Here I sit, at my desk, trying to clear my mind for some kind of inspiration to hit, some subject worthy of its own blog entry. I pop bing cherries into my mouth and spit out the pits in a little handkerchief next to my keyboard. What to discuss? Children getting raped at Abu Ghraib? Nah. That's too easy. The jokes just write themselves. How 'bout the fact that the second or third most powerful man in our country outed a CIA agent out of political spite and still has the support of folks who tout National Security as something they're serious about? Nah.
What really has me wound up more than anything right now is sweat. I still haven't turned on the air conditioning in my apartment and my body's pissed off. My body's all, "Hey, if you don't want to cool off, I'll make your shirts stink." And then it does. I try and fight it. I hop into the shower to cool off and then, moments later, the heat creeps back.
And now I wish someone would invent armpit fans. I don't know how they would work. I'm not a techy. But they'd clip onto your clothing and provide a steady blast of cool air directly to the parts of your body that require the most cooling off. For the gentlemen, zipper fans would be good as well for the, uh, type of sweat only you guys have.
There's got to be a huge market for this. Superconductor shirts? Someone get on this.
I know there's a lot going on in the world, but until I feel fresh, I can't worry about it.