Guess 'tis not the season to be jolly, after all...
25 December 2008
11 December 2008
Alas poor Yorick--he had to work with idiots...
'Tis the season for breaks from regular office routine, including such exciting alternatives as dreary parties, team-building events, and "professional development" days. Rather than getting into the inherent pointlessness of any of these, I'll let this example do the illustrating:
A motivational speaker at a recent out-of-office day-long seminar was going on about the importance of renewal. He claimed that sleep was the perfect way to renew oneself, and offered the following quote as proof, claiming Shakespeare, who was truly a genius, even then knew the importance of getting enough sleep:
To sleep, perchance to dream
Hamlet (III, i)
'Course, maybe he should have kept reading (although I have the feeling he still wouldn't get it):
To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come...
And the best part? Everyone there thought this motivational speaker was brilliant. They loved everything he had to say and have been going on about it ever since, they were just that inspired.
Anyone got a poison-tipped sword handy?
A motivational speaker at a recent out-of-office day-long seminar was going on about the importance of renewal. He claimed that sleep was the perfect way to renew oneself, and offered the following quote as proof, claiming Shakespeare, who was truly a genius, even then knew the importance of getting enough sleep:
To sleep, perchance to dream
Hamlet (III, i)
'Course, maybe he should have kept reading (although I have the feeling he still wouldn't get it):
To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come...
And the best part? Everyone there thought this motivational speaker was brilliant. They loved everything he had to say and have been going on about it ever since, they were just that inspired.
Anyone got a poison-tipped sword handy?
05 December 2008
Epiphania
I think I've stopped fighting my demons and have started just letting them have their way with me.
04 December 2008
Why people and their kids suck, Reason #5689
This is a tale not involving me, but involving my best friend as related by him...
So, last night as S was leaving work after a long day dealing with idiots (did I mention he's a fellow misanthrope?) he boarded the subway and settled into the niche around the unused doors. A couple of stops later, two women and a kid box him in, the kid standing right next to him in the niche. As the train stopped at the next station, the kid, being useless as kids tend to be, bumped into him. S looked down and noticed that part of the reason why the kid wasn't holding on to anything to keep from bumping into other people was because he was eating. A peanut butter sandwich.
Fine, S thought to himself. It's inevitable the kid's going to get peanut butter on me; I'll just clean it when I get off the train.
At the next stop, the kid bumps into him again. At this point, the kid's mother pipes up and says that S has got peanut butter on him and (amazingly) offers her own gloves to help clean it off. So far, so good.
Now S is an incredibly decent person (he must be if I like him as much as I do when I can't stand most other people). He doesn't make a big deal of things, even when he's annoyed. So he smiled in a friendly way and said no worries and that he had napkins he could use to clean off the peanut butter, but thanks for the offer of the gloves.
The train starts again and S immerses himself in the paper, only to hear the other woman pipe up a few seconds later: "She didn't have to tell you, you know!"
He decided to ignore this and continued reading the paper, although he could hear the two women talking in low tones until they got off the train. Maybe the mother was telling her friend to shut the hell up. Maybe both women were talking about what as asshole S was. Whatever.
But S's rightful reaction (and mine when he told me) was What the Fuck? So your friend's kid (who, by the way isn't being held on to by either of you--why? And is eating something sticky on a rush-hour subway train--why???) gets his crap on someone else's clean clothes and you cop an attitude about it?
Note to parents and those who are sympathetic to them: Your kid is not universally cute. Your kid is not entitled to behave any way it wants to in public, even if watching the kid and, oh, I don't know, actually doing some parenting makes more work for you. And if your kid inconveniences a stranger in any way, be glad the brat didn't get a swift kick, and have the decency not to give the inconvenienced person any fucking attitude!
A breeding license is looking better and better...
So, last night as S was leaving work after a long day dealing with idiots (did I mention he's a fellow misanthrope?) he boarded the subway and settled into the niche around the unused doors. A couple of stops later, two women and a kid box him in, the kid standing right next to him in the niche. As the train stopped at the next station, the kid, being useless as kids tend to be, bumped into him. S looked down and noticed that part of the reason why the kid wasn't holding on to anything to keep from bumping into other people was because he was eating. A peanut butter sandwich.
Fine, S thought to himself. It's inevitable the kid's going to get peanut butter on me; I'll just clean it when I get off the train.
