Orchids

     My friend Megan had an orchid on her coffee table as a center piece.  It was nice, I guess, but it seemed like it was so much to take care of.  It could never just be there on the table, we always had to talk about it. It had a feeding cycle and a sun cycle and a replanting cycle and was probably going to start menstruating soon.  For a small plant, it really took over the space (of our relationship).
     I'm not really a plant person.  In fact, the last time I had a plant was when I was roommates with the aforementioned Megan.  We had moved into a small room in the basement of a shit-hole.  Someone, possibly one of our new roommates, brought us a plant as a welcoming present.  We oohed and aahed over it and hung it on our pretty picture window that was at ground level.  A few months later someone came to visit our room and made a comment about our sad, dead plant.  "What plant?" we unisoned.  Oh.  We forgot we had a plant.
     I didn't actually care too much at all about the dead plant.  I don't hate plants; they're fine for being outside and converting carbon dioxide into oxygen.  I'm just not really interested in raising them as my own.  It may be for some of the same reasons I don't see the appeal of children.  I assume the plants will be assholes as infant plants (plantlets) and then grow up to resent me even after all my unconditional love and resoiling. It's more than I'm willing to go through.
     The other thing about orchids is that is sounds a lot like orcas.  Orcas are whales.  Large killer whales that are huge and will kill you.  Orcas are a reminder of how primal and ferocious the real world can be.  There you are, just floating along on a small piece of lumber left from your shattered canoe.  You see in the distance a beautiful creature splashing and blow-holing about!  How majestic!  You drift out farther away from civilization, curious about the majestic creature's surely peaceful nature.  The sun blinds you for just a moment as the beautiful smooth ocean-bound mammal leaps into the air, completely free and wild.  You are envious.  This is life.  Then you are lunch.  This is death.

I Know Shit

     You know, there is some shit that I know about.  And damn it, if you ask for my help on stuff, I'm gonna tell you about the shit.  And just because you didn't know I knew the shit, it doesn't make the shit less relevant.  Consider yourself lucky that you asked someone who knows so much shit for help.  Because not only do I know some shit, I'm pretty god-damn humble about it.  That's why you didn't know about all the shit I know--'cause I'm fucking humble.
     Also, it just so happens that I can remember a lot of shit too.  I happen to know the names of the three main cast members of The Big Bang Theory--Jim Parsons, Johnny Gilecki, Kaley Cuoco--even though I do not watch the show.  I can also remember specific things about The X-Files; I could still write a graduate-level thesis about the Mulder and Scully relationship and its importance to the show and the franchise.  My knowledge of these topics does not make me an idiot.
     But I digress.

     I'm just saying that I actually know shit and it's a real blow to my ego when people are so surprised by it.  This also falls under the realm of opinions on things.  Sometimes my opinion is right, so please just take a second and consider it.  For example, "maybe this character should behave more like a human" might actually have some relevance in your rewrites. I realize having a Master's degree in Film Production doesn't trump your penis, but maybe just for a second, listen to the words that are coming out of my mouth.  I think I'm pretty open minded while listening to your euphemisms for vagina--axe gash, thanks for that--so maybe you can extend me the same fucking courtesy.
     So maybe that's not so humble, but I just wanted to get that off my giant heaving chest. I know what the fuck I'm talking about. Digression over, and hidden because sometimes I think maybe I should say those things. And really, that's the big problem here isn't it? Because really, I should fucking say it all the time and much louder. "Stop writing your women so stupid and the reason you can't get women is because you are actually an asshole." Now that's a great piece of writing advice.      

Why I Won't Be A Parent. Part One.

     I think the idea of joyful children is a myth perpetuated by generations and generations for self preservation and comeuppance.   I overheard a conversation once that went like this: “yeah, but kids are great.”  “They really are.”  There was no supporting evidence.  Parents have to constantly justify what makes all the pain worth it.  It never seems worth it.  “Oh, when he runs at me when I come home and hugs me, that's when I know it’s worth it.”  That’s it?  That’s the damn moment that makes getting shit on, screamed at, swatted at, and innumerable more horrible thing by these tiny little assholes worth it?  A goddamn running hug by someone who’s probably just going to give you the flu anyway? 

     Kids are assholes and they always have been.  But we’re made to feel like awful people for thinking it—and especially for saying it.  They’re selfish little monsters.  There’s nothing we can do about it.  Parents convince their children to have children as payback.  That’s it.  There was not actually any joy involved in the raising of the child.  People say all the time that it’s the hardest thing in the world.  It’s the hardest thing in the world, but sometimes they come runnin’ to hug you, so it’s worth it!  Bullshit. 

     Stupid people keep having kids because sex feels good.  Smart people stop having kids because kids are assholes.  Stupid people have stupid assholes.  At least when smart people had smart assholes, smart assholes are usually good for something.  Stupid assholes are just good for having more stupid assholes and increasing CMTs market share.

