Was anyone else even slightly disappointed by "Synecdoche, N.Y."? It's Charlie Kauffman's first attempt at directing, and it's clear that he failed to learn the cardinal rule of making a film: Sometimes you have to kill some of your babies to make it work. I felt like it was too long, and bloated. We could cut out 25 % of the close-ups of the principals weeping. We could remove some of the elements of the plot that don't serve a purpose. We could adopt a philosophy more akin to "show it, don't say it". All of these actions would improve on a film with TREMENDOUS potential. I'm bummed.

C

My hands felt just like two balloons...

Right now, as I type, I am a lobster. My left hand, due to the lightning strike of freak injury, has been mangled to the point where it resembles the half eaten burrito that's been sitting in my fridge for 4 months. My ring finger looks like a rotten sausage link oozing out of a giant pizza pocket. My skin is tie dyed. The most insufferable thing about the whole rotten affair is that this occured during the one, BRIEF moment of the day that I was sober. Well, my friends, believe me when I say that I will never try THAT again. Now there's a good chance that I should go to the hospital.

Safety first

Is there any task more overwhelming than writing a user's manual? How can one possibly consider every contingency? How can one conceive of every disaster just waiting to happen to a new appliance? In the spirit of fellowship and community, I am offering some of the accumulated wisdom that has come to me through the experience of owning a computer, in the hope of helping my friends and family to avoid those pitfalls that have befallen me. Things that are NOT in the user's manual.

Do not put laptop in refrigerator. (Seth, this one is for you. Get it out of there.)

Do not engage in global espionage with laptop. (Life is not a movie. Come back and live with us in Realityvilletownburg.)

Laptop is NOT a podium. (No, not even metaphorically.)

There is no such thing as safe sex-even with laptop. (No glove, no love.)

Do not attempt to shampoo hair with laptop. (It's not a "body wash" either.)

Do not attempt to use laptop as prison currency. (A shiv or cigarettes should suffice.)

Do not bludgeon human being with laptop. (For those to whom previous entry is relevant.)

Do not attempt to hijack airplane with laptop. (Buses are acceptable.)

Laptop is non-alcoholic. (I learned this one the hard way.)

Do not use laptop as flotation device. (Clever quip enclosed in parentheses.)

Laptop is NOT a briefcase. (Especially important to remember in "You give me the case, I give you the girl!" situations.)

Do not expose laptop to high heat or snails. (Exposure to virtually everything else is acceptable.)

...and I will strike down with great vengeance and FURIOUS anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my laptop! And you will know my name is THE LORD when I lay my laptop upon thee! (I give my mother a laptop massage.)

You need help. Good grief.

After examining all of the items in your apartment, including those items you thought were perfectly hidden, I have determined that you "have issues" and as a person with a degree in psychology I would like to arrange a series of meetings in which we will conduct a mixture of written and verbal therapies, during which we will engage in and celebrate the innate majesty of the run-on sentence, all the while avoiding the dreaded and horrific period.  Period.

Proof positive

And this is why:

Phlygm globber

If there's one thing that I know for sure it's that uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I miss living with Brad Shanks. Also that I could probably live on watermelon and popcorn. Seperately. Not together. Although...

Look at the poo poo!

All, and I mean ALL, babies are shrieking lumps of gelatinous goo. They do not "have their father's eyes", nor do they "have their mother's nose". Your baby is certainly not a "beautiful" baby, nor is it "adorable", "precious", or "cute". They are splotchy. They emit the types of sounds normally associated with exotic forms of torture, and if everything goes as planned, after a meal consisting of pureed fruit scraps, they puke all over themselves. I do the same thing, and nobody congratulates me for it. Yet you do, because you like your baby. You are the only one who likes your baby. You are the only who likes your shrieking lump of gelatinous goo.