I can’t believe another year has come to an end and a new one has begun. Actually, I can believe it, to be honest. Mostly because it’s happened to me every single year of my life so far, and it’s a good thing too, because if one year didn’t end and another one didn’t start I’d have no fucking idea how old I was. I’d only know that I definitely had a lot more chest hair than I did the last time I was checking myself out in the mirror, and they don’t let you buy alcohol based on the amount of chest hair you have. (Though I think that would add an interesting element to purchasing of alcohol. Let’s just say that most girls don’t have chest hair, and if they do it requires a great deal of examination to see if they do. If this were ever to happen, I think every guy in the world would probably want to work at a liquor store.)
I guess all I’m trying to say is that the only thing a new year signifies to me is the start of a new calendar year. People always talk about “starting over” with the new year, and I think that’s bullshit. I mean, you can’t really just start over in most cases. I mean, you wake up on New Year’s Day with all the same problems you had on New Year’s Eve. Ask someone with genital herpes or the inability to adequately drive a car. Neither one of those things just disappear. Ask someone with erectile dysfunction, which brings me to my next random thought from the past month.
--I was watching television earlier today, and I saw a commercial that I’ve seen many times. It’s one for Viagara, the drug that helps men that are probably too old and unhealthy to actually have sex anymore continue to have sex, and it shows a man in probably his mid-50’s to early 60’s. He’s walking down a sidewalk next to a reflective building and talking to his own reflection. He’s telling himself, or his doppelganger or whatever/whoever the fuck it/he is, that he’s hesitant to talk to his doctor about erectile dysfunction. Eventually, his reflection convinces him to do so, and you see a little clip of him talking and laughing with his doctor. It then cuts back to him talking to the reflection again, and they slap five--which means this man is giving a high five to a fucking building and probably scared the ever-living shit out of whoever was sitting on the other side of the reflective glass.
Now, you’re probably thinking this guy is a little fucked up because he’s talking to his own reflection. That is not a normal thing to be doing, but I think the first thing I noticed that I felt was even more abnormal than talking to yourself was this man’s hesitance to talk to his doctor about not being able to get a boner. Holy shit. If I woke up in the morning without a tent pitched and my bed comforter acting as a tarp, I would run screaming and crying to my doctor immediately. I wouldn’t even call ahead for an appointment. And if it was his day off, I’d fucking find him. Golf course, whatever, I’d find him. And I’d steal a prescription pad from my mom’s place of employment (she’s a nurse), interrupt him on hole seven, and make him write me a script for Viagara or Cialis or Horny Goat Weed or whatever was going to make me feel better. And we also wouldn’t be laughing during this conversation. Wow. I should get into advertising.
--I heard the new Rihanna song for the first time about a week ago. I realized immediately that she constantly talks about how she is “so hard.” I also realized immediately upon hearing this that there are a lot of distasteful jokes that could be told about Rihanna saying that she is hard, because she got the shit kicked out of her by a man earlier this year. I wouldn’t say or write anything like that, because hitting women is wrong no matter what. But, I will go ahead and say that she’s not hard at all, because she went back to the guy that beat the shit out of her. That’s not hard, and a terrible example to set for the very stupid and impressionable teenage girls that idolize her. I miss the days when people idolized women like Celine Dion. She knew what the hell she was doing. Marry an old rich dude. That’s been the paradigm for certain women for ages, and although I disagree with it, it’s probably better than running back to a guy that bit you in the face.
She also asks where them bloggers are at in the same song. I think the only thing more self-deprecating than actually having a blog is calling the people out that have them through a pop song. She’s basically asking people to make tasteless jokes about how she should’ve never thrown the Lambo keys in the first place.
--I went to a Penguins game with my little brother last week. It was the last one they’ve won to date, actually, when Evgeni Malkin had a hat trick. When he scored his third goal, my little brother looked at me, wondering if I was going to throw my hat. I immediately snatched it off of my head (so someone else wouldn’t grab it and throw it, because there are douchebags everywhere), and said “I’m not throwing this hat, I just bought the fuckin’ thing yesterday.” He also decided not to throw his, since it had been a Christmas gift the year before from our older brother.
This got me to thinking about hat tricks and just how stupid they are. I love going to hockey games and I love being a participating fan, but those tickets are fucking expensive, and I don’t think the people at the games should be expected pay more (the price of a hat) just because one of the players on the team did what he is paid millions of dollars annually to do. Whenever I worked at a grocery store and we would stock the shelves with three trucks worth of products in less than six hours, nobody would start throwing their hats on the floor. They would just start bitching about how there was no more buttermilk.
Who the fuck even drinks buttermilk?
--To go with my theme from the past month of watching TV almost constantly (holiday break and no job), I got to watch the last couple episodes of Glee a few nights ago. I love that show. In case you haven’t watched it before, it’s basically like a series version of the movie Grease (or I guess the High School Musical movies) where there’s definite plots and subplots, but there’s also a musical aspect. The kids on this show just break out into dance at the most random times, and I couldn’t help but think about how awesome it would be if this was the way the world really went.
