#26 Myopia

You ever hear two people who wear eyeglasses compete for who's more "seriously blind"? It's like because nature burdens you with some kind of a genetic deficiency you have to reclaim it and own it or whatever; wear your blindness like a badge and declaim for all the world how comparatively blind you are.

And god forbid, you're blind-dueling with some kind of next-level Poindextrose 20/1000 freak and all of sudden you feel completely humiliated, b/c this stupid deficiency you hang your identity on is all of sudden not such a big deal anymore and now, who are you? Who the heck are you? You're no one, just some vaguely near-sighted naif with no job and an irrational attachment to your own weaknesses.

Here's a thought. Instead of reclaiming our weaknesses, let's all play to our strengths. The fact is, yeah, it sucks, you have to wear glasses, but that doesn't mean you have be the blindest boy on the block. Focus on what you're truly good at, like throwing knives or using a lathe or putting away groceries or banging pots and pans together or crossing in the middle of the street no matter the flow of traffic or playing free cell or Ponzi-scheming or strawberry-rhubarb pie. And the next time someone asks you what your prescription is tell them the truth.

It's Klonopin.

#25 Scarface

What is it with Scarface? Pacino is so completely (ludicrously, idiotically, unforgivably) over-the-top, and the movie caters to the absolute basest quasi-human instincts (I'm not talking about reveling in the Id, I'm talking about catering to lowest most asshole-y people and what they look for in their entertainment).

You know how you can tell someone is a complete asshole? They love Scarface. Seriously, check it, it correlates 100%. Loves Scarface? Asshole.

Asshole, loves Scarface? A Venn poser! Now while not all assholes necessarily love Scarface, I suspect that's only because any such asshole simply hasn't yet seen Scarface. If, in fact, an asshole saw Scarface, I have absolutely no doubt that said asshole would get all up in your business about how fuckin' awesome Scarface is.

Thus, there is a complete overlap between the categories "Asshole" and "Someone would does (or would) love Scarface." Q.E.D.

Now, I know, given the purview of this blog, that technically means the world is filled with assholes such that you can't really get away with not liking Scarface. But I don't think that's it. Really it's the tyranny of the minority. The worst kind of extroverted, macho, shithead who brays and struts and prances like a gorilla, well, he's kind of intimidating right? So that has two consequences:

a) Those of us who have seen Scarface and aren't assholes and are like "what the fuck is everyone talking about?," well, we keep our mouths shut b/c it's not worth going to toe-to-toe with Scarface-Nazis. Because really, the impulse to like Scarface and the impulse to be a Nazi are different in degree, not kind.

b) Those of us fortunate enough to have NOT seen Scarface but, precisely because we recognize that reprobate-douche-nozzle-Scarface-screech-monkeys' behavior is a pretty good predictive indicator that we probably won't like it simply avoid the movie altogether and, when confronted by such unfortunate quasi-humans, can say "sorry, haven't seen it."

Now the danger with b) is that you might get stuck being regaled by the Scarface-monkey, but hey, even that's better than watching Scarface.

#24 Carla

So I'm watching Top Chef Masters and I hear this come from one of the remaining 5 contestants (3 of whom were female), "it would be really amazing to win Top Chef Masters as a woman."

Now apart from the fact that, at the point she said it, it was statistically probable that a woman would win Top Chef Masters, it highlights something I've suspected about Carla for a while now. She's completely disingenuous. The squeals of delight, the charming awkwardness, I don't buy for a second. If you step back for a second and think to yourself "wait a second, this person is completely fake and overbearing" all of sudden that quality that she carries actually comes off as an act, and a pretty smarmy and ingratiating one. Here's another one. There's one part where she's "confiding" in someone else about how important is to be "true to your own food" or something retarded like that, and she's talking to Antonia about how she told this to her before, remember (with fresh tears in her eyess)?! Well that means that she's saying it again to make sure it gets on camera that she said it because it showed what a soulful and sensitive uninhibited free-spirit she is. And Antonia is sitting there nodding like "uh, yeah, I remember that conversation we had before that you're now reiterating for no reason."

I call bullshit on Carla.

I just don't buy Carla, and I never have. She's the worst, the absolute worst, and I wish her ill.

#23 Trees

So I print out another copy of the crossword because I lost the newspaper and I was only half-done and I really wanted to finish it. And so I'm standing by the printer and I'm explaining this to someone and they murmur half-joking, "oh, you like killing trees, huh?"

Yes. I do. I like killing trees. No, that's not right, I LOVE killing trees. I have xylem-lust. I love the smell of sawdust in the morning. I want the trees DEAD! I want their roots, DEAD! I want their saplings, DEAD!

Everyone just calm down. Print stuff out. Press print and with a clear conscience because hear me now, we do NOT owe trees anything.

First of all, there's way more of them than us. You ever been to a forest? They're all over the freaking place. You can't walk down the street without some tree leering at you, making you feel all short and human. They're huge. They live longer than we do. Try beating up a tree with your bare hands, see who wins.

Oh, but they give us oxygen, the apologists winnie. Precious, life-giving, oxygen. BALLS! We give them just as much CO2! We're square. It's anyone's game, and I'm putting my money on the species that can do things like make buzzsaws and pulp and paper and houses. And rocking chairs?! Are you kidding me? WE do that! With our brains, and our will, and our opposing thumbs, and our ability to move. We make friggin' rocking chairs. Chairs. That ROCK!

I'm sorry but we win, and enough guilt about it. Do yourself a favor. Get a really long knife, go up to a tree and stab it as hard as you can, right up to the hilt. You'll thank me.