Notes from the Petting Zoo

While passing by a military cemetery, I was struck by the regularity of the markers. The regularity and sameness of the markers forced me to face the fact that every one of us, no matter how wonderful or unique or amazing we might think we are or we might think someone else is, all ends up as wormfood. We all die, in one way or another and that is quite probably the Final Equalizer.

This meant that, in all likelihood, each and every one of those markers rested over the remains of a human being that had hopes and dreams and wishes. That had family they loved and family that loved them. Each one was a baby at one time, with at least one adult looking at them, eyes tearing up, thinking “Go and change the world, lovely thing.” Each one of them was unique and weird and different, had friends, had not-friends, had arguments, tears, laughing, despair, determination, strength, weakness.

Each one pulled the threads of the tapestry just a little bit. Butterfly wings flapping halfway across the world.

It was at that moment that I felt the closest I’ve ever felt to being a human being — just like everybody else who ever has been and ever will be.

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Sometimes I forget how different I am from so many people. Sometimes I forget that I really don’t feel like I’m from around these parts. Sometimes I forget that other people don’t necessarily speak the same language as I do.

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Today, in the news…

Elaborate Hoax Staged for British Reality Series
In perhaps the most elaborate hoax ever devised for TV, contestants on Space Cadets, an upcoming British reality series, have been led to believe that they are going on a trip to outer space, the London Times reported today (Thursday). The newspaper said that the nine contestants are about to undergo training in what they believe is Russia after actually circling around Britain for hours. Their training center, a onetime British military base now populated by Russian-speaking actors, has been given a makeover to resemble Star City, the cosmonaut training center in Russia, and their space shuttle is actually the movie spaceship built for the Clint Eastwood movie Space Cowboys, the Times said. The sound of the launch has been created by Hollywood sound technicians, and an outside screen will provide the illusion of a view of Earth. Space Cadets is due to … er … launch on Dec. 7.

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Now, all I can think of this is that if it were me getting hoaxed and I found out I was just in a sound stage with actors and accents, I would be… upset.

There would be mischief. There would be damage. My hands would get dirty.

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“Habits are at first cobwebs, then cables.”

I saw this on an e-mail footer and it just suddenly struck me how powerful and subtle the effects of inertia can be.

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Sometimes we work very hard to gather as much as we can and keep it as close as possible. Sometimes we lose track of why we’re doing it, and the passion and singlemindedness of the gathering overwhelms our senses and reason. We lose in the end.

Just before that happens, we get the shakes.

The shakes are supposed to be a warning, not a precursor to success.

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Look guys,

I love you both, okay? Sometimes I need a liquid ass-kick and Coffee, you’re the man. Sometimes I need to eat something crunchy and salty and Tortilla Chips, you rule da house. It’s that simple.

You aren’t competing with each other in any way. In fact, I could have both of you at the same time. Little of one, little of the other. Sometimes, around 2-3pm, what I really want is both of you.

Coffee, I respect your great powers, and I’m sure it’s obvious by now that because you have a peculiar bitterness, the real flavor needed to cut you smooth as silk is salty. And, of course, the perfect complement to your velvety smoothness is the texture-rich love of a good Tortilla Chip.

Tortilla Chips, I cannot tell you how many times you’ve saved me from a car wreck by giving me something to fiddle with and eat in the middle of the night. Not only have you saved me from jobs, but you’ve quite possibly saved my life at jobs. Remember that high-voltage calibration station at Fluke? I would have fallen asleep at it if you hadn’t been so crunchy-wonderful. But you gotta understand that your salt, the Gift of Life as it were, makes me thirsty.

So guys. Coffee. Tortilla Chips. What the fuck is up between the two of you? Why is it that when I try to consume one of you and then the other, it suddenly tastes like I’ve been licking underneath a grade school student’s desk? Why is it that, during those brief moments when my instincts tell me you would make a great combination, you make me crave the taste of sewage-soaked plague-victim jerky, instead of what ought to be two delicious tastes tasting great together.

Hey, if Chocolate (which is sweet and comes from trees and is the purview of girls across the world) and Peanut Butter (which is not sweet, comes from the ground and is unmistakably associated with boys or tomboys) can get along so well, what is YOUR problem?

You guys should be famous as buddies. You should be the best of friends. You should be greater than the sum of your parts.

Instead, when you join forces, you taste like ass.

I’m very disappointed, Coffee and Tortilla Chips.

I thought you ought to know that.

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I have received a message from the polio virus. It says it’s coming back. Wheelchair manufacturers and manufacturers of physical therapy equipment praise this decision, saying that it’ll bring new jobs to the medical industry, as well as provided much-needed income to the flagging profits to be made from such appliances and devices.

The virus is thankful to all the people who — out of fear and ignorance — have tried to prevent themselves and their children from being vaccinated against polio.

The virus is especially grateful for rumors that vaccinations are “dangerous”. Without those terrific rumors, it could hardly get a foothold.

The virus is also grateful to the great variety of religious beliefs that forbid vaccination, as this is clearly the most efficient infection route through an otherwise perfectly intelligent populace — just more of following up on an already-carved path, so to speak.

The virus is grateful to anyone who thinks it is wiped out — a willingness to not see the virus allows it to dance naked in your feces.

The virus is grateful to the governments of the world for keeping people in poverty and suppressed enough such that they have ample opportunity to enjoy the viruses remarkably efficient stool-to-mouth transmission method.

The virus is also grateful in particular to the US government for being so proactive in preventing the spread of cheap and accessible vaccines to other countries, yet still making sure that plane flights from those countries are easy-peasy (as long as you don’t have nail clippers).

The virus encourages you to spend some time enjoying its work online and to look forward to all new works.

As a final note, the virus wishes to discourage hand-washing and other basic health measures. This really puts a damper on its day and is quite hypocritical of those who claim to truly respect all life.

Have a nice day.

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Listen.

You’re not a word. You never have been a word. You’re two words that have been mashed together for no good reason at all. “A”. “Lot”. As in “My, that’s a lot of junk you own” and “I sure like you a lot.” I suspect you started out being a typo, frankly, but managed to find enough weakminded fools such that you somehow convinced them you were a single word.

But you don’t fool me, “alot”. I know you’re no more a single word than “atable”, “afloor”, or “alittle”. You will never fool me and you will never fool anyone who has a decent grasp on English.

Actually, I’d love to go into the vocabulary suitcases of other people and forcibly remove you, “alot”, because — and I can’t think of a more delicate way of putting this — you make them look like idiots. But here’s my dilemma. Although you hang on a fool’s text like a giant puffy “We’re #1!” hand covering, you serve the unenviable purpose of pointing out people who would use you without a second thought. This is useful to me, I suppose, but make no mistakes, “alot” — offering the feeble excuse of being a low-level intelligence cull does not excuse you from the atrocity of existence.

You’re annoying and stupid and it’s time you left the room.

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