EleCivil

My dad's funeral was on Saturday. Our relationship was...unusual. If you've read Fistfights With Flashlights, you know what I mean. Beyond that, we just didn't "get" each other. Over the last few years, the longest conversations we had were arguments. We could go at it like you wouldn't believe, for hours at a time. It was really our main mode of communication. But...that worked for us. Most people didn't get that, but that's how it was - we'd always come out of those arguments with more respect for each other. I never did end up converting him to a raging radical leftist, and he never converted me to a conservative biblical literalist, but we did manage to somewhat mellow each other. For the last six months, he'd been sick - using oxygen machines and taking a pharmacy worth of pills every day - but he was still able to walk around, talk, do stuff. He was still himself. Then, all of a sudden, last Monday...he just wasn't. He couldn't walk under his own power. He would fall asleep at random times - in the middle of a sentence, while taking a drink, whenever - then he lost his voice, then lost control of his bodily functions. By Thursday, he was no longer conscious. Two Hospice nurses were here. Around two pm, one of them turned to my mom and I and said that we should come and sit by him. My mom whispered things into his ear and held his hand. I stood off to the side, silent. I counted the seconds between his breaths - one, one-thousand, two, one-thousand. At two thirty, he stopped breathing. I had counted up to fourteen one-thousand before I realized that that was it. It was over. My mom was crying. I wasn't. I still haven't. I don't know why that is. Maybe the six months of advance warning prepared me. Maybe I'm a bit of a heartless bastard. Maybe it's a bit of both. Today I took my mom in for surgery. I skipped class the last few days. My grades are going to hell. Whatever. I'll figure something out, later.

Intellectous When you try to speak Your words squirm in my ear. Even before your meaning hits me I?m afraid that it?s clear: Though you?re not bad enough To make my mind itself shrink When I wake tomorrow morning, It?ll burn when I think. But you?re still chatting me up, This is a bad situation; Who knows what I?ll catch from Unprotected conversation. This is risky behavior But you think you?re profound; I wish you?d hold your tongue But still you wag it around. I don?t know where you got it But the outcome?s the same: You just gave me a terrible Rash on my brain. Listening to you has left Its mark on my mind That?s not a compliment ? Your words are like parasites. I hope that there?s an injection Or a topical cream That can cure this infection That you?ve given to me. It makes me think things That I know just aren?t true It makes me do crazy things Like keep talking to you It makes me want to pry open The top of my head And claw at the grey matter ?Till the symptoms are dead I don?t know how to cure it But the outcome?s the same: You just gave me a terrible Rash on my brain. Now, I dream of a day When Earth is idiot-free And in preventing the spread, Education?s the key. So the moral of the story If you?ll allow for suggestions: Don?t talk to strangers without Some kind of protection. The surest way to avoid The pain of stupidity Is to avoid it?s prime source: You know, humanity. But for those that must converse, Please be safe. Like, for starters, Get your IQs tested, Both yourself and your partners. I know we can prevent it But for now it?s a shame: You just gave me a terrible Rash on my brain.

My schedule has been INSANE for the past couple weeks. It goes like this: Wake up at 5:00 am. Shower, shave, breakfast, etc. - the whole morning routine. Leave home at 7:00 am. Drive for a solid hour to an out-of-district middle school. Teach 7th graders about physical science until 3:30. Drive an hour and a half to college. Sit in class until 10:00 pm. Drive an hour to get back home. Write lesson plans and do homework for the next two hours. Wake up at 5:00 am and repeat. Teaching is fun as hell, but Matt Lauer, I'm exhausted. I find myself looking forward to weekends, when all I have to do is work an eight hour shift. But still, I'm glad I'm doing it, 'cause once I'm done...I'm going to feel like I can do anything. I mean, damn, if these 20-hour days don't finish me off, nothing will. Speaking of middle school, I was walking down the hall on my way out when I had an interesting encounter. First, let me set the scene: I'm wearing all black, since that's the only "professional" look I can pull off - black pants, black belt, black shoes, black dress shirt, long black overcoat, black boxers (though nobody knew about those but me), one black sock (the other was gray), and a black knit cap full of one-inch punk pins. I've also got a black backpack over my shoulder, which has a small, rubber Krusty the Clown keychain hanging from the back. From behind me, I hear someone shout "Hey!" I turn around to see a kid in one of the school's football jerseys looking back at me. He's got this cocky look on his face. I recognized that look immediately - that was the universal adolescent "I'm gonna start some shit!" look. Almost immediately, however, his face fell. He noticed the staff ID that I had clipped to my shirt. I had to refrain from laughing out loud and keep my professional face on. "What's up?" I ask. "Uh...sorry...I, uh...I thought you were, like, a tall goth kid." Whoa. Where the hell do I start? With the fact that he mistook me for a tall 14 year old (WHAT!?), the fact that he mistook me for a goth (No offense, but goth music sucks ), or the fact that this cocky little dude was about to start something, not only on school grounds, but with someone more than a foot taller than himself (I could have totally taken that 8th grader). Before I can say anything, he takes off. That was the first time I've been (almost) hassled by a middle school jock because of the way I dress since I was in middle school. Maaan, that takes me back. "Class traitor? What-fucking-ever! I'm just another middle class kid, too. But if I'm not good at changing, I'm good at self-loathing, So I'll class-hate myself with you." -"New Mexico Song" by Johnny Hobo and the Freight Trains

