Smelling me some TLC.

They (you know, "they") say that smell is the most effective sensory trigger of memory. A whiff of cinnamon magically transporting you back to your grandmother's kitchen as she preps he family-famous apple crisp. Your nose catching wind of something that reminds you of a former lover, bringing back a world of beautiful or painful memories.

Science will tell you that this is because your olfactory bulb is part of your brain's limbic system which is an area that is closely tied to memory and often called the "emotional brain"... This emotional brain calls up memories and powerful responses, nearly instantaneously, when triggered by a sense. When, that sense is smell, you know which is in the olfactory bulb, it's neighbor, smell ends up being the most effective trigger.

That's what science says. It's mostly right, because it's true.

To me, I think that sound, that song recognition is a stronger trigger of memory. Hearing a single chorus can remove me from my current place in time, to a vivid reliving of a time or times that I've heard that song.

The more I get of you,
The stranger it feels, yeah.


Wham, there I am ... 1994, traveling to Florence, OR in a rented RV, rocking to some Seal on my Sony Discman. Ready to embark on another family vacation where I would listen to that song, and the rest of the Batman Forever soundtrack at least 34 more times.

Here's another example, as the tunes of the following song drifted up (notes rise, like hot air, you know)within my earshot, I was magically placed back in the year of 1994. It's summer time and I'm stuck at home watching a lot of MTV, or VH1, depending on who was showing more videos (at this point in time, MTV showed videos, kids. I promise) learning some of life's important lessons through said videos.

That all forlorn young women, writhe in their pity, while hanging out in their apartment wearing soon-to-be chic glasses. I'm talking to you, Lisa Loeb.

Or, the fact that you can fit like 30 black guys, barbecue equipment and some basketballs in the trunk of a car (if I really wanted to draw a strong connection here, I'd go watch me some Fantastic Voyage and determine what kind of car it was. But, whatevs). On a side note, I found this to be incredibly not true, whilst in college. Oops.

And, lastly ... That all black women are super sexy, horny gamblers who may or may not be gay, if not definitely bisexual. Those tunes that I spoke about above, the ones that floated their way to my ears:


TLC - Red Light Special
Music Videos at www.blastro.com

Pizza-Vendo-Fun Time

"What do you want on YOUR Tombstone?" rattles throughout the halls of my memory, a cheesy undertakerish cowboy asking the question not of what I want my eternal epitaph but what kind of topping I want on my freezer-burnt, thin-crusted over-cooked pizza.

Let's get somethings straight, Slim, I'm a fucking Tony's Pizza kid. Always have been, always will be.

At the time I was viewing these commercials (I know they still have money behind broadcast spots, but this particle campaign might have fizzled in the mid-90s), the only way you could get yourself a Tombstone was to go to the poor kid's house, next door and convince him to throw that sucker in the oven while his mom was out "getting her hair done," (which I later found out meant "banging some dude who worked at Albertson's") forfeiting at least one night's dinner for my curiosity as to what these Tombstones were all about. After a bite, maybe two, I'm certain he was not pleased with my decision to throw the rest out. Seriously, I'd rather slather some ketchup on an air-filter. Of course, you could retrieve one of these ghastly things from the grocery store and prepare it yourself, thus allowing shitbag neighbor to have more food in his belly and less grumblings for county-paid lunch at school the next day.

Well kids... those days are over. The wizards and cash behind the Kraft Foods Pizza Department have taken the next step in providing poor, stoned, college freshman kids with their product. Drive-by Tombstonings? No. Welfare? Nuh-uh. Like the availability for a Japanese kid to get his dong tickled while he eats a big mac, out of the same machine ... Tombstone has entered the vending age:



The story can be found here.

Yum!

Hair on my face.

I drove my car to work today. It was the first time in, I think, 2 weeks. This is the longest streak that I’ve had, riding the bus on consecutive days, since I’ve lived here. Not bad, I don’t think.

Last night, I made the decision that I was going to drive my car to work today on account of needing to run errands (going to the gym, going to the grocery store… both failed missions) and the fact that I had parked it in a place that I needed to move it from.

En route, a bit sleepy (my usual state) thanks to a long nap and trip to sugar town and the resulting inability to fall asleep at a quality hour… I reached up to scratch my face, only to find a decent amount of weekend stubble still residing on my mug. I had 100% planned on shaving this morning, as I do on all Mondays, to enter the work week with a smooth approach. Instead, here I am … unkempt beard-face, rolling in after a weekend. Tired and hairy.

