Ok, slightly morbid non? I usually try to subscribe to the lighter pleasures of revolving around the sun and not thinking too much about these things, but I just thought I’d mention this as it happens to be the birthday of one of my good friends today and it got me to thinking. I do not, and have never really enjoyed birthdays, not just my own, others too. I know this might sound a tad selfish, but I really truly am confused by it as a concept. Don’t get me wrong I am all for celebrating something or someone just for the bloody heck of it, but what I have to gripe about regarding birthdays, is that it isn’t celebrating something for the sheer mirth and merriment of it, it is because you feel like you have to. We are for some reason chained down to the notion that people should feel happy and thankful for the fact they still exist, that it loses any sense of significance. Everyone knows that organised fun ceases to achieve what it sets out to do. Once again, I don’t merely mean my own birthday, occassionally I feel like I should give back and share the joy with others that are making an effort for my birthday, and for this due to the ingrained Catholic guilt cast upon me, I sometimes dabble in celebration. But not often. And only when I am feeling particularly self-cherishing and I think I could benefit from some self-indulgent lamenting on the life of ‘me’. What!? That is exactly what I would be doing, as others are when they celebrate their own, so next time you decide to hire out a swanky nightspot that will be paid for by you and your friends all kindly clubbing in together, or when you book the most expensive restaurant on the equator, remember that not everyone is filled with as much glee as you are that you are achieving what to me, seems like a no brainer, continuing to not be dead. Yes, I know, I know, what a joyful little creature I am. But if at this point you are forevermore turned by my convincing pondering, then just let me really hammer the point home. So. Where was I, um..birthdays and that, they are boring, insignificant and well just quite selfish, “everyone celebrate me”. For the good of my loved ones, I would like to celebrate them and make them feel special and adorn them with thoughtful and meaningful gifts, but buying presents has always been one of those things that I loathe doing, because I am really terrible at shopping, what I really should do is, upon the event of seeing something that I deem suitable or fitting for a certain person is buy it there and then, like buying all my Christmas presents in June or something, but that seems to me a rather pious way to live, and well organised and well a bit lame. I know, I know, once again you are thinking, ‘well that’s really bloody mean of you to think this way about celebrating your loved ones’, but I don’t mean it to be that way, I just mean that if we are going to have birthdays, that a present should be something that is given out of true certainty(of say, for example on par with the certainty of Gandhi) that someone will relish receiving it and not just because there was only a Marks and Spencers on your way to the pub after work, or that you are buying them one because they bought you one, that was really nice and thoughtful..blah blah and so on. Why can’t we just buy presents for people sometimes because we think that people might want them all of the time and furthermore, if we all stop treating birthdays as celebration with the approach of a nazi general then we would all be in better stead and perhaps all enjoy them and..life more. Yes. I for these reasons will be remaining sturdy on morals and not at all because I have achieved very little for my years, no certainly not for those reasons.
Choose your friends carefully, but your enemies more so.
Right, after that rather bizarre tirade. I have something else to say. Suprisingly. The Picture of Dorian Gray. Read it. Immediately. That’s it actually, just read it and then we can do business. Yes, go!
In Absentia
It appears I have been Missing in Action, Absent WithOut Leave and various other TLA’s for not being around much. It appears I had better things to do with my life. But upon not having anything to do, this rare and financially void evening I am making good use of it, to purge forth all manner of inconsequential opinions that are only marginally less inane than Jordan’s illclaimed ‘The Next Chapter’. So firstly, and please bear with me, I know I am above this and I should be discussing more erudite fodder for the brain atoms but I can’t and shan’t. So. Nick Ferrari. Yes this is where I wish to begin after months of not hearing a ferret’s peep, a mouse’s squeak from me. I often, while on an underground rat carrier, when bereft of my battered and scruffy copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray, think about what I would say if I were to meet the fat fascist fuckwit. Hang on, that has quite a ring to it, I feel slightly delighted about this rather infantile slur that just this minute came to me. He shall henceforth, furthermore be know as the FFF, the Fat Fascist Fuckwit. Despite these assiduous hours spent musing over this, to my complete chagrin I have come up with nothing that satiates my desire for him to cease to exist on my fucking airwaves. I like the radio. I love Radio 4. I know I am slightly too young and more ‘mainstream’ for this to be cool, (yes I am going to buy the Hello magazine with Colleen Rooney’s access all areas and sell your soul down the river splash of her five million quid wedding), but Nick Ferrari, just him alone, one meagre inconsequential man actually ruins my day. Every morning. “Well, don’t listen then”, I hear you cry. If only it were that simple. It is like the very thing that makes me want to take on Lilleth herself as being hellbent on receiving the crown of Furydom, is the very same thing that draws me like a hypnotised Icarus flying towards a swirly acid induced sunshine. I have to share the car in the morning with a woman, who is also known as my life force, or something, my mother. She listens to it, and I have no idea why, as she is a relatively clever women with the constitution of a thousand nuns and yet she chooses to listen to the FFF. Countless and painfully resurfaced debates have ensued regarding the FFF and the pros and cons of a) killing him, b) hurting him c) remain listening to him d) pulling off my own fingernails with a monkeywrench (which by the way was preferable to listening to him I concluded.) and e) me being quiet so we can hear him make over one ‘bullion’ slurs on the entire Muslim sect, his piece de resistance, his fail safe when all seems to be going to pot. ‘quick quick, someone has rang in and made a relatively comprehensible point, talk about the muslims’ thinks he quietly and smugly to himself. He should probably cut out the middle man and tell them to go back to where they came from. I have actually forgotten why I started this. To conclude and move swiftly on, as there is nothing more abhorant, than a paroxysm of emotion, I kind of, don’t really like him, much.
