Saturday, April 17, 2004
Report: Day 45
For romance day I was supposed to come up with a compliment that had never been given before.
Following is my compliment:
Even your goiter gets me hot.
Today is Birthday Day.
Following is my compliment:
Even your goiter gets me hot.
Today is Birthday Day.
Friday, April 16, 2004
Report: Day 44
Today was defy superstition day. I gave myself an extra five minutes to get to the bus this morning so that I would have plenty of time to step on every crack along the way. Yes, I generated a few odd looks, but it's worth it if my life is completely transformed radical style, right? I looked like Jack Nicholson in that movie with Helen Hunt. You know the one.
At the law school, there are a great number of very high ceilings. This requires the maintenance people to have on hand at all times a very tall ladder. I hit the door and instantly began searching for it. It was my hope that a lightbulb would be out or something and I'd hit upon somebody changing it out and then I could walk under the ladder. I searched high and low, but I did not hit upon the ladder. I thought briefly about damaging a lightbulb and calling maintenance, but then I decided against it.
When I got home, I went across the hall and knocked on the lesbians door. They have a black cat. "Hello, J------. How are you? Listen can I cross the path of your cat?"
"What?"
"Just do me a favor and get your cat and put her out her and I'll, you know, try and cross her path."
"Why?"
"I'm defying superstition."
"What?"
"Is the cat at home?"
"You're a very strange neighbor."
Today is romance day.
At the law school, there are a great number of very high ceilings. This requires the maintenance people to have on hand at all times a very tall ladder. I hit the door and instantly began searching for it. It was my hope that a lightbulb would be out or something and I'd hit upon somebody changing it out and then I could walk under the ladder. I searched high and low, but I did not hit upon the ladder. I thought briefly about damaging a lightbulb and calling maintenance, but then I decided against it.
When I got home, I went across the hall and knocked on the lesbians door. They have a black cat. "Hello, J------. How are you? Listen can I cross the path of your cat?"
"What?"
"Just do me a favor and get your cat and put her out her and I'll, you know, try and cross her path."
"Why?"
"I'm defying superstition."
"What?"
"Is the cat at home?"
"You're a very strange neighbor."
Today is romance day.
Thursday, April 15, 2004
Report: Day 43
I've been keeping a diary for years. Yesterday I updated it.
You can read my diary entry here.
Today I will be defying superstition.
You can read my diary entry here.
Today I will be defying superstition.
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
Report: Day 42
I believe that Benrick presupposed a sunny day when this task was introduced. However, the weather here has been anything but sunny. It has rained more or less constantly for two days now. It's springtime after all. We're supposed to have a good dousing. It is the way.
I checked the forecasts and it quickly became appearant that the rain was not going to let up so took off my shirt (gratefully acknowledging my foresight with regard to the undershirt), I peeled off my shoes and socks and rolled up my pants. Then I marched right past the other librarians and outside where I crossed the street and climbed the stairs to the Norman Samuels Plaza a large grassy area on campus. I stood there for a moment digging my toes into the wet grass. I brushed my stringy wet hair out of my face and experienced the grass on my bare feet. Well, the mud and the grass.
I could see my breath and I was beginning to feel like this:
So, I pulled my feet out of the distinct foot prints I had created with a wet suction sound and I headed back to the law school. The janitorial staff silently, but visibly, cursed me as I tracked mud and rainwater through the lobby of the law school into the bathroom where I stole an entire roll of paper towels and then through the library to my office.
I gently tamped my brow dry and then tried to scrape some of the dirt off my feet with a paper towel. I finally resigned myself to being wet and dirty for the balance of the day so I wrestled my socks back on and sat at my desk, marinading in my own juices.
Today I will make a proper diary entry about my day. Just like Winston Churchill used to do.
I checked the forecasts and it quickly became appearant that the rain was not going to let up so took off my shirt (gratefully acknowledging my foresight with regard to the undershirt), I peeled off my shoes and socks and rolled up my pants. Then I marched right past the other librarians and outside where I crossed the street and climbed the stairs to the Norman Samuels Plaza a large grassy area on campus. I stood there for a moment digging my toes into the wet grass. I brushed my stringy wet hair out of my face and experienced the grass on my bare feet. Well, the mud and the grass.
I could see my breath and I was beginning to feel like this:
So, I pulled my feet out of the distinct foot prints I had created with a wet suction sound and I headed back to the law school. The janitorial staff silently, but visibly, cursed me as I tracked mud and rainwater through the lobby of the law school into the bathroom where I stole an entire roll of paper towels and then through the library to my office.
I gently tamped my brow dry and then tried to scrape some of the dirt off my feet with a paper towel. I finally resigned myself to being wet and dirty for the balance of the day so I wrestled my socks back on and sat at my desk, marinading in my own juices.
Today I will make a proper diary entry about my day. Just like Winston Churchill used to do.
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
Report: Day 41
The following is a transcription of a letter I posted this morning.
Today I'm supposed to walk on the grass barefoot.
Prime Minister Tony Blair
c/o the Prime Minister's Office
10 Downing Street
London SW1A 2AA
UNITED KINGDOM
April 12, 2004
Dear Prime Minister,
I am writing to you today in brief application for a knighthood. I am not a citizen of the U.K., but as I understand it knighthoods may still be granted to U.S. citizens, though we may not use the title "Sir." I am comfortable with this and believe the honor of being knighted would be enough for me. Though, I must admit that since I cannot use the title I will probably wear an eight by ten photograph of the event around my neck at all times following the ceremony. But don't hold me to that because I'm still working out how best to publicize my getting knighted.