At the next stop, the kid bumps into him again. At this point, the kid's mother pipes up and says that S has got peanut butter on him and (amazingly) offers her own gloves to help clean it off. So far, so good.
Now S is an incredibly decent person (he must be if I like him as much as I do when I can't stand most other people). He doesn't make a big deal of things, even when he's annoyed. So he smiled in a friendly way and said no worries and that he had napkins he could use to clean off the peanut butter, but thanks for the offer of the gloves.
The train starts again and S immerses himself in the paper, only to hear the other woman pipe up a few seconds later: "She didn't have to tell you, you know!"
He decided to ignore this and continued reading the paper, although he could hear the two women talking in low tones until they got off the train. Maybe the mother was telling her friend to shut the hell up. Maybe both women were talking about what as asshole S was. Whatever.
But S's rightful reaction (and mine when he told me) was What the Fuck? So your friend's kid (who, by the way isn't being held on to by either of you--why? And is eating something sticky on a rush-hour subway train--why???) gets his crap on someone else's clean clothes and you cop an attitude about it?
Note to parents and those who are sympathetic to them: Your kid is not universally cute. Your kid is not entitled to behave any way it wants to in public, even if watching the kid and, oh, I don't know, actually doing some parenting makes more work for you. And if your kid inconveniences a stranger in any way, be glad the brat didn't get a swift kick, and have the decency not to give the inconvenienced person any fucking attitude!
A breeding license is looking better and better...
02 December 2008
How soon is now?
It's sad when someone you know becomes someone you knew. --Henry Rollins
I think it's safe to say that I qualify as an adult. I've got my own place, bills, responsibilities. I'm well past the age when mommy and daddy (or anyone else, for that matter) get to have a say in what I do. But allow me to let you in on a little secret, boys and girls: there is no magic moment when you become a "grown-up." You know--that supposed point in time when a metaphorical light goes on over your head and you've suddenly got everything figured out: who you are, where you're going, what the point of everything is. You don't suddenly become mature, happy, stable, sensible. That teenage angst driving you crazy? It never really does go away. Hell, for most people, high school never really goes away.
In my experience, it seems everyone starts figuring this out (or at least acting on it) around the same age. And there are two initial responses to this newfound and unwanted knowledge: depression or panic.
Those who get depressed will carry on with their lives doing whatever they were doing before, making the same plans, moving forward. Only they're not quite themselves anymore. They've got a shadow hanging over them, weighing them down, reminding them that This Is It. Things don't suddenly start making sense, the way is not suddenly illuminated. Their obnoxious co-workers are not suddenly going to grow the fuck up, and their spoiled 30-something siblings are not going to see the error of their ways. They won't get the key to happiness and fulfillment handed to them along with their university/college degree and parking pass. The shadow reminds them that happiness comes at a price, and that price is the damn hard work of finding out who they are and creating, if they can, the life that's right for them.
The ones who panic are like victims succumbing to some kind of monkey virus. One day they are whoever they were; the next they're just a statistic. They're sure the answers are out there, and the only way to find them is to stay on the prescribed path, the one (they believe) everyone else is on. They latch on to a group, a belief, a theory, and cling to it with a death grip. Those are the friends who suddenly start talking like they got their hands on a script: it's all cliches and catchphrases, the topics all safe and common. They start acting the same scripted way. They buy a house when everyone else is doing it, they have kids after they've been to a couple of friends' baby showers. It doesn't matter what they do with their lives as long as they're doing it exactly the same way everyone else is. The only good thing about losing these friends (and you will, unless you let yourself get infected too) is that you won't be around to watch the inevitable mid-life crises.
I think it's safe to say that I qualify as an adult. I've got my own place, bills, responsibilities. I'm well past the age when mommy and daddy (or anyone else, for that matter) get to have a say in what I do. But allow me to let you in on a little secret, boys and girls: there is no magic moment when you become a "grown-up." You know--that supposed point in time when a metaphorical light goes on over your head and you've suddenly got everything figured out: who you are, where you're going, what the point of everything is. You don't suddenly become mature, happy, stable, sensible. That teenage angst driving you crazy? It never really does go away. Hell, for most people, high school never really goes away.
In my experience, it seems everyone starts figuring this out (or at least acting on it) around the same age. And there are two initial responses to this newfound and unwanted knowledge: depression or panic.
