Wednesday, May 28, 2008
A Rasher Of Crap
As you may have seen on Trixi's blog we've been dealing with a whole spate of nasty nonsense recently. Its been literally one thing after another after another, and just when we think that karma's taken a day off, maybe to go surfing or something, it turns out its just a little breather between rounds and in s/he goes, pummeling us like Carl Weathers on crystal meth. I keep thinking about that book from the 70s, "When Bad Things Happen To Good People." Then I think "Shit, I never read that book, I was, like, seven years old when it came out, I was probably reading 'Are You My Mother?' or something." Then I think "That title reminds me a lot of those product names from the 70s, like 'Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific' or 'I Can't Believe Its Not Butter' and I wonder why long titles were so friggin' sellable for a while there. Then I wonder if in fact I am good people at all, really, and start enumerating my many faults. Then I ponder the concept of karma, and start wondering if there's something really appallingly awful that maybe I did at some point that I still haven't paid off (see: earlier blog posts, I think I have that covered!). Then I wonder if there's some cosmic bank teller somewhere, some anal-retentive, pinched-faced supernatural curmudgeon in another dimension or something, tallying up karma and keeping track of who's been naughty and who's been nice like a vindictive Santa Claus in Mr. Yuck green. Then I think about how Santa from those Rankin/Bass specials seemed like kind of a jerk -- I thought he was supposed to be all kind and stuff, why is he giving poor Rudolph and that fucking dentist elf such a hard time? Then I wonder what kind of a name Thurl Ravenscroft is, anyway -- who the hell names their kid "Thurl"? Unless they're some kind of twisted H.P. Lovecraft cultists and expect their child to be the Bringer of Darkness or something. Then I wonder if in fact maybe I *am* fucking Damien from the Omen, and that's why all this bad crap keeps happening, and maybe I just haven't tapped into my supernatural powers. And then I think "holy crap, I think I'm maybe losing my mind." And then I think "what the hell IS my mind, anyway? Is it just some kind of chemical construct? Is there a soul? Is there an afterlife? And if there is, how's the real estate market?" And then I'm at "how do I know the color brown YOU see is the color brown *I* see," and at this point, I usually pour myself a drink, turn on something by the Carpenters, and drift off in a drunken reverie. Sigh.