This one is from the archives! Enjoy.
I remember growing up and watching The Muppets and The Muppet Babies. “Watching” probably doesn’t capture the essence of what I did; in the case of The Muppet Babies, I would pretend to be sick to stay home from school to watch this show. I did this until I was 17 years old. I knew Rowlf was a pimp before I even knew what a pimp was; Statler and Waldorf probably played a larger part than my parents in shaping my personality. And then, of course, there’s Kermit the Frog, who was loveable and dopey and kind of a pussy. Now, speaking for all of us at Reactionary Century, you should never, under any circumstance, hit a woman. That being said, I’d fucking kill Miss Piggy with a shovel.
Kermit’s big claim to fame was his catchphrase and signature song, It’s Not Easy Being Green. This sentiment couldn’t be anymore prescient; “being green” or being an environmentalist or whatever is, I guess, a pretty good thing. And popular, too! It seems everyone has opinion on where my old newspaper and cardboard ends up. Judging by the stares I get, my best guess is it goes up my neighbor’s ass, but that’s not really the point. The point is that being green is great, but everyone is doing it wrong. So, as a scientist/magician, I thought it was my duty to educate people on how to really stay green. The following will ensure that you are truly green and not some judgmental faux-environmentalist. I’m the judgmental one here, assholes. Anyway! The tips:
DON’T buy anything. According to The Sierra Club, every product available for purchase contains some part of a bald eagle. The shrink-wrap on that Iron Man DVD you just bought is actually made of a film that’s produced when you take eagle eyeballs and boil them. I’m pretty certain this is true. Consumer products aren’t shipped by truck or train or plane anymore, either. About twelve eagles are attached to a crate, and they just fly around the country. This of course exhausts and kills the eagles, but we don’t feed the dead eagles to the homeless or anything, we just let them sit there. You can eat the eagles in China, though. I guess we know where the real democracy is, don’t we?
DON’T leave your house. Every time you start a car, millions of tons of pollution are released into the air. This pollution forms a protective cocoon around the earth, keeping it warm and melting the ice caps and generally providing more opportunities to swim. Swimming is an amazing aerobic exercise, so people who fight this “global warming” are also pro-obesity. Doesn’t that fact just make you sick? The reason you shouldn’t leave your house is simple: the swimming pools are coming to you, so why bother? That’s just common sense.
DON’T have sex with anyone, ever. Something tells me that if you’re reading this website, that’s probably not going to be a problem anyway. But overpopulation is a big issue for the health of our planet. With such a huge number of people roaming the earth, it was only a matter of time before someone just decided to give vapid human atrocities the limelight. I find myself wondering what advanced civilizations will make of our time on the planet. Here’s hoping they annihilate us for our bad decisions!
DO protest something. Protesting is the greasy eagle’s oil that lubricates change in our society. All real environmentalists know that standing on a street corner, holding a sign, and chanting “What do we want? _______! When do we want it? Now!” is how all social movement has occurred throughout the country’s history. I don’t even care what you decide to protest; the sheer act of protesting displays a sort of unity that prompts our leaders to get shit done. Ah, I’m just kidding. Protesting is about as useful as writing a letter to your local congressman. But still protest, though. I have a fantasy of driving down the street, opening my car window, and throwing a hamburger at some guy’s chest.
DO quit school. Do you have any idea at all how many trees are needlessly killed in order to make all those books that no one ever reads? If you’re sitting at your computer thinking, “Gosh, Adam, I certainly read those books in high school,” go back to your Dungeons and Dragons campaign, nerd. I was too busy partying with the cool kids to read your precious books. Besides, what did school ever do for you? Your fancy-pants education has done wonders saving the planet. Leave the thinking to the real geniuses.
