In what was technically last night, I took two of my friends to a party and we had a really good time.  My two friends were drinking, but I wasn't because I was the driver for the night.  One of my friends
had to be home by midnight, so we ended up leaving the party at around 11:35.

At around 11:45 I was driving down Sunset and I was a little pissed because the car behind me seemed to be tail-gating me.  As such, I was driving approximately 45 mph on a road which I believe is 40 in some parts and 35 in others.  I came to a stop sign and although I didn't just drive through the stop sign, my stop was definitely hurried.  After we got through the intersection, my rear view mirror filled up with blue and red.

"We're being pulled over."

I pulled over to the side of the road and immediately assessed the situation.  Iad not been drinking at all and knew I could pass any sort of test.  My friends weren't visibly intoxicated and they both immediately understood the gravity of the situation.

Over the cop car's loud-speaker came a male voice, "Pull into the parking lot on your left."

Doing so, I turned my car off and rolled down my window.  As the cop slowly ambled up to my car, his partner also having gotten out of the squad car, memories of my two prior incidents with the cops ran through my mind.  Think: getting a ticket for 70-in-a-40 and giving an interview after being in a three car collision.

"Are you doing okay tonight?" was the cop's first question.
 
"Yes."

"Can I see your license?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure."

"Having you been drinking tonight?"

"No."

"Nothing to drink?"

"Nothing."

"Where are you coming from?"

I turn to my passenger and ask, "From off Fair Oaks?"

"Okay, because you were swerving a little on Sunrise and you rolled that stop sign."

"Oh..."

"Is this your car?"

"Yes."

"Is it in your name?"

"I think it's in my dad's."

"What insurance company do you have?"

"I don't know," was my reply, as I reached for the insurance information in my glove box.

"You don't know?  Do you pay your insurance?"

"No, my dad does."

"Ok," he said, as he handed me back my license, "be safe tonight."

Oh.  Shit.

And I managed to get my friend home at exactly 12:00.

This past Monday night was the 100^th episode of Deal or No Deal.

And no matter what you say, I love that show.  I've heard people complain that it's boring, that the people on it are idiots, that it takes no skill, &c.

Well I personally find it extremely entertaining.  It's got excitement, money and gorgeous models.  And although I feel bad when someone misses out on a great deal of cash, I believe that I would most likely play the game to the end, purely because it would be fun.

But, it makes sense that people take risks and go for exorbitant sums of money.  The show is basically like the American Dream.  It's all about taking an opportunity (the first case you choose) and trying to turn it into as much as possible.  Some people make it big (one contestant won 750,000 dollars while two have had the possibility of winning 1 million), some people lose practically everything (one contestant went home with 10 dollars), and most land somewhere in the middle.

The show is all about trying to make it.  It's about calculated risk.  It's about knowing when to stop, and when to risk it all.  It's the green light at the end of the dock, it's riding through the tunnel in the truck bed, it's the black Ford Model T with a custom pantasote top.

It's the American Dream.

-Neil

Current Music: "Natural Blues" - Moby

P.S.  The first person to recognise all three literary allusions gets five dollars or a Chipotle burrito.  It's no million dollar case, but it's something.

I was thrilled on Tuesday; I felt I could finally call myself an artist.  Sure, I've been doing art for years, but for the first time ever, I was painting with oils and I got them on my clothes!  This might sound bad, but I was ecstatic!  I don't think anyone's truly an artist unless they've gotten oil paint on themselves.

Yesterday, my English class began reading Ragtime by Doctorow.  At the end of chapter I, a character known as the little boy stares into the headlights of Houdini's car and says, "Warn the Duke."

Today, we had a test on the first chapter of the novel.  A few of the questions were trick questions.  For example, one question was, "What is the symbolic reasoning for the chain Houdini wears on his vest?'  The answer is simply, "Houdini does not wear a chain; the Father does."

