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Pointless Game

Here’s a pointless game. I’ll use song lyrics to ask a question, and you try to find lyrics from a different song that fit as an answer to the question. Here’s an example to get the creative juices flowing. “If I was a dancer, where would I dance?” ( Psychosis , The Refreshments) “In a happy little foreign town, where the stars hung upside down…” ( We Danced Anyway , Deanna Carter) The first person to answer the question can then add a question of their own, to be answered by ensuing comments. Assuming anyone actually tries this, I’ll try to publish the comments immediately to make things less confusing. Okay, here’s the question. I’ll make it an easy one: “Who do you love?” ( Love, Come Lighten My Load , Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers) [answer:]"I'm in love with Stacy's Mom." [next question:] "Everybody loves a clown, so why don't you?" [answer:] "Send in the clowns." [next question:] "Why do birds suddenly appear, ever...
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I Beg to Differ

I'm fascinated by the way people are afraid to disagree sometimes. For example, sometimes I hear someone voice an opinion, and I'll offer a contrasting one—not to be argumentative, just to explain that I see things differently. Then the other person will sometimes try to agree with me or come up with something conciliatory to say. This also happens with food. It's perfectly fine if my wife doesn't like smoked gouda. She doesn't need to apologize about it (but sometimes she does anyway). I mean, it's nice that we don't want to offend other people. But we have every right to our own opinion. If you hate this post, that's great! I want to hear all about it.
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Post of a Good Hell

For some reason, as I was falling asleep last night, I began to wonder what my own personal hell would be like. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far: It would be really windy, all the time, and super hot and humid. Everybody, including me, would be renamed Dakota (Sorry to anybody who likes that name, if any of those people can read, but it’s my hell, not yours). I would be forced to listen to muzak versions of really bad jazz while cashiering endlessly. I would have to wear a Hot Dog on a Stick uniform, and every customer would be buying really sharp objects like porcupines and bits of broken glass. There wouldn’t be a bar code on anything, and whenever the line got down to one person a hundred more people would come up at once and start yelling at me to speed up. What would your hell be like? [ Update : One more thing that would happen is everyone would copy me . Just kidding, Jer.]
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