I got 90%. You?

I missed #8, and #20 — I’m embarassed about #20, and surprised I knew #19. Lucky guess!

Sprawled next to me on the couch, batting his big cat eyes at me, wondering why I’m not rubbing his white furry stomach.

I have a great deal of sympathy for anyone battling to overcome drug addiction — be they illegal drugs, or prescription medication, I can’t imagine it’s easy to overcome the dependency which develops, and I think those battling for that victory should be given as much support as possible.

So now I’m going to prove myself a total hipocrite and go pick on Rush “Big Mouth” Limbaugh, detained at a Florida airport yesterday … with a bottle of viagra.

I wouldn’t be posting about this, either, except for one thing. Look, I might think Rush is scum, but can you imagine how nasty and mean he’d be if he wasn’t getting laid? Having viagra, is to me, a total non-issue. Actually, I’d like to encourage Mr. Limbaugh to have lots of viagra and have lots of sex. Never hurt anyone, and maybe it’d encourage him to stop being an asshole.

No, what gets my ire up is that the viagra wasn’t prescribed to Rush Limbaugh. You might remember that Limbaugh has previous legal difficulties regarding obtaining multiple prescriptions from different doctors, as well as an addiction to painkillers. I don’t know if it’s possible to get addicted to viagra (unless you like being hard all the time) like one might to other drugs, but on the surface of it, it seems Limbaugh is engaging in a lot of the same activity that got him in trouble the first time.

Back in May, I posted about a comment Rush made on his radio show following his plea agreement.

I wonder what he’ll say this time.

PS – Frank, do you know your comments are — rather, were — broke?

A black fly in your chardonnay?
Rain on your wedding day?
Ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife?

Sucky, yes. Not ironic.

No, what’s ironic about Alanis Morisette’s un-ironic song is that it’s titled “Ironic” when it isn’t, and when you think about that … doesn’t that make it ironic?

(With credit to my co-thunker).

Rain, rain. Go away, come again another day.

This morning I mumbled that to myself as I stepped into the shower. The apartment was dark, the only light on was that in the bathroom. I showered, turned off the water, and stepped out onto the tile. I walked into my bedroom to get dressed and noticed, for the first time, that the apartment was lit up.

Dark corners were clearly illuminated. Even with the shades drawn, the room was flooded with brilliant light.

The sun.

The rain had gone away! That strange yellow disk in the sky had returned to shine hope and joy upon us all.

Saddly, the sun disappeared again, far too soon. I was sad, and I mourned for it. The sun poked out a few times this afternoon, but I think I’m in for a depressing week.

I’ve usually never been a guy who was a fan of text messaging, but I really got into it last night at work for some odd reason (which is to say a friend who looked at me like I was nuts when I told her I didn’t text message).

I’m still not a super huge fan of text messaging — I prefer e-mail, or gmail chat, for one pretty simple reason — I like actually having a keyboard, with a shift key and a spacebar. When I say “like” what I mean is “vastly prefer to the stupidity that is my phone’s typing features.”

My cell phone is a Samsung flip (I sometimes always very rarely have an urge to say “beam me up, Scotty” when I open it, but I never rarely always do), and while I’m sure I could find product information like a model number, the truth of the matter is there’s nothing written on the phone and I’m too lazy to find the owner’s guide. Anyway, my problem with the phone when it relates to text messaging — in addition to not having a keyboard — is that there are essentially four “type settings” to use.

“Type settings” is probably not a very good descriptor. Using the upper right key, I can toggle through these settings.

The first “type setting” is labeled “Tg.” This setting sucks so much ass. I guess it tries to interpret letter entries as parts of larger words. For example, when I was trying to write “shirt”, I would enter an “s”, then an “h.” When I entered the h, the letters I’d already entered suddenly switched to “pg.” Trying to write “ass” the setting changed it to “app.” All I can really say about this feature is: !!!!!!! And I know text isn’t always the best way to appreciate the subtle tone, so let me just say that’s not a good !!!!!!!

