Molehill
When Moliere wrote his great comedic farces, I'm sure he had in mind a motivation of mockery and ridicule. After all, the concept of farce is to put an institution or idea under a lens that renders it ludicrous.
It is in this spirit that I view modern news reports of "STORMWATCH '04."
It's rain, children. Even in the hills where houses are slipping, the people inside are too busy playing X-Box and cheating on their husbands to worry about it. We here in Cali-Cali spend so much time refuting the Easterners claims of "seasons" and "better government leadership," but the truth of the matter is that when it does rain (and yes, it does rain, and when it does we surf in the streets to school on each of our own personal surfboards. We all have one) we flip the fuck out. We can't take it. Water?! From the sky?!? IT'S THE SEVENTH SIGN! NEXT WILL BE BLOOD! THEN FIRE! THEN THAT WILL PROBABLY FALL FROM THE SKY TOO!
And now we have a tsunami of such epic proportions, of such great damage to humanity, that it seems diminished in its coverage. All the news and attention the tsunami and its victims are receiving is lessened in importance by the exact same amount of regard given to errant precipitation. Just another example of crying wolf.
The same thing happened when G.W. started fucking up to the amazing extent that he has. Everyone spent the previous twelve years complaining about our presidents. George Sr. was terrible, Clinton was a philanderer, and no one stopped to think about the actual issues, just so long as they were bringing those in high positions low. George Sr. wasn't the best president ever, but he kept the country together, and his humanitarian movements, as image-inspired as they might have been, really did do a lot. Clinton was the first president in forty years to balance the damn budget, but no one can look past morality, as Puritan as we are and desperately deny ourselves to be.
And now we have a psychotic, dumbfuck maniac waging war and running the country into the ground, into the fucking ground, and we're complaining in the same volume, with the same annoying, squeaking voice. You blew your wad, whiners. You wasted your time complaining about our leaders, just to have the faculty of "complaining about your leaders," and now there's something to complain about and it sounds like rhetoric. You cried wolf. Or complained wolf. And now no one's going to bother satisfying your claim. Do yourselves a favor and read the constitution. Read what we're supposed to do when we don't like our leaders to the extent that we apparently don't like him. You'll know what to do.
Fancy Dinner, which I may have mentioned, is coming along nicely. I'll be sending out the invitations tomorrow, and most of the guest list, if not all, have already given their affirmation of attendance. I'm really looking forward to it. I went shopping with the Mrs. and have purchased a new shirt and tie specifically for the occasion. And to see if I'm man enough to pull off pink.
Mikey bought a suit. Italian, he says. Fascism was also Italian, but I'm feeling beatific today, and didn't want to be snotty. Besides, I think we're going to be the best dressed ones there. I doubt any of our friends owns a suit, let alone would bother getting one for the occasion. Just the same, if we are fashionably shown up, I'll be delighted. The next event is going to be Preppy Picnic, and the dress for that will be tennis outfits, white polo shirts, etc. Preppy casual. It'll be a picnic on the lake... badminton... nice time. I think more people will be prepared for the dress code of that event. Just the same, this one's shaping up.
I've been lax in my writing of late. I'd like to say its because of work, but I don't work all the time, and I have enough constitution to keep moving after I'm off. I'm not dead yet. I'd also like to say that it's because of my devotion to mundane editing projects, or perhaps my commitment to the Mrs., but I wasn't writing before the work came in, and I know she's more understanding than that. In reality, I have to face the fact that the reason I haven't been doing much of anything is... in fact... Grand Theft Auto.
It's become like a sickness to me. I come home and as soon as I'm not doing anything, as soon as I have a moment to rest, I leap onto the PS2 and start trying to exercise my control over San Fierro, having been exiled from Los Santos, my prestige ripped from me. It's an obsession, and the only way out I can see is by pushing through, like a barbed arrow, until I'm expelled from the other side.
Speaking of horrendous mutilation, I fought last night with my Bastard Brothers and most of the Templars for the first time in months. Not with them for the first time in months, but actually fought at all for the first time in months. I haven't fought sword and shield in a year, it seems, and my hands are reminding me of that today anytime I try to write, grasp a handle, or masturbate. I have faint bruises on both pollicis...es. Lots of fun.
On the other hand: LOTS OF FUN! It was great to be back in armor and I was amazed at how bad ass we were. My brothers and I were kicking the shit out of everything in sight, like we never even took a break! It was fantastic. It really felt good to be fighting again. Nothing makes you feel more alive than being in pain, and I think I need that more than I'd like to believe.
While we practice at Dana's school gym, there's another group of fighters that come and practice as well. We don't play together because, while we do heavy fighting, they do interesting pseudo-fencing things with civilian broadswords and little bucklers and such. Like fencing, only cooler. Much cooler. While watching them, I noticed a certain blonde kid talking and acting the humorous person that, once I realized who it was, I knew him to be. Marcos was right there practicing with these people, who I have not seen since he'd been the best man at Caelfind's and Aidan's wedding. I went over and said hi, and we talked for a while. He even introduced me around the light fighter's circle and they toyed with me for a bit, showing the sweaty, bruised barbarian how to finesse your way through a sword strike.
It was nice to see him again, and his friendliness didn't betray any insidious hatred from the Caelfind camp, who also recently sent me a Christmas card. I think the whole thing has blown over, which makes me really happy. I like those kids, and I wouldn't want them to think ill of me. But then, not wanting people to think ill of me is a huge motivator in my life, good friends or no.
Anyway, Porn Bingo. Soon.