It may seem like I’m coming down hard on you “green” folk. That’s because I am. Being the smartest person in the room is a burden I don’t enjoy bearing, but someone has to save the planet. As Kermit said, it’s not easy being green.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
Our Nintendo Life
My relationship with my older brother has always been awkward. While five years is really not much to overcome, we straddled different generations. Luke, my brother, was on the tail-end of Generation X (an incredible name, by the way) and I was on the bleeding edge of the Millennial Generation (a significant step down in generational names). When we were kids, we truly loved each other in a way that only brothers can. But time will pass, and it has a tendency to change things.
This may surprise you, but I was a quiet kid growing up. I mean, now I’m known for Lewis Black-esque rage sessions about videogames and pop culture but, growing up, I was kind of shy. Luke was anything but shy, though. He was boisterous and in love with the limelight; he’d tell the same story three different ways in order to be the focus of the party. It was simultaneously amazing and infuriating. Things like that came easy to him. Me? Videogames came easy to me.
I don’t remember getting a NES, but I do remember playing Super Mario Bros. with my brother. As far as Luigis were concerned, I was a cancer. When his Mario died, I’d take over for multiple levels. We’d even do the “toss some elbows, fuck the other guy up” kind of one-upsmanship. It didn’t matter what kind of game we played, but I was always superior to him. After a while, I would throw him a game or two. I’d say, “Dang, Luke, you are getting really good at this,” but he would know what was going on. He would never say anything, but our gaming sessions would get shorter and shorter as time went on.
While I don’t have a Nintendo-64-Kid like documentation of the occasion, I remember getting a Nintendo 64 for Christmas. We didn’t get it at launch; we got it with Mario and Pilotwings and, most damning, Star Fox. The day after Christmas, Luke and his best friend, J.J., played Star Fox for hours. I would sit there, studying each craft movement, what each button did, how each evasive maneuver was beneficial in a given a situation. After a while, J.J. passed the controller to me, and I dominated the following games. For an hour, I was a furry Red Baron. Each time I would win a round, my brother would put the controller down harder, until he was slamming it against the coffee table. It, unlike other things, never broke.
In 1999, my family moved from Alaska to Minnesota. At this point, I was 14 and just discovering my personal identity. Luke was 19 and had moved out of the house; he had had a falling out with my parents over a number of different issues. He stayed in Kodiak while I moved away. The fact that this didn’t bother at me the time is something that, today, shakes me to my core. I sometimes wonder at which point in our lives we stopped being brothers and became acquaintances, but I dismiss the thought. You can recover what was lost.
When we moved to Minnesota, I decided to change myself. I was going to be outgoing and loud and funny and just like Luke. And it worked. It didn’t take much effort to make myself into a person I barely knew. Osmosis is very funny that way. One thing I never gave up, though, was videogames. I kept playing and buying and getting better. And unbeknownst to me, so did he. While our lives were on separate courses, our passions remained parallel.
Eventually, Luke moved to Minnesota, but only just so: he lived in a town that was close but still a drive. We saw each other, as family should do, but only on special occasions. When we talked, it was stilted and awkward until, of course, we talked about what the other had been playing. We didn’t know what to say to the other person, but we knew what games were good, and could recommend them to each other.
When we would hang out, we would have to get drunk to have any sort of rapport; that is, unless we played games. On my own, I was lucky enough to afford all of the major systems: the Wii, the 360, the PS3. It was bizarre; I had all of these gaming consoles, but very rarely played by myself. If friends or family came over, it was time to break out the games and grease the wheels. Luke and I would visit from time to time: his now-wife was pregnant and my job was going well and boy, he’d really like a chance to play that Playstation 3 and man, I would love to have someone to play Smash Brothers with.
For a very long time, my brother was a stranger that I was attached to through fate. We had some similar hobbies but our interactions were forced and uncomfortable. Recently, my girlfriend, who I was planning to marry because that’s what you do, broke up with me. Alone for the first time in my adult life, stranded at the age of 24, I called the only person who I knew would talk to me. Luke drove down to Minneapolis at 11:00 pm, sat with me while I cried, and played Goldeneye with me. In the morning, we watched the Super Mario Bros. Super Show and had pancakes.
