This (shared) blog is completely and considerably defunct right now. The reason is that I do a lot of writing outside of this blog. Apologies.
Old Blogesqueness
"put your hand on my shoulder"
I want a copy of this specific romance novel. This exact edition. And I probably could find a copy of it, with some creative searching. Maybe at a garage sale next summer. But would I have the courage to bring it up to a checkout stand? I'd have to surround it with more common items, not unlike the condom-buying technique. As it is, I found this scan on http://www.royaljournal.com/found_art/. "Damn," I thought, "I wish I could discover something like that." I want to find where R.C. Maguire lives. I think that's the artist's name -- it's kind of hard to read. I want to walk up to his front door. And I'm sure he will invite me in for milk and Nutter Butters when I explained that I had some questions about the paperback cover painting business. "I've always dreamt about painting the covers for paperback novels sold in supermarkets across the world," I would lie through my teeth. After we sat down in his living room and had a few cookies, I would get down to business. "Mr. Maguire," I would say in a soft kind voice, pulling "Castles in the Air" out of my hip pocket, "why did you give this woman three hands?" Mr. Maguire puts his cup of tea down and looks at me with shocked surprise. "Count them with me. One, two, three." Why, indeed? Was it on purpose? Like the urban legend (not true) of the penis on "The Little Mermaid" video box? Was this a "f**k you" to the company who published "Castles in the Sky?" Was it an accident, like Trent Lott? Were two different romance novel artistic renderings spliced together and it escaped the editor's attention? A extra hand might be (oh baby) handy if you were a character in a romance novel. This is the ultimate converation starter. If I could find a copy of this book, I would carry it with me every day when I went out. And I could go up to attractive female strangers in bookstores, and say, "Look at this book. This woman has three hands." I have friends who could pull that off. They would probably be having g-r-r-r-r-reat sex with that attractive bookstore patron that same night, but I would probably get only a cursory smile. IF anyone has an idea how this happened, please email me at colin@whysanity.net. Thank you, dudes and dudettes.
posted by Colin; December 15, 2002

"I have the holiday spirit -- in a headlock"
I saw this advertised on AIM this afternoon, "CHRISTMAS RUSH," a TBS Superstation Original. "On Christmas Eve, a suspended police officer disrupts a massive robbery in an upscale shopping mall as shoppers and employees, including his wife, are taken hostage in this action thriller in the spirit of Die Hard." Starring: Dean Cain, Eric Roberts, and Erika Eleniak (what a cast! "Catch Me If You Can" has nothing on this sucker). Sunday, December 1, 8:00 pm. Don't miss it or else. Christmas Rush. Just let that settle onto your brain for a couple minutes. An action TV movie called "Christmas Rush." I'm not making this up.. Why didn't they name it "Jingle All The Wasted" ? "O Holy Death" ? How about "The Little Killer Boy" (pa rum pum pum die!)? And my favorite, "I Saw Mommy Murdering Santa Claus."
posted by Colin; November 26, 2002

"sammy sosa with a kitten"
A few months back, I again had a job counting pedestrians for three days. I really enjoyed how people, upon seeing me down the street, would cross over to the other side of the road in order to avoid me, as if I was selling something or conducting a survey on pudding preferences. I did, after all, have a clipboard among other items. At one of my stations, I sat right next to a large bush (in a planter) and used the space to hold my CD player. So for any casual observer, it appeared that I was listening, via headphones, to the plant. Like the previous time, I wrote down a few interesting passerbys, but in the process of moving to my new apartment, I lost the piece of paper I wrote these things on. They were proably sour grapes anyway, as the man says. Or so I thought. A few months later, I found the piece of paper again, and upon studying it, it's way too good (strange, eccentric, curious) not to print here:

I have to be able to do something with all these characters. Suggestions are appreciated.
posted by Colin; November 22, 2002

