A library visit more intense than Rush Limbaugh doing... anything. No, really. Imagine that guy brushing his teeth.

Just renewed my library card. Super stoked.

"Books like my rims, yo."

I'll get back to you on what that means exactly (but you can still marvel at how cool it sounds).

Funny thing happened, though, when I was renewing my card:

I was still in the system.  From seven years ago.

"I'm still in the system?  It's really been about seven or eight years since my last visit."
"That is a bit funny.  Hm.  Usually people only stay in our system for about a year after their card expires."
"Guess you guys thought I'd be back, huh?"

Then, suddenly, the scene changed.  A quiet calm came across the librarian and the dewey Chicago atmosphere (No, it's not an outdoor library.  Just go with it).  It became less "exactly what you think of when you think of library" to "serenity before game-changing bomb-drop."

(Reader - Breathe.  In and out.  I know this is intense.  I have, what you would call, a Mastery in Forshadowfication.  Just bear with me for a little longer.  Remember... breathe.)

The librarian's gaze into the computer became much less "squinty" and way more "Ohhhhhhhhhhh."  I could tell she had our answer.  Time stopped.  The minute hand on the clock started to turn counter-clockwise. 

Or in this case, since we're already talking about a clock... It started to turn counter-wise.

The librarian's mouth started to open, and... Words.  Came.  Out.

"You have an outstanding fee of $3.35."

Bomb, officially dropped.

I fumbled for the correct response.

"Oh, uhh.  Yeah... lemme get that."
"Sure."

A bit of awkward time passed while she was transacting my transaction and renewing my card and gazing.  She then gave me my new card, along with the extra-useful keychain attachment.

I said "Thanks," and started to walk towards the door.  But instead of opening that very same door, I turned and asked an utterly important question:

"This doesn't go on my credit report does it?"
"Oh?  Haha."

I guess I wasn't being taken seriously.

"No, I'm serious."
"I'm really not sure."

Damn it.

In related news, I'm the new poster boy for FreeCreditReport.com.

Damn it.

A new project.

In 1996, my grandpa wrote a book about his troubles and hardships as a Ukrainian and as a soldier in the Second World War.  His name is Stephen Fedenko, and the book is written in Ukrainian.

My Ukie has never been good enough to actually read the book, but since I've recently found a passion for writing, I gave it another try.  After reading a few pages, I gave up.  It would take me weeks to read it, and unfortunately I don't have a firm enough grasp on the traditional Ukrainian language to absorb everything the book could offer.

I brought this up to my dad, and within seconds we found my solution:

I should translate the book.

On Saturday, my dad and I are driving to Detroit to pick up my grandpa's computer.  Now you may be thinking, "Hey idiot, get gramps to email the book or put it on a disk.  Duh.  Idiot."  Well, this leads me into obstacle number one:

It's stored on one of these...

Talk about old school.  Should be fun trying to move the file over to a computer that didn't experience the Bush, Sr. administration.

After we transfer it over to a working machine, my dad and I are going to write a computer program that will give us a rough English translation.

Then, obstacle number two:

I write.

Nicorette.

Muhh.
Plegh.
Uhhh.
(vomit)
Ugh.
...
Still want a cigarette.

13 days since I've quit.

I'll take a seat at the bar, thank you.

I'm having a breakfast of champions.  While I read Vonnegut's "Breakfast of Champions."  A "Denver Omlette," they call it, here at Mac's.  Golden eggs, tough ham, and watery crisps of peppers and onions.  Side a browns a course.

I'm mid-chapter 21.  Kilgore's set to meet Dwayne Hoover, previously Dwayne Hoober, flipped for his race.  He's also set to meet his creator - lowercase, for it's Kurt, not God.

Funny, because kids won't even capitalize the beginning of sentences nowadays, more or less what's important to them.

Oh?  Carla snuck American cheese into my omlette.  That dog...

Butt-end-ingly, coffee washes all of it down and delivers a caffiene surge through my veins.  It's time to start my american Day.

Idiot.

This guy is truly an idiot.  Just completely dumb.


Najibullah Zazi, a 24 year old now-alleged terrorist, was arrested this week because of suspicious activity pointing to his potential dealings with terrorism.  This suspicious activity was buying massive amounts of beauty products at Denver-area stores.


C'mon guy.


Airports around the world have a rule saying that a person cannot bring any containers of liquid greater than 4 oz. on a plane.  Do you know why they have that rule?  Because massive amounts of liquid = potential for an explosive device. 

I'm assuming he knew this, so what made him think that he could get away with buying 784 bottles of Head & Shoulders?


Now I put "assuming" in italics, because I may be putting too much faith in his potential cognition.  I say this, because when asked why he was buying such a large amount of beauty supplies, he told the clerk that they were for "his many girlfriends."  Very believable, Mr. Zazi.

I commend the clerk for realizing that this dummy was more than just ridiculous.  He was a ridiculous terrorist.

So keep your eyes open people.  That guy buying the remote trigger for his Rube Goldberg-buttered-toast-in-78-steps-machine may not be who he says he is.

"The Outdated Nextel Intercom Noise Text of the Week" Thursday, October 1, 2009 Edition

This is a new section of my blog called "The Outdated Nextel Intercom Noise Text of the Week."  I'll be posting text messages that I feel truly embody the essence of life.  It's brought to you by that silly intercom deal that Nextel came out with circa 1999 that everybody had in high school.  I was never cool enough to get one.  I tear.  Unfortunately, I got stuck with the Nokia Brick (big ups to the Snake game for almost making it up to me).  Here goes:

Anonymous Person 1:  "Hold on.  I'll call you shortly. (that's my nice, secretary voice)."
Anonymous Person 2:  "Vvvrrrrtt.  (that's my penis, elongating into shaft-mode)"

You should really hear her secretary voice.