This is an ACTUAL line about an ACTUAL movie:

"The theatrical version has scenes that were removed or severely truncated for broadcast on American TV, due to nudity, sex, the use of real life dwarfs, mutilated and otherwise deformed people, and allegedly profane references to the Catholic Church."

Now, how does that sound out of context? It sounds like a fun Friday night to me.

Actually, the movie was pretty weird, in case you hadn't guessed. It's called "The Sentinel." I would be hard pressed to compare it to anything other than the movies that "inspired" it (as I understand it, The Sentinel was kind of a bandwagon horror film following the Exorcist and the Omen). It's absurdly bad at some points, and remarkably good at others, so I really don't know what my overall impression is.

The other mind boggling thing about the film is the number of small roles by actors who would go on to bigger things. The photographer with the unbuttoned shirt and the slight European accent? Jeff Goldblum. The detective's assistant who has three words in the whole movie? Christopher Walken. The TV commercial director with the Hitler moustache? Jerry Orbach. The demonic lesbian who never speaks? Beverly D'Angelo...

Speaking of which, how's this for great dialogue?
Alison: "So what do you both do for a living?"
Gerde: "We fondle each other."

Classic! I just don't know what to say about this one. It is equal parts "so bad it's funny," "so bad it's bad," "slightly interesting," "freaking scary," and "a little bit sexy" (Christina Raines, where have you been all my life? Oh, you're like, 55 now? Yea, um, sorry to bother you). So if you have a stomach for blood and bad dialog, you might want to rent this one. It should may you laugh, cringe, cover your eyes, and make you go, "Um... riiiiiiight."

P.S. - OK, even if it's 1977 and the apartment is sitting on the gate to hell, there is no freaking way that she could get it, fully furnished, for ony $400 a month. That's bullshit.

There’s a contest on Sobe bottles to win something. It does not state anywhere on the bottles what you could win. All I know is that I haven’t won it yet. Basically I'm getting bottle caps that tell me I'm a loser for no reason.

Sometimes when I’m awake at night, I think of funny ways to start a story. I don’t even think about what the story would be about; just a catchy intro paragraph that would give the reader a laugh and make them want to hear more. Intro’s like this:

“During lovemaking she called out six different names. None of them were mine. I got Steve, Bill, Dave, two Mikes (I would later find out that they were two different Mikes), and a fictional character that I will not name, so as to avoid tarnishing any childhood memories. What had begun as a suspicion that she wasn’t thinking about me had grown into speculation that she was thinking about something entirely out of the current context; like the phone book.”

I should write a book full of intros like that. I got a bunch. Maybe one of these days I’ll actually develop a whole story to go with these introductions.

AAAHHH! Burning ball of flame in the sky! What is it? I feel it penetrating my spongy, mushroom speckled skin! It's making the clouds go away! Come back clouds! I can't remember life without you! It's drying up the water! How will I breathe without water? I'm starting to flop around, my tail fin is begining to ache. If all the water dries up, where will I go to spawn?

Um. OK. Got carried away with that spawn joke. I know.

I had that dream again where I was back in high school. But, it wasn’t like I was re-living my early years, I had long since graduated and I was back taking new classes, like I was trying to get my P.H.D in Home Ec., or something.

In fact, I was a senior again. I was cocky. I would wander the halls when I should have been in class. I didn’t even have a hall pass. Whenever anyone gave me shit, I was like, “Read the student I.D., Jr. I’ve been here for eight years! I’ve got seniority! I got my diploma when you were still making pictures of a turkey by tracing your hand.” (I have no idea why the hell I used that as an example).

I would sit out in the courtyard soaking up the sun while teenagers scurried to their home-rooms. When I decided to actually attend a class, I would wander through the new building that they recently added, trying to find the room number. I’m not sure what crazy system the kids of today are using, but all the rooms in the new building had the same number, and it wasn’t the number I was looking for.

In my dream, there had been a candy store which had been demolished to make way for the new building. As I wandered the halls, looking for my class, I remember thinking, “They tore down the candy store for this shit? What a waste.”

My alarm clock woke me up at roughly that point, which is fortunate because all the dreams I’ve had about high school have ended the same way; I realize that I have to stay there another year because I’ve been missing my morning gym class all semester. So, thank God for that.

Snooty Bartender: Good evening, sir. And what would you like to drink?
Jon: I’ll have a Mike’s Hard Lemonade.
Snooty Bartender: I’m sorry sir, but we can’t serve that drink to men.
Jon: …huh?
Snooty Bartender: We reserve Mike’s for our female patrons.
Jon: What? Why?
Snooty Bartender: Because it’s a bitch beer.
Jon: A bitch beer?
Snooty Bartender: Yes sir, a beer consumed by bitches.
Jon: So you’re saying all women are bitches?
Snooty Bartender: What I’m saying is that men order beer, and women order malt beverages. Men who consume malt beverages are bitches.
Jon: And what do you call women who drink beer?
Snooty Bartender: They are still women, and more appealing women, if I may say so.
Jon: But I don’t like beer.
Snooty Bartender: I believe that is a common side effect of having your testicles removed, sir. Why don't I just pour you a nice cold gingerale.
Jon: Sigh. Fine.

