Another Edition of Concept of Irony--Or As It Will Some Day Be Called, "Old Faithful"

Rejoice!: Monday has not passed with out yet another so-so edition of COI. Today all I had time for was to copy a few New Yorker Cartoons. Still, I hope that you can appreciate the effort I made.


The caption reads, "Oh, baby you are going to dip me in hot carmel? I'll be right over." I don't know why someone would think that it would be funny to have a balloon say that, but what is, is.



I don't really understand why there is a lake in the office, but if you click on the picture you can read the dialog. And it is totally worth it. I have no idea how one person could be so smart to come up with such witty banner.


This one didn't really make sense until I read the caption. And once I figured out the genius of the highly original spelling and grammar. But then it all came together and I realized it made sense to copy and post it in places where there are girls who meet said conditions.

I encourage you to do the same.

NaNoWriM0:Update Number Four: Justin is Unstoppable.

There is a small group of people who care about my eventual success as a writer. These people often bring it to my attention when they feel I may be going astray.

This group of people brought it to my attention that with a little more than a week to go, it seems like I should have more to show for my novel writing efforts than just a list of words. Not one to take criticism well, I first slashed their tires (12 in all!)

Then I realized they were right. The world's greatest novels have so much more to them than just words. For example at least half of them have fonts.

That's why I turned the "Lemons" (so to speak) of stupid people's criticisms of me into the "Gold" of another novelistic advance. I have come up with my own font that I will write my novel in. It is loosely based on the Word Verification Font from the comments page.

This has two major advantages. First the font will connect me to the blogging community from which I will be stealing most of my ideas. And second, it will prevent the spambots from reading my novel.

Which, while freeing me up to answer fan mail from people, does kind of make me sad for the spambots. It is going to be a great, great novel.

NaNoWriMo Update Three:A Look at My First Draft.

Though I am still working nearly three hours a day, the endless love and support I experienced on my Birthday has given me the strength and courage I need to continue on my heroic task of working on my novel and blogging.

In just the few weeks of NaNoWriMo, I have already come up with the most important part of any novel: Words. The speed at which I am making progress suggests that my work is destined to occupy a special place in the universe.

My novel is going to have it all: A strong start with a captivating open leading quickly to romance (“Uxoriousness”) (“connivance”); An exciting twist (“ersatz”) and noodles (“noodles”). It also contains words that are so impressive that they aren’t in my two volume shorter OED (‘nyktomorphic’).

While you can't preorder it yet from amazon, you can spread the word that my novel is coming soon.

Live Blogging on My Birthday!

12:30 A.M. Happy B-Day to me! A man my age should not be up at this wicked hour. I would have been asleep four hours ago, but Linz came by the penthouse to say hi.

I think she unconsciously knew it was my Birthday, out of a kind of certain excitement that we were moving closer to fulfilling the terms of our engagement. Maybe she forgot that I broke it off.

Or maybe she remembered and that's why she didn't bother to wish me a happy birthday. But I'm sure you my dear readers won't show the same coldness.

12:40 O.K. no one is commenting. Did I make weird last ditch marriage proposals to others of you?

1:05 A.M.Lindz just left, I brushed my teeth, realized that I had brushed my teeth before Lindz dropped in. Still no comments.

1:17 Still no Birthday wishes??????? Loneliness is starting to kick in, but then Captain Bookbagster reminds me that I should be patient with people and maybe some of my beloved readers are out on the town or asleep. Captain Bookbagster says that Alexia is probably awake but has better things to do.

8:20 It is going to be a good day and a good year. Sure,I think I am losing vision in my left eye. Old age, hurts. But life is good and I suspect it is going to be getting better.

8:40 Time for breakfast and my bottle opener has broken!
The one arm just broke. I guess it is like a horse. A crippled bottle opener isn't going to be good for anyone. How terrible that I should have to deal with this on my birthday.


9:15 I think, in my old age, my sense of taste has finally started to go. Just had a bowl of Lucky Charms and it didn't taste like much. I remember(vaguely) when such a smorgasborg of flavors and chemicals would have delighted my tastebuds.

10:00 While cleaning up I noticed that I poured myself a bowl of macaroni for breakfast. The good news is that my tastebuds are fine, but my eyesight is considerably worse than I had realized.

10:58 The Macaroni Incident: A Found Poem from a Gift Given to Me By Maleah
Traps lie in wait for me. My every step
might be a fall. I am a prisoner
shuffling through a time that feels like a dream,
taking no note of mornings or of sunsets.
It is night. I am alone. In verse like this,
I must create my insipid universe.
Eating Macaroni for breakfast.

