A Pasticcio Post

-By some astounding jump in competence by CUAC, the organization that books speakers and lectures on campus, Cindy Sheehan, the mother who lost her son in Iraq and has since become a national figure, spoke here in Oneonta last night. The last two major events CUAC has had have been appearances by, no joke, Mr. Belding and Urkel. To see CUAC be able to get Sheehan up to this tiny college is amazing. However not surprisingly, the Ballroom where this was held was only about 2/3 full; the event wasn't really advertised, and college students care more about destroying the Flood and Covenant than current events and politics. The speech is what you would likely expect, but it was still cool to be able to see someone in the national spotlight. I was hoping some hillbillies from the outskirts of Oneonta would show up to fight with her over her opposition to Bush, but no such luck.

-Does anyone know how one goes about getting a rag? I have to get all dressed up for my final in interviewing class, and my dress shoes need to be polished, but I don't have any rags to use to shine them up. I don't have many handy resources, and I think using a paper towel wouldn't do the trick. When I shined them at home, I used a rag from our basement. But where can I get a rag up here? Do people buy rags? Where do they come from? Do they just suddenly appear in your house one day? If you don't have any old dish towels or some other kind of cloth that you are retiring to a rag pile, how would you get one? This popped into my head yesterday and I can't think of a solution.

-I'm getting real sick and tired of the phrase, "What happens in _____, stays in _____." Overused. It's dead. Not even if you're referring to Vegas. It's no longer clever.

-Now I'm not a doctor, but I think Silva must look like the charred smoker guy from Beetlejuice inside his body. I've never seen anyone eat so much crap and still look relatively healthy in my life. The kids eats at the very least a bag of chips every day, plus all the other crap throughout the day; he never stop eating. Yesterday, in a time span of a few hours, I know he ate two Celeste pizzas, a saucepan of teriyaki noodles, BBQ chicken, a bag of chips, and a bunch of beers. Who knows what he eats the rest of his day. All I know is he is like a garbage disposal, but does not put on a single pound; he's built like Eric Foreman on "That 70s Show." Me and Gish were talking about this, and determined it would be better for him if he did put on weight, because then at least he would be aware his body hates him. I wouldn't be surprised if we were all just hanging out and he dropped dead from clogged arteries and fructose poisoning. He told me:

"Whatever, I'll eat whatever I want. What happens if I get hit by a car and die tomorrow? Then I spent my last days on earth eating healthy."

Then, most likely from the affects of the never-ending food parade, he began to get a little crazy and irrational:

"Who says salad is so healthy? No one knows what eating salad all the time will do to your body thirty years from now. All of a sudden people just start eating salad all the time. Fuck that shit."

- I had a dream I was in some room and Kelly Clarkson was walking around naked. I didn't realize she liked me so much.

So long. Farewell. Auf weidersehen. Good bye.