tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-112579732011-07-28T03:38:45.006-07:00Another failed attempt at brilliance.Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.comBlogger541100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1164055601947731282006-11-20T12:44:00.000-08:002006-11-20T12:53:09.983-08:00

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1151623931508285232006-06-29T16:16:00.001-07:002006-08-08T07:14:25.826-07:00

On Sunday a tree fell on my house. I saw it happen. I was in the living room, looking through the apartment out the kitchen window. The meadow in the backyard was thriving. Sure it was attracting mosquitos (due to the fact that the hose had been on for a week and the backyard was basically a standing cesspool of malaria). But it was thriving. As I looked out the window, I heard a loud CRACK! And

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1150500265960530072006-06-16T15:56:00.000-07:002006-06-29T16:34:04.913-07:00

So an italian, a catholic, and a gay mormon go into this bar...No, but really. Madge, Chef and I went out for a late night drink the other night. We went to this bar in our neighborhood casually called by locals 'the fireside'. I'd been there once before, but not for a very long time. We got there around 1:30 in the morning, just in time for last call...or what would be last call at most bars in

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1135899445010636642005-12-29T15:23:00.000-08:002005-12-30T09:57:55.543-08:00

I don't often feel like a very good member of the gay community. I don't really like the gays. I like being gay. The sex is good. But I don't really like the other stuff that goes with the typical identity. I've basically ostracized myself from my own people. But every once in awhile, something happens to me that makes me feel connected to the gays. And this year, it was a Christmas card from

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1135179883091212812005-12-21T07:37:00.000-08:002005-12-21T07:52:14.803-08:00

Johnny is a Yankee. It hurts to just type that. I cried a little at my desk, surrounded by the black lillies that my co-worker brought into the office today. My Johnny Damon Bobblehead looming over me, now adorned with a boycott symbol taped over his face and a dunce hat on his head that reads LOSER. Sure, the threat of Johnny leaving Boston has been hanging over us since he played out his

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1132172414656070662005-11-16T12:04:00.000-08:002005-11-16T12:20:14.676-08:00

I hung out with rock stars last night. Roomalina bought tickets to see her favourite band, The Fall of Troy. They played at Axis, a small venue in Boston that allows crazy fans to get very close to their favourite bands. Which is exactly what Roomalina did. I had told her, somewhat in jest, that she should take an extra pair of panties with her to throw on the stage during the band's set. Because

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1131894892041307822005-11-13T07:03:00.000-08:002005-11-13T07:15:41.540-08:00

As I age I realize that more and more of the things my mother did that were crazy, annoying, completely ridiculous and even a little bit neurotic are starting to creep up on me. You see, I have these dish towels. They match my bright kitchen perfectly. One orange, one green, and one yellow one hang in the kitchen accented by two bright white ones with an orange, a lime, and a lemon embroidered on

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1131493693335556122005-11-08T18:48:00.000-08:002005-11-08T15:49:55.256-08:00

Roomalina's cell phone has this ring...I couldn't place it at first because I'm still of the mindset that a phone should ring like a phone. So when a phone sounds like a Smashing Pumpkins song, it takes me awhile to place it.Today may have been the greatest day. It's the best one I've had in awhile. It all started out as a normal day. After having gay coffee time with Roomalina after forcing her

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1131301412123128122005-11-06T10:15:00.000-08:002005-11-06T10:23:32.123-08:00

I've decided that I'm going to be an expert on terrorism. After watching alot of CNN Headline News (Robin & Co. is my daily regimen for skim the top of the barrel news AND the latest hair fashions for anchorwomen) it has become pretty clear that this job is much easier than any other job. Apparently all you have to do is make the occasional appearance on various news programs and say things like

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1129479137473098722005-10-16T08:34:00.000-07:002005-11-06T10:15:11.170-08:00

