Worst Songs Ever

We built this city by Starship is by far one of the worst songs ever written. Apparently I am not alone as I have googled this song that I am being forced by work space radio to listen to. I mean really- At the moment I am sitting at my desk eating a pear and cottage cheese (although not together) and wondering how I am going to make it to 5 o'clock. The witching hour today as I am taking off early for a chiropractic appointment. My hub-a-dub is out o' town tonight and therefore while I appreciate the freedom, I have to go to a dinner party where I only know 1 person and I don't relish the idea of going solo. I really want to leave now, but I can't. I have to sit here at my desk like an autonotom and pretend to work!
DAMN THE MAN!
"The Man. Oh, you don't know The Man? The Man's everywhere: in the White House, down the hall, Miss Mullins; she's The Man! And The Man ruined the ozone, and he's burning down the Amazon and he kidnapped Shamu and put her in a chlorine tank! Okay! And there used to be a way to stick it to The Man, it was called rock 'n roll. But guess what? Oh no! The Man ruined that too with a little thing called MTV! So don't waste your time trying to make anything cool or pure or awesome 'cause The Man's just gonna call you a fat washed up loser and crush your soul. So do yourself a favor and just give up!"

-- 

Max: That was more of a yield at that stop sign.
Grover: I broke, thanks.
Max: No, it was more of a yield.

'tash disaster!

Every time summer rolls around I am so happy to tan my skin a glorious bronze colour but ever since I was preggers I have developed a darkening of the skin above my lip that gives me the look of having a nice 'tash - but it's not true.
I swear, I have looked closely, the beauty shop girl looked closely -it is like having a shadow over my lip --but I hate it. And if I forget to put on PROTECTION (sun protection that is) then it only gets worse. So either I cover my whole face and I have white a face like Morticia from the Adam's Family and a golden tan body or I have a 'tash shadow! What to do??

A Poem on the Underground Wall

A Poem on the Underground Wall by Simon & Garfunkel

The last train is nearly due,
The underground is closing soon,
And in the dark deserted station,
Restless in anticipation,
A man waits in the shadows.

His restless eyes leap and scratch,
At all that they can touch or catch,
And hidden deep within his pocket,
Safe within its silent socket,
He holds a colored crayon.

Now from the tunnel's stony womb,
The carriage rides to meet the groom,
And opens wide and welcome doors,
But he hesitates, then withdraws
Deeper in the shadows.

And the train is gone suddenly
On wheels clicking silently
Like a gently tapping litany,
And he holds his crayon rosary
Tighter in his hand.

Now from his pocket quick he flashes,
The crayon on the wall he slashes,
Deep upon the advertising,
A single worded poem comprised
Of four letters.

And his heart is laughing, screaming, pounding
The poem across the tracks rebounding
Shadowed by the exit light
His legs take their ascending flight
To seek the breast of darkness and be suckled by the night..........

kicking & screaming

Lucky Dogs- a New Orleans tradition

I would like to include this review in my blog because honestly- I couldn't have written it better myself-

Editorial Review for Lucky Dogs – by Pableaux Johnson

The Scene
More a kitschy local institution than a traditional eatery, these weenie-shaped hot-dog carts prowl the French Quarter serving up gastrointestinal ballast for inebriated Bourbon Street tourists. During peak party times, every street corner seems to be occupied by a distinctive red and yellow Lucky Dog wagon manned by a somewhat surly sausage technician.

The Food
When you order a late-night meal from a giant metal frankfurter, there's very little room for mystery or confusion. The hot dogs and spicy smoked sausages are boiled for hours and topped with a simple range of nonperishable condiments: mustard, hot white onions and straight-outta-the-can chili. Not much for taste and definitely no match for NYC's Coney Island dogs, but the Lucky Dog mystique relies more on accessibility than flavor. The drunker you are, the better they taste.

Are You Experienced?

"Suffering, danger and poverty are all fine by me, but dirt and disease are two things I happen to hate".
I am not sure why people want to suffer whilst on holiday. I mean I suppose if my funds and vacation days were unlimited then I guess I might consider it - but probably not. I imagine a holiday to be just that -- something better than everyday - not worse. I don't want to be too hot, nor too cold. I want to eat food that I recognize at least what it is and 9 out of 10 times is delicious. I want to sleep on a comfy bed and not be eaten alive by bugs. Mostly I would like to lay in the sun and have a super sexy cabana boy bring me frozen margaritas and pina coladas all day... this is a vacation. Tromping around a hot, third world country just waiting until the dysentery hits is not my idea of fun..call me crazy?