bones to pick.

--

so it's not an altogether irregular evening in any sense, what with the laundry i'm ignoring, the sweat pants i'm wearing (they say "nebraska" on the butt, ergo, my "nebraska butt sweat pants") and the channel i'm watching-- that being the one that comes in best-- whilst i decide "what to do with the rest of the evening." if you know me at all, you'll probably know that i certainly know that this is something of a foregone conclusion, what with over-the-air hdtv brilliance (and mlb on playstation 3) and all.

on this particular eve (not particular at all), that happens to be fox's own "bones," a show with which you'll probably be at least somewhat familiar if you haven't somehow just happened upon this tidbit of a blog (or you came for advice; sorry, i've decided to branch out after accomplishing-- what?-- 3 three themed posts?). the show a(n apparent) real stereotype-laden turd (but oh! so! shiny!), has, by my loose count, so far offensed these groups/parties:

norwegians, who've been victims of rampant vinkingy xenophobia and devout 'merican nationalism (i felt like i was watching friggin' fox news!);
the sexually abstinent;
the singular group of people who like metal and metal sub-genres;
and one guy, being interrogated, as many metal stereotypes are deployed in hopes of forcing a confession of information (he did cave, by the way).

and i learned:

all metal is exploitative (not like tv!);
all of my topical, ignorance-born fears about people who dress up like sorta dead 'n scary folk (goths) are valid;
oh, and that british people (they brought in this guy, british symbol of wit and elegance) are classy.

another productive eve, no?

i'd adore grammar comments if anyone's listening.

go royals.

Whilst fishing in the Blogosphere...

Dear Anders Landers,

Help! A friend is facing a tough choice over a costly car repair and you always know just what to do. Should I disinvite my step-mother from the wedding even if it means my father won't be there or should I finally tell my neighbor that the jokes he makes in front of my children are inappropriate?

Boss Troubles in Tallahassee

(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)(.)

BTiT,

OK! Whoa, I'm sorry you've got so much shit goin' on-- and that all that is so interrelated. Damn.

'Far as that car goes, fart on it. In fact, I recommend that you fart on all your problems; and that-- in a separate window-- you set this blog to music.

You could murder-fart on Old Sparky, your salacious neighbor, and put him in the back of it (he'd probably be your friend if you didn't have any kids, mind you); and if your dad wants to be a slo-mo-blo, disproving Coulomb and Plato and shit what with his new wife, the out of gas violinist, then he can go in there too-- rrrip roarin'-- off the Tallahassee Pier. KA-ZOO! I say! It would seem that Florida has a brand new wet n' wimpy serial killer...

Seriously though, all fart puns aside, I do hope this helps, BTiT. I find that a good, timely rip can really bring me-- and others around me-- back from the all-too-serious dark side of life.

And can I say: I'm a great fan of a good stock photography.

All my packing tape,

Anders Landers