What Else Would I Be Thinking?

Yesterday, I was sitting with some friends, and one noticed that I was being rather quiet (not typical me). My mind had wandered from the conversation, and I was simply thinking to myself. I was asked, "what're you thinking about?"

The answer is simple.

Monkeys.

If I Could Be King....of Music.

I apologize for the time since the last post. I recently bought the 5th season of 24 on dvd. They should put a Surgeon General's warning on those things, 'cuz they's addictive. I also spent the last two days the the land of the Orange and White for Christmas.

As I was driving back this evening (listening to the radio, since I forgot my cd's), I came to the realization. As I passed Clay's Ferry (that one's for you Deener), I decided that rules need to be established for the world of music to keep the suckiness from continuing.

1. Fergie, I'm gonna have to issue a cease and desist immediately. Take the money you got with this last album and buy some talent. I can't understand how you have a career. At least most crappy female "artists" are at least attractive. I'll admit your body is smokin', but you have the face of a Gorgon. I dare not look your way, for fear of turning to stone.
2. Gwen Stefani, I will allow you to continue performing with a couple stipulations. You may only peform with No Doubt, and only songs preceding "Hey Baby, Hey Baby, Hey". This may seem harsh, buy you've been given a chance to experiment with your sound, and we can all see that was a mistake. If given the choice of listening to your latest album or gouging my own brain with a screwdriver, the only decision to make is phillips of flathead.
3. Jay-Z, you've retired at the top of your game and returned. You are officially the Michael Jordan of the music biz. But, unlike MJ, you are not allowed to retire again. In fact, I'm gonna need you to put out at least one album a year for the rest of your life. Once you die, I'm gonna need you to Tupac it.
4. Ludacris, you are the only hip hop artist that consistently puts out good music (I discount Jay-Z because of the retirement). Keep up the good work, man.
5. Contemporary Country Musicians, having listened to songs by many of you, I feel ill. Your music is neither country, nor western. I hereby assign you all to watch CMT's Dirty Dozen: Country Music's Top 12 Outlaws, after which, I am requiring you to listen to an album by each of them. Toby Keith and Gretchen Wilson, you are exempt from this assignment.
6. Commonwealth of Kentucky, there is a stretch of I-75 between Lexington and Knoxville where I was in neither market. No big deal except the only thing on the radio was country (see above rule to understand why this is a problem), or talk radio. I am hereby going to require you to provide a station that plays only Skynyrd, Pearl Jam, and AC/DC on a loop. That should get me through that stretch.
7. People in the car next to me, I know Elton John is gay. That does not, however, mean that if I am singing along to a classic Elton song, that I am gay. Screw you for judging. In fact, I'm adding Elton John to the list that will be played in rule 6. Unless, of course, the song is "Candle in the Wind", that song is gay.
8. Last, but not least, Fergie, I know I've already addressed you, but damn you suck. Your "London Bridge" is of no concern to me, I have no idea what "keeping the boys on rock, rock" means, and (while I appreciate your concern for breast cancer awareness) I do not want to hear about your "Lady lumps". Your "music" is the equivalent of shoving horse feces into my ear canals.

I'll be watching you all.

I Just Want To Be Soothed.

I've been dealing with a small cold as of late. Nothing bad, just congestion in the mornings and a few uncontrolable coughing fits. Unfortunately, the congestion led to today's adventure.

Because I could barely breathe through my nose, I slept most of the evening with my mouth open. This lead to my lips being extremely dry and chapped this morning... Still reading? Let's continue. So now it feels like tiny demons are clawing into my lips. So I figured while I was out I'd stop at the grocery store to find some sort of treatment. Luckily, Meijer has an entire "Lip Therapy" section. Who knew? I was going to just buy some chap stick, but I thought that might just be preventative. If only I'd had it last night. But plenty of other options. The problem then became the names. Blistex....hmmm, I don't have a blister. Herpecin....not even touching that one. Then my eyes fell on Carmex, seems innocent enough. I read the back for uses, and while cold sores and blister were listed, soothing dry and chapped lips is as well. I have dry and chapped lips, and I want them soothed. Perfect.

So I grab the Carmex, and go get a can of Kool-Aid mix (that's right, I'm a child). It wasn't until I was looking for a check-out lane that something caught my eye. Somehow, I'd missed in large lettering on the actual container "FOR COLD SORES". That's right, all caps as well. Just wanting to get out of there, I figured I'd find the shortest line and get it over with quick. Aisle 8, just two people together, not too many objects in their cart, Perfect!

Unbenounced to me, this couple apparently hadn't been shopping any time within the last 30 years. They apparently didn't understand what the big conveyor belt leading to the register was for, because they opted to hand each item individually to the cashier. They, also, apparently just see items they desire and throw them in the buggy. I can only assume this, because they felt the need to check the price of each item before handing it to the cashier. Meanwhile I'm standing there feeling the judging eyes of everyone who is accumulating behind me, as they gaze at the now stationary conveyor belt which is where my "don't kiss stripper" balm is lying. Finally they finish, pay and move forward. The cashier scans my Carmex and Kool-Aid, however when I move to swipe my card, guess who has yet to move entirely from the aisle and is blocking the card swipe machine. That's right, Mr. and Mrs. 1934. I politely say "excuse me", and Mrs. 1934 glances over her shoulder, rolls her eyes, and reluctantly takes all of the two steps it took to not impede the completion of my transaction.

I step out of the store. Ahhh, freedom. Better get in the truck, before judging eyes get out here. I get in the truck and open the balm to finally soothe my cracked and painful lips. Dammit! Now I remember why I didn't put chapstick on in the first place. It feels like I've just gone to McDonalds and asked the cook to rub a freshly fried burger patty on my lips. Seriously, now all I can think about is how greasy my lips feel. Ladies, I don't know if this is what lipstick feels like, but if it is, don't feel you have to where lipstick to impress me anymore. It would explain why you all blot so much.

There is an upside to the entire thing. I've learned that rasberry lemonade flavored Kool-Aid rocks. Silver lining.