With the help of an anonymous architect, I have tricked out my chair. It is so tight and so pimp that every chair within a 300 mile radius is weeping from jealousy. They look at themselves and they wonder, why, baby Jesus, why can’t I be pimp? Am I forever damned to this life of mediocrity? Is there any hope?

Oh, but there is.

I have posted directions on how to turn your stupid, non-pimp, and non-tight chair into the Rick James of chairs (crack pipe not included). You can read about it on the Emeco blog, over here. But heed this warning: If you cannot handle the pimp, you should not even bother looking. I mean it. This chair is only for people who understand the power of pimp and can use it for good and not evil. Good meaning pimping and hustling. Evil meaning everything else.

And in other news: Last Known Settlers, my rock n’ roll band, has put up musical tunes for your enjoyment. You can check it out on MySpace because we don’t actually have a “real” website and Nathan would totally freak out right now if he knew, but shh don’t tell him. It’s our little secret. If you see Nathan please do not mention this to him.

I am going to Los Angeles in a few weeks to visit the family, i.e. get annoyed. I called my mother on Thanksgiving and told her I was going to spend it with a big group of friends, and she asked “Everyone you friend marry? Or are they….SINGLE?” Gasp! Choke! Sputter!

OH GOD NO NOT SINGLE PEOPLE!

Anyway I told her that we were all single and old and unhappy and we’d all sit around the table wiping our tears, and then after pumpkin pie the girls would have a contest to see whose ovaries were more barren. Clearly I’d be the winner. My womb looks just like the Gobi Desert, with camels and everything. She did not think this was funny. I kind of thought it was funny though. But I am one of those people who laughs really really hard at their own jokes. I am my own best friend.

But here is a fact: 41% of Americans 18 and older are unmarried/single.

This is a real fact. Not one of the fake ones you see on TV. Anyway it is almost like 90 million people. So for everyone out there who has to deal with a parent complaining about your barren womb stuffed with camels and scorpions and roving bands of nomads, fear not, my friend. You are in good company.

Let’s say that you are in a car. You are on your way home. You have the luxury of having a car in the City of New York. You are parking the car on the street in a very popular and nice neighborhood. Let’s say you see two people near a car. These two people look like nice people. Let’s say one is Asian. She has glasses. Let’s say that these two people, one being Asian with glasses, are having problems with the car that they have borrowed from a friend for the holiday weekend. The hood is up. They look distressed even though it is a Sunday afternoon, and just as the name promises, it is indeed sunny. These two people, one being Asian with glasses and perhaps a writer of some kind, are having problems with the car battery. Let’s say one person accidentally left the headlights on and the battery died. These things happen. It doesn’t really matter because it’s all hypothetical. The Asian girl with glasses approaches you. For simplicity’s sake, let’s call her Frannie. Frannie sees that you are parking your car right next to their car, which has the hood up. Frannie says, excuse me, can you please give us a jump. What do you say?

A) Sure!
B) No!

If your answer is B you are a dick. But again, this is all hypothetical. Let’s pretend you say, no, sorry, I do not have cables. Frannie then says, actually we have cables and they are ready to go, all hooked up, we just need someone with a running engine. Then you say, oh sorry, we can’t do that. Frannie does not understand. You are here, you are clearly on your way home and not in an emergency situation. You have a running engine, and it’s right next to the Asian girl’s vehicle. Frannie is confused. Her friend, let’s call him Mohn asks, can they help? She says, no, they don’t want to help. Frannie feels disappointed. For a good chunk of time she and Mohn have flagged down various cars and cabs who are unable to help or refuse to stop even though Frannie waves her arms and flashes her most winning, non-threatening smile. Now she finally runs into someone who can help, but refuses to help. Mohn calls a friend who just happens to be renting a car in the Isle of Manhattan. He comes by to jump the car. Let’s call him Zechariah. Even though Zechariah is about to leave for a very long trip to Savannah and is stressed out, he still helps. Because he is a good person. A very good person. While Zechariah jumps the car, a line of cars appear behind the cars. They are upset. They see there are cars blocking the street. Both hoods are up. There is nothing that can be done. Frannie has done her best to divert traffic away from the block, but people do not want to follow directions. Frannie does her best to explain the situation and offers to help them back up. Other cars back up. Except for one. The driver decides to yell at Frannie. She does her best to be polite. He gets very cross. Listen sir, she explains, there’s nothing that can be done. You will either have to back up or be patient. He does not like the two simple options presented to him. She walks away while he is yelling at her. Zechariah jumps the battery. He saves the day. Everyone is happy. As a reward, Zechariah gets a hug.

Let’s pretend Frannie is disappointed. She is surprised by people’s refusal to help. She believes that in other cities, people might help in this situation. She understands that not everyone in New York is like this, but sometimes it is difficult to remember. From this (hypothetical) situation, she learns a few valuable lessons. One, don’t leave the headlights on. Two, people can be dicks. Three, your friends never are.

