Monday, March 29, 2004
Tales from the real, pt. 2
Or, another comic of questionable quality. This one is also something that actually happened -- I'm too funny for my own good, really. Now if I could just learn to draw ...
Current Music: Elliot Smith, Waltz, No. 2
Current Mood: clever
Or, another comic of questionable quality. This one is also something that actually happened -- I'm too funny for my own good, really. Now if I could just learn to draw ...
Current Music: Elliot Smith, Waltz, No. 2
Current Mood: clever
Sunday, March 28, 2004
It's getting so that whenever anybody mentions graduation or post-college plans, I want to scratch their eyes out. Or alternately, vomit on their shoes. What is it about my alleged "graduation" that's making everybody so darned nosy? And that's not the worst. The worst is when people only ask about graduation as a segue to talking about themselves. Note to the world: I don't care how stressed or excited or fearful you are of your thrice-damned graduation. You know in "Two Weeks Notice" when Hugh Grant asks the big black lady when her baby's due, and she's like "What baby? WHAT BABY?!" -- that's totally me. I should start shouting "WHAT GRADUATION?!" when people ask me. Oh, the bitterness.
I have too much time to think. Especially on gorgeous days like today, when it's hot and sunny and the world just begs me to come outside, but I don't go because I can't think of anything to do. I've done it all, you see: beach, zoo, parks, museums, shopping, movies, driving aimlessly -- you name it. I'm tempted to venture further afield, like San Diego, but wtf? I can't just wander around forever (not that I wouldn't enjoy it). Eventually, money will have to be made, not spent. I finally beat out a resume, but I've been sitting on it. I know you can't just send your resume to people and wait for a job, but writing cover letters for all these jobs I've been looking at? Gah, it took me a month to do the resume, which is not even so hot. See, because you have to sell yourself in cover letters, and I'm a bad investment. I can't tell people I'm a brilliant worker and I'd be the best hire ever, it just feels like lying. I couldn't apply to William and Mary back in the day (like my parents wanted me to) because I'd rather have eaten my own thumbs than go there -- could you imagine me writing that in my essay? I doubt sending newspapers my resume with a note saying "I SUCK SO BAD AND I HATE MYSELF so hire me" would work very well at all.
So here I sit, with a stupid look on my face, wondering what's to become of me.
Current Music: Seatbelts, The Egg and I
Current Mood: staring into space again
I have too much time to think. Especially on gorgeous days like today, when it's hot and sunny and the world just begs me to come outside, but I don't go because I can't think of anything to do. I've done it all, you see: beach, zoo, parks, museums, shopping, movies, driving aimlessly -- you name it. I'm tempted to venture further afield, like San Diego, but wtf? I can't just wander around forever (not that I wouldn't enjoy it). Eventually, money will have to be made, not spent. I finally beat out a resume, but I've been sitting on it. I know you can't just send your resume to people and wait for a job, but writing cover letters for all these jobs I've been looking at? Gah, it took me a month to do the resume, which is not even so hot. See, because you have to sell yourself in cover letters, and I'm a bad investment. I can't tell people I'm a brilliant worker and I'd be the best hire ever, it just feels like lying. I couldn't apply to William and Mary back in the day (like my parents wanted me to) because I'd rather have eaten my own thumbs than go there -- could you imagine me writing that in my essay? I doubt sending newspapers my resume with a note saying "I SUCK SO BAD AND I HATE MYSELF so hire me" would work very well at all.
So here I sit, with a stupid look on my face, wondering what's to become of me.
Current Music: Seatbelts, The Egg and I
Current Mood: staring into space again
Friday, March 26, 2004
Tales from the real
This is what Lori and I are like when we're not infuriating one another. Well, the infuriating is really more a constant, mutual thing actually. Oh well. Behold my comicy goodness!
This is what Lori and I are like when we're not infuriating one another. Well, the infuriating is really more a constant, mutual thing actually. Oh well. Behold my comicy goodness!
