I like Sharp Objects

I'm listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd and I just finished changing the blade in my folding Mastercraft utility knife. The old one had bits of orange rust on it. It uses the the triangular type blades. They're not exactly triangles, actually. In fact, I know there's a specific name for their shape, but it's been a while since I've been in a geomatry class.

"Pay attention, dammit! Years from now, when someone asks you what shape a particular razor blade is, you may not know the answer!"

Speaking of blades, the straight razor shaving has been on hold for the last little while. I have to get a sharpening stone. It was weird, because when I went back to the conventional razor after weeks of not touching one, I kind of forgot how to use it. Then I realized, "Shit, this is like going from a Formula 1 racing to the Go-Kart track." If I had any "method" of shaving with the safety razor before, it went totally out the window. The straight razor is like the medicine ball of male grooming, because it makes safety razors seem so much easier by contrast.

So yesterday I was biing to work and a young Asian woman was driving her car in front of me at a pace slower than my own. The street was a super wide one, too, and yet she was totally hugging the right hand side, preventing me from getting by her.

She finally reached a four-way stop and showed no sign that she was going to move, the idiot. So just as I'm about to go around on the left, another car pulls up on that side, forcing me to make a tight squeeze between them. As I guided my bike on through, the old man in that car rapidly honked his fucking horn at me! (Or the woman in the other car, I'm not sure.) Whatever his intention, it was alarming and very unecessary. So I zip through the intersection ahead of the two cars and look over my shoulder to see the old fuck coming up alongside me again. With his window down he leans over and barks something under the noise of the engine. He gestures with his hands like someone telling a "I caught a fish this big" story. Again, I'm not sure if he's angry at something I did (nothing!) or the bitch in the car. But I'm really annoyed, so I lean over and scream "FUCCCCCKKKK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!" right in his wrinkled face. Haw haw haw!! Judging by his expression and the pace at which he took off, he filled his diaper.

Earlier this evening I grilled up some sausage-like hotdog things and put them on some buns that were a few days old, but lacking mold. I was hungry and eagerly bit into one of them, which I dressed with ketchup and mustard. It tasted weird. "The bun or the meat?" I wondered. I then fished the discarded wrapper out of the trash and saw that the dogs were a little over three weeks past their best before date. Luckily there were some mini-pizzas that tasted like cardboard in the freezer. I burned my fucking lip on a piece of pepperoni that slid off and stuck like napalm. Tomorrow I'm going to get some real food. And notebooks. And WD-40 for my sqawking bike chain. And the Pilot Pens I like. And a Doc Watson record. And some Jameson whiskey for my flask. And I'll look into the sharpening stone thing, but that's not really a priority. I think I'm going to get a fire extinguisher too. I stole one of them years ago. It's fun to shoot 'em in the open air on a calm night, 'cause it's like a cloud machine.

Now it's the Beatles I'm listening to.

At an old job my boss said he didn't like The Beatles. How can you not like the Beatles? Seriously...? He told me the Stones were better, and I was like, "Are you on crack? They're good and all, but they're nothing compared to the Beatles." Then he made a point of asking all the employees that walked by, "The Beatles or the Stones?" and dammit, the ignorant little shits all said The Stones, obviously picking up on the boss's preference. So I was like, "Name one Stones' album" -- and they couldn't, of course.