Streams of consciousness

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10 August 2011

I drink copious amounts of beverages. I drink Mountain Dew, Coke Zero (thanks to a former intern who turned me on to it), water, tea, coffee and more throughout the day.

I pee. Frequently.

Today, I went to pee and for some reason (you can probably guess the reason) I utilized a stall (not the sweet skateboarding move) rather than a urinal in the bathroom for male-identified people at my office. While I was in there, someone entered another stall.

Within 13 seconds, the unidentified person and I were urinating concurrently (literally, “with similar streams” in the Latin). I spent the next 34 seconds stifling a chuckle.

The person left the stall, turned on the water in the sink (I couldn’t see if they actually washed their hands), turned off the water in the sink, grabbed paper towels, crumpled them and exited the bathroom.

For a few brief moments, our streams were simultaneous, our flows one chorus ringing in the frequently churning waters of the loo lake.

It was synchronici-pee.

Appellation Trail

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9 August 2011

I remember my brother and I getting a Nintendo Entertainment System (NES) with two games (combination game with Super Mario Bros./Duck Hunt and separate game with Kung Fu) one Christmas. The two of us were quite young and were at the time living with my mom and stepdad in his doublewide trailer (a step up from our singlewide).

I miss my stepdad sometimes. I remember him making chicken ‘n’ dumplins like no other (except for Memaw’s recipe). I remember rolling on the bed with him and my brother (were we in a hotel room at Walt Disney World?) in a rocking motion all yelling out “we’re rockin and a-rollin” while my mom recorded us using the massive video camera we purchased from my uncle Chuck. Chuck gave us Rogaine infomercial VHS tapes to record our memories on. From follicle to fond memory.

My hometown of Irwinton (technically McIntyre, but who is counting?) was perhaps a bit behind on the internet boom. Our service provider, Accucomm, gave us all free webpages. Mine had verses from the bible and midi versions of songs like Green Day’s “Walking Contradiction” and Metallica’s “Master of Puppets.”

So, when people tell me I am part of the Millennial Generation I say [interminable sound of modem trying to connect to dial-up if only someone would GET OFF THE LINE SO YOU CAN FUCKING GET INTO THE CHATROOM USING THE HANDLE OF SKAPUNK AND TALK ABOUT CHRISTIAN RAP WITH UNKNOWN CHRISTIAN GIRLS WHO LIVE IN EXOTIC PLACES LIKE PENNSYLVANIA AND NORTH CAROLINA and you eventually start sending snail mail to one and she is Sailor Moon and you are Tuxedo Mask and you are so fucking desperate for a connection but then she sends you a Beanie baby giraffe and a picture of herself and you realize you are not ready for commitment] NOOOOOO1001. I am not a Millennial. I am a podunk redneck from Middle Georgia who barely grew up playing Doom and Quake and Duke Nukem and online Monopoly with my friends.

I refuse to identify myself as Millennial. Millennials, to me, are anyone born after 1985 who were not born in a small town. Millennials are city kids. East Coast kids. Hip kids. I’m a poser, a coward, a wimp, an asshole and sometimes a zealot during competitions but I am not a Millennial.

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Three insignificant incidents

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8 August 2011

Reasons I do not want children: #1 My love of junk food.

I watch a lot of television. I saw something on television where a parent was trying to feed healthy food to a child. I would be such a poor parent for a child. I enjoy junk food. I would probably order takeaway for my child every night and it would grow up eating Kung Pao chicken, pad Thai and egg rolls.

Today, I experienced three insignificant incidents.

A. I arrived in the Metro station barely after 8 AM. I did the quick-jog-that-is-trying-not-to-look-like-a-quick-jog down the final stairs so I could catch the train into work. I often rush, and see others rushing, into work. I never see anyone rushing to get home or to the bar or to a pizza place. I know it probably exists. But seeing it would disprove my point about a great human truth.

As usual, all the humans crowded in the doorway rather than moving to the center of the train car (as the humanized robot voice instructs us to do). I refused to be stranded on the platform because some overdressed politicos are not afraid of authoritarian androids.

I shove in the car, much to the grunting chagrin of the other passengers. Then, for three stations (with much pausing in between because of a “backup” at the next station) my bum was pressed against the bum of the passenger directly behind me. His was a gigantic bum. A bum that seemed to conquer the entire world in its enormity. Hindsight is 20/20, but this bum could have hit a moving target from two states away. So we stood there, bum against bum, shifting uncomfortably. At first, I wasn’t even aware of the pressing. But then, at the second stop, I was hyperaware. Nothing else existed but our butts. Like constantly hi-fiving sports aficionados at a game that is “going our way.” Then, the big-butted stranger exited the train. And my butt was free to wiggle on its own.

