Lately, precious moments of my life have been consumed by the fear and resentment of grasshoppers jumping toward my face.

I walked a lot this weekend through the scenic, country roadsides of west central Illinois and, for some reason, large numbers of grasshoppers seemed to specifically collect along the ditches of the newly-oiled roads.

It's easy for my mind to wander--I often day dream while walking. After all, I'm completely surrounded by endless miles of corn fields, tall green stalks guiding every footstep. My Ipod plays the songs I most recently listened to, although I wonder how some of those songs slipped in. I really can't recall the last time I intentionally listened to Clay Aiken's version of Silent Night.

Oh well.

But this peacefulness is instantly vaporized by unidentified flying creatures declaring war on my personal safety bubble. First off, since when do grasshoppers have wings? I'm embarrassed to admit, being born and raised a country boy, that I never quite remembered grasshoppers having the distinct ability to fly? While I know for a fact that they are able to jump very high, and perhaps glide on breeze if lucky, but I'm almost certain that I never saw a wingspan (an impressive wingspan, at that) on what I now refer to as those sick nasty grasschoppers. Times change, I guess.

So, I'll be walking along the road, minding my own business, not causing a bit of trouble or intimidation toward any living (lurking) creature, when all of a sudden this "thing" jumps out right in front of me and nearly hits me in the face. Like an inch from my lips. Gross, right? My heart stops and I spasm a little bit, thinking that it flew in my mouth or was still on me somewhere. After rigorously brushing my body from head to toe and collecting my wits about me, I realized what I freak I was because A) grow up and B) I'm on a road in the middle of a corn field in rural Illinois and, from now on, I need to be more aware of my surroundings, as well as the potential for enormous bugs (or wolves) potentially touching me (stalking me).

OK. It's summer. Grasshoppers are out. Note to self, Ryan.

Now, when I was a kid, I can specifically recall being able to somehow actually catch a grasshopper. In some unnatural, completely alter-ego former state of being, I had the rare superhero power of allowing a grasshopper's spiny, scratchy body and long nasty legs to actually touch my skin and hang out in my cupped hands.

How that's humanly possible, I have no idea, because nowadays the thought makes me twitch and gag, slightly.

Anyway, the grasshoppers of 2008 completely blend into the oiled, graveled road so I'm never quite fully prepared for their ambush. Although, from my calculations, it seemed like for every three (3) steps one (1) would jump out from somewhere ='ing freakish spasm. During one attack, a grasshopper launched into assault and briefly landed on my leg. Subsequently, my knee-jerk reaction was that of being poked with a glowing-hot iron poker. I completely jolted from the oncoming predator while shrieking and psychotically brushing off my leg as if it bit me and injected my leg with venom, giving me mere moments left to live, which perhaps it did.

But lets get back to the wingspan issue. Grasschoppers...who knew about this and then didn't tell me? I observed a couple grasschoppers on top of some prairie grass (they were much easier to see than the ground troops) just flapping in the breeze, holding on for dear life until the very moment I walked by, then, without hesitation, launched straight into the air with their sick wings buzzing and prickly legs outstretched for landing on or around my face, successfully carrying out Operation: Freak Ryan's Shit.

Operation complete.

This is yet another example of a war I do not support.

I've been sleeping in my own blood for 2 days now. Sick, right? I know...trust me, I know. As soon as I find my Tide Bleach Eraser, I'll correct this situation. But, since it's my own blood, it doesn't bother me too much so I'll sleep just fine.

Perhaps I should explain? Fine, you win...

So Saturday was a little sloppy. I should say sloppier than normal.

Short version: I had too much to drink. I walked home with John who was equally sloppy.

We both fell. We both fell hard.

I somehow made it home only to get into my entirely white bed without even knowing about the tumble.

My hands were bleeding. My elbow was bleeding.

Somewhere I could hear my Mom crying. She has a sixth sense about me getting into trouble.

I woke up with a lot of questions, the biggest one being why my hair looked better at that exact moment than it did when I actually styled it. Such a bummer...

But the blood remains and I will eventually do something about it.

Soon. I swear.

You make me feel like a Dixie Chick...

Last month I posted a blog entry about using/not using the "N word" (I like to call it the N lyric or the N term of endearment, because then, and only then, it just makes sense) and people went all Canadian Greyhound over it. OK, fine, whatever...glad everyone has an active opinion. But then someone left an annoying comment that said something to the effect of:

"people that read this blog obviously have a higher intelligence than a dog, and there's lot of different types of discrimination and they don't need a lesson in humanity from you, so just shut your trap."

