윤

It started with a foray into kale, taken plain out of those pre-washed boxes sold along produce department walls as a means to balance my diet against all that brominated vegetable oil and lunches at places that allowed me to refill it, but when that grew too painful to continue, I resorted to adding ingredients more in keeping with the gut flora in my digestive tract, eventually trying to reproduce the Cobb Salad I missed from my daily outings.
Something was bound to go wrong with my recipe, however, as haphazardly as I sourced it, bland turkey leftovers from Thanksgiving, mushy avocados the in-laws bring by, and the packaged greens probably least trustworthy of all, and now I’m on my fourth day of bloody stool (third, if you count actual production thereof) after a killer stomach ache, neither of which would ordinarily be noteworthy if not for the coincidence of my worsening day-to-day performance. Are any of these symptoms worth asking the doctor about or do they just come with age?

Damn Marxists on r/antiwork, bless their hearts, call for a boycott during McRib season? I suppose just the mention of it in this context has disqualified me from their ranks, fucking wannabe leftist that I am, knowing full well the plight of labor but availing myself of its fruits. It’s too bad, too, because I’ve recently gotten into the habit of walking or biking there with a smug sense of self-satisfaction that doing so somehow offsets their insalubrious menu; by not eating in I can do my part to stave off breakthrough infection and disparage the Lexus-driving Koreans who have moved back inside from their makeshift camps in the parking lot; and ogling the occasional black-clad employee who hands me extra BBQ sauce without the least concern for an adequate wage to be objectified by old pervs.

Surely the inspiration for my pre-AR AR-idea, though every once in a great while I’m blessed by a real-life reminder, like the other evening when after hundreds of 全力坂 runs the Universe manages a confluence of upper-echelon specimen from the local demographic and timing along that stretch of Clydepark where my last sighting of one in cut-offs and cowboy boots I’ve come to dismiss as a mirage.

Redditor’s work is all the more remarkable because it was done from scratch and not with Mars money (as eye-opening and welcome as it was, on this anniversary of my last job change—what a segue to my upcoming meeting with a former employer, who’s threatening us with an opportunity to return to family office drama). And uncanny valley or no, I’ve always liked multi-angle portraits.

A small victory in my lifelong conflict with regional exclusivity, that’s included videogames, media and, um, bigger things, I was able to take advantage of Wal-mart’s failure to restrict its inventory by shipping destination—ironic, that, seeing as how I’ve written up that very requirement on a number of occasions for businesses a fraction of the size… then again, that may be the reason—and reunite with this favorite from the past, once thought gone for good.

An occasion for song?!

LiveWire
It’s the taste that’s stood the test of time
Its name is LiveWire
That defies all reason and rhyme
My favorite color, since days long gone
I liked the juice, the sherbet and Milan—
O-range I glad I knew it was Dew
With the caffeine to get me through
Life on a highwire
LiveWire

I couldn’t remember how substantive a role Mie Hama had in the spy flick Woody Allen dubbed, so I unearthed the DVD—the problem with P2P is that you rely on someone else out there catering to your nostalgia, and mine is ever-so extemporaneous. The 鍵の鍵 original may require patronizing a shady bootlegger, it’s even harder to come by, but honestly, apart from the two Bond girls and a guest appearance by Dr. Who himself as a snake handling henchman, the other entries in the series looked more exciting from the introduction.