Disease
Drying machines are quite possibly the perfect inverse of humans. If you've lived in a dorm or apartment complex with washing facilities, you know firsthand that inevitably, there will be the one drier that only brings your clothing to a slightly damp stage. The others will all work perfectly, and well before their forty-five minute cycle is finished, you can take out your toasty clothes and pack them away. Not that random drier though. It's not the same one as last time, and next time you won't know which one to avoid. It'll just be there, mocking you, taunting you with your damp clothes that you wasted a dollar and an hour to have nothing happen to.
People are no different, only instead of one of them not working, all but one will be "broken." You'll waste all kinds of time and money trying to find that one person that actually does work and gives you that nice toasty feeling you wanted, but instead of having three of your four loads succeed like the Tuesday night driers, only one chance out of the many will be a success. You'll walk away with a twenty-five per cent victory and convince yourself that despite the other seventy-five per cent, it was indeed a victory.
But even if only some of your clothes are dry, you gotta wear something. It's just one of those things. And even if only one of the multitude of people you encounter actually works with you, you keep on encountering people. It's just one of those things.
Speaking of work, a girl at work was talking to me about how she gained so much weight after she came to the university. How guys treat you so differently when they don't want to sleep with you. Said she "learned the hard way," whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. She could've learned the easy way by looking in a mirror; if a girl wants to be more than your friend, she doesn't treat you the same as any other guy she knows either. It struck me as an ignorant thing to say, but then I realized that only a few minutes before, I had thought, "She has a pretty face." I didn't complete the thought, but the rest was implied without my thinking the words: "...but she needs to lose some weight." I wasn't exactly proud of myself for thinking such a superficial thought, but then again, I don't give a shit about that girl or what she does with her body or her life. I won't see her again after two weeks' time and quite honestly have no desire to.
Come to think of it, after two weeks' time I won't see anyone at my workplace again, and have no desire to do so. I told my first roommate that I wouldn't see him again in five years' time, and that because of that, no efforts made toward friendship, hospitality, or any form of bonding whatsoever were of any sense. Our entire forced existance together, I told him, was futile and pointless. I'd forget about him in the course of twenty years and he about me. I haven't forgotten about him yet, but then again, it hasn't been twenty years.
After work I saw a bumper sticker that said "Dare to think for yourself." Wonderful job there, sir. Buy a mass produced generic statement about being an individual. Anyway, if everyone was being an individual, then being an individual would be the majority action, and therefore being an individual would be conforming to a fad, rendering you a conformist, not an individual. The only way, therefore, to be an individual would be to set out to be a conformist, making you a conformist anyway. No matter what you do, you're a fucking conformist. Accept it and save seven bucks on a shitty bumpersticker.
The same car had a sticker that said, "Homophobia is a social disease." I thought, "No, stupid, xenophobia is a social disease. Herpes is a super-social disease. A homophobe is just someone who doesn't give a shit who you are or what you have to say about faggotry. Anyone who doesn't want to hear it yet again is labelled a homophobe, and in that sense I am very much one inflicted with this so called social disease." The whole thought process took about three seconds, but it was three seconds that put me in a bad mood.
To top off the day, as I was driving into my apartment complex I saw one of the gangsta friends of my neighbor's son riding away on a blue bicycle that didn't at all fit him. Oddly, it was the exact same as the off-brand blue bike that I used to have, fitted with mountainbike tires even though it was used mostly on paved roads. Coincidentally, my bike was stollen about a month ago.
What are you going to do though? Make a sit-com scene?
"That's my bike."
"No it isn't."
"Yes it is, you stole my bike."
"Prove it."
Then he'd probably just mug me anyway, and Vince wasn't there to hop out of the bushes and ambush him with ninja robot tactics. Man, if Vinny was there, we could've destroyed him Voltron style, but without Vin...his gangsta backhand (rank 5) would've critted for 1340 and I'd have been toast (I wear cloth).
People are no different, only instead of one of them not working, all but one will be "broken." You'll waste all kinds of time and money trying to find that one person that actually does work and gives you that nice toasty feeling you wanted, but instead of having three of your four loads succeed like the Tuesday night driers, only one chance out of the many will be a success. You'll walk away with a twenty-five per cent victory and convince yourself that despite the other seventy-five per cent, it was indeed a victory.
But even if only some of your clothes are dry, you gotta wear something. It's just one of those things. And even if only one of the multitude of people you encounter actually works with you, you keep on encountering people. It's just one of those things.
Speaking of work, a girl at work was talking to me about how she gained so much weight after she came to the university. How guys treat you so differently when they don't want to sleep with you. Said she "learned the hard way," whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. She could've learned the easy way by looking in a mirror; if a girl wants to be more than your friend, she doesn't treat you the same as any other guy she knows either. It struck me as an ignorant thing to say, but then I realized that only a few minutes before, I had thought, "She has a pretty face." I didn't complete the thought, but the rest was implied without my thinking the words: "...but she needs to lose some weight." I wasn't exactly proud of myself for thinking such a superficial thought, but then again, I don't give a shit about that girl or what she does with her body or her life. I won't see her again after two weeks' time and quite honestly have no desire to.
Come to think of it, after two weeks' time I won't see anyone at my workplace again, and have no desire to do so. I told my first roommate that I wouldn't see him again in five years' time, and that because of that, no efforts made toward friendship, hospitality, or any form of bonding whatsoever were of any sense. Our entire forced existance together, I told him, was futile and pointless. I'd forget about him in the course of twenty years and he about me. I haven't forgotten about him yet, but then again, it hasn't been twenty years.
After work I saw a bumper sticker that said "Dare to think for yourself." Wonderful job there, sir. Buy a mass produced generic statement about being an individual. Anyway, if everyone was being an individual, then being an individual would be the majority action, and therefore being an individual would be conforming to a fad, rendering you a conformist, not an individual. The only way, therefore, to be an individual would be to set out to be a conformist, making you a conformist anyway. No matter what you do, you're a fucking conformist. Accept it and save seven bucks on a shitty bumpersticker.
The same car had a sticker that said, "Homophobia is a social disease." I thought, "No, stupid, xenophobia is a social disease. Herpes is a super-social disease. A homophobe is just someone who doesn't give a shit who you are or what you have to say about faggotry. Anyone who doesn't want to hear it yet again is labelled a homophobe, and in that sense I am very much one inflicted with this so called social disease." The whole thought process took about three seconds, but it was three seconds that put me in a bad mood.
To top off the day, as I was driving into my apartment complex I saw one of the gangsta friends of my neighbor's son riding away on a blue bicycle that didn't at all fit him. Oddly, it was the exact same as the off-brand blue bike that I used to have, fitted with mountainbike tires even though it was used mostly on paved roads. Coincidentally, my bike was stollen about a month ago.
What are you going to do though? Make a sit-com scene?
"That's my bike."
"No it isn't."
"Yes it is, you stole my bike."
"Prove it."
Then he'd probably just mug me anyway, and Vince wasn't there to hop out of the bushes and ambush him with ninja robot tactics. Man, if Vinny was there, we could've destroyed him Voltron style, but without Vin...his gangsta backhand (rank 5) would've critted for 1340 and I'd have been toast (I wear cloth).
posted by red at 12:44
1 Comments:
Destruction tree? I didn't know you were a WARLOCK ninja!
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