Wednesday, March 17, 2004

Pseudo-country crap that’s rubbing me the wrong way:

* Some ignorant freak who’s spitting tobacco chaw into the urinals.  Dude, this is California.  We don’t chew, we meditate.  Get with the goddamn program.  A urinal should be a sacred place. 

* Anyone who gets a huge pickup for any reason other than the regular need to haul large quantities of messy cargo, who then drives around the city in it with a twelve-billion watt stereo that can reconfigure the asphalt with sonic waves, a pickup that takes up three times the amount of gas and space as is truly needed - and goes around with the tailgate down.  It’s that final insult, like refusing to zip your fly, like spitting tobacco into my urinal, just a slap in the face: “your little cheap car doesn’t even come up to the nipples of my girlfriend on the mudflaps, dude.  Your sorry ride just ain’t worth thinking about.” Then he’d turn up his stereo and shake my atoms out of association with each other and I’d just vaporize in my indignation.  So I sit there and stare into his empty cargo bay, lined with pristine neoprene and cleaner than my kitchen floor, listening to his stupid thumping music, and I have to stay four feet further back than I ought to because he needed to let his trunk breathe or something.  Really, I’m aggravated all out of proportion by this. 

Carhartt as high fashion.  Y’all want to get some shop clothes, worksite clothes, and treat them like the wearable tools they are, I would be more than supportive.  But I’m seeing these hoity-toity prissy mincers of both and indeterminate gender riding my bus wearing perfectly softened, unscuffed, unfaded carhartt jackets or workshirts, and of course the jeans.  Sometimes you can see that someone in one of the trades has just got a new set of overalls or something and they’re still being broken in, so the color is a little bright and the fabric is a little stiff and rough - that’s okay, with normal wear that will just fade away.  But when it’s some lady with four inch stillettos and a mid-thigh leather skirt, big pouffie hair and long high-maintenance nails, and a black canvas carhartt jacket on over her skanky lace blouse… it feels like they’re taking the cojones out of my overalls, and even when I’m not wearing them that just sounds like a bad thing to me. 

I’d better quit there.  If I go any farther I start to make enemies.