Rockin' Ebola; Split-end Blues; et al.

Finally, musicians are playing actual instruments again. Synthesizers are all fine and good, and I personally love the theremin, but there's a line that should never have been crossed: electronic drum kits. Logistically, it's almost infinitely more complicated to design and manufacture a hunk of electronics that simulates simple percussion than it is to build a drum. That's just inefficient. Besides, isn't there something fundamentally satisfying about banging away on some big ol' drums with little wooden sticks? And it's not as though the synthetic drums sound particularly impressive. If you're going to waste biomechanical energy beating on stuff, you may as well take the trouble to do it right...

You know the only thing that would be more imminently enjoyable than watching cobbled-together robots beating the bloody hell out of each other? Watching cobbled-together robots beating the bloody hell out of my Roomate. I'm generally a pacifist, but this guy's a real ass.

I was in a local store today, and I chanced to wander into the section devoted to hair care products. Apparently, it is not only possible to curl my straight, fine hair, but to condition the pores in my scalp, maximize the moisture balance in my assorted follicles, and even--I know, I couldn't believe it either--finally put an end to the abysmal terrors of protein deficiency. I didn't know I had a protein deficiency, but it must indeed be severe if its ill effects have spilled over to my coiffure. You know what I like in a shampoo? I know this must sound like a radical, even dangerous idea, but I like a shampoo with the ability to clean my hair. If I wanted herbs and nutrients in my hair, I'd put a steak on my head and roll about on the lawn.

If I see one more puppet cavorting about my television screen issuing geysers of simulated excreta, I fully intend to...
Come to think of it, what in Hell can be done about this? I welcome any suggestions.

Note to Self: If Pres. George W. can frolic around waging war on nebulous intellectual concepts such as the ones governing Terrorism (punctuation his, not mine), then I declare an immediate commencement of hostilities against midlife angst, daytime TV talk shows, and that weird crud that forms on the tops of toothpaste tubes. Oh, and the color yellow. I never did like yellow.

The Masked Logician is lazy and very, very surly. Comments, cash, and secrets of immortality welcomed.