Today I get into a cab and tell the driver I need to go to the corner of Waveland and Broadway. After a minute of driving I change my mind and say, "Actually, make that Waveland and Pine Grove."

"Is that your final answer?" the cab driver asks in his accent. I give him a courtesy laugh and tell him that yes, that is my final answer. "Because you can change your guess until you say final answer," he continues. I look out the cab window, not knowing how to reply to that. "Or you could use one of your three lifelines," he goes on.

Forget the fact that this joke isn't funny; it's not even topical. Maybe (maybe!) if he had told this five years ago I would have laughed. This, my friend, is no five years ago. He keeps going: "You have 50/50. Phone a friend. Or poll the audience." How am I even supposed to respond to this?

My best guess is continue staring out the window and ignore him. This is what I do. This is my final answer.

It's 1:30 in the morning. I can't sleep.

I'm moving tomorrow (or, since it's past midnight, today). Yep, that's right. Moving day. I have to be moved into the Strict Building by 11:30 am so the moving festivities have to start early. But I'm anxious and I can't sleep.

It seems to me that moving day for adults is kind of like Christmas Eve for kids (or, some adults also). You're excited for tomorrow to come and you can't sleep, but you know that the sooner you fall asleep the sooner tomorrow will come. Very catch-22. Also, there's no incentive for me to go to sleep early, ala if I don't go to sleep then a fat man won't come into my apartment and eat my cookies. I'd rather force myself to stay awake than have some fat guy come into my place and eat my food. Maybe I'm getting carried away with this analogy.

I just can't stop going over in my head all I have to move, and where I'm going to set everything up in my new apartment. Not that mentally arranging my apartment is going to do any practical good. Because you always think you remember what your apartment looks like from when you were apartment hunting, but when you actually move in you think, "Wha? It looks like *this*?" Kind of like when you go on a first date with someone and for the next few days you're thinking about them, but it's all in your head, and you forget that they have a lazy eye, or an annoying lisp, or a prosthetic arm. So in your head they become better than they really are. And then after a few days you have your second date and then as soon as you see them it hits you: "Oooh! Right! They remind me of Pat Nixon! *That's* why I didn't sleep with them on the first date!"

I hope my apartment doesn't remind me of Pat Nixon. I'd settle for Lady Bird Johnson.

It's now 1:48 in the morning. I still can't sleep. Happy moving day.

Have I ever told you about my dislike for pants (usually of the sweat variety) with words on the butt. You know the sweatpants I'm talking about. They'll say things like "Juicy" or "Foxy". The main reason I don't like it is because it forces you to look at the ass. Your eyes are just drawn to reading things, even if you don't necessarily want to look at that ass. If I want to look I will, but don't make me. And as Go Fug Yourself says, "If you have to write it on your ass, it might not be true."

Also (though completely unrelated), by popular demand (and by "popular" I mean "Janice") a new It's All Relative with Edward Smarngis is up. So go! Enjoy it already!

Today at the gym there was some skincare infomercial on one of the TVs. Vanessa Williams was talking about the amazing effects the product had on acne and blemishes, while interviewing celebrities who used the product. And of course there were testimonials by "real people" who used the product. One of these real people was Kelsey Poore, 18. She had bad skin, and her last name was Poore. How ironic!

Last night Dana and I went to a midnight showing of Degrassi Jr. High at the Music Box.

I'm used to seeing parts of the new Degrassi High late at night on Noggin (the cable network), and didn't realize how painful the old episodes from the early 90's were. How painful you may ask? We walked out in the middle.

Though I couldn't help thinking of that part in Chasing Amy...

Holden: So, uh, what do you wanna do tonight?
Banky: I dunno. Get a pizza, watch "Degrassi Jr. High".
Holden: You got a weird thing for Canadian melodrama.
Banky: I got a weird thing for girls who say, "Aboot."

True that.

So I'm moving.

Don't worry, it's not out of state (or even city). It's just nine blocks south. Which is a lot to some people.

Steve: Oh, where are you moving to?
Me: It's on Diversey by the lake.
Steve: That's far.
Me: It's nine blocks!

