This song is about oral, right?

Discuss.

Related, for my Canadian friends: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Petition-to-Make-B44s-Get-Down-Canadas-national-anthem/185470294820985

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The Louvre Museum has 8.5 million visitors per year. This blog was viewed about 120,000 times in 2011. If it were an exhibit at the Louvre Museum, it would take about 5 days for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

However, I have to admit there is a slight caveat with the New Year’s Day Race I’ve done since 2006.

In 2006, it was what got me inspired to start training again. I won’t rehash the story. I’ve told you before. But if you don’t recall? I ran it while hung over or possibly still drunk and managed a 7:20 pace for 7.5 miles, far faster than I expected.

In 2007, it was my first hard effort after a hamstring strain on Thanksgiving day.

In 2008, I used to to work out my frustration over ripping open my bumper after nearly being hit by an SUV in a fucking parking lot. (Yeah, the near collision caused me to swerve and hit a guard rail.)

Since then it’s been a nice marker for marathon training. In 2009 it was 8 degrees and snow covered, but this year and last year? Freakishly warm.

So last week I began to think about it.

The weather was looking good. I was beginning to run some halfway respectable mileage again. I was running faster than expected. Maybe it was time to not e embarrassed myself? Maybe I COULD turn over a new leaf, so to speak!

Heh…yeah.

Before I get into the gory details, you know the movie Up In The Air? If you don’t, the main character is a guy who is contracted to fire people at other companies. He spends his life on the road, and he loves it that way. He gets the fact that people, by in large, just weigh you down and waste your time. His “home” is everyone else’s away. Throughout the story he has a few reasons to think about his life a bit. Partially because his job as he knows it might be going away. Partially because he finds someone he likes enough to NOT avoid. For a number of reasons, he lets go of his usual stance for a brief minute…only to find out that he was right all along. People are not worth his time. His world view is correct, everyone else is flawed.

Why am I telling you this?

Because from the moment I pulled into the parking lot I KNEW I was going to have my Up In The Air moment. I don’t know why. Part of it was the fact that I’ve been moving and inhaling a lot of dust and mold, triggering up the breathing issues that kept me NOT running for most of November. Within half a mile I found myself having to stop because I was coughing hard enough. Not ideal for fast running to say the least.

But to be honest, it was only part of the problem.

The large problem is that I just…had…no…desire to be there. Gorgeous day be damned, I didn’t want to run. I didn’t want to see how out of shape I still am. I didn’t want to feel all the weight I’ve gained bouncing around. But most of all, I didn’t want to see how many people have gotten faster than me since I’ve been hurting for motivation/injured/laying in a ditch drunk. This isn’t meant as whiny prison bitchery, it’s just a fact.

And of course, I knew what would happen when I went into this damn thing: it wasn’t going to go well. And of course, my suspicions were confirmed. I went with a girl I know is quite good at even pacing. I went out at what seemed like a reasonable clip, if slightly aggressive. Within three miles the coughing and sinus issues caught up to me and I had to back off. But as we climbed hill after hill, something else happened.

I just gave up. I knew I was moving slowly, but I didn’t care. I thought about all the work I needed to do and how I needed to get the fuck out of here to go finish moving. I thought about how fat and slow I felt. But most of all I thought about the fact that I just simply don’t care. Still. Motivation hasn’t returned. I know I need to start training for Boston. But I also know that I’m so behind where I was a year ago…it’s just not worth trying anymore. It’s not going to come back. I’m older and and I simply don’t. have. the. drive.

Which was my Up In The Air moment.

Yes, maybe my motivation returned a few years ago. But if I’m being completely honest, my already low work ethic is at an all time low. I know that my honesty always prompts a “OMG ME TOO” from people who tell me in another breath they’re running 120 mile weeks. I don’t want to hear that.

And here is the thing:

I don’t want to hear this “GIVE YOURSELF A BREAK” crap either. Or anything along those lines. The fact is in an ideal world I wouldn’t work, I would run, I wouldn’t do anything other than…nothing. I’m a very lazy person who occasionally has motivation to do something.

