I need to write a blog post today.  I have to make sure new material arrives often in your RSS readers, so you don’t forget about me.  Some days it’s harder than others though.

It’s hard to write right now because of my arm.  I’ve been getting that "pins and needles" feeling in my left arm a lot recently.  At first, I thought maybe I was just sleeping on it all funny, but the feeling persists all the time.  Like my arm is half asleep, except I still have all the sensation in my hand and everything.  It was starting to worry me, then I hit upon the reason:  My computer desk.  I’ve noted that I sit with my arms on the edge of my computer desk, with the sharp edge part roughly between my wrists and elbows.  Over the course of the last few months since I’ve been retired, I’ve been spending a lot of time at the computer.  All this time, the pressure of my arms, particularly my left, on the edge of the desk has caused some apparent damage.  It’s not unlike carpal tunnel syndrome.  Attempts at adjusting the height of my chair and seating position have resulted in no change, so for now I’m at a loss.  Less time at the computer is the only thing I can do I suppose.  Circulation seems to be fine, it’s just that persistent "asleep" feeling in my arms and hands all the time.

In other news, my six months of retirement are almost over.  When I was occupationally liberated a few months back, I gave myself a maximum of six months to make a living online, or at least have a healthy start.  This has not been the case, so this week I’ve had to go and start filling out application forms for jobs I don’t really want.  In two weeks it will be six months even, and I will have a "real" job by that time.  It sucks.

I’ve decided that I need to change my diet if my goals of being gut-free are ever going to happen.  It’s not so much what I eat, it’s the portion size that’s killing me.  If I can cut my meal size in half, drink more water, and get consistent with the times I eat, I think Operation Gut-Be-Gone should run a lot more smoothly.  Also, increased exercise in the form of daily walks and biking will help.  My short-term goal is to have the gut gone and the old six pack (it’s still there, I know it) visible by September.

Hmm… that’s all I can think about saying for now.  I know this post sucked really bad, but I’ve been distracted with numerous projects of late and the quality of my blog has suffered.  Never fear though, because I will be back in good form presently.  Unless my arm falls off.

A rant:  I was out and about today, doing some of this and a little of that.  Driving around town running some errands and getting things done.  You know, the usual.  I’ve come to observe that In my time living in Salt Lake City, nothing has been more apparent to me than the lack of driving skill demonstrated by my fellow motorists.  It’s truly appalling.

Apparently, sometime in the 20 or so years since I’ve had a driver’s license, stopping at red lights has become optional.  I’d like to say this is wrong, but I’m not sure.  I have yet to obtain my Utah state driver’s license, so perhaps when I go in to take the test I will find that the law has changed and it is indeed optional to stop when the light turns red.  Or maybe it’s just Utah.  Hard to say.  I will say though, and I know I’ve stated this in the past –probably in this very blog somewhere– that I’m quite the expert on driving.  I have literally driven in almost every major city in the continental United States.  I’ve operated a car in Los Angeles,  New York, Orlando, Las Vegas, Chicago, Denver, Dallas, Oklahoma City, Seattle, San Francisco, Columbus, Cleveland, Washington DC, Indianapolis, San Diego, Tampa, St. Louis, Boston, Detroit… I mean the list keeps going and going.  You must believe me when I say, because I know, that the worst drivers anywhere are in Salt Lake City.  Overall driving skills… I’m talking about obeying the rules and just common courtesy, are atrocious beyond belief here.

Just in the few hours I was out this afternoon, I started counting the number of red lights run.  I lost count somewhere around six or seven.  These were blatant red light violations too, not just close calls.  In many instances, the light had already turned green for the cross traffic.  A majority of these were lights that had turned yellow a good three or four seconds before these cars approached them.  There was no way the drivers could have thought even for a second that they’d actually made the light.

It’s not like the police aren’t around.  I do see cars pulled over occasionally on the interstate, or on the roads.  Perhaps it’s not for traffic violations though.  Maybe they simply weren’t displaying the proper sticker in the rear window.  I don’t know.

I asked a coworker shortly after moving here why the drivers were so bad.  He was a native to Salt Lake, and fully admitted wholeheartedly that Utah residents were indeed the worst drivers (he traveled with me around the country too), and told me that it was simply the driver’s education programs.  Worst in the country, he said.  I didn’t get any statistics to back this up, but it made sense.  People here literally can’t drive well because they simply don’t know how.  It’s logical.

