Tag: Humor

Quotent Quotables, Volume 2

JulianLeave a comment

I’ve curated a list of recent quotes from my life, along with a challenge: Who said each quote? Me or Not-Me? (Answers at the end; track your responses to see how well you fare!)

  1. “You know that Carly Simon song? It’s about me.”
  2. “Sometimes I feel like I’m always rushing. Then I get some free time and it’s just the worst.”
  3. “When you eliminate the extraneous, all that’s left is you. When you eliminate the you, all that’s left is the Tao.”
  4. “Pickling is so great. They take cucumbers and make them edible!”
  5. “Nexterday. I mean tomorrow.”
  6. “I like spending time with people with low self-esteem—whenever we arrive at a problem, they’re too busy blaming themselves to blame me.”
  7. “I’m a coffee drinker, so cups of tea aren’t my cup of tea.”
  8. “You’re nervous. That’s okay. Just don’t be nervous about being nervous.”
  9. “My computer just told me it has an upgrade it wants to run. Let me guess: it’s going to make the computer run more slowly and not affect how I use it at all.”
  10. “The more I learn about how things work, the more I learn they’re stupid and poorly done.”
  11. “Avocado would be a great Halloween costume for a pregnant woman.”
  12. “With T-Mobile, you get free tacos on Tuesdays, but with Verizon you can make phone calls.”

To protect you from accidentally seeing the answers, please enjoy this anecdote: (Real! Real true! Real true funny!)

Context: A highschool couple eats dinner at Chick-Fil-A. The Girl has painted her face with such vigor that it lacks pores. The guy sports spiky hair, diamond hoop earrings, and flip-flops.

Girl: I don’t find comedy funny.

Guy: You don’t find comedy funny?

Girl: I find it cringe-y. It’s not natural funny. It’s like forced funny. I don’t like comedy movies because they’re not funny. I feel like the only comedy that I actually find funny is, like, White Chicks. Oh my god! We should watch White Chicks together!

 

(Scroll down for the answers)

 

(Keep scrolling)

 

(Who’s a good scroller? You are! Yes, you are!)

 

Those answers you’ve been waiting for:

1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, and 12 are by Yours Truly

Your Score:

0: You know me incredibly well, but prefer self-sabotage.

1-3: Next time, try flipping a coin.

4-6: You did flip a coin.

7-9: Let’s be friends.

10-11: So close and yet so far. Was it the pickling? I bet it was the pickling.

12: Self… is that you? I mean me? Are you… me?

I hope he realizes he’s a Little Shit

Julian1 Comment

“Fuck you!” yells the boy-child biking past. He pauses a moment, then adds, “And your mom!”

His comment fills me with Righteous Joy in these final moments completing my cycle home. See, I was once a Little Shit too:

  • In 4th grade, I fist-fought over a chair.
  • In 6th, I bit a 3rd grader. I did, however, apologize to him! (… this year.)
  • The summer after 9th, I realized my loneliness wasn’t the world’s fault. I lacked friends due to that aforementioned Shittiness. (That same summer, I discovered women. Coincidence? I think not.)

As a reformed Shit, I now carry the mantle of informing Shits when they’re being Shitty.

In advising a youth group, I once explained to a high school senior the reasons it’s inadvisable to urinate in a public school trashcan. To get through to him, I employed the phrase “sex offender registry.”

I yell “Yo!” when it becomes first apparent this boy-child biker is being Shitty. He hurtles down the two-lane path at a rapid pace, clearly intent on swerving around the woman-with-dog and into my lane of the tight, dark tunnel. Upon hearing my yell, he slows, so I relax… but then the Shit passes her anyway! At the same moment as me! Dangerous? Yes! And also stupid as fuck! Maybe wait for half-a-second, Dumbass?

After passing into safety, I holler, “Don’t do that!” (admittedly as a schoolmarm would chide a child), so he delivers the epithet invoking my mum.

I was a Little Shit once, but now recognize my Shitness. One day, I hope this Little Shit does too. ‘Til then, fuck him! And his mom!

Ode to Xfinity

Julian1 Comment

Xfinity, you tease

In the unlikeliest of places

By stoking my hopes with the promise of bars

Then dashing them all with a “cannot connect!”

 

I must say I’d rather

Have no WiFi at all—

Be forced ‘pon my phone’s hotspot

Than hear your wispy false claims.

 

But sometimes, my dear,

You appease this old soul—

Like this ‘forenoon, when I video called

My boss from the street.

