It’s Monday, and although I typically attempt to approach Mondays with a philosophy that’s equal parts Phineas and Ferb and Dylan Thomas’ “Do not go gentle into that good night”, today I’m mostly just meh. If you’re curious why that is, I’m betting it has something to do with this:
As if that wasn’t bad enough, apparently there’s this heat index thing which mean it’s not just 95 degrees, oh no. It would be only 95 degrees if the air was hot and the sun was down. But because today is apparently Cincinnati’s chance to experience the 9th circle of Hell due to an afternoon of punishing daylight beneath a cloudless sky, it supposedly feels like 182 or something. I don’t know about all that, but I’m pretty sure it’s hot enough to solar barbecue a couple slabs of baby backs*.
Just for reference, I don’t like the hotness so much. Thus, the meh.
So, instead of giving you a witty-yet-slightly-whacked analysis of William and Kate’s recent visit, why US Women’s Soccer is apparently the only thing we’ve done right internationally since the Miracle on Ice, or why I don’t care for soft-serve ice cream, I offer you instead this random list of bullet points for things on my mind since (but not exclusively from) the weekend:
- In case you missed it, the inaugural Quaker State 400 was run Saturday at Kentucky Speedway, not too far from la casa de Puddin. The race was good, the traffic wasn’t, and although I wasn’t going to watch it, The Attitude couldn’t get enough of it. “Moar race twack, Daddy, peease?” And when he went and got his own cars to race on the kitchen table with the actual race on in the background, I thought I might die of cute. Way to get ‘em earlier, NASCAR.
- The Reds are…[redacted]. I am enjoying that we expect them to be good now. But watching them lose games when they’ve had big leads or just needed to put it away in the 9th is beginning to physically hurt me in the abdomen. What? No, that’s not my liver. Shush, you. That’s enough from the peanut gallery.
- I kinda like Google+ thus far. I’ll have a full rundown of my initial thoughts on it sometime soon. In the meantime, if you’re a G+’er, circle me.
- Today’s Earworm Report: Sometime after lunch this afternoon, the infamous 1980 disco tune Funkytown by Lipps Inc. bloomed in my head, unrequested. I thought that was bad, but a short 10 minutes later, I typed something about wanting to go home and cry. Somehow, that dredged up Hold On by Wilson Phillips. That one’s still with me. Please, shoot me.
- I stopped at a different place for coffee this morning. The Americano wasn’t quite as good as the one at my favorite place, but it was pretty stiff and it’s much closer to being on my way to work. I think I might have just replaced Starbucks in my life.
- I need a haircut. Truth be told, I hate taking time out of my life to it done. There have been times in the past when I didn’t mind, but I don’t have a designated hair person now, which means I’m a meandering from barber to barber like a shaggy nomad in search of someone I like. That also means a) I get unpredictable results every time, and b) nothing worth considering part of my life experience is happening when I’m in that chair. It’s 30 minutes some stranger is hacking at my head that I’m never getting back, and have little to show for it but a more visible scalp.
- Re: the haircut, I’ve always known that some day I will take to the Wahls and shear it all off because I fear the Accidental Comb-over like a 6 year old fears Al Roker under the bed (what…was that just me?). But I’m beginning to think that I should go ahead with Operation Puddin Fleece now and just avoid the whole haircut hassle altogether. Problem solved, right? But if I do that, will I be the first person to beginning shave my head out of laziness? Surely that’s why Teddy Savalas did it, right?
I think that’s quite enough random bullets for today. If you’re lucky, maybe tomorrow I’ll have some discussion of what I wore today or how much I like Goobers. I know, riveting.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my sweating in place.
You know, ‘cause it’s hot.
*Ribs, people, duh. No actual babies where harmed in writing of this post.