Wow. That was a pretty fucking whiny entry back there.
Anyway. This morning I was greeted to the morning trifecta of repulsion. Let’s review:
1. As I groggily look out my window, I’m greeted to McDonald’s trash all over my street. “Yum.”
2. As I make my way to the car, and get closer to said trash, I notice two used condoms mixed in with it. Great.
3. As I’m walking to work, I glance over to the side of the sidewalk, and am greeted with a big, black asscrack.
And as a bonus, I get a drop of gross, air-conditioning water in my eye — just for good measure.
If all this happened before 8, I wonder what the rest of the day has in store for me.
PS - I’m pretty sure I used ‘trifecta’ wrongly here, but I don’t give a shit because it just sounds cooler that way.
Click the picture to enlarge please.
I always identified with Calvin as a child (I suppose you could say I still do), and this strip pretty much sums up what being a kid like Calvin is like. Constantly feeling out of sync with the rest of the world, and thus retreating to the world you create for yourself in your mind. If you think about it, Calvin was really quite an anomaly in popular entertainment — not just in comics, but in anything, be it movies, TV, etc. He has no friends, and no extracurricular activities; the only people he ever sees are his parents, who he has a strained relationship with, and Moe, Susie, Rosalyn, and Miss Wormwood, all of whom he detests and all of whom detest him. The only person he ever has any real interaction with exists only in his head. He is, for all intents and purposes, completely alone. And he’s fine with that. The kind of kid most people would entirely ignore all through school is not generally the kind you make the star of your show, and yet the strip became hugely successful.
I know that people of all ages enjoyed Calvin and Hobbes, but I have to think that it meant even more to those of us who grew up with him. Going to school every day and seeing all the ways we didn’t fit in, it was nice to see someone like us, who was intelligent and independent, and didn’t need to be a smile-plastered Mouseketeer to enjoy life. Though numerous motivational posters and guidance councelors and after-school specials had said it again and again, it was Calvin who managed to truly express the idea — without being preachy, without being sappy, perhaps even without trying — that it was okay to be different.
-quoted from Progessive Boink
This morning when I woke up, I felt like I had just woken from a bad dream. Did last night really happen? Regardless, I felt surprisingly refreshed and free. Perhaps it was the extra hour of sleep I got; or was it something else?
I was surprised to find that I was taking it better than expected. I was elated (again, perhaps due to the extra sleep) and bouyant. I could do this: no problem. My new life and all of its possibilities opened up before my eyes, and it didn’t look too shabby. I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted–without any thought of anyone or anything. This imagined freedom was all too tempting.
A little bit more into my day, however, I was overcome with a wave of sadness. Gone were the happy images of freedom. Gone was the released burden. Instead, the burden had relocated elsewhere. My heart felt heavy. Everything just felt blah. Sure, with this new-found freedom, life would be fun. But with whom would I share it with? Who would I come home to to relate the stories of my exploits?
Life just wouldn’t be the same. Sure, change always changes things. But in this case, I don’t think it would be for the better. There are times when I just want it to end: it’s too hard, there are too many sacrifices, it’s just too much work. But then when you weigh out the pros against the cons, it just can’t compare. Not even close. One simple phrase, or one simple gesture is worth all of those sacrifices and trials.
But, alas. It’s not up to me.
Gather round all ye xangarians and listen to my tale of whoa.
A much-awaited package arrived at my doorstep the other day. Judging from the packaging, I ascertained that it contained my recent order from Urban Outfitters. As I ripped open the parcel, I was utterly dismayed to come upon a striped hoodie.
“I ordered no such item!” I sorely excliamed. “Alas! They must have switched up my order!” I lamented.
However, upon further excavation of the box did I discover the extent of my purchase intact. But what of the aforementioned, unexpected hoodie? ‘Twas in my size, although I definitely did not order it. Examination of the packing slip revealed it’s omission from the invoice. And then it dawned on me:
I guess I just scored a free $76 Paul Frank hoodie. Oh whoa is me.
Aside: I think I’ve been watching too much Deadwood — hence the strange language with which this entry was written. My apologies.
