Okay, c'mon. Am I supposed to take Darius Rucker seriously when he's dressed in a cowboy outfit singing about how tasty Burger King chicken sandwiches are? I mean, really. Hootie is hardly relevant any more, but this is just... sad.
Oh, and congrats to Burger King for making a commercial that is nearly the irritating equal of Old Navy spots. Now I don't have to spend any money at either business.
Oh, and I don't buy Mentos either. Stupid commercials.
Reading E. Annie Proulx's The Shipping News, and this passage struck me enough to write it down and slip it in my pocket:
"Nothing was clear to lonesome Quoyle. His thoughts churned like the amorphous thing that ancient sailors, drifting into arctic half-light, called the Sea Lung; a heaving sludge of ice under fog where air blurred into water, where liquid was solid, where solids dissolved, where the sky froze and light and dark muddled."
I need to read more crappy books when I'm working on writing. Things like that passage above make me think I haven't got the words in me to be a truly fabulous writer. In college, I kept a shelf next to the computer of all the books I'd read over the past year or so that were complete and utter shit. I assumed that if those awful beasts could get published, then certainly whatever I was writing at the time could be as well.