When people hear my schedule tends to run overnight, that I’m rather turned around, they ask why.

The simple answer is “I live in Phoenix.” It’s 105 degrees, it’s hot, oppressively so. There’s constant, beating sun, no cloud cover, no precipitation. It’s the kind of environment that drives people mad in movies, and with good reason. It’s a hostile, threatening environment, and you spend at least three months seriously uncomfortable throughout the day.

I don’t know that there’s a recognized reverse SAD, but if there isn’t, I think some doctors need to come to Phoenix and observe. People are lethargic, irritable, depressed, and even violent when they work a day shift here. Yet the people at night, normally considered the rough shift, particularly overnight, are much, much happier.

Frankly, it’s just EASIER to sleep through the daytime, and your body tries to enforce it. Wake up a bit before sundown, enough time to go hunting, live overnight, go to bed after another hunt at dawn. Most of the dangerous creatures in the desert are even out in the daytime, particularly the snakes and other bitey things. Coyotes are out at night, but not particularly dangerous to people, and much less stealthy.

Daytime and Arizona just don’t mix.

And yet, colleges here insist on putting the best classes at noon, starting in late August, during some of the worst temperatures of the year.

Shit.

Well, technically I’m ghost writing it.

I can’t tell you who it’s for, as much as I want to, and I probably shouldn’t reveal this much. All I can say is this fall, you should get a copy of “Witches’ Tits and Sheiks’ Taints:My Life in Meteorology.”

Apparently he’s in Glendale, Arizona. Aka Metro Phoenix.

AFK, sharpening knives, doin’ a dime in the big house.

Not when you read the following on Wikipedia:

“It was started in 1986 by surviving members of the now defunct Suicide Club of San Francisco.”

I just learned where “Fuckin’ magnets, how do they work?” originated by being shown the Insane Clown Posse video for Miracles.

My IQ just dropped by 20 damn points, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get them back. Thanks, Shaggy and J.

I bring you “glogs” from the top rated section. There’s a rapidly noticeable pattern when you hit it. Bad poetry combined with emo pictures (as in emo styled girls, generally), and a really bad song. Plenty of mirror-shot egomania pictures too. Oh, and lots of Comic Sans. A criminal amount.

http://tunjasha.glogster.com/glog-7866-new-clip/

http://lissanight.glogster.com/girls-do-what-they-want/

http://cwhitehead.glogster.com/this-ones-for-the-girls/

http://ale05.glogster.com/tokio-mania/

And the entry for most ironic glog, http://reginaa.glogster.com/That-Girl/, wherein a list of things the poster doesn’t do is scrawled, but the girl in the picture who’s supposed to represent her does all of them.

Truly the world is a terrible place.

Well, okay, maybe not. Two are. One is a ska band that forgot the brass, one is hipster-core indie.

Point is, all the freecreditscore.com bands suck hard, and one really needs to turn the autotune off.

The upside is that marketers picked these four bands, and that means emo and indie might be on the outs. Marketers, afterall, can only be counted on to be behind the times. Even when they’re trying to be retro, they pick the wrong decade.

Exception for the Kia Soul commercial with the hamsters and Black Sheep for picking something from the best era of hip-hop and doing it in a disturbingly well put together way. I mean, that animation is way too good, and the whole concept is just so far out there that it works way too well. And then some idiot on YouTube claims the song rips off Fatboy Slim’s Weapon of Choice, but that’s my own fault for reading the second dumbest thing on the net.

The dumbest, by the way, is the comments section on Myspace Video. Take the dumbest community on the net and give them an option to access the dumbest format, and…

No, I’m not thinking about it. Have the video instead.

Stop pissing by it.

Obviously this is a message for the guys getting up in the middle of the night, wandering into the bathroom and leaving the lights out the whole time.

The rest of us are sick of cleaning the toilet twice as often as we should have to, damn it. Turn the light on.

If you live alone, feel free to disregard, of course, but if you live with someone and aren’t the one cleaning the toilet…stop it!

…”Huh. My pants feel odd tonight”, you should trust your instincts and not wear them.

Upon noticing my jeans felt a little tight and and the material felt a little off, I decided I’d best check the range of motion. I did some stretches in a few different directions, a few squats, and things seemed okay.

Upon climbing into my jeep, the crotch ripped open. I suspect my stretches did the last of the weakening the denim had to go, but it’s probably fortunate. Had it been any, the IHOP trip would have ended in teabagging and shame.

The lesson here-Do a few high kicks if your pants feel funny. Better to rip them now than in public!

I’m off to drive some friends home, because the bus system in Phoenix is shitty and stopped running at 8 pm as always, despite promises of midnight routes. Hooray, time to dodge drunks!