"yo ho ho"
I just returned from going grocery shopping and a homeless man outside the Trader Joes asked me for some change and I apologized, as I had none. Then he asked if I had any food he could have, saying "I'm real hungry, man." So I handed him the Trader Joes equivalent of Cheetos, "Pirate Booty" -- puffed rice and corn. "All natural Good for you!" the package says. I really didn't have anything else to give him. All I had was uncooked sausages, buns, tortilla chips, those aforementioned cheesy things, cookies, guacamole, and Hansen soda. He took one look at the bag and handed them back. "I need food, man," he said. "Those are just, like... potato chips." I had to resist the urge to say "beggars can't be choosers." But instead I said, "Hey, suit yourself, buddy!" and then I kicked him senseless. No, I didn't. I shrugged and walked away, feeling like the Schmuck of the Hour in the Northern Hemisphere. Moral of the story: don't be nice to people.
posted by Colin; October 22, 2002

"my superpower"
Joey "Joseph" McIntyre, formerly of New Kids on the Block, will be on the new season of "Boston Public." Donnie Wahlberg, formerly of New Kids on the Block, is starring in the new show "Boomtown." (What's next? Vanilla Ice guest starring as the new main baddie on "24" ?) The great Credence Clearwater Revival protest song "Fortunate Son" is now being used for a jingoistic Wrangler Jeans commercial, with some convenient editing. Have I slipped into some horrible alternate dimension? Probably.
posted by Colin; October 06, 2002

"special teas"
Forgive me for not blogging in so long. I promise I will try to be better. And anyway, if I was to post during the last couple weeks, it'd probably say something like 'errrgh.' I have several things to bring up. I'm working a long-term temp. job right now in downtown Portland. I get to walk to work in the morning, which is pleasant and perspireful (which isn't a word). I work for an insurance company doing monkey-caliber "research" and data entry, but I'm not allowed to mention which one or what exactly I'm doing. Not that I totally understand what I'm doing, but I know it's not in any way illegitimate.
But on the lighter side of things, some of you might be familiar with the song "Hallelujah" originally written and sung by Leonard Cohen, made particularly famous by the late Jeff Buckley, and then covered by young buck Rufus Wainwright on the "Shrek" soundtrack. It's a very popular song. I have nine different versions in my mp3 collection. I was listening to the Rufus version a while back and noticed something. There is a line in the song that goes: "But remember when I moved in you / And the holy dove was moving too." Instead of singing the word 'dove,' Rufus sings the word 'duck.' So the line is: "Remember when I moved in you / and the holy duck was moving too." I'm totally serious. You can listen to it here, yourself. I swear on everything I hold dear (ALL my comic books) that he singing about a holy duck. It reminds me of a Far Side comic with a man in a classical orchestra, thinking "I won't screw up. I won't screw up. I won't screw up." ? He's only holding one cymbal. And the caption reads, "Arthur screws up." I imagine Rufus in a studio somewhere, thinking, "Okay, man, this is the big time now. Big soundtrack. Classic song. Movie going to huge. Mike Myers. Cameron Diaz. The word is DOVE. Remember. Dove. Dee. Oh. Vee. Ee. Not duck. Stop thinking about ducks."
posted by Colin; September 13, 2002

"power to the people, right on"
In downtown Portland today, a peaceful assembly of persons, wanting to voice their collective dissent for the Bush administration (of lies and hate), were teargassed, pepper-sprayed, and shot by rubber bullets by the police department. They pepper-sprayed a small child. I feel absolutely sick to my stomach. I hate George W. Bush, I hate his Administration, I hate the Portland police department for what they did. They had no right to strip those people of their Constitutional right to assemble. They are guilty of police brutality. And this was my beloved city today. During his speech to the callous disgusting people who paid to hear him speak, safe inside the Hilton, George W. Bush said, speaking about his overseas terrorism, "We arrested people, about 2500 so far, and about an equal number who have not been so lucky. They don't value life like we value life." Yes, he really said that. I hardly can believe he can be that horrible. He mocks the dead. He is a monster. He is corrupt. He is a disgusting warped man who has no business being in any sort of public office, much less the presidency. I cannot stress these points enough. It is important that this is documented, by myself and others. We're living in a dangerous terrifying era and the People must remember this. We have to remember everything.
posted by Colin; August 23, 2002