10/10 here, but I'll admit that abstruse was a guess.

Yes, but you were already well aware of my fedoraffinity ™. There's where you're wrong - there's ALWAYS something to blow up. Obviously, you're slackin' on your blowin'. Profane symbol: He. Has eight offendons in its outer orbital. A noble swear, an inert interjection, from the last column of the Profane Table of Elements.Problem is, those aren't reactionary enough.

I always like it when people tell me where they're from when they leave comments. Italy, Africa, France, Germany, the UK, Australia, India, Japan, Iceland...it surprised me how many Icelanders are reading Laika. All I need is somebody from Antarctica and I'll have a full collection as far as continents go. I once got an email from someone who wanted to set me up with his "son." He even included a picture. Kind of creepy. It was, I believe, the only feedback I've ever left entirely unanswered. My most common comment that always makes me smile is "I've started wearing mismatched socks." Heh. The best comment I ever got was from a guy who started out by talking about how he's always depressed, that the world is such a "dark, nasty place", and that he "feels completely helpless all the time." Then he said that, lately, he's been bursting out laughing at random times (sitting in class, waking up in the middle of the night, etc.) because scenes from Laika would pop into his head, and it was really cheering him up.

Heh. A friend was over here taking pictures the other day, and emailed that one to me. The first thing I thought was "You know who would appreciate a picture of me smirking defiantly and adjusting my hat while standing in front of a pirate flag? AwesomeDude readers." Maybe, but he's got to put all those Latin lessons to work somehow, and I can't think of a better use for 'em.

...Liberty spikes are gay, now? Jeez. I always thought the Devilock was the gayest punk hairstyle, personally. And yes, I did wear one back in middle school. Gimme a break - I wanted to look like Davey Havok.

There's a big Periodic Table of Elements in the science wing of my school. Having not pranked anything recently, I decided that it looked like a good target. I printed up a fake element square, using all the accurate information for Aluminum, but changed the name to Al-Bundium. I made the switch a few days ago, taping the fake square over the real one, and it's still up there. I'm thinking of replacing an element with a sitcom character every couple days, and seeing how long it takes before someone takes them down. My school made it on the news because of our new GBLT club, Prism. It's getting protested, even though its faculty adviser is a nun and it's being backed by the Diversity Awareness and Action Committee. Here's hoping it causes some kind of ruckus. I love ruckuses. Also, I got a cheap used car to replace that one that I smashed. Hopefully I'll get the hang of driving a standard transmission again, because right now I suck at it. My last stick shift was in my Ford Ranger, which I referred to as my "Pick-up Full of Sweet, Sweet Love" (+10 cool points if you catch the reference) that I drove years ago. Finally, I've signed on for NaNoWriMo again this year. Last year I dropped out around the 10,000 word mark, so let's see how far I can get this time. I'm placing my bets at around 20,000. "Everyone tells me they're crazy. Crazy people aren't so fucking boring. Wake me when you're through being cool, 'Cause I'm snoring." -"Unlisted Track" by Jawbreaker

I spent the last two weeks in the field - student teaching, that is. Loved it. Kicked asses and took names...in a professional, educational kind of way. I've been on the edge of self-destruct mode for the past week. Between two jobs, night classes, student teaching all day, lesson-planning, and other assorted homework (TONS of physical science essays - I've done 30 pages so far, with no end in sight), I've been getting less and less sleep, leaving me to maintain consciousness by force of will alone. Today was supposed to be my last day of student teaching. On the drive over (it takes me a solid hour of driving to get there), I sneezed, suddenly and violently. When my eyes opened, I had jumped the curb and was driving on grass. I ran my car into a giant concrete block. The air bags went off in my face, giving me a black eye, a bruised jaw, and a bloody nose. The windshield shattered. The engine died. I'm pretty sure it's headed toward the scrap heap, because the car more-or-less landed on the block before driving over it, scraping it across the entire underside of the car. The cops came and took my statement - didn't cite me, marked it down as "loss of control". They offered to give me a ride, either to my house or to the place where I was going. Problem was, since it's such a long trip, both places were too far out of their city limits for them to drive me there. They took me to their station, instead. They patted me down on the side of the road and had me ride in the back, on the plastic seats with the thick bulletproof glass between us. I must say, that's not how I imagined my first ride in the back of a police car - I'd always pictured cuffs and flashbulbs, my collar pulled up over my face, and the sidewalks packed with supporters chanting "FREE CIVIL!". The black eye and bloody nose were in my fantasies, but I always pictured them being caused by police brutality rather than an airbag. Needless to say, I'm disappointed. You know what kills me, though? I didn't get to go in to teach. I had a great lesson lined up, and I really wanted to say goodbye to the kids, you know? I mean, yeah, I'm not happy that I have to find a new car with my no money, and I didn't appreciate having to wait around in the police station for four hours, but not getting to go to school really pisses me off. "Rick Santorum's got his shirt off, I think he's grinding Michael Chertoff. We'll play dress-up with Obama, He looks good in Bush's pajamas." -"The Party Party" by Attica! Attica!

Peanut butter straight from the jar? Eh...I might lick the knife/spoon afterwards, but that's mostly for cleaning purposes (note: don't use knives at my house, no matter how clean they appear). One tablespoon of peanut butter mixed into a blender full of post-workout whey protein, though, can change it from gag-inducingly awful to quite eatable. Also, peanut butter will stick to a stucco ceiling FOREVER. I threw some up there when I was ten, and there it remains to this day. It was near a light fixture, so it's kind of...baked on. I'm sure there's a use for it in the construction industry, somewhere.

I just sent chapter 15 to the Dude and the Codey's World staff.

Ever seen the Chevy Chase movie "Funny Farm"? There's a scene where he sits down at his typewriter to start work on his novel. He types the word "The" and then stares at it for a while. That's where I've been for the last couple months. I'd carve out some time in my schedule for writing, sit down at the keyboard, and write "The". Well, yesterday, I wrote seven pages all in one shot. I'm hoping to finish out the chapter today (no promises, of course). So, who gets the credit for breaking my writer's block? WriteByMySelf. Yesterday, I read Alone With Myself for the first time. Whoa. I know WBMS reads this, so I'll just say it here: That was incredible. If that was published tomorrow, I'd go out and buy the hardcover version, just because it deserves a space on my bookcase (and that's valuable real estate). Seriously, if there's anyone reading this who hasn't read AWMS yet, go do it! Immediately after finishing it, I pulled out the ol' Horseless Typewriter (laptop) and hammered out half a chapter. Ever have that happen, where you read something that's so good that it makes you want to write? --- On another note, I found a chunk of a really old draft of Laika. Not the first draft (which was written in third person), but close. Back then, Dixie was a guy, and I was planning on him being the main love-interest (Nick hadn't been...uh..."conceived" yet). Consider it a "deleted scene". It's nothing special, but I thought it was kind of cool to look back on what I was originally planning, compared to how things turned out. "I gave hip hop to white boys when nobody was lookin'. They found it locked in a basement when they gentrified Brooklyn. I left a list of instructions, an MPC and a mic, My sci-fi library, and utensils to write." -"Grippo" by Saul Williams

Jeez, it was right in the title, too. Typo = corrected.

