I stare blankly out the window, hoping for a car crash or a robbery, or just anything out of the ordinary, really. Excitement is a fleeting concept, and has been for years. It's not the sort of thing that I can pinpoint to any particular date in time, but rather a gradual slip downhill, the sort that cannot be recognised until it is too late to climb back up. Another day; another mundane collection of half hearted routines. Nothing short of a military invasion could quite rectify this suspended state of nothingness.
Long ago, I lost all of my friends so that I could focus on providing for my family, a group of people who I might be lucky if they call me because it is their birthday. Every few years, a comrade from the past would come knocking, barely able to string together a coherent sentence as they explained that their marriage had fallen apart and they needed somewhere to stay for a while. A few months of binge drinking on our sofa, and they would either clean up and move on with their lives, or, more likely, go back to the wife and children with a new appreciation for their loved ones. Either of these scenarios seems patently more interesting than maintenance for the sake of it, and yet I lack the resolve to do anything about it. How could it possibly be reasonable to run off if I have been willing to put up with it until now?
My oldest friend, Pete, had a similar crisis about two years ago, abandoning his wife and moving to the other side of the country. He and I did not keep in touch very consistently over the last decade, as we both became more withdrawn from anything that did not involve reading the newspaper. He described to me, shortly before his departure, a magnificent sob story of such incredible boredom that he had begun burning himself on the kitchen stove, with a set of accompanying repugnant evidence. Feeling as though his children were ungrateful and his wife had merely settled and made no secret of it, either to him or to her friends, he was left no choice but to run away and never think about any of it again. Though at first I was offended that he never contacted me or anyone else since, over time I became more upset with viewing the results. The way his wife reacted, he may as well have hung himself in their bedroom.
The loyal son had to move back to his paltry and decaying hometown to try and alleviate the ramifications, to little avail. Perhaps I should be careful what I wish for: this was no car crash or robbery, but far worse, a needlessly dramatic episode that lingers on even after the event is further distanced from the present.
People walk past them and smile; and though they may feel pity, or even anger with Pete for having run off like that, she interprets it as condescension, a sort of judgmental 'how could you screw up so badly for him to disappear' line of questioning that everyone is too polite to vocalise. She grows to resent their refusal to bring it up. Is everyone going to keep moving along as though nothing happened?
Unsatisfied as I may be, I am innately an uncourageous person, and so I will continue to read the newspaper each morning without absorbing any of it, and eat the same three meals each day, and leave the television turned on while nobody pays it any attention. If I continue to glance out the window for long enough, perhaps troops will arrive in our small town, declare victory as we all remain in our homes, scared out of our wits, and enslave us as hard labourers for a brutal regime. At least we are still married.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Ecosystem Fragility
It is difficult to explain my preoccupation with Mr. Doyle.
My relationship with him ended abruptly about two years ago. I saw him once after that, and quickly ducked into a crowd of people to avoid a non-acknowledgment that would have been awkward for both of us.
Rarely a day goes by that I do not think of him, however, and though I claim to despise every fibre of his being, surely this cannot really be the case. You see, we lived together, and the things I criticise him for are hardly exclusive to his character, and in fact are similar to my own shortcomings. How can one harbour legitimate vitriol towards an object that never escapes one's thoughts? It is possible, but it sounds very unhealthy.
I liked to pile disgust on his routine: he would wake up each morning, refreshed from a night of enforced celibacy and impassioned discussion about Star Trek with his girlfriend, come downstairs to prepare an English muffin, and return to his cave for several hours to read mainstream websites geared towards university students, a culture he did identify with at least in spirit if not in practice. He would again leave his lair to make a cup of tea, his first of two for the day, followed by another hour or two of online perusing, and then a light lunch. Finally, in the late afternoon, his girlfriend would return so that he could spend some time in the downstairs area, listening to her ramble about her ambitions and, on a good day, making casual conversation with the others who had the audacity to live in the same house as him. Dinner was the highlight of the day, and sometimes, if things were really looking up, they would watch something they had not yet viewed.
