I Got My Fist, I Got My Plan, I Got Survivalism

The Departed won Best Picture and I felt like there was some small measure of justice in the world.

If anyone out there wants to give me the new Modest Mouse album, I'd be pretty grateful and maybe give you a hug that lingers just a shade too long and we'd both get awkward about it.

I know too many people named Dan. How about some variety out there, folks? Where are the Wolfgangs and Lesters of the world?

I took some Dayquil before I came to work this morning and I've pretty much checked out on today. I laid in a stash of Dayquil and Nyquil before they pulled the dextromethorphan out of it and took all the fun away. I'd be pretty excited to get rid of this cold but not so excited to face all the failures of my life without any sort of chemical cushion. Speaking of which, larger and more ominous problems still haven't gone away. You know that scene in Slither when the posse walks into the barn and the town slut is swollen 300 times her size and she goes, "Somethin's wrong with me"? That's what's playing in my head all the time these days. Somethin's wrong with me, and God help me if it means I explode.