"and I seem to find"
I have a strange story to tell. Some background information first. I drive a blue 1981 Honda Accord. Her name is Helen. An old car, by car standards. Very old. I get some strange looks occasionally (or I think I do). I think the Honda dealership in (Portland suburb) Beaverton as a slightly earlier model in their showroom, like a honored relic. Tomorrow is the big Rose Festival Parade here in Portland: a very big deal. Like the St. Patrick Parade in Chicago. So a lot of people are spending the night on the sidewalks, to reserve their place. (And they call us Star Wars fans nuts?) I'm not a fan of parades. Anyway, I'm driving home from my friends house, through downtown. And I'm driving down the parade route, down Broadway. I'm at a stop light, and these one of these two guys, tall surfer and/or jock-types, shout out, "I like your car!" "Thanks," I say. "What year is that?" he asks. "1981," I say. "Wanna sell it?" he asks. "No," I say. "What engine do you have in there?" "BEEP!" says the car behind me. They look in the direction of the car behind me and start laughing. I drive off, and on the ride home, I get increasingly confused. I know I'll never see those guys ever again. But I want to know whether or not they genuinely thought my car was cool. My car is in pretty good condition for its age, no dents or steel-gray doors or anything like that... A few minutes later, I really thought about parking and walking back to where they were sitting. "Do you guys actually think my car is cool?" It occurred to me that maybe they were buzzed or stoned (or both). As a rule, I don't like people bullshitting me. And I don't like people beeping at me. A possible double-whammy. If they were just making fun of me, I hope they're crushed by a runaway float.
posted by Colin; June 5, 2002

"yoda marshmellows"
There is actually a book entitled "Potty Training for Dummies." (Seinfeld voice) What...is with all these Dummy books? Maybe...maybe they should have a Dummy Books for Dummies book. (normal voice) Also: there is a town in Ohio called Hicksville. You can look it up. Oh, the things you learn at temp. jobs. For awhile, I kept spare thumbtacks in an old medicine bottle. But I've since moved them because I thought -- eventually I'm going to accidentally swallow a thumbtack.
posted by Colin; May 13, 2002; 2:56 pm

"will rant for food"
The other day, I was reminded of the end-of-the-year class picnics in elementary school. There was a huge park within walking distance of our school, and I distinctly remember tromping over there with classmates... Cuesta Park was also adjacent to a hospital, in case any young child brained themselves on the swings. I remember eating way too many Ruffles potato chips and way too many Oreos. You see, they soften us up in elementary school, expecting that the little demons might as well have fun before getting to high school and final exams and SATs. You remember. At the end of the year, the teachers would just give up on any curriculum they had left, and we'd get ice cream parties and pizza parties and get to watch "The Phantom Tollbooth" animated movie (directed by Chuck Jones, no less). I realized much later that all we had in Mrs. Evans' fourth grade class (1986-1987) were Fun Days. I didn't learn anything in that class. We did, however, have a lot of art projects, math puzzlers (which took years off my life), and creative writing. She read "The Indian in the Cupboard" out loud to us. We had a turtle and several hamsters in the back of the room. We put on a play about endangered species (I played the Buffalo who had all of three lines). But we didn't learn squat. At the end of the year, I think we had multiple picnics. I remember eating a ridiculous amount of ice cream while watching the "Invaders From Mars" remake.
I wonder if all my elementary school teachers are retired by now. God, I hope so.
Just as long as we're going down memory lane, do you remember this? "Colin! Colin, Colin, Bo Bolin. Bonana, Fanna, Fo Folin. Fee, Fy, Mo Molin. Colin!" I hate that "song." But when some clown (not literally a clown) was trying to entertain us with that song, the person to say their name was "Chuck" (even though it wasn't) was lauded as a hero among men.
posted by Colin; May 1, 2002; 3:45 pm

