End of the year

So as we approach the end of 2004, with grandpa guy being slain by baby cupid in a festive granparricide, let's look back and see what made this year the year what it was, this year.

Like other Top Bloggers, Cyber World Leaders, Internet Pundits, and digerati I feel the need to sum up the year in the great tradition of lazy journalists who want to go on vacation. Here are my definitive lists for the year:

Top Albums

1. SHUT
   
2. THE
   
3. HELL
   
4. UP
   
5. NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR OPINION

Best Books

1. DO YOU
   
2. THINK ANY ONE
   
3. EVEN FUCKING
   
4. READS THESE
   
5. LAME ASS LISTS?

Most Significant Moments

1. THE LAST
   
2. FEW WEEKS OF
   
3. THE YEAR IN
   
4. PUBLICATIONS ARE
   
5. A WASTE DUE TO THIS CRAP!

And that's a wrap until next year! I resolve next year to be less bitter and cantankerous. Unless, of course, things continue to be this fucking lame.

Car geek story

Wards Auto Top 10 Engines

zebulon_y will be happy to see two Audi engines in there.

My Christmas Wish

I wish that every company or club or open source software project or political affiliation or web site I’ve ever had anything to do with didn’t think it was necessary to have a newsletter, and send me this newsletter in the email. Nowadays in America there’s always somebody in every group who wants to have a newsletter and will cheerfully produce one per month. This person needs to be eliminated.

I also wish that every catalog merchant or club or political group or vendor of any conceivable or inconceivable product or service did not feel obliged to have a special Christmas promotion and to let me know that their commodity (motor oil, newspaper website, tiny flashlight, flour, stupid Internet dating service, literary magazine, refrigerator) is the perfect Christmas Gift, and even if they have no tangible product or service that a membership in their organization or a gift certificate for some totally inappropriate product or service (vasectomy, ammunition, pro-cremation pressure group) is the perfect Christmas Gift.

There’s a point at which capitalism becomes bizarre ritual rather than actual money-making, and there’s another point at which these bizarre rituals all arrive in my email inbox at once and make me stabby.

However! Points to my DSL provider, who while fixing an outage played to me, on their hold music, the Velvet Underground’s “All Tomorrow’s Parties” rather than any Holiday Music.