(This is Borges' 'The Blind Man' with slight modification to fit my current situation and thus make the poem mine.)

11:35 Comrade K has had nearly 12 hours to wish me a happy birthday. Yet I have heard nothing from him. This is kind of shocking when you consider his fascination with my old age.

12:01 P.M. Off to the Birthday festivities. More later.

3:29 Just keeping it real. About to eat cake.

6:06
I got the KITT 4000's for my B-Day from my Sister and Brother-In-Law. And I'm already breaking them in.


The card they gave me, plays Everybody Wang Chung Tonight. And I can't stop dancing. I'm going to need another pair for Christmas.

7:30Going to respond to comments.

7:57 Had to take out garbage and do dishes. Now I will really get into the responding to comments.

8:17 Finished replying to previous comments. That took me a long time.

10:16And so my day winds down. I just finished watching Sean Welche's Bloom. There was a moment when I started the movies where I was somewhat sickened. But that was only because I realized I was eating Cooked Lucky Charm's 'n Cheese. I did catch the director's name subtly worked into the film. Such astuteness on my part suggests that my brain is as reliable as ever.

The movie follows around three ordinary people. I don't know why the director thought this was a good idea . None of the ordinary people are anything awesome like having superpowers or being adjunct instructors.

But one of the characters did say something interesting. Stephan Daedelus says, “A Men of jenius makes no mistakes, his earors become the potholes of discovery.”

That rings truer in my old age, than it ever has.

11:59In old age, one's body begins to slow down. But if you have lived well you no longer need to move fast, because you can move wisely.

What I am trying to say is that with my working up to three hours a day I might not be able to maintain my typical posting schedule for the next couple of weeks. Like, umm, in my wisdom, I'm not real optimistic about getting anything posted tomorrow. Of course some of my second and third tier readers will just be coming across this post for the first time. So I doubt this will cause much pain amongst the COI community. But as the days go on, I think that my beloved readers are going to need to band together, if for example, nothing shows up Wed. either. But soon. And know this: No matter how slowly I move, Uma Thurman won't be able to beat me.

P.S. I love belated Birthday Gifts almost as much as real Birthday Gifts!

NaNoWriMo Update Two: Seeing is Believing in Not Telling.

Yes, my beloved friends and supporters and all manner of creepy acquaintances: I am reaching the peak of my artistic powers.

With precisely two weeks until NaNoWriMo is over there is not a minute to waste in finishing what I hope to be my Magnum P.I, "The Day I Euthanized My Footwear: Trials and Tribulations of Justin Kahn, That Quiet Voice of Reason in a World Gone Insane"

This is the stage of the creative process where every move I make must be absolutely perfect. To make sure my approach was perfect, I reviewed classic theories of novelistic technique. The one principle that absolutely every major novelist agrees on is that the author must 'Show Not Tell.' Many of these authors agree that the only way the author can do this is to prepare to see.

If seeing is important to being a great author then I wanted to know as much about seeing as possible. For that reason, I have spent the last couple of days reading up on the field of opthamology, reviewing tapes of lasik surgey and walking around with my infrared/x-ray vision glasses.

I have distilled my research into two ideas:

1) The Justin Kahn Principle of Seeing:Draw to See. Marshall McLuhan said that people who become absorbed in the world of texts can reconnect with the spatial world of physical objects by drawing.

2) Another Justin Kahn Princple About Seeing:Keep Drawing. Flannery O'Connor* said, "Yawl want t' be more perceptive. Drawing forces yo' eye to be active."

Want to be a great writer? Then see! But how to see? Draw. So I have decided to devote myself to drawing.


Except drawing is real hard. But coloring is fun! That's why I spent almost four hours yesterday (after a full day of work!) working on my ability to see. And soon, you will see with panic inducing clarity the world as I see it.



*Before Audrey there was Flannery.

NaNoWriMo Update One: Calamity--Perhaps Brought About By My Lack of Self Control--Sets the World of Literature Back One Day.

Yesterday, I was absolutely determined to get started on my novel. Unfortunately, my shoe, the Knight Industry Three Thousand, split apart.

First there was Bookie and then Earl (My Television)and now K.I.T.T.. This is the sort of unbearable pain that can't be translated into art. If my shoes had been killed by a secret society of the Church then I could have come up with a first rate novel. But there is nothing unusual or exotic in what happened here.


