tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42776790077778414402024-03-19T01:59:58.758-07:00$1.75Almost weekly trips to the laundromat.Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808801523673999781noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4277679007777841440.post-87460223695935629482011-12-12T10:51:00.000-08:002011-12-12T10:53:38.721-08:00New laundromat.I've moved.<br /><br />I don't go to the College Park Suds 'N' Stuff (or whatever) anymore. There's a washer and dryer in my new parking lot.<br /><br />But it still costs the same amount of money, ugh.Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808801523673999781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4277679007777841440.post-45253232406612775832010-08-21T16:10:00.000-07:002010-08-21T16:28:39.939-07:00you're not my neighbor.I was late for work Friday morning (like every other morning) because I find ways to completely ignore my alarm clock. For all I know, I wake up and turn the damn thing off in my sleep.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVXpZjwCjS7nLNEAEA4d-fa0_7IaN-MFimKE2z_gIPCWDnfyNCH4nmeeD8YfO-oeou-CRVqoqoRaQ3d4rDhYx9wQoegL0ekQbkZi-8c9z0r9DNPMLmQ3A-7RZYYBAbRHRjmckU-XruoyY/s1600/comic1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 156px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVXpZjwCjS7nLNEAEA4d-fa0_7IaN-MFimKE2z_gIPCWDnfyNCH4nmeeD8YfO-oeou-CRVqoqoRaQ3d4rDhYx9wQoegL0ekQbkZi-8c9z0r9DNPMLmQ3A-7RZYYBAbRHRjmckU-XruoyY/s400/comic1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508005085692170162" /></a><br /><center><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;">Even though it happens every day, it's still fucking annoying.</span></center><br /><a name='more'></a><br />I skip the shower, skip the shaving, throw on clothes I already wore that week, and head out the door. But I hear something. I stop. Somebody is.. Crying.. Outside.<br /><br />I open the door and cautiously peek my head out. I'm already late for work, so if I can avoid this situation I can at least just say traffic was bad or something.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhv5yNsyQh8EysvCU_ffqurOQRyHrWeHtBwzaV9kO4HL1Vtyu0oDa2xRUBWlG06yyj5ov_a6GcVpUluxOSMDGcTlfytnZyQ7HVwzyYTJqxkfpyfa289PHWuw0Q5aaFDQhbcv8nhKDGOzo/s1600/comic2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhv5yNsyQh8EysvCU_ffqurOQRyHrWeHtBwzaV9kO4HL1Vtyu0oDa2xRUBWlG06yyj5ov_a6GcVpUluxOSMDGcTlfytnZyQ7HVwzyYTJqxkfpyfa289PHWuw0Q5aaFDQhbcv8nhKDGOzo/s400/comic2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508005837237767362" /></a><center><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;">The cries were chilling.</span></center><br /><br />The weeping continues. "Is anybody awake....?" "Please... Somebody...?"<br /><br />Now I'm thinking one of my neighbors has fallen over while water her plants, and start walking downstairs to find out what's happening. As soon as I see her, I know she doesn't live here.<br /><br />"Hello... Can you give me a dollar for some sweet tea....?" She says, sitting in my neighbors deck chair outside his door. I can't believe her wails didn't wake him up.<br /><br />"Ummm." I reply, kind of scared, "I don't have any cash. And, see, I gotta get to work."<br /><br />She acts on primal instincts, "But I'm just so hungry."<br /><br />OK. She wants sweet tea because she's hungry? Fair enough. "I'm really late for work... I, uh, gotta get going!"<br /><br />"I just really wish you had a dollar. I just wish you had one. A dollar." She continues mumbling and I begin to think she doesn't know exactly where she is or maybe who she is.<br /><br />"I'm Sue." I'm wrong, she knows her name. "And this is Samuel." She's holding a Ken doll. She lifts him up and moves his arm to wave at me. I'm still standing on the staircase and she's a good 30 feet away and I'm thinking maybe I could just toss her my honey bun (which I really wanted for breakfast) and make a break for it. But then I thought, she's not some ravenous animal. She's a human being.<br /><br />I walk over to her, hand her my delicious breakfast, and notice she has painted a tiny red lipstick smear on Samuel.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgjBmAf9iauwcKbfOK6uzb8mSFgMxGWFGyGM62-sUK4codQz0lr7MjFoG-Az565DCTklHD0bkSQaXp3KbSeTGKYtwQfbV5ViQqDPIO3nsnTRI97-ZDN9_WN8VwZF59pOo5tNtwAdrsba0/s1600/comic3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 204px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgjBmAf9iauwcKbfOK6uzb8mSFgMxGWFGyGM62-sUK4codQz0lr7MjFoG-Az565DCTklHD0bkSQaXp3KbSeTGKYtwQfbV5ViQqDPIO3nsnTRI97-ZDN9_WN8VwZF59pOo5tNtwAdrsba0/s400/comic3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508007789364888418" /></a><br /><br />"Thank you, this looks yummy!" She croaks as she starts tearing at the package with her teeth. "Maybe Samuel and I will see you after work....?"<br /><br />Samuel stares blankly. <br /><br />I ran.