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.

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...

Wi[sh]consin

I'm vaguely fresh off of a visit to the rurals of Wisconsin. And I'm super fresh on wanting to vomit on the married couple seated across from me with their, as I see it, forced affections. The same couple was here yesterday, and one of my favorite moments was when someone went to sit next to this girl or, I guess, woman, and she said, "Oh, sorry, my husband is sitting there." He hadn't been there for quite some time and I rather liked the idea that he was imaginary, but it's funny to me the way that, it should be natural to say my husband because of course he was her husband and yet it still came across as forced to me. Just maybe I kind of have problems. In fact, that's as much the point of this blog as anything else, an ongoing chronicle, stored freely by google, of my association with the world around me and my willingness to share certain thoughts with the knowledge that, of course, it might be searchable and read.

My favorite recent search to land a stranger here: "why deaf people are assholes."

Have I mentioned yet I need to rework the color scheme in here? It's amazing that if you go back and read certain entries where I reference things like this they will one day make even less since since, by then, I may actually have changed them and yet you won't know unless you are diligently following, in which case you will just think that you do or don't like the colors, which is exactly the same situation as now.

But let's talk 'Consin 'cause it's on my mind. I am going to not name the town I was in, to both preserve it's relative untaintedness by strangers like me, and to protect it's identity in general lest anything negative seem to come out. It shouldn't, because this town kicks ass. It's on Lake Michigan and a good ways from Chicago, which is a reminder if I ever needed one of the enormity of Lake Michigan. No really, this lake is enormous. I had to clip an f-bomb there. Sometimes I curse too much. We were outliers there, it's true, and yet we were quickly made to feel at home and it doesn't have to be that way. I am skewed in general by my own liberal upbringing and exposures and while I know very conservative individuals and groups exist, it doesn't mean close to the same thing if you aren't standing next to it.

So I just realized that by keeping this vague I risk making this exceedingly bland, but I didn't want to not give a shout out to how grand this place is. Double negatives can be great. OH MAN I WANT TO STAB THIS COUPLE. It's weird, by the strange nature of their interactions, a bizarre formality and forced (again, as I see it) affections, they seem like robots.

But this Wisconsin town. It's small. Everyone knows everyone, but that doesn't mean everyone likes everyone, and yet it has a safety to it, a regularity in the way everyone attends the few bars in town. I used to live in a small town, not for long, but up here they seemed to get it much more right than where I lived, even though my former residence was much more a known quantity. Guess that makes sense, as when the secret's out, the magic can get lost a little. And so I'll preserve the sanctity of this little town.

Hell, every place I stopped in Wisconsin on the way up and back was so different from what I'm generally used to. I tend to have a short memory for a lot of things. But it made me glad. Glad I can still be surprised by things, glad that not everywhere is the same, and maybe even glad I don't live there. Because maybe the magic wears off, and maybe not, but magic is just unexplained occurrences of real life that you find amazing. You don't always need an answer. Just enjoy. Thanks Wisconsin. Thanks friends.