Why do all of the things I love fall apart after I stab them?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Help Me Pick the First Line to My Novel.

Nothing causes such conflicting emotion within my manly chest, like the realization that it is NaNoWriMo.

That's right. National Novel Writing Month.(The promoters of National Novel Writing Month thought an acronymn like NaNoWriMo would call forth the next generation of great wordifiers.)

I want to be a Novelist more than anything else.

So I am guessing maybe I should write a novel. When I reflect on men like Dan Brown I am inspired. I realize that it is fashionable in some circles to denigrate his achievements, but when I think of what he accomplished in spite of so many obstacles(When he started writing he was a peniless single father, barely able to put bread on the table; blind in the left eye; Severe Carpel Tunel; Illiteracy; Severe Hypertrichosis & C.)I think that if I try real hard I could write a novel too.

I know that a lot of other novelists started closer to November 1st but better late than never, right? I just need help getting started. I thought maybe if I got a first line that I was confident about I would be able to build on that victory. Here are some ideas:

1)I used to keep a journal, then I had a blog and now I am writing a novel.

2)I could barely hear the anguished cries of millions over the sounds of my breadmaker.

3)This is not one of those easy to read books that makes you feel better about yourself, so if that’s what you are looking for why don’t you just buy it and then give it away as a gift O.K,?

4)There was a touch of melancholy in Peter’s voice as he observed, “I didn’t think the world would end like that.”

5) Stop me if you have heard this one.

6)riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.

7)"Sometimes it is lonely being a spy", John said, giving away his cover.

8) You can call me Al.

9)“Oh, I see” said Helen Keller.

10)How about we sing one more round of, “This is the song that never ends.”

11)This guy who insisted everyone call him ‘Al’ thought, “It is the best of times and the worst of times”--just seconds before an ice cream truck hit him.

12)I am knew to country and hoping to learn this English with the first novel of my writing----like you very much I am thinking!

On the other hand if you have a better idea, please let me know.

But I really should be getting started.

The J.K.S.W.S.F.D.S. &O.E.S.

Last Friday my car was the victim of a vicious attack by snow.

One of the few drawbacks to living in the Penthouse is that it doesn't have a garage. This does kind of make sense, since mine is the rare car that could make it to the top of a building. As things are, I am forced to park my car outdoors.

Now that it is snowing, I have given serious thought to what I'm going to do. And the short answer is the Justin Kahn Star Wars Snow Flake Defense System and Outdoor Entertainment System.
I would like, at the outset, to emphasize that this is a purely conceptual post. It describes a really, really good idea, but it is only an idea. The J.K.S.W.S.F.D.S. &O.E.S. has not yet been built*.

The system will protect the airspace surrounding my car from Un-American Snow. This is done through three related key component.

Key Component #1) A satellite system borrowed from the Star Wars Defense Initiative of the 1980's. These are nuclear powered satellites which are able to monitor the snowflakes in the region of my car. In terms of my concept picture, I wanted to make much bigger satellites, but photoshop kept shrinking them down every time I pasted them into the picture. Still, if you squint your eyes and look in the upper right hand corner you can kind of see the mighty satellites.

Critics will certainly point out that my incredible system isn't justified by the five billion dollar price tag, but I respond that it is my money and I will do what I want.

Tree hugging critics will point out that it is not safe to put nuclear powered satellites into orbit, especially when (as has happened in tests) snowflakes are able to knock the satellites out of orbit. To this, I can only say that these critics are just jealous of my awesome satellites.

Key Component #2) Light Sabers Taken from the movie Star Wars. These will literally melt any snow before they can get to my car. If you have seen Star Wars, you know that Light Sabers can move extremely fast. For that reason I believe that four sabers will represent reasonable protection of my car.

Key Component #3) Not Pictured: Manually Operated Snow Removal System. I will keep one of these in my car. If there is an emergency like Comrade K shoots a satellite down then I will be able to clear off the car with either the scraper side or the soft brush side. Of course, if my nuclear powered satellites come crashing down, I don't think removing snow is going to be my biggest problem.


*Or has it?

Getting All Political.

Once again my beloved "Anarchist-Pacifist-Jeeves and Wooster 24 Hour Station" Party has been defeated. I kind of thought we had a chance this year, what with the widely publicized news that I am deeply aware of my mortality .

Over the past couple weeks I have dismissed my critics' claim that "Now is not the time to run for president." I insisted it was, and perhaps I was wrong. It's just no one told me that 'writing someone in' must be done within the narrow minded confines of whatever offices are already on the ballot.

