Straight Flintstone'ing It

So what happens when your feet stop running? In general...do you just have to hope you're in a good enough spot to stay there? Do your legs get trampled by your own momentum, therby veering you off the road? Could you cramp up and just charlie horse that bitch off the road? Smash into something or total the piece altogether? Or like- what if Barney got hammered and sprained his ankle and couldnt passenger-sprint? Like, does Pebbles have to step up? I dunno, it just seems to me that that cartoon is full of shit. If there are giant dinosaurs flying around, it just seems like you'd obviously fly. And there were those huge brontosauruses at work that they slid down after clocking out, that helped to enhance boulder-shifting and slate rock'ing productivity-- and even if they were "trained"... but if they were "herbivores," then they should have "used them to get around." And still, even though I get that it's a form of exercise, the whole running in full sprint to make a car go that is made out of ROCKS and wood seems about impossible unless you're Magnus or whatever. Those stones look heavy as shit. Just being able to turn them one rotation alone seems like a lie, a lie placed to run children straight into slander-swaddled naps, leaving 60's moms more free to smile randomly for no reason, high on monochromatic pills and oven gas, or maybe to get ready to coat the sink in comet, slam vodka, sew on some boy scout patches, or whatever they did when the kids didn't distract them. No matter what, I just know that shit is FALSE. No way you can just run until you don't, especially when you have momentum, which happens more than anyone would like to admit.

Maybe I just know from experience. For awhile my brakes didn't work on my bike and I was still chillin around on it like that was cool because ...I guess I thought it was? Like if I just paid close enough attention to traffic and wore closed toed shoes it would be fine. Well...those closed-toed shoes turned into ripped-open-toe Vans from dragging my feet so hard on the concrete. Once I almost smashed into a Cadillac that slow-rolled a stop sign, full-force. The driver slammed on his brakes when he saw me and was like...holding up his hand, as if to tell me to stop...and I was trying, but I just ...couldn't. I was sprinting and shuffling my feet to try to slow down as he approached, dragging my toes as I just coasted through the intersection, as if I didn't care. The guy looked super pissed- like- "who do you think you are? Fred Flintstone?" I would have turned back around to apologize but I was pretty far away by then. He definitely gave me the death eyes though, as i soared past...which I suppose are better than death-crash-into-my-body-with-vehicle-eyes. Either way, I saved up and got my brakes fixed on my next paycheck...and even though I ate beans for like, all my meals that week, it was worth it to save my life, and my toes. I just hope somewhere, there's a probably-rich, Cadillac-owning black man writing a blog about a dumbass white chick in overalls who thought she was too good to stop at a stop sign.

Since the big fix, I have since quit Flinstone'ing it...with my feet on my bike at least, and the rest of the time, I try to catch it before it's too late. Because, well... isn't Flinstone'ing it some kind of Carrie-Bradshaw-trapeze-y, generally existential, metaphor for life? Where we all just push until we can't, and sometimes field some dirty looks along the way? But most importantly, it's that we need to know when to stop so that our momentum doesn't send us crashing right into dry-hangover-heaving hard enough to piss your pants at your nine-to-five. And while we can't just fix our brakes in real life, we can acknowledge our needs and adjust our actions....and just slow down. Even if the cost is high upfront, it is probably the reward we're seeking anyway, right? It's really just one of life's many lessons on knowing when to fold 'em, knowing when to walk away I guess.

Secret, Secret- I got a secret!

"Anonymity is one of greatest assets of being online. Plenty of people use it as a shield to say whatever they want about anyone else without repercussions." - Drew Magary

Are there even secrets anymore? It used to be that secrets were the things hidden inside life's hardcover copy of The Fountainhead, or the cat's eye in a bag of clay marbles. The special edition record you've been searching for, still in the packaging; the frosted mini-wheat with both sides covered in sugar, they were a gift. They have separated friends from really good friends, provided leverage across business & politics, and goddamnit, most especially, offered privacy in artistic creativity. Is it not something important through creative production to leave a little mystery, or room for growth, surrounding characters who have been poofed out of our brains? Before Twitter, Facebook, and blogging, did kids in the 50's really need to find out who the real Batman was underneath the mask? Maybe we were just trained on the 5w's in school, and perhaps Law & Order has shown us that curiosity may not, in fact, kill the cat, but stop it at the very last second from getting violently shanked, raped, or knocked out by a chloroform rag, but hey, that's the generation we are from.

