When I was walking to work this morning some "Explosions in the Sky" started playing on the shuffle function.  The thing about "Explosions in the Sky" is they have a strange way of instantly broadening my mind when I listen to them.  Add that to the fact that I've been drinking a lot of soy milk lately and you probably won't be surprised at the little journey my mind went on here. 

So I was walking along and started looking at the bricks in the streets and the masonry work on the buildings and started thinking about the people who made Philadelphia, a city that played an important role in the establishment of the reality that almost every I know lives every day.  I was overwhelmed with gratitude.  The people who built this city fought for a government they believe in, fought disease, the elements and war and lived very fundamental lives.  If I somehow were to meet them I'm sure we'd have very little in common and may even have conflicting values and beliefs.  They created a government and a country that almost everyone has some sort of problem with, but its very seldom that I'm grateful for the luxury they've provided us, the luxury to be idealistic.  We're far from the perfect country, but I am so thankful to live in a place and time where I can work to set our country's intentions toward equality, charity, environmentalism and all sorts of other things that are good.

Have you ever really listened to the words of that song "Evacuate the Dance Floor" by the German "Eurodance" group Cascada?  Correct me if I'm wrong, but these lyrics sound remarkably like desperate cries for help in a moment of dire need.

"Oh, oh, evacuate the dancefloor
Oh, oh, I'm infected by the sound
Oh, oh, stop, this beat is killing me
Hey Mister DJ let the music take me underground"

This girl is being brutally attacked by "the sound" and the "beat" and she needs your help!

I don't walk around in the Italian Market nearly as much as I should, but every time that I do I find that I have to constantly remind myself that nobody is breaking the law even if though it absolutely looks that way. There's something about fires in cans, fast-spoken Cantonese and kangaroo meat for sale that makes me think I could buy a human baby there if I wanted to.*  What an amazing place.

*It occurred to me today that I might buy a baby at the Italian Market if I knew I could get away with it. 

1.  Boys have something in them that girls don't.  Boys are born to kill.
2.  The "Scar" kills people better than any other gun because you can fire wildly and it takes fewer bullets to kill them.
3.  You'd probably be able to "light some dudes up if it weren't for this damn Harrier."
4.  The Pavelow is the best helicopter because it's more deadly than a Harrier.
5.  If you ask your husband about "Call of Duty" why he's playing he's more likely to get killed, yell obscenities and then immediately apologize because "it's only a game."

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I'm obsessed with these.  I dream of a day when I am rich and I buy them even though I have no idea what I'd do with them.  Maybe I'd be so rich I'd actually take them at a fancy party.  Maybe people like Quentin Tarantino and Chloë Sevigny would be at this party.  There might be people there who were doing other fancy drugs, but I'D be the girl with the gold pills.  "That's so glam,"  they'd say.  Maybe I'd be rich enough to buy them for everyone at said party.  OR even rich-er and not think that taking them would be a big deal at all.  I'd just pop them like a couple of Tic Tacs.

I imagine that soon after all of this, maybe a day or so, I would end up looking at myself in the mirror and wonder how I sleep at night.  Haiti is may still be in ruins and even if it's not I'm sure there's people living in some fashion of dire straights.  I'd begin to think of how $400 odd dollars could change the life of someone in need.  I imagine then bending over the bathroom sink, like they do in the movies, and washing my face with my hands really slowly.  I look in the mirror again. Water is dripping off my face and mascara is running down my cheeks but the look in my eye is different.  I've changed. 

After that there would probably be a mad tear of selling all my stuff and giving my money to some big important charity.  Kind of like the end of "Schindler's List."

Thanks for bringing me up to speed, creepy cartoon about Mormonism. 

My new office on the creative floor is huge and has mustard yellow walls.  Mustard yellow gives me anxiety, but maybe not in a bad way.  Maybe it's just the kick in the pants I need.  Latin music is blaring and they're taking call in orders for the Kebab House.  I'm telling you, two different worlds. 

Right now I'm sitting in my crown molding-encrusted jewel box of an office high atop the the Wannamaker building in the Account Management Department where colleagues keep me responsibly updated on the happenings, politics and inner workings that are effecting client decisions.  Later today I'll move back down to the creative floor where I'll be hit with occasional nerf dart and (hopefuly) once again be invited to rain dances.  A lone media wolf caught between two worlds... 

Doesn't it feel like Guy Fieri was genetically engineered in a lab located deep in the bowels of Food Network HQ to give red state males an excuse to watch Food Network without fearing that they'll sprout ovaries or start wanting to sleep with men?  I swear, he's a robot.  Secondary functions include attracting chain resturant sponsorships, launching lines of sunglasses/ BBQ sauces and selling Ford trucks (look out Mike Rowe!).  Genius.

All hail Queen Gretel von Cupcake.