SUNDAY AFTERNOON SQUALOR: MID-SEASON REPLACEMENT
If I’ve learned anything from all this, it’s that one doesn’t always feel like photographing and waxing wise on the state of their apartment on Thursday evenings. At least this way maybe the lighting will be a little better, ensuring that you can all discern the identities of encrusted food with greater ease. Yay for the sun.
By the way, the apartment really looks like shit right now.
It’s not even interestingly gross. It just needs to be cleaned, preferably by sweeping it all onto the floor with ones arm. I swear I’m going to clean something today. Perhaps even my own vile-smelling body. Who knows.
Sadly, that solitary overturned spoon is the most interesting aspect of this vantage point. I ate all the Boo Berry. Sorry. It was good.
Unspeakable disinterest wells up in the pit of my soul. Although that little pile of crumpled receipts to the right of the Ampersand’s mug sort of resembles a little ivory sailboat on a tiny lake of milk. That’s rather nice. Maybe I’ll go out and stare at it today and think fondly nautical thoughts.
Junk mail, Annie’s handbag, a mug, a billfold, and a sealed receipt from our mechanics, from whom we recently purchased the worst automobile known to man, which broke down on the very day I mailed in the final payment. That taped envelope to the left of the flower pot contains the receipt to that very payment. The tape they use to seal it is always yellowed from their grease-and-tobacco-stained fingers, but at least that prevents the envelope itself from being stained by their grease-and-tobacco-stained tongues. I kid our mechanics. They’re good men, all in all. Just not good men from whom to purchase primary automobiles.
All right, I hesitate to post this next picture, but here it is:
Fuck, that is awful. Yucks ahoy. Damn. Eecch. I hate it. I have to wash some of these today. This fetid pile of silty dishes would be easier to accept if it had been the result of a week’s worth of well-prepared meals, but that simply isn’t the case. Quite frankly, I don’t have any idea how this happened.
Looks like we had some coffee this week. And crapped in a metal bowl. The dishrack is noticeably bereft of washed flatware, you’ll notice. Blah. Normally I enjoy commenting on these pictures, but I hate this right now. I just feel tired and sad looking at that. Gonna have to pound some David Lynch coffee and attack this mess.
Oh MUG OF THE WEEK, whisk me away from this putrid basin:
Recognize this building, people who grew up or have lived in the greater Bangor area?
That’s right! It’s St. Joseph’s Hospital! And if you actually got that right, sincere congratulations to you! Your prize is my admiration, however mild and brief. This is actually a great mug. You don’t run into too many brown mugs, which is weird, cause coffee’s brown, right? I love the ’70s font, and the way the words are laid out in a pleasing slanty fashion. The handle has an interesting acute-bottom obtuse-top motif going on. Ha! Acute bottom! Ahem. But the best part of this particular Mug of the Week? “We care”. I know it’s most likely in quotes because it must have been their slogan at the time, and no one’s saying it’s bad for a hospital to care, but the quotes somehow lend the statement a latent sarcasm or dishonesty. Like if someone made “finger quotes” while saying “we care”, your instinct would probably be to assume that we, whoever they are, don’t actually care. It strikes me as amusing.
Pretty typical. Sparsely cluttered, somewhat repellent.
You can’t see it in this picture, but rest assured: the DVD set of “My So-Called Life” is still lying, unmailed, on our counter top. It’s underneath whatever that book is by the jauntily-monikered Pepper Schwartz. A jumbo clip, some near fully-consumed (and probably a bit stale) pretzel rods, a box of Triscuits. All very exciting.
Keys, wine, checks, teas, Cheerios. And the Maine Gazetteer. And envelopes. And scissors.
It’s so bland and unchanging as to completely obliterate the very concept of the act of commenting on pictures from my brain. With that in mind, you may be wondering how it’s possible for me to even be typing these sentences right now. I don’t know either. It’s freaky, is what it is.
Instead of lingering on that boring coffee table picture – although I sort of like the sunshine on the floor at the bottom there – let’s take a look at part of my VHS collection, cause I wanna.
Those are 16 of the finest films known to man. If you haven’t yet seen “Traxx” starring Shadoe Stevens, you’ve no idea what you’re missing. It’s about a hitman who really wants to be a cookie baker, but his ideas for new cookie recipes are really gross! Like he tries to make cough drop cookies! Ha ha ha! Yucky poo poo, Traxx! Stick to killin’ dudes!
Annie wasn’t overly psyched when she discovered me snapping pics for the blog today. That “Year of Living Biblically” book is supposed to be good. Please don’t comment on it, though. Instead, comment on how funny and creative I am. The “Year of Living Biblically” guy is already published and making money, and will not profit from your input nearly as well as myself. I should have photoshopped his book out to prevent unnecessary discussion, but learning computer programs is too hard.
Yum! Yoo-Hoo! And water! They’re like the Lethal Weapon of healthy beverage choices!
Here is my side, bleh:
Pretty unsightly. My side of the bed is a good place to go if you happen to be looking for empty drink containers or books. Otherwise, I’d recommend other areas of the apartment before this one. Perhaps you would enjoy the toilet.
I am not going to include a picture of the toilet.
Well, now that I feeling like puking all over my life, that’s the end of Sunday Afternoon Squalor for February 24th in the year of our Lord 2008. Taking a moment to affect my uncanny Levar Burton impersonation, we’ll see you next time.