While writing this post, I am going to be thinking of a way to work the title of this article into its paragraphs. I know, it probably should have been the other way around. What can I say? I’m a rule breaker. Where have I been, you may ask? No, you did not. Let’s pretend you did though and give a valid answer. I have been here, in the hallowed halls of my Maryland residence. Mostly, I have been hermiting it for the last couple months due to the cold weather and lack of transportation to the outside world. Both shall be remedied before too long though. Spring is bound to show its face eventually. Sure, she will be bandaged up for awhile, and we will all suspect that work has been done. No one will say voice their suspicions though. Then one day around May first, she will shed the layers to reveal that indeed, there have been touch-ups. It won’t be so noticeable as say, oh I don’t know, Joan Rivers…but it’s there none the less.

Topic change. My best friend Megan Kelly is going to be walking across America starting in a few days.  Christopher Walken on a cracker, she is fantastic! I am envious and am threatening horrible, unimaginable torture upon her vinyl collection if she does not send me post cards to document the experience.  On a side note though, I am pitying her for the amount of public restrooms she will no doubt have to frequent.  Megan dear, make sure to buy copious amounts of hand sanitizer. 

Let’s see, I’ve decided that I need to make peace with the movie industry and the festering pieces of garbage that they’ve been dumping on us as of late. I must, and will be resuming my viewing of films once again for the good of all mankind. Well, I think that is a severe stretch of the imagination. Mankind really gets nothing out of me watching movies. This weekend is Adventureland and Bottle Shock. I will relay what I think of them at a later date. We watched Inglorious Basterds a couple weeks ago and I found that to be quite swell. No, I would not recommend it to the squeamish or anyone with poor abilities to handle a touch of the risqué. We watched the season premier of Lost last nite. I have to say…I have no idea what is going on and have given up trying to concoct any sort of reasoning as to what that island has planned. I pity the person that has to write the synopsis for that show’s box set.  I’m thinking next week’s flick will be Zombieland. I look forward to it already.  I also realize the I need to get back to my basics. I need to start catching up on films I should have seen. This includes especially the Hitchcock films and older movies. I have a lot of work ahead of me.  And I still have no desire to watch the Michael Jackson flick. There’s just not draw there for me, folks…sorry.

So, I worked in an element of pop culture, but haven’t thought of a creative way to wedge pop-tarts into the lines of my post. How about this, I will make an analogy to life using pop-tarts.

When I was young, I craved the fun-filled strawberry pop-tarts with the vanilla frosting and exciting sprinkles.  They were innocent and naive. They lacked nutrition, but presented me with something I desired…an acceptable cookie for breakfast.  Occasionally, I would have to suffer through the Maple brown sugar pop-tarts when the strawberry well ran dry. Those were dark days, my friend. As time passed, I experimented with the smore filled, chocolate covered, and wacky flavors that were set before me. They left me feeling empty though. Something was missing. More time passed, days were void of pop tarts all together. When the sun rose, there was no breakfast to greet me in the kitchen. It had left me alone and hungry. Then one day, I awoke to find it had returned bearing maple and brown sugar. I was pleased to see its return. I had no more desire for the sprinkles or chocolate of days long since passed. No, indeed now I only had eyes for my simple pop-tarts. This is a tidbit of wisdom, little grasshoppers. Less is more.

Priorities


Even I am shocked that I got an entire paragraph out of that.  I shall return at a later and undetermined date.

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