And this time? Mine is long gone.

And it’s not coming back.

Same shit, different* year.
I don’t give a flying fuck.
Neither should you, cunt.

/Haiku Stop

*Yes, I’m pronouncing it DIF-RENT in order to make it fit. Much like it takes DIFF’RENT STROKES to move the world, it takes pronouncing it that way to fit my haiku which you hipsters and lit geeks will feel the need to tell me is not really a haiku. Go fuck yourselves.

THAT GOES FOR YOU TOO.

Radio Silence
Notice my lack of whining?
Keeping it that way

/Haiku Stop

…for now.

The reason for this is pretty simple: I haven’t been doing much of it and am now embarrassingly out of shape.

No, really. I’m on track for my lowest mileage in years and frankly? I don’t give a fuck. I tell myself I want to get my ass back in gear and lose weight. I also tell myself I will stop spending most of my time staring at the ceiling and eating fattening foods.

But let’s be honest: I won’t.

This? Is not news. But it did cross my mind the other day as I stood behind a local high school girl at a Thanksgiving Race. Between talking to friends and wishing I hadn’t bothered to get out of bed, I got a chance to read it:

“Hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard.”

I don’t know if she beat me, but it is a fair assumption that she did. This race was a glorified shuffle; I dragged my fat bloated ass around this race course without making any effort to run hard. I ran the first couple miles at a touch under 7:00 min pace and hit mile three and found myself dealing with the same breathing issues that have plagued me for the last month or so. They started off as the result of what seemed like a sinus infection and haven’t gotten much better…probably because, well, I haven’t really been running.

It was at this point on the course that we merged with a shorter race and I found myself behind a few hundred more people and lacking any enthusiasm. I normally would make an effort to pass them all or at the very least, shake off the labored breathing and get back on track. Instead I debated sitting on the ground and just…stopping. Which frankly, I’ve done in 99% of the runs I’ve done since October.

Anyhow, as I loped along…I noticed another girl wearing that same shirt.

HARD WORK BEATS TALENT WHEN TALENT DOESN’T WORK HARD.

I passed her and realized how slowly I was moving. I picked it up slightly and finished, feeling less humiliated and more apathetic.

In other words, I just don’t care right now…but I’m getting a lot of signs that it’s about time to stop being such a lazy fucking sloth.

Sign 1: Pants I bought 6 weeks ago are now tight. That’s some serious weight gain and I ain’t petite to begin with. I’m an endomorph. I’m constantly a french fry away from morbid obesity, which is probably why I hate you skinny motherfuckers with the passion of Mel Gibson’s antisemitism. (SEE WUT I DID THAR? HE DIRECTED PASSION OF THE CHRIST SO I SAID PASSION OF…fuck you, it was funny in my head!)

I've really let myself go.

Sign 2: Everything has redistributed in a bad, bad way. Again, endomorph. This long a layoff is likely to leave me looking like beat up White trash…and I can’t afford the liposuction.

NEW PLAN: Give birth to Irish twins and give trashy, gold digging dancer half my money! Oh wait. I don't have any money. And I'm barren. (At least I hope I am!)

Sign 3: THAT FUCKING SHIRT. Okay, maybe sign isn’t the right word.

But it is a reminder.

I? Simply don’t work very hard. And I reviewed results of faster races and rivals I used to beat handily…and they’ve all gotten faster. They’ve all done the work. I haven’t. While it is hard to describe be as “talented” in any respect, I suppose I have a modicum of natural ability, albeit limited. If I keep my basic aerobic base up, I can usually pull something out of my ass.

But I’ve failed to do that.

I was in questionable shape to begin with and I’ve now let it deteriorate to nothing. I’m fatter and slower than ever and fully aware of it.

But you know what?

Despite these signs, I’m still just…not motivated. I’d rather drink copious amounts of vodka and tell hipsters to get off my lawn. (DIE HIPSTER SCUM)

After decades of running at the same mediocre level, it is hard to stay motivated. So many of you talk about how much you love running and that’s something I haven’t felt in years. I run because it is what I do. I run because I like being reasonably competitive, something that won’t happen if I don’t get my ass in gear. I run because not running would leave me, well, I covered that above. Don’t get me wrong, I still enjoy it on many levels. But on many others, it is a love-hate relationship. And when it comes to running like shit, it is all hate. There is no love for that.

