It’s called “What’s the weirdest fucking thing you will ever see on the internet?”
When I was but a wee lad, I lived in my parent’s house. That is to say, under their roof. They had a family room with a couch, a TV, and a coffee table. Often, my brother and I would sit on the couch, watching the TV, with our feet up on the coffee table.
This of course caused one or both of my parents to remind us it was a table and not a stool, that we were not to put our feet on the furniture, and that our lives were forfeit if we scratched it.
And that of course caused my brother and I to grumble about “the man” which really meant “our parents” who were totally uncool and needed to just chill. Cool people always put their feet up on furniture. The proof was right there on the TV we were watching. When we had coffee tables, we promised ourselves, we were going to put our feet up on them all the time. We would be cool adults. Not like our parents.
I have now reached a stage in my life where I own things. Not really expensive fancy things, but new things. Things that are mine, that never had a previous owner. Things like my faux leather coffee table/ottoman. Which is awesome. And which The Wife and I constantly put our feet on.
But we almost always take our shoes off first.
Cause, y’know, we wouldn’t want to scratch it.
I hate it when I understand my parents.
Parachute pants, the Dark Side of the force are they.
This girl made a feature-length movie. She is twelve. TWELVE.
Do you know what I was doing when I was twelve? Staring at Baywatch hoping for nipple-slips and trying to figure out how to unscramble the porn channel.
A full length film. At twelve. Do you have any idea what kind of monumental undertaking that is? What it means to accomplish that feat? Pause for a moment and imagine just how many 40-year old directors are still dreaming of doing this.
I haven’t been this depressed since I failed to figure out how to unscramble the porn channel. (To this day, slightly garbled static and bad tv reception still kinda turn me on.)
I totally suck.
Last week, the treadmills in my complex were either taken or broken, so I went running on the pier.
I see why people do this now.
I was never a treadmill runner before. I actually ran (more like jogged quickly) track in high school, and I prefer the sort of running that actually takes you somewhere to the sort that keeps you in one spot. But I just moved recently and haven’t worked out a mile loop in my area, so I’ve been hamster-wheeling it the last few weeks.
But I was forced to actually go outdoors last Wednesday, and stumbled again upon the cult of the runner.
Most of the street/pier was full of businessmen. But here and there I discovered people like me. Men and women in crappy clothes and earbuds pounding pavement in defiance of laziness and sloth. Each time we passed each other, a nod of the head or flip of the fingers was given in wordless salute. We were brothers and sisters, and though no two of us dressed alike, we were all identified by our pace and resolve. We weaved in and around the coffee-drinkers and briefcase-carriers, feeling superior. And in some cases, feeling short of breath as well.
Every runner I passed rejuvenated me. As long as they ran, so would I. None of us would stop, not within sight of each other. We would push on. Just till that lamppost. That jetty. That bus stop sign. Just by stepping outside, and then stepping some more in quick succession, I had joined a swift and unspoken brotherhood.
Then Friday I was back on the treadmill. Cause cults take a lot of commitment, y’know? And I didn’t want to get stuck with any membership fees. I’ll just take some time to read the pamphlets before committing to anything.
But I might show up for next Wednesday’s meeting. We’ll see how it goes.
One of my favorite commercials ever.
And because I love you, the extended version.
I know, I didn’t believe it could get any better either.
I’m in advertising. I’ve been in it, as a student or professional, for nearly 7 years now.
Damn hang on, I had no idea it had been that long. Gimmie a second.
Ok, better now. My point is that this is not a 9-5 profession I’ve chosen, and many have been the times I haven’t seen The Wife for a few days. Or we only saw the other one asleep. Or as we pull in/out of the driveway at 7am.
During those periods, I’m working my ass off. So it’s always been sort of annoying when The Wife calls at midnight, then 1:30, then 2 in the morning asking when I think I’ll be home. And when she finds it frustrating that I begin responding to emails and txts the minute I walk through the door when she hasn’t seen me for days. And when she berates me for spending 30 seconds longer than necessary at my job because I actually enjoy it and sometimes talk to my coworkers. All of these were behaviors I basically shrugged off as the sort of things The Wives of the world have to do to be good The Wives.
I mean, that’s what they do right? A man would just drink beer and stop using the coaster if his woman was out of the house on that kind of schedule. Maybe have his buddies over to watch the game or shoot small woodland creatures.
Then The Wife became a doctor and I sat at home doing everything in my power to not call her and see how she was doing at midnight (I did text her twice), pretending it didn’t make me pissed when she finally got home and started txting her coworkers (I was pissed), and carefully not saying anything when she hinted that she might get done work earlier if she didn’t talk to her new friends so much (I lasted three days before pointing out I’ve been getting crap for that for two years).
So yeah. Turns out I’m a great Wife.
My wife contacted me at work a few weeks ago to tell me her swing dancing medical school classmate was going to be in a Sean Kingston music video.
Being a doctor is a profession which requires massive amounts of time and focus. So much so that simply answering the ice breaker “what do you do for a living” provokes awe and respect at the dinner table.
The same could be said of, say, a world-class swing dancer. The sort who would make it into music videos. It is absolutely unnecessary that any one person should qualify as both. I cannot believe that any one person would be so greedy as to achieve both.
Attention Doctors: you’re doctors.
And that should be more than enough for you. I understand that by definition you are all well-educated and extremely driven individuals. I get that. That’s fine. Of course you can excel at a hobby or two. The Wife, for example, is quite a good baker. My father, the anesthesiologist, routinely codes full programs. I know other doctors that are fine sailors, have a flair for interior decoration, or paint beautiful art.
But none of them had the gall to achieve professional-level success in a second field.
Do you know how many people suck at doing a single thing in their lives? How greedy do you have to be to first achieve the greatest wish of everyone’s mother and then go further still? Did you give even a moment’s thought to how damning that is for the rest of us?
I mean it was bad enough when the rest of us had to introduce ourselves as copywriters, accountants, or pet psychics before. How we’re supposed to compete with a bunch of super doctors who are also famous actors is beyond me. I don’t care what the nature of the competition is- if their PhD shows up on IMDB, we lose.
So all you greedy, overly-talented doctors can cut it the hell out. You’re making me depressed. And I’ll be damned if I have to go to you and ask for a prescription for it.