Death, Gender, Lonely, Math, Media, My favorites, race, Socialism

In Which I Qualitate/Quantitate

Don’t read this until you are ready to READ this. By that I mean, click on all links. You don’t have to read them, but they are an important part of the narrative. But do read the last link. It is the most important and is a news story and provides context.

c) I’m pretty sure that everything I think has been thought before.

That is simultaneously comforting and terrifying.

Often times our world is misled by what we think we think though. We then suffer under the great injustice that is our own misconceptions of ourselves. Specifically, the fact that 4 million more people watch Modern Family than The Middle. Both shows analyze the changing definition of the American dream, but one does it through shallow analysis of obvious xenophobia and one does it through thoughtful revelations about the inhumanity inherent in a capitalist society that refuses to empathize with struggle. Modern Family is a person who has not listened’s analysis, The Middle is someone who paid attention’s analysis.

1. I have had arguments with three people who have stated their frustration with the Occupy Wall Street Movement. Each of them went like this:
Them: “I agree with what they’re saying, I just don’t know what they’re saying.”
Me: “Have you been down to Zuccotti Park?”
Them: “No” and a bunch of more words that don’t matter.

2. I have a belief that Taylor Swift is doing the more harm to American society than Lady Gaga – specifically that Taylor Swift is doing the most harm and Lady Gaga is doing the most negative harm (negative used in the mathematical sense). This belief is challenged often. Typically those conversations go like this:
Me: “Don’t ask, don’t tell would have been repealed 3 years earlier if it weren’t for Taylor Swift.”
Them: “That’s ridiculous” They’re right “Lady Gaga isn’t even saying anything. She’s just the same mindless pop that we’ve had forever.”
Me: “Have you heard her new album?”
Them: “Um..” and a bunch of defensive lies about how they have an appropriate sample size that don’t matter.

3.

2. Frankie Heck – Patricia Heaton’s character on The Middle is a true hero of the Michael Moore union version of socialism. She is a lighthouse that shines light through all the cracks in the American Dream. Hard work equals hard work, but having money equals having money. Surrounding her is pain and suffering that is solely the gift of a desire for things she is told she deserves. And yet this could all be solved with a simple sharing of some wealth. It doesn’t need to be opportunity because we don’t all need to the freedom to try. We need the freedom to succeed. And success is not defined by being in the 1%. Then only 1% of us, necessarily succeed. I aim for 100%.

I like to play a game called turn concepts into rants for socialism in as few sentences as possible.

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Death, Lonely, My favorites

My Hour in Union Square – Diversity; Happiness; Misuse of Punctuation?

First there was the man who looked like he could play my father in a movie. He didn’t look like my dad, but if I were in a movie they would cast this white haired jewfroed hippie with the sensible sneakers and the monochromatic windbreaker on as my dad. Next to him was the hardcore Irishman. Tattoos were on his knuckles, but if it were possible, I’m sure tattoos would be on his heart. Two brothers sat next to him. They cared for each other ~ They would die for each other -: I’m pretty sure one was mentally handicapped. They were hugging now, but you could tell they have a history of fighting when times get tough. But when times aren’t tough, they love each other better than other people do. Next bench down, communicating off and on with the larger group were two broskies – one black, one white: handshaking and laughing at how they were so awesome. Everyone enjoyed their presence too. Every once in a while this group of joyous public park patrons was visited by a middle aged black woman getting off her job that involved a bag that was close to being a briefcase and an unstable 35 year old conspiracy theorist.

The one thing that brought them together on this would-be-dreary day:

Heroin.

Mostly their conversation consisted of comparing track marks.

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comedy, Death

Hypocrisy is Still Fun

Thanks to Scott for bringing this to my attention. I think that thinking about death is sooo funny.

It’s your last joke/prank – you trick people into thinking that you are still alive, but you’re dead!

This is really just a way to advertise my show that is happening tonight that is about death, but also to talk briefly about how much I think crying and laughing are similar.

