Friday, July 25, 2008

that ghastly show that shambles in the clutch of a terrifying unlife

Penny Arcade! - San Diego Sketchbook: Intimacy
So, once again, I must assert my undying devotion to Penny-arcade, for words like this:


that ghastly show that shambles in the clutch of a terrifying unlife

And art like this:


breathtaking elegance...

Penny Arcade! - San Diego Sketchbook: On Vibroblades

"Originally we did it this way because our laptop gave out, but now it's
all we want to do whenever we go places. Also, in order to get napkins
to sketch on, I need to order drinks. The elegance of this pristine mechanism is breathtaking. "


I've been thinking more and more about how I don't really drink anymore. Or draw on napkins. It's expensive (the drinking, not the drawing), and I have to either work or take care of kids (the only things I ever do) no matter how tired or hung over I am the next day.

I didn't used to get hang-overs at all - ever. I could literally be so drunk I couldn't roll over, wake up the next day, and eat spicey tacos with my mother and Mother-in-law. It was like a strange, wonderful super-power. However, as have many things, my super power has weakened and become less reliable with age.

Still, I have to admit, I REALLY miss hanging out with people and tying one on. I miss the alcohol-fueled mayhem and crazy adventures that would often ensue, and I miss having stories to tell about doing karaoke in Todd's basement @ 4 AM, or dancing with strange brazilian girls in a bar on the hill above the hilton until sunrise, or nearly getting beat up by an old lady, or nearly getting shot by some crazy kid from Chicago, or talking to a nice young girl about forming a trade union and how her job teaching head-start is going before slipping a dollar into her g-string, or how crispy cream donuts taste as good coming back up as they did going down. THEY DO!

I know my Naz friends will find this repulsive, and in my defence it's been years. But I gotta tell ya, i really miss those zany sit-com situations, and even moreso I miss the guy who used to constantly find his way into them.

So, I get it, I'm old. But ya' know...

Nah. What's on TV?

Not a teenager ...

So, I'm no longer particularly awkward socially.

I no longer dream of playing linebacker for the bears or being a millionaire by 30.

I no longer fear that I'll be inadequate for any given task, having learned from years of experience that I can do pretty much anything, provided I'm not feeling particularly lazy that day.

I'm excited about good deals on mini-vans.

I no longer have spontaneous erections, nocturnal emissions, or naughty fantasies about July Strayer.

I'm bald, have gray in my beard, am broader at the waist than at the shoulders, don't worry in the least about how I dress excepting in a business setting, watch my blood pressure, eat lots of greens, and don't get the music my kids like.

Clearly, no teenager am I.

Having said all that, Riddle me this: why, oh why, do I still get pimples?

Certainly, there are worse things; but c'mon ...

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