The building I'm moving into is mostly condos with a few apartments for rent (mine being one of them), so the building functions as a condo building would, with a board and whatnot. Tonight I had a meeting with the head of the condo board where she gave me a booklet outlining the rules and regulations of the building. I was very intimidated.

The booklet was 18 pages long, with entire pages devoted to things you would think were common sense (such as Dress Code for Public Areas, where I'm informed that "Passengers using the front elevator, main entrance and lobby are required to dress appropriately (wear as a minimum shoes, shorts and shirt or blouse or some reasonable variant thereof)). The booklet also covers keys, the laundry room, where to throw out my trash, and several pages on the proper way to set up and execute my move-in. Did I mention that I was very intimidated?

Me: It's all very adult.
Bernadette: I can already picture you getting into trouble in some horrible awkward situation, like an episode of Seinfeld, where it won't really be your fault, but you'll be caught red-handed and fined.

Oh, did I mention there's a whole page outlining fines?

$500 for illegal move-in/move-out. $150 for barbecuing on the premises. $100 for illegal use of the stairwell. ...How do you illegally use a stairwell?!

Me: And when you come visit me you have to sign-in.
Bernadette: I'm never coming to visit you.
Me: Please!
Bernadette: I'll probably get fined.

Sigh. No one is ever going to come visit me.

The other day Micah and I happened to watch an episode of Modern Marvels on The History Channel. The show was about industrial lubricants. The show was titled "Lube Job." Needless to say I laughed like an 11 year old throughout the entire show.

There's nothing like a 60-year-old DuPont Senior Lubricant Engineer saying phrases like "thicker lubricating film to protect moving parts" to bring out the immature boy in you.

And when they started talking about the lubricants NASA uses, saying, "Plus, lubricants had to resist heat, the danger posed by rockets," I just about lost it.

Immature? Sure. But the History Channel started it.

So you thought blogging was 21st century? You thought wrong!

After reaching the conclusion that having a blog is no longer as hip as it once was, I've decided to get a podcast. Some of you may be wondering what the hell a podcast is. Well it's kind of like an audio blog that you can listen to on your computer or put on your iPod (or other MP3 player). A lot of podcasts I've listened to have people talking about what they did that day, or what they thought of their favorite TV show that was on the other night. In other words: riveting!

So I decided to do something different for my podcast. My podcast will be a weekly episode of the fictional NPR talk show, It's All Relative, hosted by Edward Smarngis. Confused? Don't be. It's a fake NPR show with a fake host and fake guests. And it should come out about every week or so. And hopefully you'll think it's funny. Get it now? Alright.

It's All Relative will hopefully be available soon at iTunes and other podcast directories, but for now it's available simply here. Enjoy.

Last night I was at a party thrown by two friends around the corner. For some reason the conversation turned to time travel, and I remembered an interested fact I knew that was semi-related to time travel.

Me: I remember reading something about how in Back to the Future they were originally going to have the time machine be a refrigerator instead of a car, but the filmmakers were worried about kids going into fridges and getting stuck.
Jeff: Hmm, that's interesting. I think I read that they also considered making the time travel happen if you drank a bottle of Draino.

The few drinks I'd had at the party make this seem funnier to me than it probably was. I started laughing uncontrollably. Jeff takes advantage of this and goes on.

Jeff: But they decided against that. So then they though about making the time travel happen when they ran with knives.

The uncontrollable laughter continued. Sigh. ...Thank God they went with the Delorian.

Freddie Prinze Jr. has a new TV show. His own TV show. It's called Freddie.

From what I understand he plays a chef (Named Freddie! Amazing!) who for some reason has his sister, his niece, his grandmother, and his sister in law, all move into his apartment. And that guy from 90210 lives across the hall from him.

Ahem...

ABC, what are you doing? You've got Desperate Housewives now! You've got Lost. I think some people still watch Alias, and I know a lot of people like that Grey's Anatomy show. For some reason According to Jim is still on the air (a show so one-dimensional they haven't even bothered to give 'Jim' a last name after five seasons). Why would you be so stupid as to give Freddie Prinze Jr. a show? ...Where he lives with four female relatives? What about that sounds appealing to you? Maybe my Jim example was more of an explanation for this behavior than I realized. But still. Freddie? Really?!