Facebook asks us what's on our minds; as a society, our responses to now are split unevenly and unfavorably between... either much smarter, or much dumber, than our brains' free-flow, under oppression of the 140-character mark, and above all we validate each others' voyeurism and egos through thumbs ups, comments, retweets, photo tags, checking people in at a fucking restaurant, or publicly making plans when we all know you have Chloe's number and coulda texted just texted her. Don't no one care you're going to see Snow White on Tuesday besides Chlo, yo. Except your MOM, who "likes" it and while she was on your page she also saw that pic of you in your bra, dancing on a bar, taking a body shot in an old photo that just resurfaced from Spring Break '04, because someone figured out how to use a scanner (those days in real life are so Dickens: the best of days, the worst of days). Well mom is not stoked, your old churchy neighbor is your facebook friend, and, shouldn't you have some self-respect? Don't you wish you just texted now? But it doesn't really matter, if it wasn't this time it would be the next. Your mom will continue to snoop, and did snoop throughout the past, and she's not even in our generation, so ... what I'm saying is, are we all just way too fucking nosey?!

This is really all inspired by the great reveal of Twitter's Wizard of Grand Blanc, to be honest. The legendary 'shup-wielding, 'bring-driving, Applebee's-dining, cold one- chugging, Karl. Welzein, you guys. Ok...you may know him as @dadboner. No one gets more steamed than him. Besides me. About the fact that someone (Drew Magary of Deadspin) decided to bust out his sweet sleuth badge and crush everyone's hopes and dreams. I get it- on March 8, 2012, when the foreshadowing & flirty lead-in article was released, Welzein had over 50,000 followers; all of whom had curiosity about whether or not this dude was real. And wouldn't 50,000 people love to know? And know you, Drew Magary? Then, on March, 12, 2012, my heart got two sizes too small; when Karl Welzein, @dadboner, was revealed to be writer/comedian Mike Burns. NOOOOOO! I immediately - curiously- crept on his personal twitter page (@pizzanachos69) and tons of REAL PEOPLE I KNOW follow him, are friends with him, and in this moment-boom! The magic is GONE. Seriously? Fake-dadboner-dude performs and pals up with people ive sloppily swapped spit, tobacco pipes, and/or pizza slices with at 3 am? How is this fair?

Look, I don't know Mike Burns. He rules from what I can see, but I'm pissed about this Drew Magary guy. Why'd you have to go and ruin all the fun? Case of @dadboner envy? Didn't want someone else to crack this fucking case NO ONE WANTED CRACKED, first? We all wanted it to be some kinda-nasty dude in a deep-red, salsa-stained velour polo shirt, with his belly showing at the bottom, sharing sheer emotion, over-Americanism, and genuine ridiculousness!! No one wanted it to be a working L.A. comic who goes to normal bars (not just Applebee's), receives adoration from people (isn't mostly hated by everyone mentioned), and who isn't going through a marital separation (not sure where Mike Burns stands on this- but- I know he's not separated from Anne Welzein, Karl's wife). Sure, he is from Michigan, loves the Lions & Bob Seger, according to Magary, but ...who can say no to Night Moves? I don't know, you guys, I was beside myself. This dude Mike obviously did not want to be found out either since Magary had to dress up like Carmen Sandiego to find him. This isn't fuckingDeepthroat, MAGARY!! You didn't need to rip off the virtual fatsuit and unclip the rockin pony so heartlessly, dude.

I do realize in typing this up, that I too, am devaluing Karl Welzein's former entity, but the secret has been broken to the general public before I've raised my voice, so inherently I am breaking no secrets.

Currently, on May 25, Welzein is around 78,000 followers - this guy's not a dying trend- and I'd guess his number of followers spiked due to the buzz around this reveal across the internet community. I'm actually pretty stoked for this Mike Burns fellow. He is really funny, and on my one hand covered in glitter and happiness, I tip my hat to Magary for helping to gain this comic some notoriety, even if unwarranted. In my other, witch-claw-ridden hand full of ingrown sharks' nails, my hat has has poop in it and is on fire. I liked @dadboner as a safe unknown, one that I wasn't quite sure what it meant, but I still had expectations invested in it, you know? I think because most of the things in that category of life are scary, I embraced this as a lighthearted laugh I could count on. That was then, and now, in the post-March-12-era, I'm just like, whatever, Mike Burns. Who are you, really? (Answer: @pizzanachos69) Bottom line: secrets, secrets, WERE some fun, and breaking secrets hurt someone. Keep your secrets close, and if you want them to stay that way, anyone who knows Drew Magary far as fuck away from them.