Thursday, March 25, 2004
sometimes I'm angry that I feel so angry
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
frustration
There's this asshole on a motorbike who's always driving up and down the street I live on. Lots of bikes go by every day, but this guy gets a little way down the street and then REVS HIS MOTOR like he thinks he's racing someone, and goes tearing down the street. Lori once thought something had exploded outside when she heard it. I've complained about this to her before -- I always say that I'm going to corner the bastard one day and beat the shit out of him. Well, today I was riding my bike down the street, and there he is, talking to some guys on the sidewalk. I'm like, "oh, this is going to be great." So Mr. Man says something to his pals, then REVS his damn bike and screeches in a little circle for them, and they're like yaaay! And I shout at the guy, "THAT IS SO FUCKING OBNOXIOUS! PEOPLE LIVE ON THIS STREET, YOU JERK!" And what does fucker do? He laughs, revs the bike again, and goes tearing off toward campus, while his jackhole friends just laaaugh and laugh.
Admittedly, I should have expected as much from FUCKING RETARDS, but ...
I'm angry, and I'm embarrassed, and I get home and run into the living room to share my tale of woe with Lori, and she fucking laughs at me! What the fuck?!?! She goes APOPLECTIC all the time about the STOOPIDEST stuff, but I listen to her -- I even act like I'm interested, most of the time (which, in general, I'm not. terrible? yes.). GAH!
So, later, she comes by and apologizes, and says I should've expected that and those guys will always be assholes. I'm sure they will, I just didn't expect her to be one, too. I didn't say that, though. The good comebacks only come later. I'm feeling kind of lame.
consider my feelings officially hurt
There's this asshole on a motorbike who's always driving up and down the street I live on. Lots of bikes go by every day, but this guy gets a little way down the street and then REVS HIS MOTOR like he thinks he's racing someone, and goes tearing down the street. Lori once thought something had exploded outside when she heard it. I've complained about this to her before -- I always say that I'm going to corner the bastard one day and beat the shit out of him. Well, today I was riding my bike down the street, and there he is, talking to some guys on the sidewalk. I'm like, "oh, this is going to be great." So Mr. Man says something to his pals, then REVS his damn bike and screeches in a little circle for them, and they're like yaaay! And I shout at the guy, "THAT IS SO FUCKING OBNOXIOUS! PEOPLE LIVE ON THIS STREET, YOU JERK!" And what does fucker do? He laughs, revs the bike again, and goes tearing off toward campus, while his jackhole friends just laaaugh and laugh.
Admittedly, I should have expected as much from FUCKING RETARDS, but ...
I'm angry, and I'm embarrassed, and I get home and run into the living room to share my tale of woe with Lori, and she fucking laughs at me! What the fuck?!?! She goes APOPLECTIC all the time about the STOOPIDEST stuff, but I listen to her -- I even act like I'm interested, most of the time (which, in general, I'm not. terrible? yes.). GAH!
So, later, she comes by and apologizes, and says I should've expected that and those guys will always be assholes. I'm sure they will, I just didn't expect her to be one, too. I didn't say that, though. The good comebacks only come later. I'm feeling kind of lame.
consider my feelings officially hurt
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
Today in Dear Abby's column there's a letter from some woman who wants to know if she should ask her boyfriend to split the cost of her birth control pills, and Abby's response is that the woman's boyfriend has "been getting a free ride for too long." Is it just me, or is that sooo dirty? Dear Abby's like my grandma! Eew!
In other news, I had an overwhelming urge to eat a whole clove of garlic today. I am one freaky chick.
peep
In other news, I had an overwhelming urge to eat a whole clove of garlic today. I am one freaky chick.
peep
Monday, March 22, 2004
Another sunny day. They follow one another here, day after day after day. I start to long for a downpour; gray skies have become comforting, where in Virginia they were opressive. Just the promise of rain, that's all I want. Traces of moisture in the air, a hint of the sea on the breeze.
I haven't written in a while because I've been busy entertaining Luke. It's immensly satisfying to know that we did everything I could possibly think of to do in L.A., and then some. We overlooked nothing. It was exhausting, and exciting, and wonderful. I've spent so long shut in my room feeling sorry for myself that being outside all day, exploring and talking and drinking endless cups of coffee, has been a revelation. I think I can safely say that my cloudy days have passed, for now. Not that anything's changed with my situation, that's still pretty fucked up, but it no longer feels like the end of the world. Just the end of the world as I know it.
Current Music: Luigi Boccherini, La Musica Notturna Delle Strade Di Madrid No. 6, OP.30
Current Mood: ambivalent
we are the kissers, we are the holders of hands -- we are the make-believers
I haven't written in a while because I've been busy entertaining Luke. It's immensly satisfying to know that we did everything I could possibly think of to do in L.A., and then some. We overlooked nothing. It was exhausting, and exciting, and wonderful. I've spent so long shut in my room feeling sorry for myself that being outside all day, exploring and talking and drinking endless cups of coffee, has been a revelation. I think I can safely say that my cloudy days have passed, for now. Not that anything's changed with my situation, that's still pretty fucked up, but it no longer feels like the end of the world. Just the end of the world as I know it.
