Personal Legend.

I thought about Taylor Swift's pubic hair grooming habits today. It's best not to ask why, and just accept, like with Dane Cook. Mostly because my lack of an answer would force me to spin into an uncontrollable, Hulk-like rage.

Departed work early to see a baseball game. Sat in the absolute front row, on the baseline, trying not to stare at the asses of the first base coaches. These were the best seats I've ever had. We were literally close enough to see players flinch a little when others in our section heckled them, and at least twenty balls were thrown to our area of the course of the game.

Being this close does give one a new respect for the athleticism and skill required to play the game at the level they play, but they still make too much money!

Here are a few crappy cell phone pictures. The stadium was empty because it was fifty degrees and raining, and because it was the Pittsburgh Pirates against the Seattle Mariners.




I found myself at a Mazda dealership the other day, and a salesperson approached me. I hurled my feces at him. It's my subtle way of telling him I really am "just looking." The Mazda3 hatchback is a tight car though. Very tight. Sexy, yet attainable, much like Jenna Fischer. If I had to choose though, I'd take the car. Women don't come with steering wheel audio controls, something I miss dearly from my Saab era. Although it broke down all the time, it was still the most fun car I've ever had, and Mazda's engineering is comparable.

Recently, Rolling Stone actually ran a story about a legitimate musical talent, a man by the name of Kris Kristofferson.

Over the course of his life, the man has been an Army officer, a helicopter pilot, a singer/songwriter, actor, father to eight kids, daily drinker, political activist, and above all, a free spirit. He is America. Good, bad, ugly, and beautiful. He is a national treasure, and he'd probably punch you in the face for calling him one.

He wrote what I consider to be the best "country" lyric of all-time, quintessential, in fact:

"An' I shaved my face and combed my hair,
An' stumbled down the stairs to meet the day."


He's written countless songs for countless artists, and I chose this version of one especially because it is so drastically different from the popular version. Janis sang it with a lot of soul, which is great, but Johnny sat back a little, and let the weight of the words, the hurt and longing, sink into your heart.


I very much like Tweeting/Twittering. At least for the moment. Seems to be a tasty cultural flavor of the month. Easier than blogging, and twice as futile and stupid. Not onboard yet? Click right fucking here, or just look to your right if your reading this via Blogspot.

I know what you mean, except I've been asleep all day.-BK