Another department in which he trumps me mercilessly is the naiveté-tinged recounting of his human inability to take a rain check on everyone and everything. Contrastingly, I admire that sort of indomitable resolve in a person, the unflinching, never-say-die, derring-do that Hollywood has instilled in us all. I think it’s fair to say that I see myself in that sort of light as well (read: bullshit).
Wallace isn’t an intellectual, he's far from being the born gentry, he isn’t Noam Chomsky and he certainly will not get into the intricate layers of the relevance between language and behaviour which by the way is an interesting topic to bring up at dinner if you’re feeling just a dash snobby.
The aspect of the book which I have somewhat grown to dislike is how closely it reminds me of myself. On account of the movie clichés that we’re all familiar with, it’s normal and even expected for villains to have some sort of physical deformity or various physical tics, which serve to mirror the twisted and dark recesses of their souls.
Well lucky me; never has any publication mirrored me this well, not since the International Journal of Impotence Research came out, specifically under the topic of the Micropenis.
Penile size comparison: Fun for father and son.
At lunch I tried to recall instances when I was so spineless, so imminently preordained to get screwed by my own decisions, too weak and powerless to even muster up the courage to cough. Yet for all the raven haired nymphomaniacs in the world, I was stumped for an answer. It is the thought that leaves the lot of us scratching our heads annoyingly in sheer confusion.
More people are affected by this problem than those who watched the Seinfeld finale. And a shitload of people caught the last Seinfeld episode! So how is this possible? Why is it that I can never fully recall the unsavoury situations that I have been in? I decided to dabble in a little psychology, dissociate myself from the conscious thought process. It didn’t take long for me to quit, throw down the gauntlet (which shattered into a million pieces in the shimmering sunlight of yore) and accept that we are all creatures of comfort.
We seek warmth, we seek good will and the occasional breast to face smiting sessions. It is our hunger that we satisfy with shovelfuls of stuttered self reassuring. Come to think about it, I have had my fair share of indecisions and it's a tight space, very much like the shaft that gave away the Death Star. I always think that I am invicible to fallacies if I don't make a quick snap decision. However I also never get to a decision, decisions are like the girls I stalk, I gaze languidly at them, I pretend to want to caress them, I flirt with idea of approaching them yet I carelessly play my gambit, I say to myself, this could very well be the best damn decision in the history of best damn decisions. Then everything falls to pieces and I'm nursing sore pride and a bruised ego. So for now, I'll let indecision reign over me, it makes me feel wanted, it feeds the egotistical emotional glutton who dwells within. It is our hubris this need to be needed, we sport lusty hunger for it and I'm just hungrier than say, any non-descript village in Zimbabwe.
Yummy. I love you like the fat kid love cake.
I don’t think we’re capable of coming up with the bad but probable scenarios. Sure we can all sit around and think of the worst case scenarios, it’s easy because we know that it will never happen to us. That is just the natural inclination of humans, thought is like a swimming pool at midnight, you don’t want to go in because the water’s too cold but you don't want to stay out either because flaking out is lazy. That's why we have toes, to dip in the water, and it's also why we have minds; to be able to just superficially touch on subjects and not dive into the deep end.
Strange how I started off speaking about indecisiveness and ended up wisely gambling away the best two cents my mind has come up with in a long time. Skillz. Recognize.
To sum it all up, I bungled at work yesterday. Yes, I committed the office boo-boo. I sinned on the job. No, I didn’t blow or get blown by anyone under the desk; I only do those things to myself on special occasions. Besides I prefer doing it under a coffee table. Conventional wisdom and my mother’s feather duster collection has shown time and again that meting out punishment is an adult past time.
All religious stories have some sort of comforting moral notion that atonement is the ultimate penalty for wrongdoings. Hell if I had known that, I wouldn’t have tried to engage my executioner in the manner of sassy verbal exchanges in those black-white cop/buddy movies. In short and in much lesser words, I am bound for mediocrity. I am head-on for the tongue lashing that would make a deaf man shudder.
The only important thing right now is that I’ll need all the support that I can elicit from anyone. Which is why I am typing this article with my right hand; the other one is preoccupied with picking out phone numbers and sharpening a large knife. It’s only a prop to get anyone whose number is selected to agree to my invitation.
However, Hollywood has also shown us that real life isn’t as easily resolved as it is in the movies. Perhaps, if I’m lucky I can fend off would-be offenders with the help of these fine gentlemen below:
I made a passing reference to an African nation above on purpose. The collective wealth of the latest Forbes rich list amounts to a meteoric 4.4 trillion dollars. That is double Africa's collective GDP. It is an entire continent made up of almost 1 billion people. So you see, here at el blogos, we're not just limey, sarcastic and snarky bastards, we're also socially aware. Socially aware that unhinged greed and an unchecked harbouring for wealth isn't something to glorify.
Don't glorify it but don't neglect it either.Lastly, I have a new thing to dislike now. I hate speaking to cross eyed people because I wouldn't know which eye to look into and when I don't I come off really rude, like I'm better than them. The other is that I have this inability not to mimic anything I find funny, so if you put me in a conversation with a cross eyed person, chances are, I'll cross my eyes too, not to make them feel comfortable or anything but just for the sheer joy of it. Yes that's right, I said cross eyed people are funny. Aren't they?Cheers Ears...oh sorry, Byes Eyes, normal or crossed!
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