I truly despise the system of naming stadiums after their corporate sponsors. Places that once had character, location, and instant name recognition now operate under the label of the nationwide chains that support them. It’s really depressing. Sports fans or not, I’m sure you’re all with me on this.

Well, as some of you know, this corporate naming system has shrunk to a new, surprisingly stupid low. The name they have chosen for the Fisher Cats home stadium in downtown Manchester is, “Merchantsauto.com Stadium.”

I’ll repeat that for the stupidity-impaired. They have named our stadium after a website; a website for a company that sells cars, and just happens to have a website.

Now don’t get me wrong. I like Merchant’s Auto. I bought my car from them, and they are good, community minded people. But, at the very least, they could have considered “Merchant’s Auto Stadium.” No, they had to be as explicit as humanly possible to cover the lowest common denominator. They chose, “MerchantsautoDOTCOM Stadium.”

Shit, why stop there? Why not cover all your bases? Just to be sure, let’s call it “H-T-T-P Colon Backslash Backslash W-W-W Merchantsauto.com Stadium!”

But what about those people who don’t have computers? Yes, they are few in number, but as long as we’re catering to everyone, why not try some double billing with “Buy A Computer At Best Buy and Type http://www.merchantsauto.com in Your Web Browser Stadium.”

Granted, it’s an effective marketing ploy. Even as I rant about the absurdity of it, I’ve mentioned the web site enough to make some of you go, “Well, how good is this website anyway? I better check it out.” But, as I’ve said, I have nothing against the company.

So go, check it out. And if they ask, tell them JonathanEHoysradt.com sent you.

My chocolate bunny is deranged! Look at those crazy eyes man! He'll eat your soul!

The place is in Nashua which, so far, as turned out to be a pretty agreeable city. Sure, I’ve been to Nashua a bunch of times, and I’ve worked there for over a year, but it’s not until you actually live there that you feel like you’re getting to know the layout of the town and where all the important stuff is (I now know where to get crack. You know, if I need it).

Spreading out has been something of a mental hurdle. I have always been a centrally located kind of guy. Even my last apartment could have been considered a single, large room with a wall in the middle of it. Furthermore, when I moved back home I managed to shoehorn all the essentials back into my old room, having to leave only for food and toilet… and bathing. I didn’t forget bathing.

Now I’ve got three floors to share with only one other person and two cats. Yet still, my first instinct was to shove everything into my room. Oh sure, I put the kitchen utensils and stuff in the kitchen, but everything that was once in my room in the past was in my room now.

I had to sit down and think hard about what I could put elsewhere. I take comfort in having most everything I need at hand, and putting any of these items anywhere as remote and distant as downstairs made me nervous.

In the end, I managed to detach myself from my bookcase and my movie collection enough to put them in the shared living area. It was a beneficial arrangement, as now my roommate could borrow movies at her leisure. And, as time has passed, I’ve become comfortable with it.

Wow, how much of a basket case am I?

The basement area is slowly becoming a rec room. It is a task that neither of us has dedicated much time to yet. At the moment, it is more of a storage area, and the uncontested domain of the cats (a place they can run to when they hear the vacuum). I see so much potential for the room, but having the time and resources to realize my wild home design dreams is another issue.

As for working and living with the same person, I’d say it’s no trouble at all. We work in different departments, and when we’re home we go about our own business by ourselves. In fact, we’ve had dinner together more times before we moved in than since. She’s an agreeable girl, neat and considerate; all you could want in a roommate or a coworker. I consider myself very fortunate to have gotten to know her before we became roommates; I am much better off than if I had been forced to take out an ad for a roommate in the paper.

Wow, this blog is stagnant, does this guy ever update?

Oh wait, shit. This is my blog! Sorry.

I done moved. Again. While I don’t move as often as some people… cough cough greg cough… I feel like I haven’t settled anywhere in quite a while. Going home was supposed to be temporary. Then, all of the sudden, I woke up on the far side of two years and I was still living with my parents. I had become settled, sitting comfortably in a rut.

I was under the impression that I was just short of the financial means to get a place of my own, and I was. But who knows what I could have found if I had truly committed myself to searching. I might have discovered a tiny studio apartment to fit my needs; one that was a) clean, b) bigger than a box of Twinkies, and c) around $500 per month. Yea right! And my landlord would have been a majestic unicorn who grants wishes to anyone who can catch three woodland faries in a magical jar.

It wasn’t until I met someone at work who was also on the apartment hunt and thinking maybe a roommate would soften the blow of rent and utilities.

And long story short, here I am. Let me tell you, it feels good.

We saw our share of crappy apartments. We were given tours of cramped, dirty places whose landlords started the tour with phrases like, “It does need some work,” and, “I really don’t know how the skunk got in here.”

Then we found an excellent place. But we applied too late and didn’t get it, so forget that place. But then we found a better place, and we got that one. Ka-ching!

It’s a nice three-story townhouse in a quiet (read “mostly old”) community.

Some minor maintenance was required, but most of it was addressed before we moved in. The lingering problems involved certain windows not totally working (you know, opening and closing, none of that advanced window shit), and a smattering of plumbing problems (a slightly drippy sink and a mini dishwasher that doesn’t actually drain water (alright if you want to wash the dishes and the floor at the same time, but…)). The windows have been fixed, and the plumber, much like Jesus, will be coming back at some undetermined time in the future. I can’t complain though, we have all the amenities we need and then some.