- My folks are out of town on vacation, and my brother is staying at a friend's place, so I've got the house to myself this week. Which means I can shower with the bathroom door open and no one will be the wiser.
- The Cedar Lee theatre up in Cleveland has what has to be the smallest men's room stall I've ever encountered. Whenever I use it, my knees rest comfortably against the door. Perhaps this was an attempt by the theatre's management back in the day to fit another toilet into a small space, but yeesh.
- The other day I put my boxer shorts on backwards, so that the opening was in the back. I was wondering what that draft on my ass was...
- Pet Peeve #2: People who don't leave messages on the answering machine. Isn't it about 25 years past time to be reluctant to talk to machines? My hatred of these sorts began when I was living alone and my telephone was positioned right next to the bed (the only jack in the house was there, so I didn't have much of a choice). I didn't mind when I was awakened by the machine picking up (I usually turned my ringer off, and a voice is easier to wake up to than a ring) but when people wouldn't bother to leave even their name behind, I felt downright insulted. Am I not important enough to know who is calling when I'm away from the telephone or something? Even now that I don't sleep next to the telephone, my disgust at these characters remains.
- Pet Peeve #3: Cars with exhaust pipes pointing to the side. I'm the sort of driver who prefers rolling the window down to turning on the A/C whenever I have the choice, but people who drive cars with sideways-pointing tailpipes make my day thoroughly unpleasant. The worst part is that I drive a small car, and the offending vehicles tend to be larger, making the likelihood even greater that the cloud of exhaust will be aimed at the level of my open window. It's bad enough when you get a faceful from a gas-burning SUV, but the worst is when you're seated at a stop light next to a twenty-year-old van like the ones repairmen invariably drive.
- For the last day or so I've had the Soft Bear song stuck in my head, with my own personal twist of it being sung to "Every Sperm Is Sacred." It feels simultaneously adorable and naughty, with the usual annoyance of not being able to free one's mind from a song.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Soft Bear rulz, dude! That's powerful lyrical skills, you must admit -- being able to stick a song in your head with absolutely no tune specified.
It must be the "in your neighborhood" line that got you stuck on the sperm song. Maybe I was plagiarizing and didn't realize it.
Yeah, you're probably right about the "neighborhood" being the thing that really clinched it for the Python version. I'm wondering if I could come up with other verses about Soft Bear in a way that wouldn't reflect the song's risqué origins. But that's a task for another day.
Post a Comment