"but I was going to go to tosche station..."
At the time I am writing this, there is just about 27 days and 2 hours left until the premiere of Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones. And I am just starting to feel the almost disabling effects of needing-wanting-having to see this movie as soon as possible. Right on schedule. There is a Very Good Reason I have the Honorable Emperor Palpatine as the banner for my blog. I am a bit obsessed.
On this date, way back in 1999, I was a few weeks from graduating from college, futilely searching for an affordable place to live, and tentatively planning on spending the night at Tigard Cinema in order to get tickets for the midnight showing of Episode I. And I did it. I am a sane, sensitive, intelligent individual and I spent 25 hours sitting out in very cold weather in order to get to see The Phantom Menace. My friend and fellow Star Wars enthusiast Liam was with me in line. He brought a tent that was free with the purchase of another tent, a "pup tent." After finishing the assembling, our expressions could best be described as tired surprise. It turned out to be roughly the size of the Mayor of Munchkin City. Liam commented that this tent must have been intended for small dogs or a cool dry place to keep ones camping gear. Sometime during the night, Liam and I bought Oreo cookies at the nearby sketchy grocery store, and, on his suggestion, a carton of milk. He also suggested that I pay, which I did. The milk spoiled overnight, of course. I guess we were both too tired to take this fact of biology into account. I think I slept for a total of 15 minutes that night (or rather, that early morning). After throwing all of our gear (several books I never got around to reading, and my Rancor action figure) into the tent, we watched the sunrise from the campus of Lewis & Clark. I have a photo of Liam and me in the final hour of The Line here on my desk: he is drinking coffee with a manic look in his eyes, I am gripping a small carton of orange juice with a "what the hell am I doing here? I'm soooooooo tired" smile on my face. I don't remember EVER being more tired than I was when I drove the 20 minutes to the borrowed apartment where I was living (that's a whole other story). Before falling dead-asleep, I think I put the ticket (carefully) between the pages of my Shakespeare volume. I certainly wasn't dumb enough to keep it in my wallet. The remaining half of the ticket is displayed above my bed.
I will happily go on the record with saying that I enjoyed Episode I. Yes, it had quite a few flaws, but I really liked it. And I have nothing but the highest expectations for Episode II. May the Force and the George Lucas be with you.
posted by Colin; April 18, 2002; 11:18 pm

"two guys ran after me with a shovel"
I have an idea for a poem. It would have to be a poem, because it would make a godawful short story. But to compromise, it will most likely be a narrative poem -- if it ever gets written at all. The main character (of this poem, get it straight) awakes from a long coma. And it turns out his fiancee who looks like Wendy from "Andy Richter Controls the Universe," his job, his constantly-happy but dumb Labrador retriever, his home theater system, and his swanky apartment were all part of his coma-induced imagination. He doesn't even have a girlfriend. Mind you, this is a rough sketch of what this poem may or not be. The final product may not include the Labrador retriever (named Buckley) or have the reference to "Andy Richter Controls the Universe." The latter is a great TV show, by the way, but I fear that it is not long for this world. Even in a light poem, you don't want to throw in references to sitcoms, even if they don't have a laugh-track.
I hate pop-up ads that try to trick you into clicking on them accidentally. They come up and have an OK or a NEXT button and your first impulse is to click the OK button to make it go away (rather than the X in the corner). There's probably some poor elderly person in Detroit who, after getting on the web for the first time, spent an entire day trying to close pop-up windows, before dying from a stroke when the hardcore pornography ads ambushed her.
I just finished a 2-day temp job. I started my recent temp. "career" with a 5 day job, then a 3 day job, then a 2 day job. Hmmm. However, I did find a paperclip in the parking lot (I always pick up paperclips, they're incredibly helpful items). A few minutes later, I saw a shiny object that I initially thought was a decorative pin of some sort. Turned out to be a damp sticker of a smiling purple hippo, which I pocketed. You have to wonder when it came from. An employee at the office had to bring their daughter with them to work, and the purple hippo leapt off the child's pink notebook - and discovered freedom wasn't as good as he imagined. "Hey! This isn't purple Africa!"
posted by Colin; April 10, 2002; 1:55 pm

