Another morning, another blog post not even started yet. Now I face a choice. Wear clean clothes to work or write on the blog.
Hello dirty clothes!
Plumb out of ideas, I asked my wife for a random topic. She said, “cats.” So here we go!
In space no one can hear you meow…
Ship’s Log, U.S.S. Fluffy Tail. Stardate 3.1415 rounded off to the nearest decimal point. We’re proceeding dangerously close to the neutral zone on our mission to map gaseous anomalies in sector Felinictus. So far no sign of Dog vessels. Meanwhile, my engineer says we’re running low on milk…
The attack came out of no where. We had no warning. As the ship rattled I sprang from the ready room to the bridge.
“Report!” I demanded.
There was no answer. I turned to find Commander Morris, Science Officer. “Dammit, cat, what the hell do the scanners show?” Continue reading →
I don’t remember when or where, but sometime back I heard that wrinkles were the new cool. It was some new trend that the kids were shiznitty about. I could usually care less about the latest trends followed by the kids, but this one got my attention. Mainly because I’m a very wrinkly sort of guy.
I know the phrase “new cool” is old and busted but I don’t care. I live about three years behind the coolness curve. By the time I pick up on it, it’s already dorky and geeky and stale. But that’s just the way I roll.
There is no way in hell you’ll catch me spending the time to take my clothes from the dryer and iron them. No way. So I just wear the wrinkles and tell myself that is the new cool. I’m happy with that.
I’ve since been informed that I must have been mistaken. Either wrinkles were never really the new cool or that trend has long since gone bye bye. Too damn bad. I’m enjoying the wrinkles.
I was thinking about this and the need to conform. I’m no rugged individualist but on the other hand, I don’t think I’ve ever done anything simply to conform, either. If I don’t want to spend time ironing my clothes then I’m not going to, and I don’t care how others may perceive me when they see the wrinkles.
I think a line from a Joan Jett song about sums it up for me:
I don’t give a damn about my bad reputation!
I don’t give a damn about my wild masturbation!
Ooops. I improvised a bit there. Most of you are probably screaming at your monitors right now, “TMI! TMI!” (The few of you who aren’t — call me!) Heh.
Fashion? Bleh. The only thing that concerns me about fashion is: Is it comfortable? If it isn’t comfortable or serve some sort of function (like an extra pocket) then I have no time for it. I can’t believe all the fashion shows on TV. I mean, seriously. Who really cares about any of that crap?