I did not order the one free lobotomy with my gym membership.

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.

Well, well, well the book-end of summer has come and gone... For our Uncle Sam readers, I hope Labor Day weekend went swimmingly. It is great to be back on the blog train after a brief summer break. My Labor Day weekend was great; thanks for asking. I grabbed a plate of seared beast of burden flesh to celebrate a much needed day of rest for the undocumented Mexi-mericans and Far East carpal tunnel class. Personally, I don't know anyone who actually meets the standards of the original laborer, so I celebrated the people keeping my HOA happy, assembling the kid's toys, and the herd of agriculture workers picking and preparing my grocery.

In addition to a weekend of laboring, I started a new day job this past week. It's a dream sales job with an amazing company. However, the telecom folks decided to set me up with a Steve Jobs' special. Prior to the shotgun conversion, my professional Äppärät has been the Blackberry; a functional work horse! In the gym it supplied uninterrupted Pandora interweb radio. For over a year the world within the gym has been a mere visual pleasure set to a soundtrack of random streams of audio goodness. So when I turned in the berry for the chic iLame it never occurred to me to get corporate green-light for adding streaming audio goodness. Telecom approval still pending as of press time.

For the past few days in the gym I have had the pleasure of adding people hearing to my work out regiment. Man there are some moooorrrr'ons on this planet. The Great One in the sky made a good decision to make breathing and cardio function involuntary, which is fully validated on the floor of the free weight area of my gym. I am thinking about going in tomorrow with cotton balls in my ears. These knuckle draggers could actually cause verbal induced Alzheimer's. Worse, I feel like Joel Barish in Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind... hearing the meat head's communicate is like machine gunning lacunar amnesia darts in my brain bucket. So don't be surprised if the police come across a scruffy faced middle-aged man negotiating a truce to the cola wars in 7-Eleven only wearing a Flamingo bathrobe and Fiesso white patent leather low-tops if the telecom stiffs deny my request for a Pandora app.