neverbeencool

Consider yourself warned.  I saw the new Star Trek movie last night and have been having a complete nerdgasm ever since.  In fact, this here post will be nothing but a big fat dork blabbing on and on about the new flick.  Spoilers aplenty after the jump.

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This sign in downtown Portland is just one missing period away from awesome:

"Breast" means "boobie."

This kind of shit pisses me off.

I stared at this sign during the entire train ride home the other day, the big ol’ grammar error irritating me more than the smell of the drunk homeless guy who practically gave me a lap dance as he plopped down in the vacant seat next to me.

"to ...vandalizes TriMet property"

Wonder if they’d consider it vandalizing TriMet property if I busted out the big fucking red pen and corrected the sign?

I’ve been sick the last several days.  Sucks.  I don’t recommend it.

If there is an upside to illin’, though, it’s the fact that it forces me to step out of my usual Busy-and-Important lifestyle and address some my backlog of neglected tasks.  Important stuff, too, such as:

• Researching the shelf life of Taco Bell Fire Sauce packets.*
• Debating the sexual orientation of DJ Lance Rock with the Mrs.**

I'd kill for DJ Lance's job.

• And going through pictures that were sitting on my camera for months.

I seem to take a lot of pictures of things that drive me bat shit nuts.  Like this guy, who woke up one morning thinking it would be a good idea to throw on the wetsuit and paddle a surfboard, gondola-style, down the nasty ass Willamette River in the middle of December:

And representing the latter half of my Love/Hate relationship with Portland...

Or this woman, driving the only car more stereotypically “Portland” than the Outback (or, possibly, beat up Volvo wagons).

With a fucking Harry Potter bumper sticker:

I actually like the Prius, but now I know I can never ever drive one.  Same thing has happened with my wife and the VW Beetle.  She loves the car, but every time she sees another middle-aged woman driving one she dies a little inside.

Wonder if the Prius driver was the same middle-aged woman who pissed me off on the MAX last year…  the one who was pumping her fists and yelling “YES!!!” aloud while she read the last Harry Potter book?

Or are there more of them?  Do I live in an area that somehow attracts the middle-aged Harry Potter fan?  Is there something in the water here that makes them think the whole “Keep Portland Weird” mantra means their pedophilial obsession with a teenaged boy wizard is “OK?”

*Random strangers on the Intertubes claim anywhere from a few weeks to a couple months.  I called the Taco Bell customer service line for official word, but they wouldn’t tell me.  Cover up?

**For the record, I come down in the straight-and-just-a-bit-flamboyant column.  Wifey thinks queer-as-a-three-dollar-bill.

Squeak.
Stomp.

That’s all I hear today.

Squeak.
Stomp.

My right shoe is squeaking every time I take a step.

Squeak.
Stomp.

Started first thing this morning, soon as I stepped off the train.

Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.

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