Man. I should not ever watch TV. Amy’s been watching the second round of “I Love The 80s” on VH1, and it was pretty cool. I am suitably ashamed of growing up in the 80s, and I remember enough of it to be able to laugh at myself and my contemporaries. In short, it’s a good time. So, when we turned on the TV this morning, and “I Love 1974″ was on, we thought it would be fun, too. And it was. Until noon, when “1975″ came on.
  I was born in 1975, and that year sucked ass. Everything about it was awful. It’s gotten so bad that Amy has taken to yelling out when the infrequent good things, like Jaws and “Saturday Night Live” show up. She can see my humiliation and shame at the suckitude of my birth year, and she is valiantly trying to bolster my spirits. She’s cool like that. But, god damn. There was so much about 1975 that sucked.
  For me, the thing that really sums it up is something that VH1 overlooked. In 1975, there were no new quarters. “What?” you’re saying. “That’s… hang on a minute.” Don’t worry, I’ll wait while you sort through the change in your swear jar. Look all you want. You’re not going to find a 1975 quarter. Why? Because the U.S. Mint was too busy gearing up to crank out bicentennial quarters, so they decided to skip the series 1975. If you buy one of the boxes that contains a mounted set of all the coins from a certain year, the 1975 box has a 1976 bicentennial quarter in it. The Mint knew that 1975 sucked, so they decided to skip it altogether. 19 years later, I spent an entire summer searching through the change I got pumping gas before I found out the truth. It made me a sad, quarterless panda.

  Some whack-ass weirdos are shopping at the grocery store at 2320 on a Friday night. There were maybe a dozen cars in the parking lot, and yet I was surrounded by some severely strange people.
  This afternoon, I had a customer who looked exactly like my friend Jen Browne will look in about 15 years, provided Jen grows about nine inches.
  I would make a lousy vigilante.
  I spoke to my District Manager today. Just a quick chat, to let her know how things have been improving since I took over. She was quite pleased, and said that I’d been getting “rave reviews.” Man, is it going to suck for her when I tell her that I’m quitting to go to grad school.
  It occured to me just how odd my sense of humor is when I had to work to restrain myself from trying to drag a joke about teenagers taking drugs and dancing until 0600, as a play on the word “rave.”
  My Father was in the National guard when I was growing up, and he and my Mother both grew up with fathers who were in the Army. I like to use the 24 hour clock, because that’s what Mom and Dad use when they write notes to us and each other.
  When there’s no one around to remind me, I sometimes forget to eat enough. That’s why I’m light-headed, and having trouble staying upright in my chair.
  I love my girlfriend very much. Then again, if you’re even a casual reader here, you’ve probably picked up on that. So, I’ll remind you again. She rocks.
  My District Manager asked me to pass something on to my Store Manager. When I told my Musicseller this, he said “gas?” “Yes,” I replied sardonically, “the DM wants me to fart on the SM’s head.” The Musicseller made a comment about that being the way to get into management at the store, then tried to pass the whole thing off to several people as my joke. It probably irked me a lot more than it should have.
  I get a dirty little corporate/consumer America thrill about being able to say things like “my Musicseller.” “My section.” Ooooh. I am a bad iconoclast. I’ll never get to work for Adbusters with an attitude like that.
  Amy’s birthday is going to rule like the Pharoahs, man. People will be using next weekend as an example in articles on how to make your girlfriend’s birthday a special one for decades to come.
  Sometimes, I think the only thing that qualifies me to be a manager is my desire to see items alphabetized, and my willingness to make other people put those items in order.
  I’m starting to wonder whether I’m going to run out of ideas, or pass out from hunger first.
  I think it’s time to drop my one-bastard protest against Cingular. They seem to have pretty good plans, and that rollover thing is so common freakin’ sense that it just seems like a stroke of genius.
  I was protesting Cingular because they used Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I have a dream” speech in an advertisement. When I emailed them with my displeasure, I didn’t hear anything back. That pissed me off.
  In retrospect, I guess there wasn’t much for them to do. It’s not like complaining about a bad bag of corn chips or something. They couldn’t have very well sent me a coupon for free cellular service.
  Could they?
  Still, they should have at least emailed me back. But I guess two years of withholding my business is enough punishment.
  Okay, hunger wins. I’m going to eat. Sleep tight, America.