The other day at work, my favorite customer came in. She's incredibly sarcastic and candid. Most people who work there get offended by her, but myself and a couple others think she's the best. She was arguing with my supervisor and one of the other work-studies. I was hanging around reading poetry (Maya Angelou, specifically) when she looks over at me and says "Why do you guys even keep him around? What good is he?" The other work study says, "Well...he doesn't do much, but he's fun to look at." My supervisor nods. "Yeah. Eye candy." At this point, I'm blushing like crazy, so I'm glad when I notice one of the students is looking for assistance, beckoning me over with her finger. I get up, and our favorite customer says (loudly enough for almost everybody to hear) "Oh, look, she's making him come with just one finger. That's impressive." Heh...best customer ever. I called off sick from work to go to a show last night. David Dondero, Matt & Kim, and Against Me! were playing five minutes from my house - I would have felt horrible sitting at work while that was going on. It was great. Dondero opened. He plays bluesy folk, but he always seems to open for punk shows. I used one of his songs while student-teaching to teach kids about figurative language, so it was cool to see him live. He played a cover of Jawbreaker's classic song, "Boxcar". Matt & Kim were a lot better than I thought they would be. They play dancey, cuddlecore-ish music with a keyboard and drums. I didn't like them very much when I heard their CD, but their live show is MUCH better. I was expecting it to be pretty tame, but they actually got a pretty good mosh pit going. I got a busted lip during "Yea Yeah" and a cut across an eyebrow during "Lightspeed", which was cool, because I got to show off my battlescars and blood trails for the rest of the night. Matt mentioned that it was their first time in our city, and that we made a good impression on him because of what he described as a "Strip-fooseball game" going on in the back of the club. He said something along the lines of "There's this totally ripped guy back there playing fooseball with his clothes off. Maybe you get really sweaty playing fooseball. I don't know, I'm not a pro. I'd get in on that, but you don't want to see any of this. Kim's been trying to get me to do some push-ups, so that I can...look like a man." Later on, he and some random dude from the audience had a stripping contest on stage. Against Me! was great. They played six or seven songs from their new CD, and a bunch from their older ones. They came back for two encores, playing "Impact" and, on request from the audience, "Baby, I'm an Anarchist" (which is one of their best songs, ever). About halfway through Matt and Kim's set, it started raining. There was a leak in the roof right above the pit, so there were a couple streams of water falling right on us. The boring people were fighting to get away, while the fun people were fighting to get under there and splash the boring people. I was in the pit all night (~4 hours), so I came out soaked in sweat (not all of it mine) and rainwater. If this show comes to your town, you should go. It's incredible. "'Cause baby, I'm an anarchist, you're a spineless liberal. We marched together for the eight-hour day and held hands in the streets of Seattle, But when it came time to throw bricks through that Starbucks window, You left me all alone..." -"Baby, I'm an Anarchist" by Against Me!

Wow. I didn't know Dr. D. James Kennedy had died. Along with Jerry Falwell, D. James Kennedy was one of my Dad's heroes. Good article.

Yeah, but it's still a difficult field to get into. There's a safety fence around it, after all.

First, I've got running water. That may not sound like much, but I've been without running water for the last week. No toilets, no sinks, no showers. It smelled like a locker room, since nobody could bathe or shave or do laundry. I showered at the gym, and eventually I got sick of my half-assed beard and shaved in a nearby creek in the woods (I never felt more like Thoreau). But now I can shower at home again! And drink water! God, I missed drinking water! Second, I'm back in school. Turns out my adviser scheduled me for two classes at the same time, and didn't even think to give me a time-turner. Plus, on my schedule, it says that one of those classes takes place in a building that does not yet exist. I guess I'll go stand in the big field that's marked off for the construction of said building and see if anyone else shows up. It is an ecology class, after all - maybe it's outside. Third, I got into another Educational Methods class, which means more student-teaching. A full month, this time. You know what that means? More "professional attire". Ugh. I hate clothes shopping, because there's no section for me. I'm too old for the "Boys" section, too immature for the "Mens" section. They need to put in a "Dudes" section. Clothes for dudes. Dudes like me. Because for now, I have to buy regular professional clothes and just stick in a few safety pins for added flavor. Fourth, a friend of mine got into a really bad car accident. Like, his car was in two halves. Everybody was okay, for the most part. He looked really bad - he had a cut on his ear, which dripped all the way down his throat, making it look like his throat was slit. He decided to not wash it off and sleep on the kitchen floor that night to scare the hell out of his roommate. Heh. It happened just before midnight, on the night before his 21st birthday. So, much like his 1st birthday, he spent the first few minutes of it screaming and covered in blood. He didn't appreciate it when I pointed that out - not because he'd just been through a bad accident, but because it reminded him that he was celebrating the anniversary of sliding from his mother's gooey birth canal, and he didn't really want that image in his head before he fell asleep. Luckily for him, he had just turned twenty-one - old enough to drink, and thus wipe it from his memory. Last...the other day, there was a huge thunderstorm right when I got off work. As I'm leaving, my boss walks up and tells me to be careful on the drive home. I nod to her and say that I will, and she grabs my hands, looks into my eyes, and in the most serious voice I've heard, whispers "You come back to me, Civil. You come back to me." Now, she's always talking about how much she loves her employees, but I'm pretty sure that I've now seen my boss's pre-makeout face. And that's just weird. "He's at the show, talkin' feminism to get inside your pants, Oh yeah, he'll quote Emma Goldman, but he'll never get up to dance!" -"Stop Being So Cool and Get Silly" by Wingnut Dishwashers' Union

