Sitting in a shrink's room at 8.30 am on a sunday morning post a three-fourth hearted session at the gym and an extremely erratic sleep cycle. Wondering if the sleep cycle was busted by the pasta (roasted red pepper, sausages, zucchini, olive, fresh basil and tomato) and the vodka with cranberry juice that went in around 9 last night. By shrink's room it's not a couch-freud thing, just a friend who I can't link to due to the lack of a definite online presence. And who is probably going to saunter in in sometime hung over from some saturday night extravagance.
Not quite sure if I need to go to work today. Primarily, since I'm not quite sure if we're on strike. Threats of an indefinite strike (thank you lord) have been coming in on the airwaves at regular intervals but nothing's confirmed. In any case emergency services will still be on so those of you who are sick AND dying feel free to drop by. Another scary thought that's been cropping up is what if the people in charge of deciding whether to strike or not are perhaps benefited by the reservation. I guess a black badge is the result of that. More scarily, are the people in charge reading this? Again unlikely since most of them are electronically challenged or luddites or just plain cretinoid (?).
Anyway, sitting around trying to waste time on a sunday morning when I should be negotiating the traffic that I can hear honking from the windows does lead to idle thoughts. Todays are particularly idle. First is on cheapness. I have, with substantial reason, been called cheap for a majority of my life. Today I justify that accusation. Turns out that the shrink's being wooed by major drug companies by gifts galore. As of last count there's a carpet (not persian or flying but a carpet all the same), a folding table, curtains, assorted texts on psychiatry and here's the rub, this morning I see two shaving kits with drug logos boldly embellished on them. They contain a mach 3 turbo (each), a set of extra blades, shaving foam, after shave gel and a little towel. This is not counting the one the shrink already uses. Normally I'd have reacted to this with some socialistic/idealistic/jealous line. This time it's particularly painful since a similar drug company gave yours truly a shaving kit too. A Vector Plus. Despite aggressive advertising involving a screaming Irfan Pathan running up to bowl and a cool little knob at the back of the blade that facilitates cleaning, it's a bad razor. A terrible one, in fact. Almost feels like the monster.com advert that shows a chef with a meat cleaver shaving a sorry looking cad. Which brings us to another concept involving razor advertising... Long years ago a friend pointed out that the earlier twin blade ads showed an animation of a hair being shaved where one blade would shave half and the second would remove the rest of the hair. Mach3 ads showed three blades each progressively shaving a third of the hair. So would that mean that the SensorExcel (finally remembered the name) blades were better since they removed a greater percent of hair per blade...
Sorry, a general blade about blades.
Read mohayana's post on chemical brothers and wondered what could make him zulu dance. If you've seen him you'd know how traumatic that sight can be. But turns out that the first few seconds of Galvanise by chemical brothers can initiate tribal choreography. More about that album once I get the rest of it.
The final idle thought that I can have before I drive off to work like there's no tomorrow is inspired by this. Conniving classics. There has to be something wrong with a book called Moby Dick that revolves around a sperm whale. And Shakespearean references in Taming of the Shrew to Petruchio's tongue in Katherine's tail...
The world is ending. Carry your towels. Don't Panic.