"senioritis"
I am at work right now. I probably shouldn't be doing something as non-work related as writing a blog. This matters little to me, however, because I am in the midst of my last week at this job. Starting on April 15, I will move on to bigger and better things. These remaining days at my current place of employment, while I am still moderately productive, are very much like those last few months as a senior in high school. It's a physical struggle to get up in the morning; being late really doesn't phase me; I'm getting away with the bare minimum effort; and my maturity level seems to have plummeted - all this from a usually "super-over-achiever" student/employee. My current strategy is to prop myself up with caffeine. Today I had my usual cup of coffee at my apartment to get me going, a double shot latte on the way to work, a Diet Coke at lunch, and a mocha on my way back to work from my break. As you can see, the caffeination has done wonders for my interest in work. I wish you all a more productive day than I am having. What are you going to major in?
posted by Sara, April 3, 2002; 2:39 pm

"and wave a brick around"
I got a really good haircut next door to my former employer, Tower Records. I was fired from that job -- but don't worry, it wasn't for anything illegal or anything even very immoral, not like stealing from the store or coming to work naked or stealing while coming to work naked. I know if I got attached to reading a blog (Hi Mom) and I read the subject was fired from a job, I would worry a tad bit. "What?" I would think, "Did [he/she] murder someone?" However, their Tower Records policy is such that I cannot show my face in the store ever again. But what if I wanted to stop by next door to get a haircut? The temptation to wave at one of my former co-workers would be possibly too much to resist. Partner-in-crime Sara suggested I stand a safe distance from one of the windows and wave a brick around. But that would probably get me arrested. In other news, I finished the 3-day job of counting pedestrians. $225 and a horrible cold for my trouble. For Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and most of Sunday, I was flop-around-the-house, watch-bad-TV, miserable-feeling sick. While I was counting people, some people passed by my chair and asked me what I was selling. I guess they thought I was selling joybuzzers for NBA players. Because that's what the counters/clickers looked like, you see. Admittedly, the joke is flawed. I was actually driving through downtown last night and passed by one of the intersections where I was stationed. Several elderly people were walking across the street...and I counted them. Admittedly, I am flawed.
posted by Colin; April 2, 2002; 1:03 pm

"if I could email you with my head, I would"
"Hello, this is McGruff the crime dog. I just want to remind all you kids out there that when you're offered drugs, just say yes. Then all dogs will talk to you and appear to wear trenchcoats."
But I digress. I started a three-day-long job today. A chimpanzee (albeit a very well-trained chimpanzee) could do this job: counting pedestrians from the Association for Portland Progress for the purposes of market research. No reason to go into the details, mind you. I sat at a relatively slow intersection. I saw/counted a lot of homeless (aka "transient") and people on the way to or from the nearby Greyhound Bus Station (aka "the noseless" or "smell-disabled"). As this is not a complicated job, I passed the time listening to several CDs and people-watching. At one point, I decided to take some notes on some of the people that passed my corner. THIS is the result:

Then I got tired of writing while simultaneously counting the pedestrians. So I ate a granola bar and listened to some Jeff Buckley..
posted by Colin, March 26, 2002; 12:29 am

