i need new socks.i feel like a filthy hobo. these are my work socks and i have four more pairs identical to this one. it's not that i'm too cheap to buy new socks, it's just that i have procrastination issues. months ago what started out as a tiny hole, has now manifested itself into a full-on mummy shroud.
my reasoning is, as long as they continue to be all-business from the ankle up, i'm good to go.
i'm totally obsessed with "how do they do that?" shows. to my glee, the discovery channel is swarming with this type of programming. i'll stop everything i'm doing just to watch how an oreo is created. i could spend endless hours (i do in fact) watching how they make golf balls, water towers, surf boards, zippers, baseball bats, and padlocks.
i was thinking about this today and realized that as a child my favorite episodes of Mr. Rogers were the ones where he went to the twinkie or play-doh factory to give us a sneak peek behind the scenes. the mysterious curtain hiding the origins of my favorite things would finally be revealed!
i couldn't care less about henrietta pusscat or king friday VIII. stop wasting my time with this make-believe fluff and get me into that crayon factory. why does Roger's postal worker have to be so long-winded? he was always the one who stood between me and the soon-to-be-revealed secret world of lego manufacturing. as a child, i could easily envision the apex of my adulthood career within the four walls of the hershey complex.
complete contentment; eating chocolate bars till my stomach burst, getting to operate all those fun machines, wearing a hard-hat for no apparent reason, putting on those awesome looking white smocks with my name stitched on the chest. and when nobody was looking, i would swim in the giant vat of M&Ms. my co-workers would knowingly smile and look the other way; disregarding all health and contamination concerns - because they wanted to go next.
as an adult, my childhood dreams were effectively put in the garbage disposal when it was pointed out that mind-numbing/soul sucking factory work might not be in my best interest.
it was as true then as it is now; they never show the employees in the background of these TV programs. that's because nobody wants to see an octogenarian in a hair-net struggling to keep up with the conveyor belt. or the hungarian immigrant with a cigarette dangling from her crooked mouth as she inspects the quality of the Q-tips.
all social stigmas aside, there is a part of me that still secretly wants to work in a birdseed manufacturing plant. at least for a week.
i was thinking about this today and realized that as a child my favorite episodes of Mr. Rogers were the ones where he went to the twinkie or play-doh factory to give us a sneak peek behind the scenes. the mysterious curtain hiding the origins of my favorite things would finally be revealed!
i couldn't care less about henrietta pusscat or king friday VIII. stop wasting my time with this make-believe fluff and get me into that crayon factory. why does Roger's postal worker have to be so long-winded? he was always the one who stood between me and the soon-to-be-revealed secret world of lego manufacturing. as a child, i could easily envision the apex of my adulthood career within the four walls of the hershey complex.
complete contentment; eating chocolate bars till my stomach burst, getting to operate all those fun machines, wearing a hard-hat for no apparent reason, putting on those awesome looking white smocks with my name stitched on the chest. and when nobody was looking, i would swim in the giant vat of M&Ms. my co-workers would knowingly smile and look the other way; disregarding all health and contamination concerns - because they wanted to go next.
as an adult, my childhood dreams were effectively put in the garbage disposal when it was pointed out that mind-numbing/soul sucking factory work might not be in my best interest.
it was as true then as it is now; they never show the employees in the background of these TV programs. that's because nobody wants to see an octogenarian in a hair-net struggling to keep up with the conveyor belt. or the hungarian immigrant with a cigarette dangling from her crooked mouth as she inspects the quality of the Q-tips.
all social stigmas aside, there is a part of me that still secretly wants to work in a birdseed manufacturing plant. at least for a week.
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