Public demand has demanded that I command a more prominent web presence for all the important things that get talked about here. They're so important they're superimportant. I'm sure no one will disagree. If you disagree, you're totally a poser. Or a hipster. Probably a hipster poser. That might be redundant. The fact of the matter is that you won't ever have to waste time on any other site once you go to superimportant.blogspot.com. All else will be irrelevant. The only relevant thing in your life will be superimportant. Except maybe for the rest of the links listed on superimportant. It stands to reason that anything on superimportant is super fucking important. So the links are ok. But not as important as superimportant.

I just had this kickass idea for the future. Let's take it for granted that the next decimating catastrophe that's going to span the globe will be an outbreak of zombies. It's going to be terrible. Billions of people will die. Giant cities will fall. Chaos and terror will reign. OK. So that'll suck a bunch, but EVENTUALLY we'll get it under control. But not entirely under control. Hordes of Zombies will probably roam the earth for millenia. It's just going to have to be something we deal with. SO, this is what I think would be awesome. Once we get the zombie problem under control, there will probably be regular zombie attacks anyway. But we all know zombies are pretty dumb. These attacks, while not entirely predictable, can be pinpointed by location. The zombies can be baited, in other words. We can make sure that the zombies attack at certain places and certain places only. I think that we should promote these locations as resort locations for the extreme adventure sport enthusiast. It would kind of be like a paintball field, but you'll actually be KILLING ZOMBIES!!! Think about it! You'd get a rifle, and you'd get to stand behind these fortified gates or something, and when the zombies come lurching towards you (from a determined safe distance, of course), you get to start picking them off! There would be experienced zombie killers stationed around the ...the uhh...the compound (I guess) all the time in case things got out of control. These guys would know how to take out a zombie with one bullet from a distance of 800 yards or 8 inches. These guys would be probably half-zombie, if that can happen. Or maybe at least part werewolf. Anyway, anyway, I'm getting off topic here. This zombie resort would be awesome. I have to give credit to the movie 28 days later for the inspiration. Also, I was taking a dump when I came up with this idea. Just thought I'd let you know.

I doubled my morning commute today by stopping for my morning coffee on 110th St. instead of 3rd St, which is half way between my apartment and work. I work on 42nd St. 110th is a good 3.5 miles out of my way. Every time I stroll in there, the girls behind the counter think it's started raining because I'm all sweaty.

I had sushi for lunch with my coworker who I hate

We found out today that HR was serious when they said we aren't allowed to wear jeans in to work. Everyone seemed to look at me. "I do have other pants than jeans, you know". My plan now is to get myself fired for retarted dress code infractions and live off of unemployment for a while, finally.

Then I found out that Dave had taken illicit pictures of my bike and posted them on bikecult as an example of an iro. Be careful, everyone! If you leave your bike at Bike Works, they might take it out back and photograph it in compromising positions, then post the pictures on the internet!

Oh, lets see. What else happened today? Did I mention that I'm not supposed to wear jeans to work anymore? How much does everyone want to bet that three out of five work days, I realize I'm wearing jeans after I get half way to work? How much does anyone want to be that I won't do anything about it either? I'd tell you all the other exciting things that happened to me today, but now that I think about them, they're all things that "happened" on an online forum. I seal my dorkitude, and challenge you to top it. Bitch.

How do I know this? Because I've ironed my dress shirts. What does this mean? Does this mean I plan on going to more job interviews? Does this mean I will spend some kind of money on fancy dates? Does that in turn mean I will pick up extra jobs so that I can pay for fancy dates? Does this mean I will generally attempt to clean up my postenger (ex-messenger) appearance? Does this mean that I finally bought an iron and an ironing board cover yesterday and I'm taking today off because I feel a bit under the weather and I can take as many sick days off as I want? That part is certain. But why would I take my time to iron shirts? What am I planning for 2006? I'm curious.

