Sunday, May 20, 2007

Bugs don't hug.

'Kids say the darnedest things'. I would agree with that statement, and all attending ones--innocence and purity, incapable of deceit, etc. I do think there is a limit though.

As I was riding in the elevator recently, I looked up at the Captivate screen (small tv screen that shows news, useless facts and such--ingeniously giving people something to look at other than other people) to see a poem by a 2nd grader. Captivate does little things like this--I am assuming because it tenderizes their boxed-in, dispensible-income audience for the eventual advertising onslaught.

Anyway, the poem was written in response to the question 'What is friendship?' and although I can't remember the whole thing, the punchline was 'Friendship is like two bugs hugging'.

Awwwwwwww. Right? Wrong.

I thought for a while about this; searching for some truth, some nugget of neophytic wisdom that I can't see because I'm so blinded by the unimportant. But, ulimately, I came to the conclusion that this child is overmedicated or isn't getting enough oxygen to necessary places.

First off, bugs don't hug. The bugs in question, the insect muses to this ode, were either fighting or humping. One of them may have ended up dead. Or loved and left. Or loved and then dead, and then left. Bugs eat the heads of their lovers. It's a harsh life, the bug's... like something out of a Tarantino flick.

Secondly... what? Friendship is sharing a seat with someone in the cafeteria. Friendship is not laughing at me when I have boogers in my nose. It's not two bugs hugging. Weak, kid.

He wasn't even trying. He was smart enough to see that bugs are small, and that they rhyme with hugs, and then his name was plastered on tv screens in elevators all over the country. That's it. He phoned in his assignment. And he's being rewarded for it.

I'll bet he's reveling in his ruse now, popping a Ritalin with his fourth juice box of the day. He's bragging to his little second grade friends about his stardom. He's well on his way to a career in grifting. And I wouldn't be surprised if he saw two bugs hugging, and he went over and stepped on them.

Which, while poetically ironic, isn't very friendly.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Do you know....

how many synonyms there are for 'pointless'?

33. I counted.

Saturday, May 12, 2007

Heavenly Recommendations

There was an old man in the subway last week, handing out flyers. I'm pretty selective about accepting flyers from strangers, and generally judge them based on whether I think their piece of paper will be entertaining or useful to me. This man was short, old, and he was wearing a white golf cap--the kind of cap that only looks right with argyle knickers.

I took a flyer.

But wasn't a flyer. It was a newsletter. The newsletter, which was in its first issue, was entitled "Heaven Speaks Today". It offered prophecies given from both Jesus and the Virgin Mary on calamities to come, such as earthquakes and hurricanes, as told to a woman named Veronika of the Cross in the 1970's and 1980's.

Apparently, Jesus told us (through Veronika) that the clergy were not praying enough... roughly around the same time that Motley Crue was singing 'Dr. Feelgood'. Mary called the US and Canada boastful the same year the Mets last won the world series. But my favorite part of the newsletter was in the lower right hand corner, with a glaring white-on-blue headline:

'Recommended by Virgin Mary!'

I started to dismiss this in my mind, and then I caught myself. The Virgin Mary had never recommended anything to me before (save for a chaste life and a pure heart) and I was ignoring her the one time she was recommending something to me. I've accepted book recommendations from random people before. I've checked out websites that tatooed sales clerks have sworn were worthwhile. Was I now going to say that I was too busy to check out something recommended by the vestal matriarch of our spiritual rebirth? I envision an exchange between us:

VM: Phil, you should really check this out.

Me: Ah, yeah, sure... I'll have to check it out sometime.

VM: You're just saying that, aren't you?

Me: Yeah, I guess I am.

VM: It's not like it's a Neil Young record or anything. It's a recording of some of my prophecies, available for only $5 and the cost of shipping. Five bucks. You can afford that.

Me: How did you know I didn't like Neil Young?

VM: Are you seriously asking me that question? That's kind of a rookie question.

Me: Do you like Neil Young?

VM: His voice is grating, but I can appreciate his influence on today's musicians.

Me: That's EXACTLY what I think!

VM: Are you going to buy this tape or not?

Me: Ummm.....

VM: Figures. I'll bet if Oprah.... forget it. Whatev.


I still haven't purchased the tape, even though the Virgin Mary recommended it and I can afford it (as she predicted I could). The newsletter has gotten me thinking about the Virgin Mary though... her selfless life, her permeative grace. It's been a good reconnection with her message of love, and it's comforting to think that she doesn't really like Neil Young that much either.

Flight Attendants should just get together and decide...

Once and for all:

Plack-Cards?

OR

Plack-Erds?

Until then, I refuse to obey all posted signs and crewmember instructions. For the record, I prefer the second pronunciation.