Sunday, August 24, 2014

Cool As a Cucumber

People are always advising me to go away from the light and, to the best of my abilities, I always do. If you were observing me do this, most of the time you would just see a regular looking dude just inching away slowly from this massive light. However, one time I did it too quickly and incidentally created a new dance move that is all the rage in the clubs now. It would be a reasonable thought to wonder what a regular guy like me is doing with such a large, bright light anyways - it came with the place.

Out of the mouths of babes comes a whole lot of stuff I've saying super-articulately for years and no one seems to even bat an eyelash. So let me get this straight, I go on and on with all of this hyper-intelligent, nae, mind-blowing, for lack of a better term, art and get nothing from anyone. Then this unnecessarily cute, far from hygienic, young person repackages my brilliance into a few monosyllabic, googily-goo and makes everyone laugh and the world seemingly grinds to a halt. Sorry if I am not impressed, babes. It will take a whole lot more to impress me - although you are very cute, I will concede that. Ride that wave while you can.

I am feeling deflated today, mostly because you misheard my request. I asked to be flattered, not flattened. I do admire your desire to fulfill my request as even when I was screaming for you to stop, you were unrelenting in your mission to flatten me. Probably should get your ears checked and learn to think for yourself especially when someone's insides start oozing out of their body. Now that I'm deflated, I would appreciate you pumping me up - NOT LITERALLY! Put that basketball pump down and back away slowly! 

Whenever I'm confronted with a seemingly insurmountable problem, people always scoff at my indecision saying that the answers are so simple and that it's all black and white. I wish! It isn't my fault that when I am forced to choose, I always see grey options  -it's how I was raised! My parents never allowed me to sway all the way to an extreme and instead I was strongly guided  to find a middle, blended ground (which included actually blending the ground in our backyard mostly because the manure and peat moss become better distributed that way for gardening - it just made so much sense). This had it's good points - instead of being forced to choose one of two flavours of ice cream, my father expertly mixed the two together on a marble slab that he designed himself while I stood by bawling (I really didn't want my vanilla and his unsweetened, black licorice root together)  and when I couldn't decide which shirt to wear, my mother would drop everything and cut both in half and restitch them together creating some completely bizarre patterns and shirts (once I was trying to choose between a white, collared, button-down dress shirt and a tie-dyed tank top). It also had it's bad points as even when a situation arose when only a black or white, yes or no type answer worked, I still wasn't allowed to choose one which created much controversy and unwanted negative attention for me growing up. Like the time in the lunch line up when I was asked if I wanted white or whole wheat toast and me being perfectly conditioned, answered "maybe" which led to a stall that resulted in no one getting their lunch before the bell. Or the time at the doctor's office when I needed to have one vaccine and I couldn't select which arm to have the needle inserted in, which led to me receiving countless shots in countless spots on the body from the frustrated and out-of-her-wits doctor (who coincidentally was wearing a grey shirt that day). In times of disarray I often close my eyes and visit a fantasy dream-like world that I imagine is all in black and white. It is so much simpler there compared to their grey upon grey world in which I live. In this imaginary world, all decisions are really really easy as they are actually black or white. Like do you want another piece of white cake? Is that shirt black? Do you like my new white sock? And, when I wrapped this sheet around your face repeatedly did you only see black before you passed out and I put your body in the trunk of the car? (I didn't say this fantasy land was safe, just that the questions were easy to answer without much hesitation.)

I have often been compared to a ticking time bomb as a result of all of the plastic surgery I have had which gives me a very flat and metallic look which is actually, if you were wondering, a result of hours and hours in the gym (and evidence that I am not completely sure how to use the equipment properly). I also have a bad habit of absent-mindedly making ticking sounds as I creep around and calling out "IS THAT A BOMB!" before running away giggling. Plus the fact that I am always one perceived slight or one extremely irrational response away from exploding. 

Just like everyone else, I like to look my best and I don't care if it takes creams and exfoliators and combs (that's right not just one comb, I am willing to use two), I am fully prepared to put in the effort. My goal is to be so good looking that I am just about drop dead gorgeous but not quite. I'd rather live and be slightly ugly.

I spend so much of my time staring at that idiot box and I should cut back so that I can watch some more high quality programming on the TV, but I just can't take myself away from watching those idiots! They are just so endearingly stupid and constantly on the verge of doing something profoundly dumb! I also find that after hours of observing these idiots constantly outdoing themselves finding yet another depth to mentally sink to, I feel a whole lot smarter myself. Thank you, idiot box, for accomplishing a task that 12 years of school could not. I have wondered how they got the idiots into the box in the first place, and why they don't just open it and leave - I mean there is a wide, gaping hole in the front.