My brother and I are completely separate people; we want different things out of life and have opposite tastes in almost everything. But we will always have Nintendo, and videogames, and those unspoken moments of companionship when you earned an extra life. I regret that, as a person, I will never know and understand his motivations. In the end, though, we both strove for the same thing: a green and white mushroom, which signaled the chance to spend one more minute with each other.
This may surprise you, but I was a quiet kid growing up. I mean, now I’m known for Lewis Black-esque rage sessions about videogames and pop culture but, growing up, I was kind of shy. Luke was anything but shy, though. He was boisterous and in love with the limelight; he’d tell the same story three different ways in order to be the focus of the party. It was simultaneously amazing and infuriating. Things like that came easy to him. Me? Videogames came easy to me.
I don’t remember getting a NES, but I do remember playing Super Mario Bros. with my brother. As far as Luigis were concerned, I was a cancer. When his Mario died, I’d take over for multiple levels. We’d even do the “toss some elbows, fuck the other guy up” kind of one-upsmanship. It didn’t matter what kind of game we played, but I was always superior to him. After a while, I would throw him a game or two. I’d say, “Dang, Luke, you are getting really good at this,” but he would know what was going on. He would never say anything, but our gaming sessions would get shorter and shorter as time went on.
While I don’t have a Nintendo-64-Kid like documentation of the occasion, I remember getting a Nintendo 64 for Christmas. We didn’t get it at launch; we got it with Mario and Pilotwings and, most damning, Star Fox. The day after Christmas, Luke and his best friend, J.J., played Star Fox for hours. I would sit there, studying each craft movement, what each button did, how each evasive maneuver was beneficial in a given a situation. After a while, J.J. passed the controller to me, and I dominated the following games. For an hour, I was a furry Red Baron. Each time I would win a round, my brother would put the controller down harder, until he was slamming it against the coffee table. It, unlike other things, never broke.
In 1999, my family moved from Alaska to Minnesota. At this point, I was 14 and just discovering my personal identity. Luke was 19 and had moved out of the house; he had had a falling out with my parents over a number of different issues. He stayed in Kodiak while I moved away. The fact that this didn’t bother at me the time is something that, today, shakes me to my core. I sometimes wonder at which point in our lives we stopped being brothers and became acquaintances, but I dismiss the thought. You can recover what was lost.
When we moved to Minnesota, I decided to change myself. I was going to be outgoing and loud and funny and just like Luke. And it worked. It didn’t take much effort to make myself into a person I barely knew. Osmosis is very funny that way. One thing I never gave up, though, was videogames. I kept playing and buying and getting better. And unbeknownst to me, so did he. While our lives were on separate courses, our passions remained parallel.
Eventually, Luke moved to Minnesota, but only just so: he lived in a town that was close but still a drive. We saw each other, as family should do, but only on special occasions. When we talked, it was stilted and awkward until, of course, we talked about what the other had been playing. We didn’t know what to say to the other person, but we knew what games were good, and could recommend them to each other.
When we would hang out, we would have to get drunk to have any sort of rapport; that is, unless we played games. On my own, I was lucky enough to afford all of the major systems: the Wii, the 360, the PS3. It was bizarre; I had all of these gaming consoles, but very rarely played by myself. If friends or family came over, it was time to break out the games and grease the wheels. Luke and I would visit from time to time: his now-wife was pregnant and my job was going well and boy, he’d really like a chance to play that Playstation 3 and man, I would love to have someone to play Smash Brothers with.
For a very long time, my brother was a stranger that I was attached to through fate. We had some similar hobbies but our interactions were forced and uncomfortable. Recently, my girlfriend, who I was planning to marry because that’s what you do, broke up with me. Alone for the first time in my adult life, stranded at the age of 24, I called the only person who I knew would talk to me. Luke drove down to Minneapolis at 11:00 pm, sat with me while I cried, and played Goldeneye with me. In the morning, we watched the Super Mario Bros. Super Show and had pancakes.
