I wonder if the brilliant minds who brought us the frying egg PSA in the mid-nineties had any clue how much of an impact they would have. Granted, I'm not sure how much of the non-sober society has been influenced by the snap, crackle, pop of TV's most famous burning yoke, but if I may speak for the sober part of the population, I feel the catch-phrase: "This is your brain," etc. was quite a creation. It, among other things, has kept me off drugs so way to go, yolk people!
Not once, but twice today I had people whose brains were scrambled with cheese approach not me, but Ethan and: 1. Offer him money, and 2. Tell my 15-month-old (there was no eye contact with me--the adult) all about someone she was "really pissed at"...aaaand I could make out no other word after that. The first guy was on the train with waaaay too much alcohol on his breath, among other things, and the woman, much to my chagrin, boarded the very slow-moving elevator with me at the train stop. (Gotta love city elevators. When you're longing for a good, strong whiff of someone else's urine, those things never fail to disappoint!) Basically, there was no getting away from the fried egg weirdos. I love public transportation. I love Chicago...I want to move.
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