Do you know what I do? I do very little. You might think I'd be ok with that, because I don't really want a job, as such. Nobody wants a job. I think its humanity's real tragedy that while we are the only animals to have a concept of "freedom", we are the only animals that are not free. Apart from the animals in the zoo, but that's our fault too. Nature apparently didn't account for humans. Humans try to influence the natural order, by saving endangered species, like the Polar bear (If you think it's endangered, you've to agree with Sarah Palin). It's a fallacy to assume that all endangered species are in such a position due to the encroachment or activities of humans. Some species are just unnaturally delicious. Some just serve no function. Some, like the panda bear, don't even feel like mating, unless we force them as if we really need pandas. Just think about it, do we really miss the dodo? Of course not. Would anyone miss the polar bear? The domestic cat? Us? Me?
Anyway, as any ad man will tell you, a man buying a drill doesn't want a drill, he wants a hole. I don't want a job, I want the benefit of having a job: money, a reason to get up in the morning, and of course the fringe benefit that is secret Santa. Nobody likes to work. It's not natural. You don't see monkeys building vast jungle economies that serve no purpose other than to feed the idea that "society" needs money to work, in a self-fulfilling prophesy so strong that it justifies everything from prostitution through slavery to war. The odd thing is that I don't even want a job to buy stuff, I never bothered with stuff, unless I was buying it for someone else. That's true. I wrote down a list of the things that I want and that I will do when I finally do get the opportunity to hate my job.
Anyway, as any ad man will tell you, a man buying a drill doesn't want a drill, he wants a hole. I don't want a job, I want the benefit of having a job: money, a reason to get up in the morning, and of course the fringe benefit that is secret Santa. Nobody likes to work. It's not natural. You don't see monkeys building vast jungle economies that serve no purpose other than to feed the idea that "society" needs money to work, in a self-fulfilling prophesy so strong that it justifies everything from prostitution through slavery to war. The odd thing is that I don't even want a job to buy stuff, I never bothered with stuff, unless I was buying it for someone else. That's true. I wrote down a list of the things that I want and that I will do when I finally do get the opportunity to hate my job.
- An apartment
- A gym membership
- A new pair of kidneys
These are not lofty and impossible dreams, or shouldn't be, these are things that will make my life better. Wanting a new pair of shoes when you already have perfectly good footwear won't make your life better, it's greedy, but wanting a gym membership? Is being happy greedy? The things I want will make me happy, happier than a Ferrari stuffed with a Lamborghini could ever make even the most grossly overpaid England captain's jilted ex-wife, but I don't think wanting these particular things makes me greedy. But I think I don't think a lot of things.
But I don't have a job. What I do have is a creeping depression. Want to know what I do? I stay up all night. I don't really do anything, I just keep myself awake, because if I go to sleep, before I know it I'll be awake again, and it'll be a new day where I have no reason to exist other than to apply for jobs with companies who don't even acknowledge me. When I was growing up I was never one of those kids who was told they're the best thing since sliced bread, I was one of those kids who was told to shut up all the time (can't you tell?). My teachers told me that reverie is a bad thing. And now I spend every day filling out applications, writing letters, filling in forms for companies that don't even have the courtesy to tell me I'm not good enough. I don't even bother with girls for the same reason, but it's like day after day, waiting for someone that's not going to call, wasting my time, I feel like I'd be better off writing letters to Santa rather than Red C, whoever the fuck they are. I don't even want to work for them, but at the same time, I want nothing more. And all the while, it must be said, if I were in their shoes, I wouldn't employ me either. But then again, I don't talk to myself very often.
That's how it goes. So what I've taken to doing is staying up all night looking at stuff I'd "like" to buy. From the strictly hypothetical position of someone who has: A. money or B. material wants, I scour the internet, looking at, neigh becoming obsessed with things that I can't afford and would never actually buy. And then I realised that I can't even do that right. I feel like I should look at fuggin air planes or tropical islands or something, shouldn't I? Instead I look at American football helmets, guitars, video cameras, books about beer pong.
I mean, American football helmets look pretty cool. There's two kinds, replica and authentic. Authentic are the same as the ones pros wear on field, which is pretty cool, but when you investigate you learn a number of increasingly disappointing facts. The first is that the padding inside is inflated, which means to wear one and look like a (pretend) NFL superstar (I'm projecting) you need to make a continuous masturbatory gesture. The next thing is that the logos are stickers. The wealthiest sport on the earth, with millions of dollars of investment into protective technology, has helmets with Fisher Price Baby's First Printing Press decals? How disappointing. That's not as disappointing as the final, deal-breaking point: To protect themselves against Sue Nation (Sioux Nation if you support the Redskins) litigation, the manufacturers install an immoveable "No Wear Bar" in every collectible helmet, so you don't put it on and end up hurting yourself, presumably by testing it out. What's the point in having one then? As if I nor anyone else who saw a football helmet on the table wouldn't try to put it on. Where do you think we are, Sweden?
