I'm probably going to gloat about this for, like, eight years.

To all of ya'll who thought I was fucking around:

(click for bigger)

It's not huge, but I don't care: I'm officially a professional hipster. And I got Dov Charney's autograph. Yessssssss...

Why I sometimes like coming home:

At the dinner table:

Mom: So your brother hasn't been doing so hot. He just got suspended from riding the bus home for five days.
Brother: It's not THAT bad.
Me: Oh, really?
Mom: Yeah, he was giving the bus driver attitude.
Brother: She wouldn't tell me why I had to move to the front of the bus, and I told her it was my 6th amendment right to know what crime I was being charged with.
Me: Nice! But...I don't think those rules always apply to school buses.
Mom: Oh, don't encourage that behavior!
Me: What? It's a good thing that he questions authority. And it's a bonus that he actually knows his rights.
Mom: Stop it. Getting into trouble on the bus is bad behavior that shouldn't be commended.
Me: Oh yeah, what about Rosa Parks? She singlehandedly started one of the more successful Civil Rights movements in American history on a bus.
Mom: (glaring at both of her children) Well, Rosa Parks didn't have her parents on her back.
Me: No, she had the entire black community on her back.
Mom: Shut up.
Me: You just don't know about science and technology.

Hey baby, que paso?

On Saturday, I flew down to Los Angeles and fulfilled one of my dreams: I modeled for American Apparel. A shallow aspiration? Sure. But seriously, I got to do it, so fuck you.

Also, after last weekend's experience, I take back what I said months ago: LA is actually pretty cool. If you ignore the smog, the traffic, the high crime rate, the flagrant disregard for the environment, the visible socioeconomic disparities from one neighborhood to the next, and, depending on the part of the city, its plastic-y inhabitants, it's actually a really fun and "happening" place.

"Are you here for vacation? Family?" "Work." "Oh."

In LA. Updates later.

Why don't you put on some Birkenstocks and protest something, ya dirty hippie?

Earlier today, my mom sent me an email that was neither inspirational, nor forwarded 400 billion times (see right).

Surely she doesn't mean to insinuate that I am a lush! She must be alluding to the muffin top that spills ever-so-slightly over the waistband of my tight, tapered jeans! Do I need to lose weight? According to my mom, yes, yes I do!

Jest aside, the article got me thinking: if I'd gone to a junior college, would I only be susceptible to junior heart disease? What would happen if I'd not pursued higher education at all, but rather, taken up alcoholism in and of itself? What then?

But seriously, though, my Wiimote is still Wiimissing. If the status of my Wiimote were to be represented as a Homeland Security Threat Level diagram, it would look something like the image at left. Yes, I spend way too much time in Photoshop. No, I don't have friends.

Ceci n'est pas un Nintendo.

I can't find my goddamn Wiimote.

Shit's about to get ugly.

I don't mean to brag or nothin' but...

...As of right now, my life is pretty much awesome.