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvHYqxCmgnuyCsNu4h8dU3YZvsLyneMZ343aD9gfsYoBC199PR0xHJ67wo4Akpoep42Y64v2mbvpFGJRbHzwR_v4T-G-5ud8a000YUqCRpUiDvJ4HTiVk7NfAwP_K4GF2toVzEYe-fd8/s1600/comic4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 199px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvHYqxCmgnuyCsNu4h8dU3YZvsLyneMZ343aD9gfsYoBC199PR0xHJ67wo4Akpoep42Y64v2mbvpFGJRbHzwR_v4T-G-5ud8a000YUqCRpUiDvJ4HTiVk7NfAwP_K4GF2toVzEYe-fd8/s400/comic4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508008356514107282" /></a><center><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;">I don't understand how to draw perspective.</span></center><br /><br />Disclaimer: I took these photos from my vintage camera phone. I know they suck.Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808801523673999781noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4277679007777841440.post-28977877800283837312010-08-01T10:33:00.000-07:002010-08-01T10:42:11.073-07:00U Dun Wanna C: austin's experiment 00:01:18;08<a href="http://www.austinscoffee.com/" target="new">Austin's Coffee</a> was celebrating its new hours last night (now open 24 hours a day!) so I decided I'd ride my bike over and show some support.<br /><br />I also used the time to work on an experiment I thought of on a whim while sitting there drinking an espresso and Bailey's: random "art."<br /><br />My process was to take a clip and cut random segments from it, change the duration and speed of the segments, and layer them.<br /><br />Then I recorded about 10 seconds of audio while sitting at the coffee counter and repeated the process with the audio clip.<br /><br />After that, I looped it a few times and encoded the video. I didn't watch or listen to <b>anything</b>. The first time I saw it was on Vimeo. And here it is.<br /><br /><object width="600" height="350"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=13795907&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=13795907&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="600" height="350"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/13795907">U Dun Wanna C: austin's experiment 00:01:18;08</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user4140786">Zach Lynn</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>Is this art? Can this be art without having any intention? Can this be art without having any purpose? Can this be art without having any meaning? <br /><br />Does it have intention? Does it have purpose? Does it have meaning?<br /><br />Does anyone truly care? (Me included.)Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808801523673999781noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4277679007777841440.post-49040540818794750802010-07-31T14:42:00.000-07:002010-07-31T15:06:15.550-07:00twenty-two reviewI have a very bad habit of not finishing books. Either I'm too lazy, too bored, or just run out of time. (Mostly too lazy.) I've taken a book with me to the laundromat every time I've gone, and, guess what? I haven't finished any of them.<br /><br />In fact, I take a new one each time.<br /><br />So let's make this premature cycle of books worthwhile and start a 22 page book review!<br /><br /><b>WHAT:</b><br />I'll read the first 22 pages of a book and then offer a short review.<br /><br /><b>WHY:</b><br />I never finish a book.<br /><br /><b>WHY 22 pages:</b><br />"22 Review" rhymes.<br /><br />The inaugural novel is <a href="http://books.google.com/books?id=cf4-iVG03pEC&dq=scapegoat+daphne&printsec=frontcover&source=bn&hl=en&ei=6JNUTM-oOoL-8Ab7zqGuCA&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=4&ved=0CCEQ6AEwAw#v=onepage&q=scapegoat%20daphne&f=false" target="new"><i>The Scapegoat</i> by Daphne du Marier (1957)</a>.<br /><center><br /><img src="http://www.upenn.edu/pennpress/img/covers/13376.jpg"><br /><font size="1">The edition I'm reading doesn't have a snappy cover like this.</font><br /></center><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><br />Amazon's quick synopsis:<blockquote><br />Two men--one English, the other French--meet by chance in a provincial railway station and are astounded that they are so much alike that they could easily pass for each other.</blockquote><br />From the beginning, I can connect with the protagonist, John. Not because he's an academic wandering through Paris, lost in his own empty world and unsure of himself, his life, and why he is who he is. But because he realizes that he "must get drunk, or die."<br /><br />John is grappling with a sense of the "real" him stuck inside his English tweed jacket--and how perfectly fitting for him to find Jean--his French doppelganger, shortly after John potentially has an existential meltdown.