Anyways, I believe I have earned this honor because I totally rock. Just ask anybody who knows me. They all think I rock the Kasbah, if you know what I'm saying. And in exchange for a knighthood, I'm willing to use my coolness, my rock-on-itude, my swooper-fly-ity to benefit you in anyway I can. I'll help you prepare for Prime Minister's Questions by running you through a few toughies, or I could help you with the vetting of those intelligence reports, or I could babysit. Whatever, man. What I'm trying to say is that I'm there for you. I got your back.
So think it over and get back to me. But don't take too long, the Queen's birthday is coming right up and I'd like to get this taken care of this year. I'm sure you understand. Having something like this hanging over your head is a real drag.
Ok, well, I gotta jet.
Reverently,
Brian Blaho
Today I'm supposed to walk on the grass barefoot.
Monday, April 12, 2004
Report: Day 40
Bad luck that play a practical joke would fall on the weekend. Even worse that it would fall on Easter Sunday. I live by myself, so the interaction required for this particular challenge must be found outside my home and with it being a holiday... well, you see the dilemma. Additionally I live in a county with honest to God blue laws. This means that most stores are forbidden by law from operating on Sunday. Exceptions are pharmacies and grocery stores.
I started looking around locally for an establishment that was open on Easter Sunday which would facilitate a practical joke. And that's when it occurred to me that bars were open on Sunday, maybe even Easter Sunday, and as luck would have it there is a biker bar three blocks from my home.
So, I called them up. "Do you have Prince Albert in a can?" I asked innocently.
"What are you talking about?" replied the bar matron. The sounds of moving beer bottles and washing glasses could be heard in the background.
"Prince Albert in a can. Do you have Prince Albert in a can?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
I hung up, satisfied that they were open.
At roughly dinner time I headed out wearing dirty clothes and trying to look rough around the edges. You know, to fit in. I ordered a drink and took a seat in an obscured corner. I watched the ebb and flow of the patronage and tried to get a handle on the place. After about an hour I felt comfortable enough to make my move. I crept up to what I determined to be the most used bar stool in the place. I pulled it out, and as surreptitiously as I could I placed a whoopee cushion on the seat and slid the bar stool back into place. Then I retook my seat in the back to watch the hilarity unfold.
I had visions of an enormous biker making time with his skanky biker chick. He would pull the stool out for her, grab her around the waist and hoist her into the stool, where she would land on the whoopee cushion and make the most horrible wet farting sounds ever! Then he would be so shaken by the horrible noise coming from his lovely lady that he would turn all red and have to leave. He would run out of the biker bar holding his nose and only then would she investigate the cause of the noise, discover the whoopee cushion and run out of the biker bar after him, trying desperately to explain what had happened! This was gonna be better than a plate full of fake dog crap.
Well, it didn't take long before someone headed straight for my rigged stool. He pulled it out and then something caught his eye. It was the whoopee cushion. He picked it up and held it high yelling, "what the fuck is this? Is this a goddamn whoopee cushion? What the fuck is this!?"
He tossed it in the garbage and took his seat. I finished my beer and slunk out.
Today I'm applying for a knighthood.
I started looking around locally for an establishment that was open on Easter Sunday which would facilitate a practical joke. And that's when it occurred to me that bars were open on Sunday, maybe even Easter Sunday, and as luck would have it there is a biker bar three blocks from my home.
So, I called them up. "Do you have Prince Albert in a can?" I asked innocently.
"What are you talking about?" replied the bar matron. The sounds of moving beer bottles and washing glasses could be heard in the background.
"Prince Albert in a can. Do you have Prince Albert in a can?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
I hung up, satisfied that they were open.
At roughly dinner time I headed out wearing dirty clothes and trying to look rough around the edges. You know, to fit in. I ordered a drink and took a seat in an obscured corner. I watched the ebb and flow of the patronage and tried to get a handle on the place. After about an hour I felt comfortable enough to make my move. I crept up to what I determined to be the most used bar stool in the place. I pulled it out, and as surreptitiously as I could I placed a whoopee cushion on the seat and slid the bar stool back into place. Then I retook my seat in the back to watch the hilarity unfold.
I had visions of an enormous biker making time with his skanky biker chick. He would pull the stool out for her, grab her around the waist and hoist her into the stool, where she would land on the whoopee cushion and make the most horrible wet farting sounds ever! Then he would be so shaken by the horrible noise coming from his lovely lady that he would turn all red and have to leave. He would run out of the biker bar holding his nose and only then would she investigate the cause of the noise, discover the whoopee cushion and run out of the biker bar after him, trying desperately to explain what had happened! This was gonna be better than a plate full of fake dog crap.
Well, it didn't take long before someone headed straight for my rigged stool. He pulled it out and then something caught his eye. It was the whoopee cushion. He picked it up and held it high yelling, "what the fuck is this? Is this a goddamn whoopee cushion? What the fuck is this!?"
He tossed it in the garbage and took his seat. I finished my beer and slunk out.
Today I'm applying for a knighthood.
Sunday, April 11, 2004
Report: Day 39
Swedish is a very difficult language to learn, especially if you only have one day. So I decided to zero in on key phrases and words. Following is a list of Swedish vocabulary I incorporated into my conversations yesterday.
midget - dvärgliknande person
monkey - apa
masturbate - onanera
gum - tuggumi
weapons of mass destruction - massa förstörelse vapens
I was most amused to learn that a penis is a manslem in swedish. Why yes. Yes that it is my manslem.
Today I must play a practical joke.
midget - dvärgliknande person
monkey - apa
masturbate - onanera
gum - tuggumi
weapons of mass destruction - massa förstörelse vapens
I was most amused to learn that a penis is a manslem in swedish. Why yes. Yes that it is my manslem.
Today I must play a practical joke.
