Sometimes when I travel I find myself getting in at late hours. This particular episode found me getting in late to Dallas. Once comfortably in my hotel room, I found myself unable to sleep, but too lazy to find the channel guide. On the television hums. This is what I found. I only captured a few minutes of the infomercial, but imagine 15 minutes of psychedelic bosom max and enticing beckoning of the sultry Spanish voice telling me to call now. Enjoy!
When you feel overwhelmed and creativity sucked from your soul, just watch this. Dare to dream, worry not how you will get there. To infinity and beyond!
This is a fantastic series laying out progressive modern urban planning. Of particular interest is the final video, highway removal, as it specifically mentions the Alaska Way Viaduct.
As my 30th birthday quickly approaches I have spent some time to reflect on the wonderful life I have lived. It has been filled with adventure, love, passion, and zest. A life full of the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. In spite of this adventurous life I live, there have been few moments that have caused me pause. This morning was one of them; finding myself paralyzed hoping someone else were with me to witness the calamity I was seeing. I had just completed my morning workout at the gym. Now the locker rooms are ripe with abnormalities, a veritable hot-bed for spellbinding moments. There is Captain Vanity who spends more time checking out his godly nakedness than actually working out. Chatty Cathy, a incredibly social gay man who spends too much time without a towel around his waist as he catches up, his gesticulating movements only magnifying the drama. And there is Hair Dryer Hippie. His hair is as long as he is tall. It takes him a good twenty minutes with the hair dryer to work the threads; but most alarming are the unusual pauses to dry his "boys." But despite their eccentricities, these men never caused me pause. I acknowledged them, quickly dismissing them as just another layer of the complex patina that is a public gym. But not today, not this guy. After a pleasantly hot shower, I walk towards the lockers. A portly middle-aged man is preparing to step on the digital scale. His love handles casually hang over the edges of his neatly tucked towel. Small patches of back hair are herded over his shoulder blades. As he prepares to step on the scale he tears the towel from his body and deftly throws it aside, like a stripper discarding a thong. I pause. Located on the small of his back is a tattoo. Two delicately soft artful wings adorn his back. A tramp stamp by any other name, this inking would be only too stereotypical dressing the back of some overweight woman. But there it was, the crunk stamp, the douche cartouche, or gramp stamp, proudly proclaiming this man's desires. My mouth agape I stood motionless; eyes frantically scanning the room to find another person who was witnessing such magnificence. My finger defiantly trying to point, the laugh building from the depths of my belly. But there was to be no shared relief...I was alone.
