Getting Down to Cardio Boogie

Remember, the name of the blog is Just Plain Stupid. I say this to lower your expectations because if there are two subjects nearly every non-brain-dead adult knows more about than me, those two things are, physical fitness and Pop music.

I was raised in the 60s and 70s. All the way through High School, radios, record players, and garage bands were playing the greatest selection of popular tunes in history.

And when that incredible music came on my boxy clock radio (boxy because back then clock radios had moving clock arms… LED lights weren’t around yet,) I rolled my eyes and turned my radio dial in search of Larry Glick.

A few years later, the shock of musical meadow muffin that was disco had little effect on me. I was listening to Celtics play-by-play with Johnny Most.

But even I could tell that disco was crap. How many freaking songs can you do with the same drum beat?

Fast-forward forty years, and I’m on a treadmill at the gym, and feeling about as steady as John Travolta riding the mechanical bull on Urban Cowboy. I’m wearing ear-plugs because none of the TVs suspended from the ceiling have reruns of The Tick. I’m promising myself that if I can just stay on the treadmill one more mile; I can ignore exercise for the rest of the month.

I’m also cursing the makers of Dollar Tree ear plugs because in spite of jamming orange polypropylene down into my cochlea, the Pop music is just as loud as it was before.

“What is this crap we’re hearing?” I ask the wobbly runner next to me.

“That’s Taylor Swift,” she answers.

Though I’ve heard the name before, the blonde on the flat screen was unfamiliar, except as yet another Scarlett Johansson wanna-be.

“So they’re playing a collection of music they made for gyms?” I ask.

She looks at me to see if I’m serious. “That’s the number one Pop song right now.”

“Really? It has the same beat as the last six songs.”

“They all sound like that now – if you want something different you have to go to rap, country, or hip-hop.”

“So all Pop music has the same beat?”

“Pretty much.”

“So how’s this different than disco?”

“This is cardio!” she said looking at me like I’d asked her if Barry Manilow was white.

But what is cardio but a beat – now a ubiquitous beat much like disco was in 1979. Disco shamed us for decades and now we’re doing the same stupid thing again? Are we condemned to pass this corkscrew point repeatedly as Pop music descends into hell.

Descends into hell, you ask? Isn’t that a bit over the top? Well, it’s certainly not ascending.

Aside from an occasional tune from Elvis Costello, Phil Collins, Whitney Houston, or Disney’s Little Mermaid, (Le Poisson rocked!) the landscape of Pop music has been bleak for the last 40 years. Do we need to do this again? Are we trying to reopen Studio 54, but this time in workout clothes? Should I expect Justin Bieber to remake Richard Simmon’s Sweating to the Oldies?

Why can’t we just leave our past inanities in the past?

And can someone get me off this freaking treadmill?

I might be in better shape if they had Weird Al vids at the gym.

Signs... Mistakes or Frankness?

   I'm beginning to wonder if all the mistakes I see in signs are really mistakes at all.

 Maybe there's a reason that software makes you want to jump off a cliff

 This house has plenty of room for family

The hospitality industry is very competitive

Sounds "pathologycal" to me

 Sure enough, there is no "excetions" in the English language... I think

American retail is twisted

I have no doubt

I'd rather not think about this one

  Some signs are just frank - even helpful

 Yeah, rub it in

 I'm not tellin'

 So... I should spend more time on the stepper at the gym - or don't bother?

 This company must be over-insured

 Make sure you get one that will look good on your wall

Brought to you by Starbucks and the ASPCA

I'm sold

   Or maybe it's not a matter of mistakes, frankness, or helpfulness.  Maybe it's just tacky.

Signs Get Me All Turned Around

Sometimes I wonder if we have too many signs.  They can be confusing or unnecessary.  Did I really need an inanimate object to tell me what animate objects have been happy to inform me all my life?  For instance...

Yeah - probably

Okay, I didn't know that one - but is it a bad thing?

Well, maybe signs can be helpful.  After all, where would American business be without signs?

Not that that's always a good thing.  I can think of a number of reasons to put them out of business.

Makes you wonder what they were saying before.

Might have been something like this

Or this.  Not the best English, but who am I to talk?  Asian languages translated to English make for some interesting signs.

Sometimes it's sweet and poetic.

Sometimes confusing.

Alright - frequently confusing.

Maybe it's a cultural thing.

Yeah - cultural thing.

I guess...  No, no guesses.

I'm pretty sure this is not a cultural thing.

Yeah - whatever.

Just go with it.  Makes me wonder what our translations into Asian languages look like to them.  Not that we always need the translation process to get confusing signage.

Wait! did Mittens just lift my wallet?

I'm almost certain this is a goof - but I'm using the restroom anyway.

I could have lived without that one.

Slipping is unpleasant - Up With People is torture.

Maybe the pound could adapt this as an advert.

I see this sign at all the high class establishments.

I'm all turned around - but I think this is where I started.

Whenever I get confused - I turn to Weird Al to straighten it all out.

Chapter 6 Trouble in Taos Part 5 - The Conclusion

Those of you that keep track of such things will notice that the time I traditionally post on Mondays and Thursdays will change in the coming weeks. The fine folks at Amalgamated Monster are changing my schedule.

This is the last section of chapter 6 of Trouble in Taos. If you’re the type of person who likes to know what’s going on – check the four posts preceding this one. If you want to know more (or you feel like wasting money,) you can buy the book on Amazon.

Slimy was surprisingly clean. Well, he didn’t have much blood on him anyway.

Slimy was the first to stir. I called to him, but he either didn’t hear me or was thinking about something. I guess he didn’t hear me. It took longer for Father Julio to move. Being a relatively short man saved him, that and the fact that the four dead men were pushin’ him away. Some of the blood was his, though, coming from his forehead.

Two things changed about Father Julio. One, he never heard so well anymore. People who came to his service could sit in the back and still hear his homily, because from that day onward Father Julio was a shouter. He also had a rough dark patch on his forehead.

Each year, sometime between Christmas and Easter, the folks at Saint Frank’s come in to put soot on their forehead. Father Julio looked like that every day of the year.

Claybourne Petree and me worked for a while matching bodies with head parts. They weren’t pretty, but I think we got ’em mostly right. The tallest ugly one didn’t look any worse as a mangled mess than he had in life, so we weren’t all that worried about it. It wasn’t like anybody cared about ’em. They weren’t as rich as Rutherford James, so Father Julio offered to pay us. Maybe he felt responsible ’cause he put Slimy in the casket. I didn’t think that was right, and I was going to refuse the money, but Claybourne took it before I could say no. I gave Claybourne a dirty look, but once the money was in Claybourne’s hands, I made sure to get my part. I guess I’m no more a saint than Claybourne.

If Slimy was troubled by what happened, he never said a word about it. It took him a spell before he stood up, but when he finally did, he looked over himself once and headed out the door without a word. By the time Claybourne and I had the first body together, Slimy’d finished his ditches and was heading for Estevo’s. I caught up with him ’cause I was worried he might shoot Estevo for tellin’ those fellers who shot Rutherford James and where to find him.

Slimy was just there for his glass of water and to tell about that dog that barked one night. He didn’t look any different, smell any different, or act any different.

Well, that’s not completely true. Slimy musta seen me attack those men with my stick. I think it meant somethin’ to him, ’cause he was always nice to me after that.

Too bad that was what killed him.

People keep sending me this video.  I guess they think it's funny so I should share it here - it couldn't be about my writing, could it?