You Arrogant Bastard

You Are in Florida

One of the pitfalls of operating a weblog that does not have a current events, link posting, or AIM conversation focus is the fact that the most worthwhile entries take a long time to write. While I have experimented with all of these formats and even dabbled in trite summaries of the unimpressive stuff I do (e.g. classic livejournal, and, alarmingly, more and more blogs). I find my writing is best received in a form I like to call "Famous Steed Gondakurige [Chestnut Gonda]," or "shit analysis" for short. This, an essay-style integration of all the aforementioned styles and the zenith of human literature, depends heavily on my opinions of the issue or event at hand.

I do not have anything particularly worthwhile to say at this time.

Rather than let the screen go blank, or employ HTML tricks that indefinitely prevent it from going blank, or write a cryptic explanation made up mostly of sentence fragments, I offer you this pitiful confession.
I find comfort, however, in the fact that we continue to operate blogs on this domain that update every day, with worthy content, each with its own exemplary style. And know you, stranger, that fine changes and additions are on their way to this blog-munnity. Watch for those. Who knows? We might even finish the "new" Cocaine in Motion online someday.

For now, I leave you with a sketch I wrote in July, 2002. I came up with the idea with A Loew I believe, and it was never filmed, but you can see a joke or two that surfaced in Junius.

FLORIDA SKETCH

Man Wakes up, sees "You are in Florida" on his left arm. He sits up uneasily, muttering "Florida?"

He calls his friend Phil. "Phil… are you in Florida?" [No.] "Am I in Florida?" [I don't know the answer to that question. Only you know where you are]

He hangs up the phone. Says to himself: "Then I truly am in Florida." He smiles. "I'm in Florida!" shrugs shoulders.

Cue music: Margaritaville
Cut to him putting on sunglasses, Hawaiian shirt, etc.
Cut to going into garage, coming out with boogie board. He also holds a tiki grog which is somehow already full.

Cut to sidewalk
He walks down the street, smiling and swaying his head from side to side.
He runs into a woman, who is visibly scared, and he says "Hey! WHICH WAY TO THE BEACH?" with emphasis on EE sound. The woman maces him.

Cut to near Washington monument
He looks up at the Washington monument, panics, looks at the two postcards he has [one is a Florida postcard and the other is a DC postcard with a picture of the Washington monument on it] and then notices that there is writing on his right arm as well. He looks down and sees the words "You are in Washington, DC" on his right arm. He looks puzzled for a moment but then chuckles, gradually laughing harder, saying "my RIGHT arm... that was my RIGHT arm all along!"

Cut to back in his bedroom where he started
He enters, chuckling, saying "Right arm... my right arm!" and then pulls out a gun, and then in a quick burst of anger, shoves the gun in his mouth and screams, looking furious.

Cut to black

End

Speaking of sticking a gun in your mouth, fuck Kissimmee. Can you believe that city name? How can anybody live there without being constantly ashamed of their bullshit novelty city-name? Come on, Kissimmee residents. Google your stupid city and insult me, I challenge you. Anybody ever been to Kissimmee?

Posted by sw at February 22, 2005 09:00 PM