http://www.caribbeanfreeradio.com/blog/?p=388

What’s the etymology of “Jonty”?

And thanks for the clarification about abeer. When I read Nikipedia’s version, I thought he simply missed a space between the a and b. Sounded like the beginning of a frat party.

http://loteriachicana.net/?p=143

I’m fashionably late, but I wish you belated luck nonetheless.

I can think of nothing more valuable than bragging rights. I’m sure you concur.

Speaking of concur, my toes are always and foreverly cold. Some speculate it might be because I never wear shoes, but I’m not so sure. The rest of my body can be burning hot … but the toes, they’re always like ice cubes.

Pizza gives me gas.

http://xoloitzquintle.blogspot.com/2006/03/another-day-another-rejection.html

I hope the interview went well. Sometimes the jobs we think we don’t want turn out to be the best and vise-versa. Meanwhile, Anthropological Consultancy! If that’s not a dream job, I don’t know what is.

http://citoyenmag.blogspot.com/2006/03/belle-sebastian-amoeba-2032006.html

Dude, my little sister was at that show. She called me later that night to tell me she ditched class … then, just before I get mad, she spits out, “but it was for Belle & Sebastian, so like it’s ok right?” Haha, then I had to think back on all the times I ditched class for things not nearly as cool as a free Belle & Sebastian show and I says, “yeah, I guess that’s ok.” She told me about a cute part where they all told their secret admirers which section they’d meet them after the show.

And … I never wrote about it (or published it anyway) but in BCN I boogied down with “Belle” at … shit, don’t remember the name of the club … while “Sebastian” was spinning vinyl. She came off as a shy cat then … that coulda been my patented headless chicken dancing though.

http://drcereal.el-oso.net/?p=28

You steal the tip of my tongue. My best friend from when I was five years old – literally five, like, the year when I wet myself in class – got in touch with me recently. She writes from Thailand, then India, says her mom discovered my blog. Her mom. I don’t even remember what her mom looks like, no idea what color hair she had or has. So this girl, Katie, she’s a designer now and she’s in India, on the way to Sri Lanka, about to get married in July, and we hadn’t talked for two decades. She invites me to the wedding.

Or two friends from High School. Two of a class of 30. They get in touch with me on MySpace. Fuck, I hate/love that website.

I still haven’t called either one. This is the problem. For three hours online you can rediscover a dozen childhood friends, and you can meet another dozen new ones all over the world. But then somehow the online kaffeeklatsch must get translated into real-life frienships and those … they take time.

http://www.chrisnelson.ca/2006/03/20/new-toys/

My advice, before you’re off to Cambodia, spend a week with the camera strictly on manual mode. San Diego and its silicon boobies will be around for a long time to be photographed. Plus, with a digital, you can snap as many shots as you’d like and just delete them. Shooting in only manual though will force you to realize what adjustments you need to make … especially as lighting changes.

http://www.karenika.com/individual/enjoying_gladwell.html

I never knew you applied to Stanford Business School.

If you get drunk the night before an exam instead of studying and you fail, then the problem is that you got drunk. If you do study and you fail, the problem is that you’re stupid — and stupid, for a student, is a death sentence.

I feel like this applies to young men more than women. In high school and college, when being cool was life or death, “cool” essentially meant not caring. At least that’s how it seemed to me. Lots of my guy friends would always get drunk or stoned before taking tests. Or smoke a cigarette before a basketball game. Or pretend that some girl they were head over heels about meant nothing to them. I had always thought it was because there’s a societal mystique about the person with the natural ability (the A student who never studies or the star athlete who never trains), but I think you and Gladwell are right: lots of times we’re simply trying to make things tougher on ourselves … otherwise we have to admit that we simply failed.

http://carnepicada.blogspot.com/2006/03/happy-st.html

You mean there are other types of holidays?

http://artlung.com/blog/2006/03/20/i-am-36/

Happy belated birthday!!

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