Current Music: Luigi Boccherini, La Musica Notturna Delle Strade Di Madrid No. 6, OP.30
Current Mood: ambivalent
we are the kissers, we are the holders of hands -- we are the make-believers
Friday, March 12, 2004
There are so many things that I think of to write about over the course of a day, and then I sit down at night and can't remember a thing. Humph.
Spring break (break from what? shut up, you.) begins tomorrow, and Luke is coming to visit. Luke is one of my favorite people ever. I've been cooking up plans for us, and collecting things to cook, so I think I'm ready. I feel a little bad because Kevin was supposed to come too, but I had to ask him not to at the last minute. My mood has been so fragile lately, and just the thought of entertaining two COMPLETELY and UTTERLY different people for a whole week was enough to make me hysterical. He hadn't bought a ticket yet, anyway, and it would have cost a fortune. Rationalize, rationalize. We had sort of a fight about it, actually. Well, sort of. I felt so bad about telling him not to visit that I couldn't come right out and say it, so I kept mentioning that I was having panic attacks when I thought of break, and finally he suggested that he stay home. "I think you should," I said. PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE. He kept saying he'd be supportive and hang around in the background though, and I kept trying to convince him that wouldn't work, and finally he said "I wish you'd trust me on this" and I blew up, silently, for 45 seconds. As in, "It's not a matter of trust, you jerk, it's a matter of I don't want to have a nervous breakdown!" is what ran through my head, but I bit my tongue. Because why? Just because. I'm really a terrible person, but for some reason it doesn't bother me. Perhaps because I'm terrible.
The cool kids kept me up until 3 a.m. with their partying last night, but today they're all gone off to Cabo san Lucas or Jamaica or wherever cool kids spend spring break these days. I love the relative quiet on my street and the stillness on campus. Two years ago, when I still worked at the library, I found I could work a ridiculous number of hours over break because the other student helpers were gone. It was the best week there ever, because it was so quiet, and I spent a LOT of time there because, hey, easy money. I always thought the library was better without patrons coming in and touching the books, moving them all over and wanting questions answered. It was the same at Blockbuster, which would have been a lot better without all the customers. I hate customers. No, wait, I hate everything. Maybe I should make a list of the things I don't hate, that would be constructive.
Current Music: Autechre, rettil ac
Current Mood: still
Spring break (break from what? shut up, you.) begins tomorrow, and Luke is coming to visit. Luke is one of my favorite people ever. I've been cooking up plans for us, and collecting things to cook, so I think I'm ready. I feel a little bad because Kevin was supposed to come too, but I had to ask him not to at the last minute. My mood has been so fragile lately, and just the thought of entertaining two COMPLETELY and UTTERLY different people for a whole week was enough to make me hysterical. He hadn't bought a ticket yet, anyway, and it would have cost a fortune. Rationalize, rationalize. We had sort of a fight about it, actually. Well, sort of. I felt so bad about telling him not to visit that I couldn't come right out and say it, so I kept mentioning that I was having panic attacks when I thought of break, and finally he suggested that he stay home. "I think you should," I said. PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE. He kept saying he'd be supportive and hang around in the background though, and I kept trying to convince him that wouldn't work, and finally he said "I wish you'd trust me on this" and I blew up, silently, for 45 seconds. As in, "It's not a matter of trust, you jerk, it's a matter of I don't want to have a nervous breakdown!" is what ran through my head, but I bit my tongue. Because why? Just because. I'm really a terrible person, but for some reason it doesn't bother me. Perhaps because I'm terrible.
The cool kids kept me up until 3 a.m. with their partying last night, but today they're all gone off to Cabo san Lucas or Jamaica or wherever cool kids spend spring break these days. I love the relative quiet on my street and the stillness on campus. Two years ago, when I still worked at the library, I found I could work a ridiculous number of hours over break because the other student helpers were gone. It was the best week there ever, because it was so quiet, and I spent a LOT of time there because, hey, easy money. I always thought the library was better without patrons coming in and touching the books, moving them all over and wanting questions answered. It was the same at Blockbuster, which would have been a lot better without all the customers. I hate customers. No, wait, I hate everything. Maybe I should make a list of the things I don't hate, that would be constructive.
