Studying...

I'm currently studying for a general music history class I'm taking. It involves lots of listening to a four CD set that came with my textbook. As the selections on the CD consist mostly of classical masters, this is both a blessing and a curse. It takes quite a long time to become intimately acquainted with 2 CDs of classical music, however enjoyable the process may be. Like dating, or maybe courtship. I'm sure statements like the preceding one are why I am permanently single. Dammit.

Hmm.

It's been brought to my attention that this whole site is basically an exercise in narcissism.

Yep. I am, in fact, the coolest person I know, so a site dedicated to my mind and its fabulous analytical prowess just makes sense...

=)

Report from the self-serve table on Thanksgiving.

Greetings, Blogonauts.
My Thanksgiving was a smashing success, largely to my decision to consume as much rum as possible prior to speaking to anyone. Rum, in the form of "rum and coke", has an appreciable effect upon my civility and tolerance, to the point where I lost several consecutive games of something called "mexican dominoes" to my younger cousins, one of whom was playing en utero. Or so he said. I think he was cheating, somehow.
The other cousin/nephew/something spent more time shrieking that they weren't getting to play while the other players waited for that same person to make their move. His name was Steven, and he also like to throw dominoes at unsuspecting players' temples.
In any event, I ate turkey and drank alcohol, and a good time was had by all. Ah, the holidays.

Otaku-ness, and other methods of suicide.

Its happening before my eyes and hands, and I have stopped fighting it.
I am becoming a Japanimation Geek, an "otaku".
The mere fact that I know the term is a sign of an advanced case. I've slipped from a distant admiration of the more beautiful forms of stylized, anime-type art, into a full-bore devourer of manga. To help others avoid my fate, I will chart my descent into the womenless realm of this special breed of Geek.
Avoid watching "Cowboy Bebop" at all costs. I was weak and susceptable to its power, and it soon had me in its icy grip, cursing me to watch the episodes one by one, until I can only date girls five years my junior with chronic halitosis. My good friend Jonathan proved resistant, due to his special training regimen of hard-labor in a Miami groundskeeping crew. At the first sign of contamination, his subconscious immediately mauled his conscious with a pipe, and he slept through the episode. Not so I, dear readers.
After "Cowboy Bebop" opened the door, "Inuyasha" kicked me through it and down the stairs to my parent's basement. All contact with the fairer sex was lost, and I wallowed in the depths with Smeagol, until he left me in disgust.

Brace yourself, more horrors lie ahead.

I then (forgive me) began reading "Battle Angel Alita"! Not only is this a black and white comic book that reads from right to left, it's over ten years old. I'm reading outdated japanese comic books. I will be hell's janitor.

Yes, this was a random post.

Rejection, Dejection

Ah, the clammy grip of utter, unmistakable rejection. I've missed you.
Last night I attended a wedding of a High School friend, and one of the bridesmaids was a california-girl who was put together perfectly.
Bingo!
I walk over, stone sober, and ask her to dance, she agrees. (By the way, I dance somewhat like the back-up dancers in the thriller video, but I'm trying not to be stiff).
We dance, it's great, we sit and talk about nothing. She has a few more drinks and heads back out on the dance floor with a rum and coke.
For unknown reasons, she flings her libation on the dance floor and covers the area with ice and broken glass.
Having a fair idea what a gentleman does in such situations, I sped to my table and liberated some napkins from my fellow guests, then proceded to help clean up the mess.
Being a macho idiot, I spread out one of the napkins, grab handfulls of ice/glass, and put them on the napkin.
I start bleeding immediately, but I'm on a roll and there's no turning back, I am fulfulling my purpose as a man.
She takes the opportunity to order a new drink, and stike up a conversation with an Armani-wearing metrosexual who knows how to dance.
I carry my now exceedingly painful napkinful of ice, glass, and hemoglobin back to my table and try to stop bleeding.
She starts a slow dance with the gimp.
After the dance, I head to her table and renew our conversation, while concealing my sacrificed hands and trying to look normal at the same time.
We talk for a bit, then "Queer Eye" pulls up a chair on the other side of her.
She picks up her chair, turns it to face him, and ignores me.
Defeat, sure and swift.
I make excuses and go back to my table.
After reporting the news to best friend, Jonathan, we (unsurprisingly) agree that her choice reveals her deep character flaws, and that I dodged a sniper's round.
I dance some more, and the evening goes on.

Turkey Day of Infamy

Sorry for not posting more often, but I'm remarkably lazy.
I'm headed to my uncle's house for Thanksgiving, to eat with an extended family that includes quite a few interesting characters.
I'm certain this will result in a least one decent story, or a least several anecdotes.
Have a corpulent day!

