My dear seeing eye drones, I am reading a book about how everyone is not really as busy as they claim to be. Apparently we in America have something like 30 hours of leisure time available to us each week! I don’t know who these poor saps are who a) only have 30 hours of leisure time and b) don’t even know they have 30 hours of leisure time. This is unlike my life in every way. Just look, I have the time to read a book! Or have someone read it to me, but who has time to keep score? Not most us, apparently.
I maintain an assuredly robust list of projects and obligations, plus a calendar of personal appearances and disappearances, but what is the point of living a single day on Earth if you can’t chuck most of it on a whim and roll around on the floor listening to a record as loud as you please? Go on, wiggle your toes. You want to be adoooooooooooooooored!
A recent look at just a segment of my to-do list, for your perusal:
Now, I have no idea what most of that means. This is from maybe 2 months ago. No matter, I am sure it was all very important at the time, or I wouldn’t have written it down, right?
Is the world a worse place because I failed to launch a Snapchat suicide hotline staffed by the remaining members of TLC at Sea World? Or because I failed to write a self-help book about how building materials and quiet contemplation lead to enlightenment? Maybe you’re all just gagging for my panda porn script treatment! I think further down that list I was supposed to go to CVS. Did I go? Who knows.
And this isn’t even my work to-don’t list, which goes more like “File the files, I guess. Write a deck, or not. Get around to that email, or wait until it is no longer relevant. Put that wine bottle in the recycling bin, unless you were going to make a lamp or something.”
Time-pressed masses, the first step to opting out of busyness is recognizing the value of complete absurdity. The second step is inventing time travel. The third step is
2013 is really starting to grow on me. President Palin had her hair blow dried on Live with Regis and whatever and we attended the special senate confirmation hearing for Piper Palin’s appointmentÂ to the federal bench. Li’l Piper was grilled on her construction of the constitution on issues such as abortion and gun control, predictably failing to illuminate a position on how she might rule on those cases. She *did* express an interest in blue-razz gum and an inclination to appear on the X Factor.
Literally tens of you have written in wondering about new iphone apps and stock performance. We are not here to cheat history, darlings. If you are sitting in your deplorable hovel on a mound of dirt, gettting chewed on by bedbugs, then that is exactly where you have to stay. We are also not going to reveal if Joaquin is really crazy, or only kidding. Life affords little enough mystery. We will, however share the following breakdown of some of the HOTTESTS TREEEENDZ:
nice Perez Hilton
Jamie Lee Curtis yogurt
(even scarier) Happy Clowns
evil TWIN Perez Hilton (OMG he has an evil twin!)
Donut hamburg sammich
The future is AWESOME.
We wrap our edition of “Why Everything Sucks” with the following: Harry Reid, craven, useless chief of the cloakroom hangs on but Russ Feingold, progressive hero, is defeated…
Did you also know you could fatally OD on caffeine?
We leave the present in the gloved hands of Unkle Karl to journey to the center of distant times. Here in 2013, things are a bit brighter, and also a whole lot dumber. I guess America is rather like a punch clown. You can take a swipe and knock it over, but it will just bob back up in your face with a maniacal grin. Hilarious. Note to Sarah Palin: choose an actual punch clown for your reelection bid in 2016. We DESERVE to be infotained!
We have cunningly disguised ourselves in the attire of the day. Though I am not sure if we are supposed to be in the navy, or some kind of minstrels. Maybe this is what happens when they abolish “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”?
Hmm. Lambchop and I still live in blue states, it seems. Elsewhere, the craziest crazies were not elected. America, you shock me! In keeping with the tenet that conservatives think everyone is out to get them, and liberals think everyone is incredibly stupid, I am rightfully nonplussed.
No Sharron Angle, no Christine O’Donnell, no Linda McMahon. No Fiorina, no Whitman. Is that a crushing blow to women? Or only to women unfit to lead? When Anna Wintour runs, I am sure she will be installed as president posthaste, perhaps on a ruby-encrusted fainting couch. Karl Lagerfeld will be Secretary of State, so he’ll be able to fan her.
However, Californians are all for shapeshifting for corporations, if I’m reading that right (and I’m not)! But they are not for legalizing Marijuana. Yet in Massawhosits, we will no longer have to pay sales tax on liquor! Woooo! A jaunty pink flute of Kitty Dukakis (official Vomitola cocktail) all around! I raise my glass to you, irresponsible citizens of the world.
I guess I’ll just have to set the dial on the time machine to the day of Palin’sÂ inauguration in 2013 to get satisfaction for my crazy yen. Oh my God, as her first act, there is a federal mandate to wear banana clips! And she signed it with one of those troll doll pens!
1985 was rad and all, but something bad happened in the future land of 2004, and the earth wobbled and wibbled. And then in 2005, the cat can’t decide if she wants to be in or out, and I totally agree with that position, although it can be tiresome. There are theoretical units of value in my bank account, which were placed there because I used some of my time to do taxing things like write emails and make food dance on the internet. I transmitted some of my imaginary holdings via some electrons to be turned into bottled water and antibiotics. Electrons wear pointed shoes and jaunty caps. Then I picked up an issue of National Geographic Traveler, because vacation planning just got harder. As if life isn’t hard enough.
I can’t stay in 2005. I am booking a retreat to 1979, because I had a dream where everyone was speaking gibberish and “Fantastic Voyage” was playing in the background. This seems to be as good an idea as any. In 1979, I had just started growing teeth and learning about my feet. Later that year, I tried macaroni and cheese for the first time and loved it. Come to think of it, everyone *was* speaking gibberish to me in 1979. Maybe this is why I grew up to enjoy pharmaceuticals of all kinds. I have hands? Wow! What went wrong, ma?