I know it took me awhile to write about this in my blog, but I've been recovering from last week's loss against the White Sox. Now that the sun is back out, and the city of Boston is done crying for a solid week with the rain, I think it's time. It wasn't even that it was so sad, as the fact that (which we go thru almost every year) we came so far, so close, and then lost it all in a three game

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1129068907516634982005-10-11T18:14:00.000-07:002005-10-11T15:15:07.526-07:00

Boston is not handicap accessible. Sure they have those little blue signs with the person in the wheelchair around the city--in parking lots, on subway maps, in buildings and malls. But it's actually not fit for a handicapped person to get around in. I went to the doctor today. Luckily my neighbor gave me a ride there, and my landlady gave me a ride home so the transportation part was easy. It

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1128185412110763492005-09-27T09:31:00.000-07:002005-10-01T09:54:49.836-07:00

British Columbia is beautiful. And Canada is filled with a lovely and vibrant people. I like to call them, Canadians. Despite the crutches, Cortes Island is a magical, beautiful place. Hell, the crutches really just added to the enjoyment. Everyone at the site knew my name, probably at first as "Howard? Oh, the guy on crutches. Right, that Howard." But soon it just became "Howard." Sure it was

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1128091816297647712005-09-22T10:49:00.000-07:002005-09-30T08:28:48.560-07:00

The next day, I was met by a van ready to take me to the next stop on my one-legged journey: 8 hours and 3 ferrys away to beautiful Cortes Island off the shores of British Columbia to get to this conference discussing technology and social change or how to use the web to propel social movements (basically a conference for socially minded geeks). My chauffer, GP, was meeting up with some other

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1127525292426730002005-09-20T21:58:00.000-07:002005-09-30T07:42:11.430-07:00

I've never been on crutches before. In fact, I had never broken a bone before. I really believed that I would go through my life having never broken a bone. But, as I made my way back to the car, on crutches for the first time in my life, reality set in: I'm old, my bones are brittle, and I should start taking calcium supplements immediately. I did, along with some soft-serve ice cream and a

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1127523269521479752005-09-19T17:31:00.000-07:002005-10-05T06:42:04.130-07:00

It happened in San Francisco. I was in Oakland for a conference and decided to spend the weekend in San Fran to do some sightseeing, sushi eating, and a little drinking. It was late on Saturday night. Fuck Face and I had spent the day enjoying the city--eating a late brunch, watching the Giants v. Dodgers game at SBC park, heading to the Castro for some beers with the gays, and finding a small

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1125620281142466312005-09-01T20:17:00.000-07:002006-06-18T18:17:46.986-07:00

I've been pretty angry about the devastation and lack of effective recovery operations around the Hurricane Katrina disaster. It was mainly white rich people with cars who were able to escape New Orleans, leaving mostly poor minorities to be stranded in their homes (if they have one) and hope for a miracle. Tourists and residents lucky enough to get to the Superdome now take priority over the

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1123626355273024592005-08-09T15:04:00.000-07:002005-09-30T07:48:39.063-07:00

Last night I was booed at Fenway Park. That's right, I joined the ranks of Jason Giambi, Sammy Sosa, Manny Ramirez, and most recently, Gov. Mitt Romney. (Granted, I wasn't booed by the entire stadium, but my section and the neighboring section of the bleachers all joined in.)The thing is...people in the bleacher seats don't actually go to Red Sox games to watch the game. They go for every other

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1122301753638432572005-07-25T10:34:00.000-07:002005-07-25T07:29:13.670-07:00

So I have a crush on this guy. It's harmless really. Just a mild crush on a neighbor. Chief thinks I'm ridiculous. See, he has a girlfriend whom he lived with until recently, when she moved off to live in Montana for a year. Also, he's two weeks shy of being 21 years old. It's not ideal, but like I said, it's just a harmless crush. Oh, and she thinks that he's homophobic because he's latino. Yeah

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1121112772530667162005-07-11T16:42:00.000-07:002005-07-11T13:37:40.143-07:00