"looks like snow, only more dangerous"
The Friday the 13th movies are an odd phenomenon. The acting is consistently poor, and each sequel falls into a prescribed formula that rivals your average "Family Ties" episode. Yet, serious fans of the horror genre feel that we should make a pilgrimage to Jason every so often. In the last few weeks, I've watched 3 of the 10 Jason movies: Part V: A New Beginning; Part VI: Jason Lives; and Jason X (part 10) which I downloaded. Don't worry, I'm not going to review and analyze the details of these. I have sense enough to leave that up to the experts. I guess it's the formula and the doomed fates of the participants that appeal to us. They constantly break the rules of surviving a horror movie, a la Randy in the self-referential "Scream." Considering the low-budget, it can't be hard for them to make a profit, so that explains why there's so many.
But I have a particular bone to pick with Part 5. If (for some reason) you don't want this movie spoiled for you, I would suggest you stop reading now. This is your final warning. For those who want to stop...here is a ball to play with. Our "Part 5" hero is Tommy who saw his family murdered by Jason in the previous sequel (when he was played by Corey Feldman). Now, Tommy hardly talks, which is fine with the viewer. Because of his troubled past, he's committed to a house for troubled teens. Jason starts slicing, hacking, puncturing, eye-gouging, etc. in the neighborhood, even though he's supposed to be dead and buried -- or is he? Well, he is. Dead, that is. This effort features a fake Jason: a run-of-the-mill psycho impersonating a famous psycho. I must admit to reading spoilers ahead of time, but I had a different faux-Jason suspect. There are many many laughable moments: an 80's punk-new-wave rocker dancing robotically to robotic popular music; a clumsy sexual proposition by a troubled stuttering teen ("I want to make love with you," he says); the object of his (lust? genuine affection? we never find out.) later feels bad for laughing in his face right before she dies; a couple singing/cooing to each other while the guy uses an outhouse before he dies from the ol' hunting-knife-in-the-temple trick. If you get that far, you can't miss is the battle between the Fake-Jason and the cipher-esque female co-director of the troubled-teen house. He is armed with his trademark machete, she with a chainsaw. They spar for a few minutes while plucky house-mascot "Reckless" Reggie cheers them on. It's a very strange scene even by bad-horror-movie standards.
But the ending is what really frustrated me. It ends thus: after awaking from a nightmare at a hospital, Tommy goes to a bureau, opens it, and there's a hockey mask, presumably Jason's. Cut to: the female lead is about to enter Tommy's hospital room when she hears a crash. She bursts into the room to find the window broken and Tommy gone. As she stares, shocked, Tommy, wearing the mask, appears to kill her with a knife. It doesn't take an USC film student to figure this one out. Tommy has lost his few remaining marbles and has "become" Jason. BUT BUT BUT BUT - before watching Part 5, I read a little about the others. I noted that Tommy continued on to be the hero of Part 6, which means that he survived Part 5, making him three for three. So, there are five theories: a) this is her nightmare; b) this is his nightmare; c) he didn't kill her, he's just insane; or d), the most likely choice, the respective filmmakers just didn't give a shit.
posted by Colin, March 14, 2002; 4:16 pm

"just close your eyes and think of me and soon I will be there"
Colin, I belatedly, but vehemently deny being in line for the N'Sync movie! My social life, however, has degenerated to the point where, if any one wants to take me, I'll be happy to go see it. Anyone looking to hang out in the Lincoln Park neighborhood? Ok, enough with the sad, desperate appeal for friends. I have been neglecting this Blog, and other non-essential things like friends, because I have recently acquired the accoutrements of an adult life, specifically a 9-5 job and a lease. But now, leaving "college student mode" I have discovered I have an astounding amount of free time - time that used to be consumed by homework, or procrastinating the start of my homework. Now it's just a matter of using that time more productively than watching the rat-crawling, building-climbing, truck-jumping, train wreck that is "Fear Factor." Wasn't it just yesterday that I was mocking my parents for complacently consuming all that trash TV marketed for the true "weakest link" of society? Where has my intellectual snobbery gone? Please excuse this Colin-esque rant....you'd think I spend a lot of time with him or something ;)
posted by Sara, March 14, 2002; 4:15 pm

"let's try this again"
This is the second incarnation of "She Caught My Eye..." The original was powered by blogger.com, but something happened to my old blog. Whenever I tried to post something new, the blog file here on whysanity.net would be erased completely. So Sara and I are removing the middle man and restarting our blog. I enjoy remarking on the human condition, that is, mine and others. For those of you who enjoy my website, you can be witness to Colin picking his own brain, finding random moments and things to write about. I will scrape the bottom of the barrel. I will be using adult language. I will abide by the rules and regulations of the First Amendment. I will attempt to write things of interest and/or insight and/or humor. And Sara is along for the ride.
posted by Colin, March 14, 2002, 4:14 pm