13 o'clock!

Imagine that tomorrow it takes the earth exactly 26 hours to make a complete rotation, an anomaly that eventually is accepted as a new fact. There are now 26 hours in each day. Assuming no catastrophic Hurri-Typhoon-VolcanoQuakes destroy us all, which of the following would happen?:

1. Non-digital clocks are obsolete. The 13-hour clock face design never catches on, only the exceptionally bright and small children can read them. Rolex and the Swiss are both pretty much screwed.
2. Standard workday is now 10 hours, instead of 8.
3a. With two extra hours in a day, people have time to spend more, which somehow stimulates the economy positively (unemployment down, more $ changing hands). I'm not sure about this one, I'm no economist, just optimistic.
3b. Two more hours to pay for heat/electricity, feed the children, etc = poor become poorer, rich become richer.
4. It takes a generation to adjust our internal clocks to 26 hours, animals around the globe freak out: rabbits become carnivorous.
5. Primetime TV lineup is extended an hour each day. Next on FOX = 'Celebrities vs Carnivorous rabbits!'
6. Over/Under = 2 years: People starting to mutter to themselves "If there were only 27 hours in a day..." without any trace of irony
7. Life Expectancy drops by 10%, since each year is longer, plus spike in rabbit related deaths.

Any other effects?

Mexican Wolves are able to Hot-Wire a car in under 12 Seconds

Last week I was at a going-away party for a coworker who found a similar but much more lucrative job a few blocks away, drinking an uncountable amount of dollar beers and discovering the simple pleasures of miniature corn dogs. It was around ten, I was dreading my hourlong train/busride home and the slight hangover I'd sport the next workday. Seven people remained at this gathering (which had begun around five), including myself. We were sitting around a table, and seven people suddenly made three pairs plus myself. There were three very interesting conversations going on (I can only assume), none of which I could hear, despite being in the geographical center (verbal triangle?) of the action, due to crowded bar noise and half-deafness. I leaned over to each conversation, attempting to pick up a punchline or at least create the illusion that I was part of the conversation, but it didn't happen. This went on for roughly forty-five minutes, by my estimation. Well, maybe more like three minutes, but that was enough for me to drink my final beer and have painful recollections of my first week (or month?) of my freshman year of high school. Then I ran 80 blocks home.

That same day I had my annual review at work. Everything is satisfactory, apparently.

Last Friday I went to the vastly underrated U of C Pub, and had a terrific time before walking up three flights of stairs and watching SLGTM play for free on a shitty soundsystem. Different drummer, no girl singer, they say they're recording a new record in town, played all new songs but the last 3 of the set. Also bought their brand new compilation of non-album tracks, which kind of renders the 7"s and CDEPs I bought of theirs in the past kind of useless. Either way, great show as always, I'll probably see them again in April opening for Mates of State.

Life since then has been a blur of french restaurants, afternoon cooking expeditions, sore throats, laundry, grocery shopping, sentimental schmaltz, and the sweet, nearly-forgotten taste of a giiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin and tonic.

Take me away to Pina Colada-town

Sometime in mid to late October it was decided that I'd be going to Mexico in late January. Since then days lost nearly all meaning except in their proximity to the Jan 20th departure date. A bad day at work? That's okay, in 2 months and 12 days I'll be in Mexico. Another bad day at work? That's okay, only 2 months and 11 days til Mexico. Another bad day at work? That's okay, only 41 actual days of work until Mexico, et cetera ad nauseum. So now I'm back, a week of work post Mexico, nine days and six hours since the plane touched down. Needless to say this past week has provided a resurgence of my always ongoing existential crisis, the one that began a few years ago when I started having panic attacks brought on by thoughts of death without an afterlife, my conservative upbringing fully countered (if not beaten into submission) by my liberal education and/or rejecting of the 'ignorance is bliss' caveat. Anywho, one week down two thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine to go, ha ha ha ha.

Mexico ruled, I think my first three days there were the most peaceful I've had in succession in several years, if not ever. Lying on the beach with a steady rotation of drinks in my hand, eating way too much food of every possible ethnic variety whenever I felt like it, laughingly trying to utilize the fifty words I know in Spanish to the locals, the sun, the red-flagged waves that repeatedly swept out my legs like the Cobra Kai, and the white beach sand that was always cool on my feet despite the high temperature. The last few days were diminished (only slightly) by clouds, cooler temperatures, and the inevitable feeling that I couldn't stay forever, and would return to reality with only a t-shirt, cheap maracas, a surprisingly slight suntan, and two bottles of tequila as evidence of the experience. But the number one highlight probably occurred on the last full day we were there, swimming in a cenote (sinkhole) a few miles away from Chichen Itza, a hundred feet underground in water that was 150 feet deep, with roots and sun and small waterfalls spilling onto our heads, jumping timidly off small cliffs into the freshest water I've ever seen or tasted. There are 290 digital pictures and 75 on film, at least a couple will be posted when I get around to it.

So I've been back and have done nothing of note. Stayed home mostly, made a delicious 15-bean and ham soup, went out for middle eastern food once, tried to exercise but couldn't find my 'work-out shorts', today went to see 'The New World' and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Coming as soon as possible: 'A new edition of 'Props', a stat-heavy breakdown of my annual "best of 200-" albums as compared with the general critical consensus, something about NFL Football or college basketball, and funnier, better written posts with no mention whatsoever about how boring things are or of death.