<br /><br />After a series of drinks and staring at each other, wondering how two people could look exactly the same, French Jean convinces English John to return to a hotel with him. And the homosexual level soon turns way the hell up. As the chapter closes, John recalls "I remember that one of us laughed as I hit the floor," and Jean asks "Shall I put on your clothes and you wear mine?"<br /><br />The tension up to this point is palpable. English John is a lonely loner, accustomed to very little interaction with other people. French Jean is the opposite. He's quite possibly a swindler and a good ol' man-about-town. John complains that he has nothing in life, Jean complains that he has too much.<br /><br />Do you see where this is going?<br /><br />At this point I'm nearing my 22 page limit, but I'm actually really into the story.<br /><br />John wakes up from his drunken (and I can only imagine sodomy-filled) night, only to find himself naked in bed, surrounded by Jean's clothes. Jean's chauffeur is here to drive him home, and bashfully kids with John (whom he thinks is really his master, Jean) about why he is naked and completely delusional. <br /><br />I'd like to say I'll finish reading this book. It was actually difficult ending page 22 in the middle of the sentence. The sentence didn't even ring with any profound importance, but I really wanted to keep going.<br /><br />However, I stopped. It's an experiment.<br /><br /><i>The Scapegoat</i> reads like a Hitchcock mystery, and the Johns are gripping. Parts within the first 22 pages, admittedly, started to drag. Jean may be a little <i>too</i> swanky. But, overall, I love reading about guys living an existential life devoid of (what they think is) meaning.<br /><br />I can only hope the rest of the novel is about how French Jean carouses through English John's life (per his characterization so far), and how English John learns to stop being a sad little man and totally destroys French Jean's relationships.<br /><br />Number ratings are overrated, but <i>The Scapegoat</i> by Daphne du Maurier receives:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQgSThmCbVFzxZvioC7ObUapWJAuqJYZ2WK48trjYBaSdHl0iUcz82FDuSeMpl0QhEqLpLTy1hLhHzovsXJ4Aw_zeFyO8l9oSLLqQ88TuoL728wHaBfNpOQ_ZEkFRd23PyGlh-2yZkPb4/s1600/3-5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 80px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQgSThmCbVFzxZvioC7ObUapWJAuqJYZ2WK48trjYBaSdHl0iUcz82FDuSeMpl0QhEqLpLTy1hLhHzovsXJ4Aw_zeFyO8l9oSLLqQ88TuoL728wHaBfNpOQ_ZEkFRd23PyGlh-2yZkPb4/s320/3-5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500194958520414290" /></a>Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808801523673999781noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4277679007777841440.post-63028403810139256272010-07-18T15:50:00.000-07:002010-07-18T16:08:37.364-07:00commando at work.I haven't done my laundry in a long while. In fact, disgusting as it is, I wore the same pair of underwear two different days.<br /><br />I know, I know.<br /><br />I realized that was pretty <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1323594/" target="new">despicable (me)</a> -- is that movie any good? -- so the next day at work I went commando. It's a very weird feeling to know that you are freeballing in front of your boss.<br /><center><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibrRKNcley4QNGitorQlkhZglxZ1HIBFA4zlCFFws09nBvLFnd6xP5xRnbeLfhvOXc_nAcEBZDkvWWODmycxdPaAerv6-UcaNxNzzDhkaUNT4fFjJgI5L1iC2bxAdmojs1oYciQf3Ggoo/s320/commando.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495383842524326802"><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;">Yep. Exactly like that.</span><br /></center><br /><a name='more'></a><br />I have a friend that will only "go commando." He can't stand underwear. I really can't tolerate my AK-47 chaffing on my jeans, but to each his own, I guess.<br /><br />According to Wikipedia, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Going_commando" target="new">going commando</a> may have its origins to the saying "going regimental" to describe a True Scotsman's decision to wear nothing under his kilt.<br /><br />The first known use of the term in print was on January 22, 1985 by Jim Spencer, who lampooned it in the Chicago Tribune:<br /><blockquote><font size="1"><br />Furthermore, colored briefs are 'sleazy' and going without underwear ("going commando", as they say on campus) is simply gross.</font><br /></blockquote><br /><br />I wish I could find the article. That quote leaves so many unanswered questions:<br />1) What was the previous sentence, that Jim had to start a new one with "furthermore?",<br />2) Why are colored briefs sleazy? And when did colored/printed briefs become the norm like that are today?, and<br />3) Why was this article written, anyway?<br /><br />Which begs the question, "Why did I write this post?"<br /><br />Be right back, I gotta go get some baby powder for this rash.Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808801523673999781noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4277679007777841440.post-36499164938606579652010-07-12T13:17:00.001-07:002010-07-12T13:20:00.281-07:00accidental photography.So I was taking photos for a project at work and as I was walking away I accidentally click the shutter button. I got this picture.<br /><center><br /><img src="http://img821.imageshack.us/img821/900/accidental.jpg"><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;">Are those alien legs? What the hell.</span><br /></center><br />Accidental photography should probably be a new genre of art.<br /><br />Thank you for reading the most pointless post ever.Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808801523673999781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4277679007777841440.post-64439606856630738942010-06-29T12:11:00.000-07:002010-06-29T12:17:06.291-07:00lovely, lovely quarters!Quarters are the lifeforce of the laundromat. If you don't have quarters, you don't have clean clothes.<br /><br />I've always loved quarters. Before I had to do my own laundry (and way before I had to stoop low enough to do it at a coin-op), quarters had one--vastly superior--role: video game tokens.<br /><br />If you were like me, you couldn't get enough of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles arcade game, or The Simpsons bash-em-up. Actually, I finally beat that damn game not too long ago. That game was almost solely responsible for my (read: my mom's) diminishing quarters.<br /><center><br /><img src="http://mobilenewz.net/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/the_simpsons_game_arcade.jpg" /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;">I know, Bart. I keep fucking losing. Shut up.</span><br /></center><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">A Brief History of the Quarter</span><br /><br />The first quarters were struck in 1796 with only <a href="http://www.coinfacts.com/quarter_dollars/quarter_dollars.html" target="new">6,146</a> produced. The demand for the first quarters wasn't quite as high as my demand to my mom to give me another handful for the claw machine.<br /><br />Some history stuff happened for about 130 years before the quarter we know and love took shape. In 1932, a new quarter design was struck to <a href="http://www.usmint.gov/mint_programs/circulatingCoins/?flash=yes&action=CircQuarterDollar" target="new">commemorate the 200th anniversary of George Washington</a>. The redesign was so popular, it stuck.<br /><br />Between 1999-2009 the reverse design changed 56 times (each state had it's own <a href="http://www.usmint.gov/mint_programs/50sq_program/index.cfm?action=designs_50sq" target="new">commemorative quarter</a> and then <a href="http://www.usmint.gov/mint_programs/DCAndTerritories/" target="new">the territories</a>--but I didn't know about the latter).<br /><br />I'm partial to California's quarter. That dude has an <a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:California_quarter,_reverse_side,_2005.jpg" target="new">epic beard</a>. And that falcon wants to nest in it.<br /><br />What is the next big trend for the quarter?<br /><center><br /><img src="http://img257.imageshack.us/img257/4103/sspx0055.jpg" width="500" /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:78%;">I'll never see you again.</span><br /></center><br />Sucks that every time I go to the laundromat I use up 24 of these pretty babies.Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808801523673999781noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4277679007777841440.post-65539664399736698132010-06-27T13:24:00.000-07:002010-06-27T13:30:05.748-07:00U Dun Wanna C: office 00:02:04;06Nobody really likes video art.<br /><br />But, to me, it's "cool" and "outrageous" to say I do.<br /><br />It's even more "outrageous" to make video art.<br /><br />So here is the first installment of an experimental series, U Dun Wanna C.<br /><br />They are short and simple pieces of art that take very little talent.<br /><br />This first one chronicles my average workday.<br /><center><br /><object width="600" height="350"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=12895424&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=12895424&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="600" height="350"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/12895424">U Dun Wanna C: office 00:02:04;06</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user4140786">Zach Lynn</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p></center>Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808801523673999781noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4277679007777841440.post-8197547713256335772010-06-25T11:32:00.000-07:002010-06-25T11:48:03.161-07:00mmm. fresh clothes. *sniff*Whenever I ride my bike to the liquor store, I pass by one of the local laundromats.<br /><br />Depending on the wind (which, most the time, doesn't exist), I can smell the ever so heavenly scent of clean linens almost a block away.