Breast Pumps

S told me that I was supposed to blog about breast pumps. Unfortunately, as she possesses the necessary accouterments for the item I haven't done any research. And, while she was doing research I decided to take a nap. Sometimes when life gets you down and you have like six things to do, it feels great to take a nice nap and then wake up and wonder what you're doing with your life. Anyhow, I managed to take in about one picture before I dozed off. Breast pumps look like some sort of cone shaped thing that you might see adorning the decolletage of Lady Gaga in some crazy ass video. Apparently the highlight of these ads for breast pumps is that they show women going about all sorts of normal tasks while pumping. Breast pump, the ultimate tool for multi-tasking! Pump while you e-mail! Pump while you jog! Pump while you pump! (Incidentally doing a Google image search to try and rediscover the earlier Lady Gaga like photo doesn't net anything like the cone shaped thing you saw, but a really practical looking plastic bottle that is mostly reminiscent of a spray bottle. Also pictures of women nursing, which, I guess that's what I'm headed for, strange).


Really the contraption, not surprisingly is essentially reminiscent of something you'd expect to see on a dairy farm underneath a cow's udder. But now I know. And if I learned anything from watching G.I. Joe as a child it's that knowing is half the battle. The other half of the battle is fighting off the vague feeling that you should have been something else regardless of what you're doing. Trying to expunge that feeling through various mediums while working at a nine to five job that you find mostly rewarding, though occasionally, derivative and so on...

Now that I've begun blogging about breast pumps without having any actual information I've come to the conclusion that it was a bad idea.

S: If I had a blog I'd blog about breast pumps.

Well, this one's for you because I, willfully, still don't know anything. I do know that I occasionally enjoy writing fiction. Even if it doesn't always come to anything.

Meta-Fiction for funsies

Now, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, is not a great way to start a story. A great way to start a story would be to include something about a man without a face, or maybe he’s lost the sense of touch. He’d probably have some issues with his father. Most people have issues with their father, and it would give him something akin to depth. I think I’m going to go with the touch one because I once watched a movie starring Chevy Chase, an actor that nobody recognizes anymore, in which he did not have a face. I don’t really remember if it played any sort of essential role in the plot, and I have a vague memory of what looked like a giant sock over his entire face. Or not face.

Anyhow, this boy, let’s go ahead and call him Kevin. I’ve never been particularly fond of the name Kevin, and I figured that by naming him that, we could feel better about taking away his sense of touch. I mean, there he is, just being born into the world, and already he’s lost his sense of touch. Tragic that. Let’s put our heads together and see if we can come up with a scenario where Kevin’s disability puts him at some sort of disadvantage.

Kevin is sitting on the front porch of a house, it should probably be white. The grass is verdant and green, probably Bermuda by the looks of it. Kevin has got an amazing sense of sight and hearing and other stuff to compensate for his inability to sense that he is touching things. He’s got some scars on his hands and forearms from some mistakes he’s made with plates and green tea kettles and the like over the years, nothing major.

The grass is about ankle high and his mother, oh yeah he’s got a mother, has mentioned that if he don’t do nothing about it soon that she’s libel, her mispronunciation, to put down a canoe and start paddlin away. Kevin, like most of us, you and me included, isn’t really that fond of mowing the lush verdant lawn that is most likely Bermuda grass. He kind of thinks that it’s a crappy chore to have to do during the summer, and he occasionally harbors resentment at all that green lawn, and imagines setting fire to it, rest assured, he’s not really that sort of guy, he’s just got what I’ll call a rich imagination.