Diesel Power

As I was leaving work the other day, I had some earbuds mashed in and tunes a-playing. With the death of my iPod Nano some time ago, I've been a lazy loader of tunes on the shuffle I now possess. The effect is that there are not many songs, and the songs on there have been there largely from day one. Because I'll run with the damn thing, it's also populated with tracks I feel like running too. Were you to listen to some of these tracks, this might surprise you. Suffice it to say that, because I like running and music both to a great degree, most people probably wouldn't be running to the tunes I've got loaded.

Blah blah blah and a fiddledy-dee, the reason I bring it up with way too many background details is that one of the few tunes on there is Diesel Power by The Prodigy.

It's on the album that had Smack My Bitch Up and Firestarter and Breathe, but I wonder how many people besides me were down with Diesel Power and Kool Keith's raps. Hell I don't know if I know another Kool Keith song, I just recognize the name due to its alliterative nature.

I'm also really itchy. This is the second time in my life I have experienced this kind of itchiness. Perhaps third, but my brain retains no memory of the chicken pox. I'm calling what I've got the Seven-Year Itch  just because my brain goes with free association. I had no idea before a quick google that it dealt with the urge for infidelity and the title of a Marilyn Monroe film that features her iconic skirt-blowing scene. Roots are cool. I'd like to find the root of this itch, as it's a real bitch.

The point then, is that this temporary itch makes me feel as if I could grasp quite well how this type of thing could drive one insane. 

Before I trundle off to enjoy a delicious Big Flats beer, let's talk about Big Flats beer. I see it at the Walgreen's in a giant array as below, complete with that $2.99 tag.

My first issue with this, is that $2.99 is not that cheap. One can easily grab themselves a thirty of PBR for the equivalent, or cheaper, per can cost. Say what you will about PBR, it's worlds beyond Big Flats. 

Let's examine closer:

It's also listed as a "premium beer," and by no definition of that word does it seem an applicable adjective. Incentivize? Only if the incentive is to convince the consumer not to drink any more beer...But really, it's not even that bad. I'm sure I've had worse. I just don't want people to confuse this with value. I'm all about value. So if you send me free Big Flats beer, I'll make my way through it.

Scratch on folks, scratch on.

If I May...

say so myself, this is the last of May for 2012 and, if some prognosticators are correct, the last May we may have. Maybe I should cut it out with all the may use. After all, there's no use for mayday on this May Day, though it does happen to be a grey day. About this I don't think there's much more I should say, but I don't know, I just may. Okay.

As is often the case, those really hard-hitting issues that course through my brain have eluded me. And if you think of me discussing hard-hitting issues as anything but sarcasm, then I have deluded you.

Walking etiquette made its way into my last entry, and its back in this exciting follow-up. Today, as I headed through a revolving door (there are a lot of these in Chicago. I think this is for both energy saving and because it's often effing windy, and it is a real struggle to open and close doors if you're in the wrong windstream) on my way to the train, there was a woman toting (no ™) her umbrella in one hand, and a wheeled bag in the other. This left zero hands free, along with perhaps zero brain cells. The result was that she attempted to push on the door with about zero force. Now I'm no physics whiz, but it can take force to get a revolving door moving. And though there was the residual force exerted by the man before her, there is also the drag coefficient of design. So when I stepped in, it was as if the door was not moving and this woman would have been essentially trapped. So I pushed forward, and keep in mind I am not a being of massive strength and so the door began movement again, but not at any great rate. Still, the woman was sluggish, and somehow unaware of the door movement not being magic and so, I am sure, expecting that it would stop to allow for her sluggish exit.

Instead I clipped her Louis Vuitton Bag in the door and she gave me a dirty look. Given that she otherwise would have been essentially trapped within the door, I was hoping to explain this fact to her, but instead I just kicked her in the face, which surprised even me, because though she was not exceedingly tall, I am not very flexible, especially in the groinular region.