The second to last question on the test was, "Why does the Little Boy tell Houdini to warn the Duke?"  Because I did not know the answer, and because my teacher told me that there were two more trick questions in addition to the chain question, I came up with some lame answer arguing that the Little Boy does not tell anything to Houdini, as it is in fact the little boy that speaks at the end of the chapter.

Just now, I searched this line of the novel on Google.com. I foudn these two posts on a message board:

"he's actaully talking about WWI; Archduke Ferdinand gets shot by a Serbian nationalist, sparking the egotrips that caused the war.
this is wierd, it is a premonition. makes the boy kinda more important."

"In the original version of Ragtime, before editing, Doctorow wrote a chapter in which Houdini tells the Archduke Ferdinand that his life is in danger, and then German officials throw Houdini in jail. Doctorow cut it out, though, because it posed a dead end for Houdini's character. That's also why, when he's suspended from the Times building, he thinks back to the "boy staring at his reflection in the headlights" as he wonders about Franz Ferdinand's death."

I don't know why, but reading those two answers to a question regarding the mysterious qoute sent shivers down my spine.  I'm not sure if I want to read this book.

-Neil

Current Music: "Chop Suey" - System of a Down

I have never been a fan of internet abbreviations.

Ok, I lie.  From probably sixth grade to eighth grade I was all about the "LOL" and the "BRB."

Then I grew a few more brain cells.

Anyways, these days, I will occassionally use an "OMG."  Very rarely, and only for effect, however.

But what never ceases to amaze me is how some people mutilate their text.  The thing that irks me the most are abbreviations that are either the same length or -GASP- longer than what is being "abbreviated".

For example, today I saw someone abbreviate the word "anyone" and "n-e-one."  Now, count the characters in both the words.  The "abbreviation" is harder to type than the actual word.

WHY?!

-Neil

Current Music: "Demon Days" - Gorillaz

So, here's a contest.

Design for me the best looking, most original, awesomest ampersand to ever hit paper.

What will you win?

Well, there is the possibility that if I like it enough, it might get tattooed on my body. Forever.

RULES! bitches:

Actually, you don't even have to design the ampersand. If you find an awesome one, you can just submit that one as your entry.

However, I've seen a lot of ampersands, especially on the internet, so chances are that if you use one I've seen, it won't win, otherwise I would have already chosen it as the best.

There is no deadline, the contest is just over when I find a winner.

Also, you can make as many submissions as you like.

ALL SUBMISSIONS MUST BE BLACK AND WHITE! There is a simplicity and a beauty to black and white that I feel is, sadly, lost on many people.

This blog is most likely directed at you.

When you go to a fast food restaurant and you want the biggest size of fries they sell, do you ask for a "Large Fry" or a "Fry Large"?  How about when it comes to sodas, "Large Soda" or "Soda Large"?

I'm sure the employee taking your order would be able to figure it out either way, but in English we tend to put adjectives before the nouns they modify.  This isn't always so in Latin.  In Latin, you can pretty much mash your words together in whatever order you want and even Mr. Witucki can't mark you down.

We don't speak Latin.

So why is it that when someone who would order a "Large Fry" at McDonalds visits Starbucks, they feel the need to throw all rules of convention out the window and order a "Mocha Venti"?

Now, as a barista at Starbucks, I hear orders mashed together in a vagillion different ways.  There is, however, a proper way to say the components of a Starbucks drink.  And, because it makes me & many other partners cringe to hear a drink "called" incorrectly, I will teach you this mystical language.  (Oh yeah, it'll make you seem like you know what you're doing.)

Here's how it goes:

Frist off: Hot or cold?  If hot, no need to say anything.  If iced, please say so when ordering the drink, & not after the barista makes a hot one for you.

Now, do you want those shots to be caffeinated?  If yes, no need to say anything.  Otherwise, specify decaf, half-caf, or some other crazy fraction.

How many shots of espresso does your drink have?  If you want the normal amount that comes in your drink size, you don't need to say anything.  Otherwise, specify single, double, triple, quad, five shot, six shot, &c.

