http://thesneakygiraffe.blogspot.com/
The Sneaky Giraffe: An ecclectic collection of visuals brought to you by Tactful T.J.
viernes, 20 de noviembre de 2009
My fartsy thoughts
http://thesneakygiraffe.blogspot.com/
The Sneaky Giraffe: An ecclectic collection of visuals brought to you by Tactful T.J.
miércoles, 18 de noviembre de 2009
Moldy Curry
Last month, somebody asked me what love was.
Last week, somebody told me it sucks.
I've never been in love so I have no idea
but yeah, if you care, here's my two bucks.
It's a passionate appeal
but really
not real.
It's tricky mirages
and naive foot
massages.
It's a selfish game
played just
for fame.
It's soft je'taimes,
whispered falsely
in REM.
It's Noahs concocted
from notebooks,
like Naoh wrought
from textbooks.
It's poison.
It's toxic.
It's deathly
like chopsticks.
It's schizophrenic.
It's carcinogenic.
It's fascist
like cannabis.
It's fat,
it's stupid
and naked
like Cupid.
It's weak honey tea
and moldy curry.
It's decaffeinated coffee
and hopeless vulnerability.
It's cruel.
It's tools.
It varies
like cherries.
It's scary,
it's haunted.
It's all
I've ever wanted.
Last week, somebody told me it sucks.
I've never been in love so I have no idea
but yeah, if you care, here's my two bucks.
It's a passionate appeal
but really
not real.
It's tricky mirages
and naive foot
massages.
It's a selfish game
played just
for fame.
It's soft je'taimes,
whispered falsely
in REM.
It's Noahs concocted
from notebooks,
like Naoh wrought
from textbooks.
It's poison.
It's toxic.
It's deathly
like chopsticks.
It's schizophrenic.
It's carcinogenic.
It's fascist
like cannabis.
It's fat,
it's stupid
and naked
like Cupid.
It's weak honey tea
and moldy curry.
It's decaffeinated coffee
and hopeless vulnerability.
It's cruel.
It's tools.
It varies
like cherries.
It's scary,
it's haunted.
It's all
I've ever wanted.
domingo, 1 de noviembre de 2009
Private detective for hire
Currently listening to "The Race is On Again" by Yo La Tengo.
A few nights ago, while "studying" for biology, Moriarty challenged me to define a Lewis acid. After careful deliberation, I settled on the answer "an electron acceptor" (as opposed to a proton donator, the definition of a Bronsted acid). We agreed whoever was wrong had to call the number of an ad Moriarty had found on a bulletin board in the math and sciences building. The ad read "Private Detective for Hire" in big letters and displayed a rather flattering picture of Jason Schwartzman, followed by tearable tabs with the number 646-336-6222. After a civil altercation over our answers, we decided to just put the phone on speaker and ended up reaching the guy's voicemail, only to find that the number had been a clever medium to advertise the HBO show "Bored to Death". This witty voicemail message suddenly ended with an impending "Please leave a message" beep, and under the pressure of time, I candidly shouted "I love you, Jason!" I quickly closed my phone and Moriarty and I shared a laugh and quipped some funny comments. Then I realized I hadn't closed the phone all the way so whoever (if anyone) received the messages heard everything we had said about the call (I don't think it was necessarily anything bad, but maybe a little embarrassing). I decided the only way to mute our previous comments was to shout another well-articulated "I love you, Jason!" after which I made sure the phone was closed completely this time. Win!
Tactfully,
T.J.
A few nights ago, while "studying" for biology, Moriarty challenged me to define a Lewis acid. After careful deliberation, I settled on the answer "an electron acceptor" (as opposed to a proton donator, the definition of a Bronsted acid). We agreed whoever was wrong had to call the number of an ad Moriarty had found on a bulletin board in the math and sciences building. The ad read "Private Detective for Hire" in big letters and displayed a rather flattering picture of Jason Schwartzman, followed by tearable tabs with the number 646-336-6222. After a civil altercation over our answers, we decided to just put the phone on speaker and ended up reaching the guy's voicemail, only to find that the number had been a clever medium to advertise the HBO show "Bored to Death". This witty voicemail message suddenly ended with an impending "Please leave a message" beep, and under the pressure of time, I candidly shouted "I love you, Jason!" I quickly closed my phone and Moriarty and I shared a laugh and quipped some funny comments. Then I realized I hadn't closed the phone all the way so whoever (if anyone) received the messages heard everything we had said about the call (I don't think it was necessarily anything bad, but maybe a little embarrassing). I decided the only way to mute our previous comments was to shout another well-articulated "I love you, Jason!" after which I made sure the phone was closed completely this time. Win!
Tactfully,
T.J.
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