Monday, April 17, 2006
Golden Revolver
I’m 23!! Well not for a few more months, but still! I’m getting old… One day I’ll wake up and see the lines in my face and know that I’m 38. The next day I’m 52. And the next day I put a gun to my head. Its probably the same for everyone, all through your childhood you wish you were older. You’ll get to watch the movies you couldn’t before, you’re legally allowed to drink and drive although not simultaneously and definitely not in that specific order, you can get laid, well you could… and you can be the boss for a change. Again… you could. But when you finally cross the whistlepost you wish you were a kid again. No, I don’t know what a fucking Whistlepost is… what’s a Wonderwall? So there.
But seriously, I’m so afraid of being old, I’d rather be dead. I know what my old age will bring with it… No hair by 35, Losing my memory, Losing my pants, Arthritis, Respiratory disorders, and possibly annoying grandchildren. Theeen it kills me. You don’t die of old age, you die because the damn thing craps so hard on you that you start waiting to meet your maker just so you can gripe about the whole sucky affair.
See, you start out in life all wrinkly and helpless and constantly wetting yourself. And you end that way too. The difference is that when you’re old, no matter how helpless you are, no one is willing to put a tit in your mouth!
These days there are three kinds of people. Those who live in the fast lane, those who wish they lived in the fast lane and those who don’t live in the fast lane because they hate the fast lane. And by fast lane, I mean keeping up with the times. I honestly don’t know which of these categories I belong to. Now there is hardly such a thing as a mistake. It’s like your computer. No matter how bad you screw up… you always have options. Whether it’s a restart or a re-format, you can always fix your cock ups with little or no consequences. I like that. But I also like simpler times. When you had to work for everything you earned. When there was no BPO industry. When how much you got out of something depended on how much you put into it. When everything wasn’t available on DVD. When teachers taught lessons. When The Internet was the internet. And when King Kong vs. Godzilla scared the crap out of me.
Where are we now? Over the last decade or so we’ve been hurtling across barriers faster than ever and now I don’t know where we can go from here. There aren’t many frontiers left to conquer. Unless they can send someone into yesterday and tell themselves to slow the hell down or we’re all gonna fall off the edge into deep, deep, deepness. But that’s all that remains to do… tinker with time and space. And I believe they’ve started to try already, accelerating electrons to faster than the speed of common photons, so they can see it arrive even before it’s left.
We’ve altered our own reality enough to the point where it’s often hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t. We’ve made and remade superheroes and monsters so believable that it wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary if they jumped right off movie screens. And we’ve converted books to tape. What literature? Google has replaced dictionaries, thesauri and encyclopaedias. And the once gigantic computer now fits neatly into a shirt pocket, adding to the fact that nowadays people give off more radio waves than bio-waves; a cyber population can’t be very far off.
I think that the true measure of a civilization is not its use of technology and the extent of it, but it’s rein on technology.
You know that we are living in a material world and I am a material girl. Uhh, boy.
Additions:
41. Apparently I’m a Male Chauvinist Pig.
42. I can still sing along to most of the Spice Girls’ songs.
Click here for the whole list.
Points to ponder:
> Did Scatman John want to be taken literally?
> Who scrapes Spiderman’s webs off the buildings?
> Why do we have Lips?
> Who is Richard Head?
DNA/Suzanne Vega – Tom’s Diner
Madonna – Material Girl
0 Comments:
Don't just stand there with your mouth open... say SOMETHING dammit!
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Rocket Sauce
There’s a new buzzword going around these parts these days. And they spake “Metrosexual” and it was good. Not good!! I’ve known of only two types of sexual orientations for as long as I can remember. Now it seems they’ve discovered a third. Maybe a fourth even – Retrosexual! At this rate coming out of the closet may have to take on more literal connotations.Apparently, to be “Metro” you must fulfill 2 requirements:
1. Be Heterosexual
2. Wear Pink
And voila, you’re now hip, trendy and Metrosexual! (When I say Metrosexual, imagine a big thundering voice saying “Metrosexual”. It’s a cool effect.)
Pink socks – Metrosexual, pink shirt – Metrosexual, pink tie – Metrosexual, pink jacket – Wedding Singer. Ok except for the last one, pink has become the domain of girly girls and metro-males. Hmm… methinks metrosexual may be more of a euphemism! What is the deal with this labeling business? I don’t know if this is some globe-sweeping phenomenon but it seems more like a catchword the media cretins here have picked up off the airwaves and now they’re throwing it all over the place like there’s no tomorrow. Stupid fuckers. I like pink shirts. I think they’re really dressy and when worn with the right trousers make great event wear. But if I have to listen to some asshole telling me that pink is the new red and I’m really with it, then I’d rather stick with the blues, browns and anything-but-pinks.
I really don’t know why this label had to be introduced. Apparently metrosexuals are heterosexuals with a touch of the homo. What the fuck?? Kiss my ass you defining bastards. This area gets complicated enough as it is without idiots polluting it.
Actually I’ve always fancied myself as quite a liberal minded chap and this hetero/homo deal never really bothered me. I felt that people were unnecessarily uneasy about the situation. That was until I came face to face with the reality of homosexuality. It’s strange how detached you can be from an issue until it hits you in the face and you’re forced to deal with it. So when so-and-so decided to come out of the closet I started to feel the uneasiness that I was previously skeptical of. I don’t know. It’s not as though I wanted to feel that way but suddenly he was not so-and-so anymore. Turns out I’m not as open minded as I thought I was or want to be. I still have to learn to be less of a bigot.
Here’s a slightly off one.
Of all the ways of dying that I can imagine, the scariest and simultaneously the most peaceful that I can think of is falling down. Way down. My terrace is just four floors up, but I still go up there and think about jumping down. I’m not suicidal just dreamy. Altophobic that I am, I still fantasize about flying. Not in a plane. Sometimes I think the only reason I want to fly is just so I can plummet.
At no other time will you have as much control over the moment of your own death. Drowning is accompanied by the panic of not being able to breathe. Being shot doesn’t guarantee instant death. Putting the gun against your head only comes with the anguish of having to pull the trigger yourself. Stepping into heavy traffic gets you smashed to a pulp but still no guarantee of death. Now you jump off a high rise. All this may sound really cowardly, but that’s not the point right now.
The instant after you step off has got to be, ironically, the most insanely peaceful moment that mortal life can ever offer. Once you take the plunge, there’s no going back and the pavement rushes in to greet your head. Every single care that you’ve ever had vanishes immediately and nothing matters anymore. If you close your eyes, you could be flying. Save for the fact that you left your stomach a few storeys above you, you might as well be a bird. Unless you’re some kind of monk, your mind could possibly never be clearer than this moment.
Of course this is all speculation. And speculation that I’ll never put to the test. But it’s nice to know or at least think I know, that there is an ultimate peace… but it comes at the ultimate price.
I just want to let it be known right away that in no way do I condone suicide attempts, leaping off buildings or any other structures exceeding 10 ft. in height. So kids, don’t look for Nirvana at the tip top of buildings, I don’t know that it’s there.
Ace of Base – Cruel Summer
1 Comments:
good. u still need help.
Anonymous, at 7:15 PM, April 13, 2006
Don't just stand there with your mouth open... say SOMETHING dammit!