The ultimate outcome is that I lied about that last bit, apologized though I'd really done nothing wrong (translation: I'm a bit of a bitch), and hurried onto the train.

And then I ordered a burrito that was like made-to-order Taco Bell. It might sound like a knock, but it's an observation. Now knowing that it would be such a good TB facsimile, my selection of Mountain Dew was an unwitting genius culinary pairing. I do kind of wish it had been Diet Mountain Dew though, because DMD has a nice ring to it. And if you like it, then it should've had a ring to it.

Nursery Rhyme

Walk six abreast you'll get hit in the chest! Depending on your height. This rhyme also works for any number of people because chest and abreast rhyme. What's that? You knew that? Well now you still do! It's pretty routine for me to complain about sidewalk or walkway etiquette but I feel like lately it's gotten even more out of hand. It seems to me quite simple that if a path can accommodate x humans, and x is divided into two groups moving in opposite directions, and you are dealing with x+1, either side must choose to yield a human into the back row. Now, if x is one entire group, and 1 is the sole opposer, it stands that a member of group x should yield, rather than present a crushing mob. Or perhaps, I am crazy.

Lolo Jones' ass has been a popular search term in the last few days, at least to land people at my blog, and it would appear that is because she recently announced that she is a virgin. Normally I'd like some news source or other but today I'm lazy (well, not just today). Of course, a woman announcing her virginity and searching about her ass do not share a direct correlation. I'll leave reader brains to associate how or why this search term might develop. At any rate, I don't know why this sent people to my blog, as I've never blogged about Ms. Jones' ass. Oh well, that is the magic of the internet. So good luck to Ms. Jones at the Olympic Trials and, should she make it, the Olympic Games. Nothing is guaranteed, but I'd like to see her there.

Well now that isn't very much that I've gone and covered here but such can be the way. Have yourselves a glorious Memorial Day weekend folks. I'll be sweating.

Rat Tails...

A woo-ooo. I know that's not the first time I've linked the Duck Tales' theme, and there's a good chance it won't be the last. It's hard to keep track, you know, since life is like a hurricane...

My easily distracted brain just read a post on the facebook proclaiming the summer prediction of the reemergence of the rat tail. As the proprietor of one, I can't disagree and I could also add, "It's already here." I live near a primarily Mexican neighborhood, and it's been popular a while. I mean, I can't recall why I started growing one last year, though it's easy to think of reasons I cut it off. And then, well, why have I regrown it? Why anything, right? Perhaps I had viewed some on my runs out to said neighborhood, and perhaps I'd been watching too many soccer/football highlights. Again, even when common sense finally prevailed (with much goading from my family), it is back. All good, and bad, things, must come to an end, it's a matter of when. Do I blame several upcoming weddings, that now everyone is going to have one, or do I just some being such a self aware dipshit and cut it for a change of pace and the fact that, I may be old enough to know better. I mean, just because you can do something, doesn't mean you should. I mean, I used to rock a side-hawk, but as my buddy Tom pointed out, even Tom Brady can't get away with that.

Far more interesting than this in my estimation, is the homeless approval of well, if not my girlfriend and I as a unit, at least my girlfriend. I can't think of a way to address it without being weird, but I have to say it really means a lot. I mean, these guys aren't walking around asking for cash, or any kind of handout, they're just adding a bit of positive energy into the world. I've had many interactions with the homeless over the years, primarily good I have to say. There's something about it where I just think we get each other — take from that what you will. And call me odd, but when a hobo on the el says to me "she's lovely," that means a lot to me. Just as it did yesterday when one said, "you's lucky, my girl never let's me hold her hand." I guess it just seems honest to me? Makes me think I'm/we're/she's projecting better energy into the world than a rat tail might warrant.

But shit, if you're rockin' a rat tail or whatever the hell you're doing, just be honest about it, because even not being trendy is a trend. Abide by that timeless [to me] Apple Jack's tagline and eat what you like.

