03/28/2004 - 04/04/2004
So I just realized that the lyrics to "A Boy Named Sue" were written by a dude named Shel Silverstein. Was he projecting? How did I not make this connection before?
I was on the subway train and this fifteen year-old wigger came on. He had a fake-faded jean jacket, gelled up hair and a cheap looking cross with fake ice (what used to be called "that cheap shit from the back of the Source." But, "no more Source the street credit, them days is dead," to quote another famous Uighur.) He sat right behind me. He coughed and then coughed again. He stretched out his arm on the back of the chair. And then he started hacking phlegm into his mouth (but not spitting). It was this disgusting sound. And he kept doing it over and over.
I started thinking. If I were Box, I'd rip out his earbuds out and rudely tell him to shut the fuck up and get out of my earshot.
Then I got an even better idea. Either right before he gets off or I get off, I yank his worthless chain off his neck and run! It'd be so sweet. Mainly because the chain is so obviously worthless. Something about me doing a chain snatch on this kid would be so amazing in its fake ghettoness. And then I'd get caught by a TTC guy and then they'd call the cops. And I'd show the cops I was a middle class student with my social sciences assignment and my TV script in my backpack. What would they think?
Maybe this is a massive in-joke that you'd have to be me to get. I'm pretty tired.
The rude tell-off and the chain snatch were both ruled out since they obviously violate The Rules.
Did a presentation yesterday. It's not the sort of thing you can bomb. (Interpretive dance, basically. What I was doing in said class was as much a mystery to the others in the class as it is to me as it is to you.) But if you could bomb, my group would've.
I took an exam today. Went well. I'm all wrapped up on April 16th.
Also, look, I found a blog by a Canadian TV writer.