Icehouse and Ladybugs

If you have a moment, I want to take you into the faux art-deco hallways of my apartment building. There is a constant smell of syrup on the 12th floor...which was overtaken this morning by the aroma of sauteed onions. Maybe Presidents' Day marks a special occasion in one of my neighbor's lives - when omelettes trump pancakes.

Today I noticed the presence of two cans of Icehouse. One of them was above the mailboxes in the lobby. The other one was next to the fourth floor firehose. I can only surmise that they came from the same case. From my David Caruso sunglasses, I imagine a pair of gentleman racing down the stairs. Perhaps one of them is a faster drinker. They were in a hurry to get to the bar. Yet their thriftiness convinced them to show up with added jubilee and extra confidence. Once they got to the watering hole, they had no choice but to upgrade to something primo - like Bud Light. Or maybe they hit their stomachs in reverse, with a shot of Jeiger.

After I went for a jog, I found three dead ladybugs on my carpet. Are they still good luck if they're dead?

I realize this is a pretty ridiculous post, but I think that's what blogging is all about. A subjective view of life's details. I am sensitive, I want to understand myself, and I want people to listen.

More to follow in my exploration of the Stadium District...