My brother and I are completely separate people; we want different things out of life and have opposite tastes in almost everything. But we will always have Nintendo, and videogames, and those unspoken moments of companionship when you earned an extra life. I regret that, as a person, I will never know and understand his motivations. In the end, though, we both strove for the same thing: a green and white mushroom, which signaled the chance to spend one more minute with each other.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
The Post-Modern Times: Part Two: The Core Allegory
Remembering old movies is so much more fun than re-watching them. Plot points become confused over time, characters melt into each other, and circumstances start to exaggerate. That’s why every time The Core is on TV, I turn the set off, pour myself a glass of red wine, and take myself back to a time when the Earth wanted us dead.
The plot of The Core is great: for some reason that I cannot remember (which invariably leads me to believe that the reason didn’t exist), the Earth’s molten core stops spinning, which causes all of the world’s scientists to say “Fuck it, let’s drill down in there.” I hate to say this, but that would be my first instinct, too. When are you going to get another chance for something like this?
The premise—trying to save the planet with science—could be good. But the movie follows the thriller/horror tropes gleefully, with Earth’s molten core diabolically picking off the intrepid scientists one by one. Isn’t that fantastic? Somewhere, a mole man is screaming “SOME THINGS MAN SHOULD NOT KNOW!” and clapping. In the pantheon of horror movie villains, the planet Earth stands shoulder-to-shoulder with the goblins in Troll 2, in the section labeled “Utterly, flagrantly ludicrous.”
Aha! Flash-forward to today: China is continually rocked by earthquakes that decimate entire cities (while the Earth was aiming for one person, just like in The Core, all Chinese people look the same so it ball-parked. Zing!). The godless heathens of the Gulf Coast are either drowning in water from hurricanes or oil from rig spills. Haiti—oh, Jesus Christ, Haiti—gets an earthquake, probably because the Earth was targeting one guy again (Hey-O!), followed by insufficient government and barren lands. Volcanoes are erupting whenever they damn well please, and Pierce Brosnan is nowhere to be found.
These are scientific facts proving that the planet is fighting back. But why? Sure, the reasons behind China and Haiti are locked down like the Atlanta Hawks’ offense, but the rest of the stuff? What is going on?
Much of the world’s recent disasters, if they can be so called, have served to inconvenience humanity in one way or another. Sure, the loss of life involved in these things is regrettable, but we have like a bajillion people on this planet. And it’s not like the dead care. They don’t have to wade into greasy marshlands and collect dead dolphins. They don’t have to put up people displaced by collapsed houses and have them crash on your couch. And they especially don’t have to tolerate and endless stream of media talking heads telling me how bad I should feel.
I am not being cynical. This is realism. We, as a society, pillage and plunder and rape our way across the planet, and like Jodie Foster in every Jodie Foster movie ever made, the planet has had enough abuse and finally bought a gun.
My advice is this: let’s rewrite the script to these movies. Let’s be proactive. Let’s learn the lessons available in The Core: get a big drill, and nuke the motherfucker already.
The plot of The Core is great: for some reason that I cannot remember (which invariably leads me to believe that the reason didn’t exist), the Earth’s molten core stops spinning, which causes all of the world’s scientists to say “Fuck it, let’s drill down in there.” I hate to say this, but that would be my first instinct, too. When are you going to get another chance for something like this?
The premise—trying to save the planet with science—could be good. But the movie follows the thriller/horror tropes gleefully, with Earth’s molten core diabolically picking off the intrepid scientists one by one. Isn’t that fantastic? Somewhere, a mole man is screaming “SOME THINGS MAN SHOULD NOT KNOW!” and clapping. In the pantheon of horror movie villains, the planet Earth stands shoulder-to-shoulder with the goblins in Troll 2, in the section labeled “Utterly, flagrantly ludicrous.”
Aha! Flash-forward to today: China is continually rocked by earthquakes that decimate entire cities (while the Earth was aiming for one person, just like in The Core, all Chinese people look the same so it ball-parked. Zing!). The godless heathens of the Gulf Coast are either drowning in water from hurricanes or oil from rig spills. Haiti—oh, Jesus Christ, Haiti—gets an earthquake, probably because the Earth was targeting one guy again (Hey-O!), followed by insufficient government and barren lands. Volcanoes are erupting whenever they damn well please, and Pierce Brosnan is nowhere to be found.