I'd rather not dwell on my political failings, but I did want to come up with something topical. First, I narrowed it down to posting one of the two most inluential political texts for my party. Finally,I decided on Solzhenitsyn's Famous Address to Harvard, for which he was boo'd. To keep the brief excerpts Concept of Irony Friendly, I have inserted the words 'With a Flatulent Ghost' at various key points:

"And yet -- no weapons, no matter how powerful, can help the West until it overcomes its loss of willpower With a Flatulent Ghost. In a state of psychological weakness, weapons become a burden for the capitulating side. To defend oneself With a Flatulent Ghost, one must also be ready to die; there is little such readiness in a society raised in the cult of material well-being. Nothing is left, then, but concessions, attempts to gain time and betrayal. Thus at the shameful Belgrade conference free Western diplomats in their weakness surrendered the line With a Flatulent Ghost where enslaved members of Helsinki Watchgroups are sacrificing their lives with a Flatulent Ghost.

"Western thinking has become conservative: the world situation should stay as it is at any cost, there should be no changes With a Flatulent Ghost . This debilitating dream of a status quo With a Flatulent Ghost is the symptom of a society which has come to the end of its development. But one must be blind in order not to see that oceans no longer belong to the West, while land under its domination keeps shrinking. The two so-called world wars (they were by far not on a world scale, not yet) have meant internal self-destruction With a Flatulent Ghost of the small, progressive West which has thus prepared its own end. The next war (which does not have to be an atomic one and I do not believe it will) may well bury Western civilization forever With a Flatulent Ghost."
___________
Perhaps in '08 I will turn to that other great cornerstone of the Anarchist-Pacifist-Jeeves and Wooster 24 Hour Station Party: The Lyrics to Born in the U.S.A.

Pain. Suffering. Despair. Indigestion.

In less than two weeks I will have a Birthday. For this reason, I am in a more profoundly somber mood than ever.

When you get to be my age, you must confront questions of your own mortality. And the limitations of language are such that no one can express the absolute horror of the unknown directly, but only through metaphor.

My life is like a train racing to an unknown destination.

New, unrecognizable speeds.

Or to be more precise, I am like a passenger on the train of life, racing to an unknown destination.

Dips and declines that are only the prelude to…

Actually, I am the train and the passengers are my experience and the track is life. And when the tracks run out…

I am not the first person to face the prospect of death.

Probably, to be sure, I am a passenger, the train is life and the tracks are time. But then there is the matter of the ground

Will I have done anything of value?

O.K. actually, the tracks couldn’t be time since time doesn’t run out, but life does.

Let’s put it this way:
Tracks=Experiences in general
Train=Consciousness
The Ground that supports the tracks is Being (In Heidegger’s sense)
On Board Television=A Television, On Board
Audrey Tied to the Tracks= A Relationship I Was Never Meant to Save
The Ticket Purchased=Commitment (In Kierkegaard's Sense.)
Train Wreck=The Boundaries of Language

Now, I'm left out of the equation. Oh, what's the point?

I suppose someone may buy me something from my Amazon Wishlist. And that is worth something.

Something that gives me hope.

Still one can't help but imagine that part of the horror of life is the inability to even express the horror of life in symbolic form.

But our little exercise has not been in vain. Because while we are no closer to speaking honestly about life, we all have ample time to buy me gifts. This will prevent last minute orders, that require expedited shipping, which would cut into the money spent on my gifts.


P.S. But please don't inscribe the books, because I don't understand what most of them are about, but need to maintain a 'smartified' image, and will most likely return them for the $$$$.

Take Home Chef.

I don’t know if you guys have seen the show Take Home Chef. The premise is that this world famous chef, will ‘invade’ your home and cook up a world class meal.

And guess who they just taped a show with?

That’s right.

Moi.

At first I was apprehensive. Initially, I didn't get the concept. Once the producers explained the show to me, it became increasingly obvious that we would get along. What had eluded me was the title. Turns out, it is a play on words. You assume the show is about a chef who makes take home food. BUT NO! It is the chef that is taken home!! Like Take Home Food. But instead it is called Take Home Chef. Like Chef instead of Food? Double Entendre? Hidden layers of meaning and so on?

So I'd like to take this time to express how I felt about the meal.


Oh. My. Goodness.

It was unbelievable.

While half the world had to go out to eat fine cuisine and the other half was starving to death, I got to eat like a king in the comfort of my own Penthouse.

And while the meal may look simple, it is pretty amazing to think that the Take Home Chef made the whole thing out of rat droppings he found around the Penthouse.

