One of Those Years...

You know the ones I'm talking about. First, everything seems to go wrong. So you change everything around, and for a few nanoseconds—much like the temporary vacuum in the immediate vicinity of an erupting volcano—you’re skippin’ down the cobblestones, just lookin’ for fun and feelin’ groovy, as the wise prophets once said. Then the universe looks you square in the eye and demands to know just why in Hell you aren’t miserable. So then that detestable Roman Status Quo leaps to his death from a thirty-story ledge and you’re left with nothing but a confounded look on your face and a pocket full of What the Hell do I do now?
Ok, so it was nothing as dramatic as all that. The truth is, as I’m sure most of you realize, in real life, few things ever are. On TV, maybe, where everyone demonstrates the adaptive capacity of a toothbrush, but not down here on the concrete-and-Velcro plane where you and I wrestle for the scraps of happiness at civilization’s heel.
My, aren’t we deep this evening? I don’t like the association that goes with that term…Deep… I’m deep, you’re deep, she’s deep. You know what else is deep? A hole. And do you, my friends, know what’s at the bottom of a hole? Well, that depends on how deep it is, I guess. But if it’s deep enough, it might just be eternity down there, and we, as humans, understandably have an aversion to eternity, as well as Olestra and anything involving Rosie O’Donnell.
Speaking of whom, I’m reminded of one of the things I intended to rant about this evening. Do any of you out there have an opinion on homosexual marriage? You do? Good. Keep it. That’s right, you heard me. Take your opinion and fold it up really, really small and tuck it safely down in the bottom of your left back pocket and do the world an enormous favor by sitting on it. Huh? What’s this? The Masked Logician stifling freedom of expression? Damned right. And you know why? Because this is—or damned well should be—a non-issue. I’m sick, physically ill to the point of projectile regurgitation of my fatty, thrice-processed American snack food substances, of one group of people bitching about the right of another group to take advantage of some social perk that they, the members of the first group, take as a gift straight from the callused hand of God. No, no that’s not fair. Bitching is not the appropriate term. But I’m not sure I know of a word that would encompass the depth and breadth of socio-emotional fuckery inherent in the rabid Right’s insistence that allowing a cheap copy-bond municipal courthouse printout of a marriage license to be signed by a homosexual couple would bring about the collapse of everything we hold dear, from the global economy to the very sun itself. Can anyone out there give me just one good—logical—reason why any one person should give a sweetly hemorrhaging fuck about who—or what, for that matter—another such person chooses to marry? No, I didn’t think so. That being the case, it becomes, as I said, a non-issue.
What the Hell brought that on? Well, for those of you fortunate enough to be unfamiliar with American politics never fear. If our beloved Caricature Executive has his way, you will be soon enough. But in the mean time, it seems the good ol’ Texan is trying his level best to add a convenient little amendment to the U.S. Constitution making it fundamentally unlawful for same-sex marriages to occur, and never mind the irony of installing into the constitution an amendment that is itself unconstitutional. Dubya can’t even spell unconstitutional. But then, Dubya can’t spell lots of words…
So then they say John Kerry to the rescue. But if it’s in oratorical superiority they intend to best the incumbent, hell, I’ve got navel lint that’ll do the job.
But enough politics. Surely, if there is anything good and pure within the depth of that force which I am constantly told lies at the heart of all existence, then there must, must be something else of at least passing relevance at large in the world. Frankly, I don’t know how professional political pundits refrain from inserting their genitalia into electrical outlets after a few days of that asininity.
But then, what else is really going on in the world right now?
Mel Gibson has made a movie about the crucifixion of Jesus Christ only to find himself—tee hee hee—crucified for his trouble. It’s a good thing irony isn’t toxic. Unfortunately, neither is stupidity…
On a much more immediately pressing personal note, I really, really abhor my newest roommate, who has obviously been visited upon me as retribution for all the unpleasant things I said about/wished upon/did to his predecessor.
And I suppose that I should note that the Mars Rover seems to be performing adequately, which is a marked improvement over past models. The Rover conducted tentative drilling on El Capitan yesterday, which sounds approximately as exciting as a re-broadcast cricket match to the MTV-viewing public, but apparently has the fine folks at NASA masturbating for sheer joy. I say good on them.

I only hope they don’t uncover any weapons of mass destruction…