My lovely wife would tell you: it all begins at Wal-Mart. We went to the store last night. Was having a decent time adapting to everything. Some loud kids, a couple of passing Harleys that left my ears ringing. But altogether, I was doing well. I bought three CDs: John Coltrane and Don Cherry's Avant-Garde, Thelonious Monk's Brilliant Corners (which I'm enjoying right now with a Saturday morning coffee) and Dexter Gordon's Dexter's Calling. Looked like the store was doing healthy. If you haven't had a chance to check the $5.99 table at your local Hastings, you probably should. It's the industry-best $5.99 program as far as I'm concerned. Or you could go to Wal-Mart and pay $7-$12. It's up to you. Oh yeah, Wal-Mart's selection sucks so they probably wouldn't have it anyway.
Just identified a RZA piano loop...heard it on the second song off this Thelonious record. "Cuttin' Headz" from Ol' Dirty Bastard (produced by RZA) contains a piano loop and that loop is from Thelonious' "Ba-lue Bolivar Ba-lues-are." Beautiful way to start off my day. Amazing when you hear that four seconds of beauty in its original state.
We're leaving the store and head down to the crap vaccuum that is Wal-Mart. It seems like, for some odd reason, a large well-lit store like Wal-Mart is like a rat trap for every freaking wad of human trash with a raisin for a brain which is only programmed to either watch endless hours of cars racing in circles or locate a retail establishment that you can pick up both new ice trays, a plant for grandma's trailer and an oil change and tire rotation at the same time. On a Friday night, it's like a night club for white trash. The parking lot is a danger enough because you're licensing nincompoops that can't read a stop sign to drive and morons only know one speed and that's "Vin Diesel." So finding a parking place and doing so without losing your life is the first challenge of the Wal-Mart experience. There's children chasing each other like half-wits (or quarter-wits) while they're lazy parents stand scratching their heads in front of the coffee filter wondering what size their 1985 unit at home is that they bought at a garage sale last weekend.
Now, as I made my way back to sporting goods to locate a new tube for my bike, I hear commotion coming from a few aisles over and walk around the corner to see three, uh, [let's call 'em] teenagers playing dodgeball with small Nerf footballs, kickballs and little beachballs. They're just hurling them through the store. See, at Wal-Mart, you could basically light a fire and it would be probably twenty minutes before anyone would do anything about it. The employees don't care and don't feel entitled to protect their assets. Not only that, they suffer from socialization shortfall so they don't feel confident or assertive enough to confront anyone. You know the shoppers aren't going to say anything because of the incredible amount of sadness each one of them feels pouring their hard-earned money into such a monster. They're just looking for a reason not to shop there. Management is too busy watching their loose-nut employees screw the company's profits away in bad processes and there's not enough security cameras to cover a space the size of a warehouse. Which leads me to how these kids can sit there and basically have a dodgeball tournament in the sporting good section without anyone knowing or, more importantly, caring. So here I am walking the aisle with my lovely wife as we shop for toys for my nephew's Easter basket and I hear the commotion coming closer as they're sprinting through the section. One rounds a corner and I throw my elbow out and hit him in the chest advising him to, "Look out." He keeps on like nothing happened. I'm thinking, at this point, I won't do anything unless something comes close to my lovely wife. I can tolerate it, but if something hits my lovely wife, I'm probably going to jail tonight.
Well, it happened. One soared near my lovely wife's head as I witnessed it from about eight feet away. I round a corner and see the three maggot brains standing there and I walk toward them and they start scurrying away. I come around a corner to meet each of them. I get in this one kid's face and I don't really remember what I said, but he started talking back and dude couldn't even look me in the eye. Whatever I then said was laced with expletives that probably he didn't even understand and would make me blush on second listen, I threatened to whoop his ass if he came anywhere near my lovely wife and then I called him a "retard." Full disclosure here. I'm not necessarily proud of myself, but it was an incident that needs to be recorded. Kid looked like he was about to cry he was so scared. My lovely wife would counsel me after such an incident advising me, firstly, that it's not my job to be the enforcer but I would contest that, in the lawless aisles of Wal-Mart, you bet it is. My lovely wife didn't know what happened at that moment, but I came around the corner proclaiming that I was going to "kill a kid" and she sent me to the penalty box. I picked a bench overlooking some old man's dirty and hairy butt crack leaning over the one-hour photo counter.
Don't get me wrong, I like kids. I really do.
We leave about twenty minutes later and I unload in the car much like I am here. My lovely wife understands my panic, but she doesn't accept it. I really should be better in a Wal-Mart, but I can't do it. Imagine having a paper-thin immune system and being one common cold away from possible death and sitting in a waiting room with an open wound surrounded by thirty coughing mouths. That's what it's like.
But Wal-Mart sparks incredible aggravation. There's a few other things. Let's start with the Texas Tech camo hat. Firstly, I've never seen a graduate wear one of these things. It's a dead giveaway at an imposter Texas Tech fan.
I'm trying to think what outfit this would look good with and I can't define it. Probably because I'm not white trash that enjoys hunting varmint and making jerkey out of my kill. You know what else aggravates me (since we're talking college gear) are the side-to-side back window Texas Longhorn window decals. Again, not something you'll find a lot of graduates macking.
Even better are the moronic OU fans that have the "break 'em off" Longhorn decals on the back of their Broncos like that cat I've seen driving around here in the Yellow. Grow up, duke. I've always had an issue with "tribal" tattoos too.
I like the dialogue that usually occurs around these designs. "What does it mean?" and then the response is, "It's tribal." Tribal? What tribe? What's it tribal for? Maybe "drunk night at the tattoo parlor with an uninspired tattoo artist." I guess for those who have them, it's the mark on your body that says, "I got a tattoo when tattooing was really in." I see alot of them at the gym and it always reminds me that I need to start looking for another gym to go to. I've officially topped out on the Calvin stickers. I mean, a guy with my low tolerance for stupidity probably should've exceeded my tolerance for these some five years back, but I made it until now. Now, I want everyone of these to disappear. I really can't stand them anymore. Calvin and Hobbes hasn't been big since like two decades ago. Not only is it outdated, but it was never really funny. Who has such animosity toward a rival automaker?
Oh yeah, white trash. A cool shirt would be a Calvin peeing on a Calvin peeing on a Calvin peeing on a Calvin peeing on a Calvin peeing on a Calvin peeing on a Calvin peeing on a Calvin peeing on a Calvin peeing on a Calvin peeing on a Calvin peeing on a Calvin peeing on a Calvin peeing on a Calvin peeing on a Calvin peeing on a Calvin. Or maybe I should get a Calvin peeing on an Audi logo or something. Or the Wal-Mart logo. Man, maybe there's more legs on this thing than I thought.
Well, I gotta 9AM raquetball appointment with Mahan. It's really just a 9AM ass-whooping, but it builds character.