A Sailor's Life Is the Life For Me

I know that the line in the song which my title is based off is "I never ever ever do a thing about the weather cause the weather never ever does a thing for me." I know that is the case, but I always remember it as "I never ever ever give a shit about the weather cause the weather never ever does a shit for me." I have no idea why it is that I don't change the second "do a thing" in the song, but I don't. For some reason that song was in my head for about half the day today, which is odd, because for the other half of the day I was busy reading and studying Lacan and Badiou.

Regardless, I am glad that I am not a hardcore Cubs fan tonight. They were looking alright until the 8th inning, which may have been the most disastrous inning in baseball history. 8 runs, they gave up 8 runs. While I am not a lifelong Cubs fan I am cheering for them and even my casual fandom kind of hurts based on the last 20 minutes. I can, however, really easily relate to the situation, assuming that the Cubs do not make a significant comeback this evening, since my Pack coughed up a lead of even greater proportions (maybe 17 points in football is about the same as 3 runs in baseball, I am not knowledgeable enough of the great American pastime to really say-by the way, is that how you spell pastime, because it doesn't seem right, but pasttime seems much more wrong and past-time seems fucked up, hyphens aren't really American anyways). If they lose this series in game 7 at Wrigley Field tomorrow I will feel horrible for the people of Chicago, specicically those Cubs fans related to the lovely Ms. Kauf.

Regardless, so I didnt have any coffee today and I think I am paying for it right now because I am tired like a motherfucker after a long ass day of motherfucking. I did my normal Tuesday routine, up at 7, Sportscenter, teaching, Buffy, class, break, class, home dinner, TV. I did, somewhere in the middle where I was not sining little Popeye tunes to myself, manage to finish grading a sizeable amount of papers and I think to more thoroughly understand the initial discussion of the Freudian Das Ding. I am absolutely sure that none of you give a fuck about that, but still, that is what I did.

On a briefly serious note, my parents have yet to generate a guest list type thing for our wedding, like which people are supposed to be invited and such, and that sucks. I wish they would get on top of it. :)

Back to less serious notes, have you ever thought of what would happen if squirrels were renamed badgers. I mean, as we all know from reading Saussure, the actual signifier has no specific connection to the signified, but still, it would be confusing. Someone would be like "Oh what a cute little badger over there, its getting so close to us, I wonder if we can feed it" and I would fucking scream because while badgers (the real badger, not the renamed squirrel badger) are indeed cute they are also ferociously violent and often for no good reason. Since my preference is always not to be mauled by a cute animal rather than attempt to feed it, I simply prefer that we continue calling a squirrel a squirrel, but still, it would be fucked up right.

Finally, let me conclude with an observation I made while watching a Papa John's commercial the other night (several discussions of Papa John's have occured earlier on this blog). The commercial is for Hawaiian style pizzas of which, only one of the two is actually Hawaiian. I guess I just assumed that Hawaiian pizza refers to pizza with pineapple on it, because otherwise I am completely out of the loop. These, however, are not based on pineapple and instead are focused around BBQ chicken, which is hella good but not entirely Hawaiian, at least as far as I know. Don't get me wrong I am not dissing Hawaiian BBQ, even though I think that technically the practice of roasing a whole pig in an underground pit would most often be considered Hawaiian BBQ. Of course, you would likely be able to do that with a chicken or with some chicken breasts or whatever too, but nonetheless, BBQ chicken is no more Hawaiian than my ass is German and let me tell you, Mein assen nichte eine Berliner.

The point of this is simply that the BBQ chicken pizzas (one with bacon the other with pineapple) which are advertised as Hawaiian contain a disclaimer at the bottom of the screen. What does it say, you might ask. Specials may not be available in Hawaii. Ja reuce.

Peace,

MB-K