Trust Me…I’m Perfectly Sane

Sometimes people ask me why I love to write.

For me, that’s akin to asking a person why they love to have sex. The answer is obvious. Because sex is one of those fab things that humans can do that feels good and it’s free [generally].

But I think that’s too simple because not everyone enjoys writing and most adult humans enjoy sex [generally].

So the other night, I’m watching one of those highly informative news shows. I don’t recall which one as they get jumbled in my head because they’re all trying to accomplish the same thing: to scare the crap out of me with world-ending weather predictions, terrorist attacks, pervs on the Internet and baby sellers on e-Bay. I was dozing a bit so they must have covered the End of the World segment and I was gently coaxed from my snooze by a reference to “sudden and profound bursts of creativity” associated with a strange mental disorder. Huh? What was that?

Although I caught it mid-snore, I was intrigued. It told the story of one unfortunate man who became inexplicably obsessed with speaking and writing in rhyming verse. A strange uneasiness set in as I reached for my laptop. I wrote some notes. I wrote some more notes. I went on-line, hoping I wouldn’t run into any nasty pervs or terrorists with futuristic weather machines and Googled “bursts of creativity AND disorder”. What I got was a lesson on hypergraphia. It is characterized as “a driving compulsion to write”… about anything and everything ON anything and everything. Okay…so what’s wrong with that? I mean, writing is a good thing, isn’t it? Without writing, we wouldn’t have books and books are good except, according to Sarah Palin, those nasty, objectionable ones she wanted removed from her local library.

I was starting to get an uneasy feeling about this news show segment. Maybe I was just dreaming. Maybe I wasn’t really understanding the magnitude of what was being said. So what if you wake up in the middle of the night and reach for a Sharpie and a roll of toilet paper? It’s no big deal. So what if I carry a can of spray paint in my car and cruise around at midnight looking for bare, concrete structures? It’s just writing. That’s all. Just a bunch of words strung together on the refrigerator or across the pristine white fur of my neighbor’s samoyed that someday may or may not turn into stories with a recognizable beginning, middle and end. I’m not worried. Besides, I wasn’t like that guy who wanted to rhyme all the time! Rhyme, rhyme, it’s not a crime! I can stop this any time! And furthermore, I don’t believe the rubbish on that lame blog I ran across that said in order to be a good writer, you have to be a little mentally ill.

 

I Heart Fortune Cookies

I wonder if the fortune cookie factories have someone dedicated solely to writing fortunes? Or maybe they just farm it out to work-from-home parents so they don’t have to pay benefits or worry about workmen’s comp and 401Ks.  Personally, I think this would be a pretty cool job.  If I were a fortune cookie writer, I would probably lean toward the one shown here….about the end of the world being “all your fault”?  Not because I’m a jerk [at least not today] but because it’s just plain funny and fun and the world needs more funny and fun, if you ask me.

The other day, I was having lunch at a Chinese restaurant with a friend and he got a fortune that said something like:  “You will experience a medical situation soon”.   This is neither funny nor encouraging which I think is a total rip-off.  Maybe the real fortune cookie writer was off that day or all the work-from-home-fortune-cookie-writers had collective writer’s block and the cookie company was forced to pull in someone from Human Resources.  Whatever the sitch, that fortune should have never made it past QC.

Think about it.  Wouldn’t you rather open a silly little blurb like “Your friends all agree those jeans really do make your ass look big” rather than “You will tumble down a flight of stairs and shred your rotator cuff today”?   After a healthy appetizer of deep-fried spring rolls followed by an oversized plate of sesame chicken, a good laugh could help burn off a few calories until you’re ready to eat again in an hour, right?

That’s my theory, anyway.

Just remember what Confucius said:  “The superior man is modest in his speech..unless he writes a fucking hilarious fortune cookie fortune and then he’s totally buck!”

 

What I’m Pinterested In

I don’t know what to call Pinterest.  Social media, maybe? An on-line scrapbook? Still not sure but it’s clever and catchy and I’m all for clever and catchy.  Really, I am.  Pinterest isn’t my cup o’ Joe but more power to those who love it.  Personally? I don’t think anyone would be Pinterested in knowing that chintz makes me want to vomit and my inspirational phrase of choice is Stop Texting At The Fucking Table rather than Start Every Day Like It’s Your Birthday.