These are scientific facts proving that the planet is fighting back. But why? Sure, the reasons behind China and Haiti are locked down like the Atlanta Hawks’ offense, but the rest of the stuff? What is going on?
Much of the world’s recent disasters, if they can be so called, have served to inconvenience humanity in one way or another. Sure, the loss of life involved in these things is regrettable, but we have like a bajillion people on this planet. And it’s not like the dead care. They don’t have to wade into greasy marshlands and collect dead dolphins. They don’t have to put up people displaced by collapsed houses and have them crash on your couch. And they especially don’t have to tolerate and endless stream of media talking heads telling me how bad I should feel.
I am not being cynical. This is realism. We, as a society, pillage and plunder and rape our way across the planet, and like Jodie Foster in every Jodie Foster movie ever made, the planet has had enough abuse and finally bought a gun.
My advice is this: let’s rewrite the script to these movies. Let’s be proactive. Let’s learn the lessons available in The Core: get a big drill, and nuke the motherfucker already.
Monday, May 10, 2010
A Talk With George
Sometimes, it's the little things that make you realize life is worthwhile. Jonathan Coulton, known mostly for anthemic nerd rock, wrote a song called "A Talk With George" which is ostensibly about an older relative telling you about how much "the good old days" were better than today. Us young-uns! We never know what we have unless someone explains it to us. A few parts of the song break from the comedic overtones and really drive home the point: "Love your friends/and miss them when they go."
Maybe it's the music, maybe it's the lyrics, maybe it's the earnestness with which the words are sung, but that part always gets me. I recently wrote a piece called "Our Nintendo Life," detailing how the relationship I have with my brother is defined and reinforced by videogames. It may seem pathetic and it may seem counter-intuitive, but what my brother and I have works. "Perfect" is the not the first word I would use to describe it, but we have a relationship. We have what many siblings do not: a functioning dialogue informed by something more than a genetic bond. So what if it is defined by something materialistic? So what if, when we decide to hang out, we talk more about the Playstation 3 than our personal lives? We have something. It's delicate and volatile and the cause for consternation. But it brings us together, and it is important to us.
On a personal level, I'm petrified that someone will discover that I spend my lunch breaks writing jokes or that when I get home I play a few rounds of Street Fighter. While these may not define me, they certainly inform my persona. Is that really so bad? I like comic books and music and movies and videogames and stand-up comedy. At what point did this become unacceptable? When did I stop doing what mattered to me and start doing what I thought was acceptable?
Our society is based solely on image, both physical and metaphysical. Strangely, it means more to be about something than to be something. Many of my contemporaries, from which I learn volumes daily, have learned this lesson before, and will be quick to pat my head and say, "Oh, son..." But when you spend your whole life living it as someone else, to please someone else; well, these things can come as sort of a revelation.
Every time I attempt to define Adam Robinson, I'm surprised to discover something I didn't know. I like cooking, I like drawing. I like things about myself that I had thought I hated. Personal journeys of discover are supposed to be personal and embarrassing and, in many situations, kind of tragic. But when you discover what you are all about, what's not be incandescent about? This is pretty joyous. I feel joy. I still have no idea who I am or what my place in this world is, but it's fun to try things. Living a life filled with regrets is what is expected. While scary, the unexpected has a tendency to be so much more fun.
Maybe it's the music, maybe it's the lyrics, maybe it's the earnestness with which the words are sung, but that part always gets me. I recently wrote a piece called "Our Nintendo Life," detailing how the relationship I have with my brother is defined and reinforced by videogames. It may seem pathetic and it may seem counter-intuitive, but what my brother and I have works. "Perfect" is the not the first word I would use to describe it, but we have a relationship. We have what many siblings do not: a functioning dialogue informed by something more than a genetic bond. So what if it is defined by something materialistic? So what if, when we decide to hang out, we talk more about the Playstation 3 than our personal lives? We have something. It's delicate and volatile and the cause for consternation. But it brings us together, and it is important to us.
