If the far from needy loiterers weren't enough difficulty (just because your only eating at the restaurant shouldn't give you the presumption that your convenient parking is more important than those who are snowed in), I found this blog to be difficult to start. I could probably just go with a rant about the people who are difficult in my life (strippers, chat bots and fundamentalist Facebook friends...oh my), but I don't think this is the time for it.
Rationalization 14: Timing is Everything.
It's not my focus on the difficult that delayed this blog. The cell sales people I've been shuttling to the steak house haven't shown much gratitude, with the exception of crediting my drifting skills (who needs four-wheel drive), may keep me from finishing this blog tonight (2/15/14), but if I would have timed my cat tattoo hunt (I think I have something to use from "Kiki's Delivery Service"...RIP Phil Hartman), there wouldn't be any problem. Instead I may have shut that window without even having a sub-sub-subtitle for this blog.
You here timing is everything, and the successful all have seemed to be in the right place at the right time. Everyone tells me when they meet their significant others, they were not looking for that person. Maybe my depression stems from that right time never occurring. I can't even be "Die Hard" cool about it because if I was ever in the wrong place at the wrong time (outside the Illinois Central College's web design program...stupid programmers under cutting the fundamentals of design innovation), I could be the hero or at least get a great catch phrase out of it. Instead, my high points in Peoria is defined by the phrase, "Shut up Russ."
This is a great parallel to why I'm not taking antidepressants, I'd rather feel depressed than nothing at all. At least I'm not a poser like "Three Days Grace." It should be a rule that after a successful mainstream album, your songs should not try to seem so blatantly depressing. Unless you're talented, but when have we seen that out of a rock group in the last decade (to be kind).
I'm just saying focus on storytelling in terms of entire albums. At least when it sucks, you can say you're experimenting. Just make sure you have a multi-record deal and pop gold already prepared for the rebound album before becoming daring.
With that being said, how awesome is my sophomore film going to have to be (after all of together put "Main Event of the Dead, my pro-wrestling zomcom in the can. Get a treatment by emailing me at russthebus07@gmail.com)? Why am I teasing myself with optimism when windows are made to be shut?
Rationalization 15: Everyone is Mr. Pink
That's more clever way of saying "Shop Corporate instead of Local for Cell Phones," as the rationalization.
10 trips around the unplowed north end of Peoria, and I'm rewarded with $15 in gratuity and not enough time to finish this blog that night. If you think I'm being petty, I think it is fair that I get one dollar per passenger per trip. 24 people one way, 18 the other. I could see why it was appropriate for Joe Cabot to say something hateful to Steve Buscemi.
It was wrong to use the five-letter F word to emasculate Mr. Pink. I would have chosen cunt, that's color appropriate.
Too often humanity seems to be like Mr. Pink. Four die with thoughts of honor while the hamster ("G-Force" joke) runs off with the loot.
My night ending that way seemed appropriate. Obviously, the entry was going into of how it looks like I won't have a chance to be productive. I'm too old to have a wrestling career. My back injury would makes even getting back in the ring a disrespectful act to my family. The likeliness of finding the right girl is virtually nil.
I was too focused on wrestling to knock a girl up to forever spend my weekends at Stone Country, and you can't really find anyone in Downtown P-Town. Punk shows are a bit painful when you know you can't talk to the seemingly ideal match because the girls who are there are always with their man for security sake. Now, the girls my age are all dedicated to whatever family they left their twenties with.
The cost of being an Anglophile punk. The end of "God Save the Queen" by The Sex Pistols seems to define me:
"No future, no future, no future for me."
Then again was there ever one?
I suppose at long last I haven't let the cat out of the radioactive box, I must drudge on. Sorry if it seems I'm wrapping up "Schrodinger Part 6" prematurely. Blame the Digital Store from keeping me away from a larger monitor. My laptop was chosen for its Tech Specs, not screen size.
Rationalization 16: Size Does Matter.
At least keeping this blog short was probably a good thing.
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