Apparently I’m not the first person to use the term “tree-manity,” nor am I the first person to use the entire phrase, “Oh the tree-manity.”

Funny how that works. Granted, if Google didn’t exist, I would definitely think it was the first recorded use of the term, and I’d be all excited. Damn you, Google. Damn you for dashing my dreams of creating a new term. Damn you to… glockensphere. Yeah. It’s an other-worldly plane full of dinging sounds. It’s gotta be someone’s personal hell. And it’s my term, dammit! Mine!

I can’t believe how much trash we produce in a day.

I mean, we don’t actually produce it (at least not the kind I’m talking about), so I guess it’s more correct to say that we… deposit it.

Anyway, what I’m talking about is all the packaging, all the bags, bottles, and cans, all the napkins, paper towels, and so forth. Recyclable or non-recyclable, it’s all trash because it’s all stuff we don’t need anymore. And I’m amazed because I manage to fill the trash can at my desk to its brim every single day with just the trash from my breakfast, lunch, and occasional paperwork.

Naturally I’m not planning to do anything about this, like switching to reusable cutlery or asking for “no bag” when I buy my lunch. That’s for proactive eco-people, and I’m hardly one of those. I’m just amazed by it and thought it was worth mentioning.

Traci works for a newspaper. Her boss asked her to write an article about how pets cope with the hot summer. The task obviously demanded incredible journalistic skills, so I told her I’d ghost-write it for her. Here’s my article:

How Pets Cope With the Hot Summer
BY TRACI

They pant.

_

Pulitzer, here I come.

This Subway Quiz is fun if you live in New York (or at least if you think you’re familiar with the New York City subway). I scored 14 out of 15. I guarantee you won’t do that well.

Remember how I wanted to do a musical using the songs of The Cure? Well, they didn’t exactly steal my idea, but…

The Smiths–a band from Manchester, England, whose singer and lyricist, Morrissey, taught a generation-wide cult how to mope with melodramatic self-consciousness–are getting…Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others, a music-theater piece based on Smiths songs. [Read more.]

Dammit! It’s too similar! Now I have to choose another totally different band, like Daft Punk or Fine Young Cannibals.

When my hard drive mechanically failed last year, it was impossible to recover any of the data from it. Fortunately most of it was backed up on my laptop, on my iPod, or on CDs. The big casualty, however, was an album of photos taken at Sammi’s Halloween party (the night before I left for New York).

Last week when my new hard drive failed (non-mechanically), I purchased some file recovery software so that I could copy all of the data off the drive. Now, this software still wouldn’t be able to do anything for the mechanically failed drive, but it sparked an idea.

I decided to run the file recovery software on my digital camera’s memory card. Lo and behold, it was able to “un-delete” several of the photos from Sammi’s Halloween party, and I was a happy camper.

That’ll be funny if Clark Kent gets contacts, and then, like, everyone knows.

My mom wanted suggestions for social things to do. She already has a reading group, so I suggested that she should start a cookbook reading group. They’d select a different cookbook each month, cook a few dishes from the cookbook, and report back on their likes and dislikes. At the monthly meeting, the host would cook one final dish from that month’s cookbook.

I was so proud of my idea, I emailed it to Oprah.

This morning I noticed a lady waiting for the elevator downstairs. The elevator arrived, and the doors opened.

“Thank you,” she said to the elevator, quietly and politely.

I guess she wanted the elevator to know that she appreciated its chivalry.

One of the most satisfying things about wearing corduroy pants is the “voop!” sound when you walk. Then again, maybe the “voop!” sound is reminding you that you have fat thighs. In that case, perhaps it’s less satisfying.