Not the anonymous commenter's exact words (and boy, were those some thought-provoking words!), but you get the gist.

My response is...uh, OK?

I'm not trying to teach anyone a lesson in humanity. I do have an opinion sometimes, yes, guilty as charged. I also have a blog that people tend to read for whatever reason. Some love it. Some hate it. Some love to hate it. Who cares?

I like to write, I like to express myself creatively, I like to speak my mind, and I like to have fun.

Stifling my creativity and the right to free speech, as well as suggesting that opinions that differ from your own are either incorrect or not to be vocalized, is a tremendously weak and rickety soapbox to stand on. Don't do it, OK?

Disagree all day long, fine, that's great -- just don't tell me to shut my trap. I'm not on The View broadcasting my ideals, I'm not on Fox News selling fiction as fact, and I'm not pointing my nicely manicured index finger in your face saying you're either with me or against me. I'm just a guy with a blog.

And I'm not ready to make nice!

I feel the need to get this off my chest: I hate lizards. I hate reptiles...of all sorts. Iguanas are not cool. Nor are any of its relatives. The thought of one being near me sends my mind, body, and spirit into a small (gigantic) state of panic where my chest tightens and subsequently my airways shrink and all I can think about is their gross, textured tail touching my arm.

Why can't global warming adversely affect the fate of all reptiles and not the polar bears? And don't you think that polar bears could just be relocated to select Northern Canadian areas (it's so cold anywhere in Canada, really) and learn to hunt different animals other than seals? Are seals SUCH easy prey (with their fat bellies just plopping around on the ice) that the polar bear is incapable of hunting and eating anything mobile? I mean, meat is meat, so could they somehow learn (or at least try) to catch an elk, or perhaps an iguana? Maybe they can't run fast enough to chase prey, which furthers my point for them to eat iguana meat. I really have no idea, but I think iguanas are slow moving.

Anyway, polar bears, just know that I'm trying. But apparently I can't change an animal's instictive culture overnight. Damn. Back to the drawing board...

In the meantime, let's make ourselves more aware of what the global warming/polar bear situation is really about and perhaps make a change?

It just dawned on me that I never see elderly rabbits or squirrels in nature. Actually, that goes for most varmints of similar nature. In my mind, the life span of a rabbit or squirrel has to be around 1-2 years, max, right? They're always being killed off during, I'd say, the human equivolence of being in the mid 30 age range, if they're lucky. It's kind of tragic, they're seemingly always being ran over by a car, eaten by a bigger animal, hunted by man, or...something, I don't know, before they get to do anything with their lives besides reproduce. They almost never die from old age. It's such a shame. I want a rabbit to be really old and be like, you know what, I can't hop anymore. My hips gave out two years back. I've seen it all, I can finally die now.

Or, have you ever seen a really old squirrel, with gray hair, climbing up trees? I want a squirrel to have a really cool penthouse apartment that he's maintained for many years, and then one winter night during hibernation, with his belly full of nuts, just passes away in his sleep in the comfort of his own home.

Instead, I always see squirrels smashed in the road with their furry tails flapping in the breeze. Or I see rabbit furs for sale at every gas station/merchant mart in the Midwest. You know, right there with all of the Native American novelty goods.

Oh, and to be clear, I'm talking about wild varmints, too. Not caged ones. I mean, we've all seen old dogs before. Their faces turn gray, they hobble around when their bones get brittle and joints are out of whack, and eventually they get so old that they're blind, deaf, and pushed around in baby strollers like this nice lady down the street does for her old Shih Tzu. I always stop and say hi to both of them. And we've all seen mangy, old cats with their hair getting all clumpy and tails are kind of nappy looking and slightly bent...plus they have that mean, raspy meow that completely dates them. Old cat alert, no mistaking them.

So, prove me wrong. The next time you're on a walk outside, look around for the tell-tale signs of aging rabbits or squirrels. Take a picture of one, too. I need photo evidence in order to believe they exist--witness testimonies or personal accounts won't suffice.

Hard evidence only.

When the going gets tough, the tough get going. Or some shizz like that. I'm banking on year 32 of my life being the best one ever. For some reason I just feel like that's the magic number.

Actually, let me take the first thing back. Nothing is really "tough" per se in my life. Some way, somehow it just feels like I'm constantly changing my mind. Indeciciveness drives me slightly insane, too. I hate when people can't make up their minds.

Apparently I'm that person though. Whoops.

It's like trying to do a crossword puzzle with a pen. Most times, if I can help it, I use this awesome blue gel pen I found somewhere...I can't exactly recall. It might have been stolen.

Anyway.

