ben

I've got to admit, as much as Eastern food is all classy, exotic, and delicious, the perfection of food is in the form of the sandwich.  Why don't they sell sandwiches here?

All the Glastonbury posts on tumblr make me really sad.  I wish Glastonbury never existed.  I never thought that a music festival would make me feel so bad.  I really want her back.

Sometimes I feel like a (slightly stupid) little kid.  It took me until today to learn to never order caviar from a fast food restaurant.  Let's hope I don't have to race back to the bathroom again.

I had a dream last night that I was onstage playing some song with William Shatner and Leonard Nemoy.  I was playing this violin that, instead of strings, just had a rubber band that I was scraping.  It was pretty enjoyable.

There are fewer than 350 users of posterous as of today as measured by my own metrics data (ha!). I sort of hope it gets more popular but I like it being small, as well. Maybe they should try to market this to grandparents and Republican presidential candidates, seeing as blogs might be out of the safety realm of these neophytes to technology while e-mail has been more readily adapted to.

I saw a very cool band perform in a swanky bar my friends took me to.  The lead singer was playing one of those instruments that's like a flute with a short keyboard and sounds like a harmonica.  I thought the bass player, who was wearing pink cargo pants, was kind of cute. He was a guy.  People are just so pretty here.

I have the option of extending my stay in this country but I'm not going to do it.  My girlfriend would be super angry if I stayed here (away from her) longer, but the real reason I'm not going to stay is that I'm 100% allergic to my apartment.  It's like hell on earth (especially with my throbbing mouth wound and fucked up knee).  I'm sitting there red-eyed, snot leaking down my face, with a sore throat and sneezing uncontrollably every three seconds.  I think it's dust mites but it could be some sort of local pollen.  It lasts for a while after I leave my apartment, which lends support for the pollen hypothesis, but I think it's just dust mites that made expeditions up my nose or set up camp in my eyes.

I was in the elevator with this guy I work with and he was telling me about how he plans to hike up some mountain.  He said that you get this walking stick that they stamp the date on at each checkpoint.  He's going to be climbing up on his dad's birthday, so his walking stick will be plastered with the date of his dad's birthday.

While lying for the hundredth time about how I got my job, I realized that most of my life is a lie.  I lie about how I met my girlfriend.  I lie about my ethnicity.  I lie about how many people I've slept with.  The only person I've ever told the truth to is my current girlfriend.  Maybe that means something.

I wonder how many people still believe in the American dream.  Also, notice my awesome search in the background.