Beer pong on the other hand, is just insulting. I remember vividly (as the only sober person) watching the Americans in Kyoto play it, all the shouting and high-fiving. You're throwing a plastic ball into a paper cup, show some decorum. It's easily the least interesting thing I've ever seen. In Stradbally I've played Beer Darts, where each participant starts with 501 and has to check-out, like in normal darts, only the person with the most still on the board after each throw has to drink a shot. You know what inspired that? Real life darts. Even though the dartboard is in a room separated from Liam's living-room by a whole other room, I've seen darts land on the coffee table. Anyway, one time I kicked an out-of-date frozen sausage over an industrial estate wall, so bouncing a small ball into a cup isn't going to do it for the likes of me.
But when you're kicking sausages and it doesn't even seem unusual, you have to wonder where did it all go wrong? Even if I knew, I can't go back to fix it until I get my masters in Time Travel from MIT. The real question then is what do I do to get out of the present? Everything is wrong and I don't know how to fix it.
But I don't have a job. What I do have is a creeping depression. Want to know what I do? I stay up all night. I don't really do anything, I just keep myself awake, because if I go to sleep, before I know it I'll be awake again, and it'll be a new day where I have no reason to exist other than to apply for jobs with companies who don't even acknowledge me. When I was growing up I was never one of those kids who was told they're the best thing since sliced bread, I was one of those kids who was told to shut up all the time (can't you tell?). My teachers told me that reverie is a bad thing. And now I spend every day filling out applications, writing letters, filling in forms for companies that don't even have the courtesy to tell me I'm not good enough. I don't even bother with girls for the same reason, but it's like day after day, waiting for someone that's not going to call, wasting my time, I feel like I'd be better off writing letters to Santa rather than Red C, whoever the fuck they are. I don't even want to work for them, but at the same time, I want nothing more. And all the while, it must be said, if I were in their shoes, I wouldn't employ me either. But then again, I don't talk to myself very often.
That's how it goes. So what I've taken to doing is staying up all night looking at stuff I'd "like" to buy. From the strictly hypothetical position of someone who has: A. money or B. material wants, I scour the internet, looking at, neigh becoming obsessed with things that I can't afford and would never actually buy. And then I realised that I can't even do that right. I feel like I should look at fuggin air planes or tropical islands or something, shouldn't I? Instead I look at American football helmets, guitars, video cameras, books about beer pong.
I mean, American football helmets look pretty cool. There's two kinds, replica and authentic. Authentic are the same as the ones pros wear on field, which is pretty cool, but when you investigate you learn a number of increasingly disappointing facts. The first is that the padding inside is inflated, which means to wear one and look like a (pretend) NFL superstar (I'm projecting) you need to make a continuous masturbatory gesture. The next thing is that the logos are stickers. The wealthiest sport on the earth, with millions of dollars of investment into protective technology, has helmets with Fisher Price Baby's First Printing Press decals? How disappointing. That's not as disappointing as the final, deal-breaking point: To protect themselves against Sue Nation (Sioux Nation if you support the Redskins) litigation, the manufacturers install an immoveable "No Wear Bar" in every collectible helmet, so you don't put it on and end up hurting yourself, presumably by testing it out. What's the point in having one then? As if I nor anyone else who saw a football helmet on the table wouldn't try to put it on. Where do you think we are, Sweden?
Beer pong on the other hand, is just insulting. I remember vividly (as the only sober person) watching the Americans in Kyoto play it, all the shouting and high-fiving. You're throwing a plastic ball into a paper cup, show some decorum. It's easily the least interesting thing I've ever seen. In Stradbally I've played Beer Darts, where each participant starts with 501 and has to check-out, like in normal darts, only the person with the most still on the board after each throw has to drink a shot. You know what inspired that? Real life darts. Even though the dartboard is in a room separated from Liam's living-room by a whole other room, I've seen darts land on the coffee table. Anyway, one time I kicked an out-of-date frozen sausage over an industrial estate wall, so bouncing a small ball into a cup isn't going to do it for the likes of me.
But when you're kicking sausages and it doesn't even seem unusual, you have to wonder where did it all go wrong? Even if I knew, I can't go back to fix it until I get my masters in Time Travel from MIT. The real question then is what do I do to get out of the present? Everything is wrong and I don't know how to fix it.
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1 comments:
Have you applied for any terrible jobs? The sort that all the other masterses would see as below them? Alternatively, claiming dole from a place that isn't your parental home and then moving to that place so that you aren't in the other place? But then the second place might not have internet and that wouldn't be so good for the nighttime helmet thing.
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