[Nowherebound] We left our homes in the name of discovery That the eyes of far-off traffic lights Might gaze upon our faces To see us glaring back, unafraid, Grins challenging with whatever truths were pulled From the bleeding gums of our hometowns. Under cover of darkness and with false alibis We took to seeking truths on the back of our own lies, With windows deeply tinted to invite all observers To taste the unknown and lust for answers, To cup their hands around their eyes And press their faces against our outlines. We were of the age That most would call “impressionable” And true, we craved impressions For what greater offense than emptiness Exists for three blank pages Once told the traits of ink? We planned to vandalize our tongues With all the words they marked unworthy, Planned to stay up late and think of ways To make them disapprove. We planned to carry our own minds so far We'd find them of no use. And when they came across us, We pounded fists against the sidewalk Beat our chests, sang of ideals And tore hearts to the ground For the fact that we still registered visible Proved to us our failures. -

Hmm...good question. First, I'd say the familiar setting (school) with the familiar problems that the characters face (homework, boring/strict teachers, tests, dating, disagreements with friends, sibling rivalry, etc.). The main thrust of the books seems to be the day-to-day life of kids in school, accented by things like magic powers and unicorns and such. That makes it much more..."concrete", I guess, than fairy-tale-esque hero stories, where all the hero has to conquer is the villain. In Harry Potter, the heroes have to conquer adolescence. And when you read the books, they always seem to put the Big Evil Guy of the Year on the back burner, focusing first on the characters interacting in school. Of course, that wouldn't work without the characters. You have to care about them, or you're not going to want to read 300+ pages about their ordinary school days before you get to the action. Rowling did a great job with this - you instantly feel connected to the friendly ones, and you feel instantly annoyed by the annoying ones. Not just the obvious ones, like, say, not liking Harry's abusive adoptive parents and liking the kind-hearted giant who takes Harry away from them. The less-major characters like Neville and Luna, for instance, just have a feel about them that makes you think "Oh, yeah, I knew somebody JUST like that!" after their first scenes. The combination of the familiar setting and the familiar-before-they're-even-introduced characters rings so true to life that you start to believe that maybe the dragons and broomsticks and patronus charms aren't that far off, either, especially since it's all set up as an underground modern-day culture. It's suspension of disbelief in the best way - it feels less like fantasy, and more like..."exaggerated reality." Third, I'd say the element of mystery and inter-connectedness. You want to keep reading just to find out what was meant by something you read earlier. This really picks up in the last few books. Any series that can make you feel like a detective without being a mystery novel is doing a great job. It's a great feeling when you think "Oh! I bet that THIS character was actually...and THIS item was used for...and THIS proves it!", even if you turn out to be dead wrong. The last few novels took this even further, to the point were there were TONS of questions that needed to be answered, and tons of different possible outcomes that could have worked. This element probably wouldn't have worked as well if it had been a shorter series, or a stand-alone novel. I think it's quite likely that this was fueled by the fans - Rowling saw how much the readers liked throwing around theories about what would happen, so she wrote in a couple big, open-ended questions ("What are the Horcruxes?" "What's Snape really up to?"). The only other series to get me this deep into guessing about the future is George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire. Anyway, that's why it worked for me. It's probably different for others.

No, the one by Modest Mouse. It's catchy.Also, for a great example of the Novocaine'd vocal style, check out Tom Frampton's songs, here: http://riotfolk.org/member_music.php?id=7I recommend "Sectarian Communist Party Blues" and "Best of Intentions."

