Why don't you just wear his letterman jacket

When I see a grown man wearing the jersey of their favorite player, I can't help but see the resemblance to a girl wearing her boyfriend's letterman jacket.  It's fine for a kid, they look up to these players, want to be them, as a man it screams, "why don't you just marry him if you like him so much?" I'm guilty of it, I have a shirt that says Fedor across the front (he is a legendary MMA fighter), I might as well be wearing his chain.  Face it boys, you look like you slept over at his place and all he had for you to wear home was one of his jerseys. 

My instrument and me

Iron and Wine were performing on Austin City Limits. A large ensemble of musicians, and there in the back, a man and a clarinet.  He starts a solo, the camera focuses on him, he is being featured. I too played the clarinet, but there was never once a moment where I felt proud doing it. From elementary school all the way to the high school marching band, never did I think my instrument was cool. Eventually I quit and moved on to the much cooler golf team.  My quitting was for the best for all parties involved, I couldn’t march and play at the same time.  I never actually played a note during a performance, just held my instrument and focused on marching; my mom would be saddened to know that I was faking it the whole time.  As he killed his solo I began to watch closely, examining his performance, and there it was, I saw it, it still wasn’t cool.  He was in a suit, rather than a marching band uniform, he was playing in a cool band, not playing Louie Louie, and yet…still not cool.  For a moment he gave me hope, but alas I still wish I had played trumpet.

Priorities people...priorities

I'm not one to hate Wal-Mart, many people are, but I love a deal so no hatred here. That being said, the minute I stepped into this particular Wal-Mart, on this particular day, I knew it was a mistake. I found the item I was in need of and made my way to the register. As I got closer to the line of registers I saw the hoard, large, teeth missing, out of breath from just standing, with a gaggle of matching little clones. This sounds like an exaggeration but sadly it’s not. As I stood there in a line of the dredges of society I couldn't help but smile at the astonishing fact that myself and these masses exist as the same species.

The wonderfully white-trash woman in front of me reached the register and unloaded the items from her cart. Its contents contained the following, a gallon sized jar of mayonnaise, a tub of butter larger than my dogs food bowl, a sack of sugar that could double as a sand bag in a flood, and one tomato. The last thing removed from her cart were sales papers from several other grocery stores, which she was using for price matching purposes, in order to save a life changing 76 cents. The last item to be rung up was the misfit tomato, amongst a group where it didn't belong. When the price came up on the display the woman asked in shock, "how much was that tomato?" After the price was confirmed as $1.03, she immediately asked for it to be taken off her purchase, as it was an outrageous price. Of all the items, the one that might help to de-leatherize her skin, and allow her to lift her 55-gallon drum of mayonnaise without breaking a sweat, had to be removed.

I completed my purchase, exited to my car, and maneuvered my vehicle through the grazing patterns of the patrons, towards the driveway. As I sat at the red light waiting to return to humanity, I looked in my mirror and saw the same woman sitting in her car behind me, and wouldn't you know, she was sucking down a cigarette, one long drag after another. That cigarette was removed from a pack with an estimated value of $6, a purchase that she gladly made...that $1 tomato however, was overpriced.

Priorities people...priorities