Zach "Windex Sprayer" Kuhn
It's okay, I wouldn't remember me either.
What a day, Saturday. Started it out by sleeping until about 11, then I ate breakfast. The living room was a disaster, as Marcie threw a temper tantrum. To defend myself:
1. He did, in fact, almost break Larry's fish tank when attempting to hit Luke on the head with the skateboard. Don't mind the fact that the reason he had the skateboard was I was poking the two of them with it to stop them. That's important, but looks bad on me, so we'll ignore it. Okay?
2. I did spray windex. On both of them. That shit tastes bad, but not as bad as the next available object, which was a week old beer bottle filled with god-knows-what.
3. Marcie brought the breaking of his glasses on himself, as he decided the best way to get back at us was to clear the coffee table with his arm. Things he knocked over: 3 half full drinks from dinner, 4 old beer bottles (again, god-knows-what), a magazine, and HIS GLASSES. That's right, he broke his own glasses in a fit of rage. I broke my bed as a 5th grader by jumping on it repeatedly after my brother and best friend had excluded me from something. Don't let it get you down.
It is official that "You Can Count on Me" is my choice for Best Picture BLARGar style. Ryan and I drove out to Champaign (even the theatre workers wear FRAT letters) to the not-so-special Beverly 18, a cheap knockoff of my home theatre Cantera 30. I need not go into what REAL stadium seating looks like, just know that BEV 18 is an oversized crappy version of University Cinemas here in normal, which ain't good. What is good is that they have one theatre designated for "Art" films, which YCCOM falls under, I suppose. Ryan was not impressed by Laura Linney, but was fascinated by Mark Ruffalo and the great Rory Culkin (who were both robbed last night at the Independent Spirit awards).
Came back home, ate, watched the IFC awards, drank 2 delightfully fresh Bud Light 40's. Was surprised to see Scooter's girlfriend Libby here, which is a nice surprise. Then I went off to Ryan's, where there was a full on party going, mostly full of her brother's friends who are a fucking hoot. Her brother was cracking me up by being fascinated with the Rubbish Room, basically a trash shoot. We must have gone there ten times over the night. I got way too drunk and am paying for it now. Sigh.
Oscars T-minus 4 hours. If Tom Hank's very good performance in a terrible movie wins, I'm writing another frown letter. Later.
The next five songs on your radio in a perfect world would be: "Table for Glasses" by Jimmy eat world; "Question" by Old 97's; "We Haven't Yet Turned Around" by Gomez; "Sweet Avenue" by jets to brazil; and "we laugh indoors" by death cab for cutie.
in the stereo: Old 97's, Rolling Stones "Sticky Fingers", and The Band "music from big pink"
It's okay, I wouldn't remember me either.
What a day, Saturday. Started it out by sleeping until about 11, then I ate breakfast. The living room was a disaster, as Marcie threw a temper tantrum. To defend myself:
1. He did, in fact, almost break Larry's fish tank when attempting to hit Luke on the head with the skateboard. Don't mind the fact that the reason he had the skateboard was I was poking the two of them with it to stop them. That's important, but looks bad on me, so we'll ignore it. Okay?
2. I did spray windex. On both of them. That shit tastes bad, but not as bad as the next available object, which was a week old beer bottle filled with god-knows-what.
3. Marcie brought the breaking of his glasses on himself, as he decided the best way to get back at us was to clear the coffee table with his arm. Things he knocked over: 3 half full drinks from dinner, 4 old beer bottles (again, god-knows-what), a magazine, and HIS GLASSES. That's right, he broke his own glasses in a fit of rage. I broke my bed as a 5th grader by jumping on it repeatedly after my brother and best friend had excluded me from something. Don't let it get you down.
It is official that "You Can Count on Me" is my choice for Best Picture BLARGar style. Ryan and I drove out to Champaign (even the theatre workers wear FRAT letters) to the not-so-special Beverly 18, a cheap knockoff of my home theatre Cantera 30. I need not go into what REAL stadium seating looks like, just know that BEV 18 is an oversized crappy version of University Cinemas here in normal, which ain't good. What is good is that they have one theatre designated for "Art" films, which YCCOM falls under, I suppose. Ryan was not impressed by Laura Linney, but was fascinated by Mark Ruffalo and the great Rory Culkin (who were both robbed last night at the Independent Spirit awards).
Came back home, ate, watched the IFC awards, drank 2 delightfully fresh Bud Light 40's. Was surprised to see Scooter's girlfriend Libby here, which is a nice surprise. Then I went off to Ryan's, where there was a full on party going, mostly full of her brother's friends who are a fucking hoot. Her brother was cracking me up by being fascinated with the Rubbish Room, basically a trash shoot. We must have gone there ten times over the night. I got way too drunk and am paying for it now. Sigh.
Oscars T-minus 4 hours. If Tom Hank's very good performance in a terrible movie wins, I'm writing another frown letter. Later.
The next five songs on your radio in a perfect world would be: "Table for Glasses" by Jimmy eat world; "Question" by Old 97's; "We Haven't Yet Turned Around" by Gomez; "Sweet Avenue" by jets to brazil; and "we laugh indoors" by death cab for cutie.
in the stereo: Old 97's, Rolling Stones "Sticky Fingers", and The Band "music from big pink"
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