<br /><br />Outdoor laundromats fill the streets with that gorgeous smell.<br /><br />I've tried to bring that smell home with me (aside from just on my clothes, obviously) in candles and sprays and gel-like wall plugins. They suck.<br /><center><br /><img src="http://www.walgreens.com/dbimagecache/04650015713_450x450_a.jpg" height="200"><br /><font size="1" face="Verdana">You suck.</font><br /></center><br />Why can't these super companies get this smell correct? I remember walking by the sorority dorm every Tuesday and Thursday for a night class, and the air was awash with the fresh smell of truly clean laundry.<br /><center><br /><img src="http://img441.imageshack.us/img441/485/1000263g.jpg" width="580"><br /><font size="1" face="Verdana">You are also too expensive. $4? Come on.</font><br /></center><br />Can you tell I'm bored at work? I want to smell some clothes.Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808801523673999781noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4277679007777841440.post-14745692863897986542010-06-18T15:56:00.001-07:002010-06-18T16:14:33.264-07:00lost pets.After seeing my neighbor's house being broken into by three deadbeats, I'm in the mood to make a depressing post.<br /><br />Each laundromat I've been to has the ubiquitous corkboard. Want ads. Lost and found. Cleaning services. You know, things tacked all over the place.<br /><br />But there's always that one piece of paper that actually has some small amount of meaning to it. Some purpose greater than the "OrlandoSingles.com" flyers.<br /><br />Lost pets.<br /><br />A lot of times I won't even stop to read these. Maybe I'm callous, but I just skim over them like the rest of the stupid shit posted.<br /><br />But sometimes when that last spin cycle seems to take extra long--I have to find something to read.<br /><br />There's an immediate story to each of them. You get the dog's (cat's, bird's, alligator's) name, personality, age, and sometimes a fun anecdote just to help you connect. Really, I've seen some good ones. Maybe there is a company that will write your lost pet flyers for a minimum amount of money.<br /><br />However, most of them seem to be hastily designed. Fluffikins has been missing for about two hours, Suzy and Stan have scoured the 4 blocks around their bungalow house, and now they need to get the word out to the neighborhood. Every second counts! Every second is one more chance for Fluffikins to wind up under a car.<br /><center><br /><img src="http://img130.imageshack.us/img130/2788/sspx0027a.jpg" height="300"><br /><font size="1" face="Verdana">This was a rush job. But the paper protector gives it permanence to go along with its urgency. </font><br /></center><br />Then others are elaborate. Someone took the time and patience to fire up Photoshop or InDesign to create a perfect piece of advertising. They may as well put a hyperlink to a fully developed website showcasing an effects-heavy video.<br /><br />These flyers are weird.<br /><br />But a lot of these miniature stories fall victim to vandalism and graffiti, like most publicly posted documents. Sometimes it can be lighthearted fun (such as adding a mustache to a ginger cat), but then there are assholes that act like assholes just for the sake of being an asshole.<br /><center><br /><img src="http://img337.imageshack.us/img337/8855/sspx0025.jpg" height="300"><br /><font size="1">Thank you Mr. I-Know-More-About-Your-Dog-Than-You. Now help them find their impostor Scottie. </font><br /></center>Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808801523673999781noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4277679007777841440.post-37545534582819354382010-06-16T21:41:00.001-07:002010-06-16T23:52:37.967-07:00a place to think.There's a lot of downtime at the laundromat.<div><br /></div><div>You sort your clothes (or just throw them all in one machine, like me), add your detergent, quarters, turn some knobs, and close the lid.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then you have a while to sit around. Or walk around. Or read the black 'zines thrown about. Or pretend you are on your phone to avoid the annoying bum hovering around dryer #4. Where the hell are his clothes, anyway?</div><div><br /></div><div>A lot of people are forced to use their local public laundry services, and I'm certain they sit there waiting for their clothes to wash and dry thinking, "What else could I be doing right now?"</div><div><br /></div><div>My answer: <b>start a blog</b>.</div><div><br /></div><div>So here's to you, local laundromats. All of you Suds Worlds, and Carnival Coins, and (especially you) unnamed coin-op down the street. Once a week you introduce me to my neighbors. And man. They are fucking weird.</div>Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12808801523673999781noreply@blogger.com0