In an attempt to become more healthy, support local agriculture, and do something good for humanity or the environment or something, roommie and I joined a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) farm this summer. It's quite wonderful. Every week we pick up a new batch of farm fresh veggies--two huge bags full of greens, vegetables, herbs, and more. Every Wednesday after work I bike over to

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1120851920883873952005-07-08T15:49:00.000-07:002005-10-02T16:23:51.170-07:00

The 4th of July is full of tradition. Fireworks, patriotism, not working, BBQs and boat rides. It's a great day, even if you hate America. I have had a tradition for the past 5 years or so of always having a BBQ on the 4th. Big or small, early or late, ever year I've managed to grill something on Independence Day, celebrating the freedom of our country with a hot dog and a can of Schlitz (it's

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1114993547854624372005-06-24T13:25:00.000-07:002005-07-19T08:05:39.933-07:00

The gays are everywhere. They are in supermarkets coyly asking the produce guy what "scallions" are. They are on the subway reading the Metro letters and laughing at the all the silly breeders who write in about God. They are flocking to baseball games, making over "straight" guys, singing the national anthem and flaunting their pitching and catching skills before the first at bat. They are

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1119303020699751152005-06-20T18:40:00.000-07:002005-06-20T15:43:54.543-07:00

I love hot sauce. I love it. I put it on everything. My favorite is Frank's. There is nothing like taking a hot cheese pizza, sprinkling loads of kosher salt on it, and then dumping on some Frank's hot sauce. Of course, you can't get Frank's everywhere, and more often than not, restaurants don't carry it. I realized this the other week while travelling to Seattle. During my layover in Minneapolis

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1117722232033850762005-06-02T10:26:00.000-07:002005-06-02T07:27:57.753-07:00

I had a very disconcerting dream last night. I dreamt that Roomie killed someone in my kitchen and left him lying there, bludgeoned and bleeding all over the kitchen floor. I walked in the house to see Roomie and some other fake roommate who only exists in dreamland working on some messy project in the kitchen, with some dead guy hanging out on the kitchen floor. I asked Roomie, "What the fuck

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1115155672641807002005-05-20T20:09:00.000-07:002005-05-20T17:42:36.950-07:00

They say everyone has a doppelganger-that unrelated twin that is roaming around out there somewhere. Madge found hers, right in her own neighborhood. Drew Barrymore made a movie about her evil doppelganger in Los Angeles years ago. Apparently mine either lives or vacations in San Antonio, Texas and hangs out with his family at the Denny's off the freeway. Which would make sense, since that is

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1116209849545324652005-05-15T22:07:00.000-07:002005-05-15T19:29:54.593-07:00

Alas, the weekend is over, again. Seems like I wait all week long for the weekend to get here, and then I waste it away only to find Sunday night come all too soon and start yet another week of waiting for another weekend to waste. Well, this weekend was different. I didn't waste a second of it. Here's a recap:Friday:7:00 pm - Drinks with friends at the Parish. Five beers and several hilarious

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1114993479116807152005-05-07T09:28:00.000-07:002005-07-19T08:02:08.750-07:00

I come from a Mormon family. I know, it's strange--even I'm shocked by it from time to time, and I grew up that way. Well, needless to say (if you have read other entries in this blog) but I have definitely "grown apart" from the church. But other members of my family still identify as Mormon, loosely.The Mormons have this thing called Family Home Evening. It's basically three more hours of

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1115170142060425662005-05-03T21:43:00.000-07:002005-05-03T18:45:38.210-07:00

So I took some IQ test online today. I'd never taken one to my knowledge and even if I did, I clearly forgot about it so it doesn't count and it really just suggests that I don't want to know what my IQ is anyways, obviously it's pretty low. But I took it anyways--probably just to torture myself. Well, I scored 131. Which meant nothing to me. So I emailed Roomie (see caricature here) to ask him

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1115078753892327322005-05-02T19:59:00.000-07:002005-05-02T17:23:01.410-07:00