Current Music: Autechre, rettil ac
Current Mood: still
Thursday, March 11, 2004
Today I discovered that all I really need to be happy is a vast, parklike estate with three galleries and a library. I'm easy to please, really. The only bump in my day, which I spent at the Huntington in Pasadena, was in the desert garden, where I learned an important lesson: if it falls off of a cactus, and looks fuzzy, FOR GOD'S SAKE DON'T PICK IT UP. There are no fuzzy cacti, I found; they're just covered in miniscule barbs that burrow into your skin and then break off. It was really pitiful -- I felt like a curious dog that had met its first porcupine. OUCH.
In other news, I'm looking for rhubarb for a recipe, but haven't found it yet. It always makes me think of the time I watched my dad make a rhubarb pie and he explained to me, in great detail, how rhubarb leaves are poisonous and what will happen if you eat them. I like my vegetables deadly, yes sir.
p.s. it involves all your vascular cells breaking down at once and you bleeding to death internally, apparently
dad's a weird one
In other news, I'm looking for rhubarb for a recipe, but haven't found it yet. It always makes me think of the time I watched my dad make a rhubarb pie and he explained to me, in great detail, how rhubarb leaves are poisonous and what will happen if you eat them. I like my vegetables deadly, yes sir.
p.s. it involves all your vascular cells breaking down at once and you bleeding to death internally, apparently
dad's a weird one
Wednesday, March 10, 2004
"the most insidious enemy there can be"
Fighting clinical depression is inevitably a lonely struggle. What could be less conducive to compassion than a disease that makes you whine? Laymen and loved ones tell you to get a grip. They make you feel ashamed to be sick. Even if they're more enlightened about the disease, they can't help but harbor a secret, naturally human, belief that you are suffering a failure of will rather than biochemistry. Meanwhile, the doctors consider little but the neuro-soup and turn you into a shambling medical experiment, testing pharmaceutical nostrums on you that are as blunt as the mind is subtle, though just as unpredictable. But, for you, life just trudges on. It remains, despite whatever visible signs of well-being - wonderful spouse, great kids, well-located house, etc. - a purgatory of uselessness, barren of joy and meaning. Love, incoming or out-going, becomes something you think, not feel.
-- John Perry Barlow, from his blog.
APPRECIATIONS
By VERLYN KLINKENBORG
Published: March 10, 2004
Listening to Mr. Gray, we did what audiences so often do -- we believed that the show was being put on just for our benefit. We liked to hope that his fears and despair were really exaggerated just to make us laugh and to let us off the hook for laughing. Again and again, Spalding Gray wondered whether he would make it, and the wonder was both fearful and real. Through to what was always the question for him. "If you live long enough," he wrote, "I find that it all comes full circle." The troubling word is "if."
copyright 2004 The New York Times
Current Music: the baby pigeons are squeaking outside
Current Mood: hard to be gray when the sky is so blue
Fighting clinical depression is inevitably a lonely struggle. What could be less conducive to compassion than a disease that makes you whine? Laymen and loved ones tell you to get a grip. They make you feel ashamed to be sick. Even if they're more enlightened about the disease, they can't help but harbor a secret, naturally human, belief that you are suffering a failure of will rather than biochemistry. Meanwhile, the doctors consider little but the neuro-soup and turn you into a shambling medical experiment, testing pharmaceutical nostrums on you that are as blunt as the mind is subtle, though just as unpredictable. But, for you, life just trudges on. It remains, despite whatever visible signs of well-being - wonderful spouse, great kids, well-located house, etc. - a purgatory of uselessness, barren of joy and meaning. Love, incoming or out-going, becomes something you think, not feel.
-- John Perry Barlow, from his blog.
APPRECIATIONS
Spalding Interrupted
By VERLYN KLINKENBORG
Published: March 10, 2004
n "Swimming to Cambodia," Spalding Gray quotes his mother, who committed suicide when she was 52 and who always said, "Think of the starving Koreans." When his obsessions begin to overtake him in that monologue, he reflects on "the therapeutic joys of living in New York City. It always works. As soon as you think you're crazy, all you have to do is look over your shoulder." But at a certain point for Mr. Gray, it was no longer possible for him to look over his shoulder for someone worse off than he was. Starving Koreans no longer did the trick. They never do if you're as depressed as Mr. Gray was for much of his life. He disappeared on Jan. 10, and his body was found in the East River on Sunday.
