* If you live in South Texas, eventually you will notice, "Hm, there are bugs in my car." But if you are like me, you will say, "Hm, there are not enough bugs in my car. How can I make it so there are more?" The quick and easy answer: spill a gallon of soda on the floor. Next thing you know, your whip is Insect Heaven.
* Speaking of bugs, you know, they do not have trainers. They cannot be trained. They have wranglers. Bugs have three moves: run towards something, run away from something, and die. It's a man's life, being a bug.
* It occurred to me that an enjoyable and lucrative activity could be rewriting classic punk rock songs to reflect the reality of its graying fans. For example, Black Flag's "Six Pack" could become "Tall Boy" ("giant second mortgage and a tall boy to my name! TALL BOY!"), and the Dead Kennedys' "Too Drunk to Fuck" would be "Too Tired to Masturbate".
* I continue to be amazed at how much dirt accumulates under my fingernails. I'm an editor and a writer. I'm not a goddamn farmer. I can go days at a time without doing any kind of physical labor (well, other than stringing a crossbow). And yet every time I look at my hands: filth. Filth under the fingernails. Perhaps I am just naturally dirty, being an Arab-American and all.