I don't do anything without music. I write, I paint, I dabble, I drive, I deliberate, I annoy people, everything I do I set to music. I have decided to set my midlife crisis to music as well. I haven't set the exact soundtrack yet. I figure I have time as I haven't grown the disgusting moustache yet. I don't have any money so I can't buy a sports car. Unfortunately, on that front, I may settle for a really bitchin' model of an Audi TT convertible and pretend I'm not a total loser while I sit on the end of my bed making vroom vroom noises out loud pretending I'm behind the wheel.
Yes, it is early spring in the life cycle of my midlife crisis. I am off to a horrible start really. No money for a car, and I love my wife and can't imagine having an affair. I am far too ugly to pull it off anyway. God, I hate being so predictable. There is nothing I hate more than being just like everyone else. This is just like a man who has everything including the luxury of sitting back and over analyzing his life wondering why you made the choices you have. Wondering why you didn't follow through on doing the things you really wanted to with your life. How do you stop it? It must end on it's own. For me all this thinking is just about work. The crisis is my way of pushing myself to do more, try harder, make something more of myself.
What else is there to this thing anyway? Besides the unattractive facial hair (which I refuse to grow because I may get food in it - see last post), the young bimbo (no thanks), and the car. What else is there? I think I am going to sculpt something. And instead of doing it out of marble or something complicated I have decided to sculpt my image in chocolate. I like chocolate, and in the past three months my new favorite thing to do is tell people to "eat me". If I pull this off I can toss the person a candy version of myself. Besides, my wife loves chocolate and after she reads about the midlife crisis and the bimbos (which for the record I said 'no thanks') it may be the only thing that keeps her from punching me in the face. She can eat my chocolate face. Any one else want to eat me in chocolate?
Wednesday 31 August 2011
Friday 12 August 2011
Bodily Fluids, Vomit, and Other unclean Stories.
I have had the same editor for 17 years. Sue has been the voice in my head for as long as I can remember. We worked together at one point in our lives, and she continuously corrected me. I used to write long winded emails full of grammatical errors and run on sentences. I think I was about 20 at the time. I remember being frustrated because the hilarity of what I was writing (in my mind) far out weighed the fact that there were things wrong with the structure. So why she needed to point out my mistakes, forsaking my greatness, was a severe slap in the face. I mean I was a bloody genius. Who cared that there were spelling mistakes, or who really cared that I was in the work place and should have been working rather than dubbing myself the 'King of Coffee Land' and belittling people (including the owner of the company) using the company directory to tell everyone off for taking the last cup of coffee and not making more. Since that job I quite often still get bored and create emails that are generally not very constructive which highlight the faults of my co-workers. I have also used my meager writing skills to tell off a supplier or two (or a hundred-ish). When you slowly become mentally ill the sickness in your head tends to spill out and infect everyone around you. It's like a leaking tap you just can shut off.
This will be the first book of mine that Sue has edited (she doesn't edit my blog so don't blame her for my mistakes). She is very particular which is a nice way of saying she is a pain in the ass. Still, when I was young and rambunctious and the words that flowed from me had sharp edges, she helped me to realize that style meant just as much as meaning. For the past ten years I haven't given Sue anything to edit. Life ticks on and I got lazy, but today is not yesterday and I hope in the future she will continue to point out my flaws, I will continue to get my hackles up from time to time, and in the end she will be right and everything I do will be better because she was there to help.
Sue is the voice in my head. The teacher standing over me tsk-ing away, and I thank her for it. I am still not a great writer, I still don't have the elements of style down. I just know I can rely on the voice in my head, the lady with the booming voice and the kind heart to shove my inconsistencies and errors in my face. Don't get me wrong, she is very nice about it. She pushes me to be better where often those that know me are just very kind. When someone in your life has the balls (sorry Sue poor illustration) to tell you when you're wrong because they want to see you succeed, you can wilt or brace yourself. If you can take the knocks to the ego you come out the other side a much better writer/person.
Now I need to satisfy the other editor in my life, that being my wife. God knows that the last hundred words were somehow depressing in a way I can't see. Every time I write a blog I envision thousands (OK 10 or 15) people weeping and tearing their hair in sorrow based on my wife's reaction (notice how well I take criticism).
I feel like the unassuming comedian out for dinner and someone wants him to 'be funny' or 'tell a joke'. As I have sat here trying to think of a joke that would hopefully satisfy my quota, I have come up blank. So instead of telling a joke let me tell you something about myself that most people find funny.
I don't like seeing food on people's faces. You know those commercials where a fast food joint decides that some dude with burger seeping out of his mouth will somehow entice the world to buy their junk food. I would honestly like to know who thinks this is appetizing. The entire situation makes me want to throw up. Someone asked me last week if my disgust for things on peoples faces extends beyond food. After very little consideration the answer is yes. If you would like a list of things I find repulsive then include spit, and anything involving children being dirty, soiled, or unclean. In fact, if you ever need to torture me you don't need pins under my finger nails, you simply need to spit on my face, wait ten seconds, and I will tell you anything you want to know.
This will be the first book of mine that Sue has edited (she doesn't edit my blog so don't blame her for my mistakes). She is very particular which is a nice way of saying she is a pain in the ass. Still, when I was young and rambunctious and the words that flowed from me had sharp edges, she helped me to realize that style meant just as much as meaning. For the past ten years I haven't given Sue anything to edit. Life ticks on and I got lazy, but today is not yesterday and I hope in the future she will continue to point out my flaws, I will continue to get my hackles up from time to time, and in the end she will be right and everything I do will be better because she was there to help.
Sue is the voice in my head. The teacher standing over me tsk-ing away, and I thank her for it. I am still not a great writer, I still don't have the elements of style down. I just know I can rely on the voice in my head, the lady with the booming voice and the kind heart to shove my inconsistencies and errors in my face. Don't get me wrong, she is very nice about it. She pushes me to be better where often those that know me are just very kind. When someone in your life has the balls (sorry Sue poor illustration) to tell you when you're wrong because they want to see you succeed, you can wilt or brace yourself. If you can take the knocks to the ego you come out the other side a much better writer/person.
Now I need to satisfy the other editor in my life, that being my wife. God knows that the last hundred words were somehow depressing in a way I can't see. Every time I write a blog I envision thousands (OK 10 or 15) people weeping and tearing their hair in sorrow based on my wife's reaction (notice how well I take criticism).
I feel like the unassuming comedian out for dinner and someone wants him to 'be funny' or 'tell a joke'. As I have sat here trying to think of a joke that would hopefully satisfy my quota, I have come up blank. So instead of telling a joke let me tell you something about myself that most people find funny.
I don't like seeing food on people's faces. You know those commercials where a fast food joint decides that some dude with burger seeping out of his mouth will somehow entice the world to buy their junk food. I would honestly like to know who thinks this is appetizing. The entire situation makes me want to throw up. Someone asked me last week if my disgust for things on peoples faces extends beyond food. After very little consideration the answer is yes. If you would like a list of things I find repulsive then include spit, and anything involving children being dirty, soiled, or unclean. In fact, if you ever need to torture me you don't need pins under my finger nails, you simply need to spit on my face, wait ten seconds, and I will tell you anything you want to know.
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