Avedersain, amigos!

After more than a year on the internet, A Rambling Consignation to Posterity is coming to a close. But don't fret! Check out the brand new blog Almost Fiction for your daily fix of the irrelevantly irreverent.

Thanks for reading, and happy trails.

Where Stevie Wonder gets his car detailed

Jack Bauer was never addicted to heroin. Heroin was addicted to Jack Bauer.

I first came to know 24 in April of 2005. I had heard about the show from multiple sources, and after three and a half years I finally decided to give it a shot. Also I was infected with Stage 5 Senioritis, and the only cure to such a disease is to constantly be finding new and innovative ways to waste time.

Countless episodes of an hour-long show, archived for easy access at my local Blockbuster video store? Count me in!

I rented my first disc of 24 at midnight on a Tuesday. I proceeded to immediately consume all four episodes back to back to back to back. At 3 am I was cursing Blockbuster's unreasonable midnight closing time.

I have since watched every episode of 24 that has ever aired. You could say I am a bit of a diehard fan.

As far as I'm concerned, David Palmer is my president.

Tony Almeida is the most whispering-est badass this side of Keanu Reeves in Speed.

Kim Bauer (Elisha Cuthbert, same difference) is my future wife.

And what can be said about Jack Bauer? All I can do is quote the man:

"The only reason you're still conscious is because I don't want to carry you."

Having now seen 101 episodes and over 4,242 minutes of this glorious show, I have decided to pay tribute the best way I know how: create a drinking game.
24 can be as unpredictable as a small toddler's bowels, but there are some reliable constants in the series that leave it ripe for such a game. I intend to post a copy of the rules for your perusing pleasure, but right now Blogger is being insubordinate. Until then, you can still download the PDF file.

She looks like the real thing

If you were listening to Radiohead's Fake Plastic Trees while driving down the streets of Beverly Hills, you'd swear Thom Yorke had found his inspiration peering down Rodeo Drive over the ceramic lip of a double soy sugar free vanilla latte.

Good Day Sunshine

So I started a new gig in Beverly Hills two days ago, and I've since learned a few things:

1. It is friggin' bright here. Stevie Wonder would squint. I don't know if the Hollywood honchos gave the sun a kickback, but at 9:00 in the morning I'm shielding my eyes because the streets are literally aglow.

Theories:

Jeremy: "It's the sun reflecting off everybody's golden, tan skin."

Sarah: "It's ricocheting off all the bling."


I think it's both. And everyone's whitened-beyond-belief teeth.

2. I'm never uglier than when I'm walking around the streets of The BH. Everyone's primped, pampered and primed for the catwalk. Some of the guys are prettier than the girls. Not that I want to be pretty, but I wouldn't mind a personal trainer. You know - for rock solid abs and whatnot. Oh, and I'd love more than one pair of semi-formal shoes. I have a feeling my set is going to see a lot of action.

3. Everything is overpriced. (Duh?) I bought a san'ich at Basic Bites this afternoon, and though it was quite good, it was also very small. Like a sandwich balloon that wasn't fully inflated because the clown passed out before he could finish the job. I expect more for my six dollars. Call it upbringing. I was raised on Chili's, T.G.I. Friday's, and Red Robin - give me big portions or give me death.

4. Everything closes early. By the time I get off work at 7, the streets are practically deserted. The shops, the restaurants, the boutiques - dark as the Heart of. Apparently all of the customers are so tired from a full day of shopping(/not working) that they simply have no energy to swipe their plastic after dark.

"It's a hard knock life, for us."

5. Walking around here during the day really brightens my mood. Everything is so shiny, clean, new and beautiful (environment and people, both), it's hard to ever feel down in the dumps. Pair that with the eternally shiny sun, and Beverly Hills doesn't even seem real. More like something in a movie.

Which I suppose is appropriate.

The Pizza Song!

Written while bored as hell in my AP Government class, during my senior year of high school, 2001.

Pizza! Yeah!
Pizza is round, pizza is good,
Pizza brings a party to the neighborhood.
Pizza tastes great!
Pizza tastes fine!
Pizza is the one and only way to dine!
If everybody had a pizza,
The world would be a better place.
If everybody had a pizza,
Everyone could stuff their face! Yeah!
Pizza, pizza, everybody wants a pizza.
Pizza, pizza, everybody has a good time.
Yeah!

!Ojala que tienes un año nuevo muy feliz!

Yeah, I know. It's only 10:40 here in Puerto Vallarta. But heck, it's nearly midnight in New York. And the Japanese are already well into the new year. So Happy New Year, everybody! Time to make a resolution that you'll be really strict about keeping for roughly three weeks, but by February will have completely abandoned because hey, old habits die hard!

Me? I'm off to get craaaazy drunk. Did somebody say "Open Bar?"

Yep, me.