I am a third wheel. At home, at the restaurants, on quiet walks under the moonlight, I am always the third wheel. I happen to think I am quite good at it and maybe, I'm just saying, I may be so good at it that after a bit more studying and a little fine-tuning with a renewed focus, I believe that one day I can move up to become the second wheel, or at least explore the options for settings where only two wheels are permitted.

I'm not sure why it is so hard to have your cake and eat it too. I mean, if it is a good cake I totally get that others would want some too and if your friends are anything like mine, they are like vultures around cake and it is just not humanly possible to fend off multiple attackers from different angles all at the same time and not drop the cake. I would guess that you should buy your cake and then cover it in a cloak or something and then rush home. A simple white cake box will not be sufficient - those that want to steal your cake will see through that  (the clear plastic top makes that all too easy). Even with a cloak, I wouldn't rush too fast - it will draw unnecessary attention to you. Your friends and other passersby will wonder aloud "Why is he rushing so fast on a pretty regular looking day  - pretty suspicious, if I don't say? Probably is concealing a cake." So, walk slowly but meaningfully, both avoid eye contact so as not to draw any unnecessary attention and also make eye contact so it doesn't appear that you are going out of your way to avoid eye contact as only a cake-horder does that in this day and age and then as soon as you are home and the door is closed and locked, you may resume stuffing your face with cake. Maybe sharing isn't such a bad idea afterall?

Some time in my busy schedule of performing open heart surgeries, eating blood sausages and taking classes at the local community college in blood splatter analysis has finally opened up and I plan to paint the town red. 

I was recently told that I was as heavy as a sack of potatoes. Initially, I was quite offended as I was imagining this massive sack overflowing with enough gargantuan potatoes to barely satisfy a humongous, potato-loving family or group of citizens or just one maniacal loaner who just loves peeling them while laughing at imaginary not-so-funny monologues. After some time, I decided to venture out and explore the world of sacks of potatoes and after months of extensive research and both observing and purchasing for the sake of carrying, many sacks of a variety of sizes and weights, my conclusion was that it is still an insult of the high degree and I will exact my revenge. Looking forward to consuming less starch too as I have either developed a rare skin ailment from consuming excessive starch or I am just caked with discarded potato skins. On the upside, I now have quite the sack collection. My grandfather would be proud (but then again he was quite odd and almost anything I did made him proud).

Last week I was at an all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant and asked if I could have one of everything. I was told by the waitress to "eat my heart out" with, in my opinion, way too much pleasure especially considering the time of day. It also seemed to be a totally strange suggestion considering I had already ordered a ton of sushi and neither I nor her nor my eating companion seemed to be a surgeon capable of performing heart removals with a live patient. And could I even eat my heart once removed? Would I live long enough? What accompanying sauce would best enhance a lightly-sautéed heart? As I thought and thought and thought, I decided that either my waitress had all of these answers or...I looked around and not only had she checked out and gone home, but the restaurant lights were dimmed, the place cleaned and only a man dressed in a surgeon outfit with a gleaming smile and an equal gleaming scalpel sat across from me (his shoes were also shiny but that is neither here nor there). This is why I usually order in and am trying to cut back on expired dairy products.

I am often a bit hot under the collar, which I initially attributed to wearing collars on my shirts. I thought -Hey! If I just stop wearing collars, I will feel a whole lot cooler, and the only downside is having to shop for a lot of new shirts. However, when I switched over to non-collared shirts and turtlenecks, the heat remained. I was tempted to give up, but I have done a lot of that recently, and I was trying to not give in to that particular temptation. My new goal was to be as cool as a cucumber. Step 1: refrain from eating and/or using cucumbers as microphones in front of the bathroom mirror and/or fondling (unless that particular cucumber seems to enjoy it) and/or practicing speeches in front of all cucumbers while studying them. Step 2: spend all of my free time observing the cucumbers both in their natural habitat and in my refrigerator to see what makes them tick and be so cool (note: could probably skip the "ticking" part if pressed for time). Step 3: after completing 500 hours of observations (the minimum time required by my wife, who is trying to catch up on her PVRed TV shows, and for some reason was put in charge of making the rules), go to the library and research "the musical story of cucumbers and how they are far superior to zucchinis (a fact they are well aware of)", "all about our friend, the refrigerator, and why calling her 'fridge' is bordering on sacrilegious", "what storing cucumbers in refrigerators actually accomplishes (you would be surprised)" and "the history of humans and refrigerators seen through the eyes of a cucumber". Step 4: go play some tennis -nothing to do with the project, I just needed a break as I was starting to see cucumbers wherever I turned and they were starting to talk to me, which I quite enjoyed, until they started to encourage me, gently at first, to do some very bad things. Step 5: after completing 500 hours of library research (again the minimum time required by my wife, she stated with what can only be described as glee or possibly greed), start living the part and become as cucumber-like as possible - dress like one (vests, vests and more vests), talk like one (they often have a slight Welsh accent), behave like one (friendly, but not too friendly; smart, but not too smart; and exactingly punctual, totally and completely, smugly punctual all the time almost like it makes you so much better than everyone else) and then see if the result is "coolness". If it is, I will celebrate my new found state of being cool with a refreshing cucumber and yogurt salad and a spanking, fresh hair cut that will be the talk of the town or just make me hear more voices, which will have the same end result. If it isn't and I am still too hot, then I will still eat the refreshing salad but with a fair amount of spite and vitriol and while I will outwardly state to all present, how much I enjoy said salad, honestly, I will be overstating the fact as the salad will be quite bland and so 80s.

