2003-10-07 - 9:49 p.m.
I remembered today that several of my friends responded early to my suggestion that they come up with codenames for themselves for use on this site, but that I have not actually mentioned many of them here. I've seen most of them any number of times since they offered their names, but I simply haven't mentioned them because I have been far too busy droning on about weird dreams, stupid car names, beer, telephones, absurd pseudo-rappers with an online presence, and other curios. My humble apologies to these folks: there are excellent aliases going to waste as we speak... er, as I type. So, I shall end the madness, and offer "shout outs" ("shouts out"?) to Arachnea, Beelzebug, Smell-the-Leg-Johnny (actually, I think I might have mentioned him before after all), and of course, the truly unique, utterly inimitable Happy Nipple Gypsy.I wondered today about what has become of my horribly crappy beige car. I had a terrible Dodge Aries until about six months ago when I sold it (for $60!) to someone who, I'm told, sold it herself mere weeks later, and now it's God-only-knows-where, wreaking havoc on the life of some other frustrated soul somewhere. I hated the car to no end, and miss it not one whit (I nicknamed it "the Ship of Theseus"), so it certainly isn't nostalgia that makes me wonder where it's gotten off to now. More like sick curiosity about who the harried, wit's-end soul is who must endure its cruelty. Poor, poor wretch. If you're out there reading this, and not dead by dint of being somehow crushed under its malignant and vengeful frame, then I must say I'm truly very sorry it's yours now, and I assure you that no one feels your pain like I do.
And speaking of beige cars, another recollection sprang to mind today. An ex-girlfriend of mine and I were once driving around the streets of our fair city in her awful beige car some years ago, and I'd printed this page from McSweeney's out and brought it along to read it to her. As we drove to work together, I read these to her aloud, barely able to speak by the end because of my convulsive laughter. She didn't think it was funny, which should have been evidence enough that it could never work out.
