There's a bunch of problems with having a housemate who is (at least) as technically proficient as am I. We have conversations which feature him saying things like: "You should totally give me administrative rights on your computer. Think of it this way - I'm WAY more likely to do damage to the computer through using exploits and being pissed at you than I am though having the root password and not needing to get back at you for anything." And he keeps up with the blog, which is cool in a way, but also sucks in that I can't say things like "That fucker left the toilet seat down again," and "I wish he would clean up the damn dishes every once in a while." But I suppose, all things considered, none of those things are likely to show up here because (a) that's not really the sort of thing I try to cover here and (b) I'm SO the Jack Klugman to his Tony Randall. He went away for last night, and already the house is a disaster. I woke up this morning and found dishes in the dishwasher. Which wouldn't be so bad, except they were paper plates. I think I found my shoes on the dinner table, also.

Oh, also, he got pissed because, in the last blog entry, I didn't mention who he was. Which I thought was funny, since it's someone you all know (seriously - if you read this blog, you know him). It's Ben, one of the Alltooflat Triumverate, and veteran jackass. I'm so psyched to be living with him, it's ridiculous (both literally and figuratively). So far it's been great - moving in (a process which should have been the worst thing ever) was actually a heck of a lot of fun. Don't think I stopped laughing until we bought the couch (and there's nothing funny about the couch. Which is really disappointing - got it from Craiglist, picked it up, nice couch, not ostentatious. Seriously sensible, the entire process. Sux). There were ups and downs, of course. But they all were above the zero laughter line. I admit, the most laughing I did, I did as his expense. Involved a phone call during the Republican National Convention when he said "Hey Ken, how's it going? It hasn't happened yet, but I wanted someone to know that I'm in a plastic orange cage right now, and I'm going to be getting arrested in an hour or so."

It's actually been a great couple of weeks for funny phone calls. I got another from punk rock Allison the other day tell me that she was running away with the circus. The next call I got from her was from a mobile home in Louisiana, before a show (she's a Target Girl, or (in the parlance of our time) a knife-thrower's assisstant). I send a couple of friends of mine in New Orleans to go see the show, which they said they really enjoyed. It's good having funny friends, 'cuz it makes me feel like I have to keep up.

What else, what else. . . Had the following email exchange with Ton, discussing my misuse of a phrase in the last blog entry:

Ton:: i think you mean inversely proportional.

Kennyb: What are you talking about? Oh, that's a blog ref. My bad. Also, while 'inversely proportional' would have been appropriate, it is not the only appropriate use there. I do admit, however, that my use of 'linear correlation' was imprecise: Any data set has SOME linear correlation to some arbitrary linear correlation coefficient. It just so happens that for a good number of those data (statistically independant ones, for instance) the coefficient is zero. I should have said that "there seems to be a linear correlation of -1 between the number of toys in my entertainment center and the amount I get laid." My apologies for the imprecise nature of the statement.

I mention it because, when I was done sending off the response, I realized that if I read of someone sending an email like this, I'd smack them in the head for being surprised for not getting laid often, regardless of the amount of consumer electronics in their entertainment center. They probably would also have a blog, for crissakes. Although there's a seriously unfair double standard here - if I got a message from some girl that had a response like that, I'd be buying her a ring. Different strokes for different levels of social awkwardness, I guess.