The second “type setting” is labeled “A.” I like this type setting. It allows me to type without the stupid phone trying to reinterpret what I’m trying to write. The problem is that I can’t figure out how to turn off the caps, leading a certain individual to text me back: “Pls do not text me in all caps!” But … then how else can I text?

The third “type setting” is labeled “1″ and, as it sounds, is a numerical function. Great. Hows about a lower case function? Stupid Samsung.

The fourth “type setting” allows for special characters — commas, exclamation points, question marks. No quotes? Bogus.

Anyway, I’m giving up text messaging. I’m sure I’m already going to regret it when I see my Cingular bill next month. I don’t actually know if I get charged for text messaging, but I don’t see why they wouldn’t stick me for it (they should take it out of my minutes, I never use all of them anyway).

I don’t quite know how to categorize this song by KT Tunstall — it’s beautiful and haunting and I don’t mind confessing that I’ll crank the volume when it comes on the radio, and if it hadn’t been so wet out lately, I’d probably put some extra pressure on the pedals.

For some reason, it makes me thing of the mystical side of the Civil War — y’know? Like some old witch woman living in a hut in the middle of a desolate forest casting spells as the opposing armies close on each other — sorta Sleepy Hollowish, I guess. I don’t know, I can’t explain it any better — I’m just picturing a forest, a lot of fog, a crazy witch woman, and a dark time, nearly ancient time.

Great song. If you haven’t listened to it, you should. Fuckin’ catchy.

(anybody got this on mp3 they don’t mind sendin’ myaway?)

Yesterday, I took a delivery to a sports commenter who works on ESPN and lives in our area. I’m not very much into sports, but I understand his speciality is college football. Anyway, I got to his house just as the sun decided to make a brief appearance. He opened the door and, you have to understand that he’s got a skylight above and behind the foyer, so when the door opened I was blinded.

And I said so.

I said “woah, blinding!”

Unfortunatly, what I failed to notice before I said this, was that he was only wearing a pair of white boxers.

I hope he orders again. He’s always been a good tipper.

(I know, right?)

So, I think that I figured out what Japanese ship was parked in Fell’s Point over the weekend (or at the least narrowed it down). It might even still be there — I only saw the one. Were there more?

The best part about watching Clue as an adult is realizing why your parents were laughing when you and your sister were giving each other “that was funny?” looks.

The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood.

At first, I thought it was a murder mystery.

Then I thought it was science-fiction.

And now I really have no idea. But it’s very good, and I’m plugging steadily ahead. Oh, I know what it is: addictive.

Next up on my reading queue? The two-part Winston Churchill biography, The Last Lion, weighing in at seventeen-hundred pages. I thought this was a hefty book!

Gary replaced all the lights at work over the weekend, so all of a sudden, instead of working in a poorly lit dirty pizza shop, I work in a brightly lit dirty pizza shop. It makes it easier for all of us — and the customers, presumeably — to notice just how dirty it is. Did I say “dirty”? I meant “charming.”

***

Someone once told me that when it rains, God is peeing. I think the “adult approved” version was that when it rains, God is crying, but I always remembered it as “peeing.”

Anyway, I don’t know what God was drinking yesterday, but today, apparently, S/He was suffering from some drippage. Rain. Stop. Rain. Stop. I think that might be indicative of some sort of infection related to a person’s bladder. I’m sure God can get Her/Himself to the front of Heaven’s Doctor’s Queue, and I’d really appreciate it he S/He would do that sooner … as opposed to later.

I like rain. I just don’t like this much rain.

I’m looking to build up my winamp playlist — I’ve got some Dylan and Jovi on it now, but I’d really like to be able to run it longer than fifteen minutes before everything starts recycling. Limewire still good for free (re: stolen) non virus infested songtasticness?

I had a late dinner with a bloggerette tonight — Friendlys, with ice cream sundaes after — and on the way back, she commented that we’d just passed an ark. Seriously.