1985 is shaping up pretty rad so far. I was all sweaty and nauseated for a couple days with the usual booze and pill new year, listening to Psychocandy. Couldn’t eat more than a cherry tomato. But I did manage to pick up a copy of Spex and a couple new albums. Nothing you would have heard of, it’s all German. Except, for Helen I got the new Scritti Politi. She just loves to dance. Holy crap, I am supposed to go meet her at the mall! We might go see Rocky III later. She is probably waiting for me by the fountain already, drinking a tab and ready to ring my neck, or pouring slurpees on the jocks that hang out by the Iroc giveaway.
Golden Girls is on tonight. 1985 Rules.
Well, it’s been a great year, but we at Vomitola eagerly welcome 1985. Did you drink too much last night? We may have. We know because we threw up in the shower this morning, and it didn’t even phase us.
1985 is shaping up to be pretty swell, what with the Perestroika and the 7.2% unemployment. We can’t wait to watch Kiss of the Spider Woman and see Madonna live! And just think, twenty years in the future, we’ll get to watch the Willy Wonka movie starring that nice Johnny Depp from A Nightmare On Elm Street. Can life be any sweeter? Count your blessings, you jerks!
We’re off to crash and dream of a 1300 Dow.
I had been saving that subject line in case Bush won next week, but after my little whoopsie-daisy in the time machine the other day, I am pretty convinced he will not. I was just telling my sister the Moose that I should have taken a picture of myself holding next week’s newspaper, but since I correctly reported the ever-baffling Red Sox winning the Superbowl or whatever that was before they actually did it, I should be all set in the proof department. Besides, taking pictures of oneself out at arm’s length is a little Sweet Valley High or something. High you say. The hell.
Someone reminded me that Halloween is coming up, and I don’t have a costume. I thought of the scariest thing I could, and it looked like Copperplate Gothic and Comic Sans in a grotesque threesome with Arial, spelling out “Support Our Troops” on one of those inscrutable magnetic ribbons. All the churches and high schools up this way changed their moveable letter boards to read “Go Sox” instead of “Support Our Troops,” so I guess we have a reprieve from supporting. Curt Schilling, poster boy for “resolve,” wants you to vote Bush. Go back to your red state, sirrah. Let the heavens continue to smile on Massachusetts, and stop trifling, people.
I suppose I should be Bitter for Halloween.
I wrote this yesterday morning and never got around to posting, and it scarcely feels relevant, but then again, what ever is.
Wow, that was a hell of a ride. Yesterday was certainly the most memorable November Tuesday of MY young, glamorous life. John Kerry’s stunning upset over George W. Bush had me up until the wee hours, biting my nails at first until Florida and Michigan and Pennsylvania came in blue.
My jaw hung open when they called Texas for Kerry, followed by North Carolina and Tennessee. After that, I wasted no time diving into the case of Chateau Lafitte I’d been saving for just such an occasion. Kerry looked so presidential when he gave his victory speech. That man can pick out a tie. As anyone could have predicted, Bush simpered and smirked and screwed up a Yogi Berra quote, something along the lines of “The over it ain’t.” At some point my head hit the coffee table.
I just don’t know what I would have done if John Kerry did not win this election. Probably I would have continued to think about my hair, or I might have ordered a bubble tea. Oh well, now I no longer have to retain any conscience or political awareness at all!
Yet I am puzzled that the morning papers have absolutely no coverage of this momentous event. And talk of the Red Sox and their thrilling series victory also seems to have faded. Stranger still, when I went to my shrink appointment, he seemed utterly unaware of Daylight Savings Time, and told me I was too late for my appointment. Oh well, the stupid little creatures of nature don’t bother me now that we are free from the perilous scourge of four more years of totalitarian rule. Did Daylight Savings Time get cancelled this year? I seem to have totally missed the Today show. I was really wondering what Al Roker thought about all of this.
(edit: This is what happens when someone staggers drunkenly into the time machine, their fingers still sticky from gummi bears! Licketysplit is now vomiting in the pines somwhere in the catskills, 1947. I have no idea where she plans to spend her hangover- Havana, perhaps? So you must all still VOTE, and save the planet and all that. A Rush and a Push and the Land we stand on is Ours. It has been before, so it shall be again!-lc)
Well it was a glittery two weeks of vacation in 1982. I was there for the unveiling of Diet Coke! What I never realized at the time is how much the Japanese loved Joanie Loves Chachi. Then I found out that in Japanese, “chachi” means penis. Joanie really does love Chachi.
My alma mater, Yale, was running a 14 week course on how to solve Rubik’s Cube. I had just bought all my course materials (1 Rubik’s Cube) when I remembered that I have a ticket to go see Morrissey with Licketysplit in 2004! And then I have to leave for Berlin, to do a portrait comission.
Blast, I did not have time to shag either David Bowie or Peter Murphy! I did however, manage a trek over to my old neighborhood, where I saw myself at age 9, tottering around on those white skates with the metal wheels and a faceful of Crayola makeup. I fought back tears at the sight of my own manic little face, and I whispered “don’t go swimming with sunglasses.” I didn’t think it would be too interfering to spare myself *that* much loss!
So here I am in 2004, trying to brush out the crimp in my hair. Who wants a souveneir copy of Toto IV?
ps. Morrissey Morrissey Morrissey!