Wannabe

Tell me what you want, what you really really want...I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really explain these song lyrics for a second. Now I used to jam out to this Spice Girls hit when I was in the eighth grade aka 1996 and, well into '97. But one thing I never really processed was the lyrics. Aside from the gibberish of wanting to zig-a-zig-uh, if you wish to be the lover of one of these women, you've got to get with her friends. This is an interesting test drive concept that seems pretty racy for mainstream radio. I always think it's hilarious that innuendo is okay, you just can't say things explicitly. Or, when you do, the FCC (and I realize they might not do the bleeping, just require it) just does a really poor job of leaving anything to the imagination. Excepting rewrites like Let's Get it Started, dropping the word dick in The Whisper Song (and currently I'm not sure whether there is even a version where they say dick, but it doesn't really matter) doesn't exactly move that into the appropriate for children music category.

Man, I'm getting old. But it's not so much about that as it is that I'm bringing up what we all basically know, and that is that how most censorship is carried out is incredibly foolish.

Speaking of songs, this jam came on the radio in my girlfriend's car the other evening, and you really should give it a listen. Perhaps many of you are already acquainted with the late Jimmy Castor and that Troglodyte track, but whether you are or not, you should turn that up. Incidentally, it's probably about time "troglodyte" got back into popular usage. I'm not actually sure it ever was in popular usage. Of course, once it starts getting used a lot, grumpy old me will gripe about it. So it goes.

Other than that, I was reading about PCP aka Angel Dust today because I never really knew much about it. If you give that wiki a read, you really have to wonder why anyone would use it in the first place. Yes, it's a hallucinogen, but everything associated with it sounds terrible. It seems as if the only real possibility for its continued usage would be a) desperation and b) perpetuation of a shitty experience. "Man, PCP sucks...I need to trick some other idiot into using it." But hey, don't knock it till you try it, right?

And with that said, sleep is probably a good idea. If I don't make it back here before Sunday, just a friendly reminder to do something nice for, or say something nice to, your mother. As long as she's not a bitch. Even then, make sure to check that you're not the asshole (or bitch). Happy holidays.

Quotas

I am really on the cusp of missing mine, so basically what I'm doing is writing an entry whereby I acknowledge that I should have written an entry, which is still writing an entry, so there it is.

More to come in May, filling some with dismay.

Welcome Back

Shout out Mase. Whenever I skip town for a bit, town being Chicago these days, it takes a little adjusting for me to settle back into a routine. I know this is not unique to me, but I find it amusing the small elements that effect my ability to return to some sort of normalcy. Back a few years, on my walk to work through midtown Manhattan, I had my friendly landmarks that kept me in check. I wrote about that in here, but maaaaaan, I'm trying not to be self-referential, even though I already have been so now this just reeks of laziness in not bothering to find that link.

When I got on the train this past Thursday morning it was decidedly less packed than usual, which was nice, because I become a grumpus quite easily when packed in. It's not the sharing of that space so much it is that I consider most of the folks I'm packed in with to be rude, as if they don't grasp that we're all in exactly the situation and none of us really want someone else's iPhone giving us a rectal exam (at least not without asking first). I had a spring in my step, which is seasonally appropriate, but right as I climbed the final set of stairs, misfortune befell me: a humanoid male dispelled gas from his posterior.

Given that I was climbing the stairs behind him, this put my face right at fart level. This was rather vile, but due to the secretive nature often adopted when farting, I just smiled to myself with the thought that I had a glass to the door and was let in on the moment, without the embarrassment due the farter when one has noted their fart. Life's a gas sometimes.

Other than that, I was a touch dismayed to see the enormous Skyn condoms billboard removed from it's usual place right across from our office, replaced by some doofy Virgin airlines ad. I'll be a but miffed when that too runs its course.

As nothing of substance and primarily gas has been relayed in this post, I bid you adieu. Until tomorrow.