Good, they're gone. Bastards. Lovable Lovable bastards.
Okay, so I'm pretty much a satisfied single type. I don't really feel the need to be with anybody, and I have no fear of dying alone. We all die alone, just sometimes there are other people present. There are, however, fleeting moments of loneliness brought on by the oddest things. Like today I was trying to figure out if there was anything on TV I wanted to TiVo when a commercial came on for the Phillips Electronics company. It had a little kid saying "I wish someone made a DVD recorder so simple to use that dad wouldn't use words I'm not supposed to hear." Which seemed cute, if a total lie, since kids LOVE curse words. Seriously, go up to a baby and shout "FUCK YOU, YOU TINY COCKSMOKER" in his little baby face. You'll make his day. His mother may beat you into a state of semi-consciousness that shares many characteristics with death, but his day will be fucking made, man.
Anyway that seemed like a reasonable commercial, but after it came on another commercial for Phillips. In this one the same kid, I swear the SAME fucking 2 year old, said "I wish they made a defibrillator that was so easy to use almost anybody could use it."
Huh? Dude, you're two. What do you know from palpitations? You barely have that "Stick the breast in the mouth, suck out the milk, don't bite too hard" sequence down, and now you're talking about a defibrillator? Hold your horses, Doogie. Seriously, even Dr. Howser was 5 before he started reading articles like "The Gallbladder, Does it Live Up to All the Hype?" in Popular Medicine.
Of course in addition to the weirdly precocious kid the very idea itself is...well...scary. DVD recorders are toys. They record entertaining programming on little flat discs that you can then lose or break or get delicious raspberry jam on before you have a chance to watch the programming. That's cool for a kid to use. He can record Sponge bob, or Teletubbies, or G-String Divas. Whatever he's in to.
Defribrillators are not toys. I don't want some terrible two year old shocking Grandpa's heart because it's fun. It's not safe to have one designed for kids to use, and frankly I'm willing to put up with a little bit of training required before someone can operate it. Have we really fallen so far in our culture that even potentially dangerous medical devices have to be usable by two year olds? The average American adult operates at LEAST at a fourth grade level, why not aim for there? I think a kid should be able to consistently go potty in the right place before he can attempt to restore proper heart function.
I looked around for someone to make a sarcastic comment to, and I realized I was alone. It made me a little sad. Here I was with this great absurdist moment of Americana and nobody to share it with. Of course then I realized that if there was someone around she almost certainly wouldn't care, and then after telling her I'd have to listen to her prattle on to something important to her, like why I left my underpants, which are growing an entirely new species of mold on them at an alarming rate, in the middle of the kitchen, or how I thought that "Baghdad, late 2003" was an appropriate state for a bathroom. Bitch bitch bitch. The moment quickly passed. Still it was poignant and it did affect me. My heart's still two sizes too small, but there was a tremor in that cold black organ. A tremor of regret and pain and loneliness and longing unfulfilled. So I made a poll! Here it is.
The first one is for things you are willing to share with others, the second is for anything you only want to tell me. I promise not to spread it around like it was fakingsincerity's lovejuice.
Share your pain (without mentioning sex, which is so obvious that if you DO mention it then you are instantly to be viewed as uncreative person of little substance, not to mention TERRIBLE BREATH) and through the sharing transcend it. Or don't. That scab post is still out there. I hear they had PVC piping!
When do you want somebody to love
When the truth is found to be lies
When all the joy within you dies
When the garden flowers baby are dead yes
When tears are running, running down your breast
When your friends baby, they treat you like a guest
What is your personal moment of desire?
If there's something you want only me to see