Brain Drippings

• In discussing Spoon's awesomeness, I've decided that Tyler needs to start a band called Lamp, so that people can legitimately say "I love lamp!," and not be quoting Anchorman.
  
• Another crucial band name I thought of (last week): Cheney's Shotgun. First album: Covey of Terror. I've also always wanted to have a band so we could name our first album The Night Before The Morning After (a nod, of course, to this awesome installation piece I saw at a museum in London, by Gilbert & George, I think), but I just googled it and discovered that some bastards already took that idea. Oh yeah, and I have no musical talent whatsoever.
  
• Last night at the Shell station, Tyler pointed out that they have signs all over the place that say FuelStretch. I'll take this as a personal greeting, so, hello to you too, Shell station!
• Drew is funny: "I think working from home is a sign of clinical depression. I don't even want to get out of bed today. And if I didn't have dinner at my grandmother's tonight, I could totally pull that off."
• I'm hungover. You know that kind of hungover where you're not nautious, you don't have a headache, but you're just slow? Not even so much tired, as just really freaking slow (in terms of reaction time, attention span, productivity, actual physical motion...).
  
• My away messages/profile at work won't be so much fun anymore, as more and more professional contact types are using it to communicate with me, and, while I'm sure they'd find me terribly charming, they probably don't need to be tipped off to things like, the state of my hangover, or the link to my blog. Drew, Tyler & Liz had to call off the intervention when I let them know, because hum drum "I am away from my computer right now" have historically been a warning sign that something's up in s t r e t c hville. No longer. Now I'm just plain boring. Yick.
• I made a really good salad last night. I wish I had more of it to eat right now. For anybody that wants a really good salad, might I suggest: arugula, romain, apples, grapes, gorgonzolo cheese, walnuts, salt, pepper, oil and vinnegar. Is it weird that those are things I almost always just, have in my kitchen? Anyhow, bon appetit.
  
• Seriously, Spoon is so good. Anybody would love them. It's not possible not to. And I love each album pretty much equally. So, if you don't have a Spoon album, go out and get one. You won't be sorry. I'm listening to Girls Can Tell right now, and my quality of life has gone up a couple points.
  
• The new season of Real World blows goats. Seriously. It was on when T and I got back to my place after baring with Sam, Weed, Gwain & Stacy. As far as I can tell, not a single character (note that I say "character, not "person") is at all interesting or sympathetic or, ya know, smart. This whole eating disorder plot line is insipid. And the gay guy, is he trying to not be gay? I don't get it. I was BORED in a big way about 5 minutes into watching it. I do not anticipate an improvement, and therefore will include this season of Real World into the crappy mundane "let's see how much sex they'll have and how drunk they'll get" category of reality tv. And probably won't watch it. Well, unless it's a weekend morning and Best Week Ever isn't on, or Goonies isn't being syndicated somewhere.
  
• I said "T" up there because I've dropped Tyler's name like a bajillion times in this post already. It's a shame he doesn't have his own blog that I can link to, or some pseudonym for me to use alternately. Your mission, commentors, should you choose to accept it: give Tyler a pseudonym. I'm rejecting T-Bone at the outset, so don't even try it. Oh, and if you don't know him, his name is Tyler Hardy Cash. He plays the piano really well. And stuff.