SQUIRTLE, I CHOOSE YOU!  
11/02.. or 11/05.. who's counting?

Yes, I finally caved.  I decided to check out Pokemon, and I must say, it's really far too addictive for its own good. It's also really a lot of fun, which adds both insight and dread to my perspective on Pokemon.  On the one hand, I can now see why a whole generation of little kids have become ensorcelled; I probably would have been too, were I in the fourth grade. On the other hand, however, we have the more dubious and evil nature of such things- namely, the hold Nintendo now possesses on the souls of these little kids. Oh, well.  I'm safely beyond that.

... Must.. buy... Nintendo... products...
Ahem.  Where was I? Ah, yes.  The column.  Read it, damn you... the last one was only visited by five people.
Lonely? Depressed? Oh well.
castomel@hotmail.com
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The Archives
                                                 A SPOOKY GRAVEYARD
Graveyards, by and large, suck.  This has always been a sentiment I've held, and now that I've had the chance to go traipsing about through one, clinging to a clipboard and pen with half-frozen hands, life has done little to dispel the notion. On Saturday(last Saturday, now that I've put this off for so long) this is exactly what I got to do: wander a graveyard in the dead of morning, trying desperately not to fall victim to the cold and the numbing boredom which seemed to be doing their level best to knock me out simultaneously.  Fortunately, being the strong-willed individual I am, I managed to remain upright, laboriously copying names, dates, and.. well, no serial numbers, although there was some very nice religious mumbo-jumbo sprinkled about the graveyard.  I don't really know why people bother... The murners, by and large, are going to be more overcome by self-indulgent agonizing than any reflection on the state of the deceased individual's spiritual state, and passersby certainly don't care if some guy from 1834 was God's gift to man, until he was unceremoniously flattened by a freight train(which seems to poke a rather large hole in the notion of divine gift-giving... Although I suppose the yokels would argue that the Devil sent the train... but who am I to argue with religious zealots? Oh, right.. the hatemail section.  Well, it hasn't been updated since... oh, wait. I'm doing one today.. Well that doesn't change anything!). I know I sure didn't, after historical curiosity lost its thrill somewhere between stinging and frostbite.  Whatever the case, the wonderfully chilly conditions resulted in me completing a mere half of my 100-tombstone mandate, and barely at that- I gave up measurement after 17, caring after 25, and legibility after 40(not that that particular omission was wholly my idea, mind you- it's just rather difficult to write when your fingers are swollen to half again their usual size), so now I have to freaking go back and get another 50 tombstones recorded! I think the point has been made- Anthropological investigation is long, tedious, outdoors, involving a great deal of gruntwork, and Not For Everyone. All right already! Just make the damned thing in the summer... Real anthropologists have the sense to retreat into their lairs... I mean, labs, during the winter, so we should too!
Nothing like a good silhouette to inspire fear...
                          POLITICALLY CORRECT? WHY BOTHER...
Certainly, Political Correctness would entail respect for people from every walk of life, regardless of their shittiness. Sadly, this courtesy cannot be extended to the fine citizens of Buffalo, more specifically those who follow the Buffalo Bills. It never fails: Every weekend, for the past three weekends, I've been at work, glancing at the TV, to see Buffalo playing football. Win or lose, it's pure entertainment. Not the game- more often than not, the only thing holding the Bills together is good defense and Doug Flutie.  The funny part, then, is the radio shows afterwards, in which these fans converge in a seething, screeching, "Lahckport Gahhhmbeeenah"-accented mass to bitch.  Bitching seems to be the primary function, after all- even if the Bills win by ten points, they still have to pry into the minutiae of just why they could have won by twenty if only, or why such and such is lousy and should have been replaced by such and such.  The best part is their continual refusal to accept that Doug Flutie is a good quarterback; despite the fact they have a better record with him playing, both offensively and defensively, despite the fact that the alternative, Rob Johnson, has a unique talent for a) screwing up b) not being able to think on his feet(a trait remarkably unsuited to quarterbacking anything) and c) getting hit at new and unusual angles, usually causing severe and unpronounceable injuries, and despite the fact that all common sense would dictate a slightly more reasonable(read: agreeing with me) outlook, they continue to defend their dumbass, fragile, icon as though he were Joe Montana.  It probably has to do with something deep-set in the American character, the idolization of anything approximately 6-foot-2, 200 pounds.  Heaven knows my grandfather was guilty of it... of course, that's partially because he's short, but his heritage has to have something to do with it, and it's the only logical explanation for this silly clinging to a quarterback who's never won anything of note. Then again, with suburbs like Cheektowaga and Tonawanda, you have to figure there's some sort of inherent mental deficiency in the area... Just think of those names pronounced in a Buffalo accent and you'll figure it out.
Quarterback hair: Exhibits A and B.
                                SUNNY LAMORTE ESCAPES!!
Sunny Lamorte, sometime associate of Intrepid baby, has fled the pooltarium, where she floats silently, plotting devilish and babysome acts.  She was last seen flying about, communing with bats.. I mean, floating down the Nile protected by a convoy of small yellow fish.  Beware!
Devilish Baby Escape Baffles Experts: Where To?
TRAIN RIDES, TRAIN RIDES, ANNOYING ANNOYING TRAIN RIDES.. and a few magic hyphens
Oh, man... You do NOT want to sit on a train for an hour when, on that train, there are also four small children under the age of six.  Especially annoying is if one of these small children is under the age of two, and cries the entire time.  How annoying! Which is actually a nice segueway into my next two topics of complaint: English class(yes, again) and the irritating, irritating person who sat beside me in Philosophy today. First, the philosophy: This guy was sitting there, talking to his friend throughout the whole lecture, and every few seconds their conversation would be punctuated by sniffling laughter.  Not normally something annoying, but it was loud enough that I couldn't really hear the professor, and it was CONSTANT! It sounded like he had a cold- except he didn't, since he breathed normally at periodic intervals when sniffling evidently became too boring.  Now, English.  Would you believe we spent 3 hours of class poring over the intricacies of one annoying hyphen? The professor, the dear Yalie/Harvardite/whereever-the-hell-else she's taught that she is, really can't justify in my eyes such a huge freaking waste of time.  The best part is, her analysis is kind of lame... Apparently, this hyphen conceals a rapturous moment of sexual intercourse that was just too darned scandalous for the prudish Prussians of the 18th century to bear.  Whatever! It's a hyphen, and that's all I have to say about it.  Literary mastery notwithstanding, it's just not possible to read that much meaning into absolutely nothing at all. Grrrr...
I wonder if I could pass off my train ride as a semicolon...
                                                         AND IN CONCLUSION
Yoiks! That was ridiculous.  I will admit.. I left the last column up to get more hits, but it failed miserably, so I'll return to a nice, regular schedule of updates... Bastards :)
INTREPID BABY SAYS:
Regularity's not all it's cracked up to be, you know! When you're wearing a diaper, it gets awfully tedious! And besides, it interferes with intrepidity.  Fortunately, these delightfully soft cuffs make up for that particular loss, but the dumb logo on my hat is just too much to bear! Oh, what a world!
SCHEMING MINISTER:
MmRMRMM!
INTREPID BABY REPLIES:
Did I give you permission to mumble through your gag, wretch?
SCHEMING MINISTER:
MRMMRM... MRmrmrmrmrm MMRMRM!
INTREPID BABY REPLIES:
That's right... I will keep you there until you either starve or tell me your schemes...
SCHEMING MINISTER:
mm mtm mmemem mmem memememm mem???!?!?!
INTREPID BABY REPLIES:
Oh, save it for the judges...
SCHEMING MINISTER:
Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Go Home! Inmediately!