League of BOB challenge 5: Thanksgiving

Note: I apologize for the tardiness of this post.  This should have appeared a day ago.  


Strangely enough, however, if I would have posted a day ago, the topic that sparked my interest wouldn't have been apparent.  That is: Black Friday.  Or more specifically: the sock-mongers at Fred Meyer.


On a strange whim, I decided that this morning would be a good time to attend Fred Meyer.  My train of thought was as follows: "I want to purchase tights; Black Friday means sales!; Fred Meyers is within walking distance of my house!; Yay!"  What my train of thought should have been, however, is this: "I want to purchase tights; the tights are right next to the socks; Fred Meyer is known for attracting crazy, sock-hungry beasts on Black Friday; I will not go."  Unfortunately, the latter, more logical thought pattern never entered my mind (until now), so I trekked to Fred Meyer, happy and ignorant of what was to come.


Upon entering Fred Meyer, I encountered rows of big, white tables.  Big boxes full of socks perched atop these tables: white socks, colored socks, dress socks, athletic socks, holiday socks, knee socks, ankle socks, fuzzy socks, and more.  Whatever type of sock the human brain can dream up, Fred Meyer had it that day. 


What was more apparent, however, was not the immense variety of socks in stock, but the hoards of ravenous, blood-thirsty people surrounding them.  These people treated sock hunting like they were starving forest dwellers, searching for wild game.  They dug their paws into the boxes of socks and thrashed about, throwing the less attractive socks aside, in a whirlwind of sock mayhem.  The unattractive socks lay on the ground like fallen soldiers; collateral damage in the Great Sock War.  The attractive socks were hoarded and shoved in grocery bags, under armpits, or clutched tightly to the chest.  As I waded through the mess towards the tights rack, I could have sworn I saw one man foaming at the mouth.  They were aggressive, they were abundant, and they meant business.  


I eventually got what I wanted out of the trip (four pairs of tights for only 16 dollars! Ooooh yeah), and suffered only minor injuries.  More importantly, I saw what humankind is like when exposed to cheap socks in a limited space.  

BOB Challenge Number 4

I realize that lately I have taken a leave of absence from this blog thing.  This could be due to the excessive amounts of history reading I have been physically stuck under lately.  Yes, I mean it--piles of papers on top of my head, and I keep reaching, reaching through them, hoping to see some shred of light through the historiographical essays on the dimension of various buildings.  And so far I haven't reached the light.  Until now.  Yes, fellow bloggers, I have escaped!  Or maybe I'm just more willing to stay up late than I have been in the past.  Or maybe its due to the fact that my boyfriend is in India and not distracting me (let your mind wander).  In any case, I'm here now and ready to blog.


I always find non-presidential elections incredibly unsatisfying.  They ask me to vote for things I don't necessarily care about/knew existed, such as the watershed committee.  It especially lowers my enthusiasm when there is only one individual running, so my only choice is either to be a jack-ass and pointedly not vote for the person, or vote for the person simply because they have no competition and let them win the cheap way.  But I always have to wonder--to what lengths did they go to make sure their name was the only one on the ballot for their chosen position?  How did they eliminate the competition--through MURDER?  I suppose the only way to know for sure is to look deep into the eyes of the person who's running--into the eyes of their picture in the voter's pamphlet, of course.  


The photos in the voter's pamphlet are actually my secret key to voting.  Sure, it doesn't work for the measures, but it most definitely works for the people.  Do you really want your senator to be a man with a handlebar mustache?  What about the lady with the double-chin, is she really qualified to represent your state in any way, shape or form?  If they can't take care of themselves, how can they run a country?


Also, certain physical features simply reveal a lot about a person, particularly how well they will handle a governmental position.  Take the Oregon governor race, for example.  It came down to the wire, with Kitzhaber squeezing the win out by a few thousand votes.  I never lost faith in the man, however, and you know why?  He has the friendliest mustache any citizen could ask for.  I trusted that mustache, and I knew other Oregonians would trust in it too. Plus, his opponent Chris Dudley has a giant chin that automatically gives away his tendencies to be a tool.  I for one don't want the governor of my state to be a tool.


When my flawless voting techniques fail me, however (which they surprisingly do sometimes), I go to my older sister for the answers.  She was a political science major in college.  'Nuff said.