B. After a day of work, to which I rushed, I walked back to the Metro while eating an apple. I like eating apples while walking. I actually like eating anything while walking. Well, not anything. But I do like eating foods like bread, hotdogs, hotdogs in buns, apples, popcorn, pears, peaches and peanut butter & Nutella sandwiches while walking. (While I am walking, not the food.) Eating while walking is comforting. “Hey world, I’m comfortable enough to eat while I’m walking. I’m not even paying attention to you or to what you think of me. It’s just me, my mouth and this apple. You can’t hurt me world.”

I throw my core in the trashcan (rubbish bin for our UK readers) and continue on to the Metro (Tube). I am riding and hearing a child scream. I stand next to a seat where a young boy child (age 3?) and a young girl child (age 5?) sit, squirming like young children do. Suddenly (as everything is) the boy child topples forward headfirst between the seats. With reflexes that would make a snake jealous, the male parent/guardian figure (seated in the seat behind the seated children) reaches forward and grabs the boy child by the overalls before the boy child’s head hits the hard carpeted ground. I tried not to laugh at the child’s tears, but the entire scene was too humorous. I looked around at my fellow passengers to see if I could make eye contact and share the joke but no one looked at me. I settled for a self-satisfied smirk.

C. I exited the Metro, on the way home now, and found myself, as usual, on the sidewalk (after walking a bit). I looked up and saw a shirtless, sweaty man doing pushups on the sidewalk. He was red like Santa Claus’s suit.

Doesn’t cut the (honey) mustard

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7 August 2011

Today it rained.

I don’t immediately know what I mean by “it.” I suppose I mean the gathering of clouds creating precipitation.

Yesterday, GF and I went shopping. We went at 8:30 PM because we thought we would beat the crowds. We soon learned that Virginia’s tax-free weekend (for back-to-school supplies) hit the corporate box store hard at night.

After a botched Tuna Helper dish (perhaps due to old butter), we both were hungry and ready to get Applebee’s before hitting the 24-hour box store behemoth. The restaurant’s music was so loud the speakers seemed to be blown, producing a wheezy rattling like a cloying pop star dying but trying to be upbeat about it. Two staff had to put their heads together to find us a booth when at least three booths contained no other patrons. Once seated, we chose the Dinner for 2 for $20. Our appetizer was spinach artichoke dip, of which we had an excessively large portion that makes me wonder why starvation is an issue at all on this planet. We could not finish the dish.

I ordered the chicken finger basket and GF ordered some sort of chicken pasta. After a long time, our food arrived at the table of the family of six or more behind us and they were about to take our food even though they had not even ordered and still had menus when I spoke up and claimed our food and the staff member went to the back to verify our possession where I am sure she had someone ejaculate into my honey mustard before bringing THE EXACT SAME FOOD back to us and I believe a little kid at the family table already touched it (the food, not the clouds) with his disgusting pre-adolescent biotic afflictions.

I ordered a second honey mustard which arrived looking like it still needed to pasteurization and skimming. I could see each component liquid floating separately in that dirty little cup.

I was pleased to take the food from the kid (like taking chicken fingers from a baby). He should get used to disappointment. It’s chicken fingers now kid, but one day you’ll lose bigger dreams, too.

We all have to give up some dreams at some time. Even the dream of eatin’ something edible, much less ” good in the neighborhood.”

 

 

 

Dis-credited argument

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6 August 2011

I am reading a story detailing Standard & Poor’s downgrading the US credit rating from AAA to AA plus. I don’t claim to understand economics or credit ratings, but if I can use my amateur knowledge of batteries, I don’t really see the big deal. I think the AA battery is more useful and even seems to last longer (based on an entire lack of evidence on my part). So, the rating should be a good thing, right? I look forward to our country eventually having the rating of the mighty D, my second-favorite battery. What battery do you put in a flashlight (torch for our UK readers) when you want to go into an old cave by the river and read poetry until one of you commits suicide due to feeling trapped by the professional pressures of his paternal guardian? D, dammit!

The article regarding the credit rating reiterated the extreme opposition of Congressional Republicans toward even the discussion of increasing taxes.

As you can tell from my battery musings, I am far from genius. Which is why I am sure that it is my mere stupidity holding me back from seeing the brilliant rationale we, as humans in the US, have for not all (or at least tens of thousands of us) descending on the US Capitol in DC and demanding that each member of Congress:

A. Foregoes health and dental insurance until everyone in the US also has affordable access to the same quality of care.

B. Agrees to accept no more than $75,000/year as salary at least until ALL people living in the US are able to make a living wage.

C.  Lobbies for the Equal Rights Amendment, works to repeal the Defense of Marriage Act and Hyde Amendment and drafts and passes a bill requiring Congress be made up equally of male-identified and female-identified persons (which would include trans individuals).

I apologize for even sharing such a foolish notion. I know there are an incredible number of reasons we as humans in the US are not angrier with Congress, are not constantly out of our homes and on the streets demanding Congress stop fucking with us.

Pardon the delusions of a simpleton.