I didn't see it, I can't believe it

I just had the most wonderful idea, but I've already talked myself out of it.

While reading Popbitch, I noted a fantastic acronym: IDNSHC. I have read it before and enjoyed it before. (For the uninitiated, it generally pops up in "Stood next to ___ at the urinal" posts. You can figure it out.) Today, for some reason, I fell deeply in love with IDNSHC and wanted it to be a part of my life. It has a wonderful HRH and/or esquire sort of air about it, so I decided it would be wonderful to use it with the name of anyone to whom it applied. Now, of course, that would mean I'd spend the next few months IDNSHC-ing pretty much every name ever mentioned in this site, but it would be worth it.

My fear, and the reason I've abandoned this plan, is that one day, I may forget a needed IDNSHC and scandalize myself and others. So, yeah. I'm pretty broken up about this lost affectation. Please that I may use it just this once: Have you seen this story about Sean Avery, IDNSHC? I am living for his concept of what fashion should be.

that's why it'll never work

I just killed a bug with my hand and instantly regretted it. I announced, "That was shitty. Now I feel bad about it." Um, no one is here. Who am I talking to!?!

In better news, Dollie is my hero. You may not get that bananacake joke (well, well, well, you should!), but trust me, it's the best thing ever written.

And so ends my month of daily blogging. I'm not sure if it would be more or less impressive were I not writing two posts a day over at the work blog, but I did it.

Speaking of the work blog and things that I do, every day in December (Yes, weekends. Yes, Christmas) there will be a new 2007 year-end list. That's 31 lists. It all starts tomorrow. I won't tell you exactly what the first theme will be, but I can give you one clue (Why? Because who's going to stop me? I already killed a bug today. Look out.) That clue is: Sean Kingston. Be sure to stop by, disagree with me, post your own lists and suggest other Best Of lists. Seriously, comment all day long. Become the new Bradley. I'd love it.

say something, anything

I am feeling better, and work has been good, but it is very frustrating to keep churning out genius high-quality blog post after genius high-quality blog post to no fanfare and few comments. It is making me feel sad and unappreciated. You know what would make me feel better? A movie deal. And a new apartment, with a fireplace and a backyard.

feeling like an orchid

I could be accused of serving just to serve, and I apologize in advance for my poor humor, but I have to call out this New York Vulture interview with some 21-year-old goof from a pretty lame band.

Like "The Hills," this interview with Zach Condon makes me so glad I'm not 21, but unlike "The Hills," it isn't even fun.

Key points that made my eyes roll out of my head:

• Living among Hasidm in "South Williamsburg" makes him feel like he's in "an entirely different country"
• the "guilty pleasure" question on the whole — can't blame the kid for that one, but he does get daggers for "even Bruce Springsteen" answer. Oh even him, hmm?
• And, of course, "I'm an old man at heart."

I'm sure this Beirut fellow is a nice boy — though I've been hating the band's name since I first heard it — but this interview makes me want to throw tomatoes.

HEY! la la la la

I need to post here more. I need here to be where I post all the things I've posted everywhere else. So I am going to start to do that in a big way, but first I will do it in a small way, and point out that I've updated my long-neglected Modern Log MOG, with a Sloan song and a heartwrenching tale. OK, not so much the second part.

SATURDAY UPDATE:

I am going to post a song a day over at the MOG site. (Yes, I suppose I could do that here, but they make it so much easier. Plus I get bonus bulldog photos. SCORE!) What a great idea, right? Today's is "Wall of Fire" by Peter Elkas. The story behind that is that he was in a band that I didn't like.

Oh look, I can sort of post it here! Only without the words.

mog.com

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if you want me, you can find me

It's not that I haven't been writing a lot. I have. It just hasn't been here. Let's catch up.

Monday, I wrote this and this and I wrote here (remember?) and this thing I wrote Friday published.

Tuesday I wrote this and was too busy obsessing over a hockey game to write anything else.

Wednesday I wrote this (Are you seeing the pattern? It's every weekday morning, kids.) and this.

Thursday I wrote this and this.

And Friday I wrote this and another thing that won't publish until Monday.

Saturday I wrote this and THIS right here. Oh yes, and this: Happy Birthday, Michael!

hear the sound of marching, charging feet

Welcome to Lent, believers. I have given up being less than awesome. So far, not so good.

Who is awesome? Sean Avery, who called Martin Brodeur (UGH!) a big whiner. A BIG WHINER! YES!!! And I missed it. Why? Because of a bleeping Knicks game, I had to watch the Rangers/Devils game on the Devils channel (though MSG said "Tune in to MSG2," there was no MSG2 last night). Grr. Still and all, Sean Avery is my new hero. Also, I watched the game, and saw the "goalie interference/roughing" moment in replay 62 times, and Brodeur started it. Whiner. BIG WHINER! Also, they are the Devils. And I am confident that God don't like ugly OR evil, I don't care how much they win.

I started a secret diary. It is invitation only, which I will send out soon, I hope. If you don't get an invitation by Friday and you think you should (this means you don't work with me AND you are either not someone in my real life OR are my BFF), hit me up. I think you have to have a Blogger account for it to really work.

I'll talk but you won't listen to me

It's the last day of November. And the last day of this NaBloPoMo experiment. I missed one day (November 22), because I was at my parents' house and I forgot. What a bummer. I learned that I really do not have something to say every day. I learned that I probably would be better off if I could post from work (I always seem to have something to say there). I learned that when the site is acting wonky and I can't post, I panic. And I learned that planning my weekend trip to start on December 1 was very wise indeed.

your girls can't take my lemonade

Because Emma is one of my few real American heroes, I too vow to post every day in November for NaBloPoMo (I did try this on my own in October, but as you see, I fell off.) I am not armed with hints for smart and interesting ideas, but rather my own sad mind. So look out!

A week ago was my birthday. Before that was the party. There was singing and drinking and eating. And way too may presents. What a delight!

I still owe thank you cards. The magic of paper cards is mail, yay! The unmagic is that I put them off way too long, boo!

The party was fun fun. And the next day I was so tired and had to lay down most of the day, except for the couple of hours I spent at the Crabhouse. Magic.

The next night was my for serious for real birthday, and I met my dad for dinner. Tuesday I don't remember what I did. Worked. And probably cried at some point. Wednesday was hockey night, which included a game of suck boosted by a super wondrous overhearing event. I think I better save that one for a slow November day. Thursday I don't remember again. Working. Gnashing of teeth.

And Friday. Well, Friday might be the best of all. I got home almost on time, I curled up on the couch and decided to try out "Dexter." And then I watched all four episodes. I spend over three hours lying down, watching TV. It was like a dream, really.

Saturday I visited my parents and sat around their house doing nothing. Glorious. And Sunday I did the same, only at my house. Now it is Monday, and I started off the week horribly by seriously contemplating smashing my head against my desk repeatedly and then coming home and ripping the kitchen apart in a desperate attempt to find a (hiding a little too well) box of Crystal Light iced tea. I have a sickness.

neon is my favorite color

In other news, I posted over at MOG about my current "Wolf Like Me" mania, and I posted another something in a secret place. Well, I can't give it all away here, loves. But if you know about the secret place and want to hear a really stupid story, there's two entries waiting.

pink is the color of her eyes

I've done a couple of super short posts over MOG yonder. (Big ups due to Emma, for reminding me I existed there.

You'll find talk of work (specifically You Tell Us, my sole reason to get up some mornings), Jay-Z, the Killers and, of course, Mr. T.

Of course! Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to make a big glass of something to help wipe away the memories of yet another too-long day.