I find it disconcerting that I can only blog when I have a cigarette in my hand. Well, not technically in my hand. It's resting on the tip of my lips, while smoke seeps into my eyes. Gross.
This is probably why the only place I can update from is my apartment. You see, Chicago has turned "health conscious." The city of deep-dish pizza, Wrigleyville wieners, 24 hour Swank Frank style dives with fried twinkies and mozz sticks. But, smoking 15 feet from a public building? Lighting up in a bar? Coffee shop? Gosh, no.
Reminds me of an interview with Morgan Spurlock. You'd never yell at an overweight person for dipping Super Size french fries in their hot fudge sundae, although it's perfectly acceptable to take a swing at someone for smoking in public. "You're killing yourself!" "Think of all the money you could be saving!" Smokers aren't the only ones with nasty habits.
I'm taking another Saturday off. Even feeling a little guilty about it. I guess I can rationalize and say I'm young. I don't want to be so burnt out this early on. My dad worked 12 hour factory days, sometimes 7 days straight. I can't even fathom that. He was only doing it to provide for me. Didn't want me ending up in a dead-end job, a job I hated, a job like his. I'm forever grateful for that.
I don't want to demean his work. He was good at what he did. Although, I can't honestly say I knew what his work consisted of until after his death. His company set up a tour of the factory for me and my brother. I'd only been to his work one other time when I was a kid to pick up a Christmas bonus or something. Let's just say after another look at that place, I have no room to complain about an outdated, fluorescent lit office.
Is anyone else watching the Olympics? I tuned into women's hockey this morning. Those are some tough broads. Checking left and right. I'm impressed. Although, I think I know what their secret is, now. (Thanks, Tim.)
Well, I think it's time to take a shower. There's no need to be lazy and dirty.
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