I mean, even in the worst times, these kids are just singing and dancing around like a bunch of well-practiced idiots. It often comes with no warning. They just get going, and they’re always synced perfectly. I wish it was like this for me in high school. Like if we lost a huge basketball game and everyone was in the locker room all down-trodden and our coach came in and we just started this awesome acapella version of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin” I bet our chances of winning the next game--no matter who the opponent might be--would be significantly increased.
--I was having a conversation with one of my friends a while ago, and she told me that one of the things she looks for in a potential mate is their religious affiliation. She’s a Catholic, wants her spouse to be a Catholic, and wants to raise her children as Catholic.
Alright, whatever. That’s fine, I guess. But an attitude like that really conveys a kind of righteousness that could be blinding, I think. I mean, you have to consider the fact that there are 22 religions in the world that have at least 500,000 or more followers. Each one of these religions seem to think that they’re the one that is “right,” or else people would not follow that religion.
But we can’t all be right. What if the Jews are right? What if the Catholics are? What if it’s the fucking Rastafarians? Basically, nobody knows what religion is the absolutely right one, or even if there is one that’s the right one. That’s why I don’t understand why people get so hot and bothered about marrying outside of their religion. I just want to marry someone that is a good person. They can worship the flying spaghetti monster if they want to. I’d rather marry a girl that’s a Buddhist than a Catholic that has a questionable moral standing.
I mean, it might be better if you marry someone outside of your religion. That way your family will have a better chance of being right. If/when you get up to the pearly gates at the time of rapture and your Neo-Paganism spouse was the one that ended up being right, they can at least try and vouch for you being an upstanding citizen that didn’t lie, cheat or steal.
--I’ve heard Kelly Clarkson’s song where she professes that she doesn’t hook up a few times recently, and all I can think is “Well, yeah, why would someone want to hook up with you anyway?” She makes good music, I’ll grant her that, but so does Tracy Chapman and I don’t want to get down with her. I mean, Kelly Clarkson just isn’t attractive. Not anymore. She used to be. I’m trying to find a politically correct way to say that people probably don’t want to hook up with her so much anymore because she really, um, let herself go. I mean, if this was Victorian England then people probably would want to, because chubby and pale were very attractive back then (and I actually have an idea for an entire entry based on that and how I wish society was that way today, but we’ll talk about that at a later date), but that’s not really how it goes now, and I guess it can’t really be helped.
I’m not trying to say I have a problem with women that are overweight, because I don’t. I mean, I love women; I have all their albums. I’m just saying that if you do let yourself go, don’t try to take your anger and frustration out on men by writing a song that alleges they all want to bang you when the real truth is that they may have used to but don’t want to anymore. Or they want to get with you simply because you’re a celebrity. If I’m going to sit around and drink beer and eat fried jalapeno poppers all day, I’m going to accept the fact that girls might not find me that attractive once I put on forty pounds. I’m not going to write a song acting like I didn’t want to get on women in the first place.
--The 2009 Oxford American Dictionary word of the year was “unfriend.” Like to unfriend someone on Facebook. I’d like to make a remark now about how technology is taking over the world and how social networking might not be the best thing for people to be immersing themselves in, but the truth is that I’ve immersed myself in it. And, without it, pretty much nobody would read this damn thing.
--J.K. Rowling should fight Stephenie Meyer for potentially ruining young adult fiction for eternity. Then Anne Rice or Neil Gaiman should beat the shit out of her again for ruining occult fiction for eternity. Then Bram Stoker should come back from the dead and beat her ass again for taking his invention and distorting it to the point that it’s barely even recognizable anymore. I just can’t make peace with the fact that one of the best stories ever told about a creature that couldn’t go into the sun because he would fry to a crisp and die inspired some lady to steal most of his ideas and change them around, so that the same breed of creature can now go out in the sun, but just sparkles. Fuck, Twilight is frustrating.
--I don’t get why people put “living” in the activities on their Facebook profiles. In general, that is a given.
--I was watching the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show with a great deal of concentration early in December, and I had a hard time figuring out what the huge appeal of it is. I mean, obviously there are beautiful women strutting around in very extravagant outfits of lingerie, which I won’t argue with. That’s something most straight guys would like to see, and some of us even mark our daily planners for such an event (my mom even reminds me every year to watch it). I just don’t understand why girls like to watch it so much. I wouldn’t watch a fashion show for guys unless I wanted to buy the stuff they were wearing, and I’ve been inside a Victoria’s Secret on a few occasions and have never ever seen huge ass wings or any of the other shit that those ladies wear during those shows. I just don’t get the purpose of putting on a fashion show for a bunch of stuff people can’t even buy. I thought you had those things so people could see your clothing lines and would purchase them.
It’s almost as confusing as that new show Jersey Shore. Everyone watches it, but for all the wrong reasons.
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