I don't remember where I read it, but I read "Ignorance is an act of will," and I've agreed ever since. None of the bliss bullshit. I think ignorance is an incredibly disguised curse, masked by its banality.
Not all of the following suggestions are environmentally related, but they do all have one similarity. They are certain ways that people can change, miniscule considerations that can surprisingly wake people out of their living stupor and make our immediate little worlds, outside the chaos of the media and all of its headlines, a little more comfortable. Isn't that a nice thought? No war, no third world poverty or quality of life, just our humdrum, suburban way of living.
And onto it
My parents like to play this game called, How Many Electronic Devices Can We Leave On?
The thing is, they never tell me when they're about to play, they just do so, and I never have fun ending the game for them. I don't work for LIPA or the power grid, but I'm cognizant enough to remember these things are luxuries.
Chivalry in the Chubway
Every time I'm on a crowded train, I'll ask any nearby females if they'd like a seat. 9 times out of 10 I get strange looks, incredulous, as if it were some audacious preposition. And the guys never turn their heads, ever, they just sit there reading or thinking about the salmon marinating in the fridge at home. I've found that when I ask this question, I involuntarily attach a hint of Southern drawl to my formality: "Eggs-cuse me, miss, wood you care for a seat?"
Nothing is dumber, in my opinion concerning heteronormative chivalry, than the jacket in the puddle. Now, if it's not a puddle, then it can't be a three foot stream rushing through your town, because a jacket wouldn't really do anything. It would just give the lady a brief moment of hope before her shoes went wet. A real man would pick that hot piece of ass up and ford the obstacle.
To me, this is funny because it's terrible, and because there's actually a bloated corpse if you look in the far left corner.
But all in all, only a foot fetishist should care that much.
Gum
If I could line up everyone who's gum I've stepped into, rested my arm on, etc.,
Or depriving them of sleep for four days (since you do irreparable physiological damage by the fifth).
...I just think it's a lazy, and cowardly thing to do, if it's left there intentionally.
In other words, if you can't properly dispose of gum, don't fucking chew it.
Slow Loris break...
Toilet Seats
This is what I imagine every guy who can't lift a toilet seat looks like--that stupid grin, getting away with nothing. There's something strange about the male psyche; we all believe we have impeccable aim, but more often than not, we end up pissing on the seat.
And I believe we shouldn't be forced to stoop down and wipe anonymous piss away in the event of having to go number three. It could very well be the case that this inherent fault of ours legitimizes when a woman uses a men's bathroom, but makes it taboo for the converse to occur. I've used plenty of lady bathrooms, when I needed to, not for fun, and every time a lady catches me, it's as if I've offended her somehow, even if I left that seat pristine as a pickle.
Cigarette Asses
The funny thing about using this picture is that I know it'll give some of you a craving. And I don't mean to be cruel, considering these bad boys cost $10 a pack now, $13 in Queens, but I do mean it when I tell people, smoking doesn't bother me, it's the littering that gets me. As far as I'm concerned, the only person who ever had the right to flick their butt was Jim Carrey, or more appropriately, Stanley Ipkiss in The Mask during the dream sequence when Cameron Diaz romances Ipkiss in a skin-tight, black and white striped dress. But I'm sure nobody knows what I'm talking about.
I ate a cigarette butt when I was younger, which is also probably why I'm against discarding them so carelessly. This isn't true, but I feel as though I'd have a hard time to convince you otherwise by this point.
Honking assholes
When the driver in the front of the line doesn't immediately hit the gas as soon as the light turns green...Man! What I wouldn't do to have all those cumulative seconds back. I'll honk after three seconds. That's my personal rule, three Mississippi's. If the person can't figure it out by then, well shit.
Louis C.K. reinforces this in one his bits that I can't find.
Texting
This is it. We are here, at the forefront of communicative capability--except we need these fucking little keyboards to do it, and those little chimes and buzzes to know when to.
Associated Press: The average age of texting inception
To clarify, that picture did not come from the Associated Press. I don't feel the need to involve litigation for the vacuous purposes of this blog.
But what I'm getting it as that we are becoming more and more so, like my little personal slogan, "a generation of typing conversationalists," and it's really complicated things in my opinion. People tell me it's simpler because of the brevity and immediacy of it all, but all I have to do is take a look at a contrived group like this:
to realize how powerfully children are being affected by texting. I mean, look at the girl on the right, look at her face, crumbling under the societal pressures her younger peers have imposed upon her, a fish-bowl of letters. And that boy, a true impostor of the texting world--I like to think myself as him, but not as amused.
I'm continually blown away by the ease and diversity at which texting lingo manifests itself. I'd like to pretend that I'm making this stuff up, but a recent facebook update by one of my 16 year old pizzeria co-workers solidified the reality of it all for me.
Consider the following quote my impetus for writing this section:
"There is this such amazin guy out there right now tht i rlli like nd injoy spendin time with. Nd its amazin how much we can have so much in common. He just makes me laugh & have such a great time when im with him. When he smiles i smile bck. I can be myself around him. im not shy with him Theres just so much i can say nd feel with him.. I REALLY LIKE HIM! ♥"
And after I brought up my revulsion towards her written voice, she insisted that she didn't care. Needless to say, this boy broke her heart two weeks later.
Asides from all the meandering, my only suggestion, since humans are coded to strive in communication, is that if someone tries to initiate a conversation with you, be the better person and call them. Save your fingers some grief.
Your vs. You're
I've never, EVER, been a grammar snob. I don't really like scrabble, I'm terrible at crossword puzzles, and yes, even my fingers get a little lazy sumtimes, u kno? Cause im not going to spell everythin out wen i can jsut type like dis.
Not even after college, after suffering quietly for all those careless mistakes in essays. It's just carelessness, I suppose. But it's not difficult.
You can mistake there for their for all I care, but this "your" nonsense has to stop.
"Your" implies ownership of a trait or given object, such as "your terrible grammar offends me every time you use it"
And "You're" is a contraction for, "You are," such as in, "You're probably now dumber for having read this blog."
My welcome
Is ten feet long
Purple and oblong
It weighs fifteen pounds
When filled with clowns
And runs on sugar water
My welcome
Will never be
Your welcome
