Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Spladow! It happens.

Every time I accidentally read an article from the likes of Glamour magazine or US magazine I feel the need to regenerate the resulting dead brain cells by doing a crossword or reading a poem or having a conversation. I realize people read these things for escapism but how can anyone pay for that privilege and then let whatever is in the article take up valuable space in the brain? I just read a headline attributed to Glamour: What he thinks about when you are naked. Yes, Glamour, please tell me the TRUTH at last about what one arbitrary person is thinking during naked intimacy. There is also an old issue of US magazine floating around my job's break room and it is the CELEBRITIES WITHOUT MAKEUP issue. I am so disgusted every time I see that crap. Who the fuck cares! I know these are hardly new or original observations but I had to get that out. Thanks.

In other news, Spotify continues to amaze me with the available music on there. I just had a burning need to hear "Bleecker Street" by Simon and Garfunkel (something about my strong desire to travel back to a time when $30 pays your rent on Bleeeeeeeeeeecker Streeeeet no doubt.) And there it was for the listening. I remember having to wait for so much music to become available to me. Wait for the radio to play it and wait for the video to come on and be ready and pay attention b/c you wouldn't hear it again until it came back up in the next hour's rotation. Maybe I'm slow on the uptake in this modern world but I am still surprised when I want something to happen for my entertainment and then spladow! It happens. I sincerely feel like I should be using words like "photostat" and "rouge" and "information superhighway" when these thoughts occur because I swear I feel so old sometimes.

Also, here's a random yet semi related memory alert. My sister Lorraine and I once spent an entire afternoon laughing at the photo on this album cover:

I do not have even the slightest recollection of what we found soooo hilarious about it. But I vividly recall just laughing until our stomachs hurt and then when my mother asked us what was so funny, we felt the need to hide the album cover underneath the couch. I wonder if that's why I've always loved that album. It reminds me of laughing for no reason.

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