Anyway You Want It!

Ok, so sorry that I have absotively, posolutely no time! What was I thinking attempting to create and maintain an online journal?! It's been like (here I go with the "likes", pinch me if i say "like" one more time), over ten years since I actually had a real, 3 dimensional journal. Back in the days when I was all Anne of Green Gables. 'Cept, if we "keep it real", it would've been Anne of Hunters Point. Not a pretty picture as you might imagine. No, HP cannot, in no way shape or form, be confused with the green rolling hills and meadows, blooming buds, poetry-inspiring cliffs of Novia Scotia. (Does anyone know what I'm talking about, mang?)

So, back to business. (Don't we all love introductions like what I did up there just now? The kind that lead you into nothing and are followed by something completely unrelated? Just the way they taught you in school, huh?) So what was I saying? Oh yeah, business. I have Journey playing in the background. I know, who doesn't? I'm at work and Journey fits nicely into the work music category. They are by definition, "Bay Area classic", after all. But the annoying thing is not, as you might assume, Steve Perry's constant woh woh's, or how your mind gets set on repeat after the song is finished (kind of like a bad, lingering aftertaste of something that just didn't taste right anyway), but it's the mind picture you get while listening to Journey. Which by the way, lingers much the same way as that funky taste in your mouth. It's that blinding camera flash that you still see when you close your eyes. And the more pictures you're in, the more blinding white flashes you see afterward. Have I leapt too far from the line of analogies? Anyway, the picture I'm alluding to is that oh-so-typical-of-the-time-and-genre and yet the oh-so-henceforth-ridiculed vision of a man...in tight jeans or some sort of spandex/lycra combination...in a silky shirt unbuttoned just low enough to reveal a soft tuft of sweaty grassland chestal manfur...with an odornment of rings on a fashionista fist just enough to hint to some sort of questionable sexuality...and oh yes, with the well-coifed head of Aquanetted feathered hair. Who can resist such a man? you might ask yourself. Oh believe me, I'm quite resistant. I mean don't get me wrong, the CD playing is after all, mine anyway. Have I lost ya yet with this huge paradox? I think I've lost myself...in some chestal manfur, no doubt.