This picture has nothing to do with anything...except rock and roll, that is! Kabam!
And nothing to do with today's post! What did I want to talk about today? My office door. Why, you might ask? Well, here it is:
See the door? Notice anything? Yes you can see through it. But also! Yes, it has a locking mechanism. Which is fine. Except...why? They didn't give us keys. So we can't lock the doors when we leave at the end of the evening. You can only lock the door while you are in the office. But the door/wall is glass. And see-through. And they don't give you a key. So of what possible utility could putting a lock on the door be? That's what I can't quite figure out. I am going to be in my office and thinking oh, I need to lock my door? Not to hide what I am doing, because anyone can see. And not to protect my stuff, because I can't lock it behind me. Like seriously, the only reason I can think of?
No this is not a real squirrel on fire! Don't call PETA
The only possible utility I can think of is to kill yourself in some sort of super gruesome way. Like self immolation (see squirrel, above) or like hacking your own head off with a knife, or some other terrible way. While people watched through the window, horrified. "Augh! I can't get in! And this person is ending their life in this super gruesome way!"
But then! I thought "oh my gosh! Would everybody think this? Like Spuds MacKenzie? Would he think that? Or would he be like "I am a dog, but I am totally going to have sex with this human woman behind this glass see-through door while people watch! Because I am so charming! And not a weird depressive! And that's the way I roll! Woof!"
So then I was all "maybe I shouldn't write this! It's revealing some sort of underlying psyche!" But then I looked at this picture of Spuds MacKenzie. And I took strength from the face of that brave dog, dressed in human clothes, with that fake guitar strapped to it. And I knew, it was ok. "JJ...it's ok" I said to myself...."Spuds says its ok." So there you go.
I am on the elevator at work, going down, heading home. I got my black toque on and my bike ridin' clothes, as that's how I got there that morning. My boss gets on the elevator. Looks at me and says "hey, you look like you are from that Woody Allen movie."
So I am all "ohhhh, Owen Wilson?"
Well, his honker is a little big, but he's a good enough looking guy. And so much charisma!
But no, it's not him. Paul Bettany? From Match Point?
I'll take it!
But no! Not what he was getting at. What was he getting at?
Yeah. He was calling me a sperm. Woody Alllen, dressed as a sperm. In a fatsuit no less! I didn't even remember the fatsuit! Sheesh! Piling on! Let's see him run a marathon! Right!? Right!?
This conversation is over! Get out! JJ wants to be alone!