Whelp, see ya.

Go Hawks?

Oooh silliness.

Dear Facebook,

Thank you for allowing me to casually peer into people's lives. Whether it's seeing music reviews from former classmate's who are now, themselves, teachers or viewing the evidence of paths people I grew up with have taken into drunkiness and debauchery. All of this amuses me.

I'm addicted to the status updates... reading others, updating my own. With this said, I don't like twitter, I ain't gay or nothing.

-steezington

///

That Usain Bolt fella ... he's hiiiiiiiiigh as hell on them steroids.

///

OJ, aka Nordberg, may be the baddest man on the face of the earth.

///

Tomorrow is Friday and I am grateful for this fact.

///

Peace, bitches.

Jayhawks Please.

"Those NBA players... year in and year out, they are the model image of class and responsibility."

"I have a steel pole protruding from my anus, the north end of it pressing against my kidney or some shit, wearing my large intestine as a sock ... and it feels good."

Two statements that are rarely, if ever spoken by anyone. Anyone aside from Mr. Slave or the family member, suckling the teat of an NBA player.

If you didn't see this, today, here it is: Former KU Superstars turned NBA 1st Picks - TOO FUCKING STUPID to stop getting high, if only for 4 days while they're at Rookie Transition Camp.

The Rookie Transition Camp is designed to teach those young, 19+ kids who have left their respective schools / foreign countries, now earning an ungodly amount that it's not okay to bang 4 hookers at a time, while railing lines of Bolivian cooking flour the size of your forearm. Also not acceptable: gambling, beating fans, so on and so forth.

Each year this event is held, it is fair to assume that SOME stuff is swept under the "oh, you kids ... you'll get it straight soon. Have fun with your SUVs and white women" rug... This event, the Chalmers/Arthur event is simply too bad to be excused / brushed under a rug. Whereas these two young men have College Championships and oodles of dough, they lack a simple protein that allows one to make the most rudimentary of choices that rooted in responsibility.

Good luck, you fucks.

Apples and such.

There are those moments, they happen nearly every day, that cause you to pause for a moment or so and process the seemingly random events that occurred for that single moment to happen.

Tonight, I stayed at the office late enough that the Northbound-Tunnel travel was no longer available... Leaving my only option to ride those buses that operate on the surface (stupid, inefficient surface routes, with their lights and their other cars).

I could've taken any bus that came by as I stood at the stop, taking a brief moment to lower my sunglasses, veiling my stare and fervor for weirdos (crackheads, hobos, stinkies, you name it)... But I did not, I stood and conversed with a friend / coworker until his bus arrived.

Upon exiting the bus, not knowing which route I want to take (mainly it was a matter of whether or not I wanted to walk to the gym or take the train), I did not take the most direct path of travel.

Headphones in, mid-voice mail (that I was leaving for someone), I encounter 2 friends who have recently moved to the Seattle (a fact that leaves me tickled with joy, as I enjoy these 2 individuals immensely) on their way back from dinner.

They invite me up to their apartment (and fucking great view), we chat and end up using their gym facilities in the building. Afterward, I toss my pack over my shoulder, throw my headphones on and continue on my trip to the bus.

Just the slightest difference in timing, in route, in occurrence would have led me to not run into my friends. Sure this would not have had any particular consequence or significance, but it is just a small example of lines of travel, lines of life often intersect. Whether it's fate, math, coincidence or chaos (that... that right there, is chaos) this shit happens. It amazes, entertains and frightens me.

...

I like green apples WAAAAAAY more than any other kind of apple.

Let's give this a shot.

Ah yes, Labor day … The National Holiday devoted to the recognition of working people’s contribution to our society.

I slept till 1 in the afternoon, did some walking of the neighborhood, stopped by the grocery store, suffered through some laundry (and the loathsome folding part too), participated in my third and final fantasy football draft of the season, whipped up some dinner andddddd have decided (just like I do, for a little bit, every month) that I want to attempt to write a blog entry every day, for a month.

Doesn’t matter what the content is. A story, a poem, a review, a typed vomit-session, perhaps some criticism of something in the press or found on the internet. I tell myself that it shouldn’t be hard, but then I always underestimate my ability to be lazy and near-flawless success-rate in talking myself out of things.

This entry, the words you see above this line that you’re reading now (and, most likely the words that you’ll read after this line) are a cheap excuse for content.

But you know what, it’s content.

And it’s blog post #1, for the month.