Thursday, June 12, 2008

How Alive? Too Alive

The brain has such a unique and complex ability to block out ideas, events, and conduct that it simply does not want to render. If you are abused as a child, your brain can trip its own defense mechanism and completely block it out of your conscious mind. Or, if you are drunk and do something incredibly stupid, do you black out, or does your brain resist remembering the event because of the guilt that you would have to suffer through?

I know there is one thing I certainly forgot about: moving home after graduation. Now here I am, back in the same home that was purchased so I could one day grow up and frolic in a back yard, sitting in the same room where I went from sleeping in a crib, to a big boy bed, and finally to a longer big boy bed, and I can't for the life of me understand how I neglected this part of the equation. Of course I had to live at home. What was I going to do, get a great job from junior through senior year to carry me over so I could afford a place to live? Pfft, yeah.

I'm now a graduate with a film and television degree, where else was I going to go? I feel like I'm in a Greek tragedy, and that since I was a freshman in high school who decided he had to go to film school, I have been avoiding the inevitable, somehow unable to see the future that I could never avoid. You know, without that whole “sleeping with your mom” thing.

Anywhoo, here's some random shit that's been bouncing around my head for the last...well…before I embarrass myself by figuring out when my last "random" blog post was, I'll just say it's been a while.

Is there a household in America who actually allows a house cleaner to fully do her job? For a brief stint, the Anton family had someone come by and clean the house every week. It was so long ago that we were using the archaic and now certainly non-PC term of "cleaning lady," as opposed to the now-appropriate "cleaning woman." Every week before she came over, my mother would yell at me that [b]we[/b] needed to clean the house, for the cleaning lady (pardon) was coming the next day.

What other profession exists where the people hire someone to do a job, and then attempts to accomplish it before the employee gets there? Before surgery, do you clean out your internal organs and try to make them as neat and presentable before the doctor cuts you open? Do you start building your deck before the construction crew arrives so you don't have to be embarrassed by how much progress you haven't made?

What is the point of even having a cleaning woman if you're going to do half the job but still pay her full price? Shit, I cleaned my room and never got a dime, but this woman strolls in, neatly puts some things in a corner and hits my desk with Pledge and gets all the reward?

The other half of the payment has to combat the weird insecurity women (especially mothers) have when they invite other people into their homes. Except, ya know, this person is supposed to thwart said insecurity by cleaning the house so that the mother does not have to deal with such a problem. For whatever reason, moms have this idea that they need to present a house to others that seemingly no one has ever lived in, neglecting to recognize that everyone else is pulling the same gimmick.

It's a vicious cycle and I'd have someone try and sort it out for me, but I'd be embarrassed that this problem exists in the first place.

Is there really anything worse in the world than seeing a wet pubic hair on a toilet? There is simply no getting around it. You walk into a public bathroom that you clearly have to use (why the hell else would you be in a [i]public toilet[/i]?), you lift the seat up or just stare down, and there it is: wet pube.

You can't avoid looking at it, either. Like a traction beam, it just holds your rapt attention while you stand there, motionless, unable to stop it. Do you wipe it? Can you seriously wipe away someone else's curly, awful personal hair that is no doubt not covered by any other liquid than urine?

My god, what if the offending pube and puddle of piss [i]aren't even a matching set?[/i] How does one cope with this? There it is, just looking at you, kinda bent more than curled, drowned in waste, hanging on to the edge of the bowl, refusing to be effortlessly washed away into the swirl of the toilet.

We are fighting many losing wars--Iraq, Afghanistation, on Drugs, on Blatant Horseshit and Rampant Stupidity--but we cannot lose the war against wet toilet pubes. Don’t worry, just vote to give me power to act, and in three weeks time I'll bomb the toilet at a McDonalds.

Mission Accomplished.

I was never good at Logic in Math class, but here goes nothing: If there is a drunk girl, and there is a table in the room, a drunk girl will dance on it. I have seen it nearly everywhere I go, and have no idea what the allure is. Dancing above people? A fascination of putting your shoes where other people eat and have no doubt that it will not be adequately cleaned for patrons the next day?

In a rare form of proper journalistic conduct, I have decided to actually do some work in a segment I will entitle "Useless Knowledge," where some of my pithy rhetorical questions will be answered by someone who does one of those things I am mystified by. Because it is me and it is this blog, don't expect this segment to ever come back.

I dispatched a call to my friend Catherine, a self-proclaimed master of dancing on tables, to try and get to the bottom of this phenomenon. She explained, "Well, I guess, if you like dancing, doing it on elevated surfaces is just one step better. Oh, and it's about being the center of attention, pretty much. When I get drunk, I feel the need to climb on things and dance. Not something I feel the need to do when sober."

She will fall off the table "infrequently," and the impromptu scaffolding must always be "secure…unless I'm really drunk." When asked if she would fear dancing on the table if she fell off (the only time she could recount falling was when she had "three girls on one table," clearly not enough table to support the three ladies), she decidedly answered no. Clearly, when you fall off the table, you hop right back on the horse and dance. Or something.

Finally, when asked if she saw a girl dancing on a table, then saw two tables stacked one on top of another, if she would climb that mighty heap just to dance on a more elevated surface, Catherine answered an emphatic “yes,” before saying, "well the elevated surface needs to be secure." It is that second of recognition of danger and the abject lack of safety that is quelled by alcohol. Therefore, we have found out that girls need to be the centers of attention at all times, and that alcohol fuels their undying quest to both show up men and especially other women around them.

And they do not care about the sanitary conditions of tables, yet they will never eat something that falls on the ground. Hypocrites.