We want the funk

The weather sucks today, however my new hat is working well. It helps to prevent my hair from going curly during my commute in. Our CEO said, as I walked by, “Hey, look at you: you’re stylin’,” which, of course, made everyone in the vicinity stop and look at me to discern if, in fact, I was stylin’. Hey. If I want a lot of attention I’ll knock a glass of water over at a nice restaurant! Then another coworker said, “Funky hat” and I said, “I’m a funky girl”. But then I started to mull over the word “funky” in my elevator ride down to the lobby. If something smells “funky” it’s not often a good thing. It usually means that the Kung Pao chicken from four days ago really needs to hit the garbage. And sometimes “funky” can be applied to certain types of people that, say, don’t comb their hair and have a plethora of piercings (not all of which you can see!) and like to remain somewhat unwashed and try to mask (enhance?) the musk of their B.O. with patchouli oil. So I hope that my self-assessed “funky” translated as: slightly alternative and a little groovy, cause that’s what I was going for.
Watched “Idiocracy” last night and really enjoyed it. It’s about life in 2505 when the concept of “survival of the fittest” has failed and all the stupid people have procreated and wiped those with an admirable IQ out of the gene pool. There’s definitely a joke here about tornadoes and trailer parks, and I’m sure I could work Britney Spears and the Republican Party into it somehow, but I’ll save my scathing elitism for another day. And yes I know: I’m going to hell. So in the movie they have done away with water and replaced it with Gatorade because it “has electrolytes” and they water their crops with it (which subsequently don’t grow and creates a dustbowl effect). The top show (on Fox, cause it’s still around of course) is “Ow! My Balls!” and is about a guy that gets hit in the balls a lot. Our hero (and my future husband) Luke Wilson ends up in the future and because speech has degenerated into a mongrel patois of slang and idiocy, he is described as “talking like a fag”. It’s awesome and I recommend it, though some of the realisms throughout the movie made me grit my teeth as I pondered how far off Mike Judge’s interpretation of the year 2505 will be. Go Dubya!
That’s all I got, really. A blog about my hat and a movie. This is my life, people. Oh, and my hamstrings really hurt so, you know, there’s that too.