Fiendish Fables from France

I know I promised tales from a Miami law-firm, but I've decided to post one from my trip to France first.

"Eric is nearly Deported from France"

According to the excellent intelligence services of France, I am a Jehovah's Witness. Mind you, I was raised Presbyterian, but this is France we're talking about, so I'm clearly wrong. Several summers ago I traveled to France as part of a church-funded work group, to help repair an aging chateau in southern France. After a long plane flight where I was continually offered "caffey" and "tey" by chain-smoking french stewardesses, I arrived in france full of anticipation and eager to perform service in that beautiful country. Our plane landed in Paris, so a short connecting flight was required to arrive at our destination, Toulouse. As you can imagine, the stress 12 hours of solid combat with stewardesses determined to give me "caffey" and "tey", had taken a toll upon my nerves, and I was eagerly awaiting the first opportunity to pass out.
It was not to be. No sooner than our hosts had picked us up in rented vans, they informed us to "keep our heads down" so we would not be seen. Tired as I was, I convinced myself that this was some sort of local custom. Indeed, Detroit has many of the same customs, which aid in one's personal safety. Eventually we arrived at our chateau and were instructed to "hide" inside. Some of the more rash members of our group asked why we were entering France in secrecy, and who it was we were being kept secret from. Our host, a courageous gentleman, replied that the Gendarmerie had discovered we were Jehovah's Witnesses, and were determined to question us, and possibly deport us.
Ah.
Truth be told, I was less amazed by the French's speed in declaring us JWs, than by the speed our hosts adapted to the new situation, by shipping us back into town to eat crepes for 8 hours. I like crepes, but I like sleep also, and I was now overstocked in crepes and backordered for sleep. Our crepe tolerance was quickly reached, and the group made inquiries of our leader as to what to do next.
"Flee to Switzerland" was the response.
Fantastic. We're fleeing to the neutral arms of the Swiss because the French have declared us to be JWs as soon as we set foot in the country. Naturally, we began to question our hosts as to why the government was pursuing us, since they had been avoiding eye contact for severally hours.
"They searched the Chateau. They found a calendar." They replied. "It had the word 'Jehovah' in it." This is a brilliant example of why the French are not easily defeated. They have a stellar intelligence community.
Very well, off to Switzerland, a real country.
We employed extreme stealth in our departure, namely we bought train tickets and left. It was a beautiful journey, marred only by the mind-numbing stench of the french. Not all french smell, but the ones that do make up for the civilized ones. This one middle-aged gentleman insisted on pacing the train with his arms upraised like Charlton Heston as Moses, while radiating pure horror in a 90-degree cone of destruction centered on each armpit. This man made me grateful that my eyes watered shut and I could take solace in the comforting taste of bile that arose when he drew near. The train journey lasted about 8 hours, but due to Einsteinian relativistic effects generated by armpit funk it seemed to take slightly longer.
On the Swiss side of the border, we gasped pure alpine air and stood in line for customs, where the agent refused to stamp our passports. He had no problem with letting us in the country, but he simply would NOT stamp our passports to prove we had done so. Insistence on our part simply made him threaten to send us back to France on the train with that man, who inexplicably remained on the train. Damn him. I hate Europe.

The advent of the stories.

It has been suggested by my associates that I post some of my personal stories on this site. Very well, I am happy to oblige.

Coming soon, "Tales from a Coral Gables law firm."

Femininity. Analyzed and Discarded.

I've discovered, through the agency of an upscale halloween party, that I'm unattracted to members of the opposite sex that open their mouths. I find that whatever thoughts, ideas, or observations dribble from these women, my thoughts, ideas or observations are unfailingly superior in every respect. That is not to say a toned physique, a shapely derriere, and a delightful bosom do not result in my immediate mental paralysis. No, that effect remains, but if I were to ignore the cheap physical response of my body, I am left with the odiously mediocre utterings and vapid stare of the typical female. I don't know how to resolve this problem, yet I am confident a resolution exists. In the meantime, I will carry on with these eigths of a person, for that is my estimation of their worth in discourse.

Random Physiology Report #1

I have got to start drinking more water during my day.
I think I just passed either a handgrenade or a pinecone.

First post and... nothing.

I've attempted to post my first message, and already the Gods of the internet have seen fit to deny my pleas for recognition.
"This blog has encountered an error, the administrator has been notified, and so on..."
Very well, back to eating bacon and ice cream.