It was not always like that. Before my own routine began to wildly diverge from his, he was much more amicable. As the other members of the household also started to explore the outside world, Mr. Doyle was only more and more isolated, until the day that he disappeared almost without a trace, leaving only a brief note explaining how to set up the Internet connection, since he had taken his own router with him.
I never missed him after that, though I was fond of his cat. In fact, the Internet connection became significantly faster, and his girlfriend was the human equivalent of nails scratching a chalkboard, so it was mostly a wash.
If I were to run into Mr. Doyle now, it is indeed probable that I would avoid him with an even stronger sense of purpose than ever before; psychological wellness be damned.
My relationship with him ended abruptly about two years ago. I saw him once after that, and quickly ducked into a crowd of people to avoid a non-acknowledgment that would have been awkward for both of us.
Rarely a day goes by that I do not think of him, however, and though I claim to despise every fibre of his being, surely this cannot really be the case. You see, we lived together, and the things I criticise him for are hardly exclusive to his character, and in fact are similar to my own shortcomings. How can one harbour legitimate vitriol towards an object that never escapes one's thoughts? It is possible, but it sounds very unhealthy.
I liked to pile disgust on his routine: he would wake up each morning, refreshed from a night of enforced celibacy and impassioned discussion about Star Trek with his girlfriend, come downstairs to prepare an English muffin, and return to his cave for several hours to read mainstream websites geared towards university students, a culture he did identify with at least in spirit if not in practice. He would again leave his lair to make a cup of tea, his first of two for the day, followed by another hour or two of online perusing, and then a light lunch. Finally, in the late afternoon, his girlfriend would return so that he could spend some time in the downstairs area, listening to her ramble about her ambitions and, on a good day, making casual conversation with the others who had the audacity to live in the same house as him. Dinner was the highlight of the day, and sometimes, if things were really looking up, they would watch something they had not yet viewed.
It was not always like that. Before my own routine began to wildly diverge from his, he was much more amicable. As the other members of the household also started to explore the outside world, Mr. Doyle was only more and more isolated, until the day that he disappeared almost without a trace, leaving only a brief note explaining how to set up the Internet connection, since he had taken his own router with him.
I never missed him after that, though I was fond of his cat. In fact, the Internet connection became significantly faster, and his girlfriend was the human equivalent of nails scratching a chalkboard, so it was mostly a wash.
If I were to run into Mr. Doyle now, it is indeed probable that I would avoid him with an even stronger sense of purpose than ever before; psychological wellness be damned.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Soulless Crematorium
My blood is boiling; the very nerve of this person... to suggest that I might enjoy myself if I were simply to stop whining. How irrational of me to not recall that everything is controlled by my attitude! Positivity must prevail!
The sort of person providing this type of advice is absent in credibility in the same way that my feet are lacking adequate circulation. Cheers for that one; if only everyone approached life with your carefree mannerisms, perhaps we would have made no progress as a species whatsoever. I'm all for appreciating the silver lining in a heinous situation, but at a certain point it becomes unreasonable to ignore the instinctual urge to completely alter my direction in the (often vain) hope of an improvement in circumstances. This isn't scouring through elephant shit with bare hands in the pursuit of diamonds; it is even more futile than that. Finding satisfaction in the utterly hopeless is not a sign of strength, but rather an indicator of dishonesty. Who lies to themselves like this?
This is not to say that I hold it against anyone. Maybe one has highly excellent reasons to pretend that all is well when the precise opposite is the case, and I am not here to judge, but merely reflect on the observations that I have been presumptuously given. After all, I am not the one sticking my nose into other people's business and suggesting that they need to quit complaining to enjoy the horrible things in life. I simply call the shots as I see them, and if you aren't willing to do that, what the fuck use are you?
There is no need to dance around a potentially controversial statement in fear of retribution, and decrying the present state of things is hardly malignant. Taking offense to such thoughts is plainly unnecessary at best and ruthlessly irritating in accuracy (to take a page from the 'silver lining' playbook). If this is some grand exercise to demonstrate your emotional sensitivity, save it for someone who does not possess any self-respect, as you will be peas in a pod.