I Can't Work Like This.

COI isn’t the place to get into sensitive religious issues. But there is one that has affected me deeply and because of that I must speak about it. If you feel that this is a private matter, that turn your heads, move onto some other blog.

Here it is: There is a Church near the Penthouse. This church has a bell tower. What I want to know is if I am being so unreasonable in asking the Church to set the bell tower to Vibrate.

Because for example, yesterday my muse was guiding me to write a work of inestimable genius when the bells for Compline chimed in. I am not Catholic, but I did feel a certain obligation and of course after Compline my muse was gone, probably with some secularized Protestant.

I understand that in a world without clocks or other personal time measurement systems, bell towers make enormous sense. But in today's world, a world where I am trying to write, couldn't they maybe just send a text message to everyone at the appointed hours?

Happy Halloween! With Some Notes on Why Do All the Lonely People Decide To Pretend Like Their Deepest Fantasy Is to Be Repulsive?

I think I speak for most singles when I say that Halloween is the loneliest day of the year.

First, I know this has been said before but Halloween was created by the greeting cards industry to sell more greeting cards. Why should I, just because I have mild Aspergers Syndrome and am unable to form relationships, have Halloween shoved in my face and be reminded that I am not like other people?

You see, the one thing that Halloween reminds me of is that I have a rather scandalous and unusual predilection. I am embarrassed to say it, but I suppose it is not that worst confession made on the internet: I have a thing for beautiful girls.

Every relationship that I have ruined this year was with a girl who was Totally Hot. Every relationship that I wanted, but didn’t materialize, was with a girl who was totally hot. I have developed crushes on girls for no other reason than that they were extremely to extraordinarily hot.

Models and former models, Aspiring Bollywood Stars, 9.5’s in careers unrelated to their extraordinary beauty —each is precious to me.

I have a thing for hot girls. (I may generally be opposed to Halloween but I’d kill for a good mask right now to hide my blushing face.)

And so as if I’m not embarrassed enough of my bizaare tastes, here comes Halloween. Why is the rest of the world so very attracted to the hideous, the deformed, the repulsive? Why do other guys flock around Zombies and Vampires and the Undead?

For the past week, beautiful girls taunted me about how they hope they look good in there family unfriendly costume of an Icosahedron.

If only I could say, “I want to see you as you are---done up just like in the headshots your agent sends out. Other men might desire the repulsive. You don’t have to disfigure yourself for me. Not today not ever.”

But I won't say it. And nothing could be more horrifying as these girls dressed as chemical spills and sundry WMD’s walk by leaving me feeling numb and more alone than ever.

Happy, Happy, Happy Halloween.

As Tony Robbins Would Say, “For myself I am an optimist - it does not seem to be much use being anything else.”

I had an incredible weekend. Friday morning Captian Bookbagster and I got a call from the TV repair shop. We were very excited to hear that repairs would only come to $178. While that is not ideal, neither of us could afford a new TV. We picked it up in the afternoon. Captain Bookbagster wanted to watch "Andrei Rublev" but I wanted to watch the Backyardigans. I won the argument in a game of paper, rock, scissors (Captain Bookbagster doesn't have any hands.)


But what is funny is how, the TV seems less impressive than I remember. I guess our memory can trick us when we are apart from those we love. For those few days I didn't have my TV, I would have sworn I used to sit back on my couch and watch TV. But now, I have to kind of learn forward and press my nose to the screen.

Even so, while my memory may deceive me, my television never will. And for that, I will always be grateful. Or for at least the 8 hours a day I kneel, my nose pressed to the screen, in total bliss.

Everyone Should Have a Friend Like Jack Bauer.

A weaker man would have been crushed by what I have been through this week. But right now, I feel better than ever.

"How are you dealing with the loss of Bookie?" someone said to me yesterday.

"Who?" I said.

You see I have moved beyond Boogie or whatever his name was. Let the dead bury the dead, I say. Or that's what I said after my good friend Jack Bauer gave me his bookbag. For those of you who have seen the documentary '24' you will note that this is the very same bookbag that helped save America and the world.

So here is my newest, and what will probably be closest, friend: Captain Bookbagster (Jack named him, not me.)




I should have had Jack take a picture of me wearing it, but he didn't stick around-- Just like the rest of my 'friends' who left me as soon as they saw I was bookbagless. Except that Jack had to fight evil. Whereas my other 'friends' thought I was washed up.