The ink is really...good and I like the way I write with it.

Seriously, back to my point, I really enjoy my daily crossword with the aforementioned pen but in reality it's just not rational. Sometimes (a lot of times) I put retarded answers in the puzzle that are surely no where near being accurate.

Oh, a five letter word for king of the sea, starting with sh? Hmm...shrew. It fits!

If I would just wise up and use a pencil, my life would be a lot easier and the crossword puzzle itself would be a lot prettier. Those blue globs of scratched out and transformed letters make for a nasty looking puzzle.

Right now I feel like my choices are just like those retarded answers in the crossword.

My life needs to be in pencil until I'm 32.

A mechanical pencil though, let's not get cheap here.

This is disgusting, but...

I keep walking into other people's farts. I know I've mentioned this before, as well as my complete hatred for the people that do it, but it keeps happening. Why do people fart so much...and in public?

Like, at bars...all the time. First of all, why would anyone do such a thing in a small, intimate area? Who farts and then runs away leaving others to wonder, "OK, who's the sick BASTARD that just did that?" Plus, I could deal without wandering eyes and pondering minds thinking, "Did YOU just do that?" No, I didn't. Adding insult to injury is the fact that a beer fart is the absolute WORSE smell in the realm of all that is obnoxiously smelly. A free floating beer fart could make even an elephant gag. No, no, it would even make the lowly dung beetle gag, even while harvesting the biggest, most endless, Sears Tower of the bug world, and overall most ginormous pile of elephant shit a beetle has ever been witness to.

Then at the gym, I was putting some weights back into the rack when BAM, it hit me. It hit me hard, too. There was an immediate rise of vomit within my throat upon the vicious odor attacking my unsuspecting state of being. Seriously, someone let one fly while lifting weights (which were probably too heavy to begin with, further resulting in an armed-and-dangerous escapee) and then immediately evacuated the area, hopefully because of embarrassment, but probably because it was the nastiest stench on Earth and anyone that is capable of producing such a thing should be relocated to the nearest landfill where they can do that sort of thing all day long with no one being the wiser.

Then, at WORK, I go to make a photocopy and waiting for me at the copy machine was not only a paper jam, but a cloud of skin-melting, eye-watering, mind-numbing, poisonous oxygen substitute. Um, did you just:

A) Leave a paper jam in the copy machine forcing someone else to open and close every tray, lid, and lever five thousand times before finding your crumpled, shredded printout of a Cosmo article informing you how to effectively seduce your hot crush into bed (Uh, for starters, my personal advice would be to start brushing your hair and perhaps, more importantly, stop farting)

and then B) Before leaving, think that oh, this would be the most perfect spot to unleash an immensely vile and heinous toxin into the air that will hopefully dissipate (but if it doesn't I could care less because my farts smell good to me) before an innocent workspace commoner stumbles upon both my lazy disrespect for office ethics and my utterly foul and nasty death spray?

Seriously people, hold it in until you're in an outside, well-ventilated area (the ideal location being underwater) or at the very least take some Beano.

It's not a request anymore.

Happy 200th post to me. I feel like that's a lot.

So, being the crossword fanatic that I am, I tend to get somewhat upset with myself when I can't finish the daily puzzle in the paper. Such was my luck with yesterday's crossword.

Now, a strategy of mine is to save the ever-frustrating first/last name clues for very last...as a means of logical deduction and idea-elimination since I can almost never guess those correctly. I feel like the clue is always some obscure actor or actress from the 1960's B&W era (although I was REALLY lucky and it somehow came to me in a Raven Baxter-inspired vision that a six letter word for a "Morning Train, singer Easton" was...Sheena. Sheena Easton, picture it Ryan, picture it!...yeah yeah yeah, that sounds right! And it was. Score.).

Anyway, the clues (and of course they were geographically intermingled together in the puzzle so that no progress could be made unless I guessed at least ONE) that I could-not-for-the-life-of-me fathom were:

1. 5 letter word for razor sharpener
2. 4 letter word for beach bird
3. 3 letter word for habitual drunkard
4. 4 letter word for on the waves

I couldn't even sleep; the clues were warping my mind. Back and forth I would scurry through the alphabet putting consonants with vowels while filling in the blank boxes with letters to see if it could form a word that didn't even have to sound real, I just needed something...my, oh my it was a night from hell. And hell is where the clues were created.

Anyway, thanks to the crossword answers in today's paper I now know the answers to these clues but NEVER would have guessed them...ever.

Answers:

1. Honer
2. Tern
3. Sot
4. Asea

(I'm almost positive that some of those words went through my mind, and dreams, last night but, uhhh, do any of those words sound real to you?)