On a personal level, I'm petrified that someone will discover that I spend my lunch breaks writing jokes or that when I get home I play a few rounds of Street Fighter. While these may not define me, they certainly inform my persona. Is that really so bad? I like comic books and music and movies and videogames and stand-up comedy. At what point did this become unacceptable? When did I stop doing what mattered to me and start doing what I thought was acceptable?
Our society is based solely on image, both physical and metaphysical. Strangely, it means more to be about something than to be something. Many of my contemporaries, from which I learn volumes daily, have learned this lesson before, and will be quick to pat my head and say, "Oh, son..." But when you spend your whole life living it as someone else, to please someone else; well, these things can come as sort of a revelation.
Every time I attempt to define Adam Robinson, I'm surprised to discover something I didn't know. I like cooking, I like drawing. I like things about myself that I had thought I hated. Personal journeys of discover are supposed to be personal and embarrassing and, in many situations, kind of tragic. But when you discover what you are all about, what's not be incandescent about? This is pretty joyous. I feel joy. I still have no idea who I am or what my place in this world is, but it's fun to try things. Living a life filled with regrets is what is expected. While scary, the unexpected has a tendency to be so much more fun.
The Post-Modern Times: Part One: The Beginning of the End
Putting much stock into the Mayan doomsday calendar—the one that predicts the end of the world in 2012—is ludicrous. The Earth is not going to crumble or explode; John Cusack is not going to fly a plane between two collapsing buildings, and why should he? Just pull up, guy from Say Anything. I don’t have thousands of hours in the cockpit, but you know… That’s just common sense.
Be that as it may, I am certain that society as we know it is at its end. Look around you! We are in the eighth season of American Idol. We officially stopped scraping the bottom of the barrel six years ago. We’re now officially pulling up the pile of shit the barrel was resting precariously on. Look at the Gulf Coast—look at either fucking one, really—and see nothing but abject destruction. New Orleans just pulled out of Katrina and here is this big oil slick, ready to penetrate with a rapist’s gusto; over in the Middle East, you still have people blowing themselves up for imaginary creatures. I have said that I am a smart man, but mostly I’m just diabolical. But even I can see that this is just not sustainable.
Some of you may know me from “Onward & Downward,” my previous column on Reactionary Century. In it, I brutally removed the skin of pop culture and peered deep into the soft tissue to discern why we—not just Americans, but humanity as a whole—were intent on rewinding all of the progress we had made. My new column, “The Post-Modern Times,” takes this to the nth degree. In it, I’m going to examine all aspects of society and demonstrate how life in the pre-apocalypse is going to inform the end times and ever after.
Today, I want to talk about my own personal Armageddon. These things are like eels: try to control it and you’ll get shocked by electricity and piss your pants. For me, it’s my ambition. Deep down, I understand that I am incredible. Some might even say I’m a “generational voice” (that quote is attributed to me), but for some reason, I cannot be bothered.
My ambivalence boils down to my sense of entitlement. I have discussed this on my blog (http://ad-rob.blogspot.com), but this generation grew up knowing nothing other than this: once you graduated college, there was a posh job waiting to pay you $40,000 starting to come in and wreck up the place. And even before I graduated college—when I was laid off the first time before I fucking graduated motherFUCKER—I knew this wasn’t the case. But it can be hard to disconnect the things with which you’ve been hardwired. Even though I know that nothing is going to come to me because of my innate talent and ability, I still feel that with time it will all fall into place. I can toil on my masterpiece for years, never showing it to anyone, hoping to be discovered for my raw, unbridled genius; indeed, my talent is like a proud mustang, waiting to be broken. But you have to play the game. That’s a lesson that’s always been apparent, but we frequently choose not to see it. At what point do you stop letting life do the living and take control?
