30 March, 2005
dashboard confessional

No sooner had i unburdened myself of backpack, shades, coffee, and rainjacket on Monday, my hillbilly co-worker informed me how much it sucked to be incarcerated at work, again. to which, i replied that the only part that didn't suck unmercifully for me was that midway point between there and home. sad, i know.

consequently, all of my most interesting writing ideas seem to bubble up whenever i'm behind the wheel. the unreeling images and events usually spark some kind of philosophizing, rant, creative thought or rueful headshaking. unfortunately, burdened as i am with a most porous memory, by the time i reach the point where i can actually relate them... POOF, into the ether they return. or else i'm buried alive in lithographical scatology and the time is denied.

so much for excuses.

i've spewed about the bastardization of Calvin&Hobbes before. good comics and artists have always been a foundation to happiness, for me at least. well, Mr. Watterson needs to kick some serious ass when it comes to the varied ways that his artistic progeny are either perverted into pissing on nearly any object known to pop culture, or prostrate before the cross in fervent suffering... i can't decide which is more blasphemous.

(shudder)

and, the variations on the yellow ribbon... God Damn You, Tony Orlando. And Dawn. and the vinyl magnet industry. maybe it's just an inbred Virginia trait, but they're as thick as fleas on a dog's back... or so it appears when there's more than three on any vehicle. yes, bring the troops home, safe. yes, i still prefer to be American, and am one lucky fucker to have been born here with a mind predisposed to fairness for everbody. yes, find a cure for breast cancer, rather than feed slash-and-profit butchers.
but really... how many are enough to prove how sensitive you are?
i see symbolism where there isn't any, i admit... but all of those things, from a distance, just look like the infinity symbol with the end cut off... which i find infinitely more disturbing than the message printed on them.

...which leads me to today.

a black SUV barreled past me, after the light turned green, and cut me off without a signal. this left me staring... uh, face-to-face... with the decoration dangling from the trailer hitch. a plastic scrotum. full, supposedly... or weighty enough to swing from side-to-side. funky flesh-coloured... like, old man flesh. trust me that this doesn't warrant a photo.
if you have to buy them and hang them off of the back of your car, you probably don't possess them to begin with.

i guess i'll motivate the ones i do have and ruminate through some new material. the road beckons.

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