But the thing is, after so many years I know my abilities pretty well and the bottom line is I lack the drive, lungs and body type (I AM AN ENDOMORPH! I’M TOO FAT!) to get faster than I am, which makes it hard to get back in gear when at the end of the day…I’d be content sitting on my ass swilling booze and watching TV. No matter how hard I start working, I’m just not going to get much faster. I’ve been around for ages; breakthroughs just don’t come after a certain point.

And really, at the end of the day, I LOVE being a lazy motherfucker…and it is hard to convince myself otherwise this time around. But I’ll get there. Eventually.

On that note, I’m off to wash myself with a rag on a stick , eat an entire pizza, and wash it down with a 6 pack.

[DISCLAIMER: Much of this is tongue and cheek, people. Tongue and cheek. I'm not the size of the mom in Gilbert Grape. JUST SO YOU KNOW.]

epic (ˈɛpɪk)
— n
1. A long narrative poem recounting in elevated style the deeds of a legendary hero, esp one originating in oral folk tradition
2. The genre of epic poetry
3. any work of literature, film, etc, having heroic deeds for its subject matter or having other qualities associated with the epic:
4. an episode in the lives of men in which heroic deeds are performed or attempted

— adj

5. denoting, relating to, or characteristic of an epic or epics
6. of heroic or impressive proportions: an epic voyage

In other words, things that are epic:

Homer’s The Odyssey:

The Godfather Trilogy:

Roald Amundsen’s expedition to the South Pole:

Thing that is not *technically* “Epic” but we can call Epic anyway:

Faith No More’s “Epic:”

Things that are not Epic:

Your food.

Some shitty band that is best used as background music while Meredith Grey whines about being a whiny bitch.

Last…but certainly not least: You.

*If Sarah still had her blog, I’d link to her JOURNEY post. But the bitch didn’t just stop blogging, she DELETED IT ALL TOGETHER. Still…credit where credit is due!

I did google this to see what others had to say and indeed, it has been done before . Whatever.

“Says who? Just so you know, the people who talk that way think that monkeys can do this. They take all this monkey crap and just stick it in a briefcase completely unaware that their success depends on something more than their shoeshine. YOU are the product. You…FEELING something. That’s what sells. Not them. Not sex. They can’t do what we do, and they hate us for it.”

A lot of blogs seem to take one of two forms:

1. The infomercial: Post after post “sponsored” by X, whether it be spelled out (“The fine people at X….”) or sneaky, affiliate marketing (“You guys know how much I love Y! You should click on the links that I provide to buy this stuff, I promise!). (Marie summed this up nicely here. )

2. Self-Indulgent Wankery: Blogging is self-indulgent by nature. Nobody is denying this. But good blogs offer something other than “You guys, I am awesome and inspiring. Aren’t I awesome? Look at all these pictures of my awesomeness. I hate to brag, but I’m awesome, you guys.” I parodied this attitude a few months back and that is one of my most popular posts because people found it googling I AM AWESOME. Yeah.

But can we return to my opening quote?

If you don’t recognize the source, you should punch yourself in the face as you are a toolsack that probably doesn’t watch Mad Men.

But I’ll give you some context here:

While coming up with an ad campaign, a copywriter comes up with something her boss finds trite. Her boss is successful because he understands how to make sentiment work in ad campaigns. His best gift is his ability to figure out what people want to hear…and then put it in terms that appeal to them. Personalized messaging. To that end, he’s sees that “sex sells” is a cliche. Yes, sex can draw someone in on a superficial level…but at the end of the day, there is something impersonal and generic about the whole message.

Here is the image they’re looking at:

He goes against her instincts and points out the child while pulling out a Valentine his daughter made him from his desk. He falls back on sentiment and personalization because THAT is what resonates with people. She gets what he means and comes up with “What did you bring me, daddy?”