I got drilled and filled today. My tooth, that is. Man, I used to think going to the dentist felt masochistic, but now that I don't have insurance, it's even worse. "Here's two hundred dollars. NOW HURT ME, DOC, AND DON'T STOP 'TIL YOU'RE OFF THE CLOCK!" Anyway, I don't know if it's the gas or the fact that I'm leaning back with all the blood rushing to my head, but I always seem to get the urge to sing when I'm in the dentist's chair. When I got my wisdom teeth yanked, I got through three renditions of "Black Cadillacs" before I was finally knocked out (or so they tell me). I refrained, this time, only because I couldn't afford laughing gas. Still, on the drive home, I was singing along with the new Ghost Mice split when I noticed something - having half of my face numbed with Novocaine really did wonders for my "punk accent". For those of you unfamiliar, quite a few punk vocalists have a very distinctive twist to their singing voices. Sort of a combination of apathy, disgust, and the lingering effects of a stroke all wrapped together. Listen to one song by Lagwagon and you'll know what I'm talking about. As one of my friends put it, "Joey Cape sings like someone just punched him in the mouth." Without even trying, I was hitting Cape-level punk snottiness. This gave me the greatest idea in the history of music: At the opening of a show, the vocalist gets on stage and pulls out a giant needle full of Novocaine, which he empties into his gums. Sure, it wouldn't fly with the straight-edge crowd, and some may say that performance-enhancing drugs go against the DIY ethic, but still...injecting a giant dental syringe into your jaw before a performance? That's pretty hardcore. The answer is "A nova-cane," by the way. "But I assume the role Open my mouth And clumsy words escape." -"Violins" by Lagwagon

Steven King wrote a pretty good article about the Deathly Hollows, here (spoilers within): http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,20044270_2...0050689,00.html I like the way we find out about Tonks and Lupin's deaths - it made the whole giant battle seem a lot more realistic, I thought. Just kind of reminding us that a lot of people, even important ones, are getting hurt/killed, even when Harry's not around to witness it. Snape's story was, to me, the saddest point in the series. It was fitting, though, pulling back into the main theme of the entire book: sacrifice for the sake of love. Dumbledore's past and hidden agendas were a great touch. Showed a humanizing amount of deceptiveness in the one person who had, up until that point, seemed to be morally perfect.

The end. Exactly.Yeah, that's what I figured. Which is why I decided to screw with him a bit. Haha! I hadn't thought of that one.Though, I did entertain the idea that he was an axe murderer, luring ambitious people to a fake interview location and then chopping them up and feeding them to an alligator. I don't know where he'd get a gator here in Ohio, but he seems like an engineering chap - came up with the whole interview front for his axe-murdering, anyway.

Some shady dude offered me a job a few days ago. Okay, not shady, but extremely polished and corporate-looking, which always comes off as shady to me (he was wearing a TIE). I'm pretty sure it was some kind of scam. He walks up to me in a store and starts chatting me up - what do I do for a living, am I "keeping my options open", etc., and tells me that he's in charge of expansion for his company and that they're looking for some employees. "Not worried about the knowledge part," he says, "We can teach you that. What we can't teach is honesty and integrity." And, obviously, I'm full of honesty and integrity, because he's known me for all of four seconds and can see that I'm...purchasing an orange (oranges - the fruit of integrity!). Anyway, he says he'll call me and fill me in on the details later, so I give him my number. He calls me later, and says that they'll only give out the details in person at some meeting that they're having on Thursday. Those details? Pesky little things like "Job title", "Job description", "Compensation", and "The name of the company that you'll be working for". In other words, EVERYTHING. Now, I'm going in for training at another job on Thursday, so I'm pretty sure I'm not interested, so I decide to mess with him a bit...because, hey, these are my phone minutes, and if I'm going to use them, I want something I can laugh at later. And, after all, I never gave him my full name. I ask him what kind of job he's looking to give me. He says they're not going to give out the details over the phone, that I need to come to the meeting. I lower my voice and say "Is it a hit?" "What?" "A hit. An assassination." He laughs. "No!" "Oh. I just figured that that's why you won't give me details over the phone. You know, because of the Patriot Act, and the domestic wiretapping and such." He gave me a nervous laugh and neither of us said anything for a while. Then he hung up on me without even saying goodbye. What a dick. I bet he WAS looking for a hit man. "The only silver bullet they use is that TV in your living room, And all we've gotta do is pull the plug. Don't go to the store today, no, don't you dare buy anything, Instead go out and try to fall in love." -"The Moon Will Rise" by Ghost Mice