The Hasselbeck/Goldberg N-word issue is overly ridiculous. Hasselbeck says "let's move forward, stop using it altogether" and Whoopi says "No, we own the word, we can use it the way WE want to now, it's OK." For once, I stand by Hasselbeck on the issue. I'm not going to cry about it though.

The word is completely inappropriate and disrespectful on all levels, no questions asked. There's no arguing that. However, black people can't "take the word back" either. Especially the black folk of 2008. Slavery doesn't exist anymore. It hasn't existed for, I would say, most people's Earthly existence. Yes, relatives, ancestry...I get it. I didn't take part in slavery just because I'm white. Neither did any of my family, or my family's family. When racism exists, it's on a separate playing field. It's at the hands of personal will. It's not in our government, it's not in our jobs, and it's not in power. It's the minority.

Funny sidenote though (and mildly relevant)...

but, there is a lot of hate in this world. Sorry black people, you're not the only ones suffering. People hate people for ALL kinds of reasons, it stems far beyond simply being black. While some people may hate a certain race (any race, there are plenty), they also hate religions, they hate gays and lesbians, they hate people who get abortions, they hate the poor, they hate the rich, they hate the Man, they hate politicians, they hate the people who support the politicians, they hate those who are different or think differently than that of the mainstream. Yet the black button is still forefronted for some reason. It's actually quite aggravating. Mistakenly or blazingly using the N word demands headlines and front pages, it gets ratings, it ends careers, it ruins reputations, it gets people talking/screaming/fighting: it causes mass hysteria.

But what happens when suicide bombers blow up churches? What happens when bullied and tormented goth students shoot dozens of their classmates and teachers at school? What happens during Gay Pride parades when people picket saying "Fags burn in Hell"? What happens when men call women ho's and bitches in popular, mainstream music?

Oh, nothing.

That's not as horrifying as the N-word. Really?

The N-word is simply a buzz word. It sparks controversy, it sells papers, it glues eyes to the tube, and it gets under people's skin.

The other forms of hate speech are just, you know, regular, old hate speech that we disregard as "people's opinions." Nothing special, just...ugh, boring, run-of-the-hate-mill, every day kind of stuff.

BUT when it comes to: I'm white, you're black. I can't use the N word, you can.

Front page. Woah, kind of a reverse racism, isn't it? Nowadays you can't get away with saying the N word...so what's the problem? I mean, the word's existence is entirely not acceptable on behalf of my own (and many, many, many other people's) moral standard and evolved education, but lives and breathes because black people exclusively insist on using it for their own purposes? Purposes such as "terms of endearment" and household reference? Weird.

Give me a break.

Trust me, I get it: Bad people exist. Bad people have existed. Bad things happen. Bad things have happened. I get it. Let's move forward. Advance society. Continue to educate. The N word doesn't promote any advancement or education, I don't care who you are or where you came from.

Taye Diggs, for some reason (I guess because he's black and a celebrity) felt the need to comment on the issue:

“(Hasselbeck) doesn’t understand, and, no offense — I don’t think any white person has the right to tell a black person or to even weigh in on subject matter such as that,” Diggs told “Access Hollywood” on Thursday. “They don’t know what it’s like to be called that word; they don’t know what it’s like to be black.”

OK, Taye, thanks for your valuable input. Yes, so I can't have an opinion about the matter because I am (she is) white? OK. Interesting and just ever-so slightly hypocritical.

I love how we're not supposed to see in color, how we're "one" people, an evolving society, races don't separate us, it's the year 2008, yet white people CANNOT do something that black people CAN. Would that "free pass" ever fly if it were the other way around?

Absolutely not.

However, I do know what it's like to be separated from society, to be outcasted, to be ridiculed, to be treated like a second class citizen, to be devalued, to be disregarded, to be demoralized, to be hated...

So, yes, I do have an opinion and I'll gladly weigh in on the subject: the word is wrong. You, as a black person (and just because you're a black person) can't have it. Move on without it. Stop using it. It's hate. And if you, as a black person or any race for that matter, choose to keep the word alive then you choose to live (and dwell) in your own, ignorant misery.

Separation is separation. You fought against it...no, no, we fought against it, I still fight against it, and I will continue to fight against it, on all levels, for all causes, and for all people, so don't undermine the process.

Then again, you're racist if you do and you're racist if you don't, apparently.

Thanks Whoopi and Taye for your understanding of my white perspective.

I'm doing some soul searching.

So...would you keep a job where they pay you VERY well but you are SO not interested in the actual work

OR...

would you move forward with a job that pays WAY less but the work is intensely interesting and the career field is much more rewarding

??

