Heyo. I’ve put together a quick and rather random photo gallery of a few of the pictures I have. It’s linked to the sidebar, and I’ll put the link in right here…
And if you need the actual link itself, it’s:
https://kiplange.com/picture_gallery/pictures1.html
Enjoy. And don’t ask me what the hell the pictures are, it’s just a random assortment.
Well, here we are, boys.
Everybody gets the game now. NFL Network coughed it up to all three major networks, I believe.
Of course, to match the ’72 Dolphins, really, we have to go on and win the Superbowl, and while I’m not worried about a Cowboys-Patriots game, I am concerned about how we’ll do against Indy. They’ve got Harrison back now and we weren’t so sharp against them last time around.
But still, if the Pats hit the 16-0 mark, it’s history.
The NFL Network is running a six hour pregame show.
How much more hype can we stand? I feel like someone has punched a frigging needle full of hype straight into my chest a la Uma Thurman’s adrenaline injection in Pulp Fiction.
Anyway, here we go…
Shout out to K-Rhyme, whom I just had lunch with today.
Many important issues were discussed, including the nature of consciousness and the general state of pants.
And I got to meet the elusive L., K-Rhyme’s girlfriend.
A pleasure all-around.
I just took this picture about five minutes ago. I love my dad. My dad rules. My dad can beat up your dad. Click on it for a much larger version.
Did you know that there actually are lyrics to the original Star Trek theme song? You know, the one with Kirk, McCoy, et al. It’s true, it’s not an urban legend; snopes.com backs it up.
Here, for your benefit, are the lyrics to the original Star Trek theme song. Please try not to read these while you have anything in your stomach. I warned you.
And a one and a two and…
Beyond
The rim of the star-light
My love
Is wand’ring in star-flight
I know
He’ll find in star-clustered reaches
Love,
Strange love a star woman teaches.
I know
His journey ends never
His star trek
Will go on forever.
But tell him
While he wanders his starry sea
Remember, remember me.
You know, I might kinda dig the “strange love a star woman teaches”.
*sigh*. Google has dropped my page ranking for “Kip Lang” again, so I’m just going to have to say Kip Lang a few times until Google spiders go out and crawl over this article and realize that Kip Lang was writing about how people misspell his name as “Kip Lang” (and not Kip Lange, which is correct, and the E is silent), so, you see, I’ve got to repeat the phrase Kip Lang as much as I can, possibly linked with Kip Lang having sex, Kip Lang naked, Kip Lang on dope, Kip Lang is dead, long live Kip Lang.
There.
Argh. I’ve now spent like seven hours on Facebook. It’s too addicting. I have to get away from it.
Who are these people who have over 100 friends on these social networking sites? I can’t even think of 100 random names of people, much less 100 people I know.
And, tell me, is there anything more ugly than those MySpace pages people create with the flashing backgrounds and stuff which subsequently obscures the fascinating minutiae of their life, like how they like to hump Teddy Bears, or something like that (as long as the Teddy Bear isn’t named “Mohammed”).
Worst of all, now I’m on there. Argh! Argh!
Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to add to my sidebar links the homepage of one Mr. Kevin Shay, author of The End as I Know It: A Novel of Millenial Anxiety.
Kevin and I go wayyyy, way, wayyyyy back in the Wayback machine to a little place called Creative Arts at Park.
The above link is to the book itself; the sidebar link is to Kevin’s blog.
Listen to Kevin. Read Kevin. Kevin is a very intelligent man. You don’t hear me saying that too often.
Does anybody else get these? The aforementioned “post-Christmas blahs”?
You gotta know what I mean. All the effort and everything that leads up to Christmas, then everybody opens their presents, and you eat your ham, or maybe you open your ham and you eat your presents, I don’t know, but then, damn, it’s all over and New Year’s is creeping up…and I really am kind of sick of celebrating New Year’s, it always feels forced to me.
I mean, back in the day, so to speak, I liked New Year’s, because I’d go out and get totally plastered and then maybe dump a beer on my head at midnight. But now I’m older and my constitution simply can’t take that, even if I was still trying to party at that level.
It’s just an empty feeling, you know? A very empty feeling. I was so close to running to the liquor store and buying a pint of Jack Daniel’s, but that never goes well — drinking alone, I mean — and I always end up calling up some ex-girlfriend at like one in the morning and insisting I still love her (which I probably do, but which none of the poor ladies I have put through the grinder that is known as a relationship with me deserve to be reminded of).
Ah well.
Yes, indeed. Merry Fucking Christmas, okay?
Really.
And a happy motherfucking New Year.
Regards,
Weird Uncle Kip