Sunday, 22 February 2009

Westwood-or "Wonderlandwood" as I like to call it...

If you have ever done the sights here in Westwood, CA (yes, THAT Westwood with the three different frozen yogurt shops in it! I know: I'm lucky like that!), then you surely have spent time in its all-famous bookstore!

Because of COURSE, as a small University-town, filled with students and their frat-brothers and sisters, Westwood would be home to a wonderful bookstore. This is what you come to expect from college-towns, right?

Not only is there a great bookstore, but they have thought to combine it with a CVS. So late at night, when you need a new hemorrhoid-donut or a new shade of lipgloss, you can also get some of your coursebook shopping out of the way.

Here are three happy English Department PhD students marveling at the diverse selection of offerings in Westwood's CVS. Dissertation ideas, anyone?
And notice, in this close-up below, how the reference, parenting, and profound-literature sections are all combined in a very avant-garde, cuturally senstive way!

Tuesday, 10 February 2009

I'm sick of typo on the internet.

Please stop confusing "your" and "you're".

DAMN! This guy is good...

I just got back from my second stake-out. No luck. This newspaper thief is good! I moved my shift up a half-hour. The custodian was friendly and didn't ask too any questions as to why I was sitting on the cement in a hallway just off the entrance to our building. In the photo below, please note my camouflage (a book and a pen to simulate "casually working on my PhD"), my cheerful sweater ("does a fierce warrior-spy wear something with gratuitous elaboration? I think not!"), and my clear view of the newspapers on the ground.
My only complaint is that this is Los Angeles, folks, and it's supposed to be warm here. Even at 7 in the morning! And it's not. I had to wear a sweater.

Monday, 9 February 2009

You have been warned, newspaperstealer!

If you are not in the habit of stealing my New York Times EVERY MORNING between 6:30 and 7:45, then please feel free to stop reading here.

If you ARE the person who steals my New York Times every morning, then here is your final warning: CUT IT THE FUCK OUT! I have had a hard enough time having to leave New York City for this god-forsaken, warm, palm-tree covered, beach-in-February place called Los Angeles. I have endured looking at fake titties in the locker room at the spa. I have suffered through dipping my toes in the mild-temperatured Pacific Ocean at least once a month. I have been force-fed delicious Mexican food and seen B-rate celebrities at C-rate bars. It's hard enough to make this transition WITHOUT having my New York Times stolen every morning!

But then you go on and take my paper every morning. Not only that, you are clearly a disciplined person who gets up at the break of dawn, such is your commitment to taking my paper.

Are you in medical school? If so, I hope YOU are not wielding a knife anywhere me whatwith your loose consideration of ethics and your paltry moral code.

Are you in law school? This seems more likely, and I would recommend this guy as your client:
I know for sure you're not in a PhD program. You obviously get up before 10AM.

Wednesday, 4 February 2009

Religious Truth found in New York

I have been hiding from sin for a long, long time. I just simply hide from it. And this helps me to fit into society better.

When it occurs to me to stick my foot out when someone walks by, I simply fall into fetal position on the ground, gnaw on my knuckles, and pretend to be a rock. Sometimes I have the idea of spitting into someone's salad bowl when they are not looking, but I put my napkin over my head instead. When it would be SO so easy for me to fart into a cupped hand and then stick the hand in my brother's face, I go into a corner and stand there for a few minutes and sing the alphabet.

In these ways, I simply manage to hide from sin and people gaze at me with real wonder. I know they're thinking, "Wow, I am so amazed by how Alex simply can hide from sin like that!" As if they too had wanted to pull the cane away from the old person, they marvel while I fling myself into the nearby bushes or stick my hands as far into my armpits as possible and squeeze.

So you can understand my shock and horror when I came upon this on the side of a building in Manhattan in early January:

HOW DID THEY KNOW???

Does this mean that despite my greatest acts of self-restraint, one day I will not be able to control my urges? Does this mean that it is inevitable that I will start knocking down kids' ice cream cones and peeing on dogs tied to trees outside drugstores and restaurants? I guess so!

Well, you will be able to find me when that day comes. Just follow the path of overturned wheelchairs.

Tuesday, 3 February 2009

I have been LOOKING FOR THIS for weeks...

Millions of my readers constantly email me all day asking me, "Where, oh where, can I just get a hold of a finger-painting artist of pets?"

Well, true to form, I have found the answer to your questions: