Most of my life I have been in a pretty good mood. I always try to see the bright side of life and even in times of strife, there is usually a tinge of happiness to be found. Call it optimism or call it stupidity, I call it a survival mechanism. But even us “glass half full of beer” people can have moments of “fuck my life”. (That’s my new exclamation. Like it?) Here are some resent MRAAHHH’s!
I love NPR. For those who don’t know what NPR is, it stands for News…ahem…National Public Radio and most liberal arts universities have a relay for it on their campus. I particularly enjoy the evening program, “All Things Considered” which along with news, they have stories on topics rarely discussed in the crap we call news on TV. You can be driving in the most desolate areas of the country but in mind, you are in a hospital far off in the Congo or a kitchen in south Bronx listening to a 15 year old girl who raises all her siblings in the midst of gang violence. This program allows us to understand what many choose not to.
But there is a segment that makes me want to jerk the wheel into a goddamn bridge abutment. It is when they allow authors and poets to read their own work. People who write shouldn’t be allowed to read their stuff, especially those who All Things Consider’s, well, consider. You wouldn’t want Stephen King narrating his stories, would you? He’s as close to a human beaver as it comes.
A particular poet/reader had me fidgeting like a day three meth-trip. She spoke so softly I had the radio volume turned all the way up as she over enunciates every single word. I could only liken this to a woman trying to teach a deaf person to read lips by repeating “EGG! MC! MUF FFFF FFF IN!” This made my patients dip so low I took a huge swig of my boiling coffee, completely forgetting I just bought it and still, as I type, I taste only cardboard. Oh! I forgot, you could hear her nose whistle come through loud and clear. Fuck my life!
I know this is petty but still, given the choice between listen to a smug poet read her work from the next room of a recording booth or having a fat guy eat an apple out of anger over a megaphone in a small bathroom, I would choose the latter.
Text messaging is a great invention. Those of you who read this and actually know me in “real life” know that I abuse texting. To me, it is to the point and it leaves out opportunities to be stuck in a conversation about how someone’s dog ate blueberries from the kitchen table and shit a Jackson Pollock on the living room carpet. But there also is a time and place.
Recently I went out to dinner with a friend. She’s a good person but she is also one of those people who have little regard for other people. I guess everything has come easy to her and it doesn’t occur to her that there are other people on the planet. I tolerate her.
Well, about halfway through dinner she gets into a texting battle that lasts the rest of the meal. My phone went off at least six times but I would never think of that disruption at dinner. She just didn’t get that when two people are at dinner and one is on the phone, that makes the other feel bad. And look bad. By the time she was done I had drunk two shots, had three beers and spelled “suck my ass” in peas upside down on my plate of Pad Tai. Like I said, she can’t help being who she is. That’s why I tolerate her.
Nonverbal facial gestures with eyebrows from someone I don’t know makes me want to reply with nonverbal hand gestures with my middle fingers. I was next in line at the bagel shop and when it was my turn the tattooed, pierced, blue haired dude gave me an eyebrow gesture as if to say, “You are next retard”. I didn’t thank him after the transaction. Showed him. Wait a minute…he didn’t thank me!
Got my car totally fixed! But in the waiting room I had to watch “The View” on their TV. Don’t even get me started and don’t get me wrong, I am all about women and 100% equality but this show actually removed very important brain cells. When the mechanic was finished he asked for a form of payment and I responded, “Yes. Have some.”
If this makes some people angry, I am sorry. I just lied to you. I’m not and I don’t care. Whoopie needed to stay in the 1980’s. I am still disappointed in Ted Danson because that’s gross, man. That officially killed Cheers.
It just hit me that I am a 31 year old guy, living by myself with a cat in Idaho. I am Jon Arbuckle. Fuck my life.
*Back on track with the Fall theme tomorrow folks! I’ll be in a better mood by then. ;)*
FYI…NPR stands for “National Public Radio”. Not “News Public Radio”.
Ah you are so right! I have been listening for years and I always still say that. I can’t tell you how many times I have been correted on that. It’s like how I still say “one fowl swoop” when I know it’s wrong. Old dog…old trick. Thanks!
Ahhhh, so you’re human! Well that’s a relief.
We all have these lists of things that make us want to claw eyeballs.
“It just hit me that I am a 31 year old guy, living by myself with a cat in Idaho. I am Jon Arbuckle. Fuck my life.”
I had to hold it together not to crack up at that. It’s nearly 3 am here, people are sleeping.
It’s true. I am slowly turning into the pathetic character that is controlled by his cat. But I still have time before the total transformation. Help me, Amanda!
“I am still disappointed in Ted Danson because that’s gross, man.”
The truth that everyone is afraid to speak. Kudos, sir.