Though your robustness did waver

So we switched to “just audio,”

You did remain connected! Aye, you stood strong throughout,

Leaving boss none the wiser

That I’m a van-confined hobo.

 

Why do you toy so, dear Xfinity,

With me, of all people—loyal lover of your service

As I try to log in

With my dad’s friend’s account?

An Ex texts, “Marry me?”

JulianLeave a comment

An Ex texts, “Marry me?”

I say “You must be reading my blog.” She says no. She says she’s serious. Phrases include, “Clearly soul mates”, “White picket fence”, and “Multiracial adopted kids”.

How the hell does someone respond to that? After sufficient bewilderment, I settle on: “No thanks. Not really interested”. Later, I add, “But I suppose I appreciate the sentiment”.

After an hour of confusion, including texting a mutual friend to ask if Ex is okay, Ex tells me it was a joke. She has, in fact, been reading my blog. A joke, you say? Ha…

Ha…

I guess.

I suppose I deserve this. And I did ask for more pranks. It’s also eye-opening: this must be what friendship with me is like.

Ode to a keychain

JulianLeave a comment

Keychain,

Tiny desire for identity

In a cookie-cutter world.

 

But this one’s “so you,”

Just like thousands

Have thought before.

 

Original–truly novel–

Frightens the close-minded…

And we’re all close-minded.

So we stick to

The same safe deviance

As everyone else.

 

But it brings you joy.

What more do you seek?

What more is there?

It’s only two dollars.

Just buy it already.

When is it okay to avoid the world?

Julian1 Comment

At 9:11am, the morning’s not-funniest time, I slipped 50mg of caffeine past the tape on my mouth before crawling back into the safety of my dreams. Another hour-and-a-quarter passed before my bunkmate awoke, only after which did I first leave my bed. How much of this time was spent avoiding the world?

I’m coming off a cold. Perhaps that’s why I’ve been sleeping so much. I’ve also been emotionally exhausted, overcoming a childhood trauma and rebuilding after a breakup.

My bed is warm. My bed feels safe. In it, the world feels far away. My mind moseys, wisting aimlessly from place to place. I like that safety. I like that oblivion. I live for that vacuum between conscious and gone.

It never mattered why

JulianLeave a comment

The chicken crossed the road. The road’s mom called the chicken’s mom.

“You can’t go crossing other people,” the chicken’s mom told her daughter.

A week later, the road crossed the chicken.

“No need to cause a fuss,” the chicken’s mom told her daughter.

“But she’s an asphalt!”

“Don’t use that language! And be the bigger person.”

While the road continued walking all over other people, the chicken never again crossed a road.

The road became a successful hedge fund manager. The chicken never amounted to much. She was too… chicken.

It never mattered why.

For Writing’s Sake!

JulianLeave a comment

What do I do when I don’t want to write?

I write about how I’m annoyed.

Dozens of writings begin with the phrase,

“I don’t want to write today.”

After a while it evolves into poem

Or into emotional quandary.

The process can feel like picking a scab

Or bleaching ratty laundry.

 

Sometimes I only know five minutes in

That my first few beginnings were flounders

Eventually arriving at the place in my mind

Where seconds are minutes are hours.

Time stands still and speeds along

As I’m lost in expressing myself.

I nibble at feelings, explore one of my sides

Before putting it back on the shelf.

 

Most of the time I write end-of-day;

It typically feels like a chore.

Why do I do it? Why write every day?

Because that’s what a writer is for.

A stabilizing force, it keeps me sane,

Reminding me life has no breaks.

Even if just one sentence: “I don’t wish to write,”

I write for writing’s sake.

The band Bastille acts like a stripper

JulianLeave a comment

The band Bastille acts like a stripper

or

“Why you up there dancing for cash? I guess a whole lot’s changed since I’ve seen you last.”

An Open Letter to Bastille, Regarding Their Version of This Song

 

Bastille,

“What would you do if your son was at home, crying all alone on the bedroom floor because he’s hungry… for an emotional range and your song destroys any chance for change?”

When you make this song poppier, more direct, and clearer, why do you also eliminate the whole point of its existence? The original is impactful. It’s an empowering parable. It says the suffering of single motherhood is beatable. You cut that part. Why?

  • Do you think an audience can only process one emotion per song?
  • Would you rather have memorable repetition than impact your listeners?
  • Is empowerment off-brand?

These cuts are a cop-out. They’re the bad version of selling out—not the “selling out” that just means “making money,” but the one that means making directly harmful art. Specifically, here’s what I’m talking about:

 

The original version of the song’s bridge, as written by City High:

(What would you do?)

