Just because the face of a clock is oriented so that 12 is the start of a new day doesn’t mean 12pm has the right to follow 11am. Where I come from, you don’t count up a series of something and then randomly switch units. If one begins a sequence of AM hours in a base-12 numbering scheme, one would eventually expect to arrive at 12am. But you get to 12 and all of a sudden PM bursts in all like, “Who wants lunch, bitches?” Where the fuck did you come from? What have you done with 1pm through 11pm? Oh, you mean to tell me we’re going to count through those hours now? After we’ve just put up with 12pm’s childish antics? Go fuck yourself, time.
The other weekend I watched San Francisco’s Chinese New Year parade. It was a cold and rainy night, but a little freezing drizzle is fitting initiation for the year of the rat, who is a creature of the sewer.
My camera was accidentally set on “make everything look blurry and shitty” mode, so the following snapshots come courtesy of my friend Anders’s iPhone. That might also explain why some of the photos seem to convey a false sense of superiority.
Continue reading Chinese New Year parade
I used to think it was outrageous that two people saying something simultaneously should be grounds for a jinx. Whenever somebody jinxed me, I would be all, “What the hell, man? We said the same thing because we’re on the same page here. Why am I being punished with a fucking curse?”
I now realize that jinxing was invented because we need a game to break the tension inherent in this situation. Imagine saying “I’m thirsty!” in unison with your friend, except neither of you has the power to jinx. You would both just kind of stand there and awkwardly laugh due to how stupid your lives have suddenly become. There’s actually no graceful way out of this situation. Jinxing may sound childish, but it’s a choice between that or the two of you spontaneously making out.
Where I draw the line is the idea that now I somehow owe my friend a Coke, because I don’t. It’s like, “You’ve just pinched me and poked me—I’ve been publicly humiliated for absolutely no reason. Under no circumstances am I going to take you out for Cokes.” It’s such an insane ritual, too, because nobody in the history of jinxes has actually collected on their Coke. I probably owe about $3,000 worth of Cokes right now, and there’s no need for it. How in the hell did Coke even become involved with this bullshit?
Researching frivolous subjects on Wikipedia is a hobby of mine, so I consulted their (largely retarded) jinxing article. I didn’t find anything close to resembling an answer, but I did come across the following intriguing excerpt:
A variation experienced in Southern Massachusetts in the 1960s may not be strictly considered a “jinx,” but when two people say the same thing in unison (unplanned!), they must hook little fingers and say the following dialog: “What goes up the chimney?” “Smoke.” “May your wish and my wish never be broke!”
That’s probably the cutest thing I’ve ever read. I imagine two grown men hooking their pinkies together and excitedly breaking into this little exchange. To me this is way more positive than demanding a Coke from your friend and beating the shit out of him. It’s a chance to share a wish! The next time an acquaintance and I speak in unison, I’m going to begin reciting this routine, because it’s the perfect way to avoid any lingering awkwardness. Hopefully all my acquaintances are familiar with proper jinxing protocol from 1960s Southern Massachusetts, or else I’m going to look like a real asshole.
Most of my college notebooks are filled with pages upon pages of incoherent text and doodles—markings which were not only irrelevant to the subject matter of my classes, but often irrelevant to anything that has occurred in the past 12,000 years of civilization. Today I’ll present to you a perfect example: my famous series of so-called “Postmodern Mazes.”
Postmodern Mazes are some of the most challenging mazes ever created. They are so difficult, in fact, that I’ve had to barricade them behind a jump. If you are under 18 years of age, do not attempt these mazes. If you have a heart condition, for the love of god do not attempt these mazes. If you are currently pregnant, please don’t even look at these mazes. Pregnant mothers exposed to Postmodern Mazes may give birth to an agent of darkness. Everyone else, continue along:
Continue reading Postmodern Mazes
The phrase “it’s my Friday” is thrown around a lot of times it shouldn’t be—which is any day that isn’t actually Friday. For example, oftentimes when a person has Friday off from work, on Thursday he’ll announce, “Today’s my Friday! Yayyy!” No, sir, it’s your Thursday. It’s everybody’s Thursday. The days of the week don’t slide around to satisfy your personal schedule. We would all like to stroll into work on a Tuesday morning sipping a gin and tonic and shouting, “It’s my Saturday night, motherfuckers!” But those of us who’re grounded by a little thing called the calendar know to keep our bottles of gin discreetly tucked away in our desks
In Wizard on Bicycle news, the Lego Wizard on my sidebar has learnt a very sneaky trick. Clicking on him will now take you to a random eKarjala post. (Keep in mind that 80% of all eKarjala posts are retarded). This brings the number of tricks my Lego Wizard can perform to a grand total of one (or two if you count the fact that he can grant wishes.)
On another topic, when you look at this photo I found of San Francisco, what does it remind you of?
If you said “Full House,” you had a correct childhood. These houses are indeed featured in the introduction to that storied sitcom. In the foreground you can even see the park in which the Tanners had their little picnic, which they had the time to organize because none of them had any real jobs.
What might surprise you, and what recently inspired a 45 minute argument in my personal life, is that the Tanners were never purported to actually live in one of these houses. Consider this establishing shot of their actual house, shown at the very end of the credits:
Note here the contradictory placement of the bay windows. Also note that their house is subsequently shown to have a flat roof facade, in contrast to the gabled roofs seen in the first photo. The fact is, those gabled roof residences constitute a San Francisco landmark known as “Postcard Row,” which is a series of 7 houses built in the iconic Painted Lady style. The Tanners didn’t live there and they didn’t know anybody who lived there and they weren’t welcome inside. The only connection the Tanners had with Postcard Row is they enjoyed having picnics nearby in an effort to trick you into thinking that’s where they lived. They should have called the show “Full of Shit House.”
The idea that the Tanners lived in Postcard Row is the most widely-circulated myth in our culture today. It’s not our fault, either, because the prominent shot of Postcard Row in the opening credits is followed by the shot of their actual residence, implying that they were one and the same. It’s sloppy editing and I’m sick of being silent about it. The question of where the Tanners actually lived is open for debate, but it certainly wasn’t Postcard Row. Probably the producers didn’t show footage of the Tanners’ actual neighborhood because they didn’t have the technology to edit out all the crack dealers.
My idea to update everyday in January was a spectacular failure. Now that my promises have become less valuable than a gypsy’s, I will attempt to redress my tarnished reputation by updating more or less every weekday for an unspecified unit of time.
As a reward for lying to all of my visitors, I’ve been receiving a powerful influx of traffic. As best as I can gather, on Friday, January 25th, the version of my Internet ’96 article that’s hosted by MSU was posted by a karma-seeking reddit user, who amended a superfluous extension to the URL so as to represent a new submission. From there it appeared on such places as Fark, Gizmodo, and MetaFilter, and on Saturday the 26th it was made popular on Digg.com and received the most Diggs that day, which had evidently been the dullest 24 hours in internet history.
My MSU website is basically a dumpster baby, but because that version of the Internet ’96 article was still generating traffic, about a year ago I loaded it up with ads, including an incongruous mid-article in-text offender. The lesson here is that the best way to generate traffic is to stop creating new content and load up previously-circulated articles with unsightly advertisements. That’s what this web 2.0 bullshit is all about.
Here’s the specific traffic information for the abandoned MSU version of eKarjala:
Note the slight increase in traffic my article received from Thursday to Saturday. If you were to stack Saturday’s 183,394 unique visitors end-to-end (and I have), you could reach our Lord and back seven times—with enough people left over to form 4 different ice hockey teams, including a Zamboni driver.
A few of my other articles have been receiving some shrapnel traffic from StumbleUpon, so I’ve added a “recent comments” plugin to the sidebar, which will help draw attention to the latest person I’ve somehow insulted. Also, I’ve switched this site’s font to Verdana, since people kept calling me a “serif font fucker.” However, I’m still considering changing the font back to Times, because I get off on making my webpage look like garbage.
Sometimes I like to go to the grocery store and stare at the Jiffy Mix boxes. They’ve kept right up with the latest packaging trends, haven’t they? In case you don’t frequent American supermarkets, here is what a box of Jiffy Mix looks like:
This design pleases me. It pleases me a great deal. One time on a school trip I visited the Jiffy Mix factory in Chelsea, Michigan, but I didn’t think to ask what was up with their packaging. Their marketing department is probably just some old Willy Loman-type character, and his only job is to produce advertisements for obscure AM radio stations. These are the sorts of daydreams I experience as I stare at all the amusing Jiffy Mix boxes.
As far as I know, Jiffy Mix hasn’t even adjusted their prices since 1950. It still costs like 38 cents for a box of Jiffy Mix. They have no idea what inflation means. Their attitude is: “Who cares if we’re hemorrhaging money? We don’t even check our financial records. You know what are our income was last year? Fuck you, that’s what it was.” Needless to say, Jiffy Mix is one of my all-time favorite foodstuffs.
Sorry I missed the past three day’s updates, which ruined the Brandnewary concept and made me out to be some sort of liar. In actuality I was just busy moving into a new apartment, and to update eKarjala during such a time of turmoil would have been reckless and irresponsible. Meanwhile, I’ll still try to update each day for the rest of January. If I miss another update, just realize that I move into a new apartment about two or three times per month.
Now please let me take a moment to catch up eKarjala with a realistic simulation of those missed updates:
Hey guys, remember Popples? What was the deal with Popples? LOL! It’s like a Carebear and a Gummi Bear had children, and the children turned out to be these silly sorts of creatures! LOL! LOL! Turn into a ball, you stupid mutant!
What’s up with those horizontal dashes people sometimes draw through the midpoint of the number 7? Is the regular 7 not retarded enough for these people? You don’t need to distinguish a 7 from a 1, if that’s your game—just write a little neater. LOLOL! But seriously, keep your backward F fetish out of my sight.
The other day, I did (something normal) and was irritated due to (contrived observation). Who’s the retard who came up with (subject)? That would be like (farcical analogy). LOL!