And something that made me laugh out loud

"I have discovered that all human evil comes from this, man's being unable to sit still in a room." -Blaise Pascal

Something that made me say, "Huh"...

"Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from a religious conviction." -Blaise Pascal

Let Me Not Criticize A Man Until I've Walked .38 Miles In His Moccasins
I got on my TreadClimber tonight for the first time since I broke my ankle and walked for thirty minutes. I was afraid and new-fawn wobbly and I was slooow. I was traveling a hardy .7 mph. Seven-tenths of a mile per hour is relatively the same speed at which grass grows, half the speed of a leisurely stroll, or just a hair faster that all-out dawdling. But I felt like I was sprinting across a meadow, uphill, both ways. Damn, I love that machine. I’d call my TreadClimber a “treadmill“, but that would be like calling a pair of Reef Slaps “just another pair of flip-flops” or Starbuck’s Seven-Layer Bar, “a nice snack”. Each of these things are an experience unto themselves. They are a veritable cornucopia of the richness of a well-lived, purposeful life.

Yes, there are others, but these are my top three. Number four would be my softball bat. After that, it’s all just will-nilly conjecture on my part according to inappropriate mood swings and blood sugar levels. I also liked my grabber, but dammit, I can reach everything I need. Now I just use it to get the remote off the ottoman or turn off light switches. See, now I’ve just started shotgunning ideas. And on a reasonable day, that product would be somewhere in the low 100’s. I’m outta here...

Music from The Edge Of Heaven
I was thinking of 80's music today and I found the most beautiful song of all time: WHAM!'s, "A Different Corner". I recognize the ludicrous nature of that last phrase, but this song was, to me, the epitome of young love at that time. Whenever I hear it, I can still see myself driving through some non-descript European fishing villa in spring. It's like a great cologne commercial or a scene out of The Amazing Mr. Ripley, but without being beaten to death with an oar.

It's a song that makes me want to dress better when I listen to it. I don't understand the phenomenon, but I want to put on a clean, white linen shirt and a pair of Men's Bacco Bucci loafers, brown, and gaze out onto the Mediterranean, while contemplating my broken heart. I picked Bacco Bucci loafers randomly, because I like saying the name. It's not Backo Booki, you insipid American. Say it as, "Bahtcho Boootchy". Now say it more with your lips and not so much with your mouth. Now grab my Cosmopolitan, come, sit beside me at the window and we shall contemplate my broken heart together as we gaze at the Mediterranean. I'm bored now, entertain me Monkey.

My Chicken Death Couch and a retraction for Mr. Sutherland
I sit upon a thousand deaths of chickens. Or maybe just two big chickens. My beautiful couch, made of leather, cotton, and "filler", houses the misfortune of a poultry birthright. Their pain has given me many hours of comfort and satisfying naps. I find their tiny badge of courage when I awake, mocking my rest, scornful of my peace. A token down feather graces my anti-embolism sock and I recoil, believing it is a spider. It is much worse, it is Chicken Carnage. I fall asleep once more, my outrage fleeting as I think of our society's cruel misuse of poultry and livestock. I had chicken for lunch. I snore a satiated and swollen snore of a Pretencious, Obese America.

A&E recently ran a 24-hour marathon of the T.V. show, 24, with Kiefer Sutherland. I distinctly remember telling a few people how much I abhor Mr. Sutherland's thespian skills as I sat there unblinking for 12 hours, rapt with guilty pleasure. The bastards at A&E failed to inform the viewers that the 24 hours would be broken into two 12-hour segments. I was horrified to discover that I would have to sleep in the middle of my “marathon”. Begrudgingly, I slept on my Chicken Death Couch until 8 a.m. the next morning when Jack and I tracked those evil terrorists to their appropriately pointless demise and stopped the nuclear warhead from hitting Los Angeles.