first among bloggers
seems like i’m just about the only responsible blogger in the posse. yet another reason for me to puff myself up.
sometimes the best things to blog (i hate that word, by the way) about are conversations. the entries can end up being virtual carbon copies of what was said, which makes it feel like kind of a sell-out (at least to you and the other participants in the conversation), but if nothing else, it serves as a good reminder months in the future of what was said. plus, there are lots of people who weren’t in the conversation who might be amused by it.
so with that introduction, and with apologies to Ben (but hey, i wrote this stuff first), i want to talk about elevators. first, it’s a darned shame that the “close door” buttons in elevators are nonfunctional 90% of the time. my dad has pointed this out to me several times. i think that if a button is labeled “close door,” it had better damn well do its job and not function as some sort of glorified placebo.
and have you ever been waiting for the elevator to come, having already pushed the “up” button — which consequently becomes clearly illuminated — only to have some ditzy 40 year-old woman walk up and press the button again, as if it’s going to put pressure on the elevator and compel it to move faster? give me a break! it’s even worse when they press it multiple times. as i related to Ben, these dolts seem to treat the elevator button-pressing-activity like the beginning of an NBA Jam game — the more times you press “A,” the greater the chance of getting the tip.
and that, my friends, embodied the pointless weblog entry. i challenge you to do better.
i didn’t sleep on the blue couch in there, for good reason
i’m not sleepy. right? i sit down to read some anthro. my eyelids become heavy. i struggle to keep my eyes open. the couch is so soft, so soft. i put the book on the coffee table, lie back, and doze.
this is how to not accomplish things.