Something someone can feel.

Now.

Do you see where I am going here?

When I’m reading what people write, I like to see a trace of WHO they are. I like to see evidence that someone is an actual person who isn’t just spouting cliches or using their writing as a way of convincing themselves of certain things. If you’re trying to be humorous, convince me that you’re actually a funny person – not just someone who is mockingly self-deprecating/mocks others because it fits a certain context. Don’t just walk through how you were given X product and how X product changes your life. Don’t fucking TELL ME you’re inspiring. Do something impressive and let it speak for itself.

In short, YOU ARE THE PRODUCT. And if you market that shit poorly, your brand will only go so far. (See also, this guide to Don Draper’s insights. )

As far as me? Yes, I’m a whiny, bitter, angry, mean spirited bitch. Have I claimed to be anything else? No. I do not make any money blogging. I blog because I like to tell stories and call things like I see them. They’re often stupid stories. Or stupid rants like this one. However, I’d like to think that when you react to the shit I say its because it is legitimately ME. Whether you hate me (and there is plenty of reason to hate me!) or like me, you’re getting shit from my perspective with no attempts to market to anyone or anything. But I suppose that at the end of the day, I’m still the product and I’m sure as hell not pulling the whole ZOMGZ I BLOG FOR MEEEEE crap. (See also, some good advice here. )

And I’d like to think I’m more REALLLLLLLLLLLL than Tooms (if you don’t get THAT either? Why are you alive?) and his creepy child bride.

EAT HER LIVER! EAT HER LIVER!

What say you, audience?

1. What do you look for when you put a blog in your reader? I’m not asking because I can’t think of anything else to write, I’m just wondering how many people feel the same way.

2. What CAN’T YOU STAND about me? Is it the fact that I say lolzerbeams? The fact that I’m relentlessly NOT sunny? The fact that I’m a whiny prison bitch? The fact that I haven’t talked much about running lately? You can tell me. No really, anything you want me to write about? I know I am horrible at responding to comments but I swear I don’t bite…unless you get me drunk first and ask nicely.

I have no desire to wear a white dress and stand up in front of people and pledge my everlasting love to who I happen to be fucking.

I have no desire to push a baby out my bajingo. Not just because I don’t want to tear it, but because I don’t want to waste hundreds of thousands of dollars on an ugly kid who will probably hate me in a few years. (And let’s face it: with the looks I’ve got, the odds that that little crotch droplet will be homely as all fuck. To that end, WHAT DUDE IS WILLING TO BANG THAT? Yeah. Think about it. It’s not pretty.)

I don’t understand how dogs are cute. If something is going to jump on me and lick my crotch, it best buy me a drink first. (Thanks, folks. I’m here all night.)

I have no desire to watch poorly plotted pieces of “romantic” claptrap and pretend it’s me up there instead of Katherine Heigel. (And again, let’s face it: I’d be Katherine Heigel’s ugly friend.)

And I really have no desire to put on a tiny skirt/hot pants, show my abdomen and wear a hat telling you what I am.

In other words, I DO NOT UNDERSTAND “SEXY” HALLOWEEN COSTUMES.

I mean, look at this shit:

Gives a new meaning to "cone" bra...

Nothing says “sexy” like a giant novelty hammer.

She's a lumberjack and she sucks cock!

Likewise for an axe.

Those don't look like rhinestones.

I can think of nothing hotter than attempting to pick up drunk douchebags while dressed like a “sexy” version of a dead pedophile.

Okay, okay! *Alleged pedophile* and pop legend. I don’t deny the latter. It’s the former that I think suggests he ain’t sexy.

Where is her red nose?

Clowns are either scary or creepy. Never sexy. Even while wearing something that looks dangerously like a Betty Draper party dress.

I hope she takes the glove off before attempting a tug job.

What the fuck is this shit? I mean, if you’re going to do a “whore” version of whatever, why mix it with a horror icon? What would lead you to think this is a good idea?

Clearly, you can hump MY leg to get a dry martini around here.