There are some movies that are bad, but watchable. "I, Robot" or "Passion of the Christ" are good examples, although the latter treads dangerously near the "Ken's list of movies not to watch" category for being more predictable than Titanic, which I'm not afraid to admit I enjoyed. Hipsters can admit that they enoyed Titanic. Whatever that means. Not sure, but check out notjonathon. It might shed some light. Anyway, I've been on this kick of renting things that I know aren't even going to be that good from Netflix. "It's free!" I tend to think, even though it's costing me twenty bucks a month. so, what I first recommend not seeing is "Phonebooth", where Colin Ferrel gets trapped in a phone booth for an hour & 15 minutes. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be grateful or pissed off that the movie was so short. I certainly wanted the dumb thing to end, but when it did after 75 minutes, I just felt bad for all the people who saw it in the theaters and thought maybe they were going to make an evening out of it. The other reason Phonebooth sucks so bad is that apparently there are hookers from 1981 still hanging out on 8th avenue in midtown. That's amazing, because I haven't seen them. The other movie on "Ken's list of two movies not to see" is "Saw". I probably don't need to explain it...no, that's not true. I do. It's that movie where you're supposed to saw your leg off to get out. I'll spoil the movie for you: The guy who played Robin Hood: Men in Tights eventually saws his leg off in a fit of unconvincing hysteria and not hops, but drags himself away in pale makeup to find help. But there's more. I don't feel like going into it, but it mostly felt like it was written and directed by a 14 year old. Danny Glover almost pulls some good acting into it, but it's not nearly enough to make up for the "first rehearsal of the high school fall drama" quality acting of the main two characters. Don't see Saw. It's disappointing mostly because if they spent another month in preproduction ironing out the shitty script and finding actual casting & directing talent, it might've actually been scary. Tune in Next Time for something else!

Good God, I hate my job. But it's not one of those "here is the lengthy enumerated list of why I hate my job" types of feelings. Or, it could be, but I don't honestly have that many gripes about it as I did my first job. Only that I feel like I've been forgetting more stuff here than I did when I was bike messengering. And I forgot a whole load of stuff when I was messengering. It's that uh....it's that...it's that it's boring. And I still feel that the main designer is doing everything wrong. And it's not because he's polish. Not just because he's polish at least. Not just because his accent makes him sound like he's doing everything wrong. It's things like saying you can set up "actionscript" in photoshop to crop an image. No. You can't. You can set up an action. Actionscript is for Flash. And Aftershock doesn't really have anything to do with Flash. I'm not even really sure what aftershock is supposed to be. So OK. The reality of RIGHT now is that I'm going back & forth between doing this stupid blog thing and three IM windows, two of which accused me of being a hipster. One guy took the cue from my "legs crossed like girl" and "ride bike, don't watch TV" comment. The other one called me a hipster because I'm updating a blog. On myspace nonetheless. This is all taking place while I should be "working". which segues nicely back to where I began. I ain't got shit to do! And I realize the previous Photoshop/Action/actionscript/aftershock (whatever the fuck aftershock is) was extremely geektacular. But that's just the point. If everyone around here was *properly* trained in appropriate geek, I wouldn't have these issues. But no, they're all amateurs, making shit up as they go, with no idea about how to build a website. Not like I really know how to build a website and don't make stuff up as I go, but I was just hoping that someone here would be some kind of "light at the end of the tunnel" or something. In reality, all I'm trying to do is kill time here. 2:30 - 4:30 is my most bored part of the day. The time that I'm at work is the most unproductive part of my day. This totally blows. Someone get me out of here.