Those who get depressed will carry on with their lives doing whatever they were doing before, making the same plans, moving forward. Only they're not quite themselves anymore. They've got a shadow hanging over them, weighing them down, reminding them that This Is It. Things don't suddenly start making sense, the way is not suddenly illuminated. Their obnoxious co-workers are not suddenly going to grow the fuck up, and their spoiled 30-something siblings are not going to see the error of their ways. They won't get the key to happiness and fulfillment handed to them along with their university/college degree and parking pass. The shadow reminds them that happiness comes at a price, and that price is the damn hard work of finding out who they are and creating, if they can, the life that's right for them.
The ones who panic are like victims succumbing to some kind of monkey virus. One day they are whoever they were; the next they're just a statistic. They're sure the answers are out there, and the only way to find them is to stay on the prescribed path, the one (they believe) everyone else is on. They latch on to a group, a belief, a theory, and cling to it with a death grip. Those are the friends who suddenly start talking like they got their hands on a script: it's all cliches and catchphrases, the topics all safe and common. They start acting the same scripted way. They buy a house when everyone else is doing it, they have kids after they've been to a couple of friends' baby showers. It doesn't matter what they do with their lives as long as they're doing it exactly the same way everyone else is. The only good thing about losing these friends (and you will, unless you let yourself get infected too) is that you won't be around to watch the inevitable mid-life crises.
15 October 2008
Grey Area
Remember when you were a kid and you were told the good guys always win? In fact, forget about the bizarro-world of childhood--even as adults, we're told the same thing. Watch just about any popular movie; at their heart, they're all about the battle between good and evil (even if good is the girl next door and evil is the homewrecker with the implants)--and guess which one is winning. Well, winning onscreen, anyway. In real life the black hats have coaches and PR people, they know how to work the system, and they're not afraid to do whatever it takes to get what they want. The good guys, on the other hand, show up at the cage match with reason, ethics, and an outdated rule book. The heroes don't even get the crowd's support anymore; at least, not the ones who don't care about reason and ethics. They're too busy bullying everyone else for the good seats, running the bad guys' errands, and believing they'll get the big reward for their loyalty. Every day, the black hats gain a little more and the white hats care a little less.
It turns out the homewrecker gets the guy in the end, after all--the girl next door didn't put up much of a fight.
It turns out the homewrecker gets the guy in the end, after all--the girl next door didn't put up much of a fight.
01 October 2008
Worker and Parasite
There are way too many people in the world (learn to use birth control, overpopulaters), which, unfortunately for the rest of us, means there are way too many human leeches. These are people born with the same potential as their peers, but they constantly feel hard-done-by. They complain about everything and never offer solutions (or ever admit solutions exist). Everywhere they go, they spew a cloud of gloom and negativity. If that was the sum of it, they wouldn't be a problem--we could just ignore them and let them stew in their own ineffectualness. Unfortunately, there is one thing and one thing only that they get off on, and that's taking from everybody in their proximity. If they're kleptos, they'll take things of value only to their owners--things designed to cause maximum hurt. Most of them aren't kleptos; however, they're just assholes. They'll find the thing that you're in love with at the moment and tear it to shreds. If they suss out what they perceive to be your personal weakness, they'll pick at it and pick at it and pick at it, constantly bringing it up, commenting on it, reminding you of it. They don't feel good unless someone else feels bad. They're pathetic.
I'm finding myself beset upon by a leech. I think I've managed to find the solution to dealing with it, though. The advantage to being a depressed misanthrope, is you just don't give a shit what the average person thinks or says--even less so when it comes to these dreary hangers-on. My leech can blather and bluster at me all it wants--I don't care (nor, in fact, do I believe a word it says). Even better, I can get up and walk away at any time. The thing with leeches is, they wither as soon as they're cut off from their blood supply.
I'm finding myself beset upon by a leech. I think I've managed to find the solution to dealing with it, though. The advantage to being a depressed misanthrope, is you just don't give a shit what the average person thinks or says--even less so when it comes to these dreary hangers-on. My leech can blather and bluster at me all it wants--I don't care (nor, in fact, do I believe a word it says). Even better, I can get up and walk away at any time. The thing with leeches is, they wither as soon as they're cut off from their blood supply.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
.png)