*looks around the room*
“Is no else going to say something here?”
I am glad we speak the same language.
While reading this I was trying to think of something sympathetic to respond with but when I read your Jon Arbuckle line I laughed so hard I forgot what I was going to write. But the sentiment was there, somewhere.
I appreciate the thought though. 🙂 That’s really sweet and see? I am already in a better mood. That dude really missed out. Dick…
You made being pissy funny as hell, I can hardly wait to see what sets you off next time, ya big old bunny! (not “old” old ..Trust me. I know old and you’re not.)
I feel old, Trish. And that’s what really matters anyway, right?
Stay tunes. I have a beef with stupid beer gimmicks like cans that turn blue when cold. Who can’t tell if the beer is cold? Bah!
Do tell, what happened to Lyman?
According to Jim Davis himself: “Don’t look in Jon’s basement!”
Also, I’ve digitally removed the cat from Bill’s life in my mind, which in turn made his life more lonely and funny.
Killed him and took his dog.
Enjoyable. I can’t help but text between pauses in a conversation, but if I am going out to do an activity with someone the phone is off or on silent and staying in my pocket. I am fidgety and I can’t help myself. The last time I texted during a conversation everybody was watching tv while talking I felt bad but OTOH felt the harm wasn’t enough to stop what I was doing. But going out to eat I definitely wouldn’t text. I am supposed to be enjoying YOUR company.
I felt that wink at the end was for me. Please tell me it was for me. I called it!
It was totally for you, Jodi! 😉 There’s another.
‘giggles while I clap my hands together like a seal’
hmmm maybe you’d feel better if you were back in the palouse?
Moscow is were I hang my crazy. Don’t mind if I do! If you see a guy with long hair running on 95, wave!
“I know this is petty but still, given the choice between listen to a smug poet read her work from the next room of a recording booth or having a fat guy eat an apple out of anger over a megaphone in a small bathroom, I would choose the latter.”
Dear lord, this post was great. Your views on, well, The View, gave me much needed inspiration for today’s In 10 Words entry!
Thanks , Man! And thanks for the link on the rapidly popular “In Ten Words”! That is a killer idea.
“A particular poet/reader had me fidgeting like a day three meth-trip.”Funny line… I pictured you in your car unable to control your hands and fingers, legs kicking wildly…I have seen a three day meth trip-not pretty but damn funny.
I couldn’t even imagine. Meth is a problem here and for good reason. There ain’t shit to do. Might as well get high and clean.
Weird – yesterday I had a similar NPR discussion w/my friend John. We were saying that almost everyone on there who reads a story has that same nasal-voice thing going on, like Michael Moore.
And the View gives women a bad name. Especially when Barbra Walters insults Paula Dean. Harpy.
Babba Wawa? Yeah, she sucks.
It is sad because I can rattle off 4 women who i know personally that should be on that show. THey are strong, smart, powerful people that don’t have their head up their asses. The chick with the red hair makes me want to peel my own cap. I donno…maybe I am wrong. But if I am, than I don’t want to ever be right.
Dood, I am perpetually surly.
You should feel lucky you only have to visit Pissy-Land and not live here.
should make you feel a bit better.
that is my new saying and it works so well.
it’s ok to be surly.
But Pissy-Land is overrated. Long lines, $15 hambergers and a shitty haunted house.
I have to hand it to you man, even when I’m having a lousy day you always make me laugh. Thank you for that.
Glad to do it, Dan. Sorry for the lousy day. 😦
I am peeved by table-texting as well. Did she even notice your Pad Thai message?
I can’t lie to you Allison, that was an exaggeration. I wanted to though. It was too saucey to make the peas stay in position.
This is my all time favorite post from you. I laughed at work.
Every one of your posts results in me cackling out loud at least once, and this one got a few of them out of me. Thank you once again for brightening up my day. I agree completely with all this. Patton Oswalt has a hilarious bit about NPR where he talks about how he supports philosophically but that it’s unlistenable radio. I love it and listen to it in my car all the time, but totally agree with what you said about hearing authors read their own work. Few things are more smug and self-serving. It’s the same reason why I hate spoken word poetry and especially that slam poetry stuff. It’s just obnoxious.
I’ve always been more of a pessimistic glass-half-empty type of guy but it’s taken me reaching my late 20’s and early 30’s to realize that it all comes from how I was raised and that I was just raised in an environment that was very doom and gloom. I was pretty much taught from Day 1 from both parents that life was just hard and terrible. I don’t exactly have rosey glasses these days but I’ve learned to lighten up a little and see good things for what they are and truly appreciate them. I’m slowly sort of de-programming myself from how I was brought up. At least at the end of the day I can always count on this place to brighten my mood a little.