Oliphant Parts

As is evident by my self-centred writing style, I have few friends. I work from home for a tech firm several states away and do not spend a lot of time around others. I like it this way. There are a select few people with whom I talk or email, and yes, I like it that way. Several of these people I contact only through myspace, which as of today, really pisses me off. Today, myspace deleted me. Have I mocked myspace? Yes. Have I mentioned technical problems with myspace? Yes. Have I violated their terms of service? As far as I can tell, no. So why did the bastards delete my account? I haven’t a f***ing clue. Of course, it could just be yet another myspace meltdown and I just need to sit it out. . .

I cracked open my first Moose Drool last night. Sure, I’d had it on tap before and loved it, but this was my first experience from a bottle. The glass was chilled, the beer cold, and it flowed smoothly like a fine drool (okay, more like a cold beer, but I’m trying to work with the name of the beer here, folks!). When it hit my tongue, I nearly choked. This couldn’t possibly be the same beer I get on tap at Capone’s, could it? It had an acrid, slightly chemical taste with just an afterhint of feces. So, is it a bad batch, or should I stick to getting it in pubs? Although I bought a six-pack, I am somewhat leery of trying another in hopes that I just had a bad bottle.

I remember a batch of homebrew a friend had made about twenty years ago that tasted somewhat similar. It had been contaminated with ecoli, which gave it a rather unique taste and aroma. Here’s hoping the same hasn’t happened to the Moose.

Spokane wants to grow up: A fancy new convention center, Trader Joe’s on the way (we hope) and a police force reminiscent of LAPD at its worst. I suppose beating the populate into submission is one way to go about creating an orderly citizen. Or a dead one. Anyway, here’s hoping they get that Trader Joe’s and that sucking down a few bottles of Two-Buck Chuck mellows the cops out a bit. Hey Joe, if Spokane doesn’t work out, we’d love to have you in Coeur d’Alene. I’m tired of having to drive to Oregon to pick up my cocoa and 20 pound chocolate bars, dammit!

I must be ill- I keep craving beef. I am not a beef eater. Lamb, pork, chicken?- yes. Fish, shrimp, the occasional duck breast?- sure. But beef? Definitely no. So why do I keep thinking about it? Damn you, National Cattlemen’s Beef Association! Must be the voiceovers.

Well now. Looking through my notebook from last week, it seems I skipped several pages of regurgitation. We can’t have that, can we? Sure, it’s outdated now by almost a week, but who cares? It was put to paper, so there must be some value in it regardless of the content. If not, how does Ann Coulter get published?
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Happy 4th of July, everyone. And with that, let us turn this back to my favorite subject: Me. Here’s the post I meant to put up last Wednesday after arriving in McLean, Virginia.

I love to write, to watch my ideas form on the page. You (or someone else if not you, you inconsiderate worm!) would think that I would like using a text editor, but I do not. Given the choice of a blank page or a blank screen, I choose the blank page every time. For me, writing is a physical process, with each scribbled word pouring out of me via the pen. To type is to reduce words to random pokes. I do not form letters when typing, I just jab buttons. In short order, my thought is lost, abandoned while I consider form and structure over content, or think of the other things I could be doing with my computer (so much porn, so little time?). With a good pen and a pad of paper, all I can do is write. Or doodle. And for those of you who think my writing is awful, you should see my doodles and be glad I have stuck with writing.
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Never ever use Heritage Financial Service. For anything. The female MHUD (once again, Mormon-Human Underground Dweller) is screaming and crying (can you guess that she was a high school drama queen?) because another promised closing day has been cancelled. There was something about changing her diaper and spoon-feeding her baby food, because she’s done, can’t take it any more. Oh joy. Thank you, Rob. Thank you, Heritage Financial Service. The sad thing is, the excuses for why they can’t close are not getting any better. First, they claimed the MHUDS were shopping for a new loan, which turned out to be a lie.

I missed the next three or four excuses, although there was something about the paperwork, which Rob claimed would take 24 hours to get back, being late. Yesterday’s excuse was that the house was appraising too high compared to the selling price when the washer and dryer were added in. Uh yeah, $240,000 for a house, and less than a thousand for a washer and dryer pushes the home value up too high?

Now it sounds like the radon abatement system is holding things up (or radiation abatement, if you are Mr. Brilliance, a.k.a. Rob). This one is actually a good one: Supposedly the lender wants the radon abatement system in before they’ll close on the house, but the MHUDS can’t put in the system until the house closes and it is their’s. This should hold things up pretty much indefinitely. When you want the absolute worst service, call Heritage Financial Service.

Hey hey hey Friday. I should be hard at work, but my head is killing me and sitting up makes me want to puke. Nothing like a spinning world. I wanted to write something thought-provoking, or at least interesting, but after this, what else is there to say? For anyone too lazy to follow the link, I’ll include the content of this incredibly great letter to the editor in the continuation.
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