Well, I'm not. And if you dare disagree, any offense you cause me will surely pale in comparison to the Wrath of Captain Bookbagster.

In Which Justin, the Knight of the Sorrowful Countenance, Tries to Heal Himself.

A writer friend of mine has suggested that instead of just complaining about my life, I ought to grab a newspaper and complain about the state of the world.

So I grab a paper.

And I can't find anything funny, or worth complaining about, happening in the world.

One Minute You Are the Most Important Blogger in the Fourth Quadrant of Cleveland Hts.; The Next Minute You Are The Poster Boy for Endless Suffering.

I am trying so hard to keep my 'chin up' and 'my head above the water' and 'to accentuate the positive and something, something, something.' But it is not easy. Without my television I have an extra 14 hours a day of pointless existence. Without Bookie, I have no means to transport my books out of my personal library.

I know this is Wed. and so you probably are expecting a run of the mill post and NOT YET MORE EVIDENCE THAT NOTHING I DO EVER WORKS OUT AND THERE APPEARS TO BE SOME OVEWHELMING, POWERFUL FORCE TRYING TO DESTROY ME.

Brace yourself.

Without any other means of entertainment, I decided to turn to mankind's oldest recreation: Crossword Puzzles. But even this timeless source of amusement ended only in frustration. They don't even come with clues anymore.

I spent three hours last night trying to solve one before I decided to admit it as further evidence that if I survive this week it is only because I have preternatural sources of internal strength and wisdom.

In Which Our Man Justin Proves the Second Law of Thermodynamics, About How Your Good Stuff Will Just Keep Breaking.

I know that I haven’t been posting on Tuesday’s but, The Funniest Thing Happened: Just When I was About to Start Work on a Novel, My Television Stopped Working. Ha, ha!

1. Thinking about the loss of Bookie, I sat down in front of the Television ready to Watch Jeeves and Wooster(to prepare me, mentally, for writing my novel). If ever any teacher needed some R&R, it was me on the couch in front of the television.

2. My TV flickers off and begins emitting a loud buzzing noise. Lucky for me, this high pitched noise seems to repel the rats. Most of them clear out.

3. I remove my living room T.V. and retrieve my C. 1974 Television Set (With Authentic Wood Paneling!) from the Spare Television Room. I set it up.

4. I hit play on Jeeves and Wooster. My C.1974 set, which has served me well, flickers and all the sudden transmutes into a B & W set (pictured.)Who even knew that the color could drain from a television? Two dysfunctional t.v's and a dead bookbag! Fantastic!

So anyway, I just wanted to thank each and every one of you who sent your good wishes to me during my loss of bookie, even though it is clearly your lousy mental energies which have clogged up my previously functional television(s).

I guess I will go try to continue on with life. Don't try to help. Unless you want to link to my blog. I guess I would feel better if I had the most popular blog in the universe. Because then I would at least understand the meaning of my endless suffering.

Dry Your Eyes, Justin.

My readers will no doubt be suprised to see that I am posting on Monday when my last post clearly stated I wouldn't be back until Wed. There are two exceptions to
this otherwise absolute sense of suprise that will be present in the Concept of Irony commmunity:

1) Maggie, who though raising the standards of COI Reading by setting her homepage to COI, doesn't necessarily hit refresh when her browser opens and so probably won't see this post until late December.

2) Those who skipped reading the last post and went right to the comments. Which is pretty much everyone else, except the ultimately very loyal Mind Curry.

The point being, this weekend marked a new low in my life. You see my book bag,and closest friend, is no more. I haven't felt this way since I lost Edgar.

Goodbye Bookie.

You knew I didn't need to carry around the four volumes of the collected works of Kurt Godel. You knew I didn't have time, and how also I only read on the third grade level, so even owning, let alone carrying around Godel was pointless. But still you tried to hold those weighty volumes.

And I will miss you.


In one single moment your whole life can turn 'round
I stand there for a minute starin' straight into the ground
Lookin' to the left slightly, then lookin' back down
World feels like it's caved in - proper sorry frown

The Most Comprehensive Collection of Justin's Writings Ever Assembled in One Place.

(Pictured: An Early Draft of my first sort of complete novel, "The Old Man at Basel"; Love Poems:2003-2005; "The Role of Booty in Lolita:The Seductive Techniques of V. Nabokov" {Unfinished Dissertation};Je Suis Le Cahier: Ideas and Inspirations for Concept of Irony.)


Let us all hope and pray that something will escape the shredder for Wednesday, which is the absolute earliest any of the COI staff expects a new post.