For Serious. Even my dentist will tell you so. He should know. He had to yank out four of 'em last week. The wisdom ones. Yeah, those big suckers in the back that are hard to reach and sometimes come in all effed up and screw up your mouth. Mine weren't screwing up my mouth...not yet at least, but they had been there for 10 years. And the last time a dentist had had a look at them, I was a wee lad of around 21, somewhere in my 5.5 year stint at college, feeling like my life was meaninglessly directionless and I was single and hadn't gotten laid in....fuck...who can remember how long? Right. So anyway, G-Unit recommended a tooth man to me, and he told me that A) I should've been flossing, and B) I had to get rid of those teeth. Thanks for the quack, G-unit. I was referred to a dentist in the Watchtower building. This all happened last Wednesday, by the way. I was supposed to be knocked the F out for the extractions, but in my morning daze, I forgot that they had told me not to eat breakfast. The knockout gas...or needle...I dont' know how they do it, because it wasn't done...doesn't work very well on a full stomach. Or something. So I settle for novacaine. The added bonus was the nitrous being pumped into my nostrils. "I've never done this legally," I say to the nurse. Shortly thereafter, I express to her how much I'd like to be spitting, frothing, and dribbling blood afterwards, because I wanted to go to Circuit City to buy a wireless router. She didn't find that nearly as amusing as I did. The process wasn't quite as horrifying as it could be, but that's probably because I'm not a sissy, like you are. But let me tell you, when the dentist, after struggling with half of the four teeth, wipes his brow and comments that I've "got some strong teeth, buddy", I don't know if I'm supposed to take that as a compliment, or if I'm supposed to start crying. You know how sometimes they can just slice & pull a wisdom tooth, wipe their hands and call it a day? Not so much with my teeth. All but one of them (the upper right one) had to be cracked into several pieces in order to be pulled out. I'd have to say that there's nothing more terrifying than an old man putting a chisel into your mouth, poising a hammer at the back of it, telling you that "you're going to feel a slight tap", and then giving it a hearty whack. If my mouth wasn't filled with gauze, dental tools, and a tube sucking blood out faster than I'd like to acknowledge, I would've said something like "Jesus Fucking Christ!", but all I could manage was a panicked bulging of the eyes and a thorough tensing of every muscle in my body. "Relax, Relax," the nurse tells me. Oh, oh yeah. Of course bitch. Relax. I'm sorry. There's a man causing me to bleed, putting drills, hammers, chisels, and pliers into my mouth and I keep hearing the crunching & breaking of my own teeth. It's just about as relaxing as a nap on the beach with your mom. Except your mom is probably 70 years old, and that's not at all a good metaphor. I'm a bit to aggravated to be properly clever right now. Sure, I'll relax. Relax. Just stare at the blinds behind the dentist. Never NEVER look at his face to see the fact that he's really struggling. "You've got some tough teeth, buddy. They don't want to come out! I mean, I've only done 50,000 of these..." In the end, it was a bit traumatizing, but not so much that I couldn't ride my bike back to my apartment and go to work the next day, where the nurse called, surprised that I was back at the office. "Most people take three days to recover!" "Yeah," I say, "well most people are sissies". I'm not a sissy. And I've got a bottle of vicodin I'm saving for a rainy day to prove it. Somehow, that proves is.

Because Grandmaster Flash is the DJ. Yep. Martha Stewart is the Queen of having everything perfectly coordinated, so for her company party yesterday, we had the legendary Grandmaster Flash cutting up the turntables for us decorators, chefs, designers, and photographers. Best audience ever. It was even family friendly. The only expletive he was allowed to use was "ass" as in "shake that ass".

I remembered another thing that annoys the crap out of me: lazy fucks with umbrellas who still walk beneath the awnings. Christ, you selfish pricks! I don't even have an umbrella here! Get your fat ass out of my way.

god fucking damnit. 1) Upstairs neighbor starts playing music at 6:30 am. (as opposed to the much more reasonable 7:20). Same fucking song for a half an hour. 2) Shower wasn't really very hot this morning. 3) Guy next to me at coffee shop reads script in low tone of voice to self. 4) Construction dude in office speaks loudly on phone in polish for first half hour of work. Had to drown out with AC/DC 5) Need to change password for some fucking reason. 12 letter password not long enough. 18 letter password NOT LONG ENOUGH?!?!?!? JESUS EFFING CHRIST! What the hell do I have to do around here to change my fucking password? I'm trying "prestidigitation". Let's see if it works....NOPE! Too short! Please try again with a longer password. This is bullshit.