5 de Julio, 2007
AND NOW, A MEME. A Hybrid meme, if you will. I've been tagged for both "8 insignificant things about myself" as well as "8 random things about myself." This list will be an amalgam of these two memes. Of course, those things not listed Randomly may possibly be related to one another, or otherwise have some kind of order or meaning. Conversely, those items not Insignificant may possibly be quite significant in some not immediately apparent sense. Given this understanding, these facts or pieces of trivia may boil down, in the end, to simply 8 Things. Some may even be both relevant AND significant! I'm just "out there" like that. Crazy, baby. Keep your crayons and your ball. I am home!
Thing the First: I am a game player. One of the games I like to play is the "I don't play games" game. One of the ways in which I have fun in this game is to play other peoples' games but not follow their rules. This is, of course, not within the parameters of the gameplayers who send games my way, but part of my game includes adding a rule to their game. In this way, I make it a game I am playing, and not just a game that plays me. This one rule is that I can add one rule to whatever sets of rules come with the game given me (predictable and yet brilliant, eh?). Given that, the one rule may vary, and also (surprisingly?) may come in pairs or multiples of one. But it will always include, firstly, the right to add itself. As you can see, this factor insures the new game's validity, which is very important.
This time I add the rule that I don't have to tag anyone else. (But I reserve the right to do so). Giving my reasons for adding this rule is not part of my game. Sorry.
Thing the Second: I have a bone spur. It is on my left index finger. This is a calcium deposit or growth of some kind that manifests as a "spur" or a sharp point of bone added to the tip of my (skeleton's) finger. You can't see anything, and neither can I. It may be the size of a flax seed for all I know. My finger looks normal. But I know it's there because if I roll the tip against something hard, or forget while I'm playing guitar and grab the fretboard in a way not permitted by the Bone Spur, it will feel as if someone has shoved a needle into my finger...but backward. From the inside out. This fact has seriously curtailed my use of the bass guitar, specifically. Hitting the bone spur is extremely painful (tho it leaves no lasting pain or damage) and I will shout quite loudly and make quick, agonized movements when it happens. La novia will ask me "bone spur?" as will anyone who knows me long enough. I've read you can have them cut off, but that they often grow back. I figured it's just part of what I live with. And that it could be a lot worse. I could have a head spur or nose spur or penis spur or something (isn't there a bone in there?). I could have no finger, or no hand at all. So it's a rather small thing to live with. I won't say whether it is random or insignificant. You'll have to guess!
Thing the Third: Once, I was a taxi driver. My highest tip was a Benjamin, one hunnid dolliz.
Thing the Fourth: I have lost my mustache scissors as well as my clippers since the move. This means that my mustachio is growing out of control, and I am but a captive to its fine and lustrous advances. I have begun to experience a sort of "mustache anxiety" due to this, and cannot clear my mind enough to determine if the outstanding addition actually distracts from my nose, or makes it appear larger.
I've got mustache on my mind.
Thing tha Quinto: I am a scopo-vegetarian. This means that I am against eating living creatures that I can see. If they are wearing any kind of invisibility aid, such as a "cloaking device," OR if they are small enough to escape detection by my naked eyes (granted, my vision is so bad, a tiny caterpillar might end up in this category if my contacts are not in), then they are morally okay to eat. However, if they are given a body large enough to register in my human field of vision, they are off-limits and no amount of buttery saucing (allowed because I cannot see the cow that made the buttery saucing) will make me change my mind.
Insects that enter my throat while I am sleeping are okay, too.
Thing the Sixth: I have no tolerance for intolerant people.
Thing the Seventh: I admire failures, that which drops off the witemagic world-wide wand, I admire the burnt out crisp rejected or flung-off ashes of this supernova system, I admire resistance to the Lie in all forms; I admire the furious, the spoiled, the ruined, even the fucked-up aged child actors who are now wasted and small failures discarded and unneeded by the star machine; the cat on the corner of State st. in the Brook who is always lying in pissy puddles and stealing cigarettes and freaking out the boozhwazee; I admire the crazy lady on the train—tossed from a psych ward to the streets in the era of mass-deinstitutionalization—she who upsets the calm; or the hacker who makes it his business to bring down business at the same time I admire the woman who builds up her own business to support her dreams and children. I admire hope and work, always—and yet above all in this particular philosophical moment, I admire guerrilla citizen outcasts, life as performance art and a negation of the glossy, dripping dream; I admire those thrashed up and destroyed by the system who don't even pretend it works. I see them as the truest expression of our nation and world's "successes," while I may see those who work hard for their dreams within this system as a fantastic example of personal success. Show me a junkie, show me a dropout, show me a criminal, and I'll show you the truth as forged by an unconscious but collective hand. Not an exception, not a failure, not something that Fell Through the Crack. I'll show you the unvarnished truth, the byproduct of our well-fumigated factories of false fitness.
As I implied, this doesn't mean those who succeed at the game are Bad. It just means within the rules of the game they play, they are succeeding. I admire the rejects because those that I define as such would rather puke at the feet of the table than sit at it. And I find that smell invigorating and refreshing, when on the table sits such synthesized and saccharin spoils.
Thing the Eighth: I know the secret to a happy life. It does not include either Joy dishwashing soap, a Happy Meal toy, nor "Having it Your Way."
Okay, hell. Here's my patented Tentative Tag®. That is if Kai, Sylvia, XP, Manny, BA, KevinThinBlackDuke, Chicago Dyke (welcome back!), bfp, cuntensquirten (who is really R.Mildred, but I love the excuse to write Cuntensquirten, I admit it), Estimada Profacero (see, I can't stop at even nine), Donna, Yolanda, Patriotboy, and Rafa want to play, I invite you all! And if you want all the strict rules, plz™ go to VeganKid's post linked atop this page. Otherwise, keep on wit ya bad self and "take this, my brother. May it serve you well!" As the quote goes.