jumble (part first)

* Suddenly I'm convinced that Ceremony (by Joy Division/New Order) is the greatest song in the world. (See also this live version by the older, fatter New Order). Not just because Radiohead covered it on a webcast. And not just because the guy who wrote it killed himself (although, let's face it, that never hurts for sales, right Mr. Drake?) But really, what a great song.

** Where did I become convinced that boiled eggs are healthier than cooked? Can anyone help me substantiate this? Maybe I just want to advocate for all foods that come in their own hygienic biodegradable containers: Bananas, Oranges, and. . . Boiled Eggs? OK, so they're not in exactly the same category, and I can't eat one without a salt shaker in hand (another deficiency), but they're still pretty great. And unlike meat, (wherein something has to die so we can fill poisonous sink holes with pig shite) a cage free egg represents a partnership. I say to the chicken, "I'll give you room and board in exchange for your unfertilized young." (Don't call them chicken abortions, they hate that.) This is a beautiful thing. Hell, I'd take that deal. . . if only I could lay eggs.

*** I've become slightly fanatical about mountain biking; but if you ever see me in spandex, or any kind of official riding attire, shoot my tires. If I keep coming, shoot me.

**** My sister-in-law, who really is wonderful, recently tried to compare the insane crowds crying out for the death of that teacher who let her class name a teddy bear Mohamed to people in Texas who don't mind people on Death Row being executed. She honestly thought we should all make that connection. The fact that an otherwise rational, intelligent person fails to see how sadly specious this argument is constitutes incontrovertible proof that YOUR POINT IS DULLED WHEN YOU USE IT TO GRIND A POLITICAL AX. (If you caught yourself making the same connection as you read it, pull your head out.)

***** The time has come to admit that I am a closet sports junkie. I love ESPN. I treasured the opportunity to watch the New England Patriots make history last Saturday. (If you're not thrilled at the privilege of witnessing perfection in any form, you might be what Wordsworth called "dull of soul.") Yes, I follow sports. I love talking football, or baseball, or basketball, (even NASCAR once! though I'll never admit a vested interest in THAT--I stand by my theory that loyalty to any car or brand of car is one of the primary indications of red-neckitude) with various men in my circle of co-workers and relatives. But my friends do not understand. So I live a double life. Well, it's out in the open now. We'll see who my real friends are.

****** New Year's resolutions are absolutely for chumps. If a goal is important, and you are really dedicated to achieving it, then why wait for, or rely upon, some arbitrary construct to set you off? That being said, whenever January the first rolls around, I inevitably make a goal to talk less in the coming year. I'm tired of the sound of my own voice, and tired of saying stupid superfluous things. I don't know what that might mean as it pertains to blogification. We might never find out: it's a New Year's resolution, and sadly, I probably won't become the first person in history to actually keep one.