I love feeling like I'm doing my life justice by doing gratifying work but at the same time I love the benjamins.

That fine, fine journalist Liz Crokin released yet another amazing article in the RedEye this week regarding the latest celeb-happenings in and around Chicago. Here's an excerpt:

Josh-ing around
Josh Kelley performed at Hotel Indigo last Monday night, and my intern, Julie Corirossi, got a chance to chat with the rocker, who plans to work on a new album this month.

Kelley talked about his recent vacation to Mexico with wife Katherine Heigl of "Grey's Anatomy." "It was awesome," Kelley said. "We ate a lot."

He said Heigl still is struggling to quit smoking. "I know eventually she would like to quit, but she will do it on her own time."

Heigl didn't make it to Chicago with Kelley--she has been filming "Grey's."

Sightings
I caught up with "Hancock" star Johnny Galecki at Underground's Rewind party on Thursday night. My friend and I asked him what it was like working with Will Smith, and he had nothing but nice things to say about him. "He's a fine, fine man," Galecki said. >> Barack Obama and wife Michelle recently had dinner at Spiaggia. ... Josh Kelley had lunch at Blue Water Grill on Tuesday. >> NBA star Chris Duhon celebrated Independence Day at Martini Park on Friday. >> Diddy was spotted at the Trump International Hotel & Tower on Saturday night. >> Jesse Jackson strolled down Rush Street on Saturday afternoon.

Wow, you guys. Wasn't that some startling information! Totally exclusive and hot! Not.

You might remember that I flipped shit on Liz's last Josh Kelley interview because it was offensively ALL about his wife, Katherine Heigl (who I personally, and I'm not alone here, think she sucks just as bad as Liz). Now, Liz's intern must be taking some serious notes on her mentor's intensive and hard-hitting journalistic style because, shock me shock me, she too embarrassingly asks Kelley about, not himself (absurd!), but HEIGL! How was your vacation with Heigl? Did Heigl quit smoking? Is Heigl in Chicago with you? Can my iron-fisted boss Liz bone your wife all night long while you wait outside your own hotel room and listen at the door?

Oh, and sidenote, Kelley is putting out an album later this month, but leave that for the fine print please.

Liz Crokin's RedEye articles are painstakingly dreadful and her lack of creative or unique Q&A ideas are a constant theme in her monotonous and boring weekly article. In fact, if you read an excerpt on the RedEye website, Liz doesn't even oversee the "Sightings" blurb herself; RedEye readers email Liz if they see an A-Z list celebrity in town...and then Liz reports it like she was at the clubs herself sharing bottles of Cristal with Diddy and dancing on tables with Paris. Oh, she isn't? She's at home thinking up funny nicknames for her 17 cats? Weird. (Mr. Fluffy I'm gonna call you...Mr...McFluff! No, Mr. Fluff-meister...no,no...Mr. Fluff-n-stuff! Ahahahaha! You're so cute, awww.)

Does the Trib pay her? I mean...seriously, do they pay her real money...not like Monopoly money or something? Here, Liz, here's a thousand dollars for that amazing interview. Go buy yourself a house on Baltic Avenue or perhaps a railroad. If they do pay her in official US currency, is it more than minimum wage? The Chicago Tribune just cut like 80 jobs and I hope, hope, hope hers was one of them. They could be saving $60 a day if they did!

It'd be well worth it.

Things on my mind:

-How many carbs should I be eating everyday? Kinda scares me that I'm OD'ing...toast is my new best friend and our relationship might be getting REALLY serious REALLY fast.
-Does anyone care that Madonna might be divorcing her husband? I don't. Does anyone care about Madonna? I don't.
-I'm going to see Carly Smithson perform next weekend and I need T-shirt ideas. Crazy for Carly seems waaaay too incredibly fifth grade level, so I need something entirely more clever.
-Smoking is bad. Drugs are bad. Crocs are bad. Stay away from all three.
-I got 6 hours of sleep between Thursday night and Sunday morning. This last weekend was SO much fun I can barely stand that it's over.
-I bought a new headboard for my bed and it's all kinds of sexy.
-Paint color samples are taking over my life. I need professional help...with painting, that is.
-Summer romance: wanted.
-Saturday night was a total creep fest: I was creeped out like no other on a seemingly minute-by-minute basis. First it was a semi-scary conversation that I had with someone and their freakshow story was, weirdly, similar to a past incident of my own, then it was a sighting of ginormous sewer rats running across a sidewalk I was on, then it was a scary YouTube clip that freaked me out for some reason, then it was huge nasty roach of some sort hanging out on John's couch cushion that was less than 3 inches away from my neck and face. So much creepin, so little time.
-So I went to lunch just now at Mezza (delicious as always) and woah, the rudeness of some of the customers in line was slightly out of control. I've never worked in the fast food biz but I appreciate those who do because I'm sure they put up with a lot of bullshit and nastiness everyday. I have a theory that "customers" get the most snappy when it comes to food and banking. So, I'm standing in line and there's this 20-something, black hipster kid who is on his cellphone while ordering. It's a Mediterranean pita place so they make your pita in front of you (like at Subway) so, this nice guy that works there...and I know he's nice because I eat there every day and he is always so nice to me and already knows my order so I don't even have to say anything, asks this punk kid what he wants on his pita and he's like "a LOT of cheese...no, MO' cheese! I said MO! A lil bit of lettuce, lil bit of chopped tomatoes...just a LIL. And Ranch....mo' ranch. Keep goin. MO! That's it." All of this was said with this impatient, rude, demanding tone. He doesn't even make the slightest attempt to say thank you at any point in time. All the while, the kid is on his cell phone (most annoying thing ever) while barking his order. THEN the guy behind me is this stupid office worker guy who is completely rude, but I don't know if he's aware of the fact that he's being rude because somewhere within his pissy rant he included the words "thank you" and "sorry." This other girl that works there was making his pita and he was spouting off a hundred different things all at once (in this pitchy, rat-like voice of his) about what he wanted on his pita, and when she said it back to him she apparently added a condiment by mistake...

Worker girl: Okay you want hummus, cucumber, feta, diced tomatoes, and lettuce?
Jerk Customer: Lettuce? Thank you, but I don't want lettuce, I didn't ask for lettuce, and I didn't say lettuce. Did I say lettuce? Sorry, but I don't think I did.

That statement literally came out in one long sentence. The worker girl just responded "Oh, sorry, no lettuce."

I wanted to turn around and say "Uh, didn't I see you run across the sidewalk just the other night? You know, you had a long, pink tail? Anyway, could you please lower your ratty voice down to a normal, human octave because all you really had to say was no lettuce, you ginormous ASS."

But I refrained.

I didn't want to come across as being rude.

You've gotta love Craigslist. I mean, any website that allows nearly uncontrolled access to its users is always a marvelous and intriguing sight.

So I'm perusing the furniture for sale listings in Chicago--I'm in need of a couple of skinny bookcases for my apartment. Nothing fancy, just something that is tall, dark, and handsome, just like yours truly. Well...I'm not so much tall, but 5'10 is a solid, average height, right?

Anyway, so I came across a listing for a $30 bookcase in Lincoln Park. Here's what the ad revealed:

Bookcase $30 OBO



And at the bottom it read this:

*Stuff on top, in, and around bookcase is not for sale*

OK, where do I begin? I realize that not everyone has an eye for detail. That's fine. Actually, there is a lot of detail going on in this picture. I feel like this photo could be used for one of those MegaTouch games where you have to find what's missing or different between two "identical" photos. The Craigslist seller should totally sell this pic to MegaTouch. But are you REALLY trying to sell a bookcase on Craigslist, where there are potentially hundreds of other sellable bookcases, by using THAT picture? You took the 10 minutes to post the ad but you couldn't take the 5 minutes to remove the dangling pair of heels, what-looks-to-be a small bottle of aspirin (must have been a good night!), a wicker basket, and 20 books lying haphazardly all over the place? And is that how your apartment looks every day of the week? Can you even get through your door?

Did you ever see the Full House episode where Danny Tanner couldn't date Stephany's cute dance teacher because her apartment was a ginormous disaster? ...I feel like she put this ad up.

And seriously, the heels? You couldn't even at least stand the one heel upright? It's barely hanging onto the bookcase as it is. And bookcases are typically meant for books, yes, and I see a feeble attempt at this, but again with the upright thing.

Now let's get to the price and disclaimer. I mean, hell yes, I'll give you $30 for that solid piece of IKEA craftsmanship, no problem--in fact, I'll give you $50 because it's SO gorgeously assembled. BUT DAMN! That random stuff in and around it isn't included? Wha wha what? Why the heck not?! I'll pay good money for it! I need that basket!

And that detergent!

Today I read a very interesting Newsweek article written about the potential massacre of wild horses. The US government and the BLM (Bureau of Land Management) are looking into eradicating wild mustangs from the open fields of the west. According to the government and ranchers alike (currently one in the same), wild horses overgraze and deprive ranch cattle from feasting. Wait a sec, I thought they injected cows with steroids to get them so...beefy? I digress.

