skot AT izzlepfaff DOT com
Tuesday, 02 January
Ass First Into The New Year
Hey! Did you see what I did there? I took a big old break from posting during the holidays, and I didn't even mean to! Welcome to 2007, a year that hopefully might suck fewer balls than some previous years I could mention (I'm looking at you, 1971.)
I wish I could say it was pure holiday bliss that was keeping me busy, and there was some of that, but really? I, uh . . . well, I guess I didn't feel like it. Lame, I know, but there you go: between a lot of time off and (let's face it) a lot of drinking, well, I just didn't.
In truth, I also didn't have a lot to write about. Don't get me wrong, the holidays were great. But it's not exactly blog fodder when I spend Christmas with the in-laws and totally fail to do something spectacularly awful like inadvertently screaming "FUCK!" in front of them during a trivia game after mixing up Fatal Attraction and Basic Instinct. No, this year we sipped wine and sampled cheese before genteelly attacking our stockings. (Mine contained things like a travel toothbrush and an apple. You see?)
I must say, however, that I rocked it pretty good with some of my gifts. For the wife, I got a pretty swell little digito-camera, the better so that she can take high quality photos of me as I work out on the stripper pole that I had installed in the bedroom. She already has some great closeups of my winker as I do the inverted flying V down that puppy.
And for the brother-in-law, well, I outdid myself. He's a music fan, as are a lot of the young people, so I got him some pretty awesome CDs. I did my research into the current music scene, and I must say, while it's kind of confusing, there are some pretty neat new genres out there that I'd never heard of, so I got him some really spankin' music by bands who are cutting it up pretty monkey: I got him some strum 'n bass (singer-songwriters who play their instruments with fish), some bad-ass cornhowl (countrified gay death metal), and this really exciting platter from some cats who rock it all electrocoustic. It's an amazing genre: these guys play acoustic instruments, such as guitars and pianos, but with lots of electric processing, distortion and effects. They're named Boston, and all I can say is, I think the brother-in-law has been waiting "such a long time" to hear these new sounds.
What else? I did find myself in a ruminative mood over the holidays, and spent a lot of time thinking about the impending new year, and how I could improve myself. But then I thought: Why the fuck am I always having to improve myself? I'm getting old and brittle. Fuck improving myself. Why don't we ever ask: How can the world improve itself, specifically for me? I mean, we're Americans, here. (I'm speaking to my American readers, of course. For the rest of you, you should have thought to ask this question before we Americans got to be so awesome.) Why can't the world shape up and stop fucking me? I think if we all stopped and asked ourselves this on a daily basis, we'd . . . oh, wait. I'm being told that we already do this. So what the fuck, world? I'm still occasionally unhappy. Get your shit straight.
Oh! I do remember one very fond holiday memory from 2006. I found myself, you see, thinking of things that do not go together at all. Like, say, "Jonathan Silverman" and "exposure to film." Have you fucking seen that this rancid fuck has gotten himself a new sitcom? Who keeps giving this one-expression mope work? (Check his resume on IMDB if you enjoy feeling vertiginous nausea, since in his long list of horrors, there is not one creditable entry to be found. It's like the anti-Schindler's list, in that you're unhappy that any of them survived.)
So one day I found myself musing about what other things just didn't go with certain other things. And one thing in particular kept coming up in my mind: shitting. There's a lot of things that go great with shitting: reading, idly shaking the jar of bath salts, staring at patterns in the floor tiles. And there's a lot of things that just don't go with shitting. Eating came right to mind. It just doesn't make sense. To confirm this, I took a bucket of popcorn with me into the bathroom one day, and it really didn't feel right. You just don't want to touch the stuff, so I resorted to trying to dump the stuff into my maw right from the bucket, but the snowdrifts of corn that accumulated around my ankles were also discomfiting.
I won't go into the pickle episode. Pickles should only be eaten at home while standing in front of an open fridge. Let's just leave it at that.
I also did not countenance the whole juvenile thing about fucking and shitting, blah blah blah, Cleveland Steamers and all that. No. I am not a sniggering frat boy. This was a genuine Gedankenexperiment, and I would not tarnish its integrity with schoolboy fripperies.
But shitting still remained on my mind. And after hours of holiday meditation, I had it. The two things that simply do not go together at all. I now present my findings.
One simply must not take a dump while flossing. This is, I submit, much worse than eating while crapping, if only for the terrible periodontal intimacy that accompanies flossing. (This thought originally sprang from the ur-idea of simply picking one's teeth with a toothpick while shitting was unacceptable--which it is--and then evolved. For you see, I am a thoughtful man.) I would further posit that--I confess that I have not actually tried--it is, in fact, impossible for one to floss while defecating.
And there my thought experiment reposed for a few days. Until I mentioned my theories to the wife. She made a moue and then, I like to think, was inspired to deliberate. She seemed to consider my conclusions for a few moments. Then she said:
"What about taking a shit while I flossed you?"
You see why I married this perfect woman?
Happy belated holidays, everyone. Don't forget to floss!
Note: Comments are closed on old entries.
Wow, this post started out so... um, "normal?" (for you that is) - and then went straight to the crapper. Heh.
And I totally always mix up Fatal Attraction and Basic Instinct too. Which one has the crotch shot again?
There are plenty of activities that would be inappropriate to do whilst dropping the kids off at the pool. Icing a birthday cake springs to mind. You wouldn't want to do that unless, uh, the cake was for someone you hated. Then you could totally pull a "Trainspotting" (the book not the movie). Ugh. I've made myself nauseous. Thanks, Skot.
I've shat while flossing. Last week, I think. Both are meditative for me.
Christmas is more than a feeling.
flamingbanjo stole my line .... we are getting old
after not recognizing the name Jonathan Silverman, and being an especially big fan of vertiginous nausea, i googled the name. Please, do yourselves a favor and search his name on IMDB. You want crappy film titles? there are more amusing, forgettable names on that page than have ever existed in one place. just do it.
In my neighborhood, shitting and eating at the same time is referred to as "taking a taxi around the block."
"Class Action." The exception that proves the rule?
Post a comment