Sunday, November 24, 2002

This is my first blog and I have nothing to write, so I'm going paste in an email rant I wrote to my friend Sara:

I'm hoping you'll get this email before 3, but the chances of that are slim to none. Why, you ask? No reason. As of yet, nothing of substance has been written in this email. I have a feeling, however, that she's going to be a long one. It's now 11:36 by my wrong computer time, so we'll see how long it takes to write. It's OK computer, if your time is wrong. The measurement I need is relative. I've yet to decide if I'm going to do my usual, break-the-email-up-into-tiny-numerous-paragraphs method of writing, or if I'm going to make it one big, long, run-on sentence. The advantage of the big run on is that you'll read everything I write without any breaks in the pseudo one-sided conversation. It will also give the appearance of a longer letter, as it will be one long big string of text. However, I am also a big fan of the multi-paragraphed letter. The one subdivided by subject and relative importance. With that letter, there is a lot of white space to distract/attract the eye to different places. It cuts the letter up into succinct and readable subject "snak-paks", making it easier on the reader. I believe the answer is clear, and staring me in the face. I'll go with an unhealthy dose of each method. So this rather large paragraph deals mainly with the physical letter itself, not its intent, purpose or audience.

I should have an abstract.

The calling card of Generation X. Everything you need to know summed up in these cute little subject snak-paks, just small enough to keep the quarter second attention span of your average reader, but large enough to cram as much information in as humanly possible. Isn't that what it's all about? Distilled 10 second infomercial versions of EVERYTHING? No time for foreshadowing, for rising action, character/plot/subject development. Just give me everything preformed pre-packaged and watered down -- easily ingestible. Who needs quippy innuendos clever transition words, or satiric jabs at Middle America? Who needs their eyes opened to the world they're oblivious to, their mind sent spinning with new thoughts and new possibilities. Who needs to question anything? Not I. I will accept my fate with a bitter resolute of a horse trying to walk down stairs. I am a product of my socialism, I've been trained to accept what I see and hear because there is nothing little old me could do about it to change it. I will question nothing. Life is predetermined by fate, and therefore I am not responsible for my actions. I am a victim of circumstance. Whatever will be will be. Que sera sera. No sense trying to fight it, eat your bullshit like a good American. Atta boy! Tastes good doesn't it? Now, 'my lamb and martyr, you look so precious'.

Here's a quick "psych" experiment. What's 6 x 8? 48. How long did it take you to get the answer? 1 second? 5 seconds? Did you see the answer written right after the question and just assume it was right? Did you ask yourself, why should I return the answer, what else is behind the question? What will it say about me if I give the right answer quickly? If I give the correct answer in a few delayed seconds? If I, heaven forbid, give the wrong answer? Did you even question the question itself?


Believe nothing. Question everything.


Why can society remember the jingles to all their favourite dish soaps, soft drink and quick and easy microwave pizza snack commercials, but give society some times tables to do, and we'll see how good their information retention ability is. The important fundamentals of life are not retained, however, if I asked someone to recite the jingle of their favourite drink of choice....[insert laugh track here]. Thus, this is the soundtrack of our lives.

A soundtrack with few words or lyrics. No thoughts no meaning, just catchy. Easy. Isn't that how everything should be? Easy? I can't wait until I'm grown up. Everything will be so easy then. I'll drive my Suburban to work, while my wife drives the BMW SUV. Consuelo, our Spanish-American nanny, will stay home and raise the kiddies. Although she has been somewhat of a pill lately. I mean how hard is it to keep a house clean? Honestly woman. I might need to trade her in for a new model. Disposable people. What a concept. Maybe the fundamentals of life are retained by every single average American Joe in the world. Who needs math, it's just mumbo jumbo made up by some people with far too much intelligence, thought and reasoning for their own good. If I was supposed to learn all this math garbage, I'm sure I would have seen something on TV, or at least gotten a do-it-yourself package in the mail...

My brain, however, my dear friend, is aching. It's been 50 minutes since my last injection of coca-cola, directly into the veins. Speaking of injection, maybe I'll get some botulism-spawning bacteria injected directly into my face. I'll look and feel 10 years younger in minutes. Forget the fact that it's a fucking BOTULISM toxin, and forget that it could paralyze my central nervous system and render me utterly helpless at any given second. It probably won't happen for a few years anyway, besides -- I'll look dashing in the meantime.

Ah sweet, sweet Coke, you've awaken my brain cells for some more writing. As I was refreshing myself, my mother says "Why don't we just live in the kitchen?" That's gold Jerry! Gold! Write that one down. I have an insatiable urge to get a Mead 5-Star binder. I can't even think of what I've been doing without one. Wow, the TV behind me is working its wonders. All marketing geniuses must have sold their souls to Satan and he's bestowed the ultimate powers of the universe on them -- the ability to influence their fellow man. Hit them on their most vulnerable level, the subconscious, and they'll be eating out of your hands for life. Like a great Bill Hicks once said: “Suck Satan’s cock!”

"Don't make me come up there." -- Satan

Well it's time for me to wash my hair with my Pantene Pro V revitalising formula, with (vitiniacin! the chemical responsible for it's mini revitalising micro-scrubbers), shave my face with the Shick Fx diamond triple blade system, fix up the ole mop with Herbal Essences gel, with a touch of Salon Selectives watermelon hairspray for the unruly parts. Put on my LaSenza boxers, Gap cargo shorts, Rw&Co. fitted t-shirt, Campus Crew crew socks, and Vans skateboard shoes. Maybe one day I'll actually pick up a skateboard. But for now, I'll just have another glass of coke, pop some prescription migraine medication (no doubt caused by the caffeine) into my system, grab the extension cord and plug myself into the world using the outlet right above the barcode on the back of my neck. Get ready to download today's high velocity dosage of how I should look what I should wear, eat, dream, and how I should live. Although my brain is full to capacity with suggestions and pre-programmed thoughts, never fear. In a month or so, my old model will be obsolete and they'll come out with a new-and-improved! Version 2.0 of my old BS storage unit, with ten times the capacity and an even lower instance of the original thought viruses (called Creativity) that plague our system if we're not careful. Power on, boot up the program, load the system into the eagerly awaiting blank construct of my mind. I have the undeniable urge to go shopping. NEED anything while I'm out?

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