They are the only two tangible embodiments of emotion we display. The rest is all people inferring. They are the only two that are obvious and guttural. That you can’t stop even if you try. I stopped doing theater because I wasn’t causing enough people to cry or laugh. Because people kept telling me that that wasn’t the point. That you could just think. But I didn’t want the audience to passively be approached and asked: “hey, do you mind thinking, now?” No. I wanted to throat fuck them with things they didn’t want to deal with. Actively demand that they react.

I like writing entries where I do the opposite of what I’m saying is good.

Come see my show to see me do what I say and not as I do.

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Death, My favorites, Nostalgia

I Hate Age – Specifically Having More of It

As I waited for my parents to get back from their journey to the airport buffet, the child behind me didn’t have to wait alone while his parents made him watch the bags. Mostly because he was 4 years old and his parents couldn’t legally or morally leave him alone.

“Let’s tell the funniest jokes!”

Despite our 20 year age difference we wanted the same thing.

“What did the parrot say to the banana!?”

What? What? Holy shit, please tell me!

“The um… he… um said.. um… You’re not a banana!”

Fuck me! Yes! You are correct in laughing hysterically at your own joke and your mom is a dumb bitch for saying “oh that’s just silly.” “Just” is the worst word.

“Knock, knock.”

OMG, you have more?! Please, continue.. I mean, I have a book of knock, knock jokes at home, but I’m sure yours are better, oh.. Look at me. I’m rambling.. I mean: Who the fuck is there?

“Dinosaur!”

Good start.  I agree with your methods. Don’t think of an ending, just think of the coolest word you can say and then more cool words will come.

“You have to say ‘Dinosaur who?’!”

Oh, right. Dinosaur who?

“Dinosaur… um… on top of your head!”

Exactly! Perfect!

Oh, shit. Now your stupid Swedish dad wants to tell a joke.

“What did the one tomato say to the other tomato that got run over and squashed by the truck”

Holy shit, could you use any more unnecessary words. And we get it, something about how ketchup sounds like catch up.. oh, you’re actually going to finish this joke.

“C’mon, let’s go, ketchup.”

Ugh, you fucked up the punch line too. You said ketchup with the wrong intonation and it really didn’t make sense. Wait. Stop laughing. Your jokes were better than your dad’s. Don’t laugh at that. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

“What did the one tomato say to the two tomatoes that were squashed and run over?!”

Yes, good idea. Show up your dad by increasing the number of tomatoes. Show up daddy!

“C’mon, let’s go!”

Perfect! Antijoke! Undidjoke! Perfect joke!

No! Stop explaining to him what he did wrong. He didn’t do anything wrong. He only did right things. You were wrong. His joke was better.

He was having fun and isn’t fun all that we should be living for? That wasn’t rhetorical. I want it to be rhetorical.

Later I saw two adults walking past a toy store. One toy had fallen out of a bin and made its way to the floor. The first adult accidentally kicked the toy. It started to sing. For a brief moment a smile crept over her eyes, but her mouth stayed in surprised disgust. “Ew, toys” it said, lying. She had a chance to kick the toy again. A chance to have fun again.

She didn’t.

I wanted to yell out “Let’s tell the funniest joke!”

I didn’t.

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Attention Whoring, Death

Please Don’t Defend Me

It makes sense that death has been on my mind. I haven’t seen sunlight for more than 2 hours at a time in over a week and two of the people I hang out with most are over 90. God, their lives seem depressing to me.

They can barely see, can barely hear, can barely walk, and need to take naps all the time. PLUS they don’t have the internet! What kind of hell do they live in?

Death is the most frightening concept to me because I will stop being able to control the attention I’m getting. Death is like publishing something that you have no ability to defend or discuss afterward. People are going to interpret your life however they want without you getting to say: “No wait, you didn’t get it! That was supposed to be that way!”