Anyway, there are approximately 33,000 actual wild horses in the US wheras there are over 17 million cows at any point in time within the US.

This is another Bushy problem, too. Bush has close ties to our nations beef producers and therefore, as always, is trying to appease his allies.

Save the Mustangs! The thought of a wild horse being near me is somewhat scary (I feel like they'd try to bite me) but they're beautiful creatures and the thought of only seeing horses at hick-town parades or at the gambling tracks is even more horrific and sad.

If I could spend every day
this way
I would.

If I could be here
and there
all day
every day
I would.

If I could think this thought
and keep it real
all day
this way
I would.

If I could feel
like I do
right now, every day
I would.

If you could feel the way
I feel
and say
all day

that you love me
I wish you would.

--ryansumner

Thoughts on my mind:

Why is Mario Lopez-forever AC Slater to me-absolutely everywhere these days, and for no good reason? His only talent as of late has been "hosting" shows, whether it be on the Animal Planet or MTV, as well as being photographed shirtless NON-STOP. Does anyone really care? Props for getting really far on Dancing with the Stars but I don't think that necessarily qualifies his talent or super stardom-ness. What's up, Lopez-enthusiasts? Is this a 35-55 yr old female/cougar demographic-related issue or is he actually worthy of a dim spotlight?

Iraq war-20%, Gas prices-10%, Bush-50%, PerezHilton, TMZ, US Weekly, The Insider, and Extra!-15%, and Paris Hilton-5% are the shortcomings of our country and collectively have screwed it up, potentially irreversibly.

Did anyone notice that CTA bus drivers who work evening and weekend shifts are 98% more vile, foul, rude, and extremely reminiscent of maximum security prison escapees than are the ones who work the normal morning and afternoon shifts? For some reason, the CTA doesn't want to subject the 9-5 rush hour commuters to these freakshow, carnie-esque, afterhours bus drivers yet visitors, tourists, or any common citizen riding mass transit during non-peak hours are subjected to death glares, punchy braking, and no-nonsense, if-your-fare-card-doesn't-work-get-the-hell-off-my-bus and no-I-will-not-tell-you-where-this-bus-route-starts-and-stops type attitude? Either way, I fear these CTA workers both on and off the bus. They'd just as much rather run you over than give you a ride.

Are people STILL talking about Sex and the City? If so, STOP. Please. It's not that cool.

Garbage in my new apartment building is coined as "refuse" whereas garbage in my old apartment building was coined as "rubbish." Uh, whatever happened to "garbage" or perhaps "trash." Too trashy? I don't mind calling garbage rubbish though because it makes me feel slightly British and all around superior.

Bicyclists are being killed everywhere in the city due to traffic accidents. To me, bicyclists are both good and bad. They're good because it's a non-polluting, non-congesting form of travel. However, bicyclists are bad because they almost NEVER follow the rules of the road, as they are legally-bound to do. So, when a bicyclist is killed it's almost always blamed on the motorist but, most times, accidents or deaths are caused by a bicyclist's negligent observance of or respect for street signs and traffic signals. I don't know how many times I, as a pedestrian, have almost been hit by a bicyclist when crossing the street in a cross walk because they just cruised carelessly through a four-way stop. In the city, they're just as dangerous as cars. I almost wish bikes were banned from the streets...perhaps banned from existence. Plus the hipsters that are riding bikes everywhere think they're bad asses. Next time I'm throwing a stick at them.

I can't decide on a hairstyle. Whatever photographs the best, I suppose.

Starbucks has an amazing supply of snacks and foods that are amazingly delicious. Yes, I used amazing as a descriptor twice in the same sentence. My boss is a good judge of the best ones. Current favorites: Toffee almond bar, chocolate chip banana bread, and the simple but delicious giant chocolate chip or macadamia nut cookie. I refrain from drinking any of their beverages (I loathe coffee) but I do consume most of their food. I wish I could put a cup-sleeve-thing around the food though so I could feel just as cool and important as all the coffee drinkers do when they slip those sleeves around their piping hot Starbucks cups.

I feel like I'm getting this reputation as a person who dumps every person I date. While I do dump most people I date it's because I have a very applicable reason and not because of some snobby, materialistic, and/or close-minded aspect of my personality. That didn't make much sense to me either when I reread this paragraph but in my heart of hearts I know what I'm talking about.

My budget has been set and my new expenses have been accounted for and this fiscal year is going to be fantastic.

I puked last weekend. It wasn't pretty and I'm almost sure I haven't forgiven myself for it yet.