While biking into work today it became clear that today would be one of those days where everything would just fall apart. It all started at about 6:30 this morning, when I woke up without the assistance of my cell phone alarm. Although I would rather wake up this way--to just the sounds of the morning outside my window and not the droning and annoying sound of my cell phone beeping and telling

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1114969232212016962005-05-01T13:40:00.000-07:002005-05-03T18:41:56.930-07:00

I haven't been around on the weekends much. Travelling for work or vacation has taken hold over the majority of weekends for the past month or so. The few weekends I have been home have been--much like this weekend--rainy, cold and miserable. On the bright side, this eliminates any need for me to muster up the energy to do anything constructive or go anywhere that requires planning, taking public

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1114958005699064152005-05-01T10:34:00.000-07:002005-05-01T08:13:06.130-07:00

Well, it happened. April 19th, 2005. Red Sox vs the Blue Jays. We lost, but it didn't affect my enjoyment of the game. Well, it didn't affect it too much. Of course it would have been better if we would have won, but the pros on this one far outweigh the cons. Arroyo was on the mound, Ramirez hit a home run right over our heads and onto the Mass Pike, Johnny Damon hadn't shaved yet, the game was

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1114887541204252072005-04-30T14:46:00.000-07:002005-04-30T12:02:27.666-07:00

I just got back from a lunch excursion in the pouring rain. A jaunt to the local wrap place, where I had the tofu burrito, as always. I don't like to be predictable, but I'm finding that the older I get the more I say "I'll have the usual". Tofu burrito at the wrap place, Mojo beer at the one bar, Tremont always at the other bar, a plain cheese pizza from Same Old Place every time, shocking maki

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1114834900176378132005-04-30T12:21:00.000-07:002005-05-01T07:50:49.960-07:00

This is just great. This makes me not only respect journalism and the media, but it also makes me hungry for Mexican food...Associated Press: School Mistakes Huge Burrito for a Weapon [4/29/2005]Priceless!

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1114828777777057752005-04-28T13:36:00.000-07:002005-04-30T06:19:37.483-07:00

I know, it’s been awhile since my last entry. But I’ve been terribly busy. Really I have. Also, I lost interest in writing for a brief spell.I’m currently on a plane on my way back home from a work-related trip to Northern California – the Bay Area. I have mixed feelings about that part of the country. It’s beautiful, you can’t complain about the weather (well, you can, but if you do then you are

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1112661646687576632005-04-04T20:59:00.000-07:002005-04-04T18:25:58.223-07:00

It's clearly marked. There's a sign at nearly every entrance to the Southwest Corridor Park and you don't even have to know how to read in order to figure it out. There's a picture of a person walking with an arrow pointing to one path, and then a picture of a person happily riding their bike with an arrow pointing to the other path, running parallel to the walking path. So why in the fuck am I

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1112566766555979832005-04-03T18:31:00.000-07:002005-04-03T20:34:49.963-07:00

Toad and the Frosty ManIt is spring. I know this not because of some groundhog a few weeks ago, and not because of the purple and white crocuses blooming in my backyard, and not because the calendar says so. I know this not because last night was daylight savings and "spring" ahead. I know this because the Frosty Man is back for another season of soft-serve delight.In case you are a raging idiot,

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1112229143583630632005-04-02T16:31:00.000-08:002005-04-03T12:47:08.460-07:00

So, what do people do at 3 am? Why are they out? They are in cars, driving around the city, sitting out on their stoops, walking down the street. Why? They can't all be wandering drunks like me. So why are they trolling about? I don't know.I have this problem, where no matter what time of the day it is when I go into a bar, I can't leave until they close. Which is generally 2 am. I have all the

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1112038761277402202005-03-30T19:28:00.000-08:002005-03-30T16:25:22.543-08:00

I'm pretty sure I've just had the best week ever. VH1 does this show every week that chronicles the pathetic and often hilarious lives of mostly b-celebrities while ridiculing nearly everything about pop culture, including the show itself. But at the end they usually pick one celebrity, has-been, animated character or otherwise and dub them as having had the "Best Week Ever". Well, I'm pretty

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1111767006409067832005-03-25T11:16:00.000-08:002005-03-25T09:39:43.096-08:00

I'm an Aries. It's my excuse for most of my bad behavior. I'm selfish, I'm loud, I'm overbearing, I'm a know-it-all, I'm cynical, I'm rude, I'm inapproriate, I'm a genious. And I'm always right. I'm an Aries. To the casual observer, I am all these things. But "once you get to know me" (I hate using that phrase), or any traditional Aries personality, you realize that our strong personalities and

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1111694788185256732005-03-24T15:05:00.001-08:002005-03-24T18:31:16.933-08:00

I just got GREEN MONSTER tickets for a Red Sox game. I was selected in a random drawing that enabled me to be selected randomly for the chance to be randomly selected to have a chance at getting tickets. It was chancey, but I did it! This is my ultimate acheivement in life thus far. And I'm nearly 28. Tomorrow will be my birthday. I can't think of a better gift I could have gotten myself. Thank

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1111542085956787592005-03-22T20:38:00.000-08:002005-03-22T17:46:42.826-08:00

While watching NESN's coverage of the Red Sox vs. Reds game tonight, I remembered a disturbing trend in sports coverage (mostly on FOX). For some reason the networks feel that they have to fancy-up the game with annoying moving graphics, loud and disturbing sound effects, and lame vignettes and features (including FOX's Star Wars parody starring the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox before

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1111536190948539612005-03-22T19:03:00.000-08:002005-04-03T15:43:05.353-07:00

As I mentioned before, Fat Joe was down for a visit this past weekend, and she left me with a little bit of wisdom to take me through the rest of my life. It is a song, perhaps Fat Joe's first composition, inspired by a trip to the dump with her father when she was just a tot. And it goes a little something like this:"Big Bird at the dump,all rusty and rained on.That's what it's all about."And

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1110381248133917702005-03-21T13:26:00.000-08:002005-03-31T14:17:30.003-08:00

I sometimes wear this shirt that says "I Heart Purvis". It was a birthday present from J Lo a few years back. Oh, there's a story. Of course there's a story. It's not just a random shirt that says "I Heart Purvis" for no particular reason. There's always a story to shirts like that. Which is starting to become a problem. I don't wear this shirt very often. Maybe 4 or 5 times a year -- at the most

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1111366122196455032005-03-20T19:46:00.000-08:002005-03-21T05:33:03.396-08:00

I'm sick. Five days before my birthday and I'm sick. There's really only one person to blame. Roommate. He's been sick for the last week and now me. I should have seen the signs when I woke up choking on my uvula a few days ago. But I ignored the signs and now I'm here, on my couch without any orange juice or drugs. J Lo drove up from New Jersey with her sister for the weekend. We were joined by

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1111082556167142122005-03-17T18:16:00.000-08:002005-03-17T15:17:04.043-08:00

I haven't washed my hair for about two weeks. I don't consider it dirty or gross. Of course, you tell other people this information, and they usually look at you for a minute, scrunch up their nose, say something along the lines of "ewww" or "sick" or "you fucking hippie", and walk away. This is fine with me. People are way too obsessed with hygiene these days. Is it really necessary to shower

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1110951408464219402005-03-16T00:36:00.000-08:002005-03-16T06:54:46.310-08:00

...is 5-7 pitches, according to the poster above the urinal in the bathroom at the Brendan Behan Pub in Jamaica Plain. I learned this and many other interesting facts tonight, as I do almost every Tuesday at Pub Trivia. Of course tonight, seeing as how this upcoming Thursday is St. Patrick's Day, all of the questions revolved around Ireland and her history. Now I've been to Ireland, once, so I

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1110830889708413632005-03-14T15:04:00.000-08:002005-03-14T12:20:10.556-08:00

I ate a salad for lunch today, in an effort to get "healthy". I realized recently that I never eat fresh fruits or vegetables. People tell me that I should. So I ate a salad for lunch today. A big salad. But everytime I eat salad for lunch I get hungry two hours later for cookies. I'm convinced that salad isn't actually healthy, it's actually a gateway food that leads to cookies.

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1110381301464936312005-03-13T19:39:00.000-08:002005-03-13T16:57:06.800-08:00

Here's a parial list of current things I'm boycotting and why. You can join any of these boycotts at any time by simply boycotting them. It's super easy.Joan Cusack......for her new movie Ice Princess. What happened here? Did her and John get into a fight and this was her revenge? It's terribly, terribly sad.Blue M&Ms......for misleading voters and starting a trend in democracy that would have

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1110638097385557072005-03-12T08:57:00.000-08:002005-03-21T06:17:46.883-08:00

I'm never taking the Silver Line again. I say this every time I take the Silver Line because every time, without fail something goes wrong. I either wait for 30 minutes in the cold, get stuck in a traffic jam for even longer, get in an accident, or like last night, or a combination of the above.All I wanted to do was get to Beacon Hill, look at a used bike with Mrrr, then go get some dinner and a

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1110489908653874442005-03-10T16:13:00.000-08:002005-03-10T13:26:28.746-08:00

I woke up this morning choking on my own uvula. For those of you who don't know, or those of you whose minds are constantly in the gutter, the uvula is that punching bag looking thing at the back of your throat. You perverts are probably confusing the word 'uvula' with the word 'vulva'. Entirely different. Look it up. The swelling has gone down a bit now, but it was pretty bad this morning.

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1110330560764558232005-03-08T20:14:00.000-08:002005-03-15T08:42:46.253-08:00

Instructions for Crossing the Border One methodnot the bestperhapsis to learn againthe names of thingsThis is a cigarettethese are my handsThere are no facesin the ashesthe smokedissectedin the fan's bladesfeels no painand passes onto no better placeNo glut of fatherschokes the ovenNo constellations risein the night skybehind the closingrefrigerator door.the habits worninto tilesare the productof

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1110233524079417372005-03-07T17:10:00.000-08:002005-03-21T06:16:47.926-08:00

I went to get my picture taken with a giant vagina last night. It was going to be great. Ever since Valentine's day (the other V day), Mrrr and I have had this running joke about a big vagina that eats everybody. Actually, I started it--which is no shock. I think vaginas are funny. Well not the actual body part known as the vagina, but the word 'vagina' itself it funny. Say it with me..."VAGINA".

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1110145328803530292005-03-07T13:23:00.000-08:002005-03-07T06:53:41.320-08:00

I realize it's only March, but I've given up on my "New Year's Resolution". Actually, I didn't give up, I changed it. I realized shortly into the year that I wasn't all that happy with my resolution. I didn't really think it through before I declared it to a group of friends over a champagne toast after hours of drinking and dunking bread into hot cheese. At the time it made perfect sense: "I,

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1110125316131659792005-03-06T11:08:00.000-08:002005-03-07T07:37:44.460-08:00

Why is Jane Weidlin on a celebrity reality show on VH1? I've spent a good amount of time attempting to convince people that she was the best Go-Go of the bunch, and now this. I even tried to boost sales of her first solo album by telling people that "Rush Hour" is a really good song. Next thing you know, Sammy Hagar will be making out with Flava Flav while Brigitte Nielson smokes cigarettes and

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11257973.post-1110059543668539012005-03-05T13:38:00.000-08:002005-03-07T17:36:05.813-08:00

So, I'm watching the movie Groundhog Day. I haven't seen it before. I realize that it's an old movie, but my hatred for Bill Murray has kept me from seeing alot of things. And just when he starts to impress me by starring in movies like Rushmore and The Royal Tennenbaums, I see this piece of shit. It's amazing to me how my opinion of someone can go from brilliant to disappointing in just under

Howardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00482053665804814990noreply@blogger.com2