But there’s this thing I have.  I’ll call it an affliction.  It’s beyond my control. Like what John Malkovich said to Glenn Close in Dangerous Liaisons when he double-crossed her and smashed her diabolical heart to smithereens.

In a nutshell, I am inexplicably driven to mock things that I don’t understand.  I vacillate between thinking it’s jealousy and thinking it’s simply chronic cynicism.

Let’s start with the jealousy angle. Yes, I admit I feel left in the dust when it comes to social media sites and everything related.  This proliferation of words and links and sites and apps and whatevers renders me helpless and paralyzed. There are so many things to learn, I don’t know where to begin. My peers are all so good at it.   I wish I could be more savvy and smart and clever but the learning curve just feels too….insurmountable to me.

And so I mock.

How can I not? When I go and search around on Pinterest, this is what I see…..

Cupcakes that look like Pandas.  [I can’t even make eggs that look like eggs for fuck sake!]

How to make hors d’oeuvres that look like Band-Aids  [Maybe I should post a picture of my party pleasin’ cocktail wieners that look like tampons. I’m tellin’ you, they’re a hit at every social gathering!]

A little kid dressed like Edward Scissorhands [Yes, it’s super cute but…man, it’s just a little creepy]

How to pickle asparagus [see egg comment above]

Picture of a sleeping baby wearing a crocheted hat with bunny ears inside a giant glass container filled with M & Ms [Jesus H. Christ on a raft! Who puts their baby in a jar of candy and takes its picture?]

Pictures of super cute animals [I admit, a baby hippo does make me smile but the fact that a human is holding it gives me pause]

The Paleo Diet  [I had no idea that cavemen ate such beautifully prepared dishes. And I thought wooly mammoth couldn’t look appetizing. Silly me!]

And there are lots and lots of cute, inspiring sayings some of which I can relate to…like the ones that have alcohol as a central theme because alcohol makes everything better. The ones I find amusing, however, are these:

It Is What It Is  [This, of course, is self-explanatory, right? Like We Are What We Are and A Prius Is A Prius]

Keep Calm And Zumba [This feels contradictory to me…like Shut Up And Yell]

Okay….I probably sound like an asshole which is to say I Am What I Am but I do try to find humorous ways to fill my giant void of inadequacy…it’s just at the expense of others, I’m afraid.

The conclusion?

I think I’m just cynically jealous.

 

 

 

 

 

Writing Is Good, Damn It!

So the other night, I’m watching one of those highly informative news shows.  I don’t recall which one.  They get jumbled in my head because they’re all trying to accomplish the same thing: to scare the crap out of me with world-ending weather predictions, terrorist attacks, pervs on the Internet and baby sellers on e-Bay.   I was dozing a bit so they must have covered the End of the World segment and I was gently coaxed from my snooze by a reference to “sudden and profound bursts of creativity” associated with a strange mental disorder. Huh?  What was that?

 

Although I caught this mid-segment, I was intrigued. It told the story of one unfortunate man who became inexplicably obsessed with speaking and writing in rhyming verse.  A strange uneasiness set in as I reached for my laptop.  I wrote some notes.  I wrote some more notes.  I went on-line, hoping I wouldn’t run into any nasty pervs or terrorists with futuristic weather machines, and Googled “bursts of creativity AND disorder”.  What I got was a lesson on hypergraphia.   It is characterized as “a driving compulsion to write”… about anything and everything ON anything and everything……….Well, what’s wrong with that?  I mean, writing is a good thing, isn’t it?  Without writing, we wouldn’t have books and books are good except for the ones Sarah Palin wanted removed from her local library.  So what if you wake up in the middle of the night and reach for a Sharpie and a roll of toilet paper?  It’s no big deal. It’s just writing. That’s all.  Just a bunch of words strung together to make lots and lots of sentences that may or may not turn into stories with a recognizable beginning, middle and end.  I’m not worried.  I can stop any time I want.  And furthermore, I don’t believe any of that crap on that lame blog I ran across that said in order to be a good writer, you had to be a little mentally ill. 

 

I can stop anytime I want!  Or not…. if I want.