That's all for now, folks.

Product Plug: Listerine Smart Rinse

I enjoy this product for the simple fact that, finally, there's a good-tasting, non-offensive mouthwash that tastes like a little slice of heaven. This less abrasive Listerine Smart Rinse tastes like strawberries (can't go wrong with that), cleans plaque effectively (and gently), and what's awesome is that when you spit the rinse out, you can actually see the "stuff" that was removed from your mouth. The rinse magically beads up the "stuff" and you can visibly see the end result in your sink bowl. Cool, right? Just make sure to wash the remnants down the drain otherwise its presence will gross you out after the awe wares off.

Anyway, I'm generally not a fan of mouthwash due to the insanely intense Listerine burning sensation. It's actually a turn-off to the whole dental hygiene process that I so thoroughly enjoy and regard as essential. However, this stuff is fantastic. So, try it out and let me know. After all, pearly whites are a standard I set for both myself and for "you." They're a must.

If you don't have'em, get'em.

This blog always suffers during the summer. Zoops.

Oh, but I do have something to share. I was reading the RedEye this morning and there was actually a good article inside! Woah!

So, some RedEye staffers went out onto the Chicago streets (between Madison and LaSalle) and found well-over a thousand cigarette butts within one city block. The article went on to address the fact that cigarette butts don't "biodegrade" into nothing...they actually break down into small remnants of plastic and debris that remain visible and potentially harmful for 10-15 years.

We all know most people do not use ashtrays...especially now since smokers are legally required to smoke outside. And very rarely are outside receptacles for cigarettes found for public use. Businesses: you need to buy them for your customers. Thanks.

I'm not a smoker because smoking is gross and unhealthy and yada yada. BUT I know a lot of people who do smoke and I encourage them to please, please use a designated outside ashtray/receptacle thing whenever disposing of your butts. Stop flicking them onto the streets, sidewalks, or down sewer drains. Those nasty butts are not biodegradable and your laziness to dispose of your cigarette butts is entirely the same as littering and polluting the Earth. I don't like that at all and I don't like you if you do it.

Stop littering, and stop smoking for that matter. It's sick.

XO.

Big things going on...I feel good about them. Really good.

I'm moving. To Seattle, Washington.

Yep. Adios amigos.

JJ.

Just joshing.

I'm moving 5 blocks south of where I live now. Albeit a small move, it's still a significant move. My current apartment evokes hundreds of memories: some good, some bad, some great, some horrible, some so-so. In leaving I find peace, though. Stuff happened there, things were said there, feelings were felt there, choices were made there.

Like I said, some good, some bad.

For some reason though I delusionally believe that the memories I don't want to keep hold of will stay with that apartment as soon as I leave. Is it that easy?

I don't know that it is, but, for right now, it seems that way. I'll leave it all behind, and see what follows.

My life sounds so dramatic. It really isn't.

These next couple of months are going to provide BIG changes.

I simply cannot wait.

My sister-in-law says the word "fresh" a lot. Fresh diapers, fresh water, fresh clothes...lots of fresh.

I like that word. I can't wait to be FRESH.

Now that I've said it six times, fresh doesn't even seem like a word. It sounds like an onomatopoeia. Perhaps a noise a dolphin would make while swimming and leaping.

I hate reading something, or hearing something, or thinking something...and then letting it pass without jotting it down for future reflection. Because that "something" I earmarked in my brain as significant is now gone and I think it was a really interesting notion.

Dang'it.

I do know that it had something to do with letting go of the people and things that you can't quite achieve, acquire, or hold on to.

Something like that?

Oh!

Yes, yes...it's all coming back to me now. This is such a stream of consciousness blog, and I like it that way.

So, yesterday, I read an article in the RedEye that talked about letting go of the people that you think you want, but in return they either don't want you, aren't good for you, or through some type of galactic/divine intervention...you just can't seem to fully align with them one on one. Truth be told, I have un persona of that particular nature, but I'm letting go. For good. Yep, that's right...cya cya.

We just aren't getting anywhere. I'm constantly worried about the situation, I'm constantly feeling bad about myself for not feeling or seeing the all-too-important sparks of romance, intrigue, desire, or hell...even a sign of general interest would be nice, and worst of all I'm killing myself internally trying to make it work somehow.

I'm done, I'm over it, and I'm moving on.

Ah, I feel better now.

But I must admit that a small, small, tiny, insignificant, and completely hopeless part of me wonders if now that I've let that person go...will that make them want me, especially now more than ever/for the first time? You know, I too always want what I can't have.

Just thinking out loud here...