You really got me. You really got me. TSU-NA-MEEEEEEEEEEE!
It is in this spirit that I view modern news reports of "STORMWATCH '04."
It's rain, children. Even in the hills where houses are slipping, the people inside are too busy playing X-Box and cheating on their husbands to worry about it. We here in Cali-Cali spend so much time refuting the Easterners claims of "seasons" and "better government leadership," but the truth of the matter is that when it does rain (and yes, it does rain, and when it does we surf in the streets to school on each of our own personal surfboards. We all have one) we flip the fuck out. We can't take it. Water?! From the sky?!? IT'S THE SEVENTH SIGN! NEXT WILL BE BLOOD! THEN FIRE! THEN THAT WILL PROBABLY FALL FROM THE SKY TOO!
And now we have a tsunami of such epic proportions, of such great damage to humanity, that it seems diminished in its coverage. All the news and attention the tsunami and its victims are receiving is lessened in importance by the exact same amount of regard given to errant precipitation. Just another example of crying wolf.
The same thing happened when G.W. started fucking up to the amazing extent that he has. Everyone spent the previous twelve years complaining about our presidents. George Sr. was terrible, Clinton was a philanderer, and no one stopped to think about the actual issues, just so long as they were bringing those in high positions low. George Sr. wasn't the best president ever, but he kept the country together, and his humanitarian movements, as image-inspired as they might have been, really did do a lot. Clinton was the first president in forty years to balance the damn budget, but no one can look past morality, as Puritan as we are and desperately deny ourselves to be.
And now we have a psychotic, dumbfuck maniac waging war and running the country into the ground, into the fucking ground, and we're complaining in the same volume, with the same annoying, squeaking voice. You blew your wad, whiners. You wasted your time complaining about our leaders, just to have the faculty of "complaining about your leaders," and now there's something to complain about and it sounds like rhetoric. You cried wolf. Or complained wolf. And now no one's going to bother satisfying your claim. Do yourselves a favor and read the constitution. Read what we're supposed to do when we don't like our leaders to the extent that we apparently don't like him. You'll know what to do.
Fancy Dinner, which I may have mentioned, is coming along nicely. I'll be sending out the invitations tomorrow, and most of the guest list, if not all, have already given their affirmation of attendance. I'm really looking forward to it. I went shopping with the Mrs. and have purchased a new shirt and tie specifically for the occasion. And to see if I'm man enough to pull off pink.
Mikey bought a suit. Italian, he says. Fascism was also Italian, but I'm feeling beatific today, and didn't want to be snotty. Besides, I think we're going to be the best dressed ones there. I doubt any of our friends owns a suit, let alone would bother getting one for the occasion. Just the same, if we are fashionably shown up, I'll be delighted. The next event is going to be Preppy Picnic, and the dress for that will be tennis outfits, white polo shirts, etc. Preppy casual. It'll be a picnic on the lake... badminton... nice time. I think more people will be prepared for the dress code of that event. Just the same, this one's shaping up.
I've been lax in my writing of late. I'd like to say its because of work, but I don't work all the time, and I have enough constitution to keep moving after I'm off. I'm not dead yet. I'd also like to say that it's because of my devotion to mundane editing projects, or perhaps my commitment to the Mrs., but I wasn't writing before the work came in, and I know she's more understanding than that. In reality, I have to face the fact that the reason I haven't been doing much of anything is... in fact... Grand Theft Auto.
It's become like a sickness to me. I come home and as soon as I'm not doing anything, as soon as I have a moment to rest, I leap onto the PS2 and start trying to exercise my control over San Fierro, having been exiled from Los Santos, my prestige ripped from me. It's an obsession, and the only way out I can see is by pushing through, like a barbed arrow, until I'm expelled from the other side.
Speaking of horrendous mutilation, I fought last night with my Bastard Brothers and most of the Templars for the first time in months. Not with them for the first time in months, but actually fought at all for the first time in months. I haven't fought sword and shield in a year, it seems, and my hands are reminding me of that today anytime I try to write, grasp a handle, or masturbate. I have faint bruises on both pollicis...es. Lots of fun.
On the other hand: LOTS OF FUN! It was great to be back in armor and I was amazed at how bad ass we were. My brothers and I were kicking the shit out of everything in sight, like we never even took a break! It was fantastic. It really felt good to be fighting again. Nothing makes you feel more alive than being in pain, and I think I need that more than I'd like to believe.
While we practice at Dana's school gym, there's another group of fighters that come and practice as well. We don't play together because, while we do heavy fighting, they do interesting pseudo-fencing things with civilian broadswords and little bucklers and such. Like fencing, only cooler. Much cooler. While watching them, I noticed a certain blonde kid talking and acting the humorous person that, once I realized who it was, I knew him to be. Marcos was right there practicing with these people, who I have not seen since he'd been the best man at Caelfind's and Aidan's wedding. I went over and said hi, and we talked for a while. He even introduced me around the light fighter's circle and they toyed with me for a bit, showing the sweaty, bruised barbarian how to finesse your way through a sword strike.
It was nice to see him again, and his friendliness didn't betray any insidious hatred from the Caelfind camp, who also recently sent me a Christmas card. I think the whole thing has blown over, which makes me really happy. I like those kids, and I wouldn't want them to think ill of me. But then, not wanting people to think ill of me is a huge motivator in my life, good friends or no.
Anyway, Porn Bingo. Soon.
You really got me. You really got me. TSU-NA-MEEEEEEEEEEE!
posted by DeadLanguage at 9:33 PM
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