Bloggadocio

Now I don't mean to brag, but I am the number fifteen result for "Jude Law" and "Detachable Penis." As in, those exact terms each paired in quotes, and side-by-side. Lance Armstrong seems to be very popular once again (according to search results that land folks at this blog), and a lot of people are also interested in UPS and DHL uniforms.

If only this were Sunday so that I might say I was blogging on a Sunday afternoon. Or if it were sunny and not overcast, but then, were it sunny, I'd feel silly for blogging when I could be out in the good weather. As it is, I often feel silly blogging anyway.

Let's bring it to sillier by discussing my running shorts. I have to hand it to a lot of the pairs I've had over the years, they hold up pretty well considering the sweaty abuse I give them, but it is inevitable to have to replace some of these. Elastics go, fabrics degrade and expand, and liners (for I hate to wear underwear) grow limp. The latter leads to disasters of both visibility and support. So it was that I ordered some new shorts and new should perhaps be in quotations as they hardly seemed new. The company, which shall remain nameless, dug these up somewhere from the bowels of their warehouse, a warehouse that may very well be some guy's den. They are shipped in ziplock bags. I now own four pairs of these shorts, in four different colors, and they seem to be cut four different ways and made out of four different materials. In my running log I stated that I might very well discuss this – as I had in my running log – branding myself a loser for doing so. And here we are.

But really, this is so strange. Not wishing to deal with the hassle of returns, I put on one of these new pairs which seem to be constructed of parachute material and I have to say that I am rather fond of their strange quality. If any running shorts were ever constructed with asbestos, these are them. They are proudly made in the USA. Sometimes you gotta get behind outsourcing.

One of these days I will design my own running clothing line as I have long alluded to doing. Limitations like knowing nothing about fashion design won't limit me, I'll merely scour the earth for some well cut shorts, shirts, and so on, and then apply fabrics and designs that will make all who wear them into the kind of asshole I appear to be when I'm out on the streets. Fast or slow, you gotta look...notable...

This post strikes me as being rather like diarrhea. I'm not sure where it came from, why or when it will stop, and nobody is that excited about it. But it's here and I can't do anything about it. Oh sure, I could wipe it all away, but I'll still know it happened.

See you in April, fools...

A Word That Needs To Go

There isn't just one, but there's one on my mind right now, and it's awkward. No, having the word on my mind isn't awkward, the word on my mind is awkward. The actual word is awkward. Who's on first, anyway?

Awkward has become one of the most popular adjectives of the web 2.0 (or however far along we are alleged to be) lexicon and when I say web 2.0 I mean people are saying it all the time in real life. "Tee he hee, I'm so awkward." What's worse than just the use, is that it is used as badge, and not a shameful Scarlet Letter type of badge, but like a Boy Scouts of Motherfuckin' America Merit Badge. Newsflash: it's not an accomplishment. Related newsflash: saying "newsflash," not that cool.

But really, it's bandied about as if it incurs membership into some sort of club. And why do you want to be in that club? You know what might be awkward? Saying that you're awkward. Newsflash: it's not fun to be awkward, or fun to be around awkward people, especially if you are actually already awkward. The newsflashes are out of control here. Literally this word is getting as overused as literally. And I don't mean newsflash – but that too in this post – I mean awkward. I hear women using this line like they are trying to say they are cute without wanting to seem full of themselves. Giggle giggle "I'm so awkward," with a nice unspoken, "isn't that fucking adorable?"

Oh shit, newsflash again: it's not. Awkward moments happen, there is no denying that. But it's not only awkward moments that happen. Sure there are those clumsier folks, like Sandra Bullock in a romantic comedy with Ryan Reynolds, but that's a movie. Please folks, don't model your life after movies. Is it supposed to be awkward that I have seen that movie, and even sort of enjoyed it? Because I don't feel that way.

It's the basis of Michael Cera. It's recurrent in a lot of Judd Apatow. It can be funny. But it's not the only funny, and it's not a lifestyle to aspire to. No one ever uses awkward as a positive adjective to describe anyone else, and yet they're going and trying to use it as a positive adjective to describe themselves. Has this grown awkwardly long?

So my advice if you're using awkward all the time, is to pick up a dictionary, and then hit yourself in the face with it. Because not everyone learns from reading.

And we all know the best way to effect change is to blog about it.

Spring In Your Step

Just as spring has sprung up before the official launch date, so too has the year advanced much further than I can fathom. Time just never seems to be a constant, only ever moving too quickly or too slowly, when of course it is only perception that is altered. But yes, spring was leaked this year like most new albums and movies tend to be. And I gotta say, I don't mind. Am I sweating awkwardly sometimes? Sure. But I tend to be doing that anyway.

To repeat what I've said and what lots of people say, you wouldn't really appreciate spring and summer weather without the contrast of winter. It's true, and it weeds out certain types that might not make a place so joyous were there not seasons. The question I have is: if I didn't have seasons to contend with, would I become the type of person I am alluding to and denigrating? And if so, is it by virtue of the changes brought on by climate, or by proximity of those who enjoy such a climate? A little from either column is the most likely of answers.

I don't think any of that made all too much sense, but there's no sense trying to make recompense or deleting the damned nonsense.

Signs of oldness are rearing their head once again in my life, like how I was tired yesterday after spending all of Saturday drinking and enjoying a few beverages in the early afternoon of Sunday. Lethargic zombie would describe my energy level. Good thing Starbuck's flavored my iced coffee Italian armpit this morning. I'm surprised it didn't cost extra.

I got nostalgic for a place called college this weekend too, in a way that would never happen if I was at my own college campus. It's hard to explain but it doesn't really need explaining, it's just that usual thing where I'd love to have lived a thousand different lives in a thousand different places but to do so all at once, and not really over accumulated lifetimes. This is why there are books, movies, and so on. And booze. Because you've got to relax the mind sometimes.

Time to go off in search of a secluded trail to run peacefully. Or send a bunch of emails. Same thing.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good as can be expected Monday.

Marchmellow

March has maybe been a little less than mellow, but at the risk of telling actual details of my real life, let's just say that I haven't been overly diligent about finding time to blog. Very few people's loss. I have heard it said that it is better to have blogged and blogged shittily than never to have blogged at all but clearly that is a made up statement and it isn't true because I don't want to read shit and I certainly don't want to write shit, despite what may develop at times.

That's when you order coffee at 9pm and listen to The Immigrant Song on repeat. Why are there even dislikes on that video? I don't understand my fellow Americans sometimes. It's also intriguing due to the very anonymous and simple clicking of a button, defining oneself while really not and doing so easily. Not that defining oneself should be such a conscious effort. It'd be great to just be. Like I wasn't just trying to be anything other than a guy who runs a lot and gets sweaty. Warm enough weather has hit the city of Chicago and I found myself on a jaunt in shorts sans shirt. I thought about it, thought maybe I should wear a shirt. But the usual came to my head: 1) I sweat a lot; 2) I hate doing laundry; 3) who gives an eff-bomb (I try not to be too profane on the old blog here)? I wonder how many dislikes I would have received if people could click as I ran by. The future!


As usual I'm getting really bad at recognizing people, by which I mean that I recognize people I don't even know, but simply have seen a lot. No sense enumerating because I don't want to add another layer to the weirdness pointing out who they are and it somehow coming back to blog me in the ass...paranoia much?

Well, here's hoping we're done being the land of the ice and the snow, even (especially?) when those refer to meth and coke respectively. Running is my drug. And caffeine. And sugar. And booze. There are more things on this list. My body is a temple, and I worship a little differently than some might. That's enough out of me.