At any rate, I’m going to end my rant now.  It’s been a long and tiring, but productive day, despite all the near brushes with disaster I encounter daily whilst commuting to and fro.  I think tomorrow I’ll go down and finally get my Utah license.  At least it’s good to know now that stoplights are optional.

As those of you here in Utah may have noticed, it’s really hot.  A little too hot if you ask me, but then again we do live in the desert.  At least we’re not in the Midwest or southern states, where 99 degrees equals many hundreds when you factor in humidity.  I’ll take our lovely 7% any day over that.

I don’t miss humidity at all.  Not one bit, I tell you. 

I was eating dinner at a restaurant the other day while people watching.  I like watching people.  It can be educational as well as entertaining.  Sometimes it can be titillating, like watching hot chicks at the beach, while other times it can be maddening, like standing outside a skate park, or watching the Latino community steal fashions that black people abandoned three years ago.  Either way, it’s always kinda fun.

I got to classifying people as I saw them come in and leave.  For instance, there were two guys leaving at one point, one in particular who just screamed "stereotype", that I happened to notice.  This guy had long, stringy, dirty hair, a trucker hat, cut-off denim shorts, a grimy moustache and was wearing flip-flops.  Obviously, his label was White Trash.  He was a very loyal and upstanding member of the White Trash society too, and likely paid his membership dues proudly.  I didn’t notice if his wallet was connected to a belt loop with a chain though.  I assume it was.

Later on, a family walked in.  This family was composed of the father, mother, and three kids.  The father was maybe between 28 and 30 years old, and the mother perhaps 27ish, and the kids seemed to be spaced evenly every two years or so, from maybe seven at the oldest, five in the middle, and three to the little one.  The mother also had another parasite in the oven, as witnessed by the bulge, so I’m guessing happy number four was due in about four months or so.  Their label, henceforth,  was Mormon.

Well, actually, can Mormon be a label?  I think it can be.  It qualifies, because "Mormon" describes a lifestyle.  White Trash is a lifestyle.  Preppy is a lifestyle.  You can lump Mormon into a more descriptive term, like "Conservative" or "Republican."  Mormons typically tend to be those things, but I think the word "Mormon" applies nicely by itself.  There is a distinctive and noticeable style that the faith seems to bring out.

All of this got me thinking:  What is my label?  If I were forced to wear a little tag that described my social status in the community, what would it say?  I don’t know exactly what category I fit into.

Let’s look at my dress.  I would be what you’d call "super conservative."  T-shirt and jeans all the way, and plain colors to boot.  Occasionally, I might get "all dressed up" and wear a shirt with a collar, but that’s rare.  And nothing short of a wedding or a funeral can get me to wear a tie, and even then you’re pushing it.  Ties are tools of the Devil, and I refuse to wear them.  Even if it were my own wedding or funeral, there better not be a tie.  I will boastfully say however, with my build, I can rock a suit.  Good luck getting me to wear one though.  Anyway, my style of dress would stick me into the "conservative" category, but it doesn’t describe me very well.

I have longish hair.  Not White Trash long, and I wash it and comb it every day.  I sometimes sport facial hair, but never just a moustache.  I also carry my wallet in my back pocket, sans chain.  So I don’t fit the White Trash label either.  That’s a good thing too.

I’m not Preppy.  I don’t have an orange fake-tan face or a shit eating grin.  Even if I did  wear a collared shirt, I wouldn’t pop the collar.  There have been lots of recent style trends that look stupid, but popped collars is the king of retarded fashion.  And please don’t even think of a argument for it.  I am right about this, and that settles it.  If you walk around with your collar popped thinking you look cool, you are wrong.  Period.  Stupid Preppies.

I’m not Mormon either.  I suppose out of all the three categories I’ve mentioned, just by look alone, Mormon would seem to fit.  If you study me a bit closer though, or get to know me, you’ll find that it’s not the case.  Seeing me holding a beer might be the first tip off, but the longish hair and the tattoo could be a clue too.  Besides, even if my dress is conservative, my politics and my manner certainly are not.  So strike three.  I don’t fit in that box either.

I guess I just don’t know.  I’m just me.  Kind of a generic mix of everything and nothing.  I’m too old to be "collegiate."  I’m pure-bred white American.  No trace of anything other than Cracker in my appearance, except a little Irish heritage, so there’s no racial label for me.  Maybe one of my friends can chime in here and tell me.  I welcome all opinions.

In the meantime, if you had a label, what would it be?  Do you fit into a mold, or sort of stand outside?