June 27th, 2006


Don't be a man

It was around the time I found myself looking for a knife sharp enough to cut away the plastic guard from the electric mixer, so that I could extricate my finger from the blade upon which it was impaled, put on pants, and make it to the emergency room before passing out from blood loss, that I realized my plan to make peanut butter cookies could officially be categorized as having gone awry.

The thing is, I wasn't that surprised. The first thing I thought upon opening the new electric mixer (now stored safely in the trash can) was "Gee, I wonder what would happen if I put my finger in there and turned it on."

The answer? It would impale my finger.

Not really that surprising.

Of course I didn't actually test this theory on PURPOSE. No. I am an IVY LEAGUE EDUCATED MAN. Instead I was clearing dough out of the mixer without unplugging it when my hand accidentally hit the on switch. Could have happened to anyone with a Y chromosome.

Because we're idiots, you see. We aren't THAT far evolved from monkeys. When a woman sees a vacuum cleaner she thinks either "I could use that to clean a floor" or "Oh fuck, I hate that thing." She does not think "How could that interact with my genitals?" That's SMART! Smart lady.

This is, by the way, one of the reasons men like to pretend we only think about titties and beer. Many of our SMARTEST thoughts are, in fact, about titties and beer. When we think about titties and beer we think "I'd like to squeeze those titties and drink that beer. That sounds like a good time." And you know what? It would be. That's a good idea. When we think about other things it's stuff like "I wonder what that weed whacker would do to my shin" and the answer is it would be a much less fun experience.

In case anyone's wondering what my first thought was when I learned I'd embedded the mixer blade in my finger and was starting to ooze/squirt blood, it was not "Oh shit" or "I'm an idiot" or even "Ick."

It was "Cool!"

Umm...quick...titties and beer?

I'm lonesome tonight

I'm lonely.

Very lonely.

And I'm not looking for some comments or some random stupid smalltalk on the internet. I'm hungry for connections. Real human connections.

And they're not coming.

Oh I have friends. Good friends. The kind of friends who actually IMPOSE themselves on you (in a good way) and force you out of your shell. They made me go camping with them. They're making me prepare a dinner thing on Thursday. The problem is not that I don't have friends. The problem is that I don't have the right kind of friends. I've been preoccupied thinking about creativity and work and how to get my life on track, and they're all either on track, not giving a fuck about getting on track, or interested entirely different things.

What I need are creative friends interested in creative things that I can have long meaningful discussions with. But they're not there. And now after being jettisoned from the screen writing group I have even less of a connection to that community. And I have to forge one. And I know it.

On a brighter note, the following blog filled me with glee:

A complete review of every magic trick David Blaine has ever performed.

Genius. Sheer genius.