This is perverse. Brian is an alcoholic, self-important douchebag. Why would you be a “sexy” version of him? Is this supposed to be cute? Are you saying you might be open to taking it up the ass? Like…I just don’t get it.

Dangerously close to furry teritory...

::headdesk::

Big Bird was SIX YEARS OLD, PEOPLE. Congratulations, by being a sexy Big Bird, you’re essentially encouraging pedophilia.

SEINFELD! FOUR!

Nothing says “I’m easy” like dressing up like Chinese take out.

I'm a fish! Tee hee!

When I found this one I stared at it for a few minutes. What exactly is she supposed to be?

Can you tell? I mean, the no hat thing throws it off. (Yes, I saw Mean Girls. What of it?)

She’s SEXY NEMO.

Yes. As in this guy:

Don't sue me, Disney.

Now…

First, talk about a perversion of a children’s character.

Second, IT’S A FISH. Who – other than Troy McClure* – finds fish sexy?

*Remember my last post about not getting Simpson/Seinfeld references? If you don’t get that, DIE.

I JUST DON’T GET IT, PEOPLE.

Why is the demand for “SEXY” costumes this high? Who wears this shit? What provokes the desire to wear this shit? WHY WHY WHY?

(But on the bright side, this is an amusing post. To me at least. If you dare, get me some pictures of anything more absurd.)

So, ten random things:

1. I’m going to steal one from Shelby and give you a list of things I will not eat:

Most cheese, though I have particularly strong aversion to bleu and feta, ham, tofu or any “fake meat”, chickpeas, avocado, mayonnaise, fish, crab, sour cream, refried beans, rare beef, bologna.

2. I’m a terrible person who wants you to fail at everything you do.

This one is Self-explanatory.

3. I am incredibly lazy and really good at convincing people I’m not – partially because I am a fantastic liar.

Also self-explanatory, though this helps:

As does this.

4. I don’t like children, but I’m pretty good with them.

I can’t explain it. I once worked at a rock climbing gym where I mostly lead birthday parties for kids. People generally assumed I was a teacher because of HOW I dealt with kids. I’ve also discovered that the spawns of my friends like me. I can train them to do tricks! They do them!

But…like…I don’t like kids! I have zero maternal instinct. And the funny thing is I am pretty sure that’s WHY a lot of kids like me: they think I’m a bigger version of them. Which I pretty much am.

Because I’d much rather be throwing the tantrum than dealing with one.

5. I judge you on your appreciation of certain TV shows/movies.

More specifically, if you tell me you’ve NEVER watched either The Simpsons or Seinfeld…I get irrationally angry. Like, really angry. In fact, I think appreciation of The Simpsons and Seinfeld is a barometer for your taste in general. I once told a dude who didn’t like Seinfeld I would never bone him for that reason alone. (Though trust me, there were others. Not drinking coffee was another one as non-coffee drinkers are clearly evil robot beings that must be destroyed.)

Likewise, I will SERIOUSLY QUESTION YOU if you tell me you’ve never watched Arrested Development or The Big Lebowski.

6. “SNL ISN’T FUNNY ANYMORE” and “THE BRITISH VERSION IS BETTER” ARE NOT VALID CRITIQUES IN AND OF THEMSELVES AND I WILL PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE IF YOU ARGUE OTHERWISE.

Point the first: SNL HAS ALWAYS, ALWAYS BEEN WILDLY INCONSISTENT.

Yes, this particular cast is kind of a dud that Lorne Michaels has no apparently interest in cleaning out and Seth Myers is pretty one note as a writer (not to mention that Kristen Wiig is pretty one note in general). But fuck…THAT’S MORE OR LESS HOW SNL WORKS. Everyone remembers the good shit, but it was much easier to forget the bad shit before we had 50 billion nerds immediately jumping on SNL live threads to proclaim the death of the franchise.

Listen, toolsacks: do you remember the Anthony Michael Hall year of SNL?

Yep. And Robert Downey Jr. And a freaky looking Jon Lovitz. And....gah.