The sort of person providing this type of advice is absent in credibility in the same way that my feet are lacking adequate circulation. Cheers for that one; if only everyone approached life with your carefree mannerisms, perhaps we would have made no progress as a species whatsoever. I'm all for appreciating the silver lining in a heinous situation, but at a certain point it becomes unreasonable to ignore the instinctual urge to completely alter my direction in the (often vain) hope of an improvement in circumstances. This isn't scouring through elephant shit with bare hands in the pursuit of diamonds; it is even more futile than that. Finding satisfaction in the utterly hopeless is not a sign of strength, but rather an indicator of dishonesty. Who lies to themselves like this?
This is not to say that I hold it against anyone. Maybe one has highly excellent reasons to pretend that all is well when the precise opposite is the case, and I am not here to judge, but merely reflect on the observations that I have been presumptuously given. After all, I am not the one sticking my nose into other people's business and suggesting that they need to quit complaining to enjoy the horrible things in life. I simply call the shots as I see them, and if you aren't willing to do that, what the fuck use are you?
There is no need to dance around a potentially controversial statement in fear of retribution, and decrying the present state of things is hardly malignant. Taking offense to such thoughts is plainly unnecessary at best and ruthlessly irritating in accuracy (to take a page from the 'silver lining' playbook). If this is some grand exercise to demonstrate your emotional sensitivity, save it for someone who does not possess any self-respect, as you will be peas in a pod.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Squirming
He's a good little gimp; no matter how many times you kick him in the head, he will always come back to lick your shoes. The more pertinent question is what this says about you.
Perhaps he really is as blissfully ignorant as he appears, but more likely he is just incredibly motivated. At a certain point, you have to pause and admire the sheer persistence of the entire operation. Day in and day out, he returns only to be treated with more of the same derision. Any normal specimen would find this insulting, and eventually exasperating, but not he. No, he does not give up.
An interlocutor may object that performing the same action repeatedly and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity, but if this is accurate, it applies to you on a significantly greater level than it does he. A suspicious lack of progress on your behalf is substantially more informative than the pitiful routine of your hapless dependent and his bruised cranium.
Obviously, he could do better, but at least he is sticking with the enemy he knows. He knows you well enough to understand that no matter how many times you kick him in the head, you actually feel serious remorse. The cavalier attitude with which you approach this matter is a transparent farce, and in fact, he has already won the war even if each battle seems lost. This makes the denouement all the more satisfying for him, and equally as embarrassing for you.
The addendum to this tale is not one of mutual contentment, but rather squandered opportunities and fatal depression. Enjoy the bed you've made for yourself, and good luck sleeping in it.
Perhaps he really is as blissfully ignorant as he appears, but more likely he is just incredibly motivated. At a certain point, you have to pause and admire the sheer persistence of the entire operation. Day in and day out, he returns only to be treated with more of the same derision. Any normal specimen would find this insulting, and eventually exasperating, but not he. No, he does not give up.
An interlocutor may object that performing the same action repeatedly and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity, but if this is accurate, it applies to you on a significantly greater level than it does he. A suspicious lack of progress on your behalf is substantially more informative than the pitiful routine of your hapless dependent and his bruised cranium.
Obviously, he could do better, but at least he is sticking with the enemy he knows. He knows you well enough to understand that no matter how many times you kick him in the head, you actually feel serious remorse. The cavalier attitude with which you approach this matter is a transparent farce, and in fact, he has already won the war even if each battle seems lost. This makes the denouement all the more satisfying for him, and equally as embarrassing for you.
The addendum to this tale is not one of mutual contentment, but rather squandered opportunities and fatal depression. Enjoy the bed you've made for yourself, and good luck sleeping in it.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Exercise in Subtlety
Lives are enriched; father-son bonds are reaffirmed as loving; fiends stand to rake in the winnings and pay for their spawn's textbooks. All we need now is some ice cold beer, and maybe a credit card plan that deals with our honest consumers fairly.