What Was On My Mind Today

Gloves.  These gloves:

They might not looks like much, but they're wonderful.  And tragically, I lost of them sometime between last winter and all the moving.  I kept thinking I had found the lost one but it turns out it was the original.
     They're glittens, the greatest winter gear creation of the modern era.  They're like finger-less gloves, which are always cool, except they also have the mitten component to keep your fingers warm when you're not using them.  And these glittens take the thumbs into account.  I have another pair of glittens that cover up the thumb as though opposable thumbs are not the main evolutionary reason man rules the planet.  Come on!  I need to use my thumbs even when it's cold; these glittens understand that.
     Another feature that makes these glittens superior to other glittens is their magnets.  These use magnets to hold the mitten flap back while not in use.  Buttons and snaps are a pain to deal with--they fall off and wear out.  Magnets, however, never wear out.  You can put your mitten flap on and take it off as many times as you need; you can flap and upflap for eternity!
     I love these gloves.  When I realized one was lost, I went into a tragic downward spiral.  I refused to go outside if it was under 35degrees.  I couldn't even think of using a different pair of gloves.  I would tell strangers of my lost glove woes.  "How are you?" they ask obligatorily.  "I'm pretty upset about losing my left glitten."  They didn't keep up the small talk.
     I've been thinking about these glittens all day.  Finally, I decided to put an end to the lamenting and actually find the closest EMS and find the gloves.  Phew--they're indeed still available at my local Eastern Mountain Sports, and they can even put them on hold for me.  I shall be reunited with my gloves soon.  

M Go Blue, I Love You

     As I start to write this, the Sugar Bowl just ended about 20 minutes ago.  Man, that was a great game.  The term nail-biter gets thrown around a lot, but truly, I bit off most of my finger nails.  In case you're not aware, Michigan won 23-20 in OT.  It was a little bit of a sloppy game, I admit.  But the team won the game, and they deserved it.
     I'm not a crazy football fan, but I am a crazy Michigan fan.  It's a hard feeling to describe.  I feel about Michigan the way I imagine other people feel about their spouses or their children.  I've experienced deaths of family members that didn't churn my stomach as much as watching a Michigan interception.  I've also experienced some pretty awesome things that still couldn't hold a candle to the joy in my heart when Michigan wins bowl games and Denard Robinson leaps into the stands.
     It may sound like there's seriously something wrong with me; the thing is, I'm not the only one who feels this way--not by a long shot.  There was a good chance blood would start streaming from my roommate's ears every time the defense failed to stop a first down.  You've never heard "for fuck sake" screamed so many times in a three hour period as when the Michigan defense isn't doing their job.  We probably should have warned the neighbors before we moved in that apartment 5K would be getting loud every Saturday, and then really loud for any bowl games.
     I love when Denard Robinson runs into the stands at the end of a game.  It makes me so happy to see him so happy.  He runs and jumps up, and the fans grab him and pull him up into the stands and everyone celebrates together.  And that's a huge piece of this feeling, I think.  It's about all of us in this together.  We all feel like we're part of something that is bigger than just ourselves.  I also really like Brady Hoke's speeches at the end of games.  For him, it's always about the players and their heart.  He doesn't talk about what he's doing, he talks about what the players are doing.  Also, it looked like he was really happy to get the blue Gatorade shower at the end of the game.  And not just the "ha ha, very funny guys, I'll tolerate it because I'm on TV" reaction you get from most coaches.  It was the "awww, thanks.  I love you guys."  He gave a double thumbs up as the Gatorade came crashing down over him, and really let it soak him.  I, along with many other Michigan fans, really like Brady Hoke.
     It's not just Michigan football I love.  It's the whole damn lot of it--the football, the hockey, the solar car, James Earl Jones and Gilda Radner, the space program; the list goes on and on. Cheering for Michigan makes me feel like I'm part of something bigger than myself.  Wearing my Michigan sweatshirt and my Michigan class ring makes me feel that way too.    It's where I'm from; it's the place largely responsible for shaping me into the person I am.  It's also why I think college is so damn important.  And when I say college, I mean a real one, with the word University in its name and dorms on its campus.  Does that make me sound like an elitist asshole?  Good.  Because I earned being an elitist asshole.  (This is also my thinly veiled attempt at telling my 18-year-old niece to go to college.  Rachael--you too can be an elitist asshole!)
     Hail to the Victors.  It's great to be a Michigan Wolverine. Go Blue.  Thanks for a great season, team.

So Much Football

     The Rose Bowl was on yesterday.  As was the Fiesta Bowl, the Gator Bowl, and several others with names I don't remember.  I watched more college football yesterday than I probably ever have.  I couldn't look away and I don't know why.
     I usually don't watch games in which U-M isn't playing, but I got sucked in.  It was the Rose Bowl after all, a New Year's Day tradition.  And even though it was the 2nd, what are you going to do?  The damn Rose Bowl is on and there are chicken wings available--you damn better watch it.  And really, it was a very interesting game. It was fun to watch.
     Now tonight is the game I actually do want to watch:  The Sugar Bowl!  Go Blue!  Or, as we're saying for this game, Geaux Blue!  (Because they're playing in New Orleans.)  Football games aren't usually appointment viewing for me, except for Michigan games.  The game (game coverage) starts at 8pm.  That's also the same time that the new Switched at Birth comes on. Ah, decisions.  Do me a favor and don't tell me what happens on Switched; I'll have to catch up later on Hulu or something.  Tonight I'm going to watch some football!

  GO BLUE!

I don't feel any different.

     I don't resolve.  I gave it up years ago.  In fact, it may have been a resolution from a few years ago that actually stuck.  And even though I don't resolve, I still say 2012 will be my year!  I think I said 32 would be my year, so combining the 32 "it'll be my year" with the 2012 "it'll be my year" has really got to bring it home.
     Let's put all these new beginning behind us, and keep on keeping on.