That dream about pecs

There was that dream where for the first time in my life I looked down and I had defined pectorals, and usually you have to work out to get those but I had gotten surgery and it's not that there is anything wrong with that but instead of filling the bags with silicone the pec bags were filed with Kentucky Fried chicken and in the dream I was really hungry and the nearest fast food restaurant was more than a block away but there right in front of me were two bags of the Colonel's finest and don't hate me, though in the end I was kind of disappointed because the doctors had filled both bags with extra crispy instead of original and there wasn't a single wing.

Daily Ambivalence - a guy told me that when you shoot a watermelon with a 9mm it explodes

Not the 9mm. The 9mm does not explode. The watermelon does.

And the guy was right. Kind of. The watermelon doesn't actually explode so much as blow apart. Not as impressive, really, which makes me wonder - what would it be like if Michael Bay had created the universe?

Part of me is kind of sad watermelons don't explode like mini super novas when you shoot them with a 9mm, but if Michael Bay had created the universe can you imagine how scary that would be? Things could explode for just about any reason. Let me correct that. Things could explode for any reason.

Just brushing your teeth would be treacherous. Open the medicine cabinet and - is that toothpaste in the tube or plastic explosive? That dog you just kicked, is it a chihuahua or a decepticon? That rumble in the floor, is that a passing train or is it the precursor to the first of eight earthquakes that will all register 8 on the richter scale so that when the movie is made it can say something like "And on the eighth day Bay said it wasn't good!"

Yeah, now that I think about it, I'm glad watermelons just kind of blow apart.

A guy told me that when you shoot a watermelon with a 9mm it explodes . . .eh.

Daily Ambivalence - forget about having a distinctive smell

Some guys are all about smelling the same way all the time. You know, they buy the same deodorant, the same cologn or aftershave. People who know them are comforted by the sameness, the sense that the person they know is encapsulated by an odor that surrounds them like invisible moths.

My dad is an Old Spice guy. Father's Day has always been a cake walk with him. For myself, I prefer to mix it up. More than that, I like to be a little strange.

On a Monday, maybe I'll choose Play-Doh as a scent. You can really buy that. Look it up. It comes in a bottle and everything. And that's nice, but something you can pour out of a bottle is too easy. If I do Play-Doh on Monday then I'll do something like Taco Time Mexi-fries on Tuesday. That's harder than it sounds. You can't just eat a bag of Mexi-fries and call it good. You can't let your breath do all the work, that's cheating. No, your whole body has to smell like Taco Time Mexi-fries. Your whole freaking body!

I make a soap.

The number of smells available to you when you embrace the rejection of distinctive smell is only limited by your imagination. Summertime Storm is nice, but so is New Car or Rodeo Clown. On Saturdays I like to get really crazy, so if you see me on a Saturday you might smell Burnt Asparagus or Lunchroom Corn.

Yeah, when I was in high school Elsha was all the rage. I've moved on.

Forget about having a distinctive smell . . . eh.

Daily Ambivalence - I still prefer a book

Despite all the electronic options out there today, I still prefer a book.

Mostly because of the prophecy.

Some people like the feel of paper pages on their fingers, the easy sense of where you are in a story. Or like Shoeless Joe it's the smell, but not of grass, with books it's the smell of old paper, of print that has spent too much time stacked next to others of its ilk. It is the view of books on the shelf, memorials to a reading history. It is sitting next to man you can see is reading one of your past loves. You don't interrupt but in him you sense a kindred spirit. It is the history of the page, the reality that words have lived on paper for all remembered time. Some people prefer books for these reasons, but yeah, for me I like books because of the prophecy.

I mean, it has to be real. That old woman had totally legit fortuneteller written all over her. So all I have to do is have a book in my coat pocket when that fake Elvis shoots me because he thinks I stole his spot on the Strip. The book will stop the bullet and Jason Statham who happens to be nearby will be so impressed he'll ask me to be in his next movie. And I'll win the lottery the next day.  I'll be set. The old woman described all this in detail.

Bummer about the alien invasion though.

I still prefer a book . . . eh.