. If it doesn't kill me, I may expand from there to include other cheeses.

I might be going to see live music tonight, but that all depends on if it's free/really cheap. I've had this hankering for jazz music ever since Kon and I sat in Jimmy's Corner Bar, but I don't know if Emily's down for that. I'll have to look it up and see if there's even any available. If music falls through, I may just pack it in and call it an early night. After all, I've gotten up at 5am every day since Tuesday, and it is cooooold out there.