Singin' In Th' Rai'
At 6:54 this morning, while at work, I started singing along with a Creed song. Not humming, softly adding my vocals, but open throated - leaving Scott Stapp in the wake of my vastly superior talent.
Why? I don't know. I don't much care for Creed, no Creed is on my mp3 player. Running into a Creed song is a work related hazard.
Here's a little word lesson. When an album is self titled, it is frequently called eponymous. It means one who gives one's name to a project. More or less. R.E.M. was clever and instead of titling an album after themsleves, instead titled it "Eponymous". Well played, gentlemen.
For all the pitcures and videos of women of rock I've posted, I have never put in anything regarding Gwen Stefani.
Some half illiterate noisemaker on long haul public transportation I ran into had that stupid pink bananas lyric as her ringtone. When that wasn't blasting on her phone's half inch speaker, she was playing a beeping game that several people asked her to stop. One woman offered her a magazine to read instead, the noisemaker looked at her as she'd been offered a turd wrapped in the script from "Meatballs 4".
Anyways, no Gwen Stefani. Not now, not ever.
Last Saturday I caught the last train of Friday late night. I got to my station, weary and tired from a long day's work. The station manager was shutting everything down. When I merely rode up the escalator, she rattled her keys at me and started grunting.
Far be it from to make disparaging comments about overweight affliction, but this woman was well beyond the morbidly obese marker. It made me feel really healthy and sveldte. But on the very short walk from the elevator to the escaltor to go up top, she started breathing heavy. Really heavy. On the escalator ride, she panted like a big dehydrated dog. And the first thought to my mind is that this woman personifies the problems anathema to Metro rail. Sloppy employees who do half assed jobs and don't care.
Really, what would Lady GaGa think?
Why? I don't know. I don't much care for Creed, no Creed is on my mp3 player. Running into a Creed song is a work related hazard.
Here's a little word lesson. When an album is self titled, it is frequently called eponymous. It means one who gives one's name to a project. More or less. R.E.M. was clever and instead of titling an album after themsleves, instead titled it "Eponymous". Well played, gentlemen.
For all the pitcures and videos of women of rock I've posted, I have never put in anything regarding Gwen Stefani.
Some half illiterate noisemaker on long haul public transportation I ran into had that stupid pink bananas lyric as her ringtone. When that wasn't blasting on her phone's half inch speaker, she was playing a beeping game that several people asked her to stop. One woman offered her a magazine to read instead, the noisemaker looked at her as she'd been offered a turd wrapped in the script from "Meatballs 4".
Anyways, no Gwen Stefani. Not now, not ever.
Last Saturday I caught the last train of Friday late night. I got to my station, weary and tired from a long day's work. The station manager was shutting everything down. When I merely rode up the escalator, she rattled her keys at me and started grunting.
Far be it from to make disparaging comments about overweight affliction, but this woman was well beyond the morbidly obese marker. It made me feel really healthy and sveldte. But on the very short walk from the elevator to the escaltor to go up top, she started breathing heavy. Really heavy. On the escalator ride, she panted like a big dehydrated dog. And the first thought to my mind is that this woman personifies the problems anathema to Metro rail. Sloppy employees who do half assed jobs and don't care.
Really, what would Lady GaGa think?
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