Before I start to sound like a Diablo Cody screenplay, I’ll leave you with this: there is no reason to life. No divine path, higher calling, or greater meaning. What you want, you have to carve from bone and gristle and pain. And every second you don’t, you contribute to the mutilation of the future. Have a good night!
Be that as it may, I am certain that society as we know it is at its end. Look around you! We are in the eighth season of American Idol. We officially stopped scraping the bottom of the barrel six years ago. We’re now officially pulling up the pile of shit the barrel was resting precariously on. Look at the Gulf Coast—look at either fucking one, really—and see nothing but abject destruction. New Orleans just pulled out of Katrina and here is this big oil slick, ready to penetrate with a rapist’s gusto; over in the Middle East, you still have people blowing themselves up for imaginary creatures. I have said that I am a smart man, but mostly I’m just diabolical. But even I can see that this is just not sustainable.
Some of you may know me from “Onward & Downward,” my previous column on Reactionary Century. In it, I brutally removed the skin of pop culture and peered deep into the soft tissue to discern why we—not just Americans, but humanity as a whole—were intent on rewinding all of the progress we had made. My new column, “The Post-Modern Times,” takes this to the nth degree. In it, I’m going to examine all aspects of society and demonstrate how life in the pre-apocalypse is going to inform the end times and ever after.
Today, I want to talk about my own personal Armageddon. These things are like eels: try to control it and you’ll get shocked by electricity and piss your pants. For me, it’s my ambition. Deep down, I understand that I am incredible. Some might even say I’m a “generational voice” (that quote is attributed to me), but for some reason, I cannot be bothered.
My ambivalence boils down to my sense of entitlement. I have discussed this on my blog (http://ad-rob.blogspot.com), but this generation grew up knowing nothing other than this: once you graduated college, there was a posh job waiting to pay you $40,000 starting to come in and wreck up the place. And even before I graduated college—when I was laid off the first time before I fucking graduated motherFUCKER—I knew this wasn’t the case. But it can be hard to disconnect the things with which you’ve been hardwired. Even though I know that nothing is going to come to me because of my innate talent and ability, I still feel that with time it will all fall into place. I can toil on my masterpiece for years, never showing it to anyone, hoping to be discovered for my raw, unbridled genius; indeed, my talent is like a proud mustang, waiting to be broken. But you have to play the game. That’s a lesson that’s always been apparent, but we frequently choose not to see it. At what point do you stop letting life do the living and take control?
Before I start to sound like a Diablo Cody screenplay, I’ll leave you with this: there is no reason to life. No divine path, higher calling, or greater meaning. What you want, you have to carve from bone and gristle and pain. And every second you don’t, you contribute to the mutilation of the future. Have a good night!
Monday, May 3, 2010
My Event Horizons
Morality: Even after everything I've done (jokingly trying to get a friend to kill herself, treating people like garbage for fun, casually shirking my professional and personal responsibilities, and subconsciously pushing away those close to me), people still allow me back into their lives. If I wasn't so grateful, I'd think it was kind of pathetic. The fact that people can forgive--that I can forgive myself--is powerful. It resounds in the soul with a deep vibrato. My status as a complete monster is, as of yet, unconfirmed. But many would consider me a magnificent bastard. This is a trade-off that increases the stats on the back of my trading card.
Profession: Regardless of my current socioeconomic stature, I refuse to give up hope. I mentioned it last time, but even as a member of the "trophy generation," I cannot abide by an alien definition of success. Ambition is easy to dislocate. Work ethic: decidedly more so. With the twin attack power of gumption and oomph, things will work out as planned. Well... You know, once I have a plan.
More to come.
Profession: Regardless of my current socioeconomic stature, I refuse to give up hope. I mentioned it last time, but even as a member of the "trophy generation," I cannot abide by an alien definition of success. Ambition is easy to dislocate. Work ethic: decidedly more so. With the twin attack power of gumption and oomph, things will work out as planned. Well... You know, once I have a plan.
More to come.
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