Does Freddie have compromising Polaroids of the President of the network having sex with an animal or something? Did one of the executives lose a bet? (If the other guy had lost would I now be ranting about the new Rob Schneider sitcom called Deuce Bigalow: Sitcom Gigolo?) C'mon guys! Are you that starved for good shows that you're just handing one to Freddie Prinze Jr.?!

For God sakes, just read my last blog! One of those would be much better than anything Freddie can come up with. I promise you!

I should work for a TV network.

Example #1: Everyone has secrets. Some are small like "I can't believe it's not butter!" Others are big like "My sister! Slap! My daughter! Slap! My sister! Slap! My daughter! Slap!" Dana's secret is medium. She watches The OC. "Josh, you'd totally love it," she tells me. "And I have both seasons on DVD. You need to watch it."

"You know what I think would be a great show?" I say. "It'd be about these rich people who live in Orange County that have obsessive compulsive disorder." Dana looks at me for a second before she gets it. "It'd be called The OCD," I tell her. "Damnit Lauren!" I say, launching into my OCD character, "I know why you couldn't come over last night! It was because you couldn't stop washing your hands!"

Example #2: Sometimes when I get bored at work I look at the reservation list and pick out funny names. Saturday night happened to have Dibble and Stumpf. "Those are funny names!" I tell Nicole. "Not really," she says, too cool to stoop to my level. "Dibble and Stumpf," I repeat. "It could be like a copy buddy show. Dibble would be the tough, jaded cop, who has been on the force for years, and doesn't give a damn about anyone or anything. And Stumpf would be his new rookie partner who does everything by the book." Nicole starts to turn away from me and roll her eyes. "I saw that!" I yell. "It's funny and you know it!"

Why FOX hasn't given me a development deal yet...God only knows.

Today while walking past the United Methodist Church on Broadway I read the message board outside the church.

"Come Sunday to Family Day! It's just like a family reunion only gayer and with less drama!"

This message board just keeps getting better and better.

From the book American Psycho by Brett Easton Ellis (page 44):

I decide to even the score a little bit by showing everyone my new business card. I pull it out of my gazelleskin wallet (Barney's, $850) and slap it on the table, waiting for reactions.
"What is that, a gram?" Price asks, not apathetically.
"New card." I try to act casual about it but I'm smiling proudly. "What do you think?"
"Whoa," McDermott says, lifting it up, fingering the card, genuinely impressed. "Very nice. Take a look." He hands it to Van Patten.
"Picked them up from the printer's yesterday," I mention.
"Cool coloring," Van Patten says, studying the card closely.
"That's bone," I point out. "And the lettering is something called Silian Rail."
"Silian Rail?" McDermott asks.
"Yeah. Not bad, huh?"
"It is very cool, Bateman," Van Patten says guardedly, the jealous bastard, "but that's nothing..." He pulls out his wallet and slaps his card next to an ashtray. "Look at this."
We all lean over and inspect David's card and Price quietly says, "That's really nice." A brief spasm of jealousy courses through me when I notice the elegance of the color and the classy type. I clench my fist as Van Patten says smugly, "Eggshell with Romaliam type..." He turns to me. "What do you think?"
"Nice," I croak, but manage to nod, as the busboy brings us four fresh bellinis.
"But wait," Price says. "You ain't seen nothin' yet..." He pulls his out of an inside coat pocket and slowly, dramatically turns it over for our inspection and says, "Mine."
Even I have to admit it's magnificent.

Today Kami, Joel and I are out to lunch. Joel pulls out his phone. "You guys have got to see what I got this morning." Joel presses a few keys on his phone and a Destiny's Child song starts playing. "It's a new ringtone I downloaded," he informs us. "Nice," I say. Kami laughs.

"That's so funny," Kami says. "I just downloaded some new ringtones too." Kami flips open her phone and plays Sexual Healing by Marvin Gaye. Joel nods his head in appreciation and laughs. "Very nice," I say. "But check this out." I flip open my phone and start playing Don't Stop Til' You Get Enough by Michael Jackson. "Ooh, that's a good one," Kami says. "Loves it," Joel says.

I suddenly think back to the part in American Psycho I had read only a week before. I shudder slightly. That's a bit too close for comfort.