Okay, look, I'm not trying to make fun of your traditions. There is nothing wrong with what I am viewing here, questions of productivity placed aside for the sake of my sanity. In fact, I'll try to get into it. So far, I have only been able to pay attention to the advertisements. The people responsible for writing these ads should be rounded up and placed on trial for intentional misleading of the public, perjury, obstruction of justice, and for safe measure, we should raid their homes in search of contraband so that there are additional charges to pin onto these fuckers. Anyone who works in advertising, beware: the malleable, uneducated masses are tired of being lied to, and they are probably not going to do anything about it, except keep buying your products.
Convoluted tangents are very well and good, but sadly I must at least attempt to focus on the 'game', which is allegedly the actual reason people watch this nonsense. Currently someone is standing up, talking into a microphone, thanking a major phone company for their sponsorship. Is this supposed to be the game or the ad? All of his team members are wearing highly unflattering shirts with the phone company's name plastered on the front and back. Do these idiots have to get Vodafone tattoos, too? Certainly, if I were negotiating a sponsorship on behalf of Vodafone, I would request tattoos, not really out of any concern that players may betray the company by wearing the incorrect uniform, since I get the impression that these guys are very obedient. They seem like they excel at teamwork. The point is, the Vodafone forehead tattoo would serve to enforce just how valuable this partnership has been for all involved parties.
Anyway, that guy has stopped panting into the mic now, so we are being bombarded with some more ads. The announcers uncomfortably vouching for their network's programming seems to be the highlight of this incestuous, corporate clusterfuck, though the sense of shame that seeps through their voices is only minimal, and perhaps I am just looking for it. Needless to say, having seen five ads for KFC in the last five minutes (and you know you can be a football star too, if you just eat fried chicken everyday), I am starting to wonder if these athletes are ever going to get around to putting on their performance, or if we are just going to listen to a bunch of bald morons talking complete shit about previous games and promoting upcoming ones. This particular fucker has an especially grating voice - and by the look of him, it's not the result of a sedentary lifestyle, but simply years and years of yelling flamboyantly about dancers on a field. What a tragic way to ruin one's voice! Continued exposure to this gentleman is beginning to make me feel depressed.
Thank the good Lord. We are on a news break! An entire family died in a boating accident. A man from a nearby city was arrested three nights in a row for drink driving (that dude is totally not driving again for at least a week). Ah, things that are actually relevant! .... And a bunch of people with paint all over their faces are getting really excited about some sort of football match, and by the looks of it, this is the only thing that any of these people possess any motivation to care about. It is inescapable. I give up. Pass the Carlton. It's going to be a character building experience.
Okay, look, I'm not trying to make fun of your traditions. There is nothing wrong with what I am viewing here, questions of productivity placed aside for the sake of my sanity. In fact, I'll try to get into it. So far, I have only been able to pay attention to the advertisements. The people responsible for writing these ads should be rounded up and placed on trial for intentional misleading of the public, perjury, obstruction of justice, and for safe measure, we should raid their homes in search of contraband so that there are additional charges to pin onto these fuckers. Anyone who works in advertising, beware: the malleable, uneducated masses are tired of being lied to, and they are probably not going to do anything about it, except keep buying your products.
Convoluted tangents are very well and good, but sadly I must at least attempt to focus on the 'game', which is allegedly the actual reason people watch this nonsense. Currently someone is standing up, talking into a microphone, thanking a major phone company for their sponsorship. Is this supposed to be the game or the ad? All of his team members are wearing highly unflattering shirts with the phone company's name plastered on the front and back. Do these idiots have to get Vodafone tattoos, too? Certainly, if I were negotiating a sponsorship on behalf of Vodafone, I would request tattoos, not really out of any concern that players may betray the company by wearing the incorrect uniform, since I get the impression that these guys are very obedient. They seem like they excel at teamwork. The point is, the Vodafone forehead tattoo would serve to enforce just how valuable this partnership has been for all involved parties.
