R-e-s-p-e-c-t

I can't help but spell the word out, letter by letter, just because of that stuipd song. Not that the song is really stupid, it's simply that every time I say the word respect, even if it's only in my own head, I can't help but break it down, letter by letter.

My general Monday aggravation was made worse by the fact that I must commute to work. Transit, while seldom being my friend, is always, unfortunately, the only thing that's really there for me. At any rate, what to my wondering (slightly squinty) eyes did appear but a new cel phone ad. It seems that Reebok has come up with a way to help people gain respect. At least they will help you if you are the kind of person that carries this particular cel phone, and you play "street ball".

While this ad could have encouraged me to type frantically about the deliberate intention of all advertisements to subvert every twelve year old, and to make the populace in general believe that everything can be bought if you have enough money, I am more inclined to wonder about the idea of street ball itself. More precicely, I wonder why I'm wondering about it at all.

I am your very typical, almost caucasian, girlie-girl. I can not throw with anything even vaguely resembling skill. I can count (without using thumbs) the number of times that I have actually made a basket. And I definitely can't jump. Sports have not typically been my strong suit, more by necessity than choice. I am a clutz; it's the only thing I do with aplomb.

While I'm wondering about street ball, maybe I should go on to address my very far fetched ideas about some day becoming a tennis-star-prima-ballerina-surfer-babe-soccer-pro. Somehow I don't think that those dreams are very likely to see themselves to fruition. While I have the ability to greatly distort my facial expression in immitation of the ultra-slow playback, I think that's as close as I will ever get to any real sports related glory. (And I wonder no more).

Evidently, I'm not worthy, but at least I can sing.