Get up on my feet and let go of every excuse

’Cause I wouldn’t want my baby to go through what I went through.

(What would you do?)

Get up on my feet and stop making tired excuses

Girl, I know if my mother can do it, baby you can do it.

 

Bastille’s cover version:

(What would you do?)

Get up off my feet and stop making tired excuses

Get up off my feet and stop making tired excuses

(What would you do?)

Get up off my feet and stop making tired excuses

Get up off my feet.

 

Sure, this is a small change, but it’s the whole point of the song. As Wikipedia describes:

“The song, along with the accompanying music video, is a motivational anthem for single parents dealing with poverty and especially acknowledging all the single mothers who feel forced into prostitution due to the need to support their children.[4] It encourages them to keep strong, and keep going on for the sake of their loved ones, and passes no judgment on their profession.”

 

It’s a motivational anthem. To motivate someone, you have to change their emotional state. All you’ve changed is the song, from empowering to wallowing.

… And what about “Get up OFF my feet?” Your new line doesn’t make sense! The original line is “Get up ON my feet”—as in “get up and make a change.” Do you really mean to tell the stripper, “Relax! Take a load off?” Did you cover the song without first understanding it?

Without these changes, I’d prefer your version over City High’s, but you cut the only part that made me cry. I hope this is welcome commentary–if I made such a misstep (and I believe it’s a misstep, not just a matter of taste), I’d want someone to tell me. You might have cut the track to make it more digestible or easier to play on the radio. But even through the corporate lens, if a song has no effect, why listen again?

I listen to City High’s version on repeat to feel better. It moves me. It makes me want more than their one released album. When I hear your version, I feel angry at the state of stripped-down, repetitive, surface-level mass media that would rather profit from suffering than improve lives. If you could re-record it, Bastille, what would you do? 

I feel the urge to text my exes, “Marry me?”

Julian2 Comments

I feel the urge to text my exes, “Marry me?”

It’s not a serious question. I’m not a serious person. I’d text them for the same reason I took the side running path this evening to follow a guy wandering down it to pee. I wanted to see his reaction as I approached, catching him with his pants down. ‘Twas a sweet and savory surprise and amazement with impressively little (I saw no) fear. I wanted him to doubt for a moment the reality of the world around him.  I didn’t stop beside him or start up a conversation—that would make him feel unduly uncomfortable—but continued running as though our meeting were happenstance.

As long as I can remember, I’ve considered myself the Jester. Not the king or ingénue but the comic relief. The one who enthralls the world by showing people a side of themselves they forget exists. The side that compulsively touches every street sign and picks up a tree branch to smash it in half. The side that caws at women squatting across the creek and still, at 25, enjoys high-pitched “ting” sounds. The side we all share that’s exhilarated by destruction.

I’ve had this notion—text “Marriage?”—more than once. I’ve never done it, because it would hurt a person and ruin a relationship.

My relationships with exes have recently lost their importance. What if I picked a small one—one of my many lesbians, like the woman who wanted my babies at eighteen and has now been married to another woman for the past three years? What if I tried it–just a little, you know, to see how it feels? It’s mean, yes, but also I’m curious. Great art often ruffles the comfortable and comforts the ruffled, and I’m clearly quite ruffled in this here mood. Some people simply want to fluff the world. 

I pranked a friend last year, setting him up for a surprise lunch with Mormon missionaries. I thought he’d enjoy it. I never lied to either party, but also didn’t tell each who was coming. My friend was minorly annoyed that I’d wasted his time and majorly peeved I’d been rude to the Mormons—as he put it, “by using them in a prank.” I’m sure the Mormons were fine—we remain friends to this day. They received a free lunch and a warmer lead than their typical method of knocking on random doors. Still, I miscalculated. The friend didn’t appreciate it. I miss my former image of that friendship. I miss the friendship I thought we had. I miss feeling less alone, less one-of, less off.

In college, a friend turned my room into its mirror image. He moved every item to its exact opposite location. Clever prank. Great friend. I had to move each item back. Every prank comes with a cost. I wish I had more friends who played pranks on me.

When life feels like today, I’d even take an engaging negative: the loss of a beloved pet or someone breaking my heart. But those take investment—devoting enough love to something that losing it hurts. I’ve had trouble doing that since my most recent breakup. I’ve claimed it’s because I haven’t found a new someone. It’s really because I haven’t been looking.