Anyway, that guy has stopped panting into the mic now, so we are being bombarded with some more ads. The announcers uncomfortably vouching for their network's programming seems to be the highlight of this incestuous, corporate clusterfuck, though the sense of shame that seeps through their voices is only minimal, and perhaps I am just looking for it. Needless to say, having seen five ads for KFC in the last five minutes (and you know you can be a football star too, if you just eat fried chicken everyday), I am starting to wonder if these athletes are ever going to get around to putting on their performance, or if we are just going to listen to a bunch of bald morons talking complete shit about previous games and promoting upcoming ones. This particular fucker has an especially grating voice - and by the look of him, it's not the result of a sedentary lifestyle, but simply years and years of yelling flamboyantly about dancers on a field. What a tragic way to ruin one's voice! Continued exposure to this gentleman is beginning to make me feel depressed.
Thank the good Lord. We are on a news break! An entire family died in a boating accident. A man from a nearby city was arrested three nights in a row for drink driving (that dude is totally not driving again for at least a week). Ah, things that are actually relevant! .... And a bunch of people with paint all over their faces are getting really excited about some sort of football match, and by the looks of it, this is the only thing that any of these people possess any motivation to care about. It is inescapable. I give up. Pass the Carlton. It's going to be a character building experience.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
The Body is a Temple
The combined austerity and stimulus packages appear to have had the desired effect, but the plan was designed only as a temporary solution, and investors are beginning to lose their patience, noting that the money continues to be transferred into the account at the same dismal pace, while expenditures only continue to rise. The calls for financial solvency are met with reassuring platitudes about the 'inevitability' of an improvement in circumstances, but actual solutions remain evasive.
It has taken several years of excessive alcohol and drug abuse, but it is really starting to seem like the medication is working. Case in point: I figured out I was maddeningly depressed yesterday, and it only dawned on me by observing how long it had been since I took a shower, shaved, and cleared the collection of bottles that accumulates next to my desk (the length, of course, being unacceptable). Why is this significant, you may ask? Simply, the massive cloud of intoxication that floats above my head has finally begun to sedate me on such a long-term basis that I have to sniff my socks to determine my emotional well-being. If that is not a medical success story, I don't know what is. I would also recommend against attempting to smell my socks, even from a distance.
Though the Personal Austerity Package stipulated cuts in my medical costs, the Stimulus counteracted this by delaying implementation. The basic consequence of slashing food expenses while maintaining drug consumption levels is an even stronger plunge into malnutrition, which has advantages (dizziness, easier to get to sleep) and disadvantages (not enough energy to eat an apple).
I've asked the investors to bear with me for just a little bit longer, as I examine adopting more strict austerity measures in the face of a problem that could have been worse than originally thought. According to my budget calculations, the economic crisis is indeed affordable if I cease to provide myself with a disposable income. Other research has indicated that there would be serious side effects resulting from such measures, but it is clear that the present conditions cannot improve without sacrifice. We will see just how long it takes for patience to dissipate entirely.
It has taken several years of excessive alcohol and drug abuse, but it is really starting to seem like the medication is working. Case in point: I figured out I was maddeningly depressed yesterday, and it only dawned on me by observing how long it had been since I took a shower, shaved, and cleared the collection of bottles that accumulates next to my desk (the length, of course, being unacceptable). Why is this significant, you may ask? Simply, the massive cloud of intoxication that floats above my head has finally begun to sedate me on such a long-term basis that I have to sniff my socks to determine my emotional well-being. If that is not a medical success story, I don't know what is. I would also recommend against attempting to smell my socks, even from a distance.
Though the Personal Austerity Package stipulated cuts in my medical costs, the Stimulus counteracted this by delaying implementation. The basic consequence of slashing food expenses while maintaining drug consumption levels is an even stronger plunge into malnutrition, which has advantages (dizziness, easier to get to sleep) and disadvantages (not enough energy to eat an apple).