Now, of course, comes size.  Short, Tall, Grande & Venti.  These are the proper terms for the sizes at Starbucks.  And making a joke about how we don't use the normal English terms is nothing new; it doesn't make you a ground-breaking comedian.

Are you adding any flavoring to your drink?  Changing the normal amount of pumps of syrup that comes in your drink?  If so, say so now.  Number of pumps plus the type of syrup.

What kind of milk do you like?  If whole, no need to say anything.  Otherwise specify nonfat, lowfat, soy, or organic.

Now comes the fun part: Modifiers!  Want your drink without whipped cream?  Want a couple Splenda thrown in?  How about extra foam?  140 degrees?  At this point in time, please state anything special that you want done to your drink (that doesn't fit into other categories).

And finally, please tell us the type of drink itself.


Confusing?  Not really.  Here's an example that uses every aspect of the drink naming system:

Iced
Decaf
Quad
Grande
3 pump Almond
Nonfat
No whip
Mocha

See?  Not that hard.

Oh, & here's something I would like you to remember at ALL TIMES!  If a drink comes with whipped cream, such as a hot mocha, then the drink gets whipped cream no matter if it's hot or iced, or the type of milk it's made with.  You could order an Iced Mocha made with Soy milk because you are lactose intolerant & it is still supposed to come with whipped cream unless otherwise specified.

Many times baristas will assume you don't want whipped cream, but technically they aren't making the drink right.  I never assume.  So if you don't want me putting whipped cream on your drink that is supposed to come with whipped cream, you had better let me know.

Also, please never be afriad to ask questions of your barista.  We would much rather take the time to answer any questions you might have & clear up any confusion than to have to remake your drink because of a misunderstanding.

Thanks for reading!

-Neil

Current Music: "I See You Baby" - Groove Armada

P.S.  What the fuck is a "kombucha wonder drink"?  I got it as a suggested tag.

So I was googling my screenname "lightningphyre" yesterday, and as expected, most all the results were from Myspace or Mindsay.

Google, however, had a result for a website which I didn't recognize, so I clicked on the link (http://forum.wordreference.com/archive/index.php/t-167538.html).  As far as I can tell, it's some sort of Spanish message board where people talk about translations of things.  Go figure.

What is interesting, however, is that the page is a discussion of "pouffy" hair.  One knowledgeable individual used two images, one of a mullet and one of a bouffant, to illustrate what "pouffy" hair is.

What is amazing is that they used my scratchboard of a bouffant!!!

I FUCKING WANT TO KILL A BITCH!

So, today I went to Target to see if they had any cheap sweatpants, which apparently they don't.  Which made me sort of unhappy.  But that was nothing compared to what happened when I was looking for a parking space.

Anyways, I was trolling the rows when I see the perfect spot.  I pull around so I can get to it, and right as I'm about to pull into it, I see a woman standing in it, so I wait.

I should've run that whore over though because she proceeded to take a cart and hook it over the lip of the planter that was right next to the spot.  It completely filled the parking spot so I was unable to park there.  Understandably I began screaming at the top of my lungs.

I pulled away to find another parking spot and finally did.  I was fuming because I hate when people are too lazy to return their carts, but I was obviously especially angry because it had directly affected me.

As I was walking into the store, I passed by the perfect spot, and almost had a heart attack when I saw that on the other side of her parked car was one of the little corrals for carts!  So, not only was she so lazy that she couldn't return her cart, she was so lazy that she couldn't even walk her cart to the other side of her car!

I almost slashed that skank's tires.

Don't ever piss me off in a parking lot.

-Neil

Current Music: "Days Go By" - Dirty Vegas

"Where's Taaka?"

That's what I said at WinCo that got the middle aged woman in the Matrix jacket laughing.  She was hilarious.  I loved her.  I loved her the whole minute I knew her.

Last night was fun.  And freezing.

We had Freeze Fest '07 (pronounced Freeze Fest Oh Sev), the first Fest of '07.

-Neil

Current Music: "Let Go" - Frou Frou