No? Neither does anyone else, and that’s how Lorne wants it. So just watch the good shit on hulu and STFU.

And regarding the British thing?

Look: British humour and American humor (U SEE WHAT I DID THAR?) are different.

We get that. (And if you haven’t seen A Fish Called Wanda, you should. Probably the best take on the contrasting humor ever.) And Brit to U.S. adaptations often fail miserably as a result. Things get lost in translation because American humor is a lot broader. When it comes to TV adaptations, American TV producers generally have to think about the demands of a much longer season and the constant push for ratings. So for various reasons, things have to change. AND IT OFTEN JUST DOESN’T WORK.

And it often doesn’t work when they try it other way either:

Yes, that’s a British take on Married With Children called Married for Life. (Go figure slapping British characters in the place of crude, American stereotypes DOESN’T WORK.)

But will producers learn? Well, no. They won’t. And anyone who knows a fucking thing about how this works realizes this. Which is why replying to an article announcing an American adaptation of a British show whining about how horrible an idea it is and how the British version will always be better is STUPID. So stop doing it.

7. I generally can’t sleep if other people are in the room.

Must…not…show…weakness.

8. In addition to my documented hatred of mayo, I don’t like Ketchup.

SUCK ON THAT.

9. I really want to know when talking about food got as loaded as talking about politics.

Two sample conversations for you:

Scene: In my office 4 years ago with dumb, redneck co-worker:

Dude: Yo. I don’t get vegetarians.
Me: Yeah, not my thing either.
Dude: I KNOW RIGHT? I MEAN, HOW CAN YOU NOT EAT COWS.
Me: I get how you don’t have to, just not my thing.
Dude: But I mean, cows are like….sacred animals. Sacred because I eat every part of them! (yes, that’s an actual quote.)
Me: Ha. Not a milk/cheese fan.
Dude: Man, I’d be fine only eating pieces of a cow from now on! Screw carrots!
Me: I like a good burger as much as anything but I’d die without some vegetables to balance it out…
Dude: Screw carrots! Just meat!

Scene 2: Check out of a small co-op. I am buying some granola, quinoa, coconut milk ice cream and some free-range chicken.

Clerk: Nice day, huh!
Me: Yep.
Clerk: Hm, this is weird…why is this so expensive? You only got four things!
Me: ::blank stare:: Um, it looks like everything rang up right?
Clerk: Oh, I see how. You bought this big hunk of meat.
Me: ::blanker stare::
Clerk: MEAT? IS EXPENSIVE.
Me: ::smiles uncomfortably::
Clerk: THINK ABOUT IT.

***

Why did I share these stupid conversations?

Because it seems shit like this is more commonplace, much like stupid quasi-political “MY SIDE IS BETTER THAN YOUR SIDE” shit you see when you casually like a link on facebook about what cause or the other.

In the first conversation, an idiot makes an idiotic comment and just keeps getting dumber. He’s not speaking from any logical place, he’s just making his opinion known. Because he has X preferences, anything that is Y is dumb and useless.

The the second, I’m subtly judged. I’m at a co-op buying very specific items. I’m clearly not there to browse, I clearly have some clue of why I’m there and what I’m doing. But I get judged for not doing ENOUGH to be pro whatever this guys’s deal was.

The similarity to this kind of shit and political discourse was striking at the time and continues to be. At the end of the day I don’t particularly give a fuck what you eat and don’t eat. If you ask me for a restaurant suggestion and you’re a steak lover, I’ll give it to you. If you want vegan options, I’ll give that to you to. I might roll my eyes if you tell me you’d rather eat a Hungry Man Dinner than a steak you make yourself. I might also roll my eyes if you assume the fact that I eat red meat and hate tofu means I hate anything healthy. I’d like to think I can listen to both sides and make an educated decision.

Like it is in politics, the “correct” answer doesn’t have to come from the extremes, and tacit support of one “side” doesn’t mean you automatically have no respect for the ideals of the others.

Just saying.

10. I’ve been known to drink shots of pickle juice.

You’re welcome, Shelby.

Tags: Do this if you haven’t, that includes you PP.