The first rule of fight club is, you don't talk about fight club

Of course, no one wants to talk about fight club with me because everyone else became familiar with the story five or ten years ago.

Anyway, I just read this deeply disturbing little book. It's very nicely written - acid and dark.

And it contains this little truism, which is maybe my favourite part:

For each man kills the thing he loves. And the reverse of that statement is also true.

One more time

Why do we fall?

So we can learn how to pick ourselves up.

Let's just say that there is one workplace out there that remains nonunionized, and for which I have shed a few tears.

On the bright side, I had enough change stored up from last year to buy $75 worth of groceries. Using a change jar as a savings account is apparently not an unsound strategy.

Also, I'd like to play a round of two of the games we were talking about:

"You're so middle class you don't consider baking soda toothpaste."

Or

"Toothpaste? In a tube? That's so bourgeois."

I'd just like to mention that I got toothpaste today. And also a ben and jerry's has opened up across from my bank - so I had a scoop of vanilla heath bar crunch, so-so, and Phish Food, which is chocolate ice cream with marshmallow swirl and chocolate fishes. Terrific.

I am now going to clean my kitchen so I can make crazy granola bar like things with corn flakes. Pictures to follow.

History in Motion

So, so not safe for work.

Who says revisionist history isn't fun?

George Washington Video- viewer discretion is advised

Why do we fall?

So we will learn how to pick ourselves up.

That's what Bruce Wayne's daddy tells him in that latest Batman movie, the one where Christian Bale is even better looking than normal.

And I guess it might also teach us how to hold each other up and how to pick up the guy who ain't heavy, 'cause he's your brother.

This is my season for doing things that I am not naturally good at it. This means busting my ass, and also often means looking foolish. Like how I can never throw a very good right hook.

There are so many things that are fun to do and good for you, that make you look like a moron. I am very sensitive about that.

Like I love to sing, and only do it when I am alone. Or when I think I'm alone. Because I am sure I am terrible. Like the other day when I was dog walking and belting out Thunder Road. Wow, that guy I didn't see behind that tree sure looked surprised.

So I suppose if I were writing my own horoscope or fortune cookie, I might suggest that I learn how to have fun rather that worrying about whether I will excel at having fun or not.

But knowing me, I will just practice a lot and work really hard to get good at it.

As Caesar said (note: all classical references henceforth shall be cribbed from HBO's Rome), "it's only hubris if I fail."

Spring is for blondes

Do you ever get an idea, and you have to have it now? Like the glass of lemonade that you would sell your kidney for?

Seriously, I can barely contain myself, as I wait to be bleached. Ten more days, ten more days. Maybe 11. I hope I don't have to lose a lot of the length, but I am prepared to make serious sacrifices here.

Historically, blonde women were more likely to be peasants who worked outside, or else women who held the world's oldest profession who bleached their hair yellow. So if anyone knows when it became okay and not so gauche, I'd like to know.

Watch, six months from now I'll be begging to dye it black. I'm a hairdresser's nightmare.