What being around death has taught me though is that old age is gonna suck too. My grandmother died when I was 12 after a long battle with the most hilarious disease in the world – Alzheimer’s. It was the grandma that I am with now who told me she was dead. She comforted me. Now she is forgetting the thing she just told me and asking me to read pictures that she thinks are words, and once again, it is very funny.

In Swedish the word for fun and funny are the same so sometimes someone well ask me: “Well, is it funny being in New York?”

On her 90th birthday party I sat next to her best friend from middle school. This woman can’t hear anything and speaks no English. Our conversation consisted of her telling me something, me telling her my name, her telling me something, and me asking if she needed help, and her telling me something. I’m sure it was interesting, but at the time it was very dull. Old people have lots of stories, and I’m already very good at making stories out of my life, imagine how interesting I’m going to be when I’m old. By “interesting I’m going to be,” I mean “little I’m going to let others talk.”

I worry though that I won’t have that same fervor for speaking when I am that old, and that scares me. A flight of stairs may disable my grandmother for a day, and fervor takes energy. If I don’t have energy, will I be able to care that much about making people care about me?

I don’t want to get old. I don’t want to die. I wanna live forever with a lot of energy. Now I understand why people work out.

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comedy, Death, Depressed

Depression and Death’s Hilarity

I love Garfield minus Garfield. It’s one of my favorite websites. I recognize that it is a simple concept with sometimes very overdone jokes, but c’mon:

Watching a medium of comedy used for simply depressing ends is hilarious. It’s because expectations are thwarted and comedy is about surprise. I love surprises for the most part. I love surprise nights of misadventures, I love surprise parties.

I love all surprises except surprise death. That shit frightens me. My biggest fear is drive by shootings despite the fact that I have spent most of my life in rural Maine and St. Paul, Minnesota. Drive by shootings are frightening because despite their rarity, the awfulness of them is so awful that their expected value of awfuality is awful. It’s a multiplication thing, don’t worry about it. I am obviously very frightened of death because it means the end of life, but the idea that it ends with no reason is really the scary part. And in a drive by there might as well have been no reason because I will never know the identity of my killer and I will just die alone with no idea of why. And that makes me sad.

I want to cry in the third panel of my life.

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Death, Indignant, My favorites, Nostalgia

Mature Death

Two things were said at work today that made me laugh out loud (or lorfl as the kids are saying).

One was by a customer as she was discussing the validity of giving her 2 year old soymilk: “I think my kid will drink anything white and creamy.”

One was said by a coworker: “My muffin is too big and dry.” (She’s 18)

There was one sleepover in high school where my friends and I made a pact that we would never stop thinking farts were funny. Farts are funny. They aren’t the funniest thing in the world, but ignoring the humor in the fact that you just made a musical sound by blowing poop particles out of your body is annoying and stupid.

Maturity is a dumb concept. Maturity is what people who don’t have fun claim they have instead. Maturity doesn’t really exist. These are my three feelings on maturity. Maturity isn’t a social construct and that is part of the problem. There is no real definition of maturity that we can all follow – instead we each have our own definitions that we hold others to. Some people define maturity as getting a stable job and place to live, some as doing lots of drugs, some as having a good relationship with your parents. All of these are the right definition .. for each person individually – you cannot force someone into your little box of maturity.

Plus, striving for maturity is stupid. Why? Why would you want to aspire towards death. The only commonly recognized definition of maturity is that you have more of it as you get older, so wanting maturity is the same as wanting to be old – wanting to be closer to death. Fuck death. Fuck being close to death. Fuck maturity.

I tend to see people defining maturity as them overcoming the struggles they dealt with during puberty. When I was going through puberty, I kept telling myself that it would all be over and I would be happy soon. In other words, my problem was that I lied to myself a lot as a child. Therefore I think of maturity as being honest and being willing to admit defeat. My penchant for childish jokes tends to get me in trouble when I teach children because I am supposed to be a “role model.”

I am being a role model for children. Because I don’t want to be mature. Because I don’t want to die. Children shouldn’t have to want to die. They should want to drink my semen.

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