I used to walk around the house with a carefree bounce in my step almost as if to say "I don't care where my foot lands, it's all good".  Now? I am always walking on eggshells due to your haphazard way of discarding all of the shells. I miss those carefree days in a way that only a perfectly poached egg can come close to satisfying. Keep those eggs coming, but could you please use the compost!

Many people have told me that an apple a day keeps the doctor away. Man, do I only wish it was so easy. I'm writing this now holed up in my attic awaiting the next wave of certifiably-crazy, body-probing, needle-wielding doctors who are practically frothing at the mouth waiting to inflict pain upon me (or just reminding me in person about my next appointment, and if so, what's with the froth?). Sure you call it a regular check-up, but I can see right through that, you fiends - you just want to extract my kidney, hack at my knee and shine bright lights into my eyes and ears and other places too if it tickles your fancy. I hide in my attic, hurling apples, tower-defense style, trying to keep those doctors with their perfect degrees and slightly less perfect hair pieces out of my house.

I have no idea what like a pie in the sky is supposed to mean and it just makes me so angry! What?!?!?! Like something is suppose to be like a pie floating or flying in the sky?!?! Really!?! Have you ever encountered anything like that?!?!? That's what I thought! What is even like a pie in the first place? A tart, you say? Okay...you have a point - tarts are quite similar to pies. A quiche? Again, good point, quiches are quite similar to pies as well. Flan? Cobbler?...Alright, so there are actually a fair number of other baked goods reminiscent of pies, I stand corrected. But, that is not my point at all, my point was...ahh screw it, anyone else in the mood for pie right now?

Have you met that guy downtown who is razor sharp? Super-smart and a compelling conversationalist, and I always leave our meetings with much knowledge gained and tons of cuts all about my arms and legs. I can't decide if having my mind blown wide open and filled with brilliant idea after brilliant idea makes worthwhile all of the pain, blood and scars from the countless razors that he insists on not just keeping on his body but waving around as he pontificates.

Just yesterday, my buddy thrust a magazine article in my face and demanded that I read it and weep, which I did. As I've always said, is there any other way to enjoy a well-researched, properly-punctuated magazine article with impeccable grammar then with a good cry?

Just for once, I want to be on top of the world so others will look up at me or should I say up in my general direction as I'm assuming that if I am literally on top of the world then I'll be fairly far away from everyone else and that they will have to squint, or use a telescope or just take for granted that I am actually there and just go on with their regular lives. I'm sure that at first it will be a novelty and other's will take time to notice or talk about it, and then everyone will just forget about it and resume having fun and I'll be stuck up there on top of the world with no way to get down (they didn't mention that in the brochure) and also, I have a debilitating fear of heights and even if they provide a ladder or a hang glider or something, I am screwed. And I'll have no one to talk to and I'll be forced to create a whole cast of characters to interact with just to fight off the inevitable fall into insanity although inventing, writing detailed character studies and interacting with imaginary characters will lead instead to a gentle walk towards insanity. Also, that pretty girl I used to like to look at through my binoculars from my window, will now just look like a dot from up here, albeit a pretty dot - oh who am I kidding - all the dots will look the same up here and when I think I am looking at her I could just be ogling a dog or a mailbox or that life-sized picture of myself I painted on my roof. She won't even know I exist, which may be step up from the current state, where she knows and only tolerates me because she promised her ailing father not to abhor anyone as it added to her stress. Why did I want this privilege of being on top of the world again? So others would be forced to take a break from looking down at me and have to look up? I take it all back - keep looking down! Resume our regularly scheduled, well-rehearsed relationship where you are up here and I am down there. I don't love it, but at least I can't fall.

I really want to pay lip service! Where do I sign up?









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