Wednesday, March 02, 2005
All the Things You Didn't Know About Me but Came Here Today to Read
• I love Cheaters. It's the trashiest show, but it trashes the trash of society: those who cheat. As a test of psychology, almost every "caught" person reacts the same: surprise/shock, denial, "you don't understand!", shame/attempt to run away, contrition, "You know I love you." My favorite episode is when this chick has Cheaters catch her good-for-nothing- boyfriend screwing their babysitter. At first, when the camera crew comes in, the boyfriend is going through the described cycle of emotions, but the babysitter -- she's beaming, hands on her hips, eyes gleaming, proud of herself. "At least I know how to please him!" she chortles. Then the boyfriend turns around and says, "What are you talking about? You were just a cheap piece of ass." The babysitter's face sinks like she is in seizure: "What?! But you! You were my first, and you said you loved me! Oh my Goooooood!" Priceless.
• Of all Neil Young's fazes, only in the 1980s can I choose a favorite song: "No more". It's just brilliant. It's about drugs, creativity, losing your spark, and it has a bass line that just hums along.
• I feel a real sort of sick triumph over all the people who have told me (and it's usually women in their mid- or late-20s) so passionately: "I want a child!" They didn't tell me they wanted a marriage or a boyfriend or a stable career or even some common sense. They wanted a child! And they couldn't just say it -- they had to belt it out. And they didn't want a baby or a kid. They wanted a child! Why triumph? Because they just didn't know what they were asking for. And all they really wanted was the cute smiles and pretty baby clothes. They didn't think about the kid peeing right up in the air while you try to change the diaper. They didn't think of teaching the kid any morals, or how to handle him or her when she comes home with cigarettes in the fourth grade, or how they'll respond when he or she tells you that you wouldn't understand. They wanted a child!
• It's time to come clean to my merry band of wrfarah.blogspot.com readers. I'm a Star Wars geek. Yes, I'm one of those people who visits websites like this every day and can describe the plot of the next movie in detail, win games of Star Wars Trivial Pursuit, wage a spirited argument on whether or not the dark side really is stronger than the light side of the Force, and confirm how I'm taken off of work so that I can go to the midnight showing of Return of the Sith on May 19th. There. That felt better. Now the secret is out.
• I've been approached to ghostwrite an autobiography recently. "Now, Will -- just to let you know. There would be a lot of sexual episodes to include." OK, I said. I can handle that. My current book is full of sex. "And also, Will -- just to let you know. They would all be homosexual in nature." Well. That sure would be different from what I'm writing now. You may want read some of my current stuff to see if I'm appropriate for you, I say. Updates to follow.
• Nolan's sitting here, dressed in flannel, listening to Neil right now. People tell me you have to have him listen to baby music and wear those outrageous baby outfits my wife is always buying. Those people are wrong.
• I finally fell the other day. I always fall on the ice once per winter while running. I was pretty sure I could make it through this winter without . . . but alas. Good twist of the knee, too. I walk like an old man now.
• There was this moment on talk radio yesterday, in which the guest host claimed that justice was being served, that it wasn't a hate crime, that they really were looking for a badge. And it was the first time when it was clear the caller had the host in a bind, when he said: "You really wouldn't know, would you? They're all cops that did this. They know what a hate crime is. Of course they're going to SAY they're looking for a wallet, not just looking to beat the crap out of a guy because he's black and he came to a party full of white people -- with white girls. Of course they're going to say that. And what, the district attorney, he believes them. That's like asking the fox to guard the chickens. And you, you wonder why there's a problem in this town."
• Just for the record, I really don't want to go to work today.
• Of all Neil Young's fazes, only in the 1980s can I choose a favorite song: "No more". It's just brilliant. It's about drugs, creativity, losing your spark, and it has a bass line that just hums along.
• I feel a real sort of sick triumph over all the people who have told me (and it's usually women in their mid- or late-20s) so passionately: "I want a child!" They didn't tell me they wanted a marriage or a boyfriend or a stable career or even some common sense. They wanted a child! And they couldn't just say it -- they had to belt it out. And they didn't want a baby or a kid. They wanted a child! Why triumph? Because they just didn't know what they were asking for. And all they really wanted was the cute smiles and pretty baby clothes. They didn't think about the kid peeing right up in the air while you try to change the diaper. They didn't think of teaching the kid any morals, or how to handle him or her when she comes home with cigarettes in the fourth grade, or how they'll respond when he or she tells you that you wouldn't understand. They wanted a child!
• It's time to come clean to my merry band of wrfarah.blogspot.com readers. I'm a Star Wars geek. Yes, I'm one of those people who visits websites like this every day and can describe the plot of the next movie in detail, win games of Star Wars Trivial Pursuit, wage a spirited argument on whether or not the dark side really is stronger than the light side of the Force, and confirm how I'm taken off of work so that I can go to the midnight showing of Return of the Sith on May 19th. There. That felt better. Now the secret is out.
• I've been approached to ghostwrite an autobiography recently. "Now, Will -- just to let you know. There would be a lot of sexual episodes to include." OK, I said. I can handle that. My current book is full of sex. "And also, Will -- just to let you know. They would all be homosexual in nature." Well. That sure would be different from what I'm writing now. You may want read some of my current stuff to see if I'm appropriate for you, I say. Updates to follow.
• Nolan's sitting here, dressed in flannel, listening to Neil right now. People tell me you have to have him listen to baby music and wear those outrageous baby outfits my wife is always buying. Those people are wrong.
• I finally fell the other day. I always fall on the ice once per winter while running. I was pretty sure I could make it through this winter without . . . but alas. Good twist of the knee, too. I walk like an old man now.
• There was this moment on talk radio yesterday, in which the guest host claimed that justice was being served, that it wasn't a hate crime, that they really were looking for a badge. And it was the first time when it was clear the caller had the host in a bind, when he said: "You really wouldn't know, would you? They're all cops that did this. They know what a hate crime is. Of course they're going to SAY they're looking for a wallet, not just looking to beat the crap out of a guy because he's black and he came to a party full of white people -- with white girls. Of course they're going to say that. And what, the district attorney, he believes them. That's like asking the fox to guard the chickens. And you, you wonder why there's a problem in this town."
• Just for the record, I really don't want to go to work today.