I've asked the investors to bear with me for just a little bit longer, as I examine adopting more strict austerity measures in the face of a problem that could have been worse than originally thought. According to my budget calculations, the economic crisis is indeed affordable if I cease to provide myself with a disposable income. Other research has indicated that there would be serious side effects resulting from such measures, but it is clear that the present conditions cannot improve without sacrifice. We will see just how long it takes for patience to dissipate entirely.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Political Quiz
The two most commonly asked questions about relationships are, 'How do I get into one?' and 'How do I get out of this one?', to which the answer to both is:
a. persistence
b. nonchalance
c. sex-change
d. wealth
Your friends are going out drinking on a Friday night, and invite you along. Your lack of involvement in the planning process indicates that your friends feel:
a. apathetic about your potential contributions
b. embarrassed to associate with you
c. genuine remorse for not hanging out with you earlier in the week
d. as though watching you vomit in public is a worthwhile endeavour
Three ex-coal miners open up some beers over a campfire. Four hours later, they are wreaking havoc and destruction throughout the small city in which they grew up. Are they:
a. expressing their resentment towards the economic situation
b. in clear violation of their county's 'dry law'
c. littered with Confederate tattoos and obscenely racist
d. just having a good time
You are sitting in the food court of a typical mall when nearby you see an old man standing look down to the ground to discover a $5 note. He bends down to collect it and cracks his back. He probably needs:
a. a massive decrease in pension and welfare benefits
b. children who appreciated him more
c. advice from a pastor, minister or priest
d. to reserve a date at the crematorium
If the sky is blue, and the moon is composed of cheese, is it:
a. fair to believe in Santa Claus
b. reasonable to assert doubt in the blueness of the sky
c. outrageous that Neil Armstrong didn't take off his shoes
d. time for more grilled cheese and less carbon tax
Three wolves go hunting. It would be most sportsmanlike of them if they were to shoot:
a. men
b. women
c. children
d. the disabled
The government undergoes a fascist takeover and you are tapped to head a task force enabled to initiate the required actions to engage in a genocidal social cleansing. You make it your priority to go after:
a. political opponents
b. Mormons
c. both of the above
d. everyone not listed in 'c'
Two people go to a cinema to view a film. They decide to see a full-length motion picture based on a highly acclaimed animated children's series. Their tradition for watching movies necessitates that they bring:
a. sour candy
b. homecooked caramel popcorn
c. four rabid dogs and a pistol
d. their dumbass kid who insisted on seeing this movie in the first place
Correct answers will be revealed, accompanied with pretentious analysis, no later than December 1, 2012.
a. persistence
b. nonchalance
c. sex-change
d. wealth
Your friends are going out drinking on a Friday night, and invite you along. Your lack of involvement in the planning process indicates that your friends feel:
a. apathetic about your potential contributions
b. embarrassed to associate with you
c. genuine remorse for not hanging out with you earlier in the week
d. as though watching you vomit in public is a worthwhile endeavour
Three ex-coal miners open up some beers over a campfire. Four hours later, they are wreaking havoc and destruction throughout the small city in which they grew up. Are they:
a. expressing their resentment towards the economic situation
b. in clear violation of their county's 'dry law'
c. littered with Confederate tattoos and obscenely racist
d. just having a good time
You are sitting in the food court of a typical mall when nearby you see an old man standing look down to the ground to discover a $5 note. He bends down to collect it and cracks his back. He probably needs:
a. a massive decrease in pension and welfare benefits
b. children who appreciated him more
c. advice from a pastor, minister or priest
d. to reserve a date at the crematorium
If the sky is blue, and the moon is composed of cheese, is it:
a. fair to believe in Santa Claus
b. reasonable to assert doubt in the blueness of the sky
c. outrageous that Neil Armstrong didn't take off his shoes
d. time for more grilled cheese and less carbon tax
Three wolves go hunting. It would be most sportsmanlike of them if they were to shoot:
a. men
b. women
c. children
d. the disabled
The government undergoes a fascist takeover and you are tapped to head a task force enabled to initiate the required actions to engage in a genocidal social cleansing. You make it your priority to go after:
a. political opponents
b. Mormons
c. both of the above
d. everyone not listed in 'c'
Two people go to a cinema to view a film. They decide to see a full-length motion picture based on a highly acclaimed animated children's series. Their tradition for watching movies necessitates that they bring:
a. sour candy
b. homecooked caramel popcorn
c. four rabid dogs and a pistol
d. their dumbass kid who insisted on seeing this movie in the first place
Correct answers will be revealed, accompanied with pretentious analysis, no later than December 1, 2012.
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