I am making vegetarian shepherd’s pie for Thanksgiving this year. Many vegetarian shepherds will die in the making of my pie. I apologize for this. Note to vegetarian shepherds: Sorry. And also, run for your lives! My friends are getting a “castrated turkey rooster” for their Thanksgiving. It’s called a capon, but we’re calling it a “ball-less cock.” It’s supposed to taste better. Ball-less cocks are supposed to taste better. Who knew? We were trying to figure out how you’d castrate a turkey since birds have complicated balls, from what I understand. We decided it involved a lot of coaxing and pinching. And then a “Oh look over there!” and a big snip.

Anyway I am looking through recipes right now and I’ve decided I am on the fence about potatoes. I think, hey, potato, I will eat you. And then I eat it and I think, hrm, potato, you are not very exciting, even with butter and sour cream or mashed with garlic or fried with ketchup. The love just does not happen for me. It’s not that I hate potatoes, I just rather eat other things. People really like potatoes. I mean really, truly love them. And I think, am I the only one who thinks potatoes have the consistency of wallpaper paste? Do you even know what wallpaper paste tastes like? No? Well it tastes like potatoes. Anyway that is on my mind these days, potatoes. That and the fact that someone quoted me $1600 to recover the data off my hard drive. So I guess what I’m saying is that I rather eat a potato than pay $1600. I am close to saying fuck it all and just get a new one and move on with my life. This means that my life is not worth $1600, which is probably true.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Someone has sent me a wombat. It is furry and brown and has little ears and has a nice big rump without a tail. It looks like a cross between a bear and a mouse. It is DANGEROUSLY CUTE. It should come with a warning sign because I nearly died. I began to feel dizzy and a little nauseous. I also experienced dry mouth, jaundice, inability to concentrate, restless leg syndrome, and a nearly insurmountable urge to high five. But that could be from other medication. I NEARLY DIED do you understand? That’s how cute this piece of shit is. WOMBAT: WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME? What have I done to you? I do not know who sent this to me, it is a mystery. A very mysterious mystery. If you have sent me a wombat, please let me know. His name is Wally. It came with that name. I always keep the name animals come with. I had a friend who got an old cat from another family, and he re-named it Helsinki or Stockholm or Oslo or something like that, which is a cool name, but not the name it came with, so I was like, dude, why would you do that? It’s like meeting a man named Joe and all of the sudden calling him Duke Fernando Castillo y Ruiz because that is a cooler name. Like, no! NO!

Also, my computer still sucks as does my life at the moment.

On the flight to Chicago I got the Pinwheel of Death on my laptop and then it refused to boot up. I love how the little rainbow pinwheel is the harbinger of death. Look it’s a pinwheel RUN FOR YOU LIVES OH MY GOD. Turns out, my hard drive is dead. My computer was only two. TWO YEARS OLD how is that possible? Of course, I hadn’t backed up in a while so I lost a bunch of stuff. What’s kind of funny is that this just happened to Doretta so it’s like we really are the same person as everyone had suspected. I am just a little behind her. Like she lives in the future. And she tried to warn me, Annie, she said, you must back up, your computer will die in just a short time. But did I listen to her? Of course not. Because I was living in the past where people are really stupid.

Anyway I’m having a horrible week. I have to decide if I want to spend $1,000 to “recover my data.” Like I have to put a price on my stuff. How much is it worth to me? I don’t know. But I kind of want to die right now.

But, hello, from Chicago. I like Chicago. Everyone is very nice. The city is very nice. The weather is pretty nice. But you know what’s not nice? MY COMPUTER.

It’s cold here. It’s foggy here. It’s cold and foggy here. That is how I like it too. I think San Francisco and I get along very well, but I can’t see myself living here. The apartments are just too big. I mean, seriously. They’re GINORMONGOUSANTIC. They are, in fact, so big I have to make up a word just to describe how big they are.

I am staying at my friend’s apartment while he is away, and he has a one bedroom. But in addition to his one bedroom, he has a DINING room, a LIVING room, a kitchen, and a bathroom. Also he has a space in a garage for his motor vehicle. Like oh, look at me, I’m in ths room, but I think I will go to this other room, and maybe on the way to this other room, I will stop by another room, just for kicks. And guess what? This kid has MORE closet space than that store that sells closets, you know what I’m talking about. I think it’s called California Closets or something stupid. Anyway, I opened a closet to hang up my jacket and it was EMPTY. That’s how much space he has. I was like…crap, if this were in NY I’d rent out the closet as another bedroom and charge $1375 for it. Anyway I hung up my coat and then I felt bad because it probably felt lonely. So then I hung up my pants too, just so it wouldn’t look so bizarre.

Anyway, hello. San Francisco says hi. I just ate a salad bigger than my head.