Yet Even More Skid Marks

I haven't been posting a lot, yet I don't really know why. I severely sprained my ankle around valentine's day, and that may have been punishment for my stupid remark to my GF at a restaurant on valentine's day. I felt the need to point out the very table that a previous GF and I sat at for valentine's dinner fifteen years ago. Apparently I wasn't in a romantic mood. I was in so much trouble that, after I did the job on my ankle the next day and was on crutches for a couple of days, I had to fetch my own coffee (there is a stain on the carpet as a result of this), do my own laundry, and go out to eat on my own.

Oh well. Anyway...

They, of course, have day care centers in office buildings. This is a great convenience for workers with children. Cafeterias, changing tables in restrooms, fitness clubs, telephone booths, mini-stores that sell gum and nail clippers and aspirin, coffee stands. But I know what else my office building needs in order to cater to today's busy professional: a safe, discreet, comfortable place for one to masturbate. Let's call these: Self-Service rooms. Soft ambient light. Porn. Good music. KY Jelly and Kleenex. I think this would greatly improve productivity.

Why do armed security guards who have to poop during the day select public restrooms to do it in? Seems like they'd be unacceptably vulnerable to attacks by weirdos at certain points, especially, say, during the courtesy-flush when one couldn't hear an attacker adequately over the jet-blast of the water, or during that first squeeze when the mind is at its most one-trackedness. I say that there ought to be one-way windows installed in the stall doors. Not only could one notice an impending attack, it might be fun to sit there and just watch people. I don't know.

Whenever we go to Costco, and it seems like that's all the time, I always notice forty thousand people in line at the check-out stands on account of the long waits. After that, I notice the big long line of people trying to escape with their property, out the door upon being approved by the magic-marker person. But what I don't know is why there aren't forty thousand people leaving the parking lot leaving forty thousand parking spaces for those seemingly very few people who drive into the parking lot to find a space. This is odd.

Specialized License Plates

Where I live there are various styles of license plates commemorating one thing or another. We have the regular one, the statehood anniversary one, the U.S. Veteran's one, and the one for the physically handicapped. OK, that's fine. But what I'd like to see is one for the mentally retarded. Like bicyclists in the winter time (idiots), it could have a blinking red light on it so you can spot it from a reasonably safe distance and therefore avert any disaster, physical or verbal. No, wait, that's a bad idea. Nobody here would qualify for any BUT the retarded one, and the 14 million blinking lights would create far too great a dangerous distraction for the few good drivers we have. Never mind.

Risky Business

I watched Risky Business from my DVR, recorded from cable a few days ago. Good movie, I've always liked it, one of Tom Cruise's best performances. But what really jingles my chain is the sound track by the German group Tangerine Dream, especially the song, Love on a Real Train.



I'm sure it's the premise of the movie itself, young guy doing something so risky, but... that music. It makes me nervous in a way. It takes me back in time to when I was nervous doing shit I shouldn't have been doing. Maybe shit I shouldn't have been doing with other people. It's real heady stuff.

Anyway, it's caused me to think about that group some more. Maybe I'll look out for the entire sound track on CD (or iTunes).