Takin' out the trash

So I just did what I usually do on Friday. I took out the trash. A phrase which definitely has a bad-ass sounding ring to it.

No, I didn't just dish out some street-level justice, like the phrase suggests. I did, in fact, actually do my bins. Sorry.

Anyway, whilst performing said task, it occurred to me that it's a part of my week I've always weirdly enjoyed. Why, you ask*, does tying up a stinking bag of week-old nosh enliven me so? Well, the answer is three-fold.

1. It's really the only 'manly' chore I do nowadays. One can almost imagine it's a slab of tender animal you've just killed- hoisted over your shoulder like an urban hunter gatherer.

2. The image of taking out the trash (yup, still sounds good) is used in the final scene of cult mob movie, Goodfellas. For all my chat show/sitcom guzzling neighbours know I could be on some Witness Relocation Programme, living amongst them after ratting out my psychopathic gangster cronies, who i probably still know. (I hasten to add this is not the case. My friends are mostly traffic consultants and editorial staff.)

3. The task itself only really takes thirty seconds, yet carries that Joe Shmoe, everyman kind of appeal. If I smoked, I'd imagine that this would heighten the affect.

So, this is the kind of life I, and I'm sure many, lead. One of harmless, but fun, delusion. It is also the reason I've set up this blog- to fill people's lives with so much pop culture and pointless crap that they'll have a cultural reference point to liven up nearly every task they do.

With these lofty aims, let's just hope I find the time to post between episodes of Fringe and sips of For Goodness Shakes vitamin enriched milkshake (a malty treat).

Goodnight.

*which obviously you didn't. My main problem with blogs per se- you're giving people an answer to a question they never asked.