No one really knows what's in the mind of a person who commits suicide, yet Mr. Gray had spent years telling us just what was on his mind. The image that will stay with most of us is a picture of Mr. Gray talking and talking, anchored by a plain table, with a sheaf of notes at hand. It's conventional to think of Mr. Gray as relentlessly autobiographical. And yet the real autobiography in his monologues wasn't what he said so much as the way he connected what he was saying. Profound suffering was only an ellipsis away from comic anxiety.
"And so" is the kind of phrase he used a lot, because it allowed him to go anywhere he wanted in his monologues. It allowed him to weave a story around the story he found impossible to tell, the one without language that led him to take his own life.
Listening to Mr. Gray, we did what audiences so often do -- we believed that the show was being put on just for our benefit. We liked to hope that his fears and despair were really exaggerated just to make us laugh and to let us off the hook for laughing. Again and again, Spalding Gray wondered whether he would make it, and the wonder was both fearful and real. Through to what was always the question for him. "If you live long enough," he wrote, "I find that it all comes full circle." The troubling word is "if."
copyright 2004 The New York Times
Current Music: the baby pigeons are squeaking outside
Current Mood: hard to be gray when the sky is so blue
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
Okay, kids! It's time for a history lesson! And/or some sniveling, self-obsessed navel-gazing. I was going to post a "me at 16/me now" photo comparison for Tim, but I don't have access to a digital camera, and I don't know when I will. Oh well. At any rate, when I picked this photo out the other night, it got me thinking (that's all I do these days, you know: read comics, listen to weird electronic music, and think). History does repeat itself, and I'll tell you how. First, the picture:
Tracy was the first friend I ever made in high school. We were tight. She and I, and her/our friends Ryan and Luke, hung out together all the time. We called ourselves the Posse (yeah okay, it's retarded, whatever). Anyway my high school was really small, so I knew everyone else who went there, but Tracy, Ryan and Luke were the only friends I had there who meant anything to me -- for THREE YEARS. Looking back, I probably should've expanded my social circle a little, but I'm not psychic. Tracy started dating Ryan at some point, to the exclusion of all other interests, and I was a little miffed, but she was my friend, so I stuck around. Then, senior year, I hit my first big iceberg of depression (oh! the metaphors! my brain hurts!) and stopped talking to people. All people. It's what I do best, really. When I finally opened up some to Tracy, we had a stupid little fight and have NEVER SPOKEN SINCE.
Four years later, my academic career is kaput, and I haven't spoken to what I thought was my best friend in weeks. I don't want to, really. That's how the story goes.
QED
 | Tracy Hamm and me, sometime in the second half of sophomore year, 1998 |
Tracy was the first friend I ever made in high school. We were tight. She and I, and her/our friends Ryan and Luke, hung out together all the time. We called ourselves the Posse (yeah okay, it's retarded, whatever). Anyway my high school was really small, so I knew everyone else who went there, but Tracy, Ryan and Luke were the only friends I had there who meant anything to me -- for THREE YEARS. Looking back, I probably should've expanded my social circle a little, but I'm not psychic. Tracy started dating Ryan at some point, to the exclusion of all other interests, and I was a little miffed, but she was my friend, so I stuck around. Then, senior year, I hit my first big iceberg of depression (oh! the metaphors! my brain hurts!) and stopped talking to people. All people. It's what I do best, really. When I finally opened up some to Tracy, we had a stupid little fight and have NEVER SPOKEN SINCE.
Four years later, my academic career is kaput, and I haven't spoken to what I thought was my best friend in weeks. I don't want to, really. That's how the story goes.
QED
Monday, March 08, 2004
I've been thinking today about one of my favorite parables. It has to do with monkeys. See, there were these monkeys, and they hated the rain. Whenever it rained, they would sit in the trees, wet and grouchy, and talk about what they ought to do. "Let's build a hut," said one, "a hut we can sit in when it rains. Then we'll be dry." The other monkeys thought this was a fantastic idea, and they got right to work on planning a hut. Just then, though, the sun came out and the rain stopped, and all the monkeys ran off to enjoy the good weather while it lasted. Come next storm, they sat in the trees again, and complained. "We should really get to work on that hut." "Yeah, we should." But the sun kept coming out, and the hut kept not getting built, and the monkeys stayed wet in the rain forever and ever. That's why monkeys don't rule the world. Well, not really, but you get the point.
I'm a monkey.
I fell asleep last night wishing I were dead, as I have most nights for the past two months. But, you know, if wishes were fishes, blah blah blah. (Interesting side note: I keep thinking it would be funny if I just dropped dead one day from wishing so hard, but if that were the case I'd have been able to fly for years already.) Anyway, I keep telling myself I'll call somebody. "Tomorrow," I think. "I'll do it tomorrow." And this morning I woke up, and the sun was shining, and it was warm, and I thought "Hey! I don't hate everything as much as I did last night! I'm cured!" Mm hmm.
ook ook ee EE EE
I'm a monkey.
I fell asleep last night wishing I were dead, as I have most nights for the past two months. But, you know, if wishes were fishes, blah blah blah. (Interesting side note: I keep thinking it would be funny if I just dropped dead one day from wishing so hard, but if that were the case I'd have been able to fly for years already.) Anyway, I keep telling myself I'll call somebody. "Tomorrow," I think. "I'll do it tomorrow." And this morning I woke up, and the sun was shining, and it was warm, and I thought "Hey! I don't hate everything as much as I did last night! I'm cured!" Mm hmm.
ook ook ee EE EE
Sunday, March 07, 2004
It figures that the day of the LA marathon, we'd have the hottest weather since October. Winter (what there is of it here) sublimated directly into high summer, and the traffic went nuts. I did my part for global warming by cruising down most of Santa Monica Boulevard, soaking in the heat and sights. SMB's amazing, really. If you follow any road in this city long enough, you'll see the ebb and flow of neighborhoods, but within the space of a few miles I toured Beverly Hills (pretty houses), West Hollywood (pretty men, in pairs), North Hollywood (Russians), and several other areas I'd never seen before, including little Armenia, which I thought was in Burbank. Maybe there's Armenian overflow.
I just walked to campus to scan a photo (you'll see why soon). I thought about riding my bike, but the day was so nice I thought I'd take my time, and anyway, it's still 800 degrees outside. I had to change clothes after getting back from my drive, because my shirt was literally soaked with sweat. I'd use the air conditioning, but not while gas is still $1.80 a gallon.
Current Music: Arovane, Atol Scrap
Current Mood: I am an island. I touch no one, and no one touches me.
I just walked to campus to scan a photo (you'll see why soon). I thought about riding my bike, but the day was so nice I thought I'd take my time, and anyway, it's still 800 degrees outside. I had to change clothes after getting back from my drive, because my shirt was literally soaked with sweat. I'd use the air conditioning, but not while gas is still $1.80 a gallon.
Current Music: Arovane, Atol Scrap
Current Mood: I am an island. I touch no one, and no one touches me.
Friday, March 05, 2004
I just cut five or six inches of my hair off. It was getting really ratty at the ends, and who wants to pay $12 for a haircut when you can do it yourself? I figured it couldn't look any worse. I gave myself some bangs, too, and discovered that now I look like I'm about 16. Not what I looked like when I was actually 16 -- then my youth was only obvious from a certain awkwardness and oiliness -- but maybe what I would have wanted to look like. I've always looked (and acted? perhaps it's been more a matter of demeanor) older than I am, so this is a little strange. I would ask people what they think, but it's been a while since I talked to anyone.
Current Music: silence is golden
Current Mood: meh (shrug)
Current Music: silence is golden
Current Mood: meh (shrug)
Monday, March 01, 2004
Today I got myself a "news aggregator." It allegedly picks up RSS feeds from places (news sites, mostly) that I select and displays them on one page for me. Much handier than the Drudge report, and probably more reliable (wink, wink). Now, since I've been reading news all day, I give you "Funny Headlines I Made Up But Have No Use For":
Jackson, Waters puzzled at low "I Love Tyrants" t-shirt demand
Maxine Waters defends "personal friend" Aristide, shoots puppy
UN: Flawed elections a sign Aristide needed to go -- Bush another matter entirely.
"He has nuclear weapons," says Annan.
Jackson, Waters puzzled at low "I Love Tyrants" t-shirt demand
Maxine Waters defends "personal friend" Aristide, shoots puppy